#when you walk a long distance and you are tired

[nightplvmes]

*.⊹˚ SYLUS | surprise dinner (valentine's day)

── ◜sylus x fem!reader — ◜short special | specials from the rest of the LIs on my profile

Everything had gone wrong. From the moment she woke up that morning she must have known that everything was going to go wrong.

First it started with her alarm going off. She woke up two hours later than she was supposed to and had missed the delivery time for the dessert she had ordered. It was a famous and expensive bakery, they had been very strict when they said that if she didn't arrive on time or at least half an hour later she wouldn't receive her order. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She thought maybe she could convince them to change their minds, but on her way to the bakery, her car's tire had gone flat. She ended up taking it to a garage and took a taxi back to home.

As if the day hadn't been bad enough. The dinner she had in mind also went wrong. She had burned a significant portion of the meal and didn't have time to start over. Around 5pm she had called Sylus to tell him that they couldn't meet that day because she had a problem. Lies and lies.

Sylus didn't say anything to her except that he understood and hung up. In her mind she was relieved that he hadn't been upset about ruining their first Valentine's Day. In Sylus' mind it was a different story. He had noticed her shaky voice because he know the way her voice sounded different after crying. Something was wrong.

It was already quite late when she returned home after searching for her favorite ice cream in three different stores. She couldn't even be sad in peace because she hadn't found the stupid ice cream.

Sylus had sent her a text while she was out but she wasn't sure what it meant. See you tonight. When she asked what it meant she got no reply. They weren't supposed to have a date until tomorrow, she had called him a couple of hours ago and he said it was fine.

When she got home everything was dark, she was almost sure that she had left more than one light on. She hated coming home and tripping over everything, plus her cat was always walking around. She walked in the darkness until she saw a flash of light shining in the dining room. She walked slowly and felt the air escape from her lungs.

He was there.

But he wasn't just there. He had prepared dinner, the room was dimly lit by the candles and everything was perfectly arranged. How had he done that in such a short time?

"Sy…" She felt the bag with the ice cream slip from her fingers. Her lips were parted and she felt like she couldn't breathe. Her eyes stung with tears.

"I got some information," he started speaking, setting something down on the table before walking over to her. "About the things that went wrong for you today."

She narrowed her eyes, confused, but it didn’t take her long to realize what he was talking about. Had Mephisto been following her? She had been distracted for most of the day, but not enough for her not to have noticed a black crow following her.

"I thought our date would be tomorrow," she said once the urge to cry had settled a little.

"I can leave if you want," he joked, closing the distance between them. She felt his arms wrap around her, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Maybe she had overreacted by canceling all her Valentine’s Day plans because of how badly her day had gone. But that afternoon, when she had sat on the couch, replaying everything that had gone wrong, she had felt awful—too drained to even get up and get ready.

"No." She shook her head quickly, her hand sliding up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair and tugging gently. "You didn’t have to do this," she murmured, feeling Sylus’ breath against her face.

"Stop saying that." He tightened his hold on her hips. He would do anything for her—he had told her that over and over again.

She rose onto her tiptoes, brushing her lips against his one last time before she couldn’t hold back any longer. Finally, she kissed him. The urge to cry rushed back for a few seconds. She had given up—had accepted that her first Valentine’s Day with her boyfriend was going to be a complete disaster.

But now she was here, in Sylus’ arms, feeling how perfectly his lips fit with hers. A gasp escaped from her lips when she felt Sylus start to move backward, making her follow. Her back hit the wall, but his hand was already there, stopping her from hurting herself.

When she finally pulled away from his lips, her breathing was slightly unsteady. She could barely see anything in the dimly lit room, the candles on the dining table casting a warm, romantic glow. When she first met Sylus, it had been… an unconventional beginning. She never would have thought he was the type of person to prepare an entire dinner without her knowing, surprising her when she got home. A lot had changed since then, but she knew a different Sylus now.

"Come here. We can eat your ice cream after dinner."

She let out a little laugh, remembering the bag with over a liter of ice cream she had brought home, planning to eat it while crying over her ruined plans. She picked up the grocery bag that had slipped from her fingers, feeling Sylus intertwine his with hers as he guided her to the dining table.

She was still too dazed to say anything. She just let him pull out the chair for her, set the silverware, and… she was almost sure he had cooked everything himself, not just bought it from some restaurant. After all these years, she had learned to recognize the little details that made it clear when he was the one who had cooked.

The Sylus she had first met might never have done something like this—at least, that’s how he had seemed. But the Sylus she knew now? He would do anything for her.

[chwrrylace]

─── ❝ OH MY ANGEL ❞

SUMMARY ; After a long night, Jason finds comfort in his girlfriend’s love, reminding them both that their bond is unwavering.

JASON TODD x fem!reader.

CONTENT ; established relationship, domestic, fluffyyy asf

WORD COUNT ; 2k

A/N ; inspired by the song from Bertha Tillman

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 in the apartment. The kind of peace that came with the end of a long day, the soft hum of city lights filtering through the half-drawn curtains, and the faint sound of the television in the background. You sat on the couch, the warmth of the soft blanket you’d thrown over your lap pulling you into a comfortable daze.

Jason Todd’s boots echoed from the hallway as he made his way into the living room. You didn’t need to see him to know it was him. You could always tell by the way his steps were slightly heavier, the way the air around him always seemed to crackle with energy. You had spent so many evenings like this, together, waiting for him to come home after his patrols. Even though the world outside was dangerous, filled with chaos and violence, when Jason was home, you felt safe. Safe, loved, and almost perfect.

His silhouette appeared in the doorway, and you glanced up from the book you’d been reading.

“You’re late,” you teased, trying to mask the concern in your voice. The worry was always there, no matter how many times you told yourself it wasn’t.

Jason let out a small sigh, but there was a softness in his expression that made your heart ache in all the right ways. He hung his leather jacket on the coat rack by the door, the familiar motion bringing a sense of normalcy that you appreciated. His eyes met yours as he walked over to you, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. He was exhausted, but you never saw it on him. He could fight off a small army, but when it came to you, there was a gentleness he never showed anyone else.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he dropped down beside you on the couch. He brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your skin in a way that made you shiver. “Got caught up with some things. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing that 'some things' always meant more than he was letting on. But you also knew there was no point in asking. Not now, not when he was so clearly trying to distance himself from whatever darkness had followed him home. You had learned early on that Jason was a man of few words when it came to his past.

The sound of his boots hitting the floor as he leaned back against the couch was a comfort, the weight of his presence like a shield that kept the world at bay. The silence between you both was never awkward. It was the kind of silence that only the closest people could share, where words weren’t always needed to understand each other.

“How was your day?” he asked softly, his voice a little hoarse. He stretched his arm out across the back of the couch and turned his head slightly to look at you.

You smiled at the question, feeling your worries ease just a little. “It was fine. Just the usual. Got some errands done, caught up on work. Nothing too exciting.”

Jason chuckled lightly, a sound you had come to love. You noticed the tired lines around his eyes, the faint bags that betrayed just how little sleep he’d had the night before. You reached over, placing your hand on his chest, your fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt. The contact grounded you, as it always did.

“Tell me you at least ate today,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away from your touch. “Of course, I ate. I’m not some kind of monster.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” you replied, giving him a mock-glare. “You’ve been known to go on patrol without food, you know.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t need food to take down bad guys. And besides, it’s not like you’re here to make me dinner every night.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a light sound that filled the room with warmth. “I make you dinner all the time, you just don’t always appreciate it.”

He hummed, clearly amused. “I appreciate everything you do, baby. You know that.”

You were grateful for his words. Jason didn’t often express his feelings, but when he did, they carried more weight than a thousand spoken declarations. In the silence that followed, you rested your head on his shoulder, your arm curling around his. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat was the only thing you needed to know that he was there, that the world outside wasn’t going to intrude on the peace you had found together.

The TV played softly in the background, the comforting glow of the screen lighting up your faces as you settled into the quiet rhythm of the evening. Jason’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a gesture that spoke louder than words. He wasn’t the most openly affectionate person, but with you, he was different.

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” he murmured after a few moments, breaking the comfortable silence. “I’ll take you out for dinner, just the two of us. No distractions.”

You didn’t need to reply, not with words. You tilted your head to kiss his cheek softly, the moment tender and full of a love that didn’t need to be said out loud to be felt. Jason, for all his rough edges, was still the man who would hold you close when the world outside seemed too much. He was the man who would come home, no matter how long it took, just to be with you. And that was enough.

The next morning, Jason was up before the sun, something that had become routine. You woke to find his side of the bed empty, the sheets cool to the touch. It was a small part of your life with him, the quiet mornings when he was already out of bed, already lost in his world, but you knew he’d be back soon.

You stretched, letting the soft morning light from the window warm your skin, and decided to make breakfast. It wasn’t much—just pancakes and coffee, but the familiarity of the task brought a sense of peace to your busy mind.

Jason returned just as the pancakes were nearly ready, his boots clicking against the wooden floor as he entered. His presence filled the small kitchen, a whirlwind of energy that made everything else seem smaller.

“Smells good,” he said, his eyes lighting up as he walked over to the stove.

“Figured I’d treat you to something that isn’t take-out,” you said with a smile, pushing the plate toward him. “Sit. You’re going to need the energy.”

Jason grinned, sitting down at the table and pulling you into the chair beside him. “I’m already energized by the sight of you,” he replied softly, his tone teasing but laced with sincerity.

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest at his words. Jason’s compliments, though rare, were always the kind that made you feel seen. They weren’t empty, weren’t said for any other reason than because he wanted you to know how much he appreciated you.

“I’m serious,” Jason added, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re my angel, after all.”

The words, though simple, sent a rush of affection through you. You reached for his hand across the table, your fingers twining with his.

“Always,” you said softly, your voice steady but full of emotion. “Always, Jason.���

And as you shared the meal, the laughter, and the quiet moments that followed, you knew that even though the world outside was dark and dangerous, the light you shared between you was enough to guide you both through it all.

Jason was your angel, and you were his.

© chwrrylace — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

[dulcescorderitas]

parings: dean winchester x reader

song: espresso by sabrina carpenter

warnings: 18+, smut

now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh

there's no goddamn way he’s sleeping. you know it because the phone’s already buzzing on the nightstand, screen lighting up with his name—dean. you sigh, knowing exactly what he wants, and when you pick up, his voice is low, rough, dripping with need. he never lasts more than a few days without this, without you. distance frays him at the edges, makes him restless.

is it that sweet? i guess so

"baby," he breathes, already wrecked. "you sleepin’?"

you chuckle, voice thick with exhaustion. "was about to."

"nah, you weren’t. you knew i was gonna call." his voice is a slow drag of heat, the same way his hands feel on your skin when he’s finally home, the same way his mouth lingers when he’s memorizing you all over again.

say you can't sleep, baby, i know

his voice is like warm whiskey over ice, like gravel under the tires of his impala, steady and rough. "can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you," he mutters, a groan slipping out like he’s already palming himself through his jeans. "wish i was home right now. wish i was fuckin’ buried in you."

that's that me espresso

heat blooms in your stomach at the way his voice tightens, the way he barely holds it together. "yeah?" you tease, already shifting under the sheets, already picturing his broad hands on your thighs, his mouth dragging over your skin. "tell me what you'd do."

move it up, down, left, right, oh

he lets out a shaky exhale, breath already ragged. "you know what i’d do. mouth on your neck, hands all over you—fuck, i’d take my time. make you feel so goddamn good." his voice drops lower, strained, as you hear the slick sound of him stroking himself, slow and teasing, like he’s savoring the ache. "wish I had my hands on you right now. wanna feel your tits, wanna taste every inch of you. bet you’re warm, soft—fuck, bet you’d feel so perfect wrapped around me."

he groans, deep and needy, and you swear you can hear his head tilting back against the pillow, his jaw tightening. "goddamn it, sweetheart. tell me you need it just as bad."

switch it up like nintendo

he’s always like this when he’s away too long—needy, relentless, like the distance between you is something he physically can’t stand. you’d laugh if it wasn’t so hot, if you didn’t know how wrecked he’d be when he finally got home.

say you can't sleep, baby, i know

his breath stutters through the line, and you can picture it perfectly—his head tilted back against some shitty motel pillow, body tense, fist wrapped tight around himself. "baby—shit—I’m close."

that's that me espresso

"good," you whisper, biting your lip. "wanna hear you fall apart for me."

too bad your ex don't do it for ya

when he finally gets home, it’s chaos. bags hit the floor, keys are forgotten, and his hands are on you before the door even shuts. he smells like road dust and leather, like gunpowder and whiskey, and it’s intoxicating.

walked in and dream-came-trued it for ya

you don’t even make it to the bedroom. dean’s got you pressed against the wall, mouth hot and demanding against yours, hands greedy and impatient. "been too fuckin’ long," he growls, voice thick with need. "gonna make up for every damn second."

soft skin and i perfumed it for ya

his fingers dig into your hips as he grinds against you, all heat and desperation. the solid wall against your back does nothing to cool the fire spreading through your veins as his mouth moves hot and open over your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp. his hands roam greedily, gripping, kneading, as if memorizing every inch of your body by touch alone.

"missed you so goddamn much," he mutters, voice barely holding steady. one hand slides between your thighs, pressing against your core through thin fabric, feeling the heat and wetness waiting for him. "need you. need all of you." his hips roll forward, grinding the hard length of him against you, and it's dizzying, the way he devours you, like he’s been starving for this, for you.

(yes) i know i mountain dew it for ya

you laugh, breathless, clinging to his shoulders. "then take me, winchester."

(yes) that morning coffee, brewed it for ya

the next few weeks, he hardly lets you out of his sight. anytime you move, he’s there—hands on your waist, mouth on your neck, pressing you into the mattress, the couch, the damn kitchen counter. he’s insatiable, but so are you, and every time he touches you, it’s like setting gasoline on fire.

(yes) one touch and i brand-newed it for ya

you tease him about it once, about how insatiable he is. he just grins, presses a kiss to your bare shoulder. "ain’t my fault," he murmurs, lazy and content. "you’re my goddamn addiction." and the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing keeping him together, you know it’s true.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume @starzify

[dandelionwishh]

Left Behind: Pt. 6

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader (Ft. Choso angst)

Summary: You waited for him. He never noticed. Is it too late?

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Love Triangle, Heartbreak, Choso regret, Gojo being possessive, Gojo being down bad for you.

PART1 PART2 PART3 PART4 PART5

You don’t know where you’re going at first. The weight of your conversation with Choso lingers in your chest, heavy and suffocating, but there’s only one person you want to see.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, leading you through the quiet halls of Jujutsu High, past the dorms, past the training grounds, until you find yourself standing in front of the one place you know he’ll be.

You don’t even knock.

You push the door open, breath uneven, heart hammering against your chest, and there he is. 

Gojo is sprawled on his couch, one arm thrown over his head, blindfold pushed up to reveal tired but alert eyes. He glances at you, and in an instant, the teasing remark on his lips dies.

He sits up slowly, scanning your face like he’s trying to read between the lines of a story you haven’t told yet. You inhale sharply, your throat tightening.

 “I ended things with Choso.” Gojo doesn’t speak right away.

His expression doesn’t change, but something in the air shifts. The playful arrogance he wears like armor is nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s something quieter, something raw lurking beneath the surface.

“I thought I wanted to fix it,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I wanted to go back to the way things were.” You shake your head, exhaling sharply.

“But all I could think about was you.” The words taste like truth, like something inevitable, something that’s been waiting to be spoken into existence.

Gojo exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well,” he says, voice lighter than the intensity in his eyes. “It’s about time you caught up.” You let out a weak laugh, something close to relief. “You knew?” He smirks, but it’s softer than usual.

“Sweetheart, I’ve known for a while.” The distance between you is too much. You close the space, moving toward him before you can second-guess yourself, before the last remnants of doubt can creep in.

He watches you with careful patience, letting you take the lead, letting you decide. And then, finally, finally, you reach for him. His hands are on you in an instant—gentle but firm, fingers pressing into your waist, grounding you. His breath is warm against your skin as he tilts his head, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Say it,” he murmurs. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “I want you.”

 A sharp inhale. A beat of silence.

Then, Gojo crashes into you, lips meeting yours with a desperation that leaves no room for hesitation.

His kiss is everything—hot, deep, consuming, like he’s been holding back for too long, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t claim you now. But you’re not slipping away. You’re right here, and you’re not going anywhere.

His hands roam, memorizing every inch of you, like he’s trying to make up for lost time. When you break apart for air, he presses his forehead against yours, laughter slipping past his lips, breathless and exhilarated. “You’re mine now,” he says, voice low and possessive in a way that makes your stomach flip. You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I am.” And this time, you don’t look back.

The world feels different now. Lighter. Brighter. Days with Gojo are filled with warmth and laughter, the kind that makes you forget what it ever felt like to be waiting for someone to choose you.

Because with Gojo, there’s never a question. He’s all in—always has been, always will be. It’s in the way he pulls you into him when he thinks you’re too far.

In the way he brings you sweets without asking, lacing his fingers through yours as you walk through the city. In the way he looks at you like you’re his world And you are.

It’s been over a year since things ended with Choso, and you haven’t spoken since. Not because of bitterness, not because of anger, but because some wounds don’t need reopening.

You moved forward, and eventually, so did he. At least, that’s what you thought. Until one evening, when you run into him again.

The sun is setting, casting deep amber hues across the sky, and you’re making your way back home when you feel it—his presence. Heavy, lingering, just a few steps behind. You turn, and there he is. Choso looks the same but older in a way that has nothing to do with time.

He’s standing a short distance away, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. You don’t move. Neither does he. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence.

Then, softly—almost hesitantly—he says, “I wasn’t sure if I should say hello.” You inhale, exhale, steadying yourself before giving him a small nod. 

 “Hi, Choso.” His eyes flicker with something you can’t name. “You look good.”

So do you, you almost say. But that feels too familiar, too close to something you shouldn’t touch anymore. Instead, you just smile politely. “Thanks.” He hesitates, shifting slightly.

 “How have you been?” Happy. Loved. Home in a way you never were with him. But you settle for, “I’ve been good.” Choso studies you carefully, like he’s trying to piece together all the time he missed. And then, cautiously, he says, “I’ve missed you.”

Your chest tightens—not with longing, not with regret, but with the weight of the past pressing against the present. Because for a brief second, you remember how much you loved him. You remember waiting, hoping, hurting. You remember all the ways he didn’t choose you when it mattered most.

But then, before you can respond, another voice cuts through the air—a voice that belongs to the one person who has never made you feel like an afterthought. “Sorry, buddy,” 

Gojo’s voice is lighthearted, but the edge beneath it is unmistakable. “She’s a little busy being in love with me.”

You turn just as Gojo approaches, casual but deliberate. His arm slides around your waist with practiced ease, fingers pressing against your hip like he’s reminding both you and Choso exactly where you belong.

Choso’s expression doesn’t change, but his posture stiffens. “Gojo.” Gojo grins, tilting his head. “Miss me?” You sigh. “Satoru.” Gojo ignores you, his attention still on Choso. He doesn’t need to ask why he’s here. He already knows.

For a long moment, Choso doesn’t speak. Then, quietly, he says, “I just wanted to see her.” Gojo hums, pretending to consider it. “Yeah, see, I get that. She’s very pretty.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple, voice dropping just slightly. “She’s also taken.”

Something flickers in Choso’s eyes—something resigned. Like maybe, for the first time, he understands that you’re not coming back. 

And then, as if the universe itself wants to make sure there’s no room left for doubt, Gojo pulls something from his pocket—a small, velvet box—and flips it open. A ring.

Your breath catches. Your world tilts.

 “Satoru—”

“Shh,” Gojo teases, grinning even as his hands are slightly unsteady.

“I had a whole speech planned, but I think we all know what I’m gonna say.” He kneels, gaze locked onto yours, something soft and certain and entirely Gojo. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” His voice is steady, without hesitation. “And I want to spend the rest of my life loving you.”

Tears prick at your eyes. You cover your mouth with your hands, laughing, crying, breaking all at once. And then you nod—because of course, of course, of course.

Gojo grins, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into him, his arms wrapping around you with the kind of certainty you once begged for.

When you finally look back, Choso is gone. But this time, you don’t watch him leave.

[batboysanonymous]

Tastes Like Fate

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Cassian has spent years convincing himself that Y/N only sees him as a friend, ignoring the way his soul ignites in her presence, the way his every thought is consumed by her. But Y/N has always known—always felt—the weight of his unspoken desires, and tonight, she’s ready to show him just how deep her love runs.

Based on the song: LUNCH by Billie Eilish

───────────────────────────────

"I could eat that girl for lunch Yeah, she dances on my tongue Tastes like she might be the one And I could never get enough"

Cassian had always been drawn to her. It was a pull so visceral, so inescapable, that he had long stopped trying to deny it. But she—Y/N—was untouchable. Not because she was fragile or beyond his reach, but because he was certain she didn’t see him that way.

She laughed at his jokes, trained beside him, leaned into him when the world got too heavy, but it was never more than that. It couldn’t be. Because if it was, if he let himself believe that she felt even a fraction of what he did, it would destroy him if he was wrong.

So he kept his distance. Not physically—he could never actually stay away—but emotionally, he built walls, ones he was certain she couldn’t see past.

But Y/N had always been better at seeing through Cassian than anyone else.

And tonight, she was done waiting for him to realize it.

"I don't wanna break it, just want it to bend Do you know how to bend?"

The Illyrian warlord was painfully oblivious.

Y/N had known for years—years—that Cassian wanted her. Maybe he thought he hid it well, maybe he had convinced himself that his longing stares, the way his hands lingered when they touched, the protective way he claimed her without words, went unnoticed.

But Y/N saw everything. She felt everything.

She saw it in the way he always brought her gifts, small and meaningless to anyone else but tailored perfectly to her. She saw it in the way his jaw clenched when another male got too close, in the way his wings flared whenever she walked into a room.

But more than anything, she saw it in the way he didn't act on it.

Cassian was a creature of instinct, a male who took what he wanted, fought for what he wanted. And yet, with her, he hesitated.

Maybe he thought she didn’t want him. Maybe he was too afraid of ruining whatever this was between them.

But she was tired of waiting for him to figure it out.

So when she received the message—she didn’t hesitate.

"So now, she's comin' up the stairs So I'm pullin' up a chair And I'm puttin' up my hair"

Cassian heard her before he saw her. The soft, sure steps echoing against the stone floors of the House of Wind.

He hadn’t expected her to come. Not really. He had sent the message in a moment of weakness, a slip in his otherwise iron grip on his emotions.

And yet, here she was.

Y/N stepped into his room like she belonged there, her expression unreadable, but her eyes—her eyes—burned with something he couldn’t decipher.

"Where is it?" she asked, and Cassian swallowed hard.

He gestured to the small velvet box on the table. She crossed the room in three strides, picked it up, and flipped it open.

Her breath caught.

A simple silver ring sat nestled inside, its band shaped like Illyrian wings.

"You keep breaking your training bands," Cassian said gruffly. "Figured you could use something stronger. This one is reinforced with wards. It won’t snap under pressure."

Y/N said nothing, just turned the ring over in her hands. Then, slowly, she slid it onto her finger.

Perfect fit.

She looked up at him, her lips curving into something unreadable. "Cassian."

His name had never sounded like that before. Like a promise. Like a secret. Like she knew.

And then, before he could second-guess, before he could talk himself out of it—

She reached for him.

"Oh, oh-oh I could eat that girl for lunch Yeah, she dances on my tongue Tastes like she might be the one And I could never get enough"

Cassian had imagined this moment a thousand times.

But nothing—nothing—compared to the reality of Y/N’s lips on his.

She tasted like honeyed wine, like the sweetest sin, and he was already addicted. His hands found her waist, fingers digging into the soft curve of her hips, pulling her closer until there was nothing—nothing—between them.

Her nails scraped against the nape of his neck, a quiet moan slipping from her lips as he deepened the kiss.

Cassian growled, the sound low and possessive. His wings flared behind him, his entire body coiled with the need to claim, to mark, to make her his.

"You're mine," he rasped against her mouth. "Tell me you’re mine."

Y/N pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes dark with something feral.

"I've always been yours."

"She's takin' pictures in the mirror Oh my God, her skin's so clear Tell her, 'Bring that over here'"

Cassian couldn’t stop looking at her.

She was sprawled across his bed, his shirt hanging loose off her shoulder, her fingers tracing absent patterns across his chest.

It felt surreal. Like a dream.

Like if he blinked too hard, she’d vanish.

Y/N shifted, propping herself up on one elbow. "You know," she murmured, "for someone who’s spent years looking at me like I hung the stars, you took way too long to do something about it."

Cassian groaned. "Don’t remind me."

She grinned, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, his collarbone, the base of his throat.

His fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her chin up until she was forced to meet his eyes.

His voice was quiet, reverent. "Say it again."

Her lips curved.

"I love you, Cassian."

And just like that, he was lost.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

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[retiredteabag]

winter weight

synopsis: toji has gained some weight this winter - it seems you don’t mind

this is part two -> read about summer!toji here

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

It's said that "happy weight" is a very real thing in healthy relationships. Toji had always prided himself on being a big man, he worked out frequently and ate like a beast. But his physique has mostly remained the same impressive form. This winter, however, seemed to have changed that for the very first time.

Toji had noticed these past few days that he'd seemed to have put on a couple of pounds. His shirts were tighter now than they used to be, some of his sleeves seemed to almost cut off circulation, and with a quick feel of his stomach, it was clear that his body was... softening up.

He was not "insecure" per say, just- not in love with his newly added weight. He found himself pulling at the flesh of his stomach, not accustomed to the added fat and he barely walked around the house shirtless as of late.

You'd comment on this newfound modesty of his and he'd play it off as if he had been cold, but you know that your man couldn’t get cold, even in this winter weather.

One afternoon as you both lounged on the couch, you saw him pulling at the front of his T-shirt, flowing it out and away from his body. He didn't seem to be doing it intentionally, eyes focused on the television, but you certainly noticed.

That night he even went to bed with a shirt on which might just have been the very first time he's ever done that in his life.

You went to bed with this notion on your mind. The thing was... the man was totally irresistible to you, so you couldn't quite understand if he was suddenly worrying about his figure.

Toji always awoke before you did in the mornings. When you heard him in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, you stumbled out of bed and came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his form.

Toji is a big guy, he always has been. Only now you notice, when holding the man’s torso, your two arms barely reach around to the mans abs now…

You hum as you feel him up, and he doesn't push you away. Once upon a time you would have tried to tickle his sides, but having been around Toji for awhile now, you know he's not the ticklish type. Even so, your cold hands dance under his shirt and grope at him.

"Too early, ya know." You murmur into his broad back. "Won'tcha come back to bed."

"Get yer paws off me" he jitters, "you're freezing." He turns around to look at you now, facing downwards to meet your tired pout.

"Come warm up with me then." You finish speaking. Smooshing your cheeks into his back muscles and opening your mouth to press up against him and breathe a lung full of hot air through his shirt. While the warmth meets his spine you roll your hands back to his pudgy tummy, his happy trail…

"Alright, alright." He grabs the back of your neck and walks you back to bed. When you're just about within throwing distance, he grabs you by the sides of your chest and tosses you onto the mattress.

In the following moments you curl yourself upon him, your body splayed above his. Giggling, you can't help your wandering hands. He's so warm, you know?

He grabs at your wrist though, "Enough, don't fondle me." His eyes are teasing but you wonder if he's starting to feel unhappy with his body.

"Can't help it, you’re so handsome, ya' know?"

You can feel his muscles tense below you at the confession. He runs a hand through his hair and avoids your eyes. "Thats a bad argument."

You just hum and squish your arms under his back, molding your body to his.

Suddenly he speaks up, "I wouldn't work out as much if I knew you still liked me all fluffy". You hear an annoyed tint in his tone and move up to look at him.

"I like you in all your forms, Toji." And you mean it.

"Ugh." He rolls his eyes at your words and pulls your hands away.

"Don't move me, you're so hot." You tug your wrists in his grasp.

His eyebrows raise

He holds your gaze for a long while, and lifting a brow he slowly speaks, "Get another blanket then."

You stare at him, smiling. "No." You smoosh your face to his chest, "I wanna crawl under your skin... and eat your flesh..."

Toji knew what was coming, he gently pressed on your forehead before you could latch your jaw around his bicep.

"Don't. Even. Think about it." He holds in a giant grin.

"You're too chewable. C'mon..... comeoneeeee." You smirk at him, his palm still flush to your skull.

There's a pause, and just as you think he's gonna give in, he maintains pressure, running his hands down your neck, onto your waist and traps your body under his by rolling on top of you. There are wails of descent from your crushed form beneath him, but he holds you there, wrists in his grasp.

"Lemme go Toji." You tug at your wrists.

"Thought you wanted me heating you up." He huffs into your neck.

"Yeah, but I deserve the privilege of caressing a little more." You flex your hands again.

"You gonna behave?" his fingers run over your palms.

"Not a chance."

He grins, releasing you. Quick as lightning, your hands are up and under his shirt, running over his back. He's groaning into the mattress, something about icy hands, but he's sporting a big grin, leaning down to take a tiny bite of your shoulder.

[thebarneschronicles]

Closer to Home

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: As you settle into your new role as the team’s “girl in the chair,” helping Sam and Bucky with their missions, you find yourself increasingly drawn to Bucky's intense presence. His brooding silence is matched only by his watchful eyes, and despite his gruff exterior, your kindness begins to chip away at his walls. When Bucky insists on walking you home one night, clyou chalk it up to his old-fashioned sense of duty and think nothing of it. But as the night unfolds, you realize there’s far more behind his actions than just good manners, and your growing feelings for him may not be as hidden as you think.

A/N: This was supposed to be something else ENTIRELY. But it just unravelled and here we are! Please, feel free to let me know your thoughts about it! B xx

Closer To Home Masterlist

--

Your relationship with Bucky hadn’t started with fireworks or dramatic confessions—it began like any other normal relationship: after drinks and a movie.

It was a quiet evening, the kind that felt heavier after long hours at your desk. You were finally wrapping up for the night, shrugging on your coat and slinging your purse over a shoulder. The clock had just ticked past 10 p.m., though it hardly felt late to you. Still, your shoulders sagged under the tension of the day—hours spent poring over intel, trying to uncover scraps of information that might help Sam and Bucky on their next mission.

“You shouldn’t be walking home alone.”

You looked up to find Bucky leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed. His voice was gruff but not unkind, his blue eyes shadowed but steady.

“It’s just a few blocks,” you replied, already bracing for the argument.

His jaw tightened—a subtle shift, but one you’d come to recognize as the start of his infamous stubborn streak. “Doesn’t matter. My ma would haunt me if I let you.”

That earned him a laugh. “Your 'ma' sounds like quite the character.”

“She was,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared as quickly as it came. “C’mon, grab your stuff. I’ll walk you.”

You didn’t argue further, mostly because you were too tired to win, and partly because there was something oddly comforting about his protectiveness, even if it came wrapped in brooding silences and sharp glances.

Being around Bucky had taken some getting used to. You knew about him, of course—who didn’t? But nothing had prepared you for the sheer intensity of James Buchanan Barnes up close. His unrelenting stares, his quiet presence that somehow filled a room, and the way he seemed to carry the weight of entire worlds on his shoulders.

When you’d first joined their team as the “girl in the chair” (a term Sam insisted on despite your repeated protests that you were, in fact, a woman), you hadn’t known what to expect. Your days as a research journalist had been left behind in favor of a role that felt more like a sidekick to two superheroes. Never the hero, always the support.

“It’s not nothing, though,” Sam had told you once, catching you mid-eye-roll during a particularly grueling debrief. “You’re saving lives too, y’know. Every name, every address you dig up? That’s someone else’s tomorrow you’re protecting.”

Still, the job came with its own toll: exhaustion, migraines, and a constant ache in your wrists from hours of typing. But it also came with a quiet sense of purpose—and Bucky’s occasional company.

At first, his silences had been intimidating, his brooding presence almost oppressive. But you met him with unwavering kindness—bringing him coffee when he looked like he needed it, or letting him retreat into your office to escape Sam’s chatter. Slowly, the silences grew shorter, and the stares softened into something more watchful.

Now, walking beside him under the soft glow of streetlights, the quiet felt less like distance and more like understanding.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “is this a one-time chivalry thing, or do I get an official escort service from now on?”

Bucky snorted. “You’re assuming I’m doing this for you.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, grinning. “Who else is benefitting from my safe arrival home?”

He glanced at you, a spark of humor flickering in his eyes. “Sam’ll never let me hear the end of it if something happens to you. Man loves his lectures.”

“Ah,” you said, mock-serious. “So I’m saving you from Sam’s wrath. Got it.”

He didn’t answer right away, but his pace slowed slightly, his hand brushing the base of your spine as you turned a corner, like he was directing towards home. “Maybe I just like making sure you’re okay,” he muttered.

Your heart stuttered at his words, a quiet ache blooming in your chest, but you didn’t dare press him further. Hope was a dangerous thing, a fragile spark that had burned you one too many times before. It was safer to tuck it away, to pretend his words meant nothing more than what he’d said—a simple gesture of kindness, nothing deeper.

You were friends, after all... right? Or at least, friendly. He was kind to you, yes, but Bucky Barnes was kind in a way that felt carefully measured, like a soldier fulfilling his duty. He was a gentleman through and through, the kind who’d been raised to believe it was his responsibility to make sure no lady faced the dangers of the night alone.

“His mah would’ve expected nothing less,” you thought wryly, your lips tugging into a faint smile.

He was a man out of time, after all. Decades removed from the era he was born into, yet somehow still anchored there, even now. You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rules he followed were the same ones ingrained into him all those years ago. And maybe, just maybe, it was easier to believe that than to let yourself hope he cared for any reason beyond habit or honor.

“Almost there,” he said, his voice breaking through your thoughts. His hand hovered near your elbow, steady and sure, as if ready to catch you should you stumble.

The steps to your door loomed far too quickly for your aching heart, bringing an abrupt end to your time with the brooding soldier. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if your body was reluctant to leave his quiet, steady presence.

You paused on the final step, its height almost eliminating the difference between you and Bucky. It gave you just enough courage to look up at him, your fingers nervously twisting around the strap of your purse.

���Thank you, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He dipped his head in a single nod, his icy blue eyes flickering down to meet yours. His expression, as always, was unreadable, cast in shadows under the dim streetlamp. “Anytime.”

The simplicity of his reply made your chest tighten. You nodded in return, swallowing hard as your heart hammered in your throat. Turning away from him, you fixed your gaze on your front door, willing yourself to move forward, to end the moment before it unraveled you completely.

Friends. That’s all this was. It had to be.

So why did it feel so wrong to turn your back on him? Why did it feel like you were forcing yourself to betray something deeper, something unspoken, simply by walking away?

Your hand was on the doorknob before you realized you’d stopped moving, the quiet war between your heart and your mind reaching a fever pitch. You squeezed your eyes shut, battling the urge that rose in you like a wave.

Don’t do it. Just go inside. Let him leave.

But the battle was already lost. Before you could stop yourself—before logic could wrestle control away from the reckless beating of your heart—you turned. Your feet moved without permission, carrying you back down the steps toward him.

It wasn’t a decision so much as a pull, steady and undeniable, the words slipping from your lips as if carried on a tide of longing you couldn’t resist.

“Would you like to come up for a drink?”

The words tumbled out unbidden, your voice trembling just enough to betray how desperately you wanted him to say yes.

His reaction couldn’t have been more Bucky if he tried. His eyes shifted, and you swore you could see every emotion flash through them—surprise, hesitation, something a lot like longing—before they settled back into the stoic mask he always wore. Quiet. Unimpressed. Broody. And yet…

“I wouldn’t mind a beer.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, shaky with relief, and you motioned toward your door. “Well, come on then. I’ve got a six-pack that’s been waiting for some company.”

His presence filled the small apartment in a way that made your breath catch, the air somehow heavier, more electric. How many times had your silly, stubborn heart conjured up this exact scenario? Late at night, Bucky standing just inside your door, peeling off his worn leather jacket and tugging off the gloves that shielded both metal and flesh. Then, as if he’d done it a thousand times, he’d settle into a corner of your couch, legs spread, shoulders sinking back into the soft fabric like he belonged there.

“There's Heineken, Bud, and Corona,” you said, your voice only slightly betraying your nerves as you toed off your shoes and dropped your keys and purse by the door. “I think I might even have some whiskey stashed away somewhere. What’s your poison?”

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze trailing lazily around the room before settling back on you. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

Your stomach flipped, and you nodded, biting back the grin threatening to stretch across your face. “Sure thing,” you said casually, though you were certain the flush creeping up your neck gave you away.

You turned toward the kitchen, your heart doing an embarrassing little leap as you busied yourself rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. The clink of bottles felt absurdly loud in the quiet apartment, every moment stretching with the weight of his presence just beyond your line of sight.

“Nice place,” he called from the living room, his tone casual but laced with something warmer.

“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing two beers and popping the caps off with practiced ease. “I’d say make yourself at home, but it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”

When you re-entered the room, there he was—exactly as you’d imagined so many times before. His jacket was draped over the back of the couch, his gloves neatly set beside it, and Bucky himself sprawled out comfortably. His metal hand rested casually on his knee, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes met yours.

“Here you go, Mr. Barnes,” you said, forcing a steady smile as you handed him the green bottle.

“To your first visit,” you began, raising your own bottle in a toast. You couldn’t help the way your gaze lingered, taking in the sight of his broad frame on your couch, the casual way he sat, the sheer presence of him filling the space. Warmth pooled low in your belly, and before you could stop yourself, you added, “May it be the first of many.”

His smirk deepened at that, a flicker of amusement flashing across his features. He raised his bottle silently, going for a sip—but you stopped him, your hand darting out to rest on his.

“Wait!” you blurted, your palm lightly pressing against his larger one.

His frown was slight, his gaze shifting between your hands before settling on your face. “Why?”

“You have to look at me when we cheers,” you explained, your voice a little breathless, a little unsure of what you were doing but too far in to back out now.

His brow arched. “And why’s that?”

“Bad luck if you don’t. Years of it.” You shrugged, suddenly feeling the ridiculousness of your own words but refusing to back down. “I mean, I can’t even count how many years... Probably best not to risk it.”

For a second, you thought he might argue. But then he chuckled, a soft sound that sent a flutter straight to your chest. “God knows I’ve had enough of that already, haven’t I?”

You giggled, your laughter bubbling out, light and carefree. The fact that he played along felt like a victory, a small but monumental crack in his stoic armor.

With a glint of something softer in his eyes, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze locking with yours. “Alright, doll,” he said, his voice quieter now, warmer. “Let’s do it properly.”

Eyes steady on yours, he clinked his bottle against yours, the sound sharp and satisfying in the quiet room. And then, he didn’t look away—not for a second—as he took a slow sip.

You followed suit, the contact between your eyes and his making your heart race so fast you thought it might burst. The heat in his gaze was steady, grounding, and yet it sent a thrilling, electric charge through you that made your knees nearly buckle.

“Better?” he asked, his voice low, the faintest curve to his lips as he lowered his bottle.

“Much,” you replied, somehow managing to keep your voice steady, even as your pulse thundered in your ears.

The air between you seemed to shift then, heavier but no less comforting—a new tension that simmered beneath the surface. If Bucky noticed the way your gaze lingered on him, the way your breath hitched every time his hand grazed your knee as he reached for another beer, he never said a thing.

He was the perfect gentleman, as always. Even when you slid closer on the couch, settling beside him on the plush cushions - even though there were a whole three other seats available to you. Even when you turned toward him, resting your head on your palm, your eyes tracing the strong lines of his face while you rambled about the mission reports piling up on your desk. He didn’t even glance at your neckline when you leaned over him to grab the remote, though you couldn’t help but steal a quiet inhale of his scent—clean, warm, unmistakably him.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the quiet. “I feel like I’m torturing you by making you listen to all this. Do you feel like watching something?” Your tone was cheery, light, but your heart raced at the thought of sharing something as simple and intimate as watching a film together.

With your eyes fixed on the TV, you missed the brief hesitation in his expression—the flicker of doubt that crossed his face and quickly vanished. Yet, neither the guilt, the fear, nor the pain that lingered in his soul seemed strong enough to stop him from embracing what you offered so openly: a chance to simply be. For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky seemed just a little less burdened by the shadows of his past, a ghost of his old self and a lot of his new one urging him to give in.

“What’s on Netflix?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

Your head whipped around so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “How do you know what Netflix is?”

His lips quirked into a rare, genuinely amused smile, the kind that made your stomach flip. “I’m old, but I’m not that old, doll.”

“You’re 106,” you shot back, arching a brow.

“And yet, I still know what streaming is,” he countered, the smile growing. “I’m not living under a rock.”

“Well, I am impressed, Mr. Barnes,” you teased, settling back into the cushions. “What else do you know about modern technology? Please tell me you’ve at least heard of TikTok.”

His expression shifted into something closer to a scowl, but the playful glint in his eye betrayed him. “I know about TikTok,” he said, sounding almost offended. “And dating apps. God, the horrors,” he added, shaking his head dramatically as he glanced at his phone like it was some sort of ancient relic.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound warm and genuine, filling the cozy space between you. But beneath the humor, your stomach twisted with an unexpected knot. Dating apps?

“What about dating apps?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the curiosity in your voice was hard to hide.

Bucky groaned, slouching deeper into the couch as though the thought of them physically pained him. “I don’t know, doll. They just seem... unnatural. All these profiles and swiping left or right, like you’re picking a product instead of a person. Not my thing.” His voice held a certain distaste, and the casual way he said it made you wonder if he was speaking from experience—or just his own strong sense of principle.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the questions bubbling up inside you. Had he ever used them? Was he speaking from personal experience, or just from watching the chaos unfold around him? Your thoughts shifted uncomfortably, and you tried to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

“I get it,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s... kind of weird, honestly. It’s like shopping for a date, but with less... quality control.” You shot him a teasing grin, but the tightness in your chest was hard to ignore.

Bucky chuckled, the sound a low rumble that was soothing, even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Exactly. I mean, if I’m gonna meet someone, I’d rather it be... I don’t know, real? Not behind a screen.”

For some reason, his comment made your heart stumble, a traitorous beat skipping out of rhythm. You quickly dropped your gaze to your beer, hoping the reaction wasn’t written all over your face. Was he hinting that he preferred real, in-person connections? That he’d rather... meet someone like that?

You cleared your throat, feigning casual interest to mask the swarm of uncertainty rising inside. “So, how would you go about it? Finding a date, I mean. Is Sam your wingman?”

Bucky nearly choked on his beer, shaking his head vehemently. “God, no! Can you imagine? He’s too busy being Captain America to care about my love life... except when he’s accusing me of flirting with his sister.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, and your chest tightened with something sharp and unwelcome. Jealousy. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to chase it away. “I didn’t know you liked Sarah,” you said, and to your horror, the disappointment in your voice was impossible to hide.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the shift in your tone. “She’s great,” he said with a thoughtful nod. Then his lips curved knowingly. “But not like that.”

The heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks was impossible to ignore, and Bucky’s sly grin told you he’d noticed. Your relief collided with your curiosity, the two tangling into a dangerous need to know more. “Oh,” you started hesitantly. “So... if not her, then who?”

He took another sip of his beer, the pause deliberate. “Had one date with the waitress from that Asian place we always order from. It… didn’t go well.”

Your brows furrowed. “And you haven’t tried again since then?”

“Not really.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, the movement deceptively casual. “You know how it is these days—apps, algorithms, everyone judging you by a couple of photos and a bio. And who’s lining up to date a former assassin, huh? People know too much, too soon. Real connections don’t happen that way.”

The self-deprecating edge in his voice made your heart ache. You tilted your head, studying the way his vibranium fingers tapped lightly against the beer bottle. “Maybe,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the nervous thrum beneath your skin, “you’re looking in the wrong places.”

His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and searching. “Oh yeah?” he asked, voice low, almost daring. “And where do you think I should look?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his question, his attention. “Maybe a little closer to home,” you murmured, eyes resolutely fixed on the beer bottle in your own hands.

The silence that followed was electric, charged with unspoken possibilities that hung in the air like static. His gaze lingered on you, steady and intense, and you could feel it even without looking up. It made your pulse race in a way you didn’t dare acknowledge.

The truth was, you weren’t sure if you were just caught up in the moment—or if there was something more lingering in his words, in the way he was looking at you now.

You wanted to ask. The question burned on the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken. But a part of you hesitated, afraid of the answer. What if this was nothing more than friendly banter? What if pushing further shattered the comfortable connection you’d built?

“Closer to home, huh?” Bucky’s voice was a low rumble, breaking the silence but not the tension. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, and for a moment, it felt like he was closing the space between you. “And what does that mean, exactly? You got someone in mind for me, doll?”

There it was—that nickname. The one you pretended to hate but secretly adored. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the corner of your mouth twitch, betraying the smile you tried to suppress. His voice was so close it warmed you from head to toe. “I’m just saying,” you replied, forcing your tone to stay neutral, “maybe you’re overthinking it. Sometimes the best things are right in front of you.”

His lips quirked, his expression softening as if he’d caught onto something unsaid. “You think so?” Bucky asked, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

You dared to turn your head and glance at him, and the way his blue eyes locked onto yours stole whatever breath you had left. “Yeah,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I know so.”

The moment stretched between you, fragile and heavy with unspoken words. You swore he was leaning closer, his gaze flickering briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. And suddenly, the question burning in your chest felt inevitable.

“Bucky…” you began, voice trembling slightly, unsure of what you were about to say—or what he might say back.

“Yeah, doll?” Bucky’s voice was gentle, a thread of warmth in the charged air between you.

You hesitated, but the weight of your emotions was too much to carry any longer. “Is this a date?” you finally blurted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

For a moment, his expression didn’t change, and then he shook his head slowly. “It’s not,” he said, his voice steady but quiet.

Your chest tightened, and the disappointment hit hard, like a blow you hadn’t braced for. You tried to mask it, but your face betrayed you, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the rejection. The ache in your heart grew with every second of silence that followed, the room feeling colder with each passing beat.

What you missed was the storm raging behind his steel-blue eyes—the internal battle he fought against his demons, the ones that screamed he wasn’t good enough for you. Wasn’t good enough for anyone. He’d carried those ghosts for too long to ignore them now. But he wasn’t blind.

He’d noticed the way your smile softened when it was meant for him, brighter and warmer than it ever was for anyone else. He’d seen how you fretted over him after missions, your hands fluttering with concern even at the smallest scratch on his skin. And he’d felt the hope radiating from you tonight when you’d invited him over, your words laced with a vulnerability you rarely showed.

Bucky knew. He’d known for a while. And that knowledge both terrified and thrilled him. Love, in any form, was fragile—he’d learned that the hard way. But tonight, sitting here with you, he realized he couldn’t keep running from the possibility of it.

He wanted you. Your laughter, your kindness, your stubbornness, your touch. He craved all of it. And maybe he didn’t deserve it, but for once in his long life, he wanted to try.

Bucky set his beer down, his movements deliberate, and leaned closer. His flesh hand brushed against the back of your arm and the touch sent a shiver up your arm. 

“It’s not a date,” he repeated, voice low but filled with a quiet resolve that made your breath catch, hurt twisting at your heart.

Your brow furrowed, the downturn of your lips impossible to hide. “Heard you the first time…”

“This isn’t a date,” he pressed on. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, he added, “But it could be.”

Your heart skipped, his words hanging in the air like a lifeline. “Bucky…”

Cutting through your hesitation, his gaze locked onto yours, unflinching, steady. “If you want this… if you want me, I’m yours. I want to try.”

The vulnerability in his voice left you breathless, stealing any coherent thought you might have had. For the first time in what felt like forever, hope blossomed in your chest, warm and radiant. You didn’t hesitate this time, your lips curving into a soft, trembling smile.

“Is this because you’re afraid of the apps?” you teased, the quip breaking the intensity just enough for you to breathe. But your voice wavered slightly, and your eyes glistened with the tears threatening to spill. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal your virtue?”

Bucky chuckled, low and genuine, the sound sending warmth curling in your chest. “I’m not a damsel in distress, doll,” he said, his tone playful as his fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The simple touch sent shivers down your spine, and you leaned into it instinctively.

“And you’re also not the big bad wolf you think you are,” you countered softly, your voice tinged with both affection and defiance.

“Well, technically…” His lips quirked into a lopsided grin. “I am the White Wolf.”

You rolled your eyes, the tension breaking into something lighter, something safe. “He jokes,” you said, shaking your head. “He could be kissing instead…”

His grin softened, and for a beat, he just looked at you, his hand still lingering near your face. Then, as if your words had given him permission, he leaned in, closing the space between you in a way that felt both inevitable and extraordinary.

“Guess I’ll take your advice for once, doll,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your lips.

The moment his lips touched yours, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. His kiss was gentle at first, a question rather than an assumption, as though he wanted to be sure this was what you truly wanted. His warm hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your cheekbone, while his vibranium hand rested lightly on your knee, grounding him in the moment.

You sighed into the kiss, your hand instinctively reaching up to thread through the short hair at the nape of his neck. The movement drew him closer, and he obliged, deepening the kiss with a soft groan that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips were soft yet firm, moving against yours in a way that spoke of patience and restrained hunger, like he was savoring every second of this moment.

His vibranium hand finally moved, finding your waist with surprising tenderness. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the heat of his other hand through the fabric of your shirt, but it pulled you to the reality of him—both the man he was and the one he’d fought so hard to become.

When you parted briefly for air, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths mingling with yours in the small space between you. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and brimming with emotions he didn’t have to say out loud.

“Doll…” he whispered, his voice rough and full of awe, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

But you weren’t done. You weren’t ready to let the moment slip away. Sliding your hand from his neck to his jaw, you tilted his face back toward yours, brushing your lips against his again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him. He responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as his mouth moved against yours with more certainty, more passion.

The kiss deepened, growing warmer, more insistent. Your bodies angled closer together, his presence consuming your senses. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong, and the faint rasp of his stubble as it brushed against your skin only made the experience more intoxicating.

You weren’t sure how it happened—one moment you were pressed against the back of your couch, his hands and lips demanding your full attention, and the next, you were straddling his thighs. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your harsh breaths mingled, the taste of his tongue intoxicating and impossible to resist.

For all his claims of being a man out of his time, Bucky Barnes knew exactly how to touch a woman. His hands were a perfect dichotomy: one warm and strong, the other cool and unyielding, but both equally firm and commanding. His touch left no room for doubt or hesitation, responding to every unspoken plea you hadn’t yet found the words for.

And his kiss? God, his kiss. You could write sonnets about the way his lips moved against yours, the way his tongue teased and claimed you, coaxing a need from you that you hadn’t known you were capable of. None of your wildest fantasies could compare to the reality of him, his body pressed against yours, solid and capable. The things it could do—what it was doing, what it promised to do—set your whole body alight with yearning.

You kissed him harder, deeper, needier, your hips moving instinctively against his. His groan rumbled low in his chest, a sound that only made you crave him more. But just as your movements grew more desperate, his vibranium hand clamped firmly on your hips, halting your rhythm. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, gentle but insistent, forcing you to break the kiss.

“Doll…” His voice was rough, laced with a warning that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

You blinked at him, still dazed, heat crawling under your skin as you realized what you’d done. “Yes, I’m sorry, I know—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

His breaths came heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours as his steel-blue eyes bore into yours. The hunger there mirrored your own, and the restraint in his grip only made you want him more.

Your lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, your own need warring with the desire to break the tension. “Seems like I really am trying to steal your virtue, huh?” you joked, your voice light but shaky as you turned your head to press a soft kiss to his palm.

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through the hunger. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his hand slipping from your jaw to trail gently along your cheek, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips.

Your free hand wrapped around his vibranium one, your thumb tracing the grooves of the metal. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with promise as you leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the charged silence stretching as his hands anchored you, holding you steady but never pushing. His restraint was palpable, and you knew without a doubt—if you wanted more, he would give it to you willingly. But only if you asked.

You wouldn’t, though. Not tonight.

Instead, you leaned in, brushing soft, sweet kisses against his lips, your movements unhurried and tender. Each kiss felt like a promise, an unspoken assurance that there was no rush, no need for anything more than this moment. It took superhuman strength—the kind he had—not to let it escalate.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling and your cheeks warm. His eyes searched yours, and the way he looked at you—like you were the most precious thing in the world—made your heart swell. His thumb grazed your cheek, his smile soft and genuine.

“How about that movie?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes betrayed a depth of emotion that made your breath catch.

You laughed, the sound breaking the last remnants of tension and filling the cozy space around you. “Alright, fine. Let’s find something to watch, then. Any preferences?”

“Anything but those baking shows Sam keeps trying to get me into,” he muttered, his lips quirking in faint exasperation.

A giggle bubbled out of you at the mental image of Sam dragging Bucky into a world of frosting, sprinkles, and delicate pastries. The idea was so absurd yet so perfectly Sam that you couldn’t help yourself. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips lingering just long enough to feel the faint rasp of stubble. “Deal. No baking shows.”

As the two of you settled back onto the couch, scrolling through movie options, the tension between you shifted again—this time, it was softer, lighter, wrapped in a warmth that felt safe and steady.

Bucky stretched his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers absently brushing against your shoulder as you leaned into him, your body naturally seeking his. And for the first time in a long time, you noticed something different about him. The shadows that usually haunted his expression seemed to have lifted, replaced by something quieter, something calmer.

Here, with you, Bucky wasn’t the broken soldier or the ex-assassin haunted by his past. He was just… himself. And in that moment, you realized that’s all you’d ever wanted him to be.

[celestemona]

⋆˙⟡ — FOUR TIMES MUALANI SUSPECTED SOMETHING WAS GOING ON (AND ONE TIME SHE WAS RIGHT)

pairing: kinich x reader

cw: no pronouns mentioned. ajaw is in a vacation. slight but not slight pda. mualani overreacting but she is a sweet. best friends trio. pyro vision reader mentioned. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Mualani knew Kinich and you were friends—close best friends, just like you two were with her—but lately, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. 

It started with little things, almost too subtle to be noticeable but somehow it didn’t escape from her perception. Things like how Kinich, ever the quiet guy, had begun lingering a little too long when he talked to you, or how you’d run all your way to the Scions of the Canopy's village just to welcome him back after a mission. 

At first, she didn’t pay too much attention thinking you guys were just being more affectionative and caring to each other. However, as time passed by, it has been shown to be more than a mutual friendly appreciation and certainly beyond a mere coincidence. 

I.

The first time Mualani noticed something different was in an early morning by the coast, watching the waves curl and crash. She often started her day stretching at the shore and riding the first waves of dawn. But this time, as she rounded a cliff, she spotted Kinich and you sitting on a rock overlooking the sea. The two of you were close enough that your arms brushed every time the wind picked up.

Kinich’s usual stern expression was softer than usual. Mualani squinted at you suspiciously. Were you... holding hands?

She jogged closer, but just as she got near enough to say something, Kinich quickly stood up, putting a considerable distance between you and himself. “You're up early,” he said, his voice in its usual calm.

You smiled warmly. “Hey girl! How are the waves? We were just discussing about it.”

Mualani tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “You were? Really?”

You let out a light and confusing laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course.”

She didn’t quite buy it, but you didn’t give her any reason to push further. “Well, the waves are good today! You guys joining?”

Kinich only gave her a polite headshaking, while you nodded smiling. Maybe she was imagining things.

II.

Except she wasn’t. 

A few days later, you were hanging out by Tequemecan Valley' canyons with Kinich standing quietly while you and Mualani chatted. However, every time she glanced toward him, Kinich seemed to be watching you a little too intently. It wasn’t the usual hunter’s focus; it was softer, caring, almost like... adoring.

The girl squinted, pretending to be interested in some flowers nearby while keeping an eye on you two. You didn’t seem to notice anything, or if did, you didn’t mind. You just kept talking, your laughter filling the air.

When Mualani caught Kinich staring again, she couldn’t help but ask, “Kinich, you okay? You’ve been zoning out all day.”

He blinked, his neutral mask slipping back into place. “I’m fine.”

“He’s just tired from all the training,” you teased, winking at him.

Mualani raised an eyebrow, astonished by the scene before her eyes. Something was definitely going on.

III.

The third time came on a day when Mualani was guiding a group of Sumeru’s travelers near the springs when she spotted you and Kinich again, standing by the water. As she approached, she saw Kinich leaning down to whisper something to you, his lips close to your ear. You giggled softly in response.

Wait a minute... Kinich never whispers to anyone. Much less in such an intimate way and even less to make someone laugh. Mualani's instincts flared up immediately. What was he saying? And why did you look so happy about it?

She cleared her throat loudly as she walked up. “Hey. What are you two whispering about?”

Kinich straightened up quickly, crossing his arms. “Nothing important.”

You smiled at her, but there was a glimmer in your eyes that made the girl even more suspicious. “Just a silly joke,” you said lightly.

A joke, huh? Mualani filed it away in her mind. This time she was very determined to figure out what was going on between you two.

IV.

It was late afternoon, and Mualani had just finished surfing when she saw you two by the waterside. Kinich and you stood close, so close as it has strangely been, and for a brief moment, she could have sworn Kinich was about to lean in and kiss you.

She froze, watching from a distance as you smiled up at him, your palm softly pushing his chest away. Were you two really about to kiss? It couldn’t be just her angle view. Could it be?

But just as quickly as it happened, Kinich stepped back, his usual stoic demeanor falling back into place. You turned and waved at her, your smile as bright as ever.

“Lani. Hey! How was the surf?” you called out.

Mualani, still in shock, shook her head. “Uh... good. Really good.”

She stared at you both for a moment longer, convinced she’d almost witnessed something, but there was no proof. Again.

V.

In the several days that followed, Mualani continued to witness that strangeness that kept repeating itself every time you thought she wasn’t around, creating a certain tension between her and you and Kinich—although she doubted that you had noticed any difference, treating her as you always did from the beginning.

Even if it relieved her to know that nothing had changed in your friendship, the surfer couldn't help but feel upset too. Was it that bad if she found out? Didn't you trust her the same way she trusted you? She wanted to be able to release all of her thoughts and ask you if maybe there was something in your bond that was bothering you. But she didn't. And so, things remained the same.

That was a quiet evening, and the moon hung low over the mountains. Mualani had been taking a stroll, enjoying the peaceful night, when she stumbled upon you.

This time, though, there was no mistaking it—Kinich and you stood together under some trees, locked in a slow, deep kiss.

The girl’s cheeks burned as red as the pyro vision you hold so dear closely, eyes widely opening and heart skipping a beat. She gasped, louder than she intended, and both of you quickly turned toward her. You blinked twice before smiling stiffly, even daring to look a bit embarrassed, while Kinich gave her a calm look, his hands still resting on your waist.

“You two!” She exclaimed shaking her head, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me earlier! I mean, I knew something was up, but really?”

You bit your lip while Kinich just blinked at her, slightly starting to look more guilty as well.

“We didn’t mean to keep it from you for long,” you said as you stepped out of Kinich’s arms and reached for her hand. “We were just... taking our time.”

Mualani arched an eyebrow. “Taking your time? You two were being so weird and annoying with all those suspicious interactions for weeks now! I’m supposed to be your best friend!”

Kinich rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. “We wanted to keep it quiet,” he said, his voice low. “At first, anyway.”

Mualani softened, her fake scold melting away into genuine affection. “Still, I would’ve loved to know sooner,” she said, her tone gentler now. “You know me better than anyone else. You know I would never judge you,” she sighed as she watches the sorrow on your face. “Nevertheless, I’m really happy for you both. Really am.”

You beamed and even Kinich’s usual stoic expression seemed to relax slightly.

Mualani continued, her voice full of warmth. “I’ve always known you two had something special. And now that I know for sure, you better believe I’m fully on board with this!” She shot Kinich a playful look. “Just make sure you treat (Y/N) right, okay?”

Kinich nodded, his eyes softening as he glanced at you. “I will.”

You squeezed Mualani’s hand, your eyes sparkling with gratitude and pure happiness. “Thank you, Lani. Your support means a lot to us.”

Mualani grinned, pulling you both into a tight hug. “Just don’t keep secrets from me again, alright? I’m always here for you two.”

You all laughed but shared a quick but sweet bond moment, the atmosphere light and easy. And somehow, Mualani couldn’t help but feel like everything had fallen into place just the way it was meant to.

“But just for your information. If the day comes of you get engaged and don’t tell me immediately, I’ll crash the proposal myself, make a huge scene, and tell everyone how long I’ve had to put up with your not so secret glances and not so subtle hand-holding. Trust me, it won’t be pretty!”

[xochosoxo]

husband!gojo ✮| headcannons

gojoxfem!reader

MDNI -> warnings: afab reader (but anyone can read yk), sfw&nsfw, arranged marriage, slight angst, comfort, pet names, flufflufffluff!, cunnilingus, gojo is pussy whipped, fingering, creamycreamycreamiest creampies, reader calls gojo daddy!, tummypushing

a/n: i had a dream abt this with some random guy and when i woke up i was so disappointed :(( LOL angwah heres some quick gojo headcannons bc i truly miss him and im so lonely.

husband!gojo who you married per each family’s request, making your marriage an arranged one.

husband!gojo who hated the idea of being tied down.

husband!gojo who couldnt wait for the ceremony to end, however when he watched you walk down the aisle, looking so innocent, he felt a tug at his heartstrings.

husband!gojo who didnt know what to do when on your honeymoon. he didnt know whether or not to interact with you or to keep his distance like he promised himself. he decides for the latter.

husband!gojo who enjoys coming to work everyday after his honeymoon because his cute little wife always delivers his lunch to him despite not asking you to.

husband!gojo who starts to soften even more when he sees that you wait for him to come home from work. youre usually sleeping on the couch. he gently scoops you up in his arms and takes you to bed.

husband!gojo who sees that you start getting tired of the routine after a while. making his lunches, waiting for him to come home late. you stop delivering his lunches personally, opting to just give it to him before he leaves in the morning. he doesnt see you when he comes home either.

husband!gojo who makes sure to wash up before slipping into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you . he missed you.

husband!gojo who feels you wake the next morning, obviously confused to see his arms around you. he sighs before bringing you closer to his chest.

husband!gojo who whispers apologies and sweet nothings in your ear as you settle yourself into him with suspicion.

he strokes your head as he says. “im sorry. i know you didnt want this marriage either. im sorry that youve been doing all this alone. i promise ill be here for you. just tell me what you need and i will do everything to help you. youve changed me y/n.”

you look at him, with creased eyebrows, obviously still not trusting him fully.

“ill give you time.” husband!gojo sighs as he lets go of you to get ready for work. you still make him lunch that day.

husband!gojo who comes home and doesnt see you on the couch. he understands that he needs to wait for your response but there is a small part of him that is wondering whether or not you have left.

husband!gojo who sighs in relief when he opens the door to your shared bedroom, seeing you all dolled up in a pretty pj set, sitting comfy on the bed.

husband!gojo who smiles when he sees your face brighten in delight. you walk up to him.

husband!gojo who is surprised when you wrap your arms around him and kiss him with your soft lips. he groans into the kiss, regretting the fact the he never kissed you after the wedding.

husband!gojo who melts to your touch as your bring him to the bed. you remove his jacket and tie as your straddle him, kissing him more harshly.

husband!gojo who makes sure youre okay with with what’s going to happen next. he kisses you again when you say yes.

husband!gojo who takes his sweet time with you. stripping you from your garments,leaving you bare infront of him. he sinks his long fingers into your sopping cunt, your head lolling back in pleasure.

husband!gojo who’s eyes roll back when he finally tastes you. youre addcitive. he laps up your juices, swirling his tongue on your clit. you cum twice on your husband’s tongue, his hands holding your legs apart so they wont close. his fingers continues to scissor you until youre screaming.

husband!gojo who fucks you in missionary position, making sure to watch your face as your react to the pleasure hes giving you.

husband!gojo who cums inside of you only to turn that cum into a creamy mess around your pussy as he pounds into you some more. he can feel his creampie dripping out of you and down his balls.

husband!gojo who enjoys how loud youve become. moaning obscenities and calling him daddy. he wants to fuck you till your dumb!

“fuck princess, youre so fucking messy. fuc—nghh..” he tries to speak but your pussy is squeezing him too well he can barely get words out.

“please daddy!! i need—aghh.. i need you! dont stopp—ahh…” you groan as you have your fourth orgasm of night.

husband!gojo who watches hearts form in your eyes when he cums inside of you for the final time. you can feel his warmth trickling into your womb.

husband!gojo who pulls out and watches his loads flood out of you. he presses on your stomach, watching as more cum gushes out of you.

husband!gojo who brings a warm towel to wipe up the cream around your sex. you moan as he does so, still recovering from all of your orgasms.

husband!gojo who wraps you up into his arms once again, praising you for how well you did.

“you did so good love..” he says stroking your back.

husband!gojo who reminds you that he has fallen in love with you and will do anything and everything in his power to make sure that you are comfortable in this marriage with him.

husband!gojo who knows the two of you will be okay when you peck him on the lips and tell him that you love him.

[beloveds-embrace]

Neglected omega reader who got taken care of by someone else. Nikolai or Konig. The drama ✨✨

I hope i did KorTac justice, I’ve never written them before except König lol @nightunite pspspsps i have nikto crumbs 🙏🏻

Neglected omega reader p1 + p2

KorTac had always liked you.

From the very first moment they’d met you, they’d been drawn in- pulled by the quiet gravity of your presence and the sharp edge of your competence. You were quick on your feet, sharp with a knife, steady under pressure. Smart and resourceful in a way that demanded respect.

But more than that?

You had heart.

You’d been assigned to their unit during a joint operation months ago. Just a temporary deployment, only meant to last a few weeks, but it had been long enough for them to notice things- little things they hadn’t been able to forget.

The way you’d patched König up without hesitation after a mission went sideways, hands steady even as blood slicked your fingers. The way you’d shared your rations with Horangi after a supply drop came in light, brushing off his protests with a stubborn glare. The way you’d sat quietly beside Nikto on watch, not asking questions when he didn’t feel like talking but always ready to listen when he did.

They noticed you, and they liked what they saw.

Liked the way you worked. Liked the way you took care of your team without ever expecting anything in return. Liked the way you carried yourself- confident but kind. Fierce but soft.

But you weren’t theirs. Couldn’t be.

You belonged to 141, and KorTac had backed off, unwilling to overstep boundaries when you already had a pack waiting for you at home. They’d told themselves it was fine- they were fine- watching from a distance.

But then you came back.

Alone.

Hollow-eyed and sharp-edged, moving like a ghost through the halls of the base, and suddenly?

All bets were off.

The first time König sees you in such a state, it’s in the corridor outside the mess hall.

You don’t look up when he walks by, don’t even seem to notice the sheer weight of his presence as he slows, lingering just long enough to let his shadow stretch over you. You’re leaning against the wall like you’re trying to hold yourself together, arms wrapped tight around your middle, shoulders curled inward. Small. Smaller than he’s ever seen you look before. Smaller than he’d ever thought he’d ever see you.

His instincts itch- Omega, alone, hurting- but you’re not his. And still…

His eyes track the tired slump of your shoulders, the way your clothes hang loose, like you’ve been skipping meals. He scents the air. Picks up the faded traces of peach and rose, but there’s something sour underneath- bitter and wrong, like spoiled fruit. König’s stomach twists.

It’s the scent of neglect.

You should never have looked like this. You should have never smelled like this.

Not you. Not the Omega who had once dragged him out of the line of fire without hesitation, barking orders and holding the line until reinforcements arrived. Not the Omega who had once laughed with him under a tin roof during a monsoon, eyes bright.

The smell lingers after he walks away, clinging to the back of his throat like smoke. But it’s the emptiness of it- the hollowness- that keeps him awake that night, staring at the ceiling and wondering which one of those 141 bastards let their Omega rot like this.

The next time König sees you, it’s in the armory.

You’re cataloging weapons, checking and re-checking the tags with mechanical precision, but your hands shake when you reach for the next one. Just a little. Just enough for him to notice.

König moves closer. Quiet, but not too quiet- he doesn’t want to startle you. You don’t look up until his shadow stretches over your workbench, and when you do, the look in your eyes hits him like a gut-punch.

Flat. Guarded. Resigned.

Like you’re expecting him to scold you.

König’s heart cracks wide open. He grips the edge of the table just to keep from reaching out.

“Doing good work.” He says softly, and you just blink.

It’s such a small thing- barely even a compliment- but your throat bobs like you’re swallowing something down. Then you duck your head and go back to your task, not looking at him again.

But you don’t flinch.

Not this time.

Nikto is next, and he doesn’t hesitate.

He remembers you. Remembers the way you’d stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the rain, eyes scanning the horizon with sharp focus as you both waited for the enemy to make their move.

You hadn’t been scared. Not even a little.

And now?

He catches you outside the rec room, sitting on the stairs with your knees drawn up to your chest. You don’t even react when he approaches, just keep staring at the floor like it might swallow you whole.

Now, you look like you’re drowning.

So Nikto doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t say anything. Just crouches down beside you and sets a cup of coffee at your feet before walking away.

You stare at it for almost five minutes before finally picking it up.

The next morning, he does it again. Same cup. Same coffee. Same wordless offering.

It becomes a routine- something quiet and steady, something you can rely on when everything else feels too heavy.

And then there’s Horangi, who pushes the hardest.

He pushes, because he knows you can take it.

You had before- back when you’d yelled at him for ignoring orders and running off alone, eyes blazing as you shoved him back toward the evac point. He’d liked your fire back then, liked the way you didn’t back down even when he towered over you.

But now?

Now your fire’s gone out, and there’s only one group to blame.

So Horangi pushes. Tests the waters, pokes at the edges, trying to find the spark he knows is still there. He is the loudest of the three, sharp and quick with his words, but he also knows when to keep them soft. He finds you cleaning your gear one night and sits down beside you without asking.

“You missed dinner.” He says casually, pulling out a protein bar and tossing it onto your lap. Pushing past the bubble you’ve wrapped around yourself, yet not being overbearing or too much.

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not your Alpha,” he says with a shrug. “You don’t have to listen to me.”

You close your mouth. Look down at the protein bar. Then, without a word, you tear it open and take a bite.

Horangi grins. And just like that, he’s in.

And when you finally- finally- smile at one of his jokes?

He knows he’s got you.

141 starts noticing the shift almost immediately. Soap catches König lingering near you in the gym, eyes following the curve of your spine as you stretch, and something inside him snaps.

Ghost sees Nikto brush his fingers against yours when he hands you something, and his jaw clenches so tight he can hear his teeth grind.

Price overhears Horangi making you laugh- a real, honest-to-God laugh, a sound he can’t hear any longer even in his dreams- and has to excuse himself before he says something he can’t take back.

It gets worse when your scent starts to change; the bitterness fades first, then the sourness.

The first time Price catches a hint of warmth blooming underneath, it stops him dead in his tracks.

Because it isn’t for him. It isn’t for them.

It’s even worse to know that they drove you to it, and have no one to blame but themselves.

They let you fall through the cracks. Let the weight of their own issues and distractions leave you stranded in the dark, too far away for them to pull you back when they finally noticed you were gone.

And now? Now KorTac is picking up the pieces, with no hesitation.

König steadies you. Makes sure you eat, makes sure you rest, makes sure you feel safe even when the world outside is crumbling. Doesn’t push you away when you, big hand lingering on the curve of your spine until his scent is left there.

Nikto grounds you. Offers quiet comfort without demands, without expectations. Makes sure you know he’s there, always there, steady and unshakable. A lighthouse in the stormy seas, the hand that pulls you out of the swirling ocean.

Horangi pushes and pushes. Draws out smiles and laughter, reminds you what it feels like to be wanted. Finds excuses to bump shoulders or brush against you when you pass, just to see if you’ll let him.

And you do. You let all of them, slowly greeting them with the quietest little purr (cat activation noise).

Because it’s easier to be wanted by them than it is to be unwanted by your own pack.

And slowly- so slowly it hurts- you start to come back to life; your scent changes. Softens. Warms. The bitterness fades and the sourness disappears.

And all they can do is only watch as König takes the space they abandoned. As Nikto feeds the hunger they ignored. As Horangi brings back the fire they let burn out.

And they can’t do a damn thing about it.

Because the truth is- KorTac wanted you from the start, and now that they’ve got you?

They’re never letting go.

[motomamita]

fugitive!könig × naive!farmer!reader

warnings: smut, +18, no condom, innocence kink, breeding kink, baby trapping, virginity loss, female reader, dub-con!!

fugitive!könig who managed to escape the law, after committing several crimes, and now travels throughout the country hiding his identity.

On one of his many trips he ends up arriving at a small town, almost lost in time, where its few inhabitants live off their animal farms and orchards. Apparently no one had televisions, and the few radios only broadcast music that was overshadowed by static. This ensured that no one there would be able to recognize him and gave him the opportunity to stay and rest for a few hours.

Tired of walking and extremely hungry, König sat down in a small cafe to have a drink. The people around him looked at him strangely, not only because they didn't know him but also because of his intimidating appearance. His back was broad, he had long legs, and the muscles in his arms were noticeable even though he was wearing a wind jacket that covered him. However, no one seemed to be bothered by his presence, the people there loved tourists and König seemed completely like one.

When it was time to pay, he noticed that he had ordered and consumed more than he could afford. He was about to offer some of his "camping" knives in exchange for the money he was missing until a figure approached him.

"Don't worry if you don't have the money to pay." you spoke with a sweet voice and doing everything possible so that Konig would not feel embarrassed. "I sell the fruits to the owner of the place so I'm sure I can reach an agreement with him."

König was fascinated by you. Not only because of your timely friendliness but also your very natural and almost unique appearance that was very difficult to find in other places. You were wearing a jean gardener, some comfortable shoes and you were carrying a basket that minutes ago was full of fruits and vegetables from your garden. König looked down, somewhat shy and not knowing how to react to you, the truth is that during his escape he had not met many friendly people.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you for anything in return." You smiled when you saw that no words came out of his mouth. "Here we greatly appreciate tourists and travelers, after all they are the ones who keep this small town from turning into a ghost town."

You invited König to take refuge in your small house for as long as he needed before leaving again for another place. König accepted, surprised at your remarkable naivety in letting a complete stranger into your house and providing him with all the care.

When he arrived, you showed him where the shower was and what his room would be where he could rest. You left a clean change of clothes on his bed and selflessly went off to make dinner. Once he cleaned, König followed the delicious smell and came to the kitchen where you were on your back stirring a large pot of what seemed to be a stew. You were so focused that you didn't notice the presence of the big man behind you. he thought about how easy it would be to cut your neck with one of those long knives you had there. But the idea quickly disappeared when you turned around and a wide smile formed on your face when you saw him.

That stew was the best he had tasted in a long time, so much so that he served himself 3 plates, leaving you totally pleased. The next morning, König didn't really know exactly what to do. He could stay one more night and wake up in the middle of the night to raid your entire home, even leave after having a trip with you. He was hesitant, and that hesitation turned into doubt when you offered to cut his hair and trim his long beard, which he accepted.

That same afternoon König sat down to drink a lemonade made by you while he watched you harvest super large, red strawberries from a distance. He fixed his gaze on the way your pants hugged your butt in a tempting way and how you hummed a melody quietly that he couldn't make out. A tingling appeared in König's tummy and he suddenly noticed an erection growing inside his pants. You looked so pretty, so innocent. It was obvious from afar that you didn't kill a fly and that your care for him was sincere.

The days passed and König seemed to have no intention of leaving, that didn't bother you at all. Now he helped you with the heavy work on the farm, carrying large amounts of hay on his shoulder and feeding the animals. His favorite activity was watching you milk the cows, fantasizing about your hands and the way the milk dripped from them.

His approaches to you intensified, taking advantage of the slightest opportunity to touch you or rub against you. he soon discovered that you had no idea about any sexual activity, acting confused at his double meaning words and insinuations. You were the perfect muse to fulfill all his fantasies without anyone being able to stop him.

Your parents had died a long time ago, leaving you alone in charge of the big farm and all the obligations of the adult world. That led König to think that life on that farm couldn't be bad. He knew how to handle hard work well and you did everything you could to teach him and please him. The idea of ​​starting from scratch, with you there, totally convinced him.

You were a healthy, hard-working woman and you needed someone like konig with you. But König needed to have something that would force you to keep him there with you, forever and that would confirm the mutual love that you both had to give each other. That's when he found the solution: he had to get you pregnant.

That afternoon he made a point that you wouldn't leave the stable until you were full of his cum. He started by complimenting your dress and how pretty that color looked on you. Then the caresses that increased in intensity until he managed to let you be carried away by him and his carnal desire. Now he had you under him, with your skirt up and your underwear hanging from one of your feet. Out of desperation, König only lowered his pants to his heels, even with his work boots on. You were on a large pile of hay, sweating from the great summer heat and moaning loudly.

His thrusts were brutal, making their way inside you that you barely had time to understand everything that was happening. The pleasure was so much that you could barely think about anything other than König's gaze and the way his balls slapped your ass.

"Oh, baby. You're so so tight.. And wet, shit" König groaned, sighing loudly at the pleasure your pussy was giving him. "Tell me, how did a cute little thing like you stay a virgin for so long, huh?" You opened your mouth to answer but only moans came out. "Uh? Talk to me, sweetheart, talk to me.."

"I.. I don't know.." you managed to say, overstimulated by everything. König's rough shirt rubbed against your clit, giving both pleasure and pain. König was so big that he covered you with his entire body, leaving you with almost no place to breathe air other than his breath.

"Uh? Don't you know? These farm boys are idiots... They wouldn't know how to please a pretty thing like you..." König cut off his sentence to get even closer to you and kiss you, putting his tongue inside your mouth. You tried to keep up with him but that triggered the kiss to be even wetter and hotter for him.

"König.. Give me more, please!" He smiled as he heard the urgency in your broken voice. You looked so pretty like that, almost not understanding what was happening but still pleased and eager for him to give you even more.

He, ready to please you, grabbed your legs and raised them to your shoulder, adopting a new position. His thrusts continued, his fat cock forcing its way into your no longer so virgin pussy and the simple sound of your skin slapping together made your warm walls embrace him. Not really knowing what to do, you brought your hands to König's big, muscular shoulders, feeling a few scars on them.

"Oh, my pretty little thing.. I'm going to fill you inside and you're going to be the prettiest mom in this whole damn town.." You dug your nails into his shoulder and your gaze was filled with confusion. "You like it, huh? You're going to make me so happy, isn't that what you want?"

You hesitated for a few seconds, not sure what he meant but his cock rammed even deeper into you leaving you almost without any thought. Tears formed in your eyes from the pleasure and absolute adoration with which he looked at you.

"Come on, mommy.. Make me happy, carry my precious baby.."

In the same way that König had managed to get his way in prison, he had gotten his way with you. Now you both lived together as a couple on the farm, happy and with a baby on the way inside your fertile womb.

[logansbaby]

GUILTY AS SIN | Logan Howlett

❥ summary: the entire time you’ve known logan howlett, you’ve tried to keep your distance, your longings locked. then, one night, all that effort goes to waste when you’re confronted by your feelings.

word count: 8.5k

pairings: logan howlett x fem!mutant reader

content warnings: 18+ CONTENT MDNI, masturbation, dirty thoughts, light choking, multiple orgasms, oral (f + m receiving), spitting, sixty-nine sex position, scent kink, like one spank, underwear stays on! tiny hint of arousal from crying? p in v sex, creampie

❥ a/n: this is a repost from my previous account! please enjoy anyway<3 also, going through this again made me realize once again, im a slut!!!!! this is absolutely filthy!!!! readers mutation is vague but her hair color changes to red with emotions and red light/energy she manifests in her hands! title and fic inspired by guilty as sin by taylor swift

— ⋆˚୨♡୧⋆｡˚⋆

THE SHEETS are chilled, crisp to the touch enough that shivers tickle their way across exposed skin as a figure tosses and turns in the unmade bed. The window had been left open, and as a result, cold air had poured into the room.

Despite the fact that goosebumps adorn your body, it feels as though you’re on fire. Huffs escape parted lips, a charged hum zipping through your veins that only intensify each time you shift. You’d been trying to sleep for the past couple hours, trying to ignore the need thrumming through you, but have only managed to fail.

You turn on your side for possibly the twentieth time, but the position only serves to worsen your state as the flesh of your thighs squeeze unintentionally, a wave of brief relief sent to your throbbing cunt. Tears brim your lashes and heat coils in your tummy and fuck, your body is humming with lust and everything was so, so sensitive.

This is all Logan’s fault.

The man has been gone less than a week and yet, your body is practically vibrating with need, trembling with desire.

The feelings you harbor make you feel shameful and guilty for a handful of reasons.

Logan is not your boyfriend, he’s not even a friend. While he’s cordial with the others in the mansion, he’s remained cold and indifferent towards you.

You pretend it never bothered you, when he pointedly ignored your greetings in passing or refused to partner up with you during a mission. You didn’t understand what you’d done to upset him, to warrant his treatment of you as though you were the most annoying person on the planet.

So, logically, your heart should not race at the mere thought of him. Nor should your cunt throb and soak your panties whenever images of his sweaty form cloud your mind.

Though, you’re only human and Logan fucking Howlett is a man worth embarrassing yourself over, especially when he looks like he does.

A memory comes forward, one that has your cheeks hot with desire, your chest rising a little faster than before.

A couple weeks ago, it was late and with the way sleep evaded you, you’d been wandering the halls, in hopes of tiring yourself out. Except, when you’d walked down one of the hallways, you froze at the sight of Logan shirtless in his room, the door left ajar.

A towel covered his head as he scrubbed away the wetness in his hair, and you desperately hoped he hadn’t noticed your presence. Water dribbled down his muscular body, and your eyes greedily watched each droplet descend down. What really had you drooling, however, was the thick, prominent vein on his stomach that crept down into the waistband of his gray sweatpants.

When you had barely caught yourself from releasing a moan, you dashed back to your room right away. You were wide awake still, but for a completely different reason. All you could think about was tracing your tongue along the vein. If you’d fucked yourself that night to the thought of him, no one had to know.

So, if you gave in to desire tonight, it wouldn’t be the first time, but it certainly wouldn’t make you feel any less guilty.

Waves of warmth dust your cheeks, lips bitten until they’re swollen and spit slicked. Your breasts ache from inside the confines of the pink, lacy shirt— each labored breath you inhale have perky nipples brushing the material, sending zips of pleasure down your spine. Your hole aches so badly to be filled, and it clenches around nothing as need slicks the gusset of your panties. Your clit, puffy and neglected, throbs with pure, sizzling lust.

Another wave of butterflies floundering in your belly from the memory of Logan’s hairy chest has you giving in— a shaky hand slipping from its place on your stomach down, down, down until cold fingers meet the mess between your thighs. A gasp sounds, fluttering around the room as you brush over your clit. Even through the material of your underwear, the slight pressure of your fingers has you mewling.

Flashes of Logan dance behind closed lids, your imagination running wild while you messily swirled over your clit. You want him so, so bad, in every way possible.

You’re plagued with thoughts of him; his pretty hazel eyes, the slope of his nose, the tufts of his brown hair— the muscles that are constantly on display, his thick thighs that you want to ride until you come all over him, and the huge bulge that is ever present in those flattering jeans of his (and if it was a reoccurring fantasy of yours to ride that delicious bulge over his jeans until you both come from just dry humping, again— no one had to know).

Him hovering over you, dog tags swinging in your face as he fucks you hard. Him picking you up and taking you against a wall, lips trapped in a messy, wet top lip kiss. Him prying your thighs open as he licks up your pussy, tongue dipping into your hole to lap up all the desire pooling, his lips wrapping around the swollen bud and sucking violently. Him holding your face lovingly as his hips thrust his cock deeper down your throat, groans spilling at the gag you’d let out.

You’re split between wanting to sink down onto his cock and rut your swollen nub against the curls nestled the base of him and stuffing his dick down your throat, swallowing around him until he comes and coats your throat with his spend.

You don’t even bother to remove the damp underwear, instead circling your clit over the material— and oh, fuck. The roughness of the lace mixed with the soft rubbing of your fingers has moans tumbling from parted, wet lips.

Your unoccupied hand slips under the tiny shirt covering your chest and only settles until a nipple is pinched between determined fingers, rolling the pert bud in tandem with the swirl of your other hand on your sex.

Ecstasy nearly envelopes you and if you were more coherent, you’d be embarrassed by how fast you’re about to reach your peak. But, as it is, your brain is completely preoccupied and the only thing on your mind is lessening the pressing desire that ebbs deep within you.

And fuck, you’re so fucking needy for Logan that you try to pretend it’s his fingers abusing your clit, his fingers tugging at the sensitive buds of your chest. You want his tongue between your thighs, licking up your desire and sucking your puffy clit into his pretty mouth. You crave the burn that would tickle your most sensitive area.

You’re suddenly overwhelmed, the fantasies swirling behind your closed eyes far too much—the mix of your filthy thoughts and your fingers rubbing your nub has your legs shaking as more wetness dampens your slit.

“Logan, Logan, Logan—“ the chant of his name falls from you, the feeling of your orgasm washing over you, threatening to pull you under the tall waves of pleasure.

With your eyes scrunched shut, ears ringing white noise, and hips humping your hand pathetically, you’re a writhing mess against the sheets.

Your hair scattered around your pillow shifts from its natural state to a dark, glimmering red. Even with your eyes shut, you can feel the vermillion light whirling at your fingertips, begging to be released. Even with years of practice, your mutation is not one of subtlety.

Searing bliss coils in your lower tummy, your button tingling with the after effects of the orgasm that had just slammed into you. You sigh, because even though you just came, you feel far from satisfied. Your body buzzes with sweltering hunger, all the way down to the tips of your toes. Even if you fuck yourself dizzy with another orgasm, you know it won’t satiate your body.

Before you can slip your fingers inside your wet hole, a loud knock echos through your room.

You still, hoping that if you ignore the noise, whoever it is knocking will simply go away. But when another rhythmic thump comes a few seconds later, you huff.

It’s well past midnight at this point, so who in their right mind would be going about and slamming their fists on your door?

Apparently, you haven’t moved fast enough when the person has the nerve to knock for a third time. A growl, tinged with annoyance, slips out as you fling yourself up and off the bed.

You stomp to the door, ready to tell the person on the other side to fuck off. But when you open the mahogany door, all the anger simmering beneath your heated skin disappears, along with your breath, as your eyes take in the sight before you.

Logan Howlett stands before you, seemingly angry as a frown etches deep on his face. He glares at you, hazel eyes swarming with something unknown.

No matter how many times the man has graced you with his glare, it makes you shiver each time as if it were the first.

And little do you know, all of your craziest, fatal fantasies are about to come true.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡.

The moment Logan steps into the Mansion, finally back from the shit show of a mission Charles had sent him on, he tenses immediately.

His fingers clench into fists, tight enough that the skin threatens to turn white. The adamantium claws nearly poke through his knuckles as he inhales.

That sweet, sweet scent swarms his heightened senses, the intoxicating smell swirling strong enough that his heart speeds up, his stomach flutters, and his cock twitches within the confines of his jeans.

Logan can fucking smell you, a heady aroma that’s so completely you, teases him and threatens to break the barrier he’s put up since he met you.

He shakes himself loose from the metaphorical hold you have on him, and begins the journey to his room, trying to block out how delicious you smell.

Except, as he gets closer to the hallway he shares with you, he feels his control slipping, especially as your smell grows stronger, though now it’s tinged with something else— something sensual, sugary, and addictive.

Logan curses— you’re aroused, your scent giving you away completely. The idea of you panting as your pussy drips slick between your thighs has him clenching his jaw hard, fingers flexing and unflexing in an attempt to harness control back.

Though, that goes completely out the door as his body leads him right outside your door, unconsciously drawn to the very essence of you.

There was a reason Logan has kept the carefully crafted distance between you. The minute he was introduced to you, a new member of the x-men and teacher for the school, he knew he was fucked.

From the first look shared between you, he knew.

A pretty smile had graced your lips, eyes filled with joy as you greeted him, a hand outstretched as your hair swayed with your movements. In your pretty, little outfit (a pink, lacy dress that kissed the tops of your thighs matched with baby pink pumps) he thought you looked like a princess.

He’d stayed frozen, however, because he was assaulted with the fucking smell of you. It was nothing like he’d encountered before, and he’d been around for over a century. Your scent was so fucking sweet, vanilla and honey permeating his nostrils and right then, he’d wondered if you tasted as sweet as you smelt.

He knew that he had to keep his distance, otherwise he’d become addicted to you in every sense. If he let himself, he’d worship the very ground you walked on. He couldn’t risk having the walls he’d spent so long building to crumble.

And suddenly, he was angry that his body had reacted this way to someone he’d never even met. He was angry he wanted to press sweet kisses on your face while also wanting to fuck you against the nearest surface until you screamed.

So, with that, he’d made up his mind.

He’d simply glared at you, refused to acknowledge your existence and stormed out of Charles’ office. Since that day, he’s tried his hardest to pretend you don’t exist— if only to ease the way you constantly haunt his thoughts.

He pretends it didn’t kill him to see how your face crumbles at his rude behavior, but he can’t help it. Because if he treated you how he wants, like the princess you are, he’d never let you go.

A sudden noise shakes him from the depths of his mind, the scent of you growing stronger by the second.

“Logan, Logan, Logan,” your honeyed voice whines, and right then, the telltale snikt! sounds immediately.

What the fuck? He thinks, his mind running a mile a minute at the revelation that not only are you seemingly fucking yourself, but you’re also moaning his name.

Logan growls lowly as his claws reveal themselves, cutting through the skin of his knuckles. His body feels unnaturally hot and his cock is now uncomfortably hard in his jeans, pre-cum bubbling at his tip and staining his boxers.

With the wafts of your pretty scent and sounds of your lithe whimpers, he knows he can’t resist you any longer.

His hand rises, claws retracting as his heavy fist slams on your door. He grows impatient and knocks again when there’s no movement, and just as he’s about to speak, the door swings open.

And the sight of you, face coated with a sheen of sweat and chest heaving, has him throbbing.

Tonight is the night his control finally snaps, despite months of work put into it.

Logan is going to fucking ruin you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡.

You gulp, a hand resting on the door frame as you stand frozen because honestly, what the fuck?

You deduce that the universe hates you because why would the man you’d been thinking of while fucking yourself be right in front of you?

It only dawns on you when Logan’s gaze swipes over your figure that you’re clad only in your pink, lacy top and the matching underwear, the latter wet with both your arousal and release.

You shrink beneath his eyes, heat simmering hot on the apples of your cheeks, and your mouth opens and closes but no words followed.

“Uh— Logan, hey!” Your voice is shaky, and whether it’s from the power of your release or the nerves that bumble within your veins at the man before you, you can’t tell. All you know is that you want the ground to swallow you up whole.

Logan doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at you in a way that you don’t understand. You assume he’s just gotten home from the very long mission, and you were confused as to why he’s at your door, especially considering how badly he despises you.

“I heard you.” His gruff tone is coated in something darker than you’ve ever heard before. For a moment, you’re lost, brows furrowing before your eyes go comically wide.

And— oh, oh.

“Can smell you, too.”

Heat licks at your whole body, embarrassment threatening to envelope you. Tears of horror tickle your lash line, because this is probably the most painful moment of your life. Not only does the man hate you, but now he’s heard you moan his name as you came all over your fingers? How pathetic are you?

You open your mouth, an apology heavy on your tongue. Though, before you can even speak a single word, Logan slams his mouth onto yours.

He holds your head softly, a deep contrast to the rough way his lips melt over yours. A moan slips from your open mouth, the feel of his lips sucking at your bottom lip intense and so, so good.

Your arms wrap around his neck, fingertips tangling themselves in the hair at his nape like you’ve wanted to do since the day you met him.

“Logan—“ you whimper against his mouth, trying and failing to understand what the fuck was happening as he slips his tongue inside your wet, warm mouth. “Logan.”

He ignores you, grunting against your spit, slicked lips as his hands travel down your curves, until they find purchase of your ass, gripping hard. A choked gasp falls from you as he suddenly pulls at you and picks you up effortlessly in his strong arms.

The idea of him picking you up with no hesitation has your hips moving forward without your control. Vaguely, you feel him move past the threshold of your door, slamming it shut before pressing your body up against the wood.

Logan switches between licking your tongue and sucking meanly at your lips, until they feel full and swollen with his attention. You’re pliant— almost willing to let him do anything he’d like to you.

Almost.

As good as his tongue feels dancing with yours, confusion still settles over your mind. Maybe this is a dream and if so, you never wanted to wake up.

“Wait—wait.” You pull back, the questions swirling inside too pressing to be ignored any longer.

“Huh, baby?” Logan groans, teeth pulling at your bottom lip before sucking the swelled skin into his mouth.

Babybabybabybabybaby— the pet name clouds your senses for a second, a rush of arousal pooling at your hole. You want to cry at how that simple word makes you feel.

“Stop that.” You mumble, pulling your head back and lips out of his reach.

Logan stares at you, unresponsive but waiting until you speak whatever is on your mind. Honestly, he wants his tongue to be buried deep in your cunt right about now, but details.

“What the fuck? What’s happening?” Breathless, the question settles between you, causing Logan’s brow to raise.

“Well, my tongue was just in your mouth—“ you slap his chest, face turning warm at his bluntness.

“Not that. I’m— why are you here? Why are you kissing me? Especially like that when you can’t stand me?” Your voice is quiet, insecurity tinged between the words. Nimble fingers grasp the dog tags that rest on his chest, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

At that, Logan’s face scrunches up, confusion floating about his irises.

“What are you talking about?” If it wasn’t for the genuine way he asked, you would’ve smacked his chest again at how clueless he was.

“What do you mean? You’ve made it very clear how you feel about me; you’ve despised my entire existence the moment we met!”

Frustration settles over you heavily, enough to snap you out of the lustful spell Logan has inflicted upon you. You slide down his body, ignoring the quiver of your cunt when you make contact with his jean clad bulge. You push at his chest, needing distance to ensure you actually get your words out and don’t end up back with his tongue down your throat.

“I don’t hate you.” Logan grunts, staring at you as you pace the wooden floors of the room. Vaguely, he’s listening, but he can’t be blamed for the way his eyes focus on the way your ass shifts with each step, the plush skin so inviting as the lace cups each cheek. “What’re you on about?”

You huff. Logan’s beginning to piss you off. The vague answers are getting on your nerves enough that you feel yourself snap.

Your hair suddenly turns bright red, a scarlet blossoming over the strands until they coat them completely. Your emotions could never be concealed, not with the way your hair turns different variations of red when you’re angry, furious, determined, aroused.

“You’ve been a dick to me, treating me like shit for no reason and now you think you can waltz in here and kiss me like that? You think you can pretend to want me when we both know that’s not true?”

Balls of fiery, red energy bloom upon your fingertips, and though you stand in your pretty pink assortment, you look the part of threatening.

Too bad the abrupt display of your mutation, mixed with fiery words, has Logan’s cock rock hard with want. He wants to have you ass up over his lap so he can watch the jiggle of each cheek as he spanks you.

“Sometimes, I question whether or not you’re actually a genius.”

And, oh. You feel the words like a punch to the gut. You’re so mad, so blinded by the intense emotions you feel for Logan, that those pesky flames of energy begin to tickle up your wrist and forearm, a telltale sign of your anger.

“Fuck you, Logan.” You hiss, your fingers warm with the heat coursing through them.

What pisses you off more, your hair and eyes darkening to a maroon, is the fact that Logan sports a faint smirk, watching you with humor as if you weren’t showcasing how riled up you were.

“Are you done yet?” Logan takes a step closer, uncaring of the way your mutation is flaring up furiously at his presence.

“Logan, leave me alone. I don’t need you to sit here and pretend to want me. I don’t need you to make fun of me, either.” Huffing, you glare up at the man before you, who stares back just as pointedly.

You turn around, back facing him as you go to enter the attached bathroom when suddenly you’re spun back around by a hand on your nape, your neck in a delicious tight grip as Logan pulls you into his body, smashing his mouth on yours for the second time tonight.

Your body betrays you as a desperate whimper tumbles from you when you register the passion Logan pours into your embrace.

His teeth bite down on your top lip, before suckling sweetly to combat the pain flourishing there. You moan, mouth falling open as he messily kisses you. The intoxicating taste of him settles over your tastebuds, his tongue swirling with yours in a way that left you dizzy with need.

A string of spit connects between your mouths as Logan pulls away, chuckling meanly when you promptly follow the warm, wetness of his lips. A rough hand grips your throat again, tight enough to leave you feeling breathless but delicious enough to make your cunt squeeze around nothing.

“So that’s what you think, princess? That I don’t want you?” Logan’s fingers flex around your throat, gripping at your jaw to capture all of your attention. As if you were anything less than enamored with him. “You think that’s what I’ve been doing, huh?”

You can only stare up at him as your heartbeat rings loudly through your eardrums. A hand goes to tug at his shirt, an attempt to steady yourself, but Logan is faster as he grips your wrist.

“Answer me.” He whispers, sensual as the hand holding yours captive begins to intertwine your fingers together.

The touch of him, the hold on your throat and roughness of his fingers in your own, renders you frozen. You’re so overcome with your emotions that you only manage to nod. Without your permission, you go limp in his hold, silently begging him to do something to satiate the hunger burning every inch of your skin.

“Words, baby. Got nothing to say now, huh?” He taunts, his grip leaving your neck in favor of thumbing at your lips.

“Yes— I…it’s what it’s seemed like, what you’ve made me feel. Thought you hated me.”

Logan’s nose twitches, no doubt smelling your arousal as more begins to drip between your thighs when his thumb plays with your bottom lip pathetically.

“Couldn’t be more wrong,” He grunts, pushing his thumb past the soft of your lips. His knees nearly buckle at the feel of your mouth closing and sucking his thumb, tongue rolling up against the skin as though it was his cock instead. “Shit, baby.”

You only whine around his finger, eyes fluttering up at him in a way that has his dick twitching with want.

“Fuck, been dreaming about you since the day we met. Been dreaming of you in every way possible.” He admits, a smile tugging at his lips at the way you freeze, lips leaving his thumb with a ‘pop’.

“What?” It’s a whisper, barely audible but he hears it all the same. The butterflies in your stomach are having a full on party now, bolts of anxiousness kissing your skin.

“Of course.” Logan leans down, pressing a kiss to your wet lips. “Knew the second I saw you you’d ruin me, so I just… stayed away. I never meant to make you think the worst. M’sorry, honey.”

This was not the way you’d expected tonight to go.

It’s as though all the confusion, anger, and sadness drain from you and its replaced with the tremulous feeling Logan causes in your body.

And despite the fact that you’ve fucked yourself thinking about him, and he’d heard, you felt incredibly shy. You drop your head to his hard chest, your hands squeezing his own where he holds them.

“I don’t know what to say.” You utter, brain all muddled and no other thoughts exist as Logan plagues every inch of your mind. You’d felt like an idiot, even though Logan has acted like a dick for the better part you’d known him.

Logan simply lifts your head, invading your senses as his nose bumps yours.

“Can I kiss you now?”

And when you nod, his lips are back on yours instantly, their rightful place.

The kiss was messy—hot, wet, and dirty. Logan moans when you jump up, strong arms catching your thighs in a tight grip. Wrapping your arms around his neck again, you lose yourself in the thrilling taste of his mouth. You unconsciously begin dragging your drenched panties across his hard dick.

You suck on his tongue before capturing his lip between your teeth, nails dragging down his shoulder blades as you do so. A loud, feral growl escapes Logan, and without another thought, he throws your pliant body on the bed.

And, at the sight of you, Logan thinks he might come right then and there. In your little outfit, so much plush, soft skin is on display. The hair tumbling from your shoulders has shifted to a dark cherry color during your kiss, and your hands are tickling with red energy, twirling up your arms, not unlike the way vines do to an old home.

This time, though, he knows you aren’t upset, but instead, aroused.

He can fucking smell the way your slick drips from your sobbing hole, how it coats your thighs.

And fuck, he wants to sink his face right in front of your pussy and inhale until he’s woozy with the smell of you.

So, that’s exactly what he does.

Your eyes widen as Logan drops onto the floor in front of the bed, yanking your body to the edge. Your lower half is completely in his grip, and he stares at you for a moment before pulling your pussy up to his nose. The feel of him so close to your puffy lips has you aching, even more so when he lowers his head and fucking sniffs you.

“Fuck, baby. Been dreaming of this since the minute I saw you. Smells so fuckin’ sweet.” Logan inhales deeply again, smattering messy, open mouthed kisses to the skin of your upper thigh. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to throw you over my shoulder, get you alone and eat your pussy.”

“Logan!” You whimper out. The sound was completely feeble, bordering on desperate, but you couldn’t care less, not with the way he’s sucking bruises into your skin. “Please, please.”

Spurred on by your whines, he sinks his teeth into the skin, where your thigh meets your core.

Pain simmers into pleasure as the sting is soothed by his tongue. Dark splotches decorate your upper thighs, the preview of the bruises that will decorate the skin tomorrow. Logan does this until he’s satisfied with the color blooming across the skin before him. It’s his way of solidifying that you’re his, like he’s staking his claim with his bruises smattering your thighs.

At some point your hand finds purchase in his hair, pawing at the tufts and tugging his face closer to where you need him most. He hums, the pain at his scalp sending jolts of desire throughout his body.

He sneaks a look at you, and shit, it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Your head is thrown back, sending those rebellious, red strands fluttering around you. Your hips keep canting up, and the smell of you, mixed with the previous orgasm you’d worked out before he interrupted, sends his senses in overdrive.

He decides he’s tortured you both enough and without hesitation, Logan licks a long, wet stripe up your clothed pussy, suctioning around your enlarged clit.

The taste of you, heady, sweet, and so distinctly you, floods over his tongue. He knew you’d taste good, but this? Oh, he wants to drink you up all hours of the day.

With a growl, Logan tugs the lace aside and then sucks, licks, and mouths at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue dips into your hole before licking up and down your slit.

Moans of his name echo through the walls of your room, along with the filthy sound of the sucking of your swollen clit.

You’ve never felt like this before, the way he’s eating you out has your entire body on fire, and if you could see yourself, you’d see how ruby colored lines swirl brighter around your hands, how your hair practically glows vermillion.

He’s been attracted to you the minute he saw you— but the way you look when your mutation is at work? The way your hair shifts shades of intoxicating reds? The way the fiery energy glows from the tips of your fingers and up your elbows? Oh, how it fucking wrecks him. He just wants to keep you captive in this bedroom for all of eternity, if only to see you like this all the time.

“Feels so fucking good, fuck.” You’re a blubbering mess, hands tugging Logan’s hair hard, resulting in a moan that vibrates your pussy.

“Mine.” He grunts, and you gasp at the sensation of saliva as he spits directly onto your clit. “My fuckin’ pussy.”

Then, he latches his soft lips around your puffy bud and sucks hard. His dirty words and lucious mouth have your thighs shivering and hips bucking with want.

Like you’d done when you were alone and thinking about him, whimpers of ‘Logan’ sound as you hump his face.

“That’s it, baby, say my name. Taste so fuckin’ good.” He hums against your puffy, wet pussy.

A stream of ‘fuckfuckfuck’ spills from open lips, forming an ‘o’ as the rush of delicious, hot pleasure pours over you completely.

Your vision blurs— body nearly succumbing to the intense bliss prickling across your being. You barely even register how you’ve locked your legs around Logan’s head, captive in a tight grip as you rub your clit along his nose. With the way he’s grunting along your slit, you don’t think he minds.

As you come down, the pleasure fizzles out and overwhelming tingles steal its place as Logan continues to lap at your wetness, groaning at your taste.

“S’too much, Logan.” Shaky hands grip the brown locks and you try and fail to bring the man away from your throbbing hole. His tongue swirls along your clit and hole, dipping in as deep as he can to savor every last drop. “Oh, fuck.”

“Taste too fuckin’ sweet, baby. Can’t help it.”

Logan grips tightly at your thighs, pinching meanly at the flesh as he licks and sucks at your pretty, puffy clit. He can’t get enough, and seemingly, neither can you, with the way you buck into his warm, slick mouth despite your weak protests. The material of your underwear snaps back against you as Logan’s grip loosens, but he still eats you out as though there’s no barrier, only soaking the lace more.

His soft lips and dangerous tongue make it difficult to do anything but take the mind-numbing pleasure.

He’s content to stay here; between your gorgeous thighs and devour your cunt all night, pull orgasms from you until you forget everything except the syllables that make up his name.

Except, the words that come from you have him freezing against you, his cock aching and responding immediately to the addictive tilt of your voice.

“Logan— Logan, wanna suck your cock. Please.”

It’s as though you’re made for him— every inch of you riles him up like no one else has before and he has to take a deep, deep breath to refrain from coming in his jeans like a damn virgin.

With one last lick up your lace covered sex, his face is suddenly above yours and the sight is lethal. The entirety of his lower face is coated in wetness, glistening and gleaming that he wears with pride. His eyes look animalistic, the hazel taken over by the black of dilated pupils.

Logan looks at you like he wants to fucking destroy you. You know without a doubt you’d let him.

A sweet, gentle kiss is placed upon your mouth, a warm caress of his tongue on yours, the musky taste of your cunt dancing along your tastebuds. You whine once more, because you crave the heady taste of his cock that you desperately want. Your mouth salivates at the thought of his tip heavy on your tongue.

“Easy, honey. Can smell how bad you want it.”

If you weren’t in such a hazed state, you’d be mortified at the knowledge Logan can smell your arousal.

“Logan.” Pathetic whimpers and moans against his mouth have him pulling back, gritting his teeth to have a sense of control. It doesn’t work, not with the way you’re splayed out below him, face pretty with lust.”Please.”

How was he meant to last when you sounded like that? All fucked out and dizzy from just his tongue alone?

He lays down beside you, heart thumping at the way your watery eyes watch him move.

“C’mere’.” Logan mutters, yanking your body over him and all the way up his chest, maneuvering you until your pussy is hovering above his mouth, your lips hovering over his cock.

Dizzy on Logan, saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of his bulge, massive even in the confines of jeans.

You’re confused as to why Logan put you on his chest, but it makes sense when he yanks your thighs down, mouth finding your wet, sopping sex immediately.

You cry out, hips jolting at the way his tongue pushes the pink fabric away from your puffiness, lips wrapping around your clit. When he notices how you’re shaking on his face, unmoving beside the subtle thrusts of hips, he stops.

“Lo—“

“Go on then, baby. Suck my cock, just like you wanted.”

And oh, you both feel the wetness that follows after those rasped words tinge the air.

Only once you undo that damn belt buckle and pull both his jeans and boxers down, just enough to see the way his cock bounces out, bubbling precome at the red, swollen tip, does Logan resume eating your pussy.

Fueled by the return of those talented lips, you lean forward without another thought.

Licking from base to tip, a moan vibrates against his cock as you hum, a taste that’s so Logan flooding your senses. You lick up and down him messy, spitting on the tip of him as you slick his dick up, before finally wrapping your lips around him.

“Fuck, baby.” His growl is borderning on feral; his teeth finding purchase on your asscheek and biting, in an attempt to ground himself. It only serves to have his hips jump at the feel of you whining on him, sucking him down so fucking good. “Fuck, knew you’d be good with that pretty fuckin’ mouth.”

He’s so focused on the way you’ve started bobbing up and down the length of him, dazed with the warmth and wetness as you suck and swirl your tongue, that he’s stopped his attention to you, something he’s only reminded of as you wiggle over him.

“Sorry, princess, you’re driving me fuckin’ crazy.” He grits out, fingers gripping the flesh of your thighs at the little ‘hmph!’ released as you pull off his cock.

Though he can’t see you, he knows there’s a string of spit that spans your swollen lips to his pulsating cock. He shutters, overwhelmed by you entirely, before burying his face into your weepy cunt.

”Oh! Logan, feels so good!” With a pathetic little whimper, his cock fills your mouth again as you sink down, satisfied with the way his tongue is licking at you once more.

A blend of both your moans float about the walls, as he wraps his lips around your puffed clit, as you ease his cock down your throat.

Logan’s eating you out messily, crazed by the tang of you soaking his mouth, chin, and nose. Despite the warmth bubbling in his stomach, he’s determined to make you come on his tongue again first.

When thick fingers nudge into your hole unexpectedly, you mewl at the blissful feeling.

Logan’s fingers work steadily inside you, in tandem with the way his mouth suckles meanly at your button. You’re an absolute mess— grinding down on his face, riding his fingers earnestly, gagging as Logan’s hips match the pace of his fingers, grunts vibrating against you as he fucks your throat.

Logan curls his fingers in a way that has you seeing every fucking color of the rainbow. You come, moaning around the base of his cock and rocking back and forth on his fingers and mouth, muffled sobs spilling from your stuffed mouth.

When he feels you shivering on his tongue, overstimulated and sensitive, he pulls away from your center, the soaked fabric of your panties falling back into place once more.

Your mouth is still full of him, lips lazily sucking him down as your body tries to get ahold of the white, sizzling pleasure still coursing through you.

“C’mere, baby.”

It’s a soft whisper against your thigh, but it settles over you, his soothing voice swirling around your shaky body like a warm blanket. Letting his cock fall from your lips, you scramble as fast as your body will allow before you find yourself straddling Logan, staring down at the man with cloudy, wet eyes.

And maybe Logan is sick— because the sight of tears spilling over your cheeks has his cock unbelievably hard, a growl threatening to tumble out at the way your pretty, crimson hair spills over your shoulders.

Still, he needs to make sure you’re okay.

“What’s wrong, princess?” Logan watches at the way a small smile graces your features, even as tears continue to glisten your lash line. “You okay?”

“Nothing's wrong, just feel so good.” Your voice is a little hoarse, no doubt from the way his dick was fucking your whiny mouth. Still, your voice is still the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, those few words going straight to his dick.

Logan feels his own lips tug upwards as you speak. Even though he’s fucked you silly and stolen two orgasms, he tenses with desire as he notes the want dancing in your eyes.

“Good.”

“Mhmm.”

There’s a beat of silence, a moment where hungry eyes lock in on one another, sensual energy and tension threatening to break.

Then, in a flash, lips are locked and tongues whirl together familiarly. It’s a hot, sensual kiss filled to the brim with desire— the passion almost too much with how it lights up every inch of your bodies, a fire threatening to spread.

Neither of you are sure who moved first— but it doesn’t matter because the way Logan’s hand wraps around your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail in a tight grip, steals your attention.

If someone were to see the two of you, they would see how desperate and needy you both were.

You’re sucking on Logan’s top lip, biting before soothing the sting with a sweet, soft suck. Your thighs are spread over his own entirely and your position has your cunt settled over his cock nicely. Logan’s free hand grips the skin of your ass tight, guiding as you grind against him, the soaked panties catching on the tip of him with each thrust. The fingers tangled in your hair are unforgiving, tugging harshly as Logan grunts into your open mouth.

You’re both a mess of passion and lust— and you’re body thrums with the idea of his cock inside you.

“Such a good girl, that’s it. Fuck—“ Logan nearly whines, the feel of you humping him has him trapping your lips in another allconsumimg kiss.

Your hands, lit up with energy, find purchase in his pretty hair, tugging as he kisses you messy because everything is somehow too much and not enough.

“Logan— need you. Need you so bad, baby.”

Logan wants to eat you up entirely— somehow you’re still not satiated, rubbing your slick all over his lap and begging him for more. If he was a better man, he would’ve fucked you already. As it is, he likes it a little too much hearing you beg for him.

“Shhh, you got me, honey. I’m right here.”

“Fuck me, please. Need you inside, Logan.”

There’s tears in your eyes again, ready to spill over if the ache between your thighs isn’t soothed in the next five minutes. You’re clinging to him, hips stuttering because it’s just not enough and you both know it.

“My poor baby.” He hums, the words somehow a mix of condescending and genuine and it makes you cry out. “So needy, huh?”

“Just for you.” The way you say it, it’s a message you both understand— you need him in every way possible, not just sexually.

He wonders if you know just how badly he needs you, especially now that he’s got a taste of you.

“I’m yours—“ you start, but it’s cut off by the squeak you emit when you’re suddenly flipped over, Logan’s muscular form hovering over you, his dog tags swinging between you.

“You’re mine.” It’s not a question, but a statement and it sends a thrill through you.

“Yours.” You’re nodding, eyes wide and so fucking pretty that it makes Logan squeeze his hands, the metal of his claws threatening to break through the skin.

He pulls his shirt off then, pride filling his chest at the way your eyes glaze over, a lip taken between your teeth as you stare at the vein that leads to his cock, which is painfully hard and cherry red at the tip.

He doesn’t comment on your lustful eyes, instead tracing his fingers down your body, until he reaches the hem of your baby pink, lacy top. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination but Logan might break something if he doesn’t see your tits in all their glory.

You get the message, leaning up and slowly pulling the fabric from your chest, your breasts and midsection on full display. If he hadn’t already eaten you out twice, you would’ve moved to cover your taut nipples. Instead, you grip the chain of his necklace and pull him back down with you, sighing when you’re chest to chest.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” He says, pecking your lips once, licking a stripe down your throat. Wetness coats both nipples as his tongue swirls over them. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to have you under me?”

You moan, nails digging into his shoulder blades at the fluttery feeling his lips bring, deep enough to elicit blood from his skin. Logan groans, head tipping back as his hips thrust down suddenly, the tip of his cock ramming into your clit.

“Fuck, Logan.” Your hands span the expanse of his back, scratching each time he bumps your button just right. His jeans are still on, resting just below his thighs and the way he couldn’t even get up to properly take them off makes you shudder.

He’s rutting against you now, dick rubbing sensually over your panties and it dawns on you then that he hasn’t even come yet, too preoccupied with taking care of you.

Determined, you slide one hand onto his asscheek, pushing him further into you, while your other grips his chin, pulling his mouth to yours in a slick, open-mouth kiss.

“C’mon Logan, fuck me, please.”

Logan turns into something animalistic then— flipping you over onto your stomach without warning, caging you between his arms. Your gasp is audible as he yanks your soaked panties to the side, before thrusting forward, and fucks his cock into you with one thrust.

“Oh my god, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—“ the feel of Logan finally inside you has you absolutely fucking drunk on the feel of him.

“Tryin’ to, baby.” He grits, arms flexing beside your head, fingers intertwined with yours as he sinks into you, inch by inch, until you were filled to the brim.

Logan’s body covers yours, lips pressing all over your shoulder blades to soothe the little whines you let out at how fucking full you feel. It’s everything you wanted and more— you want to memorize the feel of him, every ridge and vein as he stuffs you.

“Baby,” he grunts, fingers flexing with yours as he stays still, for your sake. “So fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ wet.”

And it’s true— despite the fact that he’s huge, he slipped in easily because of the mess you created, a slick mix of your come and desire costing your slit.

“Logan, fuck me, please.” You speak, so sweetly, as if you’re not impaled by his cock right now.

With that, he slips out of you slowly, before fucking into you hard, deep. Then, he fucking ravishes you— creating a steady, fast paced rhythm and fucking you dumb with his cock.

Your hair grows darker, hands glittering between his grip each time he slams into you, each time your cunt squeezes and pulses around him.

Completely cock drunk, your back arches, ass up and hips slamming back against his with your cheek pressed into the mattress as you sob.

You’re so fucking needy that his own thighs become sticky and wet with your desire and Logan growls at the sight, fucking you even faster.

“You’re mine.” Logan grunts, releasing your fingers in favor of gripping your hair and pulling you up until your back is pressing into his chest. “My fuckin’ girl.”

“Yours!” You whimper, tears rolling down your face. Your entire body is filled with pleasure, and you feel like you can’t breathe with how overwhelmed you are, with how much euphoria you feel. “M’so close!”

“I know, honey, I know. Can feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ around me.“ Logan moans out, pushing you back down into the mattress and finding purchase on your hips, pulling you back hard and quick. “Gonna come all over me?”

You don’t answer, instead crying out as you feel a sharp flash of pain on your asscheek, Logan’s hand swift and quick. The pain mixes into pleasure when he rubs at the red skin, pressing sweet kisses on your back.

He wishes you could see yourself right now; maybe then you would understand why he’s so intoxicated by you.

Your pretty body bent over, ass up and face in the sheets as whimpers tumble out. The lace that drove him crazy is yanked to the side, grazing his cock each time he drives deeper inside you. You’re so fucking beautiful like this, he wants to keep you forever.

Sweet, whiny ‘uh,uh’s’ fill Logan’s ears as he speeds up, pulling you back up once more against his chest. He wants to be as close as fucking possible, the feel of your skin on his almost searing.

You turn your head back, lips seeking out his own. He kisses you, sucking at your lips as he continues to fuck you vigorously.

The fluttery feeling of your cunt squeezing around him suddenly sends him over the edge— low groans falling in your open mouth as hot, searing spurts of his come coat your walls.

Knowing that Logan finally gave into the temptation like you’d done all night, has you whining as your own orgasm surrounds your entire being.

“Baby—“ Logan thrusted shallowly, riding your orgasms out as long as he can. If he could, he’d never leave this feeling behind. Seemingly, you agree as your nails dug into his forearms that hold you up, eyes squeezing shut at the overpowering bliss tingling everywhere. “I got you, it’s okay.”

“Logan, fuck!” It came out as a whine, your lips sucking lightly on his neck, body completely limp in his hold.

You’ve never been so incredibly sex-dazed in your life; from this point on, Logan has ruined you for anyone else.

Though, you hope there won’t be anyone else.

Logan kisses your head before untangling from you; a smirk dancing across his usually gruff features at the little whine you let out as he pulls out. He gently rolle you onto your back, laying your head gently on the pillows. It’s such a stark difference to the rough way he fucked you minutes prior, but butterflies flutter around all the same.

You watch his eyes trail lower, landing on the mess between your thighs.

Logan is mesmerized by the sight; your pussy is all puffy and so fuckin’ wet with his come seeping out of your hole. Mindlessly, he lowers himself until he’s eye level with your sex. Without any warning, his fingers are back inside.

He ignores your hiss in favor of trying to push his come back inside, to keep you full of him. His eyes meet yours, watching as your chest rises as you observe him. There’s a glint in your eye that has his heart stuttering.

“I want to kiss you.” You whisper, soft and a little bashful, as if he didn’t have his fingers inside you. You look too perfect, hair returning to its original color, eyes cloudy with unspoken words, a smile spread over your face.

How could he deny you when you look like that?

Logan kisses your clit once, twice, three times, enjoying the way you jolt, before removing his fingers.

With those same digits, he sticks them in his mouth, sucking the flavor of you both and humming. He can hear the way your heart picks up at his actions. He releases them with a loud ‘pop’, before finally coming back to you.

He hovers over you, and like you’d done earlier, soft hands pull at the chain until his lips meet yours in a soft kiss. Logan pulls back, resting his head on yours as he matches your stare.

“Hi.” You hum then, nose bumping his in the proximity.

“Hi, baby.” Logan kisses your lips once more, before rolling beside you. You would’ve whined at him if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you onto his chest.

With your limbs tangled, a kiss pressed to your forehead, you think this could be heaven and if so, you never want to leave.

It’s quiet for a moment— the two of you content to listen to one another’s heartbeat, the breaths that fall from lips. Then, you break the silence, because of course you do.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Just so you know, I’m expecting you to take me out before you get me like this again.” Its muttered against his slick chest, where your head rests as you wrap yourself around the man like a koala.

A deep laugh fills the room, chest rumbling because what the fuck?

He’s fucked you, with his mouth and cock, and you’re laying on him as his come seeps out of you and you’re demanding him to take you out?

He was going to in the first place, but he thinks it’s cute you decide for him.

Logan may be a man that’s been alive for almost two centuries, practically immortal, but it’s completely possible you’ll be the death of him.

[i-yap]

Jason todd x reader - clingy thoughts

(guys i have no motivation to start writing most days so like whenever I get comments or requests in my inbox I get rlly excited and actually feel like writing)

if jason could, he would melt his skin so it could stick to yours . He is so touch starved but more than that he is just ...starved. like he hasn't ever had anything properly good in his life. and then you're just there and he doesn't think something better could exist

he wants to look at you, he stares a lot. even when he is cuddling you, he's looking at your hands, your hair, whatever he can see in the position

he likes casual intimacy more than fancy intimacy. like linking pinkies when walking, resting your head on his shoulder on the bus, your legs being pressed against each other when you're sitting on a rooftop. something you'd do without thinking but he is constantly thinking about it.

he isn't the lift and spin sort of guy ( like after a mission or something) he is a holds you and falls to the ground from the pain of being separated from you for too long. he is the don't to dare pull away, tears in his eyes, body shaking sort of guy.

he hates being away from you, even across the table is too far. wants to sit next to you or hold your hand if you're sitting across. make sure the table isn't too big. the distance hurts him, its like he has an internal radar that if you cross , his head goes red .

give him any sign that you are just as clingy or even that you don't hate his guts and he will just freeze. he doesn't know how to reciprocate touch, feelings, words, everything but he really really wants to. so just because he stiffens up when you hug him doesn't mean he is gonna let you leave the hug .

his sweetest words come out at like 4am , when you're in the bathtub, sitting on a roof, eating snacks on the floor of your room or lying in bed . you cant be facing him cause he will forget whaT he wanted to say once he sees your face. he is super tired from crime fighting or after s'x or after a nightmare. don't make a big deal out of it cause he wont take it well and will get embarrassed.

he is just so protective, you rlly cant blame him.

[thesquidgame]

Calm Before the Storm

Hwang Jun-ho x wife!reader

Summary: After your husband's disappearance, he starts to act different.

Warning: Angst, disappearance, gunshot wound, head injury, hospitals, mention of death, marital conflict, mention of divorce, guns

6k words

The worst day of your life happened after one of your husband’s work trips. He said that his team had gotten a lead on what might have happened to his brother and that he had to investigate. That was par for the course, every couple months there would be another potential lead on where your brother-in-law could be, but every couple months Jun-ho would be sorely disappointed. 

This time was different. He said he would be gone for a couple of days, and that he didn’t know if he would be able to get in contact. He left for one day, and then two, then more. His department panicked, apparently, it wasn’t a work trip and one of their detectives went missing. After a week his picture was on the nightly news, and after 10 days you were doing interviews begging for anyone who had any information to step forward. His mother came to sleep at your apartment, and she said she just wanted to help out with her daughter-in-law, but you could hear her sobs in the middle of the night through the thin walls between your bedroom and the guest room. 

At 5 AM, a week after Jun-ho’s disappearance, you got a call. They had found him. He was in a specialized emergency hospital on the outskirts of Seoul, and he was in a coma. You rushed to your car with your mother-in-law and broke speed limits that Jun-ho would never let you break when he was in the car with you. 

The hospital parking lot was nearly empty. The lobby was quiet when you walked in, and the front desk woman almost looked shocked when she saw two women with deep circles under their eyes and hair sticking in every direction. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. She was the receptionist at a hospital, if that was the craziest thing she’d seen she was in for a rude awakening when an actual patient came up to her desk.

She quickly directed you to his hotel room, on the 3rd floor, where his supervisor was already waiting. Time seemed to slow down as you rode the elevator. It couldn’t have taken longer than 20 seconds, but it felt like years. What if he was dying? What if he didn’t wake up? What if he was getting worse? Your thoughts kept racing, and you and Jun-ho’s mother couldn’t share a single word between the two of you between all of the panic going on inside your heads.

The floor was so quiet you could hear the squeak of a nurse’s shoes down the hallway. You should’ve run to your husband's bedside, but you couldn’t. You took one step at a time, terrified of what might await you. His supervisor stepped out the door and closed it. He looked at you with tired eyes. “Mrs. Hwang, Mrs. Park, I’m glad you could make it.”

“How’s my husband?” Formalities could wait. Formalities could go to hell.

He sighed, and your heart skipped several beats. “How is he?!” Jun-ho’s mother yelled. 

“He’s okay, he seems to be mostly stable, but I-” He raised his hand and scratched the back of his head, looking away at the ground, “I gotta be honest. He’s not great. He was shot and fell from a high distance into water. He passed out in the water and the doctors think he breathed in water and fell unconscious. They’re not sure of the extent of brain damage because he hasn’t woken up, but the lack of oxygen to his brain likely caused some sort of impact. There’s more, but they would only tell me the basics because I’m not family.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. What if he didn’t wake up? What if he did and he wasn’t the same? Memories of the last night you spent together raced through your head. It had been a long exhausting day, and he somehow knew how terrible it had been. He brought takeout home and made an extra stop to get your favorite dessert from a bakery. He set the food down on the kitchen table and immediately made his way to you on the couch, leaned down, and kissed you until you needed to come up for air. You turned off the tv and sat on the couch for hours, eating and talking and eventually fucking. Right before you went to bed he told you that he was going on the trip tomorrow, and you just smiled and nodded, thinking it was going to be like all the other times.

You pushed past the sergeant and walked into your husband’s room. His bed was separated from an empty one by a curtain. You couldn’t feel your own feet as you walked towards it, and it almost felt like your hand wasn’t moving at all when you pushed past the curtain.

Jun-ho looked like death. There was a tube shoved in his throat and his skin was so pale it looked translucent, the blue of his veins showing through on his arm next to an IV. The circles under his eyes were deep and dark, and he was in a neck brace, with his head bandaged. 

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. The second his mother saw him, she collapsed at his side and laid her body over his legs. Her cries were guttural and came from something that must’ve broken inside of her. “My baby, my baby. I lost one son, I’ll die if I lose another.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t cry. You sunk to a chair at his side and reached out for his hand. He was so cold. His skin felt like he had just been taken out of the ocean minutes before, and his heart rate was so slow it felt like it was second between beats.

You didn’t hear the doctor come into the room until he spoke. Jun-ho’s mother looked up and stared at him like he was an angel, but you couldn’t look away from your husband’s unmoving body.

“Mrs. Hwang, can I talk to you about your husband’s condition?” You didn’t move, his mother had to beg the doctor to continue speaking. “He was shot in his left shoulder, luckily the bullet didn’t hit any vital organs, but because of the time between the injury and his arrival at the hospital, he lost a significant amount of blood. We think he hit the water head-first, and the impact caused his neck to break, luckily, there was no spinal cord damage. We induced him into a coma once he reached the hospital, so unfortunately we aren’t able to tell the extent of the damage unless he wakes.”

Your mother and law stood up “Unless? What do you mean by unless?!” she screamed. “My son is not going to die, do you hear me?!” 

You felt broken, Jun-ho had to wake up, he had to. You didn’t care if he couldn’t walk, or speak, but he had to wake up.

You could hear fists banging against the doctor’s chest, but you didn’t turn around. Just kept staring at your husband’s pale face, and pale hands.

The hospital had apparently received a large grant during COVID to expand, and when the pandemic had died down they became designated only for acute emergency cases and recovery care, and many rooms were kept vacant. The staff let you stay in the other bed in his room, and there was a shower attached to the room, designed for patients in long-term recovery and their family members. The hospital had a small cafeteria that made shockingly delicious Korean food, and they delivered the meals to the room three times a day. Before long, you became used to the tired routine of late-night check-ups and tired smiles from the nurses urging you to go home and rest. You were terrified that if you left the hospital Jun-ho would die before you could get back, but you couldn’t tell the nurses that. You just told the nurses that your house was far away and it was more convenient to stay at the hospital as opposed to making the commute or getting a hotel room.

It was three weeks before Jun-ho moved. In that time, you hadn’t left the hospital once. He squeezed your hand while you were holding it, and at first, you thought you imagined it. You called the doctor, and she said she would keep an eye on it, but not to get your hopes up- apparently twitching was normal in coma patients. Several hours later you felt the squeeze again, and when you looked up, you saw Jun-ho’s eyes open the slightest bit. 

It was like a month’s worth of fear and pain cascaded over in a heartbeat, and you collapsed on his chest in broken sobs, staring up at your husband. His mother was there, and she leaned over at him, pleading his name. He stared at you for as long as he could, until his eyes closed again, his eyelids twitching like he wanted them to stay open. Once his eyes closed your hand was still holding his in a tight grip, and you reached open to press the button again.

In the next couple of days, he went in and out of consciousness at increasing intervals. The first moment where you felt like you could breathe again came a week after he first squeezed your hand, when you awoke from sleeping laying on his lap while you sat in the chair to the sound of gagging. You heard his heartbeat increase and saw his throat convulse and his eyes flash open as he fought his breathing tube. 

You immediately pressed the call button for the nurse, and when they took too long you went out into the hallway and screamed for a nurse. There were only a couple of patients on his hall, and they could go screw themselves if they thought their sleep was more important than your husband's choking. The nurse and doctor came running and closed the door on you. Within a couple of minutes the nurse opened the door, and let you step inside. The doctor tried to talk to you, but you couldn’t hear anything she was saying as you walked past her toward your husband’s side.

“Baby,” Jun-ho whispered. His voice was hoarse and broken, and you could feel tears streaming down your face.

“Honey, you’re- you’re here.” You cried more and more, and he painfully reached his arm up to you.

“It’s okay (y/n), I was never going anywhere, I’m here.” You tucked your head into his neck and sobbed into his hospital gown. 

He stroked your hair slowly until his hand rested on the back of your head. You looked up to see that he had fallen back asleep, exhausted from the ordeal of choking on his breathing tube. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wet from a single tear rolling down his face, and tucked your head back down to fall asleep again.

You woke up to a nurse gently shaking you away, informing you that you had to sleep in the other bed to prevent infection. You wanted to fight her for doing her job, but obliged. You fell back asleep quickly, too tired to stay awake because of the crying you had just finished doing.

“(Y/n).” You awoke to a quiet voice, blinking your eyes because of the bright sunlight streaming through the window. You immediately looked over at Jun-ho to see your fiance with his head turned looking at you.

“Jun-ho.” You stood up, stumbling out of bed in the clothes you had to have been wearing for at least a couple of days before now, and went over to kiss him on the lips, the same way he had the last time you had seen him before he went missing. He reciprocated with more force than you thought someone who hadn’t moved any part of his body in a month could.

“I missed you so much honey, I couldn’t breathe for so long.” He smiled and wiped a tear off of your face. 

“I know baby, but I’m here now, I’m here.” He looked at you with so much love and life in his eyes, exactly what you had been missing for the past month.

“I was so scared Jun-ho, first I couldn’t find you, and then once I did I- I wasn’t sure.” You paused, another tear streaming down your face. “I wasn’t sure you would make it.” You whispered.

“I know (y/n), and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You- you got shot. You fell from really high into the water far out in the ocean. You have no idea how scared I was.”

His brow furrowed painfully before he suddenly pulled his head back and winced. “Jun-ho, Jun-ho? Are you okay?!”

You frantically pushed the call button and within seconds there was a team of doctors and nurses entering the room. They slowed slightly when they saw the scene in front of them, and quickly determined there was no immediate danger, and quickly began examining him and asking you both questions. Once the rest of the group left, Jun-ho’s main doctor sat in a chair to explain the situation to the both of you.

She explained what the team had seen when they had checked Jun-ho over, and explained the need for another set of scans to ensure there was no serious brain injury. “We also will need to call the police back to the hospital, because of the gunshot wound.”

Jun-ho froze, and his back grew stiff. “Baby, what’s wrong?” You rested your hand in his grip, tightening it around his.

“Nothing’s wrong, just nervous about the tests.” He squeezed your hand back and smiled up at you at your position sitting next to him on the bed. His body remained stiff, and your brow furrowed in confusion. He was likely traumatized and in pain, both physically and mentally.

Once the doctor left, you apprehensively asked him “Honey, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but… What happened when you were gone, with the fall, and the gunshot wound?”

He looked away from you and glanced out the window. He paused, “I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened.”

You leaned in and squeezed his hand again. “It’s okay if you do, I just want to help you.”

He remained looking out the window, until he looked back at you, something tight across his eyes. “I really don’t know, can we please talk about something else. I’m going to get enough of that from my coworkers later anyways.” He laughed, but the tightness across his face remained the same.

Smiling a similar tight smile, you squeezed his hand back. “Okay. Just, let me know if you remember anything.”

“Now, is there anything I can do to help you?” 

“Jun-ho, I’m not the one who just woke up from a coma, that’s my line!” Jun-ho smiled a real smile, and you copied him, smiling your first genuine smile in weeks.

After the tests, you wheeled Jun-ho in a wheelchair back into his hospital room, where you were greeted by his boss sitting in your usual chair next to his bedside. He stood up to greet you, “Detective! It’s so good to see you awake again!” He bowed to Jun-ho, and your husband nodded his head in return.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think we could do the interview now? Just so we don’t get more in the way of you and your lovely wife.” He smiled, but there was anxiety furrowing his brow. He was clearly using many tactics that you watched Jun-ho explain that the police force used on victims and their families.

Jun-ho smiled back, “of course.” He looked up at you and smiled a similar tight smile towards you. “Honey, do you think you could go and get some coffee from downstairs for us?” 

You nodded, unsure of what to do as you could clearly tell that the coffee run was just an excuse to get you out of the room. “Of course.” There wasn’t anything you could do about it, and confronting your husband about something he is clearly not ready to talk about would certainly not be a solution. “Officer, would you like me to get you anything?”

He waved you off and you hesitantly exited the room to go downstairs.

Due to the emptiness of the hospital, it didn’t take you long to go down to the cafeteria, pick up some coffee for you and Jun-ho, and come back upstairs. When you reached the floor that the room was on, you hesitated, noticing that the door was cracked and the sounds of him and his boss were still quietly filtering out into the hallway.

You debated for a second staying and eavesdropping, but your moral compass won out in the end. Whatever it was, Jun-ho was clearly not ready to tell you. You didn’t want to betray his trust, and eventually, he would share it with you. The two of you had no secrets between you. If there ever was a night when Jun-ho would have to stay later at work, or was suddenly asked to hang out by his friends, he would call you immediately and tell you what was going on and when he would probably be home. Not that you necessarily needed him to, you trusted him, but he insisted that he never wanted you to worry after him. You did the same in turn, even though your job was far less demanding than his and plans came up far less sporadically for you than they did for him.

As you walked away, you heard a sliver of the conversation “hundreds… shot.” It made you pause in your step. You must’ve misheard. Maybe he had said something else. Maybe you were too sleep-deprived and stressed to think clearly. Still, you turned those words around in your head as you sat in a chair in the hallway next to the nurse’s station.

If you hadn’t misheard- if; what would it mean? Did Jun-ho have a brain injury that didn’t turn up on scans that makes him misremember what happened? Or- or was he telling the truth? Your husband wasn’t a liar, he was the perfect detective because of his strict moral compass, so that must mean… That must mean that if there was no brain injury, and if you didn’t mishear, wherever Jun-ho was he had watched hundreds of people die.

You heard a knock on the doorframe, “Mrs. Hwang, we’re done with the interview.” 

You stood up and walked toward the door when the other detective put his hand on your shoulder while his face grimaced. “I hope everything works out well for the two of you, I really do.” With that foreboding line of encouragement, he walked past you and towards the elevator.

When you entered the room, Jun-ho smiled at you. “(Y/n).” You walked towards him and kissed his forehead, handing him the cup of coffee.

Kissing his forehead, you asked, “How did it go? Are you alright?”

Jun-ho’s brow creased, but he smiled back at you still. “It went well, I just told him that I didn’t know anything.”

That didn’t make sense. You had to have been gone for at least 20 minutes, there was no way those 15 minutes were filled with the other detective asking questions that your husband kept saying no to.

“I’ll have to go into the station later on after I’m discharged and give a longer more formal statement, but for now they’ll leave us alone.”

“Great, I’m glad to have you all to myself.” You leaned over and kissed him on the lips again. You trusted him, and whatever it was that he wasn’t telling you, he would open up about soon. 

He didn’t. After another 2 weeks, the hospital was completely sure there were no long-standing effects. Besides having to regularly come in for check-ups and to carefully not hurt the shoulder where he was shot, miraculously there were no other serious effects.

You had finally gone back into the apartment after he woke up, although you weren’t happy about going back when it was lifeless due to Jun-ho’s absence. By the time he was discharged, the apartment was dust-free, and you made sure that everything was the same as it had been when he had first gone missing.

In the past couple of weeks, Jun-ho had been too calm. He was casual about just about everything. He was smiling, and making jokes, like nothing had ever happened. But, underneath it all, you could tell something was different. When you’ve been with someone for so long, had exchanged wedding vows, and slept in the same bed for years, you just knew them. You knew your husband, and something was off about him. He refused to go to sleep in the hospital room with the door open, and every time you came or went he would make you close the door behind you. He insisted that you spent the night in the hotel room with him (not that you were complaining) even when he was far out of the danger zone. On the car ride home from the hospital he would check the mirrors every time he thought you weren’t looking.

There was something completely off about him, he seemed paranoid, and for the first time in your relationship besides his brother’s disappearance- scared. But every time you would ask him what was wrong, he would just smile and say “I’m alright, just adjusting.”

You carried all of your stuff to the apartment, insisting on doing so even though your stubborn husband wanted to carry luggage even with a bullet recently being removed from his shoulder. But, when you left the elevator and were about to go into the apartment, he stopped you by putting his hand out.

“Baby, I just want to get inside. This is heavy.” You complained.

“I know, just- just give me a minute. I want to check something.” He silently turned the key to your small apartment, took off both his shoes, and stepped inside. He pulled up his pant leg slightly and took out a gun that you didn’t even notice was there.

“Jun-ho!”

He turned back to you and put his finger to his lips, shushing you. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He closed the door behind him, and you stood there shocked. You knew something was wrong, but you didn’t expect him to take out a gun and search your home.

In a couple of minutes, he came back out. “What the hell Jun-ho? What was that!” 

“It was nothing, I’m sorry.” He put the gun back away.

“Why would you search our house? You’ve never done that before. Seriously Jun-ho, what’s going on?” You shouted, exasperated by him saying one thing and acting in a completely opposite way.

“It’s nothing.” He sighed, “I’m sorry (y/n), I’m just scared. It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the hospital, so I’m nervous.” He leaned in and gave you a hug, which you reciprocated. But still, that wasn’t the whole truth.

“I think you should see someone Jun-ho, this isn’t normal.” You said into your husband’s chest.

“(Y/n), I’m fine. I promise.” You leaned your head up and kissed him again.

The first week back was difficult. Jun-ho seemed terrified of just about everything around him. The both of you barely left the house, and when you did his hand held yours in a tight grip.

Your job had given you an extended leave to take care of Jun-ho, but your leave was ending in a few weeks once the two-month mark passed. 

You were laying in bed one night, Jun-ho tracing circles on your shoulder as you spooned after making love. “Jun-ho, I’m worried about you.”

He kissed your shoulder, “what about?” He said casually.

You rolled over to face him. “About everything, you’ve been so scared and stressed. I don’t know what’s going to happen once I go back to work.” 

He propped his head on his hand as he laid on his side, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m starting to feel better. I’m sorry I’ve been so paranoid lately.”

You sighed, “I want you to see someone Jun-ho. I don’t want this to fester and fester.”

He sighed, “I know (y/n), I promise it’ll get better soon. I talked to the chief today, I’ll go back to work next week.”

You shot up in bed, “two weeks? Babe, that isn’t nearly enough time. You still can’t lift anything heavier than a paper clip with your left arm.”

Jun-ho reached back towards you and stroked your arm. “Well good thing I’m right-handed.” He smirked.

Tilting your head, you just looked back at your husband anxiously. “Jun-ho this is serious. You aren’t ready to go back to work.”

“(Y/n), please trust me. This will all be over soon, okay?” He looked at you pleadingly. He didn’t want you to drop it or ignore it, he wanted you to- trust him? There was a secret, but he clearly didn’t want you to know it, and just to wait.

Sighing, you said, “Okay, I’ll wait.” You didn’t know what else to say. You couldn’t make him tell you the truth, and he wanted you to not push it. There was nothing to do. “But I really want you to talk to someone.”

He leaned in to kiss you, and right before he touched your lips, he said “Okay, I will; for you.” Then he closed the distance and kissed you until you needed to come up for air.

Your house was quieter after you both went back to work. When Jun-ho came home from work he would make his way next to you on the couch, lay down, and put his head on your lap. It was nice at first, after so much stress you could simply relax and enjoy each other's company.

Soon after getting home, he would get tired. Sometimes falling asleep on your lap.

After a month of him getting back to work, you were exhausted from the silence. It became oppressive. You grew tired of the same routine, and how your husband never quite grew less paranoid. He became better at hiding it, attaching cameras and extra locks around your house under the guise of burglaries in the building that you had never heard of. He would stand up from his crouch install the locks and wrap his arms around you, kissing you and telling you that he just wanted you to be safe.

Before his accident, he would wake up every morning and make breakfast for the both of you, insisting that it was the most important meal of the day. After the accident, he started to make lunch as well, and whenever you suggested that you go out for dinner, he smiled and told you that he enjoyed your cooking so much more.

Then, after 3 months, he came home completely exhausted. It was later than usual, and you stayed up late to greet him, completely concerned by his lack of response to any of your texts. “Jun-ho, where the hell were you? Are you okay?!” You ran up to him as soon as he opened the door, looking him up and down for any injuries.

“No, I’m fine.” He smiled a lopsided and insincere smile at you. He smelled like alcohol.

“Were you drinking?” You demanded.

“Me and my coworkers went out for a couple of bottles of soju after work, nothing much.” He shook off his shoes and went to hug you.

You pulled away, “why didn’t you tell me? We always tell each other these things.” 

“Baby, I had a long, long day, let’s not do this right now.”

“No, we have to do this right now, what happened? You’ve been so strange lately, and you never went to talk to someone like you said you would.” You paused, tears beginning to well up in your eyes, “I’m really concerned for you. I want you to get tested for PTSD.”

He stepped closer to you, “I don’t have PTSD, I just had a long day.” You didn’t move. He sighed, “(Y/n), please, I’m exhausted. Can we do this tomorrow?”

You didn’t say anything but didn’t move when he closed the distance between you to pull you into a tight hug. You finally reciprocated, pulling him closer, when you heard silent sniffling from next to your ear. In a heartbeat, you felt a drop of wetness on your shoulder. 

The next day, Jun-ho quit being a detective. After he started crying, he pretended like nothing had happened, got silent, and took a shower before going to bed. You barely spoke another word the rest of the night, but after he thought you went to sleep you could feel him trace circles on your shoulder.

He told you as soon as he got home that being a detective was too much work for him after the accident, and he tired more easily, but you didn’t buy it for a second.

“Jun-ho, you love your job, why would you quit? Do you want to go back on leave?” You pleaded at your husband.

He smiled back at you, “Of course I love my job, it’s only temporary.” And he leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

Temporary. Although your better judgment told you otherwise, you put all your faith in that one little word. Temporary, this, like everything else making your husband act so different, would pass.

Jun-ho came home late the next day. Then the next. The first you waited up for him, sitting at the dinner table, your food growing cold. When your husband came in, he didn’t smell like alcohol, he simply kissed you on the forehead and sat down across from you, not confronting his tardiness. You cried yourself to sleep that night, with your husband laying stiff as a board next to you, unsure of what to do.

The next night, when he was late, you didn’t bother to wake up. You left his food in the fridge and went to bed early, tears streaming down your face. You were still awake when he came into bed but pretended to be asleep. You could feel the bed shaking from his silent sobs.

The next month went on in the same way, with the only escape from the monotony of your miserable silence being Jun-ho’s one day off. On that one day, you would pretend that you didn’t have any problems, that you were a normal couple who would go walking through the cherry trees and go out drinking together late at night. You went on a double date with one of your coworkers and her husband and sat awkwardly through one of their arguments. It wasn’t the same, but having some bit of refuge away from your stress was a lifesaver.

But even that changed. One day, you decided to go kayaking out in the bay, and while you were out in the water, Jun-ho stopped for a minute. There was a gap in your conversation, and during it, your husband stopped paddling.

“Babe, are you alright?”

He looked up at you as if startled. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He paused, “Would it be okay if we went back, I need to do something important.”

“Um, yeah sure. What is it?” You hesitantly asked.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Your face sank. Every question you asked your husband ended with him saying ‘It’s nothing,’ no matter how big of a deal it likely was.

A couple of days later, when your husband came home late again, he told you that he would be busy on his day off and that a friend of his needed help on his boat. You just smiled and nodded, because what else could you really do?

Then he was busy the next weekend, and then the next, and the next. You only really saw your husband for a couple of minutes in the morning, and a couple of minutes in the night. Sometimes, you were able to make time. Sometimes, you would go out for a nice dinner, or go out to a friend’s party for the holidays. On your birthday he took the whole day off work and planned every single thing you would do all day. He made breakfast, took you shopping in the morning, went out to a nice lunch, took you out to the countryside to the ocean, and bought you lunch in your favorite tiny spot next to the shore. It was like for just 24 hours you had your husband back.

But other than that, it was like living with a ghost. He got more and more stressed over time. He smiled the same amount, but even with taking a demotion to a regular cop, he was getting worse and worse over time. He felt tenser, and more on edge than he had ever been before.

Every night you would fall asleep crying, you became used to waking up with a wet pillow or having to look at your puffy eyes when you wiped the condensation off the mirror after crying in the shower. Whenever Jun-ho saw the tears, whether you were laying in bed or cooking dinner on one of the rare nights that he came home early would wrap you in a hug from behind, and say, “I’m so sorry honey, I promise this will pass.” 

And you would plead, “Please honey, please, just tell me what’s happening, please be here more.”

And he would press his head into your back and whisper, “I can’t, I’m sorry. I love you.”

Your hopes would drop all over again, “I love you too.”

It was three years before anything changed. You would constantly beg him to do anything, to see someone, to talk to you, to do anything. Your friends asked you if he was cheating, but you knew he wasn’t. You knew, somehow that whatever was happening, was big, and important. And that it was eating you and your husband alive.

You didn’t see him for three days. He answered all of your texts with “Just something for work, I’ll be home soon. I love you.” Nothing else. No explanation for anything.

You slept on the couch and stayed there when you were awake, racked with anxiety. When he finally came home you sat there staring straight ahead. He didn’t speak.

You had pictured a fight, a confrontation. You had begged and pleaded, with tears in your eyes before. But nothing had happened. And after almost four years, you didn’t have any energy left.

“I want a divorce.” You surprised yourself with the words.

You looked up at him, and he stood there, his expression unreadable. 

“If you can’t tell me what the hell is going on, tomorrow I’m going to a lawyer.” 

He stumbled toward you and dropped to his knees in front of you, “(Y/n), please. You just have to trust me. This, this’ll all be over soon. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it, soon it’ll be just like before.”

You looked into your husband’s eyes which were beginning to fill with tears. “I don’t believe you.”

“Baby, please. I can’t tell you, I really can’t.” His head dropped, breaking eye contact as you saw a tear fall down to reach the floor. He whispered, “If- if you know the truth, I don’t know what’ll happen to you. And I can’t risk that. I- I’ve risked everything else. But I can’t risk you.”

You couldn’t cry, your tears were all dried up. You should be shocked by what he was saying, but your mind went back to what you heard him say from outside that hospital room years ago “Hundreds… Shot.”

“I know, I’ve known. I know that you remember, and I know that it’s related to when you went missing. I just need you to trust me. I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks up at you, grabbing your hands and wrapping his around yours. “I know, I’m so sorry, but I need you to just wait a little bit longer-”

You stood up. “I think you should leave.” 

“(Y/n), please.”

You walked away from him, towards your bedroom. “(Y/n), I love you.”

“I love you.” And then you heard the door shut.

As you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but feel empty, like your heart had been torn out of your chest. The brutal calm you had been through was over, but storm had just begun.

Part two will be out with the next season, stay tuned for more!

[smallfisheyes]

one suggestive paragraph hehe.

nanami kento who just doesn’t love you.

he tries. really. you are so easy to love, but he just can’t seem to love you more than admiration; more than the god-awful belittling role of a friend.

you are kind. he has seen you pick children from rubble. you had single-handedly halted an impeding panic attack that consumed the fushiguro boy. you pay out of pocket so that the children can do normal student activities: arts and crafts, team building activities, classroom and party decorations. he’s watched you be the most beautiful human that he has had the privilege of watching, defending innocents with, laughing with, but for some reason, he just can’t love you.

nanami kento who makes you cry because he says he loves you. trust him, he loves you so much, but as a friend. you had confessed your love for him. he broke your heart.

it was in the parking lot of your favourite post-mission meeting spot: the convenience store. (it’s family-owned, kento had said to you on your first visit as he gently took you by the elbow. it was his retreat. it would be yours too. you cradled the side of your face, your one eye badly bruised and rapidly swelling. you’ll like it here, he insisted. i promise).

the son was at cash that dark morning. kento would get the egg sandwich and coffee, you a banana milk and noodles.

“i’m on a mission to try every flavour,” you had declared one night, feet kicking and humming into your first dinner.

you had shrimp-flavoured noodles that fateful early morning. it was around 2:00 a.m., two second-grade curses with paired techniques. the following day, nanami turned down the offer of a sushi lunch with shoko. he wouldn’t be able to stand seeing shrimp tempura.

nanami kento who understands why you can no longer look him in the eye when you pass each other in the halls. you walk a tempo faster, a cold wind whisked up from your sudden distance and speed. it stings as you pass by. it stings when you rush to exit the staff room when he enters. he only dares to watch you when your back is turned and retreating far, far away from him. something under his sternum aches. he misses you. don’t you know?

it’s so hard to avoid him. he’s so big and he’s everywhere. he’s at work, he’s in the staff office, he’s in your mind. curses, he’s always in your mind.

before, fleeting images of nanami passed by. his small smiles. the big ones you managed to pull because “your humour is so childish,” so ridiculously stupid, but so stupid it makes him laugh anyway. the rumble of his voice that soothes you to sleep, especially the hard nights.

there are also the nights that your hand sneaks below the covers, then the hem of your pants, and thoughts of him doing less than innocent things run like a leaky faucet. it floods your mind, and suddenly, you can’t sleep. the only solution is to keep going until you’re tired. yes, that’s reasonable. besides, how could you not, not when he looked like that.

“what’s with you?” nanami would ask the next morning, then the morning after that, then every morning. it took you about half an hour some mornings (then most) to look him in the eye, your hands trembling around the mug he handed you. did he do something wrong? did he make you uncomfortable? should he back off? (or get back on?). stop thinking like that.

so, why can’t you seem to hate him?

you have seen him pick children from rubble. you have watched nanami perform four black flashes in succession during the black parade when it mattered most: students injured left and right. he pays out of pocket for lunches: yours and the students, with an exception of gojo. (he has a black card, kento ranted into his black coffee. he doesn’t need charity, just an ego check). you’ve watched him be the most beautiful human that you’ve had the privilege of watching, fighting with, laughing with, but for some reason, you love him and he just can’t love you.

if he does not love you, you fear who he does love. would she have long hair? short? curly hair? straight? does she have an excellent taste in fashion? is it more refined or street fashion? lolita or office-type? does she stand taller than you? is she funnier? does she have a million degrees and you’re out on the field doing the exact job nanami despises and fears? is she skinnier? prettier? the woman he would love (loves?) would just be better. he deserves better.

you cannot blame nanami kento for not loving you.

unknowing to him though, he does.

nanami kento stands at the till at the (your) convenience store.

“where’s your buddy?” it’s the son today, the one in desperate need of a haircut. he looks to be in his twenties. he scans nanami’s items: egg sandwich, transparent bandaids, a single carton of banana milk.

“by buddy, if you mean my partner, she is not with me,” nanami notes.

buddy. nanami wants to scoff. what an odd way of describing you.

“sorry, man.” the boy holds his hands out in apology. “didn’t realize you guys were together.”

there is a brief shock that pulls at nanami’s eyes. they widen, his mouth narrowing. together. why was that a less odd way of describing you?

nanami doesn’t notice his chest rising and falling rapidly. “she is my partner at work,” he corrects. he speaks in a murmur, eyes downcast. he studies the yellow carton on the till counter. banana milk. he didn’t even like it that much. a childish drink; childish humour. so full of energy but only experienced by a select special few. (why did you think he’s so special?)

“hmm,” the boy hums. “thought you guys were together. she seemed super into you. she looked at you like,” the boy shrugs his shoulders nonchantly, pressing buttons on the till screen, “like you meant a lot.”

nanami’s stomach sinks. he has to be the worst.

the convenience store bell tolls when nanami exits, paper bag in hand. the coolness of the night hits him. from this far out, he can see the speckle of the stars.

partner, nanami muses. the name suits you. it suits you and him: a pairing. together, as friends.

but not for long.

sorry guys but does anyone else wonder what would happen if nanami didn’t love you? and you love him? i do it all the time lol. if i feel it y’all have to feel it >:)

also it’s 2:00 am here please excuse the thought vomit.

[4linos]

clingy, not a burden

lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis/request: after a long day, minho’s need for affection is met with warmth and reassurance, reminding him he can always seek comfort without shame.

wc: 1143

It had been a difficult day for Minho. He'd spent hours at practice, pushing his body to its limits with choreography and vocal runs, and while he appeared fine on the outside, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. He didn't show it all the time, but when he was this worn out, the sharpness in his usual actions and the brightness in his gaze began to fade. More than anything, he just wanted to be near you.

It started when you were in the kitchen chopping vegetables, with the calm hum of the evening filling the room. Minho entered silently behind you, his steps light and seemingly hesitant. He didn't say anything at first, just stood there and watched you for a bit. He looked a little... smaller, as if all the energy he'd spent over the day had drained him totally. Then, almost as an afterthought, he scooted closer to you, snuggling in next you as if your presence was the only thing that could keep him grounded.

You could feel him before you saw him: his body warmth, the small brush of his palm against yours, the subtle aroma of sweat and tiredness on him. You looked up to see him standing there, staring at you with the gentle, almost vulnerable expression he saved for occasions like this. He said nothing, but you understood exactly what he wanted.

"You okay, babe?" You asked, your voice simmered with worry, but a smile pulled at your lips as you noticed how close he was standing, nearly leaning into you, as if he couldn't get enough of your presence.

He blinked slowly and gave a slight nod, but his eyes never left yours. You could see he was tired, both physically and emotionally, from practicing, but he wasn't the sort to acknowledge it. Instead, he just followed you about the kitchen, lingering close like a shadow.

When you moved to the counter, Minho was there behind you, resting against it and watching you slice the vegetables with a kind, almost drowsy smile. It was subtle, but the way he kept close to you made you feel like you were the only thing he could think about at the time. You could literally feel the weight of his tiredness through the air, and the way he didn't let go of your side all evening told you exactly what he needed: closeness.

"Minho," you teased softly, watching how he kept following you around the apartment, sneaking behind you when you went to the the bathroom and reappearing just a few seconds later when you settled into the couch. His movements were so gentle, his gaze so steady, and the way he leaned in, seeking the warmth of your skin, made your heart hurt with longing. "You're being a little clingy today, huh?"

It was meant to be playful, to ease the stress that had accumulated around him. Minho was not the clingy type, at least not unless he was tired or needed something specific. It was one of the things you like about him: he wasn't overly clingy, always giving you your space unless he truly needed it. But as you said it, his face changed quickly. The smile faded, and the light in his eyes faded just a little. His lips pushed together in a narrow line, and the sorrow returned to his face so rapidly that you nearly missed it. He wasn't offended at all. But you knew him well enough to notice that something had changed beneath the surface.

Minho's shoulders stiffened, and for a brief time, he looked like he was about to leave, walking away and leaving you alone in the apartment's silence. You could sense his sudden distancing before he made a move, and it hit you like a punch in the the stomach. You never wanted him to feel forced to walk away from you. Not right now, when he needed you the most.

"Minho…" you murmured quietly, your voice breaking as you reached out and gripped his wrist, bringing him back into you. His look had softened to something uncertain, the faint sadness still lingering, and you realized you had made a mistake. "I didn't mean it like that," you quickly added, your words tumbling out in a rush. "I wasn't teasing you, I promise. I just... I was trying to make you laugh. I'm sorry."

Minho hesitated, his eyes shifting to yours. There was a hint of embarrassment in his expression as he stood in front of you, his hand clumsily drawing away from yours for a second, unsure how to answer. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and you could tell he was still digesting things, feeling a touch vulnerable, with his walls cracking in an unusual way for him.

But then, after a long moment, he sighed, as if the weight of the day had finally gotten to him, and smiled sheepishly. His shoulders slumped, and at the next instant, he leaned forward, concealing his face in the crook of your neck and pushing against you as if seeking refuge. "I'm sorry," he said into your skin, his words muffled. "I just... I'm really tired today. I didn't want you to think I was annoying or something." You smiled softly, your fingers sliding through his hair, the warmth of his body against yours a reassuring reminder that you didn't need to say anything else. You kissed the top of his head; your voice gentle and full of love.

"Minho, you can be clingy. I don't mind," you said softly but really. "If you need me, I will always be there for you. You don't have to hide it or be embarrassed. I adore how you want to be close to me. You are never too much for me, you know that, right?" Minho halted, his body stiffening against yours for a little moment, as if he wasn't sure how to accept the reassurance. But then he relaxed again, his breath slowing as he sank himself further into the warmth of your embrace, as if the sheer reality of your words might lift the weight of his tiredness.

You felt his body soften against yours, the last bit of tension fading as he snuggled even closer, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. And in that moment, it didn’t matter that he was clingy. It didn’t matter that he needed something you couldn’t put into words. All that mattered was that you were there, and that he knew, no matter what, you’d always be his safe place to land.

“I’m not going anywhere, Minho,” you whispered, your hand tracing small circles on his back. “You can be as clingy as you want. I’m here. Always.”

And with that, he finally let himself rest, his exhaustion slowly melting away in your arms.

//

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