#why do i always feel so inspired at night

[dollyhyuckii]

ASKING THE DREAMIES (NCT DREAM) TO GO OUT

hyung nct dream! x fem reader!⋆୨୧˚ word count-over 2.k words ⋆୨୧˚

summary-asking nct dream if you can go out⋆୨୧˚

cw- this is part 1!, part 2 is here!, everything is lower case on purpose ⋆୨୧˚

an- hii, this is my series of nct dream scenarios!, jaemin, chenle and jisung are in my part two!, theme inspiration and prompt credits go too-@ohmygs-blog, requests for this series are always open,

MARK⋆୨୧˚

the soft hum of a melody drifted through the apartment as you approached mark. he was seated at his desk, a notebook open in front of him, pencil twirling lazily in his fingers. the guitar resting on his knee had clearly been abandoned for the moment, though the occasional strum suggested he was still thinking about his song.

you hesitated in the doorway, chewing your lip. interrupting mark when he was deep in his creative flow always made you nervous, even though he’d never once complained. as if sensing your presence, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled, his dimples making your heart melt.

“hey, baby,” he said, setting the guitar down and turning his chair to face you fully. “what’s up? you’ve got that look like you’re about to ask me for a big favor.”

you laughed nervously and stepped into the room, playing with the hem of your sweater. “it’s not a big favor. I just… wanted to ask if it’s okay if i go out tonight. the girls invited me, but i don’t have to go if you want me to stay.”

mark blinked at you, his expression softening with a mix of amusement and affection. “why do you always ask like you need my permission? of course, you can go, baby. you don’t have to check in with me.”

“i know, i know,” you replied quickly. “i just feel bad leaving you here by yourself.”

he chuckled, standing up and crossing the room to you. “you’re not leaving me stranded on a deserted island, babe. you’re going out for a few hours. besides,” he added, pulling you into his arms, “i think you deserve a night out baby. you’ve been working so hard lately.”

you melted into his embrace, the tension leaving your shoulders. “are you sure? i don’t want you to feel like i’m ditching you.”

mark leaned back slightly, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his. “i’m sure. the only thing I’ll feel bad about is if my pretty baby doesn’t send me a selfie before she leave. you always look so pretty when you dress up, and i don’t want to miss out.”

you laughed, swatting lightly at his chest. “fine, i’ll send you a picture. but don’t complain if I take too long deciding what to wear.”

“i’d never complain,” he said with a wink. “though if you want some advice, you should wear that little black dress. you know the one.”

“oh, so now you’re giving fashion advice?” you teased.

“just trying to be helpful,” he shot back with a grin. he stepped back, grabbing his guitar again but pausing before sitting. “seriously, though. go out and have fun, okay? don’t overthink it. just text me when you’re there so i know you’re safe.”

you nodded, smiling as warmth spread through your chest. “thanks, markie. you’re the best.”

“i know,” he said, plucking a playful chord on his guitar. “but I’ll be even better if you bring me back dessert.”

“noted,” you replied with a laugh, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead before heading to get ready.

RENJUN⋆୨୧˚

renjun was stretched out on the couch when you found him, a sketchbook balanced on his knees and a pencil in hand. his brows furrowed in concentration as his hand moved deftly across the page. the soft sounds of music floated from the speaker, blending perfectly with the calm atmosphere of your shared space.

you stood there for a moment, just watching him. he looked so peaceful, his focus entirely on the details of his drawing. but you had plans to go out tonight, and you didn’t want to leave without checking in with him.

clearing your throat gently, you walked over and perched on the armrest beside him. renjun glanced up at you, his sharp eyes softening the moment he saw your face.

“my pretty girl,” he smiled as he greeted you, his lips quirking into a small smile. “what’s up? you look like you’re about to ask me something.”

you bit your lip, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sweater. “i, uh… i wanted to ask if it’s okay if i go out tonight. the girls invited me, and i figured i’d go, but i don’t want you to feel like i’m leaving you here by yourself.”

renjun tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. “since when do you need my permission to go out pretty?”

you rolled your eyes, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “i don’t need permission, renjun. i just want to make sure you’re okay with it.”

he chuckled softly, setting his sketchbook and pencil aside before turning his full attention to you. “why wouldn’t i be okay with it? you should go have fun with your friends. it’s not like i’ll be sitting here waiting for you to come back,” he added, though the playful smirk on his lips betrayed him.

“uh-huh,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “i know you, renjun. you’ll act all cool and indifferent, but then you’ll text me a hundred times to make sure i’m safe.”

“first of all,” he replied, feigning offense, “i’d text maybe five times, max. and second, can you blame me for caring about my pretty girl?”

you laughed, leaning down to rest your forehead against his. “no, i can’t. and i love that about you. but seriously, are you sure you’re okay with it? i don’t have to go if you want me to stay.”

renjun sighed, his hands finding their way to yours. “you always do this. you act like i’m some overprotective boyfriend who doesn’t want you to have a life outside of me.”

“because sometimes you are,” you teased, earning a mock glare from him.

“okay, fair,” he admitted with a grin. “but this time, i mean it. go out, have fun, and don’t worry about me. i’ll be fine. besides,” he added, leaning back against the couch, “this just gives me more time to work on my art without distractions.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “distractions?”

“the cute kind,” he clarified quickly, pulling you down into his lap with a laugh. “you’re my favorite distraction, but even i need a break sometimes.”

you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “fine. I’ll go. but you better not forget to text me back when i send you updates.”

“deal,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “and don’t forget to send me a picture before you leave. i like knowing what you’re wearing so i can tell you how stunning you look.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you said, though your heart fluttered at his words.

“only for my pretty girl,” he replied, his voice warm and sincere.

with a final kiss, you slipped off his lap and headed to your room to get ready, feeling lighter and more loved than ever.

JENO⋆୨୧˚

the sound of the game controller clicking filled the room as jeno sat cross-legged on the floor, fully engrossed in the match playing out on the tv screen. his posture was relaxed, but his focus was razor sharp, his fingers moving swiftly as he worked to defeat whatever opponent was on the other side of the screen.

you stood by the doorway for a moment, debating how to bring up your plans for the night. jeno wasn’t the type to get overly possessive or upset, but you always liked to check in with him before going out. it wasn’t about asking for permission, it was about the comfort of knowing you were both on the same page.

“hey,” you called softly, stepping into the living room.

jeno paused the game immediately, turning to you with that warm, easy smile of his. “hey baby, what’s up?”

you folded your arms, feeling a little shy under his gaze. “i was just wondering… the girls invited me out tonight, and i think i’m gonna go. is that okay with you?”

his smile didn’t falter, but his head tilted slightly in curiosity. “why wouldn’t it be okay? you don’t need to ask me for stuff like that.”

“i know,” you said quickly, walking over to sit beside him on the floor. “i just, i like to check in with you. make sure you don’t feel like i’m ditching you or anything.”

jeno let out a soft laugh, reaching over to take your hand in his. “you’re so thoughtful, you know that baby? but no, babe, i don’t feel ditched. i want you to have fun.”

“are you sure?” you asked, leaning into his shoulder. “because i can stay if you want me to. we could watch a movie or something instead.”

he shook his head, his hand squeezing yours gently. “no, really, i’m good. besides,” he added, glancing toward the TV, “this is a rematch night with the guys. you know how competitive they get.”

“ah, so you’re busy, too,” you teased, poking his side.

“exactly,” he said, grinning. “so go. have fun with your friends. you deserve a night out.”

you smiled, feeling a wave of warmth spread through you at his easygoing support. “you’re the best, you know that?”

“of course i know that,” he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “but you should still remind me more often.”

laughing, you got to your feet, tugging him up with you. “well, since you’re so perfect, can i ask for one more favor?”

“anything baby,” he said, his expression immediately softening.

“help me pick out what to wear?”

jeno raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “oh, you’re really giving me that kind of power, huh?”

“i trust you,” you replied, pulling him toward your room.

he followed you willingly, sitting on the edge of the bed as you started pulling options from your closet. as you held up each outfit,

jeno gave his honest opinion, sometimes teasing, sometimes serious, but always considerate.

when you finally settled on a look, he gave an approving nod. “that one. you look amazing, but not like you’re trying too hard. just… perfect.”

you blushed under his gaze, smoothing your hands over the fabric. “thanks, jeno. i’ll send you a picture before i leave, okay?”

“you better,” he said, pulling you close for another kiss. “and don’t forget to text me when you’re there, when you leave, and when you’re on your way back.”

“anything else, dad?” you teased, though the care in his voice made your heart melt.

he laughed, tapping your nose. “just stay safe, okay baby? i’ll be here when you get back.”

as you grabbed your bag and got ready to head out, you glanced back at jeno one last time. he waved you off with a grin, already settling back into his game.

HAECHAN⋆୨୧˚

the late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room as you leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping on a glass of iced tea. haechan sat at the table, lazily scrolling through his phone, occasionally humming some tune that was stuck in his head. he looked up at you with a smile when he noticed you were watching him.

“what?” he asked, his tone teasing. “you can’t take your eyes off me, huh?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “something like that,” you replied, setting your glass down.

he raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “okay, what do you want? that’s your i’m about to ask for something face.”

laughing, you shook your head. “can’t i just look at my boyfriend without an ulterior motive?”

“not when you’re making that face baby,” he quipped, tapping his fingers on the table. “alright, spill it. what’s up?”

you hesitated for a moment, suddenly unsure of how he’d react. “so… the girls are going out tonight, and they want me to come. i thought i’d check in with you first, see how you feel about it.”

haechan blinked, leaning back in his chair as a slow grin spread across his face. “you thought you’d check in with me? what, do i look like the jealous type to you?”

“no,” you said quickly. “but, you know, i just want to make sure you’re cool with it. i don’t want to make you feel like i’m ditching you or anything.”

“ditching me?” he placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “baby, if anything, you’re giving me the perfect opportunity to miss you.”

you laughed, shaking your head at his dramatic response. “so, you’re okay with it?”

“of course i’m okay with it,” he said, standing up and walking over to you. he leaned against the counter beside you, his hand brushing yours. “but there’s a condition.”

“uh-oh,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “what’s the catch?”

“you have to wear that dress,” he said, his tone playful but his eyes warm. “you know, the one i love. and before you go, you have to come show me how stunning you look.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “oh, is that all?”

“for now,” he said with a wink.

“alright, deal,” you said, crossing your arms. “but i get to make a condition, too.”

“oh, this should be good,” he said, leaning closer. “hit me with it baby.”

“you have to promise to actually eat dinner while i’m gone,” you said, poking his chest. “no skipping meals just because i’m not here to make sure you’re fed.”

haechan pretended to gasp, his hand flying to his chest again. “what do you take me for? i’m a grown man! i can feed myself.”

“uh-huh,” you said, not convinced. “i’ll believe it when i see it.”

he laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “alright, deal. i’ll send you a picture of my dinner to prove it, and you send me a picture of you looking like the queen you are before you leave. sound fair?”

“fair,” you agreed, resting your hands on his chest.

“and don’t forget to text me when you get there, okay?” he said, his tone softening. “i know i joke around a lot sunshine, but i worry about you when you’re out.”

“i will,” you promised, touched by his sincerity. “And i’ll text you when i’m heading home, too.”

“good,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “now go get ready. you’re about to be the most beautiful girl at that place, and i need to brag to myself about how lucky i am.”

shaking your head at his antics, you pulled away to get dressed. as you left the room, you heard him call out, “don’t forget the dress! it’s non-negotiable!”

you laughed to yourself, feeling a mix of excitement and comfort in knowing that haechan would always have your back, no matter what.

dreamies masterlist here⋆୨୧˚

[peachiejeongin]

Jealousy | Lee Know

Synopsis: You and Lee Know have been best friends for as long as time can tell; however, a third party has ignited an unfamiliar negativity in him, and he is finally ready to handle it himself.

Pairing: jealous! dom!LK x fem!reader (Reader has breasts and a vagina, and uses she/her pronouns !)

Genre: Smut, a bit of Angst, Fluff towards the ending

Warnings: Sexually Explicit Content (18+), marking, breast-play (sort of), oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (please use protection my loves!), pet names (sweetheart, good girl, baby, etc.), Minho is extremely jealous and possessive, Minho quite literally answers the phone during sex [As always, please inform me if I missed anything!]

Word Count: 9k

Notice: Hello, my darlings! I have missed you all dearly! I recently acquired a bit of inspiration to get back into writing, so enjoy a Lee Know smut drabble I wrote a while back :)

Smut under the cut!

"Hey, I feel like we're getting off topic again," Minho bluntly states, cutting you off in the middle of your chatter. You glanced at him, your mouth slightly agape from the abrupt interruption. "You do remember that hanging out today was your idea, right?"

Of course, you remembered it was your idea; after all, you had made the plans last minute, just that morning. You invited Minho over for a movie and a catch-up night, since you hadn't seen him in a few days. You expected a normal evening with him; however, hanging out felt strange. In fact, it had felt unusual ever since a certain third party had entered the picture.

You had recently started talking to another guy and had unintentionally began spending more time with him than with Lee Know. As of late, though, this new guy seemed to be distancing himself from you; he would often go days, or even up to a week, without speaking to you. Then, he would reappear in your life as if nothing had happened, claiming to have been, "busy."

Your best friend saw right through the guy's facade; he knew the guy was only seeking attention from you, and he was not tolerating it. Despite Minho's clear disapproval, it seemed as if the guy consumed much of your conversations lately; in fact, Minho interjected as you were once again delving into another tangent about the guy's behavior. It had become a predictable cycle: the guy would reappear after ghosting, make plans, and vanish again. Frankly, Lee Know was growing tired of it.

"Yeah, I know hanging out was my idea. Why wouldn't I remember that?" you questioned, a confused expression present amongst your features.

Minho scoffed. "Because it's not feeling like it," he said. You raised one eyebrow, urging him to explain further. "I understand you want advice and my personal input on what's going on with this potential guy, and I can help you out with whatever as your friend..." He paused briefly, letting out a deep sigh as he continued, "I'm trying really hard not to be a jerk about this, but I really thought today wasn't going to revolve around this again."

"Min, I get where you're coming from, but I feel like you're making it seem like I've been talking about this guy non-stop, which I haven't." Upon your response, Minho could not stop himself from narrowing his eyes and chuckling coldly.

"Literally, since I brought you that water, you have not stopped talking about him."

"Yes, I have! I've talked about so many other things, and-"

"When?" he promptly cuts you off again, his voice raising slightly. "I mean, seriously? When I first came over, you were all like, 'Hey, I need your opinion. Can you look at this for a sec?'" Lee Know mirrored your prior actions by shoving his phone in your face.

What had you shoved in Lee Know's face exactly? A message from the guy stating, "Sorry, I've been busy." The date on the message read 8:41P.M., not even thirty minutes ago. The last message you had sent, on the contrary, read Monday, November 18th.

Over a week ago.

You wanted Minho's honest opinion; after all, he was your only friend that would give you the truth instead of what you wanted to hear. Thus, the truth he gave: "How many times do I have to tell you this guy is not worth it?"

And so, you find yourself connecting the dots on previous events.

"I may have asked for your opinion, but I didn't shove my phone in your face," you argue, pushing his phone away by instinct. You were becoming increasingly annoyed at his behavior.

"Yeah, you did," he retaliated, retracting his phone. "You shoved your phone in my face just like that." You opened your mouth to counter; however, no sound came out. All thoughts on how to go against him had completely dissipated from your mind. You closed your agape jaw in defeat and stared grimly at the floor. Lee Know rolled his eyes harshly.

"I told you last time, and I'll tell you again, it means he's not worth your time. This guy is clearly only trying to hit you up when it's convenient for him, and you know that, too."

Minho's grievances mirrored but also contrasted your own. Of course, he was agitated with your behavior, but the hinderance came from a divergent perspective; he knew you were smarter than this, you had to be. There was absolutely no way you could not see the clear convenience you were to this guy. Minho could not tell if you were intently playing dumb in order to lessen the blame or if you were simply blind sighted by this guy.

Either way, he was fed up.

You could not wrap your head around the guy's actions, however. Just the other night, the two of you had went on a date that went pleasantly well. How was he able to change up so quickly?

You made mention of your thoughts aloud: "But...the last date we went on..."

"What about it?" Minho sat up and threw his hands sharply to his sides in a vexed manner. He leaned back on his palms, his eyebrows furrowed as he awaited your response.

"It just...It went really well is all..." You shrugged and folded your arms over your torso. You tapped your foot against the hardwood floor as you apprehensively glanced up at Minho. He had taken off his glasses and was rubbing his temples.

He put his glasses back on, took a deep inhale, and cupped his hands in your direction.

"So what if the date went really well, Y/N? That doesn't excuse what he's been doing. He's basically ghosted you for an entire week, and it's been, what? Three times now?" Minho's acute words stung. You knew he was right, but it was still taking you time you wrap your head around one aspect:

Why?

"I get that things aren't official yet," he continued, snapping you out of your thoughts, "but you have to see that this guy is-"

"I just don't understand why, Min," you interrupted him this time. "What even is going to happen after this?" He narrowed his eyes and inhaled sharply.

"Look, i really don't want to be your counselor again," Lee Know shook his head while chuckling out of aggravation. "But, obviously, he's gonna try to make up every excuse and try to act sweet when he finally responds."

"What if he really has been busy, though?" you desperately reply, attempting to convince yourself more than anything. Minho did not shoot a glance at you this time, the annoyance clear on his sunk in expression.

"Look," he stated directly in attempts to get you to listen. "It might be more acceptable if you two were going into this potential relationship expecting it to be a casual kind of thing, y'know, with no strings attached. But, that's not what you've been telling me, and he knows exactly what this is supposed to be. He's the one that's not respecting your time, or my time for that matter because I constantly have to listen to what a piece this guy sounds like."

"He...He hasn't been acting like there's no strings attached! Just the other day, he-" You huffed in efforts to tell Minho about how the guy denied another girl's number at the arcade on the last date, even going so far as to call you "his girl." Once again, however, Minho interjected.

"You are really starting to annoy me." his words cut; they were honest, yet brutal. "There is no way you are this stupid, y/n. Come on: not responding for weeks at a time? Love bombing when he does respond? That's acting like no strings attached." You considered Lee Know's words for a brief moment. Upon this, you finally had a realization:

"Maybe...Maybe he's not worth it anymore."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Minho responded with a chuckle mixed of disbelief and humor. "Get rid of him; you would be doing us both a favor that way."

You nodded in sorrow, staring down at your phone. Despite the comment you had made, part of you was still hoping you would look at your lock screen and there would be a text message from him.

"So, you're not going to talk to him anymore. Deal?" Minho ponders, snapping you out of your train of thought.

"No. No, I'm not going to talk to him anymore." You set your phone down on your lap, your foot still tapping nervously.

"So, we're done with this?" he follows up with a second question.

"I don't know, Min," you admit, causing Minho to intake a rough breath. "I mean, I still can't comprehend it. He's so sweet and caring, and he's really good in-"

"No, I don't wanna hear about it, y/n!" Minho finally snaps, managing to keep his voice stern but calm.

"What? Why? I thought you were supposed to be here for me?" you ask, once again hurt by his words.

"I am here for you, but I don't like hearing about these guys you're seeing," Minho growled, his voice tinged with frustration. "I just really do not need to know about all of that, okay? Just put it down, and let's not talk about this anymore."

"Okay, okay. Fine. What do you wanna talk about?" You finally look up at Minho, your eyes sunk in and arms crossed with defeat.

"Well, I was thinking," he began, his voice a lot more gentle, "that we could talk about, and this is just a wild idea, but something related to us instead?" He accentuated his words with a few lighthearted chuckles.

"Hm, yeah. Did you have something specific in mind?" you inquired, your demeanor beginning to soften but your eyes still narrowed in slight frustration.

"I did have something. I actually already had this in mind before you got me offtopic earlier," he teased briefly, "but I was thinking since we both have some time off next week, we should go out and eat somewhere!" Minho's eyes seemed to beaming as bright as his smile; he took pride in the fact that he was able to deter your attention back to him, back to where it was supposed to be, he thought. He missed you dreadfully, and the suggestion of going out to dinner had been plaguing his mind since he walked through your front door.

"Oh yeah?" you asked rhetorically. "What place did you have in mind?" You returned his grin with a soft, half smile of your own. You could not deny you had missed spending time with him has well; however, the thoughts of your admirer still clouded your better judgement. Unintentionally, you began to stare off into space as Lee Know began his reply.

"There's been this one new place that I've been wanting to try. I think it would be nice," Lee Know explained as he began to describe the new traditional restaurant that had just opened up not even a couple of blocks away from your apartment. Lee Know ended his description with a cheeky, "Plus, I feel like you kind of owe me one anyways." This statement snapped you out of your endless distraction. You turned your head in his direction quickly, your eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown present on your face, replacing the half-smile that was just present.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you interrogated, your tone coming off more accusatory than attended. Minho raised a teasing eyebrow to accompany his ever-present smile, which now had morphed into more of a smirk; he was slightly taken aback by your sudden yet slight outburst.

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he responded unequivocally, nodding his head with each accentuation of the sentence. "I'm just saying that you've been so busy with your new guy that we haven't had a chance to hang out lately. Remember last week? When you flaked on me...twice?" Minho's smile had slightly faded, his demeanor becoming solumn in contrast to the previous cheeky behavior.

You did remember essentially leaving Minho in the dust last week, although you did not want to. You and Minho had planned a night together, similar to the one you were having at this moment; however, on the night of the planned venture, the new guy had messaged you out of the blue and asked if you wanted to grab dinner with him that night. All reason had fled from your mind at that moment as you texted back, 'Yes!' without thinking twice about your plans for the night. It was not until Minho had began to blow up your cellphone with messages such as, 'Where are you?' 'y/n, i'm at your apartment,' and 'hello? what the hell?!' when you remembered. You quickly replied, explaining what had happened and that you would be home soon in a desperate attempt to please both parties, yet your response was met with, 'Don't bother. I'm going home.'

With this failed endeavor, you and Minho had attempted to reschedule your arrangements for the next night; thankfully, Minho had the whole week off from schedules, and it was your fall break from classes. You had made a slight adjustment to visit the cinema rather than a move night at your apartment. Yet, this attempt succeeded just as much as the first did, and it went about the same way; it was as if the guy had some sort of radar detecting the days you and Minho had planned to hang out so he could steal you away.

As you dreadfully remembered the events of the prior week, you scoffed and refused to give up your stern standpoint on the matter.

"You sound jealous, y'know that?" was the response your anger-stricken brain formulated. You had stated it without thinking, honestly, and you instantly regretted it once Minho leaned back on the couch, his arms crossing and his mouth slightly agape in pure vexation.

"I sound what?" he inquired stiffly, his dark brown eyes staring daggers into your gaze. "Jealous?" he repeated the word as if he could not believe the statement, which to some degree he could not. He followed up the repitition with a couple of brutal snickers as he shook his head in disbelief. His stare had now found its way boring holes into the wall beside him. "Very funny. I'm not jealous," he claimed as if he was trying to convince himself of the matter rather than you. He shifted his gaze towards the floor as he continued, "I just think you should follow through when we make plans."

"You know we can always reschedule," you responded somberly as you glanced out of the window to your right in order to avoid eye contact with Minho.

"Yeah, you can reschedule, but you ended up cancelling that too," Minho fixed his eyes upon you, specifically how you were still refusing to look at him. You knew the truth to his words, which only made the guilt to felt ten times worse; still, you refused to let your guard down, responding to his truth with a skeptical head shake. You rolled your eyes as you did so, and you shifted your gaze to side eye the male.

"Do you not hear yourself? You are jealous, otherwise you wouldn't be speaking like this, or bringing up last week!" There was no denying your rage at this moment; you were tired of Minho bringing up your faults, especially when it was in relation to this guy. Minho's tongue prodded at his cheek and his vacant expression darkened. There was a brief silence as Minho contemplated what to say in order to get his point across and not sound like a total jerk.

"Okay," he started, "now, you're just imagining things. I'm not jealous." You chuckled slightly, turning your gaze back to focus on the rain pittering against the windows outside.

"Sure," you replied quite coldly with a strained, sarcastic smirk plastered upon your face. Minho frustratedly breathed in and took a slight glance towards the ceiling.

"Fine," he threw his hands up slightly, "y'know what? Forget it. Let's just drop this." He attempted to change the topic of conversation, both because he was tired of talking about his feelings, but also because there was a minuscule aspect of him that knew you were correct. "But, if you happen have time to allocate next week, is that a yes or a no on the restaurant thing?"

Your eyebrows furrowed in perplexity. Minho was JUST on your case, and now he is bringing the subject of the restaurant.

He is so jealous, you thought.

That was not what came out of your mouth, however. Instead, you sighed as a way to release the lingering tidbits of bottled-up anger you felt and responded with a simple question: "What did you say the name of the place was again?" Minho paused for a moment in an attempt to remember the answer to your question.

"Uh, I don't remember the exact name, but it opened up right next to the theatre," Minho did his best to recollect the traditional restaurant, but could only remember its location.

"Is it that one new silverish building with all of the fairy lights hanged near the entrance?" you inquired genuinely, your body beginning to relax from the intensity of aforementioned events. Minho nodded slightly, finally feeling a sense of relief that you were endulging in a conversation unrelated to the guy.

"Yeah, yeah, that building. The name was, uh," Minho attempted to recall the name of the restaurant once again, and partially succeeded, "Great...something." You laughed at his inable memory, causing him to eye you up and down in a playful manner. "Listen, I had the name in my head for the entire day!"

"Likely story! Where'd it go then?" you asked him cheekily, leaning in a bit closer to him on the couch as if to accentuate your question. Lee Know moved away from you in sarcastic disgust as he returned your giggles.

"I don't know! For some reason, it's just on the tip of my tongue right now," Minho returned to his normal sitting position as he racked his brain for the name of the restaurant.

"Is it...is it 'Great Bake?'" you asked as you recalled seeing a grey building that matched the description of the restaurant. Minho looked at you, confusion etched all over his face.

"No, that's a cookie shop!" Minho chortled at your futile attempt at recollecting. "Plus, that place has been there for years now. But I mean, we can go there if you want." You tilted your head at the suggestion before slowly shaking it.

"No thanks. I'd rather go for a meal than for cookies. They make my stomach ache," you rubbed your stomach as you stated the last part in order to adorn your words with comicality.

"Are you sure?" Minho asked you genuinely. "Because I don't mind going for desert after. Or we could go for Boba afterwards if you prefer."

"Nah," you politely declined his offers. "I think the meal will be enough for me."

"You sure?" Minho inquired once more. "It can be my treat!"

"You don't have a reason to treat me," you retaliated in a half-serious half-silly demeanor. Lee Know shook his head in response.

"There doesn't have to be a reason."

"You're just never this considerate is all." Another reply you would slightly regret the moment is escaped your lips. Minho threw his head back, his ego slightly hurt at your statement.

"I am always considerate, hello?" he countered sounding a tad vexated. "What kind of image do you have of me?"

"Well, if you're always considerate, is dinner going to be on you too?" you inquired, crossing your arms brazenly as you awaited an answer.

"You..." Minho's voice quieted as he let out a string of adorning giggles. "No, relax. I am only covering the dessert portion." You scoffed, this one coming out in an exuberant manner in contrast to the previous ones out of annoyance.

"So, I'll pay for dinner in order to make it up to you, I guess, and you'll pay for dessert?" You had decided to concede to Minho's proposition about the cookies and boba. He beamed brightly at your own proposal.

"Okay, let's do that then!" his words were laced with a joyous hint, which made your heart smile. You had a newfound exhileration for the endeavor; as such, you asked Minho if he was excited in order to ensure that the feeling was reciprocated.

"I am, yeah! I am excited for the food!" Minho poked fun towards you, causing you to lightly smack the back of his head. "I'm just kidding, y/n. Of course I am excited for the food, but also because you and I, y'know...I said it earlier, but it really has been a while since we've been able to catch up. Like, not just surface level stuff in our lives, and I've really missed-"

Minho's endearing ramble was interrupted by a buzz of your cellphone; the guy's name appeared on your phone screen in the form of an iMessage. A second buzz quickly followed, and you almost lept at the coffee table in attempts to retrieve your phone. You came to a stop just as your hand grasped the device, and you slowly looked up from the table, making dejected eye contact with Minho. The grin on his face swifty disappeared, and he sighed as he looked down at the ground one more.

"I'm sorry, Min. Do you...mind if I answer this real quick?" You figured it was at least alright to ask, but you took note of how upset he appeared as the inquiry left your mouth.

"Uh, yeah, go ahead. Can't really ignore that, right?" Minho never looked up from the ground as he spoke, and the last fragment of his sentence came out in a snarky bearing.

"I mean I can if, if you want me to," you stuttered, and Minho just shook his head in disapproval.

"I know if you try not to check your phone, you're just going to get distracted from the conversation," Minho paused, taking into consideration how you were hyper-focused on your phone, your fingers were already moving at the speed of light to type out a reply to the guy. "And it looks like you're already doing that anyways." You glanced up from your phone, your face contorted into a confused expression with your eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed together.

"Why are you making that face at me?" Minho catechized your expression as if it was the most unnecessary item in the world. "It's him again, I know it is. I told you not to bother with him anymore, so why are you even thinking about responding?" You were silent, a culpable feeling engulfing your body.

"He. He apologized, and he said-"

"It doesn't matter what he's saying!" Minho snapped outrageously, instantly standing and unintentionally towering over you. "Are you serious right now? We just talked about this!" His fists were clenched by his side, and his eyes were narrowed in exasperation. Before he could let his emotions take over, he took a couple of steps away from you and removed his glasses one more, rubbing at the inner corners of his eyes to seemingly rid them of the stress he was feeling. "Y'know, this is really starting to piss me off."

"Why? Why does it matter so much to you?" you queried, careful not to let the lump building up in your throat waiver your voice. Minho looked at you as if you had lost your sanity.

"Because I thought we were done with this, y/n."

"It's none of your business, Minho!" You had stood up now as well in order to mirror the actions of your friend. He took a step closer to you, his expression vexing further if that was fathomable.

"No, it wasn't my business initially, but you kind of went and made it my business with how often you rubbed this in my face. What, you expect me not to care about what happens to you?" You jeered at Minho's question, slapping a hand against your thigh in frustration.

"Can you just admit you don't like the fact I'm hanging out with a guy who isn't you? That's what the whole problem is here! Like I said: you're jealous, Minho." You crossed your arms as you stared up at the taller boy, who rolled his eyes in the middle of your reply.

"Here you go again with the jealousy thing," Minho huffed. "Look, I'm really annoyed already, so can you stop messing around, please?"

"I'm not messing around," you defended your stance. "You're only worried about me because another guy is in the picture."

"I am worried about you as a friend, y/n, and I'm saying from a platonic standpoint that he is not worth it," Minho retaliated, the annoyance becoming more prominent in his voice with every word he spoke.

"Meaning what exactly?" you prodded further. At this point, Minho was not sure if you were simply asking questions because of sheer confusion or to get on his nerves. It was a mix of both in reality; you could not deny the immense joy you felt from pushing Minho to his limits, yet you also could not fathom why he was so passionate about his stance on this guy.

"Meaning that I don't want you to see him anymore." Minho thought the response sounded better in his head. You widened your eyes once you heard it.

"Okay, so you're jealous and possessive." You moved your finger as you spoke as if you were making some sort of air-bullet list. Minho's mouth gaped slightly open and he sneered.

"Now I sound possessive? I'm really not, but sure, if you'd like to add that into your mix of ideas about me, too." Minho attempted to walk away from the conversation, but you grabbed his shirt sleeve to make him stay put.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" you asked for the nth time that night. Minho looked down at your hand's grasp on his shirt sleeve, then back up at you before scoffing once again, a smug smirk playing at his lips.

"You have not seen me being possessive at all, sweetheart," he remarked with a boldness present in his voice. "I don't want to get into this right now."

"And why is that?" The pure curiosity within you had vanished; now, the questions were purely to push Minho's buttons. You had already gotten him so far towards the edge, so what harm would an additional shove do?

"Because if I were being possessive, I would say, 'You're not going out with him again. I'm not letting him have you.' That is what I would want to say," Minho's sultry gaze bore into your own, and you felt your knees tremble slightly and your heart quicken its pace. You did not understand why you had began to feel this way, but it was exciting.

And you wanted more.

"Are you still insisting on this as a friend, Min?" As you uttered those words, you made an essentially bold move; you moved your hand from his shirt sleeve to his palm, nearly intertwining his hand with yours. The mere movement made Minho's breath hitch.

"Well, I, uh," Minho took a deep breath before continuing. "How much are you going to push me? If you asked me like that then you already have an idea, don't you?" He instinctly moved his thumb over your knuckles as he began his honest vouch. "You're right. I have been feeling jealous for a while now. I don't know when it started, but I am. Having to think about you and this guy going out has obviously only made it worse." Your gaze softened as you squeezed his hand.

"Why didn't you tell me, Min?"

"Because I didn't think I would care this much, so how was I supposed to tell you?" Minho genuinely asked this question, but you did not respond.

"So, is that all?" Minho scoffed at your returned question.

"Excuse me? Of course it's not," he stated like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "Do you really want to know what else I've been keeping to myself?" Before you realized what you were doing, your body took control over your mind, allowing your head to nod in agreement rapidly, earning a, "Are you sure about that?" from Minho.

"Are they," you began, feeling a slight tremble in your voice so you paused for a moment. "Are they about me?"

"Mhm. They're related to you. The things that I've wanted to do, thought about doing. It's more than I'm willing to say on its own," he responded casually, the chillness yet unintentionally seductive manner causing you to instinctively cross your legs and slightly rub them together.

"Don't say it then," you replied near instantly, an anxious hitch present in your voice. "Show me." Minho quirked an eyebrow, repeating your words to make sure he understood you correctly. He sighed deeply, almost longingly.

"If you insist, then fine. C'mere," he planted a firm hand on your upper back and pulled you impossibly close towards him. Before you could question his actions, his lips were on yours, kissing you like he had no time left in the world. You were shocked at first, but you quickly melted into the kiss, a few whimpers escaping from your mouth as the two of you embraced. After about thirty seconds, Minho pulled away, smiling at how swollen your lips appeared after such a short period of time.

"I like you," he stumbled over his words as he spoke. "More than I was ever planning to or ever supposed to." He accompanied his confession with a gentle caress of your cheek, a lazy grin accompanying his features. "Seeing you talk about that guy just made me realize how much it bothered me, and," he took a short stop, the light in his eyes morphing into an expression of lust, "if I could have my way with you...if I could do anything that I wanted, then I would keep you all to myself." The hand he had placed on your cheek shifted downward until it found purchase on your waist. Minho's words and subsequent actions had you feeling hot. Everywhere.

"Minho, I never expected you to be this way," you chuckled both out of astonishment and nervousness towards Lee Know's possessiveness.

"Yeah, I don't think you've ever seen how greedy of a person I can be," he responded with an anxious chortle of his own. "I tried to maintain being friends, and obviously I couldn't act like that, could I?" You shook your head, agreeing with his statement.

"Well, maybe I like the way you're acting right now," your hands placing themselves against his chest. You stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Maybe I want to see that side of you." The reaction Minho felt from your words went straight down.

"Why?" he whispered in return, his own voice sounding like a whine rather than an octave.

"Because...there is a slight chance I feel the same way you do, and I am curious as to how far this side of you extends." Your hands had began to slide up and down Minho's chest, allowing him to release a soft groan.

"Alright then," he replied as both hands now softly grasped your waist. "If you were mine, then I would definitely be a lot closer than this." Once Minho stated this, he gently maneuvered the both of you back over the couch, softly laying you down and hovering over top of you. The heat within your body was growing, and your heart was pumping with adrenaline at the sight of your best friend on top of you.

You could not believe that this was reality.

"Probably this close would be more accurate," he added on with a cheeky smirk, although his heavy breaths contrasted the slyness of his attitude. He had one hand on your lower back and the other softly brushing over your left cheek. "I wouldn't be able to help myself from here though," he leaned down to the crook of your neck, just to where his lips were ghosting the lobe of your ear. "I would make sure everyone knows you're mine," he alluringly whispered as he moved your hair away from the skin of your neck. "Especially here to start," he murmured before diving down to kiss the exposed area. "The things you do to me," he muttered as he kissed, licked, and sucked love marks into your neck. You did your best to keep quiet; however, no matter your best efforts, a string of hearty whines fell from your lips with every sensual movement Lee Know performed.

It felt like Heaven on Earth.

Minho was setting a rhythm to his actions when he was crudely interrupted by yet another buzz from your cellphone. You instinctually moved to grab it, only to be met with Lee Know sighing in annoyance. He swiftly grasped your arm and pinned it down to your side.

"Stop," he commanded in a frustrated yet enduring tone. "Don't answer it. Look at me." He took his free hand and tilted your chin upwards, forcing you to make eye contact with him. He delved down once more, this time finding your lips rather than your neck. This time, he slipped his tongue past your lips and yours impulsively fought back for dominance, allowing you both to explore one another's mouths. One of your hands found residence in his soft brown locks of hair, tugging on them lightly and eliciting a few moans from his ends.

Yet, all good things must come to an end, it seems.

Another buzz came from your phone, causing both you and Minho to let out groans of irritation.

"Give me that," Minho demanded, outstretching his arm for you to hand your phone to him. You automatically did as he asked and placed your phone in his grasp, to which he put it on the head of the couch behind him, making it to where you could not reach it.

"You're done with him."

With that, Minho went back to kissing you as if his life depended on it, taking note of the equal fervor your kisses contained. Hands were roaming everywhere, lips were encapsulated with one another's, blood flow was pumping to the maximum. It felt perfect. Minho pulled away to catch a breath of air, slightly chuckling against your lips at your flushed state. You had not even been making out for five minutes, and you already appeared disheveled with your bangs sticking to your forehead and your eyes blown with a glint of need.

"You really wanted this, too, didn't you?" Minho quieried, concentrating on keeping his gaze focused on yours. You let out a quiet 'mhm' in response, causing Minho's brazen smirk to reappear. "Were you trying to get a reaction out of me? Just so I would take it this far?" Minho moved your sweaty strands of hair out of your face as he anticipated a response.

"I wasn't trying to at first, I promise," you riposted sounding entirely breathless, partially because you were. "But it just got so fun seeing you all worked up over me." This caused the both of you to giggle; although, the humor was swiftly overtaken by hunger as Minho scanned your body up and down.

"How about I get back to making sure everyone knows you aren't available, hm?" He did not alott time for a response before beginning to kiss your neck once again. "Fuck, you have such a pretty neck," he groaned as he began to resume his prior actions of sucking, biting, and kissing every exposed spot he could access. He continued his endeavors for a long time, only pausing when your moans became as high pitched as a shriek. He pulled away briefly, analyzing the spots in which he had just finished orally assaulting.

"What? Are you sensitive here?" he inquired, gently rubbing his thumb over the spot for emphasis.

"Y-yes, Min, oh my God," you moaned out, desperate to have him reattach his lips to your skin. As if he could read your mind, he did just what you desired, focusing intently on your sensitive spots and relishing in the strangled moans you released as he did so.

You had almost completely lost yourself in the moment until yet another buzz came from your cellphone. Minho released an agitated noise before pulling away from the love-mark he had just embellished upon your neck.

"What the fuck does this guy want?" He read over the text message you were sent, scoffing in response. "A little too late to be texting this now," he remarked and set your phone back on the upper couch cushion.

"What did he say, Min?" Minho leaned back down seemingly even closer than he was before and pressed a short kiss to your temple.

"Don't worry about it, Sweetheart," Minho answered. "You're not seeing him again, and even if he does run into you, I think he'll get the message when he sees these marks all over your neck." Minho accompanied his words by glancing down at your neck; where there was once a smooth skin tone now housed marks of red, purple, and pink, almost resembling some form of a darkened sunset.

"They're so pretty," he whispered as he ran his fingers gently over the blemished marks. "I like seeing proof of my work on you. I want to mark you all over your body," he confessed, instead opting to mark your lips with a kiss in that moment.

"Lift up your arms for me," Minho babbled against your lips. "These clothes are getting in the way." You did just as you were commanded and raised your arms above your head. Minho made quick work of the baby blue crop top you had chosen to wear that day, pulling it over your head and leaving you topless with the exception of your bra.

"C'mon, get it all off for me," he directed you in regards to your bra. You reached your hands behind your back, attempting to undo the impossible clasp of the material. Minho offered to aid your struggle; his larger hands quickly replaced yours, and he was able to undo your bra in one swift motion. He instantaneously groaned at the sight of you, topless, and made specifically for him. He had imagined this scenario over the span of countless, lonely nights; his imagination had underestimated the mere sight of you because here you lay, even more perfect than he could have ever pictured.

"Can I touch you, baby?" he asked you, his words sounding desperate and sensual.

"Please do," you squeaked out, grabbing one of his hands and guiding them to your left breast. Minho took control from there, fondling the one breast as his mouth went to appease the other. The pleasure that erupted in your body was indescribable by words, only becoming conveyed by the loud moans that bounced off of the living room walls; every flick of Minho's tongue over your right nipple, every brush of his thumb over the left, and every sensation you felt on your chest made you rub your thighs together, begging for some sort of sweet relief. Minho picked up on your needy movements; therefore, he released your breasts from his suction and gently placed your hands on them instead.

"Keep playing with your tits for me," he instructed, "while I help you out down here, yeah?" You nodded desperately, feeling slightly embarassed from what he was asking you to do, but you obliged nevertheless, attempting to mirror his movements from before.

Minho, on the other hand, was slowly making his way down to your waistline, kissing every surface of your body he could while doing so. He made it to the band of your light grey sweatpants, and he hooked his thumb under the hem of both them and your underwear, managing to pull both articles down simultaneously and discarding them somewhere on the living room floor.

"Fuck," was all he could manage to spew out as he took you in. Your physical beauty, your scent, the slick already coating you, every aspect of your core was absolutely intriguing to him; it only made his ferality grow.

"I want to taste you," he confessed, not daring to make any movements upon you until he had your full consent. "Can I?"

"Please!" you nearly screamed, praying desparately for him to have his way with you. With your approval, Minho wasted no time in pleasing you. He started with slow kitty licks to your clitoris, eventually switching to alternations between licking and sucking on the sensitive bud, allowing his tongue to drag itself a bit lower down your folds each time. You let out an agonizing sigh of relief, which made its way past your lips in the form of a moan.

"Oh my God, Minho," you whimpered. "Just like that, please!" You continued to beg and plead and whimper and whine the whole way through Minho's work upon you.

"Fuck, y/n, you taste so good," he vibrated against your core, causing shock waves to coarse throughout your lower half. As your moans began to pick up in pace and pitch, as did Minho's movements in speed. He sucked, licked, and hummed against you at a moderate rhythm, giving rise to your back arching and your hips bucking. You felt a knot began to tighten in your stomach just as Minho pulled away, removing his cool, metal rings from his right hand. He tenderly took hold of your dominant hand and placed it where his mouth just was.

"I want you to play with your clit while I finger you," he told you bluntly, causing your cheeks to flush slightly. He took notice of your unease and so added on, "Can you do that for me?" as a way to both ask for your consent and make sure you were in a stable mindset to do so.

"Yes," you hoarsely stammered, "I can." To prove it, you leisurely began to rub your clit in small circles, moaning at the return of pleasureful contact. Minho smirked at your actions.

"Good girl," he praised as he slowly inserted his middle finger inside of you, pumping the singular digit slowly in and out of your vagina, curling it in order to brush against that sweet spot inside of you. Your maneuvers on yourself began to falter slightly as he inserted his ring finger as well, quickening his pace as he did so. You made an attempt to stifle your wanton, continuous moans; after all, you hated being too loud, always fearing someone would walk in and catch you in the act. Yet, Minho was not standing for this.

"No no," he stated while making eye contact with you, "let me hear you, baby. Be loud for me. Moan for me" Just like that, any hesitation within your body vanished, and you let every noise held within your vocal chords escape. Moans, groans, whimpers, whines, and everything in between filled the thin walls of your apartment.

"Attagirl." Minho took your noises as encouragement and began pumping his fingers in and out of you faster, still managing to curl them at the opportune moments. You began to rub your clit in tempo-esque sync with Minho's fingers, both motions feeling inhumanely swift at this point.

"Min, I'm getting c-close," you mumbled out, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten further and your brain only focusing on your release.

"Yeah, baby?" he cooed as his fingers rapidly brushed against your G-Spot. "Cum for me then, baby. I want you to cum all over my fingers. Can you do that for me?" He never broke eye contact with you as he asked this, not once.

"I, I can try," you replied, attempting to laugh the nervousness off, but it instead came out gargled.

"Hm, good girls do what they're told. You wanna be a good girl for me, right?" Minho inquired, moving his fingers back down to a moderate pace.

"Yes, yes, yes, I do!" you stumbled over your repetition. "'M your good girl." Minho chuckled at your adorable, mind-numb antics.

"Then cum all over for me," he repeated, working his fingers back up to the swift pace they had stalled from. "You can do it, I know you can, baby." The combined pleasure of Minho's fingers gracing your G-Spot and your fingers massaging your clit all became too overwhelming at once. You felt yourself coming undone, and as such, your hips began to stutter and your thighs began to shake as you came down from your high. Your hands flew to grasp at the slick leather of the couch as Minho's fingers helped you ride out your high.

"Good girl," Minho eulogized as he removed both digits from your entrance and inserted them into his mouth, licking them clean of your arousal. He climbed back over top of you and planted a kiss of adoration on your forehead.

"You did so well for me, pretty girl," he ran a hand through your hair as he smiled earnestly at you. Your brain was too numb to respond with verbage, so you instead sat up and kissed Minho with more passion than you previously had. "That's my girl," he mumbled against your lips. You mustered up enough strength to push Minho on his back, his hands instantly crawling up to squeeze the plush of your ass.

"Your turn," you tiredly stated, causing a chuckle to escape Lee Know's mouth. He encapsulated you in yet another kiss as your hands traveled down to his black, ripped jeans. You quickly found the zipper, unzipping his pants while simultaneously, yet unintentionally, palming his erection and eliciting a needy groan from him. With a bit of help from him, you shimmied his jeans and his boxers down, allowing his cock to spring free from its prior restraint. You took his shirt off of him just as fast, leaving both of you bare in front of one another.

"C'mere," he commanded, moving you forward on his lap to the point in which you were straddling him as he was sitting up. "Spread those legs for me." You shifted your position to where you were doing just that, giving him enough room to push up into you comfortably. "There you go," he praised before softly gripping your chin and pulling you into a brief yet fiery kiss.

"Look at me," Minho adjured you. "I don't want to miss a second of this pretty face." The compliment caused you to go red once more, making Minho in turn giggle. "Are you ready?" he asked before going forward.

"Yes, I have been, please, Min," you were not even sure what you were begging for, but Minho found it adorable nevertheless.

"Please what, baby?"

"Please fuck me."

Minho could not help but smirk at your bold comment as if to say, 'As you wish.' He adjusted his dick to align with your entrance and slowly but surely, inch by inch pushed himself inside of you. The stretch you felt from the endeavor was painful, yet delicious, and both you and Minho groaned from the feeling of one another's arousal. Minho was still for a minute, allowing for you to adjust to his length. Without warning, you began to slowly bounce on his length, taking Lee Know completely by surprise. Moans quickly refilled the apartment air, this time coming from both parties.

"Thereee you go," Minho groaned out as you continued your movements, his hands bracing themselves on your hips both to steady you and to keep himself in tact. "Move those hips for me baby."

A plethora of praises began to feel the air as you sped up your movements on Minho's cock, consisting of, 'That's it, baby,' 'Keep doing that,' and the ever so common, 'Yes, yes, yes!' along with multiple swears that adorned the vicinity. All reasonable judgment had left the area, with both you and Minho becoming concerned with each other's pleasure ass moans and movements began to become more frequent.

This statement only proved its factuality as Minho heard a buzzing sound coming from behind him. Your movements began to slow down as you heard it too; of course, it was your phone that was responsible. Minho grabbed your phone and scoffed, a sly, 'fuck,' falling from his lips as he read the caller ID.

"Look who it is again," he laughed sarcastically, showing you the phone screen as you continued your dulled thrusts. "And he's calling this time." Minho pondered for a moment before an idea came into his head. Amidst the noises of skin slapping, he asked you, "Should I answer it?" Your face instantly contorted into an expression of worry and anxiety.

"No, no, Min. D-don't answer it," you stammered out in a mix of breathlessness and fret.

"Are you sure? I think he's g-getting kind of worried," Minho retorted, the cockiness evident in his tone. Despite your wishes, he picked up the call.

"Hello?" Almost instantaneously, you clenched around Minho, both out of worry and exhileration. It was an anxiety-stricken situation, that was for certain; however, something about the confidence Minho exerted in that moment turned you on, so much so to the point where you accidentally let out a high pitched moan.

"Shh," Minho held a hand over your mouth, holding the phone away from you both. "You don't want him to hear you moaning like this, do you?" You shook your head no as Minho smirked and brought your phone back to his ear. "Sorry, what was that? Yeah, she's busy with me right now, but if you want me to leave a message for you, I can. You sure? Alright, no problem. Take care, man." Minho finally hung up the phone. "I think he got the message."

Although you could not hear the other end of the conversation, you were almost positive the guy could ear the lewd noises coming from your side of the receiver. It should have embarrassed you to no end, but it only made your eroticism grow. As such, you bounced harder and faster on Minho's cock, causing him to throw his head back in pleasure and release a string of swears.

"Fuck, baby. You were squeezing me so tightly while I was on the phone," he remarked about the gesture you had hoped he had not tooken notice of. "Were you that nervous or was it that," he stopped his interrogation to caputre you in yet again another passionate kiss, "you liked it? Hm?"

You could not bring yourself to answer him verbally, instead allowing moan upon moan to be uttered. Minho did not mind, however, instead allowing the both of you to become lost within your pleasure. With the pace you had set for the occasion, it was not long until you found yourself nearing a second orgasm, and from the way Minho's hips had began to stutter against your own and his whines becoming more high pitched, you figured it was the same case for him. He proved you correct moments later.

"Close, 'M close," he repeated several times over. "Keep going. Just like that for me, yeah?" His hands grasped your hips, aiding you in swiftening your movements on his cock, bouncing faster than you had ever been able to manage before. "Where baby? Where do you want me to cum?"

"Inside," you replied without hesitation. Your answer surprised Minho initially, but it quickly morphed into excitement. Minho felt his orgasm creeping up on him, so he buried his head into the crook of your neck, thrusting his hips into your own as he quickly tried to bring himself to release.

You, on the other hand, felt yourself already coming undone once more, and Minho's additional thrusts were the straws that broke the camel's back. You saw stars as your second orgasm hit, feeling more intense than the first by a longshot. The sight itself alone was enough to arouse Minho to completion, and he let himself go, realising thick white ropes of cum inside of you and groaning immensely while doing so.

As both of you came down from your respective highs, you laid your head on Minho's chest, your breathing heavy and your blood pumping. Minho held you close to him, not wanting to let you go in that moment.

"Damn," he finally broke the silence with a chuckle. He lifted your head up towards him, muttering a, 'c'mere' as he brought you in for a kiss, this one much less intense than the ones prior.

"You did so well, baby," he rubbed your arms as he spoke. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," was all you could mumble against him. You somehow felt weak yet on Cloud 9 at the same time. It was a weird feeling, but exhilerating none the less. You attempted to lift yourself off of Minho, but the boy's strong arms kept you held down.

"Let's just stay like this for a little while, yeah?" You nodded, bringing yourself to lie down on top of Minho. "Are you alright, Princess?"

"Mhm," you sleepily mumbled. "You?"

"Well, I didn't expect to be doing this tonight, but yes. I am great." Minho looked up at the sight of you: your hair stuck to your forehead once more, beads of sweat cascaded like waterfalls down your body, and you were ninety-nine percent sure your makeup was running. Yet, Minho thought you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he vocalized it.

"I look like the personified spawn of Satan right now, Minho." Minho could not help but burst into a fit of laughter at your words.

"You're always beautiful to me," he retorted. You smiled down at him, feeling yourself doze off in his arms, but not before he muttered one more thing:

"So, no more of him then, right?"

[notreallythatlost]

FROM MY SOUL

pairing: halbrand/sauron x female!elf!reader

summary: you were betrayed by your great love sauron a long, long time ago. and when he returned, you want him to pay for what he did.

warnings: 18+, mdni, unprotected sex, jealous!sauron, handjob, oral (female receiving), p in v, rough sex, mentions of sub!sauron but switches to dom!sauron really fast (i couldn’t resist), blood licking, dark!reader

word count: 3k

note: i’m still alive at posting fics! 🙈 i think this is one of my personal favorites and i really hope you’ll like it too. xx also, i wanted to say thank you again, for all your support. it always encourages me so much. <33 and thanks to @sansaorgana for the gif inspiration, it hasn’t left my mind since then. 🤪

this fic is inspired by last night’s mascara by griff

THE RINGS OF POWER MASTERLIST

The air smelled musty as you entered the prison. But besides that disgusting stench, there was something else that caught your attention. A presence so powerful that it was impossible to resist.

“I'll be honest, when I first saw you here, I didn't want to believe it,” you said, the sound of your voice echoing off the walls. There was no reason to be secretive — after all, you were the only ones here.

“Sauron, the Dark Lord, has returned. And imagine, he is in Númenor. I wonder what he wants here?” you continued as you stopped in front of his cell. You knew how much he hated that name and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it.

The man slowly sat up and kept his eyes on the floor in front of him. “You know exactly what I want here,” he said quietly and turned his head in your direction.

You could feel his gaze gliding over your body. Hot and full of desire. “Y/N, it's been a long time,” he continued, standing up to walk towards the bars and into the light of the torches.

Now you could see his face, which looked pretty scratched, he must have gotten into a fight with someone. “Do I want to know why you ended up in this cell?” you asked, raising an eyebrow slightly, which caused a smile on his lips.

“Dispute about a woman,” he said, leaning his arms against the bars, as you raised your eyebrows. “Don’t start…,” he murmured and his gaze fell down to your hand. “I see you haven't forgotten me. Or the things we did together,” he continued and you rolled your eyes. You hid your hand behind your back, and with it the ring on your finger.

“But that's not why you're here, am I right?” you asked, ignoring his words. “What brought you to Númenor?” With that, you stepped closer to him and looked him in the eyes, without any emotion.

There was a brief silence and only the faint rustling of the torches could be heard, then he began to speak. “To be honest, it was just a coincidence at first. But when I stepped onto this island and felt your presence, I knew that fate had brought me here. Back to the only woman who was ever able to love me. And maybe, after all these years, she is ready to stand by my side.”

In another time, his words might have triggered something in you, but now only an unimpressed laugh escaped your lips. “How long did it take you to rehearse that? A century?” you asked and Sauron frowned.

“Believe what you want,” he growled threateningly, his pride hurt by the slight undertone of mockery in your voice. “I’m only telling the truth.”

“Just as it is true that you betrayed me? Betrayed me at the moment when I needed you most? You knew what you were doing when you set the orcs on me out of fear that I might, one day, have more power than you could ever bear,” you spat out the words, but he didn't even blink.

“And yet you still wear that ring,” he noted, raising his hand as you raised yours in the same way. For a moment you stared at the silver band which shimmered in the light of the torches, remembering the moment he had put it on your finger.

It’s you and me against the world.

That was his promise. And he broke it with turning his back to you.

With a snort, you ripped your hand from his power. “I wear this ring to remind me of one thing. That I will never trust the words of a moron like you again.”

With that, you whirled around and left him behind, alone in the cell where he had brought himself into.

You would have loved to plunge your dagger into his chest, but you would have to wait. And patience was a virtue, after all.

The wine tingled as it ran down your throat and you sighed softly. It felt good and distracted you from the fact that your lover was on this island with you. That he was still alive, even though you had thought him dead for so long.

“You look like you could use some company,” a voice said, and when you raised your head, you looked into Kemen’s eyes.

“To be honest, I'd much rather be alone right now,” you replied, but he didn't seem to care what you wanted. He sat down on the bench opposite you and looked at you with a hungry look. “Believe me, I can tell when someone doesn't want to be alone. And the way you're drinking that wine, you definitely need some distraction,” he explained and you snorted.

“Oh, yeah? And you want to give me that distraction?” you asked skeptically, raising your eyebrows as you placed the mug on the wooden table.

Kemen just looked you in the eyes as he reached across the table for your hand. You looked down at his fingers that were holding yours and then raised your gaze again to look into his eyes.

A few moments later he was pushing your back against the wall of an alley while he greedily devoured your mouth. It wasn't that you found him attractive. He was a nasty little snake, but in that moment he could give you what you needed and that it was a distraction from the man, who hurt you so many centuries before but still held your heart in his hand.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this,” the mortal gasped against your lips and you had to control yourself from rolling your eyes. “You better be quiet and keep kissing me,” you replied and your lips collided again. But just as his hands were about to wander down your body, he stopped.

Or rather, someone ripped him away from you, causing him to stumble backwards into a few barrels that were behind him. “You better get out of here before I kill you,” Halbrand growled menacingly, making Kemen swallow hard. He gave you a last look, before he turned and hurried away.

With a heavy sigh, you wiped your mouth, erasing the feeling of his lips, as you casually pushed yourself away from the wall.

“Now you've chased him away. I just wanted to have a little fun,” you said with a sly smile, which made Halbrand snort.

“Seriously? He's not even attractive. Nor even worthy of you. Besides...” he began, moving closer. “I'm the only one who's allowed to touch you like this.” You could see his eyes darken and you took a step towards him. Your hand went to his chest and you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

“Sweetheart, who can touch me is still my decision. And it's definitely not you,” you said, pushing past him and wanting to leave to follow your toy, but he grabbed your wrist.

“It's you and me against the world,” he said, making you freeze. You closed your eyes, let the words sink in and gathered all your hatred before turning around and shoving him in the chest. “You damn bastard! Do you really think that I will fall for these words again? That I will give myself to you again as if you hadn't ripped my heart out of my chest?”

By now he was standing with his back pressed against the wall and stared at you with a wild look. Your breathing was heavy and you were about to slap him, but instead your mouths collided.

Your fingers dug into the fabric of his clothes while he held your head in his hands. He devoured you completely, just as if he were a starving man. His tongue ran over yours while his other hand clung desperately to your hip.

An angry growl escaped your lips as you pulled away from him again, grabbing the dagger from under the skirt of your dress to press it against his throat. “I hate you. I hate you for what you did to me. You promised to give me everything. Instead, you took everything from me. And I will make you pay for that,” you hissed against his lips, but he didn't seem to care at all.

“Go on, do it. Make me pay for it,” he growled, his voice full of desire, giving you goosebumps. “But you can't deny what your body is telling me so clearly. You're dying to feel me, aren't you?” he continued, his words against your mouth and you pressed him a little harder against the wall.

The dagger was still at his throat and he slowly raised his hand. He wrapped it around the blade and pushed it away, causing pitch-black blood to ooze from his hand and drip onto the floor. “You know I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N. I wanted you by my side, believe me,” he said and pushed himself away from the wall, forcing you to back away. The blade was still cutting into his skin, but you didn't think about letting it down.

“Then why did you betray me?” you asked him, your voice shaking with suppressed anger.

“Because otherwise you would have gone down with me,” he answered, the look in his eyes so honest that you slowly lowered the knife. “You want to hear the real reason I came to Númenor? It's you,” he added, raising his hand to stroke your cheek, but you clasped his wrist before he could touch you.

Your eyes were locked, neither of you able to look away as you took his hand and ran your tongue over the bleeding wound in his palm. The sweet taste of his blood filled your senses and you saw his mouth open in a soft moan.

The dagger fell from your hand and onto the ground as Halbrand's lips crashed against yours again. He groaned as his tongue touched yours again and he could taste his own blood.

Soon his hands were everywhere, in your hair, on your ass and your breasts — but you had no intention of letting him take control. In the middle of the kiss you paused and looked up at him with an evil smile. “You really think I'll forgive you that easily?” you asked and he frowned. “I want you to beg. I want you to fall to your knees in front of me and beg for forgiveness,” you continued and his jaw tensed.

Before he could protest, you pushed him back against the wall again and your hand stroked the bulge in his pants. “Do you have any idea how much pain you've caused me? How many times I've wished you were alive so I could be the one to stab a damn dagger into your heart?” you said and Sauron hissed as you applied light pressure to his erection.

You could feel his cock twitching in his pants, desperate for your touch, but you were far from finished.

“I turned my back on the Valar, and yet I begged them to wash you from my soul. Your touches, your kisses, everything that was left of you,” a tear ran down your cheek, “so that I no longer have to bear the pain of your betrayal, but they did not hear me,” you continued, pushing his hand up. Fresh blood had oozed from the wound, but instead of licking it up, you smeared it on the skin of his neck.

You slowly leaned forward, one hand in his hair, pulling his head back. “And here you are and I finally get the chance to take my revenge,” you whispered before sliding your tongue over his neck and licking the blood from his skin.

Halbrand shuddered and gasped as he moved his hips against your body. But you wouldn't give him that release. You wanted to hear him beg for it.

“Please,” escaped his lips and you bit your lower lip.

“Please what?” you breathed and began to massage him through the fabric. “Use your words, deceiver,” you demanded and he growled in frustration at your choice of words.

“Please, touch me,” he said and you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Without saying another word, you opened his pants and took his cock in your hand, which made Halbrand almost gasped in relief. With your other hand you gently brushed some hair from his face and he leaned almost longingly into your touch.

“Of all the faces you've ever worn... this is my favorite, my dearest Mairon,” you whispered, slowly starting to move your hand up and down his length.

His eyes closed and his head fell to the side as you squeezed a little harder, causing him to moan softly. “How does that feel?” you asked, pausing when he didn't answer. “Have you lost your voice?” you breathed against his lips and he growled softly.

“It feels good. Finally feeling your touch again... I've been longing for this for so—” he broke off as you ran your thumb over the tip and smeared the precum.

“Fuck!” he groaned and you couldn't help but smile. “That's the plan,” you replied and started moving your hand faster until his cock began to twitch in your hand. His breathing became deeper and you could tell he was close, but you weren't finished yet.

Just as he was about to reach his climax, you let go of him and his moan turned into a frustrated growl. “You damn...” the words died in his throat as he opened his eyes and his gaze fell on your naked body.

He could see how much you wanted him too, because your arousal was clearly visible on the inside of your thighs, practically inviting him to taste you.

“You will be the death of me...” he said and took a step towards you, but you stopped him by placing your hand on his chest again, brushing your fingertips through the dark curls growing there.

“No, not yet. Not until you're ready to kneel for me,” you said, but he decided your dominance was over now. He came closer, your hand now trapped between your bodies, and slid his hand over the curve of your ass.

“I would always fall to my knees for you, my love,” he whispered against your lips, gliding to the back of your knee with his rough hand and lifted your leg to his hip.

With a smile, you leaned against the stone wall behind you and looked him in the eyes as he slid his finger through your folds. After that, he raised his finger to his lips and licked up your wetness, making you whimper.

“Are you getting impatient now?” Sauron asked, unable to suppress a grin, then, without warning, he sank to his knees and guided your leg so that it was over his shoulder.

Finally, he dove between your legs and ran his tongue through your folds. Your body trembled under the intensity of the touch and you clung your hands to his hair. Your lips were slightly open, but no sound came out.

Only when he dipped his tongue into your wetness, did you moan and lean forward to press his head deeper between your legs. But Halbrand put a hand on your stomach and pushed your upper body back, so you had to lean against the wall again.

He started lapping at you as if you were his favorite meal and didn’t stop until you whimpered his name, then he pulled away from you and stood up.

“I have missed you, you have no idea how much. Even when I was nothing more than a mass without a body or a brain, all I could think about was that beautiful face and how much I loved fucking that beautiful little cunt,” he murmured and began to gently kiss up your jaw. “I wanted to marry you. I wanted you by my side. And in the end, I had no choice but to betray you — so I could protect you,” he continued, pressing a kiss just below your ear, the stubble making you shiver. “If I hadn't done that, you would have suffered the same fate as me. And unlike me, you wouldn't have come back.”

His hand lifted your leg to his hip again and you felt him stroking your entrance with the tip of his cock.

“What if I hadn't managed to escape? What if they had killed me?” you asked him before letting out a shaky breath. “Oh love, I never doubted you, so why should I have started with that?”

With those words, he thrusted his entire length into you. A breathless cry escaped you, and as you looked into Halbrand's eyes, could see the darkness spreading in them. Dark lines became visible on the skin around his eyes for a split second, making him seem so much more menacing — but to you, even more attractive.

It caused your core to clench around his cock and a gasp escaped your lips. Your fingers slid over the lines, which disappeared right after, and his gaze met yours. “You are mine. You always have been,” he said, beginning to move his hips against yours. “You can never escape me.” With that, he pulled out of you before thrusting hard into you again, drawing a frustrated cry from you.

“You will never be able to wash me from your soul. And even if I do, I will find you and defile it again, because you are mine.” Your head fell to the side and you breathed his name. “Mine.” Another thrust and a tremor in your body as you met his movement.

Suddenly he slipped out of you, grabbed with both hands under your thighs and lifted you up so that you had to wrap your legs around his waist. Seconds later he was inside you again and fucked you mercilessly against the wall.

The rough stone scratched your back while the most sinful sounds escaped your lips.

And when he felt you approaching your climax, he put a hand on your cheek and stroked your lower lip with his thumb. Your eyes met again and you could hear him in your head. Heard the words in the Black Speech that made you fall apart.

You and me against the world.

And you realized, that it was true. You could never really wash him from your soul.

2024 notreallythatlost

[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

Hold Me When I Stand

Pairing: Cross/Epic

Rating: Teen

Synopsis: Inspired by the Drabble idea I wrote a while back and the GORGEOUS art @toffeebrews made, Epic finally reveals why Cross had never seen his hands bare before, until now.

CW: None I can think of, but do let me know if there should be one

Part 1 of 3: Wuh Oh, Trauma

Word Count: 5, 490

Best friends notice everything about each other.

Everything, from blatant details like disliking ketchup (except when mixed with chocolate)--

Cross’s face scrunched up as Delta and Color knocked their bottles of ketchup together before they tilted their skulls back and chugged. “You guys are gross.” They laughed at his “skrunkly” expression, as Epic called it.

–to bright, bubbly laughter tumbling out in jubilant “mwehs” when truly relaxed.

Epic watched as Cross laughed, breath catching in his throat as Cross laughed so hard he cried, mirthful tears welling in the edges of his sockets and mana painted his cheekbones like lilac flower kisses.

To preferring bandanas over ascots because bandanas “are cooler ‘cause they’re like badass mini scarves”.

Epic kept track of it all. Whenever he discovered chocolate with a(n) unusual ingredient(s), a delighted smile on a cherished face would enter his mind, and the now unimportant cost was promptly brushed aside. That bright laughter his friend was ashamed of made Epic swear he glowed with the light of his Soul. And occasionally, he’d sew matching bandanas that Cross would wear on his neck while Epic adorned his own atop his skull.

But Epic was not the only one who adored his best friend.

Along with observing and noting the more obvious details, there were also more subtle nuances, like despising grass stains due to constant difficulty with clothes–

Epic holds up a pair of tan lace up boots now decorated in murky green splotches. “Look Color, I like hangin’ with ya, but if I gotta get a new pair of boots from one more hike I’m gonna lose it man.”

–and channeling that annoyance into an insult.

“Delta you grass stain you keep that battery acid out of my cookie dough right the flip now or I’m gonna snick snack paddywhack kick yo’ sorry sunny d ass!” Epic warned. He kept the bowl of his precious cookie dough out of reach from his friend with one hand and smacking Delta’s offending claw with the other.

Or always wearing gloves no matter the occasion.

Were his hands covered in nicks and scars like Cross’s claws? Did he simply enjoy the feeling of smooth leather on his bones? Was it a comfort like his bandanas were for him?

Or staring at mirrors with phalanges gripping the socket edges of a rarely opened scarred left eye, expression so dark and twisted and in startlingly contrast to the usual bright and playful grin that adorned those pretty bones.

Best friends notice everything about each other.

Cross watches as Epic rubs his eyes when he thinks Cross isn’t looking. His hands fall from his exhausted face, tired shadows painting his hooded eyes mauve, adding an alluring, faux smokey look that makes his snow white and electric violet eyelights pop.

Epic makes crippling exhaustion look hauntingly beautiful, like the ghost of sleep is forever trying to sink its claws in, success held so high out of reach the spirit never managed to grasp it. The way the shadows dance and light cradles Epic’s face, draping themselves over the contours of smooth ivory bone is like he's a painting come to life, of exhausted reverie so beautiful Cross knows without doubt the sight will haunt him for all the nights to come.

And when Epic glances over at him and his scarred Eye closes but his smile brightens, Cross’s chest floods with affectionate warmth as his best friend’s eyes glitter, terribly fond and enviably beautiful in its endearing glow. Cross quickly turns away, his smile strangely quirked at the corners and Soulbeat just a little faster to have been caught staring.

It’s only a matter of time before they learn everything about each other, too.

“Ah shit,” Epic cursed. He turned off the stove and glared at the offending sauce pan that had the audacity of bubbling and splattering itself, now coating the countertop, his sweater, and leather gloves in a greasy disaster zone of oil. “That was my last clean pair…”

“Here,” Cross picked up the towel and started to scrub the mess on the counter. “I can clean up while you change.”

“Alright, thanks bruh.” Epic was about to offer his fist for a bump before he reconsidered and sheepishly tilted his head to the side instead. Luckily Cross understood and leaned forward to softly bonk their skulls together.

“No worries dude.”

While Epic changed, Cross went ahead and threw out the oil. He’d burned his cooking enough times to realize that it had been burned beyond salvation and tossed it out. Scrubbing the pan and letting it soak while he wiped down the countertop was menial, almost relaxing as he methodically wiped and washed off the sullied kitchen area.

By the time Epic returned Cross was scrubbing his claws dry. He leaned back on the counter behind him while he waited for him to finish. “Ty man, oil spills are so annoying to clean up.”

Eh, not really. Out of all the things he’s had to clean, oil splatters on a countertop was nothing, in his opinion. Nowhere near as difficult as, say, getting chocolate stains or gunpowder out of his clothes. “De nada.”

Epic made a little noise of protest and reached out to him.

“Here lemme get that.” He held out his hand.

Cross handed him the towel. “Thanks. By the way, do you wanna go out later and–” he trailed off, noticing that Epic was wearing the same leather gloves.

As Epic put the towel in the laundry, Cross gave his best friend a quick, perplexed once-over. He’d changed out of his cable-knit sweater and now wore a new, form-fitting turtleneck that hugged his lush curves. He had the hood up (as usual) but now wore his long-sleeved jacket instead of trenchcoat. His lovely friend was dressed as pleasingly as ever, nothing odd there.

What was odd was that Epic still had on the same pair of leather gloves. That covered the leather in greasy splotches that made Cross’s own claws itch in sympathy.

Cross quirked a brow. “Forget something parce?”

“Uh,” Epic tilted his skull to the side. “Oh!”

He leaned forward suddenly, but Cross is used to them sharing each other’s personal bubbles and doesn’t react. It’s only when Epic’s throat vibrates in a low, rising hum and he presses a quick, appreciative peck on Cross’s cheek that the soldier shivers while his cheekbones burn with lilac mana and his Soul flutters.

“Mmmmwah!” Epic pulled back with cheeks dusted indigo. His unscarred eye crinkles into an upturned crescent when he smiles. “Thanks for cleaning.”

“¿Qué estás haciendo—” Cross sputtered “—your gloves, dude!”

“What about ‘em?”

“What about — they're dirty!”

“Yuh, an’ I’ll change ‘em later, no worries,” Epic dismissed. “I need to do laundry so I’ll change ‘em later.”

“Okay?” Epic was no slob. He showered daily, always used those scented soaps that made Cross forcibly resist the urge to noticeably inhale his scent, usually wore some kind of floral perfume or cologne, and always changed his gloves whenever they were dirty. Sure Cross never saw him do that, but he’d always seen Epic return with a new pair. So, why was he being so hesitant now?

…Come to think of it, had Cross ever seen Epic take his gloves off?

“You’re not gonna change them?”

“Naaaah.”

Flummoxed, Cross watched Epic step pass him and wash his hands, gloves and all, in the sink. Epic shook his hands off and patted them dry on a new towel. “See? All clean now.”

Epic popped the fridge door open and rummaged through it. Cross stood beside him, increasingly confused as Epic planned aloud. “I messed up the sauce and haveta start from scratch but I’m still cravin’ souped up ramen. How ‘bout you?”

“Yeah sure whichever — what’re you doing dude?”

Cradling bundles of food Epic deposited them down on the kitchen counter. Cross shut the door behind him and followed closely as Epic started to prep. His soaked gloves glistened.

“Well I burned the OG so now I gotta make another—”

Cross put his hand over Epic’s, stopping him from peeling the garlic. Epic lets go of the peeler to hold Cross’s hand in his, and Cross warms at how readily Epic dismisses his previous task in favor of Cross holding him.

“Here,” Cross curls his distal phalanx in to catch at the end of the glove. “Let’s take this—” the moment his phalanx caught on the leather rim Epic jolted, roughly yanking his hand away like Cross had burned him.

Cross’s chest grew tight and his hand felt empty but Epic ignored the flash of hurt that flew across his face and kept his face hidden so Cross couldn’t see the guilt and regret and fear. Avoiding his gaze, he kept his back turned to Cross as he resumed his meal prep.

“I told you it’s fine. It’ll dry off in no time.”

What the hell?

The rejection stung. Epic might as well have stabbed him in the chest, his Soul ached like he had.

Frustration bubbles amid the hurt he hates that his first response when he’s hurt is to be angry, he’s never liked it especially when he knows he wasn’t always an angry man and Cross’s previously soft eyelights narrow into sharp slits.

“Come on dude just take it off.”

Epic’s shoulders were hunched as he chopped the garlic and ginger. His magic illuminated the kettle, setting the water to boil with a flick.

“No, I don’t want to. It’s fine.” Cross tried to reach for his hand but Epic side-stepped him, gracefully dodging just out of reach as he reached for the soy sauce. “Don’t stress it.”

But Cross was a persistent bastard. “Dude, come on.”

This time when Epic started to pour the boiling water he glared at Cross’s missed swipe, beginning to feel irritated himself.

“Again, just drop it.”

Cross grabbed the instant noodles before Epic could. His best friend stared, unimpressed, with a pursed frown. “Really?”

“Yes really,” Cross’s frown deepened.

“Brah, it’s fine. I’ll change ‘em later, okay?” Epic poked Cross right where he knew the other was ticklish, surprising him enough to snatch the noodles back and add them to the broth. “Jus’ not now.”

“You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not!” Epic protested.

Cross quirked a brow. “You’re being weird right now,” he retorted.

The two locked gazes. Epic’s phalanges drummed against the countertop. Cross held the block of cheddar he needed to shred within his crossed arms. The soldier counted on time; Epic needed to get the cheese in before the noodles softened or else they would be too mushy (Epic taught him that).

Like Cross expected, Epic relented first. He sighed and closed his eye. “OK, fine. I’ll go change them.”

He could just do it here? But at least it was something.

Pleased, Cross nodded, uncrossing his arms to swiftly shred the cheese and throw it into the pan. “Thank you.”

“Keep an eye on the broth?”

“And I’ll throw in the seasonings too, I got it.” Cross opened the packets. Epic nodded gratefully.

He vanished in a spark of magic.

Cross cracked a couple eggs to add to the broth and closed the lid, setting it to a medium low slimmer to slow cook the eggs. He didn’t mind if it was overcooked or not, but he remembered that Epic’s favorite way to eat them was when the yolks were runny. When Epic returned a few minutes later, this time wearing long, rubber gloves that he often wore for washing the dishes, Cross contemplated whacking him with the pan.

“¿Hablas en serio?”

“Sinabi ko na sayo,” Epic chirped, his smug little grin annoyingly charming. He set out two bowls for them both, carefully pouring the ramen into each, the eggs jiggling but remaining unbroken atop the noodles. “It’s not a big deal, I just like wearing gloves.”

Cross knew his best friend. There was something more to this. His Soul could feel it. He accepted the chopsticks Epic handed him to softly set them down. “Epic,” his best friend pauses mid-scoop of his dish, “seriously, why are you being so cagey about this?”

A horrible, gnawing thought. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

There. Right there.

Epic’s face was the same, he’d always had an impeccable poker face, but it was his eye. The beautiful glow of that ivory orb dimmed.

Epic fidgeted. Slowly taking a single, small bite and chewing without reaching for more.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt your hands or something?”

“No, no,” Epic murmured, “I’m not hurt.”

Okay, good. He was being more open.

Cross continued his gentle questioning. “Is it a tattoo?”

That got a little snort out of Epic. He covered his mouth to hide it, but Cross had heard the bubbly laugh and his own chest felt lighter. “Cross, come on. Y’know the only tats I’ve gotten are the silly temp ones.”

Delighted that his dear friend was cheering up, the soldier persisted. “It can’t be that bad.” Cross hummed in thought. “What? You got drunk and got a tramp stamp but it’s in your hand? Wait…” Cross paused. “Do you have a tramp stamp?”

Epic guffawed. “Stars, no. Maybe a temp one as a joke but nah. Definitely no tats on this guy, sorry bud.”

A smile quirked at Cross’s mouth. He was glad Epic had relaxed. But he knew he had to keep trying. Softly, he keeps his voice as neutral but gentle as he can when he inquires “Is it a scar?”

“I,” Epic faltered. “Huh. IDK, actually,” he admitted. He sets the chopsticks down and sighs, wiping his mouth off with a napkin. Finally, he meets Cross’s eyes. Carefully, he murmured, “Technically, might be more of a mutilation than a scar.”

“Okay?” Epic wasn’t missing any digits and his hands looked intact. “Anything like my gaps from my scars? Those aren’t that bad,” Cross reassured.

Epic smiled, but it was sad and empty.

Cross wanted to cradle his face and hold him until the light returned to his eye.

“I think you’d hate it if you saw it.”

Finally, things started to make a little more sense. “And that’s why you won’t take off your gloves in front of people? In front of me?” Cross guessed. “Because you think it’s something horrible enough to be hated?”

Epic winced. “Especially if you saw, yeah, man, and I don’t—” he stopped, a flicker of fear passing in his eye before he turned away. “I don’t want you to see me differently. T-to hate me,” he confessed, his voice silencing to a whisper at the end.

At once, Cross felt himself soften, his Soul impossibly warm and affectionate. “Oh, mi mejor amigo,” Cross placed his claw over Epic’s hand. “I could never hate you.”

Epic slowly lifts his gaze. “...”

“You don’t have to show me, or say why.” He squeezed his hand before he let go, missing how Epic curled the touched hand inward into the wooden table when he picked up his chopsticks. “It’s deep personal stuff. You don’t have to talk about any of that, I get it. I was just worried about you, but I get it now. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Epic stared at his ramen, expression indecipherable while his thoughts warred inside his mind. “Thanks.”

Epic was unnaturally quiet for the duration of their meal. They sat in companionable silence and enjoyed their comfort food. While Epic mulled over his thoughts, his gloved hand idly rubbing over the other, Cross was grateful his best friend had opened up to him, and kept his word, letting Epic have his space.

When they finished, Epic’s body moved on autopilot and followed Cross to the sink. There, he washed the dishes for the day—he had on the rubber gloves for it anyway, heh—and Cross washed his claws before taking the place on his other side with a towel in hand. Epic would scrub them clean, then rinse off the soap, and hand off the wet dish to Cross, who’d dry them off and put them back in their place.

There wasn’t a lot to go through, and in hardly any time at all, there’s only one plate left. Epic stares at it, gaze far off and distant. After a few moments have passed, Cross is about to regain Epic’s attention and ask for the plate. Only for Epic to speak and inquire something at the same time.

“Hey, do you want me to get tha—”

“Do you still wanna see?”

They both stare. Heh, whoops.

Cross cleared his false throat. “Sorry, what was that?”

Epic handed him the plate. He dried it off. As his back is turned while he sets it back in the cupboard, Epic repeats his earlier question.

“I asked if you still wanna see.”

“Oh,” Cross closes the cabinet door and turns to look at him. “I am curious,” he professed, “but you’re not obligated to tell me or show me anything, man.”

“Samesies, bruh, but I,” Epic wished he had some gum or jolly rancher or something to chew on. His Soul beat quicker as his eye darted away from Cross’s face and back. “I…if anyone ever saw, or, or knew…I’d want it to be you, Cross.”

He…doesn’t know how to react to that, really, what could he say? What should he say?

All he can do is stare at an unusually demure Epic, the way Epic looked at him, eyelight soft with ardor and glittering pearlescent under the phosphorescent light.

It wasn’t uncommon that he found himself like this because of Epic: breathless and lost while his Soul batted insistently beneath his ribs.

Tongue-tied, he nods. “Oh, thanks. You too.”

Stars, he was such a dumbass.

Glancing at the front door, Epic squeezed his hand over the other. “Is it okay if we do this in my room? I don’t want Delta or Color or someone ‘porting in and seeing. Or hearing,” he added.

Cross nodded in understanding. “Yeah dude, whatever’s more comfy for you.”

He followed Epic up the familiar path of stairs to his room. Everything is mostly clean and tidy from when they last hung out here, and he settled comfortably atop the bed. He’d always appreciated how Epic kept his bedroom neat for his sake, especially the bed.

One of his pet peeves was untidy beds, but Epic’s blankets and pillows — along with a few plushies — were arranged in an aesthetic way, pleasantly scratching that itch of despising unkempt habitude.

After double checking to make sure the door was shut and locked, Epic soon joined him, plopping down beside him with a sigh. He leaned back to rest his skull and back against the wall.

“‘Kay. So, uh,” Epic fiddled with his rubber covered digits. “I guess I ought just get it outta the way, yeah?” Cross’s eyelights flit from the rubber material to his tired eye as he spoke. “…Promise you’ll try not to hate me?”

Slowly, digits curled around the top of the glove.

Exasperated and a little irked that Epix would think Cross would ever hate his best friend, he opened his mouth to reply—

—only to freeze when the glove is peeled back and Cross sees Epic’s uncovered palms for the first time.

He was expecting a gash or two, maybe something long and big since most people disliked scars, but he dumbly realized Epic had been right to describe it as a ‘mutilation’. There, in the center, it was just…gone.

The other glove came off, joining the other somewhere off to the side of the bed. Cross paid it no mind, gaze zeroed in on the holes.

His palms were hollowed. But how could it have happened? The circles were too neat, too precise to have been accidental.

The only other skeleton he’d known with holes in their palms was Gaster, and it was because of his experiments—oh.

With increasing clarity, Cross’s eyes trailed up Epic’s hands to his face. His expression was carefully blank as he waited, observing Cross’s reaction with fearful intensity.

“Did he?” He can’t bring himself to say it.

A slow nod. “Yeah. Both of ‘em.” His hands rubbed over the other, fist clenching and unclenching as Epic glanced away. “First time was to make the—make something. Second time was to try to get the first failure to work better. It didn’t. So, now I’ve got these two “donut holes”, but all hole and no donut.”

Cross missed his joke, too focused on his hands. “Do they hurt?” Epic shook his head.

“Nah, I don’t feel anything. Kinda sensitive if they’re touched but otherwise I try to ignore them if I can.”

Cross holds out his claws. “Can I?”

His friend stared at his claws, then him. After a pause, Epic slowly blinked, and then he nodded. “Okay.”

Cross gently takes Epic’s hand in his. Ungloved, it feels strange to hold him but not unwelcome. There’s a hum of magic around the cored palm. Not unwelcome, per say, but it made it easier to feel Epic’s Intent. More concentrated maybe? He circled the rim with a claw and Epic shuddered, mouth parting in a low gasp.

“Does it hurt?”

He shook his head. His cheekbones were dusted indigo. “It’s just…strange? Touch and Intent is uh. More potent around it, I guess?” Epic’s brows furrowed in thought. “Huh. Like, just that feels like you’re hugging me.”

“Really?” Intrigued, Cross pressed more firmly on the rim, pressing into the textured but no less smooth bone, purposefully pouring in more of his Intent in the fond touch.

Okay?/Okay?/Feel okay/You’re still the same/Still mine/Okay?

His hand jolted within Cross’s grasp, Epic’s breath stuttered and ragged, the small, surprised noise he made caught in his throat. Cross looked up, worried he’d hurt him, and Epic’s eye was wide with unshed tears.

He immediately pulled away from the hole to lace their fingers together instead. A comforting handhold to hopefully soothe and amend his misstep. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, I’m good, I’m good. It’s just so…intense,” Epic husks, “That time it. Uh, maybe leave ‘em alone, I think. ‘s not bad,” he quickly reassured. “Just a lot.”

Hearing Epic’s deep voice so utterly breathless and dazed sends a thrill down his spine and he shoves that feeling deep down and refuses to acknowledge it maybe later when he’s alone he can process how and why he feels like that.

“O-okay. Like what?”

His hand absentmindedly squeezes Cross’s as he thought. “I guess them being exposed is like, hmm.” Epic paused. “Okay, you ever summoned your body?”

He often did it for training, fighting, whatever. Cross nodded. “Yeah?”

“Right, and you know when the magic is still connected to the inner mana networks on the inside, but is also starting to form and spread from that mainframe to your external body?”

“Uh huh.”

“It feels like you're touching that.”

“Oh.” He slowly nodded, trying to imagine experiencing it himself. “Okay.”

Epic’s voice gentles into something unbearably soft that it coaxes his own mana out to burn lilac on his zygomas. “And you put your kind Intent in that, might as well have been sent right to my Soul.”

“Oh. Well, I meant it, and you feel what I mean, right?” Epic nods, and Cross—

“Yeah, I get it. I’m always gonna be your best friend too, Cross.” His thumb caressed the back of his claw. “I feel and know it.”

Lungs without function shudder around an unnecessary breath.

It's impossible to ever tire of hearing those words. That he’d always be Epic’s best friend, that Epic would always care for him no matter what. Despite everything that had happened, despite losing his memories and rebuilding their friendship anew, Epic never once stopped caring, never once gave up on Cross.

All his life, he’d been a failure. A disappointment. Never something worth carrying for because he didn’t live up to whatever expectation or use someone had for him.

Not as a son, not as an older brother, not as a friend, and not even as a weapon.

Always, Epic was exactly what he needed and wanted and he wanted to pull him close and taste—

Cross cleared his throat. “Same, dude.” He bonked his skull with Epic’s. “Always.”

Epic seemed to be ruminating on something else, the hand not held by Cross’s was stroking his scarred eye, distal phalanges trailing the line.

“There’s probably one more thing you oughta know, Cross.”

The soldier nodded. “Whatever it is, it changes nothing between us,” determined, his hold tightened on Epic. “I promise,” he vowed.

Epic stared at him, his carpals and metacarpals covering his scarred eye. He took a deep, slow breath. “Stars, I hope so,” he murmured so quietly he almost missed it.

When Epic’s hand left his face, both his eyes were open.

White and violet orbs stared into Cross’s own orbs.

“You’ve seen me open it when I fight,” Cross nodded silently, “but otherwise I try to keep it hidden.”

Why? He still looked fine as ever to Cross.

“That’s why I always keep it closed if I can or never let anyone see me without gloves. ‘Cause everytime I see this Eye, see my hands,” his best friend’s face contorts, burning with a hatred so cold and dark that a shiver travels down his spine. “I’m reminded of that, that putang ina,” Epic cursed. Everytime I look at myself or look at my stupid hands, all I see is him.”

“Epic, you—”

“You don’t get it. He ruined me, Cross.”

He'd always been a failure. But he made him into an abomination.

Tears well in Epic’s sockets and Cross was certain he must have a physical heart because he could feel it break. “I can’t sleep. No, literally. I literally don’t sleep.”

His bed was always so neat and tidy…

Like it was hardly (or never) used.

Epic trembles, his voice shaking but now that he’s started he can’t stop. “Every single damn time I fall unconscious, the Eye channels magic from the Void and creates these creatures, horrible demons that if I don’t kill them first they kill me. Every. Single. Time.”

But then, that would mean… “Is that how you have LV?” Epic nods, his shadowed face riddled with exhaustion.

“Yeah. But if I don’t do it, I die. And dying doesn’t even take me out of that place. My body has to wake up.”

“I’ve gotten better at it,” he admitted. “I hardly die anymore, now. But I’m always tired, and there’s nothing I can do to feel totally good and awake. But I’m so done,” the tears finally fall, glistening as they travel down porcelain bone. “I’m so, so tired, Cross. Sometimes,” Epic falters. “Sometimes…I just want it to end. And just lay down and never wake up again, if it meant it would finally stop.”

There are too many times where he said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing even when he had the best intentions at heart.

Always Sometimes, it feels like all Cross is good at is hurting.

His friends.

“Frisk! What have you done, you idiot?!”

“I’ll Reset the world and make things right.”

His family.

“B-Brother…”

“My name is Cross!"

The ones he loved.

“Long time no see bruh! I barely recognized you in that weird outfit!”

“BACK OFF!”

If he wasn’t used for someone else’s convenience, all he could do was hurt. 

But this time, 

Epic lifts his head up when Cross gently pulls the hand tugging at his scarred socket out. 

He won’t. 

He was full of DETERMINATION. 

“Dying’s easy for us, huh?” Epic laughed bitterly. 

“I’ll say.” 

“It’d be so easy,” Cross continued. “To kill for you, to die for you.”

Epic’s hand is cold in his burning claws. But together they are warm.

“In a Soulbeat.” Epic agreed. 

“But I want to live for you, too.” 

“Living is grief, and we die anyway,” Epic pointed out. His lovely eyes are dim, glow duller than their usual brilliant light. 

He didn’t disagree. “Always mourning what could’ve been, what won’t be, what we can’t save.”

“It’ll never stop.” Epic closed his eyes. “No matter how hard we try or want it to.”

But there were so many reasons to keep trying anyway, so many little reasons to keep going. 

“At the very least,” Epic sighed. “I’ve got used to dealing with it after two decades.” He glared down at his hollowed palms. “I just wish I didn’t look like him, too.” He seemed to deflate, shoulders hunching in as he’s unable to meet Cross’s gaze. “It’s why I thought you’d freak out or hate m—hate it, ‘cause it looks like Gaster and I know he was just as shitty to you, too, a-and I didn’t want you to see him when you look at me—”

His self-depreciative tirade slows when Cross gently takes his hands in his and turns them over, slowly running his phalanges around and over his cored palms phalanges while Epic anxiously waits for his reaction. 

And Cross just looks at him, soft and sweet, humming as he replies. “I don’t see Gaster. I only see you.” And he lances their hands together and brings Epic’s palm to his mouth. 

His eyes watch Epic’s as he purposefully presses the tip of the hollowed crevice to his teeth in a gentle kiss, mindful of his Intent and force of his touch. “And my best friend is beautiful.”

“Even my Eye?” Cross nods, reaching out to cup his face and stroke his zygomatic arch with his thumb. 

“Did I ever tell you, purple’s my favorite color?” Epic shakes his head. “It’s because of you.”

Epic stared at him in disbelief. “No, really. I used to hate it, hate my ecto, because it was always red until XGaster overwrote me, and it never went back.”

But now he matches his best friend, who to him, has the loveliest shade of purple he’s ever seen. A vibrant, vivacious violet, glittering like a twilight sky and brighter than all the cosmos.

“I’m your favorite?” Epic softly bumped his head with his, and Cross nuzzled him back, smiling softly into his eyes. 

“Always. Like cookies and chocolate.”

“Sugar and spice.”

“Peanut butter and jelly.”

“Sushi and soy sauce.” 

“Heheh,” he chuckles under his breath. “Just two peas in a pod,” Epic quips. His grin falls slightly at the corner. “But you mean it? I don’t look like him?”

“I only see you, Epic.” He promised. “Mi mejor amigo.”

The tired but dazzling smile that flutters then blooms across Epic’s expression reminds him of the field of lilacs from his AU, of the savory sweet taste of pimplom pie baked with love, of violet butterflies' graceful wings unfurling above the flowers like paint across a canvas. The picture it paints is bright and beautiful, of home and safety and peace so deep that he yearns with all his heart and Soul. A true work of art, it brightens the room and melts his fluttering Soul that blooms with warmth, like blooming flowers and fluttering butterflies. 

They’re so close that Epic had only to tilt his skull to the side and gently press closer to set Cross ablaze, the point of contact sparking and shooting out through his body with electric bursts of magic. 

The kiss was brief, only a tiny moment of time where Epic had nuzzled against him, but it was a euphoric eternity to his jubilant Soul.

When Epic broke away to rest into the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around him, Cross was grateful he couldn’t see the way his entire skull flushed soft, luminous lilac. 

“Thank you.” It’s whispered like a secret. And Cross knows he’s been entrusted with more than a secret. 

For once, he didn’t hurt.

For once, he lov—cared for someone, and he didn’t hurt them. 

When he returned his embrace, it was with the comfort that he held his world in his arms, safe and adored.

It’s gradual, but Cross noticed when Epic began to keep his gloves off. Whenever they were alone, he’d take them off without a word. Only reaching out for Cross’s hand and finding his unanswered plea accepted without a moment of hesitance. And soon it grew from an occasional happenstance to a daily occurrence. 

It won’t be until several weeks later that Epic would feel safe and comfortable enough to do the same around Delta and Color. 

And he would’ve never been able to without the courage all of Cross’s love and support had given him.

Cross watched Epic chat with Color, animatedly waving the hand not laced with the soldier’s in the air as he emphasized his point. The conversation went unheard, lost to him, as he focused only on a bright smile and hands openly displaying hollowed palms.

One down, he thought, unaware of the besotted smile he wore as he stared at Epic’s closed, scarred Eye. One to go.

Shoutout to my lovely moot @sirsquidsalot for help writing how hauntingly beautiful Epic is! I just couldn't phrase the paragraph quite right and they were so helpful to get that final revision. Please check out their lovely writing!

Translations:

De nada -- Spanish for "no problem"/"you're welcome"

parce -- Spanish for "buddy"/"friend"

Mi mejor amigo -- Spanish for "My best friend"

¿Qué estás haciendo -- Spanish for "What are you doing?"

“¿Hablas en serio?” -- Spanish for "Are you serious?"

Sinabi ko na sayo — Tagalog for “I already told you”

Putang ina — Tagalog for “Son of a bitch/bastard”

[mrs-pianofandom-98]

Someone Will Love You

{A small ficlet inspired by the song “Sorry” By Halsey. Poly Coven..yes angst.} Agatha knew they loved her,she knew she loved them but to her; her lovers are just acting blind so she saves them from what she knows she will do.

“I’ve missed your calls for months it seems,Don’t realize how mean I can be”

“Anything?” Alice ask as she looks up as Jennifer sighted as she took her phone away from her ear. As she shook her head and ran her hand through Alice’s hair. “I can’t believe she just left..no note,no call,nothing.” Lilia said as she was sitting next to Rio who was staring at agatha's coat hanging on the rack. A constant reminder of what used to be there.

“Cause I can sometimes treat the people that I love like jewelry cause I can change my mind each day..”

“You can’t keep leaving us like that Agatha!” Jennifer yelled as another night of Agatha coming back after a random disappearance that lasted days. “Oh please hun you know i come back.” She said knowing she was also trying to convince herself of that. “We’re not something you can abandon and come back to when you're ready.” Jen snipped feeling used just like she knew her other partners were. All Agatha did was kiss her gently to stop her yelling and try to convince both Jennifer and herself she would always come back.

“I didn’t mean to try you on..but i still know your birthday and your mothers favorite song..”

Agatha was sitting in a cafe when she heard Lorna Wu’s album come on. She stared at the red gemstone ring on her hand that was given to her by her Wu lover…she slipped it off and put it in her pocket as she took a sip of her drink.

“So I’m sorry to my unknow lover,sorry that I can’t believe that anybody ever really starts to fall in love with me”

“Agatha why can’t you just believe I did this for you darling.” Lilia asked as she stood in front of the burnette. They had been going back and forth all morning because Lilia planned a surprise date and breakfast for her and Agatha.”You know as well as I do everything comes with a price doll. So what is it?” Agatha seen the hurt in her older lover's eyes flash..

“Sorry to my unknown lover,sorry I could be so blind..Didn’t mean to leave you and all the things we had behind. “

“I hate her! I hate her!” Rio yelled as she glared down at the rings on the coffee table. A red gem,a yellow,a pink, and a green stone all put on a necklace and a note folded beside it. “She left! She left again!” Rio threw the note to the floor as angry tears fell. The women she gave everything for,the women she had lost over and over so many times. Had left again even when they found their missing pieces. “Why won’t she let us love her!” Rio was pulled into Lilias arms as her cries of frustration and betrayal left feeling the heartbreak she was promised she wouldn’t feel again.

[bambi-kinos]

Hey!

I was listening to double fantasy today - specifically ‘I’m Losing You’ (heartbreaking song)

In my eyes, very Paul McCartney break up based. But I thought their relationship had been on good terms in 1980, so in your opinion why did John write this song?

Thanks :)

I'm Losing You has always struck me as John's good-bye song to Yoko, nothing to do with Paul. He really did care about her, or what he thought she represented. Letting go of her was a long process. The lines about the stranger's room and the phone always makes my ears perk up because Fred Seaman said that Yoko was constantly on her landline, all day and all night. She barricaded herself inside her office and often slept there so that she didn't have to deal with Sean and John. Yoko had Fred move John's stuff in and out of his room when he left to sail to Bermuda. If he hadn't come up with Double Fantasy, she was planning to divorce him and take him for everything. John knew that or suspected when he came back, I don't see why Fred wouldn't have warned him. I think the song maps to this pretty reliably:

Here in some stranger's room Late in the afternoon What am I doing here at all? Ain't no doubt about it I'm losing you

Yoko moved everything back into John's bedroom as soon as she heard about plans for Double Fantasy but I fully expect John to have known or been warned about what she had done. He knew the room was no longer his.

Somehow the wires have crossed Communication's lost Can't even get you on the telephone Just got to shout about it I'm losing you

One of the reliable ways of contacting Yoko was through her phone which John could use. However she also barricaded herself away from him, sent him to Korean brothels and massage parlors to deny him sex and intimacy, John had a screaming argument with Yoko that was about John not understanding the Japanese staff at their apartment, etc. Even if he called her she wouldn't have picked up. Straight to answering machine!

Well, here in the valley of indecision I don't know what to do I feel you slipping away

John spent a lot of time babbling his head off to Fred about second chances and working at love and relationships etc. To me it's always read as the scared chatter of a man who knew a train was hurtling towards him. Major fear of the unknown and understandably paralyzed by the end of his marriage. I fully believe John wanted to leave Yoko but he was struggling against inertia.

Well now you say you're not getting enough But I remind you of all that bad, bad, bad stuff So what the hell am I supposed to do? Just put a band-aid on it? And stop the bleeding now Stop the bleeding now Well...

Well, well, well I know I hurt you then But hell, that was way back when Well, do you still have to carry that cross? (Drop it!) Don't wanna hear about it I'm losing you

Yoko had many ways of communicating her moods to John and regardless of whether it was good, he was very attuned to her and her desires. I see this phrasing as John finally finding his backbone. He blew up his life for this woman and she never thanked him for it. He was getting sober and getting inspired and was finally telling her to fuck off.

But he's obviously going to have complex feelings towards her despite everything so I'm Losing You is John working through that.

[boysinmaidoutfits]

Ocean eyes

Stepbrother au

Warnings: curses

mainly inspired by the Billie Eilish song ocean eyes🫢

Summary:You and rafe were step siblings, ever since your parents met they just had to be together. Rafe hated that though, so he ultimately hated you. He was mean, and always doing something to make everyone angry at him. Except you. You liked Rafe, even if he he was so mean sometimes for no reason you still remained sweet to him, the sweetest girl in fact, and that’s what annoyed Rafe the most. You clung to him always, especially when your parents were out, or away, like they were this weekend.

It was just you and rafe in the house, he sat in the living room, “Rafeyy!” I shout as I come down the stairs, as soon as I arrive in the living room I see Rafe’s blonde hair and broad shoulders as he slumps back to couch with a gruff look on his face as he watched the tv. "Shh! For fuck's sake, will you be quiet?" He muttered under his breath "Always fuckin' noisy..." he takes a swig of his beer, deliberately avoiding looking at you "What do you want, y/n?” I sit down next to him on the couch, our arms slightly touching which was seeking me more comfort than it should. “Just wanted to spend some time with my stepbrother, what are you watching?” He rolls his eyes as you sit next to him, his arm tensing as you get too close for comfort. "Last nights game, you're gonna sit here and stare at the tv with me?" He asks sarcastically, taking another swig of his beer. “Thats what i was planning on doing yeah.. if it bothers you just say so god..” I slightly roll my eyes, i never understood his attitude and why he was so cold all the time towards me. "I don't want you near," He snaps, his temper flaring. "Happy now?" He takes another swig of his beer, trying to drown out the fact that you're still sitting there acting all nice to him. “Fine, I.. I guess I’ll just go then..” i mutter as i stand up to leave with a disappointed look on my face, as i start heading to the kitchen.

A few moments pass, it feels so quiet but Rafe’s thoughts aren’t, he gets up from the couch, his feet carrying him to the kitchen despite his brain telling him not to. He leans against the doorframe, watching you as you grab some food. He hates how you always look so sad when he snaps at you.

As i rummage through the fridge and get some ingredients, i hear a slight creak causing me to turn around, and there he was, Rafe standing right in the door. “You need something?” I ask, i cant help but still be nice to him, this is one of the traits i hated about myself, my niceness. "No," He says gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just came to see what you were doing." He watches as you turn back to the fridge, his eyes trailing over your small figure. He quickly looks away, not wanting to get caught staring. “Well.. im gonna make your favorite so you better be hungry.” I turn around smiling up at him with all the food piled up in my hands, i quickly settle it down on the counter. “Im not hungry y/n..”he snaps, even Rafe didn’t know why he snapped at you, why was he so annoyed by your presence? What was even his issue? He walks further into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. "You're too fucking stubborn for your own good, you know that?" I look up at him. “Oh so im the jerk for caring for you or what?” I slightly raise my voice which usually never even happens, but this time he was acting really stubborn. “And what is that even supposed to mean?! Look at how YOU’RE acting right now..” I huff. "It means you don't take no for an answer, even when it's clearly what someone wants," His eyes trace your features, noting how the harsh kitchen light brings out the freckles across your nose. "Like right now." “I really don’t wanna play one of your games tonight Rafe, plus all this shit that you’re doing doesn’t affect me get that in your head.” I turn away from him refocusing on preparing the food, “Oh, it'll affect you," He says, his voice cold. "It'll affect you more than you realize." He reaches out, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him. "You think you're so fucking tough, but you're not." He looks at me with his piercing cold ocean blue eyes, all i see is hatred. I realize im not tough, my eyes began to tear up and my throat goes dry i try to look away, pull away, but his grip is tight. He notices the tears welling up in your eyes and something inside him snaps. "Fuck," He curses, his grip on your chin tightening. "Don't cry, goddamn it." He pulls you into his chest, holding you tightly against him. I breathe in his rich woody cologne and the words “Im sorry..” spills out from my mouth. "Don't apologize," He murmurs, one hand moving to stroke your hair while the other keeps you firmly against his chest. His heart is racing, beating against your ear. "Stop... being so fucking sweet to me," He whispers, voice cracking slightly. "It makes everything... harder."

[foopdeloop]

drawing at night is so dangerous because before u know it its 3 am

[the-kipsabian]

post a screencap of your lockscreen photo and a screencap of the last/current song listened to on spotify/youtube, as well as the last photo of a celebrity that you saved in your phone. 📞

tagged by @unlikelywrestlingfan & @ijustthinkevilunoisneat 💜

i havent changed my lockscreen since august... and i probably wont before i can recreate that photo tbh

[bluehexagone]

Architecture creature, will probably digitalize this later

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than a full minute

Werewolves need help but everyone else trying to help them is STUPID and WRONG so I did it better. You're welcome

Also an artifact that I just had the idea for and kinda sorta supports werewolves if you squint so I gave it Innistrad flavor and threw it in the batch. So there, unique support cards that aid werewolves in their transforming endevors without defaulting to the laziest possible-

"Why not just give werewolves flash?"

FUCKING FINE

You want flash so bad you can spend 3 mana on it

[romantically-yours]

I desire romantically doing makeup with somebody

[mbat]

anyone else have like, a messy/nontypical setup (as opposed to their usual one) when doing a several days long project and its kinda... everything? in a good way?

it just feels like... wow, im doing something, and it feels good that its taking up space, and itll feel physically different when its done

[nickfowlerrr]

right where i need you

pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut. established relationship. fluff. unprotected sex in the kitchen - sorry not sorry. and not much else, really! if i’m forgetting something pls lmk.

words: 2.3k

notes: i haven’t stopped thinking about him in that damn white tank since i first saw it and honestly i don’t know if i ever will. here’s just some random smut for you, inspired ofc by said white tank, please enjoy. thank you in advance for reading and as always - reblogs and comments are welcome and so appreciated! let me know what you think. 🩵

You can’t be held responsible for this.

It’s really not your fault.

He’s the one looking so…him.

It took one little look. And now here you are.

You’re not complaining! But when your phone starts ringing with texts in about fifteen minutes asking where you are and why you’re late, well… you can deal with that later.

You had padded down the hall, hair and makeup done and dress unzipped with your heels in your hand.

Did you really need his help to zip it up? No. But you can’t pass up the opportunity to feel his hands on you, even for a second.

He got home not too long ago so you know where you’ll find him, but he hasn’t come into the room to say hello, so you’re not exactly sure how you’ll find him.

You started considering skipping out on girls night the second you heard him come in without his usual greeting, and that is still definitely on the table. You haven’t been seeing him as often as either of you would like lately, and as much as you love your friends, you had brunch together last weekend, it’s not like it’s been ages… They wouldn’t be too upset, you’re sure.

You decided you’d make up your mind when you saw Bucky.

You find him exactly where you knew you would. He stands at the kitchen counter, his hair mussed, shirt discarded as he’s clad in his black pants and white under tank. He’s hunched over a bit and yet he still looks so big.

You smile wearily as you assess him from behind. He seems tense and tired and you can easily guess why. He’s been working nonstop for the past two weeks, you know he’s exhausted.

You walk closer to him and he turns to face you as you near his back.

He may be exhausted but damn he always manages to still look good. You’re almost envious of his natural allure.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets with a rumble as you reach out to touch him, your hand on his side as you step closer to him. His own find your waist as he pulls you in to hug you. “You look beautiful as ever,” he murmurs softly, holding you tighter than you’d expected.

“Hi, baby,” you ease back. It’s not a pet name you use often, but it slips so easily from your tongue as he holds you and you hug him back.

“Thought you woulda been gone already,” he says as you pull back from him, your eyes meeting as he keeps his hands on you.

“Not yet,” you say, “can you zip me?”

He smiles at you and you turn around, allowing him access to the zipper. He keeps a hand on your hip as he slowly works the zipper up the dress, taking his sweet time. Once he’s got it, he runs his big hand down your back and then settles it on your other hip, giving you a squeeze.

“Thank you,” you say, turning to face him once more, “So,” you broach, “how was your day?”

“Ah, we don’t need to talk about that right now,” he tries to brush off.

“Bucky,” you start to admonish before he interrupts you.

“Have I seen this dress before?” He asks as his hands wander along the fabric, his eyes following your every curve.

You sigh, letting it go for now, “No, it’s new.”

“Looks good on you,” he compliments.

“Thank you,” you smile with a titter.

He blinks at you, his eyes swimming with something you aren’t sure you can name as his big hands find your bottom.

“I’ve missed you so much, you know that?”

You nod, softening as you step closer to him, “I’ve been missing you, too.”

He gives your ass as squeeze as you lean into him and you don’t even realize you’re doing it as you let your gaze wander down his sturdy chest to where his tank top is still tucked into his pants. He’s so built and so big, you’re damn near obsessed. And God, you really have been missing him.

His warmth, his touch, his everything.

You only realize you were biting your lip as his thumb comes up to pull it from your teeth. And you only realize your hand has been drifting down his thick, strong torso when you brush the top of his pants.

You meet his eye and you need no other warning of what’s about to come as you see the longing there.

His hand is holding your face as he licks his lips without thought. His eyes drift from yours to your lips and then all at once he’s on you.

His kiss is fervent and hot as he leads you. You let him turn you as you’re entirely enraptured in his kiss. You don’t recognize the counter at your backside as you kiss him back until he lifts you up without warning. His strength is always so impressive to you as you yip and reach to hold onto him despite the fact you’re already sitting safely by the time you do.

Your legs spread enough to welcome him as he stands between them, your dress already ridden up your thick thighs. His kisses are incessant as he holds you, his hands and lips both wandering what belongs to him.

Your hands are in his thick, dark hair as he attacks your neck and you can’t help the moan that slips past your lips. You can feel his smile against your skin as he hears it, like music to his ears.

You pull him closer with your leg around him as he pushes up the material of your dress until it’s around your waist. His hands move higher and once he finds the top of your dress, he pulls it down too, taking your strapless bra with it. He unhooks it easily and tosses it aside while avoiding unzipping the dress for you.

His mouth is on your full breasts the moment he exposes them; licking, nipping, sucking at your nipples while your back arches and you moan at the feeling.

“Buck,” you eke out your plea, tugging at him.

He doesn’t stop but his hands do move down to undo his pants. He pulls away after a second and pushes them down enough to free his stiff cock. He pulls you closer to him and then drags your silky panties down, tossing them with your bra before he situates himself back between your spread legs.

The feeling of his hand on your bare thigh is enough to set you on fire. He squeezes the ample softness there as he feels you, letting his hand slide up your leg to hold your hip.

You’re definitely gonna be late now, but it really isn’t your fault. They can’t blame you. And even if they could, you don’t think you’d really care.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as you feel his cock head at your entrance.

“So wet,” he murmurs as he drags himself up and down your slit teasingly, earning a whimper from you. “I know, baby,” he chuckles, looking up to meet your puppy dog eyes, “I know. I’m gonna give it to ya, know exactly what you need, sweetheart,” he says, his words smooth as silk as he talks huskily.

He guides himself back to your slick entrance and right before he starts to push into you, he makes sure your eyes are on him, and of course they are.

You hold eye contact as he slowly moves into you, your lips parting on a gasp the deeper he goes. Your hands are messed in his hair again as your walls involuntarily squeeze his length inside of you.

“Fuck,” you breathe. You pull him closer, angling yourself to kiss him again as he slides the rest of the way into your tight pussy. He kisses you back just as fervently as before as he starts to pull out of you before thrusting right back in. His thick cock dragging perfectly along your tight walls as he fucks you. His hand tightens on your hip as you squeeze him again, his eyes squeezing shut as he moans in turn, but his pace never faltering.

You wrap your arms around his neck and press yourself to him as he holds your waist. His cock hitting deeper with his every thrust. You’re already on the brink of your orgasm as you bury your face in his neck, breathing him in as he fucks you in perfect time. His grunts and groans and moans fill your ears as your own spur him on.

“Missed you so fucking much,” he pants as he squeezes you again. You kiss his stubbled jaw, arching into him, “Missed you,” you mewl. You suddenly feel his thumb on your clit and you gasp out your moan.

“Bucky,” you cry, hands gripping his solid back.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he husks, “come on. Let go, baby. Come for me. Need to feel you come around my cock,” he grits, working your clit in tight circles as you clench around him, eyes squeezing shut and arms holding him ever tighter. “Need to feel you,” he begs a little quieter, almost as if he was talking to himself.

You can’t hold back any longer as his cock hits that special spot inside you once again while his thumb is ceaseless on your sensitive clit. Your face is in his neck as you quake against him, coming hard. Your body feels alight and electric, sparks of unadulterated pleasure shooting through you as you shudder and moan at the overwhelming feeling. Waves of ecstasy washing over you as you moan and whine in Bucky’s ear.

He doesn’t relent as he works you through your high and pushes himself closer to his own, praises for you and groans of his own pleasure sounding from him as he fucks you, making sure you feel every inch of him, his hands gripping your ass as he keeps you close.

Your walls pulsing around his length have him growling as he teeters on the edge of his orgasm, but it’s your soft moan in his ear as you hold onto him that really pushes him over the edge. You sound so pleased, so satisfied and debauched and it’s all because of him. It’s all for him.

You gasp as he comes inside you, curses of pleasure and your name on his tongue, his hot cum filling you up as he slows his thrusts. You feel his lips on your temple and then your cheek as he kisses you gently while he comes down. Your walls still squeezing him softly as you do the same until he finally pulls out of you, tucking himself away.

You hold his face in your hands, admiring him for a moment before you pull him closer for a kiss. He still stands between your legs as he lets you pull him further into you before you finally let him go.

“I’ve really missed you,” you murmur. “I know you’re off all next month, and we’ll be around each other, be able to make up for lost time,” you smirk coyly, “but,” you breathe, “still, I kinda just wanna stay here with you tonight.“

“Yeah?” he asks with a half smile, “what about girl’s night?”

“They’ll survive without me.”

“You really don’t have to cancel your plans for me, sweetheart,” he assures you, that look in his eye telling you more than his words. He doesn’t think you mean it, doesn’t want to seem like he wants you to stay just as badly as you want to… “I think I need some alone time, anyway,” he adds - now avoiding your eye as he speaks, and only fueling your previous suspicions as he fixes the top of your dress, taking a second before he wraps his arms around you. You let your own slide around his neck as he rests his head on your chest.

“I don’t think I believe you,” you reply easily with a kiss to his hair before you urge him back and get off the counter.

He watches you as you turn around, your back to him. “Unzip me?”

He does as you ask, after a few seconds.

You shimmy the dress off and don’t look back to him as you go for your phone set on the opposite counter. You shoot your friends a text letting them know not to expect you tonight as you feel Bucky at your back.

“You don’t have to stay for me,” he says again, even softer now.

You turn to face him, meeting his eye, “Tell me you want me to leave, and I will,” you say.

He bites his lip as he watches you intently, shaking his head a bit before he speaks, “I can’t.”

“Didn’t think so,” you smile triumphantly.

You take his hand in yours and pull him out of the kitchen, down the hall to your shared bedroom. He follows with no complaint.

“You shower, I’ll clean myself up a bit, then cuddles and talking, and then… round two?”

“And three,” he agrees, pulling your naked body against his still clothed one before he kisses you again. “And dinner somewhere in between.”

“Sounds good,” you smile against his lips. “The usual?”

He nods, “I’ll call it in when we get outta the shower.”

“We?” you quirk a brow, noticing the twinkle of mischief in his bright blue eyes just a moment too late.

You yelp as he picks you up effortlessly in his inhumanly strong arms, his mirthful chuckle sending butterflies alight in your belly as he smiles that charming smile at you.

“We,” he confirms, walking you both into the bathroom, with no complaint from you as you relax in his hold.

God, have you missed this.

[imaginedisish]

Anything (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Something is seriously wrong with me...I cannot stop writing for this man. Started this one last night after hearing him say "princess" in "The Wolverine" (2013). This is another nightmare fic, but I promise it's different! Heavily inspired by "anything" by Adrianne Lenker. Hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Your summer affair with Logan is, in fact, not just a summer affair.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT!! MINORS DNI!!! Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), (some?)fingering, cockwarming, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, nightmares, fem!reader/afab!reader, canon-typical violence, mutant!reader (unspecified abilities), feelings, angst, cursing, probably grammatical errors, I think that's it!

Word Count: 3,213 short for me

It started one summer night—under the stars. You had slipped out the window of your room in the mansion. You were sitting with your legs crossed, perched precariously on the old, shingled roof. You never got much sleep—you simply couldn’t—even though you knew the mansion was safe. Staying awake remained a solace, a comfort. It meant fewer nightmares; it meant you couldn’t be haunted by the hurt of your past.

Staring up at the stars beat staring up at your ceiling, and so you had made it a habit to crawl out of your window and sit on the roof. 

Until that one summer night, when Logan found you out there.

He shoved open his window and stuck his head outside. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” You smiled, turning your head to face him. You shrugged your shoulders, giggling at the concern on his face. He mocked you, shrugging his own shoulders in imitation. 

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile and the way he made you laugh. You and Logan had been growing closer, spending more time together. He was looking out for you—constantly and protectively. It made you feel good knowing that someone cared so deeply. 

“Why don’t you come over here?” You called over to him, patting the spot next to you. He shook his head and ducked back inside. You quickly assumed he didn’t feel like being with you, your heart sinking down into your stomach. You wanted him to come out, to sit with you. Maybe you could’ve—

But then there he was, pushing the window as far open as it could possibly go, struggling to climb out. It wasn’t too much of a scuffle over to you, your rooms being right next to one another, but he made a big deal of the trek nonetheless. He huffed for dramatic effect as he sat down next to you. 

“This is so incredibly dangerous,” he had said, sarcasm heavy in his voice. 

You gasped. “Logan Howlett cares about safety?” You clasped your hand over your mouth for flare. “My safety?” 

He smiled, but there was something serious in his face. “I do, actually.” You tried not to notice as he inched closer to you, your shoulders brushing together. “What are you doing out here, princess?” He asked again. 

You smirked at the familiar nickname. “I don’t really like sleeping,” you muttered. 

Logan nodded. He understood better than anyone else. “I know…” He trailed off, looking up at the sky. “But why sit out here?”

“It’s quiet,” you whispered. “And it’s beautiful. Better than being in there, just sitting in bed.” 

He nodded again. “It is beautiful.” You turned your head back to Logan as he spoke. He wasn’t looking at the sky anymore. He was looking at you. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Did you have a dream tonight?”

You shook your head from side to side. “Didn’t give myself the chance to yet, and I don’t plan on doing so.” You sighed, looking down at your legs, still crossed like a pretzel in front of you. “Wish we didn’t have to deal with this, you know?”  

Logan slowly brought his arm around your shoulder, as if he was waiting for you to shove him away. He had touched you before, but not quite like this. It was always in passing—always short and fleeting. But this? This was intentional. You leaned into his touch and let your head fall to his shoulder. “You don’t have to deal with it alone,” he offered, his lips faintly brushing at your temple. 

You tilted up to look at him, his face inches away from yours. He pulled you in closer, his breath fanning across your cheek. “You’re not alone,” he repeated. 

And then his lips were on yours. You kissed on the roof. You let him tug you into his window, into his bed. He tasted you that night. You spread your legs and let him inside. And then you slept. You slept without waking up in a cold sweat. You slept without reliving your past. And for the first time in a long time, so did he. 

And now it's become a habit. He opens his window for you, and you climb across the roof and inside. Every night. You haven’t slept alone since the beginning of the summer, and it’s August now. There’s no label on whatever it is you two are. But you know it’s serious—the way he asks every night if you can stay, even though he knows you’ve already made up your mind and that you aren’t going anywhere. 

But tonight is different. Logan was sent on a day trip with some of the students, while you were tasked with staying at the school to run through training exercises. It’s the end of the day now—10 PM. You’re exhausted as you let your back crash down on the mattress. 

Thanks to Logan, your body has become accustomed to sleeping. You can feel it calling you, feel your tiredness creeping in at the corner of your eyes. You try to fight the feeling, but it’s no use. Your eyes flutter open and closed, resisting until you can’t anymore, and you fall asleep. 

There’s a piercing ringing in your ears. Your chest is heaving violently. You’re strapped down to a chair, a needle inches away from your forearm. Maybe it’s Stryker. Maybe it’s some other mutant hunter or government agent ready to do their worst. You thrash around in the chair, yanking at the restraints to no avail.

You choke out a sob, throwing your head back in agony. Logan is all you can think about. What if he’s in danger? What if you never see him again? What if this is it?

Just as the needle breaks skin, the piercing ringing starts up again, and everything goes black. 

You force yourself to sit up, cold sweat drenching every inch and curve of your body. You look over to the clock on your nightstand: 12:37 AM. You had only been asleep for two hours. You shut your eyes, letting your head bump into the headboard behind you. You take deep, slow breaths, trying to lower your heart rate, silently reminding yourself that it was all just a dream. 

You’re not exactly sure what brought the nightmare on, but you know you aren’t going back to sleep. You crawl out of bed and into the darkness of your room, carefully walking to your window and shoving it as far open as it can possibly go. You climb out and sit on the still-hot roof to look at the stars. 

The twinkling balls of heat shine above you. It hits you then that even stars must die. They have all that energy, all that beauty, and then they burn out. You swallow at the thought, tears burning behind your sinuses. 

You don’t want to look over at Logan’s room—don’t want to see the window closed. The trip was to some aquarium down the shore in Jersey. You know he’s likely not home yet, and for the first time since all of this started, you’re worried about bothering him. You don’t want to force him to deal with your—

And then you finally see it. His window is open, the curtains billowing around inside. You let out a tight breath you didn’t know you were holding, your shoulders going slack at the thought of crawling into his bed. 

You scale the roof carefully, bending down as you climb inside his room. You get tangled up in the curtains, and you shove them aside to reveal Logan in his bed, eyes shut. You swallow harshly at the sight—his chest bare and his hair a mess. Sometimes you’ll stay up and watch him sleep, just to see this, just to know what he looks like when it's late and no one else is around. 

But then he’s twitching. He grunts, his chest heaving rapidly. You sprint across the room to his side, practically tripping over nothing in the rush of it all. He’s fisting the sheets, mumbling nonsense, violently turning left and right. You can see the pain in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his muscles flex. Your heart drops deep into the pit of your stomach. 

“Logan,” you call out, bringing a hand to his shoulder. You know he’s sensitive—know he can bring the claws out at any second—so you take care with your movements. “Logan,” you call again, louder this time. You grip his shoulder harder, shaking him, trying to force him out of the nightmare. 

You think you hear your name slip from his lips. “I’m right here,” you soothe, bringing your other hand to his abdomen, rubbing softly as you continue to shake his shoulder. He’s a sweating mess, his body cold and hot at the same time. You want to take his pain away, to make all of this better. “Come on,” you beg. “Wake up.”

And then he’s sitting up, his eyes open wide. You step back, giving him the space he needs as he comes to. His claws shoot out, ready to strike. He turns his head, his eyes frantically searching the room until he finds you. 

He quickly retracts his claws, and you watch as his shoulders relax. His chest still rises and falls rapidly with every breath he takes. 

“Logan,” you whisper, stepping closer to him again. “Are you—” 

He cuts you off, pawing at you, grabbing your sides, and pulling you into his bed. He’s on top of you in an instant, caging you in, his throat bobbing as he swallows harshly. 

“Can you stay?” It’s a ritual, the way he asks. He knows your answer—always does. But he asks anyway. You know he wants to hear it from your lips, wants to know that you want this, too. 

Your heart clenches in your chest. “Yes,” you sigh as one of his hands comes to rest underneath your shirt, climbing slowly up your stomach. “But Logan—”

He swallows your protests with a kiss, and you moan into his mouth. It’s hurried, rushed, like he’ll die if he can't have you right away. “Don’t wanna talk about it. Need you now. Talk after,” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you again before you can say a word. 

You understood—you needed him too. Needed to feel him inside you, under your skin, everywhere. 

His hand slinks up to your bare chest; you had forgotten you weren’t wearing a bra, just one of Logan’s old t-shirts and your panties. His touch is rough; needy. He squeezes your tits, his fingertips brushing your nipples, drawing tight circles. You moan his name, already squirming underneath him. 

Logan’s erection grinds against your core. He’s just wearing his boxers—nothing else—but it’s still too much. You need him bare before you, deep inside you. You lift your hips up to meet his, your arms wrapping around his back to pull him closer.

He takes the hint, his hand gliding back down your body to the hem of your panties. He reaches down farther, teasing your folds through the fabric. “Fuck, so fucking wet already,” he mumbles, slipping your panties to the side so that he can feel you. You shudder under his touch, his fingers spreading your slickness up to your clit. He strokes teasingly, the ache between your thighs growing with every flick and circle. 

It feels like heaven, but you need him closer. “Logan,” you whimper, fisting the sheets underneath you. “Want you, please.” It’s a desperate prayer and not just a request. 

Logan suddenly pulls his hand away and you whine at the loss of contact. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes reassuringly, sitting up and pushing his boxers down. You’ll never get tired of the sight of his cock springing free against his stomach. His hands are back on your hips in an instant, squeezing lightly before hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties and yanking them down. 

He's back on top of you, lowering down onto one forearm as his other hand pulls your shirt above your tits. “Wanna see you, pretty girl,” he groans, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple before his forehead meets yours.

His hand comes down to the base of his cock, guiding his tip to your entrance, to where you need him most. His chest heaves in time with yours, your nipples brushing against him. He stays there for a moment, not moving. His eyes search your face, as if to confirm you’re real—that you’re truly here with him. You can see the need in his eyes. It’s not lust anymore—not just about sex. It’s never been about that. 

It has always meant more. 

Logan suddenly thrusts into you, bottoming out down to the hilt, stretching you open. You can feel him throb inside you. He groans at your ear. “So goddamn tight.” He doesn’t pull back out, his hips still, his cock buried deep inside you. You need him to move, need to feel his cock rub against your walls. You try to grind down on him, but he doesn’t let you. His hand latches onto your hip, keeping you in place. 

“Lo,” you whine. 

“Love when you call me that, sweetheart,” he growls, his hips still stuck in place. “Just wanna feel you like this for a minute. Don’t move.” 

It’s all too much. You need more, need him to fuck into you. Logan frees his hold on your hip, his hand trailing down between your bodies. He finds your clit, drawing achingly slow circles there. It’s nowhere near enough, but the temporary relief feels so good. 

“Always want you this close,” he murmurs, his hips finally starting to move, slowly but surely. You arch your back at the feeling. “Feels so good, so fucking good.” 

He’s taking his time, committing how you feel around his cock to his memory. He’s filling you up, taking in every inch you have to give him. You’re still adjusting to his size, his cock working you open with every thrust. His fingertips swirl around your clit, adding more pressure to the sensitive bud. You’re already close, already putty in his hands. 

Your walls flutter around him, drawing him in, deeper and deeper. 

“Should’ve just brought you in here when I got home,” he husks between starving kisses. “Shouldn’t have waited.” 

You wrap your legs around his waist. “I’m here now,” you coo, your nails scratching at his back as he pounds into you, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours. 

“D-don’t know what I’d do without you,” he stutters, his voice suddenly shaky. He’s still fucking into you relentlessly, pumping in and out. “F-fucking need you all the time, princess.” His words and that nickname light a spark at the base of your spine. You can feel yourself melting, ready to come undone. 

“So close,” you choke out in between thrusts. 

You clamp down on him. “That’s it,” Logan whispers, his cock rutting into you, his fingers still circling your clit. He’s working you through it, taking care of you, making you feel good. “Come on my cock, pretty girl. Wanna feel it.” 

You can’t help but do as he says—that spark at the base of your spine spreading like wildfire. You’re moaning his name, walls squeezing around him, stars blurring your vision as your orgasm floods through you. But Logan isn’t slowing down, his cock pounding into you and his fingers stroking your clit long after you’ve finished. 

“Love feeling you come,” he mutters, biting your lip in between kisses. “Wanna feel you come again, princess.” 

You’re already beyond fucked out, overstimulated, and far too sensitive, but his words goad you along. “’S’so much, Lo,” you whimper, tripping over your sentence as he splits you apart, sinks into you, hitting your g-spot with every pump. 

“Know you can take it,” he praises, pressing a kiss just under your ear, then to your pulse point, and back up to your lips. “Know you can come again for me, can’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer. “A-anything for you.” You mean it, and he knows you do.

“Fuck,” he curses, his thrusts growing sloppier as the words fall from your lips. “F-fucking beautiful, perfect.” 

You look to where you two are connected—where you become one—and watch as his cock disappears into you. It’s too much, the sight, the feeling of him fucking into you, rubbing your clit, chasing your orgasm. It’s all it takes to have you falling apart underneath him, coming on his cock again. 

After a few soothing strokes to your clit, his nails trail up your body, his fingertips exploring your bare skin. Logan curses under his breath, your name on his lips. You know he’s close behind—almost there. 

“Don’t pull out,” you whisper in his ear, his cock pulsing inside you. “Stay.” 

That’s all the permission he needs to fill you up, his hips stuttering as he comes. “F-fuck,” he groans, his hand slipping under your back to hike you up, to bury himself as deep as possible, to hold you flush against him as he finishes inside you. 

He pumps a few more times, riding out his orgasm, but he doesn’t pull out. He grabs your thigh and hoists your leg around his waist as he shifts you onto your side. You’re next to him now, your chests still pressed together.

“Lemme stay inside you,” he mumbles. 

You nod against him. “Okay.” You squeeze your leg around his waist, taking him deeper. 

The room is silent, your shared shallow breaths the only sound. The curtains dance in the breeze from the still-open window. Your eyes flutter shut, and Logan’s lips press a kiss to each of them. 

After a few moments, he breaks the silence. “Don’t ever wanna spend a night without you.”

Your eyes flutter back open, and you’re met with Logan’s soft, sleepy face. His hair is a mess. You can’t help but smile at the intimacy—the domesticity. “You don’t have to,” you say back. 

“I mean it,” his voice is steady, firm, the sleepiness replaced suddenly with something more serious. “Need you with me all the time.”

“I know,” you say. And then he’s drawing stars across your back. It makes you think of the night this all started. The night everything changed. “I’ll always stay. Always.” You blink and an unexpected tear slips down your cheek. You swallow harshly, unprepared for the vulnerability of the moment. 

Logan immediately notices and brings his thumb up to your cheek, brushing the tear away. “Just want you. Give anything to make you mine.” 

“I already am,” is all you can manage to say. “Don’t need anything.” 

“Gonna give it to you anyway.” He kisses the spot where he wiped the tear away. 

You start to drift off—his arms around you, his cock still buried inside you—the thought of a forever with Logan replaying in your mind. 

You think he’s asleep, but then you hear his soft husk at your ear. “I love you. Always will.”

“I love you, too.”

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3