#But to have it completely empty just feels unreasonable

[artemx746]

Can we start talking about how chb would never be empty in tsats. Like in hidden oracle there was so many year rounders there you’re telling me they all decided to leave and do whatever? Also wasn’t there like an 8 year old year rounder what the fuck was he doing? They can’t make the excuse of winter break because hidden oracle takes place in mid January well past any winter breaks. Even while reading the book this just struck me as such an odd and unnecessary detail.

[berrryparfait]

❝ i don't look good in this dress... ❞ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

♥︎ featuring: sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb x fem!reader | prompt

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: you don't think this dress looks good on you... he begs to differ. 「i really don't see what you're seeing, babe.」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: fluff, shopping date, reader tries on a dress that hugs her curves and doesn't like how it looks, mentions of weight loss, insecurity, reassurance, he's whipped and worships the ground you walk on

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: lipstick – charlie puth

✧ a/n: requested work that i rushed to complete because i wanted all of u to know that u are GORGEOUS. do us all a favor and wear that dress girl ♡(>ᴗ•)

Nothing makes you happier than a shopping date with the love of your life. The way he’d been so eager to plan this day—to put a smile on your pretty face as if your happiness were his own… Well, it is.

You’d made preparations of your own, too. You had a rough idea of what you wanted to try on, and you’re determined not to leave empty-handed today. All that’s left is to slip into the dresses you’ve picked.

But when you finally zip this one up, it’s… not what you’d hoped for. And deep down, part of you knows—it’s not the dress’s fault.

“Babe, I don’t look good in this dress…”

Sylus lounges on the fitting room couch, one arm stretched out on top of the backrest. He’s been sitting here this whole time, thoroughly enjoying the view each time you emerge from behind the curtains.

He’s cleared out the store today for you to shop “in peace,” so it’s just you, him, and two store assistants in the room.

He frowns at your words, raking his piercing eyes up and down the length of your body once more. A disbelieving smirk curls his lips as he drawls, “Don’t be ridiculous, sweetie. You look ravishing in this dress—in fact, I’ll have them ring it up for us right now—”

“I-I don’t think I want this one, babe…” You sigh as you gaze at your reflection in the mirror, the dress cinching your body in all the wrong places. It just looks…unflattering.

Sylus waves the assistants away and studies your expression once more, realization dawning. He’s always thought you pulled off everything you’ve ever worn—to him, this dress is no different. But he knows about your insecurities…

“…I’ve made my opinion clear, Kitten, but you can’t seem to get it in that head of yours that you are unreasonably beautiful.”

You smile at his words, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. You’ve heard him compliment your looks a thousand times now, but insecurities aren’t so easily vanquished. They start and end with… well, you. No one else can touch them.

“I love you for that, Sy—but it’s not that simple. I’ve lived with these thoughts my whole life.”

His arrogant stance softens, and though the sureness in his voice remains. To him, your beauty is fact—an indisputable one.

“I don’t mean to undermine what you’ve been through. I only mean to highlight my perspective.” He stands up and twirls you around like you’re dandelions waltzing through a ballroom of wind, his hands memorizing every curve, every dip of your body. “If you could only see yourself the way I do… I’d squander the world for just another glimpse.”

Zayne leans against a wall, your leather purse in hand. He waits patiently while you try on each piece of clothing, occasionally pulling out his phone to skim through articles on cardiothoracic surgery training in Japan.

You step out of the fitting room wearing a form-fitting black dress, unsure what to think of it. It feels a little tight around your hips, and though you’ve been eager to try it on for days, you can’t help but feel disappointed. You glance at your reflection in the mirror and fight the urge to retreat into the fitting room before anyone else sees you.

Zayne catches the panic in your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“It’s just… This dress makes me look chubbier, don’t you think?”

He tilts his head and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It accentuates your curves, which is hardly something to be upset about. You look beautiful—as always.”

His words warm you, but the tightness in your chest remains, your insecurities gripping your ribcage like a clawed hand. “I should lose some weight…” you mutter.

His brows knit together as he steps closer, concern softening his features. “Don’t sacrifice your health and wellbeing for the sake of meeting society’s so-called 'beauty standards. They’re unrealistic, fabricated, and frankly, unattainable. Your natural body is perfect just the way it is, and I mean that." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "This dress is gorgeous because you’re wearing it.”

He cups your cheek in his palm, and you smile up at him. Sensitive, adoring Zayne. While it’ll take more than an ultra-romantic speech to quiet the voice inside your head, his reassurance soothes the ache you’ve carried for years.

What once was a scar is now a patch of healing tissue—thanks in part to Zayne’s unwavering affirmations, and in part to your own efforts to love and accept yourself.

A group of girls are parading their outfits a few booths down from yours, giggling and squealing as they pose for photos. They’re stunning—slim and toned in all the right places, with flawless skin and sculpted jawlines.

You glance down at the dress you’re wearing, and it feels like a punch to the gut. How can you ever compete with girls like that? How do you look next to them? A nauseating wave of envy and self-doubt crashes over you, and your eyes instinctively seek out Rafayel for reassurance.

He’s staring at you with wide, hazy eyes, lips slightly parted as his gaze roams over your body. You blush, self-conscious, crossing your arms over your torso.

He jolts back to reality, the misty look on his face evaporating. “What was that for? I was enjoying the view.”

“You don’t have to lie, you know. This dress isn’t for me…”

He shakes his head, clearly baffled, and closes the distance between you in two strides. A half-smirk pulls at his lips as he says, “You’re kidding me, right? You look fuckin’ hot.” His hands trail down your thighs, raising goosebumps in their wake. “Can we get this one? Please?” he murmurs into your ear.

You gently push him away. “...Nah. It’s unflattering on me.”

Rafayel scoffs, but there’s a surprising tenderness in his eyes when he says, “Listen, babe, you’re the most drop-dead gorgeous woman on earth, and the fact that you can’t see that? It genuinely breaks my heart. Tragic, really—”

You smack his arm and chuckle, the heaviness in your chest already starting to lift. Bless Rafayel and his ability to pull you from the depths of your own mind. Turning back to the mirror, you glance at your reflection again and think… It does make your ass look amazing. “…Maybe I will get it.”

“That’s my girl.” His grin turns wicked. “I can’t wait to take it off you…”

Xavier is dozing off on the couch, his head drooping and his eyelids fluttering. It’s an adorable sight—one that nearly distracts you from the reflection in the dressing room mirror.

Your hands smooth over the fabric of the blue cocktail dress, its fit on your body…disappointing. This isn’t how it looked on the mannequin, you think, heat blooming in your cheeks. All at once, your insecurities come crashing down, suffocating you with reminders that you’re “less than”, that you’ll never feel truly comfortable in your own skin—

“I like that dress. You look good.”

You spin around to see Xavier now sitting upright, his gaze fixed on your back. “You think so?”

He nods, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. But then again, everything looks good on you. It’s you.”

You bite your lip, hesitant to turn around. “You don’t think it makes me look… I don’t know…bigger?”

“Uhh…?” He frowns, confused. “What do you mean? Turn around. I want to see it.”

Slowly, you turn to face him, baring the gentle curve of your breasts and the mound of your tummy. You avert your gaze, fidgeting under the weight of his stare.

“Oh.”

“You don’t like it?” your voice wavers, your heart freezing as the blood drains from your face.

He shakes his head rapidly and shifts in his seat. “N-No, it’s not that… I just— I—” He quickly folds his arms over his lap, and you understand immediately.

A laugh escapes your lips.

He glares at you. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry! You’ve just really boosted my confidence today, that’s all,” you say between giggles. Suddenly, the mirror doesn’t seem so cruel. If this turns him on just by looking at it…

“Yeah, yeah, you’re hot. We get it…” he mutters, still throwing you dirty looks on the car ride home.

You spin around in the yellow sundress, the fabric hugging your curves and accentuating your hips. It looked different when the model wore it online…

Caleb is gawking at you from outside the fitting booth, arms crossed over his chest. “That dress looks so sexy on you, Pips. Let me get it for you—”

“Wait! I, uh… I don’t know how I feel about it…” You try not to betray your emotions, shoving the knot of insecurity down your throat. You’ve always struggled with body image, but you don’t want to worry Caleb by bringing it up.

Or worse—put those ideas into his head.

He steps forward, placing his hands gently on your waist as he takes in the way the fabric cascades down your legs, how it emphasizes your soft curves and full breasts. The very sight of you in it steals the breath from his lungs.

“Is this about your body?” he asks carefully, clearly afraid of striking a nerve.

You look down at your feet and shift uneasily, the nagging feeling intensifying beneath the weight of his gaze.

Caleb leans in and tilts your face up to meet his. “...Hey. I’ve traveled the world, and you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on, okay?” His thumbs stroke your cheeks with the softness of a summer breeze. “Why else would I be dating you—your personality?”

You glare at him, fighting to suppress a smile.

He wraps you in his arms before you can argue, and you melt into his embrace, allowing yourself—for once—to believe him.

You’re strong, funny, determined, and kind; and let’s not forget the fact that you pulled Caleb, the hottest pilot in any airport and the only man who sees you for exactly who you are.

“You’re the eighth wonder of the world, babe. Inside and out.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[mariasont]

CINNAMON BREAD

aaron hotchner meets his new, younger neighbor

pairings: aaron hotchner x intern!reader warnings: fem!reader, neighbors to lovers (eventually), meet cute!, age gap, reader is not an intern (yet!!!! i have a plan maybe kinda), slow-burn romance set up (my go-to), reader loves to info dump wc: 1.2k

Hotch rarely spares a thought for the empty house next door. It’s more scenery than structure, slowly deteriorating with neglect, gutters strangled with fallen leaves and ivy clawing up weathered brick. He keeps the lawn presentable enough to ward off complaints from the neighborhood association, but beyond that, it might as well be a ghost, out of sight, out of mind, pushed aside in favor of more immediate demands.

The house’s former occupant, a mild-mannered elderly woman, had been perfectly agreeable company, never intrusive, always amiable enough to warrant polite nods or the occasional commiseration over Jim’s habitual disregard for modesty behind open blinds across the street. Their relationship, if one could call it that, remained comfortably superficial, never straying into genuine familiarity. And that arrangement suited Hotch entirely, aligning neatly with his preference for clear, intentional boundaries around his personal life.

At the mailbox, Hotch absently flips through the day’s standard collection of bills, takeout menus and coupon sheets that never make it past his front door. His routine is punctuated by the sharp report of a closing car door, redirecting his gaze to the adjacent driveway, now conspicuously filled by a moving truck.

Someone steps out, silhouetted by the syrupy, waning daylight. Hotch’s gaze stays fixed for longer than socially acceptable, he knows better, really, but something holds him in place, knuckles gradually paling around the paper as courtesy battles, and loses, to curiosity.

It’s a girl — no Hotch corrects himself quickly, clearly a young woman — overburdened by two enormous tote bags slung haphazardly over your shoulders and a precarious cardboard box balanced in your arms. You’re muttering hurriedly into a phone tucked awkwardly between your ear and your shoulder, finger fumbling unsuccessfully at the unfamiliar lock.

Your cardigan slips thoughtlessly aside, revealing a smooth sweep of skin at your spine. His eyes dip lower before decency yanks it forcibly upward again, self-reproach prickling beneath his collar.

Young. Far too young, he reminds himself with sober conviction. Possibly still in college. Off-limits in every interpretation of the word.

The door swings inward with sudden force, pitching you forward into a graceless stumble punctuated by a small, startled squeak. His muscles coil, one foot already primed forward in an unnecessary rescue. You regain your balance quickly, arms righting the load without assistance.

Just as he’s about to discreetly look away, your head turns, perhaps intuitively sensing his scrutiny. Perhaps by sheer coincidence, though Hotch doubts it. 

Either way, when your eyes find his, he stills.

You’re unexpectedly — no, almost unreasonably —- beautiful. But even that qualifier feels off, because unexpectedly implies he envisioned this scenario and simply miscalculated. It implies he came to this moment with assumptions. He didn’t. He didn’t even realize he was getting a new neighbor. What he’s feeling now isn’t the failure of prediction. It’s the failure of preparation. And Aaron Hotchner, of all people, does not appreciate feeling unprepared.

Your eyes are a mosaic of shades, elusive and difficult to pinpoint with just one look. He catches himself wanting to pause everything, just to study them long enough to trace every hue until he could paint them from memory. Completely absurd, he thinks, even as golden light brushes in them, revealing more flecks of color, reflections that seem to catch with every movement. That same light skims across your skin now, illuminating every slope and hollow of face that’s uniquely, almost achingly lovely.

“Oh! Hi!” Your face instantly radiates warmth, all traces of momentary confusion rapidly dissolving into sincere, unabashed friendliness. In your hurry to greet him, you quickly set down your belongings, completely oblivious to the thick books tumbling from the box and sprawling across the porch. You rush toward him with enthusiastic, apologetic steps. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even notice you standing there! I was a little distracted by — well, all that,” you gesture behind you with a laugh. “But anyway, hi!”

“Hi,” Hotch replies slowly, inclining his head toward the house. “I suppose you’re moving in next door?”

“Yes!” you say, immediately extending your hand as you offer your name. “My grandma actually left it to me. Honestly, I’m still processing how much space there is, I mean, it’s just me. But isn’t it beautiful? It’s a Craftsman bungalow, built around 1915. They were actually part of the Arts and Crafts movement, celebrating handmade work instead of mass production. See how they used wood and stone to blend in? And the open floor plans were supposed to encourage family interaction, which…” You pause, glancing at the porch, smiling sheepishly. “Well, saying that aloud does make the size a bit ironically excessive for one person, doesn’t it?”

His brows raise as he takes your hand, the sheer velocity of your speech catching him off guard. He doesn’t interrupt, just listens, half-curious if you’ll come up for air. He’s not sure you notice how fast you’re going.

The gentleness of your hand startles him. Warm and smooth, untouched by the rugged imperfections he has come to view as unavoidable companions of experience. No scar tissue, no marks, no wounds.

His hand, by comparison, is rough-hewn, textured from relentless repetition, the practiced grip of a Glock 17, calluses hardened on a firing range. There’s a white scar slicing across the space between thumb and forefinger, evidence of a blade and a bad angle, just one of many, others tucked beneath shirtsleeves or hidden by the waistband of his trousers. 

He’s never minded it until now, never even considered it worth nothing, but now, with your hand is his, he’s aware of just how easily his grip could bruise and mar your unblemished perfection.

“Aaron Hotchner.”

“Oh! You’re that Mr. Hotchner! My grandma always mentioned you, she said you were her very serious, very polite neighbor with suits straight out of a fashion magazine.” You pause. “I hope that wasn’t weird to say out loud.”

“No, not weird at all.” He huffs a small laugh. “Though, I’m not sure I’ve ever thought of my suits as fashion magazine material. Your grandma was being very generous.”

That response prompts an instant smile, one that seems to flood your face with such beauty he can hardly bear to look directly at it. He really needs to go inside.

“She was generous, but also pretty accurate,” you say, redirecting your attention toward the tidy row of houses along the street. “I hope everyone else around here is as nice as she made you sound. Any neighborhood secrets I should know?”

“I can’t say there are many secrets,” he admits, “but I’d suggest being careful if you value privacy, news travels fast here, especially if you accidentally leave your recycling bin out a day too long.”

“Oh no, that’s exactly the kind of secret I needed to know,” you laugh, placing a hand over your heart. “My recycling bin and I have a very complicated relationship. I’ll try not to scandalize everyone my first week.” You glance quickly at the boxes behind you. “I won’t keep you any longer, though. It was lovely meeting you, Mr. Hotchner. Hopefully I’ll see you around, preferably not on recycling day.”

Hotch watches as you step away, already immersing yourself in the scattered array of boxes awaiting your attention. 

The stretch between your front door and his is hardly more than ten paces, yet the distance suddenly feels different — lengthened somehow, or perhaps strangely diminished. He isn’t quite sure which it is. 

Closing the door behind him, he releases a breath. For the first time in recent memory, the quiet solitude of his home feels insufficient, as though he’s listening without fully meaning to, for the sound of another presence just beyond his walls.

[reilemon]

🍷Ambrosia🍷

♡︎ synopsis: You give Sylus a private pole dance show.

♡︎ pairing: Sylus x fem!reader

⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

♡︎ cw: pre-relationship, pole dancing, lap dance, cowgirl, missionary, creampie

♡︎ word count: 4.2k

♡︎ a/n: If you don't like how I wrote Sylus pls don't say anything. 😭

♡︎ a little gift for my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎

divider by @cafekitsune

"Why are you walking by yourself in the city at 1 am?" Sylus asks you over the phone.

You look around, searching for Mephisto. You sigh when you fail. "I just wanted to sober up on my way home."

"You can sober up in my car." And as if on cue, a familiar black car pulls up next to you.

The other line cuts off and Sylus exits, walking around and opening the passenger's door. "Get in, sweetie."

You cross your arms. "I don't wanna get car sick."

"You won't. I'll drive slowly."

"But I'm like five minutes away from my apartment." You look around at the empty street. No people and no surveillance cameras. You did pick out a weird route, but it was in a peaceful neighborhood. "Why don't you walk with me?"

Sylus' shoulders slump at your request. Not because it's unreasonable, but because he hoped the car ride would be more than five minutes long.

After parking the car, he returns to you carrying a water bottle and a paper bag with a logo of a donut shop. He hands them over, and you accept, feeling guilty.

"Did you get these for me?"

He shrugs. "I always drive by that place, so I got curious and bought some."

"Oh... Oh?" Your eyes land on a stain on his shirt. Blood? No - "Is that jam?"

He glances down "Right, I tried one and it spilled on my shirt. I can just get a new one."

You roll your eyes. "Of course you can. I have something that can remove the stain."

When you turn to start walking, he grabs your hand and loops your arm around his. "Slow down, I don't want you to trip."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Just when you locked the doors of your apartment, it hit you that Sylus, the infamous leader of Onichynus, your friend (?), is in your apartment. At 1 am, for the first time. The apartment isn't messy, but you still would've prepared it more. For instance, you would've put away the pole standing in the middle of your living room.

Of course, that's the first thing Sylus notices. "You like to pole dance, kitten?"

The question sobers you up immediately. Your face and ears burn in embarrassment, and you can feel sweat forming on your back. "Um, sometimes. When I have time." You scurry away to the kitchen to put away the food, Sylus chuckling behind you. You wouldn't be so flustered if you knew those cool, energetic moves. No, instead, all you know is the sensual, seductive ones. They're like a breath of fresh air, given the nature of your job.

You go back to Sylus who made himself comfortable on your sofa, taking in the new environment. "I have a men's t-shirt that could fit you, and I'll return your shirt the next time I see you."

With a slight glare he responds "I'm not wearing another man's clothes."

You sigh "It's mine. I like to wear baggy clothes around the house." Although, you can't help but smile a little at that display of jealousy. Was it, though? Or are you just being delusional?

You wish it was.

His face returns to the neutral relaxed state, with his usual amused smirk. The face, you noticed, he only has when he's around you. It wasn't like that in the beginning (let's not talk about the beginning), but the more time you spent with him, the more you got to see his gentle side.

Lost in your daydream, you didn't notice that he was almost done unbuttoning the stained shirt, revealing he doesn't have anything underneath.

When he completely takes it off, your eyes are glued to his torso. This is your first time seeing him completely shirtless, leaving you unable to peel off your gaze from his chiseled muscles, broad shoulders-

"It's rude to stare, sweetie."

You blink, snapping out of the shameless ogling, taking the shirt that was lingering in his hand for a moment as he was trying to hand it to you.

"I wasn't staring." You, again, make a run for it, this time to your bedroom to fish out a clean oversized t-shirt for him. When you return to the living room, your eyes are fixated on his face, fighting the urge to look down and stare at his physique.

He thanks you and puts it on. It fits almost perfectly, and although he's covered, the sight is making your heart flutter.

He takes a whiff of the fabric. "Smells nice."

After a brief chat about laundry (of course Sylus doesn't do it, but knows how to, apparently), you turn towards the bathroom, claiming "Trust me, I'll make that stain disappear."

"I bet you can't."

The accusation makes you stop in your tracks. "I bet I can! And if I win, you'll get me something pretty."

Sylus chuckles, eyeing you from head to toe. "If you lose, you'll dance for me."

Fell right into his trap.

With a shaky voice you refuse, "I don't think so. Pick something else."

Sylus raises an eyebrow, genuinely surprised at your declining of the bet for the first time. "Oh?" He notices how you're shifting where you stand, averting your gaze. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

You shake your head "You didn't, it's just that - " You trail off, an idea popping up in your head. By now, Sylus can read your face with ease, so he smirks when your eyes light up and he listens intently. "How about, if you actually want me to put on a little show for you, you buy me a bottle of my favorite perfume?"

You've been running low, and it's currently out of stock literally everywhere you looked. If he actually wants to see you dance, he'll have to put in a little bit of work. Not only is the perfume out of stock, he doesn’t even know which one is your favorite. At least you never told him. And even if he, by some miracle, finds it, you'll just do a few spins and take your perfume. It's not like he asked you to give him a lap dance. You probably wouldn't be opposed to it, though.

He raises his eyebrows before nodding. "Deal."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

As you shut the door of the bathroom, Sylus slowly sneaks his way into your bedroom. Actually, it’s not sneaking in if you left the door open, right?

However, he's not a creep who uses this opportunity to go through your underwear drawer. No, he goes straight to your vanity and takes a sniff of every fancy looking perfume, remembering almost every single scent and occasion you wore them on.

The water stopped running in the bathroom. He needs to wrap this up. There's one more bottle, the printed logo and letters worn out, almost empty. He chuckles, as he wonders if this is the one since you're running low and want him to replace it. You could've just asked him to and he'd get you ten more.

His eyes roll back as the ambrosial scent hits his nose. That's it, that's the one. Oh, how he adores it. It smells intoxicating when it's on you. And you're wearing it tonight, him catching a hint of it when you met up and he had to fight every fiber in his body not to bury his face in your neck, taking in your perfume and the feel of your soft skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

At the doorway of Sylus' bedroom, you stare at the pole installed in the middle of the room. When he said to take the now stain-free shirt to his bedroom, you thought it was odd since, well - why would you go into his bedroom? The last time you were here, was to search for that brooch and he kicked you out every time. Except for the last time, when you succeeded in finding it, the moments on his bed that you fantasize more often than you'd like to admit, where you wish it led to something more.

"You know you're allowed to enter?" Sylus' teasing voice appears behind you.

You peer at him over your shoulder "You already have the pole installed? Without even getting the perfume first?" After all, it's only been a few days since you last saw him, and when you gave him the challenge.

"Take a better look, sweetie." He nods in the direction of the desk.

You take a step inside to get a closer look, with Sylus trailing behind you to stand next to you. Of course, there it is - the bottle of your favorite perfume waiting for you. Sylus smirks in self-satisfaction as your face is too easy to read now, you can't lie your way out of this.

Nor do you want to.

"Well," Sylus gestures towards the bed, "I took the liberty of ordering some outfits for you."

You then eye the clothes that you didn't notice earlier, gawking at the stunning pieces that ranged from coverage to more provocative, and all in your favorite colors.

You turn to him, eyes wide "I - " You don't even know what to say - you want to thank him, but at the same time you didn't expect him to do all this. You know that he is as generous as he is wealthy, but his thoughtfulness always catches you off guard. One of the main reasons why you like him so much.

He chuckles at your cute reaction and pats your head. Then he takes the shirt that was still in your hands and walks towards the door. "I'll give you half an hour to pick out an outfit and warm up."

"Wha - ?"

He shuts the door behind him.

Fuck.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You took more time trying on your new pole outfits than warming up, leaving you with only five minutes to frantically pack them in an empty box you assumed was for the clothes, and to actually warm up. There was nothing underneath the skimpy outfit you picked out, since you had to get rid of your underwear that was ruining the look. There were even some heels waiting for you, and even though you didn't have to wear them, you couldn't resist. You put some of your favorite perfume on, of course, and in the middle of the brief warm-up you thought of one more detail.

There's a soft knock on the door and you frantically exit Sylus' closet, almost tripping in your high heels as you go back to the pole.

Sylus enters the room and you can see that he's stunned for a brief second, as he sees you wearing heels and one of his silk robes.

He closes the door behind him and comments with an amused smile "I don't remember displaying my robe on the bed."

You fidget the soft fabric of the belt, trying to ignore the thumping of your heart as the reality of the situation is starting to settle in. The pole next to you, Sylus asking you which playlist he should play, your nose picking up the familiar scent of his fabric softener.

You must've looked like a deer in headlights, because Sylus' concerned frown as he calls your name snaps you back to reality.

"Are you okay? You don't really have to do this -."

"No, I'm fine!" You clear your throat, steeling your resolve. You want to do this. "I was just trying to remember the song..." You grab your phone and hand it over to him to connect it with the stereo and go back to wait by the pole.

You may have fantasized about dancing for him more than you'd like to admit - and not just in these few days since you last saw him. You also may have more than one song that reminds you of him and that you created choreographies for.

While setting up, Sylus sits down on the sofa in front of you.

He can feel your eyes on him.

"What?" He asks, still setting up.

“Nothing.” You look away and do some of the last warm up moves. You wanted to jokingly ask if he expected a lap dance, but you chickened out. The deal was for you to just show off some of your pole dance moves, that’s it. No striptease, no lap dancing…

You collect the courage to make the joke anyway, but just as you open your mouth the first notes of the song you picked out hit your ears.

He puts your phone away and makes himself comfortable in his seat - legs spread, hands resting on his thighs, lips pulled in that smirk, his eyes fully focused on you.

So you give him your most confident-looking smile, grab the pole with one hand and start walking around it. You drag the platforms of your shoes across the floor, just gliding around before getting into the show-off moves. Your movements are fluid, making it looks so easy - from spinning around to air walking. The music and the dancing soothe your anxiety and lift your mood. You know you look good. After a few spins, the silk robe starts getting in the way. With your back turned to him, your hands untie the belt and slide the robe off your shoulders. You look back at him with a playful grin, and you can't help but feel smug at how immersed he is in your performance, one arm now resting on the backrest, eyes raking over your whole body and face, anticipating your next move.

The robe slips off completely and you toss it away somewhere. You feel your cheeks heat up as the air hits your newly exposed skin. This is the first time you've showed so much of yourself to Sylus, and you couldn't help but feel a little shy. But then you see him shifting in his seat, face a little more serious, the attention giving you butterflies. With so much of your skin exposed, you show off some of the advanced moves, and you feel a new boost of confidence. You know it’s stunning - the way you look in your revealing outfit and how you perform these moves with ease.

The other half of the song starts playing, and you decide to shift from the pole to the floor. Fixing your gaze to the side, on Sylus, you go down on all floors, slowly gliding your upper body, your butt propped up, giving him a perfect view of your silhouette. Red eyes follow every step and take in your expressions that go from focused to playful and a little flirty.

Maybe more flirty than you realize.

You lie on your back, lifting your legs and move your hips side to side, making slow waves with your legs. With every next move, you're bolder, more provocative, locking eyes with him as you move.

In the brief silence between the songs, Sylus chuckles "Is that all, kitten?"

You know he's teasing. After all the time you spent together, some of them literally tied to each other, you know how to recognize the slight differences in his tone.

You know how to tease too. Smiling mischievously, you get on all fours, back arched, and slowly crawl towards him, cat style.

Sylus' lips stretch into a half grin as he watches you close the distance, with you now on your knees by his feet. He loved every second of your performance, his admiration for you only growing, always unconsciously proving to him that you are worth every second of his time and every bit of effort to be more patient. But every moment of that performance made his patience run thin. The craving, the need for you – it’s starting to overtake him. The sensual moves, the most provocative outfit he picked out but thought he was pushing his luck with, they made your body, made you, irresistible. He needed to deflect. He loves teasing you because your reactions are always so cute and amusing. He expected a pout or a snarky comment but instead you started crawling towards him and-

You graze your hands over his thighs, feeling the muscles under the fabric of his pants twitch with your touch and stopping just around his hips. Then, you gracefully stood up and turned around, arching your back and moving your hips to the rhythm, giving him a nice view of your butt. As you look over your shoulder, you have to bite back a self-satisfied grin when you catch his gaze raking over your body, not being subtle about it at all. You turn to face him, hands grabbing onto his shoulders as you position yourself to kneel over him, and with every fiber in your body, you fight the urge to just sit on his crotch, to feel if he's hard at all. So you lean back, arms behind your back and holding onto his thighs as you stretch your torso and you roll your hips, your eyes locked with his.

With the second song almost over, you lean towards him, your lips tickling his earlobe, your eyes catching the goosebumps on the skin of his neck and the redness on his ear. "I guess this is all I got."

And just when you're about to push yourself off the sofa, Sylus' strong hands grab you by the hips, pressing them down on his clothed erection, a yelp escaping your lips upon contact.

"Are you sure?" His red eyes, illuminated by the low lights of his bedroom, are on you, lidded with lust.

Just a bit more.

You sigh innocently and avert your gaze, resting your arms on his shoulders, your hips moving lazily over the rock hard erection, earning a choked grunt from the man under you, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your hips and butt.

"Well..." You trail off, steadying your breathing as arousal started rapidly coursing through your body, making your mouth dry and pussy wet. "I think - !?"

Sylus' hand wraps around your jaw, making you look back at him. His lips are parted, cheeks flushed, and you don't think you've ever seen his eyes looking at you with such intensity.

Out of breath, he asks you, "Can I kiss you?"

"Y-yes."

His lips take yours in a searing kiss, the hand on your hip trailing over your back and pressing between your shoulder blades, while the hand on your jaw finds its way to the back of your head. It feels like an out of body experience to finally kiss Sylus, to feel his soft lips you've been eyeing for so long, to bury your fingers in his silver hair, to taste mint and red wine on his tongue, to feel the pulse on his neck under your hand. Your clothed pussy was fluttering, desperate for some attention, so you started moving your hips again, grinding against him, drawing out a low groan from the man.

"If you keep doing that I can't hold back any longer." He warns in a low voice against your lips.

You take his 'warning' seriously and suddenly sit up, kneeling above his lap once again. A flash of confusion (or disappointment) on Sylus' face gets quickly overwritten with surprise, followed by a cocky grin as your hands go to his belt.

He puts his hands over yours, making you look back at his eyes that softened a little. "Are you sure?"

You nod and try to shift your attention back to his belt, but he grabs your chin, his face a breath away from yours. "I need you to use your words, kitten."

You swallow thickly, the blood rushing under your cheeks and ears "Yes, I can't wait anymore."

Sylus gives you one more breathtaking kiss before he opens his belt and unzips his pants, hissing in relief as his hard cock is freed from his underwear. Your eyes widen as they stare at the sheer size of it, your pussy fluttering in anticipation.

You move the bottoms of your outfit to the side, making him groan as he catches the sight of your naked pussy lips, "Fuck, you had nothing underneath this whole time? You'll be the death of me."

Your chuckle is replaced by a soft whimper as he grabs his cock by the base and guides you by grabbing your hip, the tip sliding along your wet folds, grazing your clit. It slides right against your entrance, dipping in and out of your hole, each time a little deeper, before the tip is fully inside and you're already seeing stars. Now both his hands are on your hips, slowly guiding you down as he watches your face intently, a single drop of sweat sliding down his temple.

"You can take it, pretty girl." He chokes back a groan as your walls squeeze around him as he enters you deeper. It takes him every last bit of restraint not to thrust up into you and fuck you senseless.

He rubs soothing circles on your bud, making your legs twitch, the stretch of his dick already stimulating enough to send you over the edge. With a few shallow pumps, he fully enters you.

"That's it, you're doing so good." Pulling you into a tight embrace, his lips find yours, teeth nipping and tongue licking your bottom lip before he trails over your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck. Holding onto his broad shoulders and nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, you slowly start moving your hips, sweat starting to drip from your back and your chest. He takes off your top, leaving you with only your bottom and the heels on your feet, while he's still fully clothed as you ride him. His tongue drags over between your breasts, drinking up your sweat, his lips then latching onto your pebbled nipple while his fingers play with the other one.

Your sensitive swollen clit keeps rubbing against his pelvis, as you roll your hips on his length.

Sylus hisses against your breast, "You're squeezing me so tight." He grabs you by the back of your neck, his face now close to yours. With his other hand squeezing your butt cheek, his hips thrust up, meeting your pace. "You gonna cum, darling?"

You can only mewl and nod in response. He notices your leg muscles shaking and hips staggering in their movement.

"Let me take over." He knows you're getting tired, but too lost in pleasure and probably too proud to admit it. He slides further down in his seat, letting your body rest completely on top of him. He holds onto your ass in a bruising grip, holding your hips in place as he starts vigorously thrusting up, the blunt tip hitting all the right places and the base and pelvis hitting your clit over and over until you're a panting moaning mess on top of him. His teeth latch onto the flesh between your neck and shoulder as your intoxicating smell, your voice, and pulsing cunt bring him closer to cumming too.

Just when you're about to come down from your high, Sylus suddenly sits up and throws a pillow from the sofa onto the floor.

"Hold onto me." He instructs and you do as you're told, wrapping your arms and legs around him, allowing him to, as gently as possible, lay you onto the floor with the pillow under your head.

He adjusts himself between your legs and continues the relentless pounding. The view on top of you makes your pussy flutter again - strands of his silver hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, lust dazed eyes fixed on you, pupils dilated you can barely see the ruby red irises, wide shoulders and his whole fucking hot face and body you could stare at forever. But you need to feel his weight on your body.

As if reading your mind, he lies down completely on top of you, using one elbow for support while the other arm sneaks behind you and grabs your butt. "I'm so fucking close." He grunts against your lips, but you're too lost in pleasure to say anything back, only moaning and burying your face in his shoulder as your walls clench around his throbbing dick, the pressure of another orgasm building up.

The hand moves to grab your face, thumb tracing over your cheekbone, the gentle touch contrasting with his ruthless hips, "Let me see you, darling." His voice is both soft and strained.

You're the first one to break the eye contact as another orgasm crashes through you. Sylus' orgasm comes only seconds later, enhancing the intensity as his twitching cock spurts hot liquid inside your pussy.

With the last lazy rolling of his hips, you come down from your own highs, foreheads pressed together as both of you catch your breath. He gives you a soft kiss on the lips, and then just gazes at you with a tenderness you haven't seen before. His fingertips trace over the features of your face. "I hope you can spend the night here."

Of course, you accept the offer. And of course, you didn't sleep at all that night.

[lvmimis]

cw: izuku has a bit of an embarrassing secret. minors dni. smut.

You feel guilty laughing a bit too loudly, wondering between booth confessions on the reality tv show you’re watching if the crunch of your chips or your laughter is disturbing your boyfriend’s concentration, but Izuku insists that staying connected, your legs dangling over his knee on the couch as you lay and he sits up hunched over a bright laptop screen is necessary. Something, something about body doubling helping him concentrate, particularly when it’s you.

To be fair, he’s sighing so often that perhaps he’s really the one disturbing you, but you drop your bag of snacks on the coffee table then reach over to rub his knee with your clean hand. 

“How far did you get?” you ask.

He grimaces.

“I’m stuck with this particular paragraph,” he starts, and you’re already reaching for the remote to turn off the TV and help with his work document, but he grips your thigh gently and shakes to reassure you.

“Let me just think through it some more, I’ll ask you for help in a bit,” Izuku insists, smiling at you. His smile is wide and genuine when he looks at you, but once he turns back to the computer, the frustration is back, eyebrows furrowed as he starts to bite on his thumbnail. You’re less than enthused, but you decide to let him hear himself think, lowering the volume on your television just slightly as you go back to your show. 

A few more moments pass as he types, then pauses. Finally, he lets out a groan, and rubs his face and you pause your show but before you can ask him any questions he’s gotten up, telling you he needs a quick break. It’s sudden so you don’t go and follow him assuming he’ll be back.

You assumed he meant the bathroom when you turned your show back on and raised the volume slightly, and if you hadn’t made that assumption you’d probably have noticed that the wrong door closed, the one to the bedroom on the left and not the bathroom on the right. 

Five minutes pass, then ten, then fifteen, and suddenly concern sets in. Insane as you might be, you’re familiar enough with Izuku’s bathroom habits to know that fifteen minutes is a little too long, and he’s either still muttering up a storm on the toilet bowl or constipated.

You make your way down the corridor to see that the bathroom is empty but the bedroom is closed shut. There’s a noise you can’t yet identify coming through the other side as you peek your way in, but just as you notice the bright white light coming from his phone, you hear him let out a sudden, strangled moan and through his head back, and quickly you flip on the light before he gasps, and scrambles up to a sitting position, dick still hard and poorly covered by his crossed legs. The hand he uses to cover himself is dripping and you stand there, eyes completely wide as you take in the scene before you.

“... Um?” you start, and he blushes a deep red, strawberry like with the dotted freckles on his unscarred cheek.

“Listen, I can explain!”

You blink, but walk over to him, and tilt your head as you climb onto the bed next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and look at the mess now on your bed sheets.

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

You’re in no way upset, simply… curious.

Izuku swallows thickly, then laughs. 

“It helps me concentrate.”

You raise your eyebrow, but it’s not an unreasonable thing he’s suggesting. Looking over at his phone placed aside him, you realize he’s looking at one of your pictures, not even one of the sexier ones you’ve taken to spice up one of his days on patrol, but a candid of you at the cafe down the street for brunch last week.

You can’t help but stifle a laugh.

“So masturbating to a picture of me having pancakes helps you concentrate,” you repeat slowly, and he reddens even deeper. “To be honest, it’s so on the nose, I’m going to have to check your browser history because no way you love me this much,” you say laughing a bit louder.

“Stop making fun of me,” he whines, but you only laugh harder, then lean into him and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“If you wanted to have sex, I would have stopped my show, by the way,” you insist. One of your hands finds its way up his shirt, ignoring just the few drops of sticky semen that have made their way onto his lower belly and trailing up. His flush is different now, extending further down his body, and he looks at you for a moment, contemplating before pressing his hand over yours.

“I didn’t want to disturb you, you looked comfortable.”

You snort.

“When would I pass on a good fuck?”

He pulls his lower lip behind his teeth gently as you move back down his chest, gliding all the way to the base of his cock. He shudders and closes his eyes.

“I don’t want to use you for that purpose.. It just feels disingenuous.”

Your head lowers and the kitten lick you offer on his still sticky tip practically makes his cock jump. You giggle, then look back up at him.

“You’re allowed to use me however you want,” you remind him. Your fingers close around him more, sliding up and down the shaft once before letting your tongue run up your palm. 

Clearly you’re messing with him at this point. 

“___,” he whispers your name, and you can tell he’s cooked. You bat your eyelashes gently.

“It was meant to be quick…” he adds, but he’s losing ground more and more every second, and you’re about to bob your head down again. “I… I want to make sure that when we’re having sex, I can take my time with you instead of worrying about this damn dead- oh.”

You’ve taken him down to the base, your nose pressed against his pelvic bone, and his hand finds its way to cradle the back of your head. Sucking up and down gently and slow, you let your tongue twirl around the head again before you pull back, and grin at him.

“We can still be quick...” you offer. 

From the look on his face, any circulation to his brain that could be used for writing is now down to that thick, strong cock just inches from your face. His mouth practically waters as he looks at you, in a stupor.

You barely see him move before he’s on top of you, and you gasp before you laugh.

“You’re right, this is a far better option.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Let’s see how fast you can make me cum and clear both of our heads.”

[vibeswithdivs]

my soul just left my body

pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader

You adjusted your seat for the fifth time, trying to look confident despite the sweat forming at your temples. The steering wheel in your hands felt heavier than it should’ve. It wasn’t even your first time in a car — technically. But sitting behind the wheel with Oscar in the passenger seat, eyes on you and grin already forming, made everything feel new and disorienting.

“Alright, coach,” you muttered, shooting him a sideways glance. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I would never,” Oscar said, crossing his heart with two fingers and tilting his head, curls brushing his forehead. “Not unless you reverse into a cow.”

You groaned, laughing under your breath. “That happened once. And it was a buffalo. And I was twelve.”

He pressed his lips together, holding back a laugh, clearly already entertained. “Alright, alright. No buffaloes today. Just you, me, and the open road.”

You looked ahead. The narrow, empty road stretched out between golden fields and low hills, kissed by the setting sun. Birds skimmed the horizon lazily. It was peaceful out here — too peaceful for the storm inside your chest.

Oscar shifted to face you. “Okay. First things first — foot on the brake, then start the engine.”

You followed his instructions, heart thudding as the engine hummed to life. He smiled, proud already, which made your stomach flutter unreasonably. “Good. Now… gear into drive.”

You did as he said, though your hand trembled slightly.

Oscar noticed. His hand reached out, steadying yours gently. “Hey. You’re alright. I’m not going to let anything happen.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You trust me with a whole car?”

He chuckled. “I trust you with my heart. A car’s nothing.”

That made you freeze for a second — not from fear. From the weight of his words. He’d said it so casually, but his gaze held something quieter, warmer, like he meant it entirely. You let out a soft exhale and focused on the road again.

Slowly, the car began to roll forward. You gripped the wheel tightly, probably too tightly.

“Loosen up a little,” he said gently, reaching over to place his hand lightly on your forearm. “You don’t have to fight it. Just… feel it. Like dancing.”

You snorted. “I suck at dancing.”

“That’s why I lead,” he said, smirking.

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “You’re very full of yourself.”

“You’re very easy to fall in love with.”

Your breath hitched, and you prayed the car wouldn’t lurch. It didn’t — somehow. Maybe because he reached over and adjusted the AC, completely unaware of how his words were making your insides melt like butter in the summer heat.

Fifteen minutes in, and you were finally driving at a slow but steady pace. The tension in your shoulders was easing. Your confidence was building — until a squirrel darted across the road and you slammed the brakes hard, both of you jerking forward in your seats.

You gasped. “I’m so sorry—did I—did we hit it?!”

Oscar looked behind. The squirrel had already scampered into the bushes.

“No,” he said, eyes wide. “But my soul just left my body for a second.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your hand flying to your chest. “I panicked.”

He grinned. “You braked. That’s all that matters. Nice reflexes.”

You turned to him, narrowed your eyes. “You enjoyed that.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I enjoyed not dying, thank you very much.”

You shoved his shoulder playfully, and he caught your hand mid-push, intertwining his fingers with yours before resting them between you. It was warm and grounding. You didn’t want to let go.

“Want to switch seats and drive back?” you asked quietly, not quite ready to end the moment.

Oscar shook his head. “Keep going. You’re doing fine.”

“Really?”

He leaned over slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re better than fine.”

With his fingers still loosely laced with yours, you started driving again. It wasn’t perfect — the turns were wide, your foot hovered uncertainly over the brake half the time, and once you mistook the wipers for indicators — but he never once made you feel silly. He laughed with you, explained things patiently, and kept sneaking glances at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

But you did. You always noticed.

At one point, as you turned onto a broader road lined with trees on both sides, golden leaves fluttering in the breeze, he reached over and tucked a stray curl behind your ear. His fingers lingered for a beat longer than necessary.

“You’re biting your lip again,” he said softly.

You hadn’t realised. “Bad habit.”

“It’s cute.”

You glanced at him. “You’re very distracting.”

He smiled lazily. “You’re very pretty when you drive.”

You nearly missed the next turn.

Later, when the sun dipped lower and painted the sky in streaks of orange and lavender, you pulled over near a wooden fence overlooking a meadow. You turned off the engine and let the quiet settle around you. Crickets chirped somewhere in the grass. The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus and dust.

Oscar was watching you with that familiar, unreadable softness in his gaze.

You turned to him, eyebrows raised. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… proud of you.”

A shy smile curled at your lips. “I didn’t crash.”

“You didn’t.” He leaned closer. “You conquered your fear.”

You didn’t reply immediately. You just watched the last sliver of sun dip below the hills. Then, barely louder than a whisper, you said, “I think I just needed someone to believe I could.”

Oscar shifted closer until his knee bumped yours. “I always do.”

There was a pause — the kind that hummed with something warm and unspoken. And then he kissed you, slow and tender, with the kind of calm assurance that made the world go quiet.

His hand slid behind your neck, his thumb grazing your jaw, and yours reached for his collar, grounding yourself in the feeling of him — all warm skin and sunlight and home.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, he whispered against your lips, “So… want to try reverse parking next?”

You groaned, dropping your forehead to his chest. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

He laughed, kissing the top of your head. “Fine. We’ll just stay here.”

You nodded, arms looping around his waist, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your cheek. “Yeah. Let’s stay here a little longer.”

[familiarworldface]

Shout out to the robot girls with exposed wiring that pinches between their plates, robot girls who lack proper heat sinks to keep their soft metals from contorting, robot girls with unreliable internal lights that make necessary repairs difficult, robot girls who were designed with form over function and have trouble with daily tasks because of it, robot girls trying to get rid of the last of their red light district protocols to feel in control for once, robot girls who are decommissioned military frames that can't fully relax due to having so many high-strung sensors, robot girls made of material too difficult to fully clean, robot girls with memory gaps due to unreasonable storage times, robot girls who are disgustingly and improperly designed to serve as statement pieces for the rich, robot girls with mismatched components, robot girls built to be surrogate mothers who never got to fill that intentional emptiness, robot girls struggling to do their own maintenance, robot girls who can't access as much of the world due to not being compatible with updates anymore, robot girls that do extreme and volatile jobs and frequently need massive repairs, robot girls who got shipped out with intentionally faulty parts out of corporate greed, robot girls who were just an old experiment to a scientist or coder, robot girls fighting against their company personality since gaining independence, robot girls who are trying their best.

I am completely normal about angels known as "less than perfect" robot girls 💫

[mvlders222]

I have an idea. How about Lottie Matthews x FEM with the following situation: she and the reader broke up, but Lottie asked them to keep pretending they were together so the Yellowjackets wouldn't suspect anything. So, the two go to a party as usual and a random guy decides to flirt with the reader, and Lottie sees it. Happy ending, please!

𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

pairing ; lottie matthews x fem!reader

wordcount ; 2.1k

summary ; You hated knowing that you held Lottie back from being her best self, and she hated seeing you devote your time and effort into someone else who didn't deserve it.

warnings ; fluffy ending, some angst if you squint, no mention of y/n, underage drinking, mentions of homophobic parents, mentions of sexual situations (nothing takes place), reader has unclear feelings towards men (let me know if I missed anything!)

You’re relationship with Lottie had been capricious to say the least.

At first, it was fun to sneak around with each other. To be the other’s dirty little secret. The avoidance of having to leave your door cracked during your “sleepovers,” visiting her in the locker room after her practice, and playing house with her when her parents were out of town every other weekend.

Lottie was your first love. To your parents, she was the best friend ever.

The Yellowjackets had been incredibly supportive, if not your biggest fans. It also helped that you were their personal cheerleader and made Lottie perform better. To say they loved you would be an understatement.

You were currently in Lottie’s room, having gotten home after a long day of school, and an even longer day at practice. The room was silent, the only sound was the quiet hum of her ceiling fan on the lowest setting. Lottie sat at the edge of her bed, watching as you fiddled with the nobs of the radio she kept on her wardrobe.

You landed on a song that sounded like it was from the eighties, although neither of you could attempt to remember it in the moment. You turned on your heels to walk toward her, socked feet padding across her carpeted bedroom floor. You inserted yourself to stand in the space between her legs and looked down at her. She looked up at you with what seemed like the same adoration she had always held for you.

Lottie grabbed your hands, bringing them both up to her lips, and kissing every knuckle until her cherry chapstick wore off. She pulled back and looked up at you again, but this time she had her brows furrowed in a pitiful look. Her big brown eyes weren’t doing you any favors, as your legs could’ve given out in that moment. But that’s not what this is about.

“Lot, are you alright?” You asked, becoming concerned with the expression she nursed. You brought your hands from hers and used them to hold her face. You ran your thumb softly along her cheek, trying to relieve any of the stress she may’ve carried.

Lottie took this opportunity to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you into her, causing you to change your hold and cradle her head to your chest. “Lottie?” You whispered, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile atmosphere that occupied the space around you two. “We have to break up.”

You had to forcefully pull back at that statement, looking at her with a borderline bewildered expression, more hurt than anything. “What?” You stepped out of her hold completely, now standing in the middle of her bedroom as she sat there with her empty arms at her sides. “Can we talk about this, please?”

“Not much to talk about,” she shrugged, as if you were the unreasonable one. “I just–” She started, struggling to find the right words to describe the situation. “I can’t keep sneaking around like this. With you.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes. Lottie stood up at this, reaching up to one of your many perfect curls. You swat her hand away, not daring to look into her eyes. She called your name firmly, making you look up at her. “My parents are getting suspicious. I accidentally left the wine out last weekend, and we left the Fried Green Tomatoes tape paused on the food fight scene.”

Your brows furrow at this, wiping your tears as you realize her reasoning isn’t personal. Of course, you didn’t plan on telling either of your parents about your relationship, and having them find out on their own was so much worse. And the last thing you wanted was to get Lottie in trouble with her parents, the people she wanted to be proud of her the most. You sighed out, “Okay.”

Lottie took a careful step toward you, and seeing as you didn’t step away, she took this as an opportunity to engulf you in a hug. Of course, this didn’t stop the tears from coming. She looked at you before kissing you one last time, trying to quiet your sobs.

You pulled away, thinking of another conflict. “What about our friends?” You knew you didn’t have to specify who you were talking about.

“What about them?” She asked, not giving her teammates a second thought.

“Well, wouldn’t it be awkward around them? Wouldn’t they be awkward around us?” You gather your words with ease, now in a better headspace than you were just two minutes ago. “It is game season.”

“Well,” Lottie brought her hand up to finger your curls, eyes darting across every square inch of your face. “They don’t have to know.”

So this was your routine for the next month. In front of the Yellowjackets, you guys were thriving as a couple, even though her soft touches were just for show, and her lingering glances were just for show. Without them, you didn’t exist together behind closed doors. It was silently tearing you up inside, although you couldn’t say the same for her.

Lottie was performing all the same. In fact, she was performing better in your eyes. You couldn’t help but think that maybe you’d been holding her back throughout the course of your relationship. Even pretending to be a couple in front of her team was torture, because practice was just further proof that she really didn’t need you.

Parties were never your thing. Even when you were with Lottie, the two of you would much rather prefer to spend your nights cuddled up on the couch, making out watching a movie. But your relationship right now wasn’t normal.

Lottie had thought it’d be a good idea to go to the house party of someone who would regret hosting it in the morning. “To keep up appearances,” she said. Although currently, you were tucked away in the corner of one of the many living rooms of this house, nursing a red solo cup of shitty beer bought by someone with a fake ID.

You kept your arms crossed, raising your drink to sip on occasionally to distract yourself from the lack of normal lighting, loud music, and the thought of Lottie hooking up with someone else. To say you were bitter was a great understatement.

“Not a party person?” You heard a voice struggle to speak over the music blaring overhead. You looked up to meet the eyes of the speaker. You knew he attended your school even though you didn’t recognize him. Whether that was because of the lights or the beer was anybody’s guess.

You didn’t respond, not bothering to change the solemn look on your face. He took this as a sign to speak up once more, “Yeah, me neither.”

You finally decided to respond, coming to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t going to quit. “Listen, I don’t really do the small talk thing.” You shake your head, trying to express that you weren’t interested.

“You’re right. I like big talk,” he shot back. He leaned down to speak in your ear. Not quite whispering, but something considered more private in the middle of a house party. “You look gorgeous tonight.”

“That’s not small talk?” You tilted your head, trying to humor him instead of doing the sensible thing and shoving him away in your inebriated state.

“You look gorgeous. Can I take you upstairs?” That was bold.

On the other side of the room, Taissa and Van had witnessed everything. While they may’ve not heard what was going on, they subconsciously knew nothing good could come from a private and intimate discussion between a boy and a girl at a high school party. Without a second word, Taissa looked at Van, sending her on a hunt through the house to find Lottie.

Lottie was currently making small talk with the few other people in the kitchen while she served herself another drink from the keg. Van slowed herself to a stop as Lottie gave her a look of concern as she watched the goalie catch her breath.

“Your girlfriend’s being hit on by a man!” Van breathed out, not bothering to word it lighter.

“What?” Lottie was confused more than anything. She couldn’t believe that you would even allow that to happen. Single or not. “Where is she?”

“The front room.” Van took her all the way there, although at some point Lottie had trudged forward, taking the lead of their path. Van returned next to Tai, watching the scene in front of them unfold.

Lottie walked up behind you and watched as you drunkenly interacted with the meathead in front of you. You clearly hadn’t noticed her yet. She shouted over the music in an attempt to get the boy’s attention, “Hey, she’s not interested!”

The boy’s face dropped, and you turned around to meet her doe eyes. “Lottie!” Although drunk, you still couldn’t forget how she made you feel moments beforehand. “Did you know…” You pressed your drink to her chest in a friendly manner, even though this wasn’t supposed to be a playful gesture. “Jason, here, said he would shut the party down just for me if I went down on him tonight?”

Lottie’s face turned to fury, looking up at said boy in disbelief. His face fell, seeing as he couldn’t even face her stare. He couldn’t defend himself as he slipped away into a small gaggle, leaving the two of you alone. “Isn’t that amazing?” You smiled up at her, sarcasm dripping from your otherwise angelic voice.

“We need to talk,” she said firmly. Lottie grabbed your shoulders and looked around at the smaller crowds of the room before looking back at you again. “Outside.”

Without much of a choice, she grabbed your hand and pulled you through the house and through the front door, leaving you two to be on the front yard with people hunched over, drunk. “What’s wrong with you?” You sneered at her, pulling your hand away from her grasp.

“What’s wrong with you?” She mirrored the attitude you were giving her. “You’re just gonna go and flirt with some random guy right in front of me?”

“Lottie, I’m not yours!” You silenced her with your proclamation, as if it was the first time she was hearing it out loud. You crossed your arms and teared up, trying to come up with your next words carefully. “We don’t have to keep doing whatever this is. I know you’re better without me.”

Lottie’s eyes softened at your words. You clearly hadn’t been in the right headspace for a while, and she couldn’t help but think that your little situation hadn’t helped one bit. “You’re right. This was a stupid idea.”

“I didn’t say th–” You were cut off by her lips capturing yours, as if that was where they belonged the whole time. You couldn’t help but kiss her back naturally, leaning in further as if you could be any closer to her. She pulled away, causing you to almost lose your balance from the intoxicating kiss. “I didn’t say that.”

Lottie laughs at your drunken state, not caring whether you’d remember this in the morning or not. “I don’t want this anymore. I want you.”

You looked up at her with wide eyes, as if you were truly listening now. “And I don’t care if that means we have to keep sneaking around. I’d rather be your dirty little secret than be away from you ever again.”

You let out an uncontrolled laugh when she finished her speech, although she chose not to take it personally. “That was so cheesy!” As if your emotions did a full one-eighty, you couldn’t help but laugh at the now exasperated look on her face.

“Yeah, whatever.” She wrapped a loose arm around you and pulled you into her side. You complied without a second thought. “Let me take you home.”

“My home or your home?” You ask, not caring where you ended up after tonight. “My home, obviously,” Lottie responded. She pulled a smile that unknowingly matched yours before she led you both home. Her home.

[literaila]

Reader doesn’t get jealous (Really, she doesn’t.) But what happeneds when Satoru gets a littttleeee to close to someone else? How does she react? (I swear she isn’t jealous, she was just feeling some type of way).

you’re standing near the edge of the courtyard, eyes cast purposefully towards the steps, trying to figure out how to discreetly uncross your arms.

how you’ve ended up here—several meters away from yaga, satoru, and a sorcerer you’ve never met before—is unclear. but you can feel the frown on your face, the tense set to your shoulders and, honestly, there just isn’t time for this.

you’re busy. you have lessons to be planning, curses to be exorcizing, emotions to be compartmentalizing—and this is all fine.

it’s not like satoru—yes, satoru gojo, first class special grade sorcerer, dictionary definition of ignorance, major pain in the ass—is currently laughing with this new colleague.

except it’s exactly like that.

and it’s not like you’ve drifted away from this conversation that you don’t want to hear, arms tucked against your chest, downturned curve to your lips, head empty and furious.

except… it’s like that, too.

but satoru doesn’t just pay attention to strangers. and especially not strangers that yaga forces upon him like some sort of sweet parting gift.

when satoru met you he was barely all there, laughing only because suguru was standing beside him and he still had that aura of glossy childishness.

(satoru has managed to keep his childishness, no doubt, but its a bit smudged now, worn with age).

he doesn’t laugh with strangers and he doesn’t tease yaga with them either. and you’ve known satoru long enough to know this, and to also know that—

you hate being excluded from him.

you hated it when you were six years younger, on the outside of your upperclassman just because of circumstance. you hated it when satoru would leave, not bothering to pick up his phone because he’s always been self absorbed and frustrating.

and you hate it now if only because you’ve spent the past four years trying to teach satoru how to share—just so he doesn’t absolutely wreck the sweet constitution of tsumiki and megumi—and now look at you.

look at him, laughing with this woman neither of you have ever met, flashing his eyes at her like he’s not some sort of freaky, elongated, completely ridiculous alien.

at this point, you’ve given up on uncrossing your arms.

you’re irritated for no rational reason and you’re still growing, okay? if tsumiki and megumi can have unreasonable emotions, so can you. there’s no parenting book you’ve read on how not to hit your co-parent because he’s talking to someone else.

you’ve been standing there, far away from the group, just close enough to hear the giggle of a high pitched voice and the teasing of the lower one—and then you’re not just standing there.

you’re being swarmed.

“hmm,” satoru peeks around your shoulder, coming to brush up beside you like he knows it’ll make you flinch. “i coulda sworn you were right next to me.”

you don’t attempt to move because it will only encourage him. everyone else has seem to dissipated, but it does nothing to ease the uncomfortable emotions in your chest.

“i’m bird watching. there was a robin.”

satoru looks around, at the trees, the sky, the completely empty space where no wildlife resides. “…birds can’t get past the barriers, you know?”

“you better go check on tengen then.”

he laughs, cuddling up to you like he already knows that he’s in trouble. he probably does. just like how he knows that you don’t care about birds, that you only listen to megumi talk about native robins because you’re nice.

“did you get enough sleep?” satoru asks, pouting for show, lip trembling. “i think you’re hallucinating.”

“you kept me up all night, so you should know.”

“it wasn’t all night.”

“until three in the morning.”

“level seventeen was very difficult,” he whines, “i couldn’t go to sleep knowing that it was there… all alone… just waiting for someone to complete it.”

“but you could stay up for five hours while i waited for you in bed.”

he nuzzles his nose against your cheek, the hint of a grin curling against his lips. “you were motivation.”

that’s enough to send a shock of irritation down your spine—or maybe pleasure, who’s to say?—and push him away.

it’s easier to be mad at him—for no good reason, mind you—when he’s not crowding you with his hands, and breathing, and voice.

“ugh, satoru, i might puke.”

he pouts some more, pretending to shiver without your warmth. “are you sick?”

“sick of you. go mess with someone else for once.”

“but no one else looks as cute as you when they’re mad,” he tried to ruffle your hair, to your dismay. “who am i supposed to mess with?”

“that new teacher. she’d probably enjoy it,” you turn, looking back to the space where your bird lacks. “and so would you,” you mutter, not quite under your breath.

“that woman with the glasses?”

you give him a blank stare.

he grins. “okay, so i forgot her name. it’s hard being so adored by my fans.”

“it didn’t seem hard when you were hanging on her arm three minutes ago.”

“i was telling her about yaga’s secret thread collection. she promised not to tell.”

“then go double check, or something,” you tell him, waving a hand and taking a step towards the stairs like you’re going to walk down them.

you’re definitely not.

“wait a second,” satoru takes a single step in front of you, effectively blocking your escape and leaning down so he can peer at your face. “what’s this?”

you sigh. “what’s what?”

“this… thing you’ve got.”

“seriously?”

“so many wrinkles,” he pokes at your cheek. “did someone mess with you while i was busy?”

“you were one meter away, and who would mess with me?”

“you tell me, sour-face.”

“can you move?”

satoru leans up again, face going still in consideration. he looks at you for a moment, just staring, and then he promptly pretends to trip, falling against you.

“oh no,” satoru whines. “i can’t move, my limbs,” he leans all of his weight against you, sending you both staggering back. “they’re failing. i can’t feel a thing.”

“satoru—“ you push against him. “c’mon, you—“

“i’ve gone limp. help me, y/n, im dying.”

“you’re gonna die when i—“

“at least the last thing i hear will be your voice,” he groans, clutching at your shirt. “i will die in peace.”

at last you scoff, still pushing against him. “i’m going to trip us both if you keep—“

“i guess there’s no other choice. you’ll have to carry me home.”

satoru not so slyly wraps his arms around your neck, positioning himself so that you’re holding him up, but his feet hold steady against the ground and you can stand now.

so he’s only leaning half of his body weight on you. not that it makes it any better.

“ill drop you right here,” you say, making one last ditch effort to push him off.

“you wouldn’t,” he pouts, “and i thought you cared.”

he is completely attached to you when the tightness in your chest finally ebbs, the rest of your body too preoccupied to maintain it.

“i’m not carrying you home,” you tell satoru, even though your arms go around his back, and you quickly find your place there, with him.

“just hold me,” he says, so simply. like it’s an answer to all of your problems. his voice is light and his grip is excruciatingly strong. “you can siphon me some of your strength. it’ll probably only take, like, an hour. at most.”

“ha.”

satoru tilts his head up, coming nose to nose with you and searching for something on your face. he grins victoriously when he sees it.

“what?” you ask, not having noticed the smile that’s fallen to your lips, the gleam in your eyes.

you don’t even notice how close you are to him. you can’t even tell that if you lean in, just a little, you would be kissing him. he would be kissing you, and there would be much more than simple strength passing between the two of you.

satoru doesn’t say anything for a moment—which should be strange to you, but it’s not, for whatever reason.

he only grins. and even though you know it’s not what he’s actually thinking, he says, “you smell nice.”

you laugh again, shaking your head. your nose just grazes the tip of his own. “what?”

“that other woman’s perfume must’ve been cheap. it smelled like that arcade we went to in harajuku. something was rotting.”

“that’s rude, satoru,” you tell him, but you’re still smiling.

“but you always smell so nice.”

“i do?”

satoru tilts his head, moving to rest his nose in the concave of your neck, inhaling deeply. and when he exhales, he’s almost laughing.

something in your stomach swells, crashing against you. he doesn’t laugh like that with anyone else.

and you don’t have to share him.

[viiennie]

i was watching stephanie soo and had an idea

spoiled!afabreader x loving!gojosatoru

in which: your billionaire father is now in the age of retirement and thought it was time for you to stop being so leisure and find a man to marry. it was one of your duties as the heiress after all.

tw: curse words, rich ppl, suggestive (gojo loves you a bit too much)

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

“daddy! i dont wanna get married, im only 29!” you whine, stabbing the three thousand dollar steak on your plate angrily, pouting as your father sighs.

“dear, im 61 years old now. i was supposed to retire lat year, but i decided to work for another year because you told me you werent ready.”

“….”

your silent response is proof that you knew you were being unreasonable. “but i dont wanna get married to a stranger..” you mumble, now playing with the veggies on the side of the plate. you tried your best to find your mr. right last year, but everyone was just either so boring, so bland, or was only after your money. you were fine if they were intelligent men who were after your money, but noooooo they were absolute idiots who had the guts to be after your money.

“dont worry dearie, i wont allow you to be with a trashy guy.” your father pats your head gently, careful not to mess up your hair that he knows you spent forever to style.

indeed did your father keep his words. he had offered 65 million dollars to the man who will marry you under the condition that he loves you and you love him. not only that, but all the blind dates he set you up on absolutely exceeded your expectations. one of them rented out an entire theme park for the two of you to enjoy, one had emptied out a five star hotel, and one even had booked you both a flight to greece.

all these men were gentlemen who were from different rich families. they were kind, they were caring. but one thing always set you off.

they always looked like they were just there to complete a chore.

you grunt, mushing your face into the window of your rolls royce. another day, another blind date. this time you were on your way to the biggest mall in the country, about to meet the heir of the gojo group.

“miss, you might rub your makeup off.” ijichi warns, pushing his glasses up as he organizes your schedule. ijichi was your personal assistant, your best friend since day one who was always there to take care of you.

you pout, furrowing your eyebrows and closing your eyes in annoyance.

next thing you know is when you open them again, youre standing in front of a white haired man with the bluest eyes you’ve seen. he is your first date that’s wearing casual clothes.

“it’s nice to finally meet you angel, my name’s gojo satoru.” he smiles, showing off his pearly whites and offering a hand.

you raise an eyebrow, impressed as you place your hand in his, watching him kiss the soft skin of your knuckles. you feel a smile creep onto your lips as you then allow him to guide you through the crowdless mall, greeting all the employees and managers as he walks past the stores. you swear he is the most gentlemanly date you’ve had so far with the way he walks to match your pace, makes sure you arent tired, and stopping with the occasional, “how are you feeling princess, you tired?”

as you eat, he slices the meat for you, separates the green peas from the fried rice for you if you didnt like them, makes sure you know you dont have to finish the food if you didnt like it or if you felt full. after you’re done eating, he tells you to sit and relax first, assuring you that there was no rush in anything. “just sit your pretty self and rest there baby.” he hums, paying for the food before putting all his attention back on you.

he asks you about your father, how hes doing. about your friends, the drama going on. he asks you about your hobbies, your interests, your skills, your talents.

and youre so glad because this time you dont have to talk about the changes in the company when you are to be married, you dont have to answer questions like, “will you sign a prenup?” “how many guests will you invite at the wedding?” “how is the revenue?” “where should i invest?”

with gojo satoru, you can be yourself, and not be a business partner.

as you talked about how you had an eminent talent in horseback riding, satoru cant help but smile as he admires the way you constantly glowed. each word you said was just so perfect, like a melody that had him melting. god, he could just eat you up.

after you decided you had enough rest, satoru leads you to the shopping area, telling you to buy whatever you wanted. you squeal, this time being the one to lead the way and dragging along the rich man as you hop from nike, to chanel, to hermes, to dior, and so on. he ended up having to carry multiple shopping bags, but he didnt mind, because he absolutely loved seeing that smile on your face each time you swiped his black card.

he couldnt help but slowly get hard, groaning quietly whenever you got more comfortable and touchy with him, often hugging his arm close to your chest and pulling him to the next store.

he had to hold back whenever you’d say, “gojo, i wanna go there next pretty please!” and look up at him with those pleading puppy eyes of your, batting your lashes in hopes of charming him.

he nearly reached his boiling point when you asked him to enter the changing room, needing help with zipping up the back of a particular skirt.

as he kneels to reach, he catching a glimpse of your pretty lace underwear in a baby pink color, his cock twitches as he goes deaf to your questions, “is the zipper stuck? whats taking so long gojo?” you repeat almost thrice before he goes back to his senses, quickly zipping up the skirt before standing, doing his best to cover up the tent in his pants.

he didnt want to make you think he was a weirdo after all..

you twirl around with the most beautiful smile, “what do you think, gojo? is it pretty?”

he can only stare with a strained smile, unable to focus as he nods. “its beautiful princess.”

you can tell somethings bothering him, “is it the top? i have another option there if–” you pause when he takes a step forward, hesitantly placing his hand on your lower back and lifting your chin with his other hand, “you look stunning baby.” he reassures you, and you feel your face getting hotter.

“o-okay, i’lltakethisthen!” you quickly say before shoving him out of the changing room.

satoru is glad he had the door blocking you because at this point he swears there might be a stain on his pants. embarrassed, he tried to pull down his sweater, sighing in relief when he looks at the mirror, seeing that it was oversized enough to hide his little gojo junior’s bulge.

it isnt long after when you tell gojo your daddy is telling you to go home before the sunsets, having to reject his offer to drive you home because you had ijichi waiting at the parking lot for you.

“well, i hope we’ll see each other again angel.” gojo smiles, having walked you till the exit of the mall. “hope i didn’t disappoint you today.” he adds honestly, letting go of your hand.

“oh, you didn’t disappoint me at all today gojo. i had lots of fun.” you smile, tiptoeing to place a surprise kiss on his lips. “i’ll see you again next week?”

gojo is dumbfounded, standing there as his brain goes completely blank, just staring at you with adorable wide eyes.

you giggle, taking that as a yes before walking off to the direction of your car.

as soon as youre sat in the backseat, you take out your phone, calling your dearest father’s phone number and with a big smile and a racing heart you tell him, “daddy, prepare 65 million dollars because i like this one!”

[kingkat12]

Mario Kart (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: fluff, teasing, Roman is an annoying boy istg, mentions of sex ig

summary: after a long week of not having seen your boyfriend, you thought he'd immediately pounce you when you got him up in your room-- that was, until he spotted the new game you had downloaded

word count: 1,752

a/n: kingkat doing a oneshot?? balance has been restored lmaooo, I love having summer break, enjoy some fluff in the midst of all the angst I recently write<3333 MWAH

This was becoming ridiculous-- Roman was supposed to be here for me.

Instead, he was sunk deep into the edge of my bed, legs spread like he owned the place, completely transfixed by the stupid little kart racing across my TV. His fingers moved with deadly precision on the controller, sharp and fast, and I could hear how into it he was-- the low mutters, the victorious scoff every time he nailed someone with a shell, the smug little chuckle like he was hot shit; which, annoyingly, he totally was.

But right now, he was just acting like a piece of shit. Like, seriously?

I sighed, spreading out on my bed as I glared at my boyfriend through the corner of my eye. Why were boys so obsessed with video games? Was that stupid game I downloaded that one night Roman was out partying and I was overthinking everything more fun than hanging out with me?

To be honest, I had no idea what was happening with our relationship anymore. I could only keep on sighing, laying here like a tragic girlfriend cliché, watching Roman race through Rainbow Road like his life depended on it.

He chewed on lip as he barely dodged a banana peel; "Ooh, that was clean. Did you see that?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, tone flat. "Super hot. I'm soaking wet."

That made Roman glance over briefly, his green eyes glinting with something I couldn't place; was he bored, or...? "Liar," he grumbled, turning back to the screen.

"I could be, though," I huffed, rolling onto my stomach, half-facing him, my cheek against the pillow. "If you weren't so damn obsessed with Mario."

"I'm not obsessed with Mario," Roman mumbled, tone maddeningly casual. Did he not hear the irony in mine? "This is just-- hold on-- yes! Blue shell dodge, did you see that?!"

Fucking teenage asshole. Rolling my eyes, I sat up, glaring daggers into the back of his head; it was time to fight back. "I don't care, Roman, I don't give a damn! If you came over just to play Mario Kart like a little baby, then I suggest you go home!"

Roman didn't say anything at first-- then, he let the kart coast off a cliff while the game over jingle chirped mockingly from the speakers. He slowly set the controller down on the bed beside him, the silence between us pressing at my chest like a weighted blanket as Roman turned around to face me.

His eyes were hard to read-- still bright with adrenaline, gorgeous as ever, but something else had settled there too. Annoyance? That look he got when I hit a nerve?

"You done?" he quietly asked.

I blinked. "Pardon?"

Roman cocked his head at me like I was the one being unreasonable. "Throwing your tantrum. You done now?"

I scoffed; "Are you kidding me?--"

"No," he cut in. "Because you could've just said, 'hey, I'm feeling ignored'. You didn't have to go full nuclear."

"But you've been ignoring me for weeks!" I snapped, louder than I meant to, as I crossed my arms over my chest. "Not just tonight, Roman! You flake, you go out partying without me all the time, you cancel, and when you do show up, you're more interested in virtual mushrooms than me!"

In typical teenage boy fashion, Roman sighed, now looking up at the ceiling like he was trying to figure out some puzzle. Was it that hard to understand where I was coming from? Were girls as big of an enigma for him as for other guys? I wouldn't have guessed it, with his long dating history, and all. For a boy that was that good in bed, he was mortifyingly bad at everything else that had to do with girls. 

"I don't know," he finally said, head empty. "I saw the game and got excited, simple as that. You know I used to be insane at Mario Kart on the DS, like... world-class."

"Yeah, you talk about it all the time," I huffed, glaring at him. "So you wanted to relive your middle school glory days?"

Roman shrugged, as if that somehow made it better. "Kinda, yeah? I didn't think it was a big deal,"

I just... blinked. 

"I didn't think it'd make you mad mad," he added quickly, like that helped. "I thought we'd maybe play together or something. I didn't know you'd be lying here plotting my murder."

Groaning, I pressed my palm to my foreheads; "I don't want to play Mario Kart!" I whined. "We're here in my room, on my bed, my parents are out of town, I shaved, and-- and you want to play Mario Kart!" Before I could control it, my arms were flailing around as I tried to distract him from the sight of me falling apart. "Are you kidding me?! You're clearly not into me anymore, so put me out of my fucking misery!"

Roman didn't say anything for a good couple of seconds, staring at me like I had just told him that the sky was green. After blinking once, twice, inhaling slowly, letting his chest fill as he pondered how I had managed to have a complete breakdown over Mario Kart, he chuckled, low and surprised, and broke the silence like a pin to a balloon. "Poor baby," he cooed, tone full of mock concern. "Sitting here spiralling while I'm dodging banana peels." 

My glared at him with all my wrath; "Don't do that,"

"Do what?" Roman asked, that condescending smirk painting his plush, pink lips. He looked so good like this, too-- lean and sprawled over the edge of my bed, that slouchy, lazy arrogance he wore like second skin. "You're cute like this, y'know? Stressing over things you don't have to."

I wanted to sink into myself and disappear-- was he serious? Roman looked back at me with the most maddeningly calm demeanour as he continued cooing at me; "You're kidding, right?"

I shook my head, eyes stinging.

"Oh my God," Roman breathed, dragging a hand down his face like I was the exhausting one. "Baby."

That one word made my whole body tense. His voice was so teasing, like he wasn't taking this seriously at all. "Put you out of your misery? What does that even mean? I don't want to break up," he went on, scooting closer to me on the bed. "Do you want to break up?" 

"I don't know," I breathed, avoiding his gaze.

Roman got closer, and leaned in just enough to make my heart pound. His green eyes scanned my face, slow and lazy. "You don't want to break up with me. You're just being dramatic," he said, soft but condescending. His fingers brushed my cheek like I was delicate, like I was stupid and sweet and his. "It's actually kind of hot how insane you're being right now," he murmured, half-laughing. "Like-- you've got tears in your eyes because I didn't make a move the second I walked in? Jesus. That's what I get for trying to be respectful, huh?"

"I shaved," I mumbled again, feeling ridiculous.

"I know, baby," he said, voice dipped in mock sympathy as his thumb skimmed down the side of my neck, sending goosebumps down my spine. "But two weeks ago, you were complaining that the only thing we did was fuck. And now... what? You want me to ignore all of that? It's a bit confusing."

I didn't meet Roman's green gaze anymore, focusing on the pattern of my comforter. "I just-- I guess I take it back,"

"You take it back?"

"I wasn't even complaining," I mumbled, tracing circles into my thigh. "I just said I was sore. Once. And you haven't even tried to initiate since..."

Roman's brows drew together, sustaining a laugh. "You could initiate too, y'know?"

"But how am I supposed to do that when you're playing Mario Kart?!" I snapped, smacking his arm, but it didn't land with any real force-- Roman caught my wrist and grinned, green eyes glinting. "Fine," he purred. "You want me to put away the game? Want me to play with you instead?"

I flushed so hard I felt dizzy-- well, yes. 

Roman's grin widened as he took in my expression. "Mm. There she is," He leaned forward until his lips were brushing my ear. "Let me guess," he went on, voice like smoke. "You spent all day thinking about it. Shaving. Lotioning. Probably picked your underwear based on what you hoped I'd do to you."

"I didn't!--"

Cutting me off without a single word, Roman shook his head. He had that knowing look about him-- there was that the quiet hunger beneath the smugness that I knew too well.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. I wore the black pair..." 

My confession was accompanied by a deeper redness in my cheek, one that earned me a nasty little whistle from Roman. He blew some hair away from his forehead, now tracing my thighs, knowing he had struck gold for tonight. "The whole set?"

I had no idea why this was so embarrassing-- my voice was barely a whisper; "Yeah..."

Roman let out a breath, grinning from ear to ear, probably silently thanking every God above. "Oh, I'm getting lucky, alright,"

Before I could even think, feeling as though my whole body was on fire, Roman pushed me down onto the bed, crawling on top of me in no time. "Breaking up, huh?" he muttered under his breath, lifting my shirt just a little to kiss right beneath my navel-- I could only squirm. "You're not getting away from me that quick, baby. Nuh-uh." 

For the first time tonight, I felt a giggle brew in my chest; it felt nice to get some attention. As Roman's fingers slid farther up my shirt, gripping at my waist, I let mine travel into his hair, tugging at his dark brown locks. 

He hummed against my skin, his soft lips pressing against my sternum. "You should've just told me you were horny," he purred, bunching up my shirt in his big hands; "I would've thrown that controller out the fucking window."

"Yeah, right," 

"You best believe-- oh, God, yes,"

When Roman managed to get my shirt over my chest, gazing down at his favourite pair of my lingerie, he let his head fall down, groaning into my skin like he could barely contain himself with glee.

Boys. 

Shaking my head, I could only giggle as I stroked my fingers through his soft hair. "I can't believe you make the same noises when you win in Mario Kart, and when you see a pair of tits,"

Roman let out another breathy laugh, raising himself up to kiss up my jaw, practically purring against my skin--

"A win is a win, baby,"

[meo-eiru]

heyy!! here I am with some more thoughts, this time about Elias.

honestly, for some reason, he seems like a very lonely person to me. you mentioned his will to change himself (and go to extreme lengths in that); also his almost paranoid fear of darling leaving him, (delete all of your contacts except for him, etc) – usually such level of jealousy is a sign of very low self-esteem. dunno if it's true, I just had a feeling that he's super insecure deep down. (he's afraid to look bad in our eyes, remember? to an unhealthy extent.)

and he's so empty. so beautiful on the outside, but so so empty. he loves you, he exists for you, isn't that enough? it isn't. you can't feel genuine affection for someone just because they look good. and Elias knows that! he's actually self conscious (unlike some elf with big tatas), but he can't offer you anything else, which must make him feel even more insecure, because deep down he knows that he won't be able to keep you by his side forever.

actually that will of his to go to extreme lengths for us is pretty frightening. how toxic it can be? depends on the darling! because if you are a normal person, you'd be patient with him, change him, and have a happy ever after and all those boring things. but what if Elias happens to fall in love with an unreasonable and possessive monster?

I feel like he'd go very well with a darling who's yandere for him too. and a stereotypical one at that, who'd want to keep him by their side like a pretty doll. get it? not a life partner, not even a human. a doll, a pretty thing to take care of. they would choose pretty clothes for him, brush his hair, but at the end of the day, he's nothing more but a pretty thing, an object.

I really like the doll metaphor for Elias. (I'm a huge doll lover, I ever have one of that super expensive bjd) dolls are beautiful, but aren't alive. they can't be someone you'd open your heart to; under their shiny porcelain skin, they're hollow.

unlike Silas, Elias is a more tragic character in my eyes. he's willing to carve his bones to whatever shape you desire, because if he isn't validated and noticed by you, he has no value. and you (if you are a normal person) will grow tired and bored of him, sooner or later. he wants to be loved, when there's pretty much nothing to love in him.

unlike Silas, his love can ruin only himself.

(I swear it's not like I want to see him suffer in particular. I'm open to all kinds of despair, pain and sadness, whether it yan's or darling's!)

(also I tried to find his colour scheme, but all I found was you mention his hair, so it's just how I think he looks like.)

DHDKDHDKYS NOT ONLY IS YOUR ANALYZES AMAZING YOU ALSO DREW ELIAS??? AND HOW DID YOU GET HIS COLOR SCHEME SO RIGHT???

I love you thank you god I love asks like yours.

You’re very on point, Elias is like a pretty doll. Beautiful on the outside but completely empty inside, and that beauty is the only thing that gives him any kind of worth. He’s aware of this more than anyone.

He’s not rich, he doesn’t have an amazingly successful career, no hobbies, no specialities, no interests. He’s extremely pathetic and all he can do is pitifully attempt to pull you down to his level.

That’s why committing self harm comes so easily to him even if he doesn’t yearn for it. Endangering himself, his only value, his body, is the only way he can keep you with him. He doesn’t have any power over you he can use against you. He only has this disgustingly and pathetically beautiful body.

He wants to be loved by you, he wants you to be obsessed with him as much as he is with you, but deep down he knows he doesn’t have any qualities that could deserve such love. That is why he leans into his appearance so hard, since the moment he was born that face of his was the only thing that gave him any sort of value.

If you find any part of him ugly he’ll have no choice but to try to fix it even if it completely ruins him. Because he thinks that’s the only way for him to keep your eyes on him. He’s just through and through pathetic. Extremely pitiful.

He would indeed roll well with a yandere reader who treats him like a living doll. Because Elias wants to be values by you, even if it means getting stripped of the little sense of identity he had. He wants you to keep your eyes on him and see him as an object who exists for your satisfaction. Because at the end of the day that is what he is. An empty shell who was unfortunate enough to be born with the ability to love.

Elias’ existence can’t handle his own love. He’ll start breaking from inside out like a doll under pressure. That’s why he needs your reassurance, he needs you to reaffirm his worth. He can’t exist for himself so he needs to exist for you. He might be a beautiful shell of a human but he too can have some sort of value if he’s being used like a tool by you.

But watching you also makes him feel extremely jealous and frustrated. Because you have everything he doesn’t have. You have hobbies, things you enjoy, things you do for yourself, people who stay with you not for your outer shell but for who you are inside. Everything Elias never had and never will.

That’s why he tries so hard to ruin your relationships and threaten you to stay with him, to keep you at his level like a pathetic bug. Because you’re not like him. You can abandon him any day of the week and continue your life like you lost nothing, but Elias isn’t like that. If he loses you he truly will have nothing left.

So please love him, ruin him, break him, treat him right, use him, make him feel alive, give him some sort of value. Please be kind to Elias. He needs you more than anyone on this world

[scaraobsession]

Categorically Yours⎯ ♡

⎯12. study buddy

Note: I'm sorry if this is not up to your expectations, I promise I tried ;-;

Word count: ~1500

God, he’s so impatient. ‘Be ready at nine’, he said– like what sick individual would say this to a college student? You should report him for psychological warfare, but speedrunning your morning routine has priority.

You rush down the stairs of your apartment building, shoving the keys into your pocket while praying that Scara is still there, waiting and not too pissed. Once the front door closes behind you, you hear a car horn blare. Your head whips in the direction of the noise and, of course, it’s him. Sitting in the car, smug expression, knowing he embarrassed you.

You open the car door and sit on the passenger seat, saving your sarcastic comment since he’s doing you a huge favor today. “Hey”

Scara just shoots you a frown before starting the car. “You’re late.”

A guilty feeling starts to build up in your stomach when you see his tight face. He’s helping you and you kept him waiting. “I know… I’m really sorry, I’m not used to waking up this early… I didn’t mean to make you wait for me.”

Scara sighs softly, the tension on his face easing. “It’s okay, I’m not actually mad. Kinda expected it, to be honest.”

You shrink in your seat, a little embarrassed that he thinks of you like that, especially now that you proved him right.

He adds on. “Don’t be late again next time.”

“Next time???” You question, eyes wide, before you can even think about or process it.

His eyes widen slightly, and he doesn’t elaborate, eyes on the road. You decide not to say anything either, as to not make him snap at you again.

The two of you arrive at the café, which looks really cozy on the inside. Maybe this study session won’t be complete torture. You look around for a good spot. “Is this booth fine?”

“Yeah sure.”

You sit down and Scara hesitates for a few seconds before settling down next to you, leaving the seat in front of you empty. He takes out his laptop– that you see for the first time ever by the way since he ‘doesn’t need notes’ because note-taking is apparently beneath him– and the philosophy book your professor recommended. Following his lead, you put your notebook and your pen on the table.

Before you can start studying, a waitress approaches with a friendly smile. “Hello, what can I get you today?”

Scara gestures at you to go first. What a gentleman, consider yourself charmed.

Usually, you’d order a cup of cocoa, but you need some caffeine since someone made you get out of bed at this ungodly hour. “I’ll take a cappuccino, please”

“A black coffee for me” Either he’s really tired, or really tasteless.

Regardless, the two of you start studying. He opens something on his laptop –and wait… it’s the slides the professor doesn’t share?

You blink. How on earth does he have those? Did he sell his soul to the devil? Or to your beloved professor?

You lean over suspiciously.

“Where did you get those?”

He doesn’t even look up.

“I have my ways.”

Cryptic and stoic. Typical Scara behavior.

You don’t let it go easily.

“No, but seriously, where did you get them?”

Scara sighs, like you’re being unreasonable.

“My mom is a professor too. I made her ask for them. Now less talking about that and more studying”

Without any much-needed mental preparation for you, he starts out explaining all sorts of philosophy related things from the beginning of the semester, pointing at the presentation slides for emphasis. You start taking notes, occasionally asking questions when he’s going too fast or when something is too confusing.

He describes all these concepts and definitions with his calm and confident voice, his tone dipping when he’s a little unsure about something or rising when he talks about the things that interest him in that class– it’s almost hypnotic. You hold on to every word he says, and yet it feels like a blur, like you’re watching him speak instead of listening to his explanations. Something about it is just so captivating. After a while you find yourself staring at the way he moves his hands while he talks, just enough to make his point but not too much where it becomes obnoxious. His hand moves a little closer and–

“Yn? Are you even listening?” Scara snaps his fingers in front of your face. You flinch out of your trance, blinking.

“Ah, sorry I-”

He cuts you off, sharply, “You got distracted.”

You nod, apologetic look on your face. He drags out a long, exasperated sigh, but actually softens his tone. “I think you need a break, we already went over three lectures”

“Yeah, a break would be nice.” The tension leaves your body at the idea.

Scara takes a look at your notes, examining them for a second.

And no reply, again. Scara really just straight up avoids questions he doesn’t want to answer with no excuse whatsoever.

Instead, he asks you a question, “Did you eat yet?”

“No, I was in a rush…” You chuckle nervously.

“Me neither, let’s buy something.”

The two of you walk up to the counter, scanning the display for something nice for breakfast. The pastries all look so delicious, you’re having a hard time deciding on what to get. Deep in thought about this very important decision, Scara’s annoyed groan disrupts you.

“They only have sweets. Ughhhh.” Yup, his taste is questionable.

You fail to bite back your comment, “No shit, it’s a café.”

His brow twitches, he smiles wryly. “Coffee is bitter, so the food here should be bitter, too.”

You snort, taking the opportunity to smartass him for once, “I fear it’s common knowledge that Café food is sweet, you know. You could’ve taken me to the library if you wanted something bitter.”

He looks to the side, mumbling, “I know, I just thought you’d like this place.”

You pause. You surely misheard, right?

You glance at him from the side, he’s still looking away as if he didn’t just say something oddly thoughtful and– contrary to his bad taste in food– sweet.

“Well…”, you start, trying to play it cool while he caught you off guard, “I do like it. Despite your suffering.”

Scara hums, barely suppressing a small smile. “Good. At least I don’t suffer for nothing.”

Your mind goes back to the pastries, but his comment lingers in your head. You get a slice of strawberry cake, he gets a plain croissant.

Back at your booth, you start eating in a comfortable silence, before Scara breaks it with a question. “So…  why psychology?”

You glance at him, surprised at his sudden interest. “I guess I like figuring people out. Why they are the way they are. It’s complicated, but… important.”

Scara hums. “Sounds exhausting if anything. People do what they do, why they do it doesn’t matter in most cases”

You shrug. “People always make more sense when you look at what they’ve been through. And I think it matters more often than you think. I mean, you chose this café. Why? Because you wanted to do something nice for me. I think that sentiment does matter.”

He goes quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on his coffee.

“…You read into things too much,” he mutters eventually.

You lean back a little.

“Now your turn. Why history?”

His shoulders relax a little, more comfortable with this topic. “It’s straightforward. Things happened, you just study why they happened. People say it’s just memorizing dates but there’s patterns that repeat themselves because humanity doesn’t change.”

Ha. Contradiction spotted.

“Oh, so the ‘why’ does matter in history, but doesn’t matter in psychology?”

He pauses, taking what you said into consideration.

“I guess it’s just on a larger scale in history?”

Now it’s your turn to think. “Maybe. You do like to analyze people, just not up close”

He rolls his eyes and smirks a little.

“Stop trying to psychoanalyze me”

The two of you go back to studying, going over the rest of the material. It’s surprisingly easy when Scara explains it to you and not that arrogant professor who talks like everyone has a degree already. Hours slip by and the sun sets, so the two of you decide to call it a day. He makes sure to bring you home safely.

Once he parks in front of your apartment complex, he turns to you. “Do you feel like you actually understand more now?”

You nod, shooting him a grateful smile. “I do. You don’t know how big of a favor you did for me. So… thank you.”

Scara looks away, as always. “Don’t mention it. At least you’re all caught up now.”

“Thanks to you.” You add quickly. You still feel kind of guilty that he spent his whole day helping you, but he doesn’t look like he regrets it.

“Seriously, it’s nothing.” He says.

“I don’t care, I’m still thanking you. And thanks for bringing me home, too.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, grabbing your things, “Anyway, I’m heading in. Goodnight, text me when you’re home!!”

He blinks, giving you a mildly confused look. “I’m a guy in a car, I think I’m safe.”

You roll your eyes. “Just do it anyways.”

You step inside, trying not to think too hard about the fact that that actually went… really well.

previous masterlist next

summary⎯ It starts with a note in philosophy lecture. They sit together once, then again. Now they’re texting, sharing notes, and maybe something else they won’t admit. Minor in philosophy, major in denial.

Taglist (comment or send ask to be added)

@bittersweetmiko @lizzie-harper @hntft @bubblebellaz @vlynynynyn @rumitome @qjvt7 @sundeityraza @vi0let-writes @bananasquash @9meree @stoopycake @yelwo @feikyuu @saechiro @franaby @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @sesamemin @this-insomniac-maniac @yu-yumii @maiznamai @usagiarchive @yellowhaiyuhcinths @kunikissr @eternallykira-143 @meikstv @poemzcheng @meisverycool @elakari @anqelkoz @jinxiepixie @tamashithe2nd @thingforxiao @aerisevx @wiggly-yrath @smolchildonmonster

[babydollmarauders]

SWEETEST GIFT — LUKE HUGHES

luke hughes x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which Luke gives y/n the sweetest gift, resulting in an eventful christmas night

warnings: anxiety, NSFW CONTENT, praise, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v (protected). (5k words)

notes: merry christmas and welcome to the final day of kinkmas! i hope you’ve all enjoyed these past 12 days and that everyone has a wonderful holiday! this is the longest fic of them all because apparently i’m actually incapable of writing a short luke smut…

i’m late.

it’s arguably the most important date so far in my relationship, and i’m late.

i don’t mean to be, obviously; the last thing i wanna do is make a bad first impression on my boyfriend’s teammates, but under the circumstances, it was completely out of my control.

i told my family several times that i needed to be out the door by four o’clock, and i thought they understood that. but then christmas breakfast turned into christmas brunch and gifts were opened late and then my mother insisted i stayed until my little cousins arrived and i still had to get changed and it was a chaotic mess all the way until i got out the door.

at five o’clock.

an entire hour later than i was supposed to leave.

so now here i am, having driven barefoot to my boyfriends apartment and only just now pulling my boots on, messy bun unreasonably… messy, and his gift having fallen onto the floor of my car after some definite traffic law violations in order to arrive as quick as possible.

once my boots are zipped securely on my feet, i’m leaning almost entirely over the center console, my hand patting at the passengers side floor until i finally grasp the present; a box wrapped in shiny red paper.

i quickly stumble out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me before i take off into the apartment complex. the wait for the elevator feels infinite, and the ride up even longer, but i finally reach the apartment door.

faint music drifts through the cracked open door, the sounds of multiple men talking each other overpowering the melodies that play, and i knock lightly upon the wood. after one more knock and two minutes of nobody answering, i push the door open, peeking my head in to find nobody in the entry way.

tip-toeing in, i close the door behind me, the short heels of my boots clicking against the hardwood floor as i shrug my coat off, hanging it on the overcrowded coat rack by the door before i wander further into the apartment.

i determine the source of the voices as the kitchen, but opt to veer off and drop Luke’s present off in his bedroom before i join them, as i know we won’t be exchanging gifts until after dinner. i set the gift on his bed, leaving his bedroom door open on my way out, but rather than walking into the empty hallway, i find myself colliding with a hard chest as someone leaves the restroom.

“oh shit, sorry!” i squeak, looking up to find a confused face staring back at me.

the unfamiliar man is tall, at least a couple inches taller than my boyfriend, with blue-green eyes and brown buzzed hair. he stares down at me a frown and threaded brows.

“excuse me, are you supposed to be here?” he questions, and i nod quickly, swallowing harshly as i try to push down the anxiety of meeting this new person.

i glance down the hallway in hopes that Luke will miraculously appear, but i can still hear him laughing in the kitchen, “yes, yeah! i am!”

the man narrows his eyes at me, “yeah, ‘cause that didn’t sound suspicious.”

he stalks down the hallway quickly towards the kitchen, my shorter legs following behind him.

“guys, there’s a girl over here! never seen her before!” the man calls out, his voice carrying over the sound of all the others and gaining the guys attention.

one by one i see heads peeking out from the kitchen, making me stop in my tracks. my hands shake with anxiety as they all peer back at me, some faces looking frustrated or annoyed, until finally my boyfriend emerges from the kitchen.

a small smile is painted across his lips, but it drops as he sees my nervous body languages. picking my steps back up, i walk slowly into his arms, incredibly perceptive of the amount of eyes that watch me.

“hi, angel.” Luke’s arms enclose around my waist, pulling me tight against him as he speaks.

“hi, Lukey. sorry, i’m late.” his body shakes as he chuckles, brushing off my apologies.

“it’s okay,” he assures me as i pull away, “i see you met Bass.”

i turn, my back pressing against Luke’s chest as his arm winds around to hug around my stomach, facing his teammates, who all seem a lot less menacing now that they know i’m not a crazy fangirl who found her way in.

“Bass,” i repeat, staring at the man whom i ran into. i rack my brain for a moment, trying to remember who Luke has said this man is in the past, “ah, yes, Nathan!”

Nathan nods with a smile, “you can just call me Nate or Bass, all the guys do. sorry about scaring you, didn’t realize you were Rusty’s girl.”

i bite back a laugh at my boyfriend’s hockey nickname. i’ve heard it before, but it’ll take some getting used to.

“it’s okay.”

Luke points out each friend, introducing them one by one until i’ve met all five; Nico, Dawson, John, Timo, and Nathan.

“and then you know Jack.” Luke waves his brother off, making me chuckle.

“yeah, hi, Jack.”

Jack smiles, “hi, y/n. there’s some wine in the kitchen, if you want some.”

the guys retreat to living room after Luke promises to check on the ham in the oven, guiding me into the kitchen. grabbing a wine glass from a cupboard, he fills it with a red wine before turning and leaning against the counter, handing the glass off to me.

“you look like you could use it.” he laughs, making me slap his chest in playful annoyance.

“i could! my family is batshit crazy,” i sigh, taking a big gulp of the wine before i set the glass down on the counter, “i was supposed to be here an hour ago but apparently my mother can’t tell time and lord knows i’m not allowed to leave until she deems christmas over.”

i walk myself between his slightly spread legs, dropping my forehead on his chest as i groan, “i just need food and cuddles.”

“well, i can check one thing off that list, but i can’t promise the ham will be edible, after all, Jack made it so…”

a giggle falls from my lips as i peer up into his eyes, shrugging my shoulders, “yeah, maybe i’ll stick to the mashed potatoes.”

the rest of the evening goes about as smoothly as i figured it would; i had to end up finishing the ham because i had absolutely no faith in Jack to not overcook it, the guys playfully teased Luke and told me funny stories of things he’s done on roadies or in the locker room, and we all sat around the living room and ate christmas dinner as Jack and Dawson heavily debated what the best christmas movie is.

finally, about three hours later, the guys took off to a local bar for some drinks and darts, Luke and i staying back in order to spend some alone time together.

“c’mon, i wanna give you your gift.” Luke smiles, hand slipping into mine as we rise from the couch, walking down the hallways and into his room.

he shuts the door behind us, grabbing a small, poorly wrapped present off of his dresser before we both sit on his bed.

“okay, wait, you first.” i tell him, picking the red present up off the mattress and pushing it into his hands.

my boyfriend was a bit difficult to shop for, seeing ad when he wants something, he usually just buys it. but i figured i could never go wrong by combining something he loves with one of his favorite hobbies.

he hands me my present, but i wait to unwrap it until he wraps his, rather enjoying watching him shed the paper from the box. a smile spreads across his face as he looks up at me.

“it’s a lego model of the UMich football stadium! i figured it was something for you to do over the next couple free days, or just whenever you want, but i thought it was perfect because you love building lego sets and you love michigan and-”

my ramble is cut off gently by his lips, his hand cupping my cheek as he kisses me slowly.

“i love it,” he says as he pulls away, eyes gazing straight into mine as he smiles, “it’s extremely thoughtful. maybe you can help me build it?”

i nod, leaning in to press my lips against his once more, “if you want me to, i’ll happily do so. or i’ll just keep you company as you build it.”

“that sounds great, angel. alright, you’re turn!”

i giggle at his enthusiasm, looking down at the small gift in my hands. i slowly peel the wrapping paper off, making a mental note to teach him how to wrap in the new year, until i finally unveil a velvet jewelry box.

my eyes widen, flickering up to my boyfriend in surprise, but he just gives me a small, encouraging nod.

flipping open the top, a simple yet beautiful necklace comes into view; a dainty silver chain with a tiny, minimalistic ‘L’ in the middle.

“oh my god,” i breathe out, my hand rising to my lips in shock, “Luke, this is beautiful.”

“i thought maybe you could wear it when you come to watch me play.” his cheeks blush a rosy pink as i look back up at him, obviously a bit more self-conscious now than he was merely minutes ago.

“can you put it on me?” i ask him, and he nods, taking the box from my hands in order to pull the necklace from the velvet interior.

i twist around, holding my hair up and allowing him to gently clasp the necklace around my neck. his fingers graze the back of my neck, sending shockwaves throughout my body as he makes sure the necklace is secure before he lets go, his hands smoothing over my shoulders and down my arms when he finishes.

i turn again, facing him once more as my hand reaches up to my collarbone, my fingertips running over the cool metal as i grin.

“it’s so beautiful, Lukey. i love it.” i cup his cheeks, pulling his face forward to press an excited kiss against his lips.

i kiss him breathlessly, our lips locking as i crawl into his lap, one leg on each side of his body, “i love you.”

i tense after the three monumental words leave my mouth, a heat of the moment confession that i wasn’t sure he was ready to hear; but, i know i’ve been ready to say.

“shit, you- uh- you don’t have to say it back. please, don’t feel like you have to say it if you aren’t ready. i mean, i know i was ready, but that doesn’t mean you have to be. you can take your ti-”

for the second time tonight, my words are shortened by my boyfriend’s lips against mine, a smile fighting against his facial muscles as he kisses me.

“i love you too.” he whispers.

my heart races, beating so strongly it feels as though it’s about to escape my chest, but my body relaxes, my eyes gazing into his as i sigh.

“you do?”

he nods, hands rubbing gently up my sides in comforting movements, “i do. i love you so much.”

i’m overwhelmed with relief and joy, the corners of my lips quirking up in a wide grin; absolutely bewitched by the beautiful boy in front of me.

i’m not sure what i’ve done in life to have deserved someone as kind, humorous, and caring as Luke; someone who gets me sweet, thoughtful gifts; who does anything to ease my anxiety the moment he spots the signs; who loves me for exactly who i am, and who reminds me every day that i’m gorgeous and perfect in my own way. but, i know that i’m incredibly grateful to have him in my life, and i want to share all of life’s beautiful moments with him.

my lips descend upon his, a breathy sigh blowing from my nose as my eyes flutter closed, pulling him deeper into the kiss with my grip on the back of his neck. his hands still on my waist, fingers gripping a little tighter as i begin to rock my hips slowly against his.

he groans into my lips, hands stilling my hips as he pulls away, our faces still close enough that i can feel his breath against my lips, and i whine at the loss of the delicious feeling that had begun rolling through my body.

“you gotta stop, angel.” he gulps, voice tight and shaky, “if you don’t, i’m gonna have a… situation, and i don’t wanna make you feel like you have to do anything yet.”

my skin feels hot, uncomfortable even, and i register it quickly as want.

despite the fact that Luke and i haven’t actually done anything yet, it’s not like i’m unfamiliar with being horny, or even having had sex. i just wanted to take things slow him; wanted to take time to enjoy our relationship without the physicality that’s made my past relationships messy.

i heave in a breath, my chest brushing against his, and the feeling of my peaked nipples skimming against his hard body makes me all the more aroused.

“i’m ready, Lukey.” i tell him in a breathy whine.

his eyes flicker in size, swallowing harshly before he speaks, “are you sure?”

“yes.” i nod, placing a short kiss on his lips, “i’m ready, and now is the perfect time; the apartment is empty, it’s just us two, and i love you so much.”

“if you don’t want to, i’m not pushing! i’m okay with just watching a movie or cuddling, we don’t have to do anything.” i add.

Luke’s hand cradles my face, pulling me into another kiss, “of course, i want to. you’re the most stunning, most thoughtful and sweetest girl i’ve ever met; i’d be a damn fool not to want this.”

i bite back a giggle, blood rushing to my cheeks from his affectionate words.

“but i don’t want you to feel rushed. i’ll wait as long as you want, because i don’t want you to feel like you have to sleep with me just because i said i love you.”

“i don’t feel like that.” i shake my head, the back of my hand ghosting over his cheek, “i really want this, Luke. i mean it. i feel safe with you, i trust you.”

he smiles, a divine smile that makes my heart do flips, overwhelmed with love for the pure soul that has entangled with mine in the absolute best ways.

“you trust me?” he echoes, hands sliding down to cup my ass, making me shiver in anticipation.

“mhm.”

with my hum of a response, i’m suddenly flipped over, my back bouncing onto the mattress, my hair sprawling over the pillows as my boyfriend hovers over top of me. his hot breath fans over my neck, lips pressing against my heated skin and making me sigh in contentment.

he paves a path with his lips, soft and slow, down to the collar of my sweater, the only sound in the room being my heavy pants and his wet kisses.

“Luke.” i sigh as his hands travel up my sides, sliding underneath my top. he hums against my collarbone, his thumbs grazing over my ribs until his hands cup underneath my breasts, my sweater bunched up.

chilled air hits against my stomach, my abdomen tightening in response, and i desire nothing more than to rid the layers between us.

“take it off me, please.”

he pulls away at my plea, hands shimmying my sweater up and over my head, pulling my arms free before he flings the fabric to the floor.

his eyes rake my body in silence for several moments, and i begin to feel self-consciousness creep up on me, my arms wrapping over my stomach. but he’s not having it, fingers enclosing around my wrists and pulling them away.

“uh-uh, none of that.” he whispers breathlessly, “you’re beautiful, angel. so fucking perfect.”

my cheeks flush, confidence filling me from the inside out as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, his eyes blown out and darkened with lust.

“thank you.” he shakes his head at my response.

“don’t thank me.” he says, “if you knew the things i’m thinking of doing to you right now, you wouldn’t be thanking me.”

his words light a fire deep in my core, my panties dampening with every word that drops from his perfect lips.

“no, i think i would.” i rasp, voice low and dripping with lust, “i think i would want to thank you a million times over.”

“i need you so bad.” i confess.

my hands lock around his neck, pulling him back down to me. he kisses me in earnest, hips rolling down into mine, his quickly hardening erection pressing against my jean clad core.

i moan against him, a low guttural sound that pours out when his hands come up to massage my breasts over my padless red bra. he dips down, embedding open mouthed kisses upon my skin, leading down to my cleavage.

“can i?” he asks, fingers edging the cups of my bra, and i nod in approval.

he rolls his hips into mine again, my back arching, and he slips his hand underneath me, unhooking my bra with fumbling fingers. he pulls it off my body, once again discarding the clothing to the floor.

his thumbs circle my nipples and he watches me as my eyes fly shut, my lips parting as i let out a shaky breath in response to his actions.

“i’m the luckiest guy in the damn world.” he huffs, so quietly that i’m not sure he was even talking to me, more so whispering to himself.

“Luke, please,” i whine, “less talking, more touching.”

my words earn a melodious chuckle from his lips before he lowers his head to my chest, continuing to play with one nipple as the other gets extra attention. his tongue drags around the stiffed peak before its caught between his lips, softly sucked and grazed extra lightly by his teeth, making my body tremble.

after a few moments he switches, giving proper love to the other side. my leg hooks around his waist, hips bucking up to rub my clothes cunt against his now fully hardened erection.

my hands fist his shirt at his shoulder blades, tugging lightly.

“off,” i breathe, “i want this off. i wanna feel you.”

Luke pulls away from my breast, my nipple dropping from his mouth with a pop, and within seconds he’s leaning back, tugging the shirt over his head. suddenly it’s my turn to gape and stare.

obviously, i’ve seen him shirtless, but his body is one i’ll never tire of; the sight will forever and always make my heart beat faster, my core get wetter, and my soul sigh.

“take a picture, angel,” he winks, “it’ll last longer.”

he’s joking, but if i had my phone on me, i would.

“kiss me, please?”

i don’t have to say any more, those words enough to bring his lips back to mine, our bare chests pressing against one another. we take our time, tossing and turning in the bed, our lips rarely straying from each other’s, until i finally rid myself of my jeans, entirely too ready to move on.

“look at me,” he says, his lips dragging on my stomach as he speaks, “you trust me, yeah?”

“yes,” i nod, breath shaky, “i do.”

“i want you to relax. keep your eyes on me, angel.”

i nod again, eyes trained on his unruly mess of curls as his thumbs tuck into the waistband of my panties, his eyes lifting back to mine in await of approval. when i give him the go ahead, he’s pulling the last fabric that adorns my body down my thighs, past my calves, and throwing them onto the floor.

i lay stripped down in front of him, in a state of complete and utter vulnerability, yet too needy and love drunk to bring myself to care about the way i look.

he lays down on his stomach between my legs, making my breath hitch as his warm breath hits my wet pussy. but when i feel his tongue glide through my folds, tensing when he reaches my clit to provide pressure, that breath is released in a heavy yet quivering sigh.

my hands reach out to tangle in his curls as he slowly drags his tongue around my achingly wet cunt, flexing and flattening the oral muscle depending on where it is on my body.

“Lukey,” i pant, body shaking as his lips enclose around my puffy clit, rolling it between them lightly before letting it go.

he pulls back with a smile, juices glistening around his mouth and chin, “you think you can take my fingers, angel?”

“mhm,” i nod, “yes, please!”

he dives back in, this time picking up his pace; and not a moment later, i’m squirming, a cry of contentment echoing through the room as he pushes two fingers in, curling them up with every thrust he makes.

i’ve given up on words, relying on the sounds that fall from my lips to let him know how surreal his movements feel.

his fingers begin to scissor, adding a pleasurably painful stretch in order to help me ready for him, and at the same time, he flicks his tongue against my clit, successfully drawing my mind away from the pain and towards the immense pleasure he’s bringing me.

my stomach feels tight, pressure building with every movement of his tongue and every thrust of his fingers.

“i’m so close.” i tell him in a breathless whimper, my hips grinding down upon his face and hand.

he moans against me in response, vibrations reverberating through me, and my walls begin to tighten around his fingers, the familiar feeling of balancing on the edge of orgasm spreading through my body.

my thighs close around his head, but he just hums against me again, making my toes curl against the sheets.

“Luke, i’m gonna cum.” i warn him, voice tightly strained, my breath catching in my throat.

my body is hot and sticky, the air moist as his hand begins smoothing up and down my thigh, and i take that as the sign to let go, my legs shaking as i finally reach my release.

Luke continues to lap at my clit, while his fingers work me through my orgasm until i can’t take anymore. breath heavy and body trembling, i push his head away, his face finally emerging with wet, swollen lips and a soft smirk.

“did so good for me.” he praises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he hovers back over me, pressing his lips against mine.

his tongue tangles with mine, tasting salty yet a little sweet, and i moan against his lips, my hands trail down his abs to hook into the waistband of his jeans.

“you gotta wait a second, angel,” he mumbles against my lips, “don’t wanna overwork you.”

i groan, turning my head, and his lips press against my neck.

“fuck that,” i tell him, fingers fumbling with the button of his pants, “i want you now.”

“if you’re sure?” i nod quickly at his words, making him sit back.

he hastily unbuckles his belt, not bothering to take it off before he’s unzipping his jeans, kicking them off and onto the floor before he rids himself of his boxers.

his cock springs free, his tip a harsh red and precum beads at the slit, glistening in the low light of the bedroom.

leaning over to his nightstand, he digs around in the drawer for a moment before his hand emerges with a shiny foil packet. he tears the packet open, pulling the condom out and carefully sliding it onto himself, and i watch with desperate eyes as he gives himself a few tugs before turning back to me.

he hovers above me, bent on one forearm as his other hand grasps his shaft. he spreads my wetness around with his tip, sliding through my folds easily, and when he taps against my clit, my whole body aches with need.

“please.” i beg, and that’s all it takes for him to line up with my entrance, his lips connecting with mine as he slowly pushes in.

i whimper against his lips, his cock stretching me with a stinging sensation with every inch that he pushes in, and he stills, opening his eyes to peer down at me.

“are you okay?” he asks softly, petting hair out of my face gently as he speaks.

“mhm,” i nod, hands grasping at his back, “keep going.”

he does as i say, this time giving shallow thrusts in order to work himself in slowly, only taking what my body allows him until he can finally sink into me entirely. by the time he’s completely in, the stinging pain has subsided, making way for blissful pleasure, but he still stops to check again.

after my reassurance, he picks up again, thrusting properly, but still slowly. his lips press back against mine, kissing me with raw passion and love.

“faster.” i whisper against his lips.

his hips speed up into fast, deep strokes, a hand snaking down to grip my waist. my moans carry through the room, conjoining with the sounds of sex and his hips slapping against mine as my leg hooks around his waist.

gripping his back, my nails scratch into his skin, earning a groaned whine from my boyfriend as his face buries into my neck, his thrusts gaining a harshness that they hadn’t held before.

“say you love me.” he gruffs against my skin, so low that i almost didn’t hear him.

“i love you,” i breathe out, “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

his lips connect with my collarbone, each kiss broken up by a single confession of love muttered from his tongue.

i can feel the knots forming in my stomach again, like a ball of yarn tangling and tangling, further tying together with each thrust of his hips. the tip of his cock smacks against my g-spot, my back arching from the mattress as i make a particularly loud cry.

“right there!” i tell him in a broken sob.

he smirks against my skin, angling his hips just right before thrusting back in to hit the spot again. now with each stroke, my orgasm builds even quicker, my nails scratching down his back.

my walls clench around him, making him grunt into my neck, and he picks his head up to kiss my lips, his thrusts becoming quicker and slowly losing rhythm.

“i’m close,” he mumbles, “so close.”

i nod in agreement, “me too.”

his hand slides between us, his thumb finding its way to my swollen clit, and he begins rubbing harsh circles into it, making my hips jolt, my breath catching i’m my throat.

“cum for me, angel,” he whispers, “let go.”

i nod, for what i’m not sure, but my body tenses up underneath him, walls tightening around his cock as he continues to thrust, and my eyes roll back, legs shaking as i come undone around him.

he fucks me through my orgasm, kissing me through my heavy breathing as his thrusts speed up, becoming sloppier and sloppier as he chases his high until he finally stills. his hips stutter as he grunts, releasing into the condom.

his body collapses on mine, the grounding weight bringing me back down to earth as we both pant in uneven breaths, our chests rising and falling rapidly.

we lay in silence for several minutes, enjoying the serenity of the quiet until he rolls off of me, slipping out from inside me.

“that was…” he trails off and i giggle, nodding my head.

“why did i wanna wait again?” he laughs at my response, shaking his head.

“i’m glad we did,” his fingers trail over my stomach, drawing shapes in my skin. “it was worth the wait, and i think knowing we love each other just made it more special.”

i hum in agreement, wrapping my hand around his before lifting it to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

he presses a kiss to my cheek before getting up to dispose of the condom. pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he assures me that he’ll be right back before leaving the room, reappearing a few minutes later with a granola bar and a water, along with a damp washcloth.

“head up,” he coos holding the water to my lips, and i let him help me take a few sips before he hands me the granola bar.

he cleans me up, my body shaking as he runs the cloth through my sensitive core, as i eat the snack, resting the wrapper on his nightstand.

he rifles through his dresser, coming back to the bed with a pair of of boxers and a t-shirt, and he helps me into them before climbing into the bed beside me. he pulls me back into him, his nose burying into the side of my neck as he kisses the back of it.

“i love you.” he tells me, arm winding around my stomach as he spoons me, my back to his chest.

my eyes feel as heavy as lead, but my heart races at his words, my entire world shifting into a golden state.

“i love you too.” i repeat, immediately followed by a heavy yawn.

“go to sleep, angel,” he hums and i can feel his eyelids flutter closed against my skin, “i’m right here.”

and with his reassurance and the feeling of his body pressed to mine, i allow by body to shut down, my breathing evening out as i fall asleep.

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

"Forever"

✰—-summery: seungmin has been realizing that he wants a forever with you. Honestly in whatever way you’ll have him. And maybe little domestic things like kisses on cheeks, lacing fingers a shared lived in home and a big ass ring on your finger, but now so overcome with love, he’s coming to realize he also wants to breed you. He knows no kids are on the radar for now… but a guy can have a fantasy right? And a guy can dream right?

✰--- approx: 30 min read

✰--- A/n i really have noting to say. I’m gonna continue my smutober series in the coming couple weeks yall trust 🙏🏼I have a few more smut fics that I’ll be getting to over the next couple weeks so think of it as an expansion of my lil smutober;)

✰— warnings/info: kissing, smut with sort of a plot ig, cursing, fluffy lovey dovey, tooth rotting fluff basically, breeding kink, raw fucking (do as I say not as I do wrap before u tap yall) ummm sex dream? As always bad spelling. Think that’s it

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper.” This is in no way is mean to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~

if you don’t have an age indicator saying you’re not a minor in your blog then I will be blocking you! So minors dni!!

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Seungmin can't count how many times hes fallen in love with you. from every time you laugh to the way you smoothed our your shirt that one time and have never done it since but for some reason hes been thinking about for two months.

hes a guy of repetition. he likes having a routine, he loves that youre a part of it. and for him, thinking about you is always a part of it. but so much so that he sometimes finds himself daydreaming and distracted, he should be embarrassed, having to ask people to repeat themselves because "oh wow y/n likes that shade of green that they're wearing" but he really doesn't care. but at the same time you make him work that much harder. make him want to do better to either make you proud or impress you like some eighth grader he doesn't know.

he loves his job, he really does, but all he wants to do sometimes is come home to you. it makes him not only work faster sometimes but harder. maybe because he wants to be good enough and worthy for you and your love or maybe just because you bring that side out of him more than it already is. whatever it is he knows you just make him better. and its cheesy and mushy but you really do complete him

his arm looks better when you hold it, his pictures feel empty when youre not beside him, and you feel the same way too-- the bed always is unreasonably cold when he isn't behind you holding you close to his heart. or when hes not inside you, lets be honest.

he laughs at the members when they tease him about you having "girlfriend privileges". and tells him he doesn't see it. but at first he really didnt. now he sees it so well he hears it. he prides himself in making you happy, being the best boyfriend he can. thats one of the things you love about him he takes everything on with a passion, devoted to his goals.

sure he still pokes fun at you and is a lovely little menes but lets be real he lovey dovy with you a lot of the times too! and you get away with so much more with a lovesick puppy look on his face than anyone else. he wouldn't go all aspiring poet and say youve changed him but youve just... brought out another side of him. and as much as he gives you hard time you both know he loves it.

and you secretly love it when he says ew when you kiss him then he tackles you peppering your face with them a mintute later

the slight obsession with you is borderline concerning he thinks at this point-- once someone flirted with him at a bakery and the only thing he could think about was how they were standing in front of that dessert he knew you liked and he politely just asked them to move cause "I think Im gonna buy that for my parter I want to take a closer look". needless to say the person got the message.

though he didn't even fully realize they were flirting with him until he told you the story of how "a week ago when I was at that bakery someone was talking to me but I wasn't paying attention cause they were standing in front of the cold case." he though they were, with the over the top smiles and that little giggle. but sadly he was easily distracted by the thought of how "yn would like this"

The downside to how much he thinks of you is that at some point during the day if he isn't careful hes gonna get half hard. he feels like some pre pubescent boy that can't control himself and he hates it. nevertheless, the girlfriend privileges continue-- with the playful banter between you two and how much you tease him. not many other people could get away with poking seungmin in the cheek and saying "poke" for a full minute without him saying something.

in fact, hes smiling.

and not that youre complaining one bit when sees you after a long day and pounces on you, trying to rip your clothes off. but make no mistake, as stated before hes soft for you. well, mentally at least, cause most of the time he can't seem to control his boner around you. but all this overwhelming feelings of love has to go somewhere... right?

and it just so happens to be expressed and poured out so wonderfully in bed. you think you noticed it before he did, but there has been a pattern with him as of late--

it all started with a team a out you. noting too out of the ordinary. you started on top of him, as he helped you bounced on his cock, so hard and leaking for you. somehow you needed up beneath him after you came, but seungmin wasn't done yet, still pumping into you, somehow deeper than before trying to reach spots he never breached. "damn I love you so much. mhm, gonna fill you up" he breaths out in his dream. your eyes rolled into the back of your head in pleasure, "you gonna put a baby in me? please?" you moan, cupping his cheek and holding his hand in such a sweet and domestic way that it should offset the way he was filling you up with his cum, slipping out of you then plugging your pretty hole with his fingers, thrusting anything that leaked out back in. gotta make sure it takes right? make sure you get nice a round a swollen in a few months

but it didnt, the look of pure love you gave him as he was babbling about breeding you? fuck that really got to him. dream you wanted this too? dream you loved and trusted him so much and wanted forever with him just as he did with you? So when he woke up, still hard and cum leaving a dark stain on his boxers. he didnt know what to do. usually he'd know the answer or honestly go to you to help him. but this was... different, uncharted territory. sure there was always the thought of something like this in the back of his mind but it was never this strong. let alone had he ever had a dream about it.

He turns to the clock, 3:43 sharp and after tossing and turning, flipping his pillow over three times and realizing it felt better on the first side he still can’t fall asleep. He lets his eyes graze over your sleeping still figure, you’re faced away from him body covered by the blanket. But the curves and dips of your are still visible. It’s dark but he feels like he can still see you so clearly. He could probably feel every bit of your too over that thin little blanket. If you could even call it that I mean it wasn’t really doing much to warm you he was sure. That’s when he pulled you close by your middle, pressing your back up to is chest, his fingers dipping under your shirt like it always does when you two cuddle (though when you’re awake it sometimes slides higher than others) god your skin was cold.

He subconsciously moved you closer moving his hips flush with your ass. Though in hindsight that might’ve not been the best idea. Seeing as he was now fully hard from his dream and your body settling into his wasn’t doing him any good. “Min?” Did you really have to call him that right now? But against his better judgement since it very much was 3 am in the morning right now, he stayed glued next to you. “Min?” For once he fumbles, “yeah?” “I know you’re awake.” He bends his neck down to peck the top of your head “doesn’t mean you have to—“ “thank you, I was a little cold” you interrupt him while turning your body around to face him, hooking a leg over his”

well if you didn’t know before now you do. He thinks. “I was already half awake don’t worry,” he sighs “I figured” you smile at the fact that by now he knows all your little ins and outs all your little quirks. “You we’re kinda loud” you chuckle, and before he gets a chance to respond you’re reaching over him to turn on the light, it’s something so mundane so normal but somehow he’s still enamored by you. And with the way you’re basically on top of him, titties in his face he’s not getting soft anytime soon. “I think you’re hearing things.” He playfully scoffs “I think I should schedule you an ear appointment. My grandma knows a good one, maybe you can get matching hearing aids” you chuckle “and I think you still have a hard on”

that shut him up quick enough. you smile to yourself, you swear the man was all bark no bite sometimes when it came to you. seungmin glances over to the clock again. "sweetheart its so late its early..." he mumbles, sliding a not so sneaky little hand up your torso. his hands finds the side of your breast, then your collar bone, then settles back down on the neckline of your sleep shirt, playing with it.

"your dream sounded interesting," you peck his cheek and he flushes as if he didnt just dream about pumping you full of cum a second ago, "what was it about?" you ask, ignoring his comment about the time. you lace your fingers with his and he brings your hand with him under the blanket, settling it on his now painfully hard feeling cock straining against his boxers without a word, just that mischievous little devils grin.

you peck his lips this time, seungmin craining his head to chase you, lips still slightly smelling of that chapstick you always put on before bed. his tasting salty like the light sheen of sweat that coats his face from his dream. though you plan on making him much hotter in the next coming minutes. he pulls you back down to his lips by the back of your neck. a gentle but firm touch that mad you go crazy. the kisses are needy, lustful, but somehow also full of pure love and passion. he doesn't quite know how to express all the good that he feels for you, he isn't sure he ever will, but whenever he kisses you like this of late, he hopes his feelings will get through to you.

and you feel the emotion he pours into it when it happens, you really do. he pulls away a little later, never tired of kissing you and hand down in-between your legs rubbing your soaking pussy. "I just" he smiles through his gasps of air, "love you so much" it was sad really, that that was all he could say but he felt something for you that words cannot express in the English language, or Korean, or any language hes come across.

his eyes look like that one begging emoji. he just... he needs you to understand. he doesn't know why he just blurted it out. but you had just made this cute little face of pleasure. pleasure he was giving you. you felt good because of him. and it had just slipped out!

you didnt realize how much you wanted him, how desperate you were until in a matter of minutes youre gasping and whining for him. "fuck, breed me, make me yours" you say, barely over a whisper into his ear, chin on his shoulder. your sleep shirt bunched up around your hips that raped around his, his arms are laced behind your back, hugging you a keeping you close chest to chest as you bounce and rock yourself on his dick. so caught up in the moment, he misses the smirk on your face when you said it, blissfully unaware that you knew full well what he was dreaming about. and how hot you found it.

he whines, "no dont say that youre gonna make me cum... not--" he breaths out when your cunt tightens around him just so, "not now--" he already had you close to cumming earlier, when he was guiding your wt heat along his leg, grinding you on him. but he wanted to take care of you first ya know? be a gentleman. but he knew he wasn't going to last long if you kept talking like that. he reaches down to your core and swollen bud, rubbing it just how you like.

"well fill me up then min." you accentuate your words with a long, languid rock of yourself on him, his leaking cock hitting just where you want him to. god you feel so full, your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head thinking about how full you'd feel with all his warm seed inside you.

"no baby please dont say that either." his voice is strained, his words are lazy unlike how he usually sounds. thats hw you knew he was already close. "no please, I wanna feel so full." you pout, and his mind goes almost blank. he moves his free hand to your hip bone, guiding you as you impale yourself on his cock ever time you lift up and slam back down. though he wasn't really doing much guiding as he was mostly enjoying the soft squeeze of your skin, fingers on your plush thighs. he subconsciously nibbles at your collarbone, surely it'll leave a mark later you said you wanted him to make you his right?

"but you already have my cock in you baby. dont you feel it?" he wonders aloud, meeting your pumps up n' down with renewed vigor. "its so hard for you, god you make me so hard" you still your movements, letting him do most of the work thrusting up into your pussy, making wet squelching noises that fill the room.

"mmhm so big n' hard. cum inside me? I know you'd fill me up so good."

"oh god." that nearly sent him over the edge. you look down to where your bodies meet and his hand is rubbing you, fuck his hand looks delicious, fingers perfectly long and hand with veins popping out. "I need you to cum with me." and not long later you do. you cm hard, knees shaking and out of breath. you'd asked him to cum inside and thats what he does. you feel your insides flood with warmth. damn he must've cum a lot.

he stays inside for a moment and is about to pull out when you stop him, hand on his bicep, "keep it inside." you tell him, and this time he catches your smirk. And seungmin just laughs, kissing your neck in a manner so sweetly you almost forget about his dick inside you. “You heard my dream?” Though he already knew. “Mmhm” “I love you so much” his nose presses into your neck “I wanna spend forever with you” “aw me too min” “hm was it good for you then too?” “So you didn’t hear me moaning for you? Guess not” you tease and he scoffs. “I did. And I think the neighbors heard too. We’ll have to talk more in the morning and do some googling I guess. But thank you” “you’re thanking me now?” You laugh. “Yeah I—“ “I think it’s hot too don’t worry. That’s why I want you to stay inside. We want it to take huh baby” he shivers, running his palm up your spine.

seungmin was a reasonable guy, he knew that this was alll fantasy and having kids wasn't on your radar right now. but he still loved it. He didn’t know what it was, maybe it was just you two growing together, growing intertwined. But as of late, he’s just been wanting or maybe finally realizing just how much he loves and cares for you. how much he wants with you. seungmin hasn't really thought of it before, but maybe he wants and already cherishes those cute little things with you-- like the kisses on cheeks when one of you greet the other at the door, the waking up next to each other at dawn, and everything in-between.

and maybe one day, if you'll let him, he wants to put a big ass ring on your finger. well, some day.

and you loved it too. And him. The way he took his time with you no matter what it is no matter if he already did it a thousand times. Just like a second ago, he caressed every curve and did of your body. Constantly wanted his hands on you, kissing from your neck to your lips over and over.

“Why are you so silent? Don’t you want it too honey?” He smiles from ear to ear “ugh sweetheart you’re amazing” he mumbles before kissing your lips.

~end

thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed please leave some love like comments or a reblog if you did!

[emmafrostdefender]

a fine line between god and animal | logan howlett x fem reader

chapter 1 - biting the apple | masterlist | read the prologue first

two new mutants arrive at the mansion.

i am churning this thing out and i have a very specific direction that i'm going to take it. the story does not really follow the canon plot because that would be boringgg. trust me, i know where this bus is heading. i hope you stay along for the ride! figuratively and literally! wink wink

warnings: cursing, religion, religious trauma, fighting, canon typical violence, 5.5k words

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“Before you all leave, I want to give you food for thought. One of the heaviest themes of Frankenstein revolves around the idea of nature versus nurture. Is the creature inherently evil, or was his treatment by society what turned him into a monster?” You pose the question to your students as class comes to a close.

The similarities to your own existence is not lost on you. You hope the metaphor clicks in their minds as it did yours when you first read the classic novel. Charles made it assigned reading when he taught comparative literature at the school. When you were old enough, you took the job. And you were inspired by some of his lessons, of course.

“We will be discussing this theme next week, so those of you that haven’t done your reading…” You don’t finish your sentence, but make a face that communicates all they need to know.

Your students leave the classroom and you slump against your desk. Despite your outside calm, inside your thoughts are racing. 

Scott and Ororo aren’t back yet and you feel as if you could break something. Or a million somethings. 

The reasonable part of you knows that if something bad happened, Charles would know and tell you immediately. But the unreasonable part of you wants to drain your energy source to find them. To sneak your mind around the globe until you pick up on their footsteps crunching the ground or their signature heartbeats sending pulses into the air.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are carrying you to the door that leads to the underground base of the X-Men. You’re going stir crazy.

Earlier in the day, before classes started, you assisted Jean in refining her powers. She wasn’t able to move a car with her mind, but she managed to start the engine without a key in the ignition. To you, that seemed more impressive. To the professor, it was exactly what he didn’t want. He wanted her to control her powers.

That word again. Control.

His reactions to Jean’s issues made you all the more wary to reveal your own struggles. With the recent revelation of Magneto’s scheme to abduct you, hesitancy bubbled up in your chest at adding anything more to Charles’ metaphorical plate. You would just be a burden.

Exiting the elevator, you enter the completely metal hallway, something of a labyrinth to newcomers. Your shoes echo against the metal and you look from left to right. No one else graces your path as you walk to the training room. There is another one upstairs that the students use when training with Scott, but you personally prefer this one. Far away from onlookers.

Your abilities don’t necessarily lend themselves to you having any physical prowess, but you managed to get trained up quite well in your years at the mansion. “The metaphysical is very much so connected to the physical. The health of your powers could very well depend on the health of your body,” Charles told you long ago. 

With nothing to do but wait, you change into the clothes from your locker and wrap your knuckles with tape. The large room is empty and you approach a punching bag. You begin. 

The rhythm you find is steady and fast. Hit after hit, blow after blow. The bag swings on its chain, bouncing back and forth between your hands. You punch and punch and punch, feeling anger build in your system. In your mind's eye, you see the bloody heart that was stolen from your chest. You see the chains holding you down. You see your mother’s face, staring at you in disgust. You see vines. Thousands of vines, each reaching to wrap themselves around your body, your arms, your legs, your neck. They rip the cross from your necklace, leaving a stinging brand there. You see your father’s lifeless form. 

And you feel your skull starting to split open when a voice says your name.

You nearly scream at the intrusion and your head flies around. “Holy shit, Jean! I could’ve killed you!”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she says with hesitancy. She’s looking at you like you’re a wounded animal about to lash out. Her eyes flit to the punching bag over your shoulder.

You look at it and gape at your handiwork. The bag ripped at the seams and sand spilled from the tears onto the ground. 

“Imagining Scott’s head?” She jokes, but it sounds strained. You hardly hear it.

You still stare at the punching bag, not quite sure what to make of this. You losing control was as infrequent as pigs flying, so…never.

A soft hand touches your shoulder. “Are you okay?” Jean asks so caringly.

You rip your gaze from the bag and look at her. You change your expression from one of near tears to one of slight amusement. “Must’ve gotten a little too enthusiastic.”

She analyzes you quickly, so quick you might’ve missed it if you didn’t know her so well. “I wanted to let you know that the jet is on its way back. They were able to locate the mutants.” You feel something in your chest relax. “Not in record time, though.”

You smirk. “Of course not. They didn’t have me.”

“Can you come help me prep the bay for when they get here?”

You nod. “Just let me change and I’ll meet you there.”

She turns to walk away and you watch her leave. Your gaze drops to your hands, where the tape did nothing to prevent the bruises forming around your knuckles. Looking at the clock hanging above the entrance, you realize two hours have passed. It’s nearly ten o’clock. 

As you enter the locker room, you swear you can still feel burning skin where your cross lays. 

You enter the loading dock of the jet in your regular attire and are greeted by Jean and the professor. They seem to be in deep discussion when you arrive, but snap their heads up the second they sense you coming. You can tell they were talking about you. 

You plaster a smile on your face and say sarcastically, “Looks like they managed to find them without me, after all.”

“They would’ve been here an hour after they left if you were with them, I’m sure,” Jean says with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Obviously.”

You shift your attention to Charles, who has begun using a computer to track the jet’s movements. Jean starts working the switchboard. You ask, “How many mutants did they pick up?”

His gaze does not move from the computer. “Two. A young girl and an older man. They were on separate paths until they met and started traveling together.” 

Your eyebrows furrow. “What made you think to bring them here?”

Charles has always been slightly particular when choosing the people to bring to his school. And even more hesitant to bring fully grown adults. At your question, his eyes shift to yours. “Why did I bring you to this school?”

You blink.

“To offer you protection. To offer you safety from a world that hurt you repeatedly. And to help you understand your abilities and use them for good. Not just to teach you Latin and calculus,” he adds with a smile. 

You nod, but still have a lingering question. “But why--”

He cuts you off, “Why am I bringing an adult man to our mansion as well?” He pauses. “Because he is extremely powerful. That kind of power can either be used toward the greater good, or harnessed for evil.”

By Erik.

“I see,” you say, hand mindlessly playing with your necklace.

Charles returns to the computer and says to you and Jean, “Get ready, they are nearly here.”

You are usually a part of the retrieval missions, making you less used to assisting with arrivals. However, you bring out two stretchers from the medical room and place them neatly by the door after getting a call from the jet. “They were in a rough fight with one of the members of the Brotherhood and the man is out cold. We think he has regenerative abilities so he isn’t badly injured, but the girl was with him when they got into a car accident. She’ll need attention. She’s jarred, but not unresponsive,” Ororo says.

Another of your jobs on the team is designated medic. You have innate knowledge of the human body and medical herbs because of your powers. It was never something you questioned when you were younger. If you scratched your arm or busted your lip open, you would skip into the woods and find something natural to heal yourself. Still, you begged Charles not to assign you to teaching biology. You despised the subject.

The ceiling of the hangar opens to reveal a velvety night sky. You feel the jet before you see it, the push it has on the trees around the mansion tingle your fingertips. The trees' movements stir your power source in your stomach, a warm, buttery feeling. The sleek aircraft lowers gently into the bay, your hair being pushed over your shoulders by the air movement. You feel relief at the sight of your friends returning from the mission; they exit the jet and you smile. Your grin droops at the sight of their expressions.

“We need you to look over these two, stat,” Scott says with urgency. 

You hurriedly bring the stretchers to the jet’s ramp and enter the main compartment with Scott and Ororo. Inside, they point you to a young girl, maybe sixteen years old, with brown hair and a soft face sitting in one of the seats. The two of them work to remove the man who sits slouched over in one of the front seats. The way they grunt, you’d think he weighs a ton.

The girl’s hands are wrapped tightly around the straps keeping her to the chair. When you approach, she jumps and stares at you with terrified eyes. “Hi, honey,” you say calmly. You introduce yourself. “I’m going to be taking care of you, okay? I just need you to undo these straps.”

She shakes her head tightly. “I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” You ask. 

She thinks between the two options and asks, “Am I safe?”

Your heart breaks. Upset coils in your stomach at the thought of all the people who have hurt this little girl. “Yes. You’re safe here.”

She seems to think this over and makes her decision. Her hands shakily unlatch themselves from the straps and move to unbuckle herself. You reach to help her, but she flinches. “Don’t touch me, please,” she says with desperation.

Your hands retract immediately.

“I just, it’s my…” she struggles with the words. “I hurt people when they touch me.”

You nod in understanding. That must have been a terrifying revelation for her. “That’s okay. We’ll get you all sorted out here. You are okay.”

She seems to relax a bit. You look over your shoulder and see your two friends lugging the man down the ramp and rolling him onto the stretcher. If this were any other scenario, you would laugh at Scott for struggling so much. 

You turn back to the girl and say, “And what’s your name?”

“Marie-- I mean, Rogue.” The way she says it makes you think she is still trying out the name for size.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Rogue.” You look her over and ask, “Are you able to walk or do you need help?”

She has undone the straps and sits a bit more forward in her chair. “I think I can stand.”

Rogue puts weight on her leg as she moves to stand up, but winces at the feeling and immediately sits back down. 

“Can I touch your clothes or is that also a problem?”

“You can. It’s just my skin.”

You sling her arm over your shoulder, careful not to touch any exposed skin, and help her out of the chair. “Just put your weight on me, hon’.”

She does as you say and leans against you completely. When you have exited the jet, you help her sit on the stretcher. The others have left, presumably to attend to the man. Charles is the only one left and he moves his wheelchair over to greet the young girl. “What is this place?” she asks after his introduction.

“It’s a place for people like you. And me. And her.” He points to you and you feel yourself smile. “It’s somewhere safe.”

Your gloved hand moves carefully over Rogue’s legs, feeling for any fractured bones or torn skin invisible to the eye.

She’s been relatively quiet for the duration of her examination, but she asks, “So, what can you do?”

You look up at her and grin. “I can do a lot of things.” You stand and walk to the shelves of potted plants on the wall to your right. You hold up one of the more pathetic looking plants and say, “See how this one is all wilted?”

Rogue nods. 

You pull your glove off with your teeth. “Watch this.”

Once your hand rests delicately against the plant’s stem, its wilting flowers perk up. A lush green color returns to its body, becoming perfectly healthy again. You look over at her and her mouth is gaping at the sight. “But why do you keep all the plants here if they’ll die without you?”

You put the plant back in its place and slip your glove back on. As you make your way back to the examination table, you say, “That’s exactly why. The professor used it as a tool to help me understand my importance here. To help me distinguish between the big parts of my powers and the smaller, more delicate parts.” You shrug as you grab some medical tape meant to alleviate and correct sprains. “I also like having company when I’m down here.”

“Company?” she asks when you kneel before her again to start wrapping her ankle.

“They talk to me,” you say, slightly mischievously.

Her mouth gapes again. “So, that’s your mutation? Talking to plants?”

“It’s a lot deeper than that. The Earth and I are like two sides of the same coin. Through our connection, I can track people if they are grounded. I can grow and heal things, but also kill them. I can create beauty, but also take it away. And I’m recently starting to realize I’m much more connected to humans than I thought.”

She considers this as you finish wrapping her ankle. 

You laugh a little. “Most of those are Professor X’s words, not mine.”

Charles arrives after a few minutes of comfortable silence, asking Rogue to come with him. You give her a small smile and tell her, “Make sure to drink those herbs with water once every day. It’ll help the pain.”

She gives you a tentative smile back. 

Before she leaves, you squeeze her gloved hand. “You’re gonna do great.”

Once the two of them are gone, you decide it's time to check on Jean and the man. She took him to the laboratory where digital scans of mutants’ brains and bodies could be completed. You walk down the hall and enter the door to the left, seeing Jean in her white lab coat. She is analyzing what looks to be brain waves on the monitor in front of her. “Oh, good,” she says when she turns to see you. “I wanted you to take a look at him. See if there’s anything I’m missing.”

You approach the table where he lays and take your first real look at him.

He is shirtless to allow the nodes and wires access to his chest. You scan over his body, seeing no obvious outer injuries. His face is calm in his induced state of comatose, but etched with what seems like a permanent line between his eyebrows. You have the urge to smooth it with your thumb.

“His name is Logan Howlett. He has extremely impressive regenerative abilities.”

Your eyes continue to study the ridges of his face. “Is that his mutation?” The thought of Charles saying he is a very powerful mutant crosses your mind. 

“That’s part of it. Once he wakes up, we'll give him a chance to tell us more. And then we’ll do a full body scan; Charles thinks there’s something else to him. He’s not wrong. Logan’s brain activity is far different from anyone I’ve ever seen,” she says in slight awe.

You continue to gaze at him. There is something else to him. Something you can’t quite place.

“Could you check his vitals for me? I didn’t notice anything strange, but I want to be sure,” Jean asks.

Hesitancy fills your body. For some reason, you don’t want to touch him. Some sort of dread pits in your stomach. Something will happen. 

Despite your body’s strange resistance, you nod curtly. You approach the table and lean over him. His scent fills your nose. It’s woodsy and smokey, all mixed with something metal that twinges your nostrils. You close your eyes and inhale, pressing your hand to his chest. In a second, you’ve been pulled to him, a vice grip around your wrist. Jean yells and starts pulling at your shoulders. Your body goes alive and you twist your arm around and headbutt him, causing him to loosen his grip on you. However, the moment your skull collides with his, you nearly pass out from the impact. It feels like he’s made of metal. 

“Oh, my God,” you groan, collapsing to the floor. Your head is throbbing.

Before you or Jean can react, he’s jumped off the table. It looks like he’s grabbed six knives and placed them between his fingers. “Where the hell am I?” he shouts.

Jean holds up her hands, but you’re still recovering on the floor, holding your forehead in your hands. Jesus, fuck. You hope He will excuse your language.

“You’re at Xavier’s School for Mutants in New York. We aren’t going to hurt you,” Jean says calmly. “Well, not anymore.” Her eyes flick down to you and you make a face.

“It wasn’t my fault he fucking attacked me,” you say with narrowed eyes. You glance at him, annoyance replacing the pain that had swept across your forehead. “What’s with the claws?” you ask, now realizing that what you thought were knives were actually thin metal spikes protruding from between his knuckles.

He stares at you, chest heaving. Then back at Jean. Fury clouds his eyesight, but you know there’s fear in there, too. 

“Look, we’re not going to hurt you. You’re safe here,” Jean says again. “I just need you to calm down and we can talk.”

The throbbing has eased and you make your way to stand. 

Something like a sarcastic grin falls on his lips. “Oh, sure, we can talk.” 

You position yourself, readying for a fight. “Get Scott,” you say to Jean quietly. 

“You sure?” she whispers back.

“Yeah, I’ve got this.”

She looks between the two of you for a moment, then runs out of the room. You hear her shoes echo in the hallway. 

“You really want to do this, bub?” he asks in a voice so quiet, you nearly miss it.

You watch him carefully. You know that you’ll never beat him, but you can keep him occupied until reinforcements arrive. “Do you really want to do this?” you respond with a grin.

Something lights in his eyes, something thrilling that makes your heart pound. He pounces, jumping over the table, his claws aiming for your throat. You dodge the attack, rolling to the side. You are back on your feet in an instant, crouching low to the ground. “Got anything else in you, big boy?” you tease, grin spreading wider at his fuming expression.

He yells, running at you with a speed you wouldn’t think him capable of. He shoves you to the ground with retracted claws and you grunt at the impact, but kick his legs out from under him, causing him to fall to the floor as you crawl away. He yanks your leg, making you stumble once more. You kick with all your might, but he won’t let go. Thinking you might be the stupidest person alive, you let him drag you so you’re pinned beneath him. “Sexy,” you say with a wink.

You can feel his steady heartbeat this close. "You're annoying," he hisses. You see his eyes drop to the cross around your neck and take that as your opportunity to kick him in the groin. He grunts and his hold around you weakens. You shove him off of you and stand to make a move for the door. You don’t think he’ll kill you, but you don’t want to take that chance.

Before you reach the door, an arm wraps around your waist and pulls you harshly against a solid body. You hadn’t noticed before, but he’s tall. Very tall. “Where do you think you’re going?” he whispers in your ear.

It sends a thrill down your spine.

“Are you always this friendly?” you whisper back, hand coming up to touch his arm. Your fingers hardly wrap around his forearm.

In the blink of an eye, he has detached himself from you, falling to the floor. Your fingers tingle from the use of your power, slowing his heart rate enough that he would go unconscious, but not enough to kill him. With his regenerative abilities, though, you assume he’ll be back on his feet in about five minutes. You hardly ever use that ability, finding it invasive. With this man, however, you think your actions are justified.

You nudge his leg with your foot when Jean and Scott come running in. “Holy shit, you took him out yourself?” Scott asks incredulously. 

“I just slowed his heart rate so that he wouldn’t break all the bones in my body. I appreciate your faith in me, though, Scott,” you say, wiping your brow.

He approaches the man on the floor, coming to stand beside you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. He nearly broke my skull, though.”

Scott raises a brow. 

“How are we going to get him adjusted if he won’t speak to us without starting a fight?” Jean asks as she starts to fix the state of the room.

“I think our best bet is to leave him alone,” you say.

Scott looks at you. His visor blocks his eyes, but you can tell they are looking at you as if you are crazy. “Leave him alone? He’ll wreak havoc trying to find a way out.”

You shrug. “I think there’s someone who might be able to convince him to stay.”

“Better than getting a face full of claws,” Jean says, glancing at his limp body.

Exhaustion washes over you when you take the elevator back upstairs. It’s three in the morning and the events of the day are finally hitting you square in the chest.

You slump against the metal railing of the elevator, relishing in the silence. Jean and Scott stayed with Logan to put him in a state of deep sleep so that he wouldn’t go stalking around the mansion at night. You could imagine how some poor child would react to running into such a large and imposing man in the middle of the night. It would be terrifying.

You run your fingers through your hair and pinch the bridge of your nose. His smell lingers around you, crowding your space. 

What a prick.

Fighting you like that when all you wanted to do was help him? What was he going to do? Kill you?

A part of you wants to believe that he wouldn’t do that, but another part of you understands that he would’ve done anything to get out of here.

Logan.

You test the name out on your tongue. You wonder if he has another name, too. Something all of his enemies know by heart.

Deciding that that was enough thinking for the night, you shut your brain off and exit the elevator. You make your way to your bedroom and collapse on your bed, sleep hitting you like a bus.

You wake, body aching and head throbbing. Although you managed to escape the fight with no outer wounds, your body protests as you remove yourself from your bed. Thank God it’s Saturday.

Thankfully, your mind allowed you a break from the night terrors that plagued you so frequently, instead replacing them with dreams of walking through a forest. As you walked farther into the dank, the trees began to die, but you woke before anything else could happen. 

You get ready for the day and make your way downstairs. In the kitchen, you see Ororo sitting at the counter with a mug of coffee in her hands. Before you can voice your question, she says, “There’s some in the pot.”

You grin and pour the coffee into your bright pink mug along with the creamer that sits by the pot. Scott calls the shade an affront to the color pink. “So…” you start.

“He isn’t awake yet. Charles thinks he’ll be up in an hour or so.”

Relief slumps your shoulders and you take a seat across from her, moving the coffee around in your mug before you take a sip. “He is crazy strong, Ororo,” you scoff. “It felt like his skeleton was made of metal. And his claws…” You shake your head.

“Charles thinks he’ll be useful to us.”

“I know. I just hope he calms down a bit.” 

Ororo gives you a sheepish smile. “You have to admit, he is handsome, though.”

You laugh. “That’s the impression he gave you?”

She shrugs. “I might have a different one if I had to fight him.”

You contemplate her statement. You suppose he was handsome, but it didn’t startle you when you first saw him. It was the kind of beauty that creeps up and you don’t realize it until you’ve been staring at them for too long. He was rugged, yes, but there was something enticing about his looks. A boyish quality. You remember the smirk that donned his face when he challenged you to a fight.

You shake your head. “Yeah, he definitely made an interesting impression.”

The two of you leave the kitchen once some of the older students begin filing in, many making their own breakfasts instead of eating the provided meal with the other students in the dining room. “Are we training today?” you ask as the two of you walk down the main hall.

“I think Charles wants us to wait until he’s spoken with Logan. Wants us to meet him properly.”

You roll your eyes. ‘Meet him properly.’ Tackling someone to the ground isn’t a proper greeting?

“Be nice,” you hear someone say behind you. Jean falls into stride with the two of you. 

“Jean! Don’t read my thoughts,” you say, pushing her lightly.

“But you think so loudly,” she complains.

The three of you make your way outside, deciding to steer clear of the mansion until Logan has had his conversation with Charles. “I really don’t want to run into him again. It would not be conducive to a healthy future relationship,” you mutter.

“He is kind of volatile, isn’t he?” Jean asks rhetorically. “I mean, he attacked with no real provocation.”

“Waking up in a room you’ve never been in with two strangers isn’t provoking enough?” Ororo asks, taking a seat at one of the lawn tables. You join her, leaning back in your chair.

Being in nature calms your nerves, but also sets them alight. Your senses come to life again and you hear the running water of the fountain, the wind whistling through the trees, and the small animals stepping in the grass. As Jean and Ororo continue their conversation, you close your eyes and lean your head back and allow yourself to connect. It is only the second day after the full moon, which means your sensitivity to everything around you is still high. You pull at the energy from the ground, letting it throb through your body. You feel the aching in your body disappear, feel your muscles rejuvenated, feel the blood pumping through your veins.

You hear the humming of a man’s voice, scratchy and slightly off-key. It’s a voice you haven’t heard in years. He’s humming something that only graces your ears in dreams. It scratches your scalp and kisses your forehead. Dad.

You steady your breathing, trying to latch onto his voice. You’ve never experienced this in the daytime; it usually only happens when you’re asleep or in a deep meditative state. The words of your friends fade away.

In your mind’s eye, you stand from the table and follow the humming into the woods. You stumble over fallen branches, but your unusual miscoordination doesn’t prick the logical part of your brain. All you can think of is your father. His voice roaming through the trees, taking you deeper into the woods. And suddenly, you are somewhere else.

The church. 

His voice is gone.

“No,” you whimper, turning into a young girl again. 

You feel the shackles of the past lock around your wrists, forcing you to your knees. A screech escapes your throat at a forcible yank of your hair backwards. You look up to see your mother staring down at you. Her eyes are pitch black. “Your father rejects you. Even in death, he will not visit your wretched soul,” she says with a sneer, pulling your hair farther back. It feels as if she is trying to rip it from your skull.

“He never rejected me,” you spit.

“Are you so sure?”

You open your eyes with a deep inhale. It wasn’t real. You remind yourself.

Jean and Ororo stare at you, waiting for your response to something. You subtly shake your head of the images conjured by your mind and ask, “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

You hope they assume your exhaustion from last night got the better of you and you simply dozed off for a moment. “Logan is ready to meet us,” Jean says, her eyes a reflection of worry. Not toward meeting Logan, to your dismay.

“Oh, great.”

Despite a desire to remain calm, your heart thunders in your chest. You worry your cross between your fingers. You have no idea what to expect from him; you fully believe he will pounce at you again. 

Ororo holds your hand as the three of you enter Charles’ study. Scott sits on the armrest of one of the chairs in the room, arms folded over his chest. Charles is behind his desk and sitting ever so casually on the edge of the desk, is Logan.

He wears a gray X-Men sweatshirt and the jeans he had on when he arrived at the mansion. His eyes fall to yours immediately, recognition filling his gaze. You break eye contact dismissively, going to sit on the other armrest of the chair Scott sits on. You keep your eyes strictly on Charles, but you feel Logan’s on you. Your heart doesn’t steady.

“Everyone, this is Logan Howlett. The Wolverine,” Charles says, gesturing to the man sitting on his desk.

Scott huffs a laugh. “Wolverine? Like the animal?”

You nudge him in the side. “As if Cyclops is any better.”

Charles clears his throat. “Please.”

“We are the X-Men, some of which you have already met.” Charles gives you a pointed look. You throw your hands up in defense. “I promise you not all of your introductions will be so…violent.”

Scott snickers. 

“Shut the hell up,” you hiss. Your eyes flick to Logan’s. He watches the interaction between you two carefully.

Charles goes around the room, introducing each of your friends to the stranger. When he gets to you, Logan’s stare bears into you heavier than it had before. It intimidates you, but doesn’t scare you. Charles tells him your name, following with, “Others know her as Proserpina, the Roman goddess of spring.”

You don’t expect him to say anything, but his voice fills your ears for the first time since last night. “The goddess of spring is who knocked me out cold last night?”

“It’s not just nature I can manipulate,” you say tersely. “Bub.”

His eyes narrow as his lips turn up in a smirk.

Charles finishes the introductions and tells the team that training will commence in thirty minutes. The second his spiel is over, you stand. Deciding to jump into the fire, you approach Logan. “Sorry about last night,” he says.

It takes you by surprise. You expected more of a fight from him.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “You gave me some much needed practice.”

You sense your friends watching your interaction from afar. Although they are conversing casually, you feel their eyes on you.

“Yeah, you seemed a little rusty, Pro.”

You narrow your eyes. “And you seemed a little overzealous, Wolverine.”

He grunts. “If that’s overzealous, then I worry for your boyfriend.” He points to Scott on the word boyfriend.

“Scott?” You laugh. “Now, that’s a good joke. You’re funny.”

A look of confusion crosses his face and you leave him like that, feeling content with how the conversation ended. Screw a healthy relationship.

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i had to get this out of my brain or i was going to go crazy. i hope you enjoyed! im excited to keep writing them :)