#&&. Sundays are the worst at breaking people over there

[venomnyx]

HOUSE IN NEBRASKA — Logan "Worst Wolverine" Howlett x Mutant!Reader AO3 version Spotify Playlist

WORD COUNT — 15.4k SUMMARY — Reader gets roped into saving the timeline with ex-best friend Deadpool, coming face-to-face with a variant of Logan that uproots memories she'd long suppressed, only to find that this version of him lost her in his universe, too. TAGS/WARNINGS — she/her pronouns (minimal usage), female anatomy, flashbacks in italics, angst, enemies to lovers, alcoholism, smoking, arguments, canon typical violence, cursing/bad language, Deadpool breaks the fourth wall like twice, canon behaviour worst wolverine, religious trauma, honda odyssey scene self-insert, eventual smut, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty nasty talk (logan has a filthy mouth), mentions of cocaine literally once. smut is marked after last divider if you want to skip plot but i'll kiss you if you don't!

You’re smoking a cigarette on your porch when the snowfall happens. It would be normal, you think, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s dead in the middle of July. A group of nanas, elbow-deep in the community garden soil, glance up to the sky and begin muttering prayers amongst themselves.

You’ve lived in this safe house for a while now, up in the mid-west of the Appalachian mountains, surrounded by thickets of pine and opposite a bubbling creek. You grew up somewhere near here and the locals welcomed you back with open arms and a plateful of hot food when the humans started the culling— when the X-men fell apart.

It has plenty of benefits. The smell of lavender, for one, and your cat, Kevin, loves chasing the pigeons, even if he’s not the most successful hunter. The locally sourced produce means you can avoid the poisoned food they’re distributing in supermarkets.

But, most importantly, the humans can’t find you out here. You’re lucky the gossip of your… genetics, so to speak, doesn’t leave Sunday morning church.

Things have been different, lately. The trees are shedding down to dust, people are disappearing at an exponential rate, and there was a time when you’d be on the front lines helping them. You’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the call — a learned habit — but it’s never coming. Charles is dead. Logan is dead. The X-men are dead.

The snow is warm when it lands on your skin. It feels like rot, and your solitude suddenly feels lonelier and more daunting than ever.

You reach to take a sip of your steaming coffee when you hear movement. A zipping strobe light crosses your vision and you flinch against the intrusion, but you’re not afraid. You’ve surely survived worse.

Stryker worse.

A comical and confused looking figure pops out from an orange portal, scratching the crown of his head over the red and black mask on his face. You sip your coffee as you observe him nonchalantly.

He notices you and approaches with a dainty point of his finger.

“Um, excuse me, ma’am.”

“Well, well well,” you suck on your cigarette with a frown. “Look what the cat dragged in. Got a new suit, Red?”

“What, aren’t you happy to see lil’ old me?”

“You’re on my property,” you say matter-of-factually. You had a shotgun stowed away inside for emergencies, but frankly, you never had to use it. You were enough of a weapon yourself. Consider it insurance, if the corn-syrup they’re poisoning ever finally makes it way to you.

You glance sidelong at the old ladies in their aprons, clutching one another with stern gazes in your direction. The deal was that you didn’t bring trouble their way — but it looks like trouble found you. You narrow your eyes and silently hope that this doesn’t turn messy, as it so usually does where he’s concerned.

He sighs heavily and continues approaching regardless. You analyse his stature and take notes of the weapons on his holsters and back. You reckon you could take him if it came down to it, but he didn’t seem threatening.

You and Wade used to be friends, but after isolating yourself from grief, you don’t necessarily consider yourselves to have a close relationship. More often than not he brought trouble; hence your defensive response.

“Listen, ants in your pants, I’ve done this about a hundred times,” he huffs and places a hand on his hip, waving the device around in his hand. You take another drag of your cigarette and perk your brows before rising to your feet.

“I’ve had my spleen shattered by the Hulk, about eighty stab wounds…”

He rambles on about his collection of injuries and you tilt your head with amusement. Must be another one of his famous mental breakdowns. This might be entertaining, at the very least.

“…You’ve even killed me a few times in different universes!” He claps his hands together. “And frankly, I was just going to let you die here. You’re not even canon, so you won’t be missed, but you appear to be of use to me. So I need you to come with me. Now. Please.”

What on Earth was he talking about? What on Earth was he ever talking about?

You bark a laugh. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, Red and Black.”

“Will it change your mind if I add a cherry on top?” He asks with a dry laugh before nodding enthusiastically. Manically. “You’re coming. Kevin’s life depends on it.”

“What are you talkin’ about? Are you threatenin’ my cat? That’s a new low, Wade.”

“Is it? Is it really? I am certain that I can go unfathomably lower.”

You roll your eyes, half-way through turning your back on him.

“You see this?” He holds out a gloved hand and catches some snowflakes. He rubs them between his fingers and they spark and fizzle before dusting away. “That’s not snow. That’s time death. Our universe is dying, womp womp. Stay here, sure! By all means, but—”

Your cat launches out of the door behind you, chirping and meowing to himself before promptly dashing through the portal and disappearing into the blurry void on the other side.

“Well. Looks like he made his choice.”

He sighs and lets you process. You take the final swig of your coffee and huff a breath.

“You literally have nothing left to lose. Trust me. I know. I’ve seen all kinds of you and, believe me when I say this, even though I love and cherish this version of you, this—” he points two fingers at you and gestures towards you judgmentally. “— isn’t the best look on you, honey.”

You want to dismiss him. You want to turn him away, to tell him to get lost. Grief swallowed your heroism whole, turning it into a barren wasteland of bitter indifference. You used to be bright, full of light, love, and hope.

Fucking hope. It’s the reason Logan left you to help Charles in the first place. You just wanted to settle down and disappear, to live a normal life. You lost an intrinsic part of your being when he died; you remember feeling it before you heard the news. Fucking hope.

Hope, hope, hope. Nana Rose chants on about it when she clasps your hands with her wrinkly ones, dragging you to church in spite of your atheism.

“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts,” she chants, basket of flowers on her hip. “Romans 5:5. You’d do well to do your readin’, tulip.”

You didn’t and don’t ever usually believe a word she says, but you can feel her faith. It’s solid as steel, pouring out of her like blotting light through the gaps in the trees. Undying. And you’ll be damned if you let anything happen to her.

A flicker remains. You imagine what Charles would say to you now, how you’d hang onto his every word and he’d bring out the better of you. You truly do have nothing left to lose, except maybe your cat. Over your dead body.

“Come ooon,” he pokes his fingers together. “Fancy being a hero? One last time?”

You take the final drag before stubbing the cigarette out on your railing. “Alright, Red. I’ll bite.”

“Then suit up.”

Your friendship with Deadpool was a rocky one. There was a time you told him you’d be there for him through everything, and you technically owed him one for saving your life that one time even though your ego insists that, to this day, you could’ve taken the fight. That’s what heightened cellular control of your body is for, right? Accelerated healing? Empathetic abilities? Faster reactions, enhanced strength— you get the point.

Though you didn’t realise that returning the favour meant following him through space, time and alternate dimensions, you were a person who stayed true to their word, and you hated being indebted to someone.

So, here you were, waking up in the middle of a barren wasteland that was seconded as a cocktail soup of abandoned universal relics and heroes ripped from their worlds, accompanying your ex-best friend to restore your timeline.

But, one thing about paying someone back, it doesn’t technically count if they lie to you about the terms and conditions of the agreement. Only a few mere moments after you come to, dazed by the impact and the blaring wobbly heat of the sun, you rise to watch as Deadpool takes six blades of Wolverine to the chest.

You’re still a little dizzy when you stagger to your feet, head throbbing, as you’re trying to process if, yes, that’s exactly what you were witnessing.

“Let’s see you grow your fuckin’ head back!” Wolverine growls.

Deadpool holds his hands up in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! I can fix it! I can fix it!”

The man in yellow hesitates. “Fix what?”

“Whatever it is that you did, whatever made you so bad—” Wade pants, catching his breath. “Those pricks at the TVA, you heard ‘em. They have the power to end my universe, but they also have the power to change yours. We get back there, and we can fix your world! Together. I promise.”

You stumble from around a pile of debris, clutching your side as a rib pops back into place. Wolverine sniffs the air, face blanching as he snaps to look in your direction.

When you first make eye contact with him, it feels as though you’re resurfacing from water after being on the precipice of drowning. Your heart leaps into your throat, adrenaline boils your veins and your lungs burst with relief of breathing.

“Troubles always gonna find you, baby,” Logan murmurs, kissing his way up from the pulse in your throat as he rocks against you. “But so am I.”

You’ve never loved him more, you think, than when he fucks you slow like this. A snowstorm rages outside the cabin, howling full of glass and needles and rattling the window frames. His skin against yours burns a fire within you, warming you to the bone. He sweeps hair away from your face before capturing your mouth in his, swallowing the sounds of your pants, threading his fingers between yours.

You could stay here forever, you think.

Your fingers shake from the whiplash of the memory. You instinctively reach towards him but you catch yourself. This was the husk of him, not your Logan. The realisation feels akin to ripping open a haphazardly sewn wound right down to the fatty yellow flesh, raw and needling and sore.

He’s broader than you remember. Hair a little darker, wrinkles a little deeper. He smells of alcohol and cigars — that much is familiar. That’s him, flesh and adamantium bone, living, breathing. Alive. The physical shell of him prods alive parts of your inner circuitry that you weren’t aware had fallen asleep, like intrinsic nerves untangling within you.

You can sense that he knows you, too, based on his emotional response. His noise is extremely loud, spilling out of the cracks of whatever wall he thought he’d successfully built up. This version of Logan certainly had a lot of secrets.

“You,” he whisper-growls. It’s almost intangible, leaving him like a breath. He pulls his blades promptly from Deadpool’s chest and kicks him backwards.

You’re starting to understand that faith thing that Nana Rose was knocking on about when he strides towards you, large and tall. You certainly weren’t a believer by any means but you’re sure you’d be the picture of unbridled worship for the way you’d fall to your knees for him.

Your empathetic power lurches for him, seeking him out as you used to — like a flower to the sun — but it physically recoils from the aura that it touches. It was all your Logan but not in a familiar way. It’s tainted, dark, and it tastes like copper and screams.

All colour melts from his face and his body shuffles in a way that indicates discomfort; a dry swallow, tense shoulders and flicking eyes that refuse to meet your gaze. He omits feelings of guilt and shame that linger on the tendrils of your empathetic powers where you connect with him.

You try to zone Wade out, squinting as you attempt to navigate through his cobweb of emotions (seriously, this guy’s aura could do with a cleanup) but it’s like wading through black-tar syrup, feelings negated by years of alcohol-abuse and avoidance. Eventually, you feel something that makes your guts twist and your legs shake: a version of romantic attraction and recognition so carnal and raw that you begin to blush, a warmth that creeps its way up from your belly. A breath escapes you like a punch.

“Well. This feels awkward.” Wade glances between you both and places his hands on his hips. “Why do you both look like you’ve seen a ghost? Do I need to call Egon Splegler and tell him to bring his ghost sucky-sucky vacuum? Oh my god—” He slaps his hands to his face and gasps sharply. “Cross-Universal lovers?”

As inappropriately timed and tone-deaf his one-liners could be, you’d never been more appreciative of an icebreaker. You think you could’ve stood there for an hour, frozen in silence, staring at a reanimated corpse, basking in the noise of his emotional frequency like an addict finally getting another hit.

But then the noise stops, swallowed up like a heaving black hole had split and atomised the tension whole with its unforgiving jaws. He closes himself off from you. Connection severed. You reach out and feel a cold nothingness similar to how, on particularly rough nights, you’d try to reach out to him after his passing. You’d clung onto his plaid shirts until the smell and emotional residue wore off of them.

“You with the mouth? To fix things?”

You nod tightly. You don’t think you can find your voice in front of him.

“Let’s just keep moving. And stay out of my head,” Logan grumbles, crossing you with a cold shoulder and mumbling something incoherent under his breath. When he’s made enough distance, you turn to your old friend with a cold glare.

“Ooh, brr. Anybody else feel a chill?”

“Wade.”

He twists towards you comically slow.

“You. Motherfucker.” You begin approaching him. He backs up slowly and holds his hands up.

“I knew if I told you the plan you wouldn’t have gone along with it!”

“Are you insane? You think multiversally grave-robbing my fucking dead ex-boyfriend is going to save our timelines?!” You yell.

“Technically he’s not dead—”

You push him. “He should be! He- he was— he is!”

“Well, this one isn’t!” He pushes back. “And I’m not sorry for finding a loophole in the plan to fry — not just mine, mind you — but both of our timelines! Did you happen to forget that? No multi-dimensional depressed Logan? Alright then! No more Kevin!”

He’s talking about your cat. Anger flares.

“Don’t you dare bring Kevin into this.”

“You forced my hand!” He yells, mouth moving alien-like behind the mask on his face. “Besides, I’m not doing this for me—”

You blink your eyes closed. You might reach the end of your tether if he said her name one more time. You’ve been in his company for approximately an hour, and he’s already drilled a hole into your brain with his incessant yapping about the “love of his life”.

“Wade, you need to move on. She clearly has.”

“I will not move on from the only people I love in this fucked up dimension. This isn’t just for Vanessa.” He shoves a glossy photograph in your face. “This is for you and blind Al and even that shit-head teenager and her pinkie-pie girlfriend! They deserve their timeline!”

“I literally don’t care about any of those people!”

Even yourself?

“Well, I do! I have people I care about! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero? God, all of you X-men are so depressing. Is it the suits they make you wear? Is that it? Can’t breathe in that thing?” He continues poking at you. “Loosen up a little!”

You straighten your posture and the black leather of your suit crackles. You swat his hands away as he continues poking. “Alright! Cut it out!”

“Think of Nana Rose.” He draws a heart with two fingers. “Little old ladies like her deserve a chance, don’t they?”

And even though humans had done nothing but wage war on your kind for simply existing, you still felt obliged to help them. Besides, the thought of other mutants — kid mutants — dying when you hold the chance to save them in the palm of your hand? You were hardly managing as you were now. You’re not sure you’d be able to live with yourself if you kept going like this.

“Alright, alright!” You huff, heart pounding in your chest. You look over at where Wolverine kicks at rocks in the distance. “Fucking hell, Red. Holy fuck.”

You say it again, only this time you scream it into your hands.

“You should’ve warned me.”

“Are we good?”

“Are we go—” You scoff. You kick his ankle, feel the bones shatter and crunch beneath your foot. He lets out a short, high-pitched yelp. “You deserved that.”

“Motherfuckermotherfucker… oh you’re lucky I feel bad about lying to you or I would’ve twisted your milk bags off for that I swear to God.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, walking forward. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”

He limps after you, floppy ankle dragging a line in the sandy dirt. “I’ll be dead before you ever get one of those out of me! And too bad I can’t fucking die!”

The difference between this Logan and your Logan is stark, minus the uncanny resemblance. Your Logan was soft and gentle, but this version is sharper and blade-edged, and your fingers bleed when you try to touch him.

Staring at him feels like throwing up a mirror and analysing yourself, a picture of what happens to a person when they make all of the wrong choices. You’re embarrassed, almost. This isn’t a version of you that you ever want him to know, but at least you can say you’re trying.

Him, on the other hand…

“Are we going to keep up the awkward silence?” You snip, awkwardly adjusting the restraints on your wrist.

You’ve been in Logan’s company for all of an hour, and yet accompanying one another through literal time purgatory didn’t seem to irk any feelings of obligation from his end. He’d been cold-shouldering and ignoring you the entire time, even though you kept catching him staring.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he spits, wriggling uncomfortably against a very unconscious Deadpool. “You got us into this mess.”

You frown, small. You can feel hatred pouring out from him, leaving a sickly bile taste in the back of your throat. You’ve lived through enough hate for being a mutant in your lifetime, enough that you’d become accustomed to tuning it out of your radio channel, so to speak, but something about it coming from the man you loved makes it a little harder to swallow.

You’re quiet when you next speak. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

He shoots you an indistinguishable look and grunts to himself. Such a Libra.

“So, what’s the story here?” Johnny asks with a sly grin. He turns to you with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. “You two know each other?”

You cringe. “Sort of. Last I remember, he wasn’t this much of a prick.”

“Oh, trouble in paradise, huh?” His grin grows. “That’s a shame. Not often we get girls like you in the void.”

“Seriously?” You say with a side-eye.

He shrugs, all blue-spandex biceps and charming smile. “No harm in trying.”

Your breath hitches as Cassandra approaches, wide eyes and tilted head aiming for you purposefully. Logan swiftly angles his body so that he’s standing in front of you and she halts as a delighted, implicating smile stretches across her face. Your chest constricts, tendrils of yearning coiling tighter. It appeared to be muscle memory: his instinctual, protective flinch. Just like your Logan used to, despite how capable he knew you were.

“Now, I’ve always wanted a Wolverine.” Her finger moves along the crowd. “Knew I’d get one eventually. But I never even dreamed of having you.”

Cassandra zips behind you and her slender fingers delve into the crevices and valleys of your brain, lips intimately close to your neck and ear. Wolverine snarls territoriality, but he’s unable to move. The urge to reach for him is overwhelming.

“Do you know that there are so few universes where you exist?” She whispers, caressing your deepest memories. “I even asked the TVA about you, in exchange for keeping the peace. I was disheartened when I found out one of you died. But you’re here! Now, I don’t believe in fate, but this almost feels like it was meant to be.”

You flinch when she uncovers a particularly fond memory, one you hadn’t been aware was so prominently in the forefront.

In the back of his truck, a cigar between his teeth, hands sliding under your shirt. In another world, he would’ve taken the time to do this properly, but living in a school didn’t exactly grant two consenting adults any privacy.

“Waited long enough for this.”

He kisses up from your bare foot to the sensitive skin of your inner knee, lips scorching against your skin.

“Logan…”

“Easy,” he murmurs, leaning away for a moment to remove his plaid overshirt, leaving himself in that white vest you could eat him alive in. “Still wanna take my time with you.”

You’re desperate, he can tell— can probably smell it, too, but you’re far too humiliated to ask him if he can.

Logan wasn’t your first by any means, but with the way you were near trembling for him truly felt like you’d be losing all of your innocence in the back seat. You’re shy and quiet, everything he isn’t. You’re infatuated with him — have been since he burst out of the lab in his grey hoodie — and have daydreamed about what it would be like to have him. You certainly didn’t let him know that right away, and with whatever shred of composure remained around his relentless flirting and teasing remarks, you tried to play hard to get.

Until you couldn’t. Because you weren’t. He had you, and with every fibre of your being, you wanted him to.

She pulls her hands from your brain with a shlick sound, rubbing her fingers together as if relishing in the produce of your memories. She grabs a rag from her pocket and smirks knowingly.

“You’re thinking of that at a time like this?” She laughs all witch-like. “Worry not; your secret’s safe with me, naughty girl.”

Wade lowers his voice and leans towards Logan. “She was thinking of me.”

“I can read between the lines, darling,” she potters on. “This isn’t about a sexual fantasy. Deep down, you just want to be wanted. To be loved.”

She steps back and extends her arms. “After all, you’ll never amount to anything in your world. It’s such a shame that your Logan left you so abruptly. Did he break your heart?” She giggles. “Why suppress your powers in his name? For a level-five mutant, you certainly don’t act like one. You can do that, here. Freely!”

Your worn thin tether creaks with exhaustion like a dilapidated bridge under pressure. There isn’t a singular fibre of your being that desires to be stuck here, but the small, angry teenage voice in your head would love nothing more than to just let go. You’d been containing your powers for as far as you can remember, and they'd always been as irresistible as the promise of Pandora's box.

But you know how that story ends.

You take a moment’s pause. “I have no interest in livin’ in a garbage dump.”

She tilts her head and neatly clasps her hands behind her back. “Do you forget where you come from? I think we both know who lives in a garbage dump.”

“You motherf—”

You’d just managed to escape Cassandra’s lair with Alioth’s foggy storm fangs nipping at your ankles when you ran across the abandoned diner.

You’re ravenous, wrist aching from how you dig at the freezer-burned ice cream. It’s your least favourite flavour but you’ve been running on fumes for the past day or so, so you’ll take what you can get, though you begin to lose your appetite when you remember Johnny, and how Cassandra had zipped the skin from him like popping a blood-filled water balloon.

Something is rumbling beneath your surface. A distinct, constant buzzing, like two atoms slowly building up radioactive energy. You’d asked for none of this, and would certainly give Wade a talking to when the time called for it, but, for now, you’re trying your hardest to make this as easy a process as possible.

Your male counterpart, however, was doing exactly what men generally do. He was making this fucking unbearable.

Logan sits across from you, brooding, fingers gripping the medicinal bottle as if it’s anywhere near appropriate to be drinking. He throws you a particularly lingering glare when he notices you staring, but refuses to maintain eye contact when you look back at him

You toss the tub and spoon across the table with a sharp clatter, your patience collapsing.

“What? Can’t even look at me?” You snap. His eyes look exhausted when they finally meet yours. Wade, being the characteristic little fucker he is, pulls a delighted, shit-stirring grin as he glances between the two of you as if watching a tennis match.

Logan gasps as he finishes taking a drink. “Not much to look at,” he says, wiping the back of his mouth.

The words twist like a fist in your gut. For a moment, you’re rendered too stunned to respond, like he’d tossed a flash-bang toward you. His casual cruelty digs deeper than you care to admit— but you’ve had far too much therapy, too much psychological training, to know he’s deflecting.

But you wouldn’t doubt for a second that there was a more beautiful version of you somewhere.

“What, you comparin’ me to someone?” You ask. You can tell you’ve struck a nerve by the way he goes for another sip. “That it?”

He grimaces.

“Do I make you feel sick? Am I making you feel sick?”

He stares at you hard, but silently. He takes a long swig of the rubbing alcohol and you cringe as his throat bobs. His silence and feigned indifference light a fire of indignation.

“You know, you’re not the only person who’s suffered. Who’s lost people.”

He laughs like what you’re saying is funny. “Yeah, right, bub, you have got no idea what loss is.”

“Oh, you are such a fucking cunt,” you spit, slamming your hands on the table as you rise to your feet. “You know what, Wade? You’re right. I can’t do this. So fuck you and fuck his timeline and fuck every timeline that had anything to do with it! I’m done.”

A wave of uncontrolled psionic energy born from your anger blasts from you upon your final words, slamming them back into their seats and sending the cutlery, nearby debris and weapons flying. The neighbouring windows smash, shattering explosively and sprinkling outside of the diner.

The simmering stops, replaced by a stifling emptiness.

“I wasn’t finished with that!” Wade cries, crouching down to scoop up what remains of the gelatinous spam.

You pause for a moment, glance at your hands, and then grab your jacket in an aggressive fit.

Wade whines your name, halfway through gagging down a forkful of cold spam off of the floor (one of which resonates with a particularly distinct crunch, but you don’t stay to find out whether or not he just truly ate glass), and he doesn’t attempt to get up and follow you as you storm off.

You take a heaving breath of hot desert air when you leave the diner. The sandy breeze tousles your hair, and with the prickly energy of an incoming nervous breakdown, your legs kick and you’re running.

“Stryker got you, too?” Logan asks, eyebrows flicking up.

You don’t look him in the eye when you nod. You cross your arms and slouch a little, caging your heart in. Stryker — the ex-militant with a fetish for experimenting on mutants — had held you captive for several years. He’d brainwashed you into using your empathetic abilities for nefarious purposes, like seducing other mutants, and sometimes important political and militant figures.

“You like me?” He questions, quieter this time.

“No… no, not like you,” you reply. “I don’t have the fancy bones. I heal fast, but I wouldn’t survive that kinda procedure.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t remember everything. Just bits and pieces. Feelings, mostly. Nightmares,” you explain. He nods understandingly. “I’m always on edge.”

“You always seem so calm,” he observes. “Nothing seems to phase you.”

“I have to be. It took a lot of pain and damage to get this level-headed,” you respond quickly. “If I don’t manage my emotions, all the emotions that I receive, touch— it all comes out. Explosively. It has to come out somehow. I could hurt people.”

“Funny. School therapist ‘n’ you’ve got the most issues,” he teases light-heartedly.

“You got no idea, lumberjack.”

You hated killing.

You’re on your knees, arms and hands and chest soaked crimson, sobbing. They’d come out of nowhere, the raiders, and they were hungry for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. All you know is that you felt their need, their desperation, their willingness to do anything to get it.

The flash of harrowing horror someone feels before they die isn’t a unique experience. It simply varies in strength — sometimes it’s a feather-like touch that careens over you, a shuddering realisation that they’re taking their last breath, and sometimes it’s like a crack of lightning. Bloodied hands gripping your biceps with fear in a final attempt to survive. They’d rather cling to you than die alone.

You hate killing. Especially this up close.

You don’t cry for them. You don’t even cry for yourself. It’s a small emotional space where they cry vicariously through you.

You were black-out when it happened, you tell yourself, and suddenly regress to the student you used to be, sobbing on your knees in front of Charles as he tries to teach you serenity and control after an outburst had caused you to kill a nest of birds. He’d done it for Magneto, he said— so he could certainly do it for you.

You should have meditated more.

The sound of a car gurgles somewhere behind you, but you haven’t the energy to look or use your powers to seek out who’s approaching and what their intent is. You’re exhausted enough that whatever they wish to do with you — turn you to processed dog kibble, send you back into the jaws of Cassandra’s lair, kill you — whatever. Just let it happen.

A slamming car door and then the crunching of boots on gravel.

“You’re easy to track.” A pause. “You look pathetic. You done throwing your tantrum?”

Logan. Of course, it’s him.

“Leave me alone, prick.”

“As much as I’d like to, you and the Mouth still have to hold up your end of the bargain,” he quips, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Now get up.”

You glare up at him and his arms unfurl as he notices your tear-streaked face. His expression drops, softens, before it quickly ticks back up into an incredulous, irritated look.

“Are you crying?” He asks with a scoff. He pauses before dragging his hand down his face and rubbing his scruffy jaw. “Jesus Christ. Get up. Get in the car.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ around, Logan. Piss. Off.”

He mumbles a string of incoherent curses and turns on his heel. You think, for a moment and a breath of relief, that he’s truly going to give up on you and leave. He could finish this without you. It’s easier this way.

Instead, a thick bicep wraps around your middle and you’re flung over his shoulder with a yelp.

“Quit your squirmin’.”

“Then put me down!” You yell, thrashing in his grasp. He promptly ignores you, unphased by the jabs you strike at his back. You quickly unsheath the small knife from your jacket sleeve, winding up your arm before you drive it into the muscly pocket by his kidneys.

“Ow! Cheap shot, you little fucker!”

Wade sighs and clutches his hands in front of his chest romantically. “Oh, the newlyweds.”

Logan dumps you into the front seat of the car carelessly, grumbling something as he slams the door shut and applies the child locks. Petty motherfucker.

You rub the sore spot on your tailbone where you landed on a seat buckle funny. You want to bite your tongue but you’re flared up.

“We should switch places. I’m a better driver than you are.”

Logan doesn’t bother looking at you as he starts up the ignition. “Just shut up.”

“You can go on ahead and smoke a cat turd in hell, then.”

“So fuckin’ immature. Grow up.”

“Mom and Dad can you please stop fighting!” Deadpool cries out from the backseats.

You just roll your eyes, resigning into your chair and folding your arms.

At some point along the ride, Wade falls asleep, snoring soundly to himself. You’re silent in the front, drumming a beat on your knees, awkwardly thinking of something to say. You have the impulsive need to fill the silence, even if you were trapped in a crappy car with a man who had made it vehemently clear that he irrevocably hated you.

“So, if they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’ll do?”

Logan rips his eyes towards you. “What did you say?”

“I said when you get back, what’s the first thing—”

“No, no, no— before that.”

You hesitate, wondering if you’d landed yourself in a trap based on the sharpness of his tone and the way that anger crackles off of him like static lightning.

“If… they can fix your world?”

He slams his foot on the brake and you just about catch yourself before your nose goes flying into the dashboard. Wade is thrust out of the front window, smashing through and promptly falling unconscious underneath a tree, neck broken at an awkward angle.

Your eyes widen.

“What do you mean: if?”

“That’s what Wade said—”

“I don’t give a fuck who said what. He promised me he would fix things—”

“Well, I didn’t promise you shit!”

He laughs, low and devoid of humour. “You don’t have a clue if they can fix things, do you?”

Well, no. You’ve been operating on a hunch the entire time and had half come to accept that you might be stuck in the TVA void forever. Who knows how much time has passed elsewhere?

Regardless of the fact you truly had nothing to do with whatever came out of Wade’s mouth, you weren’t about to let Mr. Worst Wolverine shit all over him and his plan to save his friends.

“Is it really that far-fetched? We made an educated wish!”

Something dark flashes across his face. You can feel hate pulsing off of him in dizzying waves, doubling with each passing moment.

“You made… an educated fucking wish?”

“What’s your problem with me, huh? Got a stick up your ass?” You reach for the car door handle, but he snaps up your wrist, holding it high. “You better let go of me right now, old man—”

“Or what, huh? Gonna run away again?” He threatens.

“You geriatric, alcoholic motherfucker. I’ve done nothin’ but try and be civil with you and you treat me like I’m the one who ruined your life! I don’t know what version of me you knew but you need to stop actin’ like I ain’t worthy of being here because of what you did!”

“Listen, I’ll tell you what my problem is with you—” he leans closer, eyes roving over you with a disgusted look on his face. “I mean, you are a ridiculous, emotional, immature crybaby. I have never met a sadder, more attention-seeking, foul-mouthed little bitch in my entire life and that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than two hundred fuckin’ years.”

“And I’ll tell you, that bald chick was right about one thing: you will never amount to anything. You’ll never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with me. I’d say you should’ve died alone but it’s one of God’s best jokes that in this universe you didn’t seem to fuckin’ die, except that ones on the rest of all of us!”

He breathes heavily when his rant finishes. You’re taken aback, jaw slack, eyes warm with the onset of tears born from shock.

“What, you got nothin’ to say, empath?”

You suck in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you flick the emotional switch off in your head.

“I’m going to hurt you now.”

He snorts. “Oh, are you?”

In a swift manoeuvre, you raise your slap him around the face. You knew better than to punch a metal skull, but you still wanted him to sting. His eyes slit, nostrils flaring in challenge.

“That all you got?”

“Not even close,” you snap back, knuckles whitening from the way you curl your fingers into your palm. “You want to play this game, Logan? Fine— but I’m not gonna sit here and keep on provin’ myself to you. I’ve had enough of your Christ-born-again superiority complex. Did you forget that you’re the worst Wolverine?”

“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I’m honest about who I am. Look at you— you’re a fuckin’ joke, pretending to be some hero in a suit made for a dead team,” he barks back, voice rising with each word. “I don’t need your bullshit “wishes”— you should know, I’ve buried people for less.”

“Yeah, because you’re so perfect, ain’t that right?” You yell, voice cracking from the power of your anger. “The almighty Wolverine— the unkillable bastard who can’t seem to hold onto anythin’ good in his life! You’ve had centuries to get your shit together, and look at you—” You look him up and down with disgust. “—still just a bitter, lonely, broken man, takin’ it out on everyone else and a goddamn bottle.”

His eyes narrow, muscles in his jaw twitching as he appears to fight and keep his temper in check, but there’s an obvious crack forming, the dam of his unbridled rage near overflowing.

“You think you know me, huh?” He murmurs, voice a deadly whisper, the calm before the storm. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve been through. You’re nothing but a lost woman playing make-believe and hiding in the shadow of a fuckin’ merc. You’re pathetic.”

Something inside of you breaks. “I’m pathetic? Look at yourself! You’re so goddamn desperate to feel anythin’ that you’ll lash out at everyone around you for some semblance of warmth. There’s a fine line between hate and love, after all! You think you’re so strong because you can heal, because you’ve lived forever? Yeah, right— you’re the weakest, most cowardly man I’ve met in a loong time.”

The blades between his knuckles shoot out with a shink! For a moment, you think that he’s going to attack you. Hell— you even hope that he will, just to diminish some of the unbearable, stifling tension. Instead, the blades retract with a deep breath, and he grabs you forcefully by the collar of your suit, yanking you so close that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

His voice is low and rough, each word dripping with venom. “Go on, keep psychoanalysing me. You wanna talk about cowardice? How about leaving people who need you, just because it’s easier to run? Better yet, how about the fact that you abandoned the X-men to hide away in the mountains, huh?”

Your eyes widen with recognition.

“Yeah… Wade’s got a big mouth. Told me everythin’. You’re no hero. Hell, you’re just a selfish, reckless hillbilly who failed at pretending to be human.”

Your heart palpitates in your chest, each word coiling and slicing like blades in your intestines, but you refuse to let him see how much it hurts. Instead, your lips curl into a cold, bitter smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And you’re just a sad, angry old man who can’t handle the fact that he’s lost everythin’. Go ahead: keep pushing people away! Keep hidin’ behind that anger o’ yours! It’s got you this far, ain’t it?! I’ve treated kids with trauma worth double yours and they were nothin’ but kind and selfless. I won’t let you project your failures onto me. I’m done with this.”

“Yeah, why don’t you walk away!”

The argument reaches a fever pitch, tension sizzling in the air between you. You’re so close, glaring at each other with so much anger, so much resonating heat, that it feels like something’s going to break. And then, suddenly, it does.

Before either of you can think, you close the gap between you, lips crashing against his. It’s not gentle, it’s not soft— the kiss is rough, violent, a clash of lips and fury. His grip on your collar tightens, and for a moment, you’re both frozen, caught in the shock of what’s happening.

But then something more fiery in nature than anger ignites, and he kisses you back just as fiercely, and maybe a little more desperate— like he’s trying to pour out all of his pain and resentment, into this one moment. Your tongues slide against each other and his teeth catch against yours as he groans into your mouth. Your hands thread through his hair, yanking him closer as if trying to hold onto something real and tangible in the chaos of the kiss, reeling from the sudden spinning in your head. It’s angry, raw, filled with all the things you’re not capable of verbalising: grief, love, yearning, reconciliation.

The result of a painful reunion.

The world falls away and all that’s left is the taste of him, the feel of his lips against yours, rough and demanding. You hate him right now— hate him so much that you can’t help but want him. The sheer intensity of it all overwhelms you and makes your fingers shake against the nape of his neck, but you can’t pull away— not now, not when you’ve tasted the wine. You’re too far gone, caught up in the storm of his intoxication, fantasising about ripping that yellow and blue suit off of him and riding him until there’s nothing left for him to regenerate.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the bubble of the moment bursts with the sound of slow clapping coming from outside the car. You jerk back from Logan, breath coming in ragged gasps. Logan is equally as stunned, still tight-gripping your collar as if he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.

You both see Wade sitting up, hands together, eyes wide as saucers as he takes in the scene.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did I just wake up in a telenovela?” His voice is laced with amusement. “I mean, I know you two clearly had some unresolved sexual tension— but this? Oh, this is gold. Please don’t stop on my account, just let me get the camcorder first!”

You’re too stun-locked to respond, lips parting and closing as your brain scrambles to formulate a response as you’re still reeling from what just happened. Logan (for once) seems equally as lost for words, his typical scowl replaced with a look of confusion.

“Shut up, Mouth,” Logan barks, but there’s no real heat behind it. There can’t be, really, not when you’ve both been caught red-handed. He releases your collar at once.

Wade, however, is having none of it. “Oh, no, no, no! You don’t just get to brush this off like it’s nothing! That was a full-on makeout session! I only interrupted because I thought you were about to rip each other’s clothes off.” He sighs wistfully and crosses his legs. “Here I was thinking that you two hated each other— but I guess all that anger was just foreplay, huh?”

Your face burns with a mixture of shame and something else you’re not quite ready to admit. “Wade— cut it out.”

He grins, not deterred in the least. “Oh, but I’m loving this. All that pent-up aggression finally coming to fruition. It’s beautiful, truly.”

Logan shoots him a look that could melt iron, but Wade just simply shrugs, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. Everyone being me.”

“Wade,” you warn through gritted teeth.

“Well, unless you want me to watch (which I am not opposed to, by the way) maybe next time the two of you should get a room,” he tilts his head. “Or, you know, a couples therapist.”

He then turns to address Logan directly.

“And I must’ve missed the AO3 tags because I did not peg you for the enemies-to-lovers type, Mister. Who knew all it took was a bit of hate-kissing to get the sparks flying? Don’t look so ashamed! I’m just jealous I didn’t get to you first.”

He stumbles towards the car and collapses into the back seat. “Next time you wanna bump uglies, just ask for some privacy! You can save me the broken neck!” He gets himself comfortable, man-spreading and laying his hands on both of your shoulders as you stare dead-forwards, unable to look at each other.

“Gosh, you’re both so tense.” He begins massaging. “Look— props to you both for not letting all that angst go to waste. This is a safe space, and there’s no shame in a little hormone-induced—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Logan interrupts, revving the car back to life and shoving his prodding hands away. “Just be quiet back there.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll keep the commentary to myself. But just so you know— got that bad boy playing on repeat, right here.” He says, tapping the side of his head.

You bury your face in your hands. This was going to be a long car ride.

As the car starts moving again, you muster the bravery to risk a glance at Logan. His expression is hard to read but his energy thrums with uncertainty. The boiling hatred seems to have dialled down to a gentle simmer, mostly redirected towards himself rather than you. There’s something else— something that wasn’t there before. You rip your eyes away quickly, mind racing.

For somebody so in tune with emotions and the literal ability to manipulate them if you so desired, you were horrendous at navigating your own. You don’t know what this kiss meant, or if it even meant anything at all.

If there’s anyone you didn’t expect to come across in the void, it’s X-23— Laura. She’s taller, now, with hair down her back, but she’s still got that stern, mean look on her face that intimidated you the first time you met her.

The weak front door squeaks when you open it a crack. A girl, maybe in her small teen years, blinks up at you.

“Can I help you?” You ask, wiping your flour-dusty hands down on the front of your cooking apron.

“Are you—” she says your name.

You attempt to swing the door shut, but she jams it with her boot. You flick your eyes up, glance around for any signs of threats, and then lower your gaze to her. You wrap your cardigan around your mid-section.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. Who the Hell are you, kid, and what do you want?”

“I’m here about Logan,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Logan. A name followed by your own, both of which you hadn’t heard in years.

“He’s not here, kid. He died years ago.”

“I know,” she answers, unwavering. “I was there when it happened. Your name was the last thing he said.”

You’d let her in for a glass of sugary sweet tea that day, but once stories were exchanged you told her not to come back. She respected your wishes— she said she simply wanted to put a name to the face, to get closure, but you’d felt her desperation. Perhaps she was seeking out respite, or family, but you were in no position to be sharing your space with someone who could put another target on your back.

After introductions were made with the others who had been ripped from their timelines (Elektra, Blade and oh my god a Gambit variant with muscles so huge he could pop your head between his biceps) you excused yourself to sit outside. The buzzing emotional energy made your collar feel a little tight around the neck, your head a little fuzzy with noise, so you decided to reignite the small campfire a few yards away from the safe-house and rest there, instead.

You hadn’t realised you were being followed.

“It’s not safe here.”

“It’s not safe anywhere, Logan.”

He looks defeated, raising and clasping his hands behind his head.

“I gotta leave, baby.”

“If you leave, I ain’t lettin’ you back,” you whisper. “You don’t heal the same anymore, Logan, and you promised me—”

“I know what I promised,” he rebuts, but not angrily. You can already see on his face that he’s made his choice. He’s not coming to you to discuss it. “But I owe it to him. To Charles. He gave me everything.”

“So then what did I give you?” You ask. “Not a home, not my love, not everything?” You slam the tea towel down and turn away from him as the tears form. He’s quiet, perhaps processing everything, but you’re too impatient.

“If you’re just gon’ get up and leave, do it now. I won’t beg you to stay, Jimmy.”

“I love you.”

You don’t say it back.

You wake up with a start, damp clinging to your forehead. You immediately sense another presence and glance over to see Logan watching you with a steady gaze. His expression is soft and almost reverent at first, but his facade hardens with a quick tick of his jaw.

“You talk in your sleep.” The bottle in his hand sloshes as he takes a drink. “Nightmare?”

You sigh frustratedly when you realise it’s him. Of course, it’s him — his energy reeks of whiskey and self-loathing. You prop yourself on your elbows, massaging the sore spots on your temples where sleep fog forms.

“I can’t even get some rest without you botherin’ me? You’re leakin’ self-hatred everywhere.”

“Quit hogging the fire then.”

“Fuck you,” you murmur, but it’s without bite.

A moment passes before he fills the silence again. “What are you even doing out here, alone? Trying to get yourself killed? Pretty stupid.”

“Do you know how hard it is to sleep when nobody shuts up?”

His brows knit. “They’re all dead asleep.”

His hand runs up and down your back.

“Can’t settle?” He asks after you sigh.

“No.” You turn so you’re lying on your back, shoulder touching his, staring up at the ceiling. “Everyone is feeling so loud. It’s like a frequency I can’t turn off.”

He hums. “They’re grieving, I s’pose.”

“Even you and you always said you hated the guy.” You shuffle to lie on your side, facing him. You place a hand on his bare chest. “I can feel it, you know.”

“I didn’t hate Scott. Just found him… obnoxiously irritating.”

“Tough guy.” You giggle and stroke his cheek. “You’re turnin’ soft, old man.”

He pulls you flush against him and presses a kiss to your hairline. You lay in verbal silence for a while, soaking up his presence (god, you were so in love), but you’re interrupted when he abruptly sits up and grabs the white vest he discarded somewhere near the bed.

You lean on your elbows. “Where you goin’?”

“Let’s go for a ride.”

“What?”

“You can’t sleep here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

“But Charles said—”

“Screw Charles. You comin’ or what?”

He hadn’t told you he loved you yet, but at that moment you felt it.

And so you do, clinging to his mid-section on his motorcycle, head stuffed into the helmet he affectionately forces you to wear. It’s a warm night in New York, soupy with heat, but the further you get away from the compound with him by your side the more you feel you can breathe.

“’Course, you don’t understand.”

You reach for the small pouch on your hip and retrieve a cigarette. You light it between your lips, taking a seat a few paces away from him, hands still shaking a little with the aftershocks of the night terror.

“Since when did you start smoking?”

You perk a brow. “I’ve always smoked.”

He seems to realise something and simply shakes his head before returning to the vice in his fist.

“Right.”

You stare at him for a long, passing moment, before pulling out your lighter again and offering it towards him. He perks a brow.

“I know you got a cigar in there somewhere,” you say. He pauses, sighs, and then retrieves a thick cigar from one of the pouches on his suit. You lean closer, flick the lighter, and cup your hand to protect it from the breeze, shamelessly glancing at the dancing glow that bathes his face amid the firelight. You feel the urge to kiss him again, and when his eyes flick up to yours, you think for the briefest second that he wants to kiss you, too.

Swallowing, you collapse your lighter and clear your throat. You sit quietly, smoking and drinking in a silence only negated by the distant sound of chittering bugs around you. Once you’re finished with your cigarette, you toss the butt into the fire.

“We’re infiltrating tomorrow morning.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Your lips tighten into a thin line. “We won’t make it without you.”

“Sure you will. I’m not him, you know,” Wolverine grumbles, slugging another shot of alcohol.

You scrutinise him from across the log. You wonder if he feels as pathetic as he looks.

“No— you got that right,” you answer. You pry the liquor from his hands but the grip he releases from the neck of the bottle must have been a mercy on his part because you knew he was extraordinarily stronger than you. “He was much braver than you.”

His eyes flicker from the flames to you as you take a long swig.

“Although probably just as stupid.”

A pause. Crackling and popping firewood fills the silence.

“But, he was a hero. And so are you.”

A beat before he spits a dry laugh, “what gave you that idea?”

You give him a once over and offer a half-smile. “That suit, for starters.”

He looks down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing it and wipes away a stray speck of blood from the bright material that you’re sure you might be responsible for.

“What, you like it?” He grunts.

You can’t help but smile. “Yellow suits you.”

“This is all I had left to remember you— them by,” he says, tone turning more sombre as he reminisces.

You decide it’s not the time to make another jab, so, instead, you play back and forth with the bottle for a while until the alcohol stops stinging your throat.

Something small shatters inside of you when you watch him muster the strength to look into your eyes, and his look a little glassy.

“Did you love him?”

Woof, that needed a healthy drink of courage to answer. When you hold his gaze, there’s a hollowness to his expression— an unasked question. Was there truly a version of him worth loving?

“Yeah.” You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth to cover the crack in your voice. “Yeah, I did.”

He’d insisted he hadn’t wanted you around yet he’d kissed you and now followed you to where you’d been sleeping. That had to count for something, so you extend your arm and gesture the bottle towards him— an olive branch in the form of shitty Jack Daniels. Your fingers touch when he accepts it and the brief glimmer of eye contact you share sends shivery energy zipping between you.

“I loved him,” you repeat, as if convincing yourself. A repeated balm to soothe the pain of letting him leave.

“He’s an idiot for leaving you.”

You bite back a sob-laugh, imagination caught somewhere between wondering who you’d rather beat up more: him, or yourself.

“Maybe I’m an idiot for not followin’ him.” You sniff deeply to push back the incoming sob-induced mess. “Not that he woulda let me.”

He hums resignedly.

Clearing your throat, you tuck your hands between your thighs. Swiftly moving on. “What was I— she like?”

He takes a long drink and sighs thickly when he comes up for air. He looks down at his hands when he talks as if choosing his words thoughtfully and carefully.

“Strong, smart. Stubborn. Far too fuckin’ stubborn.”

You force a smile over the flinch of pain in your chest. “Guess we got that in common.”

You reach up and twist the dog tag around your neck, feeling for the ring you’d slipped around the chain. You were never married legally but were in all the ways that mattered. Your heart aches for the brief moment of domesticity you shared with him. You expect him to be finished, but he once laughs, a smile cracking on his face.

“She loved kids— had a soft spot for the weird ones.” He squints and rubs at the flesh between his knuckles where the blades typically protrude. “Put me in my place. Stood up for what was right.”

His words strike a chord in your heart, playing the familiar tune of yearning and guilt and grief. A swelling sensation rises from your stomach and you’re not sure if you’re going to scream, cry or throw up.

“Were you—?”

“In love with her? What, like you can’t tell?” He interrupts, face hardening. Another drink. “It doesn’t matter. We argued one night and I refused to follow her back to the school, ‘bout the same time the humans went mutant hunting.”

Logan takes a moment to catch himself.

“When I came back, shit-faced from the bar, I realised I’d gotten my version of you murdered, along with the rest of them. Laid up like a fucking log pile. That’s what loving me got you.”

The gruesome imagery sours the liquor in your stomach. You push the nausea down with a hard swallow.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wh—” He jolts back, face pinched. “I got you killed, and you’re fuckin’ sorry?”

“There’s a world where you didn’t make that choice. You know, I’m not proud of who I am, either,” you answer, softly. “After you left and I lost you… I got bitter, stopped pulling my punches.”

“You never liked hurting people.”

“I didn’t.” You take a deep breath, willing away the warmth that pools behind your eyes. You quickly regain composure with a short cough. “Whatever woman you’re comparing me to, I stopped being her a long time ago. Like you told me— I’m no hero.”

He grunts, looking like he regrets saying that now. Checkmate. You’re not what either of you expected or yearned for in one another, but maybe you’re exactly what you both need.

“You know, your accents thicker.”

He says it as if to draw a line of separation, but you take it as an invitation. Your head swims from the alcohol, and against what probably is your better judgement, you inch closer to him until your knees bump against each other.

“That’s what I get for hidin’ in the mountains. Got adopted by a scary old lady and her church friends. I reckon she rubbed off on me. You’d like her, I think,” you tell him fondly. There’s something wistful about it, imagining a life with him. You grieve a life you never had but somehow, in his company, the melancholy loosens its grip.

“Maybe we got lucky,” you add flatly.

He lifts the bottle with a dry laugh. “You have a very funny idea of what lucky means, bub.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. Y’see, they didn’t get lucky. They died, ‘n’ we lost each other,” you explain, glancing up at the stars as if either version of you would ever be in heaven, as if it was as loving enough as a mother’s womb to stretch wide enough to allow space for mutants.

God probably hated you just as much as they did down here.

You lower your head onto his shoulder. “But, we’re still here. Maybe there was always space in my universe for you.”

“You’re drunk,” he observes flatly, but he doesn’t move.

“A little.” You get more comfortable against his tense bicep and close your eyes. “Humour me, why don’t you?”

He sighs, but it’s gentle. “Just for a while.”

“Good, because you’re not very good at keeping your feelings quiet. I know you like this.”

“Keep that to yourself.”

You sigh, eyes remaining closed. “We ain’t gonna talk about it, are we?” You ask, in reference to the kiss.

“Nope.”

A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, vision blurring as if lying underneath a rippling river current. Paradox has just explained the stakes to you — to stop Cassandra, somebody would have to lay down on the wire and make the sacrifice play. This wasn’t a matter of regeneration anymore— it was being ripped apart from the seams, atomised.

It just so happens that your cat, Kevin, has been loving his little journey around the TVA. Cheater.

“You won’t survive it,” is what you say in response to Logan offering himself up for the job. What you really meant was: I don’t think I can survive losing you again.

“I know,” Logan answers. His eyes drip to where you palm at the slow-healing wound on your side, courtesy of the Lady Deadpool variant. You’re winded, running on fumes, and know you’re in no position to start throwing yourself out there as a suicide volunteer. You’d never make the journey, let alone succeed in your venture.

“That’s why it’s gotta be me,” Deadpool interrupts, peeling the mask from his face to address you both. “Neither of you asked for any of this. You were right. I lied. I lied right to both of your faces — just to get you to help me, and you did.”

“You didn’t lie,” Logan replies, throwing you a glance. “You made an educated wish.”

He reaches into his pocket and slaps the bloodied Polaroid of Deadpool’s friends against Wade’s chest. The gesture is a final, silent acknowledgement of why any of you are here in the first place, and everything that’s led to this moment.

“I got nothin’ back in my world,” he explains, the sharp arrow of his words striking a sting straight through your heart. “Let me do this. For you.”

You could see that this meant more to him, that he would only deem himself worthy and die a peaceful death if he could do it knowing he saved at least one variant of you. This is more than just a mission. This is his only chance to redeem himself, and you know you’re in no position to start trying to convince him that you’d have him either way. Fuck redemption.

You’re parallel from one another, standing just outside of touching distance. It was a cruel existence— reaching out and never quite being able to hold on. It’s inevitable, the pull you feel. You’re dictated by his gravity but cursed by the narrative.

Your chest rises and falls with shallow, laboured breaths as you attempt to process what’s happening, what he’s asking you to let him do. The pain in your side ebbs only from the comparative pain of watching another version of the man you love sacrifice himself for you.

His voice is a quiet whisper. “Give me this.”

But I love you. The words are there, hiding behind your clenched teeth, gnawing at the bars like a feral animal caged in the reminder that this isn’t — shouldn’t be — the man that you love.

Something shifts and as you’re running on the delirium of your battery running low, healing resources drained, you decide that you don’t actually care to make the distinction any more.

You’re in no condition to fight; you barely had the energy to argue with him, let alone stop him. But you can’t just let him go.

One wobbly step forward. You poke his chest, mustering whatever energy remains to express your feelings in the only true way you know how. “I…” you stammer, but you suddenly can’t find the words.

His hand reaches up and he splays yours flat against his chest. Faintly, buried deep behind the armoured layer of his suit, you feel the distinct thunk, thunk of his heart. He exhales deeply when your empathetic energy transmission reaches the other side. Your eyes connect, and even through the sharp whites of his mask, you can feel the psionic pulse resonating between you two— strong enough that the wound on your side begins to sew itself together.

“I know,” he whispers.

And you believe that he does.

He nods shortly, releases your hand, and turns on his heel. You collapse against the control centre, eyes needling through the camera footage, desperate to watch the final moments and know that his sacrifice was worth it.

It’s about the same time that Deadpool yanks his mask back on and barrels down the hallway after him.

“Wade!”

You glance back at the party as you creep towards the apartment door to leave. Your consciousness has only recently slipped back into place, having hovered somewhere above your body for the entire time you witnessed your friends atomically ripped apart, only for them to return mere moments later.

You think it might’ve been witnessing Wolverine sweaty and shirtless that was finally the last straw for you. You’re not sure you’ve recovered since.

You thought you were being sneaky about your departure, but a flat hand reaches from out of view, splays and then holds the door closed.

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Logan asks, voice slow and tentative.

“I ain’t runnin’ this time, I promise,” you answer. He rests his arm on the beam above him, making him appear even taller and maybe even more imposing. Your pulse quickens as you look up at him, trying to find the right words, ones that you hope won’t give you away. You nearly squeak. “I um— just—”

He arches a brow, a hint of a micro-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He shifts, getting closer by just a fraction. “Yeah?”

Trying to keep your distance is proving to be immensely hard when he’s gotten himself this deliciously close. His energy tastes of confidence, a stark contrast to the self-loathing only a mere few days prior. It’s magnetic. If you make eye contact now, you’re not sure you’ll be able to control yourself.

The atmosphere crackles with tension, like the static energy right before lightning strikes. His gaze is intense when you look at him, and with the way his eyes glance purposefully down at your parted lips—

Jesus. Pull yourself together.

You gently pull away from him and feel the spell of the moment dissolve. “I just… need time.”

Recognition flashes on his face, as well as a tick of disappointment, but he seems to understand.

A beat, then he taps the door before stepping aside. “Alright. Don’t be a stranger.”

Wade bursts around the corner, arms wide and voice booming. Vanessa hangs off of his arm, white teeth gleaming with mischievous joy.

“Whoa, hey there, lovebirds! What’s going on here— a secret rendezvous? Looking for somewhere to sneak off? Should I cue the romantic music or just give you two some privacy?”

You jump in surprise at his sudden entrance, flinching away from Logan as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Logan’s expression shifts from whatever tender moment was brewing, spell broken, to a mix of exasperation and resignation, jaw tightening.

“Wade,” he grumbles, voice sharp, but you can acknowledge there’s a level of begrudging affection beneath the steely surface. “Timing, as usual, is impeccable.”

“Um, actually, I was just leavin’,” you answer, tugging on your bag.

“WHAT!” Wade exclaims, face dropping. “We haven’t even gotten to our favourite part yet!”

You tick a brow. “Our favourite part?”

“The cocaine part,” he says, matter-of-factually.

“Wade, that was one time,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry. Thank you for inviting me. I just can’t miss my flight.”

Dogpool jumps at your ankles, whimpering and chewing on the hem of your jeans. You give her a gentle scratch on her head, deftly avoiding the lick of her impressive tongue. Wade scoops her up, holding her against his shoulder and kissing her affectionately on her wet nose.

“You, ah, need a ride?” Logan offers.

Your heart stutters at his chivalrous attempt. “Oh, um. That’s okay— I called a cab. So.”

That was a lie. You hadn’t— not yet. You just weren’t sure if you were going to make the right decisions if you were alone in his company for an hour. Probably wouldn’t make it to the airport without fighting or crying or making stupid choices.

He rubs his jaw. “Right.”

“I’ll… see you around?”

“I better!” Wade yells, using two fingers to gesture that he’s keeping his eye on you as Vanessa yanks him around the corner gleefully.

A magnetic tether — or red string, whatever you want to call it — seems to strain when you walk away from Logan. You feel the pull in your chest, a fluttering of electricity, but you swallow the urges and ignore the way they scratch like glass on the way down.

You call an Uber, squeezing your bag tightly for a source of comfort as you crowd yourself into the back seat. You spare one last glance at the apartment and think for a brief moment you see a silhouette of someone watching you from the balcony, but they slip away into the light before you can discern it.

You know, though. Of course, you know.

You expected relief when you arrived home, but, instead, the aching, gnawing black hole in your chest seems to grow exponentially. You go through the motions— feed your cat, tend to the garden, eat the food with no appetite, go to Church.

The fixture of Jesus pinned to the cross gives you pause for the first time. You wonder if he was a mutant.

You weren’t sure how much of this “time” thing you were going to need to heal or make a decision on where you and Logan stood after everything, but only after your second night, sleepless and alone, do you start to doubt that this will be an easy process. You communicate like you know what you’re doing, but you haven’t stopped shaking since he kissed you, like a newborn foal traversing ice.

You want to do things right. You’re not trying to replace any missing pieces or live up to any expectations he might have of you. The girl he knew seemed to be a softer, sweeter (less traumatised) version of you, and you worry that you’d be constantly comparing him to a ghost of himself.

The rain lulls you as it patters on the window by your bed, but sleep doesn’t take you.

You hear thunder, you think, and wonder if the chickens are frightened in their coops. However, the distant grumble continues to grow, reverberating through the floorboards of your rickety cabin. As it creeps closer you discern that it’s not a brewing storm— but the growling engine of a motorcycle.

Awash with a deep sense of knowing, you throw yourself out of bed and knot a silk robe around your middle. The sound of the engine dissipates, replaced only by the hammering rain and the rushing pulse in your ears when you tear your door open.

You see him— all leather jacket slick with rainwater and tight jeans, brows pinched against the onslaught of the weather as he dismounts his bike.

Logan.

When your eyes meet, there’s a palpable shift in the air, and the storm, angry as a howling spirit, mirrors the turbulent emotions within you. You don’t speak, you don’t think, you just act.

Barefoot, dressed in your slip of a robe, you race down the short path and meet him halfway.

“Logan? Logan?” You call out. “What are you doin’ here?!”

“Had to see you,” he calls out between strides, voice nonchalant as if what he’s said was obvious.

You’re closing the distance. “That’s a day’s ride, and the weather—”

Instead of letting you finish, he grasps your face, kissing you suddenly and with a reverence so sincere that your knees feel gelatinous and weak. His thumbs brush away the raindrops— tears? —that drip over your crystallised lashes. His touch is both grounding and electrifying; the warmth of him pressed against you is a stark contrast to the chilling downpour.

Your fingers curl against the front of his jacket, clinging with equal fervour as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored from floating someplace else. The strength of his body crowds over you, arm sliding down to capture you by your waist as you lean into him, syrupy-decadent and entirely reliant on him to keep you upright.

The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding over yours tasting both bittersweet and intoxicating in equal measures, like cigar smoke and peppermint gum. There’s a distinct sharpness of liqour and you wonder if he had a shot (or bottle) of courage before coming here. You breathe deeply against his skin, smelling rainwater, musk and gunpowder; your senses are completely overwhelmed by him and you’re not sure that anything could pull you away.

The red string knots.

When you both eventually take pause, gasping for air as the rain continues to pelt, his eyes lock with yours. He radiates relief, desire, and a raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

“You’re freezin’,” he murmurs, peppering kisses against your lips, your cold nose, and pulling one of your hands to his face to peck along your palm. You feel dizzy in his embrace, drunk on his lips.

“You should come inside,” you whisper, “before the neighbours start askin’ questions.”

He quietly nods, kissing your fingers before following you inside and ducking away from the rain.

Once inside, he shakes the rain from his hair with a flick, eyes immediately roaming around the innards of your respectable (tiny) house, the size of him immediately proportionally shrinking the interior. He absorbs your surroundings, chivalrously pretending like he can’t see every curve of you in that wet material.

You lead him towards the heath, lighting a small fire to help dry you both off. You leave, pottering around to gather some towels for your hair, and arrive back to see he’s peeled off the top layer of his clothes, leaving him half-exposed, his back an impressive marvel of rippling muscle. He glances at you over his shoulder.

You’re lost for words, but can’t just stand there ogling him. “Um, I don’t think I have any spare clothes that’ll… fit…”

When he turns to face you, his rain-slick torso shines in the firelight, skin glistening on the taught muscles of his biceps as he accepts a towel from you. Your words lag, entirely distracted by the realisation of one thing when you glance down at his v-line and dark, coiling hair that creeps down into his jeans: you’re absolutely going to have sex with this man.

You might’ve decided that when you watched the way his jeans clung to him when he dismounted his motorcycle, but that’s beside the point.

“That’s alright,” he answers, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes roving shamelessly over the damp, silky robe that clings to your silhouette effortlessly. “Don’t need ‘em.”

Your mouth dries when he steps closer to you, head angled, lips centimetres apart.

“Logan…” you breathe, tone edging toward a warning.

He presses against you, tilting you back. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop. I’ll get back on that bike and I’ll leave.”

You creep further away, trying to catch your breath. “I—”

The words don’t manifest, simply because you don’t have it in you to lie— to deny yourself of this.

He cages you in against the wall, shrinking you underneath his frame, eyes narrowed and dark as they search for yours through lowered lashes. “Tell me you don’t feel somethin’, and I’ll walk away. You won’t see me again.”

His bare-chested proximity was overwhelming you. You’re acutely aware of every inch of his skin that touches yours, pebbled nipples hard against his warm flesh, stubbled jaw nuzzling against your neck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and hormonal, a ball of puppy fat and unrequited crushes. The space between your thighs positively aches with heat, throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that I feel something.”

He leans back, lips quirked with a flash of disappointment.

You blink up at him. “Let me show you instead.”

He ticks an eyebrow.

You use your empathetic influence to decrease his heartbeat, relaxing him down to the bone. He sighs, nosing against your shoulder, arms flexing as he holds himself up against you.

“Just with a little influence…” you stroke your way up from the slow pulse in his neck to his jaw, capturing him swiftly. You use your mutation to increase his heart rate this time, hiking it up to an excitable level. His cheeks begin to flush, pupils dilated, lips parted with the anticipation of your kiss. His eyes darken with something intrinsically primal and hungry.

“Does it excite you?” You ask, innocently.

He shakes his head all dog-like as if to regain control, canine showing as his lips curl into a wolfish grin.

“You’re not the only one with… tricks. I can do that, too— in other ways,” he says, tone low and suggestive. He lifts a hand, tracing a knuckle over your exposed collarbone, shifting the soft material of your robe just an inch. Your breath hitches.

“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?”

You blush. You hadn’t known that.

You challenge his eye contact, feigning self-control and authority. The stare-down has your pulse spiking, arousal ricocheting down your spine and sitting low and syrupy in your belly.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast, too.”

Oh, Hell. He’s got you melted like butter in a pan.

You rest your head against the wall, breath quickening. “If we do this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Good,” he growls. “I don’t like to stop.”

The teasing back-and-forth game of teetering towards nearly touching finally gets the better of you. You’re weak, as malleable as soft dough, so you invite him against your mouth with a sigh-wine and a tug on the nape of his neck.

He positively devours you, a hand palming at your breast as you kiss desperately and feverishly. The shoulder of your robe slips and you’re half-exposed, the slip barely holding itself together by the loose knot on your waist. He pulls you impossibly closer, the skin of his chest flush against yours as he reaches and digs fingers into the globe of your ass, hips twitching together.

You fumble between your bodies, yanking on his belt buckle and zipper impatiently. He pulls backwards, a wet string of spit snapping between your lips as you separate, helping you with steadier fingers to remove his jeans. With equal passion, he swiftly tugs on the waist-tie of your robe and discards it somewhere on the floor.

When you’re both bare, nude silhouettes sharp and soft in the firelight, he stumbles you over to the plush rug in the centre of the room. He nods to the couch.

“Legs up.”

You obey without hesitation, taking your seat and spreading decadently for him. He kneels below you of you, hips between your ankles, and gazes at you like a hungry, stalking animal. You feel impossibly sexy and dangerous.

He peppers kisses along the bone of your ankle first, foot hiked up onto his shoulder, only breaking eye contact to flutter his eyes closed. He moves along the inner length of your leg, pausing keenly against the sensitive parts— the thin stretch behind your knee, the soft plush of your thigh. He lowers himself, scruff tickling between your legs, and then licks a molten stroke between your folds, parting you with his tongue and burying his face deeper.

You clench around his skull, mindfulness of your heightened mutant abilities long forgotten. You can’t crush metal between your thighs. Or can you?

He groans into you, varying suckling and kissing you on your clit with long strokes on the blade of his tongue to your hole, lapping up the nectar of your arousal, fingers digging bruisingly into your hips. The sting of his grip and the relentless lave of his tongue entice moans from you, fingers raking into his hair for some semblance of reality grounding in your pleasure-lapsed consciousness.

Jesus. With as filthy as his mouth was, you should’ve known he would be this good at eating pussy.

You come quick, orgasm pulsing on his lips. The burn of overstimulation seizes your muscles, writhing against his onslaught, but he shoves your hips down.

“Not done with you yet,” he murmurs possessively, leaning back to wipe his chin. “On all fours.”

You bite your lower lip, suppressing the humiliation of the intimacy (vulgarity) of it. You turn, belly still clenching with the aftershocks, arching with the anticipation, whining moments later when his mouth reconnects with you. His hands palm at your ass, spreading you wider, tongue slipping dangerously close to the tight ring of muscle.

He slides a finger knuckle-deep, miming fucking you in a rhythmic pulse. His other hand massages you, thumb sliding down until you jerk sensitively against his nudging intrusion.

You feel impossibly full and tingly, clenching around the burn of his thumb and the velvet of his finger, second orgasm surging and bubbling over with your face pressed against the couch cushion, lips agape. You’re slick, drip-dropping onto his cupping palm, every nerve in your body burning raw as his wrist works you through the pulses.

You turn over, relishing in the sight of his scruff glistening with the aftermath of your orgasm, his eyes dark with lust— a hellish man, seraphic on his knees for you. Your insides clench at the sight as he quite literally shatters and redefines what worship means to you.

“Tired already?” He hums, massaging your hips.

You perk a challenging brow. “That was just the warm-up, old man.”

“Alright,” he seethes, sucking on his lower lip as he lifts himself up to your level. “Show me what you got then, baby.”

When you kiss, his mouth slides against yours, drenched with the taste of yourself. His cock steels against your belly when you pull him close, tip pearl-smooth with precum when you reach down and grasp him with a hollowed fist. The feel of him, heavy and warm in your grip, fans to life the flames of your briefly quenched arousal, and you hungrily pull him down onto the couch beside you.

Moisture pools on your tongue as you rub him. You spit on your hand before stroking him from the base to tip, lathering him silky with your drool. You tuck your hair behind your ears, narrowing your cheeks as you slide your mouth up and down his length, fisting the inches that remain.

“Christ.” He twitches in your mouth as you gently massage the warm weight of his sac, lewd sounds emanating from where your lips and tongue meet him. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, gripping your hair in a fist at the crown of your head. Your engine purrs with his encouragement, revving with newfound enthusiasm.

You always gave as good as you got, after all, and you’re certainly not one to back away from a challenge.

His head lolls onto the back of the couch, thighs tense beneath you, cock hot and hard on your tongue. He growls when he comes, pulsing strongly in your mouth as you lap up the produce of his orgasm, salty and molten down your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Put those regenerative powers to good use, why don’t you?” You ask, working him through the over-sensitivity with your wrist. His eyes don’t once leave yours, even as they glaze over and flinch from the pleasure burn. There’s a sharp look of challenging determination on his face— a grit of his teeth, the furrow in his brow. He remains hard in your hands and you perk an impressed brow. Not bad for an old man.

There’s a sweet moment of vulnerability when you crawl over him, a brief sobering in the cloud of lust, a clarity of two not-quite strangers and their shared grief and yearning.

You’re not sure where this moment will take you, but the love of somebody scraping together the shards of a shattered heart for a brief time, even as it cuts their hands, holds you with a semblance of human connection so sincere that you’ll carry it with you for a lifetime.

His thighs spread to accommodate you. You hold your fingers against the thick chords in his neck for support as you fumble between your bodies, slotting him against the catch in your cunt before lowering yourself entirely.

You hiss against the intrusion and he steadies you with a hand on your hip.

“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You laugh-moan, laying your palms against the coils of hair on his sweat-shimmering chest.

“I can take it.”

The fire, intended to help dry you off, creates a heated environment that beads sweat on his temple. The only brain cells that remain coherent bounce around on lust in your skull — so you lean forward, lick the salty droplet clean, and sigh-whine as you begin rocking against him.

You fall into sync quickly, a desperate rhythm of desperate bodies. The delicious ache of him inside you is a masochistic thrill, similar to the irresistible press on a day-old bruise. The squelching shlick between your bodies is an animalistic reminder of your flesh and blood as you chase the pleasure, bouncing with vigour.

“Christ— I can feel you…” his jaw clenches with resolve, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. “…dripping all over me. You wanted this bad, huh?”

“Wanted to ride you in that fuckin’ Honda,” you straighten your posture, leaning away from him to hold your breasts, panting words between bated breaths. “Thought it might shut you up.”

His hand snaps up and grabs you roughly by the chin. “Mm… mouthy, aren’t ya?”

You grin. “You got no idea, lumberjack.”

He pulls your face against him, meeting your mouth halfway in a sloppier, fever-driven kiss that shoots arousal to your core like a shot of his favourite whiskey. Something feral stirs within you: a primal, cellular-deep need to connect with him further. Your empathetic power roils off of you like steam on a hot spring, surging into and merging with him until there’s nothing but one feeling, a black hole of unquenchable desire.

You suddenly feel as though you are him: navel-deep, a throbbing muscle with an aching desire to dive further into the serpent-clutch of your cunt, gliding through tingly, honey-silk velvet, blades hanging onto a tether of self-control as they threaten to slide out of your knuckles in ecstasy.

Well. This was certainly new. Add “voodoo sex doll” to your list of mutations.

You gasp, ripping away from the kiss, your powers recoiling back into you at whip-lash speed, dizzying in its ferocity. His eyes meet yours with darkened curiosity.

“Did you—”

“I felt that,” he grunts, tongue darting out to roll over his lips. “It always like that for you? Feelin’ so fuckin’ full?”

You half-laugh blissfully. “Only the good times.”

“I’ll show you a good time, alright.”

He isn’t gentle when he manhandles you, forcing you into an arch as he repositions and aligns himself behind your thighs, one foot planted firmly on the floor, the other bent to accommodate the new angle. He reinserts himself inside of you with ease, hands palming your hips and ass.

You feel him nudging cervix-deep and you reach out, clawing at the couch to hold your jerking body steady against the relentless slap of his hips. There’s no need to tell him faster or harder when you feel the metal plate of his adamantium hips pressing against your ass, pounding and vulgar with the sound of sweat-damp skin-on-skin.

It’s involuntary, the way you pant and cry out, intoxicated by the relentless drag and pull of his cock. He says something to you but you either don’t hear him or have enough conscious space in your sex-drunk fog to process words and respond. He slides a hand down your spine and pulls on your hair until you’re upright, breath hot when it fans against your neck.

“Where’s that mouth gone?”

You lick the drool from your lip, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. “Fuck you.”

The half-lidded up-and-down look he gives you as satisfaction grows slowly on his lips turns your bones to jelly. “There she is,” he growls back, offering a sharp slap of encouragement on your ass as he drops you back onto your front. You involuntarily grip around him, puffy clit throbbing with the almost-but-not-quite-there anticipatory build. “You gonna come for me? Yeah? I can fuckin’ feel it.”

You slide a hand underneath yourself, reaching for the swollen nub with two fingers. You’re overwhelmed with kinetic energy akin to a fizzy champagne bottle— two more shakes until you’re ready to pop.

You hear a Snikt! behind you, accompanied by a throat-caught groan, and then the distinct ripping shred of blades impaling your couch. You finally come, hard, when you feel him throbbing inside of you, followed by the decadent syrupy flood of his orgasm filling you up. He ruts into you one, two three more final times, milking himself dry, before collapsing over your body in a sweaty heap, sparing you the weight of his metal bones with a forearm propped next to you.

Shared fluids drip to the couch when he eventually pulls out of you, blades retreating into his clenched fists. The fluffy innards of the chair spill out beside you, and, while you were in no financial position to afford another, the sight entices a humoured smile from you.

“Sorry,” he says with a wince, helping you sit up when your unreliable legs shake beneath you.

“That’s alright. It’ll make for an interestin’ story,” you retort, fanning yourself with a hand. You both let out a shared laugh, mostly from the relieved delirium of it all. After a beat, you lean into him, massaging a hand across his belly. “So. We really doin’ this?”

His face softens. “If you’ll have me.”

You cup his face and kiss his cheek. “I’d take any version of you I could get.”

divider credits: @/vysleix and @/cafekitsune tag list: @bearwithegg, @uhlunaro, @sseleniaa, @jxssimae, @autumnsymphony

[majbucky]

.

[depresseddepot]

analyzing the narrative parallels in my real life as a coping mechanism

[stave-writes]

Sunday Oak x GN!Reader

Headcanons

A/N: I am SICK!!! of people making Sunday out to be an asshole who would cut you off from everything and everyone just to be selfish, especially if it makes you depressed. Sunday has more love in his heart for everyone and would let you break his heart just to see your smile, this man is sweeter than sugar. Sunday defender #1 is me fight me in my asks I'll win I've been a Zane MyStreet defender before he was popular  💯 💯 💯 💯 💯

Sunday is a gentle lover, he's always been delicate with you. Ghosting touches over the back of your hand, kisses like the brush of a feather on skin and smiles so soft it's hard to even see them when he locks eyes with you across a room. He's besotted with you, no matter what you do. The worst pain you could ever cause him is your suffering, and refusing to let him ease it for you. Hearing you cry makes his heart ache more than any of his own suffering, and he'll do anything he can to soothe you when you're struggling. Sunday sometimes finds it hard to understand what you want or need, being raised in such a way his own needs come second, so when you insist on looking after him...it's odd. He's never been his own first priority before, and it scares him a little. What if he desires too much? What if he's an issue for you? He loves you too much to risk causing you any amount of strife, so you have to beg him to be a burden. Beg him to be selfish. When Sunday is allowed to be selfish, it's cute. He'll plead with you to curl up in bed with him and sleep "Just a little longer, my love?" with those golden eyes of his shining in the early morning light. One arm will lay over you as he presses his face against your neck or back, unable to keep himself from chuckling due to just how lucky he feels having you right here in his arms. He couldn't ask for more of a blessing in love than to be able to behold you in all your glory (even if said glory is when you're drooling in your sleep or snoring so loud you could wake the dead). One of his "guilty" pleasures (damn catholic angel) is having you fussing over his piercings. He feels almost special when you toy with the little gold studs in his ear or the long dangling ornaments he likes to decorate his wings with. Sometimes he'll even ask you to pick which ones he should wear for the day and buy you something to match. If you don't wear jewellery, it'll be something like a matching set of shirt cuffs or a little keychain to match him. Anything he can do to spoil you just a bit. I'm a clipped-wing Sunday truther and so when he finally feels vulnerable enough, the priest-like coat is off and his clipped wing is shown to you, slightly mangled and clearly still sore and sensitive when you try to brush your fingers along it. You can see the twinge of shame and embarrassment run through him as you regard his incomplete self, the self left destroyed by the Dreammaster. Yet, if you tell him you still find him beautiful? He'll smile. He'll wrap you tight in his arms and cry into your shoulder, so relieved you aren't disgusted by him. That he isn't broken or unlovable, he's just...yours. Being able to read your thoughts means Sunday likes to tease you very lovingly when you're comfortable, he'll reiterate what you just thought out loud, or even listen to what you're thinking before buying you the exact thing you wanted and if you ask, he'll jokingly mention "Oh, a little birdie thought you'd like it." Before grinning and turning away, one arm settled on your waist or shoulder as he enjoyed your warmth.

[st4rryrain]

Strawberry Lip Gloss (Logan Howlett x Reader)

Tags: fem!reader, age gap, ex-dancer!reader, probably ooc, worst!logan, post-deadpool x wolverine, some fluff if you squint, wade x vanessa

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Brought into a world so different yet so similar to his own, Logan can’t help but continue to keep himself guarded from emotional connection. That is until Wade and Vanessa introduce him to you.

A/N: First fanfic on here! First part of two and the next part is gonna be smut. Muehehe… Proofread but I probably missed stuff. Anyways, I hope I did a good job and you guys enjoy.

Logan didn’t like the idea of emotional connection. He hated knowing that one day, he would disappoint people. He hated knowing that if he got attached to someone, he could lose them and it was all for nothing. The impending doom that would wash over him whenever he had those small moments of happiness was overwhelming. Sometimes he’d wake up in a cold sweat, remembering his life before ending up in a new world. It haunted him like a restless ghost.

“If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to cut off your legs, bub.”

Logan and Wade were at a bar downtown. Logan hadn’t actually invited Wade, but he didn’t care whether or not he tagged along as long as he let him drink without making any insane remarks.

“What? I can’t ask you things?” Wade whined.

“Not when you ask about things that shouldn’t be asked. Ever.” Logan furrowed his eyebrows.

Wade scoffed, “Oh please. Asking about someone’s dick size is not something that should never be asked!”

Logan sighed. So much for giving Wade the benefit of the doubt.

Wade looked down at his phone. “Vanessa should be here soon. She said she’s 5 minutes away.”

Logan groaned. “You invited your girlfriend?”

“Yes, actually! I did invite my girlfriend.”

“If I could kill myself, I would.” Logan mumbled before taking a sip of his whiskey.

“Hey! Vanessa is nice!”

“I’m not annoyed about that, dumbass. I’m annoyed that it means you two are probably going to get handsy in front of my whiskey and I.”

“Don’t worry, she’s bringing a friend for you to get handsy with, peanut.” Wade said while typing away on his phone.

Logan just sighed, unable to comprehend how he even puts up with Wade for a second.

After a few minutes, Vanessa and you walked into the bar. Vanessa gleamed with excitement as she embraced Wade. You simply stood behind her, awkwardly waiting for her to finish.

“Hi, Y/N!” Wade waved. “Long time no see. How’s my favorite original moody pookie bear?”

“Wade, last time I saw you, you almost got me killed. How do you think I’m doing?” You sounded incredibly annoyed and rightfully so.

“Well, nothing a few visits to a psychiatrist and a good trip to pound-town won’t fix!”

“Fuck you.”

“For a girl who looks like she sings to all the woodland creatures and picks cherries on a Sunday afternoon, you sure do have a lot of pent up violence in your body.”

Vanessa smiled as she found the interaction between her lover and you entertaining.

“Fuck, I forgot to introduce you to my new best bud here!” Wade excitedly said, “Y/N, this is Logan. Logan, this is Y/N. I think you guys would get along since you both hate me!” He was way more enthusiastic about it than he should be.

Logan and you met eyes. You gave a small smile. Logan didn’t seem very interested, only letting out a small hum.

Wade turned to Vanessa, “You wanna join me in the bathroom to make sure everything is following state laws?”

Vanessa smiled, “Of course.”

The two lovers scurried away, giddy as if they were teenagers.

You sat a seat away from Logan. “Every time…” You muttered.

Logan didn’t say anything. He faced forward and drank his whiskey. A few minutes passed, the air around you two awkward.

“I was told you’re from a different timeline.” You said, breaking the unbearable silence. “How are adjusting to this new world?”

Logan shrugged. “Fine.”

The silence returned. You sat there awkwardly, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Are you… a mutant?” You asked nervously.

“We don’t have to talk, you know? We can sit here and wait for the others to finish, bub.”

You looked down at the bar counter. “Sorry…”

Logan sighed, “Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean for it to sound mean or anything.”

“Honestly, though… I get it. I’d be mean and angry all the time if I had to live with someone like Wade. Especially Wade.”

A small smile adorned Logan’s face. You smiled, feeling a sense of relief that you had lightened the mood.

“I’m convinced that he was dropped as a baby… multiple times.”

Logan chuckled. “He must keep getting dropped everyday if he’s this fucking annoying.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“How come you let Vanessa drag you here? It doesn’t seem like you want to be here.”

You thought for a moment.

“I think I just wanted something to distract me since I’ve been feeling shitty.” You shifted in your seat. “I got broken up with like half a year ago.”

“You’re still hung up on someone from half a year ago?” Logan raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

“I mean, I really liked the guy. We dated for a year and a half but things started falling apart when I wanted him to get more serious. I was putting my all into the relationship but he didn’t seem to want the same thing I did.”

“You look young, kid. How old are you?”

“I’m 24.”

“Guys your age are assholes. Those shitheads are like dogs. All they do is eat, shit, sleep, and go into heat.” He grumbled.

“Oh, trust me. I know.” You sighed. “I fucking hate dating guys my age. They always end up being immature and leave me with at least 10 different traumatic experiences.”

Silence once again fell upon you two.

“Holy fuck, those bastards are taking forever.” Logan said.

“Trust me, sometimes they’re gone for hours.”

“How’d you meet Vanessa?”

You blushed. You had started being a dancer at the tender age of 19. Freshly kicked out of your house, you felt like there was no other way. Luckily, you met Vanessa. An older sister figure who took care of you and even let you live with her for some time before you got up on your own two feet. You weren’t necessarily embarrassed about having been a dancer, you were more so annoyed by the constant comments that you “didn’t seem like the type”.

“I…” You toyed with your sleeves, “I met her when we were dancers at the same place. She took care of me and was there whenever I needed her.”

Logan hummed. “Cute.”

“Every time I tell people I used to be a dancer, I get told I don’t seem like the type. I don’t even know what they mean.”

Logan watches and listened to you ramble as you continued on about different things people have said over the years.

“Someone once told me I was too pretty to be a dancer! Like what kind of backhanded compliment is that?” You crossed your arms and rested them on the counter. “Fuck, I dunno.”

“You seem like a sweet girl, bub. I know a lot of dancers don’t do it because they wanted to, but because they needed the money. Was that the case?”

You nodded.

“Did you at least enjoy being one?”

“Fuck no. I hated all those people staring at me the way a hawk circles a critter. The things they’d say, do, and who knows what they thought.”

“I think you’re too sweet to be a dancer. Not saying you don’t or do seem like the type, but more so you didn’t deserve to do something you didn’t enjoy.”

You looked at Logan. He seemed sincere and understanding. A small smile formed on your lips.

“Thanks, Logan. Congrats on being the first outside person to not blame me.”

“Did you guys kiss yet?” A familiar voice asked as it got closer.

You and Logan turned, spotting Wade and Vanessa.

“Holy shit, did you guys survive a fucking bomb or something?” Logan noted how messy Vanessa’s hair was and how disheveled their clothes were.

“Oh we survived a fucking bomb, alright.” Wade smiled. “But seriously, have you two kissed yet?”

“Wade, don’t make me curb stomp you again.” You glared.

Logan turned to you. “You’ve curb stomped him before?”

“Oh yeah. Girl’s got some insane skills.” Vanessa laughed, finding the memory funny.

“You guys ready to go or should we let you guys use the bathroom too?” Wade wiggled his brows.

“I hope the dog shits on your bed.” Logan frowned.

The group exited the bar and parted ways for the time being. Wade continued prying Logan on what he thought of you. He would go on and on about his favorite memories with you like the many times you third wheeled for Vanessa and him, the time you got a new car and crashed it the following week, and the time you curb stomped him for one of the many times he almost got you killed.

Logan and you would frequently cross paths at Wade or Vanessa’s parties or while waiting for Wade and Vanessa to finish having sex somewhere like a restaurant or even the apartment bathroom.

To Logan’s dismay, he had grown very fond of you. You were sweet, smart, pretty, and weren’t afraid to speak your mind, especially when it came to Wade’s stupidity. Sometimes, he’d catch himself staring or hoping to see you or feeling a disgustingly fuzzy feeling in his chest at the thought of you. Wade and Vanessa could tell Logan and you had feelings for each other. The way you looked at each other and enjoyed each other’s company was endearing.

“I dunno how they can go on for so long.” You groaned as you and Logan stood outside in the hallway of the apartment.

“Surprised Al hasn’t kicked Wade out for it.” Logan leaned against the wall.

“Oh she’s tried.” You held Mary Puppins in your arms, not wanting her to bear witness to the sinful behavior taking place indoors.

Logan smiled, placing a hand on the dog’s head for a quick pet.

“Are you seeing anyone, Logan?”

Logan pauses. He stares off into the distance for a moment, contemplating whether or not to avoid the question.

“No. Are you?”

“No.”

An almost deafening silence encapsulates you both.

“Do you want to love someone?” You asked as you held and lightly squished the dog’s paw.

Logan months ago would have said no. Hell, he would have said never. But Logan felt his attachment to you getting the better of him.

“Love isn’t for me, bub. I don’t think I can handle losing someone anymore.”

“Well that’s why you have to find someone who can’t handle losing you either.”

Logan and you looked to each other. You were staring up at him like you were waiting for something.

“You’re the sweetest little thing I’ve met, Y/N.” Logan leaned in a little.

“Only to people I love having around.”

“You deserve someone who will love you and take care of you. Someone who will worship the ground you walk on.”

You smiled shyly.

“A pretty little thing like you needs to be told everyday how perfect you are.”

“Are you gonna kiss me or just stroke my ego?” You joked.

“Can I, sweetheart?” Logan asked, his face inches away.

“Mhm.” You hummed as you leaned upward.

Logan pressed his lips against yours. Your lips were soft and almost addictive. Strawberry flavor peppered along them. You smelled of a delicate perfume and a pleasantly scented shampoo he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Logan cupped your cheek with a cold calloused hand, bringing you closer to his face.

“You do this with all the girls you sweet talk?” You mumbled into the kiss.

“Only the sweet ones named Y/N that I’m fond of.” Logan brushed a strand of hair out of your face. “I’ve only ever been fond of one sweet Y/N.”

You smiled as you parted lips. You’re a little winded from how eagerly he kissed you. It had been like a starving man finding a buffet.

“I’d really like to take you out, sweetheart.” Logan said. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You placed a quick kiss on his lips. “Of course, Lo.”

The door to Wade’s apartment opened and he peeked into the hallway.

“Did you guys kiss yet?”

“Wade, go back inside before I turn your small intestine into a jump rope.” You snapped.

Wade smiled, “Oh you guys totally did.” He went back inside and closed the door, loudly informing Vanessa of his assumption.

“Can’t believe Mary Puppins was the witness to a real life rom-com.” You joked as you cradled the dog.

“More like a horror movie with Wade’s ugly fucking face.”

You, Logan, and Mary Puppins went back inside. You were immediately greeted with Vanessa and Wade smiling like crazy.

“What?” Logan asked.

“You guys kissed.” Wade replied.

“What?” Logan didn’t understand how Wade came to the conclusion. Sure he was right but how did he know?

“Oh don’t play coy with me, peanut. I see that lip gloss on you. You have never worn lip gloss and I doubt you ever will. You’re too afraid to ever serve cunt.”

You set down the dog and turned to Logan.

“Yeah… You do have some of my lip gloss. Sorry, Lo.” You said sheepishly, realizing you left evidence at the crime scene.

Vanessa giggled. “So you admit it!”

“Fucking finally. We didn’t know if you guys would end up even liking each other in that way. This took a lot of planning and a lot of coordination. Better than cupid.” Wade sounded proud of himself.

“You planned this?” Logan asked.

“Well, both of you seemed to want to love and be loved. You also had a common enemy of that being Wade. So Wade and I thought you two might be a good match.” Vanessa explained it with a huge smile that yelled ‘proud mother’.

“Whenever we left you two alone, he hoped you guys would do something. Anything!” Wade recalled.

“You guys weren’t leaving to have sex? You just hoped we’d flirt?” You asked, a little agitated for having to wait for them all those times.

“No. Most of the time, we actually did bang in a bathroom or car.”

“You guys are lucky your little scheme worked.” You crossed your arms and huffed.

“So when’s the wedding?”

“Wade!”

Logan took you out to a quaint little restaurant somewhere on the other side of the city. He paid for the meal despite you insisting you split the bill. He would hold your hand as you entered and exited the car as well as opening and closing the door. To say Logan was infatuated was a complete understatement.

“I don’t want to go back to that apartment with that annoying prick.” Logan complained as they sat in his car in the middle of an empty parking lot.

“We could go to my place.” You gave an alternative, hoping he would say yes.

“You sure, sweetheart?”

“Yeah! Just don’t mind my cat and you’re all good.”

“You have a cat?”

“Her name is Egg. She’s round like one.”

You and Logan drove to your small apartment in a small apartment building. The walls weren’t crumbling and the stairs weren’t on the verge of falling apart. Compared to Wade’s apartment building, this was luxurious.

“I’m home, Egg!” You greeted your feline as you walked through the door.

“Lock the door behind you, please.” You said as you set your things down.

Logan felt giant in your small apartment. It wasn’t that the ceiling was low or anything. He just felt so out of place in a cozy place where there were a few plants here and there, clean counters, and comfy furniture.

“This is Egg.” You picked up a white chubby feline with blue eyes. “She loves to sleep and is currently on a diet ‘cause the vet said she should stop being an egg.”

Logan smiled at her and reached his hand out to pet the cat. The cat seemed to just stare and move her head away from his hand.

“She’s not aggressive. She’s something worse… Judgmental.” You always found Egg’s reaction to people who weren’t you amusing.

You held one of Egg’s paws and playfully waved it, pretending that the cat was waving at Logan. You set the cat down and watched as she strutted away.

“Your cat has an attitude.”

You laughed, “She invented attitude. You should see her with Wade. Even she doesn’t like him to the point she tries clawing his face off.”

If staring was a competition, Logan would hold the world record for most staring at someone with heart eyes. Literally. His eyes were practically the shape of hearts.

“What? Is something on my face? Did I say something?” You asked, worried you may have embarrassed yourself in front of Logan.

Logan leaned down and kissed your lips. “Do you always have strawberry lip gloss on your lips?”

“I dunno, how about you find out and kiss me every time you see me.”

Logan seemed to really like the strawberry lip gloss you wore and almost started to devour your face. His hands found their way to your waist and pulled you closer. He was starting to let his hands wander.

“Not in front of my child.” You protested. “She’s 3! Not even old enough to start kindergarten.”

Logan couldn’t help but laugh into the kiss. “Alright, doll.”

[flowersforjude]

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Finnick had every reason to not believe in God, but every reason to believe in her. 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1,406

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Religious themes, Mentions of torture and canon typical violence, Angst, Brief mention of Finnick’s su*c*dal ideology, Bittersweet reunion.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Cried while writing this so enjoy my tears. This was requested by @heroinhchicblog222. You gave me creative freedom with this, so I hope it lives up to your expectations! <3

masterlist | read on ao3

Finnick Odair had never been a religious man. No matter how many Sunday services at the little coastal church his mother made him attend. He humored her for the most part. Because even though he thought her faith was futile, it was important to her.

There had been a time when he enjoyed going to church with her. When he was still a small child full of notions of grand tales and curiosity. But that was before he was eaten alive by the Games. Before, it’s huge jaws closed around him and crushed his bones and spirit alike. The arena had made sure that even if he survived, he’d never be whole again.

And how could he believe in any god with only half a soul? Why would he have faith in a god who let that happen? No higher power was watching over him or any of the other children who became victims of the Games. 

He remembered a tiny silver cross his mother wore. It was always hanging around her neck on a dainty chain. His little brother loved to wrap his chubby toddler fingers around it. 

Finnick had asked once if she had always had that necklace. She wore it so often that it seemed like a part of her. Just like her eyes, that always looked at him with tender affection, and her hands, that always stroked his cheek after a nightmare. His mother told him it had belonged to her mother. That she’d had it since before the war, and she told her it kept her safe. When his grandmother passed when Finnick was still a baby, she left it to her daughter. 

“Nana said that as long as she wore this, she knew God would guard against any evil,” his mother recited. 

But how could she believe that? When he himself knew how people starved during the war. When so many lost everything. His grandmother was an orphan by the end of the war. God did not protect her or anyone else. Because a god who would let all that suffering happen wasn’t a deity worth worshiping. And that same cosmic being sits idly by and allows child after child to be sacrificed to the whims of those who think themselves better. 

Though now, he thinks he’s found something that he could put his faith in. Something that could show him the blind devotion that his nana and mother relied so heavily on.

Hope was a big part of having faith because to have one, you have to believe in the other. He gives his mother and nana a little slack now that he’s tasted that euphoric cocktail of conviction. It’s a potent thing, and to Finnick, it’s the worst thing that could have happened to him. It’s more powerful than the hatred he has for Snow and the Capitol. He likens it to nervousness, to fear. Except it doesn’t cripple him. It weeps inside of him, crawls up his throat, and pours out of him like the sweetest honey. 

It gives him the gift of volition—the drive to break away from the terror that haunts him. The will to live. The hunger for change. 

And that is why it’s the most awful thing that could have befell him. Because not only does he have himself to concern with, he has her. 

She changes him. Makes him into this man that wants again. He dreams and he hopes, but right now he’s trying to convince himself that his faith won’t be ripped away from him. 

He’s spiraling down the dark abyss of fear because, what if? What if he goes to the med bay and the one person, he believes for is taken from him? His will, his hunger, his want. What if it’s all gone? Because she’s gone, and she’s taken everything with her. 

It is an agonizing thing to be half dead and half alive. So many times, he thought about how he could end it. Just a few minutes too long under the water. Or if he needed it to be quick, a bullet for his last meal would work just fine. But he can’t think like that anymore. 

Because he doesn’t know if she’s gone or not. If she’s left him and stole away everything good in the world with her. There’s a chance, he tells himself. He could see her again, hold her, kiss her, love her. 

So he’s pushing past everyone running around in the halls. Paying no mind to all the people he’s bumping into, and all the annoyed looks thrown his way. He aches still, and his body screams at him. But he’d been to hell and back more times than he could count. His joints and muscles could complain all they wanted. Knowing mattered more. She mattered more. 

He can picture her the way she was before. Because he’s sure that if she survived, Snow at least got his fill of ruining her. The girl Finnick adores more than the salt in the air or the smell of Mag’s peach cobbler. For that alone, they would have butchered her. He’s falling again, so instead of that, he thinks of her smile, her laugh, and the way her nose scrunches when she is annoyed at him. 

Fuck, how he wants to see that smile again. Hear that giggle and coax out that scrunch. 

He runs, then, faster than he ever has before. He knows he’s going to have to make some serious apologies at some point. But courtesy can wait. She can’t. 

The harsh lights of the med bay hurt his eyes, but he looks around. Turning a circle and staggering like a drunk. 

Hands catch him by the shoulders, and he almost throws a punch. But then Gale turns him around to face him. “Where-where is she?” Finnick asks. His voice sounds foreign, like the breaking of glass almost. 

“I think you need to calm down first.” Gale answers, not unkindly, but Finnick is so wound up that it angers him. Because no, he needs to see her. Until then, there is no calm. So, he pushes Gale away from him. Eyes darting widely around the med bay once again. 

“Where is she?” He asks out loud to anyone who could tell him. “Where is she?” He wonders if this is what being hijacked feels like. But then he tells himself maybe it’s just being in love. Love can make a person insane, and right now, that’s what he feels like. He’s going to fly off the handle if someone doesn’t start talking to him. Because why aren’t they?

A doctor walks right past him, nose in a clipboard with some paperwork on it. Finnick imagines gripping that doctor by the hair and tearing his throat out with his bare hands. He starts yelling her name over and over and over. His voice breaks among the syllables.  

But then…

“Finnick!” He hears her voice so loud and clear, like a crack of lightning across the sky. He doesn’t see her until she collides with him, almost knocking him down. But he clutches her to him, probably too tightly, but she says nothing. She tears at his back, her nails digging into his skin under the fabric of his shirt. But he doesn’t care because if he’s feeling that, then that means he’s feeling her. 

"Finnick." She whispers quietly this time as if convincing herself that he's really here. Her face is buried in his neck, and he can feel her breath fan out across his skin.

She pulls back, and Finnick thinks he might cry, but then she’s kissing him, so he knows he’s going to cry. He can’t breathe between the tears and her lips still on his. He doesn’t give a fuck, though. He lets her kiss him for as long as she needs, because he knows she needs that right now. Being without her here in Thirteen was hard enough. What she went through in the Capitol paled in comparison. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’s mumbling against her lips. Salty tears falling into their mouths.

And she’s saying back, “It’s okay. I’m okay.” 

It’s not okay; nothing bad that’s ever happened to her was okay. But she’s here now, and he’s got her, and he’s never letting her out of his sight again. 

Standing there, drinking in her holiness, Finnick finally realizes what true devotion feels like.

The words just poured out of me with this one. Love when that happens.

[lesbianpepsi]

sweet as honey | part iii

pairing: jenna ortega x blind!fem!reader

words: 4.741k

masterlist

warnings: ableist remarks, swearing, mentions of smoking/drinking, bad writing

authors note: hey guys, i just wanna say thank you to the anons who pointed out my mistake and made me realise how insensitive my old ver of this chapter was. i have rewritten it and changed it, i hope this is better

After your first date with Jenna the two of you have gone on many, many more dates. 

By the third date you and Jenna did actually go to that restaurant you were supposed to go on your first date. 

You couldn't help but feel utterly euphoric anytime Jenna asked you out on another date or even held your hand, hugged you and kissed you. If there's a heaven you're more than sure it's with Jenna.

Altogether you've been on six dates with Jenna, and each date you could feel yourself falling harder and harder for her.

Maybe that's why when Jenna calls you on a sunny Sunday morning her words leave you stunned with silence.

"Y/n? Did you hear me?" She asks, breaking the silence. You dumbly nod your head, coughing soon after as you shake your head.

"No, yeah, I- what?" You stumble over your words with confusion as Jenna giggles over the phone.

"I asked if you wanted to be my date to the Wednesday Emmy Party." She repeats for your sake. Yet again, the words feel like a positive slap to the face. 

Jenna wanted you to go to the party with her? A party full of famous actors? 

"It's not gonna be huge, if that's what you're worried about. Just a small gathering of the cast at Joy's apartment to celebrate that the show won twelve emmys." Jenna explained in a reassuring manner, taking your stunned silence as a sign of rejection.

"Oh yeah, just a small party full of famous actors, no biggie right?" You finally say, laughing nervously. "Are you sure you want me to be your date though? I'm not exactly the same level as you guys." 

"Of course I want you there, I know for a fact Emma is dying to meet you. I can tell she's getting annoyed with how much I talk about you to her."  She says with a giggle, probably biting her bottom lip nervously as she awaits your answer. 

You let out a breathless sigh, a nervous smile on your lips. What's the absolute worst that can come out of it?

"Okay, I'll come as your date." You finally answer her question, your smile turning into one of relief as Jenna immediately starts saying 'yes!' over and over like an overused child finally getting the toy they've been begging for.

You chuckle as you nod your head, biting your lip. 

"You talk about me to your friends?" Jenna groans through the phone as you laugh, a smug smile on your face. 

"Shut up." Jenna replies through a small laugh. "The party is on Wednesday, I'll pick you up?" She confirms as a small static sound rippled through the phone.

You snort a laugh at the day, finding it much more ironic than Jenna was. 

"Yeah I'm free Wednesday and Thursday, so it doesn't matter if I get hung over." 

"I didn't know you were so rebellious to drink under the legal age." Jenna teases you, her voice becoming more static on the phone. You rolled your eyes as you scoffed. "Like you didn't admit to being hung over when recording a scene in 'X'." 

"Stalker much?" She quips back with a dry laugh. 

"Oh yeah because I would be such a stalker with my binoculars, staring and following you around the place like a peeping tom." 

"Oh whatever, I'll see you Wednesday?" Jenna replies, you chuckle as you nod your head, as if Jenna could see you.

"I'll be waiting." You say with a nostalgic smile. "I won't make you wait too long." She finished with her own soft smile.

—————

"I'm so fucking nervous." You complained with a groan as you dropped to sit down on your bed, rubbing your sweaty palms against your jeans. "All of them are actually famous people. All of them!"

Delilah -your childhood best friend- chuckles as she patted your shoulder. "You're overthinking it, babe, they're just a bunch of dickheads who are known while we're a bunch of dickheads who aren't known." She tries to reassure you but it simply went into one ear and right out through the other. 

"But they're Jenna's friends, if they don't like me then Jenna might lose interest in me." 

"You're crazy if you think that. Everyone can see she's head over heels for you, hell, the media even knows." She replies swiftly as she squeezed your shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. 

You turned your head to look at hers. "Well I can't see that, can I?" Delilah shakes her head as she laughs softly, loosening her hand on your shoulder before you feel her take it off.

"Then you can hear it in the way she speaks to you, it's as if she's the one who's speaking to a famous actress." Delilah says as she stands up from the bed, picking up the dishevelled clothes off of your floor and folding them for you. "If it is shit then just give me a call and I'll pick you up, okay? I'm staying the night here anyway so it's not an issue."

That's true, Delilah had to ask to sleep at yours since she had a fight with her own girlfriend Claire, and like the good friend you are you told her obviously she could crash at your place.

You sigh as you nod your head at her words, running a hand through your hair. "I guess you're right." Delilah smirks at you as she opens the drawer full of clothes, neatly keeping the now folded clothes. "Of course I'm right." 

Abruptly, loud knocks are heard from the other room. You let out a rigid breath as you stand up stepping towards your wardrobe as you grab your cane. 

"Wish me luck." You ask Delilah as you run the cane along the wooden floor, heading towards the living room. "You won't need luck." She replied with ease as she walked alongside you to the door.

Opening the door for you, Delilah stood by your side as she grinned at Jenna. 

The brunette looks slightly surprised at Delilah but she doesn't stop smiling as she gives an awkward wave.

"Hey, nice to meet you, I'm guessing you're Delilah?" She asks as Delilah nods her head with a grin. "The one and only. Nice to finally meet you Jenna, Y/n talks about you very often." 

You not so subtly elbow her side as you smiled at Jenna, walking out of the apartment as you naturally went to grab her elbow. "She's more delusional than me, ignore her." You tell Jenna as she giggles, looking back at Delilah who leaned against the doorway waving at them.

"Have a great time, remember curfew is at midnight, young lady." Delilah teases as you and Jenna walk towards her car, rolling your eyes under the glasses as Jenna giggled once again. 

"So you talk about me to your friends, huh?" Jenna jabs at you playfully as she opens the car door for you, reciting your words from Sunday's phone call. 

"Shut up." You grumble as a soft blush attacks your cheeks. "Bullying the blind is a very cancelable thing, you know."  

Jenna is the one to roll her eyes this time as she smiles, taking your cane once you've sat down on the car seat.

She joins you in the front soon after she keeps your cane in the back seat, revving up with its surprisingly quiet engine.

"So who's at this supposed casual party then?" You ask her with a curious face as you nervously play with the hem of your shirt, a habit you've picked up since you were little. 

"Emma, Hunter and his husband Fielder, Joy, Georgie, Steve, Naomi, and Johnna and. Oliver can't come since he's currently filming another movie which is in another country." Jenna lists off as she drives towards Joy's apartment, where the party was being held. "I told you it isn't a massive party, so don't worry. Plus they're all very excited to meet you." She reassures you once again, at the same time she speaks, you feel her place a hand on your thigh.

You smile as you lay your hand over hers, gently caressing your thumb along her knuckles.

"I'm just as excited to meet your friends too, even though I'm shitting bricks over it." You say afflicting a chuckle from Jenna, you feel her squeeze your thigh in an attempt to calm you down. "If you feel uncomfortable at any moment just tell me and we'll leave early, okay? Nobody will shame you or be mad."

You let out a gentle sigh at that, a bit relieved at her kind words. "Thanks Jen."

Jenna smiled at your side profile briefly before she turned back to focus on the road. 

The rest of the car ride was full of mindless conversations between you and Jenna as the low music of Hozier filled the rest of the car. 

As usual, when Jenna parked the car she went to grab your cane before opening your car door open for you, and just as usual you gave her a small kiss in gratitude, resulting in Jenna having a soft blush on her nose and cheeks.

Jenna's elbow is already out for you to latch onto with your non-dominant hand. She double checks you're ready before the two of you make your way to Joy's apartment which thankfully has elevators since she lives on the ninth floor.

"I think they're playing UNO, right now." Jenna mentions as the two of you entered the elevator, her pressing the button '9' as the soft hum of elevator music filled your ears. 

You dryly laugh as you lean against the metal wall as the doors close. "Don't think I'll have much of a chance of winning." Jenna rolls her eyes as an amused smile rises on her face.

"Don't worry, they get distracted so easily that I bet they'll forget about it within five minutes." She says as she moves to stand by your side, leaning her head on your shoulder as you grab her elbow gently, drawing small circles on the clothed skin with your thumb. 

You chuckle at her words. "So they aren't like you then, little Miss Competitive?" You tease.

Jenna can get quite competitive, that's something you picked up quite quickly. Whether it be board games, video games and especially with football (or soccer as she calls it). 

"Oh no, Georgie is even more competitive than me. We once played one match of monopoly that lasted two days in total. In the end we had to call it quits but I was so close to winning." Jenna replies confidently, as if she was truly the one who was going to win.

You chuckle as you nod your head, turning your head soon after to place a feather light kiss to her head. "I don't doubt that for a second." You whispered with a low chuckle before pulling away from her head, leaning your head back against the metal cold wall of the elevator.

The elevator dings loudly as the door slides open, a robotic voice coming through the small intercom telling you and Jenna that you're on floor nine.

With a nervous smile you and Jenna make your way to Joy's apartment, Jenna knocking loudly three minutes before entering.

Music hits your ears the moment the door opens, the familiar voice of Lady Gaga filling it up even louder as you enter further into the apartment.

Your nerves spiked as you heard the chatter get loud and louder as you and Jenna walked into the living room where you could smell the strong scent of tobacco mixing with alcohol infiltrating your nose.

"Hey guys." Jenna greets the group, their heads instantly snapped towards her voice as you and her stood side by side. "This is Y/n, my-" She stops, not knowing what to say.

You haven't asked Jenna to be your girlfriend. Jenna hasn't asked you to be her girlfriend.

"-date, she's my date." Jenna finishes swiftly as she grins proudly at the fact you're her date.

A mix of "Hey, Y/n" and "Hi"s are thrown around the room by a myriad of different voices.

"Hey, Y/n, nice to meet you! Finally I can put a name to a face." A feminine voice speaks up, her voice sounding as smooth as a pearl. By her voice you guess you guess it's Emma Myers, one of Jenna's closest friends.

You chuckle aa you turned your head in the direction of the voice. "Wish I could say the same." You joke, hoping, praying they'll laugh at it rather than freezing up and wondering if they should or not.

Thankfully a snort of laughter is heard along with a few gurgles before the person laughs even harsher than before, coughing loudly.

"Jesus, someone take Naomi's drink away from her." A more masculine voice says this time, chuckling as he does.

"That's Georgie, the one who sucks ass at monopoly." Jenna whispers in your ear as she guides you to a free spot where you and her can sit on the couch. 

"I heard that." The voice you know as Georgie speaks up from close to where you sit. 

"Well, it is true Jen was winning and you were on the brink of bankruptcy." Someone else speaks up with a slight slur in their voice, indicating they've definitely drank a few before you and Jenna arrived.

"That's Johanna, she's a lightweight." Another voice speaks up before Jenna does, the voice is coming from beside you making you turn your head in the direction. "I'm Joy by the way." She introduces before she points at Hunter and Fielder who are sitting on the floor. "Hunter and Fielder, our local gays are currently sulking on the floor since they lost at Uno."

"I only lost because Hunter got me out." A deep voice says which you presume is Fielder's voice. "That's only 'cause you're the worst at Uno." Hunter replied with a smirk as he took a sip of his drink.

“I’m Steve.” Someone else announced from the other side of the room. You turned your head in the direction of the voice as you smiled politely. “Hi Steve.”

“Fielder might be bad at Uno but you lost seconds later, Hunter.” He remarks as he ate some of his chips from a bowl.

You laugh lightly as you loosen your grip on your cane but don't let go. Now knowing everyone's voices gives you much more confidence.

"Thanks for having me over, by the way, and congratulations on the twelve emmys." You say with a smile as you turn your head to look at the direction of where the music was coming from.

"No need to thank us, we're all more than happy to finally meet you after Jenna has been chatting our ears off about you." Joy replies, sipping her wine as she smirks at Jenna.

You grin as you turn your head to your side where Jenna was sitting. "So not only you talk Emma's ear off about me, but to everyone?" You jab playfully at her once again, Jenna's cheeks turn a scarlet hue shade as she turns to glare at anyone who laughs at your words.

"They're being dramatic and they're drunk, they don't know what they're talking about." She murmured trying to sound annoyed, but she had a small smile on her lips the entire time. "Sure." You remarked with your own smile.

Your fear and anxiety dissolved as the minutes passed, your fear that Jenna's friends wouldn't like you absolutely thrown out of the window.

Well that was until two hours passed.

You were in the middle of a conversation with Emma as Jenna and a few others such as Naomi, Georgie, Fielder and Johanna had left the room to go smoke on the small balcony near the kitchen. 

As Emma finished her sentence you felt a tap on your shoulder, jumping slightly your turned in the direction of the touch.

Steve chuckled awkwardly at your reaction as he plopped down next to you, forcing you to move up on the couch.

“Can I ask you a few questions about, you know?” He asked you with a slur to his voice, his breath having a strong smell of alcohol which definitely confirmed that he was quite drunk.

You nodded your head as you smiled at him. “Of course, and you can say blind, it's not like it's a bad word.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he laughed.

“Aight, cool. So do you know what Jenna looks like or what any of us looks like or are you completely blind?” He questions curiously as he sips out of a beer bottle with a burp.

“I lost all eye sight when I was in my teens so I don't know what any of you look like.” You explained to him before adding. “I did get a description from Jenna on how she looks, so I’ve got a pretty good idea in my mind.” A soft smile forms on your lips as you think of the memory.

On your fifth date with Jenna, you went over to her apartment for the first time and Jenna cooked for you an incredibly delicious meal. 

That night Jenna let you explore her body but it wasn't in a sexual way. She was wearing a shirt and jeans the entire time as your hands roamed her body as she described herself to you in great detail. 

She held your hands as she placed your hands on different parts of her as she described herself in detail to you. 

Her hair, her face, her neck, her arms, her waist, her stomach and even her legs. There wasn't anything sexual about the interaction, it was only meant to be viewed as something soft and intimate. 

Steve hummed as he dropped his now empty beer bottle to the ground, yawning as he lazily turned to look at you.

“Okay, okay.” He mumbled. “Why do you wear glasses inside then? Is it ‘cause like blind people's eyes kinda get nasty after they turn blind?” 

“Steve.” Emma whisper yells as he gives the drunken boy a look. He raises his hand, faking arrest as he rolled his eyes. “Jeez Emma, chill. I’m only asking questions and she said she was alright with it. Didn't you, Y/n?” 

You decided not to take his words to heart before you nodded your head. “It’s fine, honestly.” You reassure her with a sweet smile. “Before I turned fully blind I always wore sunglasses since it would reduce the glare from the sun and could help me much better with seeing with the small sight I had. After I completely lost my vision I guess I just never stopped taking them off, and I guess it’s because I also don't like how my eyes look.”

“That's fair. I mean no offence or anything but blind people’s eyes just look so creepy.” He replied with a lazy smile as he chuckled, moving his hand to scratch at his small beard. 

“Don't be a dick, Steve.” Joy voices up from her seat, glaring at the boy momentarily before going back to talk with Hunter. 

He scoffs slowly as he ignores her, deciding to see how far he could push you. 

Not knowing what to say you awkwardly laugh as you shuffle further away from him. 

After a few moments passed you presumed he was done speaking to you but you were unfortunately proven wrong the second you opened your mouth to speak to Emma.

“I couldn't imagine being blind, it sounds proper shit and miserable.” He says with an exaggerated sigh. “I mean you can't even see your girl, you only have to imagine her.”

“Steve, stop.” Emma repeats again as her voice becomes more firm. You swallow down your emotions as you try to give a small smile.

“Life isn’t automatically bad just because I’m blind, I actually love my life and wouldn't exchange it for any other life.” You reply trying to keep your emotions at bay and not let his words affect you. 

He sighs dramatically once again as he shakes his head. “I dunno man, being blind sounds shit. How're you supposed to even please your girl if you don’t even know where she is without her speaking?”

“How’re you supposed to please your girl with your one inch pinch?” Hunter remarks, sounding annoyed as his eyes narrowed on him. “Just shut the fuck up.” 

Steve snickered as he narrowed his eyes back at Hunter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Jesus, people are such snowflakes these days.”

As Hunter and Steve get into a heated argument you lean closer to Emma, in a whisper you ask her, “Can you please go get Jenna?” 

She nods her head immediately as she squeezes your shoulder in a silent agreement, standing up moments later and heading towards the kitchen.

“We’re not sensitive, you're just being a blatant asshole to Y/n.” Joy intervenes as she defends your honour, you smile in relief as you scoot further away from Steve, the grip on your cane tight. 

“I was just asking the blind chick some questions, is that a crime now too?” He asked in a mocking voice as he now turned to glare at Joy. 

A blind chick? Is that really all he saw you as? 

You swallowed nervously as your fingers began unconsciously tapping against your cane, a small frown on your lips.

“Why are you being such a dick?” Hunter asks him with his voice becoming more gruff. Steve laughs in disbelief as he turns to look at you. “You said you didn't mind my questions, true or false?” He questions you with a click of his fingers. 

You didn't know what to say as you tried to open your mouth, no words coming out as you felt incredibly uncomfortable by the entire situation. 

Steve scoffs as he clicks his fingers at you again acting as if you're a dog and he’s your owner. “Are you dumb as well?” He asks you in an annoyed tone.

“What the fuck did you just say?” A voice that reminds you of heaven says darkly, storming into the room. You sigh in relief as you gingerly put your hand out for Jenna to grab, to which she holds onto instantly, interlocking your fingers. 

You stand up next to Jenna as you grip your cane tightly.

He shakes his head again as a breathless sigh escapes his dry lips. “Nobody can take a joke these days.”

Jenna scoffs angrily as she glared at him. “Jokes are meant to be funny, I hear nobody fucking laughing, Steve.” She snarled as she ran her thumb along the skin of your hand. 

“That’s ‘cause you all can't take a fucking joke, nobody appreciates dark humour these days, fucking hell.” He grumbled, glaring right back at Jenna as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

You're frozen in place as you listen to the unfolding argument, your heart speeding up uncomfortably in your chest. 

“Apologise to Y/n right now.” Jenna demands dryly, not breaking eye contact with him. “If she can tell me where the remote is then sure.” 

Jenna’s grip on your hand tightened as her jaw clenched at his words. Fearing the argument was going to escalate quickly you tug at her hand making her break the staring contest to look at you with concern. 

“Apologise to my girlfriend right fucking now.” She growled out in a venous voice, her eyes never leaving the boys. 

Your heart stopped at her words as your eyes widened under the glasses. Girlfriend? Jenna thought of you as her girlfriend?

The two have an intense stare off as everyone else in the room holds their breaths, not knowing whether they should stop the argument or let it be.

Steve scoffs as he takes his eyes off Jenna standing up, laughing drunkenly with a shake of his head. “Fuck this, I’m out. This party was too lame for me anyway.” He announced as he headed towards the apartment door, slamming it shut behind him. 

Nobody moved, nobody uttered a word; all frozen in spot as to what just happened. 

You couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt crawling up your spine at the argument. If you didn't come none of this would've happened. 

Swallowing down any emotion in your voice you shakily slipped your hand free from Jenna’s. “Can you take me home please?” You gingerly whispered to her, your head hanging low. 

“Of course, I’ll go get my keys.” She replies instantly leaving the room to go retrieve her keys from the kitchen. 

“It was really nice to meet all of you.” You say, turning your body to face where the rest of them were, a weak smile on your lips. “I’m sorry for the whole mess and leaving early.” 

Emma moved to squeeze your shoulder momentarily as a sympathetic smile toyed on her lips. “You don't have to apologise for something that wasn't your fault.” She informs you.

You sigh as you nodded your head weakly, trying to let Emma’s words win the battle against your guilt. 

“We need to hang again, but without Steve this time.” Georgie says making you and a few others let out a weak chuckle. 

Jenna waltz back into the living room moving to your side and you quickly latch onto her elbow with a weak grip. 

“Thanks for having us over.” She says to them as she gives them a soft smile. All of them smile back as Joy nods her head.

You and Jenna make your departure without another word; no words being exchanged between you two as you head into the elevator.

The moment the doors closed in the elevator Jenna let out a sigh before she pulled you into a bone crushing hug, you're almost surprised you didn't drop your cane at the sudden movement. 

“I’m so sorry he said those things to you, Y/n, you didn't deserve any of that.” She whispers in a feather light tone of voice, her small arms surprisingly strong as they wrapped around your waist.

With one hand you wrapped it around her neck as you smiled a weak smile. “I know but it's okay, I promise. People say stupid shit all of the time especially when you have a disability; you just have to learn to not take it to heart.” 

“But he shouldn't have even said any of those things to you.” She added, removing one arm from around your waist to place her soft hand on your cheek. “You out of everyone don't deserve anything like that.”

Your heart melted at her words, nodding your head weakly. “I don't care about what he said, what I care about is what you said.” 

Jenna cocks her head to the side confused as she gazes at you. “What?” She questions confused, not knowing what she said.

“Apologise to my girlfriend right fucking know.” You quoted with your smile growing on your lips. “Last time I checked I didn't even know I was your girlfriend.”

Jenna’s cheeks turned a scarlet red shade of embarrassment as she let out a little. “Oh.” 

You giggled amused at her words as your fingers played loosely with the hair at the back of her neck. “Oh? Is that all you have to say?” You teased her before adding in a whisper. “Ask me.” 

“Ask you what?” Jenna asks, confused as she leaned into your touch. You rolled your eyes under the glasses as you paused your movement. “Ask me what I think of being called your girlfriend.” 

Eager to know your answer Jenna repeated your words with ease as she smiled nervously. “What do you think of being called my girlfriend?”

You smirked as you leaned even closer to her, your lips hovering over hers as you whispered. “That it's the only thing I've wanted to hear from you since our first date.” 

Jenna’s lips immediately connect with yours the second you finish speaking, sighing against your lips as she pulls you even impossibly closer to her.

You've never had what you'd describe as "perfect" in your life. But now to you, Jenna is the epitome of it. It's how you've always wanted life to feel, calm, and content; and you have that when you're with Jenna.

—————

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authors note: i hope this was better

[shares-a-vest]

No one knows why Eddie and Nancy call each other "my dear" and "honey" respectively. Not even Steve and Robin, who only give a brief pause (and sometimes a confused, "huh?") before going back to whatever nonsense. Even though it is absolutely, one hundred percent, their fault.

It’s all because Eddie and Nancy are dating two people permanently attached at the hip. "Platonic soulmates" they say, repeated ad nauseam. Two people who should be siblings. A pair of bickering sisters who are also sometimes gross brothers. A brother and sister duo so chaotic they give the Sinclairs a run for their money.

Platonic soulmates who act like two silly drunk girls when they are out at a bar. Two losers who cackle with laughter and sing along far too loudly to the radio on the way home.

A pair of idiots stumbling up the stairs in Steve’s house, gradually discarding jackets, bags and accessories.

Eddie is relatively sober, having played with the band and Nancy is tipsy, never one to entirely shake her sensible and put-together self. So Eddie follows behind, closing the front door, locking it and turning the lights off, while Nancy scurries along picking up the tossed attire.

"You're my best friend!" Robin shouts, squishing Steve's cheeks together as they hang off each other, wobbly at the top of the stairs.

"Love you, Robbie!" Steve says, voice cracking as he sniffles and kisses her on the cheek.

He takes her hand and they disappear up the hall.

By the time Eddie reaches Steve’s bedroom, Steve and Robin are passed out on that plaid bedspread, all curled up together like two creatures huddled together for warmth and companionship.

Nancy grumbles as she straightens up the shoes scattered at the foot of the bed.

"I swear they forget we exist sometimes," she says, huffing as she tugs off Robin’s left boot that she’d only managed to unzip.

"Oh absolutely," Eddie agrees.

He can’t help but walk over to Steve’s bedside and brush his fringe from his face. Steve produces a gross snorting nose at the movement, cuddling in closer to his best friend.

"Stop… snoring… di…" Robin mumbles, not getting out her favourite nickname before drifting back off to sleep.

Eddie steps back and folds his arms, resigning himself to spending his Sunday tolerating two hungover platonic soulmates in their worst and most annoying form.

Nancy rolls her eyes. "Get your bag and come into the spare room."

They make quick work of changing, Eddie in an oversized band tee and a pair of Steve’s checked pyjama pants he had taken ownership of. He looks in the mirror as he stands side-by-side Nancy in the upstairs bathroom, both brushing their teeth in silence. He looks over her pale pink nightdress, embellished with embroidered flowers and can’t help the huffed laugh that escapes him.

"What?" Nancy smiles and spits out her toothpaste in the sink.

"We look like an old married couple who have run out of things to talk about."

Nancy giggles, quickly moving to a washcloth to wipe her mouth before she bursts out laughing. She zips up her cosmetics bag and makes a sharp turn to face Eddie, her brow quirked.

"Honey, did you enjoy the soiree this evening?" she says in an uptight, snooty voice, cocking her chin and giving a sly smile.

"Splendid, my dear!" he replies, toothbrush dangling from his mouth as he bows with a flourish. "Although the band was an absolute bore."

"Don't say that!" Nancy chides, breaking character as she playfully slaps his shoulder.

He snorts a laugh as he finishes up and rinses his mouth out, dripping water everywhere.

"Wheeler, there were like seven people there, including you, Steve and Rob," he laughs, dropping the facade too.

"Shall we retire for the night?" she says, changing the subject and slipping back into character. She offers her hand.

"To the bedroom!" he declares, pointing to the door.

The spare bedroom is, unsurprisingly, similar to the rest of the house. Sparse and low-lit with heavy dark curtains that make Steve’s plaid drapes look light and airy in comparison.

"I hope you don’t snore as much as Steve, Nancy," Eddie warns without any heat behind his words as he punches his pillow into a shape that isn't flat and solid.

"He does snore, doesn’t he?" she wonders aloud as she slips under the covers, huffing a laugh. "Robin talks in her sleep. Nothing serious or anything. Total nonsense."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Of course she does."

"Last week she woke me up," she starts as she pokes at his shoulder. "Tapping on my shoulder saying, ‘Nance, tell the fish it’s time to get ready for school’."

"Di-did you have… fish children?" he asks before doubling over, cackling.

"I think so," Nancy ponders, speaking slow before snorting a laugh.

"Goodnight, my dear."

"Night, honey."

At that, they turn away from each other, snuggling under the covers for a restful night’s sleep.

The following morning, Steve and Robin swap out his bed for cocooning themselves in blankets on the Harrington's gigantic couch as Eddie finishes up making their breakfast. They’d stirred fairly early in the morning, moving into the guest room and not-at-all subtly waking Eddie and Nancy to demand breakfast, all the while complaining about their whereabouts the night before.

Nancy enters the kitchen, freshly showered and laughs at the state of their counterparts. But they do not surface. If anything, Eddie swears Steve’s snoring is getting louder with every passing minute.

"Breakfast is all set, my dear," Eddie says, flinging a teatowel over his shoulder and offering her Steve's plate.

She hesitates but he gestures to the others on the couch. Robin is now babbling something incoherently as she taps Steve on the shoulder.

"Thank you, honey," Nancy giggles as she takes the food.

[yoongiseesawmp3]

oh he’s good - san (m)

part of the church boy series.

summary: san, a non-believer, has one of the best voices in the church choir, and maybe one of the best voices in the world. fresh off a break up, you’re not looking for anything serious, and he isn’t either... but someone definitely falls faster and harder than they should.

word count: 11.4k (i am so sorry)

warnings: smut!!! some talk abt god n stuff. alcohol use. swearing? 

your relationship with church is...complicated, to say the least. you’re one of those kids that grew up going and never had the chance to make the decision yourself if you actually “believed” or not, so here you are as an adult, still going to church...just because? 

because it’s comfortable and familiar, maybe, and that might be why you find yourself at church this sunday after the worst breakup of your life. you weren’t ready for forever with your ex, but it wasn’t off the table on your end. they had other plans, though, and after a few rocky months you came home the other day to an empty apartment. great way to start the summer, huh? 

anyway, you came to church thinking you could surprise your family with the unannounced visit, but the one day you’re sitting in the usual pew is the one day your family decides to sleep in. at least you’ve got the whole pew to yourself, so you can doodle and no one will elbow you to stop or give you a side eye for not paying full attention to the service. 

the organ music starts and you’ve got your bulletin in your lap, skimming through to see what’s been happening since you’ve been gone. the choir starts to file in, and you watch the swoosh of purple robes as they make their way to the choir loft. there’s a lot more people in the choir than you remember, so many that they have to walk doubled up down the aisle instead of single file. that has the robes dangerously close to swiping the lip gloss right off your mouth, and one clumsy singer trips ever so slightly at the pew behind yours. they grab onto the back of your pew to balance themselves, pulling your hair in the process, and you yelp in surprise. a hushed “shit, sorry, so sorry!” meets your ears, and you look up to find the sharpest features staring back at you. the man above you has stilled slightly, holding up the line, but his eyes are reading concerned and he mouths “you ok?” to which you nod. he gives you a quick once over before he nods back and continues the procession down the aisle, but you don’t miss the way he turns to make sure you’re still watching him as he walks away. 

you try to make it less obvious that, yes, you are staring straight at him, but the way his eyes have been locked on yours since he sat down makes that difficult. you can’t even play it off like you’re looking at the pastor because the hair puller is over near the piano and nowhere near the pulpit. speaking of the pastor, as he greets everyone, your mystery man nods in his direction, as if to say “you should pay attention to this.” you just smile to yourself as you take another moment to stare into his shining eyes, and then your attention is where it needs to be.

except, you know that feeling of somebody definitely watching you? that lingers as you try to listen to the announcements the pastor is sharing, and you can’t help but feel the warmth of someone’s eyes committing your face to memory. your eyes flit back over to mr. sly smile, and he outright grins when you catch him locked in on you and you only. now it’s your turn to point your head in the direction of the big man (er, the big man’s mouthpiece, technically, sorry god) and your choir boy has the audacity to laugh! in church! at something other than a lame joke made by a parishioner! how dare he. 

you would keep this inner monologue going in your head but the pastor motioning for the choir snaps you out of it, mostly because your target suddenly isn’t where he was a second ago. instead he’s walking down to the lectern, music book in hand, and smiling a million dollar smile at the congregation. the music slowly begins as he settles at the lectern, and you watch intently as he places his book down and adjusts the mic for what must be his upcoming solo. the song starts with the makeshift orchestra tucked away in the choir loft, and choir boy takes a deep breath before he begins to sing in the most honey-coated voice you’ve ever heard. there are no words except beautiful, warm and welcoming for his voice, and you’re sad when his solo is over too soon for your liking. you snap out of the trance his voice put you in and notice he’s, yep, still staring right at you. 

the next part of the service goes about the same, cute church boy staring into your sinner’s soul as you doodle and try to ignore him until you can’t take it anymore and risk a glance up at his fierce gaze. you know this is some form of weird church flirting, but you have to remind yourself not to get too excited about it. you’re still healing from your breakup and don’t need a crush, so you do your best to snap out of it before the pastor prays you out and everyone leaves. hopefully you can slip out unnoticed by anybody and be on your merry little way to annoy your family for not coming to church today.

unfortunately for you, you forgot that in the last service the choir gets to either leave after the offering (since they’ve been there all morning) or they can join their loved ones in the pews. and guess who’s sitting in the only completely empty row in the entire sanctuary? you. and guess who decides that this is the perfect spot to spread out and glance your way from a way shorter distance? choir boy. so now you have to sit through an entire sermon with his eyes glancing dangerously up and down your body. you grip tighter on the nub of a pencil you found in the attendance pad, and continue sketching the best possible flower meadow you can muster.

as a kid, you would get these little activity books each sunday that tied into what the sermon was about so that your baby brain could comprehend what the adults were talking about while you sat there, and you think that’s what started your habit of doodling during the message. you’d always rush through the activities as a kid so you could spend the rest of your time coloring to your heart’s content, so now you use the limited skills and resources at your disposal to sketch out a flower meadow that the pastor is using as part of his big metaphor. you don’t notice choir boy beside you leaning over for a sneaky glance at the paper in your lap, and he smiles when he sees you so focused on your little doodles. it inspires him to grab a paper of his own and scratch out a note, which he passes to you. you look up at him and he smiles softly, a little spark of a joke that you’re not in on yet shining in his eyes. he looks down at the note, encouraging you to take it, and your fingertips brush as you pull the note from him. 

“whatcha doin?” it reads, and you scoff quietly. 

“drawing,” you whisper back. “it helps me focus.”

you’re met with silence in response, and a quick look at your new friend shows him stooped over another scrap, writing another note that he passes to you when he’s done. 

“no talking in church!!!!!!!” he warns, with about twenty messy exclamation points. you laugh quietly and see that he’s handing you another note, which reads “i’m san, btw :) what’s your name?”

you take the note from him once again, and write back “y/n” before you hold it up for san to see. he nods after reading it and leans in as he whispers “pretty name. nice to meet you, y/n.”

“no talking in church!!” you whisper back, and you add a harsh, quick “sh!” for good measure. san laughs at you and nods in understanding, pointing his attention back to the front of the sanctuary. but he doesn’t stop glancing your way, watching as you capture your tongue between your lips in concentration as you add a tree to your small meadow scene. san smiles and shakes his head, almost so he can shake away the same thoughts you were just having. he’s still in a weird situationship with his ex/sometimes gf, so he doesn’t need to flirt with you or string you along. something about you, though...he’s hooked, and he knows it. 

- 

the service lets out and you get a text from your mom that she is in fact at church, but she went to the early service and then joined her friend’s sunday school class since she thought no one else from the family was coming today. since you’ve been living on your own for a few months now, you decide to wait for your mom to finish her class so you can say hi before you leave. while you wait you exchange pleasantries with church members you haven’t seen in a while, and you quickly get tired of explaining that no, that nice boy who came to christmas eve services last year is not with you and no, he probably won’t be coming back again. 

after maybe the sixth person rubs salt in your wound, you feel a tap on your shoulder, which is strange considering your mom would most likely just pull you into a hug. you turn expecting to see someone else and you’re met with san, who smiles and waves like he didn’t just get your attention on purpose. he’s lost the purple choir robe and now you can see how buff he is, which is entirely too distracting. he’s wearing a nice white button up (lord help those buttons, they’re struggling) and some dark linen pants, and he looks delectable. you smile at him in return as you try to shut your mind off and keep your eyes from staring at his broad shoulders and tiny waist.

“so, y/n,” he begins. “do you have lunch plans?”

“i’m gonna stop you right there, buckaroo,” you say, placing a hand up for emphasis.

“buckaroo?” san scoffs with a grin. “didn’t know this was a wild west film.”

“i’m being serious,” you warn him. “as much fun as it was not paying attention to the sermon with you, i’m not looking for anything serious, so i’m afraid i can’t be your lunch date.”

“who said anything about being my date?” he asks incredulously. “i was just making small talk. i’m already spoken for, sweet cheeks.”

“how charming,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “does your sweetheart know you flirt with other people when they’re not around?”

“it’s complicated,” san says with a tense smile. “anyway. it was nice to formally meet you, y/n. can’t wait to annoy you another day.”

what did he mean by ‘it’s complicated’ and how complicated could it be if he felt comfortable enough flirting with someone else without a hint of remorse? san might not be the kind of guy you need to get mixed up with, especially not right now, but...it’s tempting. thankfully, you hear the sound of your mom’s laughter from down the hall and you know a welcome distraction is on the way. you can think more about san and his mischievous eyes later.

-

during the week, you have the luxury of picking when you want to go into the office. the other days, you can work from home, or more often than not, you go to the coffeeshop by your new house. it’s quick, it’s convenient, and it’s cheap. it’s also an easy way for you to focus and get a bunch of work done so you usually come here when you want to condense a long day’s work into just a couple hours. 

you’re about three hours deep into work mode when you realize you need another coffee, so you get up from your seat and take your empty mug back up to the front. it’s just about lunch time, so the afternoon rush is slowly starting, and you take a place a few people back in line. you notice what appears to be a couple arguing at the counter (over what, you don’t know) and that’s slowing the line down. they’re definitely fighting though, and you look down at your phone to make it less obvious you’re trying to eavesdrop. finally they get their drinks and the guy turns to leave in such a rush that he grazes your side, almost spilling coffee all over you. you look up, ready to cuss someone out, when you hear a familiar “shit, sorry, i’m sorry” and that’s when you notice it’s none other than san. he makes eye contact with you briefly as the girl next to him tugs on his arm and complains that he “always takes too long,” and you give him a shy wave before focusing back on the line ahead of you. 

-

the following monday, you find yourself back at your favorite table, working away. today should be a short day for you, so you’ve invited a friend to join you and you’re currently gossiping over his coworker that claims he went on vacation to greece but it was actually a lie to make him look cool.

“yeah, so when i went into his office, right,” your friend yeosang begins. “he told me he had gifts for everybody, so i went to look at what he brought, and first of all, he had a jar of olives on his desk that i KNOW is from whole foods, and THEN he tried to tell us that the ‘pita bread’ he brought back must have been smushed in his suitcase but actually i think they were just tortillas.”

“why would he do that?” you laugh, taking a sip of your quickly cooling coffee. the only bad thing about inviting yeosang is that you tend to get too wrapped up in the conversation and you always let your coffee go cold. as you take another sip you notice another couple talking animatedly about something, just a few tables behind you. yeosang hears it too and you both stop your conversation to listen in. 

“i don’t know why you keep trying to control me,” a woman’s voice begins. “it’s not like you’re fully committed to this relationship either.”

“yeah, but i don’t hang all over other girls and embarrass you in front of everyone you know,” the guy responds, and your ears perk up at the sound. “he’s one of my best friends and you almost ruined his relationship too!”

“oh so i ruin relationships now? that’s what this is?” she asks. “san, i never knew when this turned into a relationship. i thought this was something fun, something casual, but you’re the one making it into something it’s not.”

san. she said san, didn’t she? you try to peek around yeosang, but he just turns with you to glance at the poor couple fighting loud enough for the whole cafe to hear. 

“c’mon, don’t be like that,” he says, and now that you’re listening for his voice it definitely sounds like the san you met last weekend. you see the girl stand up, lean over the table, and tell him something you can’t hear, and then she storms away. poor san is left by himself for a moment before he jolts up and follows her, clumsily knocking into yeosang’s chair as he passes by. he starts to apologize when he catches your eye, and you just watch quietly as he leaves without a word. 

-

the week after you attended church alone, you purposefully made plans so you wouldn’t have to go that following sunday. but you slipped up talking to your mom and now she expects you to be there this coming weekend, and after what you saw at the coffeehouse you almost want to go just to see how san’s doing.

not in a check in on him type of way, though. you mostly wanna go to see what kind of train wreck has been left in the aftermath. i mean, if you got broken up with publicly? you’d probably crawl into a hole and start the hibernation process. but no, as you accompany your mom into church the next sunday, you see san’s shock of black hair towering above the old ladies of the choir and he seems just fine. you avert your eyes before he can turn and meet your gaze, and you follow your mom quickly to your seats. 

the service goes along as usual, only this time no cute choir boy accidentally pulls your hair or decides to sit right next to you in your still (surprisingly) empty pew. he does, however, stare at you every chance he gets. once he sits down, he stares. he stands up to sing (no solo this week) and instead of looking at his music book, he’s staring right at you. again, it’s the last service of the day so the choir gets to sit in the congregation or leave, and san holds eye contact with you the entire time he walks down the main aisle. you don’t turn to see where he goes though, because that would put your mom on your tail, so you just settle back into your seat and prepare for a long winded sermon. 

after the service, you think you’re in the clear because you didn’t spot san in the sanctuary, but as soon as you and your mom enter the narthex you feel a tap on your shoulder, eerily similar to the one you felt just a couple weeks ago. you turn, and sure enough, there’s san standing and smiling at you once again. 

“hi san,” you say with fake cheer. “choir sounded great today.”

“oh, yes, it did!” your mom coos, suddenly interested in this conversation rather than the one where she was gossiping with her friend about the pastor’s wife. “san, is it?”

“yes ma’am,” he nods politely. “and thank you, y/n. i appreciate that.”

“how do you two know each other?” your mom prys, and you open your mouth to speak but san beats you to it. 

“actually, i scouted y/n a couple weeks ago,” he begins. “we’ve been trying to start up a young adult ministry for a while now, but there’s never enough people interested.” then he turns fully to you. “so i was wondering if you’d be up for a bible study? with other people our age. we’d meet outside the church, at a restaurant or someone’s house, whatever we feel like that week. it should be fun.”

“a bible study?” you repeat, and he simply nods, blinking back at you as if to convey a message in morse code. 

“that would be wonderful!” your mom replies. “i’ve been trying to get y/n into a study for years, this would be perfect.”

“great!” san says happily, matching your mom’s energy. “what do you think, y/n? we meet on thursdays, i can send you the details and you can decide later on if you want to come.”

“that’s fine,” you agree, and your mom, proud, walks off to go tell her friend you’re finally coming back to jesus. now that you’re alone though, san continues. 

“so i’ll need your number to send you the details,” he says with a suggestive smirk, and you groan. 

“i knew you were up to something,” you sigh. “i don’t even wanna go, i hate bible studies.”

“trust me, you’ll like this one,” he says, holding his hand out. “now fork it over, sweetcheeks. let me put my number in.”

“fine,” you gripe. “don’t waste your time naming yourself something special, i’ll just change it to choi san when you’re done.” 

“what’s the fun in that?” he asks, passing your phone back to you. the contact card is still up, and he’s named himself “the golden voice of god.”

“humble, aren’t we?” you tease, and he smiles.

“i’ll see you on thursday,” he replies, but you protest weakly as he walks away. “i can even pick you up, if you want!” and then he’s gone. 

-

so. it’s thursday night. you weren’t planning on going to the bible study, but san has been bugging you all day with texts trying to convince you to come. and when his initial tactic of “well i’m gonna be there, why don’t you wanna be there?” didn’t work, then he started luring you with food. whoever is hosting tonight is apparently rich, and they got one of your favorite restaurants to cater the freaking bible study. who does that?? so that’s the only reason you’re considering it. seriously. no other reason. at all.

now, if you were to ask why is san picking you up, well, that answer is more simple. because you wanted him to. despite your desire to stay away from anyone who could further break your heart, you’re intrigued by this man. a small part of you wants to get to know him, and that part of you won tonight. 

so that’s how you ended up texting san at the last minute that you want to come, and he responds almost immediately with “great :) what’s ur address?”

a little while later, san pulls up in the most mom car you’ve ever seen. it’s better suited for a family of six, not a single dude in his 20s. you almost want to laugh when he gets out to open your door, and not just because the door sticks and he makes cute noises while he tries to yank it open. it makes you wanna laugh because this insight into his life is why you’re here. he doesn’t seem real to you, but this car and its ugliness is very real. his smile and the way it lights up for you seems real. whatever is pulling you toward him even though you should go the opposite direction, that’s also very real. so here you are, in his front seat, going to bible study for some good food and hopefully some answers. 

except, you pull up and it doesn’t look like bible study at all. there’s a shit ton of cars in the driveway and wrapped around the house, and as san parks you hear music coming out of the slightly open front door. 

“ok, a few questions,” you say after letting san get your door once again. “first of all, i thought we were going to bible study. second of all, i thought you said there weren’t enough young adults to start a ministry. this house has enough cars to pack the sanctuary on easter sunday.’

“neither of those were questions,” san astutely points out. “you wanna try again?”

“yeah, what the hell are we doing here?” 

“ooo, baby used the h word at bible study,” he gasps, and you whine “but this is obviously not bible study!” to which san responds, “you’re right, it’s not. well, not technically. see, the group of young ‘leaders’ they asked to coordinate this group is actually myself and a few other non-believers who just so happen to be the best actors of the century, so everyone falls for it when we act all holy, but in reality, me and the other ‘leaders’ couldn’t give a rat’s ass about bible study or hymns or all that.”

before san’s rant, he started walking you toward the party house in front of you. and the more he revealed, the slower your steps became. when he finished, you were completely stopped, mouth agape and eyes in disbelief. san turns to find out why you’ve stopped, and he lets out a full chested laugh when he sees you in such shock.

“what, did you fall for it too?”

“YES?” you reply. “oh my god? so you’re telling me you started a bible study as a front for throwing parties, and you’re also an atheist? why do you sing in the choir then?!”

“i need the practice,” he says with a shrug. “i still want to be a singer, deep down. and it makes me feel good to get my little choir bonus because it makes me feel like i’m getting paid to sing, which is what i’ve always wanted. church is just the only place i can do that with pretty low effort. plus it makes my parents happy.”

“i’m sorry, i’m still having a hard time processing all of this,” you say. “golden boy san isn’t as golden as he seems? who knew.”

“right?” he smiles. “i’m just full of surprises. now, shall we go in?”

-

yeah, this absolutely is not a bible study. but san wasn’t lying when he said the mysterious owner of this house was getting food catered. you walk inside and instantly you’re met with the smell of your favorite greek restaurant, noticing all of the food piled onto the dining room table, tucked away from all of the mischief happening in the rest of the house. you start picking at the pita and hummus when san appears next to you, honestly you forgot he was still nearby. 

“so obviously,” he begins, “food’s in here, drinks are in the kitchen, party is in the living room and upstairs-” this is said with a suggestive wink, “and then if it gets to be too much for you, there’s a bonfire going outside.”

“who said this would be too much for me?” you ask, sucking an olive into your mouth with a pop. san laughs and shakes his head. 

“i’m gonna go get a drink, what do you want?”

“i’ll come with you,” you reply, following him like a lost puppy. you’re now realizing you don’t know many people here, so whether you like it or not, you might be spending a lot of time with san tonight. 

he shows you all the alcohol options (this is still so shocking, these are all church kids?) and you ask him to make you something with vodka. he makes you some concoction that he swears is delicious, and when you take a sip it’s so strong it makes your nose hairs feel like they’re burning away.

“you trying to get me wasted, san?” you jokingly ask, and his eyes go wide.

“no, oh my god, sorry,” he replies, reaching for your drink but you swat him away. “what? i’ll make you a new one and take that one, i’m so sorry.”

“no, you still have to drive later, mr. mini van,” you tease. “i was just messing with you. i can handle this atomic sludge that you decided to serve me, but don’t judge if i make a face or two after each sip.”

“oh i will if they make you look funny,” he quips back and you can’t help but laugh at the glee in his voice. 

“noted,” you mumble as you take another sip, and you wince when the drink burns going down. you risk a glance back at san and he just smiles and mimics taking a photo, and you realize that being around him might make this a long night. 

after san makes himself a less toxic drink, you go back to the food and start to  make a plate, but trying to balance your drink and get food is a struggle. san notices and politely takes you drink so you can fix your plate, but he’s giving his commentary over your shoulder the whole time.

“i don’t like olives, why are you getting so many?” he whines. “and put more chicken, that’s not enough for both of us.”

“who said this was for us?” you ask incredulously. “get your own plate.”

“i’m a little busy babe,” he says, holding up both drinks. “so add more chicken for me?” he says with a pout. “pretty please?”

“ugh, fine,” you sigh. “tell me when to stop.” you add another scoop, and look to san but his eyes tell you to keep going. you go for another, and he continues watching expectantly. “do you want me to just make you a plate?”

“no, i want us to share,” he pouts again. “just a little more though.”

“did you not eat today or something,” you mumble as you add as much food as the plate will handle.

“no actually,” he replies. “it was a busy one so i didn’t really have time.”

“san, you can’t do that!” you scold him. “you need to take care of yourself.”

“what if i want you to do it for me?” he asks with a teasing lilt in his voice. you groan in response and confirm that you have enough food before you shoulder your way through some partygoers in search of a place to sit and eat. san follows behind you and looks around, noticing the same time as you that there’s no open space inside. so he leans down to whisper in your ear “maybe we could sit outside?” but his proximity and the way his lips so barely grazed your ear have your heart racing. you watch as san takes the lead now, looking over his shoulder to make sure you’re following, and you hope in the dim light he doesn’t notice your blush. but of course he does, because he turns back around with the smuggest smile on his face. 

you finally make it outside and find plenty of open space, but san insists on the swinging bench by the fire, so you carefully sit and balance the plate between the two of you. the light from the fire illuminates san’s sharp features, and you catch yourself staring as he offers your drink back to you. he quirks his head, almost wanting to ask if you were staring, but instead he just comments on how nice it feels outside, and you quietly agree.

“here,” you say, offering him the plate. “eat your chicken, protein monster.”

“you’re not gonna feed it to me?” he whines, and you have to audibly groan.

“you’re so..”

“what? charming, lovable?” he tries, and you shake your head.

“insufferable,” you finish, and he laughs before taking the plate from you and trying the food. “is it good?”

“yeah, here,” he says, holding a forkful of chicken out to you. now it’s your turn to laugh, because he’s making airplane noises trying to get you to take the food he’s offering. 

“stop it!” you finally manage to say. “nobody’s feeding anybody else! eat like a normal person or i’m taking the plate back. this is really my food, after all.”

“fine with me,” he says after scooping another bite of chicken. “eat your gross olives.” you sit in silence as you make a little pita, hummus, olive taco and san picks at the chicken a little more. after another quiet moment you start to speak.

“do you mind me asking why you didn’t eat today?” san just shrugs and reminds you he was busy. “but still. we got here almost at 8pm, that’s a long time to not eat. did you work today or something?”

“yeah,” san begins to explain. “i’ve been jumping around jobs lately, trying to make more time to take singing seriously, so i’m just in a funk right now i think. i don’t have a set schedule so it’s hard to keep up with everything. been a rough week.”

your mind flashes back to the blow up you watched in the cafe last week, and you wonder if san remembers seeing you there. you wonder if he knows you heard every word of his break up, and you also wonder if it would be wrong to let yourself feel something for him if you’re both so freshly out of relationships. but that’s a problem for another day.

“i know you saw me,” he continues, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “at the cafe? sorry you had to hear that.”

“i’m sorry you had to go through that,” you counter. “break ups are never pretty, especially...like that.”

“yeah, that was a dick move on my part. i knew i wanted to break up with her so i shouldn’t have asked to meet there, but as her parting gift to me she had to do it first and make a scene,” he tries laughing it off. “but i’m fine, in that regard at least. i’m better off without her.”

“cheers to that,” you say, lifting your cup to tap san’s. you gag slightly at the sharp drop in taste from the delicious food to the shitty drink, and san chuckles.

“i didn’t realize i made it that bad.”

“yeah, maybe stick to singing, sweetcheeks.”

“what about you?” he asks, eyes still glued on you. “how’d yours happen?”

“it was easy,” you say with a shrug. “he didn’t love me anymore. years together just over in a couple minutes when i came home and saw him packing his things. not much you can say to stop that.”

“damn,” san whistles. “and i thought i was a dick.”

“you’re not a dick,” you assure him. “neither is my ex, and that’s the hard part. i want him to be a villain, but he’s just some dude trying to live his life now. nothing i can do about that.”

“you could start dating someone super cool and cute and hot and make him jealous though,” san offers, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“nope, if i’m gonna come to bible study every week then you need to keep the flirting to a minimum. we’re both going through shit-”

“we could go through it together-”

“and i think, sweet sweet san, it would be good for us to be on our own for a little while,” you say, patting his shoulder. “just not the right time.”

“wait, go back,” he says, just processing. “you said you’ll come to bible study every week?”

“why not,” you shrug. “this is the first time i’ve enjoyed myself in the name of the lord. plus free food.”

“thanks be to god,” san says, tapping his cup with yours once more. 

-

the next few weeks you find yourself falling into a pattern with san. he picks you up for “bible study” in his mom-mobile, you grab as many snacks and drinks as you can carry, and you go sit outside by the fire. it’s nice, actually, spending time with him like this. he’s mellowed out, still flirting here and there, but you can tell you’re genuinely becoming friends as the weeks go on. you’re getting more comfortable with him, something you notice suddenly when you got a little too drunk too fast and started nodding off as san was explaining why his current part time job was busting his balls. it was also getting colder as the night went on, so you were slowly curling in on yourself to keep the cold out. san notices and grumbles something before he’s clearing the discarded food barrier between you two, and without giving you a chance to protest, he’s pulling you into his side. once he’s settled, you realize it’s not weird or awkward, it’s just...comfortable. and he’s so warm, which you didn’t realize you had mumbled that out to him.

“what’d you say?” he asks with a smile, looking down at your fluttering eyelashes as you nuzzle closer to him to fight the chill.

“said you’re really warm,” you repeat, your face smushed against his shoulder. your eyes are closed, so you don’t see the sweet look san gives you as he speaks next. 

“want me to take you home baby?”

“no,” you shake your head. “’m comfy. don’t move yet.”

“got it,” san laughs, twirling a piece of your hair as he waits for your current situation to click in your mind. it already has, because you stopped yourself from getting caught up in san’s scent a few minutes ago, but you decided to let yourself enjoy this moment. but san’s searing gaze is starting to get to you, and you crack an eye open to glare at him.

“stop looking at me like that,” you warn him.

“like what?” he counters. “your eyes were closed! how could you tell i was looking at you?”

“just knew,” you shrugged. “and you’re defensive, so i was right.”

“what, a friend can’t appreciate another friend’s beauty?” 

“no, we can’t,” you respond. “and stop playing with my hair, i’m really gonna fall asleep if you do that.”

“sorry,” he says, stopping immediately. “but can i still look at you?”

“depends on the look,” you say warily.

“alright, you tell me then,” he says quietly, glancing from your eyes down to your lips. “is this ok?” you nod, and he scoots closer, placing a hand on your thigh. “how about this?”

“that’s ok,” you agree, voice suddenly hiding from you. you clear your throat before you say again, “that’s fine, yeah.”

“but this would be too much, right?” san asks, cupping your cheek next. you shake your head no, and he quirks an eyebrow in questioning.

“it’s not too much,” you assure him, his thumb stroking your cheek as you speak. “feels nice cause i’m still cold.”

“maybe we should warm you up then?” he asks, another question in his eyes. you know what he wants to ask and you simply nod then lean in to meet his lips. 

let’s say you haven’t kissed a lot of people, but you’ve kissed enough to definitely know what it feels like. or so you thought. this kiss with san is like nothing else. when people say they feel a spark between them and someone else, this kiss is your proof that those sparks are real. suddenly the crisp fall air around you is forgotten, your body slowly warming from your head to your toes. the sparks collect and move from your lips to your waist where san has a steady grip on you. then the sparks move to your neck as san mumbles something about going home, and you quickly pull him back to your lips, wanting to stay in this moment longer. he tries pulling away once more and you finally let him go, whimpering when your lips disconnect. the sound just about breaks san’s heart, but his internal clock told him it was time to go. he needed to be up in a couple hours for work, and he’s afraid he wouldn’t sleep at all if he didn’t take you back to your apartment right now. he explains all this to you, and you just nod, cheeks still warm and getting ever warmer as he helps you up, arm wrapping around you as you walk together back to his car with san leaving a kiss on the top of your head before you separate. 

-

you know you shouldn’t be falling for choi san, but you sure as hell like being around him. you like kissing him too, which is something you both do frequently now without really discussing the consequences. that’s what you’re doing now, actually. san came by to take you to bible study like usual and instead of just texting that he was here, he came to your door and asked if he could come inside. he claims he needed to throw away some old coffee cups so you wouldn’t think he’s a gross pig, but in reality he just wanted to see your space. picture you in someplace other than the church or outside by the fire when his mind wanders and daydreams about you at work, or worse, when he’s singing. he’s caught himself humming love songs lately, and he’s scared and excited by the fact that each one reminds him of you.

you let him in warily, telling him you wanna get drunk tonight and he’s killing the vibe, but he just takes his time noticing all the little details of your home. noticing you. he notes the type of coffee on the counter and tucks that away for another time, and he notes that you have a bowl piled high with peaches and there’s about ten other peach scented things scattered around. that explains why you always smell so sweet. speaking of sweet, your voice as sweet as honey pulls him from his thoughts.

“san, cmon, let’s go,” you whine. “someone’s gonna take our spot.”

“oh baby,” he starts off, pulling his eyes away from the stack of books on your coffee table. “haven’t you been outside today? it’s freezing. party’s inside today.”

“ugh,” you groan. “that means more people. y’know, i think you’re the only person i like there.”

“then we’ll just have to find another way to end up by ourselves,” he says, suddenly very close to you. your back bumps into the kitchen counter and you brace yourself as san’s arms drape around you. “or maybe we could have a party of our own, here?” his thumb finds your chin, turning your face up to meet his eyes. he leans in to give you a tentative kiss. then you’re pulling him closer, making sure he can’t leave your grip. you stay like that, kissing slowly, and then san tugs your chin to get your attention. “what do you think, love? here, or bible study?” 

“b-bible study,” you stutter out, heart racing. you need a distraction from the man in front of you and his knowing smirks, his gleaming eyes that make you feel like the only person in the world. you need to get your mind off of him before you do something you shouldn’t. just kissing is fine, right? that’s not crossing too many lines. but what you wanted to do if you had continued making out definitely would’ve crossed a line. and you’re not ready to do that. or are you?

-

you’re not sure if it’s the fact that no one is sitting outside tonight, or maybe you’re just not used to being inside during these parties, but there’s a lot of people here. it’s crowded, it’s loud, and you can’t stop thinking about san, so these people are really just background noise to you. san is dragging you through the house, pointing out friends here and there. you meet his friend seonghwa and his girlfriend, who also go to your church. they seem nice, and you wished san would’ve just sat down with them, but he’s pulling you on to another part of the house in search of booze. your little rendezvous at your house made you late, and it looks like all the good stuff is gone. 

“damn,” san mumbles, looking over the sad collection of bottles. “all that’s left is everclear, some fireball, and tequila.”

“god, the tequila, please,” you urge. “if you make me drink fireball we’re never talking again.”

“bad experience with it or just don’t like the taste?” san questions, and you respond, “both.” he nods and laughs, grabbing the unopened bottle of tequila before an idea sparks in his eyes. “you know what we should do?”

“what?” you ask warily, not a fan of the excitement in his voice or the fire in his eyes.

“oh don’t sound so scared,” he teases, grabbing a few more things off the counter. he holds them up to you with a shit-eating grin. “we should take shots the right way.”

he’s showing off a salt shaker and a bowlful of lime wedges, and the joy on san’s face is telling you there’s no way out of this. 

“i wouldn’t say that’s the right way to take shots...”

“cmon y/n, it’ll be fun,” he says, and you listen only because he used your name. usually he calls you some kind of pet name, but this proves how badly he wants to do this. you follow him like a lost puppy as he goes back out to the party, and before you know it you’re following him upstairs. he checks that you’re still behind him, and you quirk your eyebrow at his choice of location.

“less people,” he shrugs. “want you to myself for a minute.”

having you to himself means occupying the only empty room, what looks like an office turned guest room based on the desk shoved in the corner and the small twin bed across from it. doesn’t leave many options for you to sit, so you take up the head of the bed while san situates himself at the foot. he balances everything for the shots carefully on the mattress before checking in with you.

“you good, babe?” 

“why wouldn’t i be?” you reply, and san shrugs. 

“you up for something interesting?” he asks, and suddenly you’re nervous. you’d been trying to repress whatever you’ve been feeling for san lately, but your game plan of going to bible study has led you into one of his easily laid traps. he wants to get you to crack tonight, you can tell. and you’re afraid you might let him, even if you shouldn’t.

“interesting how?” you counter, and san just holds the bottle up with a quirked eyebrow. 

“body shots?”

“you’re joking.”

“only a little.”

“san, no,” you say firmly. “i feel like that would require us taking clothes off, and that’s not very in the name of the holy ghost.”

“i pray to god the holy ghost isn’t in here right now,” san mumbles as he struggles to open the tequila. you grab the single cup he managed to grab and start rimming it with a slice of lime before dashing a bit of salt on top of that. you offer the cup to san so he can pour a shot, which he does with a very heavy hand. “yours or mine?”

“are you driving or am i?” 

“i have a feeling we’ll be here a while, so it may not matter,” he says as he takes the cup from you. he takes it like a champ, only wincing slightly at the end when you pass him a lime wedge. “bleh. still can’t decide if i like these or not.”

“well i do, so gimme the bottle,” you say, but san stops you.

“let me pour it,” he says, starting the shot the same way you did by salting the rim. he pours another heavy shot, passing the drink to you. in the time it takes you to tip your head back and swallow, san has hidden the bowl of limes and he’s very proud of himself for it. he’s got one of his signature smirks on his ridiculously handsome face, and you can tell the bowl of limes is precariously hidden behind his back. 

“c’mon san, lemme chase it,” you whine, and he shakes his head, mumbling something without opening his mouth. “what? use your words, big boy.”

san waits a moment, smile threatening to break across his face, while you’re peeved off sitting across from him. slowly he smiles, revealing the lime held firmly in his mouth. he wiggles his eyebrows at you, waiting for your response.

“you’re joking,” you laugh, leaning forward to grasp at the bowl. “gimme a clean lime!”

“mm-mm!” san grunts, nudging you back in your place. you lose your balance and fall back on the pillows, giving san a chance to box you in below him. he’s hovering over you, lime still taunting you from between his lips, and he tries again. “eh? donchawanit?”

there’s a nanosecond between his poorly enunciated question and the mini-monologue in your head. you try to talk yourself out of it, say this is just a rebound, you shouldn’t dive head first into this when you’re still healing from your breakup, but san keeps moving closer and your eyes flutter at the scent of him and your cheeks warm at the feeling of his hands on your hips. he’s got you wrapped around his finger, so you might as well take the dive. 

you let your lips meet his and your teeth sink into the lime just enough to rid your mouth of the cheap tequila taste. you swoop the lime from san’s mouth and spit it out, not sure where it’ll land, but you don’t care. san has reconnected your lips, ready to kiss you until you can’t feel them anymore. his hands slide under your shirt to caress your skin, and while this isn’t the first time you’ve found yourselves in a position like this (you might have spent too much time in his car last week before going into the party) this time is decidedly different for some reason. somehow, without speaking about it, you both know this is going somewhere tonight. you’ve fought it for so long, and san has held back for so long, that if you don’t stop soon the floodgates will open and there will be no going back. when san’s hands move from rubbing the bare skin around your hips to dipping below the waistband of your pants, you know those gates are going to come crashing down any second now. 

“tell me to stop,” san says breathlessly, barely pulling away from you. you muffle a “what?” into his mouth and he tries again. “if you don’t want this, say so right now. because i need you so bad, y/n. i’m ready if you are.” 

“i am, yeah,” you reply, just as breathless. you pull away so you can meet his gaze when you speak so san knows you mean it. “i want you, san. i’m scared to admit how badly i want you, but i do. i just want you to be careful with me.”

“oh baby, i’ll treat you better than anyone else ever has,” he says, his eyes glistening in the dim light. despite being fully indoors, his gaze reminds you of the way the bonfire would reflect in his eyes as you fell for him week after week. it took you long enough but you’re able to see things clearly now: you’re falling for san, and that might not be a bad thing. 

“then show me,” you challenge him, and he smirks before connecting your lips again. he carefully pulls your pants down and gives your hips a reassuring squeeze before he runs his fingertips ever so lightly over the outline of your panties. his touch moves back up your body, sliding your shirt up with his hands. he helps you take your shirt off, smiling brightly when you lay back down and your hair cascades around you in a halo. 

“i haven’t said this enough, but you are so beautiful,” he whispers, and suddenly you feel shy under his gaze. you try to turn away but he grips your chin lightly and gives you a quick kiss. “don’t try to hide from me, baby.”

“ok,” you whisper back, but the way he’s looking at you still is so..serious. like there’s more he wants to say but he’s not, so you tug on his shirt to keep going. he gets the hint and slides it over his head, and your hands fly to his chest and trace the muscles there. “hey, you’re not too bad yourself, choir boy.”

“oh come on, choir boy?” he laughs. 

“what? you don’t like it?” you pout, and he chuckles again.

“there’s just so many better things to call me, love.”

“hmm, like what, sir?” you tease, and san quirks an eyebrow at you. “oh you’re joking. eat shit, choi, i’m not calling you sir.”

“not tonight, but some other time maybe?” he asks, and he doesn’t give you time to reply before his hand dips back down to your panties. he starts tracing the fabric where it meets your skin again and asks politely, “can i?” before pulling them to the side to trace your folds instead. he groans at how wet you are, and your hips buck involuntarily at his touch. “you’re so wet, baby, you sure you didn’t like calling me sir?” 

“just touch me, please,” you beg, and he nods. 

“in a minute. trying to appreciate you first. never seen such a pretty pussy, baby.”

the way san focuses on your core, his fingers tracing up and down to spread your wetness around, it has you breathless and he’s barely done anything. you whine and lift your hips, signaling you want more, and san gets the hint. he slides your panties down your legs, and then lays down on his stomach, breath hitting your parted lips. you shiver, and he latches his thumb on your clit, sending a jolt from your core up your spine. he rubs slow circles there while his other hand spreads you open enough for him to dip his tongue in your entrance, and you let out your first moan. it’s louder than you meant to be, because you are still in a semi-public place, but san won’t have that.

“need you louder than that, y/n,” he warns. “want everyone to hear how good i make you feel.” and he dips back down, thumb still rubbing your clit, but the way san is teasing your cunt with his tongue has you needier than you’d like to be. the sight of him between your legs is enough to get you flustered, but the expert way he’s dipping his tongue in and then running it through your folds has your legs quivering already. when he brings a finger down to join his tongue at your entrance, you jolt and let out a little scream, which he shows his appreciation for with a groan. a certain flick of his finger inside you brings you closer to the edge, and you tug on his hair to get his attention.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, words slurred by your cunt that he hasn’t fully pulled away from yet.

“stop, san,” you beg, and he pauses immediately, head looking up to meet your eyes. “don’t wanna come yet. i wanna make you feel good.”

“jesus, baby, you scared me,” he said, crawling back over you. “thought i did something wrong.”

“well your technique could be improved,” you tease, and san slaps your pussy in response, pulling a mix between a moan and a yelp from your lips.

“hey, i was doing some of my best work down there,” he said. “guess you’ll just have to teach me how to get better, yeah?”

“stop talking,” you tell him, feeling your arousal dripping from you at the thought of doing this again with him. “want you on the bed.”

“anything for you,” he says with too much fondness in his voice, and you can’t meet his eyes as you switch places. you’re straddling his lap, hovering just above the tent in his jeans, hoping you don’t ruin his pants with how wet you are. your awkward pause has san nervous again, so he checks in. “what are you thinking about?”

“i wanna suck you off,” you reply, pouting. “can i take your pants off?”

“god, yes, please,” he replies, squeezing your hips for assurance again. “i’m all yours, baby.”

you shimmy down far enough to undo his jeans, and you look back up to san before you pull them down. he nods again, brushing hair out of your face as you place one gentle kiss to the bulge in front of you, and he whines. actually whines. 

“baby, please, i said you could take them off,” he says breathlessly, and you laugh at how easy it is to rile him up. you get a hold of his pants and boxers and pull them both down, his length bouncing up at its release. you hate to admit it, but you’ve never seen a more beautiful cock. it’s like everything about san was carefully crafted by a god, and you’re just lucky to be the one who gets to appreciate it. 

you pull his pants down a little more and then wrap your hand around his base, squeezing slightly to tease him, and he bucks into your fist with a groan. you kiss his tip next, giving it a few light touches before glancing up to san’s face, and you feel your pussy clench at the way he’s staring at you with his lip between his teeth and his hooded eyes. he’s trying his best to be quiet, which isn’t fair, because he wanted you to be loud, so why does he get to be quiet? you switch quickly from kissing his tip to swallowing as much as you can take, ripping a moan from deep within san’s chest. you swallow around him once, twice, before pulling all the way off with a deep breath. you suck on the tip, twisting your hand around the base, before you go down on him again, bobbing up and down quickly to keep san’s needy grunts coming. he pulls you from your focus though, grabbing you on both sides of your face to push you away gently. you start to protest, but he cuts you off quickly.

“i’m gonna come, wanna fuck you now,” he says in one breath. “can you pull my pants back up?”

“what?” you laugh. “how’s that gonna help us fuck?” 

“need a condom, babe,” he replies, and you fall silent.

“sorry for laughing.”

“it’s ok,” he says as you rummage around in his pockets for his wallet. you hand it to him and he finds a foil packet, which he passes back to you. “to make up for it you gotta put it on.”

“yes sir,” you grumble, and now it’s san’s turn to laugh. you tear the packet open and successfully roll it over his rock hard length, but you spit on it a few times to get it wet, and san swears he could bust at that alone, but what comes out of your mouth next has him at a loss for words. “can i ride you?”

“mhm,” san nods, and he looks fucked out already just at the thought. he watches, entranced, as you climb on top of his lap and line his cock up at your entrance. he keeps his eyes locked on your movements as you sink down, and you let out the most beautiful moan when he’s fully sheathed inside you. the way you’re clenching around him should be a sin, and the way he’s stretching you and making you feel so full is unfair because you know you’ll never find anyone else who fits you like he does. you sit still for another beat, and while you’re still, san reaches up to unclasp your bra, watching with stars in his eyes as it falls down your arms. you toss it aside and lean forward to place your hands on san’s chest, holding his gaze as you slide back up his cock and lower yourself down slowly. you do this a few times, taking the time to try to read the expression in san’s eyes. you’ve seen it once before, and you know that it’s love. it may be unspoken, but it’s there, and the realization has you clenching at the thought. 

“you feel so good san,” you tell him, reaching up to tweak one of your nipples as you start to bounce on his cock. he knocks your hand away and watches you for a moment before his hands are on your chest, massaging your tits in the most delicious way. you gasp when he pinches your nipples, and you buck against him in a way that grinds your clit against him, and the slight pressure brings you back to the edge. “i’m so close, love. just a little more.” san gets the hint and moves one hand down to rub your clit again, his mouth open in a silent moan as you tighten around him. you keep bouncing, trying to reach your high, and the gasp that san lets out tells you he’s just come, so he frantically rubs your clit to get you there too. 

“come on baby,” he says. “show me how pretty you are when you come. let me see you lose yourself in this, in us.” and you’re over the edge, moaning his name as he bucks into you to help ride your high. you slow down on top of him, and he pulls you down to lay on his chest, his cock softening inside you as he buries his head in your neck. “good girl, did so good for me. i lo-um, uh...you did good baby.” you take a few moments to catch your breath before you speak.

“san,” you say seriously, balancing your chin on his chest as you look up. “are we gonna unpack any of that?” 

“any of what?” he asks with a smile. “i had a great time.”

“i know you did,” you groan. 

“didn’t you?” he asks, a little disappointment evident in his voice. 

“yeah, i did-”

“then there’s nothing to unpack, baby,” he says, gently shoving your head back onto his chest. “just rest for a minute and then i’ll get us cleaned up.”

-

the following sunday, you find yourself at church, alone again. no family this week, but you’re in your usual pew and san is in the choir loft. he smiles at you when he sees you, and you tentatively smile back. you’ve come to church today to break things off with him, so you’re not exactly in a smiling mood. 

it’s nothing against him. he’s great. he’s too great, actually. you’re just too scared to get into something that will hurt you again, and after the way san looked at you and the way he treated you with so much care and love...you feel yourself going to a place you don’t need to be in. you try not to look at him much throughout the service, because you don’t want to play his little games. and you also know that he could give you a single look and break all your resolve in a second. 

immediately after the sermon, you sneak out to the lobby, hoping to find san before the next service starts. you see the purple robes coming out of the sanctuary and take a deep breath. but one of the sweet choir ladies interrupts your thoughts.

“oh, y/n, are you the young lady sannie has been talking about lately?” she asks. “he was telling us last week he started seeing one of the girls from the congregation, i just never thought it’d be you! oh dear i’m so thrilled. you make that boy very happy, you know?” 

“i know,” you smile with a nod. “thank you ma’am.” 

“what was that about?” san asks, walking up just as the lady leaves. 

“uh, she was just asking me how my mom is,” you lie, smiling to san. “good singing today, choir boy.”

“why’d you leave the service early?” he asks, looking at you like he knows there’s more you want to say but won’t. 

“i gotta leave soon, meeting friends for lunch?” you say, and he nods. “and i thought we’d get our weekly scheduled flirting out of the way before i go.”

“well i gotta say you’ve caught me on an off day, sweets,” he says. “don’t have much to say on my end. except thank you.”

“for what?”

“for the other night,” he smiles kindly. “it was nice.”

“yeah,” you nod, lips tight. “shame you don’t wanna flirt with me though.”

“maybe i’ll think of something good and call you later?” he offers, and you nod again.

“hm, yeah, maybe,” you say. then, awkwardly, you tell him you have to go, and he nods back. you walk away, leaving san...confused? that was weird, right? you were off somehow. san didn’t have much time to read into it though because the service finally let out, and the sound of church members drowns out his thoughts. he just goes back to the choir room, contemplating what might be wrong and worrying the whole time that he’s gonna lose you before you’re even fully his to lose. 

-

that week, you text san and tell him you can’t come to bible study on thursday. his response is normal enough, if not a little formal for him, but you don’t read much into it. you just go about your week, and when thursday night rolls around, you’ve completely forgotten about bible study. and then you hear a knock at your door. you check the time and immediately know it must be san, maybe he just forgot you said you weren’t coming? so you groan to yourself and crack the door open just slightly to see a tired san standing on the other side of the door. 

“hey, i’m not going tonight, remember? i’ve gotta clean before my family visits tomorrow,” you tell him, and he nods.

“yeah, i remember,” he replies simply. “i uh, i wanted to know if we could talk?”

“about?” you ask, and he smiles shyly at you.

“i think it’s time for us to unpack some things, baby.”

“san, please, not tonight,” you start, and he just shakes his head.

“no can do, sweets,” he says, holding something up. “i brought your favorite, so you at least have to let me in so we can share.”

“from that greek place?” you ask, and he nods with a smile. you step aside and let him in, and he heads to the kitchen.

“want me to make your plate?” he asks, setting everything on the counter.

“sure,” you nod. “use what’s in the dishwasher. should be clean.”

“ok,” he says simply, and he gets to work serving dinner. he eventually brings over two plates, joining you on the couch. “this one’s yours.”

you eat in silence for a few minutes, you making your little greek tacos like normal and san stealing your chicken every other bite. it’s comfortable even though the situation is awkward, and you don’t want to ruin the nice moment. but you owe it to san to at least explain why you’ve been acting off, so here goes nothing.

“so,” you begin.

“so.”

“i know i’ve kinda blown you off the past few days,” you say, and san hums in agreement. “i just...don’t think it was good for me, spending so much time with you, so soon. and i’m sorry i didn’t tell you that i needed space.”

“that’s alright,” san says, holding your gaze before he leans forward to take another bite from your plate. “and i should have told you sooner that you’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”

“oh i could tell.”

“really?” san laughs. “and i thought i was doing so well. guess i didn’t hide my feelings as much as i thought.”

“no you didn’t, sweetcheeks,” you say, and he smiles at the nickname. “flirting with me so much made it pretty clear. and you always get this sappy look in your eyes when you look at me, so. i knew it was coming. i just don’t think i’m ready for something like that right now.”

“and why is that?” san asks. he’s staring at you with that look you were just talking about, which is distracting, so it takes a second for you to reply. 

“i just...feel like you’re looking for something more than i can give,” you explain. “i don’t want anything permanent right now.”

“who said i wanted something permanent? i just want you.”

“and that’s the problem,” you whine. “i like you san, i really do. but i’m not. i don’t think i can get into something with you without one of us getting hurt. because you’re wonderful, really. i love spending time with you, and i’m attracted to you more than i can admit, so it’s hard for me to be around you and not want something more than flirty comments or a fuck here and there.”

“then let’s just take it slow,” he says, grabbing your hand. “like you always wanted from the beginning. let’s start dating, but super casual. no expectations, just whatever feels right. and whenever you need space, just tell me, ok?” he squeezes your hand and you mutter out a shy “ok” in response. “but i need to warn you about something, sweets.”

“and what is that?” you ask, stomach dropping at the thought of something bad.

“unfortunately,” he sighs, “i’m only going to get more wonderful.”

“oh shut up,” you laugh, nudging his shoulder. “be serious.”

“i am, baby!”

“well, baby, why don’t you start being wonderful and help me put away the clean dishes?” 

“only if you keep calling me that instead of choir boy.”

“we’ll see how it goes,” you tease, and he pecks your lips before he stands and takes your plates. 

“so are you gonna tell me where everything goes, or?”

[writingshushf1]

Pretty Please

Summary: Put my mind at ease, pretty please. I need your hands on me, sweet relief. Pretty, please.

Rating: +18

Warnings: p!rn with plot, oral (f! and m! receiving), unprotected (wrap it befor you tap it!), n!pple play

Word count: 1.9k

Note: i saw those requests and then thought: why not put BOTH together? because they can match pretty well and then I can put more effort to it!

masterlist

Monaco GP, it was the best and worst time of this year for you.

Best because it was the time your company loved to send you to the small country - with the intention of getting contracts and media visibility, as well as having potential drivers as the face of the brand, so you could visit, wear fancy clothes and have fun without spending a penny. And the worst time because you would have to see your ex, racing in those dangerous cars.

It's not every day you're the ex-girlfriend of seven-time champion Lewis Hamilton.

Your relationship was a bit rocky, all the fault of the media, which you managed to hide from - with almost a few escapades, and after a year you broke up on a bit of a weird note. You've changed a lot in the meantime - even though you promised everything would stay the same, so part of you blame yourself for the break up. But now was your time to shine, after five months of being single you finally felt you deserved to have some fun. And this weekend would be it.

With the company credentials, you avoided him all weekend - even if you needed to talk to Mercedes, you waited when you knew he wouldn't be there, because if you saw him, your knees would turn to jelly, because even if you weren't with him anymore, it was impossible to deny how gorgeous he was.

The race on Sunday occurred unexpectedly with a win by him, you knew you would have a party and somehow your company wanted you there, like it or not. So it was 10pm and you were in a dark red dress, squeezing your curves, along with other reps who wanted the same thing as you - but you had something they didn't: the driver's eyes going into your body like a magnet. As soon as the Brit saw you in the sea of people, he walked over to you, a little surprised, but still giving you a quick hug and a polite smile.

"You here, it's a surprise."

"I came on business, don't worry."

"In that dress?" He held up a playful smile.

"Hey! It was a gift from you."

"I know. That's why." His lips drew close over her ear. "Only I was allowed to see it on you."

"So confident, aren't you?" You placed your hand on his chest, cracking a smile and rolling your eyes, before walking to the bar.

What was that all about? You thought, grabbing a random drink to justify the blush on your cheeks - which were like that from the interaction.

After that, you spent the rest of the party avoiding him, a little stressed out from the fact that your mind had simply stopped working after that interaction-especially that several businessmen kept asking you how you managed to talk to him so quickly and you had to explain that it was for the company and not the fact that you'd screwed with him for a year. From afar, he watched how people were vultures with you, but didn't want to make any moves for your obvious stress. The truth was you wanted him there now, scattering those people.

As the party came to an end, people were leaving, yet you knew he would have an after party. So when he saw only you at the door, he cracked a smile, walking over to you.

"You know me very well."

"Of course, Lew. Is it going to be here?"

"In the room in the basement. Just friends."

"Am I included?"

"Of course, there's always room for you."

Arriving at the luxurious venue, you sat on the couch, cracking a smile and watching him pour a brown liquid into a glass, handing it to you. You sipped your drink, looking at the others there - and recognising almost everyone. It was strange, not being at a party like this with his hand around your waist, the gentle kisses on your jaw.

Suddenly, you felt someone pulling you and it was him. His braids were messier, now without his blazer and a truer smile. The weekend was playing in the background, and his hand on your waist indicated that he wanted you to follow his movements, dancing slowly - just like several of the guests.

"I missed dancing with you. "

"I mean, you missed my body against yours." You retorted, turning your back to him and positioning both of Lewis's hands on your waist.

"That too." He leaned his face on your shoulder.

"That too?"

"Yes. I miss your perfume near my face."

You continued to dance to the beat of the music, exchanging a few glances, until he led you over to where the drinks were. Leaning against the counter, you did the same, but in front of him.

"And how's work?" He asked, handing you another drink.

"Pretty good. I won a promotion. I imagine you're doing well, a win here."

"Well, I'm still feeling like I haven't celebrated enough."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Maybe I don't want to be alone tonight."

"And who will be the lucky girl?"

He didn't answer at first, just brushed his foot against his own, taking a sip of his drink.

"Hopefully, you." Hamilton stifled a breath.

"Oh."

Your head was full of counterpoints, yet the thought of having him for the night was something very sexy and almost impossible to not want to. It was like everything was running wildly. So you felt a hand on your thigh and a mumbled apology.

“No… It’s okay. We can go.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just put my mind at ease.”

You two stumbled at his apartment door 10 minutes later, giggling like two teenagers. When he closed the door, his lips were going against yours in a desperate kiss - it was the only thing that he needed right now, your hands running against his chest unbuttoning his shirt while his hands grabbed your ass. Lewis pushed you against the sofa, getting on top of you, with his hands on your back, que started to unzip your dress, leaving your bare chest to his vision, making the dark skinned man smile and lower his kisses directly towards one of your nipples, ripping whimpers out of your mouth. 

His mouth was amazing and he didn’t even go down on you yet. You were still squirming with him playing with your nipples when you lowered your hands to his belt, pulling in one go and pulling his pants down, grabbing his ass on top of the black Calvin Klein's he was wearing.

“Calm down, pretty girl. Did you forget who’s in charge? It’s not been that long.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“That’s better.”

Hamilton put his hand around your neck, closing your air flow for a few seconds, then giving a squeeze so his fingers would be marked there for a while. He lowered his body, pulling the rest of the red dress out, revealing your black thong - making him groan at the view. The British was in a hurry, like he needed to have you with him, so soon his hands were spreading your thighs and snapping your trousers away, to finally his mouth to be against your core.

He altered between sucking and licking your clit, leaving you a puddle of moans. Slowly, he inserted two fingers inside of you, with their tips curled, pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“I missed you.” You said between moans right after feeling him smile against you.

It didn’t take too long before he was driving you crazy, making you have a tortuously slow orgasm until you were too overwhelmed with touch. Your hands were holding his braids and pushing his face against you until he pulled back, taking his underwear off. He stood up, pulling you to be on your knees.

“Do it like old times.”

You smiled, holding the base with one hand and the other on his thigh, holding it. Your mouth first gave attention to his glans, licking and giving small sucking, earning a groan escaping his lips. Then you started bobbing your head up and down in a steady movement while the hand that held what it didn’t fit did the same. He wanted to hold your head and fuck you into his mouth, but what you were doing was just so good that he let it you give him the pleasure you knew made him dismantle quicker.

Lewis knew if you kept blowing him for longer, he would cum inside your mouth - it wasn’t a bad idea, but he preferred to do it inside of you. So he pulled you out, helping you to stand up and get your torso against the dinner table. One of his hands was against the top of your back while the other positioned himself against your entrance. He pushed inside slowly, knowing he wasn’t the easiest to take in - and he was pretty confident of that, even though you took him for a long time, it still had to get used for a little before moving.

“You’re so… Big.” You whimpered, holding onto the table to not move.

“Calm down sweetie… I’ll be gentle. At first.”

He pushed as much as he could, then stopped and waited for your signal. His hands caressed your bum, giving soft slaps into it and he left kisses around your back. The British knew you would feel better soon, so he patiently waited.

“You… You can fuck me now.” You murmured, holding his right thigh.

“Good girl.”

He started moving slowly, groaning at how tight you felt against him, squeezing him and making such a good feeling around his dick. When Hamilton saw your hips moving too, he knew that he could take it hard. 

The movements became fast and rough, the only thing you two could hear was the slap when your bodies met - besides your moans, calling for each other.  You cried his name, opening your legs more, with that, one of his hands got into the middle of your legs, his fingers playing with your clit once again. 

“I’m gonna cum right inside of you, make you ask for more, baby girl.”

“Oh yes, Lew…” You whined at him. “Fill me up the way only you can do it.”

“Only I can do, what?”

“Fill me up the way only you can do it, sir.”

“That’s better, baby.”

He accelerated his fingers, letting you have your orgasm first so your walls would clench him and he could pound you even harder to cum inside of you - the way he loved it, very tight. The driver pulled out of you, seeing the cum starting to drip out of you, so he took his fingers, cleaning up and pumping inside of you again.

“Not a drop out.” He smiled, pulling you up, leading you to his master bathroom and starting to fill the tub.

You kept quiet, just observing the moment with a feeling of nostalgia and happiness - just like old times, having him calm the adrenaline down with a warm bath and cuddles.

After you two sat inside the hot water, with your back resting against his, Hamilton kept kissing your neck slowly - with no second intentions.

“You enjoyed it?” He murmured.

“Yes, it was so good.” You closed your eyes, running your hands on his arms.

“Good, me too. I missed us being like that.”

“I missed us too.”

[piratefishmama]

Crossing the Line | Part 2

For Eddie Munson, it started with a tweet. A random little tweet in his mentions that ignited his incredibly hard to control impulsive curiosity. One of his long-time followers and his best friends little brother, a boy with a love of DnD who only begrudgingly followed him after he recorded one of his campaign sessions and posted it to YouTube, pinged him a mention with a single link in it to Instagram captioned “roast him he’s ruined Crazy Train!”

Michael Wheeler you little shit. He’d get Nancy on that one, Mike’s obsession with roasting people was getting mildly out of hand.

But Eddie was a curious soul and someone had apparently ruined an Ozzy masterpiece, so of course he followed that link, he didn’t even hesitate, even let out a cute little “boop” out loud as he clicked it.

Now. Eddie Munson, could have probably been classed as a bit of a music snob. He wouldn’t go too far with his snobbery, but for some people... it was just an unwritten rule that some people deserved the snobbery to the max. They deserved the shit storm that came with Eddie’s brutal honesty and lack of verbal filter.

And Nepo-babies with nothing better to do than *fix* legendary metal tracks with their top 10 bubblegum bitch bullshittery were 100% deserving of the roasting his bitchiest of little sheep had called for.

Did he go a little overboard over the following week while bored shitless in between customers at his shitty non-chain coffee shop gig? Absolutely. Did he feel bad? Absolutely not. It’d taken him all of five minutes to decide Steve Harrington was the worst.

Even if the nepo baby thing wasn’t enough, he was spotted with a different piece of arm candy every month, he had girls and guys falling all over themselves to get a glimpse from him in their general direction, like, there were articles about fights breaking out in the audience of his shows because fans couldn’t decide which one of them he looked at. He lived in some fancy ass house if his insta photos were anything to go by which no doubt his parents bought for him, he did way too many PR stunts to make it seem like he was a good guy, and while his voice was… okay, it wasn’t bad… passable, it was passable…

It sure as fuck needed to stay in its own goddamn lane.

So, the boredom in between the rare rush thanks to the Starbucks down the street was filled with what could only be described as obsessive online bullying, his ADHD hyper fixated so hard, but no way was he even going to notice it, so Eddie didn’t even feel bad about it. The guy had so many people falling all over themselves in hopes he’d notice them that his measly little insults would probably wind up just buried in the sea of hormones and the occasional desperate “COME TO BRAZIL” hashtag Brazilian flag and several thousand heart emojis.

And just as a fun little topper on the ice cream sundae that was his weeklong bitchfit into the void, a lovely little cherry on top, he covered Crazy Train on his channel. Not just the guitar bits, but he made chords and tabs for the lyrics too, letting his sweetheart sing for him, he never sang on his channel, vocals were just for the band gigs, his channel was primarily game music covers but this one, this one he declared “This is what it’s supposed to sound like” in the intro then rocked it.

Eddie was all about freedom of musical expression, but Steve Harrington could go suck a fat one if he thought he was getting away with ruining a masterpiece with his croony bullshit.

“So” The week after he’d finally put his one sided feud to rest, found one Nancy Wheeler, the instigators older sister sidling up to the counter mid-way through the most boring Sunday shift Eddie had ever worked in his life.

“Wheeleeerr, my sister from the most boring of misters, what can I get you babydoll?” He didn’t even need to ask, and she didn’t actually need to say it, he was already halfway through making her fancy little favourite, a cinnamon hazelnut latte with soy milk knowing she probably only had five minutes before she’d have to bolt again.

“Eddie… why have you spent the better part of a week harassing a celebrity on Instagram?”

“I think you mean an entire week, your little brother released the dogs of war. Aaaand the ADHD told me to do it.” He grabbed one of the little honey buns from the treats display and popped it onto a plate for her “forgive me honey bun?” A pet name AND a treat combined. She rolled her eyes fondly before accepting the free treat. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” There was absolutely a reason, but… honestly he brought whatever was coming to him upon himself. Sort of. She'd stand in his corner if shit got real. “I’ll handle Mike, don’t harass celebrities until you’re actually a celebrity, and even then, don’t harass celebrities.”

“It’s not like he’d notice, let’s be honest he has more fans than there are stars in the sky, all of them, and I do mean all of them, fully up for bearing his children.” Seahorse dads in the house! But also, mpreg too, ass babies unite. “It’s not like some rando having a questionably obsessive and lowkey aggressive meltdown over his ‘I’m bored as shit’ experiment would ever grace his radar.”

“I’m just saying Eddie, you never know who you’re going to reach with your online nonsense, if you ever want to get out of this place, you’re going to have to play nice with people from all walks of life, including nepotism babies.” The bark of laughter that erupted from Eddie Munson would have probably insulted most people, but Nancy had known him for years. He was listening, he was, there were just layers upon layers of automatic reactions to get through before he’d visibly take in what you were saying. “He could be nice, you never know.”

“Oh yeah, his royal highness seems lovely. Did you know people used to call him King Steve?” Seemed like the worst person on the planet masquerading as a semi-decent guy. Eddie wasn’t fooled in the slightest. “Your drink, mademoiselle!” He presented her with a large to-go cup filled with her favourite beverage.

“Don’t you have some odd little moniker on your youtube channel?” She asked behind the lip of her cup, before taking a sip and humming in appreciation. Even if he was a little shit, Eddie could make a mean latte.

“That’s a persona, it’s an online personality! People calling me Kas is different, people just called him that cause of how much ass he got. It’s weird, I bet he started it himself and paid his cronies to use it until it caught on.” That was good, maybe he’d pick his feud back up just to lay that one on him. “Seems very nepo baby of him, y’know? Can’t get a good nickname circling so he’s gotta buy one.”

“Wouldn’t his parents have bought it for him?”

“Ohhhh Wheeler good one! Nice nickname, did your daddy buy it for you? Babe, sugar plum, I love you. Imma write that one down for later.”

“Please don’t.” He was already off, and she caught sight of her smartwatch beeping about some meeting she was close to being late for. “Shoot! Gotta run, no more harassing celebrities!”

“I promise nothing!” Ah well, it probably wasn’t that big of a deal that Steve Harrington’s best friend had DM’d her, probably not a big deal at all, probably meant nothing... probably.

Part 4

[zoeyslament]

Stubbornly Sick - Nischa

I KNOW I SAID I WASN’T GONNA DO NISCHA ANYMORE BUT I CANT GET THEM OUT OF MY HEAD SORRY

A oneshot in which Mischa is sick and refuses to admit it. Noel takes matters into his own hands.

Mischa rolled over on his thin-as-paper mattress, feeling his sweat seep into his pillowcase. He groaned, staring at the cement wall beside his lousy excuse for a bed. His whole body felt hot, and not in the way that meant people swoon over you. Beads of sweat rolled down from his hairline, his skin blotchy and red. His stomach growled, but he didn’t even want to get up and eat.

He fished his phone out from the comforter beside him, flipping it over to check the time: 9:30. He’d slept in later than ever, as if his body knew it needed rest. However, it was Sunday, meaning the choir was getting together for their weekly outing. 

Ever since the 6 of them had miraculously survived a roller coaster accident together, Ocean had been taking initiative to get the group together. Some weeks it was shopping and walking around downtown at whatever little shops remained, some weeks it was the mall, but today they’d planned a little hiking expedition. 

Mischa was almost never the biggest fan of these get togethers. First of all, it meant being stuck in the same vicinity as Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg for at least three hours. Secondly, it meant listening to Ocean for at least three hours. And lastly and probably worst, it meant not complaining about the little ginger scumbag for the entire time, or all hell would break loose. 

The real reason Mischa went at all was to spend time with his boyfriend, Noel. The two of them had grown close as they recovered from their accident, and Noel had been there for every step of Mischa’s growing musical career. Most of the time, Noel’s work schedule made it difficult for the boys to spend time together. Taco Bell execs didn’t really take “need time to make out with my boyfriend” as a valid excuse for missing shifts. However, “mandated outdoor socialization” was acceptable, apparently, so choir outings were fair game. 

Mischa ran his hands through his greasy, matted hair, yawning. His eyelids felt like they were made of steel, weighing him down and just wanting to close, keel over, and sleep. Even the way he carried himself, usually with his chest puffed out like a lion on the hunt, was different; slouched over and painful to even move. 

His phone vibrated in the back pocket of his sweatpants, evidence of a text message coming through. 

Noel: babe where r u! u said u would pick me up @ 9:15

He winced. Shit…

Noel set his phone down on his desk, turning back to the mirror to look at his makeup: on point as usual. Slumping back in his chair, he wondered where Mischa was. 

It’s not super unlike him to sleep through his alarm…he can sleep through my snoring after all. Maybe he stayed up late? Which is weird, because usually when he stays up late it’s because he and I are texting or something…Is he ignoring me? Shit, am I gonna have to ask Ocean for a ride? Damn it…

He picked up the phone again and dialed Mischa’s number, and to Noel’s delight and relief, Mischa picked up. 

“Hey babe…You alright?”

Mischa, at that moment, let out just about the loudest cough Noel had ever heard, hacking into the phone. 

“Sorry, I slept through my-” he paused to yawn, “-alarm. I will be there in ten minutes, Poet.” 

Noel’s heart absolutely melted at the sound of his partner’s voice. He sounded hoarse and just all around awful.

“Sweetheart, no offense, but you sound like shit. Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine. Just fine, honey. You wait and I’ll- ACHOO”

The sneeze just about made Noel have a heart attack with the sheer volume of it. He wasn’t so sure he loved the idea of Mischa even leaving the house in this condition, but he also knew how much of a stubborn asshole his boyfriend could be. Talking Mischa into staying home was not going to be easy in the slightest.

“Mischa…are you sure it’s the best idea for you to come get me? I can ask Ocean for a ride if you’re sick, you need rest…” Initially, he was going to scold Mischa, but his ‘loving boyfriend’ mode took over in a heartbeat. “I don’t even have to go today! Just get back to bed, drink lots of-”

“No, no.” Mischa waved him off. “I am going to go get dressed, and then I will come get my special boy, okay? I love you, Noel.”

“I love you too, which is why I want you to-”

He hung up. He fucking hung up. 

This was gonna be a long day.

Mischa had taken driver’s education. He knew that driving while sick could lead to accidents, because being sick made you drowsy, right? But Mischa wasn’t sick, he couldn’t be. Mischa didn’t get sick, at least that’s what he’d gaslit himself into believing. He got into the driver’s seat, rearing on the gas and speeding out of the driveway, almost slamming into his foster parents’ mailbox on his way out. 

Noel’s house wasn’t too far away from his, nowhere in Uranium City was very far away from any other place, to be honest. That was just how small towns worked. He turned onto Noel’s street and pulled up in front of the house. He parked, slightly crooked in the driveway, and trudged to the front step. 

“Noel!” He croaked out, his voice cracking. He rang the doorbell. 

The shorter male opened the door and looked Mischa up and down with a satisfied smirk on his face. “As expected, you look like someone pushed you out of a car window and then ran you over with a pickup truck. Bed, now.” 

“What? No! We have the hike-”

“I already texted Ocean and let her know that you’re sick and thus will not be attending. Now please go lay down, you know where my room is.”

“But…that just means I am going to get you sick! “So what? You’re the love of my life, I think I can handle your cooties.”

For once, it was Noel being the stubborn one. It was clear he wasn’t going to hear another word about it. Mischa allowed himself to be escorted (read: dragged by the collar of his shirt) upstairs to Noel’s bedroom. 

“Get your ass under the covers.” Noel demanded playfully. “Mom’s working another late shift, but I don’t have to work again until Monday afternoon. We could spend all day and night right here if it would make you feel better.” 

Mischa yawned and plopped down on Noel’s bed, having made the decision to be cooperative for once. “And do what? Talk about how shitty I feel? Because I feel like…big…bleh.”

“I know you do, darling.” Noel kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, giggling. “If you would lay down like I told you to and rest up, you might feel a little bit less bleh. Have you eaten today?”

“No.” He admitted. “I was not hungry.”

Noel sighed. “I’ll go get you some toast or something. You really gotta start taking care of yourself when you’re sick.”

“I am not sick.” Mischa protested. “Just a little tired.”

“Either way, you need rest.” Noel pressed his boyfriend down, hand splayed out over his chest. “Lay down, Mischa. Spare me my sanity.”

Mischa rolled his eyes. “I do not need to lay down, poet. Sleep is for the weak.”

“No, dumbfuck, sleep is for the idiot boyfriend who won’t admit that he feels like he was hit point blank with a sack of bricks!”

Mischa pondered Noel’s innate ability to know exactly how he felt, because the sack of bricks thing was fairly accurate. He felt like he was going to topple over onto the floor, but would his cocky ass admit that? When pigs fly.

“Sleep is for the weak.” He repeated instead, sitting back up. If he was going to get in bed he was not going to lay down and he was also going to make it everyone’s problem. 

“Whatever you say, dickwad,” Noel sighed. He was ever so creative with the pet names. “Sit still and don’t, I don’t know, set the house on fire. What do you want to eat?”

“I told you I am not hun—” he started, but he knew there was no winning this argument. “I guess…toast?”

Noel went downstairs and fished a loaf of bread and the toaster out, tossed a slice in, and promised himself he would not scream when the toast popped up. 

He broke the promise.

Anyway, he took out the golden brown bread and slathered it in butter, taking it back upstairs to Mischa. 

In the time it took Noel to make a piece of toast, Mischa had flopped over and fallen asleep. Noel made a soft tsk tsk sound, setting the plate of toast on the nightstand. He gently climbed into the bed, pulling the covers over both Mischa and himself. Rolling onto his side, he came face to face with a peacefully dozing Mischa and a pool of drool already staining the pillow (not that Noel really minded). He brushed Mischa’s chestnut curls out of his eyes, giggling softly.

“Yeah, rest easy, tough guy.” He whispered. “My fucking idiot.” He snuck a quick kiss onto Mischa’s forehead. “I love you.

[ughgoaway]

Yes so many constant teacher reader thoughts! What about early dating when she's had a really hard week at school, maybe she's been staying behind for parents night or something and is absolutely exhausted. She's not replying to Matty as much or just giving him short ideas and him being Matty starts to worry that she's having second thoughts about their relationship

Omg people having thoughts about my au is so cool… and this is such a good thought. 

You and Matty have only recently started dating, maybe a month and a bit? And matty thinks it's been going perfectly, but he can't help but feel insecure about the relationship. He is so madly in love with you and has been for so long. He can't help but be nervous he's going to lose you. And he can't bear the thought because he's only just managed to get you. 

You reassure him when he asks that you want to be with him, that you were also pining over him for months, and that this is exactly what you wanted that whole time.

And Matty believes you, for the most part. But there's always that sneaking thought of “what if”. What if she hates me? What if she regrets this relationship? What if she thinks im wrong for her? What if this is all wrong?

////

it's been a stressful week at work. You have parent evening at the end of the week, which means it's lots of late nights preparing everything you're gonna say to each parent. It might seem easy to talk to parents about their kid's progress, but it's one of the worst parts of being a teacher.

It seems parents either think their child is an angel on earth or the spawn of Satan. You say one thing they can improve upon, and suddenly, a parent is jumping down your throat, “How could you? My little Amy is perfect!!” or they start scolding the child in front of you “You are useless! Why can't you just focus for 5 bloody minutes??” 

So you've been fucking exhausted all week, and you've cancelled on Matty twice. You had a date on Monday, but you saw the pile of work on your desk and messaged to reschedule for Wednesday.

Matty then didn't hear from you all of Tuesday or Wednesday, so was already nervous you were mad at him. But when you text to cancel on Wednesday? His heart fucking dropped.

You must be second-thinking this whole thing. Maybe you decided the risk to your job was too much, or maybe Matty isn't how you wanted him to be. 

But in an attempt to stop himself from spiralling too much, he texts George and details his worries. Of course, George simply calls him a twat and says “Trust me, she likes you. It's sickening being around the two of you for more than 10 minutes.”

Matty wants to tell George he and Charli are no better, but he leaves it for today and takes his friend's words at face value.

So he texts back saying it's fine and that he misses you. and each minute that passes by with no response is killing Matty slowly.

After 45 minutes of silence, you just reply “<3”, which doesn't exactly help Matty’s mental state. 

He texts you every day, and each day, your responses get shorter and shorter. Until it's Sunday, and he hasn't heard from you since Friday evening. 

It's then he decides you must be rethinking this, rethinking him. there is no reason why you would be ignoring him otherwise. And it fucking shatters him, he goes into break-up mode before any break-up even happens.

He drops Annie off at Hanns and stops at Tesco, grabbing ice cream, red wine, and tissues. He wants to feel like a girl in a shit romantic comedy, so he's gonna do just that. 

2 bottles of wine later, Matty thinks it's the perfect time to call you… despite it being 3 am. Needless to say, you don't answer. But Matty being Matty, he leaves a wine-drunk voicemail. 

“Heyyyyy y/n. It's Matty. Your boyfriend. I think… anyway, im just calling to say you can just dump me, you know? You don't have to be nice or anything. I won't turn Annie against you. But I don't think I could even if I wanted to, m’ pretty sure she likes you more than me already. But whatever… I've had a few bottles of wine and just thought I should call and tell you im fineeee. Totally fineeee. So yeah, if we’re over of whatever, you can let me know. Because im fine. Like so fine…. Okay, bye.”

And with that, he passes out on the sofa, spilling wine on his rug that he will be forced to scrub tomorrow.

///////

It's 7 a.m., and Matty's head is banging, so much so it sounds like someone is hammering on his door. Oh, wait. Someone is hammering on his door.

He stumbles off the sofa and catches a glance in the mirror, his eyes are hollowed, and heavy bags sit beneath them. Half his curls are flattened and stuck to his head, whereas the others are sticking on end like he had been electrocuted. 

“Ye-” he starts to speak as he opens the door, but you storm in talking before he can even get one word out. 

“BREAK UP WITH YOU? WHY WOULD I BREAK UP WITH YOU?” You stand in Matty’s front room with your hands on your hips. clearly, you had stormed straight over here from your flat, not even bothering to get out of your Halloween pyjamas (it is like May btw <3).

Matty rubs at his eyes and blinks a few times, “what?” he asks, coughing as he finishes because Jesus Christ, his throat feels like it's full of sandpaper. 

“...do you seriously not remember?” you shake your head at Matty with wide eyes, and he nervously shakes his head, and he swears he can almost see the steam coming out of your ears. 

“Matty. You called me at 3 in the morning telling me to dump you. Why the fuck would you think that? Why would I ever dump you?” your voice is softer now and you've come closer to Matty, and he can see any rage you might have had was never really anger.

It was fear. Pure fucking fear. 

“Oh.. that,” Matty says shyly, rubbing at his face and pulling it down. 

“Yup. that,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Okay, im so sorry about that,” Matty starts to explain, desperate to get you to understand his fucking crazy brain, “I had a few bottles of wine and my stupid anxiety took over. You hadn't really spoken to me this week, and you cancelled our date, so I convinced myself you were having second thoughts. And drunk Matty thought the best course of action was a long rambling voicemail reassuring you that you can dump me.”

You nod slowly, and Matty seemingly can't stop his word vomit, “And you can if you want to! But I really don't want you to. Like at all. Im actually kind of obsessed with you, if im honest” Matty steps closer to you and pulls you into his chest. 

Your arms remain limp at your sides for the first few seconds, and Matty wants to die. But just before he pulls away, your arms slip over his shoulders, and your fingers wind into his curls at the back of his neck.

You burrow your head in his neck, and Matty can feel you nodding, “Okay. That makes sense” he breathes a sigh of relief. Thank GOD you didn't dump him then and there. 

You snap back and look at him intensely before saying, “But just so you know, I was planning for parent's evening this whole week. That's why I was so quiet. And I would never break up with you just by ghosting you. And if im being totally honest, I would never break up with you in the first place. or ever, really."

Matty nods and can't help the smile that comes on his face, you don't want to break up with him. ever.

You snap your fingers in front of his face before he can get too happy, “Hey don't you start smiling. I’m still pissed off at you… but you are especially cute in the mornings, so I feel you’re trying to manipulate me into forgiving you... are you?”

“Well that depends, is it working?” he teases

“Maybe... Shut up.”

[wheels-of-despair]

The First and Last Breakup of Eddie Munson and Evil Woman Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Once upon a time, two stupid teenagers fell in love. And then they broke up for a stupid reason and spent a whole week doing stupid things because they're stupid teenagers. Contains: A little Evil Woman backstory, a brotherly reveal, misery, idiots in love but being little bitches about it, a happy ending. Words: 5k

SATURDAY

You'd been at some fancy ski resort in Colorado with your father, his shiny new wife, and their two replacement children for seven days.

It felt like seven years.

You only had two precious weeks of winter break before classes switched over for the spring semester, and you'd wasted half of it with people you hated. (And your brother, who hated them just as much as you did.)

But after seven long days of listening to your father's fake laugh, your step-mother's snippy comments, wishing you could drop-kick her brats through a window, and picking tiny trees off your overpriced and underwhelming food, you were almost back home. You didn't typically care for plane rides, but this one wasn't bad at all. When you landed, you'd have someone waiting for you. (Other than your mother. Who you also loved. And were very excited to see.)

You were a little disappointed when you came through the terminal and didn't see him there. You'd kind of hoped he'd hitch a ride with your mom to maximize your remaining Eddie Time over break. But you recovered quickly, gave your mom a big smile and a hug, and called shotgun. (Suck it, bro. The united front only applies in hostile territory.)

You took turns filling her in on how much it sucked, how dumb your step-monster was, and how annoying her brats were.

He wasn't waiting for you at home, either.

"Have you heard from Eddie at all?" you asked as you dumped a pile of dirty clothes in the laundry room.

"Nope," your mom answers, sorting the lights from the darks. "Then again, I'm not really in contact with any teenagers who don't belong to me."

You glance at your watch. "His uncle's probably sleeping now, maybe I should ride over and see…"

"Go on, be back by dinner," she rolls her eyes. "You can bring Eddie with you if you want. I'm making your favorite."

"I should abandon you more often," you joke, dodging a dirty sock she'd tossed at you on your way out.

Eddie's van wasn't at the trailer. Or the arcade. Or the diner. Or any of his favorite places. You drove around town for what felt like half the day before finally giving up and going home.

"Find him?" your mom asks from her place at the stove. You shake your head. "Maybe he got the day wrong?"

"Maybe," you shrug, leaning against the door helplessly.

"Who knows what that little weirdo gets up to when you're not around to keep him in line. You'll find him. For now, why don't you go wake your brother up for dinner?"

You dropped the keys in the bowl by the door and went to do as you were asked. He'd passed out almost immediately after he walked in, happy to be back in his own bed. You envied him.

Dinner was nice. It would've been a lot nicer if your thigh had been pressed against Eddie's, and the scent of his body wash had mixed with the smell of your first decent meal in a week, but it was still nice to be home.

You called him after you knew Wayne would be at work. Three times. No answer. Where the hell is he?

You tossed and turned all night, imagining the worst.

SUNDAY

The next morning, you returned to the trailer. His van was there this time. You knocked on the door next to his bedroom. And then escalated it to a bang, since Wayne wasn't home yet, and Eddie sleeps like a rock.

"Eddie! Wake up!"

Finally, you hear him shuffling around. The door opens a crack.

"Honey, I'm home!" you grin, waiting for him to open the door and pull you in, maybe even kiss you all the way to his bed before pulling you under the covers to warm you up. There was nowhere you'd rather spend the rest of your vacation.

"Hey," he mumbles. "Hang on."

He closes the door in your surprised face and emerges a minute later, wearing an open coat over his bare chest. He'd shoved his feet into a pair of untied boots. His flannel pajama pants are bunched at the top of them. Isn't he cold? He drops onto the sofa on the porch and lights a cigarette.

The coldness of his actions hurts worse than the frigid winter air. What the hell? You've only been gone a week. Had seven days been long enough for him to decide he was happier without you?

"What are you doing here?" he asks, blowing smoke out of his nose and not meeting your eye. Did you do something wrong?

"I wanted to see you," you squeaked, suddenly feeling like an idiot. Are you being too clingy? Did you break up and forget about it?

"Aren't you sick of slummin' it with me?"

"What?" You're not sure you actually made a sound, but the cloud of condensation coming from your mouth indicates that you did.

"You know what I mean."

You shake your head. You don't know where this is headed, but you know you don't like it.

Eddie takes a deep drag. "How long are we gonna keep playing this game?"

"What game?"

"This. You and me."

You have no words.

"We should just get this over with and call it off now."

Your jaw drops.

"Ed…"

"Just go home," he barks, dropping his cigarette into the bucket he uses as an ash tray and going back inside, slamming the door behind him.

You don't know how long you stood there, staring at the door. But eventually, a chill shakes you, and you feel your body drifting back toward the car. You somehow find your way back home. You don't think you blinked during the entire drive.

You drop the keys in the bowl, kick off your shoes, and walk to your room like a zombie. You fall on your bed face-first, not even bothering to take your coat off. And then the crying starts.

MONDAY

That was harder than he thought it would be.

Eddie had thought things were going well. He'd found a girl who was funny, pretty, had good taste in music and movies, and most of all, was willing to put up with him.

It all began to unravel the night you left. He thought it was a little weird, announcing that you were jetting off to some fancy resort with the parent you hardly ever spoke of, like it was no big deal. You'd hardly mentioned it at all: "Oh, by the way, I'm gonna be gone for a week. You gonna miss me?"

Eddie realized he was running low on goods the day before your departure, but decided to prioritize; his supply run could wait another day. After a long goodbye that earned both of you several groans and eyerolls in your driveway as you held up the trip to the airport, he dropped by Rick's to resupply. Those college kids home for the holidays needed a lot of help putting up with their families. When he arrived, Rick and his friend Jimmy were bagging up a new shipment.

Rick asked where Eddie's other half was. Eddie may have bragged on occasion about finding someone perfect, because Rick was a cool guy who would appreciate a cool girl.

Jimmy, on the other hand, was a dick. Eddie didn't particularly want him to know anything more than he absolutely needed to about his personal life, but Rick had asked, and they both sat there waiting for an answer.

"She's with her dad for a week," he'd said tensely, hoping that would be the end of it.

"He live nearby?" Rick asked.

"New York, but they're in Colorado for now."

"Damn, man, that's a hell of a trip," Rick said, taking a swig of his beer.

"Yeah, she'll be back in a few days. Is that something new?" Eddie gestured to an off-colored bag of buds to Rick's right, trying to change the subject. The phone rang, and Rick got up to answer it with a groan, leaving Eddie alone with Jimmy.

"Munson's gone and got himself one of those little rich girls. Didn't think you had it in you, buddy."

"She's not a little rich girl."

"She's on vacation in Colorado. Lemme guess: Some fancy ski resort with a name you can't pronounce?"

Eddie blushed. Jimmy smirked.

"She treat you like a pet poodle? Feed you? Buy you treats when you're a good boy? Make you pose for a nice picture together so she could take you with her? That's to show daddy, bud. Maybe she'll get a new BMW for dumping your scraggly ass."

"Ease up, brother," Rick drawled, coming back into the room.

"Hey, man, I'm jealous!" Jimmy held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and laughed that grating laugh of his. "She got an older sister? Hell, what's her mom look like?"

"Shut up." Eddie growled.

"Here," Rick shoved a few plastic bags into a duffel bag and tossed it at Eddie. "Don't listen to his drunk ass."

But he did.

He let it eat at him for days as he sampled some new product and fixated on your four months together. Every time you'd argued about who was going to pay for dinner, or for a movie, or for the next arcade game. The way you stroked his hair and rubbed his back. Every time you'd packed something extra in your lunch for him. The patches and buttons you'd bring him back every time you visited the city with your mom. The way you claimed to love his grungy clothes and out-of-control hair and said his tiny, cramped bedroom felt like home. Maybe it really was too good to be true.

Didn't make it hurt any less, though.

TUESDAY

Eddie was woken by a frantic banging on the door. It was so intense, it rattled the walls. He grumbled, pulled himself out of the bed he'd hardly left in days, and flung the door open angrily.

"What the hell, Gareth?"

"What the hell did you do to my sister, Munson?" Eddie could practically feel the heat radiating off of the red-faced drummer standing at his door. Jeff was leaning against his mom's car by the road, arms crossed, looking like he wished he was elsewhere.

Eddie sighs. "It's for the best."

"Did you cheat on her?"

"No."

"Were you abducted and probed by aliens, and now need a little alone time to reflect on life?"

"No."

"Then what the fuck?!"

"We're from different worlds," Eddie shrugs, feeling the cold morning air seep in.

"The fuck does that mean?"

Eddie sighs. "Just let it go, man. It's done."

"The fuck does that mean, Eddie?"

"It means you spent your winter break skiing at some resort in Colorado, and I spent mine selling weed in the woods."

Gareth rolls his eyes so hard, Eddie can only see white.

"Is that seriously what this is about?"

Eddie shrugs and wishes he were wearing more clothes.

"You broke up with my sister because she went on vacation?"

The breeze picks up and blows a gust inside. Eddie shudders.

"Are you the dumbest motherfucker on the planet?"

Eddie didn't know how to respond to this. Not that Gareth would have given him a chance anyway.

"Do you think we wanted to go? Our dad is a Grade-A Douchebag. I'm legally required to spend two weeks with him a year. Yeah, legally - he took Mom to court when we decided we didn't want to see him anymore. Awesome parent, right? My sister doesn't even have to go, because she's 18, but she does because she doesn't want me to suffer alone. We hate his fucking guts. We hate his bitchy wife and their snot-nosed kids, we hate every second we have to spend with them. We weren't off skiing and sipping cocoa with Chad and Buffy! Do you know what she did the entire fucking time we weren't being forced into Family Fun Time and photo ops? DO YOU?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"She laid in bed and read The Lord of the Fucking Rings. I've been trying to get her to read them for years, and she always puts it off. But she knows how much you love them, and she wanted to be able to talk to you about it. She laid there and read all three. Took notes like she was gonna be fucking tested on it! FOR YOU, JACKASS."

Eddie's heart sinks into the floor.

"She doesn't give a shit about money or fancy vacations or any of that crap. All she wanted was to come home and be with you, and you fucked that up."

"Shit," Eddie breathes.

"She's been holed up in her room for two days because she thinks you left her for someone else, you idiot. I had to practically waterboard her to get her to talk."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you need to be saying that to."

"I know," he whispers with the last of his air, feeling like a deflated balloon.

"Then go fucking do it already. She's at home. In bed. Listening to the same fucking song over and over again. If I have to hear it one more time, I swear to God, I'm going to take the tape, stomp it, and feed you the shards. FIX IT."

Gareth turns and stomps off the porch. Jeff shoots Eddie an apologetic look and gets back in the car. He stands there and watches them drive away.

Maybe Eddie Munson really is the dumbest motherfucker on the planet.

* * * * * * *

A knock on your door pulls you out of your trance. You'd woken up early today, on your last day of winter break, and decided to quit moping and do something productive. So you alphabetized everything that could be alphabetized. Your tapes and records were finally in order - you'd even rediscovered some albums you'd forgotten you owned, which was nice, because you were sick of hearing Eddie in everything. You now sat in your bedroom floor, surrounded by all the books you'd pulled off your shelf.

"What."

"Eddie's here," came the muffled voice of your brother. He'd stayed at Jeff's the night before; you hadn't even realized he was home yet.

"I don't care," you lied.

You can hear him sigh through the door.

"He brought flowers."

"I hate flowers."

You hear a thump on the door, as if Gareth has banged his head against it.

"I'm letting him in. Just listen to him. You're both making me fuckin' miserable."

You bristle, but lean over and press stop on your tape player. Might as well get this over with.

"Hey, uh… you gonna let me in?"

You glare at the closed door, hoping he can sense it.

"Okay. I'll stay out here. I, uh… Look, I don't know what I'm doing here. You know that. You're the only one I ever… I thought you were… whatever. Doesn't matter. I'm sorry."

A few days ago, you might've taken pity on him. Opened the door, fallen into his arms, shed a few tears.

But you're out of tears. You'd let that unfortunate interaction fester like an open wound. You'd spent the last few days going over every possible scenario for the sudden change in the boy you thought you loved. It hadn't occurred to you until day two that maybe he'd come outside for his little speech because there was someone else inside. Why else would he come out into that cold December morning in his pajamas to smoke half a cigarette and dump the old ball and chain?

And this is the apology you get? You wasted the last of your winter break crying over this asshole. He dumped you. And he can't even tell you why? You reach over to your tape player, press play, and turn up the volume. Immature? Maybe. Better than opening the door and ripping him to shreds, or worse, taking one look at those big brown eyes and collapsing in his arms like some weak Victorian damsel? Probably.

Eddie eventually walks out without a word, leaving the supermarket flowers on the kitchen table.

WEDNESDAY

The first day back was always an easy one; figure out where you're going, receive a pile of papers warning you of the work to come, try to plan the best route to each class. Although for you, that route would now be the most efficient; not the one that would allow you to steal a few seconds here and there with Eddie Fucking Munson.

Of course you had first period together.

You sat as far away from him as you possibly could; he was sitting in the back left corner. You took the front right. Close to the teacher's desk. You were here to learn, after all.

A pretty-boy wearing a Cubs jacket asked if the seat next to you was taken. You smiled and gestured for him to sit. Cubs Guy made small-talk about the workload, and you smiled at him like his stupid comments were amusing to you… all the while, hoping Eddie was watching. You refused to turn around and check.

You finally caught a glimpse of him after the bell rang. Some little blonde had taken the seat next to him. He was talking and gesturing to her with a big dumb smile on his face. You wanted to smack it off.

You said "excuse me" to Cubs Guy as sweetly as you could before sliding past him and practically running into the hallway to get away from them.

Your next class was uneventful… but you saw him in the hall after third period. Standing at a locker that wasn't his. With the tiny blonde who'd sat next to him that morning. Was that her? Was that the one he left alone in his bed while he took a few minutes to come ditch the old bag?

And then he looked up and caught your eye. You stood there, frozen, screaming inside… and watched that smirking motherfucker reach forward and flick one of that tiny cunt's dangly earrings. You could practically hear her giggle from the other end of the hallway. You wanted to rip her earrings out and pierce his balls with them.

Instead, you ducked into the nearest bathroom to let some angry tears fall.

* * * * * * *

He knew it was an asshole thing to do. But in his defense, you started it.

He knew the new girl would never speak to him again as soon as the first popular kid noticed her and pulled her into their own clique. They'd warn her away from trash like him - just like they tried to with you - but he suspected that this one would fall for it.

But for now, cute little Kimmy didn't know any better. Didn't know what her classmates thought of him and his Satanic hobbies, where he lived, what was in his lunchbox, how much he loved the girl who spent first period chatting animatedly with some douchebag in the front row and refusing to look at him.

So he offered his services. Told her how to get to each class. Met her at her locker with the promise of escorting her to lunch, where he was sure he'd lose her to the first jock who decided to rescue her from the clutches of the freak.

That's when he made eye contact with the one who mattered.

You were standing in the middle of the hall, completely still. The crowd parted and flowed around you like water. You were finally looking at him. It was the first time he'd looked into your eyes since the day you left for Colorado.

Before he knew what he was doing, he reached down to the bubbly little blonde in front of him and gave her dangly plastic earring a playful flick, never breaking eye contact with you. He wasn't sure exactly why. Payback for first period, maybe? Would it make you jealous? Mad enough to stomp over and yell at him? Hit him? Cram him into Kimmy's open locker? He'd take anything at this point.

But you turned on your heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Shit.

THURSDAY

"Hi!" Cubs Guy greets as he plops down on the low brick wall next to you. You can't stand eating in the cafeteria anymore. Where he is. You'd rather brave the cold and eat outside.

"Hi?"

"I'm Paul. From first and third?"

"Hi, Paul from first and third." He smiles. Why are his teeth so white?

"I thought you looked lonely, so I decided to drop in and say hi. How are you today?"

"I'm fine," you lied, faking a smile. "Thanks for checking on me." You can leave now.

"You used to hang out with Munson, right?"

"Yeah," you murmured.

"Finally realized how annoying he is, huh?"

You faked another smile and contemplated sticking your plastic fork in his eye.

"Have you started The Great Gatsby yet?" he asked.

"Just a few pages. The 20s aren't really my thing."

"Mine, either. Outlawing alcohol during the rise of jazz? That's just cruel!" He grins, and you're surprised to find a genuine laugh bubble from your throat. How long has it been since you actually laughed?

You spent the rest of your lunch period chatting about the reading list, your other classes, and what you did over winter break. It was surprisingly not terrible.

"Listen, are you seeing anyone right now?" he asked.

As if on cue, Eddie and Grant walk through the doors closest to you. You turn your head toward Paul and focus on him before you accidentally make eye contact with Eddie.

"Nope, why do you ask?"

Paul dazzles you with that brilliant smile again. "Would you like to go out with me tomorrow night? You look like you could use a night on the town."

You can see Eddie out of the corner of your eye. He's still by the door, watching. Grant shifts awkwardly. "I'd love to!" you chirp. You doubt Eddie knows what you're agreeing to, but you hope he catches the enthusiasm on your face. Even if it's fake.

"Awesome! How about dinner and a movie!"

"That sounds great!"

You glance toward Eddie, but he's gone. You see Grant retreat into the door they just came out of before it

You hate yourself.

* * * * * * *

Well, Eddie was right about one thing: Kimmy was history. The cheerleaders had swallowed her up the second she stepped into the cafeteria yesterday. Now she sat on the edge of her seat in first period, as if the guy who told her how to get to the gym and the trick to getting her locker open would snatch her up and throw her on an altar the second the teacher turned her back.

But he was used to that.

It was you ignoring him that hurt.

He thought maybe his little earring stunt would make you mad enough to threaten him. Attention is attention. But you hadn't even looked at him since. You sat next to that dickhead whose name he didn't even know - did you know it? - and quietly took notes. Were you just copying the board, or were you writing to whatshisface like you used to with Eddie? The thought nearly broke him.

But what he saw at lunch really did.

He didn't know where you were; only that you weren't sitting next to him. He ate quietly for a change, letting Jeff steer today's discussion toward some horror novel he was reading. He didn't have the energy for a rant or a lecture or even a pointed taunt. He let the conversation carry on like he wasn't even there. At least it was probably easier on Gareth this way, who reluctantly remained at the Hellfire table.

Eddie got up and headed to the van for a midday smoke. Grant followed. He wasn't sure why. Does he look so bad that they're afraid to leave him alone? They walked through the hall silently.

When he came through the doors, he saw you sitting on the brick wall with that asshole from first period. Alone. Smiling. Together. "I'd love to!" you chirped at the meathead. Eddie doesn't hear his response, but your words echo in his head. Did you just agree to a date? With someone else?

He storms back the way he came, not seeing anything but the blur of fluorescent lighting through the tears trying not to fall.

FRIDAY

Part of you felt bad about agreeing to a date just to spite Eddie.

The other part decided to put on makeup and wear some of the clothes your father and step-monster had bought for you, since Eddie would be there for band practice when Paul picked you up. ("No children of mine are going to run around here looking like ragamuffins!") Poor Gareth, being the new guy, couldn't exactly call off practice on account of relationship drama.

Your brother takes one look at you and rolls his eyes. "Really?" You shrug, and he goes out to the garage to wait for the rest of the guys.

Now the feel-bad part is in the lead.

But there's no time to change now. You look at your watch, grab your purse, and go to wait by the front door. Most people approach your house from the front for the first time, before they learn that you typically use the back door by the garage to come in and out. But while you're watching the front, Gareth yells your name through the back. "Your date just pulled up."

Fuck.

You clack through the house in your stupid heels, feeling like a kid playing dress-up. This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid.

When you get to the back door, you take a deep breath before opening it. You need to appear cool, collected, and uncaring that you're going to have to walk right past Eddie.

"Hi!" Paul greets again, just a few feet away from the door.

"Hi," you smile. Paul's a nice guy. You're going out with him because you want to. Not to hurt the person you actually care about. Like he hurt you.

"Ready?" he asks, offering his hand to help you down the lone step. You force a smile and take it, but let it go as you walk past the garage together.

"Have her back by ten, or she'll turn into a pumpkin!" Gareth yells.

"That's your little brother?" he asks quietly. You nod. "Gotcha, chief!"

You wish you were dead.

On the street, Paul opens the door of his shiny new car and waits for you to settle in before he closes it.

He jogs to the other side, slides in, and starts the engine. A pop song is playing on the radio. The car's interior is spotless. Not a single candy wrapper or empty drink cup is in the floorboard. No overflowing ashtray. No personality whatsoever. You smile at Paul and reach for the seatbelt, but your eyes linger on the open garage in the sideview mirror.

The boys are watching Eddie. Eddie is watching you.

You're vaguely aware that your date is yammering on about something as he puts his car in gear. Your eyes were locked on Eddie. Paul pulls away from the curb and eases his car down the street at a sensible pace. Eddie begins to shrink in the mirror, and you feel your heart shrinking with him.

Is this really how it ends?

No more listening to him curse as he tries to learn new songs, or playing with his hair while you watch movies, or sharing milkshakes at the diner, or writing notes in class, or browsing the discount bins for new music, or making plans to do nothing together whenever your schedules allowed. You knew you should be paying attention to the guy you were on a date with, but your only thought was Eddie. The boy who didn't want you anymore. Give it up, girl. He's moved on.

And then, you saw it.

He reached up with the hand that wasn't gripping the neck of his guitar to swipe at his eyes.

"Stop."

"What?"

"Stop the car."

"Did you forget something?" Paul asks, still moving.

"Just stop!"

He slams on the breaks and looks at you like you're crazy.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this." You grip your purse in your left hand as you fumble for the door handle with your right, unable to take your eyes off the metalhead in the mirror.

"Are you seriously ditching me for that fr--" The door slams before he can finish his sentence.

You walk back down the street and toward your open garage as quickly as your stupid heels will allow. He stands and stares until you reach the end of your driveway. Your eyes are locked on his; he's all you see.

He tries to pull off the guitar that's been hanging idly during your staring match, but the strap gets caught in his hair. Jeff helps him out of it, and holds it while Eddie walks toward you. First in a daze, and then with purpose.

When he picks up his pace, your tears begin to fall. You're sobbing by the time you're in his arms again. And so is he.

There's a flurry of choked 'I'm sorry's and 'I love you's. Your lips meet in a wet, frenzied kiss. Your hands tangle in his hair. His arms squeeze you tight. You've got your Eddie back. Nothing else matters.

When you finally pull away, you wipe your eyes on the back of your hands and look at the black smudge they left behind. You look up at Eddie bashfully.

"Bet I look gorgeous right now," you joke.

"You do," he says, tucking your hair behind your ear with a smile. "You know how much I love raccoons."

"Shut up," you laugh, giving him a gentle shove. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to him again. After a moment of holding each other tightly, you reach up to cup his face. You bring him down for another kiss, then rest your foreheads against each other.

"Don't ever leave me again," you whisper.

"I won't."

[moonlit-midnight]

Like the ocean loves the shoreline

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech.

Genre: Hurt Comfort, Platonic Fluff, Friendship.

Summary: In which your best friends saw you at your worst many times, but they will always love you even after the waves stop crashing the shore.

Warnings: Reader is a female, and is half mermaid half human. Mentions of mental disorders and bullying.

—

Floyd knew it was getting worse for you again.

You might be a master at fabricating cheerful smiles, forcing laughter and pretending to be happy, but you cannot fake your illness.

Your attempts at masking your depressive state was in vain because he was quick to caught on your self-destructive behaviors.

He didn’t fail detecting your constant procrastination, refusing to take your medication at times, and your recent compulsive activities such as gaming from 12 midnight until 4 in the morning.

Your happy-go-lucky public façade masked your anguish, but Floyd could clearly see the distress in your eyes and your difficulty to manage your negative emotions in private.

“There you are, starfish.”

Floyd caught you one Sunday midnight, sitting in the dimness of the eerily quiet lounge, crying with a cereal bowl on your lap.

“Why are you looking for me?” You wiped your tears with the sleeve of your oversized purple hoodie which belongs to Floyd.

“Just wanted to check on you. Looks like you’re taking a break from your unhealthy gaming sessions.” He said in a serious tone, eyeing your untouched cereal.

“Guess I’m busted.” You sniffed, setting the bowl down on the table.

“You don’t have to endure it alone. We’re here for you no matter what.” Floyd brushed the tears rolling down your pallid cheeks. “I know that you’re so tired of relapsing, but you’ll get better one day. Remember that recovery is a journey, not a destination.”

“I know.” You nodded, a hiccupped sob escaping your lips.

The teal-haired merman smiled at you before his strong arms carefully lifted you in a bridal carry. You let yourself snuggle against him as he carried you to his room.

There was no way he would let you sleep in your room tonight.

He was sure that you would slip out of bed at 1 or 2 in the morning to continue your gaming until the sun rises.

Your unhealthy ways of coping might not eventually come to a stop, but Floyd would be there to help you step by step until you see the light again.

★ —

Jade knew that you were sleep deprived and being haunted by your past nightmares again.

Your thick concealer might perfectly hide the dark circles beneath your eyes, but if he looked a little closer, he would fully notice the anxiety, the exhaustion and the fear that swirled deep in your eyes.

His suspicions were confirmed when you asked him if you could stay over at his room for a a few days.

Every time your horrid and dreadful nightmares came back, you would seek comfort from none other than Jade.

There was something about him that put you at peace.

“Can’t sleep, my precious pearl?”

At the sound of his calm yet concerned voice, you stopped tossing and turning.

“I’m scared.” You inched closer to him, cuddling his side.

“Don’t be afraid,” He let you bury your face on his chest, his left hand gently cradling the back of your head. “I’ll fight your bad dreams off and chase away your demons if they come to get you.”

“Thank you, Jade.” You murmured, listening closely to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat like a child holding a seashell to their ears.

In a matter of minutes, you fell asleep and the terror gnawing your mind for the past two weeks was slowly lulled to slumber.

“I’m always here for you.” Jade whispered as he kissed the crown of your head.

★ —

Azul knew that you were being bullied and oppressed again.

He noticed that you wouldn’t leave the classroom unless he was with you.

He noticed how you would constantly grab his hand to rush back to the dorm during dismissal time, how you kept your distance when walking the school hallways, and perpetually avoiding people’s gaze in the lounge and the cafeteria.

He found you one late night, crouched down on the cold marble floor in the corridor of the dorm.

You were sobbing, head hanging low and shoulders shaking with every sob escaping your lips.

You didn’t notice that Azul was there until you felt him wrapping his warm coat around your trembling figure, and his gloved hands cradling your tear-stained face in the most gentle way.

Your body felt sluggish and worn out, so you slumped against the silver haired merman, your delicate arms looped around his neck.

He placed a firm hand on your waist to keep you steady while his other hand patted your back to soothe your tremors.

Once your crying stopped and your mind calmed, you spilled your heart out.

The same bullies were bullying you once more.

You thought it won’t happen again after your three best friends; Azul and the Leech brothers threatened your oppressors many times, but you were wrong.

Those jerks wouldn’t stop bothering you over things that didn’t concern them.

They would pick on you when nobody’s around, and they would rudely question your sanity for hanging out with Azul and the twins.

Well, the three mermen were your real friends and your companions for as long as you could remember. Only the ones who were truly close to them were allowed to see their true selves and the goodness of their hearts.

Your bullies knew nothing. It was none of their business, so you weren’t obliged to answer their stupid questions or respond to their insults.

“Did they hurt you physically?” Azul asked anxiously, blue eyes burning with anger.

It caught his attention that you’ve been wearing pants instead of skirts recently.

“Y-yes,” You weakly nodded.

Days ago, a few of your bullies secretly followed you to the swimming pool club which had no members but you.

You were in mermaid form when you took a swim when they jumped on you out of nowhere.

They poked your scales and tugged at your tail, it was painful that it left marks of wounds and bruises on your human legs.

Azul was absolutely appalled and aggravated by these lunatics.

“Leave this to me. I’ll teach them a lesson they’ll never forget, and I assure you no harm will come your way ever again.” Azul tenderly stroked your hair as he whispered his promise.

★ —

After a year and a few months, your mental state and physical health were both improving bit by bit.

Your moods were getting better, and your heavy heart was starting to feel lighter again.

Although you still had moments of failure, your state of mind was stable and at peace at last.

It was all thanks to your efforts to better yourself, to lead a healthy lifestyle and your bravery to strike back at your illnesses. 

Besides, you didn’t endure it alone. Azul, Jade and Floyd were there, always ready to lend you a helping hand and supporting you in your long journey to healing and recovery.

Your three best friends were like a sunrise and a bright blue sky, always giving you hope.

“Guys, she’s really getting better.” Floyd barged into the VIP room while he was on his shift.

“She’s finally laughing, isn’t she?” A smile graced Azul’s face, peering up from the stacks of papers he was sorting alongside Jade.

“She is.” Floyd nodded enthusiastically, beckoning the two boys to follow his lead.

Exiting the VIP room, they made their way to the kitchen.

There you were, sitting comfortably on the floor, watching your favorite comedy show on your phone.

Your face was glowing beautifully, and your head was thrown back each time you laughed, a laugh no longer fake or forced.

Azul, Jade and Floyd observed you from the doorway, their hearts lighting up with joy and gladness from seeing your genuine happy self again.

It felt nice hearing you laughing cheerfully and smiling brightly without a care in the world once again.

“Care to join me, guys?”

The three mermen jumped on their spot, your sweet voice snapping them out from their daze.

Your eyes was focused on your phone, but you could sense Azul, Jade and Floyd watching you with their affectionate gazes.

“Sure thing.” They said in unison as they joined you sitting on the floor.

The four of you were huddled together, leaning into one another as you continued watching your favorite comedy show.

Then and there, you would giggle and laugh heartily alongside the boys.

Your laughter was like a mellow tune playing on a warm spring afternoon, and the boys relished the happy and delightful sound.

Slowly, slowly but steadily, you were finally blooming like a spring wildflower after all these hardships.

[windrush-child]

You’re right for me, Ecstasy (one shot)

Reader x Lewis. 3.4k words. Smut.

Lewis Hamilton falls for a grid girl. Things don’t go well. Luckily, fate has a fable for second chances. Unreliable narrator cuz we’re messy like that. Thanks for the prompt ideas anons. Title inspired by the weeknd’s Don’t Break My Heart.

Warnings - Hate sex and highly questionable morals.

Rio de Janeiro. A mild November day. When you see him standing in the middle of the street, you have to do a double take. The tray with empty mugs nearly slips from your hands as the realisation hits. He caught your eye as soon as he turned round the corner with his friends (or security guards, maybe?), chatting in a language that seems so out of place. The simple black turtleneck and jeans make him look almost inconspicuous, if it weren't for the delicate pearl necklace that rests on top of his collarbones. Few people would know he's a famed racing driver if they ran into him on any random weekday like this. The worst thing, though? He saw you, too. He's also stopped talking to his friends, peeking over as if he's thinking, is it really her?, reluctant. And now, he's walking over. Shit. It feels like your feet have frozen to the ground. This can't be real. What the hell is he doing up here, out of all bloody places in the world? How did he, nearly one year down the line, end up in front of the small, unassuming Café you work at, in a small, unassuming backstreet of Santa Teresa?

"Hey" Begrudgingly, you look up. Big, brown eyes before you, a cautious smile, and the familiar smell of his cologne which strikes you in the most painful way possible. Where has your voice gone? "Good morning," you say, dryly, trying to sound like he's just another customer on just another day. Hoping he can't hear how he's sucker-punched the air out of you with only a word. Lewis shifts from one foot to the other. "I wasn't sure whether it was you at first," he says, attempting half a smile. You can feel his gaze all over your skin. "It's, uhm.. it's good to see you again. How've you been?" You press your lips together, can't bring yourself to say the same. "I'm doing alright," you respond, slowly wiping the table surface so you don't have to look him in the eye. Lewis draws in a breath. "Do you work at this place?" he asks. What a stupid question. "Looks like it," you answer, dumping the rag on the tray. You should be taking your lunch break right now, can't really pretend to be busy either when there's just a single old man at a table in the corner. "I've been working here for most of the semester. Money's tight, you know." "Right." He nods to himself, eyes on the ground before he looks back up. "So... you're still at university, then?" he adds, a graceless attempt at small talk. It's so unlike him to be this clumsy, it almost catches you off guard. You grab the pack of cigarrettes from the counter behind you when you're done cleaning up, pull one out and stick it between your lips. "I am," you mumble as you step further out into the street, desperate to create a safe distance between you and the man. He shoudn't be here. You shouldn't be talking to him. "What are you doing up here, anyway?" you ask as you light the cig. "Oh, you know, different things." he starts, "A friend is showing me around some places in the city today. And I also have a race on Sunday." "Busy as ever," you interrupt, a hint of bitterness in your voice that you hope went over his head. Don't start, now. Lewis makes an Mhm sound, both hands in the pockets of his trousers as if he doesn't know what else to do with them. "I thought you stopped?" he says, offhandedly. It takes you a moment to realise he's looking at the cigarette between your fingers. You could take this as an attempt to have a normal, non-threatening conversation. A first, cautious step into mending the broken pieces of your whatever-ship. You could ask him an equally innocuous question, or just make up an excuse to get out of the situation. You choose to be petty instead. "So what?" you shrug, blowing smoke. "It's not your business, really." Lewis rolls his lips, looks like he wants to chuckle. "I see." Just when you think he'll finally leave, he hesitates once more. "By the way," he says, "They're still looking for personel at the circuit in São Paulo, for the evenings and such. From what I've heard, they pay very well." You take a long drag of your cigarette. Seems like Lewis hasn't forgotten your career as a grid girl back then. And how could he have? It's the only reason your paths ever crossed.

"Thanks for the tip," you say. Your eyes linger on his back for far too long as he walks away.

—-

São Paulo, Race Day.

You had sworn to yourself that last year was the last time you're doing this. That the glitz and glamour of Formula 1 just wasn't for you. Too many ruthless, absurdly rich men who believed the world belonged to them; and that anything was possible if you just named a price. But when you met Lewis, one fateful evening after a race, he'd seemed like an exception to the rule. He was kind. Didn't treat you like a consumable that was hired for the sole purpose of his entertainment. Most people, even those close to you, would secretly judge you and the other women for "looking pretty for the cash". But Lewis never did. He understood that money didn't grow on trees, and that this was just a means to an end. It was part of the reason why having sex with him felt so liberating, so mindblowing every time. With him, you could be careless, didn't have to worry about the potential stigma. It was the type of sex that would make you cuss and sweat; that had you crying out into the bedsheet while he gave it to you good. The kind that had you holding on to each other for the entire night, and say things that should've never been said out loud. It escalated from a one night stand to two, then countless more when he flew you out to Mexico and COTA the following weeks. Neither of you dared to put a label on it, though, not even when Lewis had made a habit of treating you to dinner on Sundays; not even after the occasional pregnancy scare that turned out to be a false alarm. You were just a grid girl, after all. It was what doomed your little romance to failure in the end. Lewis couldn't handle his jealousy, couldn't stand seeing you around men that weren't him, yet wouldn't commit to you either. Maybe he didn't have the guts to do it. Maybe he lacked respect, and you were just a toy for him to play with till he got bored. In the end, none of it mattered.

The pay is indeed good, you think as you stow the bundle of cash into your bag at the end of the day. One of the other girls, Magalenha is her name, had convinced you earlier to come dancing with her at the after party by the track. The semester has been very draining, so why not have a bit of carefree fun for once? A shower, fresh make up, and a backless sundress is all you need to feel like the night is yours for the taking. Your newly found friend decides you're having a Cosmopolitan, giggles with you as she points at people that clearly can't dance, and three drinks in, she even manages to snap a selfie with a wasted McLaren engineer.

Fate can be such a bitch, however. You're waiting for your Caipirinha at the bar when you spot him on a dance floor. It's the time of the night when the beats get deeper, heavier, and hotter - You can tell. Through the low, purple lights and the haze of liquor in your body, you watch Lewis' tattooed hands, how they slide over a woman's waist from behind, down to her lower back as she grinds on him to the rhythm of the song. He's breathing hard, sweat pearling on his forehead as he pulls her closer by the hips. She smiles when he seems to whisper something into her ear. You turn away. Blood-red in the face. He has to be drunk; disgustingly, shamelessly drunk. When you look up again, just to put the sharp blade to your heart once more, Lewis is staring back at you. Your head is spinning as you dash for the exit of the venue, as quickly as your high heels allow, desperately trying to make yourself believe that this has got nothing to do with him. You're simply walking, no, running back to your hotel because it's time to call it a night - the shameful rush of jealousy isn't real at all, and neither is the bitter ache in your stomach.

"Stop!" Lewis' voice carries through the street, but you keep your eyes straight to the pavement. "Will you hold on!" he says as he catches up to you, trying to grasp your elbow. You smack his hand away. "What, Lewis?" you snap. The venom in your voice nearly makes him jump. "Just leave it, okay? You're causing a fucking scene." To your misfortune, Lewis doesn't listen. "I didn't know you were at the party," he blurts out, almost stumbling over the words. "I didn't do it on purpose, I swear-" You're silently gnashing your teeth as you turn to him, glaring his stupid face up and down. "Fuck- Come here," you say, dragging him along by the fabric of his shirt, through the doors of the hotel lobby. Nobody needs to see you fighting it out on the street. Surprisingly, he follows without protest. Only when the door of your room falls shut with a loud bang, you let go of him. "Alright," you start, tossing your purse to the floor. "Say what you gotta to say, then!" Lewis sighs, runs a hand over his face. He should've drunk less. "It's not... look, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings earlier, but-" "You're not hurting my feelings," you scoff, angrily kicking off your heels. "It's been a year, Lewis. I couldn't care less about who you're fucking tonight." He's frowning at first, but then raises his brows. "Oh, you don't care at all?" he says. You don't like that tone in his voice. "Is that why you can't even talk to me normally? You've been ignoring my phone calls for months. Every single message, too." Suddenly, your blood pressure spikes. "So you show up at my job in Rio because you can't take a hint?" you blurt out, impulsively lunging closer. The man has gone completely mad; there's no other way. "Why would you even want to talk to me? You've made it more than clear I wasn't your type." you spit, pure contempt. Lewis huffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "You know damn well it was never about that." He's trying to sound calm now, but by the tremble in his voice, you can tell the anger is finally getting to him. "You may not have said it-" you return, bluntly pointing a finger at his chest, "But we both know you thought it. You want a good girl, don't you, Lewis? No way you could ever love someone that's beneath you." "Bullshit," he hisses as he grabs your wrist hard, pulls you so close that you see the livid flicker in his eyes. It's almost satisfying. "You were the one that bailed on me 'cause you were scared of your own feelings. You rather kept sleeping around instead of committing to this," Lewis says. You're going to smack him in the face. "Or did you conveniently forget that?" There's hot bile rising in your throat, the awful feeling of knowing he's right. You want to scream at him, call him a stupid asshole. "Because you never even wanted me in the first place!" you yell. "That is not true!" "Then fucking prove it!"

There's silence, until something changes in Lewis' face. All of a sudden, the air inside this room feels too thick. Too warm. He's breathing hard. "Take your dress off," he says. You can feel the rumble of his voice in the pits of your belly - It short-circuits something inside of you. Fuck. You do it. Clammy hands, shaking knees as you peel yourself out of your clothes, skin hot from wrath, but even hotter from the way Lewis is staring you down. When he grabs you by your hips, pulling you into him, your heart stumbles. There's no warning when Lewis pounces on you, lifts your body easily to throw you onto the bed with him. It's not a fair fight, never was as he pins you down under his weight, making you squeal when he wraps a big hand around the base of your throat. "You want me to show you, huh?" he growls and charges at your mouth. You should bite his lip until you draw blood when he kisses you, make him regret ever starting this. Instead, you're moaning as he licks into you, wet and rough and messy, can't stop yourself from grinding up into his body. Oh, he's driving you mad, knows it too when he presses his palm over the soaked spot on your panties. "Shit," he curses when he pulls away, gets his fingers slick as he slips them into your underwear and inside of you, a filthy noise. "Just can't help it, can you?" he taunts, makes you whine when he pushes up into a spot, then again when he suddenly pulls them out. "Fuck you," you say, and Lewis laughs, because there's no bite behind it at all. With how ready you are for him, he knows he's got you in the palm of his hand.

He makes short work of your panties and tosses them to the floor, followed by his own shirt, before you're getting up on your knees to unbuckle his belt. As he stands at the edge of the bed, watching your every move, you make sure to dig your nails into the soft skin of his groin while you're tugging at his briefs. Lewis hisses, a threat of white, sharp teeth. "Behave," he warns, has grabbed a fistful of your curls to get his point across. His cock feels warm and thick as you're holding him in your hand, hardened up and reddened at the tip. By instinct, you wrap your lips around the head, impatiently trying to swallow, whimpering when he hits the back of your throat, too heavy, too big. Lewis controls the pace, pulls you back and forth by your hair, till spit is dripping down your chin, the taste of his arousal pooling on your tongue. Fuck, this is obscene. One more time he takes you, so far down himself that tears prickle in the corners of your eyes, until he pulls out with a harsh groan, wet and throbbing. Lewis tugs at your hair, angles you up so you're looking at him, don't have the choice not to, bulging, strong arms around your body holding you up into his chest, as if to make sure you won't slip away. If someone cut this moment out of marble, right here and now, you'd look like a sculpture of the Renaissance. Such beauty in being at his mercy. His gaze roams over your face, considering you with utmost diligence, the mess on your lips, the heaving breaths you're taking. Under the scrutiny of his eyes, your skin feels like it might burn off. "Have you been sleeping with other men?" "No," you answer, voice thin. It's the truth. He exhales, chest moving with it. "Good," he says.

Lewis sweeps you off your knees, lays you on your back with smooth strength. You want to be ashamed of how easily your legs open for him; of how you grab and pull at his shoulders. But you can't bring yourself to be, not tonight. Your eyes are shut tight when he clutches your hip with one, the base of your throat with the other hand, a cruel, anticipating throb where he lines himself up with your entrance. When he pushes in, you cry out, the stretch blind-siding, too tight. You can feel him everywhere, all at once, gasping when he presses deeper, till he's buried up inside. "Mhm...fuck," you whimper, don't remember him feeling like this. You look up to find Lewis watching you, gaze flickering back and forth between your trembling lips and liquid eyes. He's taking deep, ragged breaths, stays still. "Are you okay?" he asks, voice rough with exertion. He feels like he's going to burst, a tight, hard knot low in his belly. "Yeah…yes, I am" you sigh, reaching out so you can wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down and close, and he lets you. He starts rolling his hips into yours, fucks you slowly and thoroughly, makes you fall apart underneath him. The room fills with moans and the sound of your bodies meeting as he takes you, heavy, practiced strokes. Every nerve of yours feels overstimulated with him, with his smell, the strength in his body. You want to cry, tell him you're sorry for breaking his heart, want him to say he's sorry for breaking yours, too, but can't grasp a single thought, not when he's doing this to you. "Oh god, I-" you whimper, but Lewis feels it before you do, is picking up a punishing pace. "I know, sweetie, you’re doing so well…" he purrs, has you crying out when he changes his angle, hits those places deep inside till you're taken by the throbbing heat between your legs. Lewis presses his mouth into your neck as he fucks you through it, has to fight tooth and nail to hold back because he knows he'll be in trouble if he doesn't, straining hard to not lose himself in you. It's almost too late when he pulls out, barely in time, his vision whited out from pleasure as he spills warm and wet on your belly. Lewis is panting and cursing while he pulses against the hinge of your hip, arms threatening to give out under him, baring his teeth. You don't think you've ever seen him come this hard.

"Fuck," he sighs, says it again, shoulders heaving as he leans back on his heels. He looks out of his mind, holding on to your thigh, can't do a single thing except to feel you under his palm. You're watching him in silence, because you don't know what to say.

Lewis does get up, eventually. But only to fetch a washcloth from the bathroom, and to pour some warm water on it. You're relieved when you see him come back to bed, worried for a moment he'd just get dressed and leave without another word. Instead, he's cleaning you, slowly running the cloth over your skin, starts with your face, then your neck, down to your belly to wipe away the mess he’s made. It's heart wrenching, how mindful and gentle he is with it, like this is still a part of it all, an act of aftercare. You wish he'd never stop.

When Lewis is done, he sits still. "We shouldn't," he begins, but trails off again. "I don't care," you say, shaking your head. "I don't care." It bursts out of you right then, can't help but reach out for his face, fingers in his beard, and then you're kissing him, deep and sincere as you pour it all out into his lips. "I'm sorry," you blurt out. "I'm so sorry that I lied to you. I'm sorry that I ran away." It's starting to sound like a prayer now, the way you're whispering against his lips, a dying, pleading flame that hopes he can forgive you. Lewis looks at you, his face in your hands. His dark brown eyes, so harsh and unforgiving earlier, have gone so soft. He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your lips. Vulnerable. "I know. It's okay," Lewis whispers, doesn't have to think twice about it. He'd give you the shirt off his back had you asked for it, knows it in his heart. "I’m sorry I didn't treat you like I should have," he says, "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

You give him your lips, your tongue, let your hands slip into his hair and down his neck as you kiss him the way he loves it. Lewis is intoxicating, the most potent drug in the universe. He's tasting you with such devotion, slow licks of his tongue, moaning low into the kiss, almost sounds like he's hurting. Don't break my heart again.