#ANGST AND SMUT

[jupiterpilgrim]

Everything's Ruined

Christmas Special 🎄

Hanni x Male Reader

word count: 10K

The room glows with the warm, soft buzz of Christmas lights tangled messily over the mantle and around the windows. Music hums in the background—a lazy mix of holiday classics and some throwback pop songs someone thought was ironic. You’re sunk deep into the couch, a heavy glass of whiskey and eggnog dangling loose in your hand. It’s late, the party is only half over, but everyone is already wasted, even though they're just chilling now; a handful of half-drunk bodies lounging, half-assedly debating the virtues of Die Hard as a Christmas movie. 

Then there’s Hanni.

She’s curled up next to you, except "curled" isn’t right. She’s draped—like she forgot personal space was a thing about three drinks ago. Her dark hair tumbles over her face as she tips her head back in a laugh that’s way too loud for whatever dumb joke someone just made. Her cheeks are flushed, probably from the wine she’s been inhaling all night, and when she looks at you, her eyes are glassy and warm, like you’re the most hilarious person alive just for existing.

Thing is, Hanni’s your best friend—the one person you're not supposed to have these feelings for, but with the alcohol in your system and the way she’s leaning into you now, all flushed cheeks and that stupid, glassy smile, it’s getting real fucking hard to remember why.

“God, you’re so fuckin' cute,” she slurs, and you blink. She doesn’t seem to notice, just scoots closer, swinging her legs over your lap like she’s staking territory. “You’re my favorite, you know that?”

You snort. “You tell me that every time you’re wasted, Hanni. Get some new material.”

She pouts, sticking out her lip in this over-the-top cartoon way that somehow makes you grin like an idiot. Her weight settles heavier against you, and yeah, you’re feeling that whiskey warmth in your veins too. Her hand wanders—innocently enough at first—over your shoulder, across your chest, then down to rest right at the edge of dangerous territory.

“I’m serious this time, though!” She pokes your chest like she’s trying to prove a point. “You’re the only person who gets me, y’know? Like…fuck, dude, if you weren’t my best friend, I’d probably marry you.”

That pulls a laugh out of you, sharp and incredulous. “Wow, what an honor. Thanks for the consolation prize.” 

Hanni leans forward, her face inches from yours now, her breath sweet with wine and whatever sugary cocktail she’s been nursing all night. “I mean it, asshole. You’re like…everything.” Her voice drops, softer now, and she smirks, but it’s the kind of smirk that’s all affection and none of the usual bite. “You’re my fucking rock.”

You feel something twist low in your gut. “Shit, Hanni, who knew wine turned you into a Hallmark card?” you say, trying to keep it light. 

She bursts into giggles, doubling over, her face pressed to your chest. Her ass shifts on your lap, and you freeze for a second because—fuck—her skirt’s hiked up just enough for you to feel the heat of her through the thin fabric. Hanni doesn’t notice, or maybe she doesn’t care, because she’s too busy tracing lazy patterns over your stomach now, her touch just shy of intimate.

“Y’know what sucks?” she mumbles, tilting her head up to look at you, her hair sticking to her damp forehead. “You’re too good for me. Like, no joke, you should be with someone hot, not stuck babysitting my drunk ass.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to focus on the way her thighs are pressing into yours or the flash of bare skin where her sweater’s ridden up. “Who says I’m stuck? Maybe I like babysitting your drunk ass.”

Her face softens in this way that makes your chest feel too tight. She shifts again, pressing closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear when she whispers, “That’s why I love you.”

It’s teasing, almost playful, but there’s something heavier underneath, something that makes your pulse spike. You’re about to say something—maybe a joke, maybe something stupidly earnest—but then someone across the room yells out, “Alright, last call for shots!” 

Hanni perks up immediately, her attention snapping away from you. “Hell yeah! Let’s fucking go!” she yells, hopping up so fast you almost spill your drink.

As she stumbles off, you exhale, leaning back into the couch, trying to will away the heat simmering low in your stomach. It’s just Hanni, you remind yourself. She gets like this when she’s drunk—touchy, emotional, saying all kinds of shit she won’t even remember tomorrow. But fuck, if she isn’t beautiful, with her tiny frame and those absurdly thick thighs that make no goddamn sense on someone her size. 

You shake your head, draining the rest of your drink. 

—

What began as a quiet night spirals into that perfect mess of booze and laughter, the kind of chaos that only happens when no one’s watching the clock or counting drinks. Someone’s wearing a Santa hat and nothing else but a pair of boxers. Someone else decided the fake Christmas tree would make a great dance partner, and now half the ornaments are shattered on the floor. You and Hanni are still on the couch, her body leaning heavily against yours as you both wheeze-laugh at something dumb on the TV—a claymation Rudolph looking suspiciously baked out of his red-nosed mind.

At some point, Hanni grabs the half-empty bottle of wine from the coffee table and lifts it in a mock toast. “To you, bestie,” she slurs, words spilling out like syrup. “The only motherfucker who didn’t ditch me when I got kicked outta karaoke night last month.”

You roll your eyes, reaching to take the bottle from her before she spills it. “You got kicked out because you tried to sing ‘WAP’ like it was a gospel hymn, Hanni.”

“It was art, you heathen,” she shoots back, but her pout barely lasts before her face splits into a grin. “But seriously. You’re the real MVP.”

“You’re so full of shit,” you say, laughing as you set the bottle safely aside. “But thanks, I guess.”

Time keeps sliding, blurring at the edges. Someone takes an Uber home. Someone else starts snoring under the coffee table. By the time you look around again, the room’s mostly empty. It’s just you, Hanni, and the sound of some low-budget Christmas movie droning in the background. Hanni’s slumped sideways against you, her head resting on your shoulder. Her breath is soft, wine-sweet and warm, and when you shift slightly, she groans.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she mumbles, voice thick with the haze of too much alcohol. Her hand tightens on your arm like a sleepy cat staking its claim.

“Nah, I’m good,” you say, but the sight of her like this—soft and unguarded—makes something in your chest clench. “You, on the other hand, can’t even sit up straight. You’re not going anywhere.”

She blinks up at you, her eyes unfocused but shining, like she’s trying to process your words. “So what? I just crash here?”

“No,” you say, patting her leg. “My place is closer, and I don’t trust you not to wander into traffic if I send you home.”

She snorts, the sound loud and ungraceful. “Aw, look at you, being all responsible and shit. You’re such a dad sometimes.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. “C’mon, let’s get you sorted.”

You help her to her feet, and she wobbles, gripping your arm like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. After saying goodbye to your friends, somehow, you manage to guide her the short distance to your apartment, both of you giggling like idiots the whole way. By the time you’re inside, her sweater’s sliding off one shoulder, and her hair’s a mess, but she looks at you with this sleepy grin that makes your head swim worse than the booze.

You sit her down on the couch, and she flops back like she’s about to take a nap right then and there. “God, your couch is so comfy,” she murmurs, kicking off her shoes.

“It’s a couch, Hanni, not a five-star hotel,” you say, but you’re smiling anyway as you sit down next to her.

For a while, it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that comes when the party’s over, and the city outside is muted under the weight of night. Hanni shifts closer, curling her legs under her, her knee brushing yours. She looks at you, and there’s something in her gaze now—not just the drunken haze, but something deeper. Something you’ve been trying not to notice all night.

“I meant what I said earlier,” she says, her voice soft but steady. 

You frown. “What? That I’m cute?”

She nods, biting her lip like she’s bracing for impact. “Yeah. That. And the part about loving you.”

Your chest tightens, and you let out a short, breathless laugh, trying to break the tension. “Hanni, you’re drunk. You’re gonna forget this by tomorrow morning.”

“Fuck that,” she says, sitting up straighter now, her face inches from yours. “You think I don’t know how I feel? You’re my best friend, yeah, but also…you’re more. You’ve always been more.”

Her words hang there, heavy and undeniable. Your pulse thrums in your ears as she leans in, her lips brushing yours, tentative at first. Then it deepens, and all the air seems to vanish from the room. Her hands slide up your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair, and before you can think, you’re kissing her back, your hands gripping her waist like she’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

When you finally break apart, her lips are swollen, her breath hitching as she looks at you like you’ve just answered a question she’s been too afraid to ask.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whisper, but you’re already leaning in again, your lips finding hers as the tension between you snaps like a live wire. She climbs onto your lap, her thighs pressing against you, and you don’t even care that you’re both still drunk. The couch groans under your combined weight, but neither of you notice, too caught up in the heat of the moment.

“We should—bed—” you manage to mumble between kisses, and she nods, her lips trailing down your jaw.

Somehow, you make it to the bedroom, the clothes leaving a haphazard trail in the hallway and inside your room. By the time you hit the mattress, both already naked, it’s not just excitement buzzing through you—it’s the quiet, electric realization that this is happening, and there’s no turning back.

The bed creaks beneath you both, the springs protesting as Hanni sprawls out on her back, looking up at you with a mix of hazy confidence and nervous vulnerability. Her cheeks are flushed, hair a wild mess against your pillow, and she’s biting her lip so hard you’re half afraid she’ll draw blood. You hover over her, your hands on either side of her, just taking her in for a moment. This is Hanni—your best friend, your partner in crime—and right now, she looks like a fucking dream, her legs parted slightly, the curve of her hips begging for attention.

“You’re staring,” she says, voice low but teasing, and she reaches up, cupping your jaw with one hand. Her fingers are warm, soft, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “I know I’m hot, but damn.”

You laugh, short and breathless, shaking your head. “Fuck off, Hanni. You’re not gonna ruin this by talking shit.”

“Oh, I’m totally gonna talk shit,” she replies, her grin sharp but faltering slightly when you dip your head, pressing your lips to hers again. The kiss is slower this time, deeper, and when you nip at her bottom lip, she gasps into your mouth, her hips shifting beneath you.

Your hand finds her side. Her skin’s soft and warm, and when your palm grazes the swell of her breast, she lets out this soft, needy sound that goes straight to your cock

“God, you’re so fucking impatient,” you murmur against her lips, but your tone’s more affectionate than mocking. Your hand slides down, over her tummy, then you pause, your fingers resting just above where you know she’s burning for you.

“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her eyes lock on yours, and for a moment, you think she’s gonna back out, but then she smirks. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

“Well, now I have to,” you say, rubbing your fingers on her mon pubis.

“Asshole,” she breathes, but her words catch in her throat when your fingers find her slick folds. She’s soaked, and the realization sends a rush of heat through you. “Oh, fuck—”

“Shit, Hanni,” you say, your voice rough with a mix of awe and lust. “You’re fucking dripping.”

Her laugh is shaky, more like a breathy moan. “Yeah, well…you’re taking your sweet ass time about it.”

“Patience is a virtue,” you reply, but your fingers are already sliding lower, brushing over her clit. The reaction is immediate—her body jerks, her hips pressing up into your hand as a strangled moan escapes her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” she chants, her words tumbling out as your fingers circle her clit, slow and deliberate. “Just like that—oh, god, yeah, like th—oh fuck!”

Her voice cuts off as you slide one finger into her, her walls clenching around you like a vice. You add another finger, curling them slightly, and the noise she makes is obscene—half a gasp, half a moan, her head tipping back against the pillow.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you say, your voice low and rough. “How the fuck are you this tight?”

“Shut up,” she groans, but there’s no real bite to her words. Her hands grip the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping her grounded as you start moving, your fingers pumping into her at a steady rhythm.

Her hips roll against your hand, desperate and needy, and when your thumb brushes her clit again, she practically cries out. “Oh my god—yes—just like that—fuck!”

“Yeah?” you ask, grinning as you lean down, your lips grazing her ear. “You like that, Hanni? You like the way I’m fucking you with my fingers?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—” she gasps, her voice breaking as her body arches off the bed. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking dare—”

Her words dissolve into moans as you pick up the pace, your fingers fucking her harder, faster. You can feel her tightening around you, her breath hitching, her entire body trembling as she teeters on the edge.

“Come on, Hanni,” you murmur, your lips brushing her temple. “Let go for me. I wanna feel you cum all over my fingers.”

Her response is incoherent—a garbled mix of your name and curses—but then she’s coming apart, her back arching, her thighs trembling as her pussy clenches around your fingers. Her moan is long and guttural, her hands flying to your shoulders as she rides out the waves of her orgasm.

“Fuck—fuck, oh my god—” she pants, her chest heaving as she comes down, her body still shivering under your touch. You don’t stop, not yet, your fingers slowing but staying inside her, coaxing out every last aftershock.

When you finally pull your hand away, her eyes flutter open, and she looks at you with a dazed, fucked-out expression that makes your chest tighten.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, her voice shaky. “That was…”

You smirk, leaning down to kiss her, your lips brushing hers lightly. “We’re not done yet.”

Before she can respond, you slide down the bed, positioning yourself between her legs. You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, your hands spreading her open, and she gasps, her hands flying to your hair as your tongue flicks over her sensitive clit, licking through the mess she’s left behind—sweet, sticky, and fucking intoxicating. Hanni’s trembling beneath you, her thighs twitching every time your tongue grazes her clit. Her fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging just hard enough to sting, and you can’t tell if she’s trying to push you away or keep you there forever.

“Jesus fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” she gasps, her voice breathy and half-wrecked, like she’s been screaming at a concert all night. “I’m—oh god—s-sensitive—”

You pull back slightly, grinning against her skin. “Yeah? Sensitive, huh? You’re the one who keeps pulling me closer.”

“Shut up,” she snaps, but her words falter when you press your tongue flat against her, slow and wet, dragging it from her entrance to her clit. Her body jolts, a sharp inhale cutting her off. “Oh fuck—stop talking and just—”

“What? Just this?” you interrupt, sucking her clit into your mouth, your fingers digging into her thighs to keep her in place when she tries to squirm away. Her reaction is immediate—her back arches off the mattress, her head tossing back against the pillow.

“FUCK—yes, like that—oh my god, just like that—” she chokes out, her voice rising and falling with every flick of your tongue.

You pull back just enough to murmur, “You taste so fucking good, Hanni. I could eat you all night.”

She groans, throwing an arm over her face, her voice a mix of exasperation and raw need. “You’re such a goddamn showoff.”

“And you love it,” you reply, sliding your tongue back inside her, savoring the way she clenches around it. The cream left behind from her last orgasm coats your lips, and you lap at it like a man starving, dragging out every broken moan she gives you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she stammers, her hands gripping your hair like a lifeline. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna—”

You pull back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at her. “Gonna what? Cum again? Already?”

Her glare is half-hearted, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re dripping,” you shoot back, crawling up her body until your face is hovering over hers. You kiss her, slow and dirty, letting her taste herself on your lips. When you pull back, her eyes flicker down between your bodies, and her breath hitches.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, and you follow her gaze to where your cock is pressed against her stomach, hard and heavy. “That’s…uh…”

“What?” you ask, smirking. “Bigger than you expected?”

She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing as her eyes dart back to your face. “I mean—yeah, kinda.”

You laugh, the sound low and rough as you reach down, guiding her onto her hands and knees. “Don’t worry. You’ll take it.”

She lets out a nervous laugh, glancing over her shoulder at you as you position yourself behind her. “Confident much?”

“You’ll see,” you say, running the head of your cock along her folds, teasing her just enough to make her hips jerk back toward you. “Fuck, Hanni, you’re so wet. You’re gonna take me so good.”

Her response is a shaky moan, her hands gripping the sheets as you push inside her, slow and steady. The stretch is immediate, her body tightening around you like a vice, and you grit your teeth, fighting to keep control.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, her voice high and breathless. “Oh fuck—you’re—fuck, you’re huge—”

“Yeah?” you say, gripping her hips as you sink deeper, inch by inch. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Fuck, yes—don’t stop—” she groans, her head dropping forward as you bottom out, your hips flush against her ass. You stay still for a moment, letting her adjust, your hands smoothing over her waist, her back, the curve of her ass.

“You look so fucking good like this,” you murmur, giving her ass a firm squeeze. “All spread out for me.”

She lets out a soft laugh, glancing back at you with a dazed smirk. “You’re so full of yourself.”

You don’t bother replying, instead pulling back and snapping your hips forward, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. Her gasp turns into a cry, her body rocking forward with the force of your thrust.

“Fuck—yes, just like that—” she moans, her voice muffled as her face presses into the pillow. You pick up the pace, your grip on her hips tightening as you fuck her harder, each thrust sending shockwaves through both of you.

You raise one hand, bringing it down on her ass with a sharp slap. The sound echoes in the room, and she cries out, her walls tightening around you. “Shit—you like that?” you ask, spanking her again, harder this time.

“Fuck—yes—do it again—” she pants, her voice ragged. You oblige, your hand coming down on her ass until it’s red and warm under your palm. She’s a mess beneath you, moaning and writhing, her body arching every time you spank her.

Your grip tightens on Hanni’s hips as you feel her starting to unravel. Her moans spill out in frantic, breathy bursts, her voice trembling under the pressure of everything building inside her. She’s trying to keep her balance, her arms shaking as she holds herself up, but you’re not making it easy. Every thrust has her lurching forward, her ass bouncing back to meet you, her body completely giving in to the rhythm you’ve set.

“Shit—fuck—oh my god, I’m so close,” she stammers, her voice climbing higher, more desperate with every word. Her hands claw at the sheets, bunching the fabric into her fists as you slam into her again, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room.

“Come on, Hanni,” you growl, your breath hot against the sweat-slicked curve of her back. Your hand dips between her legs, fingers finding her clit and circling it in sync with your thrusts. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

“Yes—oh god, yes,” she cries out, her voice cracking as her hips buck against your hand. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

You don’t. You keep your pace steady, unrelenting, the wet sounds of her slick pussy growing louder, more obscene, until finally, she snaps. Her whole body locks up, her head tossing back as a scream tears out of her throat, raw and broken. 

“Oh fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck—” she chants, her thighs trembling violently as her orgasm rips through her, wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure. Her walls clench around you like a vice, trying to pull you deeper, but you hold still, grinding into her just enough to prolong her high. Her moans turn into whimpers, then gasps, her body sagging forward as she rides out the aftershocks.

When she finally collapses, her chest heaving against the mattress, you can’t help but grin. “Oh Hanni,” you murmur, sliding out of her slowly, your cock still hard and aching, slick with her arousal. “You looked so fucking good just now.”

She turns her head, her hair sticking to her flushed, sweaty face as she glares at you halfheartedly. “Shut up,” she mutters, but her voice is shaky, her body still twitching with the remnants of her orgasm.

“Nah, I mean it,” you say, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. “You’re fucking perfect like this.”

Her response is a muffled groan into the pillow, and you laugh, flipping her onto her back before she can complain. Her legs fall open instinctively, and the sight of her laid out beneath you—skin flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly—makes your cock twitch.

“I’m not done with you yet,” you murmur, positioning yourself between her legs. Your hands slide up her thighs, pushing them further apart as you line yourself up with her entrance. She looks up at you, her lips parted, her eyes hazy but full of something that goes deeper than just lust.

“God, you’re so fucking cheesy,” she whispers, but there’s no bite to her words. If anything, she looks…soft. Open. Like she’s waiting for something only you can give her.

You push into her slowly, watching her face as you fill her inch by inch. Her lips fall open, a soft gasp escaping her as her body stretches to accommodate you. “Oh fuck,” she breathes, her hands coming up to clutch at your shoulders. “Oh my god, you’re—fuck, you’re so deep—”

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice rough as you bottom out, your hips flush against hers. “Feel good?”

“Fuck yes,” she moans, wrapping her legs around your waist to pull you closer. “God, you feel so fucking good—”

You start moving, your thrusts slow and deliberate, dragging your cock out almost all the way before slamming back into her. Her head tips back, her nails digging into your shoulders as she moans unabashedly, her voice filling the room. “Yes—fuck, just like that—”

You lean down, bracing yourself on your forearms so you’re hovering over her. Your lips find hers, swallowing her cries as you pick up the pace, your hips snapping against hers harder, faster. She breaks the kiss first, gasping for air, her hands sliding into your hair to tug you closer.

“I love you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of your bodies colliding. Her eyes meet yours, wide and shining, and the vulnerability in her expression makes your cock throbs. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

You freeze for a second, but the way she’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth—it's enough to drive you crazy. “Hanni,” you murmur, your voice breaking as you start moving again, slower this time, each thrust deep and deliberate. “Fuck, I love you too.”

Her breath hitches, and she pulls you down into another kiss, her legs tightening around you as if she’s trying to fuse your bodies together. “Don’t stop,” she whispers against your lips. “Don’t ever stop.”

"I won't," you groan, your cock throbbing inside her tight, wet pussy as you grind deep. Her walls flutter around you with each slow, deliberate thrust, and you can feel how close she is to cumming. You press your forehead against hers, maintaining eye contact as you fuck her with long, measured strokes.

"You feel so good wrapped around my cock," you tell her, your voice rough with emotion. "So fucking perfect, Hanni. Love how wet you get for me."

She whimpers, her nails digging into your shoulders as her hips buck up to meet yours. "Only for you," she gasps. "Nobody's ever made me this wet before."

The admission makes your cock twitch, and you reward her with a particularly deep thrust that has her crying out. "Yeah? Tell me more, baby. Tell me how good I make you feel."

"So good," she moans, her pussy clenching around you. "Your cock fills me up perfectly. Feels like you were made for me."

You kiss her hard, swallowing her moans as you pick up the pace slightly. Your tongue slides against hers as you fuck her deeper, harder, but still maintaining that intimate connection. Her tits press against your chest with each thrust, her hard nipples dragging against your skin.

"Love these perfect tits," you growl, breaking the kiss to trail your lips down her neck. You suck hard enough to leave marks, wanting everyone to know she's yours. "I love how they bounce while I fuck you, how they get so hard for me."

Hanni arches her back, pressing her chest more firmly against you. "Please," she whimpers. "Touch them, suck on them, anything!"

You shift your weight to one arm so you can cup one of her tits, rolling the nipple between your fingers as you continue to thrust. "Like this, baby? Like having your tits played with while I fuck your tight little pussy?"

"Yes!" she cries out, her walls clamping down around you. "Fuck, I'm getting close!"

"That's it," you encourage her, lowering your head to take her other nipple into your mouth. You suck hard while still pinching and rolling the other one, your cock never stopping its steady rhythm inside her. "Want to feel you cum all over my cock. Want to feel how tight that pussy gets when you lose control."

Her hands slide into your hair, holding you against her breast as you continue to suck and nibble at her sensitive flesh. "Oh god, oh fuck," she pants, her thighs trembling where they're wrapped around your waist. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"

You release her nipple with a wet pop, looking up to meet her eyes again. "Never stopping, baby. Gonna keep fucking this sweet pussy until you can't take it anymore." You punctuate your words with a particularly deep thrust that has her seeing stars.

"Love watching you fall apart on my cock," you continue, your voice rough with desire. "Love feeling your pussy get wetter and tighter with each thrust. You gonna cum for me, Hanni? Gonna show me how good I make you feel?"

She nods frantically, her eyes glazed with pleasure as she stares up at you. "So close," she whimpers. "Just a little more, please!"

You shift slightly, changing the angle of your thrusts so your cock drags against her g-spot with each stroke. At the same time, you slide your hand between your bodies to find her clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen bud.

"Fuck!" she screams, her back arching off the bed. "Right there, right fucking there!"

"Yeah? This what you need, baby?" You keep the pressure steady on her clit as you continue to pound into her g-spot. "Love how your pussy's gripping me right now. Can feel how close you are to cumming."

Her nails rake down your back as she writhes beneath you, chasing her orgasm. "Please," she begs. "Make me cum again, please make me cum!"

You lean down to whisper in her ear, your voice low and rough. "Cum for me, Hanni. Show me how good my cock makes you feel. Want to feel that tight little pussy squeeze me while you cream all over my dick."

That does it. With a sharp cry of your name, Hanni's orgasm crashes over her. Her pussy clamps down around you like a vice as she cums, her whole body shaking with the force of her release. You can feel her cream gushing around your cock, making everything even wetter and slicker as you continue to fuck her through it.

"That's it, baby," you groan, fighting against your own need to cum as her walls milk your cock. "Fuck, you look so beautiful when you cum. Love watching you lose control like this."

She's babbling incoherently now, a stream of "fuck" and "yes" and your name falling from her lips as her orgasm continues to roll through her. Her pussy is practically convulsing around your cock, making it incredibly difficult to hold back your own release.

But you manage, wanting to draw out her pleasure as long as possible. You stay buried inside her for what feels like forever, your bodies pressed together, sweat mingling, her legs still wrapped tightly around your waist. Hanni’s breathing slows gradually, her chest rising and falling against yours as her trembling subsides. You brush her hair out of her face, tucking the damp strands behind her ear, and she gives you this sleepy, satisfied grin that makes your chest ache.

“You’re gonna ruin me, baby,” she mutters, her voice soft and teasing, her fingers trailing lazily over your back. 

You chuckle, nipping at her jawline. “Pretty sure I already did that.”

“Shut up,” she murmurs, but there’s no heat to it. She shifts slightly, wincing when your cock twitches inside her, still rock hard. “Jesus, are you still ready to go?”

“Can’t help it,” you reply, smirking as you grind against her, making her gasp. “You’re fucking addictive, Hanni.”

She groans, covering her face with one hand, but when she peeks up at you through her fingers, her eyes are gleaming. “Okay, fine. My turn.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Your turn for what?”

“To make you cum, dumbass.” She pushes at your chest until you roll onto your back, letting her straddle you. Her thighs press against your hips as she sits back, your cock still buried deep inside her. She bites her lip, her hands sliding over your chest. “God, you’re fucking huge. I can feel you all the way in my stomach.”

“Yeah?” you say, your voice rough, your hands finding her waist. “You’re taking me so fucking well, Hanni. You're absolutely perfect.”

“Damn right I am,” she says, smirking as she starts to move, slow and deliberate, rocking her hips in a way that makes your breath catch. “Fuck, you’re so deep…”

She sets a rhythm, her hands braced on your chest, her body rolling against yours with a lazy, drunk confidence. The sight of her above you—hair a mess, lips swollen, her tits bouncing with every move—has you gripping her hips like she’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Shit, Hanni,” you groan, your head tipping back against the pillow. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

Her laugh is breathy, almost mocking. “Good,” she says, picking up the pace, her thighs slapping against yours with every bounce. “You deserve it.”

Her movements get sloppier, needier, her breath hitching every time your cock hits that spot inside her. And then, out of nowhere, she starts talking—dirty, raw, and absolutely unhinged.

“God, I can feel you so fucking deep,” she moans. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that? You’re gonna fuck me so full I won’t even be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Fuck,” you hiss, her words going straight to your cock, making you buck up into her. “Keep talking, baby. Fucking say it.”

With your request, Hanni rides you with a desperation that feels almost animalistic, her hips slamming down onto yours like she’s trying to bury you even deeper inside her. Every bounce makes her tits jiggle, her nails scraping against your chest, leaving angry red trails that sting just enough to keep you tethered to reality. But just barely. You’re so drunk, so fucking drunk, that every sensation feels magnified, her heat, her tightness, the wet sounds of her cunt taking you over and over—it’s all you can focus on.

“Fuck—oh fuck—you’re so fucking deep,” she continues, her voice raw and slurred, her head tipping back as she grinds against you, her clit brushing against the base of your cock. “I really can feel you in my fucking stomach—god, you’re ruining me—”

You groan, your hands glued to her waist, guiding her movements as she slams down onto you again and again. “You’re so fucking tight, Hanni. I can barely move—you’re gripping me so fucking hard.”

Her moans grow louder, more frantic, and when she leans forward, her lips grazing your ear, her voice drops to a sultry whisper that shoots straight through you like lightning. “You’re gonna cum inside me, aren’t you?” 

Your breath catches, your hands tightening on her hips. “What?”

“You’re gonna fucking fill me up,” she says, her teeth nipping at your earlobe. “I can feel you, baby—you’re so fucking close. I want it. God, I need it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hanni—” Your head falls back against the pillow, your grip on her hips almost bruising now as she speeds up, her thighs slapping against yours with every bounce. You can barely form a coherent thought, let alone a reply, because all you can hear, all you can feel, is her.

“I want you to breed me,” she breathes, her words spilling out like she doesn’t even care how insane they sound. “I want you to fill me so fucking full I can feel you leaking out of me for days.”

You choke on a groan, your hips bucking up into her so hard it makes her gasp, her nails dragging down your chest. “Fuck, Hanni—you’re out of your goddamn mind.”

“And it's all your fault,” she shoots back, her voice dripping with lust as she smirks down at you. “You know you drive me crazy and still insist on teasing me. Tell me the truth: you’ve been dying to cum inside me all night, haven’t you?”

“Shit—” Your voice cracks as she grinds her hips in slow, teasing circles, her walls fluttering around you like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “You’re fucking insane.”

She leans down, her hands braced on either side of your head, her breath hot against your face. “Maybe,” she whispers, her voice trembling but full of wicked intent. “But you’re gonna give me what I want, aren’t you?”

Her lips crash against yours before you can answer, swallowing your groan as she slams down onto you again, her movements frantic and unrelenting. The angle shifts just enough to make your cock hit that perfect spot inside her, and she breaks the kiss with a scream, her body convulsing as she clings to you.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck yes—just like that,” she babbles, her words spilling out in a breathless rush. “You’re so deep, so fucking deep—I want it, baby, I want you to cum inside me. Please—fuck—please, I need it.”

Her pleading sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel your control unraveling, your body tensing as the pressure builds, white-hot and unbearable. “Shit, Hanni—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m so close—”

"Yes, yes, fucking breed me!" she begs, voice breaking as she slams herself down harder. "Fill this tight pussy up with your hot fucking cum. I need you to knock me up so bad. Pump that thick cum deep in my womb!"

Her dirty talk drives you wild. Your hands grip her waist, helping lift and drop her onto your throbbing shaft. Her pussy is absolutely drenched, making obscene wet sounds each time she takes you to the hilt. The way her walls grip and massage your cock has your eyes rolling back.

"Gonna cum," you grunt, feeling your balls tighten. "Gonna flood that tight pussy."

"Do it! Fucking do it!" She starts grinding and circling her hips, stimulating every sensitive spot. "Give me every last drop. Want your cum dripping out of me for days!"

Your orgasm hits like a tsunami. Your cock pulses violently as you start shooting thick ropes of hot cum deep inside her. But she doesn't stop - if anything she fucks you harder, determined to milk out every single drop.

"Oh fuuuuck!" you moan as she keeps bouncing through your orgasm. The stimulation is almost too much on your sensitive cock but she won't let up. Her pussy walls contract rhythmically, literally sucking the cum out of you.

"I can feel it," she pants, eyes glazed with lust. "So much hot cum filling me up. Keep cumming for me, baby. Give me more!"

The continued stimulation has you seeing stars. Your cock is so sensitive it almost hurts but the pleasure is mind-blowing. She grinds down hard, working her hips in circles as she milks out another surge of cum.

"Such a good boy," she purrs. "Giving me all that potent cum. Gonna put a baby in me with all this hot fucking seed."

Your whole body trembles as she continues riding. More cum spurts out with each bounce, making wet squelching sounds as it mixes with her juices. She's absolutely relentless, using your cock like her personal cum extraction tool.

"Please," you gasp, overwhelmed by the intense stimulation. "Fuck, Hanni!"

"Just a little more," she moans, her movements getting erratic. "Want every last drop inside me. Need all your cum breeding my tight little pussy!"

Your eyes roll back as another orgasm crashes through you, smaller but just as intense. She cries out in triumph as she feels the fresh surge of cum, her own orgasm making her pussy convulse around your oversensitive cock.

"Fuck yes! Breed me, breed me, breed meeee!" She collapses onto your chest, still grinding slowly. "So much cum... You give me so much cum, baby… can feel it so deep..."

Your cock gives a few final weak pulses, completely drained. She finally stills but keeps you trapped inside her, her pussy occasionally squeezing as if trying to coax out any remaining drops.

"Mmm, your cum is so hot, baby," she sighs contentedly. "Filled me up so perfectly. Gonna keep all this hot cum inside me until it takes."

You can only lie there panting as she nuzzles your neck, your thoroughly milked cock still twitching inside her cum-flooded pussy.

You wrap your arms around her, holding her close, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything. The room is silent except for the faint hum of the city outside and the sound of your uneven breathing. Everything feels still, heavy, like the world just stopped to let you exist like this.

Then Hanni snorts.

It starts quiet, just a soft huff against your chest, but it builds quickly, bubbling up until she’s full-on giggling like a kid who just got caught doing something stupid. It’s contagious. You’re laughing too, your head tipping back into the pillow, your chest shaking beneath her.

“What the fuck are we even laughing at?” you wheeze, running a hand through her damp hair as her giggles turn into full-blown cackles.

“I don’t know!” she gasps, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. “I think—I think it’s just—holy shit, we actually did that.”

You grin, wiping at her face with the pad of your thumb. “Yeah, we fucking did. And now I can’t feel my legs, so thanks for that.”

“Don’t even,” she shoots back, propping her chin on your chest and glaring at you playfully. “You’re the one who fucked me so hard I saw stars.”

“Yeah? You’re welcome, then.” You wink at her, and she groans, burying her face in your chest again, her laughter muffled against your skin. 

When she finally calms down, she tilts her head up to look at you, her expression softening. “Hey,” she says quietly, her fingers brushing over your jawline. “I wasn’t kidding earlier, you know. I love you.”

Her words hit you like a sucker punch, but not in a bad way. It’s more like someone just flipped a switch inside you, lighting up every dark, unspoken corner of your heart. “Fuck,” you murmur. “I love you too, Hanni.”

She beams, her smile so wide and genuine it almost makes you forget how fucking trashed you both are. “That was—shit, that was the best sex of my life,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “Like, no contest. Hall of Fame level.”

You snort. “Same. And that’s saying something, because I once hooked up with this girl who—”

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence,” she interrupts, smacking your chest lightly. “Don’t ruin the moment!”

“Fine, fine,” you say, grinning as you squeeze her waist. “Moment un-ruined. But seriously, you were fucking amazing.”

She smirks, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. “Duh. I know that already.”

“God, you’re impossible,” you mutter, but your smile doesn’t falter. 

She yawns suddenly, the sound soft and innocent, and you raise an eyebrow. “You good? Wanna hop in the shower or something before we crash?”

Her nose wrinkles immediately, and she shakes her head. “Fuck that. I’m not moving an inch. We can sleep like this—sweaty, sticky, whatever. I don’t give a shit.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you pull her closer, tucking her against your side. “You’re such a goddamn gremlin.”

“Aaand-youuu-loveee-it,” she mumbles, already half-asleep, her voice muffled against your chest. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, your hand running up and down her back. “I fucking do.”

Then, finally, the alcohol and exhaustion hit you both like a fucking truck, pulling you under faster than you expect. You drift off together, her body warm and soft against yours, her breath slow and steady in your ear. It’s messy and stupid and probably the worst decision you’ve ever made, but for now, it feels like the best thing in the world. You fall asleep like two reckless, drunk kids who don’t know any better, and for a little while, everything feels perfect. 

—

It's like the first morning in purgatory. 

You stir first, the throbbing in your skull dragging you out of unconsciousness. Your mouth is dry, your limbs heavy, and every movement feels like wading through molasses. You blink against the pale light leaking through the blinds, your vision blurry, the pounding in your head relentless. Beside you, Hanni lets out a soft groan, still half-buried in the covers, her hair a wild mess against the pillow.

“Fuck…” you croak, your voice rough as sandpaper. “What the hell happened?”

Hanni stirs, her face scrunching up in discomfort. “Why does my brain feel like it’s on fire?” she mutters, her words muffled against the pillow. She shifts slightly, the sheet slipping down to reveal bare shoulders. “Wait—”

She freezes.

Your eyes snap fully open, the fog in your head clearing just enough to process what you’re seeing. Hanni’s eyes go wide, darting between your face and the sheet draped haphazardly over your waist. “Why the fuck are we naked?” she asks, her voice pitching higher, panic seeping into her tone.

You wince, the sound drilling into your already aching skull. “I—uh—” You glance down, seeing your bare chest, then feel the cool air against your equally bare ass under the sheets. “Shit.”

Her hands fly to her own chest, clutching the blanket against herself as if that’ll undo whatever the fuck happened. “Did we…? Oh my god, did we fuck?” 

You sit up slowly, your head spinning. “I don’t know! I mean…” Your brow furrows as fragmented memories start piecing themselves together. Her riding you, her breathless moans, the way she begged—fuck, fuck, fuck. “Okay, maybe. Yeah, probably.”

“Probably?” she snaps, sitting up too quickly and clutching her head. “Fuck, my brain feels like it’s gonna split in half. Okay, but like—wait.” Her voice falters, her panic mounting as her eyes search your face. “Did you—did you, uh, cum inside me?”

You freeze, the question hitting you like a brick to the face. “What?” you ask, stalling for time as your headache roars back to life. “I don’t…fuck, I don’t remember. I was so wasted—”

“Oh my god,” she interrupts, her voice trembling as she throws off the covers and sits back on her heels, her hands flying between her legs. She winces, her fingers brushing something sticky, and when she pulls them back, her face goes pale. “Oh my fucking god. I can feel it. It’s—it’s dry—holy shit, you really came inside me!”

Your stomach twists violently as the memories come flooding back—the heat of her body, the way she clung to you, the way you spilled into her so deeply it felt like you’d never come back up for air. “Shit,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay. Fuck. Yeah, that…definitely happened.”

“On Christmas?” she nearly shrieks, clutching the sheet around herself like it’s some kind of moral shield. “You knocked me up on fucking Christmas? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up!” you say, raising your hands defensively. “First of all, technically it was on Christmas Eve. Hmm, although there is a big chance it could have happened after midnight, I think we got here pretty late…” Hanni looks at you as if contemplating the idea of committing murder. “Oh, second and most importantly, nobody’s knocked up yet. It doesn’t happen that fast!”

“Yeah, but you fucking came inside me!” she shoots back, her voice a wild mix of fury and panic. “What the hell were we thinking? Why the fuck didn’t we use a condom?!” 

“I don’t know, Hanni! We were drunk off our asses! I barely even remember half of last night!” You gesture vaguely at the room, at the scattered clothes and the bed completely messed up. “I mean, look at this shit. Does this look like the scene of responsible decision-making?”

She glares at you, her hands still clutching the sheet tightly. “Okay, well, what the fuck do we do now? The pharmacies are probably closed. It’s Christmas! Do you think there’s some magical 24/7 Plan B hotline we can call? Hey, Santa, got any emergency contraceptives in that bag of yours?”

Her sarcasm slices through the tension, and despite the mounting panic, you can’t help but laugh—a short, bitter sound. “Yeah, let’s just write to the fucking North Pole. ‘Dear Santa, I was very naughty last night. Please send condoms and a time machine.’”

She doesn’t laugh. She’s too busy pacing now, muttering under her breath as she tries to piece together a plan. “Okay, okay, maybe there’s a convenience store open somewhere. Or—fuck, do I know someone who could have contraceptives? No, that’s stupid—god, I’m so fucking stupid—”

Hanni moves like a whirlwind, her body tense and her face set as she grabs her scattered clothes off your bedroom and hallway floor. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even glance in your direction as she yanks her sweater over her head and hops into her underwear with sharp, jerky movements. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheet pooling around your waist, watching her with growing agony.

“Hanni, will you just fucking stop for a second?” you say, your voice low but urgent. “We need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” she snaps, still not looking at you as she grabs her jeans. “About how we were too drunk and stupid to use protection? About how I might have a goddamn Christmas baby on the way? Yeah, sounds like a super fun conversation.”

You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face. “Come on, don’t do this. We can figure it out together—”

“There’s nothing to figure out!” she interrupts, finally turning to face you, her expression a volatile mix of anger and panic. “I’m going home. I need—I just need to think. Alone.”

“Alone?” you repeat, standing up, the sheet slipping off your waist. “You’re seriously just gonna leave? What if you—”

“I’ll find a pharmacy,” she says quickly, cutting you off again. “I’ll take care of it. I just… I can’t fucking deal with this right now, okay?”

“Hanni, please,” you say, stepping closer, reaching out to grab her arm. “Don’t shut me out. I—fuck, I care about you. We’ll get through this together.”

She pulls her arm out of your grip, her jaw tight. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who could end up pregnant. You’re not the one who has to wonder how the fuck you got here with your best friend.”

This unsettles you for a moment, but before you can reply, she’s already slipping on her jacket, her hand on the doorknob. “Hanni,” you say again, softer this time, your voice almost pleading. “Stay. Please.”

She pauses, just for a second, her shoulders slumping. But then she shakes her head, her voice nothing but a whisper. “I can’t.” 

And with that, she’s gone, leaving you standing in the doorway, naked, hungover, and completely fucking lost.

—

The next few weeks are a blur of radio silence and vague, clipped texts that feel more like placeholders than actual communication. Hanni texts you the morning after to say she found a pharmacy that was miraculously open on Christmas and took the pill, but that’s it. No follow-ups, no calls, just short, impersonal messages that feel like they’re written by a stranger.

You spend every day alternating between guilt, panic, and a weird, gnawing ache you can’t quite name. Every time your phone buzzes, your heart races, hoping it’s her. Half the time it’s not, and the other half it’s just more of the same: I’m fine. Just busy. Talk later.

When “later” finally comes, it’s weeks down the line. You’re sitting on your couch, staring blankly at some shitty Netflix movie you’re not even watching, when your phone rings. The sight of Hanni’s name on the screen jolts you upright, your heart pounding as you fumble to answer.

“Hanni,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “Hey. What’s—what’s up?”

There’s a pause, and then her voice comes through, soft and hesitant. “I got my period.”

Relief floods through you so fast it almost knocks you over. “Oh, thank fuck,” you mutter, leaning back into the couch, your head tipping back against the cushions. “That’s—that’s fucking great news.”

“Yeah,” she says, but there’s no relief in her tone. Just exhaustion. “It is.”

You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you like a storm cloud. Finally, you clear your throat. “Can I see you? Maybe we could grab coffee or something, just talk. I miss you, Hanni.”

She sighs, long and heavy. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What…? Why not?”

“Because,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “Because I’ve spent the last few weeks losing my mind, thinking about what might have happened, what did happen. I’ve been trying to figure out how the fuck we ended up here, and I still don’t have an answer.”

“We ended up here because we were drunk and stupid,” you say quickly, your words spilling out like a defense mechanism. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t a mistake?” she interrupts, her tone sharper now. “Because that’s what I keep asking myself. Was this a mistake? Did we ruin everything for one fucking night of drunken stupidity?”

“Hanni,” you say, your voice low and steady. “It wasn’t just one night. Don’t pretend like you don’t feel something—”

“Of course I feel something!” she snaps, cutting you off. “That’s the fucking problem! I can’t stop thinking about it—about you. About your hands, your body, your mouth, your fucking cock. And that’s why I can’t see you right now, because if I do…” She trails off, her breath hitching.

“Because if you do, what?” you press, your chest tight.

“Because if I do, it’s gonna happen again,” she says, her voice trembling. “And I don’t know if that’s a good thing or if it’s just gonna destroy everything we had.”

“We’ve already fucked up everything we had, Hanni,” you say quietly. “The question is whether we’re gonna fix it or just throw it all away.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, bitter and broken. “I don’t know if it can be fixed. I don’t even know what it is anymore.”

“So what?” you say, your voice rising slightly. “You’re just gonna ghost me? Walk away from everything we’ve built?”

“I’m not walking away,” she says softly. “I just… I need time. To figure out what I want, what we are, what we could be. I need to get over this before I see you again. Because if I don’t…”

“I thought you loved me... I mean, you said that to me that night.” 

“I wasn't ready, you understand? Not really. This wasn't how I wanted it to happen… our first time, the confession of my feelings… I just…”

She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to. The weight of her words hangs heavy in the silence, suffocating you.

“When will I see you?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” she replies, her voice cracking. “I really don’t.”

“Hann—”

The line cuts out, and you’re left holding the phone, staring at her name disappearing from the screen. The movie’s still playing, but it might as well not be.

You drop the phone, lean back, and close your eyes. Outside, the world moves on, but inside, it’s just silence—heavy, empty, and endless.

[harmonyrae]

Crimson Ice

Synopsis: Zayne is the most self-less, kindhearted person you know. He remembers everything you like and is very aware of your needs. He's done his research and has encouraged you to consider his offer. And tonight, you are more than ready, but there's one thing you need to do first.

Content Warnings: SO FLUFFY but then steamy, explicit language & sexual content, mentions of menstrual cycle, feminine products, blood/bleeding, fingering, oral (m&f receiving) & yes oral while on period so blood near mouth (I researched it don't worry), needy Zayne, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 5k  

You lean against the counter and close your eyes, letting the steam from the tea kettle warm your face. The phone barely rings twice before Zayne picks up. 

“Everything okay, my love? I just got off work.”

The butterflies in your stomach swirl when you hear him use that name. You giggle to yourself and try to ignore how the butterflies turn to fireworks.

“I was wondering if you could stop at the store for something?”

“What do you need?”

You’re glad he can’t see how you’re blushing. It’s not that you’re embarrassed, you’re just not sure you’ll ever get used to talking about your period so openly with him. 

“Can you pick up some pads for me?”

You hear the door to his car close and assume the Bluetooth is connected. His voice sounds far away when he speaks again, you can tell you’re on speaker phone.

“The same kind I’ve gotten for you before? Or something else?”

You hesitate for a moment and wait until you hear him driving to speak again. You didn’t need anyone in the parking garage to overhear your pad preferences. You’re about to speak when you hear a faint chirp.

“I’ve taken you off speaker phone.”

You laugh softly, the blush on your cheeks deepening.

“Thank you… Yeah, the same ones. I should have picked up more yesterday.”

“So the tracker app I recommended was accurate then?”

“Yes… it was. I don’t know how, but it’s strangely accurate with the predictions. It sent me a message yesterday to make sure I was prepared and I didn’t take it seriously.”

“Well now you know for next month. Did you need anything else? I can pick up dinner?”

Your stomach growls, how long has it been since you ate something? The nausea is always bad on day one, so you’ve barely eaten. Now that the sun was setting, you were ravenous. Instantly, the image of a massive burger comes to mind. Followed by a milkshake. 

“Is that burger place you took me to still open? The one with the really weird milkshake options?”

“Yes, last I checked it is still open. Do you want a cheeseburger?”

You turn off the stove and move the kettle to the counter. You struggle to open the honey jar with one hand and drizzle honey on the bottom of your mug. Your grunts of frustration echo through the phone. You hear Zayne’s low chuckle. 

“You know you can put me on speaker, right?” 

You scoff and close the honey jar loudly. You drop the tea bag into the mug and pour the steaming water on top of it.

“I had it handled…” 

“I’ll get you what you ordered last time, with the extra crispy fries and a… carrot cake milkshake?”

The disgust in his tone is evident and you cover your mouth to stifle your laugh. He’s being so sweet… Of course he remembers what kind of pads you use and what you ordered. He always remembers. Your heart pounds and you just want to grab him and kiss him…

“Darling?”

Zayne’s voice cuts through your fantasy and you nearly drop your phone. You sigh and slide onto the bar stool, resting your head on your hand as you wait for your tea to cool. 

“Yes, that sounds perfect. I’m really hungry…”

“Have you been nauseous today? Did you drink some ginger tea?”

You stir the tea in front of you. The strong scent of ginger is almost too much, but it has helped calm your stomach all day.

“Drinking some now. I’ve had a few cups actually.”

“Good, I hope it helped. I’ll be home soon.”

You hang up and sip your tea. When you woke up this morning you knew something was off, you usually don’t have cramps when you start your period so you were confused with your stomach ache. Usually back pain makes you double over, but this month mother nature graced you with something new. When the familiar nausea hit you, you rushed to the bathroom and sure enough.

You were looking forward to a relaxing weekend with Zayne, but he had been called in for an emergency surgery and now your period… You scroll through your phone until you find the checklist you made for this weekend. Shopping for the hospital’s charity gala would have to wait, you were too bloated to find the right dress. Organizing the attic was definitely not happening, you were not risking inhaling dust and sneezing. Baking cookies for the Hunters of Tomorrow… you’d eat all of them and spend the next three days feeling guilty and sick. You take your mug to the sink and quickly wash it, setting it on the rack to dry. You shuffle to the living room and flop down on the couch. 

The next thing you know, the front door is opening, you didn’t know when you fell asleep but your neck was killing you. You sit up and roll your neck, the tense muscles popping. You sit up and try to smile at Zayne as he approaches you. His expression is calm, but is laced with concern.

“Does your neck hurt?”

You nod and sheepishly look away. He sets two large paper bags on the coffee table and removes his coat, draping it over the couch as he walks around behind you. You tremble as his cold fingers trace your neck and slowly massage the strained muscles.

“Sorry…”

He’s always apologizing for his cold hands, but you’ve grown to love the chill that runs through you when he touches you. You tip your head forward to let his fingers work up the center of your neck. His thumbs press against a particularly tender spot and you flinch. He pulls back immediately and places his palm over the spot, gently cooling the skin and easing the pain. 

“Don’t apologize. It feels good.”

He removes his hand and you almost whimper at the loss of contact. You’ve been thinking about curling up with him all day. His skin cooling yours, his fingers tracing lazy circles dipping lower to massage your lower stomach. A shiver runs down your spine, you stretch, trying to distract yourself from the onslaught of dirty thoughts. 

Zayne sits next to you and opens the bags on the table. He pulls out your pads, the exact brand you wanted, and then a new box of ginger tea. You smile when you notice he got the honey ginger flavor. He also pulls out a box of your favorite peanut butter chocolate candies and you let out a squeal. He looks over at you and smiles, those bright green eyes sparkling. 

He opens the food bag next and places the first container down, opening it to reveal a huge order of extra crispy fries. You immediately reach out to grab one, but Zayne smacks at your hand gently. 

“Patience. Let me get everything set up for you.”

He was always pampering you during your period. Massages, cooking, gentle words of affirmation. It drives you crazy, especially with your worst symptom getting harder to ignore. You’ve been in a relationship with him for almost a year and only last month had you finally worked up the courage to tell him about it. He was familiar with your ovulation routine, but he had no idea how feral you became during your menstrual cycle. He spent almost an hour assuring you that it was normal and there had been several studies about sex during your period being healthy. Going as far as explaining that it might help alleviate cramps. You weren’t sure at the time and he left for a conference a few days later, so you didn’t have a chance to revisit the topic.

“Fine. I’ll get some silverware.”

You stand and go to the kitchen to get two sets of silverware and plates. You return to your spot on the sofa and watch Zayne lay out napkins on the coffee table, he reaches for the plates and his fingers brush against yours. You nearly drop them, but Zayne grabs them firmly. He takes your hand and pulls you down onto the sofa. His gentle gaze makes the burning sensation between your legs even worse. 

“A teriyaki-glazed burger with cheese, lettuce, tomato, mayo and a thick slice of grilled fresh pineapple. You always go for a sweet and salty option don’t you?”

“Why should I have to choose when this burger exists?”

He laughs and carefully plates your burger. He opens the container with his and your eyes nearly start watering. You cough and lean forward, peering into the box at his burger.

“What on earth did you get?! Why does it smell so spicy?”

He plates his burger and you spot the grilled jalapeños and pepper-jack cheese. When did he start liking spicy food? 

“It’s called a ‘Heatwave Burger’ - it has pepper-jack cheese, caramelized onions, a chili aioli, avocado and grilled and fried jalapeños.”

Your mouth hangs open and you stare at him. 

“I accidentally had fried jalapeños at a banquet during the conference I was at last month and ended up really liking them. Since then I’ve tried a few things.”

He pops a fried jalapeño in his mouth and he sighs, savoring the flavor. His cheeks flush as the heat filters through his senses. His glasses slip down his nose a bit and you bite your lip suppressing every urge to tear them off of his face and kiss him. You weren’t a big fan of spicy food, but tasting the heat on his tongue while his cold fingers held you close… 

You clear your throat and grab your milkshake, sticking your straw in and taking a large gulp. If you can focus on eating maybe this urge to jump his bones will subside. You carefully cut your burger in half and take a bite. Goosebumps rise along your arms as you chew, the sweetness of the pineapple mingles with the smoky teriyaki. When you look over, you see Zayne watching you while he nibbles on a fry. Your cheeks flush and you pout.

“Why are you staring?” 

He smiles and cleans his hands on a napkin. He carefully removes his cufflinks and starts rolling up his sleeves. You freeze, staring at his hands as they roll the fabric up over his elbows. Damn your weakness for forearms. And damn him for having spectacular ones. 

“I’m just happy to see you eating.”

You force yourself to look up at him. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. Is he doing this on purpose? Rolling up his sleeves like that? You drop your gaze and focus on your burger. You’re only able to finish half of it and a handful of fries before you’re full. Zayne splits the fries between the two burger containers and you place the half you didn’t eat inside. You both stand and walk into the kitchen, placing the containers in the fridge and the leftover milkshakes in the freezer. 

“They’ll be a nice midnight snack.”

Surprised, you look at Zayne as he washes the plates and silverware at the sink.

“You never approve of midnight snacks… Who are you and what have you done with my Zaynie?”

You hold up two fingers and point your finger gun at him. He chuckles, his shoulders shaking as he turns to dry his hands on a towel. The water drips down his arm and you watch the muscles in his forearm twitch and flex. You let out a shaky breath. He looks so good like this. Sleeves rolled up, glasses sitting low on his nose, face flushed from his spicy burger, just washing dishes after dinner. The domesticity of it all is the most attractive thing in the world to you right now…

“You’re staring again.” 

You blink and watch him step towards you. You instinctively step back and your hip hits the edge of the counter. You wince and grab your hip, Zayne’s hand covers your own and you hold still, the feel of his skin touching yours is intoxicating and you just want to freeze this moment. Zayne steps closer and his breath tickles your ear. 

“Have you thought about what we talked about last month?”

You finally meet his gaze. His eyes scan your face, his other hand stroking your arm. He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“I have…”

“My opinion hasn’t changed. Whatever you want to do, I’m here.” 

It takes all of two seconds for you to throw your arms around him and slot your mouth over his. He wraps an arm around you and braces himself against the counter with the other. With your chest pressed against him, you can feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

You drop your hands to his waist and pull his shirt up, untucking it from his pants. As your fingers fumble with the buttons he grabs your hips and starts to pull you towards the bedroom. His lips ghost over your neck and jaw, teasing kisses as he walks. With his shirt open, you run your hands over his chest, your fingers circling his nipples as you latch onto his bottom lip. 

He throws open the bedroom door and you don’t bother to try to close it. Just as you approach the bed, you spin, your hands pushing against his chest to push him down. He grunts as he falls onto the bed. You kneel in front of him and start to unbuckle his belt, but he grabs your hands. 

“Wait, this is supposed to be about you… not me.”

You can’t stand it anymore. You’ve worked hard to find a balance, a give and take, but every time Zayne turns you on you have only one desire. And every time you try to act, he pushes back and pampers you. Even when you’re not on your period, he always focuses on your pleasure first. But now that you’re finally indulging, you can’t stay quiet any more.

“I should –”

You cut him off.

“Zayne, I love you so much, but… I don’t want this to just be about me. You don’t realize how good it feels for me when I pleasure you. When I hear you moan and whimper… fuck, I’m obsessed with those sounds.”

He looks down and runs a hand over the back of his neck. He clears his throat and shifts on the bed. Your hands rise to cup his face and he slowly looks up to meet your gaze.

“You deal with so much every day, your job demands everything from you and you come home and put my needs above your own. You’re the most selfless person I know and I love you for that, but all I want right now is to help you let go. You deserve to feel good, your needs are important to me.”

He runs his hands down your arms. The crease between his brows is deep, you can’t help yourself, you lean forward and kiss the center of his forehead. His face relaxes and he lets out a breath. You rest your forehead against his.

“Zayne, I’ve come from just sucking your dick.”

His grip on your forearms tighten, his legs tremble against your waist.

“You can do whatever you want to me later, but I need this. I need you to let go for me…”

You run your hands down the sides of his neck and onto his chest. His hands rest on your arms, not directing them, simply moving with you. You slide them over his shoulders and push his shirt over and down his arms. He lets go of you and shrugs his shirt off, letting it fall behind him on the bed. Your hands glide down his chest and over his abs. 

“To taste you…”

You lean forward and lick along the hollow ridge at the center of his stomach. He groans, his hands gripping the comforter.

“To feel you…”

You bend your knee and stand just enough to drag your nose along his jaw before dipping down to his collarbone. You place tender kisses along the top of his chest and then turn your head to suck his nipple into your mouth. He gasps and his hands release the comforter to reposition behind him to stop himself from falling. 

“To watch you lose control for me…”

You lower yourself to your knees and continue unbuckling his belt. When you look back up at him, his chest is heaving and his eyes are barely open. He stares down at you and watches you unzip his pants. You hook your fingers into the waist and yank them down harshly along with his underwear. The sudden pull causes him to fall back onto his elbows. 

He gasps as you wrap your hand around his cock and slowly start to pump him. He sits back up, his hands propping him up. You run your thumb over his swollen tip, perfect beads of precum slowly leaking out. Your mouth waters and you squeeze his thigh with your free hand to ground yourself. You don’t want to rush this…

“Wait…”

You barely hear him over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. You look up and watch his eyes drop to your chest.

“Take off your shirt.” 

You’re about to argue, but the way he looks at you… he’s begging. God, that’s fucking hot. You release him for a moment to pull your shirt over your head. You reach behind you and unhook your bra, letting the straps drop down your shoulders. You watch Zayne’s pupils dilate as you pull the cups away. 

You lick your hands and rub the center of your chest before tracing circles around his slit gathering more of his precum. His mouth drops open when you rub your hands together and smear his release between your breasts. You wrap your hand around his cock and lean forward, with your free hand you cup one of your breasts and start to rub his cock against it. He struggles to catch his breath, a stream of precum dribbles down from his cock and onto your chest. You release his cock and cup your other breast, bringing it up to the other side. 

You squeeze your breasts together around his cock and use your thighs to move up and down. You keep your eyes on Zayne’s face, his mouth hangs open and he moans as he watches his cock move between your breasts. Your fingertips brush against your nipples making you shiver. He lifts a hand and reaches towards you.

“No!”

He stops and clenches his fist.

“No touching…”

He drops his hand back onto the bed. He closes his eyes and bites his lip. You smile at how his glasses have slipped further down his nose and his chest glistens with sweat.

“Take off your glasses, baby.”

He sighs, opening his eyes enough to lift his hand to pull his glasses off to drop them on the bed beside him. You shift to place one foot on the floor under you and use the leverage to bounce up and down faster. His hips twitch as his cock swells and the urge to thrust builds. Just as his grunts turn to whines, you lean back and release your breasts. His eyes fly open and he glares at you. 

“I know baby, I’m sorry. But… I can’t ignore my cravings at this time of the month…”

He barely has time to register your words before your tongue darts out to lick his slit. You finally hear him whimper. You’re about to come just from hearing that tiny sound. You wrap your lips around his tip and suck, you feel Zayne’s legs shake and you look up to see he’s collapsed back onto the bed. You wrap your hand around his base and stroke him slow while your tongue traces circles around his tip. 

A muffled groan causes you to stop, you see his arm draped over his face so you reach your other hand under to cup his balls. You massage him for a moment before gently squeezing. His arm flies off his face and he groans loudly. 

“I want to hear you, let me hear you… please baby…” 

You lick the underside of his shaft, his slightly salty flavor is exactly what you’ve been craving. You can’t hold back anymore, you take him into your mouth slowly. He thrusts his hips and you don’t lecture him, you’re both too far gone to care. You hollow your cheeks and suck all while massaging his balls. You flatten your tongue and start bobbing your head trying to take him as far into your throat as you can. You’re proud of your progress from the first time you tried to deepthroat him - you almost threw up when his tip hit the back of your throat. Now, the sensation makes your clit throb. 

You can feel his legs shake as he tries to stay still for you, but that just won’t do. You squeeze his balls again and he moans your name. You groan and the vibrations of your voice send him right over the edge. His release hits the back of your throat and you close your eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks. You focus on breathing through your nose and bobbing your head, keeping your lips sealed around him so you can swallow as much of his cum as possible but it still leaks out of the corners of your mouth. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck!”

To hear Zayne swear is a treat, he is usually so composed and reserved. You know you’ve achieved your goal of having him fall apart when he’s a babbling mess of whimpers, moans and swears. As he comes down from his climax, you swallow around him and use your tongue to clean up. He’s so sensitive post-release, but shit, he’s still so hard.

You release him and rub your cheek against his shaft. He lifts himself up to rest on his elbows as he looks down at you. He groans at the sight and his hips shift backwards. 

“Please… let me… touch you… now…”

His staggered breathing makes you smile. You nod and he sits up to grab your arms. He hauls you onto the bed on top of him. With your chest pressed against his, he wraps his arms around you, one hand sinking into your hair to keep you where he wants you. He kisses you in a frenzy, not wasting a moment to press his tongue into your mouth and taste himself. You taste the tiniest bit of something spicy and remember how hot his dinner was. The aftertaste makes your eyes water and you tuck your hands under him, letting yourself get lost in his flavor. 

He rolls you over and supports himself on his elbows, he chuckles as he takes in your cock-drunk expression. He dips his head and places kisses along your neck, chest, stomach, hips… As he tucks his fingers into the hem of your sweatpants you try to stop him.

“The bed…”

Zayne kisses your hands, urging you to loosen your grip and let go. When you do, he doesn’t hesitate to tug your pants and panties down completely.

“I’ll buy us a new bed if I have to, please don’t make me stop, I need you… I need this –”

His fingers find your clit and the sudden chill makes your hips jerk. You were so incredibly close, but the thought of your climax wasn’t as exciting when the mess would be twice as messy. You feel Zayne kiss your inner thigh, urging you to spread your legs further. You sit up on your elbows and try to close them instead.

“Za-ayne… You can’t…”

“Darling, as long as I don’t ingest menstrual blood I’ll be fine. Besides, I know you prefer my tongue elsewhere.”

He dips his head just enough to let the tip of his tongue roll over your sensitive clit and you’re gone. You collapse onto the bed and relax your hips so Zayne can spread you open. He presses your thighs down and closes his mouth around your bundle of nerves. His tongue circles and flicks, pausing to suck and kiss before repeating the cycle. He presses two fingers into your tender pussy and you cry out his name. 

“Say my name again… say it just like that, again..."

You do just that, over and over until he is curling his fingers so deep tears are streaming down your cheeks. His tongue matches the pace of his fingers and when he speeds up you only have time to let out a strangled whine before you’re seeing white. 

His fingers continue pumping you through your orgasm, while kissing your thighs. When he finally pulls his fingers away, you sob. He rolls you on your side and pulls you to his chest, letting you cry into his embrace. Damn, your rollercoaster emotions. 

“I’m so-sorry, I don’t kn-ow why I’m cr-crying. That felt so-o g-ood.”

Zayne chuckles and the rumble of his chest against your cheek calms you. Your tears slowly stop and your breathing regulates. Zayne’s hand caresses your back, using his evol to cool you down. You rest your forehead against his chest and slide your hand up his torso. You gently push against his chest so you can look up at him. 

“It really did feel good. So… good. I’m –”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” He cuts you off and you smile. He knows you too well.

“I was going to say…I’m ready for round two.”

Zayne’s eyes widen in surprise and you giggle, savoring the moment. It’s not often you render Zayne speechless. It doesn’t last long, he rolls over again and you cling to him as you adjust to your new position on top of him. His hands hold your hips as he guides you into a sitting position. Your muscles stiffen and you look down, expecting to see his stomach covered in blood. 

“Hey, look at me.”

You close your eyes, forcing your hips to relax. You open them to see Zayne looking up at you like you’re his entire world and your chin begins to tremble again. His hands gently massage your hips and he smiles softly.

“I love you.”

You feel every worry melt away, this kind, caring, selfless man is everything to you. You’ll spend everyday telling him that. But tonight, you’ll show him how much he means to you. And you do just that, for hours on end. Zayne has always had a surprising amount of stamina, but when you finally stop, it’s clear he is going to need the rest of the weekend to recuperate. As tired as he is, he still gets out of bed and picks you up, taking you to the bathroom to clean up. 

“Let me help you clean up, please?”

While he’d usually deny you, he sighs and lets you help. The look of pure bliss while you wash his hair, yeah, you’re willing to beg to do this again. However, he still doesn’t let you walk when your shower is done. He wraps a towel around you and carries you to the guest room. He brings you a pair of pajamas and a pad. You put on the panties with a fresh pad and crawl into bed, reaching out a hand to Zayne. He glares at you before tugging off his t-shirt and sleep pants. He crawls into bed with you and savors the heat of your skin against his. His steady heartbeat lulls you to sleep.

When you open your eyes, it’s still dark out. You make a mental note to put a digital clock in the guest room before crawling out of bed. Zayne wasn’t there and you were already feeling anxious. If he is cleaning up the bedroom right now, you swear you’ll start crying again. 

The guest room door squeaks as it opens - another mental note, fix that. The faint glow of the kitchen light draws your attention and you follow it. You lean against the doorframe and smile as you take in your half-naked boyfriend stuffing his face with the rest of his dinner. You clear your throat and he nearly falls off of the bar stool. He turns to look at you, a glob of sauce smeared across his mouth. 

“Midnight snack?”

He wipes his mouth and grabs a fry, reaching out to hand it to you. You walk up to him and take the fry. You don’t miss the way Zayne’s eyes roam over your bare chest and he winces. You really did a number on him if getting even slightly hard makes him tense up. You cross your arms over your chest and lean down to look at him.

“You okay?”

He sighs and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. 

“Just a little sore and very hungry. It’s been a while since we –”

“Fucked like rabbits?”

His cheeks redden as he looks down to the floor. You pull away from him and round the island to retrieve your leftovers from the fridge. You set the box down to pick up a blanket from the laundry basket sitting at the dining table. You wrap the blanket around yourself and sit beside Zayne. 

“Thank you.”

Zayne tilts his head and raises a brow, his mouth too full to say anything.

“It did help with my cramps.”

Zayne swallows and leans over to kiss your cheek. His thumb follows to clean off the sauce he left behind. 

“I’m glad. But if this is going to be a regular occurrence I think we should invest in a few things.”

You poke at the frozen surface of your milkshake.

“Like what?”

“Like a waterproof blanket, would be useful even when you’re not on your period with how much you –”

“ZAYNE!”

He chuckles and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to kiss you again. 

“I’m sorry my love, but I’ll never be ashamed of how good I can make you feel. You’re my world and like you said last night, your needs are important to me too.”

AN: I did literal research to make sure eating someone out on their period was safe and Doctor Zayne is spot on. It’s also important to make sure the other person is tested for any bloodborne diseases. Obviously Zayne would know since he is the primary care physician and I have a HC that they would share that information with each other without hesitation. So yeah, don’t ingest it, use a “dental dam” (basically a barrier/shield) and know each other’s boundaries & health status.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut@withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @havenhope-art @lly5duck @freddy-2002-blog

Sylus Period Smut - Crimson Intimacy Rafayel Period Smut - Crimson Tides Xavier Period Smut - Crimson Glow

[mymiraclealigner]

Don’t be kind | RemusLupin x fem!reader

summary: Remus has come back to apologize.

tw: smut without much plot (+18), curse words

word count: 2,223

a/n: long time no see :) i have been thinking about remus so much lately... hope you like this and sorry if there are any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language.

The rain hit the window desperately. It banged the outside of the big house begging to come in. The weight of the mist creeped into the walls with ease, like a snake crawling through a dense field, almost invisible. The Black House was dark and moist, the majority of its habitants in deep, twitchy slumber.

A girl held herself up on her elbows, semi-asleep still. Some hair stuck to her temple, product of the sweat. The heat under her duvet contrasted uncomfortably with the cold atmosphere. She managed to sit on her bed to recognize the figure standing past her door. A small breeze sneaked through the gap between the creaky floors; a shiver walked across her.

“Remus?” A set of manicured fingers raised to rub her sleepy eyes.

The man remained still. Remus was counting in his head: one, two three, four… Hoping to go unnoticed around twenty. It wasn’t the first night he had entered her room to watch her sleep or something more. But it was the first time he felt embarrassed that he got caught. Twenty came around and she remained focused on the subject in her room.

The silhouette’s shoulders were moving up and down patiently and a few drops fell from his fingers to the floor: he was soaking wet, the rain caught him on the way back to the house. She knew it was Remus and not an illusion. In her dreams, he would have come to her already and he would have been dry, smelling like books and whisky, like he normally did. In her dreams, he loved her unafraid, he was certain of his feelings for her.

“So this is what you do, treat me horribly and come back to watch me sleep and wet my floors?”

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you,” he replied with a hoarse voice. “It’s the moon.”

The girl looked down, a silver, thick stripe on the floor marked the distance between the bodies. It was always the moon the one coming between them. Nature’s round princess was an animated object, playing with Remus’ head and emotions. The witch constantly asked herself how something so beautiful could do him so much harm –and to her, consequently.

She removed the comforter from her body, sitting at the edge of the bed. The moon’s pale light bathed her naked legs. She wiggled her toes against the cold wood, getting ready to stand up. Remus’ breathing quickened, her actions meant I forgive you, clearly. He tried to ignore the inevitable worry of when he would no longer be forgiven.

She moved like an angel towards him: messy curls framing her face, tired eyes shaping the world around her. Remus could have kneeled to her feet and kissed them as an act of gratitude. She was merciful like a virgin.

She first pushed the heavy leather jacket off his shoulders. The garment hit the floor with a hard thud, splashing cold water on her feet. His hands were immediately on her hips, his achy knuckles relaxed at the touch of her cotton shirt. She surrounded his neck and came so close to his face she could feel his warm breath on her forehead. He smelled like pines and smog.

“I’m truly sorry, you’re so important to me,” he whispered against her hairline. His hands trespassed the fabric and caressed her lower back, occasionally playing with the edge of her underwear.

Her hands massaged his nape, helping it get rid of the tension the incoming full moon had induced. She looked up into his tired eyes, the stripe of light reflected in his pupils. He truly couldn’t escape the moon.

“It’s okay, just take what you need,” she responded while pulling his lips closer to hers.

He wanted to correct her, he wasn’t there to take anything –even if it seemed like it–, but it was too late. She immediately kissed him and he forgot about anything that had ever happened in the world before that moment.

The rain suddenly stopped, the clouds took deep a breath.

Like a siren she pushed him slowly into her waters, discarding his clothes on the way. The first buttons of his shirt were undone slowly by her slippery hands; the lethargy of her movements heated Remus’ head. He interrupted the unhurried pace yanking the shirt open, fours buttons flew across the room. Her nails scratched the hair on his torso, fondling the scars with dedication; it made Remus moan.

At the halfway point, Y/n lost her shirt. A soft breeze hardened her nipples, right before the werewolf’s hand grazed them. Her lips, already red and bitten, opened to emit a small groan of satisfaction. She was desperate for him, but so mad at his ways. She brought her bare chest closer to his in a unbridled outburst; fuck you, she thought.

Y/n kept her backward walk until she was stopped by the feel of the mattress hitting her thighs. The girl palmed him over his wet jeans: he was rock hard under the rough material. She guessed he had been hard for a while now by the way his hips stuttered. Remus separated from her kiss to observe her moving hand; in a swift move he removed it holding her by the wrist and trapping her arm behind her back.

“My turn,” he announced lowly against her cheek. He let his words linger in the air; he wanted time to slow her breaths.

With the back of his scarred hand he caressed the curve of her face relaxing the frown that had settled between her brows. His stroke kept going down her neck, the pulse of her veins made his fingers slightly jump. Like on a mountain, his hand raised following the outline of her breast; he pinched the nipple maliciously, stealing a whimper from the girl. His hand slipped down until it sneaked below the only piece of fabric that covered her. Past the mound of hair he wet his digits on her pussy, going up and down, ignoring the crying bead on purpose.

“Pl- please,” she breathed out.

“Uh?”

“I- I said please,” their eyes met. His were determined and playful, hers were pleading.

With a devious smile Remus decided to put her out of her misery and roll measured circles on her clit. Remus knew Y/n was close when the hand held hostage behind her back started to twitch; she also tried to keep her thighs relaxed, but he knew that subtle trembling too well.

The werewolf kissed her neck while diverted his fingers inside of her. First one, then another. He pumped his long fingers into her enough times to open her up, ease his way between her legs. First shallow, then deep. She swore she could feel the protruding scars caress her inner walls.

Once again, in the verge of the orgasm, he let her go. Putting his wet hand on her hip and freeing her arm from his hold. Her hands flew to his belt to unbuckle it. He held her thin hands between his and grabbed his erect member, guiding her through the up-and-down movements. She looked down, embarrassed to be so enraptured in the action.

“Look at me.”

She held her head up, looking shy beyond his shoulder, disobeying his request deliberately. He knew, then: she still resented him. Before he could say anything to defend his case, Y/n turned around and pulled down her underwear. As the small fabric fell to the floor, she straightened up and grabbed the nearest bedpost with her ass perked up.

Remus put a firm hand on her shoulder and pushed her head to side with his, trying to make space to kiss. She could feel his wet tip hitting against her butt cheeks. His hips were rutting against her while his mouth was devouring her soft neck.

“Are you sure?” He whispered in her ear. Goosebumps traveled through her sides; she nodded.

“No, use your words. Come on”

The smallest “yes” came out of her lips. Remus knew he wouldn’t get anything clearer nor louder than that. Anchoring on her hips, he pushed her close to him and grabbed his cock to position it on her entrance.

Neither could keep a sigh of pleasure in at the first stretch. Remus thanked the Gods for her existence and her acknowledgment of his; never in his craziest dreams he thought he could be with someone like her. A long list was the one to enumerate all the ways she was perfect, far more noble and good than Remus; her pussy was in the top five.

He bottomed out and stayed still for a minute, letting her accommodate to his size. He inhaled the scent of her loose curls: fig and honey, his favorite. With a tortuous kiss on her cheek he started rocking inside of her. He held her between his hands like the fourth leaf of a clover, raising a hand to fondle her tits.

The witch could feel his love being poured in the swing of his hips. He was truly sorry (–or very drunk–), she knew, because this is what she had always asked of him and rarely received: to be a little vulnerable, to show her something more than a need to release. The way his breathing fell on her jaw, his arms surrounded her torso, his inhibited grunts matched the thumps… it was perfect, just not what she wanted now.

He treated her horribly hours before, denying her help with the upcoming full moon and talking to her like she was an ignorant idiot. He was so confusing: then, he wanted her far from his life, now, he was holding onto her with all the love and need. He was so mindful and delicate, his cock hit her spot over and over again and it felt so nice that she got mad. She wanted him to unload his frustrations on her, not protect her from already inflicted pain.

“Remus,” she used a hand to halt his movements behind her, “don’t be kind.”

Remus, who was drunk in pleasure, let go of wariness and the fear of hurting her and took a firm hold of the woman in front of him. His hips pounded in and out of Y/n taking the air out of her; he looked down and delighted himself with the view of her arched back and plump ass. Quickly, the slapping sound between the flesh was accompanied by a squelching one; Remus rolled his eyes and kissed the back of her head as she got wetter. The girl moaned his name like a prayer and stammered out scoldings and praises in an hushed erotic whisper.

He paused for a second to turn and lay down his witch on the edge of the mattress. He folded over her, keeping a steady, hard pace. His eyes looked for her, he was missing the connection, a glance to say there’s so many things that I feel that I can’t put words to, but she closed her eyes in feigned focus.

“Look at me,” he framed her face with his big hand. She turned a deaf ear and kept panting, concentrating on the pleasurable new angle.

“Come on,” nothing still. “You know, I–,” she squeezed him hard interrupting his sentence; the corners of her lips raised lightly. “I won’t let you come if you don’t look at me.”

Remus decreased his tempo, rolling his hips heavily against hers. Her eyebrows met and he knew he put her in trouble. A senseless murmur spilled from her throat in the sweetest tone, the werewolf almost melted. He rolled his pelvis closer knowing it would graze her clit and she immediately dug her red nails into his biceps; he smiled triumphant. Her moans increased and he watched her struggle to keep the composure, she needed permission to come.

Just like minutes before, her eyes opened painfully slow. This time, she was greeted by Remus’ glowing face, looking at her with serious devotion and the ghost of a grin. Behind him, an almost round, luminous circle peaked behind the window: the moon.

“Hey there–”

“Harder, please, I- I wanna come,” she begged breathless, dazed by his ministrations and the beautiful light behind his strong frame.

“Shh, don’t worry. I’ll let you come, sweetheart”

Remus increased the rhythm without taking his gaze off off her. She held his face between her hands and drew him closer to conceal her moans between his lips. Surrounding her legs against his torso Y/n asked if she could come and Remus replied with a simple “Yes, love, I’ve got you”. Immediately after, he came inside her with a groan, hiding his face in the gap between her shoulder and neck, her sweetest spot.

The clouds started weeping again, never covering the silver balloon, the protagonist of the night.

The moon looked at the girl laying sweaty on the bed. On top of her, Remus relished in the sole advantage of his condition: heightened feelings. He caressed her sides, looking to say I’m sorry, once again. She looked back at the moon and brought the werewolf to her lips for another round; tomorrow the man would be the moon’s, but tonight he was all hers.

[natalievoncatte]

Every part of Lena Luthor’s soul was screaming at her do not do this.

Yet there Kara Danvers

(Kara Zor-El, last daughter of the house of El, LIAR.)

stood, bedraggled and tear-tracked, hunched in Lena’s doorway like a tiny kitten begging her for food. Lena wondered how she did it, how she made herself so small and unassuming, pathetic even. It was more than a change of clothes and hair and ripping off her glasses. She truly changed, somehow.

Changed to deceive. Changed to mock, changed to take without giving, to make Lena a fool.

(it was a cruel thought, a green thought, a Lex thought)

“I’ve told you already, Kara. I don’t want you here. You’re a liar, you and all your little friends mocked me to my face and kept secrets behind my back.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

That relentless sad puppy look of hers softened even further.

“Why?”

God above how Lena hated her. Hated her for daring to ask. Fuck you, that’s why.

(nothing hurts more than a question that has no answer)

“I hate you, that’s why.”

Kara swallowed hard, wringing her hands. She was dressed in her pajamas and had probably flown here, then landed and asked to come up like a normal person. Didn’t she see that was the problem?

“I don’t believe you.”

Lena threw up her hands. “Oh fuck off with that, Kara. You lost your favorite toy, get over it. I’m done with you. I moved on, you should too.”

“You let me in. I’ve seen the real you. You’re not vindictive. You’re not cruel. You’re a kind-hearted, selfless, compassionate person.”

“And you didn’t,” Lena snapped, moving to close the door. “You deceived me in the most fundamental way. You made me believe you cared for me and believed in me and saw the good in me. No one sees the fucking good in me, no one. No one did but you… and it was all a trick to keep an eye on the Luthor.”

“No, no, I didn’t-“

“You didn’t? Then why did you get James to spy on me? Why’d you question my motives? Why’d you keep lying to me after I proved myself over and over and over again? Because I was never good enough. It was never real.”

Kara rubbed her arms. “Do you really think I brought you into my circle of friends and held you in when you were sad and brought you to Thanksgiving and let you sleep over in my home to keep an eye on you?”

There was a heavy pause.

“That’s fucking insane,” Kara snarled.

Taken aback, Lena flinched, half at the profanity and half at the anger in Kara’s voice.

“I admit it,” her voice broke suddenly, “I can’t deny it. I can’t just dismiss how you feel, I get that, but I didn’t keep my secret from you because you were some kind of a project, Lena. I kept my secret because keeping it let me keep you. It was selfishness, pure and simple. I wanted my one friend who didn’t see me as a superhero. I wanted… I wanted what I always want, things I cannot have.”

There was such agony in her voice that it cut through Lena’s growing fury like a blade sinking into clay, stuck fast, hot in her chest.

“I knew I’d lose you to it eventually. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me.”

Lena blinked a few times, feeling her resolve start to shake.

(another manipulation. she will do anything, say anything to get back in your good graces)

(to do what, Lex? to what end?)

“Say what you came here to say.”

“I kind of did, but I have one more thing to ask.”

“Then ask it.”

Kara swallowed. “I want to pretend.”

Lena’s brow arched.

“Pretend what?”

“Just pretend it’s like it was. For one night. Just give me one more night and I promise you I will never bother you again. You’ll never see me or Supergirl for the rest of your life.”

“You’re on TV every day.”

“I meant in person.”

“And stop talking about yourself like you’re two different people.”

Kara sniffed.

“Okay,” she muttered.

Lena stood there for what felt like an eternity, screaming at herself not to do this.

(do it, it’ll make it hurt more)

(me or her?)

Lena stepped aside.

Kara entered. She brushed at her eyes, adjusted her glasses, and walked into Lena’s expansive, cold, dark penthouse.

As soon as she did, it was as if the light came back. It felt warm again, seeing her standing there. Having her here, in her cute little pajamas with her braid over one shoulder, those big eyes open and hopeful.

Lena closed the door.

“What do… what do you want me to do? Us to do?”

“We could watch a movie, maybe get Chinese delivered. Have you eaten? I doubt you’ve eaten.”

Lena hadn’t, actually. She hadn’t eaten today and had eaten only scraps yesterday and only because Jess insisted.

Kara touched Lena’s side, a soft brush of fingers over her ribs, and winced.

“You’re starving yourself,” she murmured. “Oh, Lena.”

“Kara-“

She already had her phone out and was ordering. Of course Kara had Lena’s place still saved in DoorDash.

Lena grabbed her hand to stop her.

“My treat.”

Lena fetched her own phone and put in a quick order- of course she had all of Kara’s favorites saved and of course she almost sent them to Kara’s address instead of her own.

“I ordered.”

Lena looked down at herself, wondering why the hell she was doing this. She was still dressed for the lab, so she retreated to her bedroom.

When she opened the closet her eyes immediately went to the maroon Midvale High School sweatshirt hanging at the far end of the rack, where it had been defying her for months. She should have burned the god damn thing but every time she reached for it, her hand pulled back of its own accord.

Not today. She let it fall over her, oversized for her frame and too long, and changed from slacks to leggings and pumps to bare feet, her toes curling from the cold hardwood floors.

Kara had already taken up position on the couch and had put on one of her beloved movies, one they’d already watched together ten times and Kara had probably already seen ten times more. The Princess Bride.

It was a cheap ploy and Lena knew it.

It gouged at her anyway, leaving something raw in her chest. It ripped open every place she’d forced to herself to scab over, broke every stitch. She killed the lights, halfway out of tradition and halfway to make sure Kara didn’t see her fighting back the tears.

Neither of them spoke. They sat on opposite ends of of the couch. When the food arrived, Kara got up to get it from the driver and her absence was keen, the void she left behind ripping at Lena.

When she sat down again right next to her, Lena let her. She shoved a box of take out into Lena’s lap and insisted she eat. They ate in silence.

Kara’s heart wasn’t in it. She are aimlessly rather than shoving her food in her mouth and gobbling it all down in minutes as she usually did. She was pretending, hard.

Lena barely paid any attention to the movie. The food, normally seasoned and spiced to the point where she couldn’t stand it and ate only to please Kara, was bland and tasteless in her mouth.

Kara, haltingly and hesitantly, put her head on Lena’s shoulder, and winced when Lena’s shoulders hitched. Why the fuck was she doing this to herself?

The worst part was that it didn’t hurt. It felt like home. Even now after all she had done and all that Kara had done and said, feeling Kara’s sadness in her soft weight beside her was ripping her apart, the mad anger and rage swept aside by a torrent of grief she couldn’t hold back.

If she was going to pretend she might as well pretend. She put her arm around Kara and leaned into her, nuzzling her nose into Kara’s soft hair, wondering if her alleged best friend ever noticed that Lena’s favorite thing in the entire stupid fucked up world was a Kara Danvers hug and nothing was more precious to her than these times when she almost kissed the crown of Kara’s head.

How she ached.

The movie ended and Netflix began making suggestions.

“Kara,” Lena murmured. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“If we go to sleep the night will be over,” her voice was small, trembling.”

“I know, darling. Just let it be what it is.”

Kara nodded.

Lena’s pulse was pounding as she headed for the bedroom, wondering how Kara had never picked up on how decidedly unplatonic it was to fall asleep in each other’s arms. Neither spoke as they climbed into Lena’s California King, a bed big enough to drown in, sinking beneath a goose down comforter, Kara’s body heat like old coals from a campfire.

For a moment they lay apart, and then slowly came together in their usual way, Kara forming herself into a protective cocoon to shield Lena from… from everything. Morgan Edge, her brother, alien shotgun weddings, random nuts with a gun and a grudge, everything but the greatest threat, her worst enemy.

“I have to go in the morning,” Kara whispered, “so I better say this now. You are not a monster, Lena. I never wanted to ‘keep an eye on you’ other than to protect you and keep you safe. No matter what you do, I will never, ever give up believing in you, but if you want me gone, that’s what I have to do. I love you so much it hurts me. I can’t stand being apart from you but if that’s what you need from me that’s what I’ll give. I would do anything for you. If moving on is what you want…”

Kara took a ragged breath.

“As you wish.”

Lena felt something crack inside her. An image filled her mind: Kara. Kara with graying hair, walking away, walking off into the sunset like the hero she was, and with someone else… with a child between them, a future, a home…

“God damn you, Kara Danvers!” Lena snapped, shocked at the sound of her own voice. “God damn you for making me feel this way! Do you have any idea what you did to me? I can’t just turn it off, I can’t stop feeling.”

“This was a terrible idea,” Kara sighed. “I should have known better. I’m just hurting you more.”

Kara began pulling away.

Lena threw out her arms, locked her hands behind the neck of the most powerful being on the entire planet, and yanked. Hard.

Their lips came together in a crash. The force was all Lena’s, as Kara’s inhuman might yielded to her control. There were no words. Kara hesitated for a shocked moment before she kissed Lena back, looping her arms around Lena’s waist.

This was no stolen glance, no innuendo, no coy hint. When Lena kissed Kara she made as if to devour her, and was mounting her before she realized she was doing it. Kara yielded, she always yielded even when Lena pinned her wrists to the mattress and clamped her legs around Kara’s hips and ground on her like a horny teenager.

She kept expecting Kara to sputter, to push back… to be fucking straight, to be brutally honest about her intentions, but there was nothing straight in the way Kara shifted to grind against her, or the way she twisted her hands free and slid them under the soft Midvale High Sweatshirt and skimmed them over the bare skin of Lena’s back. There was no mistaking the intent of her kisses or the feral sound she made when the shedding of clothing began.

Lena must have shocked her at first, because when Kara recovered, she became a force of nature. Lena was quickly on her back and let out an excited yelp when Kara simply tore her leggings apart and bared her with a feral grin on her face before shedding her top with the same desperate energy.

When they came together, really came together, Lena was nearly overwhelmed. Kara was insatiable, relentless. Hokey cliches like “force of nature” were woefully inadequate.

She never ran out of stamina and she was gentle when needed and forceful when Lena wanted it, every stoke and motion and caress somehow perfect, and she sensed without needing to be told when Lena was ready to give rather than receive and yielded without a word.

They barely even had to talk, and when Lena was finally exhausted, Kara was there with kind touches and soft words and cared for her like the most precious thing in the world.

Lena fell asleep, deeply and soundly, and when she woke up with the sun on her skin and an empty bed she wondered if it was all an elaborate dream until she heard Kara humming halfway across the penthouse, grabbed the sweatshirt, and padded barefoot from the bedroom.

Kara was at the stove cooking breakfast and holding a spatula like a microphone, singing… a fucking Britney Spears song.

“I thought you were going to leave in the morning,” Lena sighed.

Kara froze.

“I’m glad you didn’t. I’d have to come get you.”

Kara turned to her with a billion watt smile.

“I was lying about leaving you alone.”

Lena walked over, arms around her waist, hugging herself. She cupped Lena’s chin with a hooked finger and the casual intimacy of it made Lena’s heart swell.

“I love you so much. I can’t breathe without you,” Kara whispered.

Lena took Kara’s wrist and guided her hand to cup her cheek, nuzzling against the soft skin of Kara’s palm.

“Stay?”

Kara nodded.

[ladybyakuya]

| I WISH YOU ROSES + KAIJU NUMBER 8.

+cw. —f!reader, smut headcanon + scenarios format, sort of exs to lovers, mature content, angst and hurt, comfort, alcohol consumption, established relationship

+syn.— making amends after the fight. who apologizes first? does it always end up with sex? or is he sleeping on the couch tonight?

+wc. —1.5k

+notes. — wanted it to be super smutty but ended up with angst instead. enjoy and scream in tags if you like it| redirect to blog navigation.

→ [ ICHIKAWA RENO ]

reno would stare at the screen of his mobile phone opening your message box yet not send a single text to you. he is a little stubborn. in the spur of the moment, he said, “maybe we had nothing, to begin with in the first place.” those were some heavy words. he won't disagree. even liquor isn't enough to drown his feelings about you. why do people drink to forget their love anyway? it's stupid. it's so stupid. he locks his phone and then buries his head in his hands murmuring, “god why can't I just call her?" the rusty fizzy flavor is threatening his throat again. his phone starts to vibrate and rings a little later making him jump a bit but his reflexes were quick enough not to get you a first full ring. “hello? babe? is that you?”

“just call her man.” Iharu drawls from the other side and disconnects the call even though he sits opposite him. Reno looks at him ungodly pissed until the prior speaks up, “don’t waste your anger on me, dude.” Reno’s phone rings again.

“you’re doing this on purpose, aren't you picking on me?” Reno tartly responds holding his phone towards him so sure about that Iharu is doing it again but that dimwit is so drunk that he has to lean forward, squint his eyes at the screen.

“no dudee. It's your girl—” Reno picks up the phone but he doesn't speak.

“are you at a bar right now? i just finished my work.”

“yes, I’m. can I go pick you up?”

“of’course you can but I got a cab. bye. text me the address.”

When you reach at the bar you could easily spot him. He is sitting at the corner in a secluded area. Ofcourse he is. Then, there is Iharu practically drooling on the table.

“why are you here?”

“what do you mean why I'm here? You texted the address.”

“yes but aren't you angry? At me?”

“yes but I know better than to take you seriously when you are that angry. ” he looks away from your face. “we can talk about it if you are still upset.” he shoots you a lazy smile and gets up.

“what about him?”

“what about who?” reno asks with pinched eyebrows.

Iharu’s snores are quite loud by now. You look at Reno holding your hand out. He doesn't protest. He gives you his phone and says his passcode. He gets you. His words are not drawly but rather slower than usual. At first, you intend to call Kafka but both of them being a pain in the ass you texted his vice-captain.

The can ride from bar to home was silent. Reno was laying his head down on your shoulder, eyes closed but a little fidgeting was there every now and then. As soon as you reach your apartment complex he got out, even leant against the wall while being on the elevator. He's sulking. It's adorable sometimes. When you reach your shared apartment he doesn't come in stands outside until you ask him to.

“i’m sorry.” reno says loud enough to kick out the drowsiness out of his body. “i'm sorry, babe.”

“well, it was partly my fault too but —” you grab his collar and pull him towards yourself. his defense system is useless against you. “but I'm going to make it memorable.” you say unbuckling his pants. As soon as his trousers hit the floor Reno closes the door with a kick while you go to your knees. “perhaps we should fight more,”

With his member in your hand you look up at him and then blink. once. twice. thrice. And then get up and walk inside your room. A few seconds of silence and then Reno is walking on your trail left by you apologizing for a few more times until you just shut him up with the most sloppiest toe curling blow job.

→ [ GEN NARUMI ]

“do not walk away from me. I'm not done talking yet.” Narumi's voice is perfectly flat devoid any splotch of anger or even frustration. he is leaning against the door as you move from kitchen counter to the dinning table carrying the dishes, then cooked meals and a water bottle. his eyes are going back and forth waiting for you to say something, anything or just yell at him. he can handle your blood and tears, not this silent treatment.

“well, don't treat me like I'm one of your missions and we are good.” you exclaim with a low voice while waving a hand as if you were talking to yourself but actually you just wanted to beckon him for dinner.

“i don't us to be just good. I want us to be better, to be comfortable in each other's presence, even in thoughts. . .” and now he is going to lecture you, like one of his subordinates. there is an agonizingly awful silence filling the room as you wait for him to continue but he is just there, standing, still silent.

you turn your chair to spare a look at him. his stance is still the same, lazy and nonchalant. he isn't mocking you or your love for him. he genuinely cares for you.

“i mean it.” he starts walking towards you in faster pace than usual. “and you know that.” he stands in front of you looking like a kicked puppy. the moment you leave your seat he is going to pounce on you like a wounded animal. this has happened before and last time it hurt a lot. so you don't get up instead just turn around to eat.

He grabs your wrist before you can even touch the food. “I said we’re not done talking.” he almost yells. seeing you flinch he sighs deeply before he gets on his knees and rests his head on your lap. “we submit are phones after turning it off. that's why I didn't know— that you were coming early from work. we work in different departments so we have different rules too. you can ask around. they'll tell you.”

“why didn't you say that earlier? was the whole fight really necessary?” you said with utter frustration laced underneath your voice.

“shouldn’t i at least get the benefit of doubt?” he looks at you placing his chin on your thighs.

you stroke his hair and he closes his eyes. “yes but — umm— never mind.” you say running your thumb over his lips. he graces a glance at you before running his hands on your back tracing up to your shoulders, he is crouching now and then pull away your top. now you're naked and sitting on a chair as he is standing. he throws the top away and sits on his knees again. hooking his arms around your calf muscles he licks in between your legs. “this is payback.” he whispers. your panty is still on and all Narumi is doing is licking slowly over the cloth, sometimes barely touching but if this is the payback you don't mind it at all, unlike last time.

→ [ HOSHINA SOSHIRO ]

Hoshina is the one who gives you the silent treatment even if he is at fault. He doesn't want his anger to harm you in any way, be it due to you or due to himself. He is not much of an angry person to begin with but somehow he just loses it for you. Maybe that's his protective instinct for you or the fear of melting the cocoon he created for his own protection. Either way, it's frustrating. It's frustrating enough that he keeps telling you how you should not put yourself in danger to protect him in a field mission yet you keep disobeying him at every mission. Either you are mocking him or trying to take his position which by the way both are wrong given the fact that you are his subordinate. He sat on one of the benches in the training room. he is too frustrated to concentrate on training.

“you know, you can let your anger out right? on me?”

Hoshina looks at you, pupils ever so still like a moonlight pond on a windless night. That's exactly what he doesn't want. don't you get that? you're wearing your night dress not your suit, which means you were either waiting for him or going to bed.

“i'm not mad at you.” he sighs. “not even myself. just at the situation in general. i know it's your instinct to protect people but sometimes . . .” he trails off looking at his fisted hand. he unfists his hand again.

“i can take it all, you know?. be it your love or anger. . .” Hoshina looks at you keeping his bottle aside. he swallows before leaving his place and dragging you inside the training room, the door still not closed.

“are you sure about that my love?” he graces his hands in between your thighs while whispering. you give him a nod. “let's see how long you last.” as his hand rubs against your entrance his mouth starts to suckle over your nipples as his other hand pins both of your hands above your head. the night suddenly feels long and breezy.

[itneverendshere]

Could you maybe do a one shot of insecure reader x rafe? Reader doesn't believe Rafe finds her actually sexually attractive and her insecurities/bad self esteem are putting a strain on their relationship. And there is that whole ''her having a problem with him liking her, because she does not like herself so she is uncomfortable and pushes him away'' type of deal. Maybe he shots himself in the foot when she asks if he finds her attractive, and because he knows her self esteem is so low, he is trying to comfort her by answering ''Looks aren't important in life '' and she feels heartbroken. She from then is short in texts, doesn't answer his calls etc.

get to the bottom of you - r.c (+18)

pairing: insecure!reader x lover boy!rafe warnings: angst; low self-esteem; smut

His room should have been a place of comfort—a place where you felt safe—it wasn’t tonight.

You could hear him moving around in the bathroom, the sound of the faucet running, the clinking of his toothbrush against the sink. You should have been inside with him, brushing your teeth side by side, playfully jostling him with your elbow like you usually did. 

His laughter had echoed through the door just a few minutes ago as he’d told some joke you didn’t catch.

Normally, you’d laugh too, even if you didn’t understand the punchline, but tonight you couldn't muster a smile.

You’d been feeling off for days now.

You loved him.

That wasn’t in question.

But the doubts mocking you—the insecurity, the voice in your head that whispered, why would he want someone like you?—were getting louder. They had been there since the start, this ever-present thought that you were out of place, that a guy like Rafe couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like you.

You loved him with everything you had, but how could you let him love you when you couldn’t even like yourself?

He had been nothing but patient with you since the beginning, but no matter how many times he reassured you, the voice in your head—the one that whispered that you weren’t good enough, that you weren’t what he wanted—never seemed to quiet down.

You couldn’t see yourself the way Rafe did.

The compliments he gave you felt empty, he was just saying what he thought you wanted to hear. Earlier tonight, he'd had been busy texting on his phone, and the longer you sat there, the more the voices in your head snapped at you.

He hadn’t looked at you in what felt like hours, hadn’t noticed the way you’d been shifting awkwardly in your seat.

He was the guy who turned heads when he walked into a room, you on the other hand were a far cry from the girls you’d seen him with before.

They were stunning, sharp cheekbones, perfect hair, the kind of women that could stop someone in their tracks. You, on the other hand, had always been self-conscious—your appearance, your body, the way you looked in clothes. It wasn’t that you hated yourself exactly; you just… never felt enough for someone like him.

That’s what kept you up at night.

The door opened, and Rafe stepped out, smiling at you, toothbrush still in hand. His blue eyes sparkled as he walked over to you, leaning against the wall casually. His hair was damp from washing his face, and he had that easy, relaxed look on his face that usually made your heart flutter. 

“You okay, baby?” he asked, his voice warm as always.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile.

“Yeah, just tired,” you murmured, pushing your phone aside and getting up from the bed. You crossed the room to the window, feeling the cool breeze against your skin.

You hated this—hated that you couldn’t just let things be, hated that your mind was always spinning in circles, convincing you that something was wrong.

It was so hard to shake the feeling that you didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve him. He, always so perceptive, frowned slightly and walked over to you, placing his hands on your waist, pulling you back against him. His warmth should’ve been reassuring, but instead, it only made you feel more fragile.

“You sure?” Rafe pressed, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you lied again, this time a little more firmly, hoping he wouldn’t push.

 “You’ve been quiet all night.” His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer.

Normally, you’d melt into him.

You stared out at the darkened horizon, biting your lip.

Maybe this was your moment to ask the question that had been eating at you for the past weeks, but every time you shoved it back down, afraid of the answer. You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to find the right words. You didn’t want to sound ridiculous, didn’t want to admit how insecure you felt.

“Rafe..”

“Yeah?” he whispered, his breath tickling your neck.

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of your shirt, his shirt, and you turned around in his arms, meeting his focused gaze.

“Do you… do you find me attractive?”

His brows furrowed at your question. It was such a simple question, but to you, it felt like everything, the entire foundation of your relationship was resting on his answer.

Your heart was pounding now, and you could feel the burn of tears threatening to spill over.

“What?” he asked, “Why would you even ask that?”

You felt a lump in your throat, and you swallowed hard. “I just… I need to know.”

Rafe’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. He opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated, trying to find the right words. You watched his eyes flicker with uncertainty, and that hesitation made your heart sink.

“Looks aren’t everything, y'know,” he said quietly, his tone careful, as if he was walking on eggshells.

You froze.

His words echoed again in your head, and your worst fear—the one that had been brewing inside you for so long—solidified in front of you.

Looks aren’t everything.

He wasn’t saying yes. He wasn’t reassuring you, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he wanted you, how much you meant to him. Instead, he was saying that it didn’t matter, it was irrelevant.

Your chest tightened, it was hard to breathe, let alone think past the heartbreak that was building in your veins. You pushed him away gently, stepping back out of his embrace.

“Right."

You couldn’t look at him now, not with your vision swimming and your throat closing up.

“Wait, that’s not—” Rafe began, stepping forward, his hand reaching for you. “That’s not what I meant. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“C-Can you please let me go?”

He didn’t want you, not in the way you needed him to.

He must have seen the change in your expression, because his eyes widened, and he immediately backpedaled.

“No, no, you know hat’s not what I meant,” he added quickly, his voice tinged with panic. “I didn’t mean—”

You pulled your hand away from his, shaking your head as the tears welled up in your eyes.

“It’s fine,” you whispered, even though it wasn’t. Your voice cracked, and you hated that you couldn’t keep it together. Rafe reached for you again, but you walked away before he could grab your hand.

“Hey, wait,” he said, moving as well, his voice pleading now. “That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant!"

You couldn’t listen to him, every insecurity you had about yourself had just been confirmed. You didn’t want to hear him explain whatever excuse he was going to give you. 

You needed space. 

Without another word, you turned and walked to the door, your hands trembling as you reached for the handle.

"Please don’t go," Rafe's voice was quiet, a vulnerability in it that you weren’t used to hearing. He sounded scared, and that hurt even more because you knew this wasn’t his fault.

It was yours—your insecurities, your doubts, your inability to believe that someone like him could truly want someone like you.

"I just need a minute.”

The hallway felt cold compared to the warmth of his room.

You pressed your back against the wall, sinking to the floor, your knees pulled to your chest. You could still hear him moving around inside, pacing maybe, and it made your stomach twist in knots.

How had things gone so wrong so quickly?

You buried your face in your hands, trying to calm yourself but it was no use. The tears came, burning your cheeks as you sobbed quietly.

You hated this, feeling so unsure of yourself, so small, so unworthy.

And you hated that Rafe, the one person who made you feel safe, had unknowingly thrown all of that into question.

Looks aren’t everything.

It wasn't about whether you thought he was shallow—Rafe had never been that type of guy with you—but the way he hesitated, tiptoed around your question made you sick.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out, your vision still blurry from the tears. It was a group chat notification from the friends you had been out with earlier that week.

A picture had been sent, one of the group photos taken during the event. You scanned through it, your attention landing on a figure that made your heart sink further—her. Rafe’s ex, standing tall and confident beside him, her radiant smile lighting up the frame. Her beauty was undeniable—perfectly coiffed hair, a jawline that could cut glass, and an effortless poise that seemed to draw everyone in.

And next to her? You.

The contrast between you two felt overwhelming. How could you, with your insecurities and imperfections, ever hope to measure up to someone like her? The thought that Rafe had once been with someone like that, flawless in every way... it killed you.

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even hers, it was all you.

You needed to leave.

Without another glance back, you pushed yourself off the floor and slipped out his house, the hallway eerily quiet as you hurried toward the stairs, wiping at your tear-streaked face. As the door slid shut, you could hear the faint sound of his footsteps, but by then it was too late. You got in your car speeding off before he could open the door.

After that night, things only got worse.

You’d pulled back, distancing yourself from him in every way possible. You didn’t answer his texts for hours, and when you did, they were short, clipped replies. You stopped calling him back, ignored the missed calls that filled your phone—everything.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to him; you just couldn’t.

You despised yourself for pushing him away, but more than that, you hated the way you couldn’t stop spiraling. You avoided places where you might run into him. No coffee shops, no mutual friends’ gatherings. You threw yourself into work, into anything that could distract you from thinking about him, about the look on his face when you’d left him there.

You missed him—his laugh, the way he’d make you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you.

On the third night, you were lying in bed, staring blankly at your phone screen. Rafe had sent a text earlier, and though you’d ignored it, you couldn’t bring yourself to delete it like the others.

Rafe: i miss you. please talk to me. just want to know you’re okay.

You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching the phone tighter in your hand. You wanted to answer, tell him that you missed him too, that you were okay—but the truth was, you weren’t. You hadn’t been okay for a long time, and you didn’t know how to explain that to him. Every little insecurity, how you'd always feel like you weren’t enough.

You wished you could be different, stronger, more secure in yourself.

You wished you could believe him, that you could trust his words.

Your phone buzzed again, and this time you hesitated before picking it up.

Rafe: i get that you need space, but please don’t shut me out. i don’t know what else to say except i love you. i just wanna talk. I love you.

You stared at the words on the screen. He loved you, that should have been enough, it was enough, but somehow, you still felt hollow, like you were standing on the outside of your own life.

You locked your phone without responding, tossing it onto the bed next to you as you buried your face in your hands. You were terrified that if finally told him how you felt, it would break something between you two.

But hadn’t something already broken?

The next two weeks seemed never-ending, the hours blurring together as you went through your internship, half-heartedly responding to emails, nodding through conversations, and generally just existing. By the time you returned home, you felt like you’d been run over by a truck.

As you kicked off your shoes, there was a soft knock on your door.

Your heart sank.

You knew it was him before you even opened it.

Rafe stood there, his hands in his pockets.

“Can we talk?” His voice was quiet, pleading, searching your face for any sign that you might pull away again.

You stepped back, letting him in, and closed the door behind him.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you gestured for him to sit, though neither of you moved right away. Rafe stayed standing, studying your face, and you could tell that he was trying to figure out how to begin.

“I—" he started, but then stopped, running a hand through his hair, like he’d been rehearsing those words over and over in his head. “I don’t know what to say, honestly. I’ve been trying to figure out what I did wrong, what I said wrong. But I don’t think it’s just about what I said that night, is it?”

He wasn’t mad or frustrated—he was just… sad. Sad that you hadn’t let him in.

You felt a lump form in your throat, this time from knowing you’d done this to him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “It’s not you. It’s me. I know that’s such a cliché, but—I don’t know how to fix this.”

Rafe took a cautious step closer, his hands still in his pockets, he didn’t want to crowd you but couldn’t stay away either.

“I don’t need you to fix anything. Just need you to talk to me, okay? To tell me what’s going on in your pretty head, even if it’s hard.”

Okay.

“I don’t understand why you’d want to be with someone like me.”

His brows knitted together in concern.

“Someone like you?” he repeated, the concept being absurd. He stepped closer, reaching for your hand, and this time you didn’t pull away, “You mean the love of my life?”

The love of his life.

It sounded so easy when he said it, genuine, the most natural thing in the world. But how could he be so sure when you weren’t?

“What if you get tired of me?” your voice was so meek it nearly killed him, the fear in your voice so vulnerable. “What if one day, you wake up and realize you could be with someone better? Someone like—”

“Stop,” he interrupted his voice firm. “There is no someone else, baby. There is no one better. M' here because I want to be here. With you. I chose you. I’ll keep choosing you. I love you and I need you to believe that, okay?”

You swallowed hard, lungs still burning from the emotion bubbling up inside you. 

“But what if I can’t stop doubting?” 

Rafe stepped closer, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze.

“We’ll work through it together. I'm not going anywhere. Doubt all you want. Question it if you have to. But don’t ever shut me out again, you hear me?"

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed across your cheek, atenderness that nearly broke you. 

There he was, standing in front of you, willing to wait, to love you through every insecurity you tried to hide.

“Okay,” you muttered.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he brushed a tear away with his thumb.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice hopeful, waiting for a sign that you were ready to let him in again.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice not to break. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be held by him.

“Lemme prove it to you.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, and then his hand was on the back of your neck, tugging you to him.

All the I’m sorries and I love yous and don’t ever leave mes lived in that kiss, in the way his mouth moved against yours like he was starved of you.

He gripped your waist, moving you aroundlike you weighed nothing.

His warmth was seeping into your skin, and for the first time in days, your insecurities started to lift. His lips never left yours, deepening the kiss.

Rafe backed you up until your knees hit the edge of the couch, and you sank down, pulling him with you. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, blunt fingernails digging into your skin. 

He broke the kiss for a moment, breathless, his lips shiny with your spit, “You don’t see it, do you?” he murmured, fingers tracing your lips. “You don’t know how badly I want you."

His hands moved lower, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your waist, reassuring you that he meant every word.

“Fuck, I missed touching you,” he breathed against your skin, dragging his mouth down to your throat. “You have no idea what it’s been like—going to sleep without you, waking up and reaching for you and you’re not there.”

His mouth found your collarbone, then lower, dragging your shirt up and over your head as he worshiped every inch of newly revealed skin. His big hands moved to your ass, squeezing the flesh so hard, you were sure it would bruise.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he groaned against your lips, feeling every inch of bare skin. “Your skin—so soft. I can’t get enough of you.” 

Your back arched, hips lifting into his touch, a fervent moan slipped past your lips when his hard cock pressed against your thighs. You could feel his breath against your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there, making you gasp.

“I need you,” he whispered against your ear, his voice rough with want. "I need you to believe me."

You let yourself sink into him, his strength, his words—all of it. You let yourself believe that he could love you the way you needed him to.

His hands squeeze the flesh of your ass, a sharp slap echoing through the room as you whimpered, and he chuckled before taking a nipple into his mouth and working it with his tongue.

“You’re my girl. My only. No one makes me feel like you do. No one ever has.”

You tugged at his shirt, and he stripped it off, pulling off your chest with a pop, without breaking eye contact. His body was familiar, perfect in a way only he could be. You reached for him, pulled him down to you, bare skin meeting bare skin.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging before your nails pressed into his neck, eliciting a groan against your chest. He then moved to the other side, his tongue flickering rapidly against the hardening peak. The feel of his mouth on your skin made your head spin. 

You gasped as his mouth worked its magic, alternating between teasing bites and soft licks.

"Rafe..." you breathed, your voice shaky as his lips trailed back up, capturing yours again in a sloppy kiss.

His fingers slid under the waistband of your shorts, teasing the skin of your hips before he tugged them down in one motion. You kicked them off, your breath quickening as he pressed himself against you, cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Do you believe me now?” he groaned against your lips, voice hoarse from how long he’d been kissing every part of you.

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him.

Rafe wanted to hear you say it.

His gripped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"I believe you.”

His hands roamed over your body, he was worshipping you.

He lifted you easily, dragging you over to the edge of the couch, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushed you down. You watched as he stood, pulling off his boxers before climbing over you, his body hovering just above yours.

His skin was warm, his muscles tense as he waited for your permission. You reached up, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, his chest, his abs.

He settled between your legs, pressing against your heat so perfectly. Rafe rolled his hips once, dragging a moan from your throat that he swallowed with a kiss.

“Look at you,” he hummed against your mouth, one hand moving between you, teasing you with the backs of his fingers. “So fucking wet for me. You missed this too, didn’t you? Missed me?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip as your eyes fluttered shut—but he didn’t let you.

“Nuh-uh,” he scolded. “Eyes on me. Want you to watch what I do to you. Want you to remember who you belong to.”

Your hips jerked, a strangled cry slipping past your lips.

“God, I need you,” he groaned, hips rolling against yours in a torturous rhythm, his head nudging your clit, "Tell me you need me too."

“I do,” Your nails dug into his shoulders as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I need you, Rafe.”

You reached for him, wrapping your hand around him, stroking once—twice—and he hissed, head dropping against your shoulder.

He pushed your thighs apart, lining himself up, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock. “Tell me again,” he growled, dragging the tip up your slick folds, making you shiver. “Say it.”

“I believe you,” you whimpered. “I believe you, I’m yours—please, Rafe.”

That was all he needed to hear.

He pushed inside you, filling you completely in seconds. You gasped, back arching off the couch as he stretched you, the feeling of him inside you so intense it made your head spin.

He panted against your cheek, his hips still as he let you adjust.

“Fuckin’—You were made for me, weren’t you?” He murmured against your ear, nipping at your earlobe as he gripped your hips. 

You felt your breath stutter as you clamped down around him and he grinned against your ear, using the grip on your hair to tug your head back and look into your eyes.

You nodded, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes, f-fuck—”

His smile widened, thrusting into you now.

“Atta girl. That’s my baby.”

Rafe adjusted his angle, bracing a hand beside your head and rolling his hips with a deliberate snap—so beautifully angled that you saw stars burst behind your eyes every time he bottomed out.

His name tore from your lips, high and breathless.

His hips picked up speed, pounding into you with a roughness that bordered on desperate. The couch creaked, all you could do was feel—take it.

"Say it again," he urged, his voice a rasp against your ear as his teeth grazed your neck. "Say my name."

You complied, fingers digging into his back as you moaned his name again and again, each time more broken, more desperate. He groaned in response, movements becoming more frantic as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your heels dug into the small of his back, urging him faster.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he praised as your nails dug into his shoulders. “That’s my girl. Take it, baby. Let me give you everything.”

His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing, your back arching off the couch as the pleasure built.

"I-I love you," he said again, the words spilling out between ragged breaths as his thumb pressed harder against your clit, "God, I love you so much. You're everything to me."

You were babbling now, hips jerking, trying to squirm away and press closer at the same time. He chased you, didn’t let you go. Fucked you deeper. Fucked you harder. Your fingers lost themselves in his hair, pulling him down so that your lips met again.

“I got you,” He soothed you even as his fingers worked you closer to the brink. “Come for me, baby. I need t’feel you.”

And you did.

Rafe groaned as you clenched around him, his thrusts becoming erratic while his grip on your waist was bruising, pushing himself deep inside you one last time, moaning your name as he came.

He stayed there, hovering above you, his face buried in your neck, leaving kisses against your damp skin.

You didn’t speak right away, but when he finally pulled back to look at you, his thumb brushed your cheek as he gazed down at you with a look that made your heart swell.

He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face.

“You okay?”

You nodded sleepily, pressing your face into his chest. “I think I am.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.

You weren’t perfect, and maybe you never would be. But in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you felt like you were enough.

And that was more than enough for him.

[d33pwithinmys0ul]

⁎⁺˳✧༚anything, anything

Mikasa Ackerman x Fem Best Friend Reader

smut, wlw, angst, pining, mentioned Eremika/Eremika angst, smoking, drinking, college au, 18+

This was another fic I wrote a while ago but just got embarrassed about. Probably will be a series of one shots? I'm at least working on a sequel. The fic title and vibe was inspired by anything by Adrienne Lenker.

⁎⁺˳✧༚ Read here on ao3 or below the cut. part 2 here

You don’t remember how or when you fell for Mikasa, it just became your truth.

You hadn’t known each other for very long, and maybe your friendship blossomed too quickly, but you adored each other, so how else would it go?

She’d transferred to Eldia University from Paradis State in your second year of college. Back then it was always sunny, and the courtyard by the humanities building was evergreen.

You kept running into each other by studying in the same room at the library, almost every day for a week. She intrigued you from the moment you saw her, and you didn’t realize till later on that it was simply because she was intrinsically captivating.

When you first met her, Mikasa’s hair was a short pixie. She looked amazing, of course, and she later told you that she’d only done it because Eren said he liked short hair. These days it was just past her shoulders, shiny and black, perfectly tucked behind her ears.

In your mind, you always pictured her with the little bob that had developed by the time you were friends.

By your third year at EU, you and Mikasa were nearly joined at the hip–most of the time.

Eren had known Mikasa since they were kids. They grew up together, next door neighbors and all. They were perfect for each other. They always got along, and Mikasa loved him to death. You didn’t really see much of him, but you supposed Eren loved her too.

You wondered at first if it was jealousy when you saw them together, the idea of someone so shitty and unpredictable as Eren made your heart ache for your best friend.

It got to the point where talking to Mikasa was unbearable. You couldn’t stop staring at her glossy lips, watching the way she spoke with her hands, covered in rings and bracelets, with long red fingernails.

Mikasa loved gifts. She was sentimental, and sweet, and it drove you mad. You’d paint each other's nails, sitting close enough to make your heart flutter, and you felt ridiculous, that she made you so nervous. She was just your friend.

You couldn’t agree when she’d casually mention that she missed you, that she wanted to see you soon. It meant something else to you, and it tasted bitter and would stay stuck in your throat.

It made you uncomfortable being around her sometimes, seeing her kiss Eren goodbye when he’d drop her off at your place, or be designated driver for when you’d go to the bars or clubs together—you were surprised Mikasa was allowed to go out anyway.

She’d gotten drunk with you now and then, and whispered about how she wanted to break up with him, how tiring it was loving someone who was so wrapped up in his own emotions, that she felt like he wasn’t showing his love enough. She’d cry, and you’d hold her shoulders, slightly muscular from her disciplined workouts, and be in awe of how small and weak she would be in those moments.

You’d hold her tight and rub her back, telling her it was fine, and that you’d always be there for her. She’d always take it back in the morning, when she was hungover and waiting on him to pick her up. You learned not to entertain the idea. It wasn’t any of your business.

You didn’t want to think about any of it, so you didn’t. You didn’t understand your feelings, but you didn’t think you had to. There was nothing you could do about it.

Mikasa was obsessed with him, and you couldn’t blame her. She was as much of a romantic as you are, that was what you loved about her. Of course she adored Eren, he loved her completely free of any inhibitions.

Sometimes you’d catch Eren looking at her with an intensity that made your stomach churn. They were everything, and whatever you’d say about your little crush would just ruin your friendship.

You had no intention of doing a damn thing.

Mikasa invited you to her place for drinks and a movie one winter night, and it was nothing out of the ordinary. You had brought a bottle of wine and your favorite pajamas, prepared for a night of romance or horror, whichever the two of you would decide on.

You both stepped outside, wrapped in blankets rather than grabbing your jackets, to smoke together in the cold.

She shivered in the night air, and you couldn’t help yourself from stepping a little closer to her, and rubbing her shoulder, laughing at the way her teeth chattered.

“Here,” you hold the lighter up to the end of the joint at her lips, the orange spark between you being the only source of light save the half-moon that shone over the balcony.

“Thanks,” Mikasa took a long hit, and exhaled. “Fuck,” she coughed. “This is strong, here.”

Your fingers brushed against hers when she passed it to you, and you bit back the thrill that surged in your chest from the brief contact. You took a long hit from it and handed her the lighter as she pulled a cig from her pocket.

“Work’s been kicking my ass,” she sighed. “Dr. Yeager’s been getting worse. Eren’s been so stressed out about it, and I’ve had to do some shifts by myself so he could take him to get looked at.”

Mikasa worked at Eren’s family bookstore. She and Eren moved to attend Paradise State so that Eren could take care of his aging father, and they all worked hard. The Yeagers could only afford to pay her near to nothing, and Eren was much busier than her, clocking in less hours a month than she would in a week. Somehow, she loved it.

You’d tried to convince her to take it easy, but she was set on doing everything she could for the store, because it was the least she could do for Eren and his family. She’d shelve books and clean and dust until her back ached.

“It’s been nice though,” she continued, and passed you the cig in exchange for the joint. “I might try to organize some events to help foot traffic, if I can get a handle on school. Eren’s just been kind of a dick lately. I know he’s stressed out, I just wish he’d think of me, you know?”

You chew the inside of your cheek.

Sometimes you didn’t have to ask Mikasa how she felt. She wasn’t the best at it with others, but whenever you’d have these late nights together she’d let her guard down. Maybe it was because you were the only one that really listened to her, maybe it was because you didn’t expect her to be strong.

“Yeah, I understand. But just because he’s busy and stressed doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be nice to you,” you said.

How could anyone not treat her with the utmost gentle care?

“Yeah,” Mikasa said, her eyes distant. “I guess so.” She took a long hit and exhaled smoke into the air. “How have you been?” She said hastily.

“Fine,” you shrugged. You wish Mikasa was better at asking you that, but what could you even say, without giving yourself away? “Went on a date last night, it was fine.”

“Oh, really?” Mikasa said, surprised. Her voice became a little higher as she spoke, and you wondered if it was forced, if you were boring her. “How did it go? I didn’t know you were dating right now. That’s great.”

“It was alright. I’m not really dating right now.” You smile and shrug again. “Just wanted to give it a shot, but she wasn’t what I was looking for.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mikasa hummed. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I hope your next one will go better. It’d be nice to go on a double date with you and Eren.”

You both smoked in silence until you finished, the smell of weed and smoke intermingled in your hair. Mikasa put the cig out against the railing of the balcony and you headed inside.

You lounged comfortably on the couch, and she sat next to you, a little closer than she usually would. It was nothing.

You noticed you were holding your breath and tried to exhale quietly. The weed was hitting you nicely, and you tried to ignore the feeling in your chest. You typically sat at opposite ends, and lately you would gravitate away from her just to keep yourself from staring.

“I sent you a list, do you have a preference?” Mikasa fiddled with the remote.

“Um, no,” you cleared your throat. “You can pick.”

You took a long sip from your glass, and another, as if it were water instead of wine.

“Fine,” Mikasa laughed softly. She pulled her leg up on the couch, and picked a movie. She was so pretty. Her voice was so soft, and light, and your head was lighter. “I saw this with Eren the other day, I’ve been wanting to show you.”

The TV reflected fluorescent colors on her face, glowing in the dim room, and your chest ached. Her soft features were so beautifully accented by the mixture of dark and light, and her hair framed her face in neat strands.

Stop looking at her.

You could barely keep up with the movie. You were watching shapes move, but you couldn’t focus, you didn’t care about what was going on.

You shouldn’t have come over tonight. It wasn’t fair to Mikasa, for you to be torturing yourself like this, instead of just being normal and hanging out with her as a friend. You liked being friends with her. You could handle things staying like this. You were scared of making any of it change.

If for some reason she ever left Eren, as much as you doubted it, you wouldn’t try anything then either. She deserved to do things right, and you needed to get over yourself.

Her lips looked so soft.

Mikasa caught your gaze and you looked away quickly, but it was too late.

“Are you cold?” She asked, and scooted closer, sharing her big, comfy blanket with you. Her thighs must have been only a few inches from touching yours.

“Thanks,” you say before you could protest.

“Mhm. That bud was nice. It’s a good strain,” Mikasa said. She had abandoned her glass and was sipping wine from the bottle.

“Yeah, I’m out of it,” you laugh, a little bitterly. You were so intoxicated, all your emotions were brimming to the surface. You needed to focus on the movie, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to kiss her.

“You’re welcome to change it, if you want,” she said sheepishly.

“No, I love it,” you said. God, everything you said was a lie. You weren’t any better than Eren.

“You should catch up,” Mikasa passed you the bottle, smiling.

You took a long swig in agreement, despite being pretty high.

“It’s so hot in here,” she said, “let me know if you want the heater off.”

You nearly choked on the wine as she pulled her sweater over her head, revealing a soft tank top, barely containing her full chest, and you blushed.

You down more of the wine to hide the expression on your face, as heat gathered in between your legs.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a mess lately,” Mikasa sighed. “I know you listen to me a lot, and I just talk and talk about it for hours. I’m sorry, I should just figure things out with Eren, but it’s been getting better with us, really.”

“I know,” you said.

You rubbed her shoulder reassuringly and moved closer to her, despite your mind screaming at you not to. You passed her the wine and couldn’t help ogle at her pretty pale skin, and the way her soft, sizable breasts strained against her top.

She was warm and smelled like vanilla and weed, along with something that must be uniquely her own. The scent would often linger on your clothes and it drove you crazy.

“But you deal with me so much,” she laughed and took another long sip. “I feel like all I do when we hang out is just talk about my shit.”

“I don’t mind, I want you to be happy,” you said softly. That much you could admit.

“You’re so sweet, Y/n,” Mikasa practically cooed, her words slurring a little from the wine. Her eyes were droopy and your stomach was filled with butterflies as she moved impossibly closer to you. She was practically in your lap, and your core was on fire. “You’re such a good friend, I love you so much.”

Mikasa leans over and wraps her arms around you, the bottle still in hand. Her tits are pressed up against you, and she smelled so damn good. She rested her cheek against yours, and your heart raced.

“I.. I like your perfume,” you said shakily. Breathe, fuck.

“Mm, thanks,” she smiled as she pulled away, cheeks flushed. She remains close, enough to smell the bittersweet wine on her breath. “You got it for me, a long time ago.”

Of course you did. You were a fucking idiot. You loved giving Mikasa things, and she loved taking them.

“You look so pretty with your hair like that,” she said smiling, touching the side of your cheek briefly.

“You’re drunk,” you say coyly. You certainly couldn’t talk, though. Your veins were on fire, and you were growing wetter thinking about lifting her top and touching Mikasa’s soft, pillowy tits. “But you look so pretty too, Mika.”

“I’m ssoo drunk–and you never call me that,” she laughed, the beautiful sound making your heart contract.

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked. You never felt like you had the right to call her that special nickname, and you liked her full name anyway. It just slipped out of you, and it seemed like the both of you were ignoring the reality of your closeness at the moment.

“No. You deserve the world,” Mikasa said happily, and hugged you again. She pulled you close, and you almost groaned as her thighs brushed against yours. “I’m so grateful to know you. I feel like you understand me in a way that nobody else does, and I just want you to be happy. I’m so sorry things didn’t work out with that girl.”

“I–um..So do you,” you said, breathless. If she didn’t get off of you, you didn’t know if you would be able to control yourself. Friends couldn’t do this. “I’d do anything to help make you happy.”

“Promise?” She almost whined. Her eyes were red and the bottle dropped to the carpet, empty. “Anything?”

She didn’t give you a moment to respond before leaning in and brushing her soft mouth against yours.

You moaned at the taste of her, and Mikasa sucked gently on your bottom lip. Her hands cradled your face, and you pulled her by the waist. She took your hand and guided you to her ass, and you squeezed it, thrilled.

“I just–” Mikasa tried to speak in between kisses, and you did your best to cut off her words. “Eren and I–haven’t, in a while–” She panted and moaned as you groped her tits. She wrapped her legs around your thigh, grinding against you. “Please..”

“Oh, poor Mika,” you tease, and pull her top up to reveal her bare chest. She humps you and whines at the nickname, and you fondle her nipples while you savor the taste of her mouth.

You pull away briefly and she tries to speak again.

“It’s just, you like girls, so I thought–oh!” Mikasa gasped as take her nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it gently. You squeezed her thighs, and cupped her tits, and let her ride your thigh to her heart's content. She didn’t need to ask twice.

Your face was buried in Mika’s chest as she rocked her hips against you, and you were in heaven. You managed to get the drunk, clingy girl off you long enough to shed your own clothes down to your underwear, and you bit her thigh playfully as you pulled off her pajama shorts.

You relished the sight of Mika’s cotton panties, slightly damp, and partially hidden by her soft thighs. You took your index finger and traced soft lines in the fabric, teasing her clit gently.

“Y/n,” she pouted.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” you said breathlessly, and pulled her panties down to her ankles. Your vision almost blurred, you were so drunk, off of her more than the wine.

Her pussy was slick with cum, pink, and soft. You dipped your tongue against her folds, and she was perfect. You moaned as you lapped up her cum, tasting her sweet cunt over and over, kissing it.

“Fuck,” Mikasa gasped, thighs shaking.

You groaned and touched yourself as you pressed your mouth against her cunt, sucking and licking it hungrily. Your nose was nestled in the soft valley above her clit. Her pussy was so puffy and sensitive, and you wanted nothing more than to make her cum all over your face. Her whines made you rub yourself a little faster. Her wetness painted your mouth and chin as Mikasa shuddered and squeezed her strong thighs against you.

The smell was fucking heavenly, and you held up her legs behind your ears to full immerse yourself in her cunt. You spread her folds to dart your tongue in and out, fucking her little hole.

The sight of her was like the perfect porno, you wanted to savor this moment forever. Mikasa’s eyes were shut tight, her mouth partially open as she leaned back against the couch, legs in the air while you ate her cunt. She tweaked and rubbed her nipples, pussy drooling, in perfect bliss. You needed her so badly, and you couldn’t believe you had your tongue against her wet cunt right now.

“You wanna do something special?” You said roughly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

She nodded slowly, as if in a haze.

.....

Mikasa was so willing and sexy, it drove you crazy.

Her cheeks flushed pink at the suggestion, but as soon as your sensitive cunts touched, she seemed to lose all reservations.

You had set her completely on your lap, hungry for the sight of Mikasa on top of you, her pale skin flushed with arousal and dark hair falling in her face. She hadn’t removed the layers of necklaces that prettily accentuated her chest. Her tits fell perfectly at your eye level, and you took your time teasing her, sucking and tweaking her pretty nipples, and listening to her sighs.

You could barely do much more than that, when the girl would interrupt you by desperately kissing you, coating your lips in cherry lip balm and sweet saliva.

Mikasa shivered as she tasted herself on your tongue.

You warmed her up again by teasing her clit, achingly slow and gentle until her entrance was soaked. You ran your finger in between her pussy lips, teasing her hole and feeling her tense up against you. Instead, you spread her legs apart further, and guided her pussy to yours.

Mikasa let out a soft gasp. Her breathing was ragged, and she was thrilled with the new sensation of your clits rubbing together. She was so slick against you, nearly drooling as you groped her tits, moaning and squirming.

“You’re so pretty, Mika..” You squeezed her thighs as they wrapped around yours, caressing her warm skin.

“Oh, god.. t-thank you,” Mikasa whined, and bucked her hips. Her pussy felt so good, sliding against yours, glossy and slick with cum. “I haven’t.. This feels so good.”

“Yeah?” You laughed softly. “You like kissing pussies with your best friend?”

Mikasa shivered as she rotated her hips against you, desperate for more friction. Her legs were shaking as desire pumped in her veins, and her every nerve was on fire.

You rocked against her, watching the bliss in her expression, and sweat bead on her forehead. Her tits were perfectly shaped and you cupped them lovingly, stimulating her pretty nipples with the pad of your thumb. You ducked your head to gently bite her neck, to inhale her scent as you touched.

“Oh my god,” her voice was breathy and light. “Your pussy feels so good..”

She reached for your hand, squeezing it as she looked down at you with low, dark eyes. You wanted to make her cum a million times tonight.

“You’re so hot,” you breathe, moving desperately against her.

Your clit was practically pulsing from the overwhelming mixture of sensations. You held her waist and let Mikasa’s arousal guide her as she frantically humped you.

“Fuck, you’re deprived, aren’t you?” You said roughly. “You need to cum so bad, you make your best friend eat your pussy?”

“Y-yeah!” She cried, and you felt more cum run down your leg.

God, just the sound of her breathing was erotic.

You couldn’t stop yourself from gripping her ass and grinding against her a little faster, indulging in the pleasure between your legs. Her cum painted your thighs, and you managed a peek at her pretty clit stroking yours, the gentle suction of skin and your cum mingling with hers, slippery and soft.

Mika’s body was so fucking perfect. She was beautiful. All you’ve wanted to do was take care of her, and she finally gave you that opportunity.

Mikasa tapped your shoulder and settled her legs in a more comfortable position.

“I..w-wanna touch you.”

“Oh, really?” You teased, and petted her hair.

She blushed and gave you a gentle kiss.

You hummed softly as you returned it, and untangled yourself.

You walked together to her room, with warm, dim lights, and a big comfortable bed.

The sheets were impossibly soft as you sank into them with her, tasting her mouth as you caressed her thighs, her waist.

You shivered as Mikasa traced a shy finger down your inner thigh. You watched her stormy eyes fill with lust as she admired your form, and she leaned in to kiss your neck, more out of longing than determination, licking your skin as her fingers brushed your clit.

You sighed and encouraged her by doing the same, tracing her soft bud and using her slick to gently guide your fingers against her. She sighed and urged you towards her entrance with a low hum.

“Pretty girl,” you kissed her jaw, her chest heaving as you eased your fingers inside her.

You made a soft come-hither motion, brushing her sweet spot over and over.

Mikasa ducked her head and brought her soft mouth to your tits, sucking them softly as she teased your clit. You sighed and whispered filthy encouragement under your breath to her.

You adored the way her eyes shined and her lip quivered, how she looked at you with passionate, lustful devotion. Your body was pulsing with pleasure and you fingerfucked her a little faster. Her tongue was so hot as she lapped at your sensitive nipples, fire growing in both your wet cunts from the wine.

Mikasa had such a pretty face, every feature was indescribably beautiful, especially with her pink mouth latched around your tits.

“Ugh, fuck,” Mikasa’s eyebrows pinched together and she breathed your name. She rubbed her pillowy breasts, at first teasing with her hands, then pressed them up against yours, at the slobbery spot where she’d licked you. She rubbed your nipples against each other, and the sensation drove you crazy.

“Holy fuck,” you felt cum leak from your pussy as Mikasa pressed her tits against yours. Your skin was in constant wet friction, you were always touching and groping each other, it was fucking heavenly. This is always how you wanted to appreciate your best girl.

Mikasa sighed as you curled your fingers inside her again, teasing her special spot. You ran a thumb over her clit and she shuddered. More slick surged from her pussy and you relished the way her features contorted in pleasure.

“You’re doing so good,” you cooed, trying hard to maintain your facade, to take advantage of her aching submissiveness. “Oh my god..fuck, Mika..”

Mikasa’s lips were covered in glossy drool, on her face and at your fingers. It was fucking beautiful. She couldn’t stop herself from the delicious feeling of your breasts against each other.

“H-hold my hand?” She begged, breathless, fingers desperately shaking as they reached for yours. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yes,” you hissed, indescribably turned on by her soft moans and sudden shyness.

“I.. Um,” she paused and moaned, distracted as you quickened your pace in her pussy, index and middle fingers massaging the inside of her cunt and thumb petting her clit. “I used to think about you, when.. I’d touch myself.”

“Fuck,” you groaned at her words. “Me too, Mika. So much.”

God, you thought about her naked so much you felt like a fucking pervert. You’d eat her out any day of the week if she asked.

Mikasa shivered at your enthusiasm.

“I just wanted to kiss you,” she said airily. “W-whenever we’d.. Be together…”

Her gasps were delicious. Her cunt swallowed your fingers and her legs twitched, you knew she was close, yet so far. Her lips were so soft, and trembled as she bucked against you.

She was shy touching you, but seemed encouraged by your heavy breathing and flushed cheeks. She coaxed your pussy with nimble rubs, till you were dripping slowly onto the sheets.

Mikasa’s eyes were droopy and her breathing became shallow. Her moans grew louder, faster, and more desperate as she approached her orgasm. It sent butterflies in your stomach as you watched her rock back and forth, moaning beautifully and squirting all over.

When she calms herself, Mikasa gives you a weak smile.

You grabbed her chin with your free hand and slowly drew your fingers away. You reward her briefly, inserting them gently in her mouth and letting her lap up her own juices.

“Mmm,” she sighed. “Let me taste you..” Her eyes are longing as they graze your body.

You raised your eyebrows, not expecting she’d have any desire to fulfill your own pleasure.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please..” Mikasa lowered her head, kissing a trail from your tits down to your navel.

Her eyes were clear and filled with lust as she nestled herself in between your legs. She made a good show of opening her mouth and teasing your clit with her tongue before giving you a full, loving lick.

You shivered and put your hand on her head, and shoved her warm, wet tongue back where it belonged.

“Come on.”

She moaned softly, a low rumble against your cunt, and began to touch herself as she licked in between your folds, exploring you obediently with her tongue. Your clit nearly pulsed with pleasure, aching for release.

You loved watching Mikasa cum, and servicing her cute cunt, you had barely allowed yourself to enjoy how warm and tingly your body felt, how sensitive you were.

You tweaked your nipples as you held her head down, watching her nose lay above your clit as she inhaled your scent, and french kissed your pussy. Her eyelids fluttered as you pet her hair, your breath shallow and heat grew in your thighs.

You tried not to think about tomorrow. It would come eventually, but for now, she was yours.

[noobiestnoober]

Masterpiece Ruined — Klaus Mikaelson x F!Reader

🖌️ "Masterpiece Ruined" — Klaus Mikaelson x Reader 🖤🔥 (Sequel to "Art of Seduction")

Genre: Devastatingly Dark, Possessive, Addictively Steamy Smut Summary: The brush was only the beginning. Now, under flickering candlelight, Klaus shatters every last boundary, claiming you with brutal reverence until nothing remains but him. You are his masterpiece—ruined, worshipped, and forever lost to the dark. Warnings: Dark possessiveness, rough intimacy, primal claiming, emotional/physical domination, explicit smut. Author’s Note: Sequel to "Art of Seduction." This chapter dives deeper into Klaus’s addictive hunger and the reader’s complete, willing undoing. 🥀

SMUT WARNING. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

The air between you burned hotter than the flickering candles scattered across the studio, their flames guttering under the force of the hunger now unchained. Every shadow on the walls danced like specters bearing witness to your surrender. The velvet beneath your back felt sinful against your bare skin, a throne of temptation, as Klaus hovered above you like a dark god about to consume his offering, savoring every shiver, every tremble you couldn't contain.

Your robe was long forgotten, puddled somewhere on the floor like the last remnants of your defenses. His shirt soon followed, ripped open by desperate hands—your hands—revealing planes of hard muscle marred by old scars and ancient wars, each mark telling a story of conquest and survival. You traced them with your fingertips, reverent, greedy, branding him back with your touch, claiming him even as he claimed you.

Klaus growled, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest, vibrating against your skin like a warning—or a promise. "Look at you, love," he rasped, voice roughened to something unholy, almost reverent. "So willing. So eager to be broken open for me."

His hands pinned your wrists above your head, an unyielding grip that blurred the line between mercy and ownership. His fingers curled tight enough to bruise, to mark you inside and out, to remind you that you belonged to him—heart, body, and soul.

Yet.

He trailed his mouth down your throat, sharp teeth scraping a burning path before soothing it with the wet heat of his tongue, each pass igniting your nerve endings until you trembled like a violin string stretched to the breaking point. Every inch he conquered felt marked, seared, owned. You writhed beneath him, the friction between your bodies almost maddening, but Klaus only chuckled darkly, savoring your desperation as if it were the finest wine.

"Patience, sweetheart," he murmured against your pulse, voice dripping with wicked amusement. "True masterpieces are carved, not hastily splattered."

You whimpered, a sound raw and pleading, your whole body thrumming with unbearable need. Tears of frustration welled in your eyes, blurring your vision—and Klaus watched them fall with a glint of savage satisfaction.

With a growl, Klaus released your wrists only to grip your hips, keeping you pinned, helpless, trembling as he descended lower. His mouth worshipped every inch of you with a punishing tenderness that felt more like possession than affection. His kisses were searing brands; his teeth left invisible scars of devotion.

When his mouth finally found the place you ached for him most, your back arched in a desperate offering. You cried out—a sound of raw surrender—your hands tangling in his curls, your hips bucking wildly against his unyielding grasp. Klaus growled against your flesh, the vibration ripping another sob of pleasure from your throat.

"Mine," he snarled, voice feral, primal, unrelenting. His teeth grazed your thigh in warning—not gentle, but claiming. "Every shiver. Every tear. Every shattered piece of you—belongs. To. Me."

Your release tore through you violently, a cataclysmic storm that left you wrecked and gasping, sobbing his name into the heavy, candle-scorched air. But Klaus wasn’t finished. Not even close. He rose over you, his body caging yours, his chest heaving with restrained hunger. His eyes were endless black now, stripped of humanity, stripped of mercy—a monster who worshipped only you.

"Open for me," he commanded, voice like gravel, his hand trailing down your thigh, parting you without hesitation. "Let me ruin you properly."

He slid into you with one slow, brutal thrust—possessing, branding, owning. Your cry broke the silence like a shattering mirror, and Klaus swallowed the sound with a vicious, claiming kiss. You shattered. And he rebuilt you in his image—savage, desperate, unrecognizable even to yourself.

He set a relentless pace, thrusting deep, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every ruthless claim etched into your bones. He drank your cries, your sobs, your broken pleas, his hands bruising your hips, his mouth mapping a trail of destruction over your neck, your breasts, your soul.

Through it all—through the ruin and the worship, the brutality and the reverence—he never once looked away. He needed you to see who owned you now. Who had reduced you to this trembling, pleading, beautiful wreck.

"Say it," he growled, teeth scraping your ear. "Say who you belong to."

"You," you sobbed, lost, undone. "Yours—only yours."

Klaus growled in satisfaction, the sound vibrating deep inside you. He wanted you to remember. Exactly who had undone you. Exactly who had turned you into his masterpiece—ruined, ravished, worshipped, and possessed beyond reason. And who would drag you into the dark with him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

[superfreakycat16]

Oh how I miss you

(aka: knockout humps his pillow and pretends it’s his dead partner; he cries about it)

little note beforehand (little rant): personally, one thing i find underrated/underused is angst and smut meshed together without it being something like non-con, harmful to either partners, or anything along those lines

I JUST NEED TFP KNOCKOUT TO CRY IT OUT WHILE FRAGGING A PILLOW, IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK-

anyway, this is a long one, buckle in

VALVEPLUG AHEAD, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Knockout arrived at his quarters after an especially long shift, multiple vehicons having been injured in a recent battle and gave him a lot of trouble, if only Breakdown were around to help. But no matter, he was home now and could finally relax… Breakdown. How long has it been since he…? He sighed deeply as he stood over his berth, moonlight shining on it from the bedside window, built specifically for two mechs, one big and one small. “Breakdown?” Knockout asked to the air, “Are you still there?” No answer… as usual.

He sat on the edge of the soft berth and held his helm in his servos, resting his elbows on his knees, hunching over as the moon outlined his frame from behind him. He sighed deeply as he thought about his conjunx, his beautiful, beautiful conjunx… Primus really does take the best sparks early. Doesn’t he? Knockout lay on his back on the berth, staring up at the ceiling as he folded his servos across his chassis, oh how he missed being held by Breakdown. His servos tracing Knockout’s frame as he lay cuddling him, how he trailed them from his chassis to his waist to bring him closer, and when he kissed his neck cables so tenderly. Knockout mimicked Breakdown’s actions with his own servo, trailing his it down his chassis, to his abdomen, then to his inner thigh, attempting to mirror his conjunx’s tender touches.

“Please…” He whined, turning onto his side, shuffling into the soft sheets beneath him, optics slipping shut for a second as he caressed his thigh-plates before opening them half-lidded and eyeing Breakdown’s extra large pillow. He grabbed it and brought it close to him, clutching to it tightly before running his servos over the soft material, relishing the softness Breakdown always loved about it, Knockout didn’t always like soft things, but he had come to appreciate it a lot more nowadays. He closed his optics once more and traced the crevices and the dips in the pillow, imagining each one were part of his conjunx, when they kissed and how his larger derma slotted perfectly with his, how their servos intertwined so perfectly, how he was meant for him was perfect…

Knockout brought his legs up and hooked them around the pillow, slotting it between his legs, the softness rubbing up against his modesty panel oh so gently, like how Breakdown… Knockout let out a soft whine as he clutched the pillow tighter, grinding his hips against the comfortable cushion once, imagining his panel rubbing up against Breakdown’s valve, how perfect it was. Every time Knockdown brought him to berth, he always insisted on being the one to spike him, and Breakdown being the faithful conjunx he was, he always let him. “B-Breakdown… please…” He asked, as he’d done so many times before, and as so many times before, he swore he heard his partner whisper, “Yes, of course my dear, always…”

He turned so he was laying on top of the pillow, still clutching to it as he positioned his hips against where Breakdown’s would be, “I-I need you… please,” he asked his lover’s memory, “Just for tonight?” The wind from the open window responded in a voice just as gentle as Breakdown’s, “Yes my dear, please, I need you too…” Knockout nodded and started to move his hips against the plush cushion, a sigh escaping his derma as he started to rock against the memoir of his lover, “Thank you…”

Knockout started to vent heavier as he rolled against the soft surface, letting his panels snap open and his valve breathe, the feeling was more divine now, it felt just like… Breakdown. He shut his optics and ground against the pillow gently, his anterior node rubbing against the firmer sewn corner of the cushion, creating much needed stimulation, “Ngh, Breakdown~…” Knockout whined, he wanted to go faster, but he kept his slower pace, savoring this fleeting moment with his racing mind as imagined his conjunx in the pillow’s place. He took a deep vent as he ground his hips deeper against his lover’s memory, trying to press into Breakdown’s valve with his, they way they sang when their nodes made contact. But no such noise came from below. No sounds other than the rustling of the fabric blessed his audials. The familiar sound of metal against metal and the wet slap of tender, love filled nights were absent, the squish of the pillow was nothing like Breakdown’s sturdy frame either… it was not the same. It’ll… never be the same.

Knockout panted openly as his hips slowed to a staggering stop, mouth hanging open as he choked back a sob, trying to hug the pillow tighter, trying to get a sense of resistance, a sentiment of the unmoving sense of Breakdown’s frame, but none came. His conjunx always liked soft things, but it only left a sense of longing as Knockout realized the only sense of resistance came from his own tight grip on the cushion. “O-oh Primus…” He whined as he started to tremble, trying to hold back his tears as they pricked his closed optics, refusing to open, scared he’ll lose the illusion that Breakdown might be there, even though he knew the answer to that dashed hope. “Please… I need you so bad…” He whined, as he held onto the pillow impossibly tighter, a few stray tears escaping as he clutched it like a lifeline, “Please, don’t leave me…”

He started to move his hips again against the cushion more frantically, chasing the feeling of his node being stimulated and the press of his dripping valve against his partner’s pillow. Knockout needed to be close to Breakdown again, the loneliness was getting too much, reduced to a whiny mess as he fragged the daylights out of a pillow, tears streaming more freely as he moved his hips quicker and quicker. “H-hah! Breakdown…” He stammered out a cry to his conjunx, hoping he would hear a sound in return… but none came.

He picks up speed, frame trembling as he started to cry, tears flowing down his cheeks and hiccuping as he clutched to the pillow impossibly tighter. “B-Breakdown… oh…” Knockout whimpered out as he continued to hump the cushion in earnest, fat tears rolling down from his optics as he sobbed. Why was Primus so cruel to him? To have stolen his conjunx away from him and leave him longing like this? He let out a spark-shattering wail, something that could be heard halfway across the Nemesis, as he cried harder and harder, optics squeezing shut as they burned worse, hips still thrusting frantically into the pillow. “B-Break- Breakdown!” He yelped, his impending overload sneaking up on him faster than expected as he ground his hips and clutched to the cushion tighter, desperate for release, contact, anything from his conjunx.

“Oh, my love…” His valve throbbed worse as he was nearing his overload, humping the pillow faster as the berth creaked underneath, thrusts puncturing each of his words, “Ugh! Ngh! B-ah! Breakdown… p-please!” Knockout half-sobbed, half-moaned as he chased the familiar feeling of his oncoming overload, something that used to be shared in bliss, was now something to lament, a wail breaking the string of desperate noises he would be praised so sweetly for, coming out as a sorrowful sound, “Ugh! Ngh-BREAKDOWN!” His overload came in overwhelmed spurts, his empty valve spasming as it shot out pink, translucent transfluid, staining the pillow below him. “Ngh~… oh, m-my love… please…” he stammered, slowly coming down from his high, clinging to the now-soiled cushion, panting hard and heavy, broken sobs cutting through the deep vents.

“Mngh… oh,” Knockout’s processor was so fuzzy, optics lulling open to look at the cushion as he regained his sense of self, his lonely, aching self. “Breakdown… I, I love you… I love you so much…” He kissed the softness of the pillow, only to scowl and flop onto his side, settling into the berth as he kicked his conjunx’s pillow away with a frustrated cry, the plush of the cushion was not like Breakdown at all, it would never be like Breakdown. “Why… oh god, why..?” He asked no one, tears rolling down his cheek slowly, following the consistent trail from before he scrambled to retrieve the stained pillow, bringing it up to his olfactory sensors and taking a deep vent. It was all too familiar, the smell of Breakdown and the after-notes of interfacing, it was so comforting, yet so betraying at the same time. He wanted his partner so badly, he wanted to hold him again, to talk to him again, to laugh and cry and reminisce with him…

Knockout held the pillow closer to his slightly trembling frame as he relaxed into the berth, shuffling into the sheets below as he closed his optics, sore from crying and vocalizer overused from sobbing and whining, pleading one last thing to the cruel spirit of Primus before slipping into an overwhelmed recharge, hoping that Breakdown would answer…

“Please… I need you to hold me… just once…” And the wind from the window complied, caressing his shaking form as it flowed into the room, the crisp night cooling his overwhelmed frame, the moving omnipresence of the air holding him one last time, “Thank you…” 

[roselynnthornwood]

"Alive Again"

Buffy hadn’t felt alive since she’d been raised from the dead— until now. The cool marble against her back, the night air raising goosebumps over her bare skin, Spike’s hard body against her and inside her, all worked together to awaken that dim spark of life within her, just for a moment. His fingers indulged that post-slay down-low tickle Faith could never get her to admit to, bringing her as close to heaven as she could get. Well, unless those teeth nibbling adoringly at her neck decided they wanted more…but that wouldn’t be so bad, Buffy thought. Would it?

Find the author everywhere upon the Internet!

Art by @dreadart

Support her and buy prints on Patreon!

[jupiterpilgrim]

Drown With Me

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 10K

"I was so happy, you know?"

Her words, her tone, her expression – they’re etched in your memory...

—

Firstly: let's rewind to the moment that started it all. Or rather, the fight that started it all. But just a part of it, because the whole argument was a bit too... dramatic.

—

"You fucking asshole! I can't believe you're making me feel guilty about this trip!" Minji screams, tears streaming down her face as she throws clothes into her suitcase. Her small hands are shaking with rage.

“I just can't understand you! When I keep my shit to myself, you complain that I'm not being truthful in the relationship, and when I decide to tell you what's bothering me, you freak out. You know this promotion means everything to me, Minji, and now you're acting like I'm abandoning you," you snap back, watching her frantically pack from the doorway of your shared bedroom.

"Abandoning me? No, you're just being a selfish prick who can't be happy for his girlfriend's success!" She slams the suitcase shut, mascara running down her cheeks. "I've supported every single one of your career moves, but the one time I get a huge opportunity, you make it all about you!"

"That's not what I'm saying and you know it! I just wish you'd discussed it with me first instead of just announcing you're fucking off to Singapore for a month!"

"Discuss it? With you?" She laughs bitterly. "Why? So you could try to talk me out of it? Make me feel even more guilty?"

"Minji, come on..." You try to reach for her but she jerks away.

"Don't touch me. I can't even look at you right now." She wipes her eyes roughly with the back of her hand. "I have to go or I'll miss my flight. Don't bother calling."

You watch helplessly as she drags her suitcase out of the bedroom, the wheels thumping against the hardwood floors. The front door slams shut moments later, leaving you alone in the sudden silence of your apartment.

"Fuck!" You punch the wall, immediately regretting it as pain shoots through your knuckles.

—

She drops it on you out of nowhere, right in the middle of a forkful of pasta, like it’s just casual dinner conversation. “So I’ll be in Singapore for a month. My trip is scheduled for next week.” she says, barely looking up as she keeps eating. No heads-up, no “Hey, I was thinking…” Just lays it out there, cold as fact.

You should be happy for her. Hell, you should feel damn proud. Minji, your Minji, jetting off for a huge business trip, about to prove to everyone what you already know - that she’s amazing at what she does. But instead, there’s this weird little twist of annoyance clawing its way up from somewhere deep. It’s like you’re happy, sure, but there’s this raw, stupid irritation bubbling under it all that you didn’t see coming.

She never mentioned it before. Never talked about weighing options, asked you what you thought, nothing. Just tosses it at you like a done deal, already set in stone. And yeah, it stings a little, like she didn’t even think you’d want a say. It’s petty, it’s stupid, but it’s there, scratching around at the back of your head, whispering: am I an afterthought now?

You catch yourself, feeling like the world’s most selfish boyfriend because you know she deserves this. She’s worked herself to the bone, fought for this chance to prove herself, to show she’s worth every bit of it. Of course you want her to go, to kill it, to come back with stories of how she made the whole damn boardroom take notice. But somewhere inside, there’s still that ugly little itch, wondering - couldn’t she have acted like this was a decision for the two of you? Just… a little?

The guilt starts swirling in after that, heavier than before, sinking low and deep. What kind of boyfriend gets hung up on something so small when his girlfriend’s about to take this huge step? You want to push it down, make it disappear, go back to that exact second before she said anything, and just feel proud. Proud without all this stupid baggage.

But the feeling’s there, thick and stuck, wedged between the pride and the frustration, and there’s no easy way to get it out. So you sit there in silence, forcing yourself to nod, to smile at the right parts, while she lights up, spilling plans and ideas and everything she’s about to do. You’re trying to just let it all go, to be the guy she deserves - a guy who’s genuinely happy for her without strings, without ego. But it clings to you anyway, like some shadow you didn’t invite, and all you can do is pray it doesn’t twist into something even messier down the line.

But we know exactly how it ended.

—

Three days pass in misery, all you have is takeout containers, beer bottles, and mindless TV shows. You've texted Minji multiple times but only gotten short, cold responses. The apartment feels too big, too empty without her presence.

You're sprawled on the couch, starting your fourth beer of the evening, when there's a knock at the door. For a moment, your heart leaps thinking it might be Minji, but you know she's still in Singapore.

"Coming!" you call out, grabbing a t-shirt off the floor and pulling it on as you stumble to the door. When you open it, you find yourself face to face with Ningning, Minji's best friend.

"Wow, you look like shit," she says bluntly, pushing past you into the apartment.

Ningning has always been stunning in an almost intimidating way. Today she's wearing a tight black crop top that shows off her toned stomach and high-waisted jeans that hug every curve. Her long black hair falls in waves past her shoulders, and her dark eyes seem to see right through you.

"Nice to see you too," you mutter, closing the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Minji asked me to check on you." Ningning wrinkles her nose at the mess of bottles and takeout containers. "Good thing she did. This is pathetic."

You run a hand through your unwashed hair. "I'm fine. You can tell her I'm fine."

"Really? Because you look and smell like you haven't showered in days." She picks up an empty beer bottle, examining it. "And it seems like you're trying to drink yourself into oblivion."

"It's none of your business," you snap, snatching the bottle from her hand.

Ningning's red lips curve into a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Actually, it is my business. Minji's my best friend, and she's worried about you. Even though you're being a total dick about her trip."

"You don't know anything about it."

"I know enough." She steps closer, and you catch another whiff of her perfume. "I know you made her cry before the biggest opportunity of her career. Dick move."

The guilt and alcohol make your head spin. "I didn't mean to... I just... fuck." You sink onto the couch, head in your hands.

You feel the couch dip as Ningning sits beside you, close enough that her thigh brushes against yours. "Hey," she says, her voice softer now. "I get it. Long distance sucks. But it's only a month."

"A month feels like forever right now," you admit. The beer is definitely hitting you now, making your tongue loose. "The apartment feels wrong without her here."

"Then maybe you need a distraction." Ningning's hand lands on your thigh, and your whole body tenses. "Something to take your mind off things."

You turn to look at her, meaning to tell her to back off, but the words die in your throat. She's closer than you expected, those dark eyes boring into yours. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and you can't help tracking the movement.

"Ning..." you start, but you're not sure if it's a warning or something else.

"I always wondered what it was like to be in Minji's shoes," she murmurs, her hand sliding higher on your thigh. "Maybe now's my chance to find out.”

"We can't..." But your protest sounds weak even to your own ears. The combination of alcohol, loneliness, and Ningning's intoxicating presence is making it hard to think straight.

"Why not?" Her other hand comes up to cup your face, turning you toward her. "What Minji doesn't know won't hurt her."

Before you can respond, she closes the distance between you, pressing her lips against yours. For a moment, you're too shocked to react. Then your body takes over, responding to the first intimate contact you've had in days.

Her lips are soft but demanding, nothing like Minji's gentle kisses. When her tongue pushes into your mouth, you taste mint and something sweet. Your hands move of their own accord, gripping her waist and pulling her closer.

Ning swings one leg over your lap, straddling you. The position brings her core right against your growing erection, and she grinds down deliberately, drawing a groan from your throat.

"That's it," she purrs against your lips. "Stop thinking so much."

Her hands slip under your t-shirt, nails scraping lightly against your abs. You know you should stop this, push her away, but your body is on fire with need. When she rocks against you again, your hips buck up instinctively.

"Fuck, you're already so hard for me," Ningning breathes, pulling back to look at you with heavy-lidded eyes. "Let me take care of you."

She grinds down again, more forcefully this time, and your head falls back against the couch. "This is wrong," you manage to say, even as your hands slide down to grip her ass.

"Then why does it feel so right?" She attacks your neck with lips and teeth, sucking hard enough to leave marks. The pain-pleasure sends jolts straight to your cock.

Your hands slip under her crop top, finding bare skin. Her body is different from Minji's - more toned, with smaller breasts but wider hips. The comparison makes guilt twist in your stomach, but it's quickly drowned out by lust when Ningning bites down on your earlobe.

She pulls back just long enough to yank your t-shirt over your head, then immediately latches onto one of your nipples. The sensation makes you buck up against her again, your cock straining against your boxers.

"Someone's eager," she teases, rolling her hips in slow circles. "Want to see how wet you've made me?"

Before you can answer, she grabs one of your hands and guides it between her legs. Even through her jeans, you can feel the heat radiating from her core. When you press your fingers against her, she moans and grinds down onto your hand.

"See?" She captures your lips in another burning kiss. "I've wanted this for so long. Wanted to show you what you've been missing."

The words should be a bucket of cold water, reminding you of Minji, but instead they just fuel the fire burning through your veins. You squeeze her ass with your free hand, pulling her harder against you as you devour her mouth.

Ningning breaks the kiss to stand up suddenly, leaving you bereft of contact. But before you can protest, she's hooking her fingers into the waistband of her jeans, slowly shimming them down her legs.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of her black lace thong, barely covering anything. Her legs seem to go on forever, and when she turns around to step out of her jeans, you get a perfect view of her round ass.

"Like what you see?" she asks over her shoulder, giving her ass a little shake.

"Fuck," is all you can manage, adjusting yourself in your pants.

She turns back to face you, crossing her arms to grab the hem of her crop top. In one fluid motion, she pulls it over her head, revealing a matching black lace bra. Her breasts strain against the material, nipples clearly visible through the delicate fabric.

"Your turn," she purrs, hooking her fingers in your pants. "Up."

You lift your hips automatically, letting her pull your pants and boxers down and off. Your cock springs free, already rock hard and leaking pre-cum. Ningning licks her lips at the sight, wrapping one hand around your shaft.

"Mmm, bigger than I expected," she says, giving you a few slow strokes. "No wonder Minji always looks so satisfied."

The mention of your girlfriend's name sends another pang of guilt through you, but it's quickly forgotten when Ningning drops to her knees between your legs. She maintains eye contact as she leans forward, running her tongue from base to tip.

"Fuck!" you gasp, hands gripping the couch cushions.

"Just wait," she smirks, before taking you into her mouth.

The wet heat of her mouth is incredible. She takes you deep right away, her throat relaxing to accommodate your length. Unlike Minji's hesitant, gentle oral skills, Ningning sucks cock like she was born for it.

Her head bobs up and down, tongue swirling around your shaft. One hand works what doesn't fit in her mouth while the other massages your balls. The sight of her red lips stretched around your cock, mascara starting to smear from her watering eyes, is almost enough to make you cum right then.

You thread your fingers through her long hair, not guiding her movements but just holding on. She hums around your length, sending vibrations through your whole body. When she pulls back to focus on your tip, sucking hard while her hand works your shaft, you have to grit your teeth to hold back.

"Shit, Ning, I'm gonna cum if you keep that up," you warn her, trying to pull her off.

But she just takes you deeper, looking up at you through her lashes as she deepthroats you. The sight of your cock disappearing into her throat, combined with the intense suction, pushes you over the edge.

You cum with a shout, pumping rope after rope of hot cum down her throat. Ningning swallows it all, continuing to suck until you're completely spent and oversensitive.

When she finally pulls off with a wet pop, strings of saliva and cum connect her lips to your cock. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, looking incredibly pleased with herself.

"Tasty," she says, licking her lips. "But we're not done yet."

Before you can recover, she's standing up and reaching behind her back to unhook her bra. Her breasts bounce free, smaller than Minji's but perfectly shaped with pink nipples standing at attention.

She hooks her thumbs in her thong, slowly sliding it down her legs. Your cock twitches at the sight of her bare pussy, already glistening with arousal. She's completely shaved, her pink lips puffy and inviting.

"See how wet sucking your cock got me?" She runs a finger through her folds, gathering her juices before bringing it to her mouth to suck clean. "I bet you want to taste me."

You nod dumbly, reaching for her, but she pushes you back against the couch. "Uh uh, just sit back and enjoy."

She climbs back onto your lap, but this time facing away from you. The position gives you a perfect view as she reaches between her legs to guide your semi-hard cock to her entrance.

"Ready for round two?" she asks, rubbing your tip against her wet slit.

Before you can answer, she sinks down onto you in one smooth motion. You both groan at the sensation - she's incredibly tight, her walls gripping you like a vice as she takes you to the hilt.

"Fuck, you're so big," she moans, grinding her hips in small circles. "Stretching me so good."

Your hands find her hips as she starts to move, lifting herself up before dropping back down. The sight of your cock disappearing into her pussy, her ass bouncing against your thighs, has you fully hard again in no time.

Ningning sets a brutal pace, riding you hard and fast. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with her increasingly loud moans. She reaches back to brace herself on your shoulders, changing the angle so your cock hits deeper.

"Yes, yes, fuck me!" she cries out, her pussy clenching around you. "Harder!"

You plant your feet firmly on the ground and start thrusting up to meet her bounces. The new force has her screaming, her nails digging into your shoulders as she takes everything you give her.

One of your hands slides around to rub her clit, and she nearly convulses at the touch. Her walls flutter around your cock as she gets closer to the edge.

"Gonna cum," she pants, movements becoming erratic. "Make me cum on your big cock!"

You increase the pressure on her clit, rubbing tight circles as you continue to thrust up into her. When she finally breaks, her whole body goes rigid, pussy clamping down on you like a vice as she screams your name.

The sight and sensation of her cumming triggers your own orgasm. You grip her hips hard enough to bruise as you empty yourself inside her, filling her pussy with hot cum.

Ningning collapses back against your chest, both of you breathing heavily. Your softening cock is still inside her, and you can feel your combined fluids leaking out around it.

"Holy fuck," she says after a moment, turning her head to kiss you lazily. "That was even better than I imagined."

Reality starts to creep back in as the post-orgasm haze fades.

You just cheated on Minji.

With her best friend.

On the couch where you and Minji usually cuddle and watch movies.

"We shouldn't have done that," you say, but make no move to push her off.

"But we did." Ningning stands up, cum running down her thighs. The sight makes your spent cock twitch. "And we're going to do it again."

She gathers her clothes and heads to the bathroom, leaving you alone with your guilt and confusion.

What the fuck have you done?

—

The next few days are a sickening mix of shame, guilt and lust, oh, and more incredible sex than you've ever had. Ningning comes over almost every day. You fuck on every surface of the apartment - the kitchen counter, the shower, the dining room table.

She's insatiable, always wanting more, always pushing your boundaries. She makes you do things you've never done before, things you never even considered with Minji.

After that sixth time, with both of you tangled up, tipsy and reckless, she watches as you crumble, phone in hand after hearing Minji’s voice. Tears slip down your face as the reality hits hard. You and Minji talk, stumbling through apologies and whispered promises, mending the torn edges between you. By the end, you’re clear: Ningning won’t be coming around again.

When you tell Ningning, she just smirks, as if it were a joke that only she understands. "You’re drunk," she says. "You'll change your mind. We're the same, you and me." Her words dig in, and Ningning knows that you have no way of proving her wrong. So you just grit your teeth and ask her to leave.

She does. But that smile lingers as she goes, certain she’s right.

Oh, and she is.

—

You're sitting on your couch scrolling mindlessly through your phone when you hear a knock on the door. Opening it, you freeze at the sight before you. Ningning stands there in a tight white button-up shirt tied above her belly button, red tie, an obscenely short plaid skirt that barely covers her ass, white knee socks, and her black hair in pigtails. Your cock instantly stirs as memories of buying this exact outfit for Minji flood back.

"Like what you see?" Ningning purrs, doing a little twirl that makes her skirt flare up. You catch a glimpse of tiny white panties underneath.

"Ning, how in the world did you get here dressed like that?" You try to keep your voice steady but fail miserably. "We can't keep doing this."

She pushes past you into the apartment, her perfume - sweet and intoxicating - filling your nostrils. "Why not? Minji's gone on her work trip, isn't she? The one she didn't even discuss with you first?"

Your jaw clenches at the reminder. Ningning knows exactly which buttons to push. She saunters over to your couch, deliberately swaying her hips. When she bends over to adjust her sock, her skirt rides up to reveal the full curve of her ass.

"Remember how you bought this exact outfit for Minji?" she continues, straightening up and facing you. "How she said roleplaying made her uncomfortable?" Ningning runs her hands down her body. "Yeah, she tells me everything and, well, I'm here to fulfill your fantasy."

"This is wrong," you protest weakly, but your eyes are glued to her body. "You're her best friend..."

"And you're her boyfriend who she takes for granted," Ningning counters, stepping closer. "When's the last time she really fucked you properly? Made you lose control?"

Your breathing grows heavy as she closes the distance between you. Her small hand traces down your chest, over your stomach, to cup your hardening cock through your pants.

"Mmm, someone's excited," she giggles. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is fighting it."

"Ning..." you groan as she squeezes gently.

"Want to be my teacher?" she whispers, looking up at you through thick lashes. "I've been such a naughty student..."

Your resistance crumbles as she drops to her knees, quickly undoing your belt and zipper. Your cock springs free, already rock hard. Ningning licks her lips.

“Your dick is too good to be unusable for a whole month," she purrs, wrapping her small hand around your shaft. "Minji was very irresponsible this time."

The mention of your girlfriend sends wave of guilt through you, but it's quickly overwhelmed by pleasure as Ningning's hot mouth engulfs your cock. She takes you deep, deeper than Minji ever has, until her nose is pressed against your pelvis.

"Fuck!" you grunt, hands instinctively grabbing her pigtails. She moans around your length, the vibrations making your knees weak.

Ningning pulls back with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to your cock. "Use my mouth," she begs. "Fuck my throat like you've always wanted to fuck hers."

You know you should stop this. Push her away. Call Minji and confess everything. But instead, you grip Ningning's pigtails tightly, using them like handlebars as you thrust deep into her willing mouth. Her throat bulges visibly each time you push in, the outline of your thick shaft visible through her delicate neck.

"Fuck, you really know how to take it," you groan, watching her glossy lips stretch around your girth. Unlike Minji, who always struggles past the halfway point, Ningning swallows your entire length without hesitation.

She looks up at you with watery eyes, mascara already starting to run down her cheeks. The sight of her in the schoolgirl outfit, on her knees, throat stuffed with your cock, is almost too much to handle.

"You like that, don't you?" you growl, pulling her pigtails to force her deeper. "Like being a better cocksucker than your best friend?"

She moans around your shaft, the vibrations making your cock throb. Drool runs down her chin as she gags slightly, but she doesn't try to pull back. Instead, she grabs your thighs and pulls herself even closer.

"Such a hungry little slut," you praise, starting to thrust into her mouth. "Taking my cock deeper than Minji ever could..."

Ningning's eyes roll back as you fuck her face, her throat relaxing to accommodate your full length. Every time you pull back, a string of thick saliva connects her lips to your cock.

"Is this what you imagined?" you ask, increasing your pace. "All those times Minji complained about not being able to deepthroat me... were you thinking about showing her how it's done?"

She tries to nod with your cock still buried in her throat, making herself gag. The sound only encourages you to thrust harder, using her pigtails to control the depth and speed.

Your balls slap against her chin with each stroke now, adding to the obscene symphony of gagging and slurping sounds. Her makeup is completely ruined, black streaks running down her face as tears flow freely.

"Such a good little throat slut," you groan, holding her head still as you fuck into her mouth. "Taking every inch like you were made for it..."

She reaches up to massage your balls while you use her throat, encouraging you to go harder, faster, deeper. The contrast with Minji's careful, hesitant blowjobs is stark - Ningning truly loves having her face fucked.

"Bet you practiced for this," you continue, watching her throat bulge. "Bet you've been using toys for months, just waiting for this moment..."

A particularly hard thrust makes her gag violently, but still she doesn't pull away. If anything, she pushes forward, burying her nose in your pubic hair as she swallows around your length.

The sight of her taking your cock so eagerly, combined with the tight squeeze of her throat, brings you dangerously close to cumming. But you're not done using her mouth yet.

You pull out completely, letting her catch her breath. Strings of thick saliva connect her swollen lips to your cock as she gasps for air.

"Please," she begs, voice hoarse from the throat fucking. "Use my mouth... wreck my throat... show me what Minji's too scared to take..."

You slam back in without warning, making her eyes go wide as you bottom out in her throat. Her nose presses against your pelvis as you hold her there, feeling her throat contract around your shaft.

"Fuck, you're such a good cocksucker," you groan, slowly withdrawing before thrusting deep again. "Taking my cock like a proper slut..."

She moans around your length, the vibrations pushing you closer to the edge. Her hands grip your thighs tighter, encouraging you to use her mouth however you want.

Your pace becomes brutal as you chase your orgasm, fucking her face with abandon. The wet sounds of your cock plunging into her throat fill the room, along with her muffled moans and gagging.

"Gonna cum," you warn, pulling her pigtails harder. "Gonna flood your throat with my load..."

She looks up at you with pleading eyes, silently begging for your cum. The sight of her - face a mess, throat bulging, schoolgirl outfit disheveled - pushes you over the edge.

With a final thrust, you bury yourself to the hilt in her throat and explode. She swallows eagerly around your pulsing cock, drinking down every drop of cum as you pump it directly into her throat.

Only when the last spurt has been swallowed do you slowly withdraw, watching as she gasps for air. Her lips are swollen and red, face covered in smeared makeup and saliva.

She couldn't be more beautiful.

"Thank you," she rasps, voice wrecked from the throat fucking. "For showing me what a real face fucking feels like..."

“Damn... That was amazing... You were amazing.”

"All for you, baby," she says hoarsely, standing up. "But now it's my turn to have some fun." She unbuttons her shirt slowly, revealing a lacy white bra underneath.

Ningning sits on the couch, looking at you, sliding her hands along her thighs, waiting for you to touch her.

You approach Ningning, your fingers hover at her entrance, teasing through her slick folds. She's already dripping wet, her pussy lips swollen and flushed pink. You can smell her arousal.

"Mmm, stop being such a tease," Ningning whimpers, spreading her legs wider. Her tiny white panties are soaked through, a dark wet patch visible in the center. "I need those thick fingers inside me..."

You trace light circles around her clit through the thin fabric, making her squirm. "Patience," you murmur. "Good girls wait for what they want."

"But I'm not a good girl," she purrs, grinding against your hand. "I'm the kind of girl who seduces her best friend's boyfriend while wearing a schoolgirl outfit..."

The reminder of what you're doing - who you're touching - sends a fresh wave of guilt through you. But it's mixed with an undeniable surge of arousal that makes your head spin.

You hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her smooth legs torturously slow. She kicks them off impatiently, spreading herself open with both hands to give you a perfect view of her pussy.

"Look how wet I am for you," she breathes, running a finger through her folds. "I've been dripping since I put this outfit on, thinking about how I was going to make you lose control..."

You replace her finger with yours, sliding through her wetness. Her clit is hard and swollen, begging for attention. You circle it slowly, barely touching, making her hips buck seeking more pressure.

"Fuck, your fingers feel amazing," she moans. "Minji told me they would..."

Your cock throbs at her words. "What else did she tell you?"

"Mmm, everything," Ningning says with a wicked smile. "All those late night girl talks, sharing secrets about our sex lives... She loves bragging about how good you are with your hands..."

You push one finger inside her slowly, groaning at how tight she is. Her inner walls grip you like a vice as you start pumping in and out.

"She told me how you can make her cum just from fingering her," Ningning continues, rolling her hips to meet your thrusts. "How sometimes you have to hold her down because it gets so intense..."

Adding a second finger, you stretch her tight hole while curling them to search for that special spot.

When you find it, her whole body jerks.

"FUCK!" she cries out, grabbing your wrist. "Right there! Harder!"

You massage that spot relentlessly, watching her face contort in pleasure. Her small tits bounce with each thrust of your hand, nipples hard and visible through her thin bra.

"Know what else she told me?" Ningning pants between moans. "That sometimes- oh god! Sometimes you make her squirt... but she gets embarrassed... tries to hold it back..."

You add a third finger, stretching her even more. Your thumb finds her clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen bud while your fingers work that spot inside her.

"I'm not shy like her," she continues, voice getting higher as pleasure builds. "I want to soak your whole fucking hand... want to show you what you're missing with her..."

Her pussy gets wetter with each thrust, juices running down your wrist and dripping onto the floor. The obscene squelching sounds fill the room as you finger-fuck her mercilessly.

"She also told me about your schoolgirl fantasy," Ningning moans. "How you bought her this exact outfit... but she was too vanilla to wear it... said roleplaying made her uncomfortable..."

Your fingers pump faster at her words, thumb working her clit harder. She's so wet now, practically gushing around your fingers.

"But look at me," she purrs. "Wearing exactly what you wanted... letting you do exactly what you've been dreaming about... being exactly the dirty little slut you need..."

Her words drive you wild. You curl your fingers more aggressively, massaging her g-spot while your thumb rubs quick circles on her clit. Her thighs start trembling as she gets close.

"That's it," she encourages. "Make me cum like you make her cum... show me why she brags about those fingers..."

You can feel her pussy starting to contract around your fingers. Ningning pulls the bra off in one go, breaking the strap. She's close, so close. You lean down and take one of her nipples in your mouth, sucking hard while your hand works between her legs.

"Oh fuck!" she screams. "Right there, don't stop, gonna cum gonna cum gonna-"

Her whole body goes rigid as the orgasm hits. Her pussy clamps down on your fingers like a vice, gushing fluid all over your hand. But you don't stop - you keep going, working her through it as she writhes and moans.

"Don't stop don't stop don't stop!" she chants, riding your hand desperately. More fluid gushes out with each thrust, soaking your arm and the couch beneath her.

Just when you think she's done, another wave hits. Her thighs clamp around your wrist as she squirts again, spraying her release all over you. The sight of your girlfriend's best friend coming undone on your fingers is the hottest thing you've ever seen.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" she screams, grinding against your hand as a third orgasm builds immediately after the second. Her whole body is shaking now, covered in a light sheen of sweat that makes her skin glow.

You keep going, relentless in your assault on her g-spot while your thumb continues its torture on her oversensitive clit. She's babbling incoherently now, lost in pleasure.

"Too much!" she finally gasps, trying to close her legs. But you hold them open with your free hand, not letting her escape the stimulation.

"I thought you weren't shy?" you tease, curling your fingers harder inside her. "I thought you could take what Minji couldn't?"

Those words seem to trigger something in her. Her eyes roll back as another orgasm crashes through her, this one even more intense than the others. She squirts so hard it sprays up your chest, soaking your shirt.

Only when she begs you to stop, you slowly withdraw your soaked fingers. She grabs your wrist before you can pull away completely, bringing your fingers to her mouth.

Looking directly into your eyes, she sucks them clean one by one, moaning at her own taste. Her tongue swirls around each digit, making sure to get every drop.

"Mmm," she purrs after releasing them with a obscene pop. "I taste good on your fingers,” she pants, pulling you up, “but I bet I taste even better on your cock..."

These words are enough to make you sit on the couch, Ningning jumps on your cock with desperate abandon, she adjusts herself on your lap and you feel the warm and delicious grip of her tight pussy. Her schoolgirl skirt fans out around her hips as she rides you, the pleated fabric barely hiding where your bodies join.

"Fuck, you're so big, I bet you need to be careful not to hurt Minji's pussy with that thick cock," she moans, grinding her hips in circles.

And it's true.

Each time you’re with Minji, that balance between careful tenderness and locked-up heat tears at you. And somehow, the comparison between the careful sex you have with Minji and the raw sex you're having now makes your cock throb harder inside her tight hole. Ningning notices, clenching her pussy walls around you.

"Does it turn you on?" she purrs, leaning forward to whisper in your ear. "Knowing you're stretching her best friend's pussy? Filling me up while she's working?"

You grab her hips harder, helping her bounce faster on your shaft. Her small tits bounce with each movement, nipples hard and visible through her thin white shirt. The whole schoolgirl outfit is disheveled now - tie loose, shirt unbuttoned, skirt hiked up around her waist.

"God, you feel so good," she pants, throwing her head back. "So much better than I dreamed about all those nights touching myself..."

Your cock twitches at her words. "You touched yourself thinking about me?"

"Mmhmm," she moans, grinding down harder. "Every time Minji bragged about your cock, I'd go home and finger myself imagining it was you... imagining you choosing me instead of her..."

She starts bouncing faster, her tight pussy taking your full length with each stroke. The wet sounds of her arousal fill the room, along with the slap of skin on skin.

"But the real thing is so much better," she continues, voice getting higher with pleasure. "Your thick cock stretching me open... making me take every inch..."

You can feel yourself getting close, the familiar pressure building in your balls. But you try to hold back, not ready for this to end.

"I can feel you throbbing," she teases, clenching her walls around you again. "Are you going to cum for me? Going to fill up my tight little pussy?"

The thought of cumming inside her makes your cock pulse dangerously. You know this shouldn't be happening, but her pussy feels too good, gripping you like it never wants to let go.

"Do it," she encourages, bouncing even faster. "Cum inside me. Give me what you give her..."

Your hands tighten on her hips as you get closer to the edge. She's riding you like her life depends on it now, taking your cock so deep you can feel her cervix with each stroke.

"One time when Minji was drunk and loose, she told me that you love creampie," she suddenly whispers, and your cock throbs hard at the admission. "Minji mentioned you have a breeding kink... that you love the risk..."

You try to lift her off your cock but she pushes back down hard, taking you to the hilt. "Don't you dare pull out," she demands. "I want to feel you flood my fertile pussy..."

The pressure in your balls is almost unbearable now. Every bounce of her tight pussy brings you closer to the edge. Your cock swells even larger inside her as your orgasm approaches.

"That's it," she moans, feeling you grow. "Give me your cum. Breed me like you want to breed her..."

With a groan, you explode inside her. Your cock pulses violently, shooting rope after rope of hot cum deep in her unprotected pussy. She keeps riding through your orgasm, milking every drop from your throbbing shaft.

"Fuck yes!" she cries out, grinding down hard as you fill her. "I can feel you pumping me full... marking me as yours..."

Only when the last spurt of cum coats her walls does she slow her movements. She stays seated on your cock, clenching her pussy to keep your seed inside her.

"Mmm, perfect," she purrs, leaning forward to kiss you deeply. "Now I'm going to keep your cum warm in my pussy all day... let it soak into my fertile womb..."

You can feel the tension in the air, a twisted mix of possessive satisfaction and something darker, something that feels dangerously close to obsession.

You give a low chuckle, tightening your hold on her hips. "About that," you murmur, watching her expression shift as the words sink in. "You do know I had a vasectomy, right?"

For a moment, she just blinks at you, her lips parting as the realization hits. "What?" Her voice is sharp, barely above a whisper, her brows knitting together in visible confusion.

"Yeah. Minji was the one who asked for it," you continue, watching every flicker of emotion on her face. "She said she wouldn’t let me come inside her unless I did.”

“B-but I thought that… The breeding kink…”

“Yeah, I like it, but you know Minji would never go for it. Well, maybe in the future... But at least I can cum inside her now, so that's a win.”

She bites her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. Eyes narrowing, and, for a second, there is an almost obsessive tone in her voice. “So, you’re telling me… this whole time, all of this,” she gestures to herself, still seated on you, your cum mixed with her juices already leaking down her sweaty thighs, “has been for nothing?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. "Were you actually trying to get pregnant?"

Ningning’s cheeks flush, and she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Pfft, no way. I'm not crazy! That was just dirty talk to turn you on. I’m not even in my fertile period,” she says, her voice forcedly nonchalant.

You arch a brow, skeptical. Her gaze wavers for a split second, and a strange feeling knots in your gut. For the first time, you notice that hint of danger in her gaze, something deeper and darker… or maybe it's just the image of your adultery reflected in her eyes.

—

Three weeks into Minji's trip, you're lying in bed with Ningning, both covered in sweat from another intense session. She's tracing patterns on your chest with her fingernail, occasionally leaning up to kiss your neck.

"I don't want this to end when she comes back," she says suddenly, propping herself up on one elbow to look at you.

"Ning..." you start, but she cuts you off with a kiss.

"Don't give me that bullshit about how wrong this is," she says against your lips. "We both know this is more than just fucking."

"What do you want me to do?" you ask, running your hand down her naked back.

"Break up with her." Ningning's voice is firm, no room for argument. "End it as soon as she gets back."

"I can't do that to her," you protest weakly. "I… I'm still in love with her. My feelings for Minji haven't changed… She doesn't deserve-"

"What she doesn't deserve is a boyfriend who's fucking her best friend behind her back!" Ningning cuts in. "Either you tell her, or I will."

The threat hangs in the air between you. You know she means it - Ningning has never been one to make empty threats.

"You'd really do that to her?" you ask, though you already know the answer.

"I'd be doing her a favor." Ningning sits up, the sheet falling away to reveal her naked body. "Better she finds out now than after you've wasted more of her time."

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes on the nightstand. It's Minji's mother, and your blood runs cold when you see the message.

"Minji's in the hospital," you read aloud, sitting up quickly. "She collapsed during a meeting. They think it might be her heart condition acting up again."

Ningning's expression doesn't change, but her eyes harden slightly. "Is she going to be okay?"

"I don't know. Her mom says they're running tests." You're already getting out of bed, looking for your clothes. "I need to call her."

"Of course you do," Ningning says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Run back to her like always."

You ignore her as you pull on your pants and grab your phone. Minji answers on the second ring, her voice weak but happy to hear from you.

"Hey baby," she says, and your guilt threatens to choke you. "Don't worry, I'm okay. Just pushed myself too hard."

"What happened? What are the doctors saying?" You pace the room as you talk, very aware of Ningning watching you from the bed.

"They want to keep me here for observation for a few days." She sounds tired. "But I should still be able to come home on schedule next week."

"That's good," you say, though your stomach churns at the thought. "Just focus on getting better, okay?"

"I miss you so much," she says softly. "I can't wait to come home and just be with you. Maybe we can finally start talking about getting married like we always planned."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Behind you, you hear Ningning scoff quietly.

"Yeah, maybe," you manage to say. "Get some rest, okay? I love you."

Those beautiful words seem to have a sarcastic connotation coming from you now, reality seems to make sense again, your mind being taken over by reason, so logical and obvious, and with it, all you can think is: I ruined everything. After you hang up, you turn to find Ningning already dressed, gathering her things.

"Well, this should be interesting," she says with a cruel smile. "What are you going to do now? Marry her while fucking me on the side?"

"This has to stop," you say, running a hand through your hair. "She needs me right now."

"No, what she needs is the truth." Ningning steps close to you, running a hand down your chest. "When she comes back you will tell her everything or I will. And trust me, my version won't be kind."

She leaves you standing there, torn between desire and guilt, love and lust.

—

The next few days are torture. Minji calls or texts constantly from the hospital, full of love and plans for the future. Meanwhile, Ningning sends you increasingly explicit photos and videos, reminding you of what you'll be missing. And when you ignore everything she sends you: that's when the threats come back. Roughly speaking, it's like she has a double-edged sword, cutting you with both lust and guilt.

But you try to stay away from Ningning, to focus on being there for Minji, but it's like she has a sixth sense for when you're at your weakest…

The knock at your door comes just after midnight. You're lying in bed, unable to sleep, thoughts of Minji in that hospital bed haunting you. When you open the door, Ningning stands there in a trench coat, red lipstick perfectly applied, dark eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Miss me?" she purrs, letting the coat fall open. Black lace barely covers her tits, the lingerie leaving nothing to imagination. Your cock instantly hardens despite your best efforts to resist.

"You need to fucking leave," you growl, but your eyes are glued to her body. She knows she has you.

"Make me," she challenges, stepping closer. Her perfume fills your nostrils - sweet and spicy, nothing like Minji's soft floral scent. "We both know you want this."

"I hate you," you snarl, grabbing her arm and yanking her inside. The door slams behind her.

"Show me how much," she taunts, shrugging off the coat completely. The lingerie is even more revealing than you thought - just scraps of black lace held together by thin straps. Her nipples peek through the sheer fabric.

You grab her throat, pushing her against the wall. "You're a fucking terrible friend. Minji trusts you."

"And yet here you are, getting hard just looking at me." Her hand cups your erection through your sweatpants. "Face it - you like that I'm bad. That I'm nothing like sweet, innocent Minji."

"Shut up," you growl, crushing your mouth to hers. She tastes like cherry lipstick and sin. Her tongue battles yours as she grinds against your hardness.

You bite her lower lip hard enough to hurt. She moans into your mouth, fingernails raking down your chest. Unlike Minji's gentle touches, Ningning wants to mark you, to leave evidence of what you've done.

"Fucking slut," you mutter, ripping the flimsy bra. Her tits spill free, nipples hard and begging to be bitten. You grab them roughly, pinching and twisting until she gasps.

"Yes, hurt me," she pants. "Do all the dirty things she won't let you do."

The reminder of Minji makes you even angrier. You spin Ningning around, shoving her face-first against the wall. One hand tangles in her long dark hair, yanking her head back.

"Is this what you wanted? To be my dirty little whore?" Your free hand comes down hard on her ass, the smack echoing through the room.

"Fuck yes!" She pushes back against you. "Spank me harder. Leave marks."

You rain blows on her ass until it's bright red, each strike punctuated by her moans of pleasure-pain. Your cock throbs painfully, straining against your sweats.

"Look at you, getting wet from being spanked." You rip her panties down, fingers finding her dripping pussy. "Such a filthy slut."

"Only for you," she purrs, spreading her legs wider. "Minji told me how gentle you are with her. But that's not what you really want, is it?"

"Don't talk about her." You thrust two fingers into her roughly, making her cry out. Her pussy clenches around them, cream coating your hand.

"Why not? She tells me everything about your sex life." Ningning rocks back on your fingers. "How you always ask to cum on her face but she won't let you. How you hold back because you're afraid of being too rough."

Rage and lust war inside you. You withdraw your fingers and shove them in her mouth. "Taste yourself, whore."

She sucks them clean eagerly, moaning around them. When you pull them out, spit trails from her lips.

"On your knees," you order, shoving her down. She goes willingly, looking up at you with those dark, knowing eyes.

You free your cock, slapping it against her cheek. Pre-cum smears across her skin. "This what you came for?"

"Mmm, I love choking on your cock." She licks the head teasingly. "She says you're so careful with her mouth, afraid of going too deep."

You grab her hair with both hands, ramming your cock down her throat. She takes it like a pro, nose pressed against your pelvis, throat contracting around you.

"Fuck, you really are a whore." You hold her there until she gags, tears streaming down her face. When you finally let her breathe, she gasps but immediately opens wide for more.

"Use my throat," she rasps. "Make me choke on it."

You fuck her face brutally, hips snapping forward as you force your cock deeper with each thrust. Spit and pre-cum drip down her chin, mascara running from her tears. She maintains eye contact the whole time, those dark eyes challenging you to go harder.

When you pull out, she's a mess - lipstick smeared, face covered in her own saliva. Your cock twitches at the sight.

"Get on the couch," you command. "Hands and knees."

She crawls there slowly while taking off her high heels, making sure you get a good view of her red ass and dripping pussy. Once in position, she looks back at you with a smirk.

"Going to fuck me like you wish you could fuck her?"

You answer with action, lining up and slamming into her in one brutal thrust. She screams, back arching as you bottom out.

"I wanna hear you scream," you growl, setting a punishing pace. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room.

"Yes, yes! Wreck my pussy!" She pushes back to meet each thrust, tits swaying beneath her.

You grab her hair again, pulling her head back as you pound into her. Your other hand comes down hard on her ass, leaving fresh handprints.

"Such a fucking whore, seducing your best friend's man." You slam in deeper, making her whole body jerk. "Bet you planned this from the start."

"Maybe," she pants. "Or maybe- fuck! - Maybe I just knew you needed someone who could handle all this."

You respond by fucking her harder, angling your hips to hit that spot that makes her walls clench around you. Her moans get higher, more desperate.

"That's it, make me cum on your cock!" She reaches between her legs to rub her clit. "Show me why Minji keeps you around!"

The mention of Minji's name sends fresh anger through you. You pull out suddenly, flipping her onto her back. Before she can protest, you're back inside her, pinning her wrists above her head.

"I said don't fucking talk about her." You bite her neck hard enough to leave marks, sucking bruises into her skin.

"Make me stop," she challenges, wrapping her legs around your waist to pull you deeper.

You release her wrists to grab her throat instead, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. Her pussy gets even wetter, cream coating your cock as you rail her.

"Is this what you wanted? To be choked while I fuck you senseless?" Your thumb presses against her windpipe.

She can only nod, eyes rolling back as her first orgasm hits. Her whole body convulses, pussy spasming around your length.

You don't slow down, fucking her through her climax and beyond. She claws at your back, leaving long red scratches that sting deliciously.

"More," she demands when she can speak again. "I want it all."

You pull out, cock glistening with her juices. "Get that ass in the air."

She quickly flips over, face down and ass up, reaching back to spread her cheeks. Her asshole winks at you invitingly.

"Another thing she won't let you do," Ningning taunts. "But I love it up the ass."

You gather her wetness on your fingers, working them into her tight hole. She moans wantonly as you stretch her.

"Dirty fucking slut," you growl, adding more fingers. "Taking it in all your holes like a proper whore."

When she's ready, you line up your cock with her asshole and push in slowly. The tight heat makes you groan despite yourself.

"Fuck yes, stretch my ass!" She pushes back, taking more of you. "Fill me up!"

You grab her hips, digging your fingers in hard enough to bruise as you bottom out. Her ass grips your cock like a vice.

"I'm gonna sink my cock in that tight little ass." You start thrusting, each movement making her moan.

"God yes! Harder!" She reaches back to spread herself wider. "Use me like the whore I am!"

You pick up speed, watching your cock disappear into her ass over and over. The sight is intoxicating - this perfect little slut taking everything you give her.

Her hand moves between her legs again, fingering her dripping pussy as you fuck her ass. The double stimulation has her trembling, approaching another orgasm.

"That's it, play with that wet cunt while I wreck your ass." You spank her again, leaving more red marks. "Show me what a filthy slut you are."

"So close," she pants. "Fuck, your cock feels so good in my ass!"

You reach around to pinch her nipples, twisting them roughly. That pushes her over the edge - she screams as she cums, whole body shaking.

Her ass clenches rhythmically around your cock, nearly making you lose control. But you're not done with her yet.

You pull out of her ass, flipping her over again. "Open that pretty mouth, whore. Time to taste your ass."

She eagerly takes your cock between her lips, moaning at her own taste. You fuck her face again, slower this time, letting her tongue work over every inch.

"Such a good little cocksucker," you grunt. "Born to take dick in all your holes."

She hums in agreement, reaching up to fondle your balls. The vibrations send pleasure shooting through you.

You pull out before you get too close. "On your back again. Want to see those tits bounce while I fuck you."

She spreads her legs wide as you mount her again, sliding back into her pussy. It's even tighter now after her orgasms, gripping you with a new creamy softness.

"Fuck me raw," she demands. "Make me feel it for days."

You grab her legs, pushing them back until her knees are by her ears. The new angle lets you go even deeper, your balls slapping against her ass with each thrust.

"Gonna fill this pussy up."

"No," she pants. "Want you to cum on my face. Paint me with your load like you've always wanted."

The thought pushes you closer to the edge. You've fantasized about this countless times - covering a pretty face with your cum.

Your thrusts become erratic as you near your peak. Ningning notices and grins up at you.

"Do it," she urges. "Show me what Minji's missing."

You pull out just in time, straddling her chest as she opens her mouth wide. Your cock erupts, shooting thick ropes of cum across her face.

She moans as you paint her, cum landing on her cheeks, lips, forehead. Some gets in her hair, more drips down her chin.

"Fuck yes," she purrs, licking what she can reach. "Mark your territory."

You keep jerking off to failure while admiring your beautiful work of art. Her face is completely covered in your cum, makeup ruined, lips swollen from sucking your cock.

"Fuck yeah," she growls, slurping up every fucking drop she can get her tongue on. “You came so much all over my face, baby."

"Look at you, you filthy little cumdumpster," you grunt, using your cock to spread the cum all over her face like a paintbrush. "Fucking beautiful.”

She looks up at you, a wicked grin on her cum-covered face. "Minji would never let you do this to her, would she?" she taunts, licking the remnants of your orgasm off her lips.

You keep spreading your cum, avoiding her gaze, the guilt gnawing at you. She grabs your wrist, stopping your movements. "Tell me I'm better than her," she demands, pulling your cock back to her mouth, licking the sensitive head.

"Don't fucking say that," you mutter, trying to pull away, but she holds firm.

"Tell me!" she insists, taking your cock deeper into her mouth, sucking hard.

You finally yank your cock away, getting off her abruptly. "No," you say firmly. There's a heavy silence as you pull on your pants and walk to the apartment door to open it and grab the coat she left in the hallway. "Get out!” you exclaim, throwing the coat at her.

“May I clean myself first, sir?”

When she comes out of the bathroom, you're a little calmer.

In fact, you're fucking tired.

“Why are you doing this to her?” you ask, the frustration spilling over, sharp and bitter. “She’s your best friend. Doesn’t any of this mean a damn thing to you?”

Ningning slowly sits on the couch to put on her high heels, taking her time. "Best friend?” she scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Minji’s no friend of mine. Hasn’t been for a long time. You think she even cares?”

You frown, trying to make sense of this mess. “You two were inseparable-”

“Were,” she interrupts, voice cold and dismissive. “Until she swooped in and took you right out of my hands.” Her eyes narrow, and she lets out a bitter laugh. “Do you even remember how we met? How I was the one who introduced you to her?”

You do remember, vaguely, those early nights working late at the bar, Ningning hanging around, laughing too loud, leaning a little too close. And then she’d brought Minji along one night, saying something about “my best friend, you’ll love her.” And you had, instantly.

She watches realization dawn across your face, her smirk deepening. “Yeah, that’s right. I brought her to meet you. She saw me with you and knew exactly what she was doing.” Her voice drops, bitter. “She knew I liked you. And then she went and did what she always does - takes what she wants without a damn thought about anyone else.”

You shake your head, but doubt nags at the edges of your mind. “She couldn’t have known-”

“She knew,” Ningning hisses, stepping toward you, her gaze fierce. “She fucking knew! But that’s Minji, isn’t it? Perfect little Minji, the one who can do no wrong. Sweet, innocent, perfect, while the rest of us scrape for her leftovers.” Her laugh is harsh, cold. “But guess what? She doesn’t get everything. Not anymore.”

The bitterness in her voice grates against you, hitting nerves you didn’t know you had. “You could’ve just told her,” you say quietly. “All of this - the stab in the back, the lies - none of it would’ve happened if you’d just been honest.”

She rolls her eyes. “You really think she’d care? Even if I had told her, she wouldn’t have given a fuck. She’s never cared about me. I was just someone to make her look better, someone to stand in her shadow.” Her voice drips with scorn. “She’s never really seen me.”

“So this is what, revenge?” you demand, voice hard. “Just because she didn’t fall over herself to make you feel special?”

She gives you a slow, dark smile, filled with satisfaction and anger. “Call it whatever you want. But you’re here, aren’t you? And every time you touch me, she loses a little more of that shiny perfect life of hers.”

"You're just a spiteful bitch. You don't deserve Minji's friendship.”

She steps closer, running a hand down your chest, voice low, almost a whisper. “And what does that make you? Huh? Besides a lying, cheating asshole? Minji’s so delicate, so breakable… shouldn’t you be taking care of her instead of - well - fucking me?”

You push Ningning away abruptly and point to the door. “Get out of my sight!”

When the door clicks shut, you glance back at the couch - a disaster of tangled sheets, a pillow on the floor, the lingering scent of sweat and regret. That couch… the same one where Minji used to kneel between your legs, her soft hands trailing up your thighs, her sweet, shy giggles filling the air whenever you teased her.

—

You stand anxiously at the airport arrivals gate, your heart pounding as you wait to see Minji again after a month apart. Your hands are sweaty and trembling - not just from excitement to reunite with your girlfriend, but from the crushing weight of guilt pressing down on you. The past few weeks have been a living hell of secrets, lies and desperate late-night encounters that you know will destroy everything if they come to light.

Finally you spot her emerging through the sliding doors, pulling her pink carry-on suitcase. Despite being sick during her trip, she looks beautiful as ever in her oversized cream sweater and blue jeans. Her face lights up when she sees you and she runs forward, throwing herself into your arms.

"I missed you so much!" she exclaims, pressing her face into your chest. You hold her tight, breathing in her familiar sweet scent, trying to push away the intrusive thoughts of all the times you've betrayed her trust.

"I missed you too, baby," you say, and it's not a lie. You've ached for her every single day she's been gone.

Which makes what you've done even more fucked up.

On the drive home, Minji chatters excitedly about her trip, though you can tell she's tired from the long flight. She mentions feeling weak and dizzy a few times while traveling, which worried her given her heart condition. You listen and nod, but your mind keeps drifting to Ningning's latest threatening text:

"Time's running out..."

—

At home you're helping Minji with her suitcase, trying to act normal while your heart pounds with a mix of desire and crushing guilt. Her delicate frame moves gracefully as she organizes her clothes, and you can't help but stare at her perfect ass in those tight jeans. The same ass you've missed so fucking much this past month.

"I really missed you, baby," she says softly, turning to face you with those innocent eyes that make your stomach twist with shame. Before you can respond, she's in your arms, her soft lips pressing urgently against yours. The familiar taste of her cherry lip gloss floods your senses.

Her tongue slides into your mouth as her hands grip your shoulders. You can feel her whole body trembling with need against yours. "I need you so bad," she whispers between kisses. "It's been too long."

You pull back slightly, studying her face. "Are you sure you're feeling better? Your heart..."

"I'm fine now, completely recovered," she assures you, already working on your shirt buttons. "Please, I want you so much." Her voice is breathy with desire.

Your hands shake slightly as you help her undress. Each inch of exposed skin is like a dagger of guilt mixed with raw hunger. You can't stop thinking about how Ningning's skin felt under these same hands just days ago. But Minji's body is different - softer, more delicate, familiar like coming home.

Her breasts spill free as you unhook her bra, dark nipples already hard and begging for attention. You lean down to take one in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the sensitive peak as she gasps. Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer.

"Fuck, I missed your mouth on me," she moans. The pure love and trust in her voice makes you want to cry.

You worship her breasts with lips and tongue, trying to pour all your remorse and devotion into each kiss. Her skin tastes sweet and clean, so different from Ningning's musky perfume that still haunts your memories. You trail kisses down her flat stomach, dropping to your knees.

Her panties are already soaked through when you peel them down her legs. The familiar scent of her arousal makes your cock throb painfully. You spread her thighs wider, drinking in the sight of her pretty pink pussy that belongs only to you. Or at least, it should have.

"Please," she whimpers, hips rolling forward seeking your mouth. You don't make her wait, diving in to lap at her swollen clit. She cries out, legs trembling as you devour her like a starving man. And you are starving - for her forgiveness, her love, her pleasure.

Your tongue traces patterns over her sensitive flesh as she writhes above you. You slip two fingers inside her tight heat, curling them to stroke that spot that drives her wild. Her walls clench around your fingers as you pump them in and out.

"Oh god, right there," she pants. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

You double your efforts, sucking her clit while fucking her with your fingers. Her thighs begin to shake as she gets close. You can feel her pussy pulsing, drawing your fingers deeper.

"I'm gonna cum," she warns, grinding against your face. You hum encouragement against her clit and she explodes, crying out your name as she floods your mouth with her sweet juices. You lap up every drop, helping her ride out the intense orgasm.

When her tremors finally subside, you stand and kiss her deeply, letting her taste herself on your tongue. She moans into your mouth, hands fumbling with your belt buckle.

"I need you inside me," she breathes. "Need to feel you stretching me open."

You finish stripping as she pulls you toward the bed. Her small hand wraps around your rock-hard cock, stroking firmly. Pre-cum leaks from the tip and she uses it to lubricate her movements.

"You're so big," she purrs. "I forgot how perfectly you fill me up."

The praise makes you throb in her grip, even as shame burns in your chest. You remember Ningning saying almost the same words as she rode you. Push the memory away. Focus on Minji, only Minji.

You lay her back on the bed, settling between her spread thighs. Her pussy is still dripping from her orgasm as you line yourself up. You start to push inside but she stops you.

"Wait," she says softly. "I need to tell you something first."

Your heart nearly stops.

Does she know?

Did Ningning confess?

"I'm so sorry about our fight," she continues. "I should have talked to you about the trip earlier. I don't want you to think you're being left out. Can you forgive me?"

Relief floods through you, followed immediately by fresh waves of guilt. "Baby, no. I'm the one who should apologize. I was a complete asshole. I love you so much and I never should have..."

She silences you with a kiss. "It's okay. We're okay. Just make love to me now."

You push inside her slowly, savoring every inch as her tight walls stretch to accommodate you. She's so fucking tight after a month apart. Her nails dig into your shoulders as you bottom out.

"Fuck," she gasps. "So full. Move, baby, please move."

You start a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before sliding deep again. Each thrust draws soft moans from her perfect lips. Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you closer.

"I love you," you tell her between kisses. "Love you so much." The words taste like ashes in your mouth but you mean them with every fiber of your being.

"Love you too," she pants. "Harder baby, fuck me harder."

You pick up the pace, driving into her with more force. The wet sounds of your coupling fill the room along with her increasingly loud cries. Her pussy squeezes you a little tighter, so hot and perfect around your aching cock.

You shift angles slightly, hitting that spot deep inside that makes her see stars. Her back arches off the bed as she claws at your shoulders.

"Right there, oh fuck right there!" she practically screams. "Don't stop, gonna cum again!"

You maintain the angle, pounding into her g-spot relentlessly. Her whole body starts to shake as another orgasm builds. You can feel her pussy fluttering around you, trying to milk your cock.

"Cum for me baby," you growl. "Let me feel that tight little pussy cum on my cock."

Your words push her over the edge. She throws her head back with a cry of pure ecstasy as her walls clamp down hard. You fuck her through it, drawing out her pleasure as long as possible.

When she finally comes down, you slow your thrusts but don't stop. You're nowhere near finished worshipping every inch of her perfect body.

You pull out and flip her onto her hands and knees, admiring the curve of her spine and the perfect globes of her ass. Her pussy is dripping down her thighs, swollen and pink from your attention.

You slide back inside in one smooth thrust, both of you moaning at the deeper penetration this position allows. Your hands grip her slim hips as you start moving again, watching your cock disappear into her eager hole over and over.

"You feel so good," you groan. "So fucking perfect wrapped around my cock."

She pushes back to meet your thrusts, taking you impossibly deeper. "Love your cock," she gasps. "Fill me up so good."

You lean forward to kiss and bite at her shoulders, one hand sliding around to play with her clit. She's so sensitive after two orgasms that she jerks at the contact.

"Too much?" you ask, easing the pressure.

"No, don't stop," she begs. "Want to cum again. Please make me cum again."

You rub tight circles on her swollen clit as you continue fucking her from behind. Her moans get higher and more desperate with each passing moment. You can feel her starting to tighten around you again.

"That's it baby," you encourage. "One more time for me. Show me how good I make you feel."

Her arms give out and she faceplants into the pillow, muffling her screams as a third orgasm rips through her. You have to grip her hips tight to keep her from collapsing completely.

When she stops shaking, you carefully pull out and turn her over. She looks absolutely wrecked in the best way - hair a mess, lips swollen from kissing, skin flushed and covered in a light sheen of sweat.

You kiss her deeply as you slide back inside her oversensitive pussy. She whimpers into your mouth but wraps her legs around you, pulling you closer.

"I want to try something," she says shyly when you break the kiss. "Something we haven't done before."

Your cock twitches inside her as you wait for her to continue. She bites her lip nervously.

"When you cum... I want you to cum on my face."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Images of Ningning's face covered in your cum flash unbidden through your mind. The way she'd smirked and said "Minji would never let you do this to her, would she?"

You try to keep your voice steady. "Are you sure? You've never wanted that before."

She nods. "I've been thinking about it while I was away. I want to try new things with you. Want to make all your fantasies come true."

Guilt threatens to choke you but your cock throbs traitorously at her words. You kiss her hard, trying to convey everything you can't say.

You start moving inside her again, harder and faster now. She meets you thrust for thrust, getting into it despite her previous orgasms. Her hands roam over your back and shoulders as she kisses and nibbles at your neck.

"You're so beautiful," you tell her between ragged breaths. "So perfect. I don't deserve you."

She doesn't know how true those words are. Doesn't know the depth of your betrayal. But you pour all your love and remorse into every thrust, every kiss, every touch.

You can feel your own orgasm building as her tight pussy squeezes around you. The familiar pressure builds at the base of your spine. Your movements become more erratic.

"Getting close," you warn her. "Where do you want me?"

"On my face," she reminds you breathlessly. "Want to feel your hot cum all over my face."

You pull out with a groan and move up her body. She looks up at you with such trust and love as you stroke your cock above her beautiful face. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips in anticipation.

The sight pushes you over the edge. You cry out as the first rope of cum lands across her cheek. More follows, painting her lips, nose, and forehead with your seed. She keeps her eyes closed but her mouth opens slightly to catch some on her tongue.

When you're finished, you use your still-hard cock to spread the cum around her face, just like you did with Ningning. The comparison makes you sick but you can't help it. Minji looks even more beautiful like this - face covered in your cum, lips curved in a satisfied smile.

"Was that okay?" she asks softly, opening her eyes to look up at you.

You lean down to kiss her cum-covered lips. "You're perfect. Everything about you is perfect."

She giggles and reaches for tissues to clean up, but you stop her. "Let me," you say, grabbing a warm washcloth from the bathroom. You tenderly clean her face, pressing gentle kisses to each spot after you wipe it clean.

"I actually really liked that," she admits as you finish. "The way you marked me as yours..."

If only she knew. If only you deserved her trust and devotion. But you push the guilt down and pull her into your arms, holding her close as if you could protect her from your own betrayal.

"I love you so much," you whisper into her hair. "More than anything."

She snuggles closer with a contented sigh. "I love you too. I'm so glad to be home with you."

You stroke her back as her breathing evens out, exhausted from travel and multiple orgasms. Soon she's fast asleep in your arms, completely trusting and vulnerable.

You lie awake holding her, torn between overwhelming love and crushing guilt. The memory of Ningning won't leave you alone - the way she seduced you, how easily you gave in to temptation. You don't deserve Minji's pure love and trust.

You press a final kiss to her forehead before closing your eyes, praying that someday you'll feel worthy of her love again. For now, you just hold her close and try to forget everything except how perfectly she fits in your arms.

—

Suddenly there's a knock at the front door.

You wake up feeling a little dazed, but soon your brain reminds you of the hell you got yourself into. Your blood automatically runs cold - you'd know that aggressive knock anywhere.

"Ignore it," Minji whispers sleepily.

"It might be important," you say reluctantly, getting out of bed. You quickly pull on your pants while Minji wraps herself in a sheet.

Sure enough, when you open the door Ningning is standing there with a predatory smile. She's wearing a tight black dress that shows off her curves, her long dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders.

"Oh, did I interrupt something?" she asks innocently, pushing past you into the apartment. Her eyes rake over your bare chest and the obvious bulge in your pants from morning wood.

"Ningningie!" Minji calls happily from the bedroom. "Give me a minute to get dressed!"

While Minji is changing, Ningning corners you in the kitchen. She presses her body against yours, her hand sliding down to squeeze your still-hard cock through your pants.

"Miss me?" she purrs. "I know you've been thinking about me. About all the nasty things we do together."

You grab her wrist and push her away. "Stop it. This has to end."

She laughs. "You know what you have to do if you want it to end. Break up with her, or I'll tell her everything."

Before you can respond, Minji emerges from the bedroom fully dressed. Ningning immediately steps away, her demeanor changing completely as she hugs her best friend.

The three of you sit in the living room while Minji tells Ningning about her trip. You can barely focus on the conversation, too aware of Ningning's predatory gaze and the way she keeps "accidentally" brushing against you.

When she finally leaves hours later, you feel physically ill. You know you're trapped - there's no way out of this that doesn't end in devastating heartbreak for Minji.

That night, after Minji falls asleep, your phone buzzes with a text from Ningning: "Come over. Now."

You shouldn't fucking go. Every fiber of your being screams that this is wrong, that you should stay in bed with Minji's warm body curled against yours. But the threatening texts from Ningning make your blood boil - if you don't show up, she'll spill everything to Minji. That manipulative bitch has you by the balls and she knows it.

"Fuck," you mutter, carefully extracting yourself from Minji's embrace. Your girlfriend shifts slightly but doesn't wake. The guilt churns in your stomach as you slip on clothes and shoes.

The drive to Ningning's apartment is torture. Your hands burn from being pressed against the steering wheel, jaw clenched so hard it aches. When you knock on her door, she answers wearing nothing but a sheer red lingerie set, her nipples are clearly visible through the see-through fabric, and the tiny thong barely covers her pussy.

"You fucking bitch," you snarl, shoving past her into the apartment. "This is the last goddamn time. I'm done with your manipulative bullshit."

Ningning's red lips curve into a wicked smile. "Mmm, I love when you're angry," she purrs, pressing her nearly-naked body against yours. "You can take it all out on me tonight, daddy. I want you to punish me for being such a bad girl."

She produces a pair of metal handcuffs, dangling them from one finger. "I'll let you restrain me. Do whatever you want to me. Hurt me, use me, make me pay." Her voice drops to a whisper. "I know you want to."

Your cock betrays you, hardening in your pants despite your rage - or maybe because of it. Ningning notices and grinds against your erection. "See? Your body knows what it wants, even if you pretend otherwise."

With a growl, you grab her wrists and snap the cuffs around them, perhaps a bit tighter than necessary. She gasps but her eyes sparkle with excitement as you roughly shove her toward the bedroom.

"On the bed. Now." Your voice is cold and commanding. She obeys eagerly, lying back with her cuffed hands above her head. The red lingerie contrasts beautifully with her pale skin, but you're too angry to fully appreciate the view.

You climb onto the bed, straddling her waist. Your hands wrap around her throat - not squeezing, just resting there as a threat. "I should fucking choke you for what you're doing to my relationship."

"Do it," she moans, arching up against you. "Make me suffer."

Instead, you release her throat and roughly grab her tits through the sheer bra. Your fingers find her hardened nipples and pinch them harshly, making her cry out in pain and pleasure.

"Is this what you wanted, you manipulative slut?" You twist her nipples cruelly. "To force me here so I can hurt you?"

"Yes! Fuck yes!" She writhes beneath you. "I love when you're rough with me. So different from how gentle you have to be with precious little Minji-"

"Don't you fucking dare say her name," you growl, slapping her face. The crack of skin on skin is loud in the quiet room. A red handprint blooms on her cheek.

Ningning moans obscenely. "Sorry daddy. I forgot you don't like to be reminded of your girlfriend while you're fucking your side piece."

You rip her flimsy bra off, exposing her full breasts. Your mouth descends on one nipple, biting down hard enough to make her squeal. Your other hand roughly kneads her other breast, pinching and pulling at the sensitive flesh.

"Fuck yes, hurt me daddy!" she cries out. "Mark up these tits that you love to stare at when Minji isn't looking!"

Another harsh slap across her face silences her. "I told you not to say her fucking name." You grab her jaw, forcing her to look at you. "You're nothing compared to her. Just a worthless whore I'm using to get my rocks off."

The words seem to excite her more. She spreads her legs wide, the tiny thong doing nothing to hide how wet she is. "Then use me, daddy. Use this worthless whore's holes however you want."

Your hand travels down her body, roughly groping and squeezing. When you reach between her legs, you find her pussy absolutely soaked through the thin fabric. You yank the thong aside and thrust two fingers deep inside her without warning.

"Fucking slut," you growl as you finger-fuck her roughly. "Already this wet just from being manhandled. You're pathetic."

"Yes! Yes I am!" She rocks her hips, trying to take your fingers deeper. "I'm a pathetic slut who gets off on stealing other women's men. Punish me for it!"

You curl your fingers to hit her g-spot while your thumb circles her clit. But you keep the pressure light, teasing rather than satisfying. She whines in frustration, trying to grind against your hand.

"Please daddy, I need more!" she begs. "Stop teasing me!"

"Shut the fuck up," you snap, shoving three fingers into her mouth. She immediately starts sucking on them obscenely, her tongue swirling around the digits. "That's all your mouth is good for - being stuffed full."

You continue fingering her pussy torturously slow, bringing her close to orgasm before backing off. Her whole body trembles with need, hips bucking desperately. Wet sounds fill the room as you pump your fingers in and out of her dripping cunt.

"Look at you, so desperate to cum on my fingers," you taunt. "Such a needy little whore. I bet you touch yourself thinking about me fucking you like this while I'm in bed with Minji."

She moans around your fingers in her mouth, nodding eagerly. The admission makes your cock throb with anger and arousal. You withdraw your fingers from her mouth and pussy, making her whine at the loss.

"You want my cock, slut? Beg for it." You start undressing, watching her squirm on the bed.

"Please daddy, I need your big cock inside me! Need you to fuck me hard and rough, the way you can't fuck her. Want you to take out all your anger on my tight little pussy. Please please please!"

Once naked, you grab her hair and yank her head up. "First you're going to choke on it." You slap your hard cock against her face. "Open wide, whore."

She parts her lips eagerly and you waste no time shoving your cock down her throat. She gags and chokes but takes it like the experienced cocksucker she is. Tears stream down her face as you fuck her mouth brutally.

"This is what you deserve," you growl, watching your cock disappear between her stretched lips over and over. "Being used like the worthless cocksleeve you are."

Ningning moans around your shaft, clearly loving the degradation. Her tongue works the underside of your cock as you thrust, adding to the pleasure despite your anger. Spit and pre-cum dribble down her chin.

You pull out of her mouth, a string of saliva connecting your cock to her swollen lips. She gasps for air, face flushed and makeup smeared. "Thank you daddy," she pants. "Love choking on your big cock."

"Shut up," you snap, roughly flipping her onto her stomach. You grab her hips and pull them up, leaving her face pressed into the mattress with her ass in the air. The position strains her cuffed wrists but you don't care.

You tear her ruined thong off completely and spread her ass cheeks, exposing both her holes. Her pussy is absolutely drenched, cream coating her inner thighs. You slap her ass hard, leaving a red handprint.

"Look how wet you are, you fucking slut," you growl, running your fingers through her slick folds. "Getting off on being treated like garbage. Pathetic."

"Yes daddy, I'm pathetic! Please fuck this pathetic whore's pussy!" She pushes her hips back, trying to entice you.

You line your cock up with her entrance and thrust in balls deep in one brutal stroke. She screams into the mattress, her pussy clenching around your shaft. The wet heat of her cunt feels incredible.

"Fuck, your pussy is so tight," you grunt, starting to pound into her roughly. "Too bad it's attached to such a worthless excuse for a woman."

"Yes! Use my tight pussy!" she moans. "Fuck me harder daddy! Show me what a worthless whore I am!"

You grab her hair and pull her head back sharply as you continue drilling her pussy. The new angle lets you hit even deeper, making her whole body shake with each thrust.

"Is this what you wanted so much?" you growl in her ear. "To be fucked like the dirty slut you are? To have your pussy destroyed by another woman's man?"

"God yes! Love being your dirty little secret!" She pushes back to meet your thrusts. "I bet her fragile little heart couldn't handle those dirty words!"

You release her hair, letting her face fall back to the mattress. Your hands grip her hips bruisingly tight as you absolutely rail her pussy. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, along with her muffled moans and your grunts.

Her pussy gets wetter and wetter, cream coating your cock and balls. The obscene squelching sounds only fuel your anger - she's getting off so hard on being used like this.

You bring your hand down hard on her ass again and again, turning the flesh bright red. Each spank makes her clench around your cock as she cries out in pain and pleasure.

"Fucking whore," you pant as you pound her. "Taking my cock so well. Such a good little cumdump."

"Yes! I'm your whore! I belong to you. Your cumdump!" she babbles into the sheets. "Use me daddy! Wreck my pussy!"

You can feel her getting close, her walls fluttering around your shaft. But you're not ready to let her cum yet. You pull out suddenly, making her whine in protest.

"No! Please don't stop!" she begs. "I was so close!"

"Shut up," you snap, flipping her onto her back again. You grab her legs and push them up toward her chest, folding her nearly in half. "Remember this: you don't belong to me… And I'm not done using you yet."

You slam back into her pussy, somehow going even deeper in this position. She screams in pleasure as you resume fucking her brutally. Her tits bounce with each thrust, nipples still red and swollen from your earlier abuse.

"Look at you, taking my cock like a proper whore," you growl. "This is all you're good for - being a set of holes for me to fuck."

"Yes daddy! That's all I am!" She's nearly sobbing with pleasure now. "Just holes for you to use! Please don't stop!"

Your pace becomes punishing, hips snapping against her with bruising force. The headboard slams rhythmically against the wall as you pound her pussy. Sweat drips down your chest from the exertion.

"Gonna cum soon," she moans. "Please daddy, can I cum on your cock? Need it so bad!"

You wrap a hand around her throat, squeezing just enough to restrict her breathing. "You have to be a good girl if you want to cum."

The choking seems to drive her wild. Her pussy clenches around you even tighter as she gasps for air. You can feel her whole body trembling on the edge of orgasm.

"Please!" she begs when you ease the pressure on her throat. "Please let me cum daddy! I'll do anything!"

"Anything?" You slow your thrusts, making her whimper. "Even leave me and Minji alone?"

"N-no," she admits. "Can't give you up daddy. Need your cock too much."

You squeeze her throat again, harder this time. "Wrong answer, whore." You start pounding her pussy mercilessly, your own orgasm building.

"Sorry daddy!" she chokes out. "Please don't stop! Need to cum so bad!" The wet sounds of skin slapping skin filled the room along with her moans and whimpers. You could feel her getting close, walls fluttering around your cock. "Yes, yes yes! Gonna cum so hard for you!"

You keep the punishing rhythm, watching her writhe and arch closer to her peak. Her pussy drips, coating your cock in her arousal.

"That's it, Daddy, make me cum! I want to feel you fill me up when I do!"

But you have other plans. Just as her breathing hitches, her walls starting to spasm, you pull out completely. She cries out in frustrated protest.

"No! Please! I'm so close!"

You stroke your cock over her heaving body. "You don't deserve to cum, you manipulative bitch."

"Please! I need it! Need to feel you cum inside me!"

You aim your cock at her tits as your own orgasm builds. "The only thing you deserve is to be covered in my cum like the worthless slut you are."

She’s shaking, chest rising and falling as she watches, helpless. “No,” she whimpers, hips arching toward you, hands struggling against the cuffs. “Put it back in, Daddy, I need it-I need to cum- Cum with me, plea-” With a grunt, you explode over her perfect tits and stomach, thick ropes of cum painting her skin. She huffs in anger and frustration.

"You bastard! You ruined it on purpose!"

You get out of bed, satisfied with her denied pleasure. "I told you this was the last time. We're done."

She lies there panting, hands still cuffed above her head, covered in your seed. Her pussy is red and swollen from the rough fucking, cream still leaking out.

You unlock the handcuffs and start getting dressed without looking at her. The post-orgasm clarity brings the guilt crashing back full force.

You’re halfway into your shirt when her voice cuts through the room, honey-sweet and venomous.

"One week left." She leans back against the bed, crossing her arms with a satisfied smirk. "After that, I'm sending Minji a nice little video collection of us. And until then, you'll be here every night, and no more pranks on me!"

Your hands freeze mid-button, blood chilling. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Her eyes glint, sharp and dangerous. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve been recording us. Why do you think I encouraged you to drink over and over again until you forgot your name?” She lets it sink in, enjoying every second you look at her like she’s lost her mind. “I’m not stupid, and I know you’ll try to crawl back to her. And knowing her, after so much crying, she might even give you another chance. But with some beautiful visual proof of how much you were loving cheating on her, she'll hardly forgive you. Not when she watches you cum in my pussy while I scream your name.”

The anger bubbling up feels like fire beneath your skin. “You’ve been recording us without telling me? You’re out of your fucking mind, Ning!”

“Oh, I’m the crazy one?” she sneers, voice dripping with mock innocence. “And what about you? Lying to Minji, sneaking around to fuck me late at night?” She steps closer, all her rage and bitterness on full display now. “Don’t act like you’re some victim. You wanted this. Now it’s gonna cost you.”

Your hands ball into fists, trying to keep your voice steady. “This is insane. You really think blackmail’s gonna make me stay?”

“I just want her to know the truth,” she laughs, almost sweetly. “I want her to see what kind of man she’s clinging to. I want her to see you for the liar you are. And maybe - just maybe - she’ll finally understand what it’s like to lose something she thought she owned.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you spit. “Minji never stole anything from you.”

She’s inches from you now, voice low and seething. “She stole everything,” she snaps, voice shaking with rage she’s clearly been holding back. “She was always the pretty one, the smart one, the good girl. The one everyone wanted to be around. And every time, people just forget about me.”

“That’s all in your head,” you say, shaking your head, voice cold. “Minji would never hurt you on purpose.”

“Please.” She snorts, a nasty smile twisting her lips. “She plays the innocent act so well, doesn’t she? Sweet Minji! Everyone’s favorite! But the second you walked into her life, she had to have you. Didn’t care that I liked you first!”

You laugh bitterly, stepping back. “You’re delusional.”

“Say what you want. You know I’m right.” She shrugs, looking at you like you’re a bug under her shoe. “Minji needs to learn what it feels like to be humiliated. And if you don’t break things off, she’s gonna get a front-row seat.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “This is all about you. About your fucking ego. You don’t give a damn about me or what happens to her.”

“Believe whatever makes you sleep at night.” She gives you a saccharine smile. “One week. I want you here tomorrow at this same time. And I think you better make me have at least four orgasms to make up for the anger you made me feel tonight... Now get the fuck out of here - I need to make myself cum!”

—

The next few days are exactly the same. You can barely eat or focus at work. You just don't sleep anymore. Minji notices something is wrong but you brush off her concerns, saying you're just stressed about a project.

Ningning keeps showing up at your apartment unannounced, finding excuses to touch you and whisper dirty things when Minji isn't looking. And at night? Well, there you are, in Ningning's room, fulfilling her whims, helpless and at the mercy of a maniac girl. During these days you couldn't find a way to tell Minji the truth. You know it will be the end of your relationship. Damn, you know this will destroy her, and there's no way this ends well, but even so, you keep putting off the truth... Suffering for the inevitable.

You feel like you're going insane.

Finally, the deadline arrives. You're sitting on the couch with Minji when her phone chimes with multiple notifications. "Why the hell is Ning sending me so many messages?” she asks with a chuckle, glancing at her phone's locked screen, showing only the number of messages and the sender. Your heart stops - you know what Ningning has sent.

"Wait," you grab Minji's wrist before she can check the messages. "I need to tell you something first."

She looks at you with concern. "What's wrong? You've been acting so strange lately."

You take a deep breath, knowing these next words will shatter her world. "I... I've been sleeping with Ning."

The color drains from Minji's face. "What?"

"It started when you were away. I was drunk and upset after our fight, and she was there..." You try to explain but the words sound hollow even to your own ears.

"How long?" Minji whispers, tears filling her eyes.

"A month. It... it kept happening. She threatened to tell you if I didn't leave you for her. I'm so sorry, Minji. I never meant-"

"My best friend?" she cuts you off, voice breaking. "How could you do this to me? Both of you?"

Her phone continues to buzz as Ningning sends video after video. Minji's hands tremble as she unlocks her phone and begins scrolling through the videos and photos.

“Babe, don't look…”

"How could you?" she asks, her voice breaking. "With my best friend? In our bed?"

"Minji, I'm so sorry," you start, but she cuts you off with a slap across your face.

"Don't!" she screams, stumbling backward. She throws her phone at the couch with such force that it bounces and falls to the floor. "Don't you dare apologize! When did this start?"

"Three days after you traveled," you admit, your cheek stinging. "It just happened, and then-"

"It just happened?" she laughs hysterically. "What, you just accidentally fell into her pussy? Multiple times?"

She picks up the phone from the floor, scrolling through more of the photos Ningning is still sending. "Oh my god, the kitchen counter? Where I make breakfast every morning? Our fucking couch?"

Her breathing becomes erratic, and she clutches her chest. You step forward in concern, but she holds up a hand to stop you.

"Don't touch me," she gasps. "I can't... I can't breathe…”

She stands up shakily, pressing a hand to her chest. Her breathing becomes labored and her face contorts in pain.

"Minji?" Panic grips you as she suddenly collapses. You catch her before she hits the ground, frantically calling her name as you dial the emergency number.

The next hours are a nightmare of hospital corridors and worried doctors. Minji's parents arrive and bar you from her room, though you can hardly blame them.

—

Days pass in a haze of guilt and worry. You call the hospital constantly for updates, but they won't tell you anything since you're not family.

Finally, after a week, you get a text from Minji herself.

"You can come see me. Room 412."

Your hands shake as you drive to the hospital. When you reach her room, you almost turn back, but you force yourself to knock.

"Come in," her voice calls weakly.

She's propped up in the hospital bed, looking small and pale against the white sheets. There are monitors beeping steadily beside her, IV lines running into her arm. The sight breaks your heart.

"Hi," you say softly, hovering by the door.

"Sit," she indicates the chair beside her bed. When you do, she studies your face for a long moment. "You look terrible."

"I haven't been sleeping." You lean forward, elbows on your knees. "Minji, I am so, so sorry-"

"Stop." She holds up a hand, just like before. "I don't want your apologies right now. I want answers."

You nod, prepared to tell her everything.

"Why?" she asks first. "Did I do something that ended up hurting you?"

“This has nothing to do with you," you admit. "I take full blame. Ning came to visit me as you asked, I was drunk, lonely and sad. She kissed me and I... I didn't stop her."

“If I'd called earlier and said I was sorry for the fight, would it have changed anything?”

“Minji, this-”

“Answer me with yes or no!” she exclaims and soon begins to cough.

“... Maybe. But it's absolutely not your fault."

“How many times did you fuck her?”

"It happened maybe... Twelve or thirteen times." Each admission feels like ripping open a wound. "She would come over, saying she missed me, and then..."

"And then you'd fuck her," Minji finishes flatly. "In our home. In our bed. While I was thousands of miles away, sick and missing you."

"Yes." There's nothing else to say.

"Did you think about me? When you were inside her, did you think about how this would destroy me?"

"I tried not to think at all," you whisper. "I knew it was wrong, but she kept coming back, threatening to tell you if I didn't keep seeing her."

“Let me see the messages.”

You hand her your phone and everything is there, from the first threatening messages to the most recent ones, the nudes, the multiple missed calls early in the morning, the promises… There was a certain obsession in it all, which made Minji feel bad, returning the phone to you in disgust.

"So you were protecting me, huh?" Minji laughs bitterly. "How noble of you."

"No, I was being a coward," you admit. "I was weak and selfish and I destroyed the best thing in my life because I couldn't keep my dick in my pants."

She flinches at your crude words but doesn't disagree.

"Do you love her?"

"No," you say immediately. "God no, Minji. I love you. Only you! What happened with Ning was just sex, just a horrible mistake that I would give anything to take back."

"But you can't take it back," she says quietly. "You can't undo what you did to me, to us."

Tears start falling down your face. "I know. But please, please give me a chance to make it right. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" She looks at you with those dark eyes that used to hold so much love. Now they're full of pain and disappointment. "Would you get on your knees right now and beg?"

Without hesitation, you slide out of the chair onto your knees beside her bed. "Yes. I'll beg, I'll crawl, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make this up to you if you'll let me."

"I heard that conversation of yours," she says suddenly. “When you were talking to your mother on the phone about marrying me."

Your heart stops. You were planning to buy an engagement ring next year.

"I would be so happy," she continues, voice breaking. "I spent that whole month dreaming about our wedding, our future together. And the whole time, you were fucking my best friend in our bed."

"I'm sorry," you sob, grabbing her hand. "I'm so sorry, Minji. Please don't give up on us. Please give me one more chance."

She lets you hold her hand for a moment before pulling away. "I need time," she says finally. "When I get out of here, I don't want you at the apartment. I need space to think."

"Of course," you agree quickly. "Whatever you need. I'll stay with a friend."

"I'm not promising anything," she warns. "I don't know if I can ever trust you again. But... I still love you. God help me, I still love you."

"I love you too, baby," you whisper. "More than anything. I'll wait as long as it takes."

She nods, then closes her eyes. "I don't want you to call me baby. It's disgusting now... I'm getting tired. You should go."

You stand reluctantly, wanting to say more but respecting her wishes. At the door, you turn back.

"Minji? What about Ning?"

Her face hardens. "She was here a few hours ago. We had a private conversation about our friendship. Things that only concern the two of us. Of course, I never want to see her again."

You nod and leave, hope and despair warring in your chest.

—

Outside, the air feels harsh, almost judging, as if the world itself knows what you’ve done.

In the parking lot you see her: Ningning, draped across the hood of your car, wearing a tight red dress that seems inappropriate for a hospital visit. She flashes that sly, knowing grin, like she’s already the winner, already got you tangled in her web.

“Took you long enough,” she purrs, reaching for you, fingertips grazing your chest. “Now we don’t have to hide.”

You step back, swatting her hand away. “No. This isn’t happening anymore. We’re done.”

She laughs, a low, dark sound that echoes in the empty parking lot. “Oh, come on. Are you really going to give up on us just because you had a sad little chat with her?” Her eyes flash with that dangerous mix of pride and amusement. “I know it must have been hard. But now we can be happy together...”

“It was a mistake,” you say, cold. “I betrayed her for what? A few nights of-”

“Of what? Say it,” she cuts you off, stepping closer. “Of something you couldn’t resist? Or are you too much of a coward to admit it? We both know you wanted this as much as I did. You loved every second of it.”

“I don’t want it anymore. Don’t want you anymore.”

She laughs again. “You’re a goddamn hypocrite. You want to play the martyr now, pretend you’re a good guy?” She leans in, her face inches from yours, breath hot on your skin. “Please, you’re still that same bastard who kept crawling back for more. Don’t act like you’re suddenly above it.”

Her words make you want to flinch, but you stand your ground, hands clenched tight. “Maybe I was. But I’m done now. I don’t need you. I need to fix what I broke.”

“Wow, So is she willing to give you another chance? Okay, quite predictable. But you know why she didn’t yell, why she didn’t throw shit at you in there? Because she fucking knows she deserved it,” Ningning starts, her expression is kind of scary, as if she knows all the secrets of the world. “Yeah, she sat there, looking all wounded and pure, but don’t let that act fool you. She knew. She’s known all along, even if she’ll never say it out loud.”

You try to interject, but Ningning cuts you off, her voice rising, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Don’t give me that look! I'm not crazy! I saw it in her eyes when I walked in. That flicker of guilt, like she’s been caught, like she’s thinking, ‘Maybe I had this coming.’ Because guess what? She fucking did. She knew I loved you first. I’ve loved you since before she even knew your fucking name.”

She takes a step closer, jabbing a finger at your chest. “Do you know what it was like? Watching her swoop in with her sweet little smile, acting like she was all innocent and shy, when really, she was stealing what was mine? And I said nothing. I stood back, swallowed it, because, what, I was supposed to be the bigger person? Fuck that! She knew how I felt, and she still went for it. And she got you. She fucking won.”

Ningning’s voice cracks, but she pushes through. “And don’t think for a second she’s blameless. She played her part in this. She played you, she played me, and now she’s sitting up there in that hospital bed, acting like she’s some goddamn victim. But deep down, she knows. She knows she took something she never had a right to. And now? Now, she’s paying for it.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, and she exhales, running a hand through her hair like she’s trying to keep herself from spiraling further. “But the difference between me and her? I fucking own it. I wanted you, and I took you. I don’t hide behind some bullshit innocence or play the martyr. I go for what I want, and yeah, maybe that makes me the bad guy, but at least I’m honest about it.”

She gives you one last look, as if she's hoping that now you finally understand everything, her voice dropping, quieter now, but no less cutting. “She won’t admit it, but she knows. She deserved every second of this. But you know Minji. She’d rather die than let you see that, let you think for one second that she’s anything less than perfect.”

"You need help, Ning, you've created a whole fantasy in your head. Do you think you're that special to make Minji plot against you like this?”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Unbelievable. You’re pathetic. How can you be so blind and not see the truth? I'm trying to help you make the right fucking choice.” She spits the words at you like daggers. “You and I… we’re the same, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You shake your head, ignoring the pang her words bring. “We’re not the same, Ning. Not anymore.”

“You think you can just walk away from this? From me?”

“Watch me,” you mutter, yanking the car door open. The finality in your voice is ironclad, leaving no room for argument.

“You’ll be back,” she hisses. “You'll miss me when you realize who Minji really is. But then it'll be too late...”

But you don’t look at her as you drive off, leaving her alone in the parking lot.

And that was the last time you saw her.

—

Two months pass slowly. You move in with your friend, throwing yourself into work to avoid thinking about the mess you've made of your life. Ningning continues to send threatening messages, until you finally block her for good.

Finally, one rainy evening, your phone rings. It's Minji.

"Can we meet?" she asks without preamble. "Tomorrow at the café where we had our first date?"

Your heart races. "Yes, of course. What time?"

"Noon," she says, then hangs up.

You barely sleep that night, alternating between hope and dread. When you arrive at the café the next day, you're thirty minutes early. You order her favorite drink - vanilla latte with an extra shot - and wait.

She arrives exactly at noon, looking beautiful in a simple sundress. Your breath catches at the sight of her. She's gained back the weight she lost in the hospital, her cheeks rosy with health.

"Hi," she says, sliding into the seat across from you.

"Hi," you respond, pushing her coffee towards her. "I got your usual."

A small smile flickers across her face. "You remembered."

"I remember everything about you," you say softly.

She takes a sip of coffee, gathering her thoughts. "I've been doing a lot of thinking these past two months," she begins. "About us, about what happened, about what I want."

You wait, hardly breathing.

"I'm still angry," she continues. "I'm still hurt. What you did... it broke something in me that might never fully heal."

"I know," you whisper. "I hate myself for hurting you."

"But I've realized something," she says, meeting your eyes. "I don't want to hate you. I don't want to let what happened destroy all the good memories we have, all the love we shared."

"What are you saying...?"

"I'm saying... I think I can forgive you. Not completely, not yet. But I want to try."

Tears fill your eyes. "Really?"

"But," she holds up a hand, "there have to be conditions. First, we start as friends only. No romance, no sex, no pressure. We need to rebuild trust before anything else. If it doesn't feel right, then you'll disappear from my life."

You nod eagerly. "Of course. I'll do whatever you want, all at your own pace."

"Second, complete honesty from now on. About everything. One more lie and we're done forever."

"Absolutely," you agree. "I promise."

"And third," her voice hardens, "Ning is out of our lives completely. I'm sure she's still trying to contact you."

You pull out your phone and show her how you've blocked Ningning's number. "Already done. I haven't spoken to her since the hospital. She was waiting for me in the parking lot, thinking that suddenly we would be together."

Minji nods, satisfied. "She tried to convince me that you two were in love."

"What did you say?"

"I told her I saw the messages she sent you, threatening to tell me if you didn't keep sleeping with her." Minji's voice is cold. "She's not innocent. You're both guilty. But you told me you don't love her... Guess I can believe that for now. Oh, and after her mask fell off, I managed to convince her to delete all the videos she had recorded. I think the sight of me in a hospital bed touched her a little bit. No need to thank me."

You hang your head, shame burning through you.

"And," Minji continues, "you told me the truth before she could expose you. That counts for something, I guess."

"I should have told you sooner," you admit. "I was just so scared of losing you."

"And you almost did," she says quietly. "My heart literally couldn't take it."

You reach across the table, hesitantly taking her hand. When she doesn't pull away, you squeeze gently.

"I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you," you promise. "If you'll let me."

She looks at your joined hands for a long moment. "We'll see," she says finally. "One day at a time."

You spend the next hour talking - really talking - about everything that happened. She tells you how betrayed she felt, how the thought of you with Ningning still makes her physically ill. You tell her about the guilt that's been eating you alive, the sleepless nights spent hating yourself.

“I was looking at some wedding rings during my trip, just dreaming…” she says suddenly, catching you off-guard. “I was so happy, you know? Because I thought… I thought I’d found the one I wanted.” Her voice cracks, and she swallows, steadying herself.

The words sink deep, and your chest tightens. “Maybe someday… if we get there again, I’ll buy you the most beautiful ring in the world.”

She gives you a small smile. "One day at a time, remember?"

When it's time to leave, you walk her to her car. Before she gets in, she turns to you.

"I'm having dinner with my parents tomorrow night," she says. "Would you like to come?"

Your heart leaps. Her parents have refused to speak to you since the hospital. "Are you sure?"

She nods. "They need to see that I'm choosing to try again with you. It won't be easy - they hate you right now. But if we're going to move forward, they need to accept it."

"I'll be there," you promise. "Thank you, Minji. For giving me another chance."

She reaches up and touches your face softly - the first intimate contact she's initiated in two months.

"Don't make me regret it," she whispers, then gets in her car and drives away.

You watch until her car disappears around the corner, hope filling your chest for the first time in months. You know the road ahead will be difficult. Trust, once broken, is hard to rebuild. But you'll do whatever it takes to prove to Minji that her faith in you isn't misplaced.

Your phone buzzes - a text from an unknown number.

"Everything I did, I did for you," the message reads. "Hope you are happy with your choice. Don't say I didn't warn you."

You delete the message without responding and block the new number.

She'll have to give up at some point.

The only person you belong to now is Minji - if she'll have you.

As you walk to your car, you start planning how to win back not just Minji's trust, but her heart. It won't be easy, but nothing worth having ever is. And Minji is worth everything.

[harmonyrae]

Vow - Part 2

Synopsis: You're marrying the leader of Onychinus, of course your life is going to change. Did you expect for this man to occupy your every thought? No, but you're not complaining. All it takes is one brutal reminder of what he's capable of to potentially ruin what you've been building. But only if you let it.

AN: So we might have 4 parts for this one guys... The plot is heavy and I'm in too deep. I hope you find it interesting! Cover images from Pinterest. 

Content Warnings: I swear the smut is coming soon but omg the build up is so good… Explicit language & sexual themes, alcohol consumption, vehicle accidents, serious injuries, blood, violence & death, medical terms/procedures described, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 17.1k (oh boy it's a long one)

Part One

The frigid wind threatens to ruin Veronica’s hard work as a gust sweeps through your curls. You tighten your grip on the coat wrapped around your shoulders as Sylus guides you to his Escalade parked in front of the hotel. His hand on the small of your back, steadying you as you climb into the car. 

He closes the door and pauses to talk to Tanya, who had insisted on walking you both out. He holds her hand and you hear her muffled voice declare, yet again, that you and Sylus are “the most beautiful match.”  You can’t help but smile at the compliment, she’s not wrong. 

Sylus in his sleek black suit with a crisp white dress shirt and you in an elegant gown, your hair curled and pinned to cascade over your shoulders in soft waves. You looked like a couple. There’s a natural physical chemistry and it’ll certainly help sell the marriage. 

Sylus climbs in the car and pauses. You look over to see him staring at you. 

“You okay?” He nods, but his usual smile is missing.

“I want to make sure you still want to go through with this.”

You surprise yourself as you reach for his hand. His thumb mindlessly strokes your fingers once again. 

“You’re not forcing me into anything, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

His smile slowly reappears and he kisses your hand. He releases you just long enough to turn on the car before offering his hand again. You’re about to marry this man and you’re sitting here wondering if you’re ready for the hand-holding stage? 

You take his hand and he laces his fingers with yours. 

“We have a wedding to get to.”

The drive to the courthouse is a short one, so Sylus wastes no time reviewing what you told your parents about him. You also tell him about their work overseas, making sure he knows enough about them to signify a lengthy dating relationship. 

“I’ll follow your lead, sweetie.”

You stare straight ahead at the courthouse looming in the distance. You watch people walking down the busy city streets, blissfully unaware of the life-changing event you’re about to go through. Before you know it, Sylus is exchanging pleasantries with the parking attendant and finding a space. He turns off the car and leans back.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He helps you out of the car and places your hand over his arm, keeping you close. The warm air of the courthouse is a welcome reprieve. The vaulted ceilings and vintage paintings age the building significantly, making the monitors and holographic displays look intensely out of place. 

“Oh my goodness, there she is!”

You hear your mothers voice before you see her. Your grip on Sylus’s arms tightens and he chuckles, the sound oddly comforting.

“Look at you! Oh!”

Your mother rushes to you with her arms spread wide. You look over her shoulder to see your father standing next to Zayne and Yvonne. Who stares at you, her smile faltering as she looks at the man next to you. She raises a brow and her sweet smile turns into a sly grin. You’re going to get an earful later, you just know it. 

Your mother throws her arms around you.

“You look stunning!”

“I agree.”

Sylus winks at you as your mother turns to give him a once over. She tucks her arm around your waist and pulls you close while she examines your husband-to-be. 

“So you’re Sylus? Hmm…”

“Mom…”

Sylus laughs, his features soft, his voice light.

“I am. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Your mother squints at him, her expression hardening. She leans towards you, but keeps her eyes on Sylus.

“Too many piercings. And his hair, it’s… too long.”

His usual shaggy style was cleaned up for the occasion, but compared to Zayne and your father, his hair was certainly untraditional. Your mother has always had high standards for any man you spend any time with. Even Greyson, who is in a happy relationship with another woman. She always expected him to be well-dressed and clean-shaven.

“But…”

Just as you’re about to give your mother an earful, she surprises you.

“You’re very polite. And… if you make my baby girl happy… I’ll give you a chance.”

He extends his hand and she takes it, allowing him to press a chaste kiss to her knuckles.

“This is the man who owns a winery? He looks like a punk!”

“Dad!”

Your father walks right up to Sylus and crosses his arms. Zayne stands behind him with his hands in his pockets, he’s failing miserably at hiding a smirk.

“And Zayne tells me you live in the N109 Zone? You intend to have my daughter live there?”

If looks could kill, Zayne would be a bloody lump on the floor with how you’re staring.

“My vineyard is located in the Zone. I value my privacy. The perceived danger keeps me safe.”

You lean closer to Sylus.

“Yeah, you value privacy too, right, Zayne?”

You make sure he sees your eyes trail down his arms. His jaw tenses and he pushes his shoulders back. He opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off.

“You know, with being a doctor, client confidentiality and all that. I mean we all can understand that, right?”

Zayne nods and your father shakes his head.

“That place is too dangerous, what if you get hurt?!”

Sylus covers your hand with his.

“Maintaining my privacy is not my only reason for operating there. I am well-respected in the Zone. I offer jobs to those seeking a fresh start. I also invest in other local businesses, enabling more legal jobs, which means less crime. Neighborhoods are being rebuilt and communities are starting to thrive. So your daughter will be safe, I will make sure of it.”

You’re impressed with Sylus’s, very political, answer. It seems the respect he’s earned in the Zone does not come from violence alone. It seems your father is also impressed, he sighs before extending a hand to Sylus. He shakes Sylus’s hand and gives it a squeeze. 

“As long as she’s safe, you and I won’t have a problem.”

Sylus nods, your father releases him and motions for your mother. 

“We’ll head inside, I want to talk to the judge about these holographic atrocities.”

Sylus chuckles as you watch your parents head for the courtroom. Yvonne rushes over, completely oblivious to the rising tension between your brother and betrothed. 

“Hi! I’m Yvonne, best friend, fellow resident, and I guess now former roommate! Speaking of, did you send those movers or are we getting robbed right now?”

“Wait, what?!”

Sylus pats your hand and grins.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yvonne. And yes, I sent them. Thought it’d be best to send them today so you can relax undisturbed tomorrow. I apologize for not reaching out directly.”

“Oh! That’s… actually really sweet of you! Greyson and I rarely do big events on the weekends, so we’ll be out cold tomorrow!”

She lunges forward and pulls you into one of her warm bear hugs. 

“You look amazing. I’m so happy for you hun!”

She tilts her head to whisper in your ear.

“And we are going to talk about where you met this delicious man later, okay?”

You sigh and she breaks the hug. She squeezes your shoulders before turning to Sylus.

“As the best friend, I am obligated to warn you that if you hurt her I will fuck you up.”

“Evie!”

She turns quickly, her chestnut curls swoosh through the air behind her and bounce with every step as she walks away. You love Yvonne, but she is the least scary person you know. 

“I wouldn’t take her threat lightly. A doctor would know how to make your death instantaneous or agonizingly slow.”

Your eyes flick up to see Zayne staring pointedly at Sylus. He takes a step closer and lifts one of his hands, tapping the side of his own neck.

“Just one strike to your spinal cord between C1 and C2 and you’ll die rather quickly. But a cut through the carotid artery, well, you’ll drown in your own blood.”

Your entire body tenses, you can’t even clear your throat or take a deep breath. Zayne has never been a violent man, he’s spent his life terrified of his own evol and how he might accidentally hurt someone. And now…

“Are you threatening me, Zayne?”

“Yes.” 

He doesn’t even hesitate to answer. You bite your lip, unsure of what to say. You look between Sylus and Zayne, trying to come up with the right words.

“That’s why I like you.”

You blink, Sylus appreciates Zayne’s threat? What the fuck is going on? Before you can ask, you feel Zayne’s lips on your cheek. 

“You’re sure about this?”

You look up at him, his eyes searching yours.

“I am.”

He nods and gives Sylus one last look before turning to enter the courtroom. 

“Boss!”

You jump at the sudden noise behind you. When you look over your shoulder you see two men in dark suits, both wearing masks with what look like beaks, running towards you. They stop right behind Sylus and he turns to look at them directly.

“We got ‘em!” 

One of the men holds out two small boxes. Sylus takes them and points to their faces.

“Masks.”

“But…”

“Masks.”

Sylus repeats himself, with a firmness to his voice that even makes you straighten up. The men take off the masks and hook them on their belts. They’re attractive young men, sandy ginger hair, freckles, but their eyes… They look like they’ve seen too much in their short lives. One of them has a faint scar down his face and neck, the skin surrounding it discolored as if the cause of the original wound was something unnatural. 

“This is Luke and Kieran.”

“Oh, the twins! Right. Hi.”

Their faces light up and they both bow, rather dramatically.  

“Sylus says you’re like family to him so –”

“Boss said that?!”

The one with the scar nearly shouts, both men smiling from ear to ear. 

“Kieran, volume.” 

So Kieran is the one with the scar, making the other - the one with deep dimples - Luke. 

“We’ll be inside in a moment.”

They rush past, both snickering and swatting each other as they enter the courtroom.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you kept that a secret.”

“They know, I just… I don’t make a habit of saying it.”

He hands you one of the small boxes Luke and Kieran delivered. 

“Open it.”

You carefully open the box and see a ring with a thick silver band with a square cut black gem. Small diamonds line the sides framing the large gem. When you look up you see Sylus holding open the other box, a smaller ring sits inside, but the matching gem is anything but small. The ring has a delicate silver band with teardrop diamonds surrounding the matching black gem. You stare at the ring, then up at Sylus, then back at the ring.

“Exchanging rings is a common tradition, even at courthouse ceremonies.”

“Y-yes, but… Sylus this is… it’s…”

“Gorgeous? Dazzling? Incredible? Say anything other than ‘too much.’” 

You close your mouth and look down at the set of rings. 

“I love them. Thank you.”

His smile widens and your cheeks flush as he steps closer.

“We’ll have to kiss, are you okay with that?”

If your cheeks were flushed before, they’re absolutely burning now. Keeping your eyes focused on his chest you nod.

“Then let’s go.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and leads you to the courtroom. He pauses before pushing the door open, both of you taking a deep breath in tandem. What you’re doing for the sake of security would be considered insane by most, but to you, this feels… right. As the doors open, your plans fade to a distant memory, a new future awaits. 

The judge looks up from his paperwork, his wrinkles deepen as he smiles at you and Sylus walking up to him. Your mother and father stand to the side, Zayne and Yvonne beside them. Your mother’s eyes are misty while your father’s jaw is tense. Luke and Kieran stand with their hands behind their backs, chests forward, chins held high. You’re convinced they’d salute if your family weren’t present.

“Judge Harlow, thank you for accepting this appointment so swiftly. I appreciate you.”

Judge Harlow shakes Sylus’s hand before turning his attention to you.

“Anything for you, Mr Sylus. And this is your lovely bride?”

You bow your head and accept his extended hand. He gives it a gentle shake and gestures to the desk behind him. 

“A civil ceremony is rather quick, unless you both would like to exchange vows?”

Sylus looks over at you, he squeezes your hand when he notices your wide eyes.

“We will keep it simple today. Making it official is what matters.”

The judge nods, circling his desk to lay out the paperwork and two pens. He looks at Sylus.

“Do you wish to marry this woman of your own accord?” 

Sylus turns to face you. His thumbs brush over your fingers in calming circles. 

“I do.”

The judge turns to you.

“And do you wish to marry this man of your own accord?”

You stare into Sylus’s eyes and see the unmistakable flicker of worry. Your lips curl into a gentle smile. Your thumbs respond in kind, the tension in his hands vanishing in an instant. 

“I do.”

“Do you have rings you’d like to exchange?”

You both present the boxes Luke and Kieran gave you. Sylus takes your hand and slides the ring on your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. You hold his hand and slowly slide his ring on, watching his face shift from confident to… you’re unsure what to make of his expression now. Something akin to serenity or contentment. 

“By virtue of the authority vested in me as Chief Justice, I now pronounce you married under the Laws of Linkon. I suppose, for the sake of being a tad more traditional, you may now kiss the bride.”

Sylus lifts a hand to caress your cheek, his warm touch makes your heart pound. You’re sure everyone in the room can hear it. As he leans closer, your hands rest on his waist, gripping the fabric of his suit jacket.

“Close your eyes, angel.” He whispers.

You shiver and obey, as his lips touch yours every muscle in your body relaxes. His other hand finds your waist to pull you in. The chill of his lip rings contrast deliciously with the heat of his lips. He hesitates for a moment, letting his lip drag against yours, but you lean forward to seal your lips over his. A quiet sigh escapes him and he smiles into the kiss. Your tongue flicks his lip and he squeezes your hip, he leans back to break the connection. 

“You’re full of surprises aren’t you?” He breathes. 

“All you need to do now is sign on the dotted line.” 

You turn back to the judge and watch as Sylus picks up a pen and hands it to you. He leans over to sign the document on the desk, stepping aside to give you space to do the same. As you stare down at the document you notice your hand trembling. What is this man doing to you? You sign the paper and jump as the judge claps.

“Congratulations, you’re officially married.”

Your mother rushes up to you and wraps her arms around you and Sylus. Once she’s done nearly suffocating you, your father offers his hand to Sylus, giving him a curt nod. Zayne stays a few steps back, allowing his parents to have their moment with you. Yvonne kisses your cheek before skipping over to Luke and Kieran to introduce herself. 

“You’re hosting the reception in a club?!” Your father sneers.

“I own the club, it’s been transformed for the occasion. No expense spared.”

“You own a club?!” Once again, your father looks like he’s about to launch into a lecture.

“The most popular club in the Zone and Linkon. We’re known for our top of the line security.”

Your father deflates, temporarily appeased. Everyone gathers to walk out of the courthouse to the parking garage. You cling to Sylus, your fingers unconsciously tapping against his bicep. He slows down to let the rest file in front, stopping for a moment to help you put on your coat.

“How are you feeling?”

His hands linger on your shoulders and you’re hesitant to turn around. The thoughts spiraling are becoming gradually less appropriate and you have a shit poker face. 

“I’m… okay, I think. Just a lot to take in.”

Sylus turns you around with a gentle touch, his arm looping around your shoulder to hug you close to his side. His warmth seeps through your coat.

“When we get back to the hotel I’ll call up the masseuse, help you relax before the reception.”  

He opens the door to the courthouse and ushers you outside, still holding you close. 

“You don’t have to do that…”

“I do. Or if it’ll make you feel better, I could do the massage myself?”

You laugh. You fucking laugh. Because what else are you supposed to do? You have no idea what to say in response. Frankly, the only responses that come to mind are straight up filthy.

“Then tell me what you need.”

His request catches you off guard, his desire to help you relax eases the tension. You offer him a small smile. 

“Sylus…”

“Sylus!” 

The familiar voice sends chills down your spine. You nearly collapse, if it weren’t for Sylus holding onto you you’re sure you’d be in the fetal position. 

“Antov Volkova. What can I do for you?” Sylus purrs.  

Volkova steps forward, right past your parents and Zayne. You’re thankful Yvonne seems to have left already, but the fact your family appeared to be conversing with this man makes your stomach turn. Volkova is as tall as Sylus, dark brown hair and even darker eyes. He’s unnaturally tan, if he weren’t built like a bull you’d joke about his tanning salon fees. His dark gray suit hugs him tightly, his black dress shirt unbuttoned scandalously low. His signature tiger tattoo is hidden in the low light of the parking garage, but you can see claws disappearing beneath the fabric. He’s an attractive man, square jaw, plump lips, high cheekbones, a well-maintained beard. Perhaps that is why you trusted him. He looks like a proper business man who maybe just likes to workout. If only you’d known his true intentions. 

“I was just stopping by to congratulate the happy couple.” His thick Russian accent muddies the words together, as if he’s speaking in cursive. 

“Well, thank you. We appreciate that.” Sylus is far too calm, it’s almost unsettling.

“I was hoping you had a moment to speak about our latest business deal. It’s rather urgent.”

Right… “business deal” aka you. Sylus nods and gestures for Volkova to follow. You expect him to let you go and tell you to wait with your family, but he keeps his hand on your waist, bringing you along. Volkova steps in line with Sylus.

“A word in private if you don’t mind.”

“I do. Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of my wife.” Fuck, that’s hot. 

Volkova gives him a sideways glare, but doesn’t argue. He crosses his arms and turns his glare to you, you tremble. Sylus notices.

“You think just because you married Sylus you don’t have to pay me back? Is that it?”

“She doesn’t.”

Volkova tenses, refocusing on Sylus. 

“I know you two are not madly in love, too impatient to wait for a proper wedding. Since when do you interfere with business deals that do not concern you?”

“I could ask you the same question, Antov.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You should train your mutts to stay quiet when they’re staking out one of my deals. Did you wonder why they didn’t show up with the intel?”

You can tell Volkova is struggling to maintain his calm demeanor. He glances past you, smiling.

“So you marry a woman who owes me money? And you think that will stop what’s coming?”

“I know it will. She owes you a pretty penny. Without the cash flow you won’t be securing that deal with Lion Pharmaceuticals. Well, you wouldn’t be anyways, I already bought the company and instructed them to drop you as their advisor. Word travels fast, I’m sure other businesses in the Zone will hear and drop you as well. The one thing I won’t touch, because I’m just such a nice guy, is your off-shore accounts. You leave her alone and they stay in your name.”

Volkova steps up to Sylus, nearly chest to chest. You squeeze his hand and he rubs his thumb over yours, sending you a subtle message that he’s not worried. 

“You really want to make this war a messy one, don’t you? For her?” 

Volkova stuffs his hands in his pockets, but not before you notice the strands of white crackling energy floating around them. The air around you hums with static making your skin tingle and hair stand on end. 

“A war would require a true adversary, which you are not.”

Volkova turns suddenly and stalks away, a blacked out SUV pulls up and flashes their lights. Sylus slowly follows, keeping his voice steady. 

“I take it we have an understanding?”

Volkova opens the back door and stops, his hand nearly crushing the metal. He looks over his shoulder with a smirk.

“Of course, Mr Sylus. Completely.”

He climbs in the car and it takes off. You look up at Sylus, who stares at the car speeding away.

“He’s seen my family. Spoken to them. What if he –”

“They’re under my protection.” He interrupts. 

“I… I thought…”

“They’re technically my family now, right? No one’s going to hurt them, you have my word.”

He rubs your shoulders and pulls you into a hug. You close your eyes and breathe him in, his warm amber scent soothing you instantly. 

“Thank you.”

He hums and turns you both around to approach your family once more.

“Everything alright?” Zayne asks, your parents cautiously stepping out from the safety of their car to hear.

“Just a simple misunderstanding, but it couldn’t wait. I apologize.”

You parents exchange a doubtful glance, but don’t press. Zayne, however, crosses his arms in defiance. He leans against his car and keeps his eyes set on you.

“The reception is in a few hours, does anyone need directions?” Sylus’s voice doesn’t waver, his confidence rubs off on your parents and their concern fades. 

“Yes, if you could plug it into the GPS for me?”

“Of course.”

Sylus leans over and gives you a kiss to the temple, leaving you frozen in place. He walks over to your parents car and helps them while you try to remember how to breathe. Zayne approaches and leans down to whisper in your ear.

“What the fuck was Volkova doing here?”

You bristle at his harsh tone, but force a neutral expression in case your parents looked over.

“Threatening us, but Sylus handled it. I’m fine, you’re fine, mom and dad are fine.”

He straightens and rubs the back of his neck. You take advantage of the opportunity and wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. He grunts and sighs, patting your arm in surrender.

“Are you okay? Really?”

“I’m okay. Really.” 

He pulls you into a proper hug before letting you go and turning to his car. 

“I’ll see you tonight.”

You watch him back out and drive away, waving as he passes. Zayne will be okay, his evol is powerful, he’s extremely calculated making him a bit paranoid - which is good when dealing with someone like Volkova. Your parents will be leaving for their third international university tour in a few days, so they’ll be fine. You… you have Sylus. Everything will be… fine…

Veronica grabbed you immediately upon arriving back at the hotel, she helped you remove your wedding dress and slip into a fluffy bathrobe. She made quick work of curling your hair into hot rollers and darkening your makeup to better match your dress. Sylus sat a few feet away, sipping a cocktail. 

“So you’re just going to watch?”

He stands and leans against the vanity table in front of you. Damn him for being so tall, you look up at him and that smile… He offers you his glass and you eagerly take it, downing the rest of his drink. 

“I didn’t take you for a cosmo guy.”

“Only on special occasions.”

“Oh, today’s special?”

“Well, I’m only getting married once.” 

You stare, lips slightly parted, a question on the tip of your tongue. He catches your look of disbelief and returns to the bar cart to make another drink. You watch him through the mirror.

“To tell you the truth, I never planned on getting married.”

You turn around in your seat making Veronica gasp, she grabs your chin and leans over to check her work.

“And yet you suggested this plan? When you never wanted to be married in the first place?”

“I have nothing against the concept of marriage, I just never considered myself…” He hesitates.

“You never considered yourself what? Husband material?” He chuckles, but doesn’t look up.

“What about you? You said it yourself ‘career comes first’ and yet you don’t seem to be hating the role so far.”

“Ahh… the avoidant type, noted.”

“I’m not avoiding… simply, finding common ground. We both had our reasons.”

You look away from him now, letting him slip from the room to change into a matching suit. Oh hell, he got a matching suit? You just picked the dress this morning. Veronica swipes a brush over your nose, bringing your focus back to her.

“You look a little overwhelmed.”

Nodding, she holds your chin and tips your head back to apply a light dusting of blush to your cheeks. She smiles and grabs a lipstick.

“You’re a doctor, right?” You nod again. “Just think of today like a big surgery. You’ve made it through the tough part, but now’s the closing. Complications can still happen at this stage, but there’s less to worry about now.”

“Do you have experience or family in the field? That sounded very… official.”

“I’ve watched every season of Grey’s Anatomy… Twice.”

She finishes touching up your makeup and leads you back into the bedroom to get dressed. The gown you picked this morning had been tailored in just a few short hours to sit perfectly over the swell of your hips. The hem hovers just over the floor so you won’t trip, but seamlessly hides the boot on your foot. Veronica tightens the laces of the corset which makes the skirt cascade over your hips in soft waves. She adjusts the sleeves to sit off your shoulders before sliding your hands into the long black lace gloves. You hold her hand as you slide your uninjured foot into a strappy sandal with a short wedge. 

“Has anyone told you red is your color?”

“No… I’ve always worn blue actually. But…”

“You’re starting to warm up to it?” Sylus opens the door the rest of the way and steps in.

You turn to face him as Veronica removes the hot rollers, winding them around to let the curls fall and bounce. For fucks sake, this man looks good in everything. A matching dark red velvet suit with a black dress shirt, one again unbuttoned to show off his toned chest. Your eyes linger on the sliver of skin and you mentally reprimand yourself for your lack of self-control. However, when you look up, you notice Sylus is completely captivated by the thigh-high slit in your skirt. Your toned leg extended for Veronica to fasten the strap around your ankle. You flex your quad and Sylus’s eyes drop to the floor.

“Distracted?”

“A bit. Is that a problem, angel?”

You don’t hide your smile and he doesn’t hide his. 

“You seem to like that nickname. Seems unfair since I don’t have one for you.”

“What would you like to call me then?”

“Well, Ryūō…” He narrows his eyes. “I could call you Dragon? Or… oh, how about Lil S?”

His laughter fills the room, making you disturbingly proud of yourself. 

“Well…”

“If you’re about to say some cringy shit like ‘there’s nothing lil about me’ we will have a problem.”

He laughs louder as he steps closer to you, he extends his hand and Veronica passes your hand to his. You glare at her and she snickers. 

“It might be cringy, but it’s true.” 

He kisses your knuckle, right above your ring. Your pussy throbs just thinking about his not-so-lil… everything. Get a hold of yourself. Veronica fluffs your hair one last time and gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“Have fun tonight you two.”

The ride to the club was comfortable, Sylus told you more about his club and you maintained enough self-control not to stare at his god-like side-profile. If he wasn’t so pretty, this wouldn’t be such a problem.

“Wait! Ollie!”

Sylus almost swerves when you shout, but regains control effortlessly. He glances over at you with a brow raised.

“Sorry… my cat. Oliver, or Ollie. We didn’t talk about him… and… uhm… Can he…” “That explains Luke and Kieran’s text. Your cat was delivered to the base with the rest of your belongings. The twins have been trying to coax him out of his carrier for the past few hours.”

You turn to look out the window, the sudden urge to cry takes you by surprise. Knowing Ollie can stay with you brings you so much comfort. Just the split second of doubt made you reconsider the whole marriage. You were not giving up the troublesome kitten you found in a dumpster behind a Wendy’s after your first shift at Akso. Absolutely not.”

“Hey…”

Sylus reaches for your hand and you shake your head, looking at the roof of the car to keep tears from falling.

“Sorry, I just… he’s really important to me. I know that probably sounds dumb, I know he’s a cat. He’s just, like, my baby… in a way… god, ignore me.”

Sylus holds onto your hand, making no move to let go.

“It doesn’t sound dumb. Is he friendly?”

“Very. He follows the rule of ‘if I fit, I sit’ religiously. I’ve found him sitting in a Poptart box before. Well, when he was a kitten, now he absolutely could not fit in a Poptart box…”

“He’s a big cat?”

“Maine Coon. His paws are the size of a pear.”

Sylus chuckles, continuing to rub your hand slowly. He turns into the parking lot of his club, which is already relatively packed. He helps you out of the car and guides you to a side entrance. A security guard greets you both with a smile before ushering you inside.

“We’ll greet a few people, have a few drinks, have cake, do our first dance… Nothing wild. Enjoy yourself, you don’t have to stay glued to my side all night unless you want to.”

“Wait… first dance?”

“Another traditional reception event, no?”

“I mean… yes…”

“If you’d rather we didn’t I can –”

“No!” You interject. “I was just surprised. What song did you pick? Aren’t they usually, like, symbolic or something?”

“I picked a classic, simple, elegant. Nothing dramatic.”

“Care to share?” You tilt your head and he just smiles. The security guard opens the door and you’re hit with a wave of fragrant air. You gasp at the sight before you.

“Too much?” Sylus circles in front of you, still holding your hand. 

The club looks nothing like it usually does from the pictures online. Bright neon lighting has been replaced with a warm orange glow, spot lights angled to reflect off of the gem-crested ceiling. Round tables with silk tablecloths circle the dance floor, each topped with a crystal vase with red and black roses. The bar was covered in tall candles and rose petals. Servers and security wear black suits, the bartender in a gorgeous red cocktail dress that shimmers in the candlelight. The DJ stand has been dismantled and replaced with a band, a singer in a black gown sways her hips as she sets the mood with her velvet voice. 

“It’s gorgeous…”

You hold onto Sylus as he leads you further into the club. Guests mingle, sip champagne, some couples dance to the smooth jazz renditions of modern pop songs. Sylus approaches the bar and nods at the bartender who twirls and skips over.

“Boss and Mrs Boss! What can I get for ya?” 

Damn, that’ll take some getting used to. Sylus orders a gin fizz and looks at you. 

“I’ll have a Vodka cranberry.” 

She nods and gets to work. Sylus leans on the bar and watches you.

“What?” You huff.

“You look beautiful.” You blush.

“You said that already. At the hotel, remember?”

“Is there a rule about how many times I can say it?”

That fucking smirk again. Oh the butterflies…

“Sylus!” 

A young man and a tall woman weave through the crowd to reach the bar. As they get closer, you see the woman has a prominent baby bump, her hand rests on her stomach protectively while her other hand clings to her companion.

“Rafayel, didn’t you tell me you couldn’t make it? Something about a babysitter?”

The man, you assume to be this Rafayel, runs a hand through his dark purple waves. He has just as many piercings and tattoos as Sylus. With his sleeves pushed up to his elbows you can clearly see the intricate tattoos of ocean scenes. The woman next to him wears a silky blue dress, cutouts framing her own body art. 

“Talia surprised us. She took the girls for the weekend, which means…” He reaches out and takes a flute of champagne from a passing server. He raises the glass before tipping it back, downing the bubbly in one go. He winces and shivers, Sylus laughs.

“Take it easy Raf, don’t want to get drunk so early in the night. I’m sure Bakeneko would like to remain childfree, not taking care of your drunk ass.”

Rafayel sneers, but the woman laughs. You’re guessing Bakeneko is Sylus’s nickname for her. Does he have nicknames for all the women in his life…? 

“I don’t mind. Raf has had a hell of a week at the studio.”

You exchange pleasantries with her, recognizing her name almost instantly. She’d lived on your street growing up and is one of Zayne’s patients. She wouldn’t recognize you, she moved away before you returned from the hospital. Your white hair was definitely throwing her off. 

“I am surprised you got married, you always said it wasn’t your thing.”

“Rafayel!”

Sylus chuckles and steps closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“What? Are you disappointed I won’t be attending any more of Talia’s parties? You both still go to those, right?”

Rafayel turns bright red, he glares at Sylus as he downs another glass of champagne. He stammers for a moment.

“Fuck you…”

He drags his wife behind him as he turns to walk away, her laughter harmonizes with Sylus’ as they leave. Before you can ask any questions another woman approaches. Her wild curls - which she tried her hardest to pin back - frame her delicate features. The lavender dress makes her dark skin look downright divine. You can’t remember where you’ve seen her before…

“Suz!” Sylus cheers. She smiles and accepts his hug. 

“Sy, congratulations. Seriously, I’m really happy for you. For the both of you.”

She turns to you and extends her arms, she hesitates, pulling back.

“Is it okay if I hug you?”

You’re not sure if you know this woman, but you nod. She embraces you and tilts her head towards your ear. 

“I own Suzaku Repairs on the border of the Zone. I know we usually see each other in our helmets, but it’s nice to put a name to a face for once.”

“Oh my god! Hi!” You tighten your hug.

You’ve only heard her referred to as “The Mechanic” - when your bike needed a fast repair post-race she was there. Her shop was where races usually wrapped up unless police got involved. She always wore her welding helmet and a leather jacket when racers filed in. You’d only ever stayed for a quick tune up, repair or gas refill before speeding off. Sylus had delivered your bike to her the night of the accident. You had called her to get an estimate and, without thinking, gave her your real name. The accident really scrambled your brain, what’s the point of having a code name if you forget to use it. 

“Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. I’ve been looking forward to meeting the genius behind that bike.”

You blink. 

“You built the engine yourself, right?” You nod. “Fuck, that thing is beautiful. And you’re not a mechanic?” You shake your head. “I swear if you say you used YouTube…” 

“Sorry…” 

“No! Don’t be. You did a great job. It’s almost ready for you to pick up. There’s a few parts I didn’t have, but Sylus said he could order them for you.”

Sylus turns around and produces your drink. You eagerly take it and sip, savoring the sharp bite of the Vodka and tart cranberry flavor. His hand settles on your hip and you almost choke on your second sip. 

“I don’t know if you remember, but…” She pauses, looking down to the end of the bar. She tenses and crosses her arms. 

“Uhh… you know what, I’ll catch up with your guys later. Congrats again!” 

She pushes her way through the crowd in the opposite direction. You look to the end of the bar and see Zayne making his way to you. 

“You look amazing.” 

You don’t wait for approval, you throw your arms around Zayne’s neck and pull him into a hug. He smiles against your shoulder. 

“Sylus! Hey!”

Another young man squeezes his way through the crowd. His shaggy blonde hair hangs in his eyes. His crispy white dress shirt is left unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up, for fucks sake is every one of Sylus’s friends heavily tattooed? 

“Xavier, I told you black tie.” 

The man, Xavier, chuckles - his raspy voice follows the same cadence as Sylus, but is much softer. He fiddles with the buttons of his shirt. His hands are covered in tattoos that travel up his arms, his neck tattoo dipping down to his chest and stomach. He looks completely covered, like there’s not an inch left - other than his face. Which has a few piercings, of course, Sylus must be in a club for body modification addicts.

“I don’t own a black tie, Sy. You know that.”

Sylus chuckles and pulls Xavier into a hug. After being released, Xavier steps to the side, to stand directly in front of you. 

“I would say congratulations, but he’s a handful. So… good luck!” 

“Oh fuck off!” Sylus chides. 

“What? You know I’m right.”

Sylus takes a step closer and Xavier feigns fear. 

“Okay, okay - since it’s your wedding, I’ll be nice. Call me Monday, I have the intel you wanted. It was nice to meet you, well… officially.”

“Xavier!” Sylus warns. 

Xavier grins and disappears into the crowd. Finishing your drink, you turn to Sylus and cross your arms. Zayne leans back against the bar, nursing his whiskey, trying to avoid the tension, but listening in at the same time. 

“Xavier maps our races.”

“And?” You push.

“And… he’s a hacker. He may have looked into you for me, just –”

“WHAT?”

“Just to help me prepare for your protection. You don’t just need physical protection, you’ll need cyber protection as well. And he’s the best there is. He didn’t dig too deep, alright?” 

“Where’s the lovely couple?” 

The singer shouts and the crowd hoots and hollers, looking around for you and Sylus. When they spot you, they start clapping and pointing. 

“Ahh, there they are! Come on up here you two, it’s time for your first dance!” 

Sylus holds out his hand and winks. You let him lead you to the dance floor. He positions your arms over his shoulders and slides his hands down over your curves to hold your waist. He tips his head down and nudges your nose with his, prompting you to look up at him.

“Focus on me, sweetie.”

His voice echoes in your mind as the band begins to play. The song is familiar, sweet and slow. When the wispy voice of the singer chimes in you blush and hide your face in his chest. The vibrations of his laughter make you flush hotter.

“I’m a fan of the classics. Elvis always got straight to the point, I like that.” 

He really chose Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis fucking Presley for your first dance. You turn to rest your cheek against his chest, your eyes downcast. He takes small steps, gently swaying. The room darkens and you stumble, he catches you and dips you back just enough to make it look intentional. As you regain your balance, you glance around, the lights are so low you can’t see the crowd of onlookers. There’s a subtle buzzing sound behind you, but before you can turn to look Sylus grabs your chin and brings your attention back to him.

“Remember what you said earlier, before the wedding?”

You squint, his face may be dimly lit but his eyes are glowing. It’s strangely intoxicating, you can’t look away. Your mind works overtime trying to recall what you could have said that he could be referring to now. The buzzing suddenly stops, followed by a deep hiss. Sylus let's go and as you look over your shoulder you see the dance floor slowly being covered in fog. His hot breath tickles your ear as he leans in.

“Looks like we’re on a cloud… just floating.”

You swear your heart skips a beat and you don’t have arrhythmia. He brought the clouds to you. This man you barely know, who married you to protect you, invited you into his world, showered you with luxury and has handled you with such care ever since the night he found you in that ditch. He’s treated you better than any man ever has and he barely knows you. 

Maybe Elvis is right… Maybe falling in love is something you can’t control. 

The sky is turning the lightest shade of pink when Sylus’s car pulls into the parking garage of a massive building at the center of the Zone. You lean your head back on the headrest and pinch the bridge of your nose, the reception was more lively than you expected. Everyone was drinking, dancing and tapping their glasses repeatedly for the happy couple to kiss. After tonight, you’re fairly certain you could draw Sylus’s lips based on memory alone. 

As Sylus’s car winds higher and higher through the levels, you glance over at him. He’d discarded his suit jacket before jumping in the driver seat so his sleeves could be rolled up. His forearm flexes as he turns, his thumb tapping the top of the steering wheel. His profile is backlit from the neon blue lights of the garage. The bump on the ridge of his nose, his long lashes, his lower lip caught between his teeth. You shake your head, alcohol and exhaustion make you extra horny - noted. 

He stops at a booth and waves at the attendant who unlocks the door to a private garage on the top level. He parks the car and jumps out to open your door. Your feet are swollen after spending the night dancing, either with Sylus or Yvonne. The boot on your injured foot was uncomfortably tight and the moment you stepped out of the car you groaned. You cover your mouth, eyes wide with embarrassment. Sylus presses lightly on your shoulder, leaning you back against the car. He crouches and removes the sandal off of your uninjured foot and peels back the velcro of the boot. He slides your foot free and you sigh at the rush of air.

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to – Sylus!”

He picks you up with one arm, holding your boot and sandal in his other hand. Your arms coil around his neck as you hang on. Sylus nods to a man standing in front of the elevator, he stands aside and Sylus enters, an iron gate closed behind him. The elevator ascends and you tap him on the shoulder, he tilts his head back and his eyes widen as you pet his head.

“You can put me down now.”

He shakes his head.

“I intend to carry you over the threshold like a gentleman, angel. And I don’t think you can walk with your ankle swollen like that.”

“Carry me over the threshold? Sylus…”

The doors open before he can respond. When you realize the doors opened directly into an apartment it clicks, of course he owns the penthouse. He carries you through the living area, dark gray walls with shiny black floors, the walls lined with the occasional painting or gun case. The strong scent of leather and firewood drifts through the air, it turns floral as you pass the dining room. A long obsidian table lined with plush red chairs, huge arrangement of what look like red orchids. You pass by a man in a suit carrying a large vase of black dahlia flowers and gasp, you open your mouth but Sylus beats you to it.

“He’s been collecting any flowers that are toxic to cats and replacing them. Those were in my room, Ollie is fine.”

He drops your shoes and swings a set of double doors open. You spot a mountain of boxes stacked in the corner, but besides that, the room looks completely put together. A king size bed with an egregious amount of pillows, floor to ceiling windows, a couch and faux fireplace, a bookcase and large mahogany desk. Two doors sit open along the far wall, one is an empty walk-in closet and the other you assume is a bathroom. 

Sylus sets you down on the edge of the bed and backs up. There’s a low growl from the corner of the room and you look past Sylus to see Ollie hunched in the corner under the desk. 

“Ollie! Baby, come here honey… It’s okay!”

He doesn’t move. Sylus takes a knee and extends his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you Ollie.”

Ollie growls again, but inches forward. His nose lifts into the air, his head bobbing as he sniffs the air. Staying low to the ground he crawls out from under the desk. Sylus doesn’t move and you’re too intrigued to say a word. Ollie twists his body and hunches his back, his ears flattening. Another pitiful growl, he puffs his fur. 

“I can do that too.” Sylus purrs.

He wraps himself in mist, letting it spiral and spin around him. This must be his evol… His eyes glow and he tilts his head, like he’s challenging Ollie. 

“Sylus! You’re scaring him.”

Ollie yowls and bounces sideways towards Sylus. Sylus doesn’t move, he just stares at Ollie. Another low growl and Ollie deflates. You blink. He lowers his head and sniffs, slinking forward until his nose is nearly touching Sylus’s fingers. The energy evaporates, his eyes stop glowing. Ollie chirps and he licks Sylus’s fingers, bumping his nose over each finger before rubbing his head into his palm. 

“See, we can be friends.”

You glare at Sylus. He’s petting Ollie now, who is pacing back and forth, clearly enjoying the attention and pats.

“Did you just have a standoff with my cat?”

“Not a standoff, just a display of power. We’ve reached an understanding.”

“You’re so weird…” 

Sylus chuckles and pats Ollie on the head one last time before standing.

“If you need any additional furniture, just let me know. You’re welcome to explore the house, just don’t try to open the door with the number pad. That’s my armory, it’s probably better if you don’t know what I keep in there.”

“Actually, uhm…” You avoid making eye contact, painfully aware of how awkward you feel.

“I don’t think I can… get out… of this…” You gesture to your dress. 

Sylus sits on the bed beside you and turns your shoulders until you shift your back to him. He removes the bow attached and unravels the knot carefully. As the corset loosens, you cross your arms over your chest to hold the bodice up. His fingers graze the skin of your back and you bite back a moan. You really need to get it together, even Ollie can sense how pitiful you are. Sylus stands and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you.” You mutter. 

“Of course. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight… wife.” 

You scoff and give him a playful smile. 

“Goodnight, husband.”

He closes the door behind him and you limp your way into the closet. Thankfully, the boxes are labelled and you find your pajamas quickly. Ripping open the box, you grab a pair of slippers, sweatpants and a tank top. You quickly change and limp over to the mountain of boxes, finding one labelled “medical stuff” - sure enough, your ankle brace is right on top. Slipping it on, you shove your feet into your slippers and head into the bathroom.

The bathroom is twice as big as your bedroom. A massive walk-in shower, a tub you could consider a small pool, a separate room for the toilet, a… sauna… okay… Next to the boxes with your bathroom necessities, you spot an unopened box for a fancy litter box tree. 

“Fuck me…”

After taking off your makeup and tossing your hair into a messy bun, you decide to explore. You pass Ollie on your new bed, curled up by the pillows. You give him a quick kiss before cracking the door open and stepping out. 

You pad your way through the winding halls, exploring the various rooms. There’s a library with an enormous wingback chair by the window. A fully equipped gym with a boxing ring. An absolutely stunning kitchen with a walk-in wine closet. A home theater with a popcorn machine and candy station. An indoor pool and hot tub. You find the door with the number pad and pause for a moment, allowing your imagination to run wild with what he could have locked up in there. After you convince yourself it really is best you don’t know, you continue your tour. 

Your signal to stop is when your leg starts hurting again. You make your way down the hall towards your room, but the subtle hum of music makes you pause. You follow the sound, you turn down the only hallway you have yet to explore. There are two doors, you press your ear to the first and hear nothing. Opening the door a crack, you see a massive four-poster bed with a canopy, black silk frames the mattress. You assume it’s Sylus’s bedroom, it certainly fits his aesthetic - much like the whole house to be honest. Other than your room, the whole house gives off vampire lord vibes. 

The second door isn’t closed completely. You tip-toe, well you try to, down the hall to take a closer look. Peering into the room, you see a desk with a stack of books and various folders. A fireplace crackles and next to it, a vintage gramophone plays a somber melody. You spot Sylus seated in an armchair, swirling a glass of whiskey. You’re about to push open the door when the song picks up and a voice rings out. 

The lyrics rip through you, with questions of how to love and trust again. The singer mourns, perpetuating the ache of the loss with the image of dancing with the ghost of their lost love. You start to put the pieces together, he didn’t want to get married… Could this be why? He already loved someone… and he lost them.

Sylus sips his drink in silence, staring into the fire with a blank expression. What’s going through his mind? Who did he lose? How did he lose them? Why is he torturing himself like this? Your heart aches for him. He looks down at his now empty glass and stands prompting you to sprint down the hall. You carefully close your bedroom door behind you and hurry over to your bed. You crawl under the blankets beside Ollie, who immediately snuggles up next to you once you’re settled. You stare at the ceiling. Who did you marry? And what happened to him?

It’s been nearly 2 weeks since you and Sylus got married. So far, you’ve been like ships passing in the night, barely seeing each other for more than a few minutes. It was like he worked a graveyard shift while you worked… well, you worked a “who-the-fuck-knows” shift. You had been scheduled for day shift lately which meant you were coming home when Sylus was heading out. You’d become fairly familiar with the house now, memorizing certain codes for the private garage and elevator. Sylus even gave you your own black card.

“Get whatever you need… or want for that matter.”

You hadn’t touched the card until today, you didn’t want to get accustomed to spending his money. But when the hospital was visited by the Linkon City Scouts and you saw their giant wagon of cookies… it was a done deal. You just finished placing the last box of double chocolate chunk cookies on the kitchen island when Sylus walked in. 

“I didn’t realize we had a delivery of… Ooey Gooey Choco Chunk Cookies arriving today…”

You didn’t realize he was even home… You definitely wouldn’t be in your oversized hoodie with no pants on if you’d known. Sliding around the counter to hide your bare legs, you smile.

“I’m sorry, the Linkon City Scouts were at Akso today and those girls know exactly how to guilt trip you into spending a fortune. These… also happen to be my favorite cookies of all time…”

He picks up a box and opens it, bringing the box to his nose. He pulls a cookie out. The ridiculous chocolate chunks look heavenly, you almost want to snatch it out of his hand. He stuffs it in his mouth before you can make a move. He nods, but his face doesn’t twist with overwhelming joy like you expected. 

“Pretty good.”

You scoff and stomp your foot. Sylus chuckles and you cross your arms.

“What?”

“Pretty good? Pretty good! I… what… how…”

“Aww… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your favorite cookie, sweetie.” 

“Oh shut up!”

He laughs, that full bodied, “rich man” laugh that you’ve grown quite fond of. He rests his hip against the counter and rolls up his sleeves. 

“I was just glad to see you finally used the card. Even if it was for cookies.”

You’re about to hit him with a witty comeback but stop short.

“Wait… how did you…? I’ll pay you back, I swear!”

“Don’t, besides it went to a good cause. The Linkon City Scouts made a small fortune and you have a smile on your face.”

You blush, clearing your throat to distract yourself.

“Are you just heading out?”

He shakes his head and grabs another cookie out of the box.

“Things have… slowed down a bit. I’m spending tonight at home.”

“Oh! Uhh… okay…”

“I was actually going to work on your bike.”

You gasp and scurry around the counter to stand in front of him. 

“My bike? What? When did – how – where?!”

He places his hands on your shoulders and grins. Even with how excited you are, you don’t miss how he looks at you, eyeing your legs for a moment longer. 

“It was delivered this morning. And the parts you needed came in last week. I’m going to the garage to finish fixing it up.”

“You don’t need to do that! I should… I should be the one to fix it… Wait, you didn’t pay for the repair already, right?”

He removes his hands and turns to walk out of the kitchen, you grab his hand and try - keyword try - to pull him back. He ends up dragging you forward a few feet. 

“Sylus! I’m the one who crashed, I should pay for it and fix it!”

You nearly trip over the step into the dining room from the kitchen. When you bump into his back, he finally stops.

“Help me fix it then.”

You can tell by his expression that he has made up his mind. His eyes drop down to where your hand is still wrapped around his wrist. You let go, slowly, and side step him. 

“Fine.” You stomp off towards your room.

“Where are you going? Garage is this way.”

“I can’t fix my bike without pants on!”

“Not with that attitude!” 

You spin around and continue to walk backwards, making your face as animated as possible to laugh sarcastically. He smirks and watches you walk away. You’re especially careful when you turn around, if you trip you’ll never get over the anguish and embarrassment. 

Ollie greets you at your bedroom door with a squeak. Sylus said he’s welcome to roam the house, but you want to make sure he’s acclimated to your room first. That way he’ll have a safe space to run to. You scoop him up and give his belly a kiss. He chirps and stretches his back legs until his toes are spread. Dropping him on the bed, you rush into your closet to find something suitable. A pair of jeans… nothing too fitted, but something that will make your ass look good. Wait, why do you care what your ass looks like when you’re just trying to fix your bike? Okay, well you know why…

“Just be cool. Don’t be weird. Fix your bike and…”

You can’t even finish your thought, the idea of Sylus bent over your bike takes you right out. You bite your lip as you slip on a pair of baggy jeans and a cropped black tank top. Sliding on your converse sneakers proves to be a challenge because Ollie decides your shoelaces are his new hyperfixation. Before you trip over the silly cat, you fish a bag of treats out of your night stand and toss one in the air for him to catch. 

“Silly boy…”

With one hand you toss your hair on top of your head with a claw clip while looking for your work gloves. You’d unpacked almost everything, but had shoved most of your biking boxes deep in your closet. Though you’ve been medically cleared, your leg aches every time you even think about sorting through them. 

You find the gloves and tuck them in your pocket. You jog through the house to the elevator, punch in the code and ride it down to the private garage. When you exit, you head towards the “bike” section, where all of Sylus’s bikes are lined up in a neat little row.

He basically has his own mechanic shop here in his own garage. Every tool, an engine hoist, an air compressor, a lifting jack and a whole shelving unit of spare parts. You hear the clanking of tools and as you pass the last car you see Sylus… 

Oh…

His shirt hung from the handlebars of a nearby bike. His bare torso was already glistening with a thin layer of sweat. His pants hung low on his hips, his belt unhooked. Your evol might be acting up because you are actually frozen in place. Not a force in the world could move you from this spot. You’d seen Sylus’s tattoos the night of the accident, from a distance and through a narrow gap in a doorway. But now? Goddamn. 

Full sleeves with pops of red, the dragon tattoo that started at his chest and disappeared at his waistband, and when he turned around to grab a tool you could finally see his back. Skeletal wings branching off of a spine that ended in a point at his lower back. He pauses and moves closer to you. You don’t even realize he’s noticed you until he’s directly in front of you. Your eyes are level with his chest and those damn nipple rings. A single finger hooks under your chin and tips your head back to face him. 

“Eyes up here angel.” 

You try to laugh, but what comes out is a pathetic gurgle. He returns to his spot beside your bike, which looks so much better already. The heat that radiated off of him must have thawed you out because you can walk again… You approach your bike and bend down to examine the body work.

“I’ll have to get some parts resprayed, but as long as it runs that’s what matters.” 

“We just have, let me see… the ECU and suspension to change out, yea?”

You straighten and survey his work. He’d already removed the seat and unplugged the battery, revealing the empty spot where the ECU should be. 

“Looks like it just needs to be plugged in. Where is the –” You look up and Sylus is already holding the new part. “Oh… thanks…”

You take the ECU and slide it into place, plugging it in and securing the restraints. Sylus watches you work in silence. Handing you the wrench to plug the battery back in. You stretch out your hand for the drill to fasten the seat in place, but never receive it. When you look up, Sylus is inspecting the tool.

“Uh… Sylus?”

“Why did you start racing?”

You blink… slowly.

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking about that night. Finding you, taking you to Zayne, learning about your deal with Volkova. And I can’t help but wonder… Why risk your whole career to race?” 

You haven’t had to explain this, well, ever. It’s been your secret for the past few years and you’ve always liked it that way. No one knew and that made it exciting. You put your hands on your hips and indulge his curiosity. 

“On my first day at Akso, Dr Noah took all the interns on a tour. The last stop was the OR. He gave us the typical lecture about how some of us wouldn’t make it and we need to support each other and all of that. But… he said one more thing. He said that being a surgeon meant we crave adrenaline, that we thrive in high stress situations. He said we need to learn how to train our minds to be calm no matter how much adrenaline is pumping through our veins. That we had to train our mind like any other muscle group, repetition, consistency.”

You crouch and run your hand along the discolored sections of the frame.

“I always preferred bikes. I mean I got my motorcycle license before my regular license. I was just on a ride a few weeks into my internship when I almost crashed into a race passing through Central. And I don’t… I don’t know why but I followed them. I just watched from a distance. Until someone rolled up on me.”

“Do you remember who?” 

“Kawauso. She tried to be scary, but with a bright pink bike? Yeah, she dropped the facade and invited me over. I got the rundown about the racing scene. I knew it was risky, I knew it didn’t make sense with my career and… everything, but… I just… wanted to do it anyway.” 

You stand up and Sylus offers the drill. You accept it and he holds the seat down as you screw it in place. He turns and picks up a box off the floor, laying out the new shocks on a nearby bench. He drags over a lift and slides it under your bike, pumping the lever with his foot to prop it up. He offers you a wrench and a torque wrench. You squat down and begin to loosen the bolts on the shocks currently attached.

“It does.”

“What?”

“It does make sense.”

He offers you a genuine smile as he holds out his hand. You pass him the bolts and line up the new shock. You measure how high you need to prop up the rear tire and shove wooden blocks underneath to level it out. 

“I’m assuming your alias is related to your evol, right?”

“Hold on, is this just a Q&A for me? I should ask you questions too.”

“You could, but I might not answer.”

“Then I might not answer either.” 

You're locked in a minute-long staring contest before he gives in. He sighs.

“Fine. Ask your question.”

“Why dragons?” 

He raises a brow and you realize how blunt your question came across.

“You have a lot of artwork, sculptures, jewelry… tattoos… all dragon related. I can only assume there’s some significance?”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“Do you remember what you said about your snow leopard?”

“Dragons are your spirit animal?” He nods. 

“Ooh! I should call you… what’s his name… the little dragon from Mulan?”

“You are not going to call me Mushu.”

“Aww why not? It’s cute.”

You can tell he’s trying to keep his glare as menacing as possible, but when you bat your eyelashes he folds. Standing up straight, he crosses his arms.

“No.”

“Fine.” You grumble as you finish securing the bolts. “Okay, it’s done.”

Sylus helps you remove the wooden blocks under the wheel and releases the valve, lowering the lift. He holds the bike steady while you return the tools to the workbench. 

“You should test the height, make sure it feels good.”

You round the bike and swing your leg over, Sylus steps back and watches as you lean forward and wiggle side-to-side. You can feel your heart start to race and your throat burns causing tears to well up behind your eyes. You try to ignore it, but it only gets worse. Lifting a foot to the foot rest, you realize that while the height is perfect you weren’t ready for the way the bike shifts beneath you. You shove your heel down trying to put down the kickstand. While you successfully kick it down, you lose your balance in the process.

“Careful!” Sylus shouts.

You slide off the bike, but your legs are numb and tingling. The garage tilts and your ears begin to ring. When you open your eyes you’re on the floor… on top of Sylus, his arms around you with one of his hands holding the back of your head. You’re sweating and shivering, like you have a fever that came on rapidly. Your brain is telling you to get up, but your body is so slow to react. Your cheek against his chest is comforting, hearing his heartbeat steadies your own.

“Angel…” 

His voice is gentle, he moves the hair that had fallen over your face out of the way.

“Are you alright?” 

“I… I think so.” You sound drunk, your words slurred. 

“Let’s sit up.”

He rolls to his side, he lowers his hand to gather your legs and set you on his lap as he sits up. You come up with a whole speech about how you’re fine and he doesn’t need to do this and you can get up, but not a word comes out of your mouth. He cradles you to his chest as he presses the back of his hand against your cheek and forehead.

“You’re warm.”

In a moment of weakness, you look up at him. His eyes are filled with concern and his cheeks are just a tad bit flushed. Your mind is so foggy you don’t realize your gaze has dropped to his lips. They part slightly, a shallow breath. When you meet his gaze again, his pupils are blown as if he’s searching your face for any sign of discomfort, confusion, anger. His palm warms your cheek, his fingers wiping away tears you hadn’t felt fall. The distance is too much and yet not enough, does he want this too? You’re leaning forward before your anxiety can stop you…

Beep Beep Beep

Your phone… The pager ringtone you specifically bought for hospital alerts. Shit. You place a hand on his chest.

“I’m getting called back in. I… uhm… thank you for helping me with my bike.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

You nod and hold your breath as you force yourself to stand. Ignoring the wave of dizziness, you pull your phone from your pocket. Sure enough, mass casualty, all hands on deck. 

��I have to go, MCI. Thanks again!”

You rush out of the garage and back upstairs to get your scrubs and an energy drink. Sylus isn’t in the garage when you return to get in your car. While you’re thankful for that, you also wish you could have seen him one more time before heading out. 

Another week goes by… You see even less of Sylus. Not that you really noticed - you totally did - you had been pulling doubles and any free time was spent studying for the boards. Zayne found you curled up in an on-call room after working 48 hours straight and sent you home with the strict orders not to come back until the weekend. A forced 3 day break? Rare.

The first day was spent catching up on sleep, barely leaving your bed unless you needed water or to use the bathroom. Sadly, what woke you up on the second day was the ear piercing shatter of something in the hallway. Half asleep you sprint out of your room and find Ollie hiding under a nearby table. 

“Oliver Oscar Odin! What did you do?!”

A gorgeous, and possibly priceless, vase lies shattered on the floor. The arrangement of red and orange snapdragon flowers is completely destroyed. You tiptoe around the water and broken glass to find a towel and broom. All the while, rehearsing what you’ll say to Sylus. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have let him out of my room. Too many fancy things… Oh my god, how much did that cost? Probably more than I make in a year. Or 10. Fuck… Ollie you little… sh–”

“What did your son do now?”

You’ve just finished sweeping up the broken glass, but the flowers are still scattered and the pink towel on the floor is a dead giveaway. Sylus surveys the damage and bends down, finding Ollie under the table almost instantly.

“Sir, that wasn’t very nice.”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll pay for the vase and, I should have offered this sooner, I can cat-proof the house! There’s so many nice things and Ollie… well, I’ve been working more lately and he’s clingy and–”

“Angel, slow down.”

He holds your shoulders and stops your rambling. 

“It’s just a vase. Are you and Ollie alright?”

You open your mouth, but words fail you. Looking over your shoulder you see Ollie sniffing the fallen flowers. He taps them with his paw as if they’ll come to life at any moment.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good, because I was hoping you’d be available tonight for dinner.”

Talk about whiplash. 

“Dinner?”

“I got word that Volkova is going to a meeting at one of my restaurants. I thought it would be a good opportunity to make our presence known and maybe get under his skin a touch.” 

Giggling, you hug the broom handle. Is this a date or a mission to him?

“So you’re not going to like… hurt him or anything? We’re just intimidating him, right?”

He nods and suddenly bends down, you hadn’t noticed Ollie rubbing against Sylus’s leg for the past minute. Once you see Ollie in Sylus’s arms, pushing his little face into the crook of his neck… oh you are so done for. There is nothing in this world that could make you fold faster than a man who is cuddling with your cat. He could bend you over right now and…

“So? Are you free tonight?”

“Ahh… yes. Yes I am.”

“Can you be ready in an hour?”

You can hear Ollie purring and you’re not a heart specialist, but you’re fairly certain it’s about to stop functioning… You nod and Sylus turns to leave with Ollie in tow.

“Where are you taking my son?!”

Sylus’s laugh echoes down the hallway, he calls out over his shoulder.

“I’m showing him the most expensive vases to break!”

You scowl at his cheeky remark and quickly finish cleaning up the mess Ollie made. Rushing back to your room to find something to wear and tame the rats nest on your head. You have no idea what kind of restaurant you’re going to, how fancy it is, if there’s a dress code… You don’t own a lot of dresses so you don’t have many options. Then you remember a gift Yvonne gave you for Christmas last year. 

“That… that I can work with.”

You’re putting the finishing touches on your outfit when you hear a soft knock at your door. You quickly open the door and find Sylus leaning against the doorway. His silk dress shirt hangs loosely from his toned torso, unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up - as usual. High-waisted dress pants cut into his waist just right, a chain belt draped over his hip. His necklace, wait… oh… it’s a body chain. Cool. Awesome. Spectacular. His body chain dips down beneath his shirt and your mind does a backflip trying to pull it together. 

“You look… amazing.” 

You laugh awkwardly, not noticing Sylus had been checking you out as well. Yvonne’s gift was obviously a winner. A short leather skirt with a zipper down the front and matching cropped camisole. You’d layered the camisole over an oversized white dress shirt, tucking half the shirt into the skirt. Your over-the-knee boots are almost too tight on your thighs now, hours of running around the hospital has obviously made an impact.

“Th-thank you. I wasn’t sure if this place is fancy, so if I need to change I can!”

“No, you look perfect. Amazing, as always.”

“Stop that.” 

That was not meant to be spoken out loud, but okay… 

“Stop what?”

“Stop… being so nice to me.”

Sylus gasps in mock horror.

“That’s not going to happen sweetie.” 

He offers his arm and escorts you to the garage, smirking like a fiend the whole way. Sylus’s penthouse was located at the heart of the N109 Zone, so the drive to the restaurant was relatively short. He waves at the hostess and walks you to the table himself, not waiting to be seated. You can already feel the eyes of everyone in the room sizing you up.

“This is my usual table, best view but close to the exit. We can move if you like?”

“No, this is nice, the view is breathtaking…”

The lake at the center of the N109 Zone was almost destroyed after the incident. The once prosperous Zone was plunged into darkness, wildlife and nature took the brunt of the impact. The damage to the community came later. In recent years, the lake has been renovated and restored, this restaurant seems to be thriving due to its proximity to one of the last natural beauties of the Zone. You’d become accustomed to the blue neon lights illuminating every street, but the string lights lining the perimeter of the lake cast a warm glow over the dark water. If it wasn’t 5 pm you’d think you were having a midnight meal under the stars.

A waitress arrives to deliver a bottle of wine and two glasses. You’re too distracted by the gorgeous view to realize the woman is positively foaming at the mouth over Sylus. She leans on the table and pops her hip out, bending over to level with Sylus. When her ass disrupts your view you finally take notice. Her thick blonde curls fall over her shoulder, the way her tight black mini skirt rides up and her white button up pops open… You reach across the table and pick up the wine bottle, serving yourself since your server is too busy eye-fucking your husband.

That’s a wild statement. Since when do you claim him? And why shouldn’t he find enjoyment elsewhere? It’s not like you’re really married, other than on paper. 

You pour almost half the bottle in your glass and take a long sip. Sylus has his eyes fixed on you, not that you noticed. The box-blonde server's audacity has your complete attention.

“Angel?” 

You almost think he’s talking to the waitress, but when you feel Sylus’s hand on your arm you refocus. He’s staring at you with a smirk which makes you even more frustrated. You tilt your head at him.

“Yes, honey?” 

His brows raise and his smirk falters for a moment, which, honestly, brings you immense pleasure. Catching this enigma of a man off guard is something you’re sure doesn’t happen often. He leans forward with his elbows on the table. The waitress stands up now, straightening her stance as she realizes your relation to her favorite customer.

“Just let me know when you’re ready to order Sy.”

She saunters away, flipping her hair over her shoulder. You take another sip. Sylus pours himself a glass and leans back.

“Honey?”

“Or would you prefer I also call you Sy?”

He looks into his glass and swirls the sweet Merlo. 

“You’re looking awfully jealous, kitten.”

Oh no no no no.

“Are you trying out some more nicknames for me now, Mushu?”

He sets down his glass and raises his hands, laughing.

“Alright, alright. I surrender.”

“I thought you said we were here to terrorize Volkova? I don’t even see him.”

“Behind me.”

You look over his shoulder and scan the room. Finally you spot a large group at the back of the restaurant. Volkova leans back in the booth, he’s already staring at you. You’re not sure what comes over you, but you raise your glass and nod, maintaining eye contact with the angry Russian the whole time. He attempts to smile, but he fails miserably. Opting to down the rest of his beer and shouting for their waiter for a refill. 

“Having fun?”

Sylus eyes you, clearly enjoying your seemingly out-of-character responses. 

“Maybe I am.”

Sylus orders for you, roast salmon with chimichurri sauce and toasted garlic quinoa. You’d never try it on your own, but Sylus has good taste so, why not? 

Dinner is served and it’s delicious, as expected. Conversation flows almost too naturally, there’s no awkward silences. Even during silent moments you are completely at ease. You’d learned your lesson last time and stopped drinking after one glass. 

“Your evol is rather unique isn’t it?”

“Is it now?” Sylus coos.

“What I’ve seen of it, yes. I still don’t fully understand what… it is?” 

He completely ignores the waitress who returns to clear the dinner plates. And this might make you a horrible person but… that made you happy. He takes a sip of water and rubs the back of his neck, stretching. You can hear a crack and wince.

“I’ve listened to doctors argue over whether it’s matter manipulation or atomic manipulation. Doesn’t matter to me. If I want… say…”

He looks at your wine glass.

“Refill your wine glass.”

You watch a red and black mist descend over the glass, when it dissipates the glass is full. 

“That’s incredible… Wait, doctors? Was your evol tested when you were young?”

If you hadn’t been staring so intently, you’d have missed how his eye twitched and his smile tightened. He lifts his hand and starts twisting one of the studs in his ear. A self-soothing tactic? You really should have paid more attention in those psychiatry classes.

The waitress arrives with your dessert, to your surprise it’s two small skillets sizzling as ice cream melts over what looks like a brownie. The strong scent of maple and pecans gives you an intense flashback from your childhood. Your mother used to make maple blondies with a drizzle of maple syrup. You stare down at the dish and blink back tears.

“Is this… a maple blondie?”

Sylus nods, his neutral expression changes quickly when he notices your eyes are glazed over.

“What? What’s going on?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing… My mom used to make these. Not as fancy, but damn…”

You take a spoonful of blondie and ice cream, using your fingers to place a pecan on top. As soon as the concoction hits your tongue you have to suppress a moan. Joyous memories flash behind your eyelids as you savor the spoonful. You’d have to remember to bring Zayne here. 

“How is married life?”

Volkova’s voice makes the sweet maple turn sour on your tongue. You swallow and look up to see him standing next to Sylus. You take another spoonful of dessert.

“Sweet.”

With that, you shove the spoon in your mouth and stretch your leg out to tap Sylus’s shin under the table. He smiles, catching your hint.

“What can I do for you, Antov?” 

“I should be asking you that question. You knew about the deal tonight, yes?”

Sylus smirks. Volkova crosses his bulky arms, making the fabric around his shoulders strain.

“Your intimidation tactics might work on lesser men, but it won’t work on me. Have a drink with me, as a celebration to a deal well struck. Even with you sniffing around.”

“I’d let the ink dry before you celebrate.” 

Volkova chuckles, he glances over to you. 

“And how about you Yuki onna? Are you going to deny me the honor as well?”

You run your foot along Sylus’s calf and he shifts in his seat. Again, he definitely got the message.

“Volkova.” Sylus stands and faces him. “It’s clear my wife is not interested in speaking with you. So I suggest you walk out before they carry you out in a body bag.”

You must be a sick and twisted individual because hot damn you’re wet… Volkova sighs and smiles at you and Sylus one last time before walking out. You watch him climb into the same blacked out Escalade from the day of your wedding. Once the car pulls off, you turn back to Sylus, who is next to you, offering his hand.

“Ready to get out of here?”

You nod and take his hand. He stops at the bar briefly to pay and exchange pleasantries with the owner. It’s not surprising that Sylus was the primary benefactor for getting this place up and running. What he told your parents wasn’t a total lie. The Zone is becoming less terrifying by the day. Or maybe that’s just because you have Sylus at your side.

“How far is your building?”

“What makes you think I own the whole building?” You pinch his side and he grins. “Okay, I do own the whole building. It’s maybe… 10 minutes?”

“Why don’t we walk home?”

“You want to walk? In the N109 Zone?”

You step closer, looping your arm through his. 

“You’re with me, what do I have to worry about?”

“Glad we’re on the same page now.” 

Oh, this cocky fucker. You hold onto him, your head resting on his shoulder, letting him lead. The evening air has a bitter chill to it, making you regret not bringing a thicker coat. Sylus takes your hand on his arm and laces his fingers with yours before tucking it in his jacket pocket. You keep your head down, but you give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

You pass the wreckage of a large building, it appears clean up efforts are ongoing. You hadn’t heard about any explosions or gang wars leading to such destruction, so it takes you by surprise. Sylus notices your slowing footsteps and follows your gaze across the street.

“Willow Creek Medical Center.”

“Huh?” 

“You’re wondering what the building was? It was Willow Creek Medical Center.”

“What happened to it? This looks recent.”

Sylus nods and continues walking, forcing you to look away.

“They were a private practice, doing fairly well. Had plans to get state funding and become a proper hospital. As rumors spread, certain… factions… were not so happy about their plans.”

“Someone attacked them because they wanted to build a hospital?” Sylus nods. “Who the fuck would do something like that?”

“People who don’t like competition.”

The way he said that… He’s not telling you everything, but maybe you don’t want to know the full story. Someone tried to destroy the potential future of medical care in an underserved area. Just as you’re about to ask more questions, you turn the corner and are ushered into the back entrance to Sylus’s private garage by a security guard. 

You pass Sylus’s various cars, finally reaching your bike, which is still propped up next to his. The warmth of the elevator makes you sigh in relief, leaning further into Sylus. He rests against the wall and looks down at you. God he looks good in this lighting… The way the low lights cast shadows across his sharp features. His brows, his nose, his jaw. The occasional flash as the light bounces off one of the golden studs on his lip. 

It’s a battle of the mind, should you give into your desire or continue to maintain the friendly - if not flirty - relationship you’ve built with Sylus? You’re terrified you’re reading him wrong, does he have the same desire? What if he doesn’t? What if you take the chance and you ruin it? What if you don’t? What if, what if, what if. 

It’s like he’s reading your mind, he rests his forehead against yours. Your breath catches as you tilt your face up, your lips brushing his. Closing your eyes, you breathe deeply, inhaling his scent. The way his cologne clings to his skin, the lingering hint of the sweet wine from dinner. His other hand reaches up to touch your cheek, the lightest touch sending a jolt of heat through your skin to your core.

And then it’s ruined. Your cell phone rings. 

“Fuck…” You whisper. 

“The hospital again?” 

His fingers trace your jaw. You’re tempted to ignore the call, but it’s Zayne’s ringtone and he’ll just keep calling. You force yourself to move away, immediately craving his warmth again. 

“No, it’s Zayne.”

You reach into your coat pocket and grab your phone. As soon as you see that you have 3 unread texts from Zayne you start to panic. Something isn’t right. You quickly answer.

“Hey Zayne, sorry I didn’t realize you texted me.”

“Are you safe?”

His question immediately puts you on high alert and Sylus reaches out to steady you in response. The elevator doors open and you stumble into the house with Sylus at your side. 

“Yes, I’m safe, what’s wrong?”

“Volkova just left Akso.”

“What?!” 

Sylus motions for you to put the phone on speaker, you do so and hold the phone up between you. He helps you take off your coat while Zayne continues.

“He came in complaining of chest pain and requested me by name. Greyson offered to run tests but he wouldn’t accept anyone but me as his doctor.”

“You didn’t treat him, right?”

“I couldn’t exactly deny a patient, even if I suspected he was faking symptoms.”

“Zayne!”

“I wasn’t alone with him at any point, I made sure of that. And after I cleared him I told him I could refer him to another cardiologist as I’m not taking new patients at this time.”

“God… This is because of us, isn’t it?”

Sylus crosses his arms and sighs loud enough for Zayne to hear.

“What do you mean? What did you do?”

“We saw him tonight. I may have been… a bit aggressive.” Sylus admits.

“So he retaliated by coming to Akso to look for me?”

“I’ll handle it.” 

“No! You’ve done enough. He went after Zayne because you wanted to mess with him.” Sylus opens his mouth to reply, but your anger gets the better of you. “Is the deal he closed tonight going to fall through because of you?”

Sylus snaps his mouth shut. 

“Zayne, I’m so so sorry.”

You turn away from Sylus and hurry to your room, slamming the door behind you. You take your phone off speaker as you flop down on your bed. Zayne clears his throat.

“I’m okay. I can protect myself, you know?”

“I know, I just… I should have been more careful. I let my guard down, I should have told Sylus not to… I just.. Fuck…”

“Breathe. I’m fine. He left and I’m drafting a memo to staff doctors about referring him to Mercy General if he needs any more testing done.” 

After having Zayne walk you through a few more breathing exercises, he hangs up and goes back to work. You change into sweats and force Ollie to cuddle with you until your anxiety has calmed down. What if Volkova had gotten Zayne alone? What if he hurt him? 

What if marrying Sylus made things worse…?

“A female patient comes in and says they were in the ER a week ago after a car accident and diagnosed with a concussion. They are still suffering with symptoms like drowsiness and a severe headache. What are your first steps?” 

Yvonne holds the flashcard close to her chest as she sips her coffee. You tap your pen on the table and close your eyes, making a mental checklist of the steps you’d take. 

“First, I’d order a MRI to get a better look at her brain, see if there’s anything we missed during her first visit. I’d also assign a nurse to keep a close eye on her, if she presents any signs of a stroke or further discomfort they’ll need to contact me immediately.”

“Alright, while in the MRI she falls unconscious.”

“Are we seeing the results yet?”

“Yes, but the patient is unconscious.”

“Well, I need to know what I’m seeing before I order any medications or take drastic measures. I don’t want to make the damage worse.”

“The test shows an acute subdural hematoma on the right side of her brain.”

“Fuck… okay, I would…”

“Well, don’t say fuck in front of the administrator…”

You glare at Yvonne, making her giggle and almost spit out her coffee.

“Evie, I swear to god…”

“The patient is unconscious, doctor! She could be dying! Why are you wasting time?!” 

Okay, Greyson is having too much fun trying to make you nervous… You cover your eyes with your hands and refocus. Acute subdural hematoma. Unconscious.

“I would immediately send her to the OR while continuing my examination of the scan to choose my method of treatment.” 

“And what is your method of treatment?”

“Is the brain currently swollen?”

You peek at Yvonne through your fingers. She looks down at her card and nods.

“I would opt for a craniectomy to address the bleed and alleviate pressure.”

Yvonne tries to hide her smile, but you catch her quick wink. Unfortunately, so does Greyson.

“Yvonne, now she knows she’s right!”

“I’m sorry! She still hasn’t gone over the surgery itself though! There’s still time for you to freak her out.” 

“Oh, I see how it is, you guys are plotting against me!”

Greyson holds up his hands and Yvonne covers her mouth to avoid laughing too loudly. You’re all seated at a table in the kitchen of the largest on-call room at Akso. There’s an attached room with a few beds where almost every doctor tries to nap during their longer shifts. And right now, Zayne is taking a nap. The last thing you all want to do is irritate him by waking him up with your study session antics. 

“Okay, go ahead. Describe the procedure. Step by step please.” 

Before you have a chance to begin, his pager goes off. It’s still funny to you that Greyson uses an actual pager - a piece of literal ancient technology - instead of using his phone like everyone else. As soon as he sees the message he’s running out the door without a word. Yvonne gasps and gets up, pulling her doctor coat on quickly. 

“Sorry, that’s probably ICU. I need to go too, do you want to continue tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, I’m on New Year's duty, so I still have the rest of this week off.”

“I don’t know if I envy you or pity you…”

“Getting a full week off before and after New Year’s Eve and Day because of the absolute HELL it will be?”

“Okay, yeah, I pity you. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Yvonne rushes out, leaving you and the pile of flashcards and study guides in the breakroom. You grab a piece of paper and write a quick note for Zayne.

I’ll be around tomorrow night to study with Evie and Grey if you still want to talk. Please go home and stop sleeping in the on-call room. Love you.

You pack up your backpack, re-tie your snow boots and put on your puffer jacket. The hospital is eerily quiet at this time of night, the overnight shift just began so staff is doing their rounds and most of the patients are asleep. Usually, your late night study sessions last a little longer, but the ICU has been packed this week. Specifically the cardiac unit, so Yvonne and Greyson have been busier than usual. 

You take the steps and scan your badge at the backdoor to the staff parking garage. You remember you promised to text Sylus when you were heading home. Digging in your pocket, you realize your phone is not where you thought it’d be. Swinging your backpack off your shoulder, you unzip the front pocket and feel inside - not there either. As you reach your car, you pull off your backpack and set it on the hood. You’re about to unzip it when you hear a door slam. Looking around you don’t see anyone, not a soul. Maybe someone came out? Got in their car? But none of the cars are turning on. 

You’ve only just heard the scrape of boots on concrete when an arm wraps around your neck and something hard and cold is pressed into your back.

“Keep your mouth closed princess.” 

Your eyes immediately sting with tears and your legs shake. The man behind you yanks you back, half-carrying you as he backs you up to a van parked at the entrance of the garage. How did they get inside the private employee parking lot? You’re shoved against the side of the van, your cheek pressed against the cold metal. What you assume is a gun digs into your side even harder as the man removes his arm from around your throat.

“Put your hands behind your back and keep quiet. Boss told me not to mess up that pretty face, I’d hate to disappoint him.” 

You follow his commands, your mind racing as you come to terms with the fact you’re being taken. You’re actually being kidnapped. It has to be Volkova, right? Unless Sylus has another enemy, which is actually pretty likely. But Volkova has been his primary problem for months now. Your wrists are secured with zip ties before the man pulls the van door open. He shoves you inside, your knees scrap against the rough floor of the empty cabin. 

“Now stay still.”

The man slams the door shut and runs to hop in the driver’s seat. The engine roars to life and the van speeds out of the parking lot. With no windows you have no idea which way he turned and you can’t sit up to look out the front windshield because he keeps looking back at you through the mirror. Even the tiniest shift makes him shout at you to stay fucking still.

You try to calm your mind, counting to keep track of how many minutes have gone by since he took you. 5 minutes… 10 minutes… You’re getting closer to the border to the N109 Zone. As streetlights go from Linkon City warmth to N109 Zone neon your panic swells. You have to do something… Anything… What do you –

Bang Bang Bang

Three shots. The van slides and spins as the driver loses control. You try to grab onto something behind you, but there’s nothing… The van hits something and you’re thrown to the other side. Finally the van skids to a stop and the driver jumps out, you roll onto your side and pull your knees up to your chest. 

Bang

A single shot this time. You hold your breath as everything goes quiet. Footsteps, right outside. You can’t decide if you should scream for help or pretend to be unconscious. You don’t have the chance to choose as the doors to the van fly open.

“Sylus!”

Sylus dives into the van to grab you, gently pulling you out. He sits you down in the grass beside the road and takes your hands in his. When did the zip-ties come off? He runs his fingers along the red marks, searching for any sign of injury. He’s quiet and methodical as he examines you and as comforting as that should be, it only makes you worry. 

You take a moment to take in your surroundings. The smashed up van is up against a guard rail, glass and metal scattered across the road behind it. It’s a backroad of some kind, tall trees and thick bushes line the roadway. Sylus’s bike is next to the van, his helmet on the seat. And then you see him, the man who took you, on the ground… dead.

“Oh my god…”

Sylus lifts his hands to your face and turns your head back to him. His pupils are blown and his hair is damp with sweat. You try to look back over at the body, but he won’t let you.

“Y-you killed h-him… Oh my god Sylus you fucking killed him!”

His eyes narrow and he drops his hands to your shoulders.

“And you’re alive.”

You push him away from you and force yourself to stand, stumbling as you try to create distance. You take a step towards the body, but stop yourself. Your medical training tells you to run over and check for a pulse, no matter how unlikely it is. You can see the bullet wound to his forehead from where you stand. You should make an effort to save his life, but… you can’t. Or you don’t want to. 

“You… You could have just stopped him or… or…”

“Or what?”

You turn around and almost bump right into Sylus’s chest. He looks down at you, his voice is off, he’s angry. Or as close to angry as you’ve ever seen him.

“Or… You could have just knocked him out or…”

“Knocked him out?”

“Sylus, you KILLED SOMEONE!”

“What exactly do you think I do for a living?”

His tone silences you. He steps closer.

“When I asked you about Onychinus, you knew what that was. You’re too goddamn smart to stand here now and try to tell me you don’t fully understand exactly what my position requires.”

You take a step back, but he follows.

“You’re in too deep to play innocent now, angel. You were in too deep before I even met you.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“What?”

“Don’t you dare throw that in my face. I know I fucked up. I was trying to fix it then and I’m trying to fix it now, but this is someone’s life!”

“It’s your life! Your life’s on the line and I vowed to protect that, remember?”

“And I vowed to save lives, no life is more important than another!”

“Yours is!” 

The rumble of a car engine interrupts your argument, not that you were going to say anything else. How do you respond to that? What does he mean? Why does he care so much? The BMW pulls up beside you and Sylus, the window rolls down to reveal Luke in the driver seat. 

“We got here as soon as we could.”

Kieran leans over the center console.

“What do you need, boss?”

Sylus doesn’t look away, his eyes remain locked on you.

“Take her home. And don’t leave until I get back.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Luke asks.

“No.”

He turns away and returns to his bike. He secures his helmet and hops on, speeding away without a second look. You stand next to the car and watch him drive off until he is a tiny speck in the distance. The car door opens and you look up to see Kieran holding the back door open for you. You slide in and close your eyes

“The guys are here, we should be good to go.” Luke says.

As he pulls away, you look out the back window. Another van is parked on the side of the road, a team of men in masks hop out. You see one of them cover the body with a sheet before Luke takes a turn. 

Luke and Kieran try to make small talk with you on the drive home, but you just stare out the window in silence. You can’t stop thinking about what Sylus said. 

Yours is. 

Luke hasn’t even parked the car before you’re jumping out and racing to the elevator. The boys wait in the car and let you take the ride alone. When you reach the penthouse you sprint to your bathroom, stripping down and climbing into a scalding shower. You throw on an oversized tee and underwear before shoving your leggings, sweater, puffer jacket, literally all of your clothes from tonight, into a trash bag and place it in the hall outside your door. You may have been zoned out, but you do recall Kieran’s instructions. 

You don’t care that your hair is wet or that you still have clumps of mascara stuck on your lashes. Crawling in bed with your blanket wrapped around you, you finally let yourself cry. You know you’re not crying for the dead man and what this means for you as a doctor… You’re crying because of the look on Sylus’s face when you backed away from him. That look of hurt and fear tore you apart. Now he’s god knows where. What if you don’t get a chance to say you’re sorry? 🏍️۶ৎ🩺

Song Reference:

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @spacegroteske @namjoonseuphoria @celestialforce @rafshottestgf @oxamarok @withering-dream @zaynessbeloved @animecrazy76 @yournextdoorhousewitch @addiglessthanthree @4ttack-ur-heart @moonberry69 @pandoras-rabbit @cookiesaresquishy @hamnaalien @needlewandandthimble @brekkers-whore @goddexxluv @satansdaughter123 @poisonf0rest @darkalleycat1987 @morrigan87 @never-justforever @ericherries @lev-berryz @aishasylus @altair718

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A few more janky edits I made to help me visualize Sylus in this universe. Enjoy!

[nastydogpublishingco]

happiness (like a bullet in the back)

summary: What do you get when you cross a supercentenarian mutant alcoholic with anger issues and a chronic case of emotional constipation, with the world's single most irritating Canadian mercenary with a face like a rotten potato? Answer: domestic fucking bliss. pairings: logan howlett (worst wolverine) / wade wilson (deadpool) warnings: smut, 5+1 fic, fluff, (light) angst, panic attacks, ptsd, flashbacks, self loathing wade, chronic pain, hurt/comfort, bathing, idiots in love, sanrio memorabilia as a love language, possessiveness, praise kink, dacryphilia, brat!wade wilson, feminization, dirty talk, scent kink, bottom!wade wilson words: 15.5k

1.

“Cock sucking mother fucker !”

Those are the first words Wade says to Logan that morning, exploding out of his mouth after he leans bodily on the hot stove. Logan’s cooking breakfast and had just moved a pan of sizzling bacon off that particular burner before Wade stumbled off the pullout, bleary and dressed only in a pair of rumpled Cinnamoroll briefs. 

(Yes, he knows the fucking thing’s name — an unfortunate and unexpected side effect of dating Wade Wilson is that he’s gleaned the names of several Sanrio characters. Not by choice, mind you, but Wade has seemingly made it his life’s mission to familiarize Logan with that whole motley crew by any means necessary, and his favorite dirty trick is quizzing Logan while he’s riding him into the pullout. Little fucker’s strong, too, so Logan’s attempts at bucking him off when he starts up prove to be fruitless more often than not. Wade has rended more orgasms than he’d like to admit out of him like that.)

Wade doesn’t have a booting-up period like most people — he goes from dead asleep to chattering in about .05 seconds, so the deep inhale Logan hears as Wade sidles up beside him is pretty par for the course. He’s expecting a snarky comment, a stupid pun, one of Logan’s myriad nicknames (more than half of which he doesn’t hate , but he’ll never tell Wade that), but what he gets is the sound of Wade’s flesh sizzling on the electric coils, and then Wade is screaming at the top of his lungs.

“What the fuck did you do ?” Logan yells, snatching Wade by the wrist and dragging him over to the kitchen sink. He twists the tap on, cold water spitting into the basin, and sticks Wade’s blistering hand under the stream. It’s a habit, ingrained along the metal of his skeleton from years of doing the same for clumsy young mutants at Xavier’s.

“I don’t know, I didn’t know the fuckin’ thing was on!” Wade snaps, and Logan cuts him an incredulous look.

“You just saw me cooking on that burner. How did you think I was doing that without it being on ?”

“You have such pretty eyes,” Wade says, and just as Logan’s about to tell him to shut up, he realizes something.

The burn on his palm has healed already.

Logan shuts the faucet off and drops Wade’s wrist, amazed he just… forgot about Wade’s healing factor like that. Wade flexes his fingers and examines his hand, smooths a thumb over the space where a bright red, angry-looking whorl was just a moment ago.

“You’re so sexy when you’re all concerned about me,” Wade purrs, cocking his head to one side. Logan rolls his eyes.

“Watch where you put your fuckin’ hands, bub,” he says, bumping Wade out of the way with his hip to resume their breakfast. 

Wade stands there for a moment, observing, and just as Logan’s laid a paper towel on a plate to soak up bacon grease, he feels the long, solid warmth of Wade’s body pressing along his back and arms encircling his waist. He stumbles slightly, surprised and severely limited in how much he can move with Wade’s clinging welding him to the spot.

“What’re you doing?”

“Watching where I put my hands,” Wade says simply, all ten fingers wiggling where they’ve settled across Logan’s stomach.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” Wade kisses the side of Logan’s neck before resting his chin there, which tickles , but Logan grits his teeth and pretends it doesn’t. If Wade knew he was ticklish he’d never get a moment’s peace.

“If you’re gonna ride my back,” Logan grumbles, voice devoid of any real malice, “could you at least hand me the red chili flakes? I don’t need you bitching about flavorless eggs.”

“Hey, cancer took my tastebuds, you insensitive prick,” Wade warbles, his favorite card to pull whenever Logan deigns to comment on his affinity for spicy food. It’s true; he knows that — Wade’s explained before, in his usual roundabout way, that the cancer being constantly multiplied and stacked in his brain affects the parts in charge of taste and smell. The senses aren’t gone, just severely muted, so Wade has to dump an ungodly amount of anything containing capsaicin into his food if he wants to taste it at all. 

“You can just say you’re too short to reach, Wolvie,” Wade says, reaching up into the cabinet above both their heads and pulling out the shaker of chili flakes. Logan swipes it before Wade can lower the arm back to his side, elbowing him once in the ribs for good measure.

“We’re almost the same height, asshole.”

“Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, honey badger.”

“D’you want an eyeful of red chili flakes?” Logan raises the shaker threateningly. “I’ll fuckin’ do it, bub, gimme a reason.”

“You wouldn’t, I’m already injured ,” Wade whines, flopping the hand he’d burned in front of Logan’s face pathetically. “I think it’s still healing. You should kiss it better. I hear that helps.”

Logan wishes he could say he tells Wade to go fuck himself or shoves him off his back or something equally aloof and mean-spirited, but he doesn’t. He kisses the center of Wade’s palm multiple times because every time he pulls away, Wade keeps pointing at a new spot that “hurts” and implores Logan to kiss that better, too. He doesn’t know why he caves because it’s not like Wade pouted and begged for it; he didn’t even seem all that serious to begin with. He just knows it takes all of two seconds for him to indulge his partner, and then Wade is back to holding him around the middle while he cooks them breakfast, yammering about the weird dream he’d woken up from before he decided to come pester Logan. 

It’s…well, it’s not something he’s ever done before, for anyone. The domesticity, the silly, meaningless gesture. But he’s also never had anyone to do it for, not really, and it feels right with Wade. It feels good to let someone sand his hard edges down, if only a little, and only because he wants them to. To be clear — there are days Logan wants to cut the little shit’s tongue out of his head, if only to bask in the temporary silence while Wade stews and grows it back, and their life didn’t transform into sunshine and rainbows because they finally fucked out the palpable sexual tension that’d been lingering over their heads for months. They still argue, they bicker, Logan still buries his claws in something of Wade’s a minimum of once a week, and the progression of their relationship didn’t magically wipe away all the baggage they’re both saddled with.

But on mornings like this, mornings where Wade can’t seem to get enough of him or stand to be detached from his hip for more than five seconds put together and the promise of spring is sweet in the air, and Wade makes the coffee while Logan helps Althea to the table, that baggage feels just that bit lighter, and it’s…

It’s nice.

2.

Logan knows it’s going to be a rough day when Wade emerges from their bathroom in head-to-toe grey cotton, save for the crimson of his Deadpool mask peeking out from beneath the hood of one of Logan’s pullovers.

He’s brushing his teeth over the kitchen sink when he catches sight of his partner. Wade's short, stilted steps and the heavy roundness of his shoulders tell Logan it is a Bad Pain Day™, and he spits his foamy mouthful of toothpaste into the sink’s basin to get verbal confirmation.

“Y’okay, bub?” 

Wade waves a hand dismissively before stuffing it back in his hoodie pocket. The lack of immediate chatter is an instant red flag. 

Mary Puppins trots out of Althea’s room, tongue flapping, too-long nails click-clacking on the hardwood (one of them really needs to trim those). She’s wearing a hot pink doggy sweater with a sparkly, champagne-colored tiara printed on the back, a barrier against the late-February chill in lieu of fur (Wade’s idea). Logan is still mostly convinced there’s nothing but hot air between the creature’s ears, yet she always knows when Wade is having a rough go of it and takes her job as an impromptu emotional support animal very seriously. Logan’s oddly comforted by the knowledge that she’ll be at home with Wade all day, playing the part of his shadow while Logan endures his first day of work.

Getting the job in the first place had been a bitch and a half – trying to explain how, yes, he was Logan, just not that Logan, because that Logan was dead, and this Logan was from another universe entirely (and not in the Starseed, hippy bullshit way either; that’d been an awkward conversation to navigate with the manager of a coffee shop down the street) was nothing short of a fucking shitshow. Add Logan’s truly woeful resume on top of that (the service industry could give two shits if you were an X-Man, as it turns out), and he was ready to give up before he’d finally landed a position at a construction company by sheer dumb luck.

“You don’t seem okay,” Logan presses, and Wade grumbles noncommittally.

“My everything feels like it got hit by a truck,” he mutters, leaning heavily on the back of the couch, “and then pissed on by a street dog, then run over again. Then shit on by a few pigeons for good measure. And then tossed in a dumpster fire full of dirty diapers. Have I painted you a picture, or shall I go on?”

“And the mask?”

“Oh, that – yeah, I woke up, and when I looked in the mirror, a sentient cat’s asshole with teeth was staring back at me.” Wade’s voice is light as if he’s trying to joke, but the cold edge and embittered delivery give him away. “That sorta nuked my usual morning zest, so…” He gestures at his mask, and Logan doesn’t know how the blank white eyes manage to appear downcast, but they do.

Wade is always in pain – he says it’s like background noise, most days, muffled dialogue from a TV show you’ve seen a million times left on to fill silence; unobtrusive, easy enough to ignore. But sometimes, he says, it’s like being lit aflame over and over again. His constantly regenerating, permanently oversensitive flesh is easier to soothe because he can wrap himself in a very soft blanket until the pins and needles go away ( if they go away), but today, it seems his skin isn’t the only problem. Every movement, every step, looks like agony.

“You don’t hafta walk me, you know,” Logan offers, tapping the wet bristles of his toothbrush on the edge of the sink before setting it down. “If you need to lay back down, I get it. I can manage a couple of blocks by myself.”

Wade shakes his head. Logan hates when he wears his mask outside of mercenary work because it’s impossible to read his expressions; selfishly, it’s also because he likes trying to memorize the ever-changing scars and contours of Wade’s face.

“Nah, ‘m fine.”

“Wade –”

“Mary needs a walk, anyway,” Wade says, and on cue, the dog’s ears perk up, and her head whips in her father’s direction. “Two birds, one stone. ‘Sides, I gotta scope out the sexy blue-collar guys, see who my competition is.”

“You don’t have competition, bub,” Logan says, and he is exercising every ounce of patience he’s capable of, which isn’t a whole lot, definitely subpar compared to other people, but hey, he’s trying. Nothing works when Wade gets like this, not anger, not tenderness (whatever approximation of tenderness Logan can manage, anyway), because it’s not really Wade talking – it’s the pain. It makes him standoffish and mean, liable to bite anyone’s head off at a moment’s notice.

Logan knows a thing or two about letting pain speak for a person, so he gives Wade as much grace as possible on days like this (not to mention a wide berth). Lord knows Wade gave him more grace than any person could ever hope to deserve when it mattered, and still does when Logan wakes up on the wrong side of the bed and acts like a craggy asshole until sundown.

“Everyone is competition when you’ve got a face that not even a mother could love,” Wade says wistfully, shrugging his shoulders and forcing his spine to straighten. “Well, not that she loved me even before the un-fun face-fucking, but you catch my drift.”

Wade shuffles to the side of the pullout, sitting wearily on his disheveled half, and nudges his Crocs toward him with socked feet. The whole endeavor should take seconds, but Wade’s sitting there for close to a minute, limbs stiff and jerking, fingers twitching against where they’re hiding inside his hoodie, but when Logan starts to walk toward him, Wade holds up a hand.

“I got it,” he snaps, and there’s more exasperation in his voice than Logan was expecting. He’s not sure who it’s directed at. “Don’t hover, I…I’m fine, angel face, seriously. Go finish getting ready. I need to get Mary’s harness on anyway.”

“I can do that,” Logan suggests, but Wade shoos him. 

“Go, go away, pretty bird. Go preen your feathers for work.” 

He wobbles to a stand, patting his thigh and making a loud kissy sound to encourage Mary to the door. Logan watches for a few seconds to ensure Wade doesn’t keel over, then slowly retreats to Althea’s room to grab his jacket and belt. She’s not home, which is a little shocking because it’s just after six in the morning, but Logan doesn’t worry about it too much – the woman keeps her own schedule, and he knows better than to fret over her at this point. He tried once – that was a bad morning.

Wade’s managed to successfully dress Mary for the walk by the time Logan comes back – her harness looks just like Wade’s suit, and even has a little tag styled to look like the logo on his belt with “MARY PUPPINS” written on the back in silver script, along with Wade’s phone number – but he’s bracing both hands on his knees and drawing careful, slow breaths the way he always does when he’s trying not to puke. Suggesting that Wade stay home more insistently won’t do anything except maybe (definitely) piss him off. He hates being fussed over on days like this, maintains that he’s fine , and Logan knows that’s bullshit, but he’d be a real big hypocrite if he got on Wade for being annoyingly stubborn.

So he quietly slides a hand inside Wade’s (Logan’s, first, at some point, but Wade adopted it as his ages ago, and Logan’s never asked for it back) hoodie, links their fingers together, and starts to walk the three of them out the door.

Wade takes the stairs sluggishly, and Logan lets him but makes sure he’s always a step ahead in case Wade topples suddenly.

He shudders when a blast of wintry air rushes past them, relents enough to curl tighter into Logan’s side to leech some of his warmth, and Logan doesn’t comment. He wishes he had Wade’s ability to shoot off at the mouth about nothing; maybe he’d be able to distract his partner from the pain radiating through his body and the dark thoughts swirling in his head. But he doesn’t. He just squeezes Wade’s hand every so often, slows when he can hear Wade’s heart thumping too fast for his comfort, and diverts them away from puddles or icy spots on the sidewalk.

Luckily, the site isn’t too far from the apartment, but by the time they arrive, Wade is shivering and the physical embodiment of the word droopy . He keeps mashing the heel of his hand into the nose of his mask like he’s trying to mop up snot, too. The clang of metal and thunderous roll of men’s voices make him cringe a bit, but he spins on the spot and extricates his hand from Logan’s.

“Don’t go finding a new boytoy while you’re here,” Wade says, and he sounds fucking miserable . It breaks Logan’s heart a little. “I don’t like to share, and…it’s my apartment, and I can kick you both out.”

“It’s Althea’s apartment,” Logan says, rubbing his palms up and down Wade’s shuddering arms to warm him. “And I already told you, dumbass, you don’t have any competition. Go the fuck back to sleep when you get home, okay?”

Wade hums, and Mary Puppins yips at Logan’s feet. Through the metallic crashing and banging all around them, Logan can hear murmurs amongst the men working:

Is that Deadpool?

Holy shit.

Looks like him.

He has the mask on.

What’s he doing with that hairy fucker?

Is that the  Wolverine?

“Was thinking I’d train for a 5k, actually,” Wade sighs, and the way he tucks the edge of his hood around his face lets Logan know that he can hear the gossipy blather around them, too. “Maybe go save a whole litter of kittens stuck up a tree, too…or whatever the fuck it is hero-ish people do.”

Mary whines as Wade tugs on her leash and starts to amble away, looking between him and Logan imploringly. 

Logan hasn’t been one for PDA in years , but he can’t just let Wade leave with his shoulders sagging and that wretched slant in his voice, so he takes a step forward and grabs Wade’s wrist.

Faster than Wade can protest, he’s yanking the hood down, rolling Wade’s mask up past his nose, and laying a big, fat kiss on his stupid, self-deprecating mouth.

Logan won’t lie – it’s pretty gross. Wade’s upper lip is indeed wet with snot, and he has horrific morning breath made worse by the trek to the construction site and the humidity of his mask, but Logan kisses and sucks at Wade’s lips like a starving man anyway. The men behind them are definitely watching because they hoot and whistle suggestively, but Logan pays them no mind; he cups the curve of Wade’s jaw and licks into his mouth, relishing in the heat crawling across the lower half of Wade’s face and blossoming under his fingertips.

“Love your mouth,” Logan murmurs. He means something else; they both know it, but he still has trouble with that particular phrasing, not because he doesn’t feel it — he feels it so much that it physically aches some days. It just gets stuck in his throat, sweet and tacky like honey. He doesn’t need to see Wade’s eyes to know they’re big and round, probably fluttering like a cartoon character’s.

“Love you…too,” he pants. 

“Go home,” Logan urges, stroking his thumbs over Wade’s half-covered cheeks, “take a nap, and if you’re still on this woe-is-me bullshit when my shift is done, I’m gonna cut your dick off ‘til it doesn’t grow back anymore.”

“…C-Could you do that anyway?” Wade asks. There he is.

Logan chuckles and retreats a step, calling out a final goodbye that’s almost drowned out by the juvenile whooping and jeering from his coworkers.

The day passes uneventfully — it turns out, no one’s inclined to be homophobic to the guy built like a brick shithouse with adamantium blades in his hands, funny how that works — and on his walk home, Logan decides to pick up Chinese takeout from their favorite place. He’s expecting Wade to be curled up in a pitiful ball on the pullout, Golden Girls droning softly on the TV when he walks through the door, but instead, he’s sitting at the kitchen table…with Chinese takeout from their favorite place.

“Uh…” Logan says, holding up his bulbous plastic bag. Wade — finally maskless — blinks at him.

“Jinx?” he says, a coy smile flirting with the curve of his lips, and Logan snorts.

Wade flits across the room, still slightly buckram but not so visibly weighed down with pain, and pecks Logan on the lips.

“You stink ,” he says benevolently, nosing at Logan’s cheek. “Like industrial lubricant and the fragile male ego. And body odor, a lot of body odor.”

“You seem better.”

“Everything’s simmered back down to my baseline of “just inconveniently painful,” thank you for noticing.” Wade points to the takeout in Logan’s hand. “Why did you get apology Chinese?”

“Because…it’s just regular Chinese? I figured you might be hungry, and I didn’t feel like cooking.”

“Aw, aren’t you just a sweetie?” Wade pinches his cheeks, and Logan lets him because he’s had a bad day — totally not because he likes it a little bit. Nope.

“What’re you apologizing for, again?” Logan asks as Wade takes the plastic bag from his hand and — hangs it on Mary Puppins’ leash hook. Fucking loon.

“Being a cranky bitch this morning,” Wade explains. Logan doesn’t realize he’s being backed up toward the pullout, both of Wade’s hands flat against his pecs, until the backs of his knees hit the mattress, and he’s suddenly falling onto his ass.

“You don’t need to apologize for that, bub. ‘S not personal, I know that.”

Wade shrugs…and sinks to his knees. Oh.

“Well, crab rangoon and moo goo gai pan were only half of my apology plan,” Wade says, bumping Logan’s legs apart, deft fingers making quick work of his belt and zipper. He’s not hard, but the way Wade maintains eye contact as he fishes Logan out through the fly of his jeans is getting him there quickly . 

“Thought you said I stunk.”

“You do,” Wade moans and takes Logan down his throat.

3.

Triggers are fucking stupid.

Logan means that with the utmost sincerity, just not in the way most people think. Having triggers isn’t the stupid part, no, and neither is having an unusual or uncommon trigger, like a door slamming or the smell of gasoline — all of those are fine.

It’s his triggers that are, without a doubt, fucking stupid .

He’d been having such a good day, too. He supposes that should have tipped him off, in hindsight — he can never have too good a day because, as he’s learned, there is always a cosmic shoe just fucking dying to drop right on top of his big metal skull. It often feels like it’s been lobbed at his head rather than passively dropped, with all the force of a celestial quarterback whipping a football. 

It was a good day because it was a boring day, a normal day. He and Wade ran errands — ammo shop to replenish Wade’s inventory, bank to deposit Logan’s most recent paycheck, and finally, the grocery store to spend said paycheck — and they’re on their way home when it happens. Wade’s a few paces ahead, practically bouncing down the sidewalk despite the excessive amount of plastic bags he’s loaded up on both arms, and he’s chattering (shocking, isn’t it?) about the inflated price of sweet potatoes.

Logan’s not really listening, just weaving in between pedestrians and letting the sound of Wade’s voice in the wind guide him in the right direction. He’s thinking about if he wants to make lasagna or bolognese for dinner when an old man bumps into him. Or, rather, Logan bumps into him  because he’s not paying attention like he should be, and he opens his mouth to apologize to the poor geezer when he smells it.

Smells him , more like — Logan smells Charles fucking Xavier. 

His Charles Xavier, because as he’s discovered, variants of the people he’s known for decades still smell like different beings altogether in this universe; it made for a very disorienting trip to this world’s version of the X-Mansion a week back when Wade insisted he attended Yukio’s birthday party. It was like walking straight back into the past, only this time, the familiar faces he’d missed so fucking much came with brand new scents and interests and lives , so they weren’t that familiar at all — he’d spent the better part of that evening stuck to Wade’s hip, head spinning so fast from the grotesqueness of it all he was fighting the urge to vomit until they left.

That’s one of the (many) downsides to having senses as enhanced as his. He never forgets an odor, no matter how unpleasant, and he can smell everything with such intensity it sometimes makes the space behind his eyes throb, which is why when he smells Charles, that blend of old dusty books and leather and spiced rum he’s never picked up on anyone else, he freezes .

The man isn’t Charles because his Charles Xavier is fucking dead. Still, he’s a kind-looking older fellow with gold-wire glasses, clear, bright blue eyes, and the smile he offers as he side-steps Logan with a liver-spotted hand on the shoulder is so Charles that it makes his stomach lurch, first with hope and then crushing despair. The interaction is over as soon as it starts, but the man’s scent sticks to Logan like sap, like glue, like blood , and that’s when shit starts to go sideways.

It starts with the floor tilting dramatically, as always. Logan stumbles like he’s been thrown forward, almost dropping the bags he (somehow) distantly remembers he’s holding. Then his vision fuzzes, blurring this mundane corner of the world, his corner of the world, into unrecognizable shapes and colors, blotches of light and shadow spinning together dizzyingly fast. His hearing goes next, fading until there’s nothing but the sound of blood rushing in his ears, and if that’s where it stopped, maybe he could recover, come back from this quickly.

But it doesn’t.

The dancing lights slow, crystallize, blossom into something — some where — new and yet not new at all, and there’s a pop like Logan’s ascending on an airplane as his hearing returns. God, does he wish it wouldn’t. There are so many voices, some wailing, some gurgling, all different shades of devastated. It makes Logan cold down to his bones, into the very metal core of his being. He can smell them, all of them, smell their blood, smell them dying — his friends, his family, they’re dying, and they’re calling to him.

Logan! Logan!

The carpet is so wet with blood that his shoes squelch; crimson bubbles and froths around his every footfall. He’s freezing; why is he freezing? He drank his weight in liquor tonight. What is all this blood? What’s happened to his friends? 

Logan! Help me!

The walls — they’re streaked with red. There are scorch marks, arcs of burnt wood and charred wallpaper as far as Logan can see, and the blood — it smells like Scott. Where’s Scott?

Where’s Jean?

LOGAN!!

Oh, God, they’re dying. Why can’t Logan get to them fast enough, they’re dying , he has to move, but his feet are stuck in the carpet. Stuck in their blood. It sounds like he’s being called to from every corner of the house, every nook and cranny filled with another dead or dying mutant who implores him for help. But he can’t. He can’t.

He turns his head, drags a ragged breath in through his open mouth, scents his surroundings. So much fucking blood, but beneath it — or maybe woven within it — is Charles. He’s just behind the door to his left. Why isn’t he saying anything? 

“…Logan…”

There are more voices, different voices, different scents. Humans . He can hear their hearts crashing against their ribs, smell the adrenaline pumping through their veins, the sweat on their heated flesh. They’re excited, exhausted, proud — Logan can taste the malicious thrill thick in the air, just like he can taste gunpowder and copper.

Laughter cracks through the night like lightning, sharp and predatory, like the hiccuping of hyenas.

“Logan —“

They did this. They did this.

“Fucking Christ — Logan.”

They killed his friends. The fucking humans, they came for his friends, like Erik always said they would, and they’re laughing . He’ll kill them, he’ll kill every last fucking one of —

“Logan!”

The world jerks on its axis again, and then Logan spins through nothing. 

It takes a long, long time, ages, before he can feel the ground beneath him.

When he does, it’s cold and hard — concrete. Sidewalk. He’s on the sidewalk. 

He inhales, sucking air through his teeth. The air is wintry, heavy with the threat of snowfall; he can smell frying meat, laundry detergent, something sweet…marshmallows.

Wade.

“Theeere he is, there we go, hey, peanut.” 

Wade is here. He’s close to Logan’s face, the irregular pools and ridges of his scars pinker than usual, thanks to the cold, brown eyes glittering like river rocks. There’s warmth on Logan’s cheeks — Wade’s hands.

Something hot and metallic burns his nose. He looks down.

All six of his claws are driven through Wade’s middle.

“Fuck, shit, I’m —“

“Oh, please, it’s barely a fucking tickle,” Wade interrupts, blood gushing afresh into his hoodie. He’s kneeling between Logan’s legs — he doesn’t remember how he ended up on the ground.

“Oh my God! ” shrieks a random woman, scuttling up to where Wade and Logan are huddled. “A-Are you alright? Should I call someone?”

“Do I fucking look like I need your help, lady?” Wade snaps, twisting and forcing Logan to gouge deeper holes into his intercostals. Logan finally has the sense to retract his claws, and Wade stands, shooing the woman away.

“Go, go on. Go report a kid for selling lemonade, or something, this is official Deadpool business. That goes for all of you looky-loo assholes!”

Logan blinks. There’s a fucking crowd because, of course, there is. They gape, affronted, at Wade for a few seconds, unmoving. Does one of them have their fucking phone out right now?

“Alright, you shitbirds have about five seconds,” Wade snarls, “and then I am going full Hancock on all your voyeuristic asses — starting with you , pornstache.” He points a finger at a man with a dark push-broom mustache, who gulps thickly.

“One! Two!”

Everyone scatters like cockroaches before Wade reaches three.

“Okay, honey badger — c’mon, uppies, let’s get you out of that mysterious puddle you’ve sat in.”

Wade’s hands are firm under Logan’s armpits, hefting him to his feet even as Logan’s legs wobble like wet noodles. He slumps against Wade’s chest, knees trembling; one of Wade’s arms loops around his waist, keeping him somewhat steady.

“If you think about it, it’s kinda special,” Wade says. He stoops slightly, threading his free arm through the handles of discarded grocery bags. “Our first foray into PTSD flashbacks as a couple. Should mark it on the calendar, peanut. I’m sure you’ll always wanna remember it.”

If Logan had any energy left in his body, he’d tell Wade to shut up. But he’s drenched in sweat, his veins are singing with a nauseating amount of adrenaline, and his stomach threatens to empty all over the pavement if he so much as opens his mouth, so he settles for grunting in displeasure.

Wade hauls Logan’s four-hundred-pound ass up three flights of stairs, occasionally adjusting the grocery bags on his arm, and never complains. He talks – Logan doesn’t know about what, and for the first time, it’s not because he’s actively tuning Wade out; his brain has just been turned to soup, and he physically cannot log any of the information Wade is dumping on him. 

One second, they’re in the hallway, and the next, Logan is on his back on the pullout, the in-between a haze. Wade sits on the edge, one of Logan’s legs in his lap, unlaces his boots.

“...and then it turns out that Pink Diamond was never shattered at all. She was Rose Quartz the whole time! Isn’t that fuckin’ nuts?”

“Huh?” 

Wade looks over his shoulder and chucks Logan’s shoe into the wall. Logan doesn’t think that’s what he’s aiming for, but the sole thwacks into the drywall all the same.

“Oh, were you actually listening?” Wade asks, flinging the other boot away. He heaves Logan’s legs aside and shimmies out from under their weight. “You had this beautiful little thousand-yard twinkle in your eye, so I assumed you were out to lunch, but I can start at the top if–”

“Wade.” Logan’s eyes are fixed on the hideous scarlet blotch on his torso, the six fluttering gashes he tore through Wade's hoodie. “Take that off.”

“I’m all for unhealthy coping mechanisms, but I’m not too keen on fucking you while you’re all…like this,” Wade says, gesturing to Logan’s supine form. Logan kicks out, an empty threat that doesn’t connect with anything.

“No, not…you stink like blood, idiot. Take that off so I don’t have to smell it.” 

Wade obliges, even going the extra mile to deposit the sweatshirt into the hamper in Althea’s room; Logan notes the soft click of the door shutting as Wade pads back into the living room. He busies himself with unpacking the groceries, clattering and banging around in the kitchen so ferociously Logan knows he’ll have to go back and reorganize the pantry when he gets a second wind, and it’s…it’s comforting, weirdly. He’d love to be annoyed, and usually is with Wade’s contempt for putting anything in a place that makes logical sense, but right now, it’s nice to have something trivial to focus on, to distract him from whatever the fuck downstairs just was.

He hasn’t had a flashback that vivid in years . His nightmares don’t even haunt his subconscious in such graphic technicolor, and it’s fucking with his head. The sheets between his fingers don’t feel all the way real yet, and it’s like he’s floating, untethered to his body in a wholly disorienting way. The only thing assuring him that any of this is real and he isn’t back at the mansion is Wade’s scent. He jams his face into the mattress and greedily inhales, trying to embed the smell of his partner into his fucking lungs, but it’s not enough. 

Logan rolls onto his side and grunts in Wade’s direction.

“Are you gonna puke?” Wade asks, nose wrinkling and lip curling. “I puke sometimes, after, but we don’t have a Little Green Machine, so I’d prefer if you rolled thataway ,” he flaps a hand, indicating the rugless half of the room, “so I can mop up your hairballs a little easier.”

Wade’s works clunk around in his head, weightless and without meaning. He reaches a hand out pitifully.

“‘Mere, mouth,” he grumbles.

Wade opens his mouth, thinks better of whatever he’s about to say, then shuts it. He shuffles over, shirtless above his Hello Kitty pajama pants – if Logan’s eyes would stop blankly sliding over everything, he might smile at those fucking bottoms rather fondly, but as of right now, he doesn't even process Wade’s wearing them. 

“Scoot, kitty cat, you’re manspreading,” Wade says, pushing at Logan’s flank. He flops onto his back, and then Wade is beneath him, gingerly lifting his shoulders and setting his head in Wade’s lap. His hands, rough and malformed, slip easily into Logan’s hair.

“That looked like a doozy down there,” he remarks, and Logan grouses wordlessly. What a fucking understatement .

“You wanna tell ole Wadey about it?”

“Not really.” He’s not often at risk of sliding into a new flashback when he talks about previous ones, but he doesn’t trust his maudlin, mushy brain right now. Besides, Wade’s scent is creeping pleasantly into his nose, wrapping its fingers around Logan and tenderly bringing him back down to earth.

“...you were yelling for them,” Wade says after a moment, voice low, sincere. “Chuck, Scott…Jean…took me a second to realize you weren’t just having a senior moment and hollering at people on the street.”

Logan laughs, and though it’s barely more than air being pushed out of his nose, it’s real. If anyone else tried to joke about his flashbacks or what he did during them, he’d run them through, no questions asked. But Wade gets it – gets him . He knows Logan doesn’t want to be nursed and doted on because it embarrasses him and makes him feel incapable and ridiculous, so he never does. He’s just himself.

Logan doesn’t appreciate that enough, he decides.

He looks up at Wade, finally feeling more bound to his body, and Wade is looking at him too, open and patient, and God,  he loves this stupid motherfucker so much it makes him ill.

“Thanks,” he says.

“For what, the head scritches?” Wade asks, lightly scraping his blunt nails over Logan’s scalp. “My pleasure. Anything to get my hands on your kitty cat ears.” That’s what he calls Logan’s cowlicks because he’s an asshole.

“‘M trying to be nice, fuckface.”

“Don’t, it’s not your color. You look much better in shades of gruff and stoicism.”

Logan cracks a smile, and his eyes slide closed as Wade massages his head more insistently. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, Logan dozing, Wade playing in his hair, but after a while, something warm and dry presses between Logan’s (for once) unfurrowed brow.

Wade’s lips.

Wade murmurs something sweet and soft into his flesh, mouth dragging earnestly over his forehead, but Logan doesn’t catch it. 

(Wade would like to interject here, though, dear reader, to reiterate it: You never have to thank me for this . Purely for contextual and narrative purposes, not at all because he wants Good Boyfriend Points. Carry on!)

4.

“I’m not wearing that.”

Wade wilts, lips pursing and eyes narrowing. “Do you hate me? Is that it?”

Logan’s eyes flit between Wade’s downtrodden expression and the hot pink T-shirt clutched in his hand, two sizes too big for even Logan and I’m a Virgin etched on the front in swirling white script.

“Put it back,” he says, barreling past Wade with their already overfull shopping cart and crossing to the end of the aisle. Letting Wade talk him into coming to the thrift store was a stupid idea, and he’d known as much when he agreed, but, well…it’s hard to say no to someone who’s got your dick down their throat, especially when they’re batting their big wet eyes at you, and the drooly curve of their mouth forms the word please so prettily.

He’s kinda whipped. But he’s not I’m a Virgin shirt-whipped.

People bustle around him, politely tapping the back of the cart or his shoulders when they pass by to indicate their presence, and he knows they don’t mean anything by it but Christ alive, does he wish strangers would stop fucking touching him. Were he in his original universe, he would say as much, with a lot more snarling and unsheathing of the claws, but he’s trying to be civilized now, and being civilized apparently means grinning and bearing it a lot more than he used to. His skin is writhing under his jacket, and heat is crawling uncomfortably up his neck, so he sets his jaw and waits at the end of the aisle for Wade to finish browsing through shirts.

“What if I wear it?” Wade asks, waving that neon atrocity around and cupping a hand around his mouth like Logan can’t hear a conversation happening next door. “Any objections to that?”

“Yes.”

“Great, I’m getting it!” 

A few people pivot to watch Wade traipse toward the cart, flinging the shirt inside with a triumphant little grin on his face, and it makes Logan bristle a bit. He knows Wade is loud – he fucking lives with him – but the disgust on these strangers’ faces is not only because of Wade’s volume; Logan can tell by the way their eyes roam from the top of his bald head to the stretches of exposed, mottled skin on his hands and legs with a sort of fascinated revulsion. Wade’s a grown-ass man, a contract killer; he doesn’t need rescuing, and he certainly doesn’t need to be reminded of his unusual appearance when he’s having a rare good day, so Logan resolutely doesn’t say anything, but he wants to.

Who the fuck are these people to look at Wade that way? If they knew what he’d gone through, what made him look the way he does, Logan’s certain they’d keep those nasty little sideways glances to themselves. But that shouldn’t even fucking matter; it shouldn’t matter what Wade has or hasn’t endured because his appearance doesn't need justification.

Logan breathes out heavily through his nose. A boorish, stupid part of himself wants to whisk Wade home and fuck these feelings out; he’s not good with words, even dirty talk (that’s Wade’s shtick), but he’ll fumble his way through all day long just to make Wade flush in that way he does.

Oops, okay – no more thoughts like that in public.

Logan shakes his head to clear the ( very appetizing) mental image of Wade blushing down to his chest and looks out across the store, eyes lazily scanning the jumbled knick-knacks stacked at the ends of the aisles.

Oh.

Logan squints.

It’s exceptionally irritating that he knows precisely what the thing is before he can even really focus on it and even more irritating that his chest leaps at the sight. He looks around, slyly checking what Wade’s doing – he’s off in his own little world, flipping through hung-up pairs of jeans, mouth moving along to whatever pop song is playing faintly over the intercom above. 

Perfect.

Logan swings the cart over and hurries over to the fucking Hello Kitty alarm clock that Wade has been talking his ear off about for close to two weeks now, knocking it into the cart and making a mad dash for the self-checkout before Wade notices he’s gone. Whether or not he glares at a few people who deem it appropriate to stare at him while he does this is neither here nor there (but they fucking started it).

Wade finds him after he’s stuffed the purchase beneath a yellow vinyl bag Wade picked up from a local bakery sometime the year before, its blue eyes sparkling and a wide, toothy grin stretched across the front. It’s hideous and a little creepy, but Wade said it reminded him of Logan’s suit, and then he didn’t feel like he could insult the thing without sounding like a huge dick, so.

“Ready to go, honey badger?”

“I was ready half an hour ago.”

“Next time, we can do what you wanna do, princess,” Wade offers, patting Logan’s bicep and snatching the cart from him. “Like brood or go to the cigar factory and clean house.”

“You’re fuckin’ stupid.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fucking stupid, so sticks and stones, gorgeous.”

He hates (loves) how easy it is for Wade to make him laugh.

Logan wraps the alarm clock inside a shirt and stuffs it at the bottom of Wade’s bag while he’s distracted, determined to keep it as a surprise until they get home, which proves to be a little harder than anticipated because Wade likes to swing every single bag he’s ever held around like a fucking flail. He’s convinced Wade’ll fling it straight into a wall at this rate, which wouldn’t be devastating, and he only paid like six dollars for the stupid thing, but…well, he knows Wade will like it. If it survives.

Althea is on the folded-up couch when they get home. Mary Puppins is nestled snugly in her lap, and she hits Wade with a “You holdin'?” the second his foot crosses the threshold into the apartment.

“No, Tony Montana,” he snipes, pitching his bag onto the kitchen table. “My money does have better things to be spent on, believe it or not.”

“Not by much,” Logan mutters, and Wade thumps him on the back of the head.

“You’re both just lovely people to be around, d’you know that?” He starts to unload his purchases as he rants, and Logan leans against the wall nearest the table so he can watch.

“I’m so glad you can bond over endlessly mocking me, really butters my fuckin’ nuts, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have two crotchety pensioners riding my ass all goddamn – the fuck is this?” 

Logan smirks as Wade turns the lumpy shirt over in his hands, the wrinkled skin of his forehead bunching in confusion.

“Did I black out and shoplift something?” he mumbles, half to himself, curiously unfurling the fabric. 

“No, dipshit, just open it.”

“Did you shoplift something?” Wade asks, mouth dropping open in faux-shock. “ Peanut , I can’t believe you would…no, you fucking didn’t.”

Logan grins . 

Wade’s eyes round, and suddenly, he looks smaller in the already cramped kitchen, softer somehow as he gingerly turns the alarm clock over in his hands. Logan can see the wheels turning in his head when he finally looks up at him.

“You’re clowning.”

“No, bub, ‘s for you.”

“I sense clowns.”

“It was just fuckin’ sitting there in the store. You were ready to pay some loser in Tucson like a hundred bucks for it on eBay, so…now you don’t have to.”

Wade blinks. His lack of eyelashes makes the tears welling up in his eyes more apparent, but Logan doesn’t comment on them, and eventually, Wade sets the clock down on the table and presses into Logan’s space with a watery little smile.

“You,” he breathes, hands bracketing either side of Logan’s neck, “are a fucking hopeless romantic in Wolverine’s clothing.”

“It’s just a clock, bub.” Logan’s palms instinctively find the curve of Wade’s waist.

“It’s what the clock represents ,” Wade insists, tapping Logan on the tip of the nose with his index finger. “Or did you not pay attention in English class?”

“Shut up.”

Logan tugs Wade closer, sealing the gap between their mouths, and he can practically taste the smile on Wade’s lips. He’ll never admit it, but he guesses Wade is right.

What the clock represents – or whatever.

5.

“Do we have Epsom salts?”

Logan blinks to clear the sleep from his eyes and rolls his head toward Wade’s voice. He doesn’t know when the scratchy throw that usually lives on the back of the couch was thrown across his legs or when Mary decided his stomach was an excellent place to sleep, but they both make for a lethal combo as far as midday naps go. He’s still all soft and fuzzy at the edges despite the chill leaking into the apartment through the walls and floorboards.

He clears his throat and looks up at Wade standing in the mouth of the hallway. Somehow, some way, he’s acquired a pullover that looks exactly like Logan’s X-Men suit, and its aggressively yellow fabric is like a floodlight through the afternoon's gloom.

“…huh?”

“Epsom. Salts,” Wade repeats, raising his voice and over-enunciating every syllable. “Do. We. Have. Any?”

“Salt’s in the kitchen, where it always is,” Logan grumbles. He scrubs a hand over his face and tries to kick the blanket from his lower half; Mary Puppins whines in protest before hopping to the floor with an exasperated sigh.

“No, not — ugh, men ,” Wade huffs. “I’m not seasoning chicken, I’m trying to take a bath, I’m not using fucking kosher salt.”

“Why’re you taking a salt bath?” Logan asks, and Wade groans like he’s dealing with an especially stupid child. Even Mary casts him a look he swears is disparaging, which is rich, considering she almost chokes to death every time she eats because she still hasn’t figured out how not to swallow her own tongue.

“My joints hurt like I just went ten rounds in a salad spinner, and not in a fun way, so I’d like to stew in some boiling water for the next hour and pretend I don’t have joints at all. To do that, babygirl, I need Epsom salt.”

“…Why?” Perhaps he could deduce the why on his own if he thought about it for more than five seconds, but his brain is still clogged with sleep and not running on all cylinders…plus, who is Logan kidding? Sometimes it’s really fun to fuck with Wade the way he fucks with him. He seldom gets the opportunity, so when Wade’s scowl deepens, Logan’s lips twitch with amusement.

“I read about it on fucking Pinterest, oh Inquisitive One, thank you so much for your help.”

Logan’s feet hit the floor just as Wade’s disappears around the corner. He ambles toward the bathroom, where fat, half-melted white candles are scattered on every available flat surface, flickering invitingly, and a half-empty bottle of lavender soap is perched on the toilet tank. Steam hangs thickly in the air, rising from the mountain of frothy, fragrant bubbles piled high in the tub, and Logan wonders if maybe the water is actually boiling. Condensation sweats down the surface of the small mirror above the sink, where Wade’s reflection quickly undresses.

“Bad day?” he asks, and Wade starts a bit.

“Not as bad as others,” he exhales, the line of his shoulders relaxing once he realizes who’s behind him. He balls up his pullover and lobs it at Logan’s chest — it connects softly with his pecs before plopping onto the tile. Logan kicks it behind him into the hallway. 

“But not great,” Logan finishes. Wade nods, bouncing on one foot as he strips a sock off the other.

“That’s the thing about chronic pain, peanut — great is hardly a member of my vocabulary unless I’m talkin’ about the British bake-off.”

When Wade is finally naked, he rolls his shoulders out and cracks his neck — the notches slip and crunch in a way Logan fucking hates — before turning to face his partner properly.

“You gonna join, or are you content to stand there, ogling me like a pervert?”

Logan ignores that comment because Wade Wilson is the last person he will ever take criticism regarding ogling from, thank you, but furrows his brow and casts a dubious look at the tub. It’s not falling apart like most things in the apartment, but it is small, probably too small for Althea to sit in comfortably. 

“I don’t even think you can fit in there, bub,” he says plainly, and Wade’s jaw falls, one hand pressing in exaggerated offense against his bare chest.

“How dare you, I’m still carrying holiday weight.”

Logan rolls his eyes. 

(Wade’s not wrong, though; he is a little more substantial these days, especially around the middle, but far be it from Logan to ever point that out. Or complain.) 

“I mean because you’re tall , asshole, and I’m also tall —“

“Eh,” Wade says, and Logan makes a mental note to smack the shit out of him for that later.

“— so we both wouldn’t fit.”

“You, of all people, know that I am a champion at making things fit, Wolvie,” Wade says, and his gaze briefly drops to Logan’s crotch. Oh yeah, Logan’s the ogler.

Wade’s eyes roll back into his head as he sinks into his bath, groaning obscenely and almost vanishing completely beneath the foam heaped above the water. Logan steps closer, toeing the rest of Wade’s clothes out of the cramped space, and sits on the toilet lid.

Wade doesn’t need to be watched over; he knows that. He typically wouldn’t have followed Wade in here, just left him to his pain management and waited to be accompanied in the living room once Wade had soaked to his satisfaction, but…actually, he doesn’t have a reason. Not a good one, anyway — he just feels like hanging out with him in here. Beats marinating in the cold damp of the rest of the apartment, anyway.

Wade blows air out of his mouth, sending a few bubble clumps in Logan’s direction. One lands daintily on the knee of his sweats, and he wipes it away.

“Water’s fine, honey badger,” Wade hums. “Just a hair below scalding.”

Logan curiously dips a finger in, and Jesus , Wade’s not fucking kidding. He’s surprised there isn’t sloughed-off flesh floating around in the bathwater at this rate.

“Okay, that can’t be good for you,” he says, and Wade waves a hand at him.

“Neither is cancer, believe it or not.”

“Your joints hurt that bad?”

Wade nods, eyes shut and head tipped back against the lip of the tub. 

Logan considers him for a moment. He looks peaceful, not like he’s slowly being cooked alive at all, and again, he’s fine . Logan knows he’s fine, knows that if he got up and walked out right now, Wade would pickle himself for a while and then emerge in a haze of steam, chipper and chattering away, but…

“Alright, move.”

Wade cracks an eye open and watches Logan peel himself out of his clothes. 

“Wait, you’re actually getting in?” he asks, and Logan pauses, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his briefs.

“You just asked me to get in.”

“Well, yeah , but I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Do you not want me to?”

“Babygirl, if I ever say no to you being wet, naked, and pressed up against me, I want you to find a way to kill me for real,” Wade says seriously, raising one bright red arm out of the bath and clutching Logan’s knee. “I just know cats don’t like water, that’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ move your ass,” Logan grunts, flinging his underwear into the hallway.

Water sloshes over the rim of the tub as Wade sits up and scoots forward, bubbles spilling over decrepit tile and soaking the ugly, threadbare mat Althea had perhaps purchased in the eighties. Logan grimaces as he steps in, flesh tingling unpleasantly as he lowers himself behind Wade’s scrunched-up form. When his ass hits the porcelain, another wave of water splashes onto the floor noisily, and Wade snorts.

“Such a talent you have for making things hot and wet, angel face,” he purrs, wasting no time in wriggling between Logan’s knees and slotting his back against Logan’s chest. Bubbles tickle the bottom of Logan’s chin, so he wipes it with the back of his hand before looping both arms around Wade’s waist. It’s a natural thing for him, now, embracing Wade like this. Before this, before they became…whatever it is they are (“boyfriends” feels like too juvenile a word for someone as old as Logan), he’d tried to avoid touching Wade as much as possible unless they were fighting, in which case all bets were off. He’s stabbed Wade through the skull, sucker-punched him in the gut, swiped his legs out from under him and then laughed when his head bounced off the ground, and it was thrilling, exhilarating, but this…

He slides his hands up and presses both thumbs into the nape of Wade’s neck, rubbing firmly and spreading them outwards to the sides of his throat and then down to his traps; Wade moans and lets his head fall back against Logan’s shoulder.

He likes touching Wade like this, gently, slowly. He likes knowing that his touch is helping , venting some tension and pain out of Wade’s body without violence. He watches his hands on Wade’s neck, tanned and hairy against gnarled, too-pink flesh. If he focuses, he can feel his claws jostling between his bones, tucked away and as natural to him as breathing but always on this side of uncomfortable. 

He is a brutish, ugly thing, always has been. But here he is, here Wade is, allowing him this close to him, allowing him to run the hands that have done unspeakable, unforgivable things over his perpetually raw skin and trusting that Logan won’t hurt him (not unless he’s asked to, anyway).

He finds a knot bundled between Wade’s shoulder blades and digs his fingers into it; he kisses the knob of Wade’s spine apologetically when he hisses with discomfort.

“Were you a fucking masseuse in the war?” Wade groans, eyes screwed shut. “It’s like you’re finding knots in my knots, Jesus Christ .”

“Should I stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” Wade says, reaching back to tangle a hand in Logan’s hair. Water dribbles from his forearm onto Logan’s face, and when Wade scratches against the base of Logan’s skull, he’s reminded of when they fuck. Wade’s shameless noises, the way they cling onto each other like they’ll die if they can’t get close enough. But this is more intense, more intimate in a way that’s different from sex.

Logan noses at Wade’s neck and drags his hands down lower, beneath the water, working the stiffness along his flanks out as Wade melts on top of him. He huffs and sighs prettily, and as much as Logan wants to sink his teeth into his pulse point, down, down, down until he hits muscle and can taste Wade’s blood in the dip of his tongue, he doesn’t.

Because this is about taking away all of Wade’s pain, or as much as he can touch, the way Wade has taken away what he can touch of Logan’s pain.

Logan massages Wade’s neck again, taking advantage of how loose he is and nudging his head further to the side. The fingers of one hand clutch Wade’s jaw, not hard, but firm enough to keep him in one place, while the others work themselves into Wade’s deltoids. He kisses below Wade’s ear, the column of his throat, his shoulder, and then back up, again and again, until Wade is making these beautiful little half-bitten noises high in his throat.

“If this is your idea of foreplay,” Wade croons, breathless, “it is fucking working, peanut.”

“‘S not,” Logan murmurs. He smooths his palms over Wade’s thighs, careful not to dip too close to what he’s sure Wade is hinting at, and hones in on all the snarled muscle there. Wade’s knees thunk against the tub's edges as he drops both legs open wider, and Logan chuckles but keeps his steady, slow pace.

“I just wanna do this,” he says lowly against the shell of Wade’s ear. “Wanna help you.”

“You’re sure helpin’ something.”

“Want you to feel good ,” Logan rumbles, and his arms tighten around Wade’s middle again, holding him in place. He pushes his face into the slippery skin of Wade’s nape, inhaling deeply and pushing past the lavender that clings there, latching onto Wade’s scent. Wade slides his hand down and cups the back of Logan’s skull.

“I feel very good, beautiful,” he sighs, and something in Logan’s chest squirms. Beautiful . Wade says it lightly, easily, as if it’s an objective fact and not worth a second thought. Logan turns his face, resting his cheek against the topmost notch in Wade’s spine, and exhales.

“I love you,” he says, so quiet he thinks maybe Wade won’t hear it, but he fucking tenses . Logan’s insides are roiling, and he’s hot all over, but it’s not from the bath water – he’s queasy, feels like he’s being flayed open, and it’s fucking awful , but he needs to do this. Needs to say this.

“I know,” Wade says, soft and sweet. 

“‘M bad at this.”

“I know.”

Logan heaves an airy laugh; Wade shivers. “I want you to feel good…with me.”

“I do.”

“Yeah?”

“Duh.” Wade turns his head so his lips almost brush the top of Logan’s hair. “Not just ‘cause you kneaded me like bread dough, either, but that certainly helps.”

“I…you make me feel good,” Logan admits, and his stomach lurches traitorously. He feels far too vulnerable, wishes Wade would make some stupid joke to cut the atmosphere, but he doesn’t, and Logan’s already fucking started, so he supposes he should finish. “You make me good .”

“You’re good all on your own, honey badger,” Wade points out. “Kinda comes with the X-Man territory. You don’t need me for that.”

“I do need you,” Logan says. God , this fucking open and honest shit sucks . He feels stupid, is sure he sounds stupid and sniveling and wants to just stop talking – and then Wade makes this punched-out, devastating little sound, one he tries to hide. Logan squeezes Wade hard, maybe a little harder than necessary.

“Yeah?” Wade asks. He sounds just as abraded as Logan feels.

“Yeah. ‘Course I do.”

“Well…good.” Wade combs through Logan’s hair, and Logan can hear his heartbeat thumping away behind his ribs. It’s solid, strong, and Logan absentmindedly places a hand over it to feel it throb beneath his palm.

“I love you, too, just…by the way,” Wade says hurriedly. “I-I didn’t…say it, a second ago.” Logan laughs.

“I know, bub.”

They stay like that, draped along each other’s bodies, pruning in the cooling water until Wade is limp against Logan’s chest, snoring, all the candles in the room have snuffed themselves out. Logan’s ass is asleep, his skin is prickling with goosebumps, and Mary Puppins keeps peeking her head in from time to time expectantly, so he assumes it’s past her dinnertime, but he makes no moves to disentangle himself from Wade. He rubs over him occasionally, the pads of his fingers searching for any spots he might have missed so he can ply them out before Wade wakes up.

It’s more than nice. 

It’s fucking perfect.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

It’s not Logan’s fault, really.

He and Wade haven’t had sex for a couple of weeks – not for any depressing or earth-shattering reason, and certainly not because they don’t want to. If Althea could see how often they eyefuck each other from across the room, she’d probably smack them both upside the head with her cane, and they’d deserve it. It’s just that they work entirely conflicting schedules, Logan rising for work when the sun has just begun to creep over the tops of high rises and bathe the city in pale pink light and Wade stumbling back to the apartment well past midnight after a long day of Deadpooling. They’re like ships passing in the night — Logan’s lucky if he groggily registers Wade’s lips on the nape of his neck when he finally crawls into bed most mornings, but even then, the poor thing is out like a light by the time Logan has his wits about him. 

They’re still attached at the hip, always touching, always spread over each other, and they sleep mostly naked even with the remnants of winter clinging to the city like freezer burn because Logan’s a fucking furnace, so they’re not lacking in skin-to-skin by any means. There’s just been no sex, no impassioned takings over the arm of the couch or in the heated spray of the shower, and it’s not the end of the world, but Logan finds himself thinking about it more and more the longer he goes without burying himself inside his partner.

This is probably why the second he enters the apartment today, hours before his shift usually ends, and catches sight of Wade, his cock swells with blood so fast he has to clutch the doorjamb to keep from pitching forward.

He’s not even doing anything. His boner would make more sense, Logan thinks, if he walked in on Wade touching himself or dressed in something skimpy and sexy (like panties, which they haven’t revisited since the first time, and that is a crying shame), but he’s not. He’s in the kitchen, propped against the countertop languidly, a tub of mint chip ice cream tucked covetously under one arm while the other carries heaping green and black spoonfuls into his waiting mouth. His gaze is pointed downward, and judging from the soft voices floating past the roar in Logan’s ears, he deduces he must be watching something on YouTube.

A brown flannel hangs off Wade’s torso, the top unbuttoned just enough to provide a peek at the muscled ridge of his clavicle, and blue briefs hug his hips. 

Those are Logan’s clothes. 

Wade’s dressed head to toe in only Logan’s clothing, and it makes him feel fucking feral . Wade steals his shit all the time, and while it never ceases to give him a possessive little thrill, today is different  because Wade’s rolled the flannel’s sleeves up just enough to expose his thick forearms, and the legs of the briefs are curled invitingly into the creases of where Wade’s pelvis meets his thighs, and Logan’s watching as Wade casually swipes a thumb under his lip to catch a stray drop of ice cream and then sucks the digit back into his mouth, lips wet and pink from the cold and – 

“Y’alright over there, peanut?” Wade asks, tilting his head and scrunching the scarred flesh of his brow bone. How long has he been looking back at Logan? He’s really got to stop getting so wrapped up in the lascivious spiral of his own thoughts – Wade’s going to realize the power he wields one of these days, and then Logan will never get anything done. “Someone having a senior moment? You’re home way early, don’t tell me you wandered off the site and need me to take you back, gramps.”

He laughs at his own joke, as he’s wont to do (little shit), and flips his spoon down onto his waiting tongue. Logan wants to believe he’s doing it on purpose because, again, little shit , but Wade’s attention is still half-captured by his phone, and he’s not even making eye contact anymore as he draaags the spoon out of his mouth, cheeks hollowed, his bottom lip messily coated in melted ice cream, and well.

Yeah, that fucking does it.

Logan crosses the room in approximately four long strides and has Wade pinned against the counters before he can find a resting place for his ice cream; the tub ka-thunks to the floor as Logan wrenches Wade’s arms up above his head, rolling under the table and spitting chocolate chips onto the kitchen tile. Wade makes a small, mournful noise that Logan swallows, licking greedily into Wade’s frosty mouth and rocking their hips together. 

To his credit, Wade gets over the fallen sweet treat rather quickly, and then he gives as good as he’s getting.

He slots one muscled thigh between Logan’s and hikes it up, up, up until it’s snug against Logan’s straining cock, grinding through layers of denim and cotton that are gonna need to come off very soon and chuckling against Logan’s tongue.

“I see that little Wolvie is happy to see me,” he purrs, and Logan growls.

“Do not .” They both know there is scarcely anything on Logan’s body that could be classified as little , but some virulent, mannish part of him seethes at the insinuation. Wade giggles .

“Oh no , did I hit a nerve, princess?” Wade coos, sweet with condescension, bottom lip pouting out invitingly. Logan ignores the flush that creeps all the way from the top of his head to the center of his broad chest. “Princess” is another one of those wriggling cans of worms that Logan refuses even to let himself peek inside of, right along with Wade’s passion for his “tits.” Still, Wade seems more and more determined to pop those suckers open and let the worms writhe free all over his brain these days, and maybe this metaphor is falling apart a little bit, but that’s because Wade is slipping his wrists from beneath Logan’s slackened hands, cupping him through his jeans and squeezing .

“D’you need me to tell you how big it is, angel baby?” he asks, low and teasing, leaning forward to lick his saliva off Logan’s lips. Logan chases his mouth, panting. “Is that it? You don’t need to snarl, y’know. You could just ask for that.”

“Fuck you,” Logan huffs instead, bracing himself on Wade’s shoulders. 

“Is that not what we’re doing?” Wade toys with the button on Logan’s jeans, not unsnapping it but instead just threading it back and forth between the loop, like the tease he is. “I’ve been told I don’t have the best social etiquette, but I thought that’s what the tree trunk in your pants was for.”

“You’re wearing my shit,” Logan says by way of explanation, and Wade beams, the heat of his palm rubbing up and down Logan’s fly nice and slow. Logan groans and lets his head fall forward, lets his mouth find the crook of Wade’s neck, and when he inhales, he shudders . Their scents are braided together, intertwined on Wade’s cratered flesh so deliciously that he can’t help but mouth up the slope of his throat and the hinge of his jaw, trying to draw more of it into his body. There’s a hot, sharp feeling along his gum line like something’s tearing, and then all four points of his canines are scratching against the insides of his cheeks. 

“Shit, I don’t think I should find your snuffling as hot as I do,” Wade muses, arching into Logan’s wandering lips encouragingly. “You’re like a piggy hunting for truffles.”

“Shut up.”

“Oink-oink.”

Logan’s teeth find Wade’s jittering pulse and scrape over it, hard enough to draw a thin line of blood but never hard enough to deter his fucking mouth. He doesn’t think there exists a thing that is capable of shutting Wade Wilson up for longer than twenty seconds, not even death. He’s died in front of Logan before, once, because outside of mercenary work, he’s got the proprioceptive input of a fucking toddler and fell headlong off the back of the couch, which he was walking on like a fucking tightrope. The crunch of his neck snapping, the sudden and devastating cessation of his heartbeat, and the faraway look in Wade’s unfocused eyes made for a truly terrible (and quiet) nineteen seconds. 

But Wade is exceedingly full of life now as he bucks against Logan’s body, grinning wolfishly and back bowing as Logan sucks hickeys into his throat, watches them heal, and does it all over again. He wants so badly for one mark he makes on Wade’s flesh to stick, just for a little while, even though he knows that’s impossible. He’s grateful, really, for both of their healing factors because it means he can bite straight into Wade’s jugular and savor the splash of blood against his tongue and Wade just keens about it instead of dying, but fuck . It bothers him, somewhere in his hindbrain, that the only marks Wade’s skin is capable of sustaining are the handiwork of some sadistic bald shitstain with a stupid fucking name; makes him jealous in a super fucked up way, so he compensates by growling and rutting against Wade’s thigh.

“Fuckin’ mine ,” he rumbles, hooking a finger in the collar of Wade’s ( his ) flannel and tugging. He chews on Wade’s shoulder, shreds through corded muscle and dappled flesh, and laps up the hot crimson bubbling up against his lips like a thirsty dog. 

“Wow, how virile of you, peanut. You gonna conk me over the head with a club next, take me back to the cave to ravage me?” Wade doesn’t sound like he’d mind that too much, honestly, and Logan can smell the arousal oozing out of his pores (does he still have pores? whatever, doesn’t matter), so he licks a stripe up to Wade’s lumpy ear, trailing blood and spit.

“‘S true,” he mutters, and Wade shivers at the wash of hot breath.

“Never said it wasn’t. But what’s that make you?” Wade murmurs. “Other than desperate, on account of how you’re humping my leg like a little puppy dog.”

Huh?

Oh. 

Logan totally fucking is, and what’s more embarrassing than that realization is the fact that he doesn’t stop, can’t stop. He snarls and pulls back from the mess he’s made of Wade’s collarbone — it looks like an oil painting now, red smudged thickly over pink and tan, just on this side of grotesque and so fucking sexy it makes Logan’s cock jump. He’s sick, he thinks distantly, really fucking sick for how much he loves drawing Wade’s blood, playing in it.

But if he’s sick, Wade’s sicker.

“I’m no mathematician,” he says, digging his knee into Logan’s crotch a little cruelly. “In fact, I failed ninth-grade algebra, but if two plus two equals four, I think that makes you my bitch .”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, bub,” Logan cautions, even though the world’s tilted on its axis and those fucking fireworks just snapped off behind his eyes again. Wade’s tongue darts out to wet his smiling lips.

“You seem to have that handled for the both of us,” he says, the smug motherfucker. His hands snake around Logan’s ass, forcing him further up the hard line of Wade’s thigh. “But I dunno what else I’m supposed to call you, peanut, when you’re acting like this.”

“Wade–”

“No, silly, that’s my name.” Wade hitches his leg again, sucking his teeth reproachfully. “Head-no-worky when you’re acting like a stupid puppy, huh, cupcake?”

It’s not Logan’s head that’s the most affected — although he’ll admit the fog swirling around up there does thicken considerably — but his chest. It tightens so hard he almost chokes, and his hips stutter.

Wade is observant — most people don’t think so due to the frequency with which he runs his mouth, but the fucker is more than capable of multitasking. Logan’s discovered rather quickly that he is nowhere near as aloof or indecipherable as he’d like to think. Or, maybe, Wade’s just developed a preternatural ability to read him like a fucking children’s book. 

“Boy, do I love to watch your wheels spin, babygirl,” Wade gloats, one hand trailing up his spine to cup the back of Logan’s head. His fingers twirl in the hair at his nape, gentle for now but Logan knows there’s almost always a threat, the insinuation that Wade could yank his roots at any second. 

“Could be watchin’ something else,” Logan offers, voice like gravel because he’s burning from all this attention Wade is giving him and still isn’t familiar with all the roiling feelings that come with… this . This acquiescence, this submission ; allowing someone to peel back all his layers and peer inside, not to wound him but to discern what he wants when he won’t admit it. 

“What, like you busting in your pants?” Wade snarks. Logan’s gonna hole punch his fucking skull, he swears – as soon as he gets command of his traitorous body again because it’s more than happy to just prove Wade right. “I didn’t think you’d be so easy, puppy, but look at you go . I bet if I yanked nice an’ hard on your kitty cat ears, you’d pop like fucking champagne.”

Logan growls , as clear a warning as he can manage in this state, but Wade steadfastly ignores him, and those duplicitous fingers start to creep along his scalp, toward his cowlicks, and he hadn’t realized until right fucking now that he is actually so close to cumming all over Wade’s leg like an animal.

He acts fast to avoid that eternal humiliation.

He steps back, just far enough to get the pressure off his cock, and grabs Wade’s hips to flip him over the counter. One hand smooths into the inviting dip of his back, forcing it into a deeper arch, shuffling the flannel’s hemline up by his ribs, and the other twists the crotch of Wade’s (Logan’s) briefs until they tear . He’s expecting a gasp because Wade loves to act offended when Logan ruins his clothes, but he gets a laugh instead.

“I’m still counting that as a win, by the by,” he jeers, leaning on his folded forearms.

“Shut the fuck up.” Logan doesn’t give him a chance to accede (because he never will so long as there’s air in his lungs) and jams his first two fingers in Wade’s mouth, gliding into the back of his throat and pressing his tongue down until Wade gags beautifully around the digits.

“Your hands are filthy,” he announces, garbled.

“So’s your mouth, now suck, or these are going in your ass dry.”

“Kinky,” Wade purrs, tongue obediently laving over and around Logan’s fingers, “but Deadpool don’t do painal.”

Logan’s also a big fat liar who would never really go rooting around inside Wade without ample lubrication, but hey. 

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s dripping wet down here, bub,” he says, free hand slipping between Wade’s spread thighs and encircling his cock. Wade’s thick and hot, just as scarred here as he is everywhere else, and the texture slides unusually beneath the pads of Logan’s fingers as he strokes upward. Wade jerks and crushes Logan’s index finger between his molars; Logan gags him again as payback and swipes a thumb through the precum beading on Wade’s cockhead. 

“You’re a sore loser,” Wade snaps, determined to keep up the verbal deluge even if he has to gnaw around Logan to do it.

“I didn’t lose shit.”

“See?”

Logan squeezes Wade’s cock, probably harder than he needs to, and twists his wrist meanly, but Wade just moans and rolls into his fist.

“A rough handy, that’ll show me,” he snipes, even though he’s burying his face in his forearms and his inner thighs are trembling. “You sure know how to teach a guy a lesson, honey badger.”

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” Logan says, aligning himself along Wade’s back and gnashing his teeth against the shell of his ear. “Should just leave you like this, all hard and pathetic, let you deal with it by your goddamn self.”

“But you won’t ,” Wade sing-songs, drawing out the last word and thrusting shamelessly into Logan’s grip. He’s basically jerking himself off with Logan’s hand, and he’s fucking letting him for some reason. (He knows the reason, and it’s a simple, straightforward one – Wade looks and sounds divine like this.)

“Didja know that wolverines bite their mates on the back of the neck in the wild when they fuck?” Wade rambles thinly, breath rattling out of his ribs with marked effort. “Found that little chestnut on the Internet. Also said that they’re mustelids, like a mink or a fuckin’ weasel .” He snorts.

“Didn’t know you could read, bub,” Logan says, and it’s a low blow; they both know it – Wade whips an elbow back and narrowly misses the divot of Logan’s chest. Logan catches the arm and bends it, prising it across the small of Wade’s back.

“I’m dyslexic, not illiterate, you ableist dick, and no amount of digs about my learning disability is gonna make you not a weasel.”

Logan leans across Wade’s spine, flicking the spice cabinet next to their bodies open with one finger and nimbly plucking out the half-full bottle of lube kept stashed in there – he has begged Wade to move it dozens of times, namely because Althea almost squirted a handful of it out onto her eggs the other day before Logan snatched it away, but right now he is so thankful he doesn’t have to separate from his partner’s body for even a second to prep him.

Wade sucks in a breath, probably mostly because of the cold lube Logan’s drizzling on his hole, but there’s a throatiness to it that Logan knows means he’s readying himself to speak, so while he plunges two fingers up to the knuckle inside Wade’s ass he claps his free hand over Wade’s lips. Whatever he was going to say fizzles against Logan’s rough palm, and he gives a lovely full-body shiver when Logan crooks his fingers and strokes his walls.

He’s so fucking hot and tight inside, clenching around Logan and already trying to suck him deeper. Slut .

“There,” Logan hums, drawing Wade up until he’s standing straight. For all his bitching about being close enough in height, it thrills him that Wade is just that little bit taller and that Logan can still manhandle him like this. It pleases the caveman in his brain that was blustering so audibly earlier. “Much better. ‘S nice just to shut up and take what I give you, isn’t it?”

Wade makes a weak, quarrelsome noise and shakes his head, thrashing against Logan’s chest. He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah. ‘Course not. Can’t even relax with my fingers in your cunt, huh? You just have to fucking fight me.”

Wade twitches and warbles something indecipherable, which Logan ignores in favor of scissoring him open and swirling the tips of his fingers until –

“Mmph!”

Bingo.

“You like that, huh, princess? Found your g-spot, didn’t I?” Logan sneers, reveling in the way Wade tremors as he starts abusing the poor fucker’s prostate. He’s clutching onto laminate countertops so hard Logan’s genuinely shocked it hasn’t crumbled to dust yet. He doesn’t have to see Wade’s face to know those pretty brown eyes are rolled back into his head, and that’s the weird thing about fucking the same person for a considerable(ish) amount of time: you learn their tics, their quirks, the breath’s difference between an impending orgasm and an imminent orgasm. It’s a level of intimacy he hasn’t had access to in a long, long time, not that he’s wanted it; the less he knew about whatever warm body happened to inhabit his bed for that night, and that night only , the better.

But Wade isn’t a warm body; Wade is his… his.

He might ruminate on this a little longer, perhaps even long enough to start getting all sappy and sentimental, but Wade bites the meat of his palm so hard that Logan’s blood is daubed across his teeth and chin when he yanks it away. He’s gasping, red lips teased up in a grin, eyes lidded and glossy when he throws a look over his shoulder; Logan watches the ring of jagged teeth marks fade and disappear from his flesh, pissed but also weirdly impressed with Wade’s bite force, and then Wade speaks.

“Fuck me already before I bite something important.”

“I wasn’t –”

“Oh, for fuck’s — off , off, you lost your privileges.”

One day, Logan will get used to not only how fast Wade is but also how slippery the little asshole is (ha). Today is not that day. 

Wade shoulders him off and hooks an ankle in the ditch of his knee before he can find his balance, and when his back collides with the floor, expelling all the air from his lungs, Wade’s already straddling him and fishing his cock out through his fly.

“Where’d your cat-like reflexes go, pookie?” Wade teases, thumbing over Logan’s throbbing length and tracing precum down the thick vein on the underside of his shaft. Logan could buck him off — where they’re pretty evenly matched in strength and agility, Logan far outranks him in sheer weight , so if he wanted, he could lay Wade out flat and fuck him through the floor. But he doesn’t. He settles both hands on either of Wade’s hips and —

Snikt .

“ Aht-aht , no, down, boy,” Wade admonishes, rocking the swell of that fucking ass against Logan’s cock. “No scratchies in the house, remember?”

“Mm-hm.” Logan’s claws trail featherlight up Wade’s sides, and he drinks in the anticipatory judder that slithers down Wade’s back before plunging straight through the fabric of his flannel. He squints as buttons rain down on his face before skittering across the floor, and Wade has the audacity to gape at him when he’s left mostly undressed, bare chest and stomach exposed.

“You animal ,” he snits, plucking the tattered ends of the shirt between his fingers.

“You wanna bitch about that,” Logan starts, sheathing his claws, “or do you wanna put my cock where it fucking belongs already?”

Something flashes in Wade’s eyes, something heated and wild, and his blown pupils reflect the licentious snarl Logan’s fixed him with, all bared teeth and lust-drunk. He shrugs the flannel off and sits up on his haunches to lash it away; when he lowers himself, Logan’s drooling cockhead slides past his rim.

“Say that again,” he implores, and his voice has dropped, curling out of his mouth like tendrils of smoke.

“Say what?” Logan cants up against Wade’s hole, only half-heartedly attempting to thrust inside of him, relishing in the lewd drag of his leaking cock in the cleft of Wade’s ass.

“Playing dumb is only hot when I do it,” Wade huffs. 

“Tell me what you want.” Logan blindly finds the swoop of Wade’s hips, digging the heels of both palms into his pelvis. Wade winces, wet mouth dropping open wider, eyes shining, flushed down to where his nipples would be if he still had any.

“You fucking…that…that you belong to me, belong in me,” Wade stammers, and finally Logan catches. He thrusts inside, and Wade chokes , brow knitting itself together. “Say it again .”

“You knew that already, bub,” Logan grits, slowing purposefully so Wade can adjust to his size. Regenerative healing keeps him tight as a fucking vice, and it’s dizzying on Logan’s end to be enveloped in so much clutching heat, but he paces himself, kneading the meat of Wade’s hips and watching him descend inch by inch.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s like I’m being seduced by a brick wall,” Wade complains, voice high and tenuous, rolling his neck to pin Logan with a look that’s more good-natured annoyance than genuine exasperation. “ Talk to me, fucker, I know you’re capable.”

He is , but not like Wade. He’s nowhere near as quick on the draw, but when he’s asking (demanding, more like, but Logan’s never been particularly pedantic) like that …

“You want me to talk?”

“ Yes . God, is your hearing finally going?”

“You look real fuckin’ pretty bouncing on me like that,” Logan grinds out, the confession tumbling from his mouth in one breath. “Right where you’re s’posed to be. Where you belong, keepin’ me where I belong too, huh, ‘s that what you need? Need me to come home and sit you up all pretty like this more often, princess? Would that make you happy?”

Wade’s eyes spin back into his skull as Logan bottoms out, thighs quivering, nails scuffing Logan’s abdomen hard enough to leave welts that fade out of existence just as soon as they appear. He laughs, a fucked-out, delicate sound that floats into Logan’s ears like downy feathers, still somehow rife with a response, but if he wants Logan to talk so bad, he’s gonna fucking talk .

“Got no fuckin’ idea how good you feel,” he purrs, and Wade bears down on him. “Tightest cunt I’ve ever been inside, an’ I mean that.”

“Ohh, I’ve made a mistake ,” Wade admits, swiveling on Logan’s length and working himself on it. There’s no discernible rhythm to their fucking; they’re both whipped up enough to seek their pleasure within the other, and Logan isn’t just blowing smoke up his partner's ass – Wade looks so pretty on top of him, sweet agony crimping his face, muscles taut and gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat already, and the praise falls like lemmings from the cliffside of Logan’s lips.

“No idea what you do to me, bub, fuck ,” he affirms, “you never will. You don’t get it. Make me wanna quit my job, just say fuck it and stay home so I can fill you all day.”

“Goddamn, you’d make a perfect housewife,” Wade wheezes, tossing his head back and palming at his cock as it wobbles between their flexing stomachs. “I’ll get you a frilly apron and a fistful of quaaludes, make it official.”

“Want me to say I’m yours? You already know I am, have been since the day I fuckin’ got here, can’t be anyone else’s. Fuckin’ ruined me for anyone else, you mouthy little shit.”

Logan realizes, sluggishly, he perhaps should have done a precursory sweep of the apartment for Althea before they started up like this – Wade keens, like he’s dying for real, fisting the hair on Logan’s chest like it’s the only thing keeping him attached to Earth, and Logan wishes (not for the first time) that Wade had hair to wind his fingers through. He settles for seizing him by the nape as he sits up, bullying into Wade’s space, laterals dragging artfully over the line of his jaw.

“You got nothin’ to say now? Hm? Just gotta be sweet to you, and you get fuckin’ dumb on my cock, that it?”

“You – fuck – you kiss the Professor with that mouth?” Wade whines, and Logan’s ears tick up when he hears the dirty squelch of Wade fisting his cock. He knocks his hand aside, resolutely ignoring Wade’s pitiful little mewl of protest, and gathers both of Wade’s wrists behind his back, affixing them to his spine and forcing it into a beautiful curve. 

“Greedy bitch,” Logan rasps, sucking dried blood off Wade’s shoulder.

“Says you,” Wade heaves, raw and ruined. When their eyes meet, Logan notes the tears sparkling on the edges of Wade’s, stubbornly refusing to well up enough to drip down his cheeks, and perhaps Logan is sicker than he thought, sicker than Wade, because he wants to make the poor thing cry . He jostles Wade by the neck, thrusting up sharply and throwing off his erratic flow. 

“Look at you, ‘course I’m greedy,” he rumbles, sluicing the flat of his tongue up over Wade’s Adam’s apple; it bobs with how hard Wade swallows. 

“You’re already balls deep, kitty, you don’t – shit   – need to butter me up,” he says, and displeasure reverberates in Logan’s chest.

“‘M not, dumbfuck. Just the truth.”

A spent, watery sound shakes its way out of Wade’s throat – there it is . A tear rolls fatly down the side of his face, and before Wade can rub it away with his shoulder, Logan leans forward and licks it off. 

“Stop that, you fucking dick,” Wade moans, shaking his head and trying to create distance, which Logan cannot abide by. He shushes Wade lowly, crowding closer, refusing the space, and choosing to tongue his way back into Wade’s warm, pliant mouth so that his praise can roll into him like a cloud of smoke.

“Look so good when you cry for me, bub, ‘s it feel that good?” 

Wade gasps, inhaling a lungful of Logan’s air and words, and yet, when he falters to a dead stop in Logan’s lap, there’s not enough oxygen in the world for him to announce he’s cumming, so hard and suddenly that when the first ropes splatter against Logan’s stomach, he’s shocked. When Wade sobs for him, though, a wholly broken and unintentional sound ripped right from Wade’s core, the shock gives way to adoration so crushing and all-consuming that Logan’s almost swept away by it.

“F-Fuck, fucking, God, you son of a bitch,” Wade sniffles, tears slipping gorgeously from his screwed-shut eyes, rolling like pearls down the pools and raised edges of his scars; Logan tracks their movements, mesmerized by the unique path each has to take before collecting in the hollow of Wade’s throat. “Asshole, motherfucking prick –”

“That’s right, that’s right , I gotcha, so fuckin’ good – Fuck .”

He hadn’t even recognized that he was close – Logan’s orgasm blazes through him like wildfire, squeezing every muscle in his body until he’s tight as a bowstring, applying bruising pressure to Wade’s body that he just takes, so perfect, perfectly his . He cums inside Wade with a shout but manages to keep his teeth to himself; he folds his lips over them and just drives his head into Wade’s neck, sucking in the scent of blood and sweet body wash and sweat as he spills his release inside Wade’s fluttering hole.

For a while, there’s silence. Logan feels like he’s floating, pleasantly untethered to the real world except for where his body touches Wade; he relents on Wade’s wrists, allowing them to flop back to his sides, and eugh, what did he just stick his fingers in –

Logan pries his eyes open (he doesn’t remember closing them). 

A puddle of melted mint chip ice cream has crept out from under the dining table, and Logan’s fingers are wet with frothy warmth . He wrinkles his nose and shakes his hand out.

“You play dirty , kitty cat,” Wade murmurs, voice buzzing mildly against the shell of Logan’s ear. “That was mean, and underhanded, and just plain tricksy. I’m so proud of you.”

“Uh-huh. Lemme up, we made a mess.”

“ We ?” Wade’s head flops backward, eyes still glassy, cheeks damp, and he glares at Logan half-heartedly. “ You cavemanned in here and threw the tub on the floor, Captain Patience.”

“Was in my way,” Logan explains, patting Wade’s flank. He lifts marginally, only enough for Logan to slip his cock out, air whistling through his teeth woefully at the loss.

“You break it, you clean it,” Wade asserts. He’s a mess, cum painted across his stomach, staining the desiccated remnants of Logan’s briefs, and when he clambers to his feet, it’s weeping down his inner thighs. He rubs his face with the back of one forearm, but there’s still a pinkish, post-cry glow to his face that makes his eyes bloodshot and luminous, and his mouth is still so red and swollen…

Logan’s cock twitches with interest. 

He’s flush with Wade’s back before he even reaches the kitchen threshold.

“Ex cuse me, Lake Mint Chip is ever-expanding back there, honey badger,” Wade points out, but he tips his head to the side when Logan nuzzles the edge of his jaw. 

“I’ll clean it later, get the fuck in bed.”

“Wow, two in a row, not bad for an old ma – Ow! Dirty fucking bitch, okay , I’m going, sheesh, gonna have to get you a fucking muzzle, aren’t I?”

…Logan tallies another can of fucking worms to his mental pantry like he’s prepping for the end of the world.

[fifi2930]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63133186/chapters/169989421

The epilogue of Sink or Swim is up 🥺💙💛 these angsty babies belong to you and the archives now

[d33pwithinmys0ul]

🧪*ೃ˚ Rick Sanchez x Reader Masterlist

All links are ao3, tumblr post links are added accordingly. All x reader fics are with a female reader unless labeled otherwise.

Please read tags before engaging. Do not plagiarize, repost, or use my work to train AI. 18+ mdni.

˗ˏˋ꒰𖦹｡⋆°✰꒱ ˗꒰𖦹｡⋆°✰꒱ ˗꒰𖦹｡⋆°✰꒱ ˎˊ˗

✎*ೃ˚ U137verse:

I Only Have Eyes For U-137

༄ Part 1 of the U137verse, 50k+ words, complete

Lovegod U137A

༄ one ending for the U137verse, religious themes, incomplete

Welcome to Feeling U137B

༄ other ending for the U137verse, incomplete

✎*ೃ˚ Oneshots:

Bunker Fuck

༄ 3.8k words, Multi, one shot, smut, SEAL team Ricks, complete

Rickplicity

༄ 6.6k words, Multi, one shot, smut, complete

Pondhue’s Rick fic | art trade

༄ fluff, one shot, complete, tumblr link only