#Maybe another time if the possibility becomes more pressing again

[just-let-me-see-accounts]

One thing they will not tell you about writing is how fun it is to project on your characters.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Sleeping, Dancing and Mistletoe

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Times when people found evidence that you and Logan were possibly a couple, and the one time you both finally confirmed it.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, mentions/illusions to sex, Logan checking you out. Couple of swear words here and there. This has been unfinished in my drafts for at least a week so...yeah. This is finished. little Christmas at the end. Not Proof Read.

For what felt like the thirtieth time in the hour, you turned over with a huff and pressed your pillow to your ears, trying to muffle the sounds coming from next door. 

And just as it finally died down, you sighed and was just about to thank some ancient being for hearing your prayers when…it started again. 

“That’s it.”

Changing out of your longer pyjama bottoms and into some sleep shorts, you made your way out of your room, keeping your footsteps as quiet as you could until the noises faded away and you started to reach your intended room. 

Opening up the door, you found exactly what you were looking for. 

Shaking his shoulder as he lay on his stomach, you whispered his name, hoping he’d hear you. 

“Logan.” You shook him for a third time. “Logan.” 

Nothing. 

With another sigh, you slapped his face gently and said his name once more, a little louder and firmer. 

“Logan.”

Finally, he groaned. “What?” 

His voice was muffled by his pillow but you could hear him just well enough. Or maybe you were just used to his grunts that they were starting to become their own language you could understand. 

“Move over. I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“What’s wrong with your bed?”

“Nothing.”

“Then go and sleep there.” Logan turned his head away from you and scrunched up his pillow beneath his head.

“I can’t. My neighbours have decided tonight is Valentine’s Day 2.0.”

You pushed half of his body with your hands until he finally got the cue to turn over. 

“Too much information.”

You shook your head, “Too much information is what I’ve been hearing for the last hour.”

Finally, Logan rolled onto his back, his covers covering his bottom half, and groaned. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Logan straightened himself in his bed, giving you room to get in beside him. And the minute you touched his covers, you were glad you had changed into shorts. 

Logan was like a furnace. Just constant heat radiating from his body and for as much as it, at times, got too hot to stand near him, he was also, in your opinion, the best person to fall asleep beside. 

“Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Laying on your side, it wasn’t long until you closed your eyes, thankful that you could hear nothing other than Logan’s steady breathing and the distant clock down the hall that was forever ticking. 

However, just before you fully drifted off, you felt Logan’s hand take hold of yours and you smiled. 

He could be gruff all he liked, but when it came to you, he could be a softie. 

By the time morning rolled around, Storm was in search of both yourself and Logan. So, when she found your bed empty and cold, she figured Logan would know where you were. 

But he was asleep. 

Right beside you. 

Storm leaned against the door frame for a while, taking in the picture in front of her. 

Logan was fast asleep, something that was a miracle in itself, with you right beside him, your head turned towards the windows in his room, his own looking towards you, all the while, his arm slung over your midsection and one of your own hands, holding his. 

“Storm- what are you- Oh.”

Jean looked inside. 

“Looks like someone had a good night.” She smiled before looking back at Storm. “Do you think we can finally ask if they’re together?”

“I’d say this is confirmation enough.”

You shifted in your sleep as did Logan, and the two girls hid behind the corner for a moment. 

You turned your head and the rest of your body towards Logan, all the while his arm held you in a stronger grip and pulled you towards him. 

It took you a moment but you finally opened your eyes, adjusting to the light before your vision finally cleared on a sleeping Logan. 

For a moment, you allowed the hand between you both to reach up and brush the stray hairs from his eyes. It was rare you ever got to see Logan this…calm. 

Serene. 

Rested. 

Unknowingly, you started to run your left thumb over Logan’s arm that still held onto you. 

Then his fingers twitched, running over the exposed skin at the bottom of your back. 

“Are you watching me sleep?” His voice was rough, the first words in the morning. 

“Not anymore,” you smiled, brushing the final parts of his hair out of his face. 

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

Then a cough came from the door. 

Logan groaned. “Is this a new hobby; watching people sleep?”

Jean and Storm laughed from the door. “You two look cosy.”

You lifted your head and glared at Jean. “There is one reason I’m here. Maybe I think it’s time you make an investment in soundproof walls.”

Jean turned a little red and Storm laughed. 

“Look, we’ve got a busy day. You can kiss your boyfriend later.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you called out just as Logan called; “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Storm and Jean nodded and just as Jean snapped a picture, she sent it to both yourself and Logan as they walked away. 

“Sure.”

Leaning up, Logan reached for his phone to see the notification pop up before he placed it back down and you climbed out of bed. 

“They’re got a point.”

“About us being a couple?”

You threw a t-shirt at Logan. “Having a busy day.”

Logan laughed a little, scrubbing his face as he watched you leave his room before he reached behind him and took hold of his phone once more. 

Jean and Storm were right. 

From the picture…they did look like a couple. 

A couple of days passed and you were sitting in the quiet living room, the fires on both sides roaring. 

All classes had been finished for two days and some kids had returned home for the holidays, which meant you had some free time on your hands. 

And for you, that meant finally reading. 

Until you sensed someone stood behind you. 

“If you want to know what happens, you could just ask me.”

Logan plucked the book from your hands and circled around the sofa before coming to sit down beside you. 

“Logan! Give it back.”

“I want to see what it’s about.”

You sighed and sat up, “It’s a romance, Logan.”

“A romance?” Logan had a hint of a smirk on his face. “Like the…trashy kind?”

“Like the romantic kind.”

Logan looked at you and smiled. “The trashy kind.”

You rolled your eyes and took the book back from him, leaving him to fix the blanket so it rested over both of you. He placed his arm over the back of the sofa, allowing you to lean into him, whether you noticed you were doing so or not. 

“Just because you might not believe in romance, doesn’t mean the rest of us are the same.”

“I believe in romance.” 

“Yeah, right.”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “What?”

“The Wolverine,” you said with a deep voice. “Believes in romance?”

Logan nodded. “Occasionally.”

“Occasionally?”

“Do you just like repeating everything I say?”

You nodded and smiled. “Occasionally.”

Logan rolled his eyes and took the book back from you and read a line out loud. 

“People really talk like this?”

You leaned into Logan. “No, but in a book it’s not so bad. Go on, read some more.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You nodded. “You’re like my own personal audiobook.”

Logan gave a short smile before getting a little cosier and continued reading out loud. 

It wasn’t long before Logan found you asleep against him and he shifted in order to avoid you getting a crick in your neck. 

“Keep reading.”

“I thought you were asleep.” 

“Now I’m awake.” 

“Fine, just be quiet.”

You gave a fake salute. “Yes, sir.”

Holding his arm around your body that was pressed between himself and the sofa, Logan quickly kissed the top of your head and went back to reading. 

And ten minutes later, you were asleep. 

And so was he. 

An hour passed before someone found either of you, but this time, it was Scott and Bobby. 

“They might be in- oh. What do we have here?”

“Oh my god, Rouge has to see this. I told her they were together.”

Bobby rushed off and soon returned, pulling Rouge with him. 

“What is it?” Then she gasped. 

“Believe me now?”

And what Rouge saw made her smile. 

On the slightly too small sofa for Logan, you lay both between him and the sofa, as well as partly on him with your hand a little over his heart. His head was turned towards you. The blanket had fallen a little, so she reached over and pulled it up both of you before turning around and throwing a log onto the fire. 

“Come on, let's leave them.”

“But-”

“No, you are not going to disturb them. Come on.”

Rouge dragged the pair out and closed the door behind her. 

The third time people suspected you and Logan were an item was one late evening in October. 

Half of the kids were playing outside with all the freshly fallen leaves, whilst some of the older kids helped them find different critters and point them out, and build them habitats. The rest of the kids were either in their rooms or studying. 

Save for two. 

Bobby and Rouge were hiding outside of the kitchen watching yourself and Logan cook. 

“I didn’t even know he knew how to…chop. Let alone cook.”

“You should have more faith in him.”

“Come on, Rouge. You can’t tell me you weren't thinking it, too.”

And she couldn’t. Because she was. 

Meanwhile inside the kitchen, Logan was watching you from the kitchen island as he continued chopping the veg. 

There was something different about you. From the way you practically danced around the kitchen finding the different items for the recipe, to just…you. Whilst he was (semi) shirtless, just having his zipper hoodie on, along with his jeans and socks. He would have been fully dressed, except you had come and ambushed him in his room – even though you denied the word “ambushed” – to get him to help. 

And you were just simply in your pyjamas (of sorts) along with one of his zipper hoodies. 

“Bub,”

Logan laid down his knife and walked over to you as you stood by the stove, standing a little higher to see how much water was left in the pot at the back. 

You hummed a questioned response, but was met with a question…you didn’t expect. 

“Dance with me?”

“What?”

Logan smiled lightly as he pulled the wooden spoon from your hand and pulled you closer to him, despite him walking backwards. 

“Come on,” his voice in a light whisper. “Dance with me.”

“Didn’t take you for a dancer.”

Outside the door, Bobby and Rouge mouthed to each other; “They’re dancing.”

And you both were. 

Gently swaying to the music for a while, you allowed Logan to lead you around a small space in the centre of the kitchen. 

“We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Logan gave a slight smile at you as he spun you out and back in, “We’re not gonna burn the sauce.”

“Logan.”

“Can’t you ever just enjoy a moment?”

“When that moment doesn’t include burning the house down, yes.”

“Bit of a jump, don’t you think, from burning the sauce.”

“Ha, so you agree. We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Moving over, Logan turned down the heat on one of the pans before taking your hand back into his. “Now we won’t.”

Bobby and Rouge watched, in shock, the rest. 

For one, Logan knew how to dance? Since when? And since when did he…cook and dance in the kitchen? Unless…

Then Logan did something even you didn’t expect. 

He dipped you. 

You hand tightened its grip on Logan’s arm as you let out a small, if a little nervous, laugh. 

Logan had been full of surprises recently. From the impromptu audiobook session in which you woke up in his arms, to him not only dropping off a cup of coffee during your break from teaching but also a freshly baked muffin. 

And now he was dancing with you in the kitchen. 

And dipping you. 

When you had rushed him out of his room to help you cook, you hadn’t expected him to know the recipe for the sauce from the top of his head. Something he just happened to rattle off whilst you were looking for the cooking notebook that should have been in the cupboard beside the oven. Let alone be the one to ask to dance in the kitchen, and dip you. 

Bring you back up, both of you gave a slight chuckle as you turned around, the music slowly fading away in the background. 

“Logan…”

Looking at him, you forgot what you were going to say. 

Had his eyes always had so much green in them? 

Logan’s palm became warm against your back as it pressed further into you. Or maybe you pressed further into him and he just held you tighter. 

Slowly, your hand left his bicep and trailed towards his chest all the while your eyes studied his face. You’d known him for years and seen him a thousand times or more. 

So why did now feel like you were seeing him for the first time? Noticing him? Noticing each particle he was made up of that allowed him to sway with you in the kitchen to the music that had changed on the radio?

Only, before the space between yourself and Logan became any more closer, a noise came from outside the door. 

A sneeze. 

A sneeze that shocked you and Logan back into reality. 

Still holding you, Logan looked towards the door and gave a hint of a smile when he saw the flash of white disappear behind the beam. 

Realising what was happening, you lowered yourself back to the ground and slowly stepped out of Logan’s arms. “We should finish up.”

Logan nodded in agreement, however did look back at you when you got back to the stove, not noticing you do the same a few moments later, watching him pick up the rest of the veg and toss it into the collider to be washed. 

Time passed and after more music, more conversation - including a burnt tongue from when you had shoved a wooden spoon with fresh sauce on, into Logan’s mouth for him to try - and a lot of scrubbing later, you found Logan sitting inside the library and collapsed next to him. 

“Good news, the kids loved the food,” you told Logan. “Double good news; Jean and Scott are on cooking duty tomorrow.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Thank you for helping me.” Turning to look at Logan, you found him already looking. 

“You did ambush me.”

“I didn’t ambush you.”

“I wasn’t dressed.” Logan examined himself. “Technically, I’m still not.”

You rolled your eyes with a slight smile. “Fine. Maybe it was a mini, tiny, miniscule ambush.” 

You made a small space between your fingers. “Like this big of an ambush.”

Logan looked at you, at your fingers and then back to you in slight disgust before moving your fingers wider with his own. 

“That big of an ambush.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your hand. “And they say us women are dramatic.”

It was Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. However, as he did so, his arm wrapped around you, and pulled you back into him and the sofa. 

“Just shut the fuck up for a minute and listen.”

You did so. 

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s the point.” Logan’s eyes were shut as his head rested on the back of the sofa. 

Eventually you gave a shrug and joined him. 

An hour later, Storm found you both fast asleep beside one another so with a knowing smile, she found a blanket, covered you both up and closed the door behind her. But not before reminding herself she needed to get verbal confirmation from you both. 

She wasn’t handing over any money to Jean and Xavier until she had verbal confirmation of what exactly was going on between you two. 

And she didn’t have to wait long…at least in the long run, she didn’t have to wait long. 

Until then, there were plenty more incidents of falling asleep next to each other, bringing each other coffee, dancing to music in the kitchen, smiling and laughing – all before she finally got verbal confirmation that the inevitable had finally happened. 

Finally, it was acceptable to decorate for Christmas. 

Two days prior, Rogue, Logan and Storm had been helping you find all the old decorations in the attic and bring them down. Storm did try then to bribe something out of Rogue, but she apparently was just in the dark as the rest of them. 

But the smile she gave when she looked over at Logan, who was placing down another box from the back of the pile for you to take a look at, told Storm something different. 

“I can’t believe you leave it this late to decorate.”

Logan looked at you. “We’re still in November.”

“So?” 

Taking hold of the garland, you started to climb the ladder. Logan held onto the bottom just to be safe. 

“If you had it your way, the decorations would be up all year round.”

“Hey, no.”

“Hey, yes.”

“I’d take them down for…” you tried to think. “Halloween. You’d have a little break.”

Logan didn’t look entirely thrilled. “Halloween is one day.”

“Technically, it’s a month.”

“To you, it’s a month. To the rest of us, it’s a day.”

You looked back at him. “To you it’s a day, to the rest of us it’s a month.”

Then you looked back at the garland. “How does that look?”

“Great from where I’m standing.”

You looked a little confused for a second before quickly looking over your shoulder, realising where Logan was, in fact, looking. 

Not at the garland, but at your ass. 

You smiled and started to step down the ladder, hitting his shoulder on the way down. 

“I meant the garland.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Logan looked up. “Looks great.”

You laughed. “You didn’t even look.”

With a smile as you finally stepped back into his arm, he looked to the side and up. “It looks great.”

“Good. Now,” Logan turned back to look at you and you kissed him quickly. “We have to put up five more.”

“I get to watch you put up five more.”

You smiled. “This is why you’re my favourite person.”

Logan smiled. He could help you with everything else, but when it came to the garland, you had full control on where it went. Which, he didn’t mind. So long as he got to watch you put it up. 

You quickly kissed him once more, only to be pulled back when you tried to walk away. 

Then Logan gave you a real kiss. 

A little dizzy, you smiled and placed a hand on his chest and closed your eyes. “Wow.”

He gave you a quicker, lighter kiss. “You better get going before Rogue comes back with another box of lights.”

“Light?” Then it hit you. “Oh, yeah.”

Logan smirked a little as he watched you walk away and down the hallway. 

It was a couple of hours before everyone was in the same room, making the final touches all the while most of the other kids were either playing outside in the snow, were taking naps or decorating their own rooms. 

And the others had been watching you and Logan all day. 

The stolen glances, the stolen touches, the slightly knowing smiles from both Rogue and Bobby. And then, as Logan was helping you down from the ladder, his hand on your thigh, Bobby went to make the final hammer to hang up the mistletoe. 

“Wait, no. Not there.”

“Where then?”

Storm looked around. “I know. Y/n, hang this just above there. We don’t need a remake of Mistletoe Central 1997.”

Logan looked at Storm. “Do I wanna know?”

Storm shook her head. “Here.”

She handed you the mistletoe before Logan passed you the hammer back from his belt. 

Three knocks and the nail was set in and the mistletoe was above you on a corner beam, just a little to the side of the christmas tree. 

At least this way, those looking for it, would find it. 

"Oh, no, wait.” Jean said, looking at you. “Have to kiss someone. It’s tradition. You’re under the mistletoe.”

There was no one else apart from Logan.

Logan looked around at the others. He wondered how long it would take. 

Coming up behind you on the ladder, you moved over for him to stand beside you. His palm on your back held you steady and, leaning his other arm on the ledge of the ladder, his hand cupped your face and he kissed you. 

Lasting a little longer than the others had expected, you soon heard Rogue giving a little cheer, as well as a couple of whistles from the others. 

“Okay, I think they get it.” You whispered to Logan as he finally pulled away, a smile very noticeable on both of your faces. 

“Happy now?” Logan asked, turning towards where Jean and Scott were standing. 

“That was some kiss.”

You felt yourself blush at the comment. As did Logan. 

He helped you back down the ladder before you both turned and really saw the other's expression. As well as the exchanging of money between people. 

“Sooo…how long has this been going on?”

You were leaning into Logan, his hand around your back and on your hip. 

You looked at Logan, “A couple of months. We’re…what? November now so that would…”

“That would…” Logan counted back in his head. “May…June, July…six months.”

You looked back to the others. “Six months.”

A chorus of shocked faces and loud voices sounded out; “SIX MONTHS?!”

All before a small call from Rogue was made, which made both yourself and Logan smile. 

“I knew it!”

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ ONE KISS IS ALL IT TAKES — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fem! reader, minors do not interact, lots of morning kissies :(, reader is a jujutsu teacher, dry humping, praise, satoru cumming early in his pants like the loser boy he is, implied cunnilingus at the end

just one more kiss, baby is never just one more kiss when it’s satoru. you’ve always known that—but maybe that’s why you let it happen. it’s always the same story: one kiss becomes two, then two becomes three, and then suddenly there’s a lot more than kissing and a lot less than getting ready for the day.

but satoru’s got missions. and you’ve got kids to teach. there isn’t a day to rest, let alone afford tardiness in the jujutsu world. but satoru likes to test the waters—likes to push the limit as much as he can.

so he does. he’s leaning in for more, breath heavier as he pulls you closer, always just a little closer until you feel like you’re millimeters from sinking into his skin. it’s still not enough, you sense, because he bites at your bottom lip with a groan.

“satoru,” you pause when he kisses you again, “we need to get—” another kiss “—ready for the day—”

“just one more,” he insists.

“it’s already been loads more,” you press a hand to his mouth, blocking his lips from touching yours as he pouts against you. you grin, shaking your head as you stare at him fondly. “we have things to do. both of us.”

“can’t they wait?” he grumbles, muffled against your palm. you roll your eyes, moving your hand to cup his cheek as you stroke the swell of it fondly with your thumb.

“if you’re good, and you finish your duties early, i’ll kiss you all you want,” you tease—he huffs, unimpressed by the offer.

“you still kiss me when i’m bad, what’s the point?”

“so you admit you’re bad,” you raise a brow, making him grin cheekily.

“i can be,” he shrugs, “i love when you put me in my place.”

“you’re too much,” you sigh tiredly. it only makes him chuckle, leaning in again as his lips hover over yours, making you inhale sharply as you feel his breath fan over your mouth.

“know what i love more, though?” he asks with that smug tone of his—it’s the kind of tone that only someone like gojo satoru can get away with having. he’s eyeing you knowingly as you swallow thickly.

“no,” you lie. he knows you’re lying because your eyes dart down to the tent in his boxers momentarily.

“think you do,” he hums, pulling you to straddle his hips as your clothed cunt presses against his hard-on. you can practically feel him twitch against you through the fabric, can practically feel the sweet drops of pre cum that coat his leaky tip.

you don’t want to be late—but who wants to deny satoru either?

“toru, we can’t—”

“i think we can. cause i think you belong right here,” he says lowly, kissing your lips sweetly as his hands find your waist, “right here on my cock, sweetheart. can’t think of a better place.”

“but—”

“feel that?” he groans, guiding your hips to grind against him and drag your pussy along his hardened length. you can feel the wetness seep into both of your clothes—your slick and his pre cum separated from making a combined mess only by the fabric. you want it gone—but satoru keeps it right there. “‘s what you do to me. don’t wanna help?”

“w-we don’t have time,” you gasp as he rubs along your clit, biting your lip and grabbing his shoulders. he chuckles, pecking the corner of your mouth.

“sure we do,” he hums, “no one’s draggin’ you away, are they?”

you kiss him at that—too prideful to give him an answer and too desperate to feel him any way that you can possibly get him. he reciprocates fast, groaning as his lips mold against yours and press heatedly into you as much as he can. he tastes good—like expensive lip balm and lingering sweetness that never seems to go away.

you moan when he grinds up against you, rolling your own hips for more friction as he whimpers into your mouth. everything about satoru is sweet—the way he tastes, the way he sounds, the way he looks.

he’s flushed a pretty little pink along his cheeks, making those precious sounds that will you to stay just a bit longer, to give him what he wants and take what you want too. your hips never cease—in fact, they’re more desperate now, rubbing against him as your clit aches with more and more need.

“toru,” you gasp, “more,” you plead, trying to go faster. it feels like he’s trying to slow you down, though—it only makes you more frantic to build up that steady ache in your clit as your walls flutter around nothing.

“f-fuck, baby,” he rasps, “jus’ h-hold on a second—”

“n-no—don’t stop toru,” you whine, not ready to stop the feeling that rubbing against his thick cock gives you—but then you feel him twitch in that familiar way, in that way you’ve learned can mean only one thing as you become well acquainted with his body.

he whines, head falling back against the bed frame as his hips jerk up, chest rising and falling as he breathes rapidly through a parted mouth. his eyes flutter shut and he moans those pretty little moans you never get tired of hearing as you feel his boxers become more damp by the second. maybe a little sticky too.

“baby, baby—fuck, ‘m cumming,” he gasps, grabbing your hand and squeezing to ground himself as he spills his load into his boxers under you.

he’s sensitive—always has been. cums hard enough that his whole body shakes and you can feel every tremble. you smile softly, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth, trailing to his cheeks and jaw and the tip of his nose as he brokenly cries your name.

“good,” you giggle, “cum for me, toru.”

“for you,” he nods, moaning as he feels your pussy press harder against his tip, “only for you—sh-shit.”

“guess you’re being good today,” you murmur, “look so pretty when you cum, toru. y’know that? my pretty boy. that feel good?”

“so good,” he pants, nodding as his cock twitches under you as you rub against him to guide him through his peak, sticky ropes of cum staining his boxers and making a mess. “f-feels so good—fuck.”

“couldn’t wait, huh?” you chuckle, cupping the back of his head and letting him go slack as you watch the way his face twists in pleasure with the last few drops of cum. it’s sticky under you, hot and wet and messy enough that it’ll be a pain to clean. but he looks so beautiful like this, head fallen against your hand and lips caught between his teeth as he shakily breathes in and out.

“i tried warning you,” he mumbles, catching his breath, “didn’t listen.”

“i didn’t want to,” you grin, kissing his forehead sweetly, “wish you could see yourself—it’s so pretty.”

“not as pretty as you,” he hums, eyes slipping shut for a moment as he sighs at the way you trace his features with your other hand. your touch is delicate—too delicate against the strongest, you suppose. he doesn’t need to be treated delicately, but you think he deserves it anyway.

“now, i hate to ruin the moment,” you start, making him crack an eye open unhappily with a scowl.

“don’t,” he grumbles.

you do anyway. “we’re really gonna be late if we don’t—”

“we’re late either way,” he shrugs, flipping you over before pressing a soft kiss to your lips and crawling down until he’s between your legs. you’re so wet, he notes happily, the damp spot on your pants glazing his eyes with hunger, “can’t just leave my baby like this all day, can i?”

girl go get me the scotch tape. that man’s a drama queen he’s fine ✋🏽

also you all better have sang dua lipa after reading that title

[luveline]

May I pretty please request an emergency medicine doctor!reader x Hotch blurb? I’d love to see both of them in careers that are difficult, yet despite that they still manage to be together because they understand each other so much. Maybe something with the rest of the team as well if it’s possible 🫶🏼🥹

Emily used to think Hotch would never be happy again. She’d drive him home after work, pick him up in the mornings, and she’d think about how miserable he was, the kind of misery that hooks you in its grip, has you turning to wine or whiskey just to keep breathing. 

She thought for sure he’d buckle. When Hayley died, he’d have to. How could you not? But he kept going and proved she should’ve had more faith in him, becoming the father Jack deserves, and, surprisingly, your partner. 

“You’re squeezing me too tight,” you mumble, just loud enough for Emily and the others to hear you where Hotch hugs you a few feet from the dinner table. “Why are you trying to break my back?” 

“I haven’t seen you in three weeks.” 

“Eighteen days is not three weeks.” 

“It might as well be.” Hotch peels away from you to give you a once over. Emily’s half jealousy and half fondness, seeing him love someone so obviously. “Are you hungry? I ordered for you.” 

“Super hungry. Do I smell like antiseptic?” 

“No, just soap.” 

“Well, that’s not much better.” 

Hotch puts his arm behind your back and guides you to the table. The team squeeze out hellos between mouthfuls and you take your place at Hotch’s side behind a steaming plate. You’re as ravenous as the rest of them after your long shift; Morgan can hardly get a word out of you for the first ten minutes, though he tries, and you attempt to be polite. Emily nudges him until he gets the hint to stop. 

“Here,” Hotch says, putting a heaping of his food onto your plate with a large spoon. 

“Stop.” You attack his spoon with a fork. 

“It’s fine, you like it more than I do.” 

“Don’t care. You need your energy. I’m going to make you carry me up the stairs home.” 

He’s unintimidated. “Ah.” 

“Ah,” you echo. “You sound so doubtful.” 

Hotch looks like he might try to keep flirting with you, but he gives in quickly, betraying how much he’s missed you with a hand slipping under the table. Emily sees his fingers curl over your knee, averting her gaze with a feigned sip of coke. 

She can deduce the silent question you ask one another about anyways. 

“We’ll have dessert,” you say. We won’t skip out early. “What are you having, Dr. Reid?” 

Hotch orders you three different things, which you eat fast. 

“They’re not feeding you at the hospital?” Rossi asks. 

“Three emergency transfers in twelve hours,” you explain, slouching now into Hotch’s side, one slow inch at a time. “I didn’t have time for much.” 

“That’s not healthy,” Hotch murmurs in concern. 

“I’m sure I can ask any of your friends about your eating habits and find a similar schedule,” you brush him off, raising your gaze to Emily, then Morgan, then Rossi and Reid. Everyone smiles the same way. Hotch is caught, and his laugh jostles your shoulder. 

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘do as I say, and not as I do?’” he asks. 

God, Emily thinks with a huff of a laugh she can’t contain, get a room. 

“He likes that one,” Spencer says. 

“I don’t doubt it.” You lift your lips to his jaw and press a peck to the line of it. One, then two. “Maybe that’s why we've lasted as long as we have. Mutual disregard for our wellbeing.” 

“And a great deal of care for each other,” Rossi says, nodding sagely. “This is why my marriages never last.” 

“Is that why?” Spencer asks. 

“You’ve gotten to be quite the lark.”

“Lark,” Hotch whispers to you. Emily, sitting at his other side, might be the only one who hears, the others distracted by Spencer and Rossi’s ensuing squabble.

“Scoundrel,” you agree. 

“How’s your head now?” 

“It’s gonna be a hundred percent better if you give me that,” you say, pointing hopefully at his full drink. 

He doesn’t hesitate to press it into your hand. Emily would never suspect you hadn’t seen one another for weeks; you move and he follows. You rub your cheek against his shoulder. He touches his nose to your hair, his eyes shuttering closed for one stolen, blissful second. “Missed you,” he says under his breath. 

Emily looks away with a smile. Hotch isn’t hopelessly miserable anymore. 

[emchante]

wet dream

masterlist | requesting rules

summary: after a long day, oscar suggests you both take a nap together. however, oscar didn't get to sleep himself. how could he when you're rutting against him due to the wet dream that decided to play in your mind?

WARNINGS: 18+ content, dry humping/ thigh grinding, slight masturbation, vague somnophilia

w.c: 1.4k

a/n: 2 posts in 2 days? look at me go. anyways, first oscar post!! i'm so happy to finally have written for him, and i hope you guys enjoy. ell me your thoughts via comment, reblog or ask, i'd love to hear your feedback. and if this gets enough love then part 2 will be on the way. and, remember that requests are open.

it started out innocent enough. 

your bedroom was dimly lit, the faint glow from the bedside lamp was cast upon the walls. you and oscar were laying on the bed together, exhausted after a long day. 

it was oscar who had suggested it. 

“you look done in,” he murmured, laying on his side as he lifted his hand to cup your face. “maybe you should go for a little nap.”

you whined in return, a “nooo,” leaving your lips before you buried your head into his chest. “i need to spend as much time with you as possible, before you’re gone again.”

oscar smiled sympathetically— not that you seen it— before moving his hand to your hair, stroking it softly. “hey, a nap won’t do any harm. i’ll nap with you too, how does that sound?” he offered, making you lift your head from his chest as you looked at him. “that way.. we’re still technically spending time together,” he winked at you, making you smile.

that’s what got you where you were now. your body was pressed close to oscar’s, your head resting against the nape of his neck, one of your legs draped over his own. the steady rise and fall of your breath was proof you were knocked out cold, that oscar’s suggestion was worth it. 

oscar couldn’t sleep though. he was tired too, of course, but your soft breathing against his neck kept him wide awake, as well as as the constant shifting in your sleep, trying to get yourself comfortable. 

at first, it truly was innocent. 

the little nuzzle into his neck, was simply you trying to move impossibly closer to him. the shift of your leg against his own seemed innocent too, albeit the fact it rubbed against his crotch. but it was all accidental, of course. you were a restless sleeper, and that’s what he put it down to.

it was all innocent. until it wasn’t. 

your movements started to feel more deliberate, as your leg was now sliding higher up his thigh, staying there. it was impossible to miss the full body tense that consumed you, before a soft, almost inaudible moan escaped your lips. 

oscar’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened in realisation; you’re grinding against his thigh, clearly caught up in whatever fantasy was playing in your mind. 

he tries to stay still, tried to not focus on the slow yet insistent press of your hips against his thigh that sends a jolt of pleasure right to his core. he can feel the heat of you, even through the thin fabric that was separating you both from one another, the way you’re seeking something, even in your dream.

oscar’s cock twitches in his boxers, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip— trying to hold back any noises that threatened to escape him— as his hands fisted the sheets, trying to refrain from grabbing onto you. 

the movements of your body against him began to grow more insistent, each shift of your hips becoming more rhythmic. your leg tights around his thigh, trying to pull oscar closer as you let out another moan, this time more needy. 

oscar didn’t need to see your face to know you were having the time of your life, he could feel your features scrunching up against his skin, and your lips forming ‘o’ shapes every time a whine or moan escaped you. 

he can feel the dampness of your panties against his leg, soaking part of his leg and his shorts, and the feeling only sends a fiery heat throughout him. 

you mumble something incoherent in your sleep, but the tone in your voice is unmistakable— desperation. you’re rutting against his thigh like you can’t help it, out of control. like your body needs him, even in your dreams. 

oscar doesn’t know when it happened but when he came back to his senses, he realised his hand was now barely hovering above your waist. he was fighting a battle against himself, between restraint and the overwhelming urge to guide your body against his soaked thigh. 

his fingers twitch as he imagined pulling you down against him, helping you achieve what you were oh-so desperately chasing. the soft, breathy gasps were quickening against his neck, and oscar’s cock was painfully hard now, straining against his boxers. 

he lets out a shaky breath as your hand slips under his shirt, brushing against his abs. the touch is light and almost hesitant, as if you’re still finding your way about him in your dream. but every featherlight touch of the soft pads of your fingertips sends shivers through him, and he has to stifle any noises threatening to leave him. 

your breathing quickening isn’t something oscar misses, and he knows you’re getting closer. the friction of his thigh against your clothed pussy has you letting out a series of small, desperate whimpers, and oscar’s close to losing the battle against restraint. 

it doesn’t take long for it to come crashing down, though.

the whiny pant of “osc” that left your lips was what broke him. oscar couldn’t stop his hand from moving onto your waist, gripping your plush hip as he helped you move against him. he knew you didn’t mind, in fact; he knew you loved it, the groans that started to leave your mouth more often after his large fingers dug into your skin was confirmation of such. 

his eyes were dark with lust as he watched your body move against him, so needy and so desperate for release. his eyes drifted down to watch your clearly soaked panties move against his thigh, and oscar couldn’t stop himself. his free hand moved itself to your sensitive core, swiping two fingers along your clothed clit which caused your to involuntary buck against him in shock, a strangled moan leaving you. 

“shit,” oscar panted, licking his lips at your reaction. he moved his hand from your core, leaving it to rest atop his clothed, straining cock. oscar gave himself a small squeeze, as he squeezed his eyes shut in pleasure. he needed his own release so badly, but he would hold off; he’d wait until later. 

your movements were once again changing, now becoming more urgent as you subconsciously buried your face further into his neck. a choked gasp slips from your lips, hips jerking forward and trying to press down harder. he can feel your slickness through his shorts, and it’s driving him absolutely insane. 

your thighs clench around his left one, pulling him closer. you're whimpering now, every breath was a little cry of desperation, and oscar can feel how your body is trembling against him. 

oscar’s hand moves from your hip to your ass, squeezing it softly as he pushes you further into him. “come on, baby,” he whispers, watching your body continue to rut against him like a rabid dog; all in your sleep. 

then, suddenly, your body goes taut, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips. your hips press hard against his thigh, and your grinds are now moving in small, desperate circles. oscar can feel your pussy clenching against him as you finally reach the tip of your climax. 

you let out a breathless cry, your body shuddering as the orgasm washes over you. oscar’s breath catches in his throat as he watches, mesmerized by the way how lost you are in your pleasure, even though you were sound asleep. 

you ride out every last wave of your climax, and he can feel your wetness pooling against the skin of his thigh, soaking it and some of the fabric of his shorts. his rabbit-like teeth bite down on his bottom lip, a low groan escaping him as his dick throbs almost painfully at how aroused he is himself. 

slowly, your body allows itself to relax, the tension in your muscles easing as breath resumes in it’s normal, steady rhythm. you’re still trembling a little, hand clenched as it moved to rest on his chest under his shirt. you move to rest your cheek on oscar’s shoulder now, soft snores escaping your lips. 

oscar moves his head back to see you, and your eyes are fluttered shut, your face relaxed with your mouth slightly open. you’re asleep now, the wet dream that has consumed you was now over as you started to resume the peaceful sleep you went for originally.  

his eyes moved down to his shorts, looking at the dark patch of wetness that had stained them. they then moved to his crotch, where his erection was still visible, and he could still feel it throb. oscar licked his lips before gulping, closing his eyes and smiling to himself. 

this wasn’t over, he just had to wait until you woke up. 

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ FUCK THE LANDLORD ?!

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — pwp, protected & unprotected sex, feminization, breeding kink, discussions of pregnancy, anal, minor degradation, creampie, cockwarming, implied dom/sub dynamic . ✦ . wc — 874 . ✦ . notes — anon said toji has a breeding kink and couldn't be any more right !! this man makes me feel things...

The groan that slips past Toji Fushiguro’s bloodied lip is nothing short of pure frustration. Then, as he throws his head back to emphasize this, he narrows his gaze. One of the fingers that was tangled in your dishevelled hair is brought to your lower lip. Prodding at it, at first, before he drags it downward for a reason unknown to you.

Your mind is elsewhere, focused only on the rhythm of his hips against yours as he drags his cock in and out of your winking hole. Your ‘boycunt’, as he calls it. It’s loud, lewd, and has your cock standing at full mast, throbbing as it threatens to splatter another load of cum onto your exposed stomach.

“Please,” You whimper, and you haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re pleading for. Maybe it’s for his permission to cum, paint your stomach with your bodily fluid like a debauched slut as he’d made you do so many times before. Or, perhaps, it’s a plea for him to go harder on you — your way of saying ‘I can take it!’ through short gasps that are cut off by your moaning and mewling in utter bliss.

He clicks his tongue in what you presume to be disapproval but it’s hard to say. His finger, or, rather, his entire hand has been moved away from your mouth, now tracing the outline of your stomach. It’s strange, which you convey by way of knitting your brows together, feeling him caress the fat of your stomach like that as the head of his cock presses against your prostate at that angle that makes you see stars.

“Maybe Megumi needs a younger brother or sister to get him out of that shell of his,” He muses in between grunts that border on animalistic as your cock begins to spurt another load of cum onto your stomach; the stimulation of your prostate proving to be too much for you. “At the rate we’re going yer’ going to give him a younger sibling.”

You shake your head — grimacing as the pile of used condoms comes into view. Your face heating up all over again (not that it had ever stopped, really). Toji, utterly unbothered by your attempt at denial continues, “How would you explain it? ‘I let him fuck me once a month instead of paying his rent in the form of cash and got knocked up somehow’?” He asks, his voice is all rough and manly, but there’s that unmistakable boyish amusement to it that his lazy smirk only highlights.

You want to tell him how ridiculous he sounds right now. Not only is that a shit explanation but it’s entirely impossible. It’s at the tip of your tongue, really, but so is your squeals as he continues his assault on your ass.

“Should I marry you?” He laughs, pressing the rough pads of his fingers (now with both hands) into the fat of your stomach as the rhythm of his hips becomes more erratic. He’s so close; the veins lining his thick cock throbbing against your walls as they clench around him. You could hear the sound of his balls smacking against you echoing throughout the room.

“Tell me, boy, do you want me to cum inside you like this? No condom protecting you from the possibility of a life-long commitment?” He pants, eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite discern, as loose strands of hair begin to cling to his sweaty forehead. And when you’re like this (you swear, your eyes have rolled to the back of your head), body jolting upwards on the mattress with each thrust of his hips like you’re nothing more than his fleshlight, the prospect doesn’t seem all that bad.

It admittedly takes some effort to string a sentence together. Your throat feels raw — a testament to all the noise you’ve made through the past few rounds. But you do, eventually, string one together. “I... I want it,” You respond, your voice wispy as your chest heaves, “I want to give Megumi a younger sibling.”

Toji smiles at that. It isn’t a warm smile; If the wolf smiled in Little Red Riding Hood, this would be it. All teeth and restrained aggression. But Toji doesn’t restrain himself per se, he continues to chase his high albeit with more resolve. His attention solely focused on breeding you — impregnating you, if he could.

Say what you will about Toji Fushiguro — and you can say a lot — he’s a man of his word. He doesn’t stop rutting his hips until his cock is painting your gummy walls white with his cum. Even then, as he rides out his high, he doesn’t detangle himself from you. He’ll see this through until the end.

You, on the other hand, are writhing underneath him. Eyes fluttering, threatening to close, but you dare not close them. Not when he’s still inside you like this, plugging your ass with his cock, trapping his cum inside you.

“You’re disgusting,” You grumble, exasperated, as you bring a hand to his face, tracing the outline of his jaw. He doesn’t kiss you — it doesn’t feel right to do that right now — but he does smile knowingly. “Then make me pay rent some other way.”

[justporo]

Currently obsessed with the following idea:

Astarion was the son of nobles and as a child he was rather shy, slightly awkward, didn't have many friends - and when other kids were around they were usually pretty mean because he was into books and not into playfighting or such. But he had ONE friend, his best friend: Tav, the kid of one elven couple of servants working for the Ancuníns.

And they were the polar opposite to Astarion. When someone was mean to Astarion, they would be the one to pull the other kid's hair for being a meanie. They would make Astarion laugh and ask him about what he was always reading in these dusty old books.

Astarion's parents didn't always like that but at least his friend made him become a bit more confident.

They became older, Astarion becoming an absolute heartthrob, drowning in admirers and of course he was flattered, taking on some of that arrogance all nobles seem to have after all. He basked in all the attention, but... at one point he realised: his childhood friend, Tav? When had their hair become this beautiful? When again had been the first time he'd dreamt of pressing a kiss to the back of their neck? When had he started to lose sleep over Tav's smile, always wishing to see it again?

And Tav too wasn't blind, noticing how at some point their heart jumped every time Astarion gave them his signature smirk - but he received love letters like daily and surely someone must have caught his eye already...

And so it remained an unspoken truth between them.

It became harder to stay friends when they became adults, Astarion started working as a magistrate, Tav was more and more reminded that they had very different social standings. But they still saw each other - because deep down Astarion was still this adorable, shy and nerdy boy and Tav was still his caring, funny, impulsive and protective friend.

And so they were pining for each other, secretly. Probably anyone who watched them for more than three minutes would have known how deeply they were in love with each other.

And when finally Tav had worked up the courage to bring it up, that one night they were meant to meet at the tavern like usual...

He didn't come. Maybe he had finally come to the realisation that he was beyond Tav's societal position, his parents finally had gotten to him about this. And maybe, Tav thought, it was for the better... And Tav went on as best as possible, moving to another city, but mourning the friendship they had lost - and the love that might've been.

Until... about 200 years later Tav got snatched up by these invaders, a tadpole planted into their brain. The ship crashed, leaving Tav on that beach.

And there they walked around aimlessly, confused, until... It couldn't be, that voice? They must be imagining it after everything that happened.

On the far edge Tav could see someone standing with their back to them, not identifiable yet - white curls though were very noticeable about that someone. Tav strode closer, heart almost dropping as the man sounded and looked more like what they almost didn't dare to believe.

"Astarion?", Tav exclaimed suddenly. The white-haired elf's head snapped around, eyes full of shock and anger. His eyes narrowed and then widened again.

He looked so pale and were his eyes red? But Tav was now sure that it must be him.

"Tav?", Astarion answered in shock - suddenly looking a lot like the shy, unsure boy Tav remembered all too well, even after more than 200 years.

~~~

Inspired by this fanart by @sammakesart!

[wttcsms]

most noble ; kento nanami.

pairing kento nanami x f!reader  word count 3.6k  synopsis your beloved knight nobly defends your honor by participating in a tourney to duel the man who insults you. he does not realize that the reward for his victory is your hand in marriage. content contains medieval royal au, knight!nanami & princess!reader, age gap (reader is 22/nanami is 29), longing!!! it's about the pining!!!, requited unrequited love, romantic tension, nanami being hopelessly in love but feeling undeserving :( author's notes omg can y'all just get ur acts together n marry each other holy shit (make me make a pt. 2, plssss)

Kento Nanami knows that he’s made a mistake, perhaps one so major that not even taking another professional role within the castle will be able to cover it up. Then again, it’s not like him leaving his post the first time around has resulted in any change. Maybe him leaving only to return back to your side once more is precisely the reason why he’s making so many mistakes.

For example, earlier this week, his fingers brushed against yours while handing you your tiara. Or, just before that, he found himself remaining only two steps behind you rather than the traditional three. And maybe he’s just paranoid, afraid that he’s being obvious and overly obnoxious in his displays of affection for you, but he did not earn the title of Head Knight of the Royal Guard for no reason. The king — your father — would not have bestowed such a prestigious title to a man who is not always proceeding with constant caution. 

To any visitor of the court, Sir Nanami is just another highly skilled knight, dedicated to protecting the princess. To Nanami, he is a lovesick fool trailing after you, failing to mask his true affections. 

No one sees through him, except for the one person who he so wishes were blind to his feelings. 

Easily excitable and sweetly endearing, you are the heiress to the throne and future ruler to citizens who adore you. It’s hard not to fall for your charm or the kindness that you bestow upon anyone who comes across your path. You’re considered to be the sun that shines over the kingdom, and Nanami knows of no star that shines brighter than you. 

But behind your youthful exuberance and seemingly carefree attitude is a highly perceptive young lady of the court. With your cheery smiles and laughter that seems to flow so easily and rings through the halls of the castle, it is easy to forget that one day, you will be queen, and that you have been raised your whole life to fulfill your royal duty. 

It is easy to remember this fact when you’re sitting atop your throne, staring down at him as he kneels. 

“You regret it,” you say, absentmindedly tracing the intricate designs carved onto the handles of your seat. You still haven’t learned how to stop moving your hands every time you’re nervous. It’s your only tell; for as well as you can read Nanami, he can read you even better. Your anxiety only causes him to tighten his jaw, his eyes focused on the lower half of your face because this is all his role allows him to do. He should not dare to look Her Royal Highness in the eyes; not at his lowly level in comparison to you.

You frown at his silence, knowing that he’s doing it to raise the barrier between you two. Four years ago, he hadn’t tried to shut you out so firmly, and every day since then, you have spent all your free time wondering why he wants nothing to do with you. 

The it you’re referring to could be many different things. “It” could possibly be him leaving his station as your personal knight in order to become one of the king’s advisors. “It” could also be referring to him returning to be your knight. Or maybe you’re talking about the kiss the two of you shared a fortnight before he decided to stop being your royal guard. The kiss that lingers on his lips, even to this day. He doesn’t even have to think hard enough to remember the wonderful feeling of your soft lips pressed against his own, or that saccharine taste of yours that is yours alone; no fruit, no candy, nothing has ever been able to mimic your sweetness. The kiss that never should have been. The kiss, the kiss, the kiss.

Maybe “it” is none of that, or maybe it’s all of the above. He knows you, and you’re not going to clarify because you believe that Nanami is a mindreader, and for the most part, he is. He knows what gowns you favor, and when you’re sleepy during court meetings, and he knows what order you’re going to eat the food on your plate. He knows where you go when you want to be alone (to the horse stables, to be with your beloved mare), and what your favorite tiara looks like, and that you snort when you laugh (but only ever in the presence of those you are truly comfortable with; only ever in the presence of him). 

He does not, however, know about his place in your heart. 

You wonder if he’s forcing himself to be unaware of your feelings for him. Sometimes, in the corner of your eyes and in your shadow that he follows, you catch him staring at you longingly, hopefully. With a type of reverence that differs from the one grateful citizens show you. This one feels… intimate. A look meant to be shared only with lovers. 

Lovers.

You had toyed with the idea four years ago, when you were eighteen and bright-eyed and much too hopeful for your own good. You craved romance and passion, and whichever suitor you came across, you always found them to be lacking, none of them comparing to Sir Nanami. And you knew, with girlish glee, that it is Nanami that you want. And then came that fateful afternoon in the gardens where you kissed him, and you swore that flowers started blooming on the bushes as a result. The birds were singing, and the sun was shining much brighter than ever, and you felt weightless. As if the inevitability of having to rule a kingdom was no longer a point of stress, and the burdens of your royal duty slipped from your shoulders and melted into the dewy grass beneath you. All that existed, for that brief second of bliss, was you and Nanami.  

And then, two weeks later, he resigned and decided to work for your father. 

His return had come as a surprise to you. During the years he stopped being your knight, you saw him only once a week, if the fates decided to bless you. For the most part, you’ve grown accustomed to only seeing his broad back or a flash of blond hair passing you by in the corridor. You wonder if he knows that he’s your first kiss — your only kiss. Surely he must. He’s spent a good portion of his life ensuring that your virtue was to never be tainted. 

“I do not know what you speak of, My Lady.” He says. He speaks so little to you now that you savor the sound of his deep baritone, the smoothness of how words seem to glide off his tongue. Nanami takes something so mundane as talking and turns it into an art. 

“You regret the duel.” 

And here lies the grand mistake that Nanami cannot figure out how to fix. He believes that being cold to you will perhaps dissuade anyone from assuming how closely he holds you to his heart (his act of emotional indifference towards you is so convincing, even you sometimes believe it), but he’s only human. He is a slave to his emotions — the utterly irrational ones, the ones that make him act a fool — as all men are. 

Nanami hadn’t intended on participating in the tourney. He’s nearing twenty-nine, after all. He’s reached the highest status any knight could possibly aspire to, and he no longer is a squire from a commoner family with something to prove. Tourneys are a thing of the past, a memory from his boyhood. 

But there are visitors from all sorts of lands who came down for this royal celebration. A lowly lord from a kingdom ruled by Mahito is precisely the type of scum that does a disservice to all men. Crass, vulgar, and entirely immature, Lord Shigemo has a dastardly reputation for never keeping his disgusting comments or filthy hands to himself. And while it was not his touch that threatened your very virtue, it was the perverted proclamations he kept declaring that had Nanami seeing red. 

“She’s a bit old for my liking, but I still bet her maidenhood is ripe enough for the taking. I’d love to see her bleed all over my cock.” Lord Shigemo snickers as he loudly announces this, his beady eyes staring right at you. He’s smart enough to not say your name, lest his head end up on a stake outside your father’s castle, but he’s dumb enough to not heed the warnings he’s been told. 

The princess is protected by the bravest of all knights, and the most honorable of all gentlemen. 

For that comment alone, Nanami is ready to unsheathe his sword and behead Shigemo, but he knows he cannot. There has been no direct threat to you, and Nanami has just enough restraint to remember that his anger cannot get the best of him. He is not to harm visitors to the kingdom, no matter how deserving of punishment they are, because maintaining peace between the lands is of the utmost importance. 

But the way your body stiffens and the almost sickly pallor of your face that occur as a result of Lord Shigemo’s verbal transgression is enough to have Nanami pledge his participation in the dueling tourney. He signs his name in the same competition bracket as Shigemo’s, and you’re pleasantly surprised when Nanami kneels down, asking for your favor and a blessing as he goes to represent your family. 

“And what has made you so keen on dueling now, hmm? Why, King Gojo has spent the better half of today trying to goad you into jousting with his knight.” You’re teasing him, eyes sparkling, your gibe gentle and without malicious intent.

You’re not trying to convince Nanami to not partake in the tournament. In fact, you take secret pleasure in watching his swordsmanship, even going out of your way to sneak into the training grounds and watch as he practices moves you’re certain he’s already perfected. For a man with so much muscle mass, he moves swiftly and with a sharp, quick precision that does not befit his firm build. 

“It is to defend my lady’s honor.” He curses himself for being so forthright with his intentions. He could have told you that it was to honor your family, and it would not have been a lie, but it wouldn’t have been said with the same strong conviction he speaks with now. It is not the king or any of your cousins that he is fighting for; it is just you, only you. 

Removing the brooch from your gown, you attach it to the cloth of his shirt that is soon to be covered by armor. It’s a dark blue gem, matching the color your house favors. 

“My most noble of all protectors. You have my favor, then, and all my prayers.” As you always do is the real ending to your sentence, but you fear that if you reveal too much, then Nanami will not be able to focus and give this tourney his all. You wonder if you should reveal the prize for winning, but decide against it at the last minute when he dares to look at you, a glimmer of the same affection from four years ago shining in his dark eyes. It’s a similar look to the one he gave you before your lips met his. 

The urge to kiss him again rises, your heart thumping against your chest, but all you allow yourself to do is smile at him.

The tourney itself is a quick event. Usually, it lasts far longer than the hour it takes up, and the gambling a tense, exciting affair. With Nanami entering at the last minute, most gamblers changed their bets to go all in on him winning, and for a good reason. He makes quick work of every opponent unfortunate enough to be paired with him, and the only time Nanami truly takes his sweet time is when he comes face to face with an anxious Lord Shigemo. 

Even toying with him doesn’t give Nanami much pleasure. Shigemo is a weak opponent, a poorly trained fighter, and a pitiful excuse of a man. Tired of his time being wasted, Nanami has the man shaking underneath the sharp point of his sword within seconds after deciding he is done playing these games. Even after being declared the winner of the whole tourney, an outcome he isn’t surprised at, he doesn’t feel any satisfaction. Flowers and handkerchiefs are being thrown at him as a show of respect and celebration, but only when he looks up into the crowd, his eyes focusing on your smiling visage, does he feel an ounce of pure happiness.

Before he can climb the steps leading to the showbox that houses all the prominent royal families, one of the tourney competitors stops to congratulate Nanami. 

“Lucky bastard.” It’s Naoya Zenin, Crown Prince of the neighboring kingdom. Nanami is glad he was not competing in the same bracket as the prince; not because of a difference in skill, but because wounding a Zenin’s pride was considered treason to them. 

“It’s just flowers.” Nanami says. He doesn’t understand what Naoya’s fascination with them are, but perhaps it’s the glory of being a victor that he’s envious of.

“Don’t be a fool.” Naoya scoffs. “We all know the real prize that every damn man was trying to claim.” 

Nanami is still confused. Of course, Naoya talks incessantly and most of the time, Nanami does not care what the Zenin heir has to say, but he did notice that there were far more competitors signing up for the tourney than previous years. Is there a monetary reward no one told him about? 

“So, how much for you to forfeit?” Naoya asks, completely unaware of Nanami's ignorance. 

“Pardon?”

He rolls his eyes, as if Nanami is some type of undomesticated animal, untrained to following commands. Nanami wishes he had been placed in the same bracket as Naoya now, treason charges be damned. 

“Never mind, then. I’m sure the princess herself will just make an announcement rescinding the reward.” Naoya smirks at the thought of that, and Nanami struggles to fight the urge to demand the prince stop being so cryptic and to just explain what the hell he’s rambling on about. Rescind what reward? 

A familiar head of pink hair pops up by his side, and Nanami immediately recognizes his young student. Eager Yuuji Itadori is smiling widely, happy for his teacher, and for once, Nanami is grateful that young Itadori does not know how to beat around the bush.

“Wow, congratulations, Sir Nanami! I had no idea that you wanted to marry Princess [Name]! Will you still be able to train me as Prince Consort?” 

Nanami’s blood runs cold. Oblivious to his mentor’s sudden anguish, Yuuji continues on. 

“Her Royal Highness was so kind to open the competition for her hand to any class. Of course, some people dared to criticize her and claim it’s because she’s becoming too old to be a maiden so she had to cast a wide net, but I know plenty of ladies who are unwed in their twenties. Will you still be her knight as her husband, or will that role have to go to someone else? Say, Sir Nanami, are you feeling alright?” 

You’re beaming with pride at your beloved knight’s victory, yet nervousness at watching him interact with Prince Naoya started creeping in. You start to relax when the Zenin heir walks off, but your peace of mind shatters when you watch Sir Itadori engage in conversation with Nanami. You watch his facial expression tighten, his body tense up, and you realize that Nanami knows. He knows that he has a right to be betrothed to you, and it dawns on you, from his poor reaction, that this is not the outcome he wanted. 

Which leaves the two of you here, alone in your throne room. Your father had found your idea of a tournament for your hand in marriage to be a silly one, but he had indulged you because you promised to be betrothed to someone at the end of it. By standards of the court, you’re much too old at twenty-two to remain unwed. 

You’ve been plotting ways to get Nanami to participate, even daring to consider commanding him to do so, but never has being a victim to malicious comments ever been as beneficial as it has today. Nanami signed up for the tourney by his own will! His words ring in your ear, looping incessantly as you watch him fight.

It is to defend my lady’s honor.

He does not know the effect that title has on you, at least when it’s coming from him. My lady. His. 

“If the idea of marrying me causes you so much ire, I will call off the betrothal at once and relieve you from your knightly duties, as well.” You do not want to do such a thing, but… You love Nanami. You love him so much that if it is your presence that pains him, you will take your leave now.

“No.” 

The word comes from somewhere deep within himself, throaty and raw, like it hurts to say it, but it had to be spoken. The fates demand it. 

“No?” You repeat, slowly, almost as if the word is something foreign to your tongue.

“Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to speak out of turn.” 

“You do not want to leave me?” You say it softly, but it’s just the two of you in this room. Every word exchanged seems to bounce around the walls, ricocheting, hitting the both of you in the face. 

“Princess, it is not a matter of my wants.” Why must you torture him so? While he knows he can never marry you, there was a second of elation that excited his soul at the prospect of being your betrothed. He’s lived a rough life, his calloused palms and hardened heart proof of it. He hasn’t allowed himself to indulge in fantasies for quite some time, but you inspire just enough hope that it stabs him in his heart. Daring to dream of the impossible is a fool’s game. 

“Ask me what I want.” You say it firmly. He obliges. 

“What is it that you want, my lady?”

“You, Kento.” 

No title, no boundaries. You have spoken his name, and that sting in his heart, the harmful side effect of his hope, grows. He dares to look up just a bit more, his eyes staring deep into your own. 

All the walls Nanami painstakingly built to separate you two threaten to crumble right before his very eyes. His battlefield tact is of no use here. Had this been any other battle, he would charge forward with his head and sword raised high. Retreat is not an option for a soldier such as himself. 

So why does he flirt with the idea of fleeing now? 

“I am not deserving.”

“It hurts me when you say that.” And you say it with such a wounded look on your soft features that Nanami knows it must be true. 

“I am not even a lord.” He’s fumbling for an excuse, anything to convince you that marrying him would be a mistake. He finds your stubbornness endearing, but he must get you to understand that you will regret marrying him.

“I have no need for a lord.” You retort, almost scoffing at the notion.

“I am seven years your senior.”

“Much better than the suitors decades older than I.” 

“You must understand that I am not the gentlest of men. I am not built for care.” The tips of his ears turn red, a giveaway to his shame and embarrassment at the fact. 

“I am not fragile.” 

Stubborn. You are much too stubborn for your own good.

“I have tainted you.” He chokes out, staring you directly in the eyes. Showing his sins to the broad daylight filtering through the stained glass windows of this room. “I have stolen a kiss meant for your husband.”

“I kissed you! You have tainted nothing, you have robbed no one!” You exclaim, shocked at his misery. 

“And now I have stolen your fate.” He continues. “You should not wish to marry a man like me, and you will only come to regret this impulsive decision of your youth if you force this betrothal.” 

“Am I forcing you, Sir?” The title seems almost like a mockery, especially after you exchanged it for his given name just minutes prior. 

There is nothing Nanami can say that will change your mind, and he realizes this. He realizes the pure selfishness of wanting you to not change your mind, but he is stubborn as well. The tension in this room wraps around the both of you, binding you two together. It’s a battle of wills, now. 

Perhaps it always has been. 

“You will regret this, my lady.” This is what he says. Inside, he begs of you, please do not regret me. 

Satisfied at seemingly having your way, you settle into your throne, leaning back. 

“So noble of you to want to save me from what you consider a dastardly fate, but I shall be the judge of that.” 

And thus, the engagement period begins.

[rockstvrdotcom]

⪼ 10.01 KINKTOBER DAY 1, MIGUEL O'HARA X FEM READER

power play, dumbification, unintentionally slutty reader, dubcon

click link for kinktober mlist c: not proofread!!!

miguel hated you for some reason unknown to anybody. every time you even walked pass him he would shoot you a glare.

maybe because he was against jessicas idea to bring you into hq and have you become part of the spider society.. or maybe it was because the first mission you had you fucked it up. hard.

nobody really knows. but it's probably because of the way you prance around in your skimpy spider suit, acting oblivious to the wide eyes and open jaws as you passed by the other spiders. probably because of the way you add a bit more sway to your hips as you walk past o'hara.

clearly you were teasing him on purpose. so you can't blame him when he gets fed up with your antics, blasting over the speakers that they needed to find you stat.

barely a minute later you were shoved into his office by another spider, a confused expression on your face as you stared up at him with those same doe eyes you always look at him with— those same doe eyes that make his dick throb.

"i know you're doing it on purpose." he says, eyes narrowed as he tapped his foot. he watched your face contort into an even more lost expression, your lashes fluttering each time you blinked.

"i don't know what you mean, boss." you said innocently. there you go again, putting up that same ol' innocent act. his eyebrows furrowed together, a scowl on his face.

"don't act oblivious, y/n," he spat, taking a step closer and closing the distance— now you had to crane your neck up to look at him. "walking around and swaying your hips like some.. some slut."

you were taken aback. how could miguel possibly think that about you? you've been on your best behavior, never referring to him as anything less than boss or sir. you were quick to bite back, scoffing and cursing him out.

you both bickered back and forth, an angry expression etched onto both of your faces. yet the way he glared down at you— calling you all of these degrading names somehow sparked an unfamiliar feeling in your core; hidden deep beneath the humiliation you felt.

halfway through scolding him for being a 'perverted asshole', you blinked and he had you wrenched over his shoulder, a look of confusion on your face and a look of pride on his.

"put me down, miguel!" you demanded like a child stubbornly pleading for candy; thrashing and scratching at his back until he placed you on his desk. pens and documents scattered and tipped off the table, cluttering on the floor as miguel glared down at you.

"alguien tiene que enseñarte una lección puta." he mumbled beneath his breath, shaking his head. his hand snaked up your thigh as he watched your expression contort from anger to arousal, blush creeping onto your face as he squeezed the fat of your thighs.

you muttered his name quietly. a triumphant smirk formed on miguel's face, his fangs poking out from his lips. he took your wrists between his large hand and pinned them above your head.

his freehand trailed down your body, exploring it and making sure every curve and contour was engraved into his brain. talons extending simply for the purpose to rip your spidersuit to shreds.

you complained and whined about how that was your only one. "this is what you wanted it, isn't it?" he shushed you with a claw up to your neck, eyeing you hungrily like a wolf and it's prey.

you yelped when he flipped you onto your stomach harshly, your lacy panties and the clasp of your bra on display for him. his hand ran up the curve of your back before getting rid of your bra, tossing it to the side.

he pressed his bulge against your clothed, sopping pussy, grinding slightly as he leaned down to leave kisses and bites on your neck.

you grinded your hips against his only to be stopped harshly by calloused hands. you turned around and began to complain until he shushed you. "beg, mi vida." he demanded, leaving no room for refusal.

"w- wha?.." you stuttered, cheeks lit up with humiliation and lust. you immediately shook your head, the thought sending shivers of embarassment down your spine.

he tch'd, before ripping off your panties in one swift motion. his nanotech suit slowly dissipated away; leaving him only in his boxers. and good lord, he was fucking fit, chiseled abs and veins running along his arms.

but the thing that really caught your eye was the tuft of brown hair peeking out of the waistband and the large bulge.

he made you turn your head around, not facing him. you felt a heavy weight on your cunt, his tip prodding at your entrance. there was no foreplay except for the fact that you were soaking wet, "w- wait. miguel—"

he was ramming into you before you could even finish your sentence, broken and choked out moans being punched out of you with each thrust.

you revelled in pleasure and a sting of pain as you adjusted to his size. "fu.. fuck! miguel, s- ah! slow down-" you managed to let out in between whimpers, eyes rolling back as the sound of his hips slapping against yours filled the room yet his pace didnt falter.

the way his balls slapped against your clit with each thrust was fucking divine, making you grip the edges of the table as he fucked you raw.

groans from him and moans from you echoed off the walls, the smell of sex filling your senses, "m- miguel.. s' too hard~.." you complained, biting your lip.

but the second his tip thrusted into that spot that made your mind go numb you forgot whatever you were begging for; all logical thoughts blocked out by pleasure as you gripped anything for purchase; trying to prevent the loud moan that eventually escaped and bounced off the walls, clenching around him tightly and making him groan.

"c- calláte.. making too much fucking noise." he grunted out, wrapping a hand around your throat as he continously thrusted up into your gspot, your eyes rolling back and tongue lolling out.

raspy whimpers and pleads for him to keep hitting that spot barely made it out with his large hand around your throat. black spots littered your vision as your breaths became shallow, yet he still continued to thrust.

you felt the knot in your stomach snap as you cried out in pleasure, squeezing around him as he let go of your neck; his thrusts becoming sloppy. your vision went blank, only miguel and the shape of his cock on your mind as your orgasm washed over you in waves.

your release left a ring of cream at the base of his cock. you could tell miguel was close too, his pace erratic before he burried himself deep inside of you, tip nestled comfortably in your cervix.

"c- cum in me please.." you begged pathetically, eyes rolling back in satisfaction as he emptied his load inside of you.

after what felt like hours with his dick balls deep in you, he pulled out, your clit twitching and your hole aching as some of his cum leaked out and onto his desk. you could hear him tut in disapproval.

"perra dejó un desastre en mi escritorio.." he scoffed before spitting on your pussy, admiring the mess he made of you before turning his suit back on.

"clean yourself and my desk up, ¿comprende?"

[luvvyouforever]

show me what you got - logan howlett {wolverine} x reader

synopsis: logan and reader very clearly want each other, but neither will make a move. a certain plan sets that in action.

content: NSFW! minors dni. yearning. horny. rambling. logan being nervous. afab reader.

a/n: i don't really know where i was going with this. i was also kinda picturing cartoon x men living situation here! def not very canon compliant. but enjoy!

his breath is hot, ragged, and full of expletives slipping between his lips with every thrust. sweat beads around his hairline, drips down his temple, and leaves the prettiest shine on his tan skin. his hair is tousled, he's shirtless, and his muscles are tense beneath his skin.

"oh my god, lift up your jaw. i know he's hot but you're gonna swallow flies that way, hun."

rogue's voice enters your dazed reverie and brings you back into the reality: a sweaty gym in the x-men mansion. logan, only twenty feet in front of you, pulls on the handles of a machine set to the highest weight possible that pulls him forward and backward. it's supposed to work out his back, or maybe his chest, or maybe his arms. either way, it's sinful and becoming increasingly difficult to tear your eyes away.

he continues to grunt on the machine and you wonder if he's doing it on purpose when rogue speaks up again. "you need to do something about this."

you let out a laugh that's just a bit too loud and draws some of the eyes of the other x-men working out. red heat crawls up your neck and to your cheeks where it settles into a blush. turning around to face the other side of the gym, you whisper, "and what exactly am i supposed to do here?"

"i don't know. corner him, give him a big ol' smooch, and the rest will be history," rogue pauses. "i think. i'm not the best person to ask here," she says with a gesture to her gloved hands.

when you feel the heat leave your face, you turn back around to see that logan had moved from the original offending machine to an even more intolerable workout: bench presses. with urgent movements, you take rogue over to the yoga mats and begin your own personalized workout, all the while she laughs at your obvious and ever-growing frustration.

𝜗𝜚

logan wonders what it would be like to be standing behind you, pressed dangerously close to your backside as you bend over and place yourself into some yoga position he never bothered to learn the name of. the workout clothes you're wearing have always got under his skin and he knows this time is no different. he barely thinks about the weight of the bar he's lifting up and down as he watches your body flex into a position that places your body in such a divine arch he wishes he could be drawing out of you.

"not you too," gambit's voice comes from behind logan where he uselessly spots him. suddenly, logan falters with his grip on the bar and rather than let it fall on top of him, he sends it to the other side of the bench, just a few feet from where scott was doing squats with some fancy weights logan never bothered with.

"what do you mean 'not you too?'" logan questions.

gambit shakes his head and sits on the bench next to the one they were currently working out on. he fiddles with a card he seemed to pull out of nowhere, but logan ignored it. "gambit means that you two need to find a closet and get it over with."

logan huffs and shakes his head. "i dunno what you're talking about, cajun."

his eyes float back to your frame on the other side of the gym. much to his chagrin, you stopped your own workout and stretching in favor of assisting rogue into a complex position that was sure to send gambit to her side once the workout had come to a close. the words 'not you too' floated through his head once more and he turned to interrogate gambit once more only to find him moving on to another set in front of the mirror.

with a final glance back to you, he found you looking at him as well. briefly, your eyes met each other across the room then immediately went to the floor, pretending that the specks of dust were unbelievably interesting.

𝜗𝜚

charles believed that despite the mutations and responsibilities and missions, it was important for the x-men to have some kind of normalcy which led to frequent movie nights or parties or game nights. more often than not, logan spent those inside or sitting in a chair directly away from the other x-men. there was no particular reason, he was just always like that. solitary.

unfortunately, something seemed to be different for this particular movie night. when he arrived to the home theater in the basement of the mansion, every single seat was taken by one of the other x-men. the only other person who hadn't arrived was you.

his eyes fell to the loveseat that was empty toward the back of the room, where rarely any light except for the screen fell. he could hear an almost undetectable giggle come from rogue on the other side of the room and he knew something was up. had these not been unspokenly required, he would have turned around with the excuse of...something.

just as he climbed the few short steps to the loveseat and sat down, you walked in. his breath hitched in his throat at the sight of you. a thin and old pajama top which hung off your shoulders at an angle adorned your top half while the bottom half was covered in pants that fell at your hips and hugged your legs as they went down. somehow this was worse than tight workout clothes.

just as he did, your eyes scanned the room for a seat before finding that the only one available was the other half of the loveseat that logan's body was currently occupying. without much thinking, your eyes flew to rogue who shrugged her shoulders despite you feeling as though this was planned.

with every inch you grew closer to being so close to logan, your heart rate increased, as did your nervousness. awkwardly, you sat down by him and could instantly feel the similar pulling in your chest that you felt when standing too close to him. the way his t-shirt hugged his chest and contoured to the fine muscles made you blink too fast.

once everyone was fully settled, charles put a movie on, something you didn't really remember the plot of, and with maximum effort, you kept your eyes glued to the screen.

logan did not have as easy of a time as you did. perhaps it was the way his senses were so increased from yours that you could barely keep still. it was either your thigh touching his own or your sweet smell infiltrating his nose or the way you couldn't hold your laughter at certain jokes in the movie which echoed through his ears into his mind. it was unbearable.

suddenly feeling eyes on him, his head whipped to the other side where gambit's eyes would flit to him every so often. when they made eye contact, gambit's eyebrow raised, which suggested the question to logan, "so?"

he shook his head to which gambit smiled, tilted his head to signal to your body next to his, and made some obscene gesture that had rogue smacking his hands down to his lap. logan sighed, shook his head, and returned his gaze back to the movie. he couldn't ignore it this time.

𝜗𝜚

once the movie ended, everyone retreated back to their respective spaces, except logan who lingered around the mansion. going back to his bedroom didn't feel favorable. after spending so long alive, chasing after what he wanted, he felt stupid letting you continue to walk past him, in the clothes that made him frustrated with a personality that melted his heart. he didn't want to go back into his bedroom where he would more than likely jerk off to thoughts of you so perfect they could become painful. he would have a dream about you, wake up wondering if today is the day he kisses you finally, then look at you at the breakfast table and know that this wasn't the day.

before he could stop his own body, his legs took him up the stairs toward your bedroom at the end of the hallway.

you hadn't been doing anything after the movie except for thinking of the way your thigh was touching logan's and his breath was deep and he was warm and a strong presence next to your frame. with nothing on but a yellow lamp, you reached over to your bedside drawer before a knock echoed through the room.

with a huff, you rose up and went over to the door. when you opened up, you could've jumped back in surprise at the figure on the other side of the door. logan was standing in the same t-shirt and sweatpants as earlier, but this time he looked slightly disheveled, like he had been running his hands through his hair.

"hey, logan," you said hesitantly.

suddenly, he regretted coming to your door. it wasn't that he didn't want you, but having you in front of him with your smell invading his nose and your cheeks flushed and your hair messy from laying down was intoxicating.

"hey," was all he said.

the air was awkward and tense. logan's chest heaved up and down from his attempts to steady his breathing. absentmindedly, you played with a thread at the hem of your top.

"did you...need something?" you asked.

"can i come in?" he blurted out.

you nodded, held the door wide open, and scooted to the side of it. he stepped over the threshold, carefully avoiding anything he might knock over or ruin. for him, it seemed, one wrong step could lead to your entire room coming down in one fell swoop.

as if being in your presence was not difficult enough, being in your room was a trial. everything was so you. your clothes to the left of him, your posters to the right. your perfume and body wash lingering in the air. his eyes didn't know where to go so they landed on you in front of him.

"so, uh...did you like the movie tonight?" you asked in an attempt to make conversation. he shifted on his feet. "oh, come here. you can sit down if you wanna." your hand gestured for him to follow you to your bed. despite his brain telling him not to go, his legs moved and then he found himself sitting on your bed, looking down at you.

he blinked, suddenly forgetting your question. what was he going to do here? he came with no purpose, no plan, no intention. obviously he couldn't kiss you right there. he couldn't push you down and run his hands along the sides of your body like he dreamed about for so long. no matter how bad he wanted to be between your legs, using his mouth to draw pretty moans out of you and bring your back up from the bed, and hear his name tumble out of your mouth like a prayer-

"logan?" his head snapped to you. the corners of your lips were upturned into a half smile. "did you hear me?"

"no, sorry. what'd you say?" he asked.

with an almost imperceptible scoot closer to him, you looked up into his brown eyes. there was something in yours that he felt resembled desire, but it couldn't be. there was no way you were having those similar dirty thoughts to him.

"i asked if you came here to kiss me."

his heart could've slipped out from its cavity, down through his stomach, and out through his ass.

"because if so, then you might want to go ahead and do it because it's almost time for me to go to bed."

logan didn't have to hear many more words over that. his hands flew to your sides like he had wanted them to for months. with uncharacteristic gentless, he guided you to lay down on the bed. a smile grew on your lips at his closeness and his touch. yes, this was much better than your original plans for the night.

"so, you've been thinking about me too?" logan asked, just a few inches from your lips.

the blush that he so often thought about in his dreams crept back to your cheeks. "of course i have. i was just waiting on you to take charge," you teased. your hand made its way to his chest where it rubbed along the skin, then up to his neck where it rested carefully, right over his pulse point. you could feel it pick up when your other hand made contact with his waist.

logan chuckled at that. "and to think i was gonna go spend the rest of the night in my bedroom after being so unbearably close to you all night."

"i'm glad you came over finally," you said. after a pause, "i think rogue and gambit might've been getting tired of this too."

"they're about to get a lot more tired of us when i'm done with you tonight." with that, logan's lips came down to yours where they met in a crushing kiss. it was messy, but conveyed the months of ache and yearning for each other. teeth clashed at moments, and only when the annoying need to breathe came forward did you pull apart.

"show me what you got, howlett," you said in response to his earlier comment after taking a breath.

in seconds, logan had his tight t-shirt off, along with his sweatpants. everything that had once been scandalous to watch from a distance was now in your hand. perhaps the whole loveseat plan, no matter the annoyance it brought on originally, was an ingenious idea.

𝜗𝜚

[grapejuicestyless]

To Love, To Love, To Love

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: You thought you were over him in every way possible, but you can never really kill feelings that strong.

His curls were soft between my fingers, knuckle deep in his hair, pulling out the tangles with each curl of my fingers.

He hummed appreciatively against my chest, his cheek pressed to my body, lips resting heavily between the valley of my breasts. I could feel each breath lingering on my skin, his lip balm smeared on my shirt, one he had bought for me the night before to match.

“They just threw away the entire plot line in the fourth movie, I don’t get it. It’s like everything that made the first three so good was completely ruined for the sake of some extra cash.” Harry mumbled tiredly, pointing at the tv with narrowed eyes.

“This company always does this, can you even be surprised? Every successful franchise always becomes a cash grab for them.”

Harry hummed, and the sound vibrated against my body. It was all so serene between us. A calm after a whirlwind of a few years.

Harry and I had been two wild dogs, chasing after each other’s tails, running in desperate circles yet we ran at the same pace, and we never figured out how to capture what we wanted.

So many nights had been spent crying over the boy, how my heart ached with affection for my best friend, how badly I needed him to want me. I began dressing better for him, and carrying around mints with the hope that maybe the next time I would see him, he would have me.

But I was a dog with a bird at his door, giving him something valuable to myself that it seemed he never wanted.

Harry did the same things. He’d been drowning in his love for his best friend for so long, aching pains in his bones from the waiting for me. He’d never wanted anything more, but the talking from strangers and advice from friends led us astray. How could the other love each other? How could our best friend develop feelings for us? It all seemed so impossible, and the tears drowned us until we flushed out, and our conversations ran dry.

Nobody tells you that even once you move on, those feelings never really leave. Even now, after years of silence that neither of us meant to keep, after we convinced ourselves we flushed away our devotion and joked about how blind we were, with his head on my chest now I feel especially warm in the familiar house.

You can fall out of love with people, but there will always be that lingering feeling of “what if.” A feeling that bubbles until the warmth returns and your situations draw you back into the storm like a riptide pulling you under. Part of me would always love Harry, only now I liked him much more to ever try and be in love with him again.

Silence is much worse than any rejection. The heartache of realizing you lost contact three months deep hurts much worse than any apology for not returning your feelings. It’s like a knife.

We’ve grown now, we’re older, we can control ourselves. We aren’t teenagers who run around kissing the people by the bars, we stay inside and don’t go looking for something that will someday find us. When I complain that I want to kiss someone, to be kissed, he raises his hand eagerly and smiles, declaring he wants to press his lips to mine. But it’s all a joke now, or that’s how I see it.

Maybe to him, it’s not. Maybe when we make jokes about being in love, about the songs he wrote for me in my wake and the tears I shed over him it’s because part of it is still true, maybe we just don’t believe it anymore. Harry once loved me just as hard and true as I once did for him. Though we may not be chasing after one another, I know that part of him still loves me too.

When we’re forty and single, we’ll get married, and we’ll laugh about how long it took us to get together, but for now he lays on my chest and makes fun of some old movies that seemed better when we were kids. He points out the bad green screen that we never caught when we were younger, and his laughter will echo through my bones.

And I’ll soak up every moment with him, because even if we never happened, at least I have him. At least we never became strangers.

[6sakusa]

𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Content: FWB relationship, missionary, fingering, mating press, creampie, riding, jealous!eren, him just being soft tbh.

A/N: Not proof read and written on a whim sorry not sorry.

Summary: Eren Jaeger is genuinely incapable of doing friends with benefits, he always seems to have problems with the ‘no strings attached’ part of it all.

You knew some of Eren’s friends and he was pretty renowned around campus, so the day you met him you can believe that you were pleasantly surprised to say he lived up to the hype and more in terms of his gorgeous face. Surprisingly he took quite an interest in you, the pretty girl with Jean’s arm slinged around her shoulders? Oh he’s got to know more. When he got your number he was elated and as expected, it didn’t take more than a few text exchanges before getting you in his bed but something about this was different. Maybe he was just pussy-whipped but he genuinely, for the life of him, couldn’t stop fucking you.

“T-Too much.” You manage to get out through your moans, it’s practically incoherent but by the way you’re clawing at his back while he’s balls deep inside, hammering you in missionary while he presses light kisses to your collarbone even has him surprised. He pulls away from you, slightly, just slightly to your earlobe where he whispers, “You can take it for me, can’t you?”

And of course you do, but the strangest part is that even when Eren fills up the condom he can’t stop, pushing your legs against your chest and fucking you in all kinds of devious angles that have you falling apart in seconds. “Fuck I can’t stop, can’t believe I wasn’t in this pussy sooner.” He whines out against your ear, pushing the both of you into overstimulation countless times.

It’s safe to say you were spent after that but to his your surprise and his, the next day he’s calling you again, asking if you wanted to come over. There was one rule that Eren Jaeger lived by, never fuck the same girl twice. It was simply because he didn’t want to give them the wrong impression, he wasn’t looking for anything serious, anything along the lines of a relationship was an absolute no-go, so he thought it was best to avoid any remnants of that all together. But yet he’d somehow convinced himself there wasn’t any harm in going at it with you again, you were his best afterall.

By the third time he told himself it would be the last time, that was a lie. As hard as he tried to get you off of his mind it wasn’t possible, sex with any other girl felt mediocre after you which left him with only one choice: Running back to you.

“So what do you think about us making this a thing?” He stops halfway through unbuttoning your top, he’s got you trapped underneath him, pupils blown out from your makeout session from just seconds ago.

“A thing?” You raise your eyebrow, a light chuckle escapes your lips in amusement from such cryptic language and for some reason it pulls at Eren’s heartstrings. What was this overwhelming urge to hear you do it again suddenly?

“Yeah a thing.” He repeats, “Like we fuck, no strings attached.” He asks nervously, fumbling with the next button on your shirt a little nervously.

“Are you asking for friends with benefits?” Your expression contorts into one of disbelief, for a second he thinks he’s messed this up and he’s about to lose the best sex he’s had in his entire life until he hears another laugh escape from your lips. “Okay, no strings attached.”

And just like that his lips are back on yours again.

Turns out you really do become friends, you talk constantly on the phone which though, does usually lead to sexting over the following weeks you become closer and closer to one another. The next time Eren tries to get with a new girl his mind wanders back to you, your pretty face, your gorgeous body, your cute little laugh. And the moment he gets his cock out to fuck her it won’t get hard, like physically it can’t. That was definitely one of the most embarrassing experiences of his life, not only was his mind being stupid but now he couldn’t even control his dick when it wasn’t about to be inside of you. That day he left that girl very disappointed, a huge blow to his ego and perhaps reputation but for some reason he finds himself outside your door instead of his own dorm he was planning on going home to.

And surprise surprise, the moment he sees your face, peering up at him with your head cocked into the side in confusion as to why he’s showed up without a word at this time, oh he’s rock solid. Naturally, to make up for such an intrusion he fucks you crazy, enough that it takes twenty minutes for you to regain your ability to speak afterwards. He’s convinced he’s in a slump right now, soon enough he’ll get over this and be back to getting around with whatever women he wants and then he’ll be able to end your agreement once and for all. Yep, that was the plan.

“How are you gonna get home?” You raise an eyebrow, walking out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in your mouth. He can’t help but laugh at you, no one would’ve known how hard you were getting fucked just an hour prior. “You didn’t drive here right? So you left your car.”

“I can walk.” He pulls up his sweats back up, looking at you in a manner that he probably shouldn’t be.

“You can stay the night if you’d like.” You wave him off, wandering back into the bathroom to finish off. It takes him much longer than he should to respond but he does, eventually.

“Here?”

“What?” You laugh, cocking your head to the side. “You don’t like my place?”

“The beds a little small.” He jokes, peering down at the same thing you just fucked on. You roll your eyes, grabbing yourself some fresh pyjamas from your wardrobe. “Well I’m sorry that it wasn’t designed for a six foot four man.”

“Don’t do that, you’ll boost my ego.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Through all the jokes between the two of you his head is screaming at him that this isn’t a good idea, but when you show him your favourite blanket that he wouldn’t be allowed to use he’s convinced of two things. You’re way too cute to say no to, and the fact that you won’t share your things with him is a good sign. This isn’t intimate, it’s nothing but a good friend doing him a favour.

There just wasn’t one thing he’d anticipated, how much he would love cuddling you in your bed. This was detrimental for him because now he craved it after sex. The next time he was finished with you he opened his arms out once you’d cleaned yourself up, albeit awkwardly considering he’s never consciously done this before.

“What?” You look at him with confusion, your expression only deepens when he frowns, “You hungry or something? We can order food.”

“Yeah.. what are you up for?” He mutters out, closing his arms instantly. That was the last time he decided to not have the courage to ask you to cuddle because he felt strangely empty afterwards.

Obviously, you’re a bit surprised when the emerald eyed devil in all his six foot glory stutters when mumbling, “C-Can we cuddle?”

“Huh? You wanna cuddle?” You almost snort, Eren had obviously avoided anything on any lines of being intimate, the second the two of you had a conversation unrelated to sex and he realised that he would waste zero time throwing an inappropriate joke in. Just a reminder of what your relationship with eachother entailed, nothing more.

“Why are you saying it like that?” He pouts, rubbing his temple with two of his fingers lightly. You seemed surprised and he definitely felt embarrassed.

“I just didn’t expect it from you.” Your furrow your eyebrows, realising that oh, Eren Jaeger was actually being serious when he was asking you to cuddle right now. You seemed reluctant and that’s when he knew that you were in deep in this agreement as he was. Fuck, you might even be worse. You’ve never proposed to do anything intimate and now you even looked like you were about to flatly reject his proposition, how had he let it come to this. There was only one solution, pull out the big guns and guilt trip you out of his embarrassment, “I thought we were friends with benefits, don’t humans need physical touch to survive? That sounds like a benefit to me.” He folds over his arms, all whiny with pink littering his cheeks.

“Okay okay.” You scoff, rolling your eyes, knowing that he could go on until tomorrow if you didn’t stop him. You make your way over to him on the bed, allowing him to engulf you in his arms. He relishes in his victory with a smug expression on his face for a few minutes until you randomly say. “I can’t believe you like this.”

“What? You don’t?” There’s an overwhelming feeling of worry in his chest that he can’t quite discern, the feeling that you may not like him past being friends. But why did he care about that? He shouldn’t, he didn’t like you past being friends? Right? So why had he still not fucked another girl in months? Why was he finding it so hard to get it up without you? He pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and does what he does best, makes it into a game. Now he was on a mission to get you to fall in love with cuddling, he had his arms around you every chance he could get. Especially after sex until it became a routine with the two of you and you couldn’t fall asleep in his arms otherwise. It was nothing more than mission accomplished he told himself.

At that point the dynamic of your friendship started to change, he couldn’t help the urge to want to see you more often which meant that he invited you out with his friends as much as he could. And he couldn’t regret something more because now Jean had you wrapped around his stupid finger, laughing at all his jokes while you brushed your hands on his chest. God, it made Eren sick.

What was worse it when Jean started sneaking into your sex life, that was his final straw.

Ren: Wanna come over? I’ve got your favourite cookies

You: Extremely tempting offer but im out right now, save them for me?

Ren: Where?

You: Jean’s place

Ren: You never told me you were going there lmao

You: ?

You: Was I supposed to? You don’t tell me when your with other girls

Except he was never with other girls these days. So the next time he saw you he asked straight up if you and Jean had sex. You gave him a strange glance but nodded reluctantly, not knowing if that was actually any of his business or not.

“Oh.” He responds, playing with his fingers, an excuse to do anything but focus his gaze on your pretty eyes.

“Is that.. a problem?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No.” He says so quickly that you’re almost shocked, like he’s so sure of his answer that he doesn’t even question it. “We’re not exclusive so do whatever you want.” He scoffs, it’s more of a reminder to him than it is to you but you can’t help but wince at his harsh tone. It’s just like Eren to cause an argument because he doesn’t have it in him to convey his real feelings. So the next thing you know he’s rambling about STDs, how you having multiple sexual partners isn’t safe for him and how the two of you should break off your agreement. None of it made any sense considering Jean was the only guy you’d fucked in months other than Eren and you knew nothing about what Eren got up to sexually either. Anyway, it was safe to say you stormed out of his place that day in tears and fuck did he feel so bad that he wanted to cry himself. Especially when he finds out that the first place you went after that was to Jean’s house. God he was so mad at himself.

After some time when he finally builds the courage, and albeit after a drink or two he turns up at your door step, it’s a heinous time to be banging down your door, he knows. Of course, your roommate isn’t happy about it either but when he’s telling you how sorry he is and how much he misses sex with you it only takes a few more sweet, yet filthy words to get you writhing under him once more in your bed.

“So sorry baby.” He reminds you as his hands pull your lace panties down a little, he really did miss this so much, missed you too, such a pretty sight. “Want me to show you how sorry I am?” He asks teasingly, running his fingertips up and down your sensitive thighs.

You nod slowly, your breath hitching as he sports you his signature grin. You haven’t seen that in a while and you know exactly what it means. He wastes no time sticking his finger inside of you, he’s memorised your body by now, the way you like to be touched, your little reactions to what he does, the exact angle that his finger needs to hit to get you to cum in under a minute. “Shit.” You fist his top, pulling him down into a messy kiss.

“You like that?” He asks against your lips, his fingers continue to work magic on you. “Did you miss me?” He asks, pulling away slightly while he begins to work into you much quicker than before, it’s enough to have you moaning under his touch. “Tell me how much you missed me.”

“Missed you so much.” You breathe out, he rewards you by pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing it in circles while his fingers pump in and out of you. You’re falling a part so quickly and you’re easily reminded that no one can make you feel as good as Eren can.

“Yeah?” He breathes, “You gonna show me? Gonna show me how much you missed me?”

You nod and he makes a negative sound, completely unsatisfied with your answer. “Gotta say it gorgeous.” He whispers against your earlobe, “You know how I am, wanna hear you speak.”

“I’ll show you.” You manage to say between moans, your name is on the tip of his tongue and the familiar feeling is in your stomach once more but he doesn’t let you cum, slowing down once he recognises the way your cunt feels when you’re about to spill over the edge.

“Not yet.” He laughs, “Tell me, how are you going to show me?”

“Gonna let you fuck me, I’ll let you fuck me as hard as you want.” You whine, grabbing onto his toned arms in protest, hoping that it will be enough to get him to let you cum.

“You promise?”

“I promise ‘Ren.” You nod, he pulls his fingers out of you and stuffs them in your mouth before putting them in his own. It’s filthy really, no one would ever believe the two of you were anything more than fuck buddies but you loved it, you loved that out of all people Eren could be your dirty little secret.

The next second he has his hands pressing your knees against your chest, you practically yelp in surprise when he pushes his cock inside of you without warning. “Then take this fucking dick like a good girl, can you do that for me?” He doesn’t give you any time to adjust to his pace, he’s pounding into your mercilessly enough so that lewd sounds are filling the air that can’t even be disguised with either of your moans. “Don’t need to prep you properly right? Considering you’ve been fucking other guys.”

You tighten around him at his words, he’s being so mean and you hate when Eren’s mean to you, except in the bedroom, God is it a turn-on. “Oh you like that? Fucking slut.” It was becoming more and more obvious that Eren was in fact mad about you and Jean, this entire thing was a jealousy fuck put simply and my was he putting on his best performance.

The kiss he pulls you into the next second is such a contrast to his dominating demeanour, it’s so gentle and sweet, the type that you give to someone you love and for some reason you can’t help but reciprocate it. He leaves light kisses on your neck, knowing that you would never let him mark you, trust him, he’s tried. The second his lips pull away from your body he’s back to being mean again, picking up the pace even more than before. “Eren— fuck.” You can’t even get out your words.

“Feels good?” He asks, usually he doesn’t like it when you only give him a nod but he knows that right now he’s fucking you absolutely stupid and there’s nothing else you can do. “Who else can make you feel this good huh?” He slows down his strokes, wanting a genuine answer from you as he wraps his hand around your throat. “Tell me, who else?”

“No one.” You whine as tears prick your eyes, he has no mercy for you, not a care in the world as the headboard of your bed slams against your wall. You’d have to apologise to your roommate later. “That’s right, no one.” His thumb brushes your cheek lighty. “So whose pussy is this?”

“Yours!”

“Correct, mine.” He grins smugly, he knows it doesn’t really count considering he can get you to say anything as long as he’s balls deep inside but still, for some reason the sentiment means a lot to him. "You're being so good for me, you wanna cum?"

"Y-Yes please." His expression darkens for a second and he's worried that the time away between the two of you has meant that you'd forgotten the rules of the bedroom.

"Yes please, what?"

"Yes please daddy." You correct yourself instantly and he grins with satisfaction, being nice enough to press his thumb against your clit one more. Rubbing it in soft circles while he bucks into you faster until you're clamping down against him.

“Fuck missed this pussy so much, missed you so much." He says in pure ectcasy as he throws his head back. And for someone who was banging on about safe sex the last time you saw him it's surprising that he had zero reserves about fucking you raw and then cumming inside.

He releases spurts of cum into you and it's almost shocking how much he fills you up, when you were first fondling with his balls tonight you told him how heavy they felt while grinding on his thigh. You'd figured he hadn't fucked anyone in a while, now you could confirm that with the way white thickness was trailing out of you. For the first time, Eren does all the things he never used to before and you can't help but think it's so gentleman-like. The way he rushes to clean you up, not leaving you to do it yourself, the bath he runs for the two of you, the way he changes your bedsheets and for once how he isn't running off home the second he's nutted. Instead he has you in his arms and even more shockingly stays the night.

One thing he hadn't anticipated with all your time away was how much your relationship with Jean had progressed. It was only when he woke up the next morning, seeing you in your pretty little dress and face full of makeup that he wanted to ruin so badly that he realised. "Oh finally, you're awake." You spin your legs in his direction from the chair you sat on opposite your vanity table.

"Nice treat to wake up to." His eyes trail your body shamelessly, and his hoarse morning voice only has your blood rushing south. Eren looks gorgeous in the mornings too, he always does.

But there was something about his hair down against the pillow, the light pink littering his cheeks when he's realised that he's engaged in something intimate last night, his pretty eyelashes when he gazes at you. And don't get started on the way half of his abs are visible through the bedsheets considering he's so adamant on sleeping shirtless.

"You going somewhere?" He asks, propping himself up a little with his elbows. "I thought that maybe we could grab breakfast or something." He continues with a little frown on your face. Eren has never proposed grabbing breakfast before, like ever.

"Sorry." You say, grabbing your bag, double checking that you had everything you needed.

Your perfume fills his nose and he has to bite back a smile, he's so glad to be back. "I've got a date but feel free to help yourself to breakfast here."

"A date?" He practically erases the last part of ot your sentence from his mind, "With who?" He raises an eyebrow, fully sitting up now.

"Jean." You give him a look that reminds him to watch his words considering how he spoke to you the last time he came up.

"Oh.." It felt like that was the only thing Eren knew how to say when it came to you with another man, he was speechless. The time away made him realise he liked you, of course he fucking liked you. What he hadn't yet realised is that he loved you, all those months together meant that you were the girl that had captured his heart and now knowing after last night you'd be off with Jean?

Oh he felt sick. "So you guys are getting pretty serious then?"

"I mean I guess." You shrug, "But we're not exclusive yet."

"So what does that mean for us?" He asks, you've never seen such hurt in Eren's eyes the way you were seeing it right now. The words were almost taken from your mouth but you were doing what was best for you. When you'd first started your arrangement with Eren you were warned by your you were warned by your friends about him. You didn't listen, the sex was too great for you to bother. Over time you realised you'd started developing feels for him and if there was one thing about Eren Jaeger it was that he was allergic to the word intimacy. You'd never have what you truly wanted out of him. So when Jean came around with all the affection in the world your friends convinced you that was what you deserved so naturally, you made an effort.

"Us?" You raise an eyebrow, "Well I guess we'd have to stop what we're doing. obviously." You point between the two of you, hopeful that he wasn't about to suggest cheating if you and Jean did get together.

"Right." He responds plainly, it's extremely blunt, why wouldn't it be? He's got nothing else to say. "We can still be friends though."

Oh that one really hurt. "Yeah.. friends."

"Look I'm already really late, l've got to go but l'll see you later okay?" You don't give him anytime to respond before rushing out of the door, the air was so suffocating in there and you could feel the awkward unspoken tension that you didn't have it in you to face. It takes a lot considering his heart has just been broken but eventually Eren gathers the strength to stand up, waltzing into your kitchen for said breakfast to see you roommate Sasha giving him a scowl. He wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t like him or if it was because the two of you were too loud last night. Either way he wasn’t interested in that, he was much more fixated on the freshly bloomed vase of flowers that were now on your kitchen island that he’d never seen before. He figured they were Sasha’s, he knew she had a boyfriend because you’d told him.

“Nice, did Niccolo get these for you?” He raises an eyebrow, hoping that it would be enough to dissipate the awkward silence between the two of you.

“Actually…” She turns around with a smug expression, “Jean got them for y/n.” She shrugs, going back to whatever cereal she was pouring. Fuck, he was beginning to doubt himself. Jean seemed like the perfect guy for you, he’s been taking you out on dates, getting you flowers and now he knew the two of you were sleeping together, it was only a matter of time.

The next time he texts you is a few days later, he makes the highest effort possible to not bring any form of sexual speak into the conversation. He was determined to show you how much he cared about solely you and your day. Imagine his surprise when you told him that you and Jean had a date planned tomorrow.

You: Honestly I think he’s finally going to ask me to be his girlfriend

Ren: About time

You: Tell me about it

Ren: If that was me I wouldn’t have ever waited that long

You: Stop being a flirt

Ren: Come on, you know me

You: Yeah I do

You: Kinda gonna miss you ig

Ren: Kinda?

You: Yeah just a little

Ren: I’ll miss you less

You: Just a couple days ago you were in bed whining about how you missed me so much though?

Ren: Low blow

You: Come on, you know me

Ren: Not funny when you do it

You: Shut up you love it

Ren: Yeah unfortunately I do

You: Hey wanna come over? One last time for old times sake

Ren: Fucking you before you become someones girlfriend? How romantic

You: Is that a yes?

Ren: You know it is

And now that he was back in your bedroom, legs spread out while you bounced on his cock because he was adamant on the fact that he did all the work 90% of the time during your FWB relationship, he realised how much he simply cannot let you go. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact your pussy had his head going foggy but once he felt you gripping around his cock, he could only tilt his head back while using his hands to lift your body weight up and down his shaft. The moment he was cumming he slipped into confessions that he probably shouldn’t have, “Fuck baby I don’t want you to leave me, I love you, I love you so fucking much you don’t even know.” He moans against your ear while filling you up.

You can hardly process his words until you’ve come down from your high and you’ve got your arms around his neck while he rubs your back soothingly. You’re so out of breath from riding but he presses a kiss to your temple and it’s enough to calm you down, “You did such a good job, you always do.”

Seconds later your eyes widen, remembering what he just said. You pull away from him, a shocked expression on his face as your eyes search his for any indication that he’s realised what he’s said. “You what?”

He pouts, “Don’t make me repeat it please, it took everything in me to admit it already.”

“Adm— You mean that? Like actually?”

“Of course I do.” He sighs, running one hand up and down your waist slowly while the other cups your face. “I know I’ve been a dick for a long time and I never really had the courage to say anything but I like you more than you know. Fuck that, I love you, everything about you. The way you laugh when I tell you the stupidest joke, your pretty face and these eyes when you’re about to scold me for something, every inch of your body that you’ve let me explore, all these little beauty marks that you have, especially this one here.” He places his hand on the small of your back.

“I have a beauty mark there?” You try to turn around but of course, you can’t see it.

“Yeah you do.” He laughs, “And it’s perfect, just like you.” For a moment he pauses with a sigh, “I know Jean is going to ask you to be his girlfriend tomorrow but—“ He gulps, “But I don’t want you to be his girlfriend! You said you were mine and I don’t want things between us to end, I don’t want you to leave me!” He begins whining.

You fall into his chest and for a moment he thinks he’s said the wrong thing before you start— laughing? “What?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I would’ve never expected you to say something so.. pathetic.” You shake your head with a laugh, “That’s so like you.” You whisper.

“I’m pouring out my heart here.” He deadpans.

“Sorry.” You shake your head, “Please continue, I love hearing it.” You say, placing a light kiss on his lips.

“If you feel anything for me..” He begins again nervously, “Anything at all then don’t be with Jean, I’ll treat you so much better and we can do all the things you want like go on dates and I’ll get you flowers—“

“What are you suggesting?” You finally ask.

“I have a proposition.” He smiles, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Another one?” You laugh.

“Yeah, how about we make this a thing?” He points between the two of you before resting his hands on your waist once again.

“A thing?”

"Yeah, me and you, boyfriend and girlfriend, a thing."

Thank you for reading, if you enjoyed likes and reblogs are appreciated & requests for Eren Jaeger are open for more <3

[maryangelex]

Home is the Feeling of You

John Price x Reader

Summary: You’re Price’s fiancé back home and it’s been months since you’ve seen him. He’s been on deployment and days have been getting lonelier the more days pass. Until you get home one night from work to a more than pleasant surprise.

Warnings/Tags: civilian!reader, fiancé!reader, creampie, domesticity, domestic!john price, fluff to smut, praise kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, masturbation, (light?) breeding kink, phone sex, spit as lube

A/N: so here’s the anticipated civilian!reader fic! I’m just a simp for this man being a husband or anything domestic about him. Enjoy!!! ;)

You were exhausted from work; feet swollen from being in heels all day, muscles tense and eyes burning with the desperate need to be closed and drifted to sleep. You were on your way home but weren’t too eager to get there, if you were being honest.

Your home felt cold and empty despite your best efforts to make it a cozy abode for you and John. But it was hard to feel the slightest bit of warmth in it whenever he was deployed. He had been gone for months now, you had lost count of how many since every day that passed without him felt like an eternity.

You two tried to keep in contact as much as possible. He called you nearly every day, as best he could; sometimes the calls would last seconds other times you managed to get half an hour with him to vent and catch up.

You felt bad every time you complained about your day, though, since he was in quite literally a battlefield most of his time. But he insisted you told him everything, he loved hearing you complain about mundane things, hearing about what shitty thing your boss did, or about your coworker’s crummy love life. It made him feel closer to you and gave him a sense of home to listen to you talk about your day.

When John would say things like “I miss you, love, I’ll be home in no time” or “I can’t wait to kiss that pretty face”, you couldn’t help but feel a fire kindling in your chest. It made you feel warm inside to hear him say that because you knew it was true; John wasn’t a man who lied, he carried his heart on his sleeve for you.

And when he wasn’t being tender and sweet, telling you how much he missed you and loved you, he’d let you know how desperate and needy he was for you. He’d tell you how the sound of your voice alone made his cock twitch in his pants. How the hand that wasn’t holding the phone had slid down his trousers, slowly stroking himself through his boxers.

You’d press your thighs together, listening to his husky voice become almost a whisper on the phone. His breath audible through the phone, letting out soft needy whimpers and promises about what he’d do to you the second he got home. You’d let yourself indulge and return the favor to him by telling him how you were wearing whatever lacy panties he’d bought you and how you were writhing in your shared bed as you pleasured yourself to the sound of his voice.

Still, those steamy calls between the two of you could only do so much for you. It only momentarily veered the loneliness away. You wanted him in your bed with you, wanted to have him watch football games on the couch, wanted to have date nights with him every Friday again, wanted his presence to warm up your flat and make it a home.

Once you got home the sun had already set. You took the stairs up to your and John’s shared flat, and with a sigh of relief, you pushed the door open. You walked in and closed the door behind you, dropped your keys on the tablet at your entryway, and stepped out of your shoes. Your feet touched the cold floor under you and the sensation drew another content sigh out of you.

You noticed the light in your kitchen was turned on. Maybe you left it on this morning after making breakfast without noticing, you were in a rush after all. As you approached the kitchen you heard the sound of something sizzling in a pan. Your heart skipped a beat, a smile creeping on your face at the realization that John was home. When you saw him there, standing in front of the stove with his back to you, you were filled with glee. Your stomach fluttered like it did the first time you two met when you bumped into him at that bookstore and almost spilled coffee all over him. When you first locked eyes with his, those glimmering blue pools.

He glanced over his shoulder and flashed you a smile before turning back to whatever he was cooking so diligently.

“Welcome home, hun” he greeted “‘m makin’ us dinner since I knew you’d be beat from work”

You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. Your lips pressed against the muscles on his back, peppering kisses on the center of his spine, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. Your arms travelled up the front of his body, feeling the muscles on his chest and abdomen shift as he moved his hands whilst he cooked. You hugged him tightly, squeezing him as if to make sure he was really standing in front of you. As if the tighter you squeezed the more he materialized in your apartment.

“Not too tight, love, you’re squeezin’ the wind outta me,” he chuckled.

“I just missed you so much, John,” you confessed with another tender kiss to his back.

He hummed in acknowledgment with a smile still stuck to his face. He plated the meal for both of you; salmon and stir fried veggies. You released your arms from him painstakingly and grabbed a couple of wine glasses to pair with your meal. John took your plates to the couch while you brought the wine.

You collapsed down on the couch beside John, releasing another heavy sigh as your muscles sank on the plush material. John had set the plates on your coffee table along with the glasses, and handed you a fork whilst encouraging you with a gentle chuckle and a “Eat up, love.”

You sat up on the couch, turning to look at him. Both of your hands rose up to him and cupped his face lovingly. You looked deeply into his eyes; those eyes that always sucked you in, made you feel safe and loved. He looked at you with so much adoration, like he was silently telling you how happy he was to see you, be home with you. You leaned forward and clashed your lips with his, not pulling back for a minute and savoring the sensation of his lips against yours, how his mustache and beard scratched your soft skin. The two of you held your breath as you held each other with your lips, feeling as if pulling back was not an option. When you finally released each other, you sighed, your foreheads leaning against each other as you rubbed the tip of your nose against his.

“Missed you, hon,” he whispered, giving you another kiss, this one more chaste and playful than the prior one. His hand patted your knee, “C’mon, food’s gettin’ cold and I’m bloody starvin’. ”

You giggled as you both dug in. One of the things you missed the most about John was how well he cooked, his meals were hearty and comforting just like his presence. The two of you enjoyed your food as you caught up with him on everything you hadn’t mentioned in your calls these past few months. John spoke much less given the nature of his work, he much more enjoyed to listen to you, and he did so attentively.

At the end of your meal there was only the wine to sip on as you enjoyed each other’s company. The TV played quietly in the background. You were laying on the couch, your torso reclining on the arm rest as your feet sat on John’s lap next to you. He caressed the smooth skin of your legs with his big hands, gently squeezing the muscles on them every now and then. You nudged him with your foot, silently instructing him to keep up the massage. He took your foot in his hands, they engulfed him completely as he squeezed and rubbed them with his palms and thumbs. You winced at the feeling, making him stop and look at you.

“That alright?” He inquired, you gave him a nod in response.

“Just sore from standing all day”

“Let me take care of it” he grinned, his hands returning to work on your feet. His touch traveled up your leg, arriving at your calf, rubbing the tender muscle and eliciting a groan from you. John was enjoying the sounds he drew from you. His hands were getting more adventurous, sliding up past your knee and kneading at your thick thighs now. You gave him a grin and a cheeky look; he returned it.

“What’s crossing your dirty little mind, sweet girl?”

“Same thing as yours, hun”

His hands rubbed your thighs, putting pressure on them as he grabbed and massaged the bulks of muscle and flesh. You bit your lip as his hand wandered under your skirt. He was enjoying himself seeing your expressions shift and your cheeks flush red as he touched you. You reached one hand over to caress his forearm with your finger tips as he slid his hand further up your inner thigh, and your legs spread slightly as a quiet invitation.

“Needy girl,” he teased.

“C’mere already, John, will ya?” you quipped. John complied with your demand, as if waiting to hear you say it, like he needed your permission. He shifted on the couch, moving the leg in his hands to his other side so he could sit between your legs. He grabbed both of your thighs on each side, lightly sliding you down so you were flush with him. You could feel the bulge in his jeans pressing against your clothed heat. You teased him by rolling your hips against him a bit, to which he responded to with a groan and a squeeze to your thighs.

He bunched up your skirt to reveal your panties. His fingertips tracing the soft material over your hips and pelvis. Your hands rested on each side of your head as you watched him with lustful eyes. Now his hands were grazing over your mons, lowering to the crotch of your panties that was already saturated with your juices. His touch made you blush even more, you were embarrassed by how easily the man could make you wet, as if it was the first time he’s ever touched you.

“My girl’s so eager, look at how wet you are” he grinned, his voice low and sultry. He grabbed the hem of your panties and tugged them down, slowly sliding them past your legs and then discarding them. One of his hands palmed your exposed cunt. You wiggled your hips against it and let out a needy whimper.

“John, don’t tease me” you scolded him in a soft voice, more desperation than anything.

He hummed at your comment, sliding his fingers up and down your folds, while his other hand went back to massaging your thigh. He observed as his fingers worked between your folds, his eyes fixated on your glistening pussy. It made his mouth water at the sight of his fiancé being so needy for him, it made him think how much he really missed having you in his grasp. He placed his hand on your mons, thumb reaching down to rub tight circles around your yearning clit. It made you moan to finally feel his touch on your sensitive bud.

He cursed under his breath at the sound, his cock twitching eagerly in the confines of his jeans. You reached one of your hands to stroke him through the rough fabric, tracing the print of his dick.

“Please, John,” you begged “I want you already”

John chuckled, a hint of mischief behind it. “I know, love, I know…but let me take my time to enjoy you, yeah?”

You pouted but gave him an abiding nod. He took his hand off you, making you whimper and your clit pulsate at the loss. He shifted on the couch again, now kneeling in front of it as he pulled your legs again to face him. You were hanging off the edge of the couch in front of him with your legs draped over each of his shoulders, his face inches from your heat.

“Fuck, I missed this pretty pussy,” his breath fanned against your sensitive cunt, and you were so desperate for him to devour you already.

He stuck his tongue out and licked a stipe up your pussy, the taste of you making him moan and roll his eyes back. Your lips parted as you let out a sigh full of relief. Your hands pulled your skirt higher to watch him savor you. He lapped at your pussy, tongue flat licking from your hole to your clit. His hands gripped your thighs as they closed around his head. Your eyes would not break from the sight of him eating you out like it was his last meal on earth.

His lips closed around your swollen clit and sucked on it, making the muscles on your thighs twitch and a whimper fall from your lips. He alternated between encapsulating your clit in his mouth and licking tight circles over it with the pointed tip of his tongue. He was making you a mess of moans and whimpers as your hands clutched the material of your skirt.

He reached his arms under your thighs and over your pelvis; one splayed out and held you still while the other spread your lips apart, exposing your clit fully for him to once again abuse it with his mouth. His lips wrapped around it, sucking and tugging at the bundle of nerves, making your eyes roll back and your hands fly to his hair, releasing a moan with his name attached to it.

You received a moan into your pussy from him in return. He latched his mouth onto your clit, lips sucking and massaging it. His hands now gripped your hips, grinding them against his face as he clung his mouth onto your pussy.

You felt your orgasm pooling in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes were so far into the back of your skull you were seeing stars. Your mouth chanted John’s name loudly like a prayer for salvation, pleading him to let you cum.

He nodded his head in unison with your hips as he licked your pussy, tongue giving special attention to your clit. He whimpered into it in desperation to feel you cum all over his face.

“C’mon baby I know you’re close, be good and cum for me” he mumbled against your cunt, practically begging you.

The grip on his hair was unrelenting, your back arching off the couch and hips slamming into his mouth. Your orgasm surged within you, ready to erupt like a volcano of pleasure. You missed him so fucking much. He knew exactly how to please, always has. You rode his face as you came, your hot liquid leaking out of you and onto his face, coating his beard in it. You were twitching in his grip, your hips stilling and mouth agape as a choked out moan emerged from you.

John’s grip on your hips was literally bruising and you couldn’t be happier to have a reminder of his return home later. He slowed down, lapping at your vulva and kissing your soaked pussy, making sure to savor every bit of you.

He looked up at you, sitting straight up with your legs on his shoulders, his eyes gazing at you lovingly as you still panted and came off your high.

“You’re gonna give me one more, right love?” He said peppering sloppy kisses in your inner thigh. You nodded your head drunkenly. He reached up to your skirt, finally pulling it off you, as you worked on unbuttoning your blouse as best you could with your clumsy, shaky hands. But John was too impatient; he clutched the fabric and tore the buttons apart with ease like he was tearing a piece of paper. He chuckled at your surprised expression, he knew he’d get an earful from you later when you weren’t too hazy to scold him.

“I’ll get you a new one, sweetheart,” he said as his hands found your breasts, massaging them before unclipping your bra and tossing it away. He stood up in front of you now, your legs around his hips, and he took in the sight of his soon-to-be-wife all flustered and naked for him. That body he admired so much, that soft supple skin he loved to bite and caress, those perfect breasts and that pretty pussy that loved his cock so much.

He unbuttoned his jeans and tugged down his boxers, cock springing out free and swollen. The sight of it made your pussy flutter, ready to take him in finally. You were aching for him, already felt yourself aroused and ready for another orgasm from him.

He cupped your mouth in one of his hands, silently instructing you to spit on it for him, to which you complied. He brought the hand to his cock, pumping it a few times and lubricating it with the spit you provided for him. He aligned his fat tip with your entrance, slowly pushing it in at a burning pace. You moaned at the sensation, it had been too long since you had taken in John's impressive size and you were not as accustomed to it. You had almost forgotten how fucking good it felt to have his full length in you up to the hilt.

He cursed under his breath, "Fuckin' 'ell, love, I missed how good your pussy takes my cock", his hand briefly caressed your cheek when the base of his cock was flush against your pussy. His hands gripped under your thighs, his knees were on the edge of the couch and he folded you into a mating press position. His cock was buried impossibly deep inside of you, you could feel him in your cervix.

John began to move at a slow pace, his cock sliding in and out of you slowly, making obscene squelching noises that echoed throughout your apartment. "S'tight and wet f'me, darling", he mumbled. He gradually picked up the pace, his hands held onto the back of the couch while yours held your own legs up and open for him.

His pace became harsher and faster, pulling moans from the two of you. His balls slapped against your ass as he thrust into you, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix making you almost scream with pleasure.

"Ah, John..." you started, barely able to gather words to say as you looked at his face with wide eyes, your pupils blown, "J-John, you fuck me so good...I missed how good you fuck me"

Your words made him feral, making him pound into you. He watched your expression hungrily; lips parted shining with drool, cheeks bright red and burning, and your pretty eyes glossy with lust as they looked up at him.

"Fuck, baby, fuck..." he groaned as he leaned back, sitting up straight and grabbing your waist, slamming you against his cock as you held your legs open for him still "wanna see you with a big round belly under your pretty white dress... wanna fill you up with my cum, sweet girl"

He pressed a hand against your abdomen, "Feel that? y'like feelin' my cock inside you?" The pressure of his hand mixed with his words and relentless pounding made you mewl, your throat hoarse from all the noises John was drawing out of you.

"Y-yeah, John, feels s'good," you whimpered watching his dick bulge within you. You felt another orgasm surging like a wave in your stomach, your walls pulsated and clenched around John's throbbing cock. He felt you close, he knew you were about to cum when your cunt gripped his length relentlessly. He brought two fingers up to his mouth and wet them, then placed them on your pussy, rubbing circles rhythmically with every thrust.

"Cum for me, darling, cum around my cock," he said breathlessly, his eyes fixated on your face as he fucked you and rubbed your swollen bud.

You were euphoric, the overstimulation pushing you over the edge. A couple of more thrusts and attention to your clit and you were gone. Your legs twitched and your body convulsed as you came, gripping John's cock with your walls tightly. You cried out, tears streaming from your eyes.

It took everything in John to not let himself cum right then and there, the feeling of your walls constricting him almost pushed him over the edge with you. But he had other plans; he withdrew his cock from you briefly as he took you in his arm effortlessly, flipping the two of you around. You were shocked and puzzled at the quickness of it, now you were sitting on John's lap all fucked out and out of breath. He had you straddle him and you hold up yourself the best you could, with whatever strength your muscles had.

"J-John, please, I-I can't" you begged, holding onto him and already feeling his tip against your tender entrance again.

"Shh, s'alright, hon, you can do it, I know you can," he cooed, his lips against your ear as he slipped his cock back into you, "just can't get enough o' you"

He held you with one arm firmly around your waist and his other hand gripping your ass, his lips kissing your neck and coaxing you with praises and encouragement as he sunk you down on his cock. You moaned at the intrusion, you were so sensitive it was maddening. Your body was limp as you rested on him, arms lax around his shoulders.

You shut your eyes and let him fuck himself into you, letting him overtake your sense once again. He pounded up into you, holding you in place as his hips thrust up into your abused cunt. You were a mess of moans and whines as he chased his own high.

He was grunting and cursing under his breath, "My pretty fuckin' wife, my girl...takin' my cock so well...bein' a good girl lettin' me fuck you senseless." He was close, his thrusts getting sloppy and desperate. He hoisted your body up, grabbing your hair to make you look at him. You were cockdrunk, out of your mind, but you felt a third orgasm about to hit you like a truck again. John admired your dazed expression, his blue eyes now black with pleasure, he panted exhaustedly and full of desperation to empty his balls in you, fill you up like he said.

He took your face in his hand and clashed your lips together, moaning into your mouth as his hips stilled and the sensation of his cum flooding your insides made you cum with him. Both of you moaning into each other's mouths, your cheeks once again saturated with more tears. You pulled away from each other, panting out of breath with your sweaty foreheads resting against each other. You felt John's hot cum travel out of you between your legs. The hand that gripped your hair now softened, patting the crown of your head and smoothing out your hair. He looked into your eyes, admiring your post-orgasm face, basking in your beauty and in the afterglow of his own orgasm.

You smiled at him breathlessly, exhaustion all over your expression, you kissed him once more, this time more tenderly, putting all the love for him that filled your heart into your kiss. You pulled away and cupped his face, the two of you held each other, sweaty bodies against each other.

"Welcome home, John."

A/N: y'all... i did not intend for this to be so long again!!! but if you loved it and made it this far, let me know!!! thnx for reading ;)

[allykabbet]

Sneezing dynamics I like

Apologetic sneezes. I don’t need to say much more. Maybe when they’re really tired, they forget to apologize after sneezing, making the other person worry.

Someone who usually stifles their sneezes but doesn’t when they’re REALLY comfortable with someone. They’re not very loud either.

False starts. Both the sneezer and the observer can feel the same type of frustration and desperation.

A person who appears outgoing, charismatic, confident, and naturally elegant but becomes shy and embarrassed when they lose control. They might stifle sneezes whenever possible, trying to avoid drawing attention, which ironically ends up drawing more attention, and then apologizes out of habit.

Someone politely steps aside from another person to sneeze into their elbow, turning to the side. "Sorry, what were you saying..." They compose themselves, but then, just a few seconds later, they turn away to sneeze again in the middle of the other person’s sentence.

Continuing the interrupted sentence after a sneeze, causing the words to come out breathless, tired, or congested.

"I didn’t know you sneezed so much when you were sick." Rediscovering new aspects of someone when they’re sick.

Becoming more affectionate or clingy when not feeling well?

Raising a finger to pause the other person before sneezing. A classic.

Sneezing into the elbow, wrist, or forearm.

Sneezing into a handkerchief, muffled, and then blowing their nose almost immediately.

Sneezing twice in such quick succession that the other person struggles to tell if it was one or two sneezes.

"Sorry, I can’t stop" or "Sorry, it got me..."

The other person grabs a roll of paper towels, asks a third person for tissues, or hands over napkins without the sneezy one asking, just because they see them sniffling or tearing up more than usual.

“Bless you. And bless you” before they sneeze a second time, just because of their pre-sneeze face.

"ATChsshu! [Insert generic sneeze sound] "Achu. Bless you!" The other person imitates the sneeze, not mockingly, just because they find it cute, before blessing them.

Fanning themselves before sneezing without realizing it, or subtly rubbing one side of their nose with a curved finger to hold back the sneeze.

SOFT sneezes. Not stifled, just intrinsically soft, as if they didn’t have the strength to sneeze more forcefully.

Clenching their teeth to stifle a sneeze and exhaling through their teeth afterward.

Two people sleeping next to each other, one spooning the other from behind. The big spoon can’t avoid sneezing but holds it back to avoid spraying the little spoon, making their whole body shake. The effort leaves them dizzy.

Sneeze followed by a congested, heavy exhalation. Pressing the bridge of the nose and shaking their head. Blinking several times and trying to concentrate on the pile of work in front of them.

Someone at public events who don’t want to sneeze, making subtle gestures like rubbing their nose with a finger, clearing their throat, swallowing, or squinting. They’re more distracted than usual, sniffling very discreetly, pressing the bridge of their nose.

A stoic character in a position of power losing control. Their subordinates seeing them as human for the first time and growing fond of their condition.

They usually sneeze in a certain way until suddenly they let out a different sneeze (maybe because they’re tired of stifling it or because it’s stronger than usual), and the other person exclaims, “Bless you!” instead of blessing them softly, and makes a comment about it. “That was strong, are you okay?”

Small comforting gestures, almost unconsciously. Lightly rubbing their back, a small touch on the forearm or leg, or gently brushing their hair.

A very polite, elegant person cursing after their fifth or sixth sneeze in a fit. “...fuck. So sorry, I can’t stop…”

“Ok-eh-aysSHTCHu!” A sneeze mixing with the last word they were saying.

A character with a mystical, almost distant aura. Probably powerful, mysterious, doing something as mundane as sneezing and “coming down” to earth. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s normal.”

Sneezing during an interview. So many situations could happen with this 🤭

“I’m going to die” A little bit of drama, exhausted, after a very strong sneezing fit.

Workaholic sick.

Sneezing and/or while smoking.

[samkerrworshipper]

revival | arsenal x reader

arsenal reader has been struggling more than she’d ever admit.. when it becomes to much she attempts to take her life but her teammates refuse to let her kill herself when she has so much more to live for.

warnings: do not read if you are triggered by suicide attempt, pill overdose, cutting, severe depression, angst, hurt/comfort

You didn’t know what had gotten you to this stage. Sitting on the bathroom floor of your apartment, staring down at an empty bottle of pills lying beside you on the floor. You weren’t sure exactly what had gotten you here, weren’t sure what switch had flicked in your brain this morning that had made you feel so positively broken from the inside out.

All you know is that right now you can feel deep purple, mauve and maroon bruises developing on your knees, from being hunched over the toilet bowl for so long.

Just when you begin to think that you’re empty, just when you think that there is nothing more that could be ripped away from you, you feel your muscles tense again as more bile is released.

Obviously, you knew the concoction of pills you took wouldn’t sit well, but you didn’t realise it would kick in this fast. You’d figured you’d have time to come to terms with the end of your life, or at least have time to scribble out a not.

But, all the pills you’d forced down your throat now resided in the toilet bowl, a mixture of stomach acid and medication pooling on the surface of the water.

It’s then that you make the decision that it’s time to take a different approach.

As you palm the metal blade, the cold sharp edge gently digging into your skin.

All you can think about is your team, your family, your home.

You think of the cold meal sitting on your kitchen bench.

At first, the metal burns, it stings and sears.

Almost as painful as the burning tears leaking down your cheeks.

Slowly, as more pressure is applied, your wrist is warmed by the pooling scarlett puddle dripping down onto the bright white tiles.

You’ve been sitting on the cold floor for way too long for your liking, your wrists pressed to the flooring to try and calm the burning sensation that’s spread all across your forearms.

If you try hard enough, you can convince yourself that the burning sensation is just another football injury.

You try and picture it, lying on the grass of a pitch, your arm throbbing with pain.

It only works for as long as your brain believes it, which is a total of ten seconds.

It’s been a long day, long week, long month, long year.

A long time pretending you're happy.

A long time try to convince everyone you’re happy.

A long time trying to persuade yourself that you’re happy.

A long time lying.

You’ve become so consumed with the lies that it’s hard to not be completely committed to them at this stage.

The only thing that reminds you of exactly where you are is the cold tiles against your arms, the warm blood and cold tiles mixing together like a thunderstorm.

The only sound to be heard across your apartment is the steady sound of blood dripping onto the tiles.

You think about your goodbyes, think about how this is the end, that you are content with this being it for you.

You’ve been at peace with this decision for a long while, longer than you’d ever care to admit.

It’s not really a decision for you, more like a losing battle.

In the last year, you’ve lost more of yourself than you thought possible, you don’t feel like you belong to yourself anymore, you don’t belong to yourself anymore. At one stage, a while ago, you loved yourself, you cared about yourself, you did your best to care. It hurt, feeling like you were no longer a owner of your body, maybe if you weren’t no longer classified as two different parts would you feel this way, or maybe it would make it harder, because maybe it wouldn’t feel like you were just getting rid of a body that you no longer belonged to, this was all to easy.

Your body was now something to be sold, something to be advertised, something to be purchased by the public.

You supposed that came from being a champion, being famous, being good at what you did.

Maybe, if you’d never become a famous soccer player none of this would have happened, you wouldn’t be lying on your bathroom floor, your vision slowly blurring and your blood leaking out steadily from your arms.

You walk towards the darkness, allowing it to embrace you as you slowly approach it without any resistance.

There was no fight for you, no hope or thoughts of redemption, this was your end, your demise, your final page, and that was okay.

You let the darkness completely cloud your vision, your body slowly being wrapped up by the accepting white light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s warm and comforting and you let your body rest, let it finally have the respite that it was so desperate for.

You felt yourself fade, far away with no intention of coming back.

You’d felt like you were gone, but you were brought back by more overwhelmingly white light in your vision.

Was this heaven?

Was this the end?

Was this it?

You were in pain, your head, your throat, your arms.

It was this thought that made you think you could be wrong.

Was this hell?

Or was the overwhelming white light just your bathroom tiles?

You cancelled out the tile idea, because you could feel your eyelids were closed, which meant that the white couldn’t be sourced from your home.

Your ears were ringing and as everything began to come back to you, it became terrifyingly clear that this could not be any of your previous assumptions.

Death wasn’t this painful, death wasn’t supposed to have any feeling.

Death didn’t feel like a warm bed and it definitely wasn’t consciousness.

This wasn’t the great beyond, this wasn’t the end, this was something else that you couldn’t quite pin down.

As your senses began to come back to you, your hearing and slowly your consciousness you began to become certain that whatever this was, it was not your end.

The sound of a constant machine beeping gave you an inkling as to where you might be, you just silently prayed that you were wrong, silently prayed that you would wake up in your red soaked tile bathroom and not a hospital.

You could clean up, try again.

You couldn’t handle being forced to recover, being forced to talk about your feelings.

It wasn’t something on your agenda, it wasn’t a part of your intricate demise.

You didn’t want to open your eyes, you weren’t even sure if you could, but you wanted to understand your situation, to understand what was happening.

So, you used every piece of your energy that was left, to every so slowly crack open your eyes.

It was more overwhelming white, that took a good deal of blinking to work through, but eventually, a blurry version of your surroundings began to appear in the corners of your eyes.

It confirmed your suspicions, you were in a hospital.

Which you hated, but you had also been prepared for, it made you feel insanely unaccomplished.

It took a lot of blinking and squinting for you to fully take in your surroundings.

The part that stumped you the most, and made you feel like you were hallucinating was the sea of red hoodies that were sitting, sleeping and lying around your room.

It was dark outside, the room was still lit up with machines and the bright white light from the corridor, but you figured that most of your teammates were fast asleep.

It was good, it gave you some extra time to take in your surroundings.

You were covered in cords and wires, your body completely moving even as you tried your very hardest.

Both of your wrists were bandaged tightly, to the point where you were completely unable to even wiggle your fingers.

It was daunting to you, the complete inability to do anything but lie in the bed and bear witness to your inability to do anything besides that.

Just as you were beginning to get truly distressed, one of the red blobs in your peripheral popped up out of their seat, making their way over to your bedside and tracing their hand over your one.

“Hey, ducky, it’s okay, I’ve got you, deep breaths. You’re okay.”

It’s Beth’s voice that hits your ears, and it has the reverse effect, making you more stressed out about the fact that she’s here witnessing this.

“Honey, it’s okay, big deep breaths for me, you’re okay.”

Beth’s hand moves up to your chest, your chest that is covered with a scratchy hospital gown.

“I shouldn’t be here, I-I-I’m supposed to be dead.”

Your words are croaky and chesty, almost unrecognisable but Beth manages to decipher them, and it almost brings tears to her eyes.

“Hey, hey, absolutely not. I thank every single god that you're here and awake right now, it is a miracle that you are here.”

This was not a miracle.

This was a fucking tragedy.

Beth’s face though, it was enough to send a deep pain to your stomach, deep guttural pain that hurt more than anything else.

“S-should be dead, wish I was dead.”

Beth’s face just drops, tears springing from her eyes and falling down onto the hospital sheets.

“Ducky, I promise you, we are all going to try our very hardest to make sure you never feel like that again. Get some more rest, we can sort this all out in the morning but you need your sleep, your body needs rest.”

You didn’t have energy to argue with Beth, so you nodded, relaxing back against the pillows and letting sleep and darkness return to the forefront of your brain.

When you awoke for the second time, it was less painful.

The sun was up this time, your room flooded with early sunbeams.

Overall the hospital was abuzz, to your extreme displeasure.

You were met with the eyes of some of your closest teammates, your words under the stars with Beth at the forefront of your mind as you looked at the extreme disappointment and sadness playing across their faces.

It hit home for you.

They all shared the same expression, all of you sharing the same situation that none of you wanted to be a part of.

“Hey Ducky, how are you feeling?”

Katie’s voice breaks the silence, her tone is full of emotion and you watch her mouth twitch to the side as she obviously tries her hardest to conceal the emotions that she is feeling.

“Like I wish I was dead.”

Nobody laughs, nobody says anything besides purse their lips and bite their tongues.

“We’re so glad you aren’t though, and we’re going to help you.”

We’re going to help you.

It’s five words, seven syllables, and the words that you least want to hear.

“Why couldn’t you just let me die?”

Your words manage to bring tears to the eyes of some of your teammates, you don’t care, all you can think about is the fact that someone, one of your teammates, had the fucking audacity to save you.

Leah’s the person to stand up, and take the same spot that Beth did last night, directly by your side, her hand resting on your own.

“Why didn’t I let you die? Why did I perform half an hour of chest compressions waiting for an ambulance whilst you bled out on your bathroom floor? Because you have a life that’s worth living, you have a gift for football, you are one of the brightest, happiest, smartest, best people I have ever met y/n, and this isn’t the end for you, it can’t be.”

You couldn’t meet Leah’s eyes, not with the knowledge that she had done this to you, she was the reason you were lying in a hospital bed instead of a coffin.

“You should have left me to die.”

Your words are broken, split in half by the knowledge that you were still fucking alive.

“You have a life worth living, kid, you’re only 21, there is so much more you have to give and I’ll be damned if this is it for you.”

You can’t meet any of your teammates' eyes, because it’s clear that they completely disagree with your actions, but there is still a part of you in your head telling you that everything would be better off if you were dead.

Your teammates wouldn’t have to pretend they care, they wouldn’t have too busy themselves with trying to save you from your impending death.

If you had any choice in it, you wouldn’t be this way.

If you could, you’d be happy and smiley, sweet, kind and soft. You’d be consistently happy, you would be the person smiling no matter what and someone easy to talk to, someone easy to love, someone that people wouldn’t let slip away.

You don’t have a choice though, this is who you are.

You are rough edges. You are a poorly labelled bottle of poison that people choke on as soon as they come into contact. You are a box of glass with a fragile sticker plastered all over and yet you still break, harming anyone who comes into contact.

When life gets hard, you quit.

There’s no way to explain why, everyone loves you until life is real and you need help, everyone is understanding until life isn’t pretty anymore.

You’ve never been loved through your lowest moments.

Never been loved when you can’t bring yourself to get out of bed, let alone shower.

Never been loved when the only thing that's playing in your head is how much you hate yourself.

Never been loved when the part of you that everyone loves suddenly dies.

Somedays, you are fairly certain that you are impossible to love. You don't know the kind of happiness love provides, you don’t know how to open up or trust, because no one ever loved you enough for that.

Other days, you remember that you are only 21, and maybe one day it won’t be this way.

You wish you were tender, you wished you were glowy and soft.

You wished you were Beth or Jen, always happy and ready to make anyone who was feeling down feel a little bit better.

“Why couldn’t you have just let me die?”

Your cheeks are practically drowning in tears, Leah reaches up to wipe them, you try to stop her but you instead moan in pain as the searing burn spreads backup your arms.

At the sound of your discomfort Leah is recoiling immediately, her hands falling down to your tightly wrapped arms and pressing them gently back down into the blankets.

“Hey, no, these need rest, you did some serious nerve damage, we won’t know the severity until you’ve got some strength back.”

Fuck.

“Nerve damage?”

Collateral damage had never crossed your mind, because you weren’t supposed to be alive right now, so why would collateral damage matter?

“Yeah, you could have severed or done some serious damage to your nerves, if they are cut then you’ll need a nerve replacement to regain the sensation.”

You blink a few times, staring up at the roof and willing the tears leaking down your face to fo away.

“I should have died.”

Leah, in all of her honesty, nods.

“Yeah, you should have. They had to pump your stomach to get rid of all the drugs you’d consumed, and you need 38 stitches and three pints of blood. You should be dead, but you aren’t and the fact that you aren’t is a fucking miracle.”

You wouldn’t call this a miracle, not from any point of view.

“When can I play again?”

You’re not sure if you’ll make it till that point, but it’s a question worth asking, there are big things coming up, on both a national and club level.

“Excuse me?”

Leah is shocked, and extremely taken aback by your question, so much so that she just stutters over her words.

Before she chokes on her words, Katie steps in.

“Kid, you almost died yesterday.”

You shrug, you figured it was a question worth asking, but Katie’s voice told you that to her it was a stupid question.

“A week? Two weeks? A month?”

You're grasping for something, trying to find the long straw in a pile of short ones.

“Kid, you tried to kill yourself, you almost succeeded, there are bigger things to focus on for you right now then getting on the pitch.”

A part of your brain disagrees so heavily.

“I have to go, they’ll take my passport and my licence and I’ll never be allowed to play again.”

All of the girls share knowing looks, but the general idea is that there is a general discomfort across the room.

“Ducky, look at me.”

It’s Katie’s strong Irish accent, the voice she uses when she’s captaining her national team that forces your eyes from the roof to meet her own.

“They can’t make you do anything, you need to be here right now. There is a treatment plan, you tried to kill yourself, you can’t just leave, it doesn’t work that way.”

Your brain is screaming inside of your skull, pounding against the bone and muscle.

“Jorge never let us take a break, he told us if we ever tried to leave that they would take all of our identification, and our licence to play, I have to play, I was born to play, it’s the only thing I have.”

Slowly, without the efforts of any of the girls, you are starting to unearth some of the serious problems you’ve been dealing with for the last little while, especially coming off of the world cup.

They’d all noticed the change, noticed how after your national teams win, how parts of you had changed.

They all had their assumptions, especially after what happened with Jenni Hermoso and after some conversations with some of their Spanish companions, but nobody could provide an explanation for what was happening behind closed doors.

It was no secret to any of your teammates that Jorge was your biggest critiquer, you and Mapi had tried sticking up to him at the beginning of his career with the Spanish team, and it had landed you both in deep water.

Mapi, had been intelligent enough to leave the toxic environment when it had become too much, when it had seriously begun to affect her mental health.

You however, were not as good at identifying your emotions, and taking care of them, you pushed yourself to the point of breakage, this was a perfect example of that.

“Ducky, Vilda is gone now, you don’t have to worry, I’ll call Alexia, she’ll understand and she’ll talk to them for you. You need a break sweetheart, you need to talk about why you're struggling, there are bigger things to focus on right now than your career.”

You couldn’t disagree more, you were in your prime, you didn’t have time to take a break.

You also didn’t have time to live, there was nothing that plagued your mind more than the idea of trying again, as soon as you could remove yourself from the conservatorship of your arsenal teammates.

“I need to leave, I want to be discharged.”

It’s an attempt at regaining some of your dignity, one that doesn’t last very long.

“You’re on a 72 hour psych hold, 24/7 supervision whilst you're recovering. Everyday you will see a psychologist and after the 72 hours they’ll deem if you are ready to leave, if they believe you can be trusted to leave then you’ll go home with Beth and Viv for the foreseeable future. For the first few weeks, you’ll be under complete supervision, you’ll see a therapist every few days and once you’ve made some serious progress we’ll look at getting you back into training.”

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, and a big gulp, trying to force down the lump that was prominent in your throat.

“You can’t do that, I don’t want to see a therapist, I don’t need to see a therapist.”

Most of the women in the room roll their eyes.

“Ducky, we’ve all been worried about you for weeks, but you refuse to talk to any of us, clearly something led to this and if you won’t talk to us about it you need to talk to a professional.”

You don’t want to admit that a part of you is secretly terrified of seeing a therapist, because what if they see right through you? What if all they see is all of your insecurities and imperfections, just as Jorge did?

“I can’t see a therapist, don’t wanna.”

Before Katie can speak, previously silent Viv stands up at her seat and joins the crowd around your bedside.

“I know it's scary, kid. I started seeing someone when I was around your age and struggling. It was so hard, it was terrifying. I didn’t want to admit I was struggling, and then one of my teammates caught me harming myself whilst having an anxiety attack. I had to go see one to play again, and it sucked to start with, but it helped me so much, we all just want the best for you, and you need help, there is nothing wrong with accepting that.”

The remaining women sitting in the room stand up, surrounding your bedside.

Beth, Leah, Katie, Caitlin, Lia, Kim, Steph, Viv, Jen, Laura and Lotte.

It’s a crowd, and the taller girls have to stand behind because they don’t all fit, and even if they aren’t directly hugging you, you are overwhelmed with the amount of love radiating off of them, it’s too much.

“No-no, I can’t do this, you guys can’t do this to me. There is nothing wrong with me, I’m fine, I’m fucking fine.”

It’s clear that none of them believe you, you expect them to step back, but they don’t.

“No you’re not liefje, people who seriously try to take their lives are not okay. You don’t have to be, we’re all here to support you, you just need to let us, let us be here for you, let us be a shoulder for you to cry on.”

Your breaths shudder, you can’t meet any of their eyes, it hurts you to know that they all think this of you.

“I didn’t mean to.”

It’s a lie that you push out, you're trying to find anything to argue about, anything to distract from what was actually happening.

“Ducky, it would be okay if you did. You’ve been struggling and it’s understandable. All we want from now on is for you to be honest with us, no judgement, just tell us what you are feeling.”

Beth’s voice is so soft, you almost want to give in, but Vilda is in your head, screaming at you for being weak and vulnerable after passing out on the pitch after playing with the flu, and your reminded once again that there isn’t space in the world for people like you to have feelings.

“I want you to fucking believe me when I tell you that I am fine and stop suffocating me.”

All of the women share looks above your head, and somehow, telepathically, majority of them sag off from the huddle, leaving you room.

You're left with the main group of girls who have been controlling the situation.

Viv, Beth, Leah, Kim and Katie.

“liefde, you clearly aren’t fine. Whatever it is, you can talk to us, we’re here for you, whatever you need.”

It shouldn’t cause you to break down, but the pain in your heart and the look in Viv’s eyes sends you barrelling over a very high cliff.

You're sobbing, and struggling to breathe, blood rushing to your ears and preventing you from feeling anything besides the deep depression that has been building up in you for years now.

It hits you like a double decker bus.

Before you can really start to panic though, someone is climbing onto the bed beside you, bringing you into their lap and arms and embracing you.

“It’s okay ducky, we’ve got you, you’re safe with us.”

The sweet nothings are murmured lowly into your ear, the genuinity continuing until the mixture of a mental breakdown and panic attack subside and you’re just a tired, pained mess.

“M’ sorry.”

Your words are hummed into the chest of whoever has climbed in beside you in the hospital bed.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, do you want to talk about it?”

The long answer is no, you don’t want to talk about any of it, but you can’t help the sense that a part of you might feel a little bit better if you let something off your chest.

“Talk about what?”

It’s a genuine question, because there is so much happening in your brain that you aren’t even sure where to start.

“Whatever you’d like.”

You think that’s a stupid statement, because for all Leah knows you could want to talk about the weather, and that doesn’t seem particularly helpful.

“Jorge?”

It seems like starting with the source of your problems probably saves yourself from a lot of beating astound the bush.

“If that’s what you want, ducky, we’re all just here to listen to you, no matter what it is.”

You peak your head out of Leah’s sweater, and you’re met with the supportive faces of the four other women sitting around your bedside.

“When I started for him I was 16. For a long while, the older girls shielded me from him, Mapi and Jenni especially. But my young innocence only lasted so long, when I was 19, he did some really fucked up things, that was when he changed. Mapi, Claudia, Patri and I were the ones who spoke out, and it was the right thing to do, but it put a target on our backs immediately, especially with Alexia out with her ACL injury and unable to support us all. He was so mean to us all, always criticising, never giving us breaks, running us till we were sick or injuring ourselves. He used to wake us up at 2am in the morning to go running because he said we were getting lazy. It was around then that they all signed the statement to withdraw, and I would have loved to do it with them, but I just couldn’t. It only got worse from there for me, especially during the world cup, I was having panic attacks everyday and he couldn’t have cared less. All he did was push me, to the point where Alexia had to mind me everyday because of how bad I was getting.”

You took a deep breath, you wouldn’t allow yourself to look at them, not right now, not until you were done.

“That was when I started to think about killing myself. It wasn’t because I don’t love my life and my friends, but, Jorge was devoting his life to making mine a living hell, and nobody wants that. He never had anything nice to say to me, always criticism, always negativity. Then we won, and none of it mattered, but then there was everything in the press, and I was being slaughtered for all of it because apparently I was enabling his abuse, and I can’t handle that, I can’t handle being told that I enabled abuse that I was dealt for years, maybe I should have told someone, but who? All of the physios, all the doctors, they all worked for him, nobody was going to turn on him. He created an environment where all of us girls were miserable and competing against each other for no reason.”

Leah stopped you with a bone crushing hug.

They’d all heard stories about the Spanish Women’s team, speculation, rumours, hearsay.

But hearing first hand experience from their teammate, somebody they loved, it killed them all on the insides, because how could someone treat their ducky like that? How could someone be so horrible?

“Thank you for trusting us to tell us that ducky. You didn’t deserve any of that, nobody does. From now on, we’re all here for you, you don’t have to hide it all, no more hiding, we’re here for you every step of the way.”

You try your hardest to believe Leah, but it’s a uphill battle, especially when your brain is conditioned to think she is lying.

Leah seemed to notice how spent you were, your body completely relaxed against her, your state near catatonic.

“Get some sleep ducky, we’ve got you, I promise we’ll do everything to make sure you never feel like this again.”

When Leah says it, you believe her, because there is one thing that your mind can’t betray you about, and that is that Leah, and all the other women surrounding you would do anything to protect you, and to make sure that you felt loved, to make up for the lack that you’d been experiencing for the last while.

[jolapeno]

17. tangerine dreams

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seventeen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 4.1k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. too idiots who clearly want to have a future together. a little anxious rainy. an: i love them i love them.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You didn't mean to, but your finger presses the screen again.

It illuminates, unveiling the time and how another three minutes have ticked on by. A sigh quickly escapes, nostrils flaring from your exhale as you shake your head at how time passes slowly, as though shuffling its feet to become a bit later.

It shouldn’t bother you, should be able to quiet the irrational from spreading into faux reality.

Because things happen, days get away—

His work could be insane, Luca could be ill; he could have written the message out and not clicked send. All things which are plausible, possible. All good enough reasons to not have woken to a good morning text or have heard from him by lunch.

Yet, you stare at the unread message.

Unread messages.

It’s irrational. Baseless. Yet the worries mount like they’re pressing down on your bones and making your head swim in a sea of doubt as they remain unanswered, unread, unnoticed.

Your eyes blur around the way your messages are sitting there, unable to be retracted. All plural in nature. The words ‘sent’ sitting under them, as memories swirl from the conversation the two of you shared after you’d slipped into bed.

It had been warm, usual, no sign of anything changing—but he had been quiet. Less talkative. You had needed to prod him a few times by name for him to hum, and come back to you.

And now, you’ve woken and it's hard not to believe everything feels different. From your home feeling unfamiliar to the quietness you’ve been plunged in.

Maybe, it had been too much too soon. Maybe you'd overstayed your welcome and he was attempting to retract his three words and his promises and his—

Shaking your head, you rub your eyes with the base of your palms. A scream burning on your tongue. Because he isn't them, he's Frankie.

Good, kind.

And you wish he were here. A thing you can’t say. Not again. It had already slipped out last night, through the cracks of comfort; murmuring itself past your lips before he wished you goodnight. It had slipped out, escaping—

Home is you, Frankie.

You can’t remember his reply. Can’t remember if he thought it was cute or sweet, or if he was horrified and filled with dread.

A thing which tangles up inside of you, becomes matted, and clogged. Not able to be broken apart when you step under the water from your shower. Finding yourself shattering instead, breaking, soap lathering and washing away, repeating, as you conjure all the things you could have said that may have upset him. The jokes, the quietness last night; the flirting and the fact you spoke to his ex. It builds, morphing, twisting, doing so until your skin prunes and no more tears are blurring with droplets.

It forces an opening, one where unruly thoughts can break through, prizing itself open as your finger presses the screen again.

Because it’s always this way. Interested, until they’re not. In love, until they aren’t. Staring as the black screen goes dull again. Memories of past relationships where messages went unanswered for days, leading only to painful goodbyes, flashed through your mind.

Fingers pinching the backs of your forearm, almost bruising, doing so until your eyes stop springing fresh pain and the towel becomes another heavy thing constricting you.

Fool. You think it—digging it into flesh. Again. And again as you dress, as you hang your towel. Burying your nails so deep you could rationalise it as the reason tears drop down your cheek as you wander into your almost finished office, crouching in the centre, readying for a sob to escape, to leave—

“Rainy?”

The slam of your front door ripples through the house, hearing it a clatter of keys, wallet, hat—more thuds than placed—as your fingers brush away your sobs, wipe them as though they never existed, standing up from your crouched position to face him. To stand two strides from him.

Frankie's usually warm eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, but you spot them softening as they meet yours, tinged with concern, love.

And he’s holding his phone up, a crack right down the screen—little lines running from it, fractured so similarly to how you must appear right on the inside.

“I broke my phone, well Luca broke my phone, but—”

You exhale—both in relief, in thankfulness, and also because it allows you to fill your lungs. To calm yourself. To banish the shadows away to find the strength for yourself to walk across to him.

Because a past version of you would have shrunk more in yourself. Taking the warning, the fear, and used it to build walls that would keep him out. But you're not that person, not now.

Not just because of him, but because of you. The choices, the decisions, the little things that led you down a path to not needing, but finding him all the same.

“—we was having a morning. Slept through my alarm, and then drop off, and then Harold—”

His words halt with an oof as your head presses itself into his chest, and you inhale. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, which lets your heart rate calm before his fingers tease the back of your neck. Rooting you, helping you unknot the last ropes of worry and panic.

“I love you,” you whisper, right against his heart, feeling his fingers slide around the side of your neck, hooking under your chin.

And you repeat it. Softer, swathed in a sigh—relief.

Feeling his face burying itself in the top of your head, a kiss given, one pressing to your forehead when you lift, to your nose, and then your lips.

Biting your lip, fingers sliding over his chin, his jaw—tentatively brushing the wiry hair and the soft dimple that begins to appear—as he asks, you okay?

Nodding, swallowing. Burning the panic that had been bubbling in you all morning.

“Just worried you’d had enough of me.”

He whispers your name—each letter, each syllable—before following it with never, I've missed you so much.

And you believe him. You believe him.

How’s my lover?

Still getting used to this new phone. But, outside of that, my son told me that I look old because my hair has grey bits in it, and then I got to work and gave myself a splinter.

I meant Harry, but that’s a lot baby, I’m sorry.

You’re awful to me.

Would me offering to suck your splinter out help?

You fancy using your key tonight?

Starting to think you hate being by yourself.

I appreciate you giving me time with Luca, but I miss you. A lot.

Is there pizza and uno?

I can promise you one of those things.

Tssst. Only one?

Was thinking Chinese and uno?

Sold.

Unlike days ago, alone, wishing for his voice, this morning you’re woken by fingers on your ankles, lips on your lower spine. All soft strokes, interchanging with drags.

“Need you to get up so I can show you something.”

Groaning, lashes fluttering on your cheek, turning your head on the pillow, you find his skin glossed in sweat, wearing the tell-tale signs that he’s been up for a while.

“Frankie…”

“Shh. Surprise time,” he whispers.

Body crawling up the bed as you turn in his sheets, both hands taking either side of his cheek, bringing his mouth to yours. It’s intimate, intense—right. You taste coffee on his tongue, hoping your own breath doesn’t taste half as bad as you can imagine the morning could be.

Whispering, urging you to come on, to get up, even as he lowers his body on top of yours. As he tries to move the duvet and slots your knee over his jean-covered hip.

“Making it really hard to get up.”

“You’re not making it hard for me to get up.”

Laughing, head tipping back as his grinning mouth trails kisses up your neck. Feeling his other palm slide up your stomach, right under the t-shirt you’d stolen from him.

“You know I’ve seen your cock before, if that’s the impressive thing you’re showing me.”

Snorting, he hovers his face over yours, finger tapping the tip of your nose.

Twenty minutes later, your fingers are knotting through his as he leads you through his house. The morning air is crisp, the sun filtering through the trees as he leads you out of the back door. Half-dragged, and still a little sleepy, Frankie’s hand is warm and steady around yours, leading you outside.

“C’mon, just a bit further,” he coaxes gently, voice a soothing balm against the early morning chill.

You squint against the light, noticing the faint scent of paint lingering in the air. Frankie finally stops, his hand releasing yours as he rubs the back of his neck, and you see it.

The table. The one from a yard sale a few weeks ago—as your eyes flick to his, fingers teasing through his curls, a habit you’ve come to adore.

“I um… tried to strip it back, see what shade it was first,” he began, his voice tinged with nerves. “But I know you love this colour, so I thought—”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight. The garden table, the one you’d both made an entire fake scenario around weeks ago, joked that you’d serve him lemonade and bake him cookies. And now, it’s here, a beautiful, vibrant shade of butterscotch, all freshly painted and gleaming in the morning light.

Emotion wells up, your chest tightening as you realise the effort and thought he’d put into it.

“I—I love it, Frankie,” you manage to say, voice choking up. “I… you went and got it?”

Glancing at the ground, arms folding across his chest as he nods. “Right after I dropped you to meet your friend.”

His hand scratches at his arm, pausing mid-scratch, eyes widening into a joyful smile as though all your words dawn on him. “You like it?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “You… god, I don’t deserve you.”

His grin widens, before he pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms, kissing your cheek, the gesture tender, reassuring.

“You did this.” Your fingers slide up his cheek, not forcing the tears back like you’d usually, kissing him. “You bought us furniture?”

“Yeah,” he says, as if it’s nothing, finger-swiping your tear away as his breath warm against your skin. “Told you, it’s you and I”

You nod, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you. “You and me, technically.”

He kisses a laugh to your lips.

Me and Benny have decided that yoga would kill you and Will.

You enjoy your class?

I did. I think Benny is still working out what he feels. At one point he asked me to put him out of his misery.

Did you?

Yes, I’ve committed murder.

Well, wouldn’t be the first time. You in that lace set the other week—still think I died there and you brought me back.

Mouth-to-mouth really is something special, isn't it? Oh, Benny’s decided that in your next training session, you’re doing yoga.

Baby, I’ve seen you, I don’t think I can do that.

Oh, you can't.

Did you tell him that?

Yeah. He's still laughing.

The music, which has been blasting from your phone for the last ten minutes in the background, suddenly dies on your phone. Glancing over, suds sliding down your arm, you see his face and name light up the screen, bringing an automatic smile to your face.

“Hey, handsome—” you greet, your voice filled with warmth.

“I’d like it on the record,” he says, the rumble of his engine coming through the call, accompanied by the click of a turn signal, “yoga isn’t for me.”

A grin spreads across your face as you drop the plate back into the water, splashing yourself in the process. “He made you do it, didn’t he?”

“He fucking made us do it,” he replies, the exasperation in his voice tinged with humour.

You dry your hands on your jeans and pick up your phone, sliding into one of the chairs in the kitchen. “I owe him ten dollars now,” you say, your tone playful.

“He said.”

Laughing softly, you bite the nail on your thumb, a habit he has begun teasing you about. You listen as he starts recounting the names he was subjected to in the yoga class, his deep voice filling the silence of the room. Names such as Goddess Squat, Cat and Cow, Table and others fall like a list, listening, occasionally helping when he struggles with the name.

“—Baby, I don’t know how you do it,” he says, a mix of admiration and incredulity in his voice.

You pull a knee up to your chest, resting your chin on it as you smile, the affection in your eyes carrying through your voice. “Practice.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t know if I’ll be doing it again,” he admits, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“I told him you’d struggle with it.”

“Struggle? Baby, struggle is a nice word for what Will and I looked like.” Sniggering, all attempts at burying it in your hand fail as you pretend to clear your throat. “I heard that.”

“Not sure what you mean, Butterscotch.” He grumbles something as your elbows come to rest on either side of your phone. “You want me to massage you, baby?”

“Fuck… don’t do this to me, Rainy. I’m driving.”

Smirking, biting the nail on your index. “I’d warm lotion in my hands, press my palms to your back—”

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby.”

“I’d have to be naked, obviously.”

You press your thighs together when you hear him groan through the phone.

I need you to be free Saturday.

You need me?

Always. But I specifically need you to be free on Saturday.

Leave it with me. Can I know what I’m required for?

No.

Ominous.

It’s a surprise. A birthday surprise. Do you trust me?

I wondered when that would come back around.

I take that as a yes?

Of course. Just checked, I’m all yours.

Harry be okay?

He said he can ask his nephew to help out.

Is he doing okay?

He’s currently making puns about a new product, so I’m going to assume yes.

The car hums softly as you drive.

The late morning sun casts a golden glow across the dashboard. Frankie is sitting beside you, a puzzled smile playing on his lips as he glances periodically at you, trying to decipher your secret—whatever it is up your sleeve.

He interchanges between resting his hand on your thigh, fingers tapping a light rhythm that matches the song playing on the radio or re-picking a new station.

“Alright, Rainy,” he says, a heavy curiosity in his voice. “Are you ever going to tell me where we're going?”

You glance at him, heart fluttering at the sight of his easy grin and the way the sunlight highlights the flecks of gold in his eyes and the little flecks of silver coming through in his curls.

“Not yet,” you reply, a playful lilt in your tone. “You'll just have to be patient a little longer.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “You know I'm not good at that.”

“Oh, I know. But trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

The landscape outside the car window begins to change, the city giving way to rolling hills and lush greenery. As the song changes, you steal another look at him, watching him mouthing the lyrics to the song playing before his expression shifts from curiosity to realisation as you near your destination.

Finally, you turned onto a narrow road that winds through a grove of trees, the sunlight dappling the ground in patterns of light and shadow.

And, Frankie’s eyes widen. A spark of recognition ignited in them.

“Is this—?”

You smirk, unable to contain your excitement—stomach doing flips as you slowly begin to nod. “I thought maybe it was about time you introduced me, even in passing, to your first love.”

He’s leaning forward, seatbelt tense against his chest, hand on your dusty dash as the sun streams in and highlights the way his fingers go white from the pressure.

Picking a spot in the gravel, you put it into a park, killing the engine, staring off at the open field—where two helicopters are parked. Nervousness rolls, balling up as you give him a moment, staring ahead, resisting the urge to glance over and see his reaction. See if you've gone too far. Remembering the way Benny's brows had lifted when you'd asked when you'd told him your plan.

Maybe it hadn't been surprise at the kindness, but surprise at the audacity, at the balls—

It's then you feel his hand on your leg, squeezing. Dragging your eyes to him to find his smile so far into his cheeks, making you wonder if you could get lost in his dimples. His eyes are nothing but softness, so full of affection and nostalgia, you think your chest inflates with love.

“Rainy...

It leaves his lips all thick with emotion, as you squeeze his hand on top of your thigh. “Come on, handsome.”

Exiting, walking to the front of the car, you extend your hand, able to breathe a little easier when he slides his fingers within yours.

“Meet Robert—Robbie,” you say quickly, watching Frankie shake his hand—brows knitted together in confusion he tries to hide over the rest of his face. “He’s a friend of Benny’s—and he has a helicopter.”

Frankie’s head turns to you, eyes still a little wide.

“Now, it’s up to you. It’s your birthday gift. But, if you want to go up in it, you can, Robbie can be your co-pilot—I showed him a photo of your old license and Benny helped fill in some things for you. But, if you want to stay on the ground, show me around the cockpit,” you smirk, leaning into him. “I’ve packed us a picnic. It’s in the back of my car.”

He whispers your name.

Not your nickname, your real name. It's all soft, flowy—so gentle as it passes his lips and kisses the air as he stares at the helicopter ready.

Moving closer, hand sliding along his lower back, you stare at his eyes as they move to yours, dropping your voice, “I know you haven’t flown since… then. I don’t think it’s a waste if you want to stay on the ground. But, if you do, I’ll suspend my belief that I’m not going to feel some kind of way about being so high up.”

“You scared of heights?”

“I’m not the biggest fan of being in the air in a small metal contraption?”

Snorting, rolling his jaw, he frowns, before his face smooths out and he cups your face, his eyes searching yours. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Warmth spreads over your cheeks, feeling the heat of his gaze. “I just wanted to do something special for you.”

He kisses you then, slow and sweet—the kind of kiss which makes time stand still. Almost forgetting everything, the wind, the sound of it dancing through the leaves as your arm slides around his neck, hips moving closer to his when his hand finds a home there.

It’s only when he finally pulls away, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel his breath mingling with yours, do you think about poor Robbie who has thankfully walked back to a hanger.

Frankie looks past you, something unreadable stretching out across his face. Assessing, almost calculating—a face you’re coming to know well. Spotting the slight narrowing of one eye, the way his teeth bite the inside of his lower lip and his nostrils flare.

“Can I show you around?”

Offering your hand, he takes it, sliding his fingers slowly between yours, knitting your palms together. With a playful grin, he guides you around the helicopter. At first quietly, before he points, clears his throat and begins explaining something.

From then on, it’s hard for him to be quiet. Each part is shown, the door opening and shifting you in front so you can clear, as his voice rings with the passion and precision of someone who has spent countless hours in a cockpit like this one. His fingers trace the curves of the fuselage, his eyes sparkling as he describes the functions of the rotor blades, the tail boom, and then back to the cockpit instruments.

You listen, captivated. Not only by his knowledge but by the joy that radiates from him as he speaks—even if you struggle to follow. Even if your nod feels hollow and you’re lost in watching him talk so enthusiastically about something that you’re so new to.

Then, your stomach grumbles. Eyes widen, his voice trailing off as he stares at you, before slowly grinning.

“Shit.”

“You hungry?”

Face scrunching, wearing a face nothing short of apologetic, you bury your head into his chest. “I was so nervous I didn’t want to eat before the drive.”

He kisses your head, burying an, “Oh, Rainy” against your hair before he moves an arm around you.

“You say you packed a picnic?” You nod. “Alright, well I could eat.”

“Are you just saying that? Because I feel like we’ve barely touched the cockpit.”

Smirking, kissing your forehead again. “Let’s eat.”

Taking charge of spreading out the blanket, choosing a spot right near the helicopter—Frankie quickly catches up with Robert. Doing a little half-run back to you as you set out the plates, the glasses.

“You tell on me that I touched his leaver?”

“Yeah. I said, my girlfriend—who you told not to touch anything—touched everything. Practically licked your leaver.”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the word girlfriend. Even if you've been it for so long, it still makes joy bloom across your face, your skin and makes your ears warm as blood rushes to them. So much so, that you dip your chin, digging into the basket for the sandwiches from the place he likes, and the snacks you’d managed to make.

“You should be careful saying that sentence to anyone not on this airfield.”

There’s a pause, and then he laughs.

Joining you, sinking to his knees first before sitting more comfortably when you hand him a foil-wrapped sandwich.

It isn’t until you take a bite of your own, do you feel your muscles relax. Your body sag, falling into its natural place as the conversation, as it always does, flows easily. Your mind calming, relaxing from all the worries last night of possible annoyance, maybe even anger—hurt and all others.

Instead, it’s all punctuated by laughter, by smiles, and the occasional brush of his hand against yours.

“Happy birthday,” you say, pressing it to his lips.

His thick fingers, glide over your neck, around the side, remaining at the back as he swallows. Before there’s a thank you against your lips, against your cheek, before your fingers find a grape, and pop it against his mouth.

Chewing, he smirks, you slide to sit beside him as you grab another chip from the open bag.

It's quiet, but comfortable as the two of you eat the food, the sun cresting in the sky, as Frankie slowly leans back on his elbows, looking thoughtful.

“You know,” he begins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours. “Would you like to see the sky?”

Your heart skips a beat, excitement and nerves mingling in your chest. “Really? You’d take me up?”

He sat up, his expression earnest. “If… If you trust me. I know it’s been a while so, can understand if you’d rather not.”

“Frankie,” you whisper, kneeling, sliding across the blanket to him as you clutch his face, “There’s no one I trust more than you—well, other than Luca. The kid really cannot lie.”

Grinning, feeling it against your hand, your palm. Finger stroking at the dimple that appears as you stare at him.

“I know it’s safe—I know I’m safe with you. But, I know this is a big deal. I know you had to walk away from things, so if you’re sure, then I am. I just don’t want to put you off.”

Frankie’s face lit up with a smile that made your heart soar higher than any helicopter ever could. “If anything, I think you being there is just what I need.”

You’re both quick to begin putting away the picnic, him taking it back to the car before you find yourself seated behind him. Headset on, belt done and checked by Robbie—watching Frankie sitting in the cockpit, finger switching controls and dials flicked.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice coming through your ear, your hands gripping your thighs as you smile.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’m ready, baby. You and me.”

His laugh, crackly through the microphone, ripples out. “You sure? Not you and I?”

And you roll your eyes, just as the blades go quicker overhead, and you brace a little more for leaving the ground.

NEXT CHAPTER ->