#SCOTT. moon cursed

[imaginedisish]

My Love All Mine (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Not a request. Just a VERY slutty thot I had last night. Inspired by "My Love All Mine" by Mitski. Genuinely, this is one of the filthiest things I've ever written. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan told you to stay in his bed so he could have you when he got home from a mission, but he finds you in the kitchen instead...and he isn’t happy.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit sexual content! MINORS DNI!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Porn without plot (literally), multiple orgasms, (uh...they're in the kitchen? kitchen warning?), overstimulation, softdom!Logan, established relationship, f!reader/afab!reader, Logan is one starving and reckless man, disrespecting Scott, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 2,288 told y'all there's no plot

It’s late—the moon high in the sky. But you can’t sleep—not without Logan next to you. You know he’ll be back soon—he was only sent on a quick diplomatic day mission with Hank. Charles said Logan needed to control his anger, to learn from the best, and he was right. The trip would certainly do him some good. But it was still brutal, waiting in bed for him, alone. 

You had thrown one of his shirts on a few minutes ago, refusing to wear anything of your own save for your panties. You wanted to smell him—to find a way to keep him close even while he’s gone. And sure enough, the shirt was all tobacco and pine and musk and Logan. 

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need him. 

Too bad you’ll have to wait. He asked you to stay in his bed. Wanna fuck you right when I get home, pretty girl. You were happy to oblige earlier, but it’s getting late, and you’re getting bored—impatient. You swing your legs around the side of Logan’s bed and stand, heading out the bedroom door and down the stairs to the kitchen. 

A snack could help. A snack could distract you.

The kitchen is dark, and everyone is fast asleep. You rummage through the cabinets, hoping no one can hear you. You find a package of store-bought cookies with a sticky note that has Scott’s name written on it. After considering—albeit very briefly—you tear Scott’s little note off and toss it to the side. You rip open the package. He won’t care if you have a cookie. It’s just one, after all. You grab one, bringing it to your lips—

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” You jump, dropping the cookie on the counter at the sound of the familiar voice. You look across the dimly lit kitchen to see Logan standing in the doorway. 

“Lo?” You whisper. 

He hums, approaching you slowly, sizing you up. He’s towering over you, caging you in, hands firmly gripping the counter on either side of your waist. “Is this my shirt?” He asks, his hand dropping to brush your thighs, pinching the hem of the tee between his pointer finger and thumb. 

“Didn’t know when you’d get back…” You trail off, heat rising to your chest. You can feel that all too familiar ache building between your thighs. “M-missed you.” Logan smirks, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. “Missed you too, pretty girl.” He hikes the shirt up and around your waist, revealing your panties. “No shorts, huh?” 

“N-no,” you pant, suddenly nervous. “Lo, someone might see, someone could—"

“Let them,” he husks, pressing his chest to yours. “No bra either, hm?” He lets the shirt fall as his fingertips slip underneath and trail up to your breasts. He squeezes your tits, messaging them gently, his thumbs brushing back and forth over your nipples. 

“Logan,” you whine, struggling to suppress your moans. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Let them know whose girl you are.” That heat between your legs is burning now, flames lighting your every nerve ending on fire. 

“Yours,” you whisper. Logan pinches your nipples, his lips crashing down onto yours, swallowing your moans. 

He hums. “All fucking mine.” And then he’s grabbing your ass and hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist as your bare thighs meet the cold granite countertop. Logan bites your lower lip teasingly, his kisses becoming rushed and frantic. He squeezes your tits once more before he slides down your body to the floor below. 

He settles between your legs, one hand on your hip while the other teases your all too-clothed cunt. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, this thumb brushing over your folds. “Fucking soaked, princess,” he grunts, pleased. “All this for me?

“Y-yes,” you choke. “All for you.”

He chuckles against you, his laughter vibrating through your core. “Could smell you when I walked in. Can’t wait to taste you.” You shudder at his words, at the way they make you feel—your heart fluttering in your chest, ready to burst. 

Logan hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and yanks them down, throwing them to the side. He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands. “Logan,” you whisper. “What if someone sees?”

He answers with a long stripe through your folds up to your clit. “I said I was gonna fuck you when I got home,” he mumbles against you, licking another long stripe. “And you weren’t in my bed, so this’ll have to do.”

His lips wrap around your clit, pulling the bud into his mouth and sucking roughly. You squirm, involuntarily moving your hips away from Logan at the sudden pleasure. Logan smiles against you, wrapping a hand around your back to hold you in place, to give himself more leverage to bury his face deep into your cunt.

“You’re not going anywhere until I’m done with you, pretty girl,” he growls. His tongue swirls around your clit as his free hand teasingly climbs up your inner thigh. His fingers find your folds, stroking gently, spreading your slick. And then two of his fingers are sinking inside you, deep, down to the knuckles. 

Your walls flutter around him. Logan slides out and pushes back in deeper, lapping hungrily at your clit. “Tastes so fucking good, princess,” he praises. “Pretty little pussy, so tight.”

You curse under your breath as his thrusts pick up, fingers slamming into you, hitting that sweet spot with every pump. “Lo,” you pant, needy and helpless. 

His teeth graze your clit, and you moan, louder than before. You bite your lip, doing your all to hold yourself back. “That feel good, sweetheart?” He does it again, grazing harder this time, taking the bud into his mouth and biting softly. You try to stifle your moan, but it chokes its way out. 

“No holding back,” he chides, sucking your clit in between sentences. “Let them know who’s making you feel this good. Want everyone to know who you belong to.”

“Logan,” you hum, his fingers dragging against your walls, scissoring inside you. You’re already so close, clenching and contracting around him. “I-I…” but you can’t get the sentence out, can’t even make a coherent thought. 

“Use your words, pretty girl,” Logan demands, relentlessly lapping at your clit, pumping in and out fast and hard. “What do you need?” 

“Y-you…” you murmur. “I’m s-so close,” you finally spit out.

Logan tugs you closer, forcing himself deeper as he draws soft circles into your back. “Gonna get you there, princess,” he husks, his tongue flicking your clit. “Wanna feel you come on my fingers, wanna taste it.”

“F-fuck, Logan,” you stutter. He’s plunging deeper still, slipping in a third finger. And that’s when you feel it. The tension snaps. Heat rolls through you, spilling out of you. He’s still sucking on your clit, savoring the taste of you as you let go for him. 

You’re a trembling mess, thighs shaking as you ride out your orgasm. “That’s it, I’ve got you,” he soothes in between laps. His pumps slow as you come down from your high. His thumb strokes your back comfortingly. He pulls his fingers from you, but his face is still buried inside your cunt, his tongue lapping ravenously. 

He’s a man starved, showing no signs of stopping. You reach out, running your hands through his hair, dragging your nails across his scalp. He grunts against you, the bass of his voice going straight to your core. “Logan,” you whisper. His teeth nip at your clit, and you jolt, still overstimulated from your first orgasm. But he isn’t taking the hint. “Logan,” you call again. He still doesn’t move. 

“I said you weren’t going anywhere,” he pauses, licking a long, slow stripe through your folds, looking up at you under lust-filled eyes. “Until I’m finished.” His fingers are prodding at your entrance again. “And darlin’,” he grunts, sliding three fingers back inside. “I’m not finished yet.”

He’s pumping with more vigor now, more force. It’s already too much; already more than you can take. His tongue circles your clit, the pressure rocking you to your core. You’re a whimpering mess as he thrusts into you, moaning his name, praying to him like he’s a god. 

“Lo,” you mumble. “I’m a-already…” You throw your head back, fucked out beyond belief. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he coos between flits, his fingers slamming into you. “You gonna give me another one? You gonna let me taste your come again?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter. He takes your clit into his mouth, sucking roughly. 

“Good girl,” he mutters against you, your walls contracting around him at his praise. He can feel you squeezing him; he knows full well what he’s doing to you, and just how close you are. He smirks against your cunt. “Such a good fucking girl for me.”

And with one more thrust, you’re coming undone around him. It’s more forceful this time, sudden and uncontrolled. You know Logan likes you like this, quivering underneath him; because of him. 

He’s slowing down again, his fingers setting a lazy, dragging pace until they stall inside you. Your eyes flutter shut as he slides out. His tongue laps once more before he pulls away from you. 

You open your eyes, leaning back on your forearms, watching as Logan stands. He brings his fingers to his open mouth and stuffs them inside, sucking, savoring the taste of you, and then pulling them out with a pop. Your walls flutter around nothing at the sight.

“You taste so fucking good, pretty girl,” he huffs. He grabs your hips, yanking them just over the counter. He steps in between your legs, unbuckling his belt and letting it fall to the kitchen floor. He’s unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down his zipper, shoving the denim down his legs along with his boxers.

You sit up, reaching out towards him, but Logan pushes you down against the counter. He pins your hands above your head with one hand, while his other guides his cock to your entrance. “You gonna let me fuck you into this counter, sweetheart?” He hovers over you, his eyes tracking your every move.

“Y-yes,” you whine. “N-need you, Lo.” 

And then he’s slamming into you, down to the hilt. He’s filling you up and splitting you open with a single thrust. You’ll never get used to just how big he is, no matter how many times he fucks you. 

“Fuck,” he growls, swallowing your moans with a kiss. “Feels so good, so tight, pretty girl.” He pulls out and plunges back in, deeper this time. “Thought about you all day, beautiful.”

“Th-thought about you too, Lo,” you whine as he builds his pace. His hand leaves his cock and finds your clit, stroking the bud gently with his thumb. You arch your back at the touch, your chest pressing against his. 

“Needed this fucking pussy,” he grunts, his hips snapping into yours. “Need you. Always need you.” His words alone could send you over the edge. His thumb circles around your core, his cock dragging deliciously against your walls. 

He’s hovering over you, still pinning your wrists down to the counter, offering him stability and balance. He pounds into you, hitting that sweet spot with every pump. You know you can’t last much longer, not with Logan’s lips at your ear, whispering sweet praises. So fucking good. Feels perfect, always so perfect. He’s right. He fits inside you like you were made for each other, like it was always meant to be this way. 

Your walls squeeze him tightly, threatening to let go, to come crashing down around him. He ruts into you, hips rocking against yours. He adds more pressure to your clit, his thumb stroking faster, harder. “Lo,” you call out. “C-close again,” you stammer. 

“Can feel you, beautiful,” he coos. “Gonna take care of you, don’t worry.” You can feel his pace faltering, growing sloppier. He’s close, too—not far behind. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, pretty girl. Know you can do it.”

“F-fuck,” you stammer as he flicks your clit, circling roughly. He’s throbbing as he slams into you, hit after hit. “Logan,” you whine. “I’m gonna—” 

It happens all at once. You’re crashing, pleasure raging through your body. It tears through you, burning, spreading. Logan is right behind, filling you up, coming deep inside as you clench down around him. He releases your hands from his pin and shifts so that he’s pulling you into his chest as you finish. You’re sitting up, slumping against him, still riding out your orgasm. 

He pumps in and out a few more times until he’s still inside you. He strokes your clit gently, soothingly, letting you down easy from your peak. He pulls out, his arms wrapping around your back and tugging you closer. He holds you tightly, limp in his arms.

You rest your head in the crook of his neck, and he presses a chaste kiss to your temple. “Missed you,” he whispers, all soft now. His cocky attitude is gone—his needs satiated. Now he’s all gentle kisses and soothing rubs up and down your back. 

“Missed you more,” you answer, smiling as you look up at him. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t think that’s possible, sweetheart.” His fingers trace shapes into your back. “And princess?” He mumbles. You nod against him. “Don’t think I’m finished with you just yet.”

Your heart thumps in your chest. 

“Never gonna be finished with you.”

tags: @figsnpassionfruits @slaymewithaspoon @hunbomb @lanassmarty @zxaera @silversprings-mp3 @velvrei

[dinogoofymutated]

NSFW! Nightcrawler/GN!Reader

This is purely self-indulgent smuttiness for Kurt, because sometimes cuteness aggression surfaces as really wanting to suck a man's dick. I know we haven't actually seen him in the 97' show yet, but I couldn't help myself. Think of this as a mixture between show Kurt and Comic Kurt. Or imagine any Kurt really.

Tw: MDNI!!!! Oral, slight cursing. Reader was pictured as AFAB while writing but no specific genitals or pronouns are mentioned.

Trying to relax in the X mansion was near impossible. There's always some event, some drama or loudness taking place. Living with gambit was hard enough with the explosions and shit, but after Jubilee moved in…

There was just no Peace in this house. Even though you wouldn't trade it for the world, there wasn't exactly any "me" time, If you catch my drift. It was ridiculously hard to find time for yourself, leaving you a bit more pent up than normal.

On top of that, there was almost always some sexual tension in the house. Rogue and gambit, Jean and Scott. Morph. Literally just Morph, and their innuendos. It was hard enough to see Rogue and Remy tip-toe around eachother, But Jean and Scott? You can't remember a time they weren't sneaking off together to get laid.

All this had left you ridiculous stiff. No free time, surrounded by the adult equivalent of horny teens, it was taking a toll on you. When Kurt came back to the mansion, you were over the moon to see him.

You loved your boyfriend so incredibly much, but never before had you been thinking such sinful thoughts about him. You'd steel glances of his toned arms when he'd hand you something. Glance at his ass when he walked by. Hell, just his smile and laugh would get you going.

He was just so cute. He's loving, and caring, and kind. You felt so lucky to be with him, but that didn't change the fact that you wanted to jump his bones, bad. You wanted to suck this man dry, and as embarrassed you are to admit it, you didn't hesitate to. The moment you finally had him in your bed, you knew you were going to give this man the best head of his life.

“You want to-?” Kurt’s breath hitches, the faint pupils in his yellow eyes dilating. His adam's apple bobbs as he looks away from your heated gaze and sets his eyes on your hands, idly stroking down his soft abdomen. You lean down to kiss him again, tenderly. He returns the kiss eagerly, his tail swaying back and forth on the bed. It takes a moment for you to be able to focus enough to get back on task.

“Please, Kurt.” You beg, breaking the kiss with him. He chases after your lips, and the action is so cute you can't help but kiss him again, and again. You kiss the corner of his mouth, before kissing the crook of his neck, and then his collarbone, dragging your teeth across the velvety blue skin. His soft moans are music to your ears as your hands drag lower, gently cupping the bulge that had started to grow. The air catches in his chest, but you don't tease him for long, moving your hands up and down his chest once again. His tail wraps around one of your wrists.

“Are you sure?” Kurt asks, one of his hands reaching up to brush the hair out of your face. You can help but lean into the touch with a sigh, mouth watering at the prospect of having him against your tongue. You smile at him, scoffing just lightly.

“Of course I am, silly.” The words come out breathlessly. “Why wouldn't I be?” You trail kisses lower, paying special attention to the curly hair of his happy trail as you softly run your fingers across his skin. Kurt swallows, letting out a quiet whine as you start to slide his sweatpants down to free his cock.

“ ‘Just… Don't want you to feel like you have to, Schatz- Hng..” He lets out a choaked groan as you start to press kisses along his inner thighs as you remove the pants completely. You giggle a little, aiming to make him moan just a little louder as you start to stroke and kiss along his length.

“Believe me, love, I wouldn't be begging for it if I did.” You respond. Kurt opens his mouth to speak again, only to cut himself off with a sharp “Ah!” as you take the head of his cock into your mouth and start to suck. The end of his tail twitches, still wrapped around your wrist, and he chuckles.

“That was a dirty trick,” He says, reaching down to move the hair out of your face. You hum in appreciation as his hand gathers your locks, holding the hair back so he can see you better. You reward him by taking more of him into your mouth, reveling in the noises you receive in return. His skin is smooth and soft, and you find yourself appreciating every inch of him you can fit in your mouth.

You're doing your very best to give him exactly the kind of head he deserves for being so sweet and loving and caring. You think about the chores he's done without asking since he's been back as you swirl your tongue around his tip. The book he brought you as a souvenir as you glide back down, nosing the dark blue patch of curls. God- he was just the most perfect man you had ever met, and you were determined to reward him for that.

“Scheisse- I… Liebe, I'm going to…ah!” Kurt begins to writhe underneath you, and it gives you the best satisfaction when you open your eyes to see his face contorted in the throes of pleasure. You savor the taste of his skin as he begins to twitch in your mouth. His grip tightens around your hair, he free hand opening and clenching as he scrambles for purchase on the bed. You take hold of it, lacing your hands together as best you can just in time for him to reach his peak.

You never really liked the taste or texture of cum, but for Kurt, You'd swallow every drop he gives you. You work him through his high as he squeezes your hand, moaning at the sensation. His moans turn to whines as he becomes sensitive, his tail unwinding Itself from your wrist. You can tell just by looking at it that it might bruise, but you wouldn't dare tell him that.

His grip loosens on your hair as you pull away from him. His yellow eyes are teary and his muscles are relaxed and boneless, but that doesn't stop him from sitting up a little and sliding his hand behind the nape of your neck to pull you in for a deep kiss. His kisses are loving and passionate, they leave you breathless when he pulls away. Kurt licks his lips as he takes you in, chest heaving. You can only imagine how you look with messy hair and swollen, spit stained lips, but there's nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“I love you.” He says, after a moment of silence. “I'm in love with you. You know this, Ja?” His other arm wraps around your waist, tugging you even closer to him. You can't wipe the smile off your face as you lean in, resting your forehead against his own, pressing a chaste kiss against his nose.

“I do. I promise.” You reply. Kurt grins, and you can briefly hear the sound of his tail swishing in a way you know means he's thinking about doing something mischievous, and the next thing you know, there's a *Bamf!* as you fall into where he was once sitting on the bed. You have the slightest moment of confusion before Kurt is behind you. He grabs hold of you, leaning back to make you fall backwards into him with your back against his bare chest. He presses kisses along your neck and maneuvers you into his lap. Your legs are hooked over his own, his knees widening the space between your thighs as his hands trail so close to where you want him to be.

“Please, let me return the favor, my love.”

[meteor752]

My ideas for the superhero names for the wild life people

Some are better than others

Ren-Roleplay: Very self explanatory. He’s a theatre kid and borderline a larper, and his powers are that he pretends to be someone else, it works very well, and it’s a fun superhero name

Martyn-Spyglass: There’s the obvious connection to the last life spyglasses, but it’s also a reference to how he’s, you know, a spy. He listens in on peoples conversations. Also, spyglasses are traditionally used to watch people, but he listens to them. I think it’s a bit clever

Gem-Projectile: Obviously it’s a play on astral projection, but also on Gem as a person. A projectile is a thing in motion, and is commonly used to refer to things like bullets and arrows that are being launched. Gem is a killer, I think it sorta works

Joel-Triple Threat: Extremely self explanatory. He can triple jump, and like that’s about it. He’s a threat. Not all of them are bangers. I just like the sound of it lol

Jimmy-No-Show: I just love the idea of a superhero with invisibility powers’ name being No-Show. I think it sounds really cool. Not particularly personal to Jimmy, but I like it

Lizzie-Voidable: Play on the word Avoidable, since she sometimes used her powers to disappear. Also a reference to her death in Secret Life. (Also I just looked it up to double check and apparently it is a word, for when for example a contract is able to be made void. She made the canary curse void, in a way, so I think it still works)

Scar-Giddy Up: Simple, he rides people. Couldn’t work in the knockback/“Scar Smash” aspect of it, but you know make that a surprise.

Etho-Air Borne: He launches himself into the sky, specifically by using wind charges, aka air. He also has an infinite supply of the charges, that I think he can use to attack people? So yeah, possessor of air.

Bdubs-Clock Out: I really like this one. Because yes, it’s clock like how he can slow time (and also his obsession with them) but then there’s also, you know, clocking out like from work, probably to go home and rest, working in his bed ability. Also it sounds like Knock Out, which is a thing you can say about someone who’s fallen asleep when very tired.

Tango-Slip N’ Slide: A very fun superhero name. Slip, of course referring to the ice, and then slide technically referring to it as well but also his speed. Also, rolls straight off the tongue.

Grian-Mastermind: Copycat and Mimic are such obvious names for someone with the mimicry ability, I didn’t wanna go for it. Instead, mastermind referring both to his status as the creator of the games and the one who came up with everyone else’s powers, but also how he’s the master of his own fate, constantly changing up his powers. It’s fun, and it sounds a little villainy which we love

Bigb-Cracking: Of course a play on the word creaking, but also referring to the sound that both the mob and the surrounding trees make when defeated, showing that he has the control to both create and destroy them at will.

Cleo-Necrosis: Didn’t wanna just go with Necromancer, that’s boring. Necrosis is the death of cells in body tissue, essentially creating dead skin. They’re a necromancer that literally summon zombies, and those bad boys have plenty of dead skin.

Impulse-Flicker: He can teleport, just zapping here and there with no problem. You blink and he’s gone, as if he’s flickered out of existence. Also an homage to flickering lightbulbs, and he does have a history of light sources. I think it’s fun

Pearl-Gravity: She can launch herself into the sky, ignoring gravity completely. It’s also a play on her moon motif, a little bit.

Scott-Shifty: Yes, he can shift into animals, but it’s also related to his sly and cunning nature, and how because of his power everyone became insanely paranoid over every mob

I like superhero names a lot 👍

[skywlkrhoney]

The echo of the dead

Scott Barringer x Fem!reader

Jepeers Creepers!AU

Terror, angst

Warnings: Explicit deaths (not Scott or reader), panic attack, a demonic creature hunting and killing teenagers (Scott being a great, protective boyfriend)

Author’s Note: I just LOVE this movie — it’s one of my favorite classic horror films. So I thought, “Why not mix two things I adore?” In this imagine, I changed a bit of the original plot and also renamed one of the main characters, Scott Braddock, to Jack, just so your beautiful little heads don’t get confused. Hope you enjoy!!

It was supposed to be just a school trip for the basketball team.

In broad daylight, everyone was excited—Scott and the other guys were singing loudly, while Minxie, Rhonda, Chelsea, and I laughed at their antics. Everything was going well. Everything was fine. Until that bone-made throwing star pierced one of the bus tires.

Now, the sun had vanished from the sky, replaced by a deep darkness, illuminated only by the moon and stars. That horrid creature was flying above us, over the bus—which was now completely destroyed: shattered windows, the roof torn open by a grotesque drill, and our friends’ bodies scattered on the ground, mercilessly killed.

Scott, Rhonda, Jake, Minxie, and I were crouched between the seats. Rhonda was hiding with Jake in the aisle ahead of us, and Minxie was in the seats beside us. Scott’s arms were around me, trembling, just like I was. Both my hands covered my mouth, trying to prevent any sound from escaping. My cheeks were wet with tears that wouldn’t stop falling—tears of pure fear.

I flinched at every little noise—the distant crack of something breaking, the sound of the wind hitting the broken windows, the metallic creak coming from the roof. Everything made me shudder. Scott held me tighter, as if he wanted to protect me from all of it. I felt him gently press his face against the side of my head and, with a slow and tender kiss, he whispered in my ear:

“We’re going to be okay. We’ll get out of here, I promise…”

He lifted one hand and began to gently stroke my hair; his touch was almost like an antidote to the panic. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold back the sobs threatening to explode inside me, and just nodded, too scared to speak. A muffled sob escaped, low and stifled between my fingers.

Then, the ground trembled slightly. The bus vibrated entirely, as if something very heavy had landed on it. The silence that followed was dense, suffocating. Everyone held their breath at the same time.

Then, like a nightmare taking shape, he appeared.

The deformed silhouette of the Creeper emerged through the rear window, his eyes glowing a sickly red under the moonlight. The creature pressed its monstrous face against the cracked glass, scanning the bus’s interior, sniffing out fear. Panic was immediate. Everyone stood up at once, running toward the front exit, bumping into seats, shoulders, and stumbling in desperation.

Jake was pulling the door latch hard, but it was stuck, as if fear had materialized there too, in the details. Rhonda looked back—and her choked scream came out as a ragged sob. The Creeper was now inside the bus, crawling upside down along the ceiling like a hellish spider. Its clawed feet scraped the metal, making a sharp, cutting sound.

“Hurry, Jake!” Scott shouted, going to help him.

With a dry snap and painful creak, the door finally opened, revealing the night. A strong wind blew into the bus, as if calling them.

“Run!” Jake shouted, pulling Rhonda by the hand. 

We all ran into the field, our feet sinking into the uneven ground, not looking back, thinking only of escaping that cursed creature. The bus was left behind like a war scene, a tomb of memories we’d never forget.

And the Creeper… he was coming after us.

He exited through the opening in the bus roof—that grotesque drill he had created—and watched us as if we were mere pieces in his demonic game. The Creeper’s eyes scanned the field with sadistic calm, as if he knew that no matter where we ran, he would eventually find us.

Scott held my hand tightly, keeping me close as we ran side by side. Our feet sank into the dry, rough ground. We were silent, but terror roared inside. Then we heard the sound. The unmistakable sound of wings cutting through the wind. Strong. Fast.

I didn’t have the courage to look back.

I just kept running, aimlessly, until we spotted a seemingly abandoned barn in the distance. It was old, with creaking wood and broken windows—but it looked like a refuge.

Suddenly, behind us, I heard a strangled scream, a sound that cut through the air and made my blood instantly freeze. My body stopped instinctively, and I turned around. And there they were. Rhonda and Jake, my friends… their necks pierced by those same bone-made throwing stars—the same ones that had punctured the bus tires earlier.

A desperate scream escaped my throat, involuntary. Tears flooded my vision, and for a moment, I couldn’t move.

“Run!” Scott shouted, pulling me back to reality. “Let’s go!”

I ran.

We entered the barn, breathless, consumed by a fear that no longer fit in our chests. We desperately searched for a place to hide until we found a corner between hay bales and loose boards—a narrow, tight space that would protect us for now. We squeezed in there, clinging to each other.

It was only when the adrenaline began to subside that everything hit me at once.

I started to cry. They weren’t silent tears; they were trembling, uncontrolled sobs. My whole body shook as scenes of the deaths replayed in my mind: the blood splattering, the echo of the dead, the screams that still echoed in my ears. Each one was a memory too painful to bear.

Scott hugged me tightly, wrapping his arms around me. He lowered his head and rested it against mine, not saying a word for a few seconds, just breathing with me. He was comforting me, but I knew… he had lost friends too. He was also shattered inside. But even so, he was protecting me. He was putting his pain aside to take care of mine.

I felt him take off his team jacket and place it over my shoulders, wrapping me up. It was warm, smelled like him—earth, sweat, and something familiar. I was trembling less now.

“I’m here with you…” he whispered, almost like a prayer.

We stayed like that for hours. Sitting on the cold floor, leaning against the aged wooden boards, holding onto each other as if we were the last refuge for one another. The night outside seemed endless.

At some point, my eyes began to grow heavy. My sobs ceased, turning into broken sighs. I dozed off there, on Scott’s chest, while he absentmindedly ran his fingers through my hair, staying awake, watching, protecting.

A dry noise outside—a mix between the creak of a stepped-on board and the muffled dragging of feet—startled me awake. My body reacted before my mind could understand what was happening. I sat up with a jolt, heart racing, and looked at Scott, who was already on high alert. He slowly rose, crouching, eyes fixed on the barn entrance. He extended an arm backward, creating a protective barrier, keeping me hidden behind him.

My breath caught in my throat. The ensuing silence seemed eternal—until two figures emerged from the shadows.

“It’s us!” said a muffled, almost desperate voice.

It was Chelsea, her face dirty, eyes brimming with tears. And right behind her, Andy, also breathless, clothes torn with dirt and sweat, his face covered in blood.

An overwhelming relief washed over me. I stood up, staggering, and before any words were spoken, Chelsea ran to me and hugged me tightly, holding me against her chest.

“I thought you were dead…” she whimpered against my shoulder, squeezing me as if to make sure I was real.

“I thought you guys…” my voice faltered, and all I could do was hug her back with all the strength I had left.

On the other side, Scott quickly embraced Andy, and without wasting time, he whispered urgently:

“Minxie found help. A man—I think it’s the Taggarts. They’re on the other side of the field.”

The mention of Minxie being alive made my chest tighten. Scott looked at me with determination, wrapped his arm around my waist, and helped me stand up completely.

“Let’s go,” he said without hesitation.

We left the barn quickly, careful not to make too much noise. The stars still blanketed the sky, but a faint gray glow was beginning to stretch along the horizon—dawn wasn’t far off.

The moment we stepped into the open field, my body froze.

There he was. The Creeper.

His grotesque, twisted body lay motionless on the ground. A long spear pierced straight through his chest, pinning him into the grass. Standing beside the creature was an older man with a hardened expression and eyes locked on the monster—old Taggart. Even wounded, he held the spear firm, his gaze steady with the resolve of someone who had waited a long, long time for this moment.

Around him, the few kids who had made it out alive were falling apart. Minxie was on her knees, hands over her face, crying softly. The others whispered, some in shock, some trying to comfort each other—but none of them looked like they truly believed we’d survived.

The tense silence was broken by a hoarse, guttural shout—Taggart.

He gripped the spear with both hands, arms trembling from the effort, eyes locked on the fallen creature. The Creeper didn’t move, but that didn’t satisfy him. With a roar full of years of hate, he drove the spear deeper into the monster’s chest.

And again.

And again.

Each stab came with a wet, sickening sound—bones snapping, flesh—or whatever passed for it—being ripped apart. It was brutal. Merciless. But no amount of revenge could ever bring back the ones we’d lost.

I couldn’t keep watching.

I turned my face away, eyes clamped shut. The tears came before I even noticed—tears of sorrow, of injustice… for my friends who would never come back, for the screams still echoing in my head, for the memories I’d give anything to erase.

I felt Scott’s big, warm hands gently touch my face. He cupped my cheeks like I was made of glass, pulled me into him, and kissed my forehead over and over again with a tenderness that broke something inside me.

“It’s over,” he whispered against my skin. “It’s over, Y/N. We’re safe now… you’re safe.”

His voice trembled just slightly. I knew he was crying on the inside too, even if he tried to stay strong for me.

That’s when Minxie, still kneeling in the grass, her eyes locked on the fallen creature, spoke—softly, distantly, like she was in a trance:

“He’s not dead… he’s just sleeping.”

“He’ll be back… twenty-three springs from now.”

Everyone turned to her. The air seemed to freeze.

Old Taggart, hands still resting on the spear driven into the Creeper’s chest, looked at us. His face was sweaty, lined with age, and calm with the weight of someone who’d already made peace with his purpose.

“Twenty-three years from now,” he said, voice steady. “I’ll be right here waiting for him. With this aimed straight at his face.”

The field went quiet again.

Only the sound of wind rustling through the trees remained—a dark whisper of what was still to come.

Scott turned back to me, his eyes red from exhaustion and emotion. He didn’t say a word, just pulled me into his arms like the world was still falling down around us and I was the only thing that mattered. The hug wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was steady. Like someone holding on to what they’d nearly lost for good. I buried my face in his chest, breathing in his warmth, his scent, the impossible sense of safety in such a broken night.

And there, in the middle of that field, surrounded by silence and loss, we stayed.

Just two survivors learning how to breathe again.

[plutoswritingplanet]

am I the only sour cherry on your fruit stand? (Derek Hale x Female!Reader)

a/n: I have no expanation, other than me and my partner are rewatching Teen Wolf together, and I really wanted to write some filth

Warnings: Carpet Munching (ha), Enemies to Lovers except not really enemies to not really lovers, Full Moon Shenanigans, Shotgunning,

Summary: It's a constant dance between you and Derek. You hate him, he's supposed to hate you. He wants you in his pack, you want him to leave your brother the hell alone. Either way, the full moon always brings out the darkest of truths to the surface.

MASTERLIST

Your body is so cold.

An overwhelming feeling of a slow, creeping chill climbs through your veins. Breath coming out in quick, sharp gasps, you lay frozen on the wooden floor, the charred and twisted presence of the Hale house looming over you. The broken roof stares at your form, laughing mockingly at your predicament, as the floorboards greedily soak up your blood. As if they try to eat the very essence, suck the marrow from your bones. 

You can feel it leaving your body. A steady, crimson stream, dripping out like a broken faucet, your vision blurring with each drop. And, by God, does it hurt. It hurts like nothing you've ever felt. You've been hurt before, of course. Throughout your life, you've suffered injuries big and small, but this... Nothing could prepare you for the sharp, burning sensation spreading throughout you, frayed nerve endings screaming for help. You'd take a broken bone any day, instead of this. 

The bullet went right through the side of your stomach. A last hurrah on Kate Argent's part, as she pulled the trigger blindly, right before her throat was ripped out. She's in here somewhere, as well. Her lifeless body staring at you with unseeing eyes. Some twisted sense of ancient justice, her dying in this house. The Hale family has finally gotten their revenge. You'll join the Hunter soon enough. Perhaps this is your punishment for being unnecessarily rude to Derek. 

Just another soul claimed by this cursed place, about to join the tally. Innocent? No, that's for sure not the case. You could be called many things, but innocent wasn't one. Hell, some people wouldn't even call you good. But if there's anything you've got going for you, it's you're loyal. Which, is the sole reason you've landed in this situation, in the first place. You're loyal to your fucking grave. 

Someone grabs your hand, the back of your head cradling it softly, you can feel shar points of a clawed hand scratching lightly at your scalp. Through the fog of darkness, you can see your baby brother. Tears gather in his eyes, and despite your sorry state, you can't shake the instinct to make it better. To somehow protect him from the pain of your own imminent passing. Like you've always done, combining your efforts with your mother, and keeping all the monsters away. Shining a proverbial flashlight under the bed. 

"It's okay" you manage to choke out, not entirely able to recognize your voice "You'll be okay" 

Your hand shakes in his, and Scott screams for help, teeth growing into sharp fangs at the sudden crash of emotions. His eyes shine that blasted shade of yellow, as he begs for something. Anything. Your heart breaks for him. You've managed to save him from a stray bullet, but you can't do anything now. You can't protect him, and it tears you apart more than any Wolfsbane covered casing could. 

And then you see another person, looking at you through the fog.

Your heart skips a bit, although whether it's from the blood loss, or the man leaning above you, is anyone's guess. 

Red eyes bear down onto you, a calloused hand resting on your cheek, and your eyebrows furrow, as Derek Hale brings his face closer. Perhaps it's the delirium setting in, but for just a split-second, you're almost convinced his expression twists into that of concern. 

Which, given your current situation, would be warranted, if not for one simple fact, that's been hanging over the both of you, ever since your first meeting. 

You hate each other. 

Or at least, you hate him. Deeply despise everything he stands for, especially since he's been acting like a complete and utter dick to your brother, threatening him at least two times a day. And you couldn't let that slide, couldn't see the tremendous amounts of stress, he's been putting your brother through, and not react. 

"Please, Derek." your brother begs, his voice breaking, "Save her, please."

It takes you a moment, your brain is slowly, but surely being deprived of oxygen. But once the implications of your brother's words hit, a new sense of purpose floods your bones. It's not panic, not necessarily. You've always been much too calm and collected, to let yourself be drowned by fear. 

You suppose it's the curse of being the oldest sibling, this outward tranquility, mixed with boiling rage just beneath the surface. 

Derek leans down, red eyes search yours, although, you can see by the determined tick of his jaw, that he's already made his decision. For just a second, you're tempted. You don't want to die, of course you don't. And the idea of being so much stronger, more resilient, being able to protect those you love, without tearing your veins out in the process... You'd be a fool not to consider it. 

But then, you look into his red eyes, burning like coals in a dying fire, and something akin to a steel conviction settles itself over you, like a protective blanket. 

Your shaking hand rises, fingers trembling, as they slide over Derek's cheekbone. He freezes under your touch, eyes widening slightly, at the unexpected, tender contact. Your eyebrows scrunch in concentration, and he sucks in a sharp breath, as the pads of your fingers press against his mouth. 

With the last, fraying remnants of strength, you push, until you can feel his teeth through the soft plush of his lips.

"Don't..." a wheezing intake of breath rattles through your lungs, as you force yourself to focus

"Don't you fucking dare"

Derek's mouth opens, a silent gasp pushing past your fingers, and your hand falls onto the ground. 

The sudden, cold steeliness of his burning, red gaze is the last thing you remember, before waking up in Beacon Hills General Hospital, your mother and your brother at your side.

***

From that point onward, Derek's name is like a constant presence, looming over your life, whether you like it or not. And truth be told, you really, really don't like it.

Having now taken the power of the Alpha, he's become even more insufferable, if that's possible. And as such, you've decided the best course of action, was to steer clear of him, to save yourself from any more anger issues. 

After recovering from having the right side of your body obliterated by a bullet, you took time to search for a job. You've found one relatively quickly, as a waitress at a small diner right at the edge of Beacon Hills. It was such a typical, American place, filled with the smell of grease and cheap coffee. But it payed well enough, and the owner, an older woman with a warm, round face, was almost too excited by a prospect of 'fresh blood' working for her. You didn't mention, that you're not exactly 'fresh blood'. Nor did you remind her, that during your rebellious teenage phase, you used to draw graffiti over the back of her establishment.

You're not that angry, troubled teen anymore. You've dealt with it. For the most part. 

Doesn't change the fact, that every time you slip out the back entrance for your break, your eyes follow the painted over ghosts of your highschool years. Doesn't change the small, almost wistful smile, tugging at the corners of your perpetually frowning lips. You used to smile more back then. You used to be kinder.

Derek never invades your place of work, not once. Small blessings, you suppose. 

For the most part, he tries to keep his distance from you, despite the fact, that circumstances keep forcing him to work with your brother, and as such, bringing him into your orbit. 

Even the mention of his name, in passing conversation, evokes emotions you're not sure how to deal with. Because yes, you hate him. He's annoying, he's all that. But there's also this strange hint of understanding, of kinship between two born protectors. Two people, who care so deeply, in such an overwhelming manner, they have to hide behind a mask of thorns, just to keep themselves safe. 

You can't shake the feeling, that during that small interaction, where he almost made you the first addition to his pack, he saw you. He saw, what you are, every part that makes you, who you are, and understood it without a second thought. 

And you can't have that. The idea is so preposterous, so terrifying, you have to actively fight it away, everytime you even catch a whiff of his presence. 

Avoiding him goes pretty easily. You tend to stay away from the supernatural aspects of your brother's life anyways, too focused on helping your mom keeping the house afloat. Sometimes it's better not to know, and you consciously make the effort to know as little as possible. 

That is, until one evening, you exit your run down car, and see him standing right outside your house, throwing daggers at the closed door. One of his Betas, you're pretty sure his name is Boyd, stands next to him, his overgrown-for-a-teenager statue practically dwarfing Derek. The sight would be comical, if you weren't so god-damned tired, and this wasn't your house they were standing in front of. 

Turning the ignition off, you wonder for a moment, if this is worth the trouble. Perhaps a couple laps around the neighborhood would do you good. Avoiding confrontation went so well until now, you're almost mournful to end it. But then again, the gas prices are definitely more annoying, than the werewolf's presence, so you open the creaking door and leave the car.

His eyes snap to you, as the car door slams shut, and for a moment he seems almost surprised you're here. Then, his jaw tightens, as he schools his expression back to a grumpy frown, one you've come to consider synonymous with him. 

"Miss McCall" Boyd nods at you, to Derek's general displeasure, and you respond with a wave.

"I don't remember inviting you guys for dinner" you say, stopping to stand a safe distance from the two werewolves "I would've bought kibble"

A low hanging joke, you're aware, but your legs hurt from running around the diner, and your hair smells of grease, so you feel justified. 

Something sounding almost like a low grow,l grumbles deep in Derek's throat, as he tears his gaze away from the house, pinning you in place with the sheer intensity of the look he gives you. 

Boyd just looks confused.

"We're not here for you" he says, keeping his voice low and measured, although, it doesn't take a genius to gather, there's something else hidden behind his words. 

"Well good" you respond, barely keeping your eyes from rolling, your gaze landing on the kitchen window of your house. 

A soft 'huh' leaves your mouth, as something moves the curtain behind the glass. You can see quick movement inside, but before you can take a step towards the direction of your place, Derek interjects, almost hurriedly.

"Although since you're here..."

Containing an eye roll around him, should become your personal sport niche. Shooting him an unimpressed look, you cross your arms in front of your chest, and definitely ignore the way his eyes linger on the cleavage of your work uniform, which just so happens to be pushed up by the gesture. Hate is a funny thing, and you're not sure, if you can blame it for the sudden fluttering, stirring in your stomach. You're not about to dwell on it, not at all. And you're absolutely not going to dwell on the way, he wets his lips before speaking. 

Nope. Not at all. 

"I've been meaning to talk to you" he starts, after taking a deep breath, as if to compose himself.

Now, that must be a lie, because you know good and god-damned well, he hasn't approached you since the Hale House incident. 

"About?" the borderline indifferent tone of your voice, cuts through the invisible bubble of tension between the two of you.

A moment of silence stretches in the rapidly approaching evening, shadows growing on his face, accentuating the frown that's settled over his expression. You try to remain unaffected, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Your eyes catch a glimpse of a blue jeep, that most certainly belongs to Stiles, and although his visits at your house aren't unexpected, something akin to suspicion climbs up your back. Stiles and Scott camping at the house, that's nothing new. But the addition of Derek, alongside his teenage bodyguard... That's definitely a reason for being worried.

As if sensing the sudden change in your thoughts, Derek takes a step closer, his boots crunching on the gravel road. Your muscles tense involuntarily, an instinct you can't seem to get rid of, and your eyebrows shoot up, daring him to come even closer. Daring him to do something, you'll both regret. 

"Why didn't you let me change you?" he asks, voice so low, you can barely hear him. 

Boyd's head snaps in your direction, confusion mounting on his face. 

And just like that, all thoughts and suspicions about the werewolf's presence, get thrown out the proverbial window. Sucking in a sharp breath at the question, your lower lip migrates between your teeth, Derek's gaze zeroing on it with laser-sharp focus. 

"You could've died, and yet, you refused" he continues, taking another step "I could've saved you."

A sharp scoff leaves you, as if the scenario is beyond preposterous. And to some degree, it is. 

"Is it really such a ridiculous idea?" his tone dips even lower, into something almost too seductive, too much like dark persuasion "Imagine the power, the strength I could give you..."

"Strength to do what?" you challenge "Wipe tables faster? Be fucking for real."

A small, almost imperceivable smile splits his lips, and you catch a glimpse of his perpetually sharpened canine teeth. One more step closer, and suddenly he's standing right on the edge of your personal bubble, dancing on what's considered proper between two people, who supposedly despise each other. That small change whispers to you, compels you to let your arms fall from your chest, your defenses lowering without your consent. 

"You wouldn't have to wipe any tables, ever. If you'd join my pack" Derek promises, and the way words leave his mouth, makes you want to believe him. 

Alas, you're a realist, through and through. Your feet stay planted on the ground, no matter what, and in this moment, you know, you have to end this. Before any more ridiculous promises are made. Before you actually fall for one of them. 

"And how would that work, huh?" another challenge, and Derek's eyebrows jerk upwards "Is there a magical, supernatural fund for new werewolves? Do you pay hourly?"

This time, it's Derek's turn to roll his eyes, and the gesture makes heat rise in your bones. He shouldn't look this good while frustrated, the clicking muscles of his jaw almost begging you to go further, to push him.

"I have a family to take care of, you know." you seethe through your teeth, before stopping yourself. 

You could say more. You almost want to say more, words already forming on your tongue, and tasting like bitter venom. Scolding words about his family, about his strange determination to remain detached from the real world. But you swallow them, knowing full-well, that despite Derek's many faults, he doesn't deserve that much. And yes, you're confrontational, sometimes even rude. But you're not cruel. 

Derek notices your angry restrain, his eyes flitting around the way your lips are pressed tightly together. There's a slight note of appreciation, when he speaks next, as if the previous animosity was lifted, by the evening wind, and carried somewhere far away. 

"I know, you're a protector, through and through" he whispers, finally crossing that imaginary line "You'd fit so well, you're just what I need"

Boyd's eyebrows nearly jump off his face, as he looks between Scott McCall's asshole sister, and his Alpha. Derek never mentioned wanting to turn you. Hell, he never mentioned you at all, despite Isaac's efforts at baiting him into a discussion about your tits, and other, less important values. 

"My pack needs someone like you" Derek presses, his hand sneaking closer, fingers brushing over your wrist, and it's as if you've been touched by fire itself. 

End this. You have to end this now. 

A sharp, cutting scoff leaves you, as you rip your hand back, crossing your arms around your chest once again. 

"So you came here to baby-trap me with a bunch of teenagers." your voice is like ice, crushing the bubble of tension between your teeth, and Derek reels back.

He's stubborn, of course. Years of constant defeat have made him desperate to get what he wants. But in this moment, looking into your cold, stinging eyes, he understands with utmost clarity, there's no going through to you. Not today, at least. And so, he steps back with a small nod, an acceptance of temporary failure, before his gaze hardens enough, to make a shiver run up your spine. 

"No" he says, with a strange sort of finality "I didn't come here for you. I came here to kill Lydia Martin."

Immediately, your mind flies to the metal baseball bat, you keep hidden in your car, and deep down inside you're glad, you haven't lost your cool completely. He soaks in the way your expression twists, into one of unbridled, righteous rage, already imagining, how your eyes would look like, burning with amber flames of werewolf powers. And what a glorious sight it would be. You were already so fierce, such a strong personality, he could only picture, what a wonderful Beta you'd be. Loyal to a fault, protective beyond control. The tough alone makes him shiver. 

As if on cue, the door to your house opens, two bodies flying out of the darkness, and you watch, with growing confusion as Erica and Isaac land on the front lawn, grunting in pain, and precariously unable to move. 

"What the f-" you murmur under your nose, and Derek seems to echo the sentiment. 

Then, much to your relief, your brother steps out onto the porch, Stiles and Allison in tow behind him. Your body reacts faster, than your brain can comprehend, your feet carrying you forward. That is, until Derek's now clawed hand, wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His touch burns you, shoots through your body like an arrow. The way his thumb presses into the underside of your wrist, the ligt scrape of his claws on your skin. You must be going insane. You must be. 

For a second you're ready to whip around, and show him, why your right hook was famous throughout the whole Beacon Hills. But before you can, the window to Scott's room opens, and some strange, lizard creature crawls out, it's scales shining in the moonlight. It throws a menacing hiss in the general direction of the group, then jumps off into the darkness, leaving you confused, and maybe, just a little bit terrified. Derek hand tightens around you, tugging you back in a gesture, that would be considered protective, if you weren't struggling with an onslaugh of confusing feelings right now. 

By the time Lydia Martin exits the house, your wrist has a perfect imprint of Derek's fingers around it. 

***

Nothing fixes supernatural nonsense better, than throwing yourself into work. 

At least, that's what you tell yourself, as you swish all over the diner, serving coffee refills, hash browns, and slices of not-exactly-homemade cherry pie. White tennis shoes squeal urgently on the linoleum floor, when you finally get called over for your break. The kitchen welcomes you with the sounds of oil cracking, and the main cook throwing another crappy pick-up line your way. You've grown to appreciate them, knowing full-well he would never step out of line. It's the beauty of working in a diner, you suppose. 

Pushing the back door open, you pull out a half-empty pack of cigarettes, another habit you've picked up, while working here. First, it started as a way to relate to other workers, make yourself more social, in a way. Now however, as all addictions, it's a subconscious need, a welcome distraction from the absolute cluster fuck, that is your life. 

The air is crisp, and fresh, filled with an ever-present scent of the woods, which surround the diner on three fronts. A perfect horror setting, you think with a small laugh, as you perch yourself on a stack of cardboard boxes, leaning your head against the wall of the diner. The AC unit hums loudly above you, and you soak in the rhythmic sound, so much more calming, than the constant chaos inside. 

With a small huff, you set the timer on your phone to fifteen minutes, and finally pull out a cigarette, alongside a well-used lighter, you totally did not steal from one of your coworkers. The bombshell blonde in an American flag bikini stares at you from the plastic, as you light one up, taking a long, glorious drag, the delicate burn in your lungs grounding you.  

"These'll kill you" a familiar voice chokes the smoke out of you, and your eyes fall onto none other, but Derek Hale, approaching you with a strange sense of purpose from the tree line. 

Standing up, you throw him a glare, that doesn't look half as hostile, as you would've liked.

"I told you not to come around he-" 

The rest of the sentence gets cut off, as Derek crosses the remaining space between the two of you, kicking the cardboard boxes away, so he can fully push you into the wall. Coldness of the concrete seeps into your skin, despite the flimsy covering of your work uniform, and before you can shake off the shock, of being so close to him, he leans even further in, taking a deep breath, his nose sticking into your hair. There's a low, almost whining sound coming from him, as he exhales, and despite your general distaste for the man, your body warms up in a way, you haven't felt for a while now. 

An involuntary gasp leaves your lips, as the cigarette slips from your hand. Derek catches it in a casual display of his werewolf reflexes, and you will never admit, that it was very fucking cool. 

"The fuck are you-"

"No" he interrupts you again, causing your teeth to grind against each other in frustration "Stop this. Just stop talking." 

There's an unexplainable tension in his voice, something not entirely human creeping into the surface. Your eyes flicker up, above his shoulder, above the tree line, until it lands on the full face of the moon, staring back at you, almost taunting. Still, shouldn't he be practically immune to those things, he's supposed to be an Alpha, or whatever goofy thing he calls himself these days. 

Despite his status, Derek's eyes drop to your neck, where your pulse is picking up more and more, sprung on by the strangeness of this situation. 

You can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, goosebumps erupting all across your arms, as something not entirely unpleasant twists inside your stomach. Your chest expands in a shaky breath, and suddenly you're surrounded by the smell of pine tar and smoke, mixed with something so distinctly his, it makes your head swim, just a little. 

"Derek..." his eyes snap up to your face, when his name leaves your lips, and for the first time, since you've met him, you notice just how blue his eyes are. 

They're nearly burning, glossed over with something you don't dare to decipher, as they trace a slow path down, right to your lips. 

A resounding chorus of 'What the fuck?' repeats inside your brain, when he sucks on his own bottom lip, wetting it with his tongue, as if noticing something too delicious to resist. 

Your hands find purchase on his upper arms, fingers digging into the muscles, stuck in a limbo between pushing him away, and just... Letting him.

"Just..." he starts, then cuts himself off, swallowing thickly "Just stop talking."

Now that'll be the fucking day, you think, but before you can formulate some biting response, Derek's hand travels upwards, the still burning cigarette held firmly between his pointer and middle finger. Eyes zeroing in on your mouth again, he presses the filter between your parted lips. 

"In" he says firmly, voice low, bordering on a growl, and the undertone of command tinging that single word, makes your insides melt into a puddle.

Seemingly on their own, your lips close around the filter, as you take a deep inhale, feeling the familiar burn travel through your throat, all the way to your lungs. Nicotine filters through your blood, stealing your breath away, and making your head feel so much lighter. You shouldn't have brought such strong ones, and now you're paying for it.

"Hold it" Derek murmurs, his free hand climbing up your body. 

Clawed fingers slide up the apron, teasing the white ties on your lower back. Then, without a warning, he grabs a hold of your breast, squeezing it tightly, before running his thumb over you rapidly hardening nipple. The action forces a gasp out of you, alongside a cloud of smoke, which immediately gets swallowed down by Derek, as he closes the remaining distance. His lips are hot and slightly chapped, the stubble on his chin scratching your face, as he presses even further in, his tongue diving behind your teeth with such determination, it would be a shame not to respond.

So you do. 

However confused you are, by this unexpected turn of events, you welcome him into your mouth, a small grunt of content forming at the back of your throat. Because by some strange magic, or fate, or a curse placed upon you both by a witch, it feels right. It feels like this is where you belong, where he belongs. And the realization is both exciting, and deeply terrifying. But fuck, it feels beyond good.

The moment you kiss him back, he moans. Actually moans into your mouth, his hand on your breast squeezing once again, before moving lower. You can feel the scrape of his claws on the cheap fabric of your work uniform, and you almost scold him. 

"Wha-" you manage to let out between the kisses, before he dives in again, this time focusing all his attention on your neck.

This shouldn't be happening. You hate him, he's supposed to hate you too. And yet, for the time being you can't seem to find it in yourself to push him away, because god above, he's good. He's devastatingly good. 

"Keep smoking" he growls into the pulsing vein on your neck, as he pressed the filter back to your mouth, and despite your very nature, you comply. 

Taking the cigarette into your own, trembling hand, you huff in another drag. Derek groans in approval, lips sucking hard on the spot right behind your ear. The smoke pushes past your lips with a loud moan in tow. He turns his head, just for a second, his eyes dragging across the slowly fading imprint of his hand on your wrist. The sight slows him down for just a second, and he lets his sharpened teeth scrape down the column of your neck.

Now, having freed both of his hands, he's back to your skirt, pushing the edge up, and tugging it behind your apron. He acknowledges the small, wet patch at the front of your underwear with a pleased hum, then gets back to work. First, he grabs ahold of your thigh, dangerously close to the curve of your ass, and you can't really stop your body, from angling towards him. His other hand latches itself to your other breast, giving it the same, rough treatment. Tugging, pushing, squeezing like a stress ball, your usually tense body becomes pliant in his grip

"I said, keep smoking" he throws you a warning look, and you immediately take another drag.

Satisfied with your compliance, he dives down, burying his face in between your breasts, his lips descending upon your skin with hard, wet kisses. 

The combination of his ministrations, and the nicotine flowing through your system, effectively shuts your brain off. You let your head fall back against the wall, let your legs squeeze around his knee, which had precariously found it's way in-between them. A wave of white hot arousal crashes over you, stronger than you've felt in years, and you don't know what else to do, other than grab his shoulder for balance. 

Derek murmurs something inaudible against the cleavage of your uniform, before popping the first two buttons free, and reaching into your now exposed bra, freeing your breast in a way, that is bordering on desperate. He doesn't liger there for long, however, your smoke filled breath catching, as he falls to his knees in front of you, without a warning. 

Another heated look exchanged between the two of you, and you nearly yelp, when his tongue runs a long strip across the cotton of your panties. You don't even have the common sense to be embarrassed, by the washed out marihuanna pattern, or by the fact you've been on your legs for hours, because he doesn't let you gather your thoughts. 

If anything, the broken, growling sound he makes, when he buries his face between your legs makes you feel like the most powerful person on the planet. 

"God..." he groans, his hands grabbing onto the fullness of your ass, pulling you closer to his waiting mouth, all but grinding you into him.

"God..." you echo, letting your thighs fall open, as you try to take another drag of your cigarette from your shaking hand. 

Encouraged by the breathless moans from above, Derek tugs your underwear to the side, too impatient to bother with taking it off properly. 

Cold air of the rapidly approaching evening hits you, and with it, a sudden sense of clarity washes over you, like a bucket filled with ice water. The realization of what you're doing, what you're letting him do, hits you like a freight train.

The cigarette slips from your fingers, landing on the concrete, as Derek dives in, immediately locating your clit and sucking on it with a groan, that is downright pornographic.

Your entire body shudders, knees almost giving out. Your fingers dig into the leather material of his jacket, your knuckles turning white from the force. The noises he makes, as he begins to devour you, coupled with the obscenely wet sounds, would make Satan himself blush, and you can't contain the gasping moans spilling from your lips. Derek is relentless, shifting and squirming on his knees, hands digging into your flesh in an effort to bring your closer, to drown himself in the sweetest of tastes. Your back flies off the wall, then slams against it, thundering waves of pleasure crashing through you with each movement of his tongue, his mouth. 

In your darkest, most shameful of dreams you would've never imagined Derek Hale being this good at eating out. And yet here you are, thighs clenching desperately around his head, as he brings you higher, and higher. You twist in his unrelenting grip, as the coil snaps, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream, your entire body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. His tongue fucks you through it, until you can't take it anymore, until you slam your hands onto his shoulders, ripping him away from between your legs.

Derek makes a growl of discontent, as he lands with his ass on the concrete, and you take just a second to admire his expression. The wild red, burning in his eyes, the blush covering his entire face and the tips of his ears, the obvious traces of your arousal on his chin, which he immediately licks clean. Stars slowly die down in your vision, your breathing leveling, and you notice a growing patch of wetness, staining his jeans. He looks beyond debauched, and you're certain the look is mirrored on your face, if not more so. 

"How can someone so tart, taste so sweet?" he asks, his voice rough and breaking.

You don't know. You don't know a lot of things right now, but one is certain. And it's the sound of an alarm coming from your phone, signaling the end of your break. In a daze, you tug your skirt down into place, fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. Derek watches, still seated on the ground, still occasionally licking his lips. 

"I gotta..." you whisper, not trusting your voice at all, and Derek's mout splits in a grin, that will haunt you every future night. 

He hums in acknowledgement, and you take his lack of protest in stride. The gravel crunches under your white tennis shoe, when you turn on your heel, and stumble back into the diner.

And the moon keeps laughing from above. 

[starkenobi]

Demonic Domination | MASTERLIST

masterlist — read on ao3

Sumary: Y/N doesn't classify herself as a vigilante or, as people on the internet say, an antihero. No, she's just an occult detective with a fucking amnesia trying to create a new life beyond her secret mutant status. At first, she really tried to keep a normal civilian life, but it's difficult when you're rescued from a dark place by a man dressed as a mummy ninja calling himself Moon Knight. So, anyway, working as an occult detective makes her travel around the world, and it's cool because it gives her a lot of stories... Until her feet touch New York's ground. It's all downhill from there.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader; Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader; Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader.

Warnings: +18 romance; angst; fluff; smut; violence; torture; gore; cursing; pseudo harem; not following 100% mcu events; feelings. English isn't my first language, so please be kind. chapters have their own warnings, too, for safety.

MAIN STORY CHAPTERS

Prologue [off the record]

One | Lo Hecho Está Hecho | on a rainy night, y/n is rescued by moon knight, and for a while, london becomes her home. but no one can really escape fate, not when your former lover is death herself.

Two | Nuns on Cocaine | maybe traveling around the world solving cases and dealing with cryptids isn't that bad, unfortunately someone decided that was a great idea to play around with the occult and scientific shit, now y/n needs to clean some superheroes' mess.

3] Boss Bitch | y/n isn't one to be intimidated. yes, her memory is shit and she can't really explain her knowledge, but she knows how things go. she can deal with vigilantes, their work similar to hers, there's no glamour or riches. but fuck superheroes and their super shit, y'know? even if they're hot and gorgeous as fuck.

4] Voulez-Vous? | there's an expectation in the air, a tension that's not only about want or need. of course, there's a fricking bomb and a targed on her back. if only she could remember why. at least she has the devil on her side.

5] Seal It With a Kiss | a crush, a casual fling, a passionate night, a you're made for me, a can't lose you now, a maybe im already falling in love. but y/n will deny it till the end. she's not going soft. she'll lie through her teeth, but a promise is a promise, even if you don't say the words out loud.

6] Murder On The Dance Floor | she should have seen it coming. of course, nothing is that simple. she's not jealous of their past, but she can't ignore the feeling of trying to keep up with them. she's stuck in the middle. now isn't fun anymore.

7] People Disappear Here | she knows every one of them has a terrible past (and ghosts), but this chaotic dirty nightmare is hers, so fuck it. she's going swinging it like the devil. maybe it's time to finally be the boring grown-up.

8] No Good Deed Goes Unpunished | her past officially came like a wrecking ball, nowhere to run or hide. with her memories back, she wishes everything was different. and then there's the most important question: how much does a life cost? she doesn't know, she can't fucking die.

EXTRAS:

moodboards: y/n | natasha romanoff | bucky barnes | matt murdock

characters list: moon knight boys; tony stark; clint barton; steve rogers; frank castle; wade wilson; bruce banner; logan; kate bishop; yelena belova; maria hill; fury; thor; scott lang; wanda maximoff; pepper potts; peter parker; stephen strange.

follow the tag #demonicdomination to keep up with all updates and posts!

[fairytales-and-folklore]

What To Do When Your Emotionally Constipated Werewolf Boyfriend Gets Cursed By A Witch: A Guide

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: What To Do When Your Emotionally Constipated Werewolf Boyfriend Gets Cursed By A Witch: A Guide

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Derek gets cursed by a coven of witches with an inability to lie and a compulsion to blurt out whatever he's thinking and feeling at any given moment. The ironic thing is, everything he says is incredibly nice, heartfelt, and affectionate, leaving his packmates wondering: who are you and what have you done with our emotionally constipated surly alpha?

"Hey, maybe true love's kiss will break your curse," Stiles jokes one night when they're all crowded around the dinner table sharing Italian takeaway. Derek practically shoves his entire fist into his mouth to stop himself from blurting out, maybe you should give it a try. Luckily, Stiles is too busy screeching about burning his tongue on a scalding mouthful of mozzarella to notice.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

Derek heaves a long-suffering sigh as he approaches the clearing along the mountainside, home to one of the most powerful covens Beacon Hills has ever seen, swathed in protection spells so thick it's a wonder he'd been able to track them down at all. He hopes like hell they'll be able to fix this, because otherwise, he is so, so screwed.

Mother.

Fucking.

Witches.

• • •

It starts at a pack meeting late one night in mid-October, all twelve of them crowded around the living room of the reconstructed Hale house in varying states of worry and boredom, half-empty pizza boxes scattered across coffee tables and couch cushions, trying to figure out how to solve the recent problem of witches in Beacon Hills.

According to Derek, a powerful coven has encroached upon their territory, stirring up mayhem all over town — people disappearing and reappearing at random, animals transfigured into objects and vice versa (that was a wild day at the cat café), townsfolk spontaneously sprouting mythical appendages (unicorn horns, fairy wings, mermaid scales, the works) and not taking any notice until they pass by a shop window and everyone rushes out to compliment them on their SFX skills, and, of course, the occasional body-swap. All in all, it's been relatively harmless, more like practical jokes in the spirit of the season than anything truly nefarious, but Scott figures it's best they put a stop to it before someone gets hurt.

Derek and Scott had been reluctant when Stiles first pitched the idea of a co-alpha blended pack dynamic, but so far, it's been working out surprisingly well. They've been seeing eye to eye on things a lot more lately, the pack growing stronger, learning to trust and rely on one another, now that they're one united front. And on the days where they clash, Stiles, self-appointed emissary, is quick to jump in and mediate. Derek had always assumed that Stiles would be biased and favor Scott, but he's actually quite good at balancing between the two of them, seeing the merit of both of their sides, translating miscommunications in a way both Derek and Scott can understand.

Today, however, is not one of those days. Scott's arguing for one plan of attack, Derek for another — one of them says something monumentally stupid just to bruise the other's ego, and just like that, all hell breaks loose, tempers flaring, insults flying. Stiles, bless him, makes a valiant attempt to intervene, but he's so overwhelmed by the looming threat of mercurial magic-wielders that he ends up interjecting his own panic into the situation, and suddenly it's the lacrosse locker room all over again, pacing back and forth until he's just an anxiety-ridden blur, freaking out over what horrible thing the witches might be planning.

"The full moon falls on Halloween this year, and a whole-ass coven of powerful witches just happens to show up in Beacon Hills?" he frets, words tumbling out of his mouth so fast it's a wonder he doesn't run out of breath. "You can't tell me that's just a coincidence. What if they're planning some kind of ritualistic sacrifice?"

"Stiles, I highly doubt that could happen twice in the same—" Allison interjects in an attempt to soothe his nerves, but Stiles just barrels on like he hadn't heard her.

"I've seen Hocus Pocus! I know what they're after!" he practically shouts. "It's the virgin thing all over again, and in case it isn't obvious, I still haven't fixed that particular problem. Seriously, how many times is my life going to become a fuck or die trope?"

Derek blinks a couple of times, lips parting slightly as he watches Stiles's frantic pacing come to a sudden halt.

"That settles it," Stiles declares with a decisive nod. "I need to have sex. Right now. Someone needs to sex me right fucking now."

There's a scuffle of laughter from the far side of the room, and then Erica's shouting, "Derek will do it!" at the same time Jackson snickers, "Derek, that's your cue."

Derek closes his eyes and lets out a weary sigh. Of course they'd jump all over that. Of course. Because somehow, over the span of the past couple of years, nearly everyone in the pack has gotten it into their heads that Stiles and Derek have got a thing for each other, and apparently, they're feeling particularly cocky today. 

He supposes he should be used to it by now. Derek has lost count of the amount of times he's caught them all muttering things like Jesus Christ, just fuck each other already and get a goddamn room under their breath every time the two of them start going at it, throwing empty threats and half-hearted insults at each other in the weirdest brand of flirting anyone has ever seen, or the way they all make gagging noises claiming they're choking on the thick layer of sexual tension permeating the air every time Stiles and Derek so much as glance in each other's direction.

Or the way Erica had full-on cackled that one time she'd caught Derek burying his face into a pillow that Stiles had spent the entire pack meeting holding, fidgeting with it until he'd unraveled the threading in one of the corners.

It's fine, Derek thinks. He's got a sewing kit around here somewhere, he can mend it later. He is a little concerned, though. He thinks maybe Stiles had just been nervous about the topics addressed during the meeting, scared for his father's safety at the idea of yet another potential threat, but he doesn't smell any hint of fear on the fabric. It just smells good. Like Stiles. Like pack. Like home. 

And— there's a hint of something else there too, something that Derek can't quite place, but it's making his heart do this funny flipping thing inside his chest.

"Oh my god, you guys are so stupid for each other, it's sickening," Erica says, but her tone is playful, almost fond. 

"What?" Derek says distractedly, like he's genuinely surprised to find himself with company.

Erica rolls her eyes. 

"The pillow, Derek," she says, pointing at it like it's incriminating evidence. Derek wraps his arms around it and pulls it closer to his chest, tucking it under his chin.

"The fucking pillow Stiles used as a goddamn boner shield all meeting," Erica smirks. "You do know why he had it, don't you? Come on, you can't tell me you didn't do it on purpose."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Derek snaps, but it's less heated and more defensive than anything else, and suddenly he won't look her in the eye. 

Erica heaves a theatrical sigh. 

"Next time you show up for a pack meeting straight after a workout, make sure you remember to put on a fucking shirt so Stiles doesn't have a heart attack, will you?"

And then she's laughing again, whipping around the corner and strolling up the stairs to her and Boyd's room, before Derek can do more than splutter.

Derek pushes the memory out of his mind, filing it away under things we refuse to talk about, along with the rest of the ever-growing mountain of Stiles-related incidents.

He's about to laugh it off, roll his eyes and tell them all to shut the fuck up as usual, but instead, what comes out of his mouth is—

"Okay."

Spoken in the softest fucking cadence he didn't even know he possessed.

The room falls dead silent. Everyone stops what they're doing and just stares at him. Derek's heart picks up speed as his brain catches up with his stupid, stupid mouth. His eyes widen like he can't believe he just said that out loud, like he had absolutely no control over it. Because truthfully, he hadn't. He chances a look over at Stiles, and— if he wasn't so shocked and terrified by what had just happened, he'd have laughed, because Stiles has got his mouth hanging open comically wide, eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline as he fixes Derek with an incredulous stare.

And then Stiles bursts out laughing.

"Oh my god," he says, practically wheezing, hand clutched over his heart. "You really had me going there for a minute. You're messing with me, just like Danny. I've never heard you joke like that before."

And then everyone else starts laughing, and Derek forces himself to join in, pointedly avoiding the looks of what the fuck plastered all over Boyd, Isaac, and Erica's faces, internally screaming his own chorus of what the ever-loving fuck because that definitely hadn't been a joke and Derek definitely hadn't mean to say that out loud.

Amidst his panic, the query who the fuck is Danny? nettles at the back of his mind, and he can't decide if he's more offended by the fact that someone else propositioned Stiles for sex, or that the fact that they weren't actually serious about it.

• • •

At first, Stiles assumes it's a practical joke, or some kind of bizarre six-months-late April Fool's prank. It has to be, because over the course of the week that follows, Derek stops being a sarcastic asshole toward Stiles, and instead, starts showering him in compliments. Stiles is just going about his life, cracking self-deprecating jokes, but instead of smirking and adding an insulting quip of his own, Derek has started to become like, aggressively nice, getting almost angry whenever Stiles insults himself.

"God, I'm so stupid," Stiles sighs as he crosses out the wrong answer to a math problem he'd been working on at Derek's kitchen table.

"Hey, don't talk about yourself like that," Derek growls, brow furrowed like he's genuinely offended by Stiles's offhand remark. "You're one of the smartest people I've ever met."

Stiles stares at him, highlighter cap falling out of his open mouth.

Derek blinks a few times in rapid succession, dropping the stack of playing cards he'd been shuffling for their upcoming game night onto the kitchen counter with a deafening clatter. He looks just as surprised as Stiles feels.

"Uh…thanks, man," Stiles manages, a tell-tale blush prickling the back of his neck as he buries his nose in his textbook and doesn't resurface for several minutes straight, having retained absolutely nothing on the page.

A few days later finds Lydia, Cora, and Malia all roaring with laughter as Stiles walks them through his intricate twenty-five step plan to get someone to want to sleep with him before the next full moon. Mock-insulted and mostly joking, he says, "What, you don't think there's at least one person out there who wants to get with all of this? I'm a goddamn snack, I'll have you know."

"Shut up. No you're not," Derek snaps, glancing up from the book he'd been pretending to read in the far corner of the living room. And then, like he just can't help himself, immediately follows it up with, "You're a full course meal."

Stiles pauses, staring at him in disbelief. 

Derek suddenly goes very rigid, eyes widening ever so slightly in alarm. He slaps a hand over his mouth, like he's physically restraining himself from saying anything more. 

And then Stiles bursts out laughing. 

"Dude, that's funny. I'm gonna have to start using that," he says, penciling in the pick-up line as step twenty-six.

The thing is, it isn't just compliments. Derek has also started to become, like, weirdly affectionate, in his own gruff, sourwolf way. He's started talking more — Stiles is fairly certain Derek has spoken more over the past week than he has in the past two years — his expressions becoming softer, a wider range of emotions smoothing away the frown lines as he opens up about his past, sharing pieces of family history, little anecdotes and personal stories and random facts about himself. 

Stiles collects them like a memory magpie.

Derek prefers pancakes over waffles. 

Derek likes the color red. 

Derek has the entire Harry Potter series in pristine hardcover. 

Derek used to sit at his grandmother's feet and untangle yarn for her while she knitted him and his siblings cozy winter hats and sweaters. 

And it'd be really endearing if it didn't make Stiles wildly uncomfortable, because this is Derek we're talking about — a guy so emotionally constipated, it looks like it's causing him physical pain. Over the years, Stiles has come to expect a certain dynamic between the two of them, one that straddles the line between half-hearted insults and playful banter, and this whole weird new nice guy routine that Derek has suddenly got going on is starting to make Stiles suspicious.

He starts to get really paranoid, thinking Derek must have somehow found out about his — well, he wouldn't call it a crush, exactly — and is just fucking with him, just to be a dick. Like, maybe he caught Stiles staring at him during pack meetings one too many times, or— oh god, what if he can smell the arousal coming off of him in waves whenever they lock eyes, and he's finally put two and two together after all these years and figured out that the reason Stiles's heartbeat goes haywire every time Derek so much as glances in his direction isn't because he's scared of him, or because he's had too much caffeine.

Or— oh fuck. Maybe Derek had heard him that one time he'd jerked off in the shower to the thought of Derek pressing him up against his bedroom wall, and gasped out Derek's name as he'd, uh, crescendoed, before strolling back into his room wearing nothing but a sated, shit-eating grin and a towel wrapped around his waist, only to find the real Derek sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for him. 

Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin and drops the towel, shouting all manner of colorful obscenities. The look on Derek's face is…interesting. Stiles can practically feel Derek's eyes boring into him, trailing over every inch of him, lingering on the border where his towel meets his hipbones and swallowing thickly, and Stiles can't help but follow the movements, entranced, watching his Adam's apple bob up and down and wondering how it would taste under his tongue, and oh god, now his body thinks it's time for round two and he's tenting his towel and fuck fuck fuck oh no—

And then Derek clears his throat a little louder and more aggressively than normal, and they both avert their eyes, and Stiles controls himself long enough to ask why Derek is here, and then Derek slowly turns his back so that Stiles can hastily get dressed, handing him a slip of paper with a weird symbol on it that he's hoping Stiles can decipher for him.

"So, uh…out of curiosity…exactly how long were you here before I stepped out of the shower?" Stiles asks as Derek grips the frame of his bedroom window, one foot already out on the roof. The crack in his voice is hard to miss.

"Long enough," Derek says cryptically, which could either mean "I heard you" or "you kept me waiting," and Stiles is honestly not sure which one is worse.

A loud crash snaps Stiles back to the present and he looks up to find Erica climbing through his bedroom window, followed swiftly by Boyd and Isaac, tumbling into a heap onto his bedroom floor. Try as they might, the leather-clad trio have never quite managed to replicate Derek's finesse when it comes to breaking and entering.

Before Stiles can get out even so much as a what the fuck, they're rounding on him, talking over each other in a worried frenzy, insisting that there's something very very wrong with Derek. Stiles's heart starts to race, mouth going dry, and he's already going through his mental rolodex of potential cures and fix-its, when they say the most ludicrous thing he's ever heard in his life.

"We think that Derek's been cursed," Erica says.

"By a witch," Isaac clarifies.

"And now he can only say really nice things," Boyd finishes.

"What," Stiles says flatly, and then he's snorting with incredulous laughter.

"I'm sorry, run that by me again. You think Derek's been hit with a…what, a nice guy curse?" he snickers. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"

"You don't understand," Erica says seriously, bracing her hands on either side of Stiles's shoulders. "Tonight, he told us that he's proud of us and that he loves us."

Stiles's mouth drops open in shock.

"And that's not all," Isaac chimes in. "We tested it out. Asked him to tell us how he really feels about Scott, and do you know what he said?"

"What?" Stiles eyes him warily, preparing to launch into a one-man Scott McCall defense party.

"That Scott's a good kid with a heart of gold," Erica scoffs, like it's physically painful for her to recall. "Can you believe that?"

"Holy shit," Stiles says, genuinely stunned.

And suddenly it all clicks into place, the reason Derek has been so unnervingly kind to him these past few days. He's been cursed. Stupid as it sounds, there's no other explanation for it.

"Yeah, so…as you can see, Derek needs help," Erica says, like being nice is some kind of terminal illness.

"And what makes you think I can fix this?" Stiles asks.

"Duh, you're the brains of the pack," Erica grins at him, like it's obvious.

"Derek said that if anyone is clever enough to find the answer, it's you," Boyd tells him. And that's…well, weirdly nice.

• • •

So he researches, and he researches, and he researches, and he doesn't come up with a single damn thing, because never, in the history of witchcraft and wizarding lore, has there ever been a curse that made someone say nice things.

Still, it keeps happening. Derek keeps dropping nice bombs fucking everywhere, every single time he opens his mouth. And it sucks, because it's really starting to have an effect on Stiles. Derek will say something really sweet to him, and he'll find himself starting to give in to that hope he's been harboring for years, and then he has to shake himself really hard and remind himself that it's just the curse talking, that Derek doesn't actually mean anything he's saying. 

Except—

Well…lately, it's like all of their interactions have this weird sort of romantic, sexually charged undercurrent to them, and Stiles can't help but notice that Derek doesn't act like that with anyone else but him.

He'll compliment Lydia on her intellect. Kira on her katana wielding skills. Allison on her archery. He'll tell Cora and Malia how grateful he is to call them family, how brave and strong and resilient they are. He'll tell Isaac, Erica, and Boyd how proud he is that they've come so far and learned so much, not just from him, but from Scott as well, who makes a great leader. He even tells Jackson that he thinks he could go pro in lacrosse, if he wanted to. 

But with Stiles, it's much more frequent, much more specific. Little details he shouldn't notice about him. If Stiles didn't know any better, he'd think Derek was flirting with him. 

"Red is a great color on you." 

"You smell like the forest after it rains."

"Your moles and freckles remind me of star maps." 

"I like the way your smile lights up your eyes."

"You have really soft hands." 

One time, he literally just said the word, "forearms," with a wide-eyed expression on his face before bolting out of the room, leaving Stiles standing alone in the middle of the living room with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a paintbrush held aloft in one hand.

And it all just keeps tumbling out of his mouth like dulcet word vomit, like he's physically incapable of restraining himself. 

Not only that, but Stiles could almost swear he keeps catching Derek just staring at him at random intervals, but whenever he looks up, Derek's gaze quickly shifts away and the tips of his ears redden a little bit like he's embarrassed at having been caught looking at Stiles, and it's like they've switched places, because out of the two of them, Stiles is supposed to be the blushing idiot, the one saying all of these stupidly candid schmaltzy things. Stiles is the one who notices all of Derek's little details, not the other way around. 

It's so unnerving that Stiles starts to wonder whether Derek has been spiked with something even worse, like a love potion. Stiles buckles down and hits the books even harder, losing sleep as he continues to search for a cure.

• • •

They're crowded around the kitchen table one afternoon after classes let out, shooting the shit about what they think the coven could possibly be up to, when talk turns to childhood nostalgia and they all start arguing over which Hogwarts house they'd each get sorted into if they were witches. 

Scott gets a unanimous vote for Gryffindor, but his triumphant smile fades when Erica insists that Stiles belongs in Slytherin with her and Lydia, and that Derek is some kind of Gryffindor/Slytherin hybrid. Isaac thinks they're all squibs. Boyd says that Stiles would get eaten by the giant squid before he even had a chance to be sorted. Stiles gets heated, slapping the table and arguing that Derek is obviously a Hufflepuff. 

"Think about it," he says. "He's all about family, incredibly loyal, selfless to a fault, patient to a fault when it comes to that creepy uncle of his, believes in hard work and fair play, strong sense of upholding justice. Case in point, Derek is the perfect Hufflepuff."

"What the hell is a Hufflepuff?" Derek's sudden interjection makes them all jump, and Stiles chokes on air because there's no way in hell Derek just quoted A Very Potter Musical. Eleven pairs of eyes whip to the doorframe where Derek is standing, balancing half a dozen pizza boxes in one hand, one eyebrow arched like he's seriously reconsidering his choice in packmates. And then his entire frame relaxes, broad smile spreading across his face as he strides toward the kitchen table and sets the stack of boxes down.

"Just kidding. I've got a prefect badge with a black and yellow badger crest on it hidden in my sock drawer," he says, and Stiles doesn't miss the way the tips of his ears burn scarlet after he drops that little anecdote.

"You're all wrong, by the way," he adds, almost as if compelled to keep talking. "If anything, Stiles is a Ravenclaw. Naturally curious, avid learner and researcher, creative and clever. And I mean, sure, he's got some positive Gryffindor and Slytherin qualities, too. We all do. Bravery and cunning kind of comes with the territory. But Stiles is a textbook Ravenclaw. Plus, he looks good in blue."

Derek pauses for a moment, wide-eyed expression fixed to the kitchen floor as he sucks in a steady breath and then very slowly releases it back out through his nostrils. He shakes his head as if to clear it, and then promptly walks out of the kitchen at a quick stride, leaving Stiles staring after him, open-mouthed.

(And if Stiles winds up at the local craft store the following morning, picking out the softest black and yellow yarn he can find and cramming a copy of Knitting For Dummies under his arm so that he can maybe learn how to knit Derek a Hufflepuff scarf for his birthday this year…well, what of it?)

• • •

"Hey, maybe true love's kiss will break your curse," Stiles jokes one night when they're all crowded around the dinner table sharing Italian takeaway.

Derek practically shoves his entire fist into his mouth to stop himself from blurting out, maybe you should give it a try.

Luckily, Stiles is too busy screeching about burning his tongue on a scalding mouthful of mozzarella to notice.

• • •

They're in Derek's living room late one evening, nearly a fortnight after the initial incident. Everyone else has gone home, or gone up to their respective rooms. Everyone except for Stiles, who had opted to stay behind to do a bit more reading in an effort to find a way to cure Derek of what Stiles has been affectionately referring to as the curse of the compliments, tucked away into a leather armchair in the far corner of the room, while Derek sprawls out on the couch, exhausted after a run through the woods.

He doesn't know when he had gotten so comfortable around Stiles, allowed himself to become so vulnerable and unguarded, but he ends up falling asleep, lulled by the sound of Stiles's steady scribbling as he takes notes and hums thoughtfully to himself, altogether missing the affectionate smile that spreads across Stiles's face as he glances up in Derek's direction and falters mid-sentence around a half-formed question. A little shiver winds its way down Derek's spine, and Stiles immediately bolts upright, scattering notes and highlighters everywhere as he moves to wrap Derek in a patchwork quilt draped over the back of the couch.

As Derek drifts into an easy slumber, he dreams about Stiles. It's that same dream he's had countless times before, only this time, there's no impending danger, no kanima stalking around the edges of the swimming pool — just the two of them, clutching one another, breath coming out in heated gusts that spiral over the top of their heads. 

It's all so vivid, like he's reliving it, only through a different lens. He can feel the bruising grip of Stiles's arms as they wind around his torso, the way Stiles's heartbeat crashes against his ribcage, reverberating against his back. In this memory, Stiles isn't holding him up because he has to — because this time, Derek has full control over his body. He twists around in Stiles's arms until they're facing one another, breath ghosting over each other's lips, and then he's backing him up against the edge of the pool, fingertips tracing the curves of his reddened lips before surging forward and capturing him in a kiss.

He can feel everything, the press of Stiles's body against his own as Stiles arches into him, writhes against him, like he can't get close enough. The feel of Stiles's lips and teeth and tongue against his throat as he buries his face into the curve of Derek's shoulder. The way Stiles whispers his name against Derek's ear, desperate and longing, with a soft affection that makes him want to weep. 

And it's all too much, too much, too cruel because it isn't real. 

Derek wakes with a gasp and Stiles's name on the tip of his tongue, only to find the real Stiles hovering over him with a blanket grasped in his outstretched hands, staring down at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open.

"Sorry, I was just—" Stiles falters, taking a cautionary step backward and averting his eyes. "You were shivering. I thought you were cold."

He holds out the blanket like it's a peace offering.

"Oh…uh…thank you," Derek says softly, reaching out to take it and tampering down the electric shock that jolts through his chest as his hand brushes against Stiles's fingertips. 

"And um…you were kind of talking in your sleep?" Stiles poses this next statement as a question, like he's giving Derek an out, eyes cast toward the ceiling as he attacks a phantom itch on the back of his neck.

Derek bolts upright, alarmed.

"What did I say?" he asks, fully aware of how frantic he sounds.

"You, uh…well, you sort of said my name. And you were kind of like, breathing really heavily," Stiles offers, chancing a glance over at Derek. 

"Is everything okay?" he asks, shifting into concerned pack dad mode, leaning in closer and placing a comforting hand on Derek's shoulder.

"Whoah, your heart's beating really fast," he breathes, brows narrowed in concern as he searches Derek's face for a fault line, no doubt feeling the erratic thrumming as he presses his fingertips against Derek's collarbone. "You okay? Nervous about something?"

Without missing a beat, and absolutely hating it, Derek says, "Yes."

"You want to talk about it?" Stiles asks softly. "What's got you so worked up?"

You, Derek muses with something caught between a smirk and a grimace. Seconds pass before he comes to the horrifying realization that he's just said that out loud. Stiles pales, absentmindedly digging his fingertips into Derek's shoulder, where he seems to be fused.

"I make you nervous?" he asks, his voice soft, disbelieving.

"Yes," Derek grits out against his will.

"Why—" Stiles pauses, swallowing thickly. "Why do I make you nervous?"

Derek stares at him, eyes wide, wondering how in the hell he's going to get himself out of this one without revealing too much.

"I was dreaming about that night at the pool," he says slowly, choosing his words very carefully. "That's why I said your name."

And technically, technically, it's the truth. Just not all of it.

"Oh," Stiles visibly deflates, a gust of breath he didn't realize he'd been holding rushing out of him. He quickly shakes it off. "Yeah, that's gotta leave you with some pretty heavy PTSD, huh?"

Derek nods, pressing his lips together to keep the truth from spilling out.

"Hey, Derek?" Stiles says suddenly, a heart-clenching combination of guilt, sadness, and determination in his eyes. "You know I wouldn't have just left you there, right? Despite what you might think, I wasn't just looking out for myself that night. Literally the only reason I let you go was because I thought if I could get a hold of Scott, we'd both have more of a fighting chance. And if Scott hadn't showed— I would've held you up all night, if I had to. After everything we've been through, I just…I hope you know that by now." 

And honestly, Derek might as well be back at the bottom of that pool, because right now, he feels like he's drowning. He just stares up at Stiles, not trusting himself to speak, his throat uncomfortably tight, the corners of his eyes prickling.

"And I'm not just saying that to be nice," Stiles continues, cutting through the tension just as easily as he'd created it. "I'm not the one who's under some weird kind of nice guy curse, or anything. Which I know must be an absolute pain in the ass for you, but don't worry, I'm doing everything I can to find a cure, and then you'll be back to the surly, grumpy Sourwolf we all know and love."

Stiles gives Derek's shoulder a reassuring little squeeze, fixing him with an affectionate half-smile before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and slipping out the front door. Derek stares at the leather armchair scattered with books and leaflets and highlighters until the Stiles-shaped imprint in its cushions fades away, and then he's stalking up to his bedroom, dragging the quilt and the pillow that always smells like Stiles with him and wrapping himself up in it like a burrito.

• • •

Stiles nearly has a heart attack when his bedroom window slides open at a quarter to midnight on the full moon, and Derek comes tumbling inside, a little breathless, but looking determined and resolute. He squares his shoulders, looks Stiles directly in the eye, and says, "Now that I'm no longer cursed and can say this without being compelled to, I've got something I need to tell you."

Stiles prepares for an onslaught of…well, something bad, because that's just his life now, isn't it? That's just been his life for the past several years, ever since the night he decided, hey, looking for half a dead body in the woods sounds like fun and next thing he knows, his best friend is a werewolf, and then everyone around him is a werewolf, or a kanima, or a kitsune, or a banshee, or a darach, or—

What he isn't prepared for is for Derek to start waxing poetic about all the things he likes about Stiles. Because oh right, on top of everything else, there's also witches and Derek has been cursed. Only it's weird, because it's not quite as nice as it has been over the past couple of weeks — in fact, he's pretty sure there's a couple of insults disguised as compliments thrown in there that Stiles doesn't even have time to register because he's just so shocked by what Derek says next.

And I think I might be in love with you.

I think I have been for a while now, I just didn't realize it.

Or maybe I just wasn't willing to admit it.

I guess it took being cursed to finally admit the truth.

And that nervous little laugh he huffs out afterward. Sweet Jesus.

Every inch of Stiles is on fire.

"Oh fuck," he says, a surge of adrenaline burning through his veins like the world's worst shot of fireball whiskey. Derek's smile withers, because yeah, oh fuck isn't exactly at the top of the list of things you want to hear after you've just poured your heart out, and the look Stiles gives him is nothing short of devastating. 

"Oh fuck, I was right," Stiles groans, burying his face into the palms of his hands like he's about to cry. "It's gotten so much worse. You're not just cursed, you're delusional."

It hits Derek like a punch to the gut. He barely registers the blur of red and blue as Stiles bounds off the bed and bolts to his desk, rummaging through haphazard stacks of journals and leather-bound books with spiderwebbed spines. Derek watches him with a kind of cautious curiosity, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

"Don't worry, Derek," Stiles reassures him in a tone that's anything but, shoving the cap of a highlighter off with his teeth and circling a passage in one of the many, many pages of his chicken-scratch notes. "I promise we'll fix this. There's got to be something in here about love potions, because it's clear to me now that you've been spiked with one. We'll catch the witch that did this to you and make them pay."

And just like that, it all clicks into place. The knot coiling in Derek's stomach unclenches, and then he's laughing unabashedly.

"You're such a fucking dumbass sometimes, you know that?" Derek says as his laughter subsides, the gentle fondness of his tone clashing with the bite of his words. "I haven't been spiked with love potion, Stiles. And I told you, I'm not cursed anymore."

Stiles freezes, caught off guard, because it's the first time he's heard Derek's sarcasm in over two weeks, and he kind of hates how much he'd missed it.

"Are…are you sure?" he asks, wincing at how small he sounds.

"Dead certain," Derek replies with a shit-eating grin that shows all of his teeth, looking for all the world like he's physically struggling to hold back his amusement.

And that's when it hits him. If Derek was still cursed, if he'd been poisoned with some kind of love potion, he wouldn't be able to throw insults and sarcastic quips at Stiles. It would go against the very nature of the spell.

Which can only mean one thing: Derek isn't cursed. He's perfectly fine, and he's fucking with him. 

Stiles can't believe he learned two-color brioche for this asshole.

"Fuck you," Stiles says harshly, watching with a sick sort of satisfaction as it wipes the smirk right off of Derek's stupidly handsome face.

"Wait, what?" Derek balks, blinking rapidly like he'd just been struck over the head.

"Fuck you for thinking it's funny to mess with a guy's feelings like this," Stiles spits, hating the pathetic tremor in his voice.

"Stiles, what are you talking about?" Derek asks, eyes wide with worry, like Stiles is the one who's delusional. 

"The way I see it, there's only two options here," Stiles barrels on in spite of the anxiety-fueled adrenaline twisting through his veins, heat rising in his cheeks. "Either you've been cursed or spiked with amortentia or — I don't fucking know, some kind of spell that makes you think you have feelings for me, or you were never actually cursed at all, you've figured out that I'm the one who's in love with you, and you've just been saying all of this nice shit to me to…I don't know, wind me up? Make me look like a jackass? Or maybe you just like hurting people."

That last one stings, lends venom to the bite in Derek's voice.

"Option C," Derek grits out, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Fucking Peter got involved with not one, not two, but seven witches from the same coven, and started a civil war — which explains all of the weird shit that's been happening around town lately, apparently they've been trying to curse him and each other — got caught in his own web of lies and fled the scene, but not before hitting my house to pack supplies so he could skip town. The coven tracked him down, but couldn't follow him inside because of Deaton's protection spells, so they just assumed he was hiding out in there, and placed a curse on the sole proprietor. Little did they know, the house is in my name. So, lucky me, I got the full blast of it."

Stiles gapes at him for a few moments, eyes trained on the rapid rise and fall of Derek's chest as he struggles to recompose himself. Anything involving his creepy, murderous, and now apparently two-timing (seven-timing?) uncle always gets him so riled up.

"So, what? You actually were cursed and that's the reason you've been saying nice shit for the past two weeks?" Stiles asks with crossed arms and narrowed eyes, but his tone is several shades softer than it had been a few moments ago, curiosity piqued. 

Derek heaves a long-suffering sigh, but he can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he says with the tone of someone trying to explain something obvious to someone who's very, very stupid. "It didn't make me say nice shit, Stiles. It made me incapable of lying, like Peter lied to all of them. It made me more open and vulnerable and vocal about the things I already felt, stuff I tried to keep hidden. And it made me realize just how much I hated doing that. Because yeah, it was definitely embarrassing at times, but it was also kind of nice, not having to keep it in anymore. And I realized that everyone around me seemed happier for it, that I was able to make the people I care about feel good, just by being honest with them about how I really felt about them."

"Which is why," Derek sighs, pausing to glance up from the floor and lock eyes with Stiles. "As soon as they broke the curse, I came here…to see you…to tell you that I— what I told you."

All of the air rushes out of Stiles's lungs.

"So everything…" he manages, just barely, to keep the choked disbelief out of his voice. "Everything you've been saying to me these past few weeks…and everything you said to me just now…that was real?"

Derek offers him a small, affectionate smile that nearly breaks him in two.

"Yeah, dumbass. I meant every word."

Stiles stares at him for a moment, rooted to the spot, and Derek can practically hear the cogs turning inside his head as he processes it all and plays catch-up. And then he's smiling, this big, goofy grin spreading across his face as he bounds across the room and throws his arms around Derek's neck with such gusto that he knocks them both backward onto Stiles's bed, swallowing Derek's surprised huff of laughter in a kiss.

[eudaimaniacs]

roses (logan howlett x female reader)

character/universe: logan howlett/wolverine (x-men/marvel)

word count: 1.7k words

warning/s: full-on smut (minors, dni)

notes: it's past midnight here, and this fanfiction has gone through a lot. it went from angst to another smut prompt, and, lastly, this. i need to lay down and rest. anyways, enjoy!

“Ready, princess?”

You tiptoe and jump in the passenger seat as Logan starts the engine. The car’s AC immediately cools your sweat. Logan speeds off to the night, and the façade of the school mansion fades. The peaceful, cool night air wraps you as you lay on Logan’s shoulder. You knew going out at night and leaving some mutant children at the mansion was terrible. Still, you and Logan didn’t have some privacy with all the issues about the Mutant Registration Act, and the students always being in danger, protecting, fighting, and stress filled up the schedules of the older mutants in charge.

When the situation looked a bit better, you whispered to a pent-up Logan, lamenting that they didn’t have some beer in the school, to sneak out tonight. He smirked and remarked how it was a great idea and cool to piss off Scott and the professor.

The moon’s glow reflected on his dog tags as Logan focused on the road before him. You hummed, playing with the nearby trees, which caused some leaves to follow the car. You enjoyed showing off your power, even if some viewed it as dangerous. Growing plants and even letting them out of your bare hands was beautiful. Your hands glowed as you made a flower crown adorned with pink lilies. Logan smiled as he saw the blush color decorating the midnight blue setting. He had one hand on the wheel and the other caressing your thighs.

“Think the professor might’ve caught us already?” You fidgeted with the small bouquet you made that was placed on your lap. You weren’t the one to break the rules often; Charles trusted you since you had a natural, mother-like personality that was needed for the children. Given your powers, it might’ve influenced that. However, when Logan appeared, your feelings immediately became more rebellious. You stayed up late more often, snuck out in the garden to make out, went to his bedroom to sleep with him, and more. Charles noticed the shift in your behavior and reprimanded you one time when you didn’t teach a class because Logan decided to fuck you until the sun broke out. But he didn’t mind your relationship with Logan since another mutant couple was already in the mansion.

Despite the professor’s blessing, the superhero lifestyle was a curse. With the rising tensions and numerous troubles the X-Men have gone through, you and Logan didn’t have time to do what you usually do. Jean and Scott had their own thing, but you and Logan preferred privacy and a pleasant time for everyday couple things.

Logan grimaced at the mention of the professor and growled his annoyance. You giggle as you lay down on his lap and scratch his chin. Logan purred, and you beamed at the attractive sound he let out. You two decided to get out of the mansion to have sex since the last time didn’t go too well.

Logan was driving to a secluded spot where the two of you were far away from any contact. It was only a short late-night drive, and you promised yourself that you two would be at the mansion before dawn appeared. He stopped at a well-lit area that looked like a camping spot for some scouts. You grew some trees at your will, making sure that the area was secured and no one would bump into the two of you fucking like animals.

The two of you helped transform the convertible into a makeshift bed. Car sex was uncomfortable even if the roof of the car was removed. Additionally, you knew that the two of you were going to sleep until the morning in this area after having sex. Logan was glad he didn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night and drink only soda. You bought some beer earlier and gave it to Logan when he went to the car.

Your desire rose as Logan removed his tank top to reveal his massive and hairy build. You lay down and use your powers to remove your clothes, using rose petals to cover your breasts and throbbing heat. Your eyes are lit with lust, and Logan is now touching your waist, waiting for you to stop teasing. The rose petals brush his face as you reveal your naked body.

Logan reveled at the sight of your soft breasts and licked them. You moan and scratch his back, eliciting another growl from him. You use your powers to control vines and unbuckle his belt. You grab his neck, guiding Logan to your lips. The two of you hungrily kiss each other, your tongue passionately dancing with his.

“N-need you inside of me, Lo,” you pant as you break the kiss. Your pussy was wet, feeling the outline of Logan’s hard dick through his jeans. You grind yourself, wanting to relieve the rising heat.

Logan grunted, “You’re an impatient girl, [Y/N].” He dipped and bit your neck, marking you with his desire. You moan at the sensation of his teeth playing with the skin of your nape. He was taking his time in exploring every part of your body. The two of you didn’t care if it took until morning to have sex. The cool night air and the secluded yet secure spot drove the two of you to enjoy this rare privacy.

Logan stopped kissing your neck and pulled down his pants. His dick was leaking with cum, and you couldn’t wait for him to put it inside of you. Something went off in your mind, telling you to explore more. The look of Logan’s thick and hard dick dripping with cum made your pussy and mouth hungry.

You kneel, prompting Logan to raise his eyebrow at your change of position. However, as soon as he saw your face getting closer to his cock, he smirked at the anticipation of you giving him a blowjob.

“Feeling adventurous tonight, eh?” You giggle as you lick his tip like it was the sweetest lollipop. You slowly suck his length, making Logan moan at the feeling of your tongue working its magic. Your saliva dripping as you quickly slurp his dick. You weren’t experienced at giving blowjobs (Logan was the first one), but Logan appreciated that you were trying it.

You pull your mouth out, catching your breath after sucking Logan’s massive length. He patted your cheek, complimenting how you were getting better at sucking him. You lay down once again, wanting Logan to take care of your throbbing slick. Instead of positioning his length at your entrance, Logan slowly made his way down to your pussy.

“Gotta return the favor, princess,” Logan mumbles as he circles your clit, making you moan. Your pussy smelled sweet, and he immediately licked your folds, tasting your arousal. Logan’s tongue felt good, and you tugged on his cat-shaped hair, letting him know how good he was making you feel.

“Lo-L-Logan! It feels, oh, so fucking g-good!” You whine, sensing your pleasure crashing. Logan quickly ate your pussy to taste your sweet juices. You moan loudly, feeling your stomach twisting at the immense pleasure. You let go as your orgasm washes over your flustered body. Logan slurps every drop of your arousal, moaning at the sweet taste of it.

Logan emerges on top of you again, this time positioning his length at your entrance. You impatiently whine, wanting him to fuck you hard. Without warning, Logan enters and immediately starts thrusting. The two of you let out the filthiest moans, filling the forest air with the combined desires and lust you two had for each other.

The sensation of your tight, velvet walls hugging Logan’s dick was intoxicating. Your tits bounced at his rhythm as you cried out his name. Logan grunted as he focused on making sure you felt good. You struggle to pant out how pleasurable everything is. The secluded spot, comfortable car bed, and the crisp night air with Logan’s power fucking you. It was a well-needed and deserved time to be and feel each other without the weight of the other world.

Your stomach twisted at the familiar feeling of your upcoming pleasure. “Logan, I’m c-close!” You whine as you sense your walls swallowing Logan’s length.

Logan growled, “Oh, fuck. I’m close, too, princess. Cum on my cock, l-let go, [Y/N].” He dipped and hungrily pressed his lips against yours. You taste yourself as you suck his tongue and exchange saliva. You moan against his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist as Logan thrusts faster.

“Here it comes, princess! Cum for me, cum on my dick,” Logan growled as he entered further. Your walls hugging his dick tighter as he painted your insides white. You cry out Logan’s name as his warmth fills you—your sweaty bodies, panting at the thick, passionate pleasure of the night.

You run your fingers through Logan’s hair as you calm yourself. The moon is still glowing, and the stars twinkle back at the two of you. You cover you and Logan with rose petals. It looked like a painting, the two lust-filled lovers fucking into the night in an intimate setting.

“That was good, Lo,” you cooed as Logan got off you and lay to your right. You snuck your face into his neck and scratched his chin. You hum as Logan gives you his jacket to cover yourself up with.

Logan smiled and kissed your head, “We needed that, [Y/N].” You use your powers to fill the area with red roses. Impressed and satisfied with how you felt, Logan rubbed your back and told you to sleep.

“Aren’t we going back to the mansion?” You whisper, worried that the professor, Scott, Jean, and Ororo will look for the two of you. Logan smirks and replies, “Then let that happen.”

You giggle at his carefree and naughty approach. Logan didn’t care if the team saw the two of you in the middle of nowhere, sleeping while half-naked. He saw this night as a blessing, a serene and passionate moment, and the X-Men fetching the two of you wouldn’t ruin that.

“You need to sleep, princess. I promise by dawn, we’ll be back at the mansion,” Logan says as he covers your bodies with a thick blanket.

You snicker and comment, “Can’t wait for the professor’s look on his face knowing we fucked in the middle of nowhere.”

“Pretty sure he already knows,” Logan smugly replies, and you smack his chest. You lightly chuckle as the darkness overcomes the two of you with sleep. The roses swaying and decorating the passion-filled lovers dozing off.

eudaimaniacs - 2024

[pasukiyo]

I CAN SEE YOU

bodyguard!leon scott kennedy x f!popstar!reader word count; 1,381 warnings; p in v sex, that's about it lol, maybe angst if you squint summary; leon doesn't believe he's good enough for you. but even he can't resist when he has you up against the wall of a storage closet five minutes to showtime...

 “Five minutes to show time!”

 “Has anyone seen her?”

 “Where is she?”

 Her lips parted in a gasp as she etched crescent moons into his shoulders through the black muscle tee, toes curling as her legs snaked around his waist, trapping him in closer. A hand slithered its way to the hair at the nape of his neck, her head falling forward to press her lips against the shell of his ear, feeling him shudder as he rocked his hips into her. 

 “We shouldn’t…” Leon groaned and muttered a sharp “fuck!” when she clenched around him, drawing him in closer. He couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to. “…we shouldn’t be doing this.”

 She mewled beside his ear at a particularly rough thrust, curling her fingers around a fistful of dark blonde ringlets at his nape and tugging. Leon pulled his face away from her shoulder, his dark sea of blue surging into her gaze like a comet colliding into a planet. Despite his words, Leon’s fingertips burrowed further into the flesh of her hips, her skin swelling with bruises as he drove his cock harder into her, impossibly deeper all the while. They’d only five more minutes to finish, and there’d be no way Leon would be able to do his job if he didn’t get his release now. 

 “When will you quit acting so noble?” She managed to ask between gasps and stifled moans, nuzzling the bridge of her nose against his. “Like you don’t want this as much as I do?”

 Leon hissed a string of curses through his teeth and she caught his lips with hers before he could drop his forehead to her shoulder again. Leon groaned into her mouth, allowing himself to be lost in the battle between their tongues for a moment, for just a second. Her smile was a crescent against his mouth and she leaned forward, hoping to deepen the seal of their lips before he pulled away, panting as he pistoned himself as deep inside of her as he could go, driving her back up the wall in the process. 

 “Leon!” She gasped, brows knit in pleasure as his hips stilled, the head of his cock pressed so hard against the spongey spot inside of her that she was seeing stars. 

 “You smeared your lipstick,” he replied simply and she peeled her eyelids back open just as Leon reached out with his thumb, wiping at the smeared makeup on the side of her mouth. Her bottom lip quivered at his touch and Leon peered up at her through hooded lids, sweat beading his hairline and chest heaving in rhythm with his breath. 

 For a moment, all was silent. For a moment, they only looked at each other, the moment so tender and intimate and such a stark difference from just a few seconds ago. Her heart swelled in her chest the longer she looked at Leon and she let her hands fall from around his neck, to his shoulders, to the chest of his dark ‘BODYGUARD’ muscle tee. She could feel his heart pound beneath her fingertips, beating to the same rhythm as hers. Leon’s bottom lip twitched, as if words hung on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be released until they were interrupted by a sound coming from outside the storage closet door. 

 “TWO MINUTES TO SHOWTIME! WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE FUCKIN’ FIND HER BEFORE I LOSE MY GODDAMN MIND?”

 She released the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in and Leon blinked, bowing his head down between her legs where they were connected, the base of his cock glistening with her slick. He inhaled a shaky breath as she used her legs around his waist to draw herself in closer, wrapping her arms back around his neck. Leon gazed down at her with those enigmatic eyes that held the darkest of oceans, so inviting, she found herself diving in nearly every time she looked at him. 

 “Kiss me?” She asked, shuddering as she inhaled. Leon’s gaze softened, eyebrows furrowed as he cupped her cheek with one strong hand, holding onto her elbow with the other. He drew her lips back into his where they belonged, beginning to rock his hips into hers again as their tongues danced around one another. 

 Warmth flooded her cheeks as he picked up his pace, his thrusts harder and more purposeful than they were only a moment before. Her lips parted in a gasp, breaking their kiss as her forehead fell onto his, tears brimming the outskirts of her sockets. 

 “Leon, I’m so close,” she whispered, mewling as that knot tied deep in the pit of her stomach began to shudder, ready to shatter. Leon nodded against her forehead, a soft curse tumbling from his full, pink lips. “I know,” he murmured back, his grip on her elbow tightening as he thrusted again and again and again, certain to leave a bruise on her cervix. 

 She could feel tears tip over the glassy barrier in her sockets as bliss washed over her body, her toes curling, her muscles twitching, legs shaking. Leon cursed again as he, too, met his end, hot spurts of his cum filling her up in ropes, painting her white. 

 “ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME!” She could hear someone yell from outside the door and despite her aching limbs and her sobbing pussy, she softly pushed Leon away just as he snapped her panties back into place. She mewled when the material hit her sore clit, a quiet “sorry” falling from his lips as he worked his pants back up his thighs.

 She fixed her stage outfit and Leon helped her down from the shelf he had fucked her into, helping adjust the strap of her top on her shoulder. She looked up at him and after a moment, he met her stare. 

 “Well?” She said. “Do I look okay?”

 “THIRTY SECONDS TO SHOWTIME!”

 The corner of Leon’s lips curved into a soft smile, the most tender she swore she’d ever seen him look before, “you look like a star.”

 Lights blinded her as she rose from beneath the stage, the crowd like an echo behind her earpieces. She sang the first note into her microphone, closing her eyelids shut as the bass rumbled in her chest. She was on the stage now, a limelight finding her as she faced the sea of screaming fans and phone lights. 

 “You brush past me in the hallway and you don’t think I, I, I can see you, do you?” she sang the opening line, swaying her hips to the beat, pointing into the crowd as she pranced upon the stage. The ache between her legs was still evident but she pushed thoughts of sex and Leon to the side, letting herself be swayed and taken away by the music. 

 She sang lyrics she remembered writing deep into the night in a dimly-lit hotel room after Leon had forced himself out of her bed to leave, insisting he was no good for her and she deserved better. The memory of that night still haunted her, especially when she sang these lyrics. 

 “But what would you do if I went to touch you now?” She sang low into the mic, snapping her palm against her hip to the soft beat. “What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a… so-ow-ound?”

 She made her way to one side of the stage as she sang the beginning of the chorus, eyeing the edge of the platform where she knew Leon would be, his back turned to face the crowd. 

 “And I could see you up against the wall with me. And what would you do, baby, if you only knew?” Her lips curved into a smile against the microphone as she stared into the back of Leon’s dark blonde hair. “That I can see you.”

 Although his back was to her, she still had the premonition that he knew she was right behind him. She brought her mic down to her hip and turned, hair whipping behind her as she began a slow strut to the other side of the stage. 

 She had the strange feeling that he knew she could see him. 

a/n; so here's another fic i've had drafted since literally july and only just now got around to finishing it LMAO my first leon fic! i've been wanting to write for this man for years now but only just now got around to it...

TAGLIST;

@bxbyyyjocelyn

@chaoticevilbakugo

@luckypurins

@corruptcoder

[tangledlcve]

─ strangers ‧ gojo satoru

synopsis: the universe does everything in its power to remind you of your ex-lover

pairing: gojo satoru x reader (implied f!)

content (genre and warnings): non-sorcerer au, heartbreak (no happy ending), angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of drinking and alcohol, implied emotional manipulation, reader gets ghosted, mentions of throwing up, not proofread, inspired by strangers by kenya grace

word count: 0.9 k

a/n: im scared shitless to post this haha

Moving to New York was supposed to be a fresh start. After spending days and days sobbing your heart out on your bed, you decided not to spend your already boring life crying over some boy who couldn’t even bother to break up with you face-to-face.

So, you packed your bags and moved in temporarily with your best friend until you got your bearings back. The plan was simple: socialise, meet new people, and hopefully fall in love with one.

Three steps to a healed heart — you thought it would be easy. But fate has a cruel way to reopen wounds you thought you had healed.

The girl — your date — sat across from you with a dazzling smile, almost as bright as his, but not quite. Her eyes were also blue (oh, you hated your life right now), but darker than his, and her hair was platinum blonde — almost white if the light hit just right. It was like every person you met felt dull in comparison to the man you had loved, because he was the moon who effortlessly outshined every star that tried to twinkle brighter than him. You couldn’t help but compare everyone to him.

But you forced him out of your thoughts, focusing on your date. Gigi — that was her name, as far as you could recall. Gigi Scott. You cursed the universe for making the one girl you finally liked have the same initials as your ex.

Despite that, it was fun with her. You talked and laughed and got drunk; she kissed you against the wall of the restaurant, her hand sliding to your waist. Your eyes fell shut as her lips latched onto your neck, tilting your head to the side to give her more access.

That was until she called you a nickname. The same nickname he used to call you.

The hands that were clutching the fabric of her shirt froze uncomfortably in place; even your breath got stuck in your throat. She felt your body go rigid and pulled back, concern filling her eyes.

The last straw was her bringing your knuckles to her lips and pressing a featherlight kiss onto them. It was twisted — she did it exactly like he used to. Her dark blue eyes seemed lighter now, the same comforting smile on her lips. She kissed you where he used to kiss, called your name like he did.

Muttering a feeble apology, you fled. Everything reminded you of him — everyone. You saw him when you looked up at the night sky, when you watched movies you both had watched together, when you ate something he had cooked for you while you were crashing at his place. You saw him in everyone’s smile, everyone’s eyes; you remembered him when you saw the small convenience store selling mochi or a little boy eating blue-colored ice cream.

It was stupid; Gigi was nice. She was funny, loud, and gorgeous, but she was too much like someone who had broken your heart. You knew how the story would go. You’d get in her car, and she’d flash you an easy smile before kissing you again, still smiling against your lips. More kisses, until you’d recline in your seats, flushed and grinning. You’d talk, and so would she — until your throats were hoarse and your eyes drooping.

She’d visit you in between your classes, sneaking in a kiss in the hallway. She’d make you homemade lunches with little notes and memorise your coffee order. She’d make you playlists and wear a hair tie around her wrist just in case you forgot. She’d fawn over you in front of her friends and cover you with a blanket when you fell asleep on the couch. She’d always be the first one to comment and like your posts, and pretend to have a heart attack every time you started to leave without kissing her in the morning.

She’d say her I love you’s when you both were basking in the afterglow, the sun peeking through the windows. She’d hold you while you cried with snotty tears and reassure you that you were still the prettiest girl she had seen, even with your mascara smudged. She’d hold your hair back when you threw up from drinking too much.

And when you were in too deep — too in love — she’d leave.

One day, you’d return from your classes to find your dorm empty, almost lifeless. You’d text her a where r u? and it would be left on delivered. Her friends would tell you — after two whole days of you freaking out over whether she was alive or not — that she had moved. Not to another city, not another state, but countries. She hadn’t even bothered to tell you — not even a text.

She had just left you with a broken heart and a hell of a lot of feelings.

You would spend days crying, blaming him, then yourself, then the universe. The tears would dry out, and you’d try to move on — but you’d see her everywhere. She’d haunt you.

You knew how it would go, because it was exactly how it went with Gojo Satoru.

© sxturn-to-mxrs | Not to be reposted, translated or copied on any platform

[imaginedisish]

Is It Casual Now? (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: So this one is a couple of requests rolled into one. I got some asks about dancing around feelings, and some others about a fight/make up sex...and this is what I came up with. This is (very obviously) inspired by "Casual" by the queen herself, Chappell Roan. (Gif is not mine--from a user called trashy on Pinterest). Enjoy!

Summary: I know baby nooo attachment, but we're...KNEE DEEP IN THE PASSENGER SEAT AND YOU'RE EATING ME OUT IS IT CASUAL NOW?

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI! Oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), cockwarming, so much smut, feelings, friends w/benefits/secret affair to lovers, Logan is afraid to love but goddammit he loves you, angsty asf, cursing, happy ending :), fem!reader/afab!reader, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,405 short...not...

Over the course of his very long life, some of Logan’s memories have shifted, melded together. Days become nights and nights become days, an inescapable cycle with an indeterminate end. But Logan remembers the day he met you vividly. You tripped him up; sucked him out of the monotony of what at times felt like a meaningless existence. You changed everything. 

The summer air was hot and stuffy. He was standing in the hallway with Jean, Scott, Rogue, and Kurt. The door opened, sunlight filling the dark foyer. And then there you were, stepping inside, with Charles and Storm flanking you. 

Your eyes found his immediately. “My X-Men, this is our new recruit,” Charles had said, introducing you to the team. But you were only focused on the man in the middle. The man with the leather jacket and the dark black hair. 

“Hi,” you said shyly with a wave of your hand, eyes still focused on Logan. The rest of the team excitedly introduced themselves, but you weren’t listening. 

Logan smiled. “Hi,” he said back. He was all you could see. 

And he still is. But you’re dancing around your feelings—the both of you. You allow yourselves to give in, but only under the cover of darkness. Only in bed. Late at night. When the rest of the team is fast asleep. It’s always quiet; rushed steps down the hallway and soft taps on doors. Tripping into the darkness of a room to find the bed. A mess of limbs tangled together, moon high in the sky, cold light trickling through the curtains. 

It’s the early hours of the morning, the dawn creeping in through your window. Logan’s arm is wrapped around you, his hand holding your breast. It’s so domestic, so intimate. But you know he’s going to leave—one of you always leaves. Lately, it hurts worse every time the bed goes cold. 

“I should go,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. He tugs you closer, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He’s still hard, his erection brushing against the curve of your ass. You push back into him teasingly. 

“Stay,” you beg, your hips rocking against him. 

He kisses your neck. “Can’t. You know we can’t.” 

Your heart drops. You don’t know how much more of this arrangement you can take. The leaving. The hiding. The secretiveness. “Why?” You ask, separating from him. You roll over onto your other side to face him. “Why can’t we?”

“We just can’t,” he grunts, pushing himself up and out from under the covers. He finds his clothes on the ground and starts to dress himself. You sit up too, tears suddenly brimming behind your eyes. 

You shake your head. “That’s not an answer, Lo.” 

“Please,” he says, tugging his beater across his chest. He leans over you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “You have to understand.” 

You nod, but you don’t understand. He kisses you once more before stepping quietly towards the door. His hand hovers over the doorknob, like part of him can’t take this either. Like he has to fight some demon deep inside him not to crawl back into bed and pull you close. You know him; you can see it in his face, in the way he stands.  

“See you later?” You ask, swallowing nervously. You need to hear him say it—need him to remind you that this isn’t over. You’re desperate for anything—desperate for him. 

Logan smiles. “Yeah,” he nods. “Come to my room tonight, okay?”

You fight back your tears, plastering a fake smile on your face. “Okay.”

And then he’s slipping out the door, softly shutting it behind him. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night…

His sheets are soft under your back. His arm holds you down, latched tightly over your hip, keeping your lower half glued to the mattress. His face is buried deep in your cunt. He’s lapping at you hungrily, needily. 

“Thought about you all day,” he mumbles against you, the bassy vibration of his voice sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. His fingers pump in and out of you, fast and hard. “Wanted to taste you so bad, pretty girl.” 

“Logan,” you whine as he takes your clit between his lips, sucking roughly. “F-feels so good.” 

Your walls flutter around him as he sinks his fingers deeper inside you. There’s a hunger in his eyes, a desperation you’re well acquainted with. You feel it whenever you’re around him, whenever he’s pressing himself closer to you, pushing himself inside of you. 

“Doing so good for me, darlin’,” he soothes, his thumb drawing circles into your hip. “Tastes so fucking good, so sweet.” His words are practically throwing you over the edge, destroying you, and then building you back up. 

He’s knuckle-deep inside you, lapping at you, watching your every reaction to see what makes you feel good. The sight of him is overwhelming—his mouth latched onto your clit, hair a mess, sweat on his brow, lust darkening his eyes. 

You throw your head back as he hits your sweet spot, his fingers scissoring inside you. “S-so close,” you stutter as he sinks into you. “Need you, Lo,” you whimper. 

“Need you too, beautiful,” he murmurs between laps. “More than you’ll ever know.” The words—their vulnerability and meaning—push you over, your orgasm crashing in waves. “That’s it,” he coos, plunging into you. “Give it to me.” He talks you through it, soft praises slipping from his lips as his tongue drags along your clit. Lemme taste you come, sweetheart. So good. So fucking beautiful. 

He pulls his fingers from your cunt long after you’ve finished. He licks one long stripe through your folds before crawling up your body and settling in between your legs. His lips find yours, and you can taste yourself on his mouth, on his tongue, wearing you like a badge of honor, like proof of his commitment to you.

Commitment. Right.  

He made you feel so good that you almost let yourself forget. Your arrangement. This stupid, goddamn arrangement. 

No staying. No telling. You. Him. The moonlight. And then nothing. 

Logan’s face is buried in the crook of your neck, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive spot underneath your ear. 

“Lo,” you whisper. He hums against you, not stopping. “Logan,” you chide again. 

He pushes himself up, looking down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What is it, princess?” You swallow harshly, blinking back your tears. The expression on his face shifts as he recognizes the pain in your eyes. “You okay? Did I hurt you?” 

You shake your head. “I want you,” is all you say. 

“I want you too,” he says back, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“N-no,” you choke. “I want you.”

He pulls up a bit, putting some space between the two of you. “You have me,” he says, confusion painted across his face. 

“No, I don’t,” you mutter, shutting your eyes. 

Logan rolls off of you and sits up against the headboard. “What are you talking about?” 

You open your eyes, looking up at him. “I can’t do this ‘sneaking around’ thing anymore,” you start, tears flooding your eyes as you struggle to hold them back. “I want—” you cut yourself off. You can’t play down your emotions anymore. “I need you, all of you. Always. I’m tired of leaving, of hiding, of this whole casual thing.”

“Casual?” His voice is harsh, accusatory. “This isn’t fucking casual to me. You think I don’t care about you?” He reaches out to touch you, but you turn away, swinging your legs around the side of the bed. You grab your clothes from the floor and dress quickly. 

You turn back to face him. “Why don’t you want to stay with me, then? Why are we only together when no one is looking?” You shake your head, your hands balling into fists. “Why don’t you want me all the time?”

He scoffs, standing from the bed and striding over to you. “You don’t get it. I do. I want you. I just can’t—”

“You can’t what?” You shout. You don’t care who can hear you. You’re not even thinking about the others right now. You’re only thinking about Logan. And then, the words shoot out your mouth, cold and angry. Empty. Strained. “Can’t love me like I love you?”

Your eyes widen, shocked at what you’ve just said. Your chest heaves, and you rush to the door. 

“Wait, please,” Logan calls, running to catch you before you leave. “Don’t go.” 

You twist the knob. “It’s too late now.” You open the door and slip out, trying to shove it closed in his face. But Logan pushes against you, keeping the door open and stepping out into the hallway. You turn around and storm down the corridor, ignoring his footsteps following behind. 

He grabs your wrist, and you yank it away. You’re in front of your bedroom door now. Logan is just a few feet away. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

His eyes search yours frantically. “No, let’s talk. Let’s—”

You cut him off. “I don’t want to anymore, Lo.” You open your door, ignoring his pleas, leaving him on the other side as you slam it shut behind you. You rest your back against the cold wood, sliding down to the floor. You pull your legs into your chest, your head resting on your knees. 

Your tears flow freely now, running down your cheeks. You sit like that for what feels like hours, sobs racking through your chest. But when your tears finally subside and you look up, you see the moon is still high in the sky. 

You force yourself to stand, your knees weak as you push yourself off the ground. Your throat is dry from all that time spent crying. You decide to go down to the kitchen, to get water, to calm down. But when you open the door, you’re met with him. 

Logan. He’s on the other side, his hand gripping the door frame, muscles flexing, towering over you. You try to slip under his arm, but he doesn’t let you, grabbing your waist and holding you in place. 

“We need to talk,” he mutters, backing you into the room and shutting the door with a kick. 

You cross your arms against your chest. “There’s nothing left to talk about.” But he isn’t standing down. Your thighs back into the edge of your bed as Logan leans down over you. You look up at him, doing your all not to give in to the voice that screams to touch him, to taste him. You take a deep breath. “We want different things. You don’t want me the way I want you, and that’s fine,” you lie; it isn’t fine at all. 

“I never said that,” he huffs, his fingertips tentatively stroking your arms. You can’t pull away as his eyes find yours. “I just…” he trails off, taking your hands in his. 

You scoff, shaking your head. “You can’t even tell me how you feel. You can’t even—” “Because it’s hard!” He says, his jaw working. “It’s hard when you lose everyone you love.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “You don’t get it,” he murmurs, squeezing your hands, his chest heaving. 

“Logan—”

“You’re always around, always on my fucking mind.” He pauses, his eyes glossing over as the words fall from his lips. “I have never loved someone the way I love you. And if I lose you…if I can’t have you…” He trails off, pain clear on his face. “I will never be the same again. You changed me. And that’s terrifying. I felt safer keeping you at a distance but…” His breath catches in his throat. “I can’t go back to how I was before you.”

Your lips part as you stammer, searching for the right thing to say. “I-I didn’t know. I just assumed that you—” “That I was just fucking you?” He asks, tilting his head in disbelief. “This has never been just fucking.” He slots his knee between your legs, tugging you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I love you. Always have. From that first day.” 

You lean into his touch. “I love you, too,” you whisper. 

He presses his forehead to yours. “I can’t lose you,” he says. There’s a tremble in his voice. “It’s just you. It’s only ever gonna be you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you reassure. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

He nods against you. “I never meant to hurt you,” Logan husks. “Never meant to make you feel like I didn’t love you.”  

“Logan, it’s okay,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. You need him closer, and you know he needs you too. His hands slip underneath your shirt as his knee nudges against your center. “Always gonna need you.” You can’t help but grind down on him, the pressure relieving the building ache in your core. “N-need you now.”

“Need you too, pretty girl,” he soothes. He guides you down onto the mattress. His palms spread across your stomach, tracing over your ribs—just under your breasts. “Wanna make you feel good.” He cups your tits, squeezing softly, his thumbs ghosting over your nipples. 

Logan settles on top of you, balancing on his forearm, his knee still pressing into your all too-clothed cunt. He knows how much you need him—the way your hips roll against him, how you arch up to meet his touch. 

“L-Lo,” you stutter, dragging your heat against him again. “Fuck me, please.” 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his erection hard against your thigh. You can feel his resolve slipping. “Gonna give you what you want, pretty girl,” he groans. “Give you anything you want.”

Everything is rushed, frantic, needy. He’s sitting up, grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head, practically ripping it in the process. He hooks his thumbs into the waistbands of your shorts and panties, tugging them down your legs in one quick movement. 

He takes you in, his eyes flitting up and down your body. “So fucking beautiful,” he breathes, his hand squeezing your hip reverentially before tearing off his beater and throwing it to the floor. He slips his sweatpants down his legs, and then his boxers. 

Logan pushes you into the center of the bed as he climbs over you. He balances on his forearm while his free hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your entrance. 

You can tell he wants to shove himself inside, to take you greedily, but he doesn’t. He’s holding back; going slow like he’s remembering this so he can think about it later, when he needs it most—savoring the feeling of you against him. His tip slides through your folds, teasing your entrance. He nudges against your clit, spreading your arousal. 

But his composure quickly cracks. He’s suddenly sinking inside you deeply—down to the hilt—with no warning, taking up every inch you have to give him. He stretches you out, the size of him still no easier to take than that first time he fucked you. “Logan,” you whine, hands pawing at his back for support. 

He swallows your whimpers with a kiss. “I’m right here.” His voice is honeyed as he talks you through it. “I’ve got you, pretty girl. Not going anywhere.” He pulls out and shoves himself back inside, deeper this time. His fingers are on your clit now, circling softly. “So fucking tight, so wet. Perfect pussy.”

His cock rubs your inner walls deliciously, pumping in and out. He’s on top of you, inside you, and he’s yours. He’s all yours. You wrap your legs around his waist as he rocks into you. He’s building his pace, letting himself go. 

“It’s s-so good.” You stumble over your words, already fucked out. “Y-you’re so good.” 

His thrusts are faster now, his hips snapping roughly into yours. “So soft,” he murmurs, biting your bottom lip and then licking away the sting he left behind. “So fucking soft and pretty. Taking me so good, darlin’.”

His words spark that fire in your belly. You can feel it spread down, down, down. The ache between your legs blooming, turning into something bigger. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him. He groans at the feeling as you take him deeper. All you want, all you need, is him. Logan. “Yours,” you whisper. “L-Logan I’m all yours. Not going anywhere.”

“Shit,” he curses, pounding into you, all the way hit after hit. “You’re all I need,” he confesses between thrusts, panting. He flicks your clit, pinching, circling hard. “Mine, all fucking mine. Never gonna let go.”

“Don’t,” you beg, his forehead pressing to yours. He’s all-consuming; he’s everywhere and he’s everything. “D-don’t let go,” you finish, your lips ghosting his. He takes the hint, and his lips crash down onto yours as he ruts into you. 

You can feel yourself cresting, ready to let go. “I know you’re getting close for me, beautiful,” Logan growls, pressing a kiss to that sweet spot under your ear. “Can feel you squeezing me.” Your walls clench around him, and he groans. “Yeah, just like that, sweetheart. Feels so good.”

“L-Lo…” you stutter, unable to form a coherent thought as he fucks into you, stroking your clit faster and harder. You’re falling apart underneath him, every thrust pushing you closer to that peak. You throw your head back, your eyes fluttering closed. 

“Eyes on me,” Logan demands, his voice thick and raspy. You listen, looking up at him. His eyes are locked on yours, lust-filled and dark. “Wanna see that pretty face when you come, darlin’.” 

You can feel his pace faltering—can feel him getting closer too. But he’s relentless as his hips roll against yours, fingers still working your clit. It’s too much. “Logan,” you whimper. “I-I’m gonna…” “I know, beautiful,” he says softly. “Let go for me, wanna feel you come on my cock.” 

He thrusts again, flicking your clit. And that’s all it takes for you to crumble. He watches closely as you come undone. You’re trembling underneath him, his fingers still circling your core. Your muscles contract around him, sucking him in, taking him deeper. You moan his name like it’s a prayer, something holy. But this is beyond that. This is something more, something different. 

“L-love you, Lo,” you murmur, pleasure still coursing through your veins. 

Logan curses under his breath, your words unlocking something trapped inside him. His cock throbs against your walls, and you know he’s almost there. “Love you too, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Love you so fucking much.” He slides his hand up your body and under your back, pulling you closer. You need the contact, and so does he. 

“W-want you to come inside,” you whine, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. 

“F-fuck, yeah?” He stutters. His cock twitches again. “Gonna fill you up, sweetheart, give you what you need.” His lips find yours as he comes, kissing you hungrily. He’s warm inside you, painting your walls, filling you up just like he said he would. Logan’s head falls to your shoulder as his thrusts slow. He stalls inside you, staying there, not quite ready to slip out.

“Lo?” You call. He hums a yeah, sweetheart, into your shoulder. “D-don’t want you to pull out. Want you to stay inside.” 

He mutters a fuck and presses a kiss to your collarbone. He maneuvers the two of you under the covers, careful not to pull out. You’re a tangle of limbs, still connected, still together. He’s half hard inside you, and you know he’s not quite finished just yet. But there’s later, tomorrow, forever. Everything feels perfect—the way it was always meant to be. 

There’s one thing left to do; one thing left to ask. 

“Logan?” You call again. He smiles at you, pressing a chaste kiss to your nose. “Can you stay?”

His smile widens. “Always gonna stay,” he soothes, pulling you tighter to his chest, his hands rubbing up and down your back. “You never have to ask again.”

You hum, burying your head into the center of his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says against the crown of your head. “Always will. Always gonna stay.”

Always.

tags: @babygirl-4986

[ooooo-mcyt]

Grian is the sun in his warmth. He's a natural leader, the creator of the game, the first to win it, someone who's good at taking charge, someone it's easy to just orbit around. He's warm, fun, active at all points. He feeds beautiful things and warms cold hands.

Grian is also the sun in the way he burns. To come too close is often to burn into nothing. To look too long is often blinding. Long told tales warn not to fly too close. Burnt wax and invisible radiation- it isn't intentional, there's no malice in the destruction. He destroys anyway. It's the nature of the sun, to silently poison and burn.

Scott is the stars in how he guides. Company in the darkest night, a steady still light used to navigate the darkness. Scott loves deeply, giving all he has to see the ones who love him succeed. He burns for them, a steady presence, hopeful and certain, you're going to make it, he knows it.

Scott is also the stars in distance. The stars in our sky are a snapshot of time, thousands of years passed and trillions of miles away. As much as he may burn with all the radioactive heat of a star while he can, choosing to die first means Scott has no power over what happens once he's gone. All he can do is hope for the ones he loves to look up, and that the light will be bright enough still to guide them home.

Pearl is the moon in the way she changes. She's adaptable, able to shift easily, changing form. A loyal friend, a curse, something wicked, something that watches- the moon can be many things, depending, and that's one of her big strengths. Pearl survives- thrives- off her willingness to be what she's believed to be, what she has to be. Adaptability and change is one of the reasons Pearl is always one of the last ones standing.

Pearl is also the moon in her loneliness. Isolated through quiet nights with nothing but the howling of the wolves for company. Overlooking a world quiet and still and shrouded in shadow. Even if she longs for company, it's not in the nature of the moon, at least, not when the moon is truly visible.

Martyn is mars in victory. It may not be pretty or palatable for everyone, but there's an empowerment in it. Martyn seized victory, made an ending that was his and his alone. Exactly the way he wanted it. The best kind of selfishness, the kind where you finally get to hold something close and say it's yours, after so long of just playing a role in someone else's story.

Martyn is also mars in brutality. A barren red desert, inhospitable to all but himself. Maybe once it could have held life, could have been something kinder, but now all that remains is harsh freezing dust, brutal and selfish. Mars has no capacity to regret, but still, the rage of dust storms can sometimes feel like grief, or something close to it.

Scar is the earth in his capacity to create. Tending to animals, helping the flowers bloom, building incredible things. Trade and commerce, speech, energy and life. Everything to do with creation, with life, with civilization. The only winner who kept living beyond their victory.

Scar is also the earth in his capacity to destroy. Violence and destruction, dishonesty, injustice. The earth may be the holder of life, but it's also the most common destroyer of it. Earth can be an unforgiving and unsympathetic force, bringing injustice on the shifting of the tides and gathering of clouds.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

We'll heal together: Chapter Three

Scott's Street Phoebe Bridgers

Peter Pettigrew x Reader (Platonic) / Sirius Black x Reader (Ambiguous-Past) / Remus Lupin x Reader (Ambiguous) / James Potter x Reader (Platonic)

Masterlist

Summary: Reader is still having dreams of her past, while McGonagall convinces Dumbledore to remove the curse on her.

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, Jealous/Jerk Sirius, Fights, Smoking, mentions of death (please reach out if I missed something}

Wc- 2238

Remus was leaning against the railing of the transfiguration courtyard, looking over at the calm night. You were beside him, sitting atop the railing and looking down the hall, the very hall you two were supposed to be patrolling. 

Being a Prefect was lovely, of course, it was even better considering most of your routes were shared with Remus or Lily. The quiet walks spent chatting with the two were your favorite part of the day, or better, the night. Your green badge shining in the backdrop of the moon as you leaned back, just enough to dangle towards the yard but not enough to fall. You swayed your legs and Remus gave a low chuckle at your behavior. “You’ll fall.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and straightened yourself back up, turning to look at Remus as he pulled out a small box from his pocket. He opened it and pulled out a cigarette, offering over the box before you shook your head. “You know, we really should be finishing up our patrols.”

“What, don't like spending time with me?” He teased as his scarred hand lifted the stick to his lips. He snapped his fingers and the end suddenly sparked with a warm glow. It gave his face just the perfect amount of light, especially when he breathed in the toxin. His lips, slightly parted, quirked upwards as his eyes flicked to yours. When you made eye contact, you realized you had been staring at him for far longer than would seem normal. You gave him a playfully sour look and held out your hand. He gave a fake gasp of shock and handed you the cigarette that you quickly took a drag from. “My my. What a rebel.”

Remus always got more confident around the full moon, it was a bit intimidating. He was much easier to handle when he was meek and well mannered. Clicking his tongue as he leaned his head back. He gave a low groan and held out his hand to you. You handed the cig back and he finished it off before putting it out against the railing and tossed it towards the grass. “Want to skip our patrols today?”

You gawked at him and slowly, your lips curled into a bright, delightfully surprised smile. “You’re joking, right? Remus, usually I'm the one getting us into trouble, what has gotten into you?” You teased, jumping down from your perch and smirked up at him.

He gave a shrug and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy smile. “Maybe Sirius has had some influence on me lately.”

“Oh? .. Oh.” You lit up with a mischievous look and Remus looked at you, confused.

“That's never a good sign.” He muttered and tilted his head before you clicked your tongue.

“Think about what you just said.”

“What?”

“Humor me.”

“I... want to skip patrols with you, and it's because I have been hanging out with- Oh.. OH.”

You doubled over and held your sides in laughter as the flustered boy tried to explain himself. Stuttering and stammering over his own words as you held the pillar beside you and leaned back against it. “Merlin! Help! I can't breathe!”

“Don't be so dramatic!” He tried to scold you but his red cheeks and narrowed eyes only worked against him to make you laugh harder. Remus slowly covered his mouth with one of his hands and the other went to his hip, doing his best to stifle his now growing laughter.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash that rang out from the hall before you two. You gave a small yelp of surprise and snapped your attention towards it. Calming your laughs you stood up straight and fixed your uniform. “Well, Remus, our little ditch night will need a rendezvous.” You teased and he thinned his lips.

“We could still-”

But you were already hurrying down the hall. Remus cursed himself and followed after you, watching with a sigh as you turned the corner, considering you were shorter than him, your scurrying figure sure was moving fast.

When you did turn the corner, you were met with three very familiar faces, walking your way with a bundle of what seemed to be muggle spray paint, ribbons, empty potion containers and glitter. You didn't even want to think about what they were up to, let alone the mess it would make when they did it. Dye a classmate's hair? Fine. Jinks a broom or two? All in good fun! But the muggle hell that was glitter? No, they crossed a line.

Your eyes met Sirius’s first and you frowned, his lips turning upward. “Oh look, buzzkill is here.” He hummed and James looked up from where he was gathering some of the containers he dropped. Lighting up with a bright smile as he stood up. “Vix!”

“W-we can explain-” Peter squeaked up, before Remus finally caught up and turned the corner with a calm stride. “I couldn't stop her.”

You gave a gasp. “You! You… double agent!” You declared with a gawk towards Remus.

You quickly turned your attention to the other three. “You! I expected better from you.” You gestured in your playfully stern voice to Peter, who had enough sense to hide his smile. “You, now, I expected nothing from you, truly.” You gesture to James before you land on Sirius and shrug. “And I guess you're here as well. If you must, at least try to act meek or apologetic.”

“I don't think I could pretend to be apologetic towards the likes of you, bird.” He snarked and you gave a scoff. 

“I’ll show you a bird! Right between my ring and index finger!” You gasped.

Remus laughed and wrapped his arms around your shoulder, taking the hand you jerked upward. “Settle down.” He snickered to you, not noticing the look Sirius sent him at your proximity. Sirius rolled his jaw before it tightened and his eyes locked on the two of you. Then, like a child, he walked up to you and opened one of the containers of Glitter. He wasn't really thinking, his body just suddenly.. moved.

You just looked back from your playful argument with Remus to see Sirius chuck a handful of glitter at both of you. You took the brunt end of it, and looked up at Sirius with a slack jaw and pure anger in your eyes. “How DARE you, Black!” Your voice bellowed before you grabbed his wrist and began to tussle with him in the halls.

~~

“After he threw the glitter at me, I don't exactly remember what happened.” You mused and pressed your tongue to your cheek as Sirius scoffed from his seat next to you. His lip was cut and he was absolutely covered in red and gold glitter.

“You lying snake!” He scoffed and you faked a gasp, 

Professor McGonagall gave a firm sigh and looked to the other three boys who stood off to the side, Also seeming to have been caught up in the whirlwind that was their fight, covered in Glitter, and smiling nervously at the professor. 

“Potter, what happened?” She asked, James opened his mouth but with a sharp look from both {Y/N} and Sirius, he shut his trap. “I- there was so much glitter, ma’am, I couldn't possibly-”

The professor sighed and turned to Peter who put his head down, the last attempt was Remus who just gave a soft, “Nope.”

The professor sighed and looked back at the two students in front of her, who quickly turned back around to face her as she grimaced. “Fine, since none of you will speak up, 10 points from slytherin for the fight!”

“What!?” You exclaimed, trying to hide your amusement. Black snickering.

“I’m glad you find it humorous Black, 10 points from Gryfindor for the fright.” Black pouted, slowly opened his mouth before she raised her hand. “And 20 points from all three of you for being out past curfew!” She declared and Black’s jaw went slack. You lit up and smirked at him, stifling a laugh quickly.

“Were you going to say something, {Y/N}?” McGonagall snapped her eyes to you and you quickly hid your smile with a bowed head. “No, Professor.”

“Good! Now if you would all kindly, go to your dorms!” She scolded.

You quickly got to your feet and thanked the professor, walking to the door as you passed the boys with your chin in the air. Your steps slowly faded out into faint echoes before your eyes shot open wide.

Another weird dream, it seemed. You sighed and looked at your clock, it was past midnight. You looked around the room to see what could have possibly woken you, before you heard it again. A knocking from down stairs. Who would possibly want to get into your shop this late? No one needed flowers this bad!

You got out of bed and wrapped yourself in your robe. Walking over to your window and narrowed your eyes at the two figures in cloaks at your door. Oh hell no.

~~

“Albus?” Professor McGonagall called into the room, stepping into the Headmaster’s office, knocking on the door before she walked in fully.

“Minerva.” Dumbledore greeted her warmly, fixing his glasses on his face and leaning back into his chair as he set his paperwork aside. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just some things to run past you, shouldn't be longer than a moment. I hope I am not interrupting something important.” She fretted with a small smile and Dumbledore merely made a face and waved his hand. 

“I would always prefer your presence over the ever alluring siren song of paperwork. Now, how can I help you?”  He cheeked.

“It's about Lupin, Harry has asked him to teach him the Patronus charm.” She smirked at Albus leaning forward slightly with her hands folded.. He gave a thoughtful nod, slowly smiling. “I would love to see how that goes then.”

“I will tell Lupin the moment I see him then.” She mused and began to slowly walk across the room, standing by the empty portrait Dumbledore had purchased for himself. Still unfinished, with splashes of indignant color staining the parchment and shel frowned. Dumbledore gave a sigh and stood to his feet. Walking over to stand beside her, hands clasped behind his back.

“Has it been that long already?” Minerva mused after a long moment of silence before she lifted her hand to run it under the name plate below his frame. Mouthing his name as Dumbledore simply nodded. “I am getting older, Minerva.” He turned from where he stood and walked back up  the steps. “I don't have many regrets in how I lived my life. Do you?” He pried, trying to fish out just what seemed to be under her skin.

“In this school? No, I don't think I have.” She mused and turned to face Dumbledore.

“But?” He pushed and she sighed.

“In our war, that is another thing.”

“Ah.” He announced and paused in his steps to the bookshelf beside his desk, running his fingers along the spine before he picked one up, a light blue binding covered in dust. “I take it this is about our project Vixen.”

“She's remembering more and more by the day.” Minerva grimaced, knowing what that really meant. Dumbledore was growing weaker, and thus, the spells and charms he cast were losing their hold. He was losing his touch, and day to day she begged him to slow down and he refused.

“She has been remembering for months now.” He dismissed and Minerva felt herself growing frustrated.

“She said Harry’s name yesterday.” She tutted and he fell silent, opening the book and walking over to his desk.

She suppressed a scoff and walked up to him. “Did you hear me, Albus?”

“Did I ever tell you why I did what I did that October 30th?” He asked and Minerva tightened her lip in slight annoyance. 

“No.” 

He gestured for her to sit and she sighed, sitting in front of his desk as he sat across from her and began to scan the pages of the book.

“{Y/N} {L/N} was not marked for death by Voldemort as I had said all those years ago. She was marked for capture,” He began and Minerva narrowed her eyes. “I only learned this from a certain whistleblower, who begged me to do something. To save both her and Lily.” 

Minerva’s eyes widened and she sat up straighter.

“This whistleblower gave me information and promised his loyalty in exchange for both of their safety. She had been outed by a rat of sorts, for conspiring with one of Voldamort’s own to.. Well, I am not entirely sure but I have my theories.” He waved his hand as he found what he was looking for in the book. Setting it down and pushing it over to Minerva. A step by step breakdown of how to reverse Obliviate. 

“I did what I thought was necessary at the time. Here I find I may have over done it.” He mumbled and Minerva couldn't hide her bitter laugh. Twelve years. Twelve years since he sent the girl away, and after all of that he was finally ready to admit, maybe he had gone too far?

“Well.” Albus cleared his throat and stood. “Let's go get our Vixen.”

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Revenge Arc

Cat Voleur: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of the revenge arc Voleur: it's about a woman who makes a webcomic about dark web tortures Voleur: but when her biggest fan starts to take things too seriously Voleur: things start to get Voleur: TOO real

Voleur: it's an epistolary novel Bram Stoker: yes Voleur: about sketchy internet stuff Eve Harms: yes

Voleur: you gotta watch yourself on the dark web Voleur: or you might even become Voleur: roadkill on the information superhighway Stephen King: ah haha hahahah! King: that's a good one! Voleur: yeah i thought you would like that King: ah ha ha! roadkill! information super highway! King: hahaha that slays me!

Cat Voleur: she's making an extreme horror comic all about the dark web Poe: oh, so keenspace? Voleur: what? No! the DARK web Poe: oh! Poe: so drunk duck? King: "roadkill on the information superhighway!" ha ha ha!

Stephen King: I know all about webcomics King: they're like comics but on the internet King: you put them on keenspace Grady Hendrix: [flipping skateboard] "keenspace?" Hendrix: get with it, old man! Hendrix: it's comicgenesis now!

Poe: how do you know about webcomics, steve? King: oh scott mccloud was talking about them Scott McCloud: to understand a comic, you must picture an infinite plane in 8 dimensions, bisecting the dreamscape unilaterally forever McCloud: a comic is like a dream your butt has

Voleur: anyway, this woman makes an extreme webcomic Voleur: not your dad's webcomic! it's real EDGY Frank Belknap Long: like Jack? Voleur: Voleur: sure, edgy like Jack Voleur: but not furry

Voleur: so the fan kidnaps her and tortures her Voleur: but her absence doesn't raise any eyebrows because she put her webcomic on hiatus Voleur: and i don't think you all understand how long the average webcomic hiatus is

King: King: how long is the average webcomic hiatus? Voleur: i mean, technically it depends Voleur: there's the "i'm busy with midterms" hiatus Voleur: and the "not enough of you are signing my guestbook" hiatus King: how long do they last? Voleur: forever Voleur: they both last forever

Voleur: the guy who tortures her is all "ah yes. so good of you to come to my lair. but you must ask yourself… am i the monster of your dreams? or am i the hero of your nightmares? is this your curse… or your destiny? you could have been the ace of knives. yet you chose to play the fool."

Voleur: "have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moon light? do you believe in the power of a curse? can you remember the tallest man you've ever seen? do you love to go awanderin' beneath a clear blue sky? have you noticed what big star real estate agents have become?"

[i-am-baechu]

・Title: Bad Boy

・Paring: Playboy! Yoongi x Namjoon’s little sister! Reader

・ Summary: Yoongi has been best friends with Namjoon since he was seven. He knew his little sister was always off limits but Yoongi never followed the rules.

・ Rating: Explicit (18+) 

・ Genre: Playboy! Yoongi, bad boy! Yoongi, best friend's little sister! reader, college! au, music major! Yoongi, Biology major! reader, fluff, romance, smut, and angst

・Playlist - Dandelions - Ruth B. and Heart like yours - Willamette Stone

・Authors Note: I worked so late yesterday that I didn't have time to post this or even finalize it. I really like how this turned out and it's kinda different for me. I hope you guys like it : )

“I guess sometimes you have to lie to find the truth...” – Scott Westerfeld....

She gasped breathlessly and gripped the black sheets in pleasure, “Yoongi! Please-Oh!” He plunged a finger deep inside of her after teasing her clit with his tongue for what seemed like hours. 

“Whiney little slut.” He spat as he smacked her thigh roughly and made his way back to her clit. 

“Another one!~” Her pleading echoed through the dark room and her fingers were tangled in his long dark locks. He chuckled softly and added another finger, pulling his tongue off of her clit to replace it with his thumb. He glanced outside of his window for a quick second to see the moon shining so bright against his pale skin. He should be used to the brightness of the moon but he isn’t. 

“Come for me. Hurry up, slut.” 

She glanced down at Yoongi and couldn’t stop herself from moaning when she saw his smirk. She arched her back and he felt her clenching around his fingers. Yoongi kept pumping his fingers and leaned down to lick at her clit. Before they could continue, Yoongi’s phone started ringing. He rolled his eyes and got off the bed leaving his hook up in a daze. He picked up his phone in annoyance, “What?” 

“Dude, where are you? We have that project due at midnight.”

Yoongi cursed under his breath and glanced at the girl on his bed. She was still in a daze and glanced back down at the floor, “Alright, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” 

“You fucking better be.” 

Yoongi picked up his shirt off the floor and put it on. He picked up the girl's dress and tossed it to her causing her to snap out of her daze, “Are you leaving?”

“What does it look like?” 

The girl scoffed and shook her head, “After fucking me, you're just going to leave me?” 

“That was the plan. You can have water from the fridge and make sure you lock the door when you leave.” 

Yoongi picked up his motorcycle keys and waved at the girl who was looking at him with a shocked expression. He was down the hallway when he heard the girl yell, “Min Yoongi! You are the worst man on this planet and I hope you get what's coming to you!” 

Yoongi chuckled at that and put his boots on, “Not the first time I heard that one.” 

Yoongi left his apartment, well it wasn’t really his apartment. It was his dad’s property that he used once in a while. That was the benefit of having a rich dad who felt bad for neglecting you. He always wanted to try with him and Yoongi wasn’t going to ignore the gifts or benefits. He put his helmet on and drove to Namjoon’s apartment. 

Yoongi met Namjoon by accident during grade school. They were partnered up for a poetry project and since then the two have been together. Namjoon had always understood Yoongi, regardless of how rough around the edges he was. Namjoon understood him. Namjoon was the first person he came to when his parents were getting divorced and he was the first person he went to when he got accepted to his dream college. Best friends forever they said. 

The drive there was quick and he was welcomed with the familiar smell of lavender when he closed the door. Namjoon always liked the smell of lavender. He said it calmed him down and it had benefits. Some shit like that. Yoongi placed his helmet on the table towards the front as he took off his jacket. He cracked his neck when he felt a presence.

He turned his head and saw Y/N standing there holding a tray of sweets. Y/N was three years younger than Namjoon and four years his junior. He saw her as a piece of glass. She was so sharp but one push and boom shattered. They didn’t really talk that much because she was always busy with her friends or school. He also didn’t know what to say to her. Like at this moment. 

She gave him a small smile and glanced down at the tray, “I got some pastries for your study session. I also started the coffee machine, you should have some soon. Hopefully.”  

Yoongi nodded his head and put his hair in a small ponytail, “Thanks Y/N.” 

He glanced at her and saw that she was in a simple white loungewear set with matching slippers. Her hair was braided and out of her face giving him the perfect view of her eyes. When they were younger, her eyes were like a doe. So wide and filled with hope. Now that she was older they matured with the sparkle of hope that never truly left her. Hoping that life wouldn’t hurt her and everything would turn out right for her. She had all the tools to make that happen and Yoongi knew this. 

Y/N glanced over her shoulder and then back at him, “Namjoon is waiting. He’s grumpy today, be patient with him.”

“Is it because of his girl?” 

“Heejin-unnie? Did they get into a fight?”

Yoongi let out a small chuckle and realized that Y/N had no idea about her brother’s love life, “I guess you can say that.” 

Y/N tilted her head at him, “Should I be worried? I just want to make sure he’s alright.”

Yoongi shook his head at this and put his hands in his pants pocket, “He’s alright. He’s a big boy.” 

Y/N nodded her head and smiled at him, “Plus, he has you in his life. Come in before Namjoon gets angrier.” 

Yoongi wanted to ask her what she meant by that but she walked away from him. There were moments where Yoongi found himself wanting to talk to her but he always stopped himself. She was always there but instead of being a wallflower, he saw her as the charming painting that could brighten up any house. Only a few can understand art and he was glad he could. 

He sighed to himself and walked into the living room to see Namjoon with his papers all over the place. His laptop shines bright against his face and the multiple energy drink cans can cause any doctor to write a note. Yoongi sighed and shook his head at his friend, “Dude, are you good?”

Namjoon looked up from his laptop and glared at him, “I told you to be here an hour ago! You were just sleeping with some random chick again, right?” 

“I lost track of time.” He glanced up and saw Y/N standing by the doorway with a frown on her face. A frown on her face didn’t look right, he wanted to see her smiling with her eyes sparkling. He bit his lip and looked away from her, again what would he say to her? 

“Of course, you lost track...sorry, I’m just stressed with this project and-”

“Heejin.”

Namjoon sighed and nodded his head, “Yeah, let’s just focus on the project.” 

Yoongi nodded his head and sat on the ground next to Namjoon. He glanced into the kitchen to see Y/N pouring coffee into a mug. He watched her push some hair back and he smiled to himself when he saw her pearl earring shining away. It matched her perfectly. She brought two mugs out and placed them on the table. She smiled at Yoongi and pushed the mug towards him, “Just like how you like it.” 

“Americano?”

“Of course, well...I added something to it. It’s my favorite sweetener. I hope you like it.”

Yoongi picked up the cup and brought it up to his lips. The dark liquid went down his throat and the taste of brown sugar became the main focus. It was good, it wasn’t too sweet. It was perfect. Of course, she liked brown sugar, it made sense for her. He put the mug down and saw her looking at him in anticipation. He held back a chuckle and nodded his head, “It’s good.” 

She smiled and looked at her brother, “Make sure you drink your coffee. Don’t stay up too late.”  

“I won’t Y/N. Go get some sleep, you have that test in the morning.” 

She nodded her head and she looked at Yoongi, “Goodnight.” 

Yoongi took another sip and nodded his head at her, “Goodnight.” 

He watched her leave the living room and before she went up the stairs, she glanced at him. She waved at him but he didn’t return it. He just smiled at her and he hoped that was enough for her. He listened to her footsteps until he heard her door closed. He could easily map out her room, he's always at Namjoon’s apartment. 

He turned towards Namjoon who was typing away and he sighed, “Dude, we just needed one more part. Why are you so stressed?” 

“I wanted to add more things.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrow at this and shook his head, “Professor Lee said it was perfect, what more can you do?”

“Make it more perfect, start reading.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes at this, It’s going to be a long night.

His eyes fluttered open when the smell of cinnamon hit his nose. He let out a low groan and rubbed his eyes. He sat up and realized he fell asleep on the floor. He glanced at the couch to see Namjoon snoring with the book covering his face. He took his phone off the charger and saw it was seven in the morning. He let out another groan but his eyes landed on the kitchen. 

Y/N had her hair up in a ponytail pouring oatmeal into a bowl. He saw the soft cotton cream sweater dress that made her look so small. He slowly got up and walked towards the kitchen. He leaned against the door frame and saw her washing the dishes she used. He couldn’t help but look her up and down. This was different though. He wasn’t looking at her as a quick hook-up, he was admiring the beautiful person that he had known his whole life. 

“Good morning Yoongi. I made you a bowl of oatmeal.” 

He quickly snapped out of his stare and gave her an awkward smile, “Thanks.” He walked into the kitchen to see the bowl of oatmeal with berries and cinnamon on top. He glanced next to the bow to see a tangerine and let out a small laugh, “Is that for you?”

“No, it’s for you. I know it's your favorite.” 

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“No problem...I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He turned towards her to see her leaning against the sink with a frown. He shook his head as he started to peel the tangerine, “No, I woke up because my ass was hurting from the floor.”

She let out a small laugh and shook her head, “Did you guys finish the project?” 

“Yeah, but Namjoon wanted to do extra credit.” This is the most I’ve spoken to her in a while...

“Of course he did.”

Yoongi took a slice of the tangerine and handed it towards her, “Here.” 

She glanced at the slice and then back at him, “Thank you...I have to go to class.”

He nodded his head and placed the tangerine in her hand. He felt the softness of her palm and the faint lines. It was a feeling he wasn’t used to but he liked it. Y/N took the tangerine and placed it in her mouth. She let out a small laugh and smiled, “It’s kinda sour. Bye, Yoongi.”

She waved at Yoongi and headed towards the door with Yoongi watching her. He saw the way her hair bounced with each step she took and saw a big white scrunchie holding her hair. He continued to watch her until the wall made her disappear and he heard the door closed. He sighed and leaned against the counter staring at the ceiling, Fuck. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

She smiled at Yoongi and accepted the present. It was Y/N’s birthday party and she invited all her friends over (which wasn’t a lot). Yoongi was kind of shocked that he was invited but then he remembered he was her brother’s best friend. It made sense for him to be there. Every year Namjoon tried making Y/N’s birthday bigger, it was the least he could do since it was just them. Ever since their parents passed away, Namjoon tried his best to make everything perfect for her. 

She glanced down at the present and then back at him, “Thank you. Can I have a guess?” 

“No, that’s why you open it.” 

She rolled her eyes at him and set the box on the table with the other ones, “Thank you, do you want some cake or-”

“Y/N, it’s your birthday. You don’t have to serve me anything.” 

“But I want to...especially if it's you.” 

They stared at each other until she broke it. Glancing down at the floor and he was glad she broke it. He didn’t know what he would do if she continued to look at him like that. She looked back at him and went to say something but Namjoon entered the room.

“Neh, Y/N. Your friends want to do shots.”

Y/N nodded her head but she didn’t break her gaze. Yoongi let out a small cough and glanced down at his shoes, “Namjoon, you got beer?”

“Of course I do. Y/N likes those fruity drinks.”

Y/N scoffed and turned towards her brother, “You know, you drink them too.”

“Rarely.”

She rolled her eyes and went towards the kitchen while Namjoon laughed at her. Namjoon gave a bro hug to Yoongi and gave him a smile, “Thanks for coming over.”

“No problem. It’s wild that she’s twenty-four.”

Namjoon glanced over his shoulder and smiled seeing his sister laughing loudly with her friends, “Don’t remind me. What did you get her?” 

“It’s not for you. Why would I tell you?”

“So fucking annoying. Let’s get some beer.” 

They walked into the backyard and picked some beer out of the cooler. They sat in the chairs and stared at the sky together. Namjoon took a sip and sighed, “It’s been six years since our parents passed.” 

Yoongi nodded his head and watched the stars twinkling, “They’re always here. They would be proud of you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, studying to become a doctor and taking care of his little sister. Who wouldn’t be proud?”

Namjoon let out a small chuckle and shrugged his shoulders. He placed the beer next to him and looked at the sky, “Sometimes I wonder if I made the right decisions…but then I see Y/N smiling..and it makes the questions fade away.”

Yoongi smiled at this and glanced at Namjoon, “She loves you. You're her everything.”

“I wouldn’t say everything…”

The back door opened and they turned around to see Y/N with a wide smile. She walked towards Yoongi and leaned down, placing a kiss on his cheek, “I love it…thank you.”

“Yeah…”

She ran back in and he watched with a smile on his face. Namjoon raised his eyebrow and glanced at Yoongi, “What did you get her?”

“A mini vinyl player with her favorite songs.”

“Damn, that's a good gift. I just got her that biology book she wanted.” 

“I knew she liked music...I didn’t want to get her something that was school-related so...yeah.”  

It was later that night and everyone went home while Yoongi was crashing on the couch. He went up the stairs to go to the bathroom but before he entered he heard a soft melody. He glanced at Y/N’s door to see the door cracked open. He slowly walked towards the door and smiled at the sight before him. Y/N fell asleep with the mini vinyl playing the familiar melody. He quietly walked into her room and glanced down at her face. 

The moon was highlighting her features and her hair framed her face perfectly. Sure, she had drool on her chin but Yoongi didn’t care. It was Y/N, that's what matters. He pulled the blanket up to cover her but he felt a hand on his wrist. He slowly looked up to see Y/N giving him a sleepy smile, “Hey...”

He let out a small cough and nodded his head, “Hey...”

“I really liked your gift, it was my favorite...thank you.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Did you have a good birthday?” 

She snuggled closer to her pillow and let out a small groan, “I did...You made it better you know.”

He raised his eyebrow and looked at her, “How?” 

“Secret.”

He chuckled and carefully picked up the mini vinyl player. He placed it on her desk and turned back to see her eyes closed. He smiled to himself and pushed some hair back, “Happy birthday, Y/N.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Yoongi sat in the club with all his friends around him. Namjoon just recently went on a break from his girl and Jungkook just wanted to go out. It was a great excuse to go out. It’s been a week since he spoke to Y/N. Sure he’s seen her around campus but he didn’t speak to her. He wanted to, but it was awkward for him to do so. 

He smashed his cigarette in the ashtray and leaned back against the dark purple couch. He cracked his neck and watched Jungkook flirt with a senior girl and Taehyung doing shots with a group of people. This is how the night usually goes. Yoongi stood up and leaned towards Hoseok, “I’m going to the bathroom, watch Namjoon real quick.” 

“He’ll be fine-”

“He’s getting drunk. Watch him.” 

“Okay.”

Yoongi walked away with his hands in his pockets. He looked around and saw everyone getting drunk. He was sure someone was fucking on the dance floor. He went into the hallway to the bathroom but stopped when he heard a familiar voice. The need to go to the bathroom left him and pure anger took over.

“Jun, leave me alone.” 

“I want you, Y/N. If we fucked once we can fucked again.” 

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed and walked towards the exit to see Y/N hugging herself. Clearly looking uncomfortable. Yoongi glared and walked towards them with anger in each step. He pushed Jun and stood in front of Y/N, “She said leave. You better leave.”

Jun looked at Yoongi with wide eyes, “Yo-Yoongi!?”

“Yeah, you know my name. Now get the fuck out before I force you. Leave.”

Jun glanced at Y/N and then back at Yoongi, “Fine, this isn’t over yet, Y/N.” 

Yoongi watched him leave and he sighed. He turned around to see Y/N avoiding his eyes, “Are you alright, Y/N?” She nodded her head and rubbed her arm in a nervous manner. Yoongi sighed and brought her into a tight hug as he rubbed her back, “It’s okay. I’ll protect you.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be sorry, it's his fault. What are you doing here?”

Yoongi let her go and Y/N leaned against the wall with a frown, “Isabella broke up with her boyfriend...we decided to come here to cheer her up.” 

Yoongi nodded his head and looked around, “Do you want to go home or stay?”

“I would like to go home...I was going to call a-”

“I’m taking you home. I want to make sure you get home safely.”

Y/N looked up and gave him a small smile, “Thank you Yoongi...let me get my things real quick.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” 

“No, I’ll be fine. It’s literally right there, it won’t be long.”

“I’ll be waiting here for you.” 

He watched her walk away and he noticed the simple short black dress she was in. It showed off her figure perfectly and he couldn’t help himself from biting his lip. He quickly looked away and shook his head, disappointed in himself that he looked at Y/N like that. Especially what just happened. He wasn’t better than that guy. 

“Yoongi are you alright?”

He looked back to see Y/N with worry in her eyes, “I was just thinking...”

“Thinking is dangerous.” 

“I should know. Are you ready?”

She nodded her head and walked towards him with this soft aura around her, “Thank you for doing this.” 

“No problem.” 

The two walked in the night with stars and street lights guiding their way. The leaves underneath them remember their footwear and the wind pushing them forward. He glanced to his side to see her shivering a bit. He quickly took off his jacket and tapped her arm, “Take it.” 

She glanced at the leather jacket and then at his face, “You’ll get cold though.”

“I’ll be fine. You won’t though.” 

She let out a small laugh and shook her head, “Very confident, Yoongi.” 

“Have to be.” Especially around you.

He gently draped his jacket around her shoulders and he watched her snuggle into it, “It’s very warm. A good contrast from this cold.” 

“It’s fall. What did you expect?” 

“Touchee.” 

The two continued to walk on the sidewalk and the winds kept pushing him towards her. He stood his ground against it but that didn’t stop him from glancing at her. They stopped when he was in front of his car and he opened the door for her, “Here.”

“Yoongi, thank you again for this.” 

“Stop saying thank you, it's weird.” 

She shrugged her shoulders and entered his car but Yoongi placed his hand on top of her head to make sure she didn’t hit it. She glanced at him but he ignored it. He closed the door and let out a deep sigh with his eyes closed before he headed to his side. He started the car and the drive was filled with stolen glances. 

During the halfway point, curiosity killed the cat, “So...why was that Jun dude bothering you?” 

She glanced away from the window to give him her full attention, “I slept with him once and I said never again.”

“Was he that bad?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, “No, I just felt lonely and it wasn’t right to do that to someone. Even if they're horrible like Jun.”

“You're too nice.” 

“You’re not the first person that told me that. Why were you at the club?” 

He wasn’t sure if he should outed Namjoon so he just shrugged his shoulders, “It was a Saturday. Nothing else to do.” 

She nodded her head and glanced back out the window, “You go to the club often?” 

“Eh...it depends.” 

“That doesn’t sound fun...then again that’s just me.” 

It’s not fun but I do it because I’m lonely too...

He stopped the car in front of the familiar yellow paint and unlocked the doors, “There you are.”

She smiled and handed him back his jacket, “I appreciate this...don’t tell Namjoon what happened tonight?” 

“Sure.”

She got out of the car and he followed. He leaned against his door and watched her go up to the door. She glanced over her shoulder and he thought it was funny to see her confused, “Why are you still here?” 

“I want to make sure you get in.”

She stared at him for a second longer and it made him feel warm but he pushed it down. She unlocked the door and turned towards him. He waved at him and they didn't break eye contact until she closed the door. He ran his fingers through his hair and took out a cigarette. He watched the smoke go up into the dark sky to touch the stars. He wondered if the stars understood his feelings at this moment. He watched one of the stars twinkle and he shook his head looking down at the pavement. That would be a yes. The next step was just going home and that’s when the sky decided to cry. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Yoongi, why did you do it?” 

Yoongi didn’t say anything and continued to watch Y/N patching his hands as he sat on the nurse's bed. Y/N was annoyed with Yoongi and it was clear to him. Yoongi hated that she was annoyed with him but this was different. Yoongi hissed in pain and he watched her roll her eyes, “Y/N-”

“No, Yoongi. Why do you put yourself in harm's way all the time?” 

An hour ago 

Yoongi and Namjoon were walking to their class. It was a simple day, art and music. Yoongi’s favorite classes. Seokjin came out of nowhere and was out of breath looking at them with wide eyes. Yoongi glanced at him and then at Namjoon with a confused face, “Dude are you good?” 

“Y/N needs help.” 

Yoongi’s eyes widened at this and he dropped his bag in a rush, “Where?” 

“Lunch-”

Yoongi didn’t let him finish his sentence and he ran towards the lunch court. He felt eyes on him but they didn’t matter. He slammed open the door and ran towards the group of people in the middle of the room. He pushed people out of the way to see Jun yelling at Y/N who was frightened. He didn’t even know why Jun was yelling at her but he didn’t care. Y/N was scared. That’s all he saw. 

He pushed Jun to the floor and he started to punch Jun with all his strength. All his anger came forward and Jun was going to regret it, “I told you to stay away from her!” He kept at it until he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. He stopped and slowly turned around to see Y/N with tears going down her face. He shot up and went straight towards her, “Y/N are you okay?” 

She didn’t say anything and slowly picked his hand up to analyze them. She frowned, “You’re hurt...let me fix you up.” 

She grabbed his wrist and walked out of the lunch court with pure silence following them. The silence was killing Yoongi. He was so used to hearing her voice lately that the silence was hurting him now. He would do anything to hear her voice, mad or happy. 

“Yoongi, why did you do it?” 

Yoongi didn’t say anything and continued to watch Y/N patching his hands as he sat on the nurse's bed. Y/N was annoyed with Yoongi and it was clear to him. Yoongi hated that she was annoyed with him but this was different. Yoongi hissed in pain and he watched her roll her eyes, “Y/N-”

“No, Yoongi. Why do you put yourself in harm's way all the time?”

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders and looked away from her gaze. She shook her head at this and put the final bandage on his finger, “People care about you-”

“I don’t care about what others think.”

She looked up and stared into his eyes (it felt like he could melt from the intensity), “Fine. I care about you Yoongi. Every time I hear you got into a fight, I worry for you. You have to know I care about you.”

“Y/N-”

“Yoongi, I care about you so much...can’t you believe me? I care about you.” Yoongi had heard his father say he cared about him shit, he heard Namjoon say it to him but this right here was different. The way that she was looking at him was something he had never experienced before. She reached over to cup his face and he flinched a little at the sudden touch. He glanced at her hands and then at her face with a confused look. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. She leaned forward to take his face into her hands and she closed her eyes, gently kissing him. 

His mind went blank at her lips. He stood there unresponsive staring at her face now that she was so close. It was clear that she wasn’t giving up because she stayed kissing his lips. After a moment to comprehend, he closed his eyes and started kissing back. 

Her hands brushed along his biceps and she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. He groaned at the feeling and of having her pressed against him. He slowly brought her down on her back with the soft white cotton giving her comfort. He rolled on top of her and he didn’t want this moment to end. Without thinking he brushed his tongue against her lips and he felt her smile. She opened her mouth to let him roam around her mouth as she brought her hands against his chest and he started to kiss his neck, “Yoongi...” 

He loved this feeling but deep down he knew this was wrong. This was Namjoon’s little sister. His everything and he was clear that she was off limits. He couldn’t love her. How could a heart like hers like him? This couldn’t happen...she deserved better. 

“Shit.” He pulled away, getting off of her. As he sat on the edge of the bed with his jaw tense. She frowned at this and sat up with a worried expression, “Yoongi? Are you okay?”

The door opened and Y/N stood up quickly to see Namjoon coming in with a cold soda in his hand. He glanced at Yoongi and frowned, “Dude, you alright? I heard you were fighting Jun...he deserved it.” 

Yoongi looked up at Namjoon and stayed silent. He didn’t know what to say to him. He was just kissing his little sister. How could he do that? He felt his hand being pried open and felt two small objects in his palm. He glanced down to see two motrin. He looked up to see Y/N giving him a small smile, “That should help. I’m going to the library, get better.”  

He watches her give him a final smile and gives Namjoon a small rub of a shoulder. He looked away and listened to the door closing. Namjoon looked down at his hands and shook his head, “Did Y/N patch you up?”

“Yeah...”

“Thank you for beating the crap out of him. No one messes with my sister and gets away from it.” 

“Yeah...” 

That night Yoongi found himself at the club alone with a whiskey in his hand. His mind kept going back to the kiss. That kiss made his heart beat so fast and his pale skin turned red. It made him feel and he knew having feelings, especially these ones are only trouble. He chugged his whiskey and ran his fingers through his hair roughly. The dim lights of the club helped his hazed out mind but he knew it wasn’t enough. 

He felt a touch on his arm and he glanced to see a girl looking at him. It was a look he was used to and he knew it would help him right now, “Hey Yoongi.”

“Hey....” 

She leaned towards him and the smell of alcohol made him want to get sick. She gave him a smile with a head tilt, “I’m Sarah. We have music class together.”

“That’s cool.” 

She placed her hand on top of his and winked at him, “Do you want to leave here?” 

“Sure.” 

She stood up from the chair and Yoongi followed her out of the club. She kept talking about something but Yoongi wasn’t really paying attention to her. His mind kept going back to how Y/N looked at him. They went inside her car and they started to kiss. The kiss couldn’t even come close to the kiss he had with Y/N. This kiss was filled with loneliness and with Y/N it was liquid fire. 

He watched her take off her top and he was thankful the light from outside was covering her. The feeling of guilt was eating at him but he had to let Y/N go. This was Namjoon’s little sister. She didn’t deserve him. Why did this hurt so much? 

He grabs a tit and a moan echoes through the empty car. He felt her fingers going through his hair and his mind kept flashing back to Y/N. He shook his head at this and lifted up her thigh making it easier for him to sneak between her legs. When his cock entered, she couldn’t help but moan out loud. He groaned when he felt her clenching and he felt how wet she was. She arched her back and he ran his hand against her stomach to her chest. He pinched her nipple and she couldn’t help but quiver. She felt her orgasm coming and the clenching made Yoongi ready to burst. The faster this is done, the faster he can drink away the guilt.

“Gonna cum, get off.”

She nodded her head and got off him. She leaned towards him to suck him off and Yoongi didn’t stop her. He grabbed a fist full of hair and started to push her down causing her to gag at his cock. He leaned his head back and let out a moan but his mind couldn’t stop him, “Y-Y/N.”

When she licked her lips she glanced at him, “Do you want to go back to my place?” 

“No...”

He tucked himself back in his pants and got out of the car without another word. He didn’t even care if she was hurt at the moment. He didn’t care about much. 

The next morning, he sat in his room as his mind nagged him. He had to talk to Y/N and he had no idea how he was going to address things. That kiss that happened was the greatest thing that happened to him but it could never be repeated. She was already changing him and he hated that. 

He walked towards the library knowing she was going to be there. He walked up to the fifth floor to see Y/N studying biology with her classmate. She was dressed in a light pink cardigan and simple dark blue skinny jeans. Her pink cardigan and his leather jacket were a clear indication of how opposite they were. It was cliche but it was true. She could never love him. He wouldn’t let her. 

“Can we talk?”

Y/N turned around and he watched a wide smile appear on her face, “Yeah, I’ll be right back, Joy.” 

The pair walked away and he glanced over his shoulder to see her looking down at the ground with shyness. They walked until they were at the end of the room and they were hidden by the bookshelves. They were silent and she glanced at his face and then towards the ground, “Are you mad at me?” 

“No...I just wanted to talk.” 

“Was it about yesterday?” 

He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, “What happened yesterday can’t happen again.”

“What?”

“I said it can’t happen again.” 

She glared at him and she placed her hands on her hips, “What made you decide?”

Yoongi felt his jaw tense and stared at the books behind her, “This shit, it’s not going to work.”

She raised her eyebrow at this and shook her head, “You kissed back...I want you to be honest with me right now, Yoongi.”

“You think I’m lying!” 

“I know you are. You’re scared-”

“I’m not scared!” He knew that was bullshit but she couldn’t know the truth. He watched her look away from him and he was nervous that she was going to cry. One tear and it was over for him. He would do anything to keep that tear away. 

“Yoongi, I want you,” she whispered a shout in his face causing his face to flush. That’s what he always wanted to hear from her but he couldn’t do it. It just couldn’t happen. 

“I’m Namjoon’s best friend-”

“I don’t give a damn. He can get over it...can’t you just give me a chance?”

He looked back at her and saw the determination on her face. This was the most honest he has ever seen Y/N. He couldn’t help but glance down at her lips and then back at her eyes. She shook her head and then she closed the gap between them. He was taken back but her lips against his felt right. His mind was telling him to push her off but his heart couldn’t agree with him. He started to kiss back and he ignored his thoughts for a minute. 

She let out a small gasp when she felt his tongue but quickly granted access. He pulled her body closer (if that was possible). He felt her arms around his neck and he pushed her against the bookshelves. He moved down to her neck and started nipping at the soft skin. She brushed her hands through his hair and she kissed the top of his head. His hands started to travel and when he reached her ass, he couldn’t help himself to give it a squeeze. She gasped out loud and seeing this, he brought his lips back to hers. He reached underneath the back of her cardigan but quickly set her down gently when he heard voices.

“Fuck.”

She looked up at him with that same dazed expression she had yesterday, “I won’t back down.”

He looked into her eyes and realized he had matched his match with stubbornness. He looked away from her gaze, “Fine. Do what you want.” He narrowed his eyes at her while he placed his hands against the shelves, trapping her. 

She bit her lower lip and wrapped her arms around his neck while they stared at each other. She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “I will.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Yoongi, are you sure you should be doing this?”

“My dad wants it. He said it's urgent.” 

Namjoon sighed and leaned against his couch, “It’s raining though-”

“I won’t take my motorcycle. I have my car.”

“What’s going on?”

Yoongi turned his head and saw Y/N looking at him with a worried look. She was in her pajamas and she was leaning against the wall staring at Yoongi. He sighed and glanced down at the floor, “Nothing-”

“His dad wants him to deliver this box to him but it's pouring rain. I told him he shouldn’t go but his dad needs it.” 

She glanced at her brother and then back at Yoongi, “Are you sure it’s all right to go alone?” 

“Y/N, I’ll be fine okay? Don’t worry.”

She sighed at this and looked away from him, “Just be careful...”

Namjoon sighed and stood up from the couch, “I gotta call Heejin. She keeps texting me, Yoongi, just be careful. Text me when you get there.” 

Yoongi nodded his head and watched Namjoon walk away in disappointment. He knew Namjoon was angry at his decision but Namjoon knew he couldn’t control him. Yoongi was also the type of man that if he said he was going to do something, he was going to do it. Regardless of what it was. 

Yoongi listened for the door to close and he turned towards Y/N looking at him with softness, “I’ll be going.”

“Come back safe. It’s raining really hard.”

He nodded his head at this and the way she cared for him was making him feel safe. His instincts were telling him to act on his feelings. He walked up towards her to see her eyes looking at him with confusion but he leaned in and kissed her. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. He wrapped his arms around her waist and let his heart do the talking. It was clear she was nervous about this trip and he hoped the kiss would make her feel better. 

When they pulled away he looked into her eyes and smiled, “It will be okay.”

“Okay...make sure you text Namjoon.”

He gave her a teasing smile, “You don’t want me to text you?”

“If you want. I don’t want to force you.” 

“I’ll text you too. Bye.”

“Bye.” 

He opened the door and turned around to give her a small wave. She returned it with a smile. He closed the door and let out a small sigh. He glanced forward and saw the rain was causing small flooding but his dad needed the package. He would help him especially since he was paying for his college. 

The drive there was slow and the rain wasn’t stopping at any time. He took a sip of his coffee as he stopped at the stop light. It wasn’t busy out which makes sense because of the weather. He was thankful for that. The light turned green and he pulled up to go. Out of nowhere, a person came on the other side and with the rain, they couldn’t stop. He saw the headlights and then darkness. 

“Namjoon, let me see him!” 

“Y/N he’s-”

“Let me see him. Now.”

Yoongi groaned at the sound and slowly sat up. Under his palms, he felt softness and he realized he was in a bed. He turned his head to see that he was in a hospital. He was confused but he didn’t care, he heard how distressed Y/N sounded, “Y-Y/N?”

The curtains were ripped open and he saw Y/N’s eyes red, “Yoongi? Oh my god, you made me so worried.” 

She walked towards his bedside table and went to pour water into a cup for him. Yoongi glanced at her and noticed that her hands were shaking. He reached over and grabbed her wrist, “I’m okay...”

He watched her stand there until tears started to fall down her cheeks. He knew had to do something. He carefully pulled her towards him on the bed as she cried into his gown. He looked up to see Namjoon talking to his dad, he had some time with her, “Don’t cry.” He started to rub her back gently.

“I can’t help it. I told you before, I care about you, Yoongi.” Y/N suddenly took his hand into hers, placing a kiss on his knuckle, “I care so much.” 

The curtains opened and Y/N slowly got up from the bed to see the doctor come in. He smiled at Yoongi and glanced at his clipboard, “You were lucky Mr. Min. Your previous shoulder injury wasn’t affected by this accident. Minor bruises and soreness. You can leave in the morning.” 

“Thank you, doctor.” 

He gave one final smile and left the room. Yoongi turned his head towards Y/N to see her already looking at him. He gave her a smile and nodded his head, “Told you I was fine.”

She let out a laugh and shook her head, “shut up.”

Namjoon and Yoongi’s dad entered looking at him with worry. Yoongi’s dad sat down on the bed and frowned, “I’m sorry Yoongi. I made my own son risk his life for a package.”

“Dad, it’s fine. I was the one that said I would do it. It’s my fault. I ignored Namjoon and Y/N.”

Namjoon sighed and shook his head, “At least your shoulder didn’t fucked up again.” 

“I know, I'm grateful. I can leave tomorrow morning.”

Y/N smiled and took a step forward, “I’ll help you around your apartment.” 

He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, “What about school?” 

“Most of my assignments can be sent online. It’s fine.”

He looked at Namjoon who shrugged his shoulders, “Are you okay with that Yoongi?”

“Yeah, I am.” 

He watched her gather the dishes and head out of his bedroom. It’s been a couple of hours since he’s been home and Y/N didn’t want to leave his side. Yoongi’s dad drove them home with Y/N sitting in the back with Yoongi. As they drove, Y/N placed her hand on his thigh and she placed her head on his shoulder. It was very domestic and he didn’t want to fight her anymore. 

He was lying down in his bed as he waited for her to come back up. He was falling asleep due to the painkillers but he wanted to stay awake for her to come back. She quietly made her way over and sat on the bed, “You can go to sleep. I’ll be downstairs.”

“No, I want you here with me.”

She carefully leaned down, giving him a gentle kiss on his lips, “Go to sleep.”

“Stay with me.” 

They were staring into each other’s eyes with soft smiles on their faces. They both leaned in and closed the gap between them. He slowly brushed his hand through her hair as she glided her tongue over his bottom lip. She trailed her fingers against his chest as his free hand brushed along her knee. He leaned forward to press his lips a bit harder but had to pull back, “Damn.”

“Are you alright?” 

“Wrong movement.” 

She let out a small laugh and shook her head, “Go to sleep, Yoon.” 

“Stay with me.”

“Okay.” 

Three days of Y/N being by his side and everything has been perfect. Today, he asked Y/N to get some fast food because he wanted to talk to Namjoon. This was going to change the course of their friendship, it can go good or bad. He heard footsteps coming up and he took a deep breath. Namjoon opened the door and smiled at him, “How are you doing?” 

“I’m feeling better...it’s all thanks to Y/N.”

“Yeah, she’s a good nurse.” Namjoon sat on the bed carefully and noticed Yoongi was nervous. He turned his body towards him and gave him a worried look, “Are you good?” 

“Can I talk to you about something?”

Namjoon raised his eyebrow and nodded his head, “Sure.”

Yoongi took a deep breath and rubbed his neck nervously, “Y/N-”

“You like my sister, right?” 

Yoongi’s eyes widened at this and he wanted to leave the room, “W-What?”

Namjoon let out a small laugh and looked away from Yoongi, “I saw the way she looked at you...it was clear she had a crush but I don’t think it's just a crush anymore. I didn’t know you liked her until her birthday...I heard you in her bedroom that night. I saw the way you looked at her too. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

Yoongi glanced down at his lap and sighed, “I’m sorry. I know she’s your sister and I didn’t want-”

“Yoongi, that would be lying to yourself. I wouldn’t want her with anybody else.”

“But she’s your little sister and I'm your best friend.” 

Namjoon sighed and turned back to Yoongi, “I want her to be happy and I also want you to be happy. If you two want to be together, then go for it.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t hurt her or I will kill you.”

“I expected that.” 

Yoongi entered the bedroom and she smiled when she saw Namjoon, “Oppa, why are you here?”

Namjoon smiled at her, “I was visiting Yoongi.” 

“He looks better, doesn’t he?”

“He does. Are you coming back home tomorrow or the next day?”

She placed the food next to Yoongi and smiled at him, “The next day, is that okay?”

“It’s fine. I do miss you though.” 

She let out a small laugh and sat on the bed next to Yoongi, “I miss you too but Yoongi needs me.” 

Namjoon smirked at this and glanced at Yoongi with a teasing smile, “Yeah he does.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Nighttime came by fast and Y/N was brushing her hair in Yoongi’s mirror. He watched from his bed with a smile, “You know, only Namjoon has been in my apartment.” 

She raised her eyebrow and turned around in the chair to look at him, “Really? You haven’t brought your hookups here?” 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, “I would never bring them here.”

“I guess I’m special.” 

“You are special, especially to me.” 

Her eyes widened at this and she smiled at this, “Am I?” 

He watched her put her brush back on the table and make her way to him. She climbed onto the bed with that teasing smile he loved, “You are special to me. You're my girl.” 

He pulled her onto his lap and she raised her eyebrow, “I’m your girl?”

“If you want?” 

She leaned down and kissed him. He deepened the kiss sliding his hands to her waist to her thighs. His fingertips were enjoying her soft skin and she gasped at the touch. He wanted her. Ever since he told her that he was not in pain anymore, his mind started to wander. She moved her hands up his pajama shirt and started to unbutton it. He pulled back a little and raised his eyebrow. She didn’t say anything but she leaned forward to meet his lips again. 

After finishing his shirt, he pushed it down his shoulder letting her fingertips touch his pale skin. She moved her hands upwards and gently rubbed his shoulder. He held onto her waist and moved her shirt up to touch her skin. He moved to the hem of her top, slowly pulling the fabric upwards. Once he saw her in her bra, his heart stopped. She cupped his face and placed her lips on his. Their tongues twirling around each other. 

His hands moved towards the back of her bra, unclasping the white lace. She tossed the bra to the sound and she looked at him with readiness. His hands replaced the fabric and she moaned, as she arched her back towards him. He smiled to himself when he saw that her breasts fit perfectly into his large hands. He rubbed his thumb over her right nipple, “Oh, Yoon.”

She felt his tongue on her sensitive numb while feeling his hands were feeling her up. He held back a groan hearing her say his name like that. It made him feel hard. He switched over to her other breast, giving it the same treatment. She held him close to her chest as if he was going to disappear.  Their naked chests fully touched each other and they stared at each other. She smiled at him and he returned it. Kissing each other was the greatest discovery they both made. 

He trailed his tongue between her breasts until he reached the top of her bottoms. His hand brushed her bare sides and he watched the bumps appear on her skin. He removed the piece of clothing and was met with her white lace. It’s amazing how white lace was the perfect thing to describe her. So innocent and gentle, that’s his Y/N. 

“Yoon...” 

He took off the underwear and he leaned down kissing her neck. She suddenly bucked against his hand when she felt him cupping her, “I want to take my time with you.” 

She couldn’t respond when she felt his middle finger along her wet silt. She placed her hands on his shoulders, “Yoon, please.” 

They slowly kissed but a gasp escaped when she felt a finger getting inserted, “Yoongi, I want you now, please.” 

“Is that what you want?” 

“Yes...but we need protection.”

He nodded his head and leaned forward to his nightstand to grab a condom. He took off his pants and placed the condom on as Y/N watched. She wrapped her legs around him and nodded her head at him. He looked into her eyes before entering and she gasped at the new feeling. His thrusts were slow and she noticed how tense he was. She leaned forward kissing the tip of his nose, “Don’t hold back, I want you Yoongi.” 

He nodded his head and he started to quicken his pace. She had her eyes closed with her mouth parted due to the pleasure. Her moans echoed through the room and it created a song with the rain hitting the window. He moved his hand down and started to rub at her clit causing a loud moan to escape. He leaned down and kissed her lips as she moaned into his mouth. When their orgasms hit them both, time stopped. It was only them and the rain. She trailed her fingers down his back and kissed his shoulder. 

“What are you smiling for?” 

She smiled and cuddled into his chest, “I finally got my bad boy...”

Taglist:

@hoseokteardrop

[arcane-vagabond]

Arcane-Vagabond's Masterlist

Hi! Thanks for checking out my masterlist!

✨ My blog is 18+ Only! I curse, write smut, and other dark elements that minors do not need to be dabbling in. I do my best to tag everything accordingly, but some of my darker fics include elements of non-con, violence, etc.

✨I currently write female reader-insert fics. I mainly write for Jake "Hangman" Seresin, but I write for other TGM characters, Teen Wolf characters, and Twisters characters as well from time to time. I have been thinking about branching out into other fandoms, but time will tell when that happens. In the meantime, take a seat and enjoy the fics!

✨ I have discontinued my taglist, so if you would like to be updated on when I post, please follow my sideblog: @arcanevagabond-library and turn on post notifications! I post fics, drabbles, moodboards, and polls for my followers there.

✨ Requests are currently: Closed! And always feel free to send in some thoughts/thots or random asks!

Don’t know what to read first? Why not spin the wheel?

TOP GUN MAVERICK;

✨JAKE "HANGMAN" SERESIN✨

✨BRADLEY "ROOSTER" BRADSHAW✨

THE PITT;

✨DR. MICHAEL "ROBBY" ROBINAVITCH✨

✨DR. JACK ABBOT✨

✨DR. FRANK LANGDON✨

TWISTERS;

✨TYLER OWENS✨

✨SCOTT MILLER✨

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE;

✨BUCKY BARNES✨

UNIVERSES;

✨DAGGER GANG UNIVERSE✨

WRITING CHALLENGES;

✨FAIRY TALE WRITING CHALLENGE✨

MOODBOARDS;

TOP GUN - MYTHICAL CREATURES

TOP GUN - MAFIA

TOP GUN - GREEK GODS (BIG THREE)

TOP GUN - SUN, MOON, AND STARS

TOP GUN - REVOLUTIONARY WAR

TOP GUN - THREE MUSKETEERS

TOP GUN - SPRING SPIRIT!JAKE "HANGMAN" SERESIN