#alas. time to go to bed i guess

[kazz-brekker]

legit kind of sad about the my lady jane cancellation. it just really sucks to be living in an era of television where it feels like you can't get invested in anything new and interesting without constantly fearing that it's going to get yanked away from you and unceremoniously cancelled

[woolying]

i meant to post this before the stream but i was grinding out an assignment sorry </3 i had the party on in the background tho it was super fun !!!!!

happy 20k to these guys!!! hope theyre doing well

[theorist-fox]

Bug

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Crossposted on AO3

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Johnny eats you out in front of an audience.

18+

CW: smut (cunnilingus, masturbation, some sexual fantasizing, brief dubcon turning into enthusiastic consent), a bit kinky (voyeurism, exhibitionism) fluffy? sort of, pwp. Soap/Reader established relationship + Simon joining the party I guess

Masterlist 🦊

Your toes are cold. So cold that you think your body might never recover, that maybe you’re bound to be a corpse for the rest of your life.

Dramatic, you’re aware.

And Johnny is so delightfully there, isn’t he? On his side of the bed, in a deep slumber. He’s a heavy sleeper too, so you’re sure you could start sighing and coughing in subtle discomfort and he wouldn’t budge. 

You know his senses are perked when he’s on duty, and you’re glad to know he feels safe enough in the four walls of your home that he turns those alarm bells off.

But goddamnit, now would be a fantastic time to cuddle up. Wonderful to have those thick arms wrapped around your shoulders, his chest to your back. Pressed tight, until the coarse hairs on his abdomen would start to tickle and then scratch a little.

Clicked in place like two puzzle pieces, you’d be, with his knees tucked in the folds of yours, and your ass snug perfectly into his crotch.

And then you’d start rolling your hips slightly. You’d crane your neck back to meet his face, and you know he’d nuzzle your nape for all it’s worth. Sniffing the shampoo in your hair, burying his face until his nose would meet your skin. 

His kisses would be unhurried but open, slow but voracious. They’d make goosebumps sprout from your neck to your thighs, and you’d drench your knickers in the blink of an eye.

By then, his cock would have grown hard against the swell of your ass.

He’d hook his thumbs at the waistband of your pants. Slide his cock through your folds, already wet but now they’d be even more soaked with his prec—

Great.

Now you’re horny. Horny and freezing and frustrated.

Unable to sleep because you’re cold and Johnny forgot to call the plumber for the heating—leaky radiators, a boiler that's been fussing for the past couple of days. Not even taking a shower is safe anymore, for fuck's sake. 

Unable to sleep because you’re dreaming about your boyfriend fucking you into the mattress. Fucking the ice cold seeping into your bones right out of your body, melting it into delicious sweat.

Alas, unable to fuck, because his mate is sleeping on the sofa, and the walls of this stupid flat are thin.

"He’s got mold in his flat", Johnny had told you. "Give it a few days and he’ll go back."

Not. 

It’s been three weeks, and Johnny's lieutenant still hasn’t left. Actually, you think he might’ve moved in altogether,because you’re starting to have less and less space in your closet, and Johnny's socks are mixing up with Simon’s.

But you’d bend and break for your boyfriend, and by extension for whoever he cares about—including his fucking lieutenant. Spooky geezer. Walks quietly around the house and scares the living shite out of you when he materializes in the darkest corners of the room.

It’s not that you hate him. You tolerate him—or, okay, you like him. You would like him even more if it weren’t for the predicament he’s inadvertently stuck you in. 

He is a fun addition to the household and has wonderful chemistry with Johnny. Stores a sharp wit and a repertoire of horrible jokes that somehow make you laugh. He’s clean, buys groceries, cooks meals when you and Johnny aren’t home—he’s a decent flatmate, after all.

But still.

You want to fuck your boyfriend.

“Johnny,” you whisper, turning under the bedsheets to face his way.

Even in the darkness shrouding the room, you can spot his silhouette.

It takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the lack of light, but when you do, you can finally make out the lines of his face. 

He’s sleeping soundly, like nothing can wake him even if it tried. His lips are slightly parted, a habit that comes hand in hand with the crook of his nose—a curve that makes it a bit harder for him to breathe.

You don’t want to be the one who interrupts what looks like a dreamless rest, but it is his fault if the flat feels like you’re sleeping on a slab of ice.

You scoot closer. The tips of your noses touch.

“Johnny,” you whisper again. “Baby, can you wake up?”

Nothing. He doesn’t even flinch.

You kiss him. A swift peck.

“Baaaaby,” you singsong to his lips, quiet yet cheeky.

It’s then that Johnny finally grumbles something. You quickly agitate a victorious fist under the covers.

“I need you to warm me up,” you tell him. “Because I’m too cold and I can’t sleep and it’s your fault.”

There. Evil. Digging your thumb into the guilt wound you’ve carved into his very soft heart. 

Johnny’s eyes flutter open. It takes him a while to adjust. A smack of his lips to hydrate his tongue, the heel of his hand digging into one closed eye. When he comes to, and finally connects the dots, you hear him snort.

“Unbelievable,” he murmurs. “Could’ve grabbed 'nother blanket.”

You frown.

“But you’re warmer than a blanket,” you retort dramatically. “And to get one I’d have to leave the bed, go wander helplessly into the cold, look for it in the da—”

He groans and slaps his arms around you until your face is plastered to his chest.

You press the very cold tip of your nose into the warm skin on his sternum. He flinches.

“Fuckin’ Christ, hen,” Johnny rumbles. “Ye weren't talkin' shite, aye? Proper icicle.”

You giggle. He shushes you as his chest rumbles with a quiet chuckle of his own.

He thinks it's over, then. Thinks he’s done with it now that you’re cuddled up in his arms, and closes his eyes.

But sneaky little you leaves kisses on his chest. The cheeky thing that you are, you press your thigh against his crotch, where he’s half-hard already—but that’s just because of men’s weird physiology, not because he’s horny.

He hums. “Not now, love.”

“Please,” you say, lips dancing about his chest until you reach his nipple.

You tentatively lick there. Johnny hisses and you triumph.

“Please, it’s been so long,” you plead. You purse your lips and suck so gently that Johnny’s hips thrust forward in a twitch, rutting against your thigh.

“He’ll hear us, hen.” He warns, but his voice cracks and you know that you’ve won. 

Simon can handle a few moans just fine, you reckon. He’s old enough.

“Let him,” you mumble to Johnny’s skin. “I don’t care, I miss you.”

You feel his hand reach to the back of your head. Gently, his fingers thread through your hair, massaging softly at your scalp until you’re a puddle in his hold. 

“Aye? Ye don’t care, eh?”

His eyes roam your face. Hooded, already heavy with lust, but a tad more balanced—managing to rein it in, unlike you.

“No.” You insist. “He can fucking watch for all I care.”

Your tongue darts forward, and you lick a stripe bisecting his lips. 

Johnny fucking loses it. 

His hand slides to your nape and holds firmly, enough so he can crash his lips to yours in a searing kiss. You sigh contently in it, no matter how hungry it is—to you this is the most awaited moment in weeks.

Your hands are as frantic as his own. You tug at his pants as he tugs at your shirt. 

Johnny is very tactile, and you just know he wants to touch you thoroughly before he gives you the blessing of a fuck.

In fact, the first thing he does is flatten his palm on your sternum to guide you on your back. His mouth nips and tugs at your lips, then at your jaw. He finds that softer spot on your neck and sucks lovebites on it.

You moan like a slut, without a care in the world. Simon be damned. The neighbors be damned, too.

Johnny's lips finally wrap around your nipple, while his hand plays with your other breast. 

You get louder, and it's a clear sign for that man on the other side of the wall to go and pop in some earbuds because you’re not shutting up tonight.

“You’ve never been this loud I swear to Christ,” Johnny says with a hint of a chuckle that gets lost in your skin. “S’like yer doin’ it on purpose.”

He pinches your belly. “Are you?”

You look down at him. Eyes narrowed. Smirk barely hidden. “No?”

But he can see right through you like you’re made of glass.

“You like it, eh?” He says with a hint of surprise, like he’s discovered a goddamn goldmine. “Oh, you fuckin’ like it.”

And what if you do? What if there's a thrill in knowing the man in the other room might hear you getting railed the way you deserve? Are you deranged for it?

Probably.

But fuck it.

Johnny’s mouth travels lower, from your breasts to the hollow between your ribs, until he’s fully hidden under the covers. 

Instinctively, your fingers thread through his hair. Tight.

Oh, he’s gonna eat you out. 

It’s much easier to quiet down when you’re having sex, because Johnny’s a kisser and he always keeps your mouth busy. But he knows you’re not exactly prim and proper when he makes you cum on his tongue.

He knows what he’s doing, and it’s then that a lightbulb flickers on in your head. 

Bright, excited.

Johnny likes it too.

And you love that he does.

So, since he’s as into this as you are, you settle on giving him the show of a lifetime.

It takes Johnny very little to get to the gist of it. He’d usually nose at your clit through the cotton of your panties, bite at the flesh of your thighs to tease you and get you wet. There’s no need for it this time—your knickers are already past the point of salvation.

He pulls them down and off, not sparing an inch of your skin from the hungry onslaught of lips. Legs draped comfortably over his shoulder, the soft fat of your thighs cushioning his ears.

Johnny dives in.

Your groan scratches your throat when the flat of his tongue lands on your clit. Tingles ripple from your sex to your head—some electric shockwave that makes your toes curl and your throat tight.

You collapse onto the pillow, and you let go.

Johnny licks fat stripes or twirls his tongue around your clit, sucking it in at times. You moan and whimper like cameras are pointing your way, like you want the man who’s stolen your couch, your privacy and your sex life to know how good Johnny’s making you feel.

Your eyes are closed but your mouth is open, fingers curled in a fistful of his hair. 

It’s then that you start riding Johnny’s face. He stays perfectly still, tongue out and conveniently flattened against your sex for you to grind against it.

It’s been so long since you felt him pant against your cunt, so long since you’ve had him tucked between your thighs until your hamstrings ache.

So long that you think you might cum already, and you’re not even five minutes in.

And you feel it in your stomach first, taut and clenching. You feel your orgasm grow as Johnny allows you to take it from him, handing you the reins of your own pleasure.

“M’gonna cum,” you breathe.

The only way you know that he’s heard you from beneath the duvet is because a muted groan echoes from somewhere below you, and his fingers tighten around your hips.

“Gonna fuck her after this, Johnny?” 

Your orgasm withers, but not as much as your heart.

You jolt away from your boyfriend even though you're suddenly petrified, scrambling in an attempt to pull away from his tongue.

But he doesn’t let you go—no. 

Johnny, the bastard, holds you with a resolve you’ve never witnessed before, and uses one hand to quickly shove the duvet off both your bodies.

Cold air slaps your bare skin. Gooseflesh rises at the first icy touch, nipples perked and hard. Your eyes automatically follow the voice in the dark, until they land on a shadow lingering at the door—broad shoulders filling the entryway of your bedroom. 

As soon as your vision adjusts, you focus better on it. A pale face stands out on top of a body clad in charcoal black. A hand, you see, palms at the crotch of his sweatpants.

“Johnny—” You say, or try, in between pants.

His eyes finally poke from between your legs. Swiftly, his fingers take the place of his tongue, rolling more languid circles on the knot of clit—throbbing as your orgasm is rudely snatched away. 

You whine at both the loss of his mouth and the discomfort of being watched.

And yet why aren’t you trying to cover yourself? Why are you still there, naked, back arched to press further into Johnny’s hand, with your fingers uselessly grasping the sheets at your sides?

“Let him watch, bonnie. You said it yerself, aye?” Johnny coos softly.

He can fucking watch for all I care. 

Fuck. You. And your big mouth.

He presses kisses along the stretch marks of your thighs. “Bet he’s not seen a beauty like ye since Christ was born.”

“Cut it out, MacTavish,” Simon barks from the dark corner he's carved for himself. 

In response, Johnny’s breathy chuckle hits your skin.

And while your vision might be compromised, your hearing isn’t. You can clearly hear the soft thud of socks against the hardwood floor. You can definitely feel him looming next to the bed.

You have to blink furiously when Simon turns on the nightlamp, bathing your body in yellow light. 

His eyes, darker than Johnny’s, take you in as you writhe under your boyfriend’s skilled fingers.

You sigh helplessly. “Fuck.”

Perhaps this is too much. Perhaps you’re not ready. And yet—

Simon’s hand grabs a handful of his cock through his sweatpants. You can see the outline of it, fat and straining against the grip of his fingers. A sight so delicious it makes your mouth water.

Your boyfriend catches on the exchange of looks. The way your eyes drop to his lieutenant’s cock. His fingers slow down—and as enraptured as you are, you don’t notice the smile that blooms on his cheeks.

“What d’you want him to do, hen?” Johnny pitches in, finally diluting the soupy mess of your thoughts to reveal what this truly is.

A spotlight on you.

Both men are starving to see, touch, taste. This is heaven, even for an introvert such as yourself. 

Small bug on the wall, observing—for once, observed.

Suddenly, you want that. You want to see them both kneel for you and study your body to learn how to keep it warm, sated, happy.

“Touch yourself,” you whisper before you can think.

Warmth licks at your neck when your own voice reaches your ears.

You swivel your eyes to Johnny again, who’s looking at you with a dangerous glint in his eye—enjoying every bump on your body that rises from the cold, every shiver his fingers cause to wreck your spine.

“You heard her LT,” Johnny says at length.

And before you can utter a word, his mouth returns on you.

Your voice breaks into a moan, eyes rolled back. There’s an insistent fizz in your ears, like there are suds stuck in there. 

Simon’s “Yes ma’am” barely makes it through. 

Slow blinking yourself back to reality, you manage to focus on Simon’s hand which is now stroking his bare cock. Tip a furious red, glossy with precum he smears down his length.

Fuck, you’d pay good fucking money to have it on your tongue, but you’re not in the right headspace yet. You find yourself content with the idea that he’s that hard and that leaking just because you look that hot to his eyes.

Perhaps this is a first step. And it's okay.

It’s invigorating. You love it to bits. So much so that, once again, you hear yourself say “Touch me.”

Johnny’s chuckle vibrates against your clit, but he doesn’t stop. He palms at your lower stomach as he eats you out, keeping you still and comfortable, until you feel your thighs tremble.

The mattress dips under Simon’s weight when he comes to kneel right beside you. The anticipation might kill you, and you’re so focused on him that you don’t realize how impending your orgasm is.

A big hand comes to touch your lips. Simon fits two fingers into your inviting mouth, and you don’t fight it when he touches the back of your throat. 

Instead, you moan at his praise of “Good girl” slipping hoarsely past his lips.

He pulls them out and uses your own spit to lubricate the head of his cock. His cheeks glow red, mouth parted to catch his breath—you never thought a man as apparently indifferent as him could look so delightfully affected.

All because you took his fingers in your mouth like a champ.

You almost cum there and then.

His other hand comes to thumb your nipple. He pinches it, toys with it. He cups your breast in his big hand and squeezes softly just to feel the softness of it. 

He rises upwards, then. Curls those same fingers at the base of your throat in a grip that progressively tightens, until he can hear your breath get stuck in your throat.

It’s then that you cum. 

With the sound of Johnny’s mouth sucking at your clit. With the wet noises of Simon’s cock being tugged in rapid strokes, as if he’s forcing himself to cum earlier than intended.

Your orgasm is so strong that your mind blanks for a moment, not registering the way your voice breaks as you catch your breath again.

Not registering when sudden wetness paints your tits and puddles at your stomach, followed by a groan so loud that it breaks through the fog in your brain. 

When you come to, you blink at the ceiling. 

Your heart pounds viciously, so much that you can feel it on your tongue. It’s wonderful and it would be embarrassing, your current position, if it weren’t for Johnny’s face coming into view.

His lips land fondly on the tip of your nose. “Yer gorgeous when you cum.”

And you smile.

It broadens when another voice joins in, lower and panting, “Affirm. Fuckin’ lovely.”

As you reach down between your and Johnny's bodies with a trembling hand, if only to return the favor, he gently swats it away. However, your fingers make it just in time to feel his softening cock, how wet it is at the tip.

You bet there's a twinning stain on the sheets, too.

“Wee bit at a time, aye?” He offers, kissing your cheek. 

You don’t dare to rebut, as spent as you are. Instead, you allow yourself to be taken care of.

Your eyes blink closed. 

"Did you cum?" You ask dumbly.

"'Course I did." Johnny nibbles at your lip. "Ye taste like fuckin' heaven."

You giggle, obviously flattered, though it sounds quite weak, sleep already taking over your brain.

"You could've fucked me," you tease.

"Nah," Johnny replies, leaving a fat kiss on your mouth. "Woulda killed Simon to see ye—"

"That'll do, Johnny," Simon cuts in.

He doesn't sound angry—more exasperated than anything. He's still panting, though.

You crack one eye open and find him unabashedly staring at his cum dripping down the valley of your breasts.

His hand lands on your forehead, then, brushing back the hair that has stuck to it. It's awkward, like he's not sure what to do but still wants to check in on your well-being.

Through the fog of pure ecstasy, you think he wants to feel somewhat included. Which is why you reach out, your fingers searching blindly for somewhere to land. You find his thigh, the soft fabric of his sweats, and squeeze.

He tenses beneath your palm, but the muscles relax soon afterwards. Welcoming the touch—perhaps welcoming you altogether.

"Tired, aye?" Simon whispers, sounding uncharacteristically tender.

"Yeah," you reply wearily, though his was more of a rhetorical question.

You're too fucked out to realize it. Or to care about realizing it at all.

The comfortable silence that has settled in the room is broken by the shuffle of sheets. The creek of the mattress.

Simon disappears beyond the threshold of the room, only to return moments later with a warm towel in hand.

You get cleaned and pampered, dressed back into your comfy pjs. Sandwiched, at some point, by four arms instead of two, six legs intertwined instead of four.

Your toes are still cold, but the rest of you isn’t.

And you think it can't get any better than this, as you fall back asleep. 

Written for February writing challenge, to fill the prompt "Ghoap x Reader body heat trope"

[guiltyasdave]

help me hold onto you

pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant! f!reader

word count: ~3.5k

summary: Logan deals with feeling guilty after he's accidentally cut you with his claws in his sleep.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that can be pulled, no use of y/n, Logan lifts reader up but he's superhumanly strong, so-, graphic description of an injury, graphic description of violence, angst, nightmares, Logan's pov, fighting as foreplay, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, praise kink, a lot of animalistic behavior due to their mutations, like they're just a little... primal, it's cute i swear, also reader looks like a human being it's just the mannerisms, fluff

a/n: guess i'm a multi fandom writer now? this literally came to me in a fever dream, very much like the logan brainrot itself lol. this is my first time writing for the man, after watching the movies - also for the first time - last week, so please be gentle with me <3 something very similar happens in the origins movie and i wanted them to explore that more, but alas, i had to do it myself.

massive thanks to @kiwisbell for assuring me that this idea isn't terrible and for freaking out about logan with me in general, to @catchallfangirl for coming up with the whole cat theme and for being so supportive, to @sizzlingcloudmentality for matching my freak and taking the cat theme to the next level, for helping me plot and for being an amazing beta reader, and to @javier-pena for listening to me rant about this idea and being so lovely and supportive <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is a queen <3

notifications blog -> @guiltyasdavenotifs & full masterlist -> here

Most nights, Logan sleeps easier when you’re in bed with him. Your body pressed against his, your skin soft and warm against his bare chest. One of his thighs between your legs where you’ve wrapped yourself around him, your touch moving over his torso aimlessly, fingers curling into his chest hair, your hands kneading his flesh in your sleep. The soothing little purrs that emit from your chest when you’re sound asleep. None of it bothers him, no matter how many times it disturbs his own rest. 

It keeps him grounded, feeling you next to him. He’d rather spend the whole night somewhere in that haze between waking and sleeping, listening to your sounds, your breath fanning against his skin, than being pulled under into the depths of his subconsciousness. 

He’d rather open his eyes to see you disentangling your limbs from his, stretching your whole body, arching against him as you yawn. 

He’d rather greet you with a smiling “Good morning, kitten,” waiting for that adorable little crease to appear between your brows when you pout up at him. 

“Did I do it again?” 

He doesn’t hide his grin as he nods, growing wider when you flop back against the cushions with a groan. 

“What exactly?”

“All of it.” 

Your sorry comes out muffled as you hide your face behind your hands. 

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning over you to pull your hands away and kiss the pout off your lips. Caressing that spot under your chin with two fingers, watching you go all soft, baring your throat to him. “I like it.” 

He would much rather wake up like this. 

But it’s been a long week and he’s exhausted. Exhausted enough to get lulled into a deep sleep, encased in the safe cloud of your warm body against his and your touch on his skin. Exhausted enough to dream. And his dreams are not a safe place. 

His eyes fly open with a shout, his whole body jolting upwards, every muscle pulled taut. He doesn’t even register the claws shooting out between his knuckles, all of his instincts screaming at him to fight. 

He’s only faintly aware of the sudden yelp of pain from beside him, the movement of something jerking away from him. 

“Logan,” your voice rings through the buzzing in his ears. Smaller hands landing on his shoulders, fighting to hold him steady. 

It takes a few disoriented blinks before he recognizes the familiar bedroom, a few more deep breaths to stop his body from shaking. To clear the fog in his head enough to understand what you’re saying.

“It’s me, Logan. You’re safe, everyone’s safe, it’s okay.” 

His eyes find yours in the semi-darkness. Wide with worry, but firmly trained on his face, repeating that everything’s okay. He finally registers the familiar weight of you straddling him, understands that it’s your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

He’s still panting, not daring to look away from your face again. The one tether that keeps him from getting lost in his mind again. 

“Are you with me?” you ask, your voice softer now. 

He manages a nod, tries to smile, to wipe the deep worry of your face, but he’s not sure if his mouth even twitches. 

As the feeling slowly returns to his body, he notices something else. A kind of wetness, warm and sticky where your right hand is connected to his skin. The unmistakable tang of iron in the air. He stretches to turn on a bedside lamp, jostling you along with his movement. A quiet whimper hits his ears, so low that he’s sure you tried to suppress it. 

With a new kind of panic surging through him, he grabs hold of your arm, bringing it to his eye level. 

Three scratches ooze in deep red, just beneath your wrist. It forces a gasp from him, eyes dancing frantically between the wounds on your arm and your face. How much blood did you lose already while you were busy helping him? As if he deserved it. 

“Fuck, I’m— I’m so sorry baby, we gotta—” He stumbles over his own words, grasping at you almost blindly, panicked tears blurring his vision. He did this. 

“Logan,” you say, still so inexplicably calm. “It’s fine. Look. It’s fine.” 

You gently pry his fingers off your arm and bring your wrist up to your mouth. Your tongue darts out, drawing long licks against your marred skin, collecting the blood and gliding over the cuts in your flesh. 

It pains him to watch, but it’s the least he can do. The least he owes you. He watches you clean the blood off, watches as the wounds start shrinking at the touch of your saliva, as the skin smoothes over before his very eyes until there’s only three thin marks left, a shade lighter than the rest of your skin. 

“Look,” you tell him again, extending your arm towards him. “I told you it’s okay.” 

He knows you can do this, of course he does. Has watched you multiple times, his fascination with your powers never wavering. How fluidly you move, how quick you attack, how skilled you are at surviving. You just never had to survive him. 

You lean down on top of him until your whole torso rests on his, your thighs still on either side of him, burrowing your head into his chest. “Which war did you dream about?” you ask quietly.

Most of the time, the dreams don’t grant him the mercy to zero in on one single memory. It’s a constant stream, one fight after the other, until all he knows is shouting, fighting, blood and death.

“All of them.” 

You sigh deeply, your breath cool against his sweat-dampened skin. Raising your head a little, you start placing kisses on his chest, pressing your lips into his skin where you can feel the faint beating of his heart.

“I wish I could kiss this better, too,” you mumble. 

He chuckles humorlessly, one hand reaching into your hair to scratch at your scalp. You shudder at the touch, an approving little purr traveling up your throat. 

“It’s okay now,” he mutters, leaning in to inhale the scent of your hair. “Just— I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be.” 

It sounds so simple, falling from your lips like this. But it’s no match for the aching guilt that’s already eating at him, the questions of what if that start swirling through his mind. 

Your body is growing heavier on top of him as you relax, your breaths evening out and your eyelids fluttering shut. It soothes him, has his own breathing slowing down, but he can’t risk falling asleep again. Not like this, not with your body so close to his.

“What are you— Logan?” comes your instant protest when he moves you to your side of the mattress, your eyes flying back open, wide and mildly confused.

“I could’ve killed you,” he mutters. It could have happened so easily. Just a little deeper, just a slightly different spot. 

“No, you couldn’t,” you quip, arching an eyebrow at him. “Cats have nine lives, remember?” You sneak another quick kiss on his chest before finding his gaze again, a teasing smile on your lips. “Even kittens.” 

It’s an attempt to lighten the mood, to make him laugh. He knows that. You hate the pet name he’s given you. 

“And you’re not gonna waste one on me,” he grits out. 

Hurt flashes over your face, more pain in your eyes than when there was an actual wound on your arm. 

“It wouldn’t be—”

“Don’t you dare say it wouldn’t be a waste.” 

The words come out as a low growl, aggressive enough to send most anyone running. You don’t run. 

Your animal doesn’t like it when he growls at you. He can feel the tension rolling off of you, your hair probably standing on end. Gritting your teeth, you take a deep breath, release your fingers’ grip from digging into the sheets.

“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” you tell him, resignation in your voice. 

Your eyes fall shut again, your head for once resting on your own pillow instead of his chest. He misses the weight of it instantly. You doze off quickly, your hands still pawing weakly at his side, like your body can’t help it. He almost pulls you closer himself. 

While you sleep, Logan forces his own eyes to stay wide open, staring unseeingly into the darkness. 

It’s a quiet day. You had tried talking to him, tried to convince him that it’s okay, that it’s fine. He can’t keep listening to you insisting that him almost killing you is no big deal. He should have known, should have been more aware of the risk instead of letting himself get lost in the blissful sensation of your body curled around his every night. You’ve trusted him so completely, only for him to let you down. 

Just like he always does, the voice in his head whispers.

No matter how many times you swear that you can take care of yourself, he should still be protecting you, not actively putting you in danger while you’re fucking asleep. It’s happened once now, so it can happen again, and he knows that he could never forgive himself. 

He knows that he’s hurting your feelings. Sees how your brows knit together when he barely kisses you back throughout the day. How you bite your lip when the way you’re butting your head against his doesn’t make him chuckle like it usually does. 

He should be angry at himself. He is. But you shouldn’t be the one to catch the brunt of it, and it makes him feel even worse. You always say that he should talk about his feelings more, that it would help to let them out. He suspects that you’re right. He just doesn’t know how.

By evening, you’ve grown uncharacteristically quiet, but he keeps catching your burning glares at him when you think he isn’t looking. Finally, after you’ve stared at him for what felt like an eternity and he’s pointedly ignored you, you seem to snap.

“Can you stop it?!” It leaves your mouth in a hiss, triggering his instincts before the words even register in his brain. 

“Stop what?” he growls back. 

Your fingers curl as a low snarl escapes you. Normally, neither of you lets your animalistic side take over like that. Normally, you’re good at soothing each other. 

But tonight, he can feel the energy crackle between you, the tension begging to be released. 

“You know what! This fucking— sulking or whatever it is you think you’re doing!” 

He rises to his feet, pulling up to his full height. One of your hands twitches. 

“I’m not—” 

You charge at him with an angry shout before another word can leave his mouth. You’re on him in a flash, grabbing onto his arm and letting your momentum carry you until you’re behind him, your nails digging into his shoulders until you’re perched on his backside. 

Whipping his head around, he bares his teeth at you, growls rumbling in his chest. You angrily hiss in his face and swing a hand at him in return, leaving angry red scratches down his cheek. They heal and fade as quickly as they came, but a triumphant grin flashes over your features regardless. 

“Come on, Logan,” you breathe into his ear. The edge in your voice sends fire straight through him. “Fight. You’re not gonna break me.” Your canines nip at his earlobe, somewhere between affectionate and challenging.

He tries shaking you off, but your grip on him only tightens. He collects a fist of your hair instead, pulling harshly to keep your teeth away from his throat. 

“Enough,” he grits, trying desperately to regain control, to become more human again, to smother the primal need to match your aggression. 

He finally grabs hold of one of your hands as well and manages to rip you off his back and in front of him, holding on tight to your upper arms to keep you in place. You’re snarling and twisting in his hold, but he doesn’t let up. 

“Enough,” he repeats, searching your wild eyes. Your movements slow down a fraction, giving him a moment of hope, before you surge forward and bury your teeth in his lower lip. It hurts like hell and he can taste blood on his tongue instantly. 

“Fight me,” you demand again, baring your teeth at him.

He pulls you back by your hair with a roar, gathers both your wrists in one large hand and holds you steady. You could still break free if you wanted to, he thinks. He might be stronger than you, but your movements turn almost liquid when you want to escape, he’s watched it more than once. 

The pain in his lip has already subsided, but his blood is still coating your mouth, a stark contrast against the white shimmer of your teeth. 

“Are you done?” His voice is harsh, his jaw clenched, carefully keeping the desire to strike back at bay. 

You deflate a little, some of the wildness draining from you before his eyes. 

“I just— I’m not fragile, I don’t want you to be scared of— of touching me.” Your voice grows small at the end and he’s horrified to see wetness glistening in your eyes. 

The fight mode leaves him as fast as it came, replaced with the overwhelming urge to care, to protect what’s his. His pack, in a way.  

He gathers you into his arms, curling himself around you. It feels good to hold you close again. Breathing you in deeply, he smells the adrenaline still oozing from you, hears the rapid beating of your heart. But mostly, it’s your unique scent, one that he thinks he could recognize anywhere. His tether to this world. 

“I’m sorry, kitten. I’m not scared of touching you,” he mumbles into your hair. 

You sniffle against his chest, but when you finally raise your head to look at him, new determination is glinting in your eyes. 

“Prove it,” you coo, tracing the shape of his lips with one fingertip. “Please.” 

That he can do. He nips at your finger playfully, your responding giggle the best sound he’s heard all day, before he shoves it out of the way to connect his lips with yours. It’s rough, a clashing of teeth and tongues, the tension that has been building and warping all day finally finding a release. 

You gasp into his mouth when his tongue moves against yours, your hands pulling at his hair, needing him closer and closer still, never close enough. His groan at the taste of you travels through you both as he’s grasping at your clothes. 

He longs for your warm skin under his palms, longs for how you lean into his touch so needy all the damn time. You pull away with a moan, helping him to pull your sweater over your head and stepping out of your jeans as he sheds his flannel. 

You bring both hands up to cup his face, to search his eyes. “Don’t be gentle,” you plead, “please, I need—” 

You don’t have to keep talking for him to understand what you need. I’m not scared of touching you. 

With a growl, his hands find your hips, holding you tight as he’s walking you backwards until your ass connects with the backside of the couch. He crowds you in, paws at every inch of bare skin he can reach, his cock already hard and aching at your soft warmth and the sweet mewls that tumble from your lips. 

Hitching one of your legs up to open you for him, he grinds himself against your barely covered center. A keening sound escapes you at the friction from his jeans against your sensitive flesh and he allows himself a grin. 

“Feels good, kitten?” 

You nod mindlessly, holding onto him and rocking your hips against his while you’re letting him move you however he sees fit. 

“Do you want more?”

“Please, Logan.”

You sound so sweet when you’re like this, when you put your body into his hands. I’m not scared of touching you.

Setting your leg back down, he watches with hunger as you hastily take off your underwear while he pulls the white tank top over his head and opens his belt buckle. He could swear that your pupils dilate a fraction at the sound of it, filling him with a possessive sense of pride. 

As soon as his jeans hit the floor, he’s all over you again, palming the weight of your breasts, tugging and pinching at your nipples as he swallows down your mewls. You’re soaking wet already, covering his cock in your slick as he nudges against your folds. He’s impatient to feel you all around him, to sink into you, to stake his claim again and again and again. 

He normally works you open longer, gives you more time to prepare, but your impatience is just as apparent as his own, with the way you whine and plead for him, your fingers digging into his flesh, trying to pull him nearer. 

He follows your pull, pressing your backside into the couch once more as he crowds your space. Leaning in, he kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth, one hand buried in your hair and holding you close. 

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips as he lets go of you. I’m not scared of touching you.

You smile softly, echoing the sentiment back at him. 

A surprised squeak escapes you when he turns you around suddenly, bending you over the back of the couch. He lines himself up at your dripping entrance, desperate to fill you up, to give you what you’re craving. 

“Not gentle?” he rasps once more, one hand curling around your neck from behind, both in reassurance and dominance. 

“Not gentle,” comes your breathy answer. It breaks off into a shriek of a moan when he slams into you with one long thrust, stretching your tight walls around his length. The sting of his sudden intrusion has to hurt at least a little, but you push back against him eagerly, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. 

Logan holds himself still for a moment, mesmerized by the sight of your squirming body and your needy little sounds, before he pulls out almost entirely, only to push back in forcefully. Your toes barely reach the floor with how far he’s bent you over, lifting you into the air with every harsh thrust, but he’s holding you steady with ease, both hands possessively spanning over your waist, positioning you exactly where he wants you. 

“Taking me so fucking well, like you were made for me,” he growls, gently scratching over your back with his nails. You arch up to chase his touch, tightening around him, almost purring with pleasure. Wetness pours out of you, coating his cock. I’m not scared of touching you. Not when it feels this good. 

“M–more, please,” you whine, blindly reaching backwards to him. 

He leans over you, cages you in, his arms on either side of you, his breath hot against your skin. His teeth sink into the back of your neck, not so deep as to draw blood, but enough that he knows the indents will stay there for quite some time. 

Your whole body goes limp at the sensation, a surprised mewl escaping you as you clench around him wildly. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, his own hips stuttering, “give it to me kitten, come on—” 

He reaches around your hip, fingers teasing through your slick folds and up to your clit, rubbing with slight pressure as he keeps pistoning into your heat. 

“Logan—” you gasp, getting almost impossibly tight, before you shatter around him. He keeps thrusting into you, keeps up his ministrations on your clit, until the pulsing of your cunt around him sends him over the edge as well. He spills his release deep inside of you, the thought of leaving a part of him with you always filling him with a primal satisfaction. 

Pulling you up instantly, he gathers you in his arms, your body soft and pliant against his chest. Walking around the couch and sinking into the cushions to lie down, he gently moves you until your weight is resting on top of him, his embrace wrapping around you.

You stir a little, needing a moment to take in your position. The look of uncertainty that you give him damn near breaks his heart. “Is this okay?” You sound uncertain, too.

God, he’s such an idiot. 

“Yeah, kitten. It’s— fuck, of course it’s okay.”

thank you so so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, a comment or a reblog would absolutely make my day :)

-> part 2!

[wandaslovey]

everyone stop what you’re doing and indulge me here.

wanda, mean mommy wanda.

you messed up. you pushed her too far one day. you knew a punishment would be in order, but little did you know what wanda had in store for you.

you trudge up the steps behind her, your hand gripped firmly in hers as she guides you up the stairs. a familiar pit settles deep within your tummy—the muscles fluttering with nervous excitement at the knowledge of a punishment just around the corner. wanda always managed to keep you guessing, never creating a pattern of what she would do to you when you acted out.

she wordlessly pulls you into the master bedroom, her steps full of purpose and intent, yet they weren’t rushed. there was an air of dominance around her as you stared at the back of her head. you didn’t even need to see the look on her face to recognize your place beneath her. she was about to remind you of that anyways.

“take off your clothes. stand at the end of the bed.” she instructs in a firm tone, abandoning your side as she walks into your shared walk-in closet.

you obey silently, stepping towards the edge of the bed and taking off your clothes until you stand naked. the cool air of the ac is unforgiving, goosebumps rising on your newly exposed skin. you want to wrap your arms around your torso for warmth, but you know wanda would disapprove of you covering any part of yourself.

you glance up in the direction of the closet when you hear some rummaging, straining your ears to see if you could hear any hints as to what toys she might be grabbing.

when wanda re-emerges, you see maroon rope dangling from her fingers along with a strap on. you furrow your brow at the item, noticing the dildo she picked was one you didn’t use very often. it was purple and only 6 inches in length. it had a vibrating function too, but through using it a couple times, you learned having something vibrating inside of you wasn’t your favorite sensation. was she going to make you try it again? you were also at a loss because normally, the last thing she would do as a punishment was fuck you. if you had the choice, she’d be inside of you 24/7, pumping her cock in and out of your greedy pussy. alas, normal life continues to ensue and you both had daily responsibilities to fulfill.

“is something the matter, dorogoy?” wanda asks, stepping in front of you till you were just inches apart. your height difference becomes more prominent, the few inches she had on you causing your need to tilt your head up to meet her eyes.

“no, mommy.” you reply, shaking your head slowly from side to side. you knew that it was unlikely she would revisit something she knew you didn’t like. she must have something else in store for you with this particular dildo—but what?

she hums her approval at your response, tossing the strap and dildo onto the bed. she gestures for you to turn around with a twirl of her index finger, her brow quirking when you hesitate for a moment. you turn, placing your wrists together behind your back. she does a simply knot, tying them snuggly, but not too tightly.

“turn back around for me.” her hands are soft and gentle as she guides you to face her again, a stark contrast to how you know her punishments always are—brutal and unforgiving.

she appraises you with a closed mouth smile, the back of her hand caressing your cheek before she cups your chin. “we’re going to try something different tonight,” she tells you. immediately, you’re more alert, your eyes a bit anxious as she takes in your expression. she chuckles darkly, satisfaction settling deep into her bones at your worried face.

“i expect you to safe word should you need it, though i doubt you’ll want to use it tonight. is that clear?” she holds your chin more firmly, her eyes colder than before.

“yes, mommy.” you whimper out, feeling more and more anticipation with every passing second. it was bittersweet not knowing what she had in store for you.

you watch carefully as she reaches to the side and grabs the strap on. you’re surprised when instead of putting it on herself, she secures the leather straps around your waist and thighs. your breath hitches as she tightens them until they sit snuggly against your skin. it was a foreign feeling to have something tied there, but even more foreign was the sight of the purple cock standing proudly between your legs.

“mommy?” you ask hesitantly, glancing between the dildo and wanda. she shushes you, tucking some hair behind your ear while the other hand wraps around the shaft. you gasp softly, though the appendage was not actually connected to your body, you could’ve sworn you felt a phantom sensation.

wanda grins at this, the hand that was at your face now sliding down until she wraps it loosely around your neck. she leans into kiss you as she slowly pumps the purple length. her kiss is slow and teasing, her head tipping back every few seconds until your lips eagerly chase hers so they reconnect again. “you’re such a greedy thing, aren’t you? mommy shouldn’t even be letting a brat like you get anything you want tonight.” she pulls farther away this time, her hand squeezing your neck in warning not to lean in after her. you look back down where her hand is pumping your cock and you find yourself quickly entranced with the movement. she picks up her pace to a medium speed, your eyes intent and eager on her ministrations. you bite your lip, your hips beginning to thrust into her hand as the longer you stare, the more you feel like you can actually feel her hand around your faux cock.

wanda eyes scan your face closely, watching pleasurable fascination cross your face. you seem enthralled in her teasing which only encourages her to take it up a notch.

just when you think the visual can’t get any better, wanda drops to her knees, your cock just about level with her face. she looks up at you with her pretty green eyes, and even though to an outsider it might look like you have the upper hand, you know with every ounce of your being that wanda is still fully in control.

“mommy’s gonna suck your pretty cock. if you move your hips, i’m going to stop and spank you 15 times for each little movement you make. is that understood?” she holds your strap up to her mouth, twisting her hand as she focuses on small strokes near the head of the toy.

you pant, your head feeling fuzzy like tv static as you feel yourself relinquish any self reservations you had of this particular fantasy. “mhm,” you nod your head, your brows pulling together in a desperate expression. you really wanted to see her lips wrap around the tip.

she wasn’t satisfied with your answer, so she grips harshly onto your hip, pulling you closer to her face. “words, malyshka.”

you gasp at her firm hold, feeling her dull fingernails bite into your skin. “i understand - i understand.” you say quickly, your voice breathy and desperate.

“good.” she hums before she lifts the shaft up so the tip is pointing the ceiling, her eyes piercing yours. she flattens out her tongue, sliding it from the base all the way up to the head. you inhale sharply at the sight, thinking this had to be one of the top 3 most sexy things you’d ever witnessed. she takes the tip into her mouth, bobbing her head slowly while she uses her hand to twist up and down the length her mouth didn’t cover. her eyes dared you to move, dared you to defy her. it took every ounce of strength and determination not to buck your hips into her face.

wanda takes more of you into her mouth and you can’t help but let out a shrill whine as the whole shaft disappears into her mouth, her lips at your pelvis. she holds herself there, slowly shaking her head back and forth before pulling herself off of it. she releases your cock with a pop, the length now coated with her saliva. she begins pumping you again with her hand and you can’t help it, too lost in the sensation. you thrust your hips into her hand without a second thought, whimpering as you do so.

wanda stills your hips at once, her hand still firmly wrapped around your faux cock but not moving.

“what did i say? hmm?” her tone is harsh, her accent bleeding into her words.

what you didn’t know is wanda chose this punishment and the rules within it on purpose. she knew a greedy slut like you wouldn’t be able to keep your hips still.

“i changed my mind.” she announces abruptly, moving to stand. your face falls, your lips pouting as you watch her move away from you. like a lost puppy, you step closer as she retreats, wanting to be close to her, wanting her to finish what she started.

“stay there.” you steps falter immediately, but your face perks up slightly as wanda begins to strip out of her clothes. you watch her with eager eyes, wetting your lips with your tongue as her cunt was now on display. you could tell she was wet, the light catching on her thighs, causing the wetness there to glisten.

“lie on the bed.” she nods to the mattress behind you and with a quick glance behind your shoulder you back up and let yourself fall on the bed, scooting awkwardly so you’re lying in the middle of it. it was hard to move with your hands still tied behind your back.

wanda crawls on the bed and over your body until she’s straddling your hips. your breathing becomes more shallow, your mind slowly catching on to where she was going with this. wanda sees the recognition pass over your face and she grins at the sight.

“that’s right, baby. i’m gonna fuck myself on your cock… and you’re not gonna be able to touch me. at all.” she grabs your shaft, lining it up with her entrance. you whine desperately, your hands balling into fists underneath your back. she teases herself, running the tip up and down her slit. you can hear how wet she is, but even still you swear you’re far more wet than she is. and that’s saying a lot given the squelching noises penetrating the room.

she finally sinks down, your cock disappearing inch by inch into her heat. your eyes nearly bulge at the sight, never having been inside of her like this. she starts at a slow pace again, lifting herself completely off the toy before sinking down onto it. your stomach clenches with need, your pussy dripping onto the sheets beneath you.

you whine again, your face one of pure desperation as tears begin to prick at your eyes.

“mmm, you like this detka? you like watching mommy fuck herself onto your girl cock?” she ignores your whining, her voice coming out as a groan. she was quickly losing herself to how full you made her feel.

all you can do is continue to pathetically whimper and whine as she rides your strap. tears begin to roll down your cheeks as the need to have her fuck you becomes wholly overwhelming.

“oh, that’s it, baby. cry for me. you know i love to see your pretty tear stained cheeks.” she picks up the pace until she’s near brutally impaling herself on your cock, lost in the power dynamic of having you tied and helpless beneath her while she gets off. it helps knowing how desperate you are, your pleas and tears only spurring her on.

she makes herself cum, moaning loudly as she does, your hips eagerly rutting up into her as she rides out the waves of her orgasm. she stills your hips, panting and you watched mesmerized as her tits rise and fall with her breaths. you can see a thin sheen of sweat gathering on her forehead, but you can hardly pay much more attention to her as your need for relief is at an all time high.

“mommy, please!” you try to plea sweetly, but it comes out more desperate and demanding than you intend. wanda tsks, lifting herself up off your strap and spreading your bent legs. she settles between them, holding your cock in her hand again.

“tell you what - i’ll let you cum if you can just like this. i’ll suck you off and you can move your hips this time, but i’m not going to touch you in any other way.”

you’re so desperate for anything that she’ll give you that you agree. and guess what? you do cum. the sight of her sucking your faux purple cock and your hips fucking into her face was just enough to push you over the edge.

[aetherraeys]

selected audience

barty crouch jr x afab!reader x regulus black ⊹ 2.3k

cw ⟢ mdni 18+, smut, voyerism?, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, praise, overstimulation, regulus has a crush on reader, cumming untouched, swearing, lowercase intended

barty knew all too well about regulus' little crush, and decides its only right to give him a glimpse into the pleasures of being with you.

a/n: not proofread--this is actual filth and im not even sorry lemme know if i missed any warnings x

barty was many things, cocky, unhinged and absolutely batshit crazy about you. even before you started dating he did little to hide his feelings. looking at you all lovesick, and sparkly eyed as if you had personally hung them moon and the stars in the sky.

now barty was obsessed with you, clinically so. and well, that would mean regulus had the same condition. it wasn’t his fault really, he was fighting a losing battle—you were always so generous with your affection, letting it seep into everything you did, everyone you talked to.

so sweet, so dreamy, so compelling. and don’t get him started on your voice, oh your voice, honeyed and hypnotic, yet innocent making his brain involuntarily short-circuit.

regulus could talk at great length about you, but alas, you were with barty and he was, alone. surrendered against his will to a cruel fate—seeing you every single day, with his friend and roommate, knowing he can’t have you.

and barty, he was well aware of the way regulus felt about you, completely understandable—you truly were bewitching.

but, as established, barty was unhinged.

not just in the normal way, whatever that was.

barty pushed every limit, button and boundary within his grasp—meaning regulus was always in the line of fire.

he wasn’t one to put a damper on his intimacy just for the sake of his friend, no, he was going to enjoy his treasure fully.

usually it was you who’d reign in barty’s sadistic tendencies, but he was sneaky and wasn’t going to let your soft-nature ruin his fun.

he knew exactly when regulus would return to the dorm room after his prefect duties, same time everyday, like clockwork.

so today, he decided he’d really enjoy himself.

his hands were everywhere, your waist, your hips, your breast—planting wet, open-mouthed kisses on your inner thigh.

a sharp gasp of, “junior”, left your lips and he nipped, sucking a bruise, millimetres from the wet spot that had formed on your panties.

he only hummed as he pulled the waistband up and high off your skin, letting it snap back harshly, smirking at the way your body jolted. indulging himself with a few more peppered bruises, before peeling them off of you.

and just as he reach you ankle, discarding them within the four closed curtain pillars of his bed, whispering a muffling charm and crawling back up to you.

typically, when all the curtains on barty’s bed were closed, and the room rung eerily silent, regulus could guess what was happening in there—if the slight rocking wasn’t telling enough.

but today, as part of barty’s twisted game, he’d not done a silencing charm.

so when regulus came back, seven o’clock sharp, he could faintly hear your soft candied whines—his throat becoming so unbelievably dry at the realisation.

he knew he should have left immediately, he was intruding, invading your privacy, trespassing—perverting a moment that wasn’t his.

and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

though muffled, he could make out so much, too much, of what was happening just a few meters away. his imagination getting away from him, feeling himself twitch shamelessly in his trousers.

you were splayed out prettily on the bed, one hand intertwined with barty’s, as you squirmed endlessly. knees flung over his shoulders humming lightly against your clit.

“o-oh my god- feels soo good-” your fingers releasing his hand to go card through his hair. two fingers already pushed passed the ring of resistance and curling up, deliciously into your walls.

your lip hastily pulled in by your teeth, hips rocking in pace with his fingers, now tugging—pulling at his soft locks in desperation. he lifted his eyes towards you, prying his mouth away from the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves.

“c’mon treasure—wanna hear you,”

he’s looping an arm around one leg, hitching you up, so he’s snug against your core, fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips, intensity making try squirm away. but barty had you locked in, at his mercy, angling the to hit that one spot that had your back arching impossibly off the bed.

his tongue toying with your clit, eyes never leaving you, following your every twitch, every jolt, feeling you squeeze around his fingers so tight, crying out loudly, “f-fuck—junior, s’too-oh!”

clawing at him, his hair, his neck, his shoulders, grinding your deeper into his mouth, body writhing from the pleasure, and only then did he pulling away. kissing a trail up your body to your lips—meeting your lips in a far too tender embrace.

regulus was still frozen in place, the smallest beads of sweat prickling at his hair line—so unbearably hard. his ears rung and blood ran cold when he heard it—voice too casual, too fippant.

“reg?”, the smirk on his face was so smug. regulus didn’t move, don’t answer, breath caught in his throat—bracing himself for impact.

“reggie, you busy?”, barty peaked his head out from the curtain, cheeks still lightly rosy and lips glistening from his previous actions.

he barely meet barty’s gaze, his voice coming out pinched and higher than normal, “-uh, no, not uhm right now,”

its like barty knew he’d been standing there, just out of ear-shot, opening the curtain wider and motioning him over with a small nod of his head.

what the fuck was happening?

what the actually fuck was happening right now?

his shuffled over, eyes darting frantically around the room, avoiding everywhere but where his eyes wanted to land so desperately. but he was weak, eyes settling on him, and then you.

chest rising and falling at an increased speed, cheeks flushed, half-lidded and pupils blown out. barty’s body covering your center, but he could still see the way your stomach had been bared, tank-top bunched just under your chest—taking in every ounce of your appearance.

before he had opened the curtains, you’d heard him whisper between kisses something about regulus, but mind still mushy and agreeable, thoughtlessly humming—nodding at what he’d said.

when your head rolled, and your sights fell on him, a lazy smile spreading across your face—he sucked in a sharp breath.

barty had a wolfish grin on his face, watching him watching you—”strip then,” eyes snapped over to barty’s—he just waited expectantly.

his body moved before he had time to compute the command, hands shakily unbuckling is trousers, leaving him clad in just his boxers, bulge so painfully obvious. regulus looked back at him from approval, heartbeat loud and fast in his ears, “sit there,”—nodding over to the front of the headboard.

and as barty closed the curtains behind regulus, saying the silencing charm he was originally meant to, you mumbled a soft, breathy, “hi,” to him, as he settled back against the headboard, iron grip on the bedding beside him.

barty wasted no time ridding himself of his boxer, tossing them carelessly behind him—roughly dragging your hips forward, pulling you towards his middle, a light squeal leaving you.

regulus was completely breathless, overwhelmed by the initimate scene unfolding before him. with two soft pats to your thigh and a low, “on your stomach, treasure,”—as if on autopilot, your body twisted and turned to form the most delightful little arch regulus had seen in his life. crawling into the space between his legs, dangerously close to his middle, his thighs on either side of your head.

pressing his lips into a thin line, you were looking up at him so innocent, so inviting.

fortunately—or rather unfortunately, for regulus, that didn’t last long. barty pressing himself into you slowly, breath hitching in his throat as his hands found familiar purchase on the round of your hips. your head fell forward into the matress, barely a few inches away from regulus’ crotch—the whine the left your lips had him twitching helplessly in his boxers.

he almost couldn’t believe his eyes, barty was fucking into you, forcing you gradually further up the matress, closer and closer to him, and it had his head spinning.

“shit—soo tight, angel,” barty’s voice came out rough and gritting when he finally bottomed out—regulus could see the goosebumps spread down your spine, gasping in air, each breath shallower than the last, brows furrowing impossibly high on your forehead.

pushing lazy and drawn out grinds into you, fingers matching the tight grip regulus had on the sheets— ”hmmm, gotta breathe for me,” eyes rolling back, lips parted, neck craned up and so precariously close to regulus.

this is going to kill him, he thinks.

broken, needly cries spilled endlessly out of you, “-mmpf—junior, t-too deep—” slightly, barely muffled by the way your cheek pressed against the bed. it wasn’t until barty runted harsh and unfairly into you, that you finally made contact with regulus.

hand reaching up desperately, clutching onto the fabric at the hem of his boxers—face now resting on his inner thigh. “-hah, almost forgot about our guest,” words rushed and breathless. thrusts so bruising and unforgiving, pushing you closer to the edge—lips now raw and swollen from biting.

regulus could barely breath, the air around him heavy and thick with sex, drinking in each pretty expression that was on your face, knuckles white with the grip he’d yet to release on sheets. his body tensed under your touch, only managing to exhale a barely audible whisper,

“fuck,”

barty used his knee to spread your legs wider, rocking in, searching for a deeper angle—letting a huffed chuckle pass through his lips, relishing in the disheveled state regulus was in, smile splitting onto his face—

“why don’t you indulge him, love. mmhm don’t get all quiet on me now,”

he truly was insane, and so were you apparently, because your hand reliquished its grip on his boxer and taking his, interlocking your fingers together. regulus could now feel each rock of barty’s hips into your, each jolt that rushed over your body—unthinkably close. looking up him, that dazed, needy expression on your face.

and he’s sure he’d died and gone to heaven, gaze locked with yours—the soft pants and laboured breaths that had been falling out of you now littered with wanting cries of his name, “reggie-hah—reg! so-ngh, fuck, reg—”

he couldn’t even stop the way his jaw fell, a hitching breath twisted with a load groan, like the air had been forcibly punched from him.

you were so pretty, so ruined, vision blurring as the pressure deep in the pit of your stomach, barty could feel it, the telltale signs that you were close, sucking him in so tight he almost struggled to drag his hips back.

regulus knew barty was twisted, so the dark snicker that he let out made his stomach churn. each thrust more rushed and cruel than the last, loud ringing in your ears, hips fucking back wildly. “mmm, if you’re close, treasure—shit, y-you know what to do,”

nothing could have prepared for what you did, lifting your head up, staring directly into his eyes—gods this was torture—eyes pleading, swimming with desire, an intense need.

and you couldn’t bring yourself to feel an ounce of shame at the whiny pleas that immediately left you, so delirous with pleasure, your voice sounded foreign to your own ears. “r-reg, oh god-please, can i—mhm, reg, reggie—please” they tumbled out rushed, as you tried to run away from the thrusts, bumping roughly against the spot that made your vision spot.

he swallowed thickly, adams apple bobbing, tongue darting out to wet his painfully dry lips, “f-fuck, yeah—cum f’me, pretty,”

he could barely finish his sentence before your head fell into his lap, trembles wracking through your body, cries and whimpers loud, and scattered with stutters of “reg—junior, re-”

you were being manhandled, barty’s grip on your hips bruisingly tight—holding you flush against him, no escape, grinding in to you, fucking you through your high and then some. struggling to hold yourself up, hips jerking as bolting shocks striking your body.

but barty didn’t slow down.

if anything his fucked into you meaner, watching satisfied as your melted, almost drooling onto regulus’ thigh. “know ya got another one for us, c’mon, thaaat’s it,” your thighs tried to shut, shy away from the overstimation, but barty just slid one hand beneath you—rubbing messy and frantic circles into your clit, the other reaching and grabbing a light fist full of your hair.

compelling your unfocused gaze to meet regulus’.

messy and unintelligable moans and hiccups, eyes so far away, fruitlessly blinking back, fighting against the urge to let them just reside in the back of your head.

and regulus just couldn’t help himself, bringing his hands to your jaw, memorising, savouring the moment. shivering at his touch, tips of his fingers ghosting over the tops if your flushes cheekbones—tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. “s’alright, love, take it—goood girl,” his words coming out in a low gravelly purr.

jaw slacking in bliss, body seizing as you leaning into his palm, all the air pushed out of your lungs. barty still rutting into you, pulling the most lewd squelches from where you were joined, loud gasping groans spilling from his lips, stilling behind you—filling you up. before barking out a breathless laugh—eyes stuck on the wet patch that grew at the front of regulus boxers.

your body almost vibrating, slumping against the bed, huffing in large gulps of air—mind gooey and satisfied.

regulus swore he could see a faint layer of condensation locked between the four corners of the bed post, relaxing, and dipping his head back against the headboard.

hoping this would change everything.

[areyouwell]

Logan x angel!reader where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

Tattered

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Word count: 10K

A/N: first request! so i definitely took some creative license with this... i sort of just kept adding scenes and ideas but this concept was so fierce boots i couldn't help myself. hope this is what you have in mind <3 i have also elected, from now onwards, not to use warnings on my fics unless there's explicit content in which case it will simply just have MDNI in red.

I don't have a taglist for like, oneshots or requests rn so lmk if anyone would like to be added :)

“Watch your six, Icarus!” Scott’s voice crackled from your earpiece as you swooped over the battlefield, the feathers in your wings fluttering in the wind. Glancing behind back, you realised why Scott had alerted you, three drones tailed you with six red dots seeking out your presence. Fuck, this wasn’t good. Why did nothing ever go right? Why were there always fucking complications?

You tucked your wings in tight against your back as you joined the rest of the team inside the Blackbird. You’d always been conscious of how much room you often took up, and whilst your mutation was your pride and joy, it was a common occurrence to feel a little self conscious when trying to cram multiple people into a tight space. You never occupied any of the seats in the cockpit, your wings wouldn’t allow it, and it was never comfortable for you anyway, the way they would shift and bend at unnatural angles meant you’d constantly be shuffling around to stop the awkward ache in your shoulder blades.

Icarus. That was your name. Well, not your name, but that’s what they called you on account of your gleaming golden feathers. You thought it was a little mean, to be honest. You had no intention of flying too close to the sun anytime soon, but alas, you were stuck with it, and over time, you’d come to appreciate it. They weren’t far off anyway. You did have grand ideals, and dreams to become something more than just a freedom fighter. You wanted to change the world and make it a safer place where humans and mutants could live in harmony. You knew a lot of the hard graft was political, and Hank was doing wonders for mutant reputation, but you still would like to contribute something other than stopping mutant slave trades and taking down illegal, anti-mutant organisations. 

That was the mission today. Some hate-crazed fuck had been building some kind of drone that could target the mutant gene. Kind of like the sentinels from years ago, but they’d been discontinued.

Thank fuck. 

The muscles in your shoulders tensed slightly as Ororo and Logan finally joined the rest of you, deep in conversation about the inevitable upcoming battle. You tucked yourself further into the wall, cursing lowly as you hit your head against the steel. 

Your relationship with Logan was… complicated, to say the least. The two of you instantly clicked when you met, finding yourself at ease with his gruff, surprisingly playful demeanour. You guessed he must have felt the same, since you noticed he would often seek you out during breaktimes, or take the seat next to you during meetings, sending you looks whenever Scott said something particularly leader-ish. You’d have to bite back a smile and attempt to keep your serious composure, lest anyone would think you weren’t taking the meeting seriously. 

And then there was the night things shifted between you. It was late, possibly early hours of the morning. Your muscles ached from being unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in, the beds not exactly being tailored to suit those with extra limbs, and with a huff of irritation, you’d given up to head downstairs and fix yourself an Irish coffee. And whilst there was a serious lack of Irish whiskey in the school, you knew Logan had a bottle of bourbon hiding somewhere in the cupboards, out of reach for most of the younger kids. 

You’d managed to clamber up onto the counter, perched precariously on the edge as you rifled around the top shelf, pulling down various unused cooking equipment before you finally came across the liquid gold. With a triumphant smile, you reached in further to wrap your fingers around the neck of the bottle, delicately pulling it from the depths of the cupboard. Only, it was stuck. 

The screw top kept scraping against the top of the cupboard, and you grit your teeth as your fruitless yanking sent pots and pans clattering against each other. You seriously didn’t want to wake anyone only to have them come down and find you up on your knees, balancing on the thin space of the counter, elbow deep in the top cupboard and frantically pulling at a bottle of whiskey. Fuck knows what kind of an impression that would give, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the correct one. 

Flaring your wings for balance, you completely misjudged the tips of your wingspan, knocking over an empty can of baked beans and sending it rolling onto the floor with a loud, deafening clang. You froze, attempting to quiet your breathing whilst you waited for the telltale sound of footsteps or the annoyed slam of a bedroom door. But your intense listening found nothing, the halls of the school blissfully quiet as you loosened your held breath. 

Nothing. Everyone was still asleep.

You turned your attention back to the stubborn bottle, this time trying to gently manoeuvre it around the baking bowls and saucepans, teasing it from the small little hiding place like you would a scared child. 

“Come… on.” You hissed with effort, finally freeing your vice from its trap with a final, harsh tug. Only, it was a little harsher than you’d have liked it to be. You grabbed the handle of the cupboard to your left to hold your balance, only for the door to swing open and provide absolutely no stability whatsoever. 

You felt yourself fall backwards with a frantic, whispered curse, swinging with the cupboard door, and resigned yourself to the sore back you’d get from falling to the floor. Or, at least, you would have fallen to the floor, if it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of a warm palm at the centre of your spine. 

“Rough–” 

You yelped at the unexpected voice behind you, you entire body jumping as if you were shocked by a socket. 

“Stop screaming, it’s me,” Logan soothed with no small degree of subdued amusement. “Rough night?”

It wasn’t like he was asleep, more like dozing when he heard the soft padding of footsteps pass his door and head down the stairs. Knowing it was you, he assumed you’d just woken up thirsty and were heading down for a glass of water. His assumption proved incorrect when the clattering of pans and the clang of something hitting the floor broke the steady silence, and curiosity won over when he decided to investigate just exactly what it was you were doing. 

What he wasn’t expecting was to find you clinging onto the cupboards for dear life, his bottle of whiskey clutched in one stubborn hand and your other gripping the open door of the shelf next to you. And it was pure instinct to lunge forward and steady you before you fell to the floor, though in the following moments, he convinced himself it was purely because he didn’t want you to wake up anyone else.

“What?” You asked in bewilderment, turning your head to see his brow raise at the bottle you had in your white knuckle grip. How the hell hadn’t you heard him? You’d stayed silent for at least five minutes before resuming your attempts to pull the bottle out. How the hell had he managed to still creep up on you?

“It’s two in the mornin’ and you’re makin’ a grab for whiskey. So, rough night?” He asked again, moving his hands from your back to your waist, steadying you as you clambered down from the countertop, and he did his best to ignore the feeling of your warm skin seeping through the thin nightshirt you were wearing. At least you were wearing shorts. Though, he counted that as both a blessing and a curse. 

He liked you. Despite trying to gaslight himself otherwise, there were times when he truly couldn’t deny it. And this time was one of them. You looked a little dishevelled, hair slightly frizzy and out of place from tossing and turning, and it was one of the rare times he’d seen you without any makeup on. You never wore a lot, just enough to accent your already glowing features and cover any blemishes he thought you had no reason to feel self-conscious about. 

You were so perfectly yourself, it was tricky for him not to fall in love with you.

Not that he had, of course. This was just a surface-level crush…

Yeah. Totally.

“You uh, yeah, you could say that. One of those nights, ya know?” You offered a small, slightly dejected smile, and his heart bled slightly. He knew. More than he could say, he knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You plannin’ on drinking yourself to sleep?” He asked with wry suspicion as you leaned against the counter, placing his bottle next to the kettle you still needed to flip on. 

“The opposite, actually. Wanted to fix myself an Irish coffee. Seeing as I’m not sleeping tonight, might as well stay up.” You shrugged, finding the willpower to turn away from him and grab the ground coffee from the lower cupboard. Thankfully, it didn’t put up the same kind of fight as the bottle. 

It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the electricity humming from where his hands were still against your waist, though his grip was lighter than when he’d helped you down. It truly wasn’t decent to detail the things you were thinking at that moment, and you had to force yourself to think of unsexy things. 

“We have a mission in two days and you’re pullin’ an all-nighter?” He asked, his brows pinching in badly concealed concern. Your heavy sigh did nothing to quench his worry.

“What’m I supposed to do? You try sleeping in a bed that’s too small with wings that stretch to either side of the room,” You huffed, flicking down the switch on the kettle and spooning a good two heaps of coffee grounds into the cafetiere. “Doesn’t matter what position. On my back or my side, shit’s so fucking uncomfortable it almost hurts.” 

“Why not sleep on your front?”

You snapped back to look at him, eyes hardening to steel. “No. Never sleep on my front.”

You’d said it with so much force he almost reeled back. There was a story there, there had to be, for you to clap back at him with such a bite there was no way it was just a personal preference. You hadn’t really told anyone about your life before the school, but from the bare snippets he’d heard from Charles, it wasn’t exactly how anyone would describe as happy. And there was fear behind that steel. Vulnerability. 

Logan sighed, leaning across you to flip the switch back up, stopping the kettle from boiling. You gaped indignantly, and before you could ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing, he spoke before you.

“Sleep with me.”

You choked, eyes blowing wide with shock. “I… what?”

Logan rolled his eyes, unable to tame the crooked curl of his lips at your complete one-eighty from irritation to stupefaction, even the feathers of your wings had puffed out slightly. “Not like that, freak,” although I wouldn’t be opposed. “Just… for company. Might help, s’all.” He offered quietly, and a blanket of realisation settled in your chest. He was awake too. It had only just occurred to you. He hadn’t been sleeping. He didn’t even look like he’d been sleeping. And it made more sense in your head for him to offer if it was something that could benefit both of you. 

It seemed highly unlikely he was offering just for you. Right?

“You sure? Don’t wanna like, intrude on your space or anything…” 

“Not intrudin’ if I offer,” he reasoned, and you guessed you couldn’t argue with that. With a heavy sigh, you looked back to the bottle of whiskey you’d fought wars to obtain, realising now that the whole cupboard situation had been for nothing. 

“All that effort,” you pouted comically, and Logan huffed a smile.

“I’ll put it somewhere easier next time. C’mon.” He nudged you before grabbing the bottle and returning it to the top shelf. You cursed his stupid height and the fact that he wasn’t down earlier. He could have retrieved it for you with so much less effort. But at the same time… if he had…

You wouldn’t be where you are now. 

You followed him back up the stairs, taking a left to the door only a few down from your own. You didn’t quite know how sleeping in the presence of someone else would help, but you were not about to say no to sleeping by his side. It wasn’t like this was something you’d thought about. At great length. And in great detail.

And this certainly wasn’t a scenario he’d entertained far too many times to count. 

Though upon seeing the double bed, that same self-conscious feeling reared its ugly head. There was no way you weren’t going to disturb him. You could barely find comfort in your own bed of the same size, let alone trying to sleep with someone else taking up space. You hesitated in the doorway, and Logan turned back to you, his head quirking to the side. 

“You ‘kay?”

“Yeah… s’just– are you sure I’m not gonna disturb you? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I take up a bit more room than other people…” you extended your wings in emphasis, barely able to stretch them to half their wingspan before the side of the closet and the wall stopped you. Logan breathed a soft smile, and you felt yourself shrink slightly. 

“I’ll be fine, just get in.”

You huffed in resignation, tucking the feathers close into your back and crossing to the other side of the bed, unable to stop thinking about how ridiculous this was. You really should just get the fuck over yourself and go back to your room. How tricky was sleeping on your front anyway? Maybe this time you wouldn’t wake up with a panic attack and you were just being dramatic this whole time. You were fine. It really wasn’t that deep. You didn’t want to disturb him just because you couldn’t get over some stupid fucking fear. This was–

“Christ, I’m not even a telepath and I can hear ya thinkin’. It’s fine, sweetheart. You’re fine.” He implored, throwing back the covers for you to take up the space next to him, but you continued to hesitate. “You want a written invitation or somethin’? Get your ass in bed.”

“Alright, jeez…” you pursed your lips to stop yourself from smiling at his smartass comment, keeping your wings firmly against your back as you shuffled beneath the covers by his side, careful not to take up too much room. Your shoulder started to cramp up slightly, but there was no way you were about to release the tension in your muscles until you were sure he was asleep. 

Pulling the covers up to your neck as best you could, you scooted down until your head hit the pillow, shifting in yet another attempt to ease the ache in your back. You hadn’t noticed he’d turned on his side to face you until you looked back ahead and were suddenly met with his flat look of exasperation.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Your voice raised into a pitch of innocence, and Logan barely managed to suppress his eye roll of sarcasm. 

“The point was for you to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable!”

“As comfortable as someone would be whilst constantly tensing, yeah?”

“Logan, if I don’t, you’ll wake up with feathers in your nose.”

He snorted a laugh, and you giggled slightly along with him. “You look ridiculous.”

You gaped in mock offence. “Hey!”

“Come ‘ere…” in one swift movement, you were dragged from your position on your side, and he turned the both of you until you were settled on his chest. Panic swirled in your mind as your back was exposed to the room, until a steady hand soothed your racing pulse against your spine, in the space between your wings. You felt comfort dampen your anxiety, breathing deeply into the dip between his collarbone and neck, exhaling a shaky breath. You let the seconds tick by, expecting yourself to start gasping rapidly at any moment. But the longer your heart stayed settled, the more you realised this might actually work. “Y’okay?” He asked quietly, and you nodded against his chest.

“Yeah… just surprised. Usually, I’d be thinking I’m about to die by this point,” you half-joked, and though you couldn’t see him, Logan’s brows pinched in empathy. What the hell had happened to you before joining the team? Finding the school? His fingers slowly grazed through the short, fluffy feathers at the base of your wings, carding through the stiff joints. He watched in mild amusement as you shivered slightly, those feathers puffing out and shuddering at his touch. He lightly dug his fingers into the hard muscles around the joint, and you had to clamp your mouth shut to stop yourself from sighing in release. You hadn’t realised just how much strain it was to constantly keep them tight against your back, and whilst it had proven useful to build up the muscle, it had also resulted in some nasty knots. 

Achingly slowly, your wings started to relax, heavy, hollow bones coming to rest across his body, wingtips grazing the floors on either side of the bed as you blanketed the both of you in a soft, warm embrace. Your eyes started to grow tired, lids drooping with each gentle caress of his fingers across your back. 

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.” He whispered, and you didn’t have the energy to contemplate the fact he’d just used two new pet names for you. If you weren’t so damn tired, your insides would have exploded with butterflies by now, but the siren call of sleep lulled you into a sense of security, and with his steady heartbeat your lullaby, you gave in to the soft pull of rest. 

That was the night things changed between you. The day after he would barely leave your side, sticking by you throughout the morning, taking the seat next to you in the pre-mission meeting that same evening, sending you quick glances that he’d cut short whenever your eyes met. And it was the same when he entered the Blackbird, with you tucked tight against the wall. His eyes found you instantly, lips carving into a gentle smile, his hand falling to your shoulder as he walked past you. You savoured the touch, missing the contact when his hand fell back to his side, still deep in conversation with Ororo. 

“Do you want to fly above us, Icarus? Might be more comfortable,” Scott asked from where he’d taken his seat at the front of the jet, his head turning back to look at you through his glasses. You knew what he meant. There was only so much room in the Blackbird, and despite your best efforts, you were taking up a considerable amount. You took a moment to think, weighing up your options. And whilst you loved the freedom of flying, you couldn’t help but think it was a backhanded way of asking you to stop taking up so much room. He may not have meant it that way, but that’s just how it felt. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah, might be better…” You mumbled with a shrug, trying in vain to stop the hot shame from flushing your cheeks. 

Logan’s jaw tensed, his teeth grinding together, the sound resonating through his skull. He’d been trying so damn hard to get you to loosen up about your wings. And whilst he found it difficult to properly articulate just how gorgeous he thought they were, he thought he was finally making some progress after the last two days. So the way Scott insensitively asked you to fly instead of taking the jet wound him up. 

“Only if it would be better for you. Don’t do it just cuz ya think it’ll be more comfortable for everyone else,” he ground out with a pointed look to Scott, whose brows furrowed in brief confusion before his mouth fell open in horror.

“Shit, no that’s not what I meant! I just thought–”

“It’s fine, Scott,” you tried placating the panicking Cyclops. “I need to stretch them out before the mission anyway.” You smiled a liar's smile, hoping he wouldn’t see through the façade and into your genuine hurt before turning on your heel to head back down the ramp. You managed to make it roughly halfway before a hand caught your arm, stopping you short. 

“You’re not doin’ this cuz of these, right?” Logan asked, gesturing to your wings with his head, his eyes searching your expression as if he was looking to peer right through you. You offered him the same smile you gave Scott, and whilst it worked to settle Cyclops, it only served to broaden Logan’s concern. 

“Nah, I really do need to stretch them out, feeling kinda stiff today so it’s not a problem.” You said brazenly, shrugging off his concerns with faux confidence. You knew it didn’t work when his expression didn’t shift, his hand tightening slightly around your arm. You sighed, defeated. “It’s fine, Logan. Everyone’ll be more comfortable like this anyway, myself included. I won’t feel like I’m–”

“If you finish that sentence with ‘in the way’ I’ll throw you off the jet myself.” He borderline growled, and you tensed your jaw in slight irritation. Couldn’t he just let you have this? Couldn’t he just let you do this one thing to make everyone’s lives more comfortable? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn?

“Just… drop it, yeah? I’ll see you guys when we get there.” You bit, almost snatching your arm from his grip and continuing down the ramp, crouching low when you reached the bottom and launching into the skies, your wings beating hard as cold wind whipped your face. All Logan could do was watch you go, regret piercing his chest as the sound of your wings receded into the night sky. 

And that was how you found yourself already airborne when Scott’s voice crackled through your earpiece, the low hum of those three drones on your tail like the toll of death, the rapid beeping of target systems an accompaniment to the symphony. Tucking one of your wings in tight, you fell into a sharp stoop, panic rising in your chest as they followed you down. The hissing release of metal combined with the sudden roar of a rocket told you at least one of them had fired on you. You flared your wings, catching the air like a feathered parachute as you levelled out quickly, the missile shooting past you and into the ground below. The heat from the explosion fanned your face as you whipped around the wreckage of a building, those three drones still hot on your trail.

Logan looked up as you soared above, his claws drenched in blood as he yanked them out the helmet of some unfortunate soldier who’d made the mistake of thinking he could take on The Wolverine. His heart raced in his throat as those six dots wouldn’t stray from your body, drones expertly following your manoeuvres, mimicking every duck and dive, narrowly missing the corners of buildings and rising flames. Ororo’s voice crackled in his own earpiece, her tone frantic. 

“Icarus you gotta shake them!”

“NO SHIT!”

He almost winced at the panic in your voice, snapping back at Storm in a way he’d never heard you do before. Casting a quick glance to his surroundings, he saw Scott with his fingers braced on his glasses, beams of white-hot energy streaking the battlefield as he picked off one guard after another. 

“Scott!” He called, his legs pounding the ground as he ran over, slicing through the gut of a nameless, faceless soldier who stood in his way before he jogged to a stop. “Think you can get a clear shot?” He asked, his words rushed as his gaze returned to the skies, another explosion booming bright before you raced around the corner of the main building. 

“They’re moving too fast and it’s too much of a risk.” Scott called back over the din of battle, the crackle and boom of thunder overhead striking the earth with expert precision as Storm unleashed yet another bolt from the clouds above. A little too close to you for comfort. 

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as you levelled out, those tenacious six red dots still focused solely on your racing form, your wings beating and dipping with every expert manoeuvre as you once again swooped from sight. But it still wasn’t enough. 

“Lead the shot.”

“What?”

“Lead the damn shot, Scott. She’ll be comin’ back round, it’s a pattern. Just do it.” He almost pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. He knew you only had precious seconds before those missiles would fire again, and you couldn’t outrun them forever.

You crested back around the ruins of the facility, and it was only due to his enhanced sight could he see your confidence wavering, your jaw tense with concentration, though your eyes were blown wide with panic. 

The beep of the target systems increased rapidly, before blending into one long note. And it was like time came to a slow crawl. A puff of silver gas erupted from the base of the drone, a pinpoint missile dropping from the small hold to hone in on your location before Scott had a chance to take it out. 

Switching targets, Scott moved his head to the side slightly, leading the shot as Logan had said, the beam of pure, red and white hot energy shot from his glasses, quick as a blink. And for one, blissfully ignorant moment, Logan thought they’d succeeded.

But the missile was too close. The moment the pure energy collided with the steel casing, a ball of furnace orange flame and thick black smoke lit the sky. Before you had time to think, searing agony jolted your back, hellfire burning your shoulders and wings as you were thrust forward, losing control of your trajectory. Panic gripped your heart as you tried in vain to regain your altitude, but your wings weren’t responding. The stench of burning feathers and flesh singed your nose as you went down, caught up in the explosion between Scott’s beam and the missile. 

Wind roared in your ears, whipping your hair as you descended, flailing and spiralling, to the ground, trees and ruin rising to bring your fall, and your life, to a sharp end. 

“STORM!”

“ICARUS!”

Two indistinguishable voices exploded in your ears, deafening you over the din of death. You knew this was most likely it. This was most likely the end, but you felt numb peace as the wind kept you company, wrapping around you almost like a blanket as you braced your arms against your chest, pain splitting your body and mind as the open rooftop of a ruined house ripped through your suit and flesh as you struck the ground, knowing nothing more than darkness.

“No…” Logan whispered, his entire world coming to an abrupt halt as you descended past his line of vision, a cloud of black dust rolling from the wreckage of a home. You weren’t dead. You couldn’t be dead. He was moving before he’d even registered it, racing across blackened bodies and charred remains of structures. His throat tore with repeated cries of your name, pushing past collapsed beams and splinters of wood, shoving aside wrecked furniture and broken decor before he saw you.

Lifeless.

In a pool of your own blood. 

Your leg lay in an unnatural angle, your wings charred and broken, your wrist twisted in a way he knew it really shouldn’t be. His blood turned to ice in his veins, face blanching as he couldn’t see the rise and fall of your chest beneath the shrapnel and dust covering you. A jagged wooden spike protruded from the dip between your shoulder and your chest, the entry wound somewhere on your back.

He had to check if you were still alive, but he couldn't move, finding himself frozen in place. He couldn't lose you. Not when he was finally putting the foundations down for your relationship. He couldn't lose you now… 

But seeing your body broken like this… there was no way you could have survived that fall, even with Ororo’s help. She tried to slow your descent too late, a gust of wind appearing from nowhere to catch you just a second after she should have. Maybe you’d still be alive if she'd succeeded. Maybe you’d still be here if he hadn't asked Scott to shoot those fucking drones.

Maybe…

“Fuck! Icarus! Icarus can you hear me?” Storm rushed past him, followed by a horrified Cyclops, and if Logan could focus on anything other than your twisted limbs, he'd see the overwhelming sense of guilt on his face. 

Ororo pushes off the splinters of wood and debris from your body, her movements hurried yet careful, terrified of moving you too much. She placed two trembling fingers against the side of your neck and waited. 

And waited. 

And waited…

Logan thought the moment would never end, silence blanketing the ruined room as the three of them could do nothing but watch, Jean quietly placing a hand on Scott's shoulder. 

“There's a pulse!” Storm cried, a sob of relief erupting from her throat as Jean rushed forward, her hands ghosting the top of your body. 

You were alive. Alive. How the fuck had you survived that? There was no way you could have survived that. You fell from over two hundred feet, how the fuck–

“We need to stabilise her. She's lost a lot of blood and it hasn't stopped. Can you tell what the damage is?” Storm turned to Jean, hoping her telekinesis could find something, anything that would provide more information. 

“Broken ribs, her lung is punctured, I think she's bleeding internally and we can’t remove this or she’ll bleed out… I can't do shit out here, we need to get her back to the school. Now.” Jean's voice took on a tone of authority, spurring Scott back into action, but Logan was still paralysed. It was only two nights ago you were sound asleep on his chest, only yesterday he couldn’t stand being further than two feet from you. 

Logan…

You were alive, but how long for? Was he just given false hope, only to lose you on the way? On the operating table? How much longer did you have? How much longer did he have?

“Logan…”

He wanted to blame Scott. Fuck, he wished he could blame Scott. But the truth was, he asked him to take them out. He was the one who asked if he had a shot. He was the one who coerced him to take it. Would you have been okay? Would you have been able to shake them on your own? Had he single-handedly brought on your fall?

“LOGAN!”

Logan blinked rapidly, eyes burning from how long he was staring, unblinkingly, at your broken body. Numbly, he tore his gaze from you and over to Ororo, and though her brows were pinched in concern, her eyes were hard with determination. 

“I know, but if we wait any longer, we’ll lose her. Think you can clear Jean a path?” She glanced pointedly to the rubble somewhat blocking the doorway, and it took him another second before forcing his body to move, nodding wordlessly to Ororo’s orders. He wasn’t usually one to just mindlessly obey, but he wasn’t able to think straight at the moment and was honestly thankful for the others taking charge. 

He was strong at the best of times, but self-hatred fuelled his arms to work overtime, shoving away impossibly large beams and collapsed part of the wall before there was a clear path for Jean to levitate you through. Your smouldering wings dragged along the ground, tattered and torn, gathering dust and grime along the bloodied tips. Only now had could he get a glimpse of your back, the worst of the damage caking your shoulders and wing joints in blackened crimson. Feathers had burned away, leaving your mutation raw and weeping. You didn’t know what he was talking to Ororo about on the walk to the jet. You didn’t know he was asking her if you had a favourite food, or colour, or flower. You had no idea he’d planned to officially ask you out after the mission. 

Now you might never know.

Scott slowly approached him, looking as if he were in a state of complete shock, replaying what went wrong over and over again in his head. All it took was one glance, and Logan didn’t even need to see his eyes to know they were buried in remorse. He wanted to be furious at him, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be beside himself with desperate anger, but there was nothing to be angry at him for. This wasn’t Scott’s fault…

It was his. 

The ride back to the mansion took days and also five seconds, Jean doing her best to keep you stable whilst Ororo took the pilot’s seat, Scott being in no shape to fly anything. Logan found himself too terrified to touch you as if the slightest movement could worsen your condition. In the silence of the ship, he could hear your haunting, rasped breaths, slow and shallow. The stench of charred flesh and boiled blood made his stomach clench, but not as much as the wounds across your body. He forced himself to look at them. To look at what he’d done to you because of his choices. Forced himself to sear every weeping burn, every broken bone, every blood-soaked bandage into his memory. Your wings, which once held so much majesty and beauty, now lay in tatters, and he had no idea if they would grow back. Would you ever be able to fly again? Logan didn’t know if he’d be able to look himself in the mirror if he’d taken that from you too. 

“She’s going to be okay, Logan. She’s stabilised for now and the Professor already knows the situation. Hank’s on standby and Charles has called in a favour from a surgeon. She’ll be in the best hands possible when we get there.” Jean attempted to comfort him, all the while focussed on keeping you stable from any turbulence and making sure your wounds didn’t worsen. 

“I did this…” he whispered, uttering the first words since watching you fall. Speaking his thoughts into the thick silence, the rest of the team cast glances at each other, Scott running a hand through his hair.

“No… I should have trusted your judgment. I hesitated. Fired too late. You can’t blame yourself for this…” He hissed, dragging the hand from his hair down the side of his face. 

“You both did what you could,” Ororo offered from the cockpit, her eyes still focused on the clouds ahead. “If you hadn’t done anything, she’d be dead by now. Those drones weren’t going to give up and she couldn’t shake them. She’s still here because of what happened, not despite it.” 

Logan couldn’t find the self-compassion to believe her. His eyes still trained on the scattering of feathers beneath where Jean suspended you from the ground. He wearily raised his head when the redhead called his name, her features soft with understanding. 

“Come here,” she gesture him over with a nod of her head, her hands still hovering over your body. Logan hesitated before rising from his seat, to stand by your side, across from Jean. “Place two fingers against the side of her neck,” she instructed, and his breath hitched, eyes darting from your unconscious face to Jean. “You won’t hurt her, just do it.”

Inhaling sharply, Logan softly brushed your hair back from your neck, gently placing two fingers against your pulse point. There he felt the slight, slow thump of your heart still beating. The realisation was enough to bring him to his knees, not caring about the sharp bark of pain as he struck the steel floor. He knew you were alive. Ororo had said as much, but to actually feel you, to feel the evidence of you’re still beating heart, broke through the dam of self-hatred.

His hand cautiously skirted up your jaw to rest against the side of your cheek as he pressed his forehead into your hair, his breath shuddering with the effort to keep himself from falling apart. He didn’t care that he could taste blood and dirt when he softly kissed the side of your head. Didn’t care that now everyone knew how he felt about you. His thumb lightly caressed your cheekbone, smoothing the grimy skin beneath your eye. 

You hadn’t left him yet. You were still here. 

“She’s alive, Logan. And we’re gonna keep her that way,” the conviction in Jean’s eyes was almost enough to settle his heart, but he knew the twisting worry wouldn’t loosen until he saw you open your eyes, your wounds healing, your wings bright again.

Everything ached. Everything. You felt as if you’d been hit by a bus, only for the bus to reverse back over your body, and hit you again. Your wrist barked with sharp pain when you tried to shift, your eyes still closed against the bright lights behind your lids. Something tight was almost cutting off the circulation to your left leg, and inhaling too deeply caused your chest to convulse in agony. The steady beep of a heart rate monitor helped you count roughly how many seconds you’d been conscious. You tried to think back to what could have happened, only to find the last thing you remembered was stooping in a low dive with three drones tailing you. There was an explosion at your back and–

You were falling. 

You’d fallen.

So much for not living up to your name…

With a hissing wince, you cracked your eyes open, only to instantly screw them shut at the sharp burn of bright lights unfamiliar to your retinas. How long have you been out? How did the mission go? Was everybody okay? Was Logan okay? 

With renewed determination, you attempted to open your eyes again, gritting your teeth as you blinked through the burn of adjustment. You knew this ceiling. You knew this table. From your first ever visit to the school, you’d been taken care of in this very room. You groaned slightly, exhaustion already taking its

 toll on your weary bones. Any attempt to move yourself resulted in agony spiking up your spine, white-hot pain cresting through your shoulder blades. Panic gripped your heart as you attempted to move your wings, only to find resistance. Turning your head with a sharp gasp, your eyes welled up with new tears seeing your torn, tattered feathers bound in bandages, held suspended by a sling from the ceiling. They were still attached, so there was that, you supposed, but it had been a long, long time since you’d seen them in this condition. 

You glanced down the bed to find your leg wrapped in a cast, held aloft from the mattress. Your wrist too seemed to be encased in white. You turned your neck to the other side with the intention of gauging the damage to your other wing, before your eyes widened at who you saw, head bowed asleep, in the chair next to your bed. 

Despite yourself and your situation, you couldn’t stop your lips from pulling into a fond, soft smile as Logan snored lightly. He looked truly exhausted, his hair mussed from how many times he’d run his hands through it. You didn’t think it was possible to adore him any more than you already did, but here you were, finding your heart growing three sizes at the sight. 

The doors opposite you slid open, Jean striding through with a clipboard and a thin pair of glasses perched on her nose. She stopped dead when she looked up from her notes, almost dropping her pen to the floor when she registered the fact you were awake. Silently, you placed a finger to your lips, before pointing over to the exhausted Logan in the chair. She smiled with a fond nod, 

Keeping her footsteps light, she crossed the medical bay to take a look at the readings on the screen, before crouching down next to your bed, her eyes focusing on the bandages across the bend of your wing. 

“He hasn’t slept since we got back. Storm had to force him to eat something yesterday. And he hasn’t stepped foot outside this room.” Jean explained, keeping her voice to a low whisper.

“How long’ve I been here…?” you asked, unable to raise your voice louder than a low whisper. Your throat scratched with every word, and you hadn’t realised just how thirsty you were until now. 

“A week and three days. I’m going to slowly reintroduce food into your stomach before taking out the IV, okay?” 

You barely heard the rest of her sentence. A week and three days? That was a little longer than you were expecting, to be honest. 

“Wait… Logan hasn’t slept in over a week?” You managed to rasp a little louder, your chest lurching with concern. That wasn’t healthy for anyone, even someone who could regenerate as fast as he could. No wonder he was utterly spent. 

And it was as if your voice were like an alarm clock. One moment your hushed tones were accompanied by the soft snores of the man in the chair, the next his eyes shot open, your whispered name the first words on his lips. 

Turning your head back to him, your breath caught in your throat. There was a hurricane of emotions swirling in his hazel eyes. Relief, guilt, fear, joy, remorse. A cocktail of feelings clouded his eyes and you wished you had the energy to cup the side of his face and reassure him you were alright. 

Logan’s exhausted haze cleared instantly upon hearing your voice, seeing your eyes open for the first time since he watched you plummet to the ground, and it took a moment for him to realise he wasn’t dreaming. Because he had dreams of this. In the rare moments he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open, his mind would either take him back to your fall or fabricate the moment you woke up. But wherever his dreams took him, he would always wake up with the tight ache of guilt constricting his chest. His waking moments he would spend thinking about what he would say to you if you woke up, planning out a meticulously crafted apology, but everything he wanted to say instantly flew out the window upon actually seeing you awake. 

“Hi…” you whispered, voice still raspy from disuse. And it was your weary, worn smile that tore at the chains around his soul. He couldn’t respond, as if he were the one who’d been lying unconscious for the last two weeks. 

Jean, sensing the tension in the room, stood from her crouched position by your wing, clearing her throat a little before tucking the clipboard flat against the crook of her elbow. 

“I’ll be back in a bit to check up on you and bring you some food.” She murmured, but you barely acknowledged her exit, too fixated on Logan’s expression of disbelief. 

The doors closed as Jean took her leave, blanketing the two of you in a charged silence, the both of you waiting for the other to talk first. 

“Logan I–”

“I’m so sorry, it–”

So naturally, of course, you both spoke at the same time, before falling into another equally uncomfortable silence, once again stuck in the purgatory of waiting for the other. You held your tongue this time, nodding to him with the smallest movement of your head. 

“You’re okay…” he breathed, almost to himself, as if having to remind himself again that this wasn’t in fact a dream. You were awake. You were talking. You weren’t lying lifeless with only the steady beeping of medical equipment to keep him company. Your eyes were open, looking at him with something he was struggling to discern through his addled mind. 

“I’m okay,” you responded softly, watching his features morph from self-hatred to pure relief. He shifted in his seat, head hanging low between his shoulders as he took a shaky breath, and you could see the slight shudder of his shoulders.

“I–” he started, before cutting himself off with a sharp inhale, clamping his teeth together as he struggled to raise his head again. “I thought I lost you.”

Whilst it was nothing but the softest admission, you felt spiderwebs crack through your heart, wanting nothing more than to reach for him, if only your bones didn’t feel like lead. He continued to keep his head low, his hands wringing together between his knees. “It was ’my fault. I didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shake em and they were closin’ in and Scott wasn’t fuckin’ listenin’ an’–”

“Logan,” you interrupted as loud as you could, your throat tearing at the sudden strain on your voice, causing you to wince slightly. Your hiss of discomfort finally prompted him to raise his head, half standing from his seat to instantly be by your side should you need anything. “I’m okay. Or, I will be. My wings’ve seen worse, and my body will heal with time. I’m okay.”

He searched your face for any sign of deception, any indication that you were just saying this to spare his feelings, or stop him from spiralling into the well of self-hatred once again. He knew it wasn’t the time to ask, but his mind subconsciously filed away that nugget of your past for a later conversation, too focused on the fact his search came up short of anything he was looking for. 

“You’re okay…” he repeated, settling back into the chair by your bed. His eyes fell to your twitching hand, and with a gentleness only reserved for you, his fingers intertwined with yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “You’re okay.”

Your heart skipped a beat or several, and you were mildly concerned about setting off the heart rate monitor your abdomen was connected to. You don’t think you’d ever had this many wires connected to your body in your life, not even when Charles first found you. Nobody knows what had happened that day apart from him, and you refused to speak of it. 

“What do you remember?” Logan asked, pressing the back of your hand against the scruff of his cheek, as if desperate to feel you. Your brows furrowed for a moment, your quick trip down trauma lane before you opened your eyes yielding nothing of much use.

“I remember the drones and the targeting dots. I remember one… fired, I think, and missed,” you struggled, screwing your eyes shut in a vain attempt to jog your own memory.  “Uh– then there were two more? One missed and the other exploded before it hit me, but I was caught up in the blast radius. I remember falling and I remember the pain, but that’s about it…” You opened your eyes to find Logan’s expression have shifted once again back to remorse. He really thought it was his fault… didn’t he? “I couldn’t get them off me, Lo’.” You offered quietly.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t be here if Scott hadn’t fired.”

“I… I know.”

“Logan, you saved my life.”

He placed your hand back on the bed, and you instantly missed the warmth of his palm. “I almost got you killed. I almost lost you. We could have worked somethin’ else out. Storm could’ve–”

“And what if she couldn’t?” You prompted gently, your brows creasing with empathy as you watched him try to wade through the implications of your question. 

“That’s not– I almost–”

“Almost, Logan. Almost. But you didn’t. I’m here. So please stop acting like I’m dead because I might start believing you.” You tried to sound as stern as you could whilst being physically and emotionally drained, and whilst it may have sounded a little weak, Logan knew what you were trying to do. 

He ran a hand through his messy hair which was in desperate need of a wash. Although so were you, you could only imagine. “I didn’t want our last conversation to be an argument.” He murmured, and you sighed as heavily as you could whilst not being able to inhale very deeply. 

“So melodramatic,” you joked with a half-smile, and it took a moment of his eyes scanning your face before his shoulders slumped, huffing a singular laugh through crooked lips. 

“Maybe a little…” he looked up at you through lidded eyes. “Fear doesn’t come naturally t’me. But I don’t think I’ve been more scared than when I was watchin’ you fall, knowin’ I could do nothin’.” 

You finally mustered the strength to reach for him, and he clasped your outstretched hand between both of his like a prayer. You considered for a moment what you would have done had your roles been swapped. If you were so helpless to save him from almost certain death. If you were forced to watch in nearly slow motion as the object of your heart was being ripped away from you and you were powerless against it. Because this was something more than a crush, more than admiration. You loved him. It wasn’t a sudden lightbulb moment, but rather a slow realisation of admission. You loved him. Irrevocably. Possibly irresponsibly. But certainly undeniably. 

“You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m not dead. I’m not going to die. It’s gonna take time, but I’m okay. And I’m going to be okay.” You implored, and you could almost watch the cogs turning in his head, working on believing you and realising the truth of the situation. 

You. Were. Alive.

He nodded silently, finally accepting what everyone had been trying to tell him for almost a week and a half now. His thumb grazed the tendons of your wrist, the delicate caress sending shivers down your scarred spine. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asked though he couldn’t help thinking it was the most stupid question in the world. 

“Like I just fell over two hundred feet after being blown up.” You responded dryly. Ask obvious questions, get obvious answers. 

Obviously. 

“That checks out.”

“Thank you, Doctor Wolverine.”

How you’d managed to almost die and yet maintain your humour was a mystery to Logan, but it simply added to all the reasons he was completely taken with you. You were easily one of the strongest people he knew, in spite of your own self-consciousness. The way you felt about your wings had already proven that. They were the greatest source of your diffidence, and yet you often said how incomplete you would feel without them. He saw how you battled, every day, between loving and hating them. Not many people did, but he did. 

Perhaps that was because, to him, you were the focal point of every conversation. The spotlight in the room. The brightest star in the sky. Not only did he see you, but he saw you. 

That was when he remembered your words from earlier. ‘My wings’ve seen worse…’   

“What did you mean?”

“When?”

“When you said your wings have been worse. What did you mean?” 

Logan knew he’d struck a nerve when your wry humour dissolved from your face, and he watched you withdraw back into your own mind, another silence creating a barrier between you. It was another mental battle. He could see it. And he could only hazard a guess that you were struggling between opening yourself up to whatever traumas you’d experienced in the past, or staying closed and comfortable. 

“This world is cruel and cold to people like us…” your voice was barely audible, and despite his enhanced hearing, Logan found himself shifting closer, drawn in by your siren’s whisper. “I was always jealous of people who could hide their mutation. Or mutations that didn’t take on a physical appearance, anyway. Because hiding something like phasing or shapeshifting is easy. Hiding a pair of giant fucking wings? Get’s a little harder when not everyone around you is very accepting…” you were being vague on purpose. Taking yourself back to the day Charles found you was never easy, and it was this exact reason why you kept this to yourself. Only he knew what happened, and Jean was the only other one who’d seen your condition. 

Logan fought the urge to run his fingers through your feathers, slightly worried it would hurt you more than it would soothe you, since most of your secondary feathers had been burned away or torn off, and the exposed ligaments had been covered in bandages. You took a breath before you continued. “The neighbourhood where I lived wasn’t exactly high-end, and less than welcoming to mutants. I used to listen to a lot of music when I left my apartment, it helped to drown out the insults and hatred but uh, it also prevented me from hearing anyone following me.

“It was stupid. I was tired and forgot to lock my fucking door before I fell asleep that night. Such an idiot. And I paid the price. I can’t really remember exactly when it happened, and it’s all sort of a blur to be honest. I never saw their faces either, and I only knew they were there when they shoved a gag between my teeth and held me down, jeering about me being a disgusting mutant, the usual bullshit…” you trailed off, your words sticking to your throat like molasses as you recounted possibly the most traumatic moment of your life. Narrowly holding the top spot after recent events. “They uh, tried to sever them. My wings. Used a carving knife or a paring knife, hell it could have been a butter knife for all I knew. But it hurt. And I couldn’t fight them off. I probably still have the scars. They were barely attached by the time they were startled by something and took off.”

Logan placed his hand against your cheek, gently smoothing away the stray tear sliding down the side of your face with the pad of his thumb. 

“That’s why you don’t sleep on your front?”

“That’s why I don’t sleep on my front,” You affirmed with a timid nod, and Logan felt his heart clench painfully. He always wondered where your intense passion for making the world a safer place came from. “At least,” you continued quietly. “Until you.”

His eyes widened a fraction, and it wasn’t hard to piece together what you meant. The night, two days before the mission. That was the first time you’d slept on your front since Charles and Jean found you all those years ago. That was why you mentioned it. That was why you were so adamant about it. 

Your vulnerability was taken advantage of and used to further the cycle of hatred and violence. 

“Sweetheart…” 

You couldn’t bear to hear the slight break in his voice, the horrified empathy creasing his brows. “So yeah. That’s what I meant. When I said they’ve been through worse. So actually, this really isn’t all that bad. They’ll recover. They did last time. Might be a while before I can fly again but I think I’m okay with that for a while, not sure I want to–” your rambling was cut short by the sudden decrease of proximity between the two of you. Was he always this close? Or had he shifted? Had you simply not noticed? Too lost in your second trip down trauma lane in the space of twenty minutes? You could feel his steady breaths fanning your cheeks.

“You’re safe. With me. An’ nothin’ like that will ever happen again. ‘M gonna look after you, angel. Promise.” His eyes flickered from your gaze, down to your lips, and back up in a silent request, and your body answered for you. Your eyes fluttered closed, heart igniting at the first graze of his soft lips against yours, the pain in your back forgotten as your skin prickled with shivers. 

The moment he felt you lean up into him as much as you could, Logan gasped through his nose, his fingers skirting up the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse before continuing to brace his palm against your jaw. He wanted to feel you, in any way he could and in any way you would let him, your lips dancing with his languidly. And through the salves and disinfectant, through the blood and the grease, the smoke clinging to your hair, he could just smell you. Amber and wood oak swirled through his senses, and he didn’t think it fair that you smelled like a fucking autumnal forest. 

You tried to push yourself up further toward him, a fresh wave of yearning hitting you like a fall from over two hundred feet, but your ribs barked in sharp protest, and you flinched back with a harsh hiss, your features scrunching in pain.

“Easy there, angel. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” He breathed, and whilst you could detect genuine concern in his tone, there was also a hint of smug satisfaction.

“Sorry… got kinda carried away.” You clamped your lips together at his soft chuckle, finding immeasurable comfort in the way his thumb smoothed along your under-eye.”

“Been wantin’ to do that for a while…” He murmured against your lips, and you drew back as far as you could without jostling your back too much.

“Really? How long?”

“Round a year or so.”

You blanched. “A year!?”

“Give or take a few months,” he shrugged, unable to tame the delicious grin pulling at his lips. 

“And you didn’t think to do anything?” You asked incredulously, eyes flicking between his, unable to decide just where they wanted to settle. 

“Inappropriate in the workplace.” He shrugged nonchalantly, and your eyes widened further. 

“We live under the same roof! This isn’t just a workplace.”

“Potato pot-ah-to.”

“No! Potato potato. It’s the same thing!”

He raised a sly brow. “Didn’t see ya pull back, angel. How long’ve you wanted this then?”

You clamped your lips shut, your face a picture of false irritation as he turned your own accusations back onto you, a triumphant glint dancing in his eye. “Thought s’much.”

A huff brushed his chin, though you couldn’t tame your guilty smile for long. Yes, he was absolutely right. You’d wanted to do that for far longer than you cared to admit. And the phrase ‘good things come to those who wait’ couldn’t ring more true. Though you couldn’t help thinking they should change the phrase slightly. 

‘Good things come to those who nearly die’. Yeah, that sounded more accurate. 

Your head lulled against his hand, a tugging wave of exhaustion pulling at your mind, your eyes feeling heavy with sleep. It was strange. Usually, you found it so difficult to find rest, tossing and turning until you simply couldn’t take it anymore. But not in his presence. Not when Logan was with you. 

He hummed a soft, fond smile of understanding, pulling the chair closer to the bed so he could still be near you. Pressing his lips to your forehead, you sighed in contentment, your hand holding his arm in a soft grip, silently asking him not to go anywhere. But you didn’t need to. He had no plans on leaving you anytime soon. 

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.”

[kiwi-on-ice]

Kinktober 2024 day 11: Face sitting with Mauga

fem reader, NSFW 18+

Also contains: implied chubby reader, pussydrunk mauga lmao

"Waddya mean y'scared?" your lover asks, booming voice echoing around your bedroom as he looks at your with his brow furrowed.

The burning shame of embarrassment claws its way up you as you glance down. The truth is, as soon as Mauga mentioned you sitting on his face, you felt apprehensive about the prospect. The worry of crushing his head, of causing him discomfort all in the name of your pleasure was something that terrified you. But alas, you had no idea how eager he was to have your cunt on his face, let alone how bewildered he was at your sudden shyness.

"Hey now..." he gets up from the bed, walking over to you and tilting your chin up, "Don't look away, just tell me what's in that head of yours."

"I guess i'm just scared i'll...crush you."

He blinks at you for a moment before bursting out laughing, a throaty laugh as he shakes his head. "Oh doll, you crushing me?"

You huff and look away, but he tightens his grip on your chin and pulls you back. "Oh c'mon, look at me! I'm not exactly a scrawny man princess. You couldn't crush me, or hurt me for that matter, even if you tried."

Despite the growing arousal between your legs, you still feel nervous, worrying your lip between your teeth before he hums. Gently, he moves his hand down to cup your clothes pussy beneath your dress, smirking at your choked whine.

"See? I think she likes the idea of being on top of my mouth." he teases, stroking his huge fingers around your clothed core, feeling your wetness.

Before you can reply, he lifts you up like you weigh nothing before ripping your panties with little effort. He then lays down and positions you above his face, his hair splayed out on the pillows.

"Now princess, you take a seat and get that delicious pussy on my mouth."

At his embarrassing and arousing words, you nod and tentatively lower yourself down on him, biting back a squeal when you feel him eagerly lap at your cunt. Your thighs shake a little, before he wraps his arms around them and roughly pulls you down all the way, so you're properly sitting on his face. The result is instant for both of you as you cry out, and he lets out a deep groan against your clit, sending shivers up your spine.

He eats you like a man starved, tongue lashing at your folds before prodding at your hole, tasting you. You moan, bucking forward experimentally so his nose catches your clit. The sensation feels amazing, so you repeat it over and over, eyes fluttering shut.

Moaning against you once more, he moves his head from side to side quickly, eager to get every inch of you with his tongue before he focuses on your clit. He teasingly spells his name on your throbbing bud, before sucking it gently just to feel your shiver. Clearly he's in heaven, tasting his girlfriend on top of him, sat on his face like a throne.

"That's it baby, use my face." he speaks against you, before encouraging your movements with his hands grabbing your ass. You tangle your hands in his hair and moan, any anxiety you had leaking out of your ears as the pleasure blossoms between your thighs. Riding his tongue, you move over and over again, time blurring together as you experience the new sensation.

Finally you get close, stuttering out a warning which serves to intensify Mauga's actions, eating you fully and completely, determined to feel you cum. And that you do, finishing in his mouth with a desperate moan, hips stuttering. But he doesn't stop, determined to drink up all your juices as he slurps against your soaked cunt. The noises that come from between your legs would surely make the devil blush as you squirm, not sure whether to buck away from the feeling or grind down against it.

"Y'can give me one more." he slurs against your pussy, gasping for air before going back to his motions.

You're unsure if you can, but you realise you have very little choice as Mauga thrusts his tongue inside your needy hole yet again, moving your hips over his face like a rag-doll. With a cry, you surrender yourself to the sensations, one hand still in his hair while the other finds support on the headboard. Your eyes almost cross as he licks you towards another orgasm.

"Yeah, yeah give it to me." he mumbles against your clit, sucking it and moaning as you cum for a second time on his face, chest heaving to catch your breath. He gently removes you, bringing you down to his level on the bed as you cuddle against him.

"That was hot doll, you gotta do that every time now."

[despacito-uwu16]

PRETTY PLEASE

(Pining! Kenji Sato x Reader)

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"pretty please come on over and ruin my life" - Pretty Please by Dutch Melrose

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Kenji woke up in his room with a pounding headache and a wave of nausea hitting him like a ton of bricks. Mina held the trashcan as Kenji threw up the contents from last night’s party. After he was done, Mina set down a sandwich, along with some water and painkillers. “Thanks, Mina”. He said as he took a bite of the sandwich. Before she left his bedroom, she closed the curtains, making the room dark again. Kenji put the sandwich back on the plate and lied back down on the bed. He closed his eyes again, and the events of last night came flooding back. The techno music blasting, the alcohol, the girl…

The girl… she was all alone at the after party so Kenji approached her. It went from small talk and flirting to long, deep conversations. The next thing he knew, they were dancing on the dance floor. He remembers her angelic laugh, her strong lavender perfume, the way she would look at him while he held her as they danced. They were perfect for each other.

“She was so pretty”…

“Fuck what was her name again”?

Kenji looked through his contacts, trying to see if there was a name or a phone number he wasn’t familiar with. But alas, nothing. As he sinks further down into the soft pillows, his hands fell onto his face. Of all the things he didn’t do, he didn’t think to ask for her phone number.

He couldn’t stop daydreaming about the girl. Everywhere he went, he thought he saw her. But he always ends up mistaking her for another random lady. 

His pining got to the point where it annoyed his baseball team. Every time Kenji would bring up the mystery girl, his teammates would groan, yelling at him to shut the fuck up.  Even his coach had enough of the mystery girl nonsense.

“If you don’t get your head out of the gutter, i’m trading you to the tigers. That’s a promise”. His coach threatened.

Even Mina noticed how distracted Kenji was. Every time Kenji came back from battle, he would show up with more bruises and injuries. 

“Kenji, what’s going on with you? You keep loosing your focus”. Mina asked. 

“I’m fine Mina, really I am”. Kenji puts an ice pack on his shoulder, the cold stinging his skin. 

“This is about the girl from your dreams, isn’t it”? Mina pressed on.

Kenji sighs. “She isn’t some girl I made up! She’s real Mina, and the thought of her is driving me crazy. What’s even worse is I never got her phone number”. 

“I’m sure you’ll see her again”. Mina reassures him. 

“In a city like Tokyo? I doubt it”. He pouts. 

Everyone around him is well aware of how down bad he is for the girl. The thought of her is ruining him, but he didn’t care. He wants to see her again. Scratch that, he NEEDS to see her again. 

But a few weeks go by, an the thought of the mystery girl eventually died down. His focus came back and Kenji can properly function again. 

He was filling up the water coolers for his team, minding his own business when all of a sudden, he heard a familiar laugh. He turned around and saw a (hair color) haired girl talking on the phone while filling up her water bottle at the same water station. 

“It’s you”. He muttered out loud.

The girl turned around and looked at him. Kenji panicked, he finally found the mystery girl that had been plaguing his mind for weeks, and now he couldn’t form a single sentence.

“Hey, can I call you back? Okay bye”. The girl hung up her phone and approached Kenji. 

“Well, if it isn’t Ken Sato”. She smirked

“I can’t believe it’s you”. Said Kenji.

“In the flesh. I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried when you blacked out”. She said.

Kenji looks at her in confusion. “I blacked out? But Ken Sato never passes out”. 

“Well, you did. It was during our dance. My guess is the soju finally caught up to you”. She chuckled. 

He finally remembered now. He had two soju bottles and the next thing he knew, he saw stars. Talk about embarrassment.

“Anyways, my brother and I took you home”. She added. 

“Damn… I’m sorry, I really wanted to see you again, but I never got your number”. He said.

“I slipped my phone number in your jacket, hoping you would find it. But then I waited and then realized you probably didn’t want to talk to me”. She looked down at the ground. 

Kenji’s mentally face palmed himself. He didn’t think to look through his clothes before laundering them.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it! God I’m such an idiot”. He scratched his head. 

“It’s okay Ken. Here, give me your phone”. She gestured for it. 

He gave her his phone and she added her number on his notes app. 

“Text me and we can get dinner sometime”. She hands his phone back.

“I would like that”. He smiled at her. 

Suddenly, they hear the crowds cheering loudly from the stadium

“I guess that’s my cue to head back in. Can’t wait to see you play Ken”. She winks and turns to leave. 

He walked away, feeling incredibly lucky and lovestruck. But he snapped out of it when he realized…

“WAIT I DIDN’T GET YOUR”- 

But as he turned around, she was gone again. Lost in the crowd full of people.

“Name”…

“Well, at least I got your number”. Kenji thought

He looked down at his phone and saw the number she just put in, along with her name: 

“Y/N”

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[rollinouttahere-writes-misc]

Platonic Yandere Sukuna and reader who is the reincarnation of his daughter.

Like Father Like Daughter

Yandere Sukuna x Reincarnated Daughter Reader

5.4k words

Summary: When a mission takes a turn for the worse, you receive help from the last person you ever would have expected it from.

Warnings: female presenting reader, violence, gore, severe bodily injuries to reader, body horror, talk of cannibalism

This was supposed to be short, but alas, brevity is a skill I lack. And Sukuna is just fun to write lol

Itadori could sleep through a bomb going off, you’re sure of it. 

After inviting himself into your room to hang out and listen to music with you, he’d seemingly gotten a little too comfortable on your bed and promptly passed out in spite of the heavy metal music that was blasting from the speaker on your phone. Through all of the guitar riffs, crashing cymbals, and screamed vocals, he remained in a peaceful, unbothered slumber.

Gojo did run him ragged between missions and training, so you guess him sleeping like a rock wasn’t that surprising. You decide to let him sleep for now. You don’t mind your kouhai crashing in your room for a much needed nap. 

Yuji was alright. Sure, you’d been dubious of his presence initially, but who wasn’t? Gojo just threw some kid at you, saying that he had eaten some of Sukuna’s fingers as if that was a regular occurrence. Then again, he had introduced Yuta in a very similar manner, so you guess gaining overpowered newbie classmates had become a somewhat normal happening around these parts.

Initially, Yuji’s downright excessive positivity had been, well… annoying, if you were being blunt. But him constantly sidling up to you and acting like you were best friends seemingly wore you down. He was a breath of fresh air. Kind of like a little brother clambering for his siblings’ approval. You didn’t mind it anymore. 

Although, him hanging around you did come with one significant downside.

“What is this drivel? I can hardly hear myself think.”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You shoot a sideways glance at where Yuji is sound asleep on your bed. A red, slanted eye meets your gaze. The lips beneath it were pressed into a frown, but curl up into a smirk once he sees that he successfully got your attention.

Great. Now you have to deal with Sukuna and his snark all by your lonesome. You reach out to your phone and press the volume up button rapidly, but it stays the same. The music was already on max volume.

“Are you deaf? Your king asked you a question.” Sukuna’s tone was as sharp as ever, petulant ridealong that he was. 

“My king? I don’t have one of those.” You internally kick yourself for engaging with him.

“As rude as ever, I see. Manners have always been something that evaded your grasp.” His malicious grin seeped into each word, making you want to slap him, but you refrain. Last time you tried that he disappeared at the last second, so all you did was send poor Yuji through a wall. Oops.

“What would you know?” Each word is ground out through clenched teeth. You need to calm down. He’s trying to get under your skin, and you’re letting him. To distract yourself, you try to recenter your attention on the book you’d been paging through before you were so rudely interrupted. 

There was a bout of silence, but it was woefully brief. Sukuna piped up again, “What are you reading?”

What was his deal? Why was that parasyte so transfixed on you? Even in group settings, he had a tendency to single you out whenever he did choose to make an appearance. Granted, that’s probably because you’re too reactive to not feed into his antics. As much as you want to try and block him out, you knew that giving him the silent treatment would only encourage him to up the ante until he couldn’t be ignored.

With a sigh, you answer him dryly, “A history book.”

“Ah. For your studies, I presume?”

You shake your head while keeping your eyes on the pages, “No. I just like history. I think it’s interesting.”

“I see.” There is a pause, and then he presses on, “Is there any particular period that intrigues you most?”

“The Heian period.” Your answer comes out almost instantaneously. It was a truly fascinating era, especially culturally. What with all the developments in art and literature at the time. You’ve felt a draw to this section of history for as long as you can remember.

“Fascinating.” Once again, you can hear the grin in his voice. Why he would care about your personal interests is beyond you, but you weren’t about to investigate it. As it stands, you’ve already entertained far more conversation with him than you should have.

In an attempt to shut yourself up since you appeared to be quite bad at that, you pick up the kind of forgotten cup of instant ramen on your desk and scoop some lukewarm noodles into your mouth. Unfortunately, Sukuna only saw this as more opportunity to yap. 

“It’s no wonder you’re so weak if you’re “nourishing” yourself with that slop.”

Just like that, he had you roped back in. You swallow your food and spin your desk chair around enough to glare at him, “I’m not weak, asshole.”

“But you concede that what you’re eating is slop?” Sukuna’s smirk becomes so frustratingly smug that you have to remind yourself that hitting him will really just be hitting Yuji. 

“It tastes fine to me. Since when do you care about my eating habits? Actually, since when do you care about food in general? Didn’t you, like, eat raw human flesh or some shit?” You shovel more noodles into your mouth, trying to finish them before they’re completely cold.

A dry chuckle escapes him, “That is true. There is a certain tang to flesh that you can only experience when it’s in its most natural state.”

His musings make your face scrunch up. “That’s disgusting.”

“Is it? I seem to recall you consuming raw flesh just last week.”

“What?”

Sukuna rolled his eye at your mildly horrified confusion. “You did. At that restaurant where the food kept coming to the table on its own. You were eating quite voraciously if I remember correctly.”

What? Oh! “You mean the sushi train restaurant? That was fish, that’s obviously completely different.”

“I disagree. Humans, fish, they’re all the same to me. Both are pathetically fragile creatures whose purpose in life is to be sustenance to something stronger than them. The only difference being that humans taste better.”

“That-” You cut yourself off. Having an ethics debate with Sukuna of all people might possibly be the dumbest waste of time in history. “Whatever. I’m not having this discussion with you.”

“Come now, are you really that squeamish? How unlike you.” When you don’t respond, he continues, “Don’t you think you should try something before passing judgement? I think you’ll find that you have a taste for human flesh if you were to introduce it to your palette.” 

The insane statement makes you physically recoil and stare at him in horror, which only serves to egg him on, “What? Don't tell me you've never considered it. I wouldn't believe that for a second.”

You spring out of your chair and march over to him. “Fuck you, I don't eat people! I'm not a monster like you!”

“We have more in common than you realize.” The grin on his face was nothing short of wicked.

Before anything else can be said, his eye and mouth close and vanish from sight. Yuji yawns and stretches a few seconds later as he wakes from his slumber. Was the timing coincidental, or was there something about that conversation that Sukuna didn’t want anyone else to hear?

Honestly, there were parts of it that you didn't want anyone else to hear, so maybe you should just be grateful that Sukuna stopped when he did. 

Yuji rubs his eyes and sits up, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.” He looks over at you and takes note of your pensive expression, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No.” The lie comes out before you can even really contemplate it, forcing you to double down, “You were talking in your sleep. Mumbling something about Jennifer Lawrence.”

“I was?” His face turns bright red at the false accusation. “H-Hey, you’re just messing with me, right?”

You can’t help but chuckle at his mortification and feed into it more, “Nah, sounded like you were making out or something.”

“I wasn’t! I would definitely remember a dream like that!”

“So you have had dreams like that before?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

—

“Anything in there should be pretty low grade, nothing you two can’t handle. Probably just the disgruntled spirits of some animals that died there, or something like that.” Gojo’s voice crackles through the speaker of the phone, sounding more garbled than usual. He was probably actively stuffing his face as you spoke, “But if you run into trouble, you can always call upon me, your favorite teacher, to come to your rescue!”

“I think we’ll be fine. Talk to you later.” You end the call and toss your phone to Yuji. The eerie landscape of an abandoned zoo is sprawled out in front of you. There have been reports of pets going missing around this area, and also some people who went exploring here coming out with claw and bite marks. The zoo had a history of mistreating and underfeeding their animals, so Gojo’s idea that this was the manifestation of those animals suffering seemed likely. Whatever is lurking around in there is bound to be weak and unintelligent. Probably a bunch of grade 4’s, maybe a grade 3 at best.

Nothing to be afraid of.

“Are you sure it's a good idea to leave your phone with me? What if you need to use it?” Yuji was currently fidgeting with your phone in his hands, hesitating to put it away. 

“Yeah, I always end up breaking the damn thing whenever I fight. It's better off in your hands than mine.” You've lost track of how many phones you've damaged beyond repair since your enrollment. Gojo never complained about replacing them, but once you saw the stash of new phones he kept around just for you, you started to feel a little bad about your carelessness, so now you leave it with whoever you go on a mission with. That, or you stuff it in your bag and try to leave it far enough away from the fight to spare it the carnage. 

You heave your cursed weapon up onto your shoulder. The cool metal of your kanabō rests heavy, but it’s a weight you’re more than accustomed to. You elbow Yuji, “You ready to go in?”

Yuji nods his head excitedly, “I was born ready!” He pockets your phone and cracks his knuckles. 

“That’s what I like to hear!” You clap him on the shoulder, then throw your weapon over the fence so you can climb it. The club hits the ground with a loud crack, fracturing and embedding itself in the pavement it landed on. Yuji gawks at the display, nearly falling off the top of the fence. 

“Whoa! How much does that thing weigh?”

“I dunno. A lot? I’ve never weighed it before.” You yank it out of the broken sidewalk with ease and return it to its rightful place on your shoulder.

“But you swing it around like it’s nothing. I thought it was only like, slightly more heavy than a baseball bat.” Yuji drops down next to you, openly eying up the spiked club.

“This thing is pure iron, it definitely weighs more than a baseball bat.” You survey your surroundings, trying to focus on where the cursed energy is coming from. There isn’t any one clear source. You can feel traces of cursed energy all over the place. “It looks like there’s an infestation of curses here, but nothing powerful. I don’t think there’s anything above a grade 4, so let’s split up and get this done as quickly as possible before Gojo comes sticking his nose in it.”

“Split up? Have you never watched a horror movie before? Or been on a mission before? Splitting up is when everything goes wrong.”

“Aww!” You pinch Yuji’s cheek, “Is the newbie scared?” You laugh and release him, “I’m scarier than anything in here, don’t worry about it. If you get overwhelmed, just yell. I’ll come bail you out.” Without giving him a chance to respond, you run towards the nearest detectable cluster of cursed energy.

Giddiness fills your very soul. This is what you lived for. Attending Jujutsu High could be a bit of a drag at times, but you tolerated it for this. For the ample opportunities to let loose and mow down curses. The exhilarating rush of feeling their feeble bodies splatter under your attacks, their screams as you snuffed them out of existence, it made you feel whole. Like this was what you were made for.

That’s actually how you got recruited into the school in the first place. Gojo found you pummeling a cursed spirit he was supposed to take care of with your bare hands, and the rest was history. He brought you to the school the same day, which you had no complaints about. Between a clean dorm and the cramped institution the foster care system stuffed you into, it was easy to see which one was better. The school was initially unenthused about letting in some kid from a non sorcerer family, but after you came back from a mission you’re pretty sure they hadn’t expected you to come back from, they learned to see your value.

You swing your kanabō at the chained door, effortlessly bashing it open. What might have been a barren building to a normal eye was bustling with spirits ready to be exorcised. Dozens of pairs of beady eyes snapped toward your loud entrance. You didn’t even need to look at the sign out front to know what exhibit this was. All of the forest themed enclosures filled with faux vines and climbables were already a strong hint, but then you say the curses themselves, all dysmorphic facsimiles of primates.

Too many eyes, extra limbs, tails that were too long and some of them split into several opposable appendages. 

Oh. This is going to be fucking fantastic.

They all swarm at you shrieking like monkeys but with a haunting undertone betraying their true identities. You leap into the air then slam the club down into the crowd. At least ten die on impact as the concrete shatters under the force of the blow, leaving a crater and pool of gore in its wake.

You rip your weapon free and swipe at the group running at you from behind. Blood sprays out and coats the wall. Another swing in front of you leaves a similar wave of death and destruction. You’re killing them by the dozen, but they don’t appear to be thinning out yet.

The swarm suddenly diverges away from you, all congregating and climbing on top of each other into one giant, writhing mass. You tighten your grip on the leather handle of your weapon as you wait to see what they're up to. 

Hundreds of eyes snuff out, only for two larger ones to snap open and a deafening roar to echo through the building as the creature pounds on its chest. While the curses before had been a variety of monkey like creatures, this was clearly trying to impersonate a gorilla. 

“Now that's more like it!” A maniacal cackle cuts through the air as you swing your club round and round to build up momentum, then let it fly. 

It hits the creature dead in the chest, the force of which sends a shockwave through the air that makes all of the glass in the room shatter. You give chase, sprinting after your opponent as it crashes through wall after wall.

Five walls deep, it finally loses enough speed to only crack the sixth. Before it can even register the attack, you're on top of it with a kunai in each hand. You bring them down in rapid succession stabbing the monster over and over and over again, not giving a damn about the blood and viscera coating your uniform and skin as you laugh hysterically at its pathetic attempts to defend itself. 

After countless stab wounds, it stops moving, then begins to dissipate into a dark mist as the life within is cut short. You finally stop your assault and stand up. That was fun, but hardly challenging. 

“Weak.” You kick the last solid part of the curse across the room, and bring one of your kunai to your lips and lick it clean. The metallic and almost acidic taste of the cursed blood coats your tongue. It's good, it helps scratch an itch, but it doesn't completely satiate your cravings. 

Sukuna's words echo in your mind. “I think you’ll find that you have a taste for human flesh if you were to introduce it to your palette.”

That's insane. He's insane. You absolutely do not have a taste for people. He just said that to fuck with your head, you're sure of it. 

Dwelling on the inane bullshit that comes out of the King of Curses mouth won't do you any good. It's in your best interest to just forget about it and move on. You sheathe your now clean blades and then pick up your fallen kanabō. That takes care of that. Maybe you should go check on Yuji and see how he's holding up. 

The pressure in the air changed sharply, and you barely have time to react before a slash cuts through the air, nearly decapitating you. 

You look up from where you're ducked down on the ground and see a new curse staring at you. It was this bloody, pulsating mass of thorn laden vines with one bloodshot, yellow eye gleaming at the center. 

That definitely wasn't here before. The energy radiating off of it wasn't something you or any sorcerer would miss. It just got here, and from the looks of it… this thing was grade 1. An entire grade above you. 

It must've been drawn by the influx of cursed energy, either from the ape monster you just killed or yourself-

Yuji!

Shit! It might have been drawn to Sukuna’s presence inside him! But if it was, why was it bothering you? Unless… you weren't the first person it got to. Was it supposed to look bloody, or was that…

You toss your weapon up in the air and catch it with a renewed energy, “That better not be my friend you're covered in you fucking weed.”

The curse hisses, then lunges at you. Despite its higher level of power, it didn't appear to be intelligent enough for speech. You run around it while batting away volleys of vines. Your blows were doing nothing to harm it, just redirect it. As much as you hated to admit it, you were out of your depth. 

While you possessed immense physical strength, you completely lacked any clear techniques. Your only “technique” to speak of was beating things until they died. Anything that couldn't easily be crushed to death posed a legitimate threat to you, and this creature had the upper hand. The only part of it that you think you could damage with your kanabō was the center where the eye was, but its tentacle like vines were extremely effective at keeping you at bay. The thorns were the size of your fingers, they would rip you to shreds. 

Fighting it was out of the question for you. Loathe as you are to admit it, you need to call in the cavalry. You need Gojo. But, your phone was still with Yuji, and depending on the state you'll find him in, it might not even be working. 

This was really bad, and you doubt it could get much worse. 

“Is that really all you're going to do? I must admit, I'm disappointed. This isn't like you, (Y/N).”

You and your big fucking mouth! Both you and the curse come to an immediate halt. The vine amalgamation shrivels in on itself and makes a whimpering noise. Even it was smart enough to not be acting a fool in front of the King of Curses. 

Sukuna was sitting atop a broken support pillar and staring down at you with an amused glimmer in his eyes. His body appeared to be fully intact, but the knowledge that Yuji was physically fine did little to soothe your nerves now. 

“Come now, are you really going to run away and beg for help? I thought you were better than that. Where's that bloodthirsty nature I know and love?” You don't miss the emphasis he put on bloodthirsty, and it sends a shiver down your spine. No. He doesn't know about that. He hasn't seen any of that. He's fucking with you again. 

“You.” Sukuna quickly turns his attention to the cowering curse behind you, making it flinch. “You're a curse, are you not? Act like it. Try to kill the sorcerer.”

Not wanting to gain the king's ire, the curse instantly lashes out at you. You yelp and leap back to dodge it. You're sprinting backwards and blocking attacks all while yelling at Sukuna, “What the hell, man?! Don't just sick curses on me!”

“I'll do as I please.” You jump up into the air just in time to avoid the vines trying to snag your feet and start climbing up the wall using the tattered rope net hanging loosely from it.

“You aren't going to win this battle by only defense. You will run out of energy long before the curse will, you need to go on the offense.”

“I don't remember asking you for help!” You scramble up onto the ceiling beam and run across it while closely monitoring the creature below, hoping against all odds that you'll see any semblance of an opening. You don't.

“Yet you will receive it. Academia has made you weak. You're overthinking again. What you need to do is give the reins to your instincts, they're far sharper than any lesson you've been taught at that school, I guarantee it.” Sukuna sounded almost bored, but not quite. There was some sort of edge to his voice, but your frazzled mind couldn't place it what with the plant monster trying to kill you.

“Oh, so you just want me to charge at that thing with zero plan and let it tear me into a million pieces?” The curse grabs onto the beam you're, making it crack and start to fall. You leap onto a nearby chandelier in a blind panic, but the chain immediately buckles under your weight and snaps. 

A scream escapes you as you and the chandelier fall right on top of the curse. It shrieks and fails launching you and pieces of the shattered chandelier away from it. You hit the ground hard and roll until you crash into the wall. 

You might be dazed, but so is the creature. It wails and scrambles back, withdrawing its cut and snapped vines into itself. There are less appendages to deal with now, but this still won't be an easy fight by any means. Not with how pissed it looks. 

When it screams in anger, you throw yourself back onto your feet to run, but it's right on your heels. You whirl around and hit it with your kanabō as hard as you can, and lucky for you the main part of its body was close enough for the blow to connect directly. 

It reels back, screeching in agony and blindly lashing out. You block the first few hits, but they keep coming and overwhelm you. All you can do is scream when the thorny vines wrap around each of your limbs. A burning sensation floods your nervous system shortly after, because of course this thing has poison on it. That about sums up your luck!

The only good thing is that with all your limbs latched onto, the curse appears to have finally run out of usable appendages. The vines under its eye split apart, revealing a vertical slit of razor sharp teeth. It tries to bite you, but you shove your club into its mouth, successfully stopping it from ripping out a chunk of your flesh. 

Now you two were locked in a standoff, waiting to see whose strength would falter first so the other could finally end this fight. Oh, what you wouldn't give to have an extra set of hands right now!

“What are you waiting for? Put your cursed technique to use already.”

You look over your shoulder to yell back at Sukuna, “I don't have one!”

Unexpectedly, Sukuna had abandoned the pillar and was now circling around you and the curse with a scrutinizing gaze. “Yes you do. Every sorcerer does. All you need to do is let it out.”

“Oh, why didn't I think of that! Silly me!” You spit back sarcastically. “Obviously I can't do that, otherwise I already would have!”

“That school has coddled you. Made you soft. If you really want to survive, you'll figure it out.” His voice becomes more firm and authoritative, “Now give in to your instincts! Let out your true strength and prove that you're worthy of living!”

The curse pushes forward, constricting the vines around your arms and legs more. You scream as the thorns dig deeper. You need to get the upper hand! You need to fight harder! You need… another set of limbs!

In some deep, secret part of your mind, something just clicks. Like a long forgotten memory bursting to life and taking front and center in your brain. 

A loud crack echoes through the room, followed by a series of crunches as something starts moving inside your back. It's so sudden and intense that all you can let out is a choked scream as flesh begins to tear. You fall to your knees, so distracted by the pain that you don't even notice that the curse has retreated.

Muscles and sinew explode out of your back in two places, right where your shoulder blades are, you think, but it's impossible to focus on anything right now. Your screams grow louder as you feel something forcing its way out of you. Blood is pouring from the open wounds and running down your arms and pooling around your hands.

Two things slam onto the ground on either side of you, and for a second you think it's the curse, but it isn't. 

Hands. Two massive, clawed hands at least three times the size of yours are digging into the busted concrete. The limbs appear to be skinless, as you can see the twitching muscle fibers and veins in it directly. 

As your eyes trail upwards, you follow the arms to their source. At least as well as you can, given that they seem to be coming out of your back.

“What the fuck?”

Sukuna crackles behind you and cheers, “Yes! That's it! Go on now, show that pathetic whelp of a curse what true power is!”

The curse yelps when your head snaps up in its direction. It seemed to be heavily reconsidering its decision to attack you. It was scared now. Good. It fucking should be. 

Acting on pure primal instinct, you lunge for it. You're going to pay it back tenfold for what it did to you. 

It shrieks and throws itself out of the way, but one of your hands- the new ones- grabs hold of a few of its vines and yanks it back. Any pain felt in the hand is completely negligible now after having your back torn open. You don't even wince at the thorns piercing it. 

When the curse is close enough, the other bonus hand grabs the frantically writhing vines on the other side of it and pulls them taught. Your prey is the one completely immobilized now. 

Using your actual hands, you raise up your kanabō and bring it down with a sickening squelching noise as dark green blood splatters all around and over you. You hit the screeching mass beneath you over and over again, laughing maniacally as you become drunk off the power from turning the tables so drastically. 

At some point, it died. You can't be sure when. You were too caught up in the moment to be paying attention to when it's screams turned to gurgles, then to silence. But it was dead, that much was for certain. All that was left of it were some mangled vines and a large green stain on the floor. 

All of the adrenaline that had been coursing through your veins and pushing you forward began to dissipate. In its absence was a fresh wave of absolute agony. 

The arms jerk and twitch, then retract into your back painfully. You don't even have the energy left to scream. Your body grows slack, then falls forward. All the pain, poison, and blood loss now fully in effect. 

Instead of face planting into the floor, you fall into someone's arms and wearily look up. Yuji? No. 

Yuji still isn't here. 

Sukuna holds you at arms’ length, carefully appraising your battered form. He looks almost… proud? Nah, that has to be the blood loss talking. 

“That went better than I expected. It seems you can still use that technique of yours well. It still needs work, of course. I expect you to train vigorously to hone your skills.”

You can't ignore it any longer and bring up the elephant in the room. “You talk like you know me.”

That same flicker of pride(?) reappears in his eyes. “So you have noticed. Excellent. I was beginning to think the modern era had fully dulled your wits.” You don't even have the strength to get mad over his jab. 

“How?”

“How indeed. I'm sure you will be able to find that answer on your own. You're sharper than most would give you credit for.”

You aren't given a chance to pry more. In the blink of an eye, his features relax and soften, signaling his retreat back into his host body's subconscious.

Light brown eyes blink slowly as Yuji regains control. He's briefly in a daze, but quickly snaps to attention when he takes notice of you. 

And then immediately drops you in surprise. You land face first on the ground with a pained groan. “Ow…”

Yuji drops onto the ground next to you and rolls you onto your side, frantically looking you over only to continuously find more and more injuries. “(Y/N)?! What happened to you?! Did… Did I…”

“No. You didn't do anything, and neither did he. Some stupid grade 1 curse showed up and got me pretty good.”

“Where is it now?” Yuji immediately picks you up, causing a whole new wave of pain to course through you as you're jostled.

“It's dead, I killed it, please put me down!” You writhe uncomfortably in his grasp, desperately trying to shift your back so that his arm isn't pressed directly into the wounds from the “arms”. 

He's quick to do as you say and very carefully lays you on a nearby bench face down. “This is really bad, I told you it was a bad idea to split up!”

“Can you at least wait until we're back at the dorms before hitting me with an “I told you so”? Just… call Gojo and tell him to come pick us up.” You quickly tack on, “Oh, and tell him to bring Shoko.” You were not about to wait the duration of the ride back for medical treatment, thank you very much. 

“Right,” Yuji fumbles to get a phone out of his pocket, either yours or his, whichever he finds first. 

As he yells into it for Gojo to get here as quickly as possible with Shoko, your mind drifts back to everything that just transpired. 

How did Sukuna not only know that you had a secret cursed technique, but how to trigger it to come out? It was almost like he'd done this with you before. 

Maybe he had with the way he was talking about you. There was definitely some substance to his words, but you'll be damned if you can figure it out right now in your current state.

Your eyes are heavy, so you let them rest. You'll get to the bottom of this later, once you've had a chance to recover. 

Then all you'll need to do is find a way to speak with Sukuna again. Alone. 

[princessbellecerise]

Dear Husband

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | It’s been a month since you’ve been wedded to Prince Aemond and he has yet to consummate your marriage. Fed up with waiting, you seek him out and prepare to seduce your own husband

warnings | arranged marriage, smut, oral sex, soft!aemond

this is an eighteen plus fic. minors please do not enter

divider by @princessbellecerise

Before you got married, you never once thought that you’d have to seduce your own husband. You were always taught that men were…lustful creatures and that your husband wouldn’t be able to resist the touch of a woman.

You were told that most men couldn’t keep their hands off of their new brides, so when a month went by and Aemond still hadn’t…performed his martial duties with you, you started to wonder if perhaps your husband was broken.

Prince Aemond hadn’t touched you since the day you were married, and it had been your hand that he had touched, not your body.

After the great feast that was held by King Viserys, instead of having a bedding ceremony like most brides, you spent the night alone and wondering if perhaps your husband hated you.

Of course, you knew it was ridiculous to think that since Aemond had never once been rude to you, or anything less than civil. He always escorted you when he needed to, bid you good morning like he should, but he never, ever did anything more.

Your relationship was odd and not at all what you imagined marriage to be like. You had expected and prepared yourself to not even leave your chambers for the first week of marriage, but all you did was spend time alone when you should’ve been with your husband.

You didn’t like that.

You didn’t like the fact that you were still a maiden and though you told yourself that you wouldn’t push, that you would give Aemond time to come to you and seek out your pleasure, you were fed up.

You just couldn’t wait anymore, so alas, there you were, standing outside of the chambers that your husband slept in away from you and dressed in your most revealing nightgown.

Originally it had been made for your wedding night, but since you had never officially consummated your marriage with Aemond it had been left untouched; just like you.

You were untouched and quite frankly you were sick of it. You wanted your husband; you wanted to lay with him like everyone said you would. You wanted to feel yourself wrapped in his love, experience the best things marriage that had to offer. You wanted him, Aemond Targaryen, first of his name. And tonight, you were going to get him.

Hesitatingly, you lifted your fingers rap on his door and you were grateful that no guards were present to witness this affair. After all, it was well known that Prince Aemond was more than capable of protecting himself. Another trait you admired about your lord husband, another thing that lead you towards loving him, lusting for him.

You just hoped that he felt the same, and that you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself. After all, you were going off of the assumption that he did want to lay with you. But what if that wasn’t the case at all?

What if Aemond simply didn’t want you? What if he stayed away on purpose?

What if—?

Your rambling thoughts were suddenly cut off by the magnificent wooden door swinging open, revealing your lord husband who, in all his glory, was only dressed in his night clothes.

If you had to guess, he wasn’t asleep seeing how quickly he answered the door but you were starting to wish that he was, so you might’ve had a chance to talk yourself out of this.

The cool breeze of the castle made the very hair on the back of your neck stand up, and suddenly you felt utterly ridiculous as you stood in front of Aemond, whose eye went wide as he saw you.

Slightly, the prince’s jaw dropped and you stuttered as you struggled to find some kind of explanation for yourself.

“M-My Prince…I…” The words died on your tongue as quickly as they came, your nerves making it impossible to speak. Your throat went dry and your body went numb, your heart feeling like it was about to beat out of your chest.

You could barely contain your breathing as the prince visibly staggered back, his throat bobbing as he quickly looked around.

“My lady, what are you doing? You should not be out at this time of night, dressed in this kind of attire,” He quickly scolded you, and before you could stutter out any more words you were suddenly yanked into his chambers.

Yelping, you were shocked as Aemond closed the door behind the two of you, trapping you in his warm room which had a fire raging.

It was the first time you had ever been inside of his chambers, and it was not what you expected. For starters it was warm, the complete opposite of his demeanor and it was surprisingly colorful. The roaring fire lit up the relatively large room and it showcased all of his trinkets which showed you glimpses of who he really was.

If you weren’t so nervous, you might’ve admired his room and pointed out some of the things that you had in common. Like the books he had stacked on his end table, but at the moment that was last thing on your mind as you stood in front of your husband.

Nervously, your hands clasped together and you picked at the skin on your fingernails as you looked at him.

“Have you gone mad?” He questioned you, “Why on earth are you roaming around, wearing…that.”

He could hardly find it in himself to look at you as you quickly wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling foolish for even thinking of this idea. You wished you had just stayed in bed and went through with your original plan—wait for him to approach you, if he did at all.

It would’ve saved you a lot of embarrassment and possibly rejection. You couldn’t tell what your husband was thinking because he wouldn’t look at you, but your anxiety told you that it was nothing good.

“My prince, I…I’m so sorry. I don’t what I was thinking, I just—”

“You just what?” Your husband questioned you sharply, and you flinched at the harsh tone of his voice. Lowering your head, you bit your lip, and silently you willed yourself not to cry.

“I…” What were you to say? Oh, I’m very sorry my husband, but I just came here to seduce you since you haven’t done it yet.

No.

You would sound beyond stupid and you didn’t feel like humiliating yourself even further. Standing in front of him with his sharp gaze on you was enough. You felt exposed, and you wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole. You hoped that if you stayed quiet Aemond would just let this whole thing go and forget it ever happened. Forget you ever even came to him, but judging from the way he was staring you down, you knew that wasn’t possible.

Instinctively, you stepped back and you felt intimidated as his tall frame hovered over you. His slender face was twisted in an unreadable emotion, his lips pursed. He finally decided to look at you and it caused shockwaves to travel through you body due to the look in his eye.

“What? Who exactly did you put this on for, wife?” Aemond asked suspiciously, and you gulped as you met his eye.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that your husband was jealous by the way he was speaking. His demeanor definitely showed it, with his arms crossed and his eye narrowed at you.

You shifted uncomfortably as your heart pounded.

“Well?” Aemond asked, and you knew that you had no choice but to confess, lest you brung out a side of him that you most definitely did not want to see.

“I…” Just spit it out, Y/N! Your brain screamed at you. You took a deep breath. “I wore it for you, your grace,” You finally confessed, and you knew there was no turning back as you continued. “I…I noticed that you have not…visited me like a husband should, and I was wondering if maybe it was because you were…shy. I just wanted to do something to catch your attention, husband, but I see now that it will result in nothing more than my humiliation so I will go and—”

“Wait!”

You froze with your back turned to him, preparing to haul tail and book it back to your chambers. With shameful tears in your eyes, your hand had already touched the door and you were preparing to leave until you heard his voice.

Pausing, you couldn’t believe what was happening as Aemond slowly came to stand behind you, sliding his large hand over yours to stop you from leaving.

The heat from his body could be felt with how close he was standing, and you shivered as your whole body lit up and froze.

“Not so fast, wife,” Aemond whispered in your ear, and suddenly you gasped as you were turned halfway around and then backed against the door.

Instantly, your eyes met those of your husband’s, your lips parting as curiosity and fire filled your veins.

Aemond stared down at you with a look that you couldn’t quite understand, but what you did know was that he had never looked at you like that before.

It made your heart pound to see the intensity in his gaze. His one eye was focused on you and his soft, pink lips were pursed before finally, they curved into a smirk. You could’ve sworn that you were dreaming as your husband leaned in, and something inside of you fluttered at his proximity.

“You wore this…for me?” His deep voice caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach, and you nodded, unable to speak.

Your breath was caught in your throat as Aemond smirked, and the feeling of him pressing against you intensified.

Slowly, you felt cold hands hook around your waist and tug until you were fully facing him. Your faces were closer than they had ever been before, and you were able to see your husband in full now.

You studied his face and you noticed that a new look had taken over. At first, Aemond had looked at you with apprehension; caution. He wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he was now, but dare you say it—your husband actually looked excited.

The sly smile that had grown on his face put you more at ease, and you made no move to push him away as his hands lingered.

Looking into his eyes, you bit your lip and tilted your head.

“Do you like it, my prince?” You asked him, barely above a whisper. A slight burst of energy led you to puff your chest out, coyly looking at Aemond as he observed the fabric.

It was supposed to be worn on your wedding night but because nothing had happened, the white fabric was in prestige condition and it barely covered everything it needed to. You knew the answer of your question just by the look that grew in Aemond’s eye, but for what it was worth, he answered.

“Yes. It is quite pretty, Princess,” He complimented. And then a smirk grew on his pale face. Leaning in, you shivered as Aemond’s lips came to your ear, and then he whispered words you never thought you’d hear. “But I’d prefer to see it off, if I am to be honest.”

A gasp left your lips as Aemond suddenly pulled away, and you didn’t have time to think before Prince’s lips were on yours.

He swallowed the surprised noise that left your throat, hooking his finger under your jaw to give him a better angle of your lips.

They were soft, untouched until now and Aemond felt his cock throb at the thought that the rest of your body was, too.

You on the other hand were beyond shocked, but you had to admit that his lips tasted pretty good; addicting like wine to an alcoholic man. You felt like you couldn’t get enough as you kissed him back, deeply to the point where it shocked Aemond.

He wasn’t expecting you to behave like this, and he certainly hadn’t been expecting for his wife to come and seduce him. All this time, he thought that you’d be afraid of him but it was the opposite.

You wanted more, you wanted to be more. You wanted to be his and you weren’t afraid to show it as you pressed yourself against him.

Aemond hissed as he felt your hand accidentally brush his cock, pulling away as a hungry feeling gathered in his chest. His violet eye searched yours and all he could see was longing behind them; lust.

You wanted him and he wanted you, and the fire between the two of you grew he lightly tugged on your hand. He motioned to the bed behind him, wide and empty as he obviously wasn’t expecting a visitor.

You didn’t mind though, nodding and allowing him to pull you over to it as your mind clouded up. Suddenly, the embarrassment that you felt for coming here was replaced by relief, your shame overtaken by longing.

You couldn’t believe that your plan had actually worked, still a little bit in awe as Aemond helped you onto the big bed and gently trapped you underneath him.

His tall frame hovered over you, his knees on either side of your body. His strong hands rested just beside you, hoisting himself up while you laid propped up on your elbows.

If you didn’t know any better, he almost looked…nervous. Hesitating before he did anything else and soon you figured out why.

“Is this alright, wife?” He wanted to ask first, so gently that it made your heart melt a little bit.

He genuinely looked concerned about your well-being, hesitating before he did anything else. He was the complete opposite of his idiot brother, asking for your consent before touching you.

You often heard stories of men not even caring to ask before they laid with women. Most of them just take what they want and don’t bother for permission, is what a maid had said to you before your wedding day.

You always thought that was true until Aemond uttered the words, and you were so overcome with emotion that all you could do was nod, leaning up so that your lips could capture his once more.

This time, the kiss was more sure, steady as he moved against you and placed a gentle hand on your cheek. He laid you back so that your body was now touching his pillows, silk sheets crumbling underneath you as he followed.

Your soft body became pressed against his, and due to your nightgown Aemond could practically feel everything. Every curve, every soft patch of skin, he could feel it all and it took an incredible amount of self control for Aemond to take it slow. He had to remind himself that you were untouched, and that you required care before he did anything else.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t just jump into it without warming you up first, so he pulled away to do just that.

A sudden whine came from your throat at the loss of contact, your arm coming out to pull him back down. You pouted, wanting to keep tasting his lips but Aemond quickly made up for it as he leaned back down and grazed his teeth over your neck.

“Not yet, wife. I have to get you warmed for me first.”

A gasp left your lips as he then kissed and licked over a spot that made you become weak in the knees. Quietly, a sound that you had never heard before left your lips and Aemond was smug as he recognized it as a moan.

You were moaning for him and he hadn’t even touched you yet, and that thought alone was enough to have him abandoning your neck and sinking lower so that he could get more out of you.

He wanted to hear that sound again, and you wanted the pleasure that made you make that sound. When Aemond sank down lower and lower you watched with wide eyes, not quite knowing what he was doing but trusting him.

You trusted your husband enough to stay quiet when he tugged on your nightgown, only nodding at him again to let him know that it was okay to pull it down.

When he did, you swore that you stopped breathing as your cunt was exposed to the warm air. Instinctively, you became shy and tried to close your legs but Aemond’s strong arms stopped you.

He held your legs open and shook his head. Gently, he ran his fingers over your hips which made you shiver. The feeling of his touch set your skin on fire, and as Aemond muttered his next words you melted even further.

“Do not hide from me, Issa jorrāelagon. You are beautiful,” He said something in his native language, and it was only because you’d heard it before did you know what it meant.

My love is what the Valerian words translated to, and Aemond had only ever uttered them once on your wedding day. You remembered having to memorize that exact same phrase, and when you recognized it your body instantly relaxed.

Instantly, any resolve that you had melted away and you became butter underneath Aemond. Your legs parted, your nerves relaxed, and you allowed him to dip his head down between your legs.

Before you even knew what was happening, your husband’s tongue darted out to taste your cunt. The action caused you to gasp and Aemond to moan, relishing in your sweet taste before diving back in.

He wanted more, so he licked another stripe and relished in the way your back arched off of the bed. A moan left your lips as he did it again, Aemond pleasing you in a way you’d never experienced before.

Even your own fingers couldn’t make you feel this good. His tongue was pure bliss, making you see stars as you whimpered underneath him.

Instinctively, your hands reached down to tangle in his hair as he teased your pearl. When his teeth lightly grazed over it, you moaned and accidentally pulled causing Aemond to groan.

The vibrations against your cunt pared with the assault on your clit nearly sent you over the edge, a pant leaving your lips as pressure built in the pit of your stomach.

You felt like you were about burst with Aemond’s mouth on you, and soon your vision went blank as the dam burst and your peak washed over you like violent waves during a storm.

You screamed out Aemond’s name as waves of pleasure washed through you, and Aemond chuckled against your cunt, making sure that he gathered every drop of your spend before lifting himself from in between your legs.

Your body was still shaking as he came to hover over you, and in a sudden heated kiss you could taste yourself on Aemond’s lips.

The action caused you to moan into your husband’s mouth, grabbing onto his shoulders as he steadied himself. One of his hands came up to cup your face while the other fumbled with his belt, loosening the material without ever breaking the kiss. You could feel him moving around and attempting to free himself from his trousers so you pulled away to help.

Hesitantly, you grabbed the waistband of the material and tugged it down whilst Aemond helped. You couldn’t lie, you were shaking and a little nervous the more they dropped, becoming intimidated by seeing him for the first time.

It certainly made your cunt throb to see his cock, your mouth watering a little as Aemond finally freed himself.

He was already erect, his cock slapping against his stomach. You made eye contact and you could see lust clouding his violet eye, the yearning that he felt.

Aemond wasn’t one to show his emotions often, if at all, but right now you felt like you could see him. You could see every emotion that he possessed, feel him as he leaned down to connect your lips once again.

You had never been this close to anyone before and you relished in it as he positioned himself over you. As his lips moved against yours, you became eager, pulling him down so that he could line himself with your entrance.

Aemond pulled away to look at your face before he pushed himself forward. He searched for any signs of resistance or hesitation, but there was none. You were eager for you husband to move forward, eager to finally feel him like you wanted.

You were so close to getting what you came here for, but first…

You hesitantly bit your lip as your hand came up, and your heart squeezed as Aemond flinched when you touched his eye.

The one that was covered, that is, and the last piece of material that was separating the two of you.

Before you went forward with this, you wanted to see him. You wanted really see your husband and all of his beauty.

Despite what people said, you’d never been afraid of what was behind the patch. You’d never been disgusted or judgmental. You just wanted to see Aemond for who he really was, as he was about to see you.

“May I…?”

Aemond took in a sharp breath as your fingers lingered over his eyepatch, seriously debating if he should let you or not. You could see the conflict in his face, the uncertainty and you weren’t going to push. If he was uncomfortable taking it off, you’d understand, but to your surprise Aemond reached up and took it off himself.

He closed his eyes as he placed the material on his nightstand, and when he opened them one violet eye and one sapphire eye stared back at you.

Aemond lowered his head as if he were ashamed, but you quickly grabbed his face and made him look at you.

Nothing expect for love adorned your face, making sure that he knew you weren’t judging or scared. You just wanted to see him, and as you ran your fingers over his scar you only whispered one word.

“Gevie,” You told him, and Aemond chuckled as your palm stroked his cheek. He didn’t shy away from your touch and allowed you to touch him like no one ever had before. Not even his own mother had felt his scar, and now here he was, laid bare before his wife just you were bare before him.

Now, there was nothing left to separate the two of you so Aemond pushed forward.

You felt the head of his cock brush your folds and you gasped, biting your lip as he started to push through your barriers.

Your cunt wrapped around him in way that Aemond had never felt before, causing your husband to groan as he sunk into you. Briefly, you held your breath as slight pain erupted but it wasn’t too bad. Aemond was gentle, and he had made sure you were warmed up so the feeling went away almost instantly.

Still, he paused before going any further and looked at your face to make sure that you were okay.

Violet and sapphire met your (E/C) eyes, and you nodded as you slowly released your breath. Wrapping your arms around Aemond’s shoulders, you buried your head in his neck and moaned as he pushed in to the hilt.

The sound of a low groan reaching your ears caused lust to travel through your body. The thought of your husband moaning for you, because of you made your cunt even wetter and there was little to no resistance for Aemond as he began to move his hips.

Sloppily, your lips found his and your legs wrapped around his back as your body welcomed him.

Aemond wrapped his own around you, making sure to hold you tight before rocking his hips. He kept a steady pace, making sure that he wasn’t too rough which you appreciated. The pace he took allowed you feel him, relishing in the way his cock dragged along your walls.

You moaned at every stab of pleasure that you felt, enjoying the taste of Aemond’s lips as well. He tasted like the sweet wine you often saw him drink, and you couldn’t get enough like you were trying to get drunk as well.

You were trying to get drunk on him and you were, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Aemond’s cock managed to reach your sweet spot. His lips pulled away from yours so his teeth could graze your neck, and you had the pleasure of hearing his own moans spill out as he sped up.

The King sized mattress creaked under the weight of him fucking you, blending in with all of the other sweet sounds you made. Mostly, the cries that fell from your lips were Aemond’s own name, something that fueled him and drew him closer to the edge.

It felt like heaven, having your cunt wrapped him and your lips screaming his name. A few hours ago Aemond would’ve never in his wildest dreams guessed that he’d be here, pleasuring his wife he was so sure wanted nothing to do with him.

After you were forced to marry him by your father, he made a promise that he’d stay away for as long as possible. He made a promise that he’d give you your space, thinking that’s what you wanted, but now, Aemond knew that promise would go out of the window.

After tonight, he would never let you go, and you had no problem with that whatsoever.

You’d stay like this with him forever if you could, but a familiar knot in your stomach held you back and you knew that you were close to your peak, again.

You could feel it in the pit of your stomach, along with Aemond’s cock as he sped up.

Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room, and it would’ve had you embarrassed had you not been so far gone.

With your eyes screwed shut and shameless sounds of pleasure leaving your lips, you could care less about that. The only thing you felt, the only thing you wanted to feel was Aemond and you did.

You felt his cock twitch inside of you and you knew that he was close, just like you were. His pace began to lose it’s rhythm and his grip tightened, both eyes squeezing shut as Aemond finally reached his high and spilled inside of you.

Likewise, you accidentally bit down on his shoulder and scraped your fingernails against his back as you experienced your second high, your cunt clenching down on Aemond’s cock and milking him until he was spent.

A low groan left his lips as he felt you completely fall apart on his cock, enjoying the sounds you made before you finally began to calm down.

Soft pants left your lips as Aemond remained on top of you, unmoving but careful not to crush you with his weight. Somehow, he still had the strength to prop himself up and hover over you which was a miracle because you were exhausted.

Your body ached in the most delicious of ways, your cunt throbbing and leaking with Aemond’s seed.

You knew that if you didn’t take moon tea soon then his seed would take but that was the last thing you were worried about.

You were too caught up in your own bliss, too happy as you stared at Aemond to care. You thought he looked absolutely beautiful above you, looking like the Gods people always compared the Targaryens to.

In that moment, you truly believed it to be true and you wondered how you had gotten so lucky. You wondered how you were blessed with such a man for husband that he could easily be mistaken for a God.

You wondered why the Gods chose you to marry him and silently thanked them for it.

But most of all, you wondered why in the hell you didn’t approach him sooner.

[whatifitis]

♡ In Between - FC 43 ♡

Summary: You and Franco has a nice night in, when you start to think about your guys relationship and wonder if it's time you tell him that you really like him.

WC: 2320

CW: overuse of song references, nothing really, it's quite fluffy, maybe some negative thoughts the reader has about themselves?

It’s a Saturday night, one of the least chaotic ones now that your best friend is a driver in F1. Franco was called up to fill Logan's seat for the rest of the season which is beyond exciting and you couldn’t be more proud. The only downside is that his schedule is so much more packed now that he’s getting acknowledgement from so many teams and people. All this new media coverage feels so insane. And something that doesn’t help is the fact that you’ve slowly been falling for Franco.

The two of you have been friends for a while. But in recent months, you’ve started to see him in a different light. You’re sure it’s just a crush but it’s been well over 2 months that you’ve felt this way. Some say that crushes only last about 2 months, once you’re past that mark, you’re actually in love with the person. You hoped this crush would go away, afraid to ruin what you have with Franco. Your relationship with him is the best that’s ever happened to you. You never want to lose him. But alas, the crush did not go away. So now you’re here.

It’s a bit late into the evening now. Franco asked you out for lunch earlier and now the two of you are lying on his bed, watching American Pie. The two of you were lying on the bed, side by side. Franco was lying with his back against the bed's headboard while you lied next to him on your side. The safest place you’ve ever known, next to him.

The two of you were halfway through the movie when he asked you a question that you didn’t quite catch the first time, so you angle your head up to look at him. As soon as you locked eyes with him, Franco couldn’t help but laugh. When you moved your head to look at him, your glasses had skewed on your face.

His laugh always was so contagious, it always got you laughing too. When you two had calmed your laughing fits, Franco took his hand and adjusted your glasses into the right position, before leaning forward and gently kissing your forehead.

“You’re beautiful… and funny… And smart. Like nothing I’ve ever seen.” You turned to bury your face in your hands, trying to hide your blushing face. You love it when he talks, not just about you. About anything really, he’s your favorite yapper and you wish you could listen to him all day. Your favorite sound ever.

“Hey, let me see that beautiful face again.” Franco says, grabbing your hand and moving it from your face. “Hi” he says when he can see you again. “Hi” you reply, smiling so hard. It was so hard to believe this was real, your guy's friendship. It was the type of relationship you’d always dreamed of, that sort of naive and innocent relationship that was filled with laughter and joy and… love? Was it too soon to use that word? Maybe considering you were just friends… Just. Friends.

“So,” Franco started, pulling you out of your thoughts, “What’s the dream?” “The dream?” you look at him, confusion written all over your face. “Yeah, the dream. Your dream. What you’re working towards.”

You laid there for a beat, thinking about it. What was your dream? All this time, you’ve just been focusing on surviving, not so much on the living.

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never really thought about it. I guess I want to finish my masters degree in uni. Then after that, just… live, I guess.” you look up at him with a smile. “That’s it? You don’t have any other goals or anything?” - his eyebrows furrow, showing you a confused expression. You shake your head no. “You’re kidding.” - Franco snorts in disbelief. “Well, what are yours? Your plans, goals.” You ask as you sit up against the headboard of the bed. “Em, well, I guess F1 was always a big goal, and now I have it.” he sits there for a second, thinking, twisting his lips as he does, “I’ve also always wanted to have a nice house for my family.” “What does this house look like?” you ask. He takes a moment to think, trying to come up with an honest answer for you. “I never really thought about that to be honest. I just want something nice with enough space for my family. I think a pool in the back would be nice. A big backyard so we could have barbecues as well.”

You’re smiling at him, admiring the person in front of you. You could find the whole meaning of life in those eyes. You’re glad he gets you, and your dark sense of humor. And when you let him in on all your bad decisions, he made them feel less terrible the second that he’d listen.

Don’t stop talking to me. Maybe stay here forever, with me.

“I think that sounds lovely.” you say. “Thank you.” he replies, blushing at your words, “What about your house? Your dream house. Surely you have a dream house.”

You sit up straight, so ready to answer this question. You won’t lie when you say you’ve always wanted to be asked about this. “I do. Um, well it would have a green kitchen. I saw a picture of one online a while ago and just became obsessed with the idea. And the bathrooms would be pink and red, I just think that would look sick. Oh! I also really want a blue hallway.” Franco gives you a confused look, “A blue hallway? For what?” “There’s this band that I love and in one of their music videos, the band painted a wall in the house blue.” “Ah. Which song is the one for the blue wall?” “It’s called True Blue. It’s a song about the person you love and who loves you. This person knows you so well, maybe even more than you know yourself.” “Interesting” he nods his head as he mentally writes down the name of that song so he can listen to it later. He turns his body more towards you, asking “Do you have a true blue?” “I think I’m slowly discovering mine” - you confess. “What about you? Got a true blue yourself?” He looks at you before looking down at his hands and failing to suppress a smile. “Yeah, I do.” “Well, go on. Tell me about them.” you insist. “She’s really cool.”

She? Was he talking to someone else? No, don’t be like that. Maybe it’s just a friend or something? Right?

“She is also really smart.”, he continues, “She loves reading and not only listening to music but also creating it.” Is he talking about me? I do that. “And she’s really good at that. She’s also the hardest working person I know. Like I mean she’s really smart, like Einstein smart.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at this. He’s definitely exaggerating but you have to admit, you’re pretty fucking smart.

“Oh, is she now? She must be one hell of a catch” “Oh trust me. She is and I’m very lucky to have her. She’s also the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. Not just on the outside, that’s an added bonus. But she’s just incredible. And she laughs at all my jokes. And when I save the dirty ones for her, her nose crinkles. It’s really cute actually. Her voice as well, oh my god. The best sound ever. Like when there’s something she’s really interested in or really passionate about, she could talk for hours. That’s one of my favorite things about her. That and her laugh, I wish I could bottle up the sound of her laugh and keep it with me, so I can listen to it whenever I want. Don’t even get me started on how she is with my family. They all get along so amazingly, it’s so much greater than anything I could ever imagine. I think one of the selling points was my family loving her as much as I do. This girl also will drop everything for those she loves. It doesn’t matter if she has work or school or anything, she will drop it just to make sure you’re okay. And she will beat anyone’s ass if they hurt you. I think I’m falling for her. I don’t wanna look at anything else now that I’ve seen her. Now it’s like there’s daylight. Whenever I’m with her, everything feels okay.” “Wow.” is all you can say in this moment. Was he really talking about you? Or are you wishfully thinking he is? “Yeah”, he blushes, “wow”

You take a moment to take all that information in. Maybe he wasn’t talking about you. You clearly see how amazing he is, other people are able to as well. Your mood kind of dampens from these thoughts. You really thought you two could be something. You guess you made it all up in your head, it’s just all one sided.

“What’s wrong?” Franco asks. “Hm? What?” you respond, startled from the sudden break of silence. “What’s wrong? You kind of spaced out.” “Oh, nothing. Was just thinking.” “About?” he responds, sitting up from the bed to lean a bit closer to you. “It’s really nothing. Let’s keep watching the movie” you try to smile and lighten the mood again.

You move to raise the volume on the tv, but you feel Franco’s hand wrap around your wrist lightly. You turn back to look at Franco. He looks confused, and a bit scared?

“Wait, I need to talk to you.”

Oh shit

You return to your spot on the bed, not fully relaxing as his last sentence is kind of terrifying. “Yeah, of course. What’s up?” “I need to tell you something… about that girl.” “Oh”

Damn, alright. Keep bragging about how it’s not me, I guess.

“Well, I know she often thinks negatively about herself. Like she doesn’t deserve that type of stuff. Like love and happiness. She also has a hard time believing that people really do care about her. But I do, I love and care about her so much. And I know she’s afraid of letting people in, and she’s let me in a bit, but I want more with her.”

Ok, fuck me then. Wow, leave it to Franco to absolutely break my heart, unknowingly.

“So, what did you need from me?” “You dumb ass, it’s you! You’re the girl. You’re my true blue.” he lightly laughs.

What.

“What.” you stare at him blankly.

What the fuck? Is he for real right now? How though?

“I like you. I want more with you! You’re my true blue! I want you for worse or for better. I would wait for ever and ever.” - his tone is quiet as he confesses his feelings for you. You sit there silent for a moment before catching something. “Bitch, did you just quote Taylor Swift?!”

He looked to the side for a minute, as if he was thinking or trying to remember something while he pursed his lips. “Yeah?” he laughs, “I know you like her a lot so I listened to her a lot to try and learn some of her songs. They’re pretty good”

I’m going down without a fight, I don’t know how he does this. He makes me really nervous. What is he doing to me now?

“You listened to her… just for me?” you ask, still hesitant on whether he’s being serious or just messing with you. Cause you’re still falling for him and you can’t stop. This might be the thing that breaks you if it doesn’t end well.

“Yes. Staying up with you, despite the space between us. I’ve never felt so close to someone. You came out of the blue like a shooting star. You wait and wait for it to appear, and when it does, it illuminates its surroundings, just for a second. And that is the feeling that I want to feel forever. Everytime I get to see you, it’s like you illuminate every space you walk into.”

What if he’s my weakness?

“I- I don’t know what to say. All this time, I’ve been keeping on my mind on the running away. And for the first time, I’d consider to stay. I know I make the same mistakes a lot and I never learn. But I think I did one thing right.” you say, smiling as his starry eyes spark up this dark night.

He’s looking at you with so much admiration in his eyes.

“I got so damn close to packing it up, then you happened. I’ll never leave out the back door and I don’t plan on running away from the good things anymore.” - you continue.

The two of you just sat there in silence, staring at each other with smiles plastered on your faces. Franco is the first to break, moving closer to you, leaning close to grab the side of your face.

Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out

You’re close enough to feel each other breathe. Just one inch closer and… His lips are on yours, connecting gently. They’re warm and soft. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling your bodies closer together. At the same time, Franco brings his other arm to wrap around your torso, grabbing the side of your waist so you don’t slip away. It’s like taking your first breath of air in years. You feel his lips on yours as butterflies erupt in your stomach.

After a few moments, you break the kiss, needing to actually take in some air. Franco’s hand is still on the side of your face, slowly he slides it down to connect your fingers with his.

“Can I be yours?” he asks, “Your forever true blue?” he asks. “Forever and always”

[mischievousmoony]

𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜' ⟡ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸

⟢ james potter x black!reader (fem)

⟢ summary: after your parents cross the line, you and your older brother sirius find sanctuary at the potters'. however, things don’t go so smoothly at first . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 3.6k

⟢ warnings/tags: abusive parents, james’ clothes are described as baggy on the reader, siblings fighting, fluff then angst

⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ part 4 ⟡ masterlist

note: my writing's so rustyyyy the dialogue is so off but im so done editing. and this is gonna need a few more parts, i keep getting carried away.

The Potters' house was very different from yours. It was the first thing you noticed when you woke up. Back home, it felt like Grimmauld Place existed under a perpetual storm cloud. Here, sunshine cannot be escaped. The curtains were drawn closed, but light still filtered in from both sides, almost pleading for them to be opened so that it might do its duty of brightening the house.

Another thing you noticed were birds, who sang pretty songs from right outside your window. You can't remember ever hearing any birds outside your home, and there were plenty of trees for them to nest in. In fact, you started to believe that the aura of your house scared all living things away. Realistically, it was probably all of the yelling and screaming.

As you lie in an unfamiliar room and think of all the reasons why you preferred it over your own, three gentle knocks beat on your door. They sounded different than James' quick staccato, and nerves bubbled in your stomach because you couldn't guess who was on the other side.

You took a deep breath, told yourself that you didn’t have to be so on edge here, and called for the person to come in as you sat up. The knock pattern automatically filed itself away in your brain as belonging to Mrs. Potter. She walked in, carrying a silver tea tray.

"Good morning, dear. Sleep well?" She greeted you as she made her way to your bedside.

"Yes, Ma'am." You said politely.

"Oh, please call me Effie," she insisted as she placed the tray on the bedside table and moved to draw open your curtains. You imagined the sunshine saying thank you for finally letting it in.

“I’ve brought up some tea for you. I wasn't sure how you liked it, alas..." Effie waved her hand over the tray.

The tray had the basics: a teapot, sugar, and a small milk pitcher. However, Effie had also laid out various tea bags for you to choose from, along with some warm biscuits.

“Thank you,” you said in awe as you stared at the display. It was a simple tea setting, really, but the thoughtfulness still had you feeling choked up.

"I spoke with James this morning. May I?" Effie gestured to the edge of your bed, and you welcomed her to sit. "He woke Monty and me up at the crack of dawn, insisting that we let you and your brother stay permanently. Even had tears in his eyes. I tell you, that boy has his father’s big heart."

"Anywho, I nearly tossed a pillow at him for waking me up so early, as if I’d even consider an alternative! But I got to thinking, if James felt like we needed convincing, then we better make sure you and Sirius don’t feel any unease either.”

Effie reached for your hands that lay folded in your lap. “So,” she paused a moment to allow you the chance to shoo her off before placing her hand over yours. “I felt it was important to tell you personally that you are welcomed in this home and this family, assuming you’ll have us, for as long as you need us. That sounds like a good deal to you?”

You bit back tears, “Yea- yes. I think that sounds lovely.”

Effie smiled and squeezed your hands, “Can I give you a hug, dear?”

“Yes, please.” you croaked.

Effie wrapped her arms around you, and you let a few tears loose while she couldn’t see you, wiping them away with your thumb as soon as they appeared. The hug felt warm and unfamiliar, and you wondered if there was a time that your parents ever hugged you like this. If they did, you didn’t remember it.

From behind Effie’s back, you watched James waltz over through your blurry vision. He became distracted by the surprise that the bedroom door was already opened, eyeing it before anything else in the room as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Good morning, sunsh- Mum! You’re in here!”

Effie pulled back from you and craned her neck to look over her shoulder at her son, who was standing up as straight as a board in the doorway. She raised an eyebrow at him, sensing his sudden weirdness.

“I was just welcoming Y/N to our home, like we discussed. Are you alright, dear?” Effie tilted her head.

“‘m splendid, Mum.” James said it with a goofy smile, rocking back and forth on his heels.

She drew her eyebrows together and said, "Lovely, James. What can we do for you?"

"Me? Do for me?" James' eyes widened.

Effie shook her head, perplexed by her son’s reaction.

"I'm wondering what brings you here, James?"

"Ah. I was just in the area," James said, doing a poor job at acting casual. "Y'know, the upstairs... area. Uh, so I thought I'd say good morning... Good morning!"

You thought that this must be the kind of thing people face palm over.

“Hm,” Effie squinted at her son, studying him for a moment before deciding to worry about whatever that was later. She turned back towards you, “Anywho, this is your room now, so I hope it's to your liking. We can see about changing these sheets and painting the walls however you’d like-”

“It’s perfect!” You interrupted, looking bashful for doing so, but Effie didn't seem to mind.

“Well, feel free to customize it any other way. Any posters?” Effie offered.

"I didn't have time to grab that sort of thing,” you admitted, and immediately felt stupid for doing so. Effie clearly just wanted you to feel at home, and you felt like you were being a downer.

But if it phased Effie, she didn’t show it.

"Well then, that means we get to go buy some new ones, yeah?"

She gave your hands a final squeeze before standing up, saying, “I better let you wake up and enjoy the tea,” and walking towards the hall.

Effie affectionately patted James on the cheek as she passed him.

“Have you had breakfast, dear?”

“Mum!” James shrank away from her, his face growing hot. “I will in a minute!”

She tsked at him, gave his cheek one last pinch, and made her way out of the room. James hung from the doorframe into the hall to watch her go. When she was out of sight, he dipped into your room and shut the door silently behind him.

James' back pressed against the closed door as he shot you a toothy grin.

"Good morning, sunshine," he repeated.

You can't help but giggle at him while saying, "Good morning, Jamie."

As he walked over you, his smile slightly faded as a hint of sadness crept onto his face when he noticed your teary eyes.

One thing you loved about James was that he never resorted to any of those hollow phrases like "don't cry" or "stay strong" when he tried to make you feel better. Instead, he always concocted the perfect cure for the situation. Today, it was goofiness and a lot of kisses.

James made a big show of acting innocent as he approached. He whistled some tune and looked anywhere but you before he suddenly dived at you, embracing your waist with a gentle yet decisive sweep of his arms. He flung his body into the mattress, dragging you down with him. You yelped and chided him through laughter.

When you landed, you were tangled awkwardly—your body twisted so that your torso was on top of his, but his legs were draped over yours. James' arms were still wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you trapped as he peppered kisses on your face. He kissed your cheeks and the corner of your eyes, then your eyelids, effectively kissing away any stray tears.

You were a fit of giggles by the time his lips reached the tip of your nose. Next up, he dipped his head to kiss each side of your mouth before finally capturing your lips with his. You giggled through the feathery kisses he pressed on your lips, and he couldn't help but follow in your footsteps as he smiled against you.

Soon, laughter overtook you both. Yet you remained close, with your noses brushing against each other and your foreheads pressed together, as your happy laughter filled the room.

Eventually, James' laughter began to die down. He removed one of his hands from your waist to help brush your hair back into place, it having gotten disheveled from his attack.

You settled down as well, letting the touch of his fingertips in your hair calm you. He took notice and continued running his fingers through your hair, even after it was all brushed out of your face.

For a peaceful moment, you gazed into his eyes, which were filled with admiration and mirrored your own. James watched as a glint of mischief suddenly sparkled in your eyes.

"So," you voiced.

"Mhm," he hummed.

"You've clearly never tried to hide something from your mum before."

"Why would I 'ave had to hide something from my mum before?" James pouted, briefly bringing your giggles back. "Only reason I haven't gushed to her about my beautiful girlfriend," James gave your waist a squeeze, "is 'coz she would have qualms with me lying to a friend."

"Oh, so I guess we better go tell Sirius then, yeah? I wouldn't want to make you lie to your dear mum, I like her." You teased, amused by James' eyes widening nervously.

You've talked about telling your brothers before, but it's something neither of you were quite ready for—you were too fond of the blissfulness you found in the privacy of your relationship.

"Er, I don't particularly feel like getting socked in the face today." James said.

"Oh, come on. You think he'd react that badly?" You carried on.

"I think Sirius punching me would be a mild reaction for him." James grimaced, "He'll probably hex me into the next century. And I get chills thinking about what would happen if Regulus were to find out. Oh, I'd be a dead man. Or he'd put an irreversible curse on my bloodline. It's a tossup, really."

Your smile faltered at the mention of your twin brother, suddenly remembering your situation. You let yourself get distracted by the warm welcome from Effie and James' affection. How could you lay here happily while Regulus is still stuck at that house?

Your expression suddenly grew very solemn as you began squirming out of James' grip. "Where's Sirius?" you asked.

James seemed to choke on his own spit. "Uh, pardon? You're not really planning on telling him today?” Despite his protest, James loosened his grip, not wanting to keep you somewhere you didn’t want to be. “At least let me put my Quidditch gear on, I might need the protective padding."

You had tunnel vision the moment Regulus’ name was mentioned, but you realized what James was saying by the time he mentioned protective padding.

“Not that, James. I need to find out about Reg.”

His mouth formed an O shape as you stood at the foot of the bed with your hands on your hips.

“So do you know where he is?”

“Uh, eating breakfast probably,” James guessed, “in the dining room.”

You stared at him expectantly and after a while of him not moving, you huffed, “I don’t know where that is, James!”

“Right!” James scrambled up from the bed so he could lead you through the house. You could’ve found it if you wandered long enough, but the Potters’ house was fairly large, and you wanted to talk to Sirius as soon as possible.

By the time James had led you to the kitchen, you could see Sirius in the next room over through the open archway. You pushed past James at once.

Sirius was alone at the head of the table, various platters of breakfast food surrounding him. The kitchen was hot when you passed through it, so one of James’ parents must have just been cooking, but they were nowhere to be seen now. Sirius was shoveling some sausage onto his plate when he saw you.

“Sirius,” you said sternly as your hands returned to your hips.

“Look who’s finally up!” Your brother cheered, “Just in time to eat.” He gestured at the seat next to him.

James appeared at your side, and said, “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Maybe you should have some before you-”

“Where is Regulus?” You interrupted, ignoring James altogether.

James’ utterance of “Yeah, didn’t think so” was lost on your ears.

With a scowl on his face, Sirius turned his attention away from his meal. His eyes scanned over you, and his scowl twisted into an amused expression. “Nice outfit!” he snorted.

You looked down briefly to see yourself drowning in James’ clothes. Being much taller than you, James' sweats pooled at your ankles. You rolled your eyes.

“Stop it, Sirius. Where is our brother?”

Sirius squinted at you. You thought he was finally going to give you answers when he decisively opened his mouth, but instead, “You should sit and eat. James is right, breakfast is the most-”

“Sirius!” You raised your voice, your hands molding into fists as your arms dropped to your sides.

Sirius threw his fork down with a clatter, “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me why he’s not here with us.” Your pleading voice cracked as you begged your brother for answers, stepping closer to him.

Sirius had a stormy, faraway look in his eyes, as if recalling something poignant. “The only one who can answer that question is him, so you’re out of luck,” he said bitterly.

The simmering anger in your chest started to bubble, rising up to your throat until you were spitting words that you would later regret. “You left him there!” you accused.

“Excuse me?” Sirius sent a deadly stare your way as he slowly pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Woah,” James tried to interrupt, moving to stand between you two, “Maybe we wanna take a moment and-”

You stepped around James, and his remaining words were drowned out by your raised voice: “I said you left him there. He’s not here because of you.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” Sirius bellowed, growing more irritated with you.

“Then why not enlighten me, Sirius!?”

“He chose to stay!" he disclosed. "Alright? I know you think so highly of your favorite brother, but he chose that place!”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed, crossing your arms and looking away.

You ignored Sirius' choice words of "favorite brother." You weren't going to let yourself get distracted by that conversation, which you've had a countless number of times already. Sirius was sensitive to the fact that Regulus was your twin brother, and Sirius would always just be your brother, no matter how many times you told him that you loved them the same.

“I told him to pack, just like you, and he said no. I told him he had to and he refused," Sirius said vindictively.

“Then you should’ve tried harder!" You snapped, spewing words you didn't mean, "Now he’s there alone. He would’ve come if you would've just tried harder, I know it. This is all your fault!”

Sirius reeled back as if you had punched him in the gut. For a moment, he looked hurt, but then anger overwhelmed him. “How could you say that? You weren’t even there!”

“Because you never let me be! I stayed in my room, like you said to, and was out of my mind with worry. Next thing I know, we’re leaving and Regulus isn’t, and that feeling hasn’t gone away because I have no idea how he is. You should’ve grabbed him and dragged him along! You should’ve-“

“Why is everything my fault!? Why is it what I should’ve done!? You don’t even know what he did!” Sirius' nostrils flared with rage.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how your dear Reggie isn’t as good as you think he is," he sneered. "If you only saw him…”

“I don’t care what he did, he’s our brother!" You shouted, "He should be here. It doesn’t matter!”

Sirius slammed his hand on the table, “IT DOESN’T MATTER!?” he screamed, causing you to jump back. Tears immediately began welling in your eyes. No matter what you did, when you were being yelled at, you started crying. You weren't like your brothers, who could hold stone-cold, emotionless expressions despite whatever was swirling within. It was one of the reasons your brothers did what they could to keep your parents away from you—to Walburga and Orion, emotion was weakness.

Your tears didn't phase Sirius like they normally would have. He was too furious. “You want to know what he did?" he asked harshly. "He watched. He watched our parents torture me, and then he just walked away!"

“What did you want him to do?” you cried, “He- he was probably scared,” you hiccuped, “you- you should’ve-“

“I shouldn’t have done anything, goddammit! She crucio’d me! THAT’S what he watched our mother do. THAT’S what he let me deal with alone. I was on the ground unable to get up for damn near thirty minutes, and he knew it!"

Sirius nearly doubled over, grabbing the table in front of him for balance so hard that his knuckles blanched. All of the yelling gave him a head rush, but he wouldn't relent, "So don’t you tell me that I should’ve tried harder. That I should’ve grabbed him. He doesn’t care about me, so why should I care about him?”

Your hand clasped over your mouth as you sobbed. Your parents were cruel, but the Cruciatus Curse? You couldn’t fathom it. Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and bile bubbled up in your throat as you recalled Sirius’ scream from the night before.

Neither of you seemed to have anything else to say. You both just stood before each other in your most vulnerable states. It was a miserable sight—you crying your eyes out and Sirius looking sick as a dog.

Neither of you had noticed James leave until he returned. His parents followed closely behind.

"Snitch," Sirius choked out, glaring at his best friend as a fit of coughs hit him, his throat strained from the yelling. He ducked his head down and screwed his eyes shut suddenly, like the light in the room was starting to bother his head.

James didn't seem to care what Sirius thought of him. He was too busy being concerned for you both. Besides, James didn't really snitch. You two were being so loud that his parents were already on their way. He happened to run into them in their pursuit.

"What's going on?" Effie's gentle voice rang through the room, "We could hear yelling from the other side of the house."

Even though James' mum was being stern, she didn't sound angry or upset. Her voice only carried notes of concern and motherly authority.

Neither you nor Sirius answered her, too busy crying and coughing. Both of you would've probably been too sheepish to answer, anyway.

James' parents shared a look with each other, deciding what to do about the situation through eye contact alone.

Fleamont spoke with a firm voice, "Alright, son, we ought to get you up to your room. I think it'd be best for you to lie down." Fleamont clasped a hand on Sirius' shoulder. Your brother let Fleamont assist him in the walk to his room.

Euphemia moved to comfort you, but James stopped her. "Wait, let me."

She raised her eyebrows at her son, skeptical of the idea that her young son was equipped to handle this situation. But James had already started reaching for you, and like a moth to a flame, you melted into his arms the moment you felt his fingertips graze your skin.

Effie's eyes darted between you and her son, settling on him when her features melded into a look of understanding. A million questions raced through her mind. How long had this been going on? Why didn't James tell her? Did James tell Sirius? But the one thing she knew for sure was that you found comfort in James, and comfort was the one thing you needed right now.

She took a deep breath and decided to trust her son. "We'll talk about this later. I'm going to check on Sirius."

"Thanks, Mum." James let out a relieved breath.

"Just... behave."

"Mum!" James blushed, his hands swiftly traveling up to cover your ears with his palms.

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that!" Effie waved a hand in the air as she followed in the direction of Fleamont and Sirius.

James noticed your shoulders had started shaking intensely.

“Lovey,” he cooed. He moved his hands to cup your face, tilting it up to look at him. He was surprised to find that the reason for your shuddering shoulders was not because you had started crying harder. You were still crying, but it was mixed with a bit of laughter.

"I guess neither of us are very good at hiding things,” you said, thinking of how you jumped into his arms right in front of his mother.

James shook his head, a single chuckle escaping from his lips.

“Guess not.”

Your moment of humor quickly passed, your eyes turning sad again as more tears spilled out.

James sighed, brushing away your tears with his thumb before pulling you close to his chest. He rubbed soothing circles on your back, pressed kisses to the top of your head, and whispered professions of love and sweet words in your ear while he let you cry. Sometimes, he knew you just needed to let it all out.

Eventually, you let James’ touch and loving words relax you. When your crying was reduced to a sniffle, James veered back so that you could see his face.

“Let’s go on a walk.”

next part

[ma-re-zo]

Alas I am alive

“Love in popculture times” - by me lol, this is that one lietpol drawing I was talking about

Zoom in I swear it's not as crunchy as it looks lmao

Ok so, the main reason this drawing even came to being was only because I was listening to this exact same song on repeat for hours and scrolling through Pinterest until I found a reference I liked and therefore decided that I wanted to draw Tolys and Feliks like this. That’s basically it.

Now you COULD put some symbolism in there that ties back into the lyrics and into the AU itself — that I thought of for like 10 seconds and promptly forgot about. The basic premise is the hetalia characters but in a polish high-school setting bc honestly why not. I like to play with characters like dolls lmao.

But yeah, the first few lines of the song talk about an unhappy breakup, and can you guess what I connected that to??? Why of course — the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and how it later fell apart blah blah blah. Tying that into the drawing itself you could interpret that as Feliks and Tolys being together for a while and then breaking up. Later on I think they are in like a constant situationship-ish situation that neither of them can really fully navigate or grasp because what the fuck is going on being a teen in a shitty high school is hard okay. They’re still friends and close tho, obviously.

Ok that’s enough of my insane rambling bye I’m going to bed

[todoriin]

now he's in your bed, laying on my chest. | reo mikage, 18+

no explicit nsfw but still mdni, aged up characters, reo down bad, not very realistic s3x but alas, reader's feelings are ambiguous but they eventually get their hesitation fked out, no pronouns or specific body parts mentioned, not beta read sorry.

It's 10pm and there's a purple-haired, billionaire athlete on your doorstep, knocking a little too eagerly on the door.

"There's no one in there." You interrupt, spinning your keys on your finger and Reo turns around, shocked to see you in front of him. "So banging on my door like a madman won't be productive, I'm afraid."

To your dismay, all he says is an apology when you wanted him to explain why on earth he was here.

"Are you looking for Nagi? Try somewhere else, don't think he'll ever come around again," you murmur before pushing in front of him to unlock the door. The key enters, as it always does, your door hinges creak when you open it, as it always does, and you turn around to face Reo, who has never looked as frazzled as he does now.

"I'm not looking for Nagi," the athlete mutters, running a hand through his hair. "I'm looking for you."

"Well, here I am. Aren't you supposed to be on a flight across the world right now?"

"I'm flying tomorrow morning."

Such dry and icy responses, what's up with him this evening? Reo's always so talkative but you wonder where his words and usual mannerisms have wandered off to tonight. Perhaps he's holding a grudge against you on behalf of Nagi after your breakup.

"Have a safe flight. I'm gonna go now, see you-"

"-Can I come in?"

You narrow your eyes at him, alarms blaring in your head, flashing vibrant hues of red. Still, you step aside and let him inside your humble abode. He takes off his shoes at the entrance, letting you turn on the heaters and boil some water for tea.

He takes a seat on your couch, watching you in the kitchen that's adjacent. The loud noises from the kettle fill the silence that would otherwise be too awkward, giving you time to think about why Mikage Reo would seek you out at a time like this.

It's not like you were close friends. You were only friendly with him due to his position as Nagi's best friend, and you had barely spent any time together alone before. Even now, it feels like there should be a third presence, spread out and lounging on the exact couch that Reo sits on.

"Green tea," you mutter when you place his mug in front of him. The purple-haired thanks you silently, bringing the cup to his mouth and you two remain sitting in silence.

Are you going to have to carry this conversation when he's the one that intruded?

"Why are you here, Mikage?" You question.

"Why did you really break up with Nagi?"

Count on Reo to always be so brash and straight to the point. Time is money and there is no time like the present.

"I... didn't," you explain. "He's the one that broke up with me. Just... called me one morning and decided it was best for us to go our separate ways and that was it."

"That's all?"

"Yeah. I was surprised too, I thought things were going well between us. Guess not."

"Do you resent him?"

"No."

"Aren't you going to ask me how he is?"

"Life is bigger than being curious against people who come and go. I just hope he is well and happy with where he is."

"But you aren't happy."

You meet Reo's eyes with a bewildered stare, taken aback by his boldness to assume something and speak it outright as a guest in your own home. You fear you don't have anything nice to say, so you don't speak at all, opting to drink your tea instead.

"Did you come all this way just to interrogate me about Nagi and I's breakup?" You ask.

"No, I wanted to come and check on how you were. He didn't tell me much about it, didn't even tell me how you reacted, all he said was that 'you broke up' and that was it..."

Humiliation settles itself deep in your gut. You know of Nagi's infamous nonchalance, but after everything you did and experienced together, you'd like for him to show at least a little bit of sadness. But it seems like that is still too much to ask for.

Rubbing your eyes, you will yourself not to cry. You haven't shed any tears for him yet, not wanting to do so over someone who can't even break up with you in person. In fact, you thought you were beginning to get over it, going out with a few friends tonight for dinner to try and relieve your mind of overthinking too much. Why did Reo have to come by and ruin it?

"I thought he loved you, said he wanted to marry you too," Reo murmured.

That was your breaking point and you clench the pillow in your hands to stop yourself from throwing it at him. "Yeah, well, he didn't love me enough to stay," you spit with venom dripping from your tone, rushing to the kitchen with your now empty mug.

After a moment, you hear Reo's footsteps follow you and he places his empty mug next to the sink. You don't look at him when he leans against the counter with his arms crossed.

"Do you resent me?"

"Why should I?"

"By proxy. Just 'cause ya know, I'm his best friend."

"I don't resent you Mikage, if I did then I would not have let you in my home."

Two beats of silence pass before he speaks again. "I didn't come by just to check up on you."

The sink screeches when you turn it off and the newfound silence envelopes the atmosphere like a blanket of snow. "Go on."

"Don't tell him I said this but you've always been too good for him. You deserve someone better."

You scoff. "Like?"

He steps closer and you have to crane your neck to look at him properly. You don't back down, trying your best to breathe through the heavy air as he scans your expression for any hint of rebellion.

"Me," Reo's voice is unwavering, firm with his declaration. Determination sets his indigo eyes ablaze and his hair falls to frame his face perfectly, the light of your kitchen hitting his skin in all the right places.

Then you realise just how built he is. Broad shoulders, wide chest, and he towers over you so easily, all features that come from years of athleticism. You could fall for his trap, line, hook, and sinker, but whatever little integrity you had remaining keeps you on your feet, reluctant to fall.

His thumb comes to brush your cheek and your knees buckle instantaneously. "Isn't this against 'bro code'?"

"Nagi doesn't have to know."

Oh, but it's been so lonely recently and Reo is so warm, the fabric of his sweater feels so soft, and you just want someone to take care of you, but letting that person be Reo is too risky.

Still, you trail your hands up to rest on his shoulders. "This isn't smart."

"I'm just followin' my heart, pretty."

You're the one who kisses him, pulling him towards you with a tug and his hands slam onto the counter on either side of you. It's sweet, but so short that you don't even give him a moment to close his eyes and savour the feeling. Now you're pulling away and Reo is desperate to keep you close.

With the inch you've given, Reo steals the mile, sealing your lips with his again. It gets heated too fast and now he's everywhere, hands leisurely exploring your sides as his leg settles between yours, effectively trapping you against your kitchen counter.

"Reo," you whisper weakly as he's pressing kisses against your nape, but he stops as soon as his name slips past your lips, head retracting so he can look you in the eye. "Bedroom, please."

After Nagi broke you the way he did, you felt unlovable. As if the reason he left you so suddenly was because there wasn't anything good left about you for him to continue loving. Yet, Reo clings to you like an oath, hurried hands grabbing and squeezing everything and anything he could touch.

Where Nagi was lazy and unrushed, Reo acts like you could slip away from his touch any second, but he doesn't hurt you. He never grips hard enough to leave bruises no matter how much you want him to, and he never strays too far.

Slowly, he strips you of your clothes, taking the time to appreciate you as if he'll never get the chance to see it again. His pupils dilate with every piece he gets to remove and he hovers over you before leaning down to kiss every inch of your bare skin.

Gratitude oozes off him like honey, like he's thankful that you're granting him the luxury of the sight before him, like he's the lucky one out of you two.

Reo presses into you in all the right places and doesn't suffocate you with his weight. It's mind-numbing, he's making you feel so good and you curse yourself for choosing the wrong one and losing the time you could have had with Reo instead.

Every part of you erupts with bliss when he's finally inside. It's warm everywhere, he fits so perfectly that you wonder if you were meant to find heartbreak first so you can appreciate this blissfulness even more. When you arch your body moulds perfectly to his chest, and you can't remember what you were even worried about at the beginning of the night.

The more you kiss him, the more of him you feel deep inside is like a chip to your armour.

Pure euphoria flows through your veins, intoxicatingly slow. You never want this to end, even as you gasp for air, even as your throat turns dry and scratchy and your legs lose feeling, every climax causes you to pray that he won't leave. That just because you're spent doesn't mean it is the end of the night.

As if he can hear your wishes, Reo's craving is insatiable and his warmth never strays from you.

The clock strikes 02:30 and on a normal day, perhaps you would have been asleep, preparing for the day ahead. Except tonight there is a purple-haired athlete splayed on your chest, bodies coming down from the multiple highs you've experienced together. Oddly enough, this feels like the most intimate part of the night as his chest moves in unison with yours, idle chatter filling up the space as both of you drift off.

Reo tells you something before you fall asleep but you’re too close to unconsciousness to remember, eyelids heavy and senses dulling. “My flight is early in the morning tomorrow. I’ll be gone before you wake up.” 

True to his word, he isn’t there beside you. There’s a noticeable dent in the sheets that traces his silhouette but excluding that, there’s hardly any evidence of his presence at all and if it weren’t for your sore muscles, the flicker of doubt in your mind wouldn’t have been extinguished so quickly. Then your eye catches sight of the exact sweater he wore last night, the same one that you tugged off him impatiently, it feels like a promise that he will return.

© todoriin 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site

[kindlylicksomegrass]

Judd x Jessie’s older sister reader

Just to let y’all know this is my first fic in like 10 years that I’ve written so I’m REALLY rusty

Been binge watching big mouth and after some research there is not enough fics for this guy so here’s my attempt

Life isn’t so great at the moment, with teachers shoving essays down your throat to your parents messy ass divorce it feels like you really can’t catch a break

It was another long day when you went to pick up your little sister Jessie from a school sleepover when you bump into somebody’s older brother waiting for the kids to finish getting lectured

Waking up at the crack of dawn to pick up your little sister wasn’t ideal especially when you had plans to rot in bed while thinking of the assignments you have due but won’t start until the day of.

Alas you weren’t expecting Shannon would wake you up yelling something about dad and something something fire something something Jessie and the next thing you knew you were sitting in mom’s car in a middle school parking lot.

You got out of the car and sluggishly after realizing you were falling asleep and Jessie was taking forever to get out of the gym. As you approached the gym doors you looked through the small windows on the double doors and scanned the room for Jessie before going in.

Now you weren’t sure if it was the lack of sleep or the fact that you weren’t completely awake yet but when you looked through the windows you saw a scene you could only describe as an actual shit show.

Fire on the walls, charred stage curtains, trash and mysterious liquids all over the floors. Students running around yelling and throwing things all over the place.

The few students that were asleep had doodles and notes all over their faces in what you could only guess was permanent marker.

You suddenly heard the sound of a police siren pull up behind you, that’s when you decided you didn’t have any energy to deal with whatever was going on in there so you moped the hell away from the doors before you got roped into anything.

You made your way back to your car trying to decide if you wanted to nap while waiting for Jessie to come out or just deal with the fact you were already awake.

As you arrived to your car you saw more parents pulling up to pick up their kids. Some passed out in the front seat and others idly chatting with their PTA friends while drinking coffee.

“God I’d kill for a coffee right now”

You said mumbling to yourself

“You don’t have the guts”

You jumped at the sudden comment and did a full 360 trying to pinpoint where and who just talked to you. Before you knew it a tall slim guy with shaved sides practically appeared out of nowhere leaning against his ban arms crossed whilst flipping a butterfly knife.

“What the fuck!”

You said out of confusion and panic, you could have sworn no one was parked next to you! You made sure of it you barely had the energy to drive let alone have awkward small talk with a parent about how sorry they were for the divorce your parents are going through.

Still clutching your chest in a gesture of fear and surprise you took another look at this stranger before you realized he looked strangely familiar.

“Aren’t you little Nicks older brother?”

You say with uncertainty in your voice, it’s been a while since you’ve last seen him and come to think of it last time you saw him we was slashing tires over at Leah’s party.

“Yeah what about it”

He said not looking up from his knife looking pretty uninterested. You sighed and finally relaxed your tense shoulders.

“You scared the fuck out of me it’s too early for you to be pulling your 90’s slasher shit”

You said pulling out your phone looking to match his uninterested energy, because the fuck you be ignored you do the ignoring!

“Relax loser I was here first you’re the one who decided to invade my space”

Judd said while rolling his eyes still holding an unbothered expression. You put your phone back into your pocket running back the events of just 30 minutes ago. It could be possible you just weren’t paying attention you just barely gained consciousness like 5 minutes ago.

“Now it just feels like you’re gaslighting me”

“Whatever”

You just rolled your eyes at his short response, clearly he doesn’t want any small talk either. You stretched and decided to sit in the hood of your car hoping sitting on an uncomfortable surface would stop you from falling asleep.

Before you knew it another 30 minutes had passed, and here you were holding your head up like a newborn baby. Between the distant buzzing of parents and Judds consistent knife whooshing sound it’s like you were basically being lulled to sleep. Next thing you know you’ve embarrassingly let the sleep win and like a bowling ball you snapped up before you fell off of your car.

You heard some one laughing and turned to face the culprit.

“Whats so funny”

You said annoyed and with a new found feeling of embarrassment, jolting awake and almost falling off your car gave you some sort of adrenaline suddenly you felt wide awake and heat rising up to your cheeks.

“Just the thought of you face planting on the ground brings me joy”

“Oh HA HA”

You said pretty sarcastically now jumping off the car and furiously texting Jessie to get her ass out ASAP.

You see Judd tuck away his knife and bang on his car twice with a closed fist, out of nowhere two raccoons crawl out of his van both holding something you can’t make out. With the tippy tapping one makes its way over to Judd and holds a can out to him, Judd snaps his fingers and motions over to me then the second raccoon jumps over and very politely hands me a cold energy drink.

Excitingly you take the can and look over at Judd practically with star shaped eyes.

“Can I pet him!!?!”

You asked with anticipation, Judd cracking open his drink shrugs.

“You can if you want but I can’t promise the safety of your fingers”

“Oh you wouldn’t bite my fingers would you”

You said as you bravely ruffled the top of the raccoons head, admittedly it did growl at first but it quickly saw you were no threat

Some how you and this raccoon grew an instant connection and you decided yes. Yes I can cradle this baby.

You placed your drink on the hood of your car and picked up the raccoon and began to baby talk it whilst petting and patting its belly

“Judd this little guy is the sweetest thing ever he couldn’t even hurt a fly!”

You said in disbelief of the adorable possibly rabies filled raccoon

“That turd does nothing but cause trouble”

He said as he got closer to you and tried jabbing the raccoon only for the raccoon to snap at judds finger. Lucky for Judd he pulled back quickly.

“See”

Judd said in a grumpy tone

“Oh it’s because you need to show him love”

You said hugging the raccoon now

“Oh if Shannon wasn’t acting like such a bitch lately you would be living in my closet yes you would”

You said half joking to the raccoon.

You felt your phone buzz so you reluctantly handed the raccoon back over to Judd while you checked who messaged you.

Looking back up from your phone you give sad eyes to the raccoon knowing you have to go now

“Well Jessie managed to sneak out so we’re leaving before we end up staying here for another hour”

You pet the raccoon again and get into your car, making sure not to forget your energy drink. After you turn on the car you roll down the passenger window.

“Well see you around little Nickys older brother”

You said waving at Judd who wrangled the raccoon who now knew what love felt like back into his van.

“You know Jessie’s older sister- it wouldn’t be so bad to see you more often”

He said still keeping his lax demeanor

“Yknow to help me train the raccoons”

You smiled and nodded

“Sure, and for the record it’s y/n loser”

You said as you began to drive away to scoop Jessie and go home. When you realized that you never gave him your number and he doesn’t either.

Monday you’re going to have a long and entertaining conversation with Leah.

THE END - it was short and I really didn’t know where it was going to go, I also got carried away with the thought of adopting a raccoon.

Lemme know if yall have any requests of other stuff and maybe I’ll get around to it???

Again it’s been YEARS since I last wrote anything so yeah also yes I got lazy at the end :,)