#it's good to have inspiration again! 💕

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Now that the farmer can have a big ass house with all the beds they want, what if the SVE adventurers (plus canon characters like Marlon) and the RSV ninjas used it as a base of operations when they have joint missions? After all, they wouldn't be collaborating if it wasn't for our dear farmer lol Let's suspend our disbelief and ignore the existance of warp totems and relics and magic for a second. Who would treat it as a fun sleepover/slumber party? Who would be the most normal about it? Who would be so fucking annoyed? Who would share rooms/cook/offer to help with the farm? And if the farmer was married to one of the ninjas or adventurers, how would they manage to balance being a good host with getting some privacy? Don't even get me started with children, I'm sure someone would be stuck on babysitting duty 😂 Anyway Mouse don't worry about replying to this asap, take your time and most importantly have fun!!! sending a tight cyber hug your way 💖

With this situation, Farmer can already film a reality show at their house "My neighbour is an adventurer" or something, it would be hilarious 😂

Love your idea so much, thanks a lot Lotus! Sending you hugs as well 🤗

Warning: there's a lot of text here...

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Isaac:

Isaac will be strongly opposed to the temporary cohabitation in Farmer's house with the "neighbours" for two main reasons. Firstly, it's his pride and the old song about "real adventurers". You know, "only nobles weaklings sleep in their beds until noon, while seasoned adventurers get up at first roster call, and don't need separate outposts to live in" *looks in the direction of one of his colleagues*. Isaac will eat bug meat and sleep outside on his cloak just to prove he's a real adventurer. And secondly, his distrust of the Cult. The Guilds and Cult leaders may have made a truce with temporary co-operation, but that doesn't mean Isaac likes it, and he'll blatantly tell anyone who asks and doesn't ask. But no one asked for the scarred man's opinion, as usual, so here he is in the room of the cosy house in Stardew Valley that Farmer has kindly provided.

Despite the occasional barking in the direction of Jio and Daia, Isaac is a actually acceptable roommate. He doesn't need a big space, only a bed and a bedside table, doesn't rampage, doesn't leave trash, respects the host and the rules of the house, and tries not to interfere with Farmer's family life, if they are already married. Help from him, however, is not expected, but not because of pride. Isaac is not used to civil life. Especially since he's only living here temporarily because of the mission in Stardew Valley and working with the cult, so he'll be busy. Farmer's offer to join them for dinner will also leave him in a bit of a stupor, though he will not refuse hot soup. Everything is so strange, different environment, different life, not like in the Castle Village. There's even something about it (though he's not likely to say it out loud).

Lance:

Well, Lance will gladly accept the Farmer's generous offer to let him stay at their home while the totem shortage and commonwealth with the new clan is resolved. It would save him from wasting time travelling and looking for accommodation in Pelican Town and Ridgeside Village. The price is not an issue, just that the gallant adventurer is still not used to walking around town with civilians, the Guilds and taverns are more familiar to him. He wouldn't be too surprised by the neighbours, as the pink-haired man knew that the Farmer had offered both the Guild and the Cult to stay with them. Relations with the members of the Red Tail Lady Cult would also be ok, even friendly, as Lance believed in their good intentions. Although their methods leave much to be desired, and the adventurer communicates and behaves all the same carefully, so as not to provoke conflict.

In terms of being a roommate - Lance is an excellent neighbour: he respects the rules of the house, the room and things are always clean, and if Farmer allows, he will magically help them in some chores, like cleaning the house (he can do it with a snap of his fingers). Helping out on the farm is a bit different, as Lance doesn't know anything about growing crops other than monster plants. However, he won't refuse help if it's related to his adventurer activities: brewing potions, helping with slimes, that sort of thing. Lance is one of the people who might agree to help Farmer look after their children if he doesn't have an urgent mission. And in the event that he is the Farmer's spouse and lives here permanently, Lance is perfectly capable of finding a balance between living a private life with his partner and providing hospitality to his roommates.

Alesia:

Alesia understands that she is in Farmer's house to save time on important tasks, but sometimes the sniper feels like she's on holiday in Stardew Valley. Still, it's great to be back in her native place, to visit the old Guild, to chat with Marlon a little longer than usual. She's very grateful that Farmer let her and the others stay at their house to save warp totems. Admittedly, the neighbours are giving her.... a bit of a hard time. Alesia's relationship with her Cult members would be something between Lance and Isaac, i.e. unwilling to cause conflict over anything, but not looking for friendship either. They all share a business relationship and Farmer, who pointed out the perfectly rational decision to join forces to fight a common enemy and corruption. But she honestly admits that she doesn't trust the members of the Cult with their methods to fight evil. No offence to Jio and Daia.

As a roommate, she's a dream. Not only does she behave herself at Farmer's house, but she can threaten the other roommates if they start become problematic. Even Isaac will shut up at once, because he knows better than anyone that Alesia is not to be pissed off. Sniper will bring groceries, keep the room tidy, even offer Farmer a taste of her comfort food she's made. Sniper won't be able to help with farming, but if Farmer suddenly needed to feed the cows or carry a couple of bags, she wouldn't mind helping. Within reason, of course, as work is work, and she cannot be distracted.

Jio:

Jio sincerely doesn't understand why they should co-operate at all with the Guilds, who will only get in the way with their moralising and constant surveillance of the Cult's activities. Nor does the elf see any reason to stay the night at Farmer's in Stardew Valley. It's one thing to have these adventurers from the Castle Village, since travelling from that region to here without magic and totems is quite problematic, but why would he and Daia want to do that? Half an hour - and they were already in Pelican Town. But his Lady had insisted that he stay in the house of that old farmer's grandchild for now, so Jio silently obeyed the order.

As for living together with him... *Sigh* If the Republic had a nomination for "Neighbour from Hell" (I don't know if the concept is in Stardew Valley Heaven/Hell, but you get the point), that award would be on a shelf in Jio's room. Because he's... not a good roommate, to say the least. How Daia put up with him is anyone's guess. Naturally, he won't be rude to the host, but all his foul language (human and in elven) will fly in the direction of Castle Village roommates, because Jio has a hot temper when something annoys him (most often Isaac). Always leaves dangerous weapons scattered around the room (not his romm, interestingly enough), bottles of strange liquids and poisons for weapons. You can't expect help in farm chores either, as he's always busy and on a mission. The room is relatively clean (but others have his stuff lying around), so what else do you need from him?

Of course, being Farmer's husband, Jio behaves differently and won't throw dangerous things all over the house, especially if he already has children. But his attitude towards the other roommates, like Alesia and Isaac, is unlikely to change, as Jio still doesn't trust them and fears for the safety of Farmer and their kids. What if they become a tool of the Ministry's manipulation? These adventurers sing about honour, but they have their hands full of blood and black magic, he knows for sure.

Daia:

"Oh, we'll all have a party together, won't we? Everyone will get together, bring some goodies and something drink. It'll be fun~" Daia joked, but to be honest, with this woman you wouldn't know if she was joking or not. Out of everyone, she's the one who's most excited about the idea of staying at Farmer's for a while with Jio's other adventurers from Guilds. The ninja has been wanting to get a better look at the farm for a while now, because there's so much to see here! And she wants to get to know her roommates better ("So this is Lance? Hee-hee, what a cutie. How about we do a mission together~"). Daia genuinely thinks she's going to have a great time here (which really can't be said for the rest of the roommates).

As a roommate, she's in terms better than her partner in Cult, the surly elf, because if you're not scattering shuriken on the floor like Lego pieces, you're already better than Jio. Not counting the constant teasing, which makes Isaac's eye twitch and Jio's voice sit up due to yelling at the girl for her flippant behaviour, it's easy to cohabitate with Daia. For her, it's kind of a normal life she never even dreamed of, so the girl lives quietly in the house and helps Farmer with their chores. Even insists that she be the one to cook a communal meal for everyone. May be the initiator to organise a mini party, "because we're all friends!" (no). Well, at least she, together with the Farmer, can always smooth things over if the other neighbours start arguing. However, she is far from stupid and will exercise caution if the adventurers from Castle Village start going overboard and breaking the rules of their temporary truce.

Marlon:

In general, Marlon didn't see the point of moving into the spare room of the farmhouse, since he lives in Stardew Valley, and he certainly wasn't old enough to walk less. After all, the one-eyed adventurer used to carry Farmer and their belongings on his back almost two or three times a month, from the Mines to their home. So he would quietly continue to fend for himself in his Guild, and wait for the next orders from the Order regarding co-operation with the Cult.

That was until part of the Adventurer's Guild burned down under strange circumstances (it wasn't Farmer, they swear!), and now Marlon is temporarily on the farm while Robin fixes the Guild building.

Poor Marlon thought living in a private room would be quiet, except he forgot to consider that in addition to him, there's the Castle Village and the Cult of the Lady and Red Tail members as well. And it's all one explosive mix. The youths were constantly arguing about something, making noise, and sometimes Marlon could hear the sounds of battle magic (yet, all the rooms were not destroyed). All this noise was weighing on his mind, but in a way, it brought back memories of the old days of his Guild, where the members were also constantly talking and arguing from the very morning, but they all lived as one friendly family.... Marlon himself in terms of a roommate is practically perfect. He would be quiet to the point where Farmer would think he wasn't here. At most, an old adventurer can bark at Isaac and Jio to behave themselves, since they're all guests here.

[seafoam-taide]

dream king Wandersong you will always be my number one pathetic asshole character in my heart and in my mind

[dawn-moths]

whoever sent me the tomura request i love you <3

[verstappenverse]

Everything He Doesn’t Say

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max has never been good with words, but you’ve never once had to doubt how he feels.

Authors Note: Inspired by this amazing piece from @jungwnies 💕

1.3k words / Masterlist

You find the first one in your glove compartment.

It’s early. The sun is barely up and the pit of your stomach still churns with the anxiety of the meeting you’ve been rehearsing for in your head since 4 a.m. You get in your car, toss your bag onto the passenger seat and open the glovebox to grab the parking permit...

A folded square of paper slips out and lands on your lap.

You recognise his handwriting immediately, messy, slanted a little to the left, almost illegible to anyone else. The edges of the note are frayed like it had been sitting in his jeans for a day or two.

You’re going to kill it today. Like always. Proud of you. –M.

You stare at the note for a long moment. He didn’t say anything this morning when he hugged you at the door. Just pulled you in, kissed your forehead, murmured, “Don’t stress, baby,” and then disappeared back into the bedroom.

But this, this is different, like a whisper he wasn’t brave enough to say out loud. You place it gently into the centre console, fingers grazing it one last time before you shift into reverse.

The second one is inside your gym bag.

You find it after a long day, half-asleep and grumpy and rummaging for your water bottle. You nearly miss it, folded between the towel and your sports bra.

It’s short.

Stop forgetting how hot you are. –M.

You snort. A laugh slips out before you can stop it.

Max has never been great with words. Not when it comes to you. Not in the I-love-you-so-much-my-soul-aches kind of way. He says you’re cute, or you smell nice, or stay close tonight, instead, but you’ve come to realise he says a lot more than he lets on.

You tuck the note into your purse beside your ID, where he’ll never know you kept it.

Max is in the kitchen when you get home that night, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up. There’s soup on the stove. A half-burnt piece of bread in the toaster.

“Hey,” he says, glancing up.

“Hey,” you reply, quietly.

You stop when you see what’s sitting on the counter.

Your old phone charger. The one that frayed weeks ago and sparks when you plug it in, the one you keep saying you’ll replace but never have. It’s not just been replaced but upgraded. A newer, longer cable. Still pink. Still tucked into the exact same cable holder you’d been using.

Next to it is your favourite chocolate bar. The one that's hard to find. The one you mentioned in passing weeks ago, "God, I miss those. Haven’t seen them in ages."

You blink. “Where’d you find that?”

He doesn’t even look up. “Petrol station outside of town. You don’t need to thank me.”

You pause, because you were about to. He always says that ‘You don’t need to thank me’ whether it's setting your alarm when you forget, running you a bath without asking, or quietly re-parking your car after you leave it crooked. He doesn’t say it to be dismissive. It’s almost shy, like he doesn’t know what to do when you look at him with full-blown gratitude.

He sets your mug down beside you, your favourite tea with just the right amount of honey.

You look at the counter again pink charger coiled neatly, wrapper waiting.

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you murmur, reaching for the tea. “Thanks.”

Max doesn’t reply just shakes his head, chuckles and brushes his hand across your lower back. He hands you a bowl and waits for you to sit beside him on the couch, gently tugging the blanket over both your legs.

“I found the note,” you say after a few minutes, voice soft.

He doesn’t look at you. Just spoons soup into his mouth and shrugs. “What note?”

You smile. “The one in my gym bag.”

“Oh.” He blinks like he genuinely forgot. “That was meant for Monday.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, heart stupidly full. “Still worked.”

He never posts about you on Instagram.

It used to sting a little, in the beginning before you understood him, before you stopped comparing him to other people.

Because Max doesn’t care about optics, doesn’t feel the need to declare his love in public or share photos from every date night. He barely remembers to post anything at all unless someone reminds him.

But he does change his lockscreen.

You notice it one night while he’s asleep, phone buzzing softly on the nightstand with some notification he’ll ignore until morning. You pick it up to silence it and catch a glimpse of the photo.

It’s from your trip to Lake Como last summer.

You’re not even looking at the camera, head turned, eyes bright, smiling at something stupid he said. It’s not posed, it’s not perfect, but you look happy.

And he chose that version of you, the soft, unfiltered one.

You place the phone back down without a word and curl closer to his chest, whispering a quiet I love you into the dark.

Sometimes he sends you videos. Random ones.

A goose chasing a guy down a beach. A cat flipping off a countertop. A golden retriever refusing to drop the stick that’s three times its size.

No caption. No context.

It always comes when you’ve been apart too long both of you swamped with work. You’ve learned to read between the lines. It’s never just a meme.

It’s I miss you. It’s Can we talk? It’s I just want to hear your laugh.

You send one back. He replies immediately.

And just like that you’re texting again, heart full.

You walk in on him reading one night.

It’s the same book you’ve been talking about for months, the one you rambled about over dinner, quoting passages like a hopeless romantic.

Max is not a reader. He struggles to sit still unless he’s in a simulator or watching race footage, but there he is, lying on his back, squinting at the tiny print, brow furrowed like he’s concentrating harder than he does in qualifying.

“Max?”

He looks up, startled.

“Are you seriously reading that?”

He shifts awkwardly. “Just wanted to see what it’s about.”

You move toward him slowly, cautiously.

“And?”

“It’s... alright.”

“You hate it.”

“No,” he says too quickly. “It’s just... kinda dramatic... but the girl talks like you. Like, the way she explains stuff. I get it now. Why you like it.”

He flushes and looks back at the page, mumbling. You lean over and kiss the corner of his mouth and hope he understands that this means more than a thousand grand gestures.

Max doesn’t say “I love you” very often.

It’s not that he doesn’t feel it, he just doesn’t know what to do with big, consuming emotions, but he shows it.

In the way he tucks your hair behind your ear when you're too sleepy to do it yourself. In the way he places his hand on your back when you're walking through a crowd. In how he notices when your hands are cold before you do and slips his into yours without a word.

And especially when he drives.

You notice it every single time, how he buckles your seatbelt before his own. Leans over and makes sure it clicks. Tugs it gently to test the tension. Only then does he fasten his own and start the engine.

It’s so automatic now, so ingrained, you don't think he even realises he’s doing it, but you do.

You always do.

One night, months into this quiet, gentle love you’ve built, you find another note.

Tucked into your left sneaker. The old pair you rarely ever wear.

You unfold it and feel your chest tighten.

You make everyday better. –M.

You press the note to your lips, overwhelmed, and decide then and there that maybe he doesn’t need to say “I love you” often, because he’s always saying it in his own way.

In every little thing.

[scribblemesylus]

What they need to hear from you

The one where you comfort him : Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, Xavier

Hello! This is my first official writing of the LaDS characters; I hope you enjoy it! comments and reposts and love are most appreciated! 💕 The reader is the MC in this one! Angsty (but happy endings) No other warnings.Thank you to my friend who helped me find some inspiration for this post <3

Caleb

Caleb always tried to be the Caleb you remembered, even if he could not remember it that well, he searched through the little memory he had left to piece himself together. Because it was for you. He saw your face that day, the day you told him you didn't need him. That look in your eye, he didn't know exactly what it was; disgust? Pity? Terror? He couldn't recognise it. So, instead of acting like it never happened, he tried to make himself better, just so you would never leave his side again... you liked him before, right? So, it shouldn't be too hard... right?

Turns out, it was harder than he had ever imagined, after all the time he had not seen you since you were released from his fleet, everything between the two of you became suffocatingly awkward. Neither of you knew what to do, what to say, he was beginning to believe that even with the silly coupon (he didn't find it silly... not really), there was no salvaging what the two of you had.

He had destroyed it all in desperation to have you.

So, even though whenever he was near you, he felt like as if is chest was caved in from shame; he stayed by your side. Letting himself silently suffocate because that is what he deserved for letting you down -- or so he believed. It wasn't until you came back injured from a mission, where he ran to you, but he didn't dare touch you, his hands just sort of... hovered over your injuries, his eyes darting around, his brain trying desperately to find a way he could help you without terrifying you again. You sighed and watched him before slowly reaching toward his hand, your fingers brushing against the top of his hand "Caleb..." You whisper, your now strained relationship was hurting a lot more than your physical injuries "Caleb, I am not scared of you... I need you to help me." You push and look at him "Please.." It was true, what happened in Skyhaven was behind you and even though it was killing you with how different the two of you were compared to before, you aren't able to clean all these wounds yourself.

Caleb's eyes softened immediately, and he nodded. "Of course, Pipsqueak, you must be hurting a lot; I'm sorry." He quickly got up and grabbed the first aid kit as he slowly sat you down gently and began to look at your injuries, taking a deep breath before he peeled your sleeves away. "Pips... where did you go to... to get these types of injuries?" He asked gently, but when he was met with nothing but silence, he let out a sigh. "Please, prioritise your safety..." He muttered before continuing to help you as you focused on other wounds. You turn to him and nod "I do, it's just-" He didn't need you to explain, "I know." Was all he said before finishing up and packing the first aid kit "Do you... uh.." He scratched the back of his neck. "Need help with anything else?" He asks gently, but when you shake your head, he just gives you a soft smile and lets you be.

He stood in the kitchen and sighed gently as he slipped the first aid kit back into the cupboard. It wasn't easy to see you like this, in pain and uncomfortable. He just wanted to fix everything; he was good at it whilst he was younger, so why wasn't he good at it now?

He knew you had to do this; you had to save the people the way that you and he weren't in that catastrophe, but he wondered if you were trying to prove something to yourself, too. Caleb wanted to push them, tell you that saving the world wasn't your responsibility, but he has just got you back; you're finally not scared of him anymore; he couldn't ruin that. All he could be is glad that you were here now, that you came to him after all.

He closed the cupboard and prepared a small cup of hot chocolate for the two of you, and sat in the sitting room, waiting for your return.

After getting changed into comfier clothing, you nestled into Caleb, your heart racing slightly in fear he would reject this form of affection after so long... after what you said to him. But, he welcomed it and wrapped his arm around you. "I want to go back to how we used to be.." You say softly, looking up at his big purple eyes. "A-At least, start working towards it... You're my home, Caleb... I don't want this... awkwardness anymore."

You swore you could almost see him levitate off the couch as he practically shone with happiness as if those were the only words he ever needed to hear. "Anything you want, Pipsqueak, I am yours to command."

Rafayel

Rafayel was not an insecure man. At least, that is what everyone else thought. Rafayel, on the other hand, was not so sure. It is not that he felt insecure; it's more he felt this emptiness inside of him, and he had no clue what to fill it with. After all these years, he had you in his grasp once more, so close, yet so far. Because he remembered everything, he even knew what was to come, but you? You're so clueless. He knew how he lost you, how he would lose you and how he could lose you. And he had to deal with this pain and anger all alone.

His past failures jabbed into him as if he were Prometheus, constantly being pecked by a bird. He lived between what was his life and the life he had before, dealing with the betrayal he caused, all for the one he loved, for you, but you didn't know. You will never know.

A part of him did not want you to ever find out what kind of monster he was, afraid he would scare you away, like the otherworldly beast he is, but the other part of him was so tired of carrying this alone.

He wasn't insecure in himself, but insecure for what he could do for you, insecure in his love for you. Would it be enough for you to stay? For the two of you to finally have an entire lifetime together? Would it be worth plunging his people into darkness?

It was a constant spiral he had since you came back into his life, like a rollercoaster, but forever stuck on the loop, the happiness that he finally has you and the pain of what he was - it was a never-ending cycle. That a part of him didn't want to escape; he deserved this pain after all, didn't he? For what is a God who does not live in shame for causing suffering to his people?

But, deep down, he was just afraid he would become unloveable in your eyes. That was his deepest, darkest fear, the one that drowned him in darkness once the night time hit.

You knew something was wrong. It seems silly but when your world was a bit duller, when the grey clouds seemed more prominent or when the lakes and seas swayed as if it was heavy, you knew Rafayel was not himself. So, with a spare bag of seashells in hand and some of the rare materials you knew he liked, you headed over to his place.

The plastic bag twisted against your fingers, almost cutting off circulation entirely as you made your way through the streets and to the beach, slipping your spare key out of your pocket and into the keyhole of the gate, twisting it a few times to unlock the gate.

You gently swished the bag beside you as you made the way to the door, and you imagined your boyfriend's smile when he saw you. However, your heart fell to your stomach as Rafayel's 'organised' mess was scattered and ruined across the floor. The studio was a mess and unkempt; it was almost like an abandoned building.

"Rafayel?" You called out and looked around the place before you saw him sitting on the balcony.

He turned to you, his eyes screaming emotions at you that you had never seen on him before "Cutie..." He whispered meekly.

You fell to your knees by his side once you approached his side and cupped his face "Darling? What has happened? Are you struggling to paint?" You ask as you caress his cheek, your heart fluttering as he leans in as if he hadn't been touched by you in weeks (he saw you yesterday)

"Will you still love me, no matter what I become?" He asked you suddenly, and you froze as you looked at him; the two of you had silently loved each other until now, finding other ways to highlight your love rather than saying it.

"Of course you wouldn't." He muttered bitterly and turned from you, missing how your brows scrunched together with a mix of confusion and anger

"What-?"

"How could an angel like you love a monster like-" "I love you." You blurt out and make him face you, "I wanted to say it in a more romantic way, in a way that you will always remember.... but I love you, Rafayel, no matter what you become.." You smile softly and place a kiss on his cheek and caress it into his skin as if to heal him.

Rafayel's hand slipped down from above yours to your wrist as he searched your eyes for any deceit.

"Promise?" He asks, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as he anticipates your answer.

"I promise, my heart has always been yours and always will be.

Rafayel may have a piece of him missing, but he was sure it was to be filled by you.

Zayne

Zayne is a man who craves control, not over anyone else, just over himself. He had to, because if he was void of control, there would be cracks and the cracks he could not let you see. If you saw his cracks, how could you trust him as your doctor?

He had let you down once, all those years ago when he left you, abandoned you, even if it was not his choice. But he had a choice now and he would use it to make sure he never let you down again.

So, every single crack he kept to himself, stayed up later, worked later until he could fill them all up again before he could see you. However, as he scribbled down notes on his research, the memories of his nightmares played in his mind, taunting him, punishing him, and he came to accept he deserved it. He shouldn't have let all those people come to die, he was a doctor, and a doctor's role was to save a life, not to let it fade away, yet with every year, the list of his letdowns grew.

Everyone told him that it was expected: that to save a life, you were bound to lose a few; it was how life worked. But not for Zayne, not at all, because with every name that appeared on that list, he was afraid it was a name closer to yours.

He couldn't have that, not when he gave up the life he wanted for yours to prevail.

You, on the other hand, were becoming increasingly worried and slightly frustrated with your doctor because this was the third time you tried to coax him out of his office. You have tried everything; cake, macaroons, sweets... all came to a disappointing ending. You thought that trying something as harmless as sweets wouldn't highlight your increasing worry, and it was small enough so you could get a small look at him.

It had almost been two weeks now, and so you made your way to the hospital. You just wanted to know that he was okay and maybe scold him slightly for shutting you out... again.

Once the doors slid open, you gently greeted Yvonne and walked to Zayne's office after making sure he had no more patients to see. You looked down at the box, a small muffin for Zayne, before inhaling and knocking on the door.

Gosh, you hope he doesn't reject you because as your knuckles collide with the door, It dawns on you that he might be avoiding you because you might have done something wrong.

"Come in."

You gulp down and hold the small box a little tighter in your hand, causing it to crease slightly before opening the door. You shifted on your feet as he was too immersed in his work to even look up at you.

"Hi." You greet him gently and slip the muffin on the table, and his eyes instantly break away from the paper at the sound of your voice

"I thought that since you wouldn't come to me for the sweet treats, I would just come to you because I know you cannot go too long without them." You say lightly and place yourself on the chair opposite his desk.

"Thank you." He says softly and looks between you and his work a couple of times before bunching the papers together in a neat pile and slipping them away. "Did you just come from a mission?" You raise a brow. "Are you not going to explain why I haven't seen you in two weeks? I know being a doctor is exhausting, Zayne, but you normally tell me ahead of time-"

"I didn't want to worry you over something foolish. I have it under control."

"Under control? What is under control? Why aren't you talking to me? You know that I am here." The words fall out, conveying your desperation. You had felt empty without him, alone, and you didn't want to feel that again. "It does not concern you, Y/N." He retorts, "If I thought you needed to know, I would have told you." You bite back your words and nod "Alright.." You sit there silently. You would've typically left, but something told you that this time, you needed to stay, that he needed you.

After a few beats of silence, you try again. "You don't have to keep it all to yourself... I know it may not concern me, but that doesn't mean you have to lock it away."

He tensed up. He hated how you could still see through him, even after all this time. He pulled away from his computer, which he was only looking at to control his anxiety for nearly scaring you away. He released the tension in his shoulders and took the muffin. "I lost a patient... two weeks ago."

Sylus

'What a fool' is all he could think as he sat in his office, piles of vinyl scattered across his usually clean office. No tune or genre was calming him. After all this time, after sensing you like he did, after preparing this life for you, he had scared you away.

He couldn't bear to think that because of who he was, his reputation, and who you believed he was made him lose you, not after all this time, not after the promise the two of you shared, not after what you went through.

He was a fool for pushing you too quick, too hard; his excitement and desperation had blinded him; why was he so hellbent on making you remember if he could just build new memories with you? Foolish.

You not remembering a thing, he could get behind, it made sense, but your hatred, your disgust. That he could not get behind, no matter what you believed about him. All he wanted to do was to have you in his arms and to show you what he had made. It might not be the cave you had a lifetime ago, but it was spectacular in this lifetime. A lifetime he built for you, and you didn't even want it.

He supposed he could understand. You did think he killed your family, even though he would never. All he would do would be to keep you safe. It pained him to understand your point of view, to see him as a monster. He was in his last life, so it only made sense that he was in this one.

But he had made you fall in love with him once, and back then, he was truly a monster, so he could make you fall for him again. He just had to give you the choice to choose him.

So, over the next few weeks, he let you choose him, come back to him. Not pushing or pulling, he didn't need to; the door was always open, and you knew that.

That didn't stop his heart from doing flips in his chest each time he saw you walk through the base's doors.

Tonight, you were also expected to come through the doors; he had the twins make sure the base was clean and tidy, that your room was prepared, and that security was at its highest. It was something he always did when you were coming over.

However, you never showed; you were on a mission, so maybe you went home and forgot; that would be reasonable... except come rain or shine, injury or no injury, if you said you were coming, you were always there.

He knew there was something more to your tardiness; without another thought, he sent Mephisto to look for you, and when he came back, the air was knocked out from Sylus' lungs.

You were found passed out, just outside of the base; it didn't take him a second to cross the base and have you in his arms "Oh, kitten.." He brushed the hair from your face, his heart breaking as you weakly opened your eyes.

"Sylus, I am sorry, I tried to call, but..."

"Shh, it's okay. You're safe now." He tried to use his usual tone with you, but his voice was softer, almost as if he was trying his hardest not to let it break.

He worked quickly to get you patched up, swallowing down his worries and quite possibly his tears as he did so, not even letting the twins near you. He sat with you, putting on your favourite vinyl softly in the background as he waited for you to wake up, not leaving your side, his hand placed on yours, afraid that if he let you go, he would lose you like he almost did tonight and the guilt was eating him alive.

"Stop looking at me like that." You mutter and glance toward him. "You're looking at me like your cat just died." You smirk slightly, and he lets out a chuckle "Kitten, why didn't you ask me to pick you up?"

"I assumed you had business to attend to-" "You should've called me. What happened if you never made it here, if we never found you, if you never came back to me, do you think I could live with myself."

You slowly sit up and look toward him "Sylus, I will always come back to you, always. I will always find myself here. You need to trust me on that."

"I do. It's just tonight seeing you like that made me feel-" "Scared?"

He huffed through his nose and pinched the bridge of it "Something like that..." He brushed the hair out of your face "Call me next time." You nod and smile "I will."

A few days later you were back fighting wanderers, but this time Sylus was by your side, his evol swirling around his arm and his hand "You sure about this, Sweetie?"

You nod "I'm Sure, I am safe by your side."

Sylus smiled; you were safe with him; you chose him, and fighting beside you was the greatest honour to have, so he made sure you left the mission without a scratch.

Xavier

It wasn't unusual for you to not see or hear from Xavier for days; you were sure he would pop up at one of the most convenient moments to be by your side. Or, pop up just before you were assigned another partner by Captian Jenna.

This is what happened; before you, the captain, could even mutter another person's name, Xavier appeared, literally faster than the speed of light beside you. Jenna sighed and cleared her throat. "Y/N, your partner will be Xavier for today's mission.

You didn't even look at him before you went to collect what you needed from the information room, and Xavier didn't seem to mind this. He just followed you obediently and read through the information quickly.

You were brought out of your focus when you suddenly heard his voice.

"Aren't you even going to ask where I was for the past few days?" He questioned and tilted his head, unsure why you're not interrogating him like you usually do.

You shrug and turn back to the tablet sitting in your hands. "Why should I? I trust you. If you want to let me know, you will when you need to."

To you, it was just a simple establishment of trust that you assumed you both knew of, but to Xavier, it was everything, and quite clearly, as little lights started to float around him, there was a slight smile on his face.

Trust was a big deal to him; after meeting you for the second time, he almost felt guilty about how angry you were at him for leaving you behind like he did. Not only that, but he failed his planet and the people on it, as well as the people he dragged here, to try and save you... He had failed them all and probably even you to the point where he believed he wasn't even worthy of trust.

You two didn't make a comment about it from that point. It was almost like, 'What is said in the information room stays in the information room.'

You watched him stand there and fiddle with the protocore between his fingers before, like always, crushing it into oblivion.

"Why do you always do that?" You ask, but he does not answer; he just walks you home. "Xavier, are you feeling okay? You've been silent the whole walk home.."

"I'm alright." He shot you a small smile like he always did and went inside. It was yet another protocore that was a waste, another step further from home, another disappointment to the people relying on him... but, at least, you trusted him.

So, he walked down the stairs and to your apartment and knocked on the door. He didn't even have to say a word, you just let him walk in and sit down, plating up some food for him.

You sit opposite and begin to eat, speaking about trivial things with him before he speaks up, "I don't expect you to understand me fully, but I need to find something, and I can't find it, and it's driving me mad."

"I can help-" you pipe in, but he just shakes his head, causing you to deflate, but you understood him in a way; you had things to do, personal missions to complete that you wouldn't want anyone to touch either. You clear your throat. "Well, if you ever need someone to help cheer you up or clear your mind, you can come here. If I can't help you with your mission, I want to at least help you after them." He smiles and looks at you, placing a star-shaped dumpling into your bowl and nods. "That'll be nice..."

Taglist: @61chai-tea @lueurjun @thebangtancloud @nawysstuff @phantom-astra

[luveline]

jadey you write poly marauders in such a special way it feels so realistic i love it so much 🥹 how do you think it would go if reader and one of them get into a fight/argument? like how would it affect the overall dynamic? (if this inspires anything pls go for it 💕💕💕)

thank you for requesting! fem

Remus lays with his head on your shoulder, but he’s not happy about it. James and Sirius aren’t subtle. They’d forced the two of you together and yes, Remus has missed you, but he doesn’t want to speak to you and he’s sure you’re feeling the same. 

You have put your hand atop his, not holding but resting there. He might be forgiven. He hopes he’s forgiven, but he doesn’t forgive you, so. 

James has made Remus’ favourite popcorn, freshly popped and doused in butter and caramel he made himself with sugar over the hob. Remus takes great grateful handfuls, given the added benefit of James’ smug smiling. Each piece he eats is like James’ receiving a job well done, and Potter’s can’t help but preen. 

Sirius sneaks bits of it over you. You don’t eat any, pointedly, your leg on Sirius’ knee and your foot wagging constantly. Restless. Annoyed. 

“Will you be angry with each other forever?” Sirius asks. 

“Sirius.”  

“What? I’m just asking.” 

“You’re being abrupt,” James says. 

Remus sighs until they both stop talking. He doesn’t know how long you’ll be angry with one another. For him it seems to come and go, and it doesn’t always help that James is neutral about it while Sirius’ loudly complains that you’re not yet over it after a frosty weekend. He wishes one of them would’ve backed him up, but then, he can’t imagine how that would feel for you. It’s not like he wants you to be upset. It’s just an unfortunate consequence of the whole thing. 

You’d cried when you argued but you’d been angry, too, quipping at him with a sharp tongue, not afraid to say what you’d felt, just overwhelmed enough to come to tears. They weren’t, you know, devastated tears or anything, but Remus had felt a pit open where his stomach was supposed to be as Sirius (Sirius, and not James, which felt important at the time) curled his arm around you and encouraged you to take a breather. 

James had stayed, giving Remus a good hug as he’d murmured, “That got too heated, huh? You okay?” 

Remus gets weird about James. About all of you, but James had been his first crush, so sometimes he feels rather daunted in the face of his affection. James likes that he can make Remus blush, but nobody’s acted very fond these last few days. It’s weird. It’s all off. The love is still there, but it’s like everyone’s afraid of showing it. 

You argued about something Remus said, and you misunderstood, and then something you said and Remus understood very well. Never the end of the world, but Remus is stubborn. He shouldn’t be. 

Remus turns his hand slowly under yours. To his relief, you let him do it, sliding your fingers between his. 

He lifts his head a touch. You don’t look at him. Sirius grins from the other side of you, and Remus ignores him. 

You slip further down into the sofa, Remus going with you, the whole group of you tired from a weekend on eggshells. 

Having seemed rather far away for the afternoon, you begin to relax. You force Remus’ head up to tuck yourself into his neck. When the movie ramps into a loud scene of gunshots and high speed car chase, you lift your lips to his ear and say, “I’m sorry, Lupin, but don’t you ever speak to me like that again.” 

He’d bristle if you didn’t sound teasing. Remus squeezes your hand, turns to see your face, and whispers back. “I’ll talk to you any way I like.” You huff a laugh. He’s so pleased to see a smile on your face that his resentment drains away completely. “I’m sorry, too,” he says. 

You nod at him. You accept his apology as he’d taken yours. An hour of being sat arm to arm and a half hour of hand-holding has reminded you both how much you really, really like the other. 

“Can we kiss and make up?” James asks. 

“I think that’s usually saved for the arguing parties,” Remus says. 

“We can argue, if you like,” you tell James. 

“Shall we?” James asks. 

Sirius argues with Remus once a week at least —nothing serious— and he knows the potency of a rough makeup kiss, sending him a knowing, inviting smile. “We can argue, Moony,” he says. 

Remus hugs you with one arm. “I’ve had enough arguing. I’m never doing it again.” 

“Good. I’m very tired, playing peacekeeper and all,” James says, slouching away from everyone. “Exhausted, even.” 

“What shall we do to make it up for him?” Remus asks you, having quickly descended into sickly sweetness, a murmur pressed into your cheek. 

“What does he want?” 

“What do you want, James?” 

James sits up. “Well, it wasn’t just me, you know. Sirius has been comic relief two days running. He’s not usually this funny otherwise.” 

“I resent that.” 

“Luckily for you both, there’s two of us,” Remus says.

You laugh, because you know what Sirius will say before he says it. “No!” you say, lifting a foot to kick at his leg. 

“Don’t be so rude,” Sirius says, grabbing you by the ankle. 

James decides you’ll celebrate with a takeaway and Sirius decides he’ll pick which one for being so diligently well-behaved this weekend, leaving you and Remus alone for the first time all day. Things feel a bit more raw, less soothed, but not bad. Remus peels away from you to look at you properly. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” 

“I’m okay if you are.” 

Remus taps your under the jaw, a little to the left, encouraging you to turn your head. He kisses you on the cheek. 

In the kitchen, James and Sirius giggle like school kids. Somebody gets a good whack in with a tea towel, and the other shrieks. “You thing!” Sirius says. 

Remus feels your side shake with laughter.

[arsheyee]

New smut: LADS!!! Waking MC up with an oral

Hi long time no see…. Currently I am working on my book! It is going to be a supernatural crime thriller. This is my first Love and Deep space at writing because I am obsessed with the game…. Hope you all enjoy it ✌️💕

The title is inspired by one of my fantasies (🥲 nights are lonely)

NOTE!!! ‼️ Everything written is consensual between both parties and has been discussed before or it has happened before. ‼️

Warnings ⚠️: mxf, slight somnophilia (totally consensual and discussions are had prior because we stan CONSENT), wet dreams, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, Cunnilingus… (lol I forgot at this point**)

Synopsis: You have slept over with your boyfriend for the first time and he noticed you sprawled in his bed. You whined in your sleep like you are having a wet dream and he decides to have some fun with that…

Parings!: Xavier X FMC!, Zayne X FMC!, Raphael X FMC!, Sylus X FMC!, Caleb X FMC!

—————————NSFW CUT—————————

Xavier:

It was just one of those mornings when Xavier woke up before you. Usually you had to drag him out of bed just to get him even ready for the day. This moment was rare for him to get to see you sleeping peaceful with the sun hitting the right spots on your face making you look ethereal. He was supposed to go off and make breakfast but this morning he woke up hungry for something else. Your pussy. He rolled over to see you laying there in the bed naked from the previous night and he couldn't resist it. He let sloppy kisses down your body and lifted one leg over his shoulder and began eating you out, not bothering to tease you while you slept since you were asleep but he smiled finding you already wet for him. You squirmed in your sleep at the foreign feeling of his tongue but remained asleep while Xavier began rubbing circles on your clit and dragging his tongue down your wet slit. His tongue probed your well fucked hole as he tasted the condom he used from last night mixed with your juices.

“Shit my bunny is already clenching around my tongue." He chuckled placing two fingers inside of you and pumping quickly pressing down gently on your stomach with his other hand as he sucked and bit on your clit.

“Xavi," You whined out in a sleep-like state, he loved that you were crying out his name in your sleep but he wanted you awake so that you could see him doing this to you.

Your body began to realise what was happening before your mind did and you stirred awake moaning out as you felt Xavier eating you out. You looked down and locked eyes with him, he gave you a cocky yet innocent smile before returning to his rough and fast pace with his fingers, pulling out and replacing them with his tongue to switch things.

"Fuck Xavi!" You cried your hands resting in his sliver hair as you pulled him closer to you, you knew your orgasm was coming before your stomach was tightening and every time he replaced his fingers your body would shake from the lack of contact you were getting where you needed him most.

"Don't stop, I'm so close." You whimpered as he added his fingers once again, that's all he needed to hear from you and he reached up kissing you roughly as he continued his assault on your core with his fingers, moving so fast all you could do was let out small whines and whimpers.

"Cum for me, cum all over my fingers be a good girl." He urged you on reaching down with his other hand and rubbing your clit in small circles still staring into your eyes.

“Cum, right now." You locked eyes as you let your orgasm explode inside of you crying out his name as he continued to stare. Your orgasm was so intense that your mouth hanged open in an ‘O’ shape yet nothing came out. Not a sound.

"Tasty my good bunny," He chuckled pulling out and letting you clean off his fingers innocently like he was eating pie.

(I think we all know from lists of “special” events what his favourite part of us is heh 😏)

Zayne:

Zayne was the type of man to shower you with gifts and lots of affection but he was very reserved and cold like his evol. When it came to intimacy and valued precision over speed and liked to keep the PDA to a minimum. But there were days when he couldn’t control himself (refer to the night of secrecy~) and wanted you. But today was not that day. Today he wanted to do something extra special as it was your birthday. Everyone gives gifts but you had talked about a fantasy you had about being woken up on a special day with an oral. He'd never done because he was worried you wouldn't like it (and more about the fact Zayne was well being Zayne) but since it was your birthday he decided to try it.

Sliding off your panties and going down to your core he started slowly began to kiss from your thighs to your core, sucking on your clit and observed every movement as your body reacted to him. You were already wet which made his work easier. He took his time (precision over speed… as he is a surgeon…😶) with you until he had enough of you not being awake and decided to be a little rougher, sucking harshly on your clit as he pushed two fingers into you pumping and hitting your hilt without a problem. You squirm around still dreaming about getting eaten out but it felt too real. A little too real.

Your eyes shot open as you felt the all-too-familiar feeling in your stomach, you were close but it surprised you to wake up and find Zayne between your legs. Your eyes widen at the sight and he still hadn’t noticed you were awake. You were shocked and surprised to what had gotten over him because a stoic man like Zayne wouldn’t do this without a reason.

"Fuck you taste so good." He growled to himself about you and you let out a whimper as he began eating you out, as soon as you felt yourself getting closer you wanted to let him know you were awake.

“Zayne I'm close." You whined out and his eyes shot up finally meeting yours. He bit your clit in response making you squeal loudly.

Cum then honey," He hummed to you the vibrations sending you over the edge and you came around his tongue and fingers, crying out his name as your body shook.

"Happy Birthday sweetheart." He whispered coming up to your face and kissing you lovingly.

So that’s what this “gift” was about you smiled to yourself thinking

(You all can’t argue that Zayne is so much like LanZhan from MDZS)

Raphael:

Raphael laid awake in the bed beside you as you slept soundly, he'd gotten back from his art tour and he was jetlagged to the max unable to sleep and getting annoyed when he couldn't fall asleep beside you as easily as you had with him.

He'd tried to jerk himself off trying to calm “little Raphael” but all that did was make him hornier. It didn’t help that you were sleeping beside him in his favourite blush pink slip dress. The strap was thin and the neckline is a V-shape with a small bow detail at the center. The dress has a fitted bodice and flows into a slightly A-line skirt. The trim along the neckline. It made it worse because of your messy sleeping habits making the dress ride up , as you shift your cushion to show those cute matching dark pink panties , drooling on the satin pillows. He licked his lips as he admired your body and the way it looked. He'd done this plenty of times before woken you up by giving you oral and he was glad he was going to do it again he sunk down to your core and began licking you with small licks watching to see how your body would react to it and once you moaned in your sleep he smirked.

“Raph." You moaned out in your sleep but he knew you weren't awake, you were in the state of being half and half awake to understand what was really happening and what was in your dream so he took this chance to dive into your pussy, his tongue circled at your entrance and he looked up at you eating you out and chuckling whenever your eyes would flicker.

You're getting close huh baby? I can feel you clenching around my tongue, so needy." He whispered before returning to sniff your core enjoying the musky scent and repeating what he had been doing for the last three minutes.

Your body began to shake as you woke up and you bite your lip seeing Raphael between your thighs smiling up at you once you'd noticed him. You run your hand his purple locks tangling them in the gaps of your fingers, enjoying the slimy feeling of them and the sweat that was started to form on his scalp.

"Just like that. Oh my! Eat me more Raph!" You mewl your back arching away from the mattress as your orgasm grew closer and closer to your climax.

He teased rubbing you in circles as you whimpered out his name nodding your head to what he was saying, you were desperate to cum for him. He was hungry to taste your essence too. He runs his tongue roughly over the slit slowly savouring the flavour of your cunt.

“Come on baby give your cum I am starved…” he whispered hungrily continuing to feast on your pussy like it was his last meal.

G-G-Gonna cum," You stuttered out looking down at him as you knew how much he loved to watch you cum, his fingers didn't stop for a second he continued to pump your hole and suck your clit as quickly as he could and you came around his fingers and on his tongue crying out his name. Your whole body was spasming as you came around his tongue and fingers, coming down from your high and staring at him dazed from your orgasm.

“Fuck Raph, honey, what's gotten you so-" You were cut off by him kissing you roughly and lining himself up at on pussy, he pulled away and hissed as he pushed himself inside of you.

"Please I missed you baby” He cried out as he began thrusting into you roughly not giving you a second to adjust to his size or movements.

(Raphael is such a sub boy… don’t debate with me about this)

Sylus:

As the leader of Onychinus, Sylus, ~(I can’t spell ignore if wrong 😭)~ he had to go around to “take care” of the chaos that occurred in the city. It wasn’t unusual that he was gone for days and you were in the care of the twins. But he decided to come home early to surprise you, taking an earlier flight home so he could come home and surprise you but when he walked through the house and found you still asleep.

He was shocked, because normally you were the first one awake whenever he was home but he found you snuggled up in bed in nothing but one of his slick robes and a blanket.

He smirked to himself as soon as he saw you, dropping his bag on the floor he made his way over to you slowly taking the sheet off your body and biting on his lip, it had been too long since he'd seen you this way and he'd missed you a lot.

He ran his hand up your send and watched as your body automatically responded to his touch, you whined in your sleep turning over so you were on your back and Sylus couldn't resist the urge anymore thinking it would add to the surprise of him being home early.

“Fuck." He groaned sliding your panties off without you waking up, since you were a heavy sleeper so he knew that you won’t awake just yet. He ran one finger over your folds and smirked knowing you must have been having a good dream because you were soaking.

“Damn kitten." He cooed laying down on the bed in front of your core, he lifted your legs up over his shoulders and began leaving small teasing kisses along your inner side of your thighs until he got to your pussy. He licked his lips sniffing the scent of your cunt. He couldn’t wait to dive in to eat you out.

“Hmm?" Sylus looked up thinking you'd woken up already but you were just moaning and squirming in your sleep. Whatever he was doing to you in the real world was having some kind of effect in dreamland for you. He took one lick before looking up to see if you were moving yet but once he saw you were still asleep he took to work, sucking on your clit while he pushed one finger inside of you pumping slowly and humming around your slit once he felt you clench in your sleep.

The first thing you felt when you half awake was Sylus’s lips kissing and sucking on your clit. It was so good you thought you were dreaming.

S-Sylus." You moaned out your hands going into his hair to hold him closer trying to squeeze your thigh around his head to yep him there. As soon as he bit down gently on your clit, your eyes shot open as you realised it wasn't a dream and he was really there, eating you out.

He chuckled as you moaned out, his fingers began to pump faster and he began sucking harder on your clit, only to replace his tongue where his fingers had been so he could really taste you.

“Sy-Sylus whe-nnn did you get h-h-hom—? Fuck!” Your question was interrupted by a loud moan as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue and rub of his fingers.

He stared up at you while he continued to eat you out, you stared at him for a couple of seconds before throwing your head back against the pillows and arching your back.

“Look at me while you cum, you know the rules, kitten” You couldn’t help yourself but obey him locking your glassy eyes with his red, lust filled ones.

R-Right there." You whimpered as he replaced his tongue with his fingers hitting your Gspot with every pump, you clenched around him and he knew you were getting closer.

"C-Close." You cried as you stared down at him and he shook his head.

"Not yet kitten, hold it a little longer I know you can." But you couldn't, it had been so long and you were too overcome with pleasure to hold it off. Your orgasm washed over you and you came around his finger screaming out his name as your legs shook and your eyes rolled back.

“Fuck kitten, has it been too long that you forgot all your training?" You let out a shakey laugh as he got into the bed beside you pulling the sheet over the both of you.

(Sylus my daddy. I love you !!!)

Caleb:

Caleb woke up the next morning feeling horrible and not because of the hangover he was having but because he remembered the night before, stumbling in drunk and getting ready for sex only to cum long before you did and leave you unsatisfied. He rolled over and found you asleep in one of his shirts, he kissed your forehead before kissing down your neck finally heading to your core. He shimmies your panties down your body takes a sniff before throwing them somewhere in the room as he took a final look at you to make sure you were still asleep before he kissed your pussy. He rubbed small and slow circles on your clit to tease you until you moved in your sleep, once you turned a little he began to eat you out rougher, adding a finger into you and watching as your body stirred.

Mmm, Caleb ." You mumbled in a sleep-like state your hands reaching for him beside you but once you found nothing but cold sheets you woke up, the pleasure of him eating you out hitting you hard as you realised what he was doing.

"Ca-Caleb?" You look up shocked calling out at him as he lifted your leg over his shoulder and head himself closer to your pussy.

"Cum for me!" He ordered staring up at you, you whimpered at the sudden authoritative tone to his voice and he added another finger pumping them roughly.

“I said cum for me!" He barked out making you moan out at the vibrations from his voice, he smirked feeling you clench around him so he did it again growling into your pussy and watching as you cried out his name.

“Cum right now or you don't get to cum at all again." He growled making you gasp at his tone and arched your back off the mattress as you got closer and closer, his fingers began pumping faster but as he added the third one you came undone around his fingers, crying out his name and moaning loudly as he continued to eat you out through your orgasm watching you as you gripped onto the sheets with pleasure but he didn't stop, he kept going as soon as you came down from your high.

"What are you doing?" You panted from overstimulation of your clit. It was numb at this point, but he wasn't going to stop until he'd made you cum so much you were begging him not to.

"Making up for last night." He whispered before diving his tongue back into you making you cry out his name out again and again all morning.

(Caleb! Bad dog!)

[juletheghoul]

father figure

a/n: Clint got me big time, and originally I wanted to write one hot scene but I am who I am and now I have 21 pages written lol. Thanks to @foli-vora & @just-here-for-the-moment for screaming at me about this and for letting me scream at them about it too, hopefully you enjoy the first chapter. I'm still on a little break from Tumblr but with the movie out I really wanted to share. xoxo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, shitty dad (neglect), absent mother, allusions to illegal activity, daddy kink, secret relationship, period piece - takes place in 1987, Clint being a big guard dog for you, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Clint Flood x F!Reader

Ko-fi link 🥲💕

word count: 5.3k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series Masterlist

-

It’s so cold, the breath from your lungs steams a little. With an angry sigh, and the comforter from your bed wrapped tightly around your shoulders you descend the dark steps into the living room. It’s late, past midnight but the neighbourhood is still buzzing with life. 

The dial on the thermostat still shows what the temperature should be set to and then what the actual temperature is and they don’t align, that can only mean the heating bill hasn't been paid again. Your teeth clench, anger swirls like a sudden squall, a heavy sigh pushed roughly through your lips.

The kitchen door opens and the object of your ire walks in, speaking loudly to someone and the annoyance only climbs. On any regular day you’d be asleep by this time, not that he’d care, based on his fucking volume.

Your mouth is open, the scathing words already in the chamber when the bulk of him blocks the kitchen light and the words die in your throat; Clint, neighbourhood thug and overall goon. He follows your dad in, his leather jacket covered frame too big for the dingy little kitchen, his big boots squeaking against the linoleum. 

“Fuck, it’s cold in here—“ you dad frowns, pulling two glasses from the cupboard, “Clint, can I get you a drink?” 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He shifts on his feet, the bulk of him moves slowly towards the too-small kitchen table, “Thanks.”

“You didn’t pay the heating bill.” The shock of Clint in your house doesn’t stop you from giving your dad a hard stare, his wide-eyed, mooncalf expression doesn’t inspire shame or regret at letting him know. He frowns after a few seconds, an angry huff leaving his lips before laughing, it annoys you that he meets Clint’s eyes before answering you. 

“Yeah yeah, I sent it in, must be another mail fuck-up, you know how it is.” He shakes his head but the pulse in your ear only quickens with anger. 

“When?” With more force than is necessary, you pull the blanket tighter, “When did you mail it in?” The clench in his jaw only compounds your suspicion.

“You didn’t send in shit, and now you’re here in the middle of the night with—“ your eyes find Clint, and what meets you isn’t what you expect. The perpetual scowl you’ve come to expect to see on his face, whether he was walking down the street, idling in his car at a stoplight, or even sitting in the diner having coffee is gone. What’s there is a piercing gaze, a knowing expression, pride? 

“You’re here, getting mixed up in God knows what instead of getting a fucking job—“

“I am getting a job. A good one, one that’s going to change our—“ Clint clears his throat, and the words die, his expression shifts from angry determination to a pleasant, paternal—yeah fucking right—blankness. 

“Go to bed, I’ll make a few calls tomorrow and get the heating turned back on.” 

The disgust is hard to hide, so you don’t even try. They both call out a soft goodnight when you turn and walk back up the stairs. You don’t respond.

-

The bell jingles, but your eyes stay on the pile of returned tapes in the bin under the window. The weekend crowd would be in soon, just like every other Friday, all of them flooding towards the new releases section to pick their movies for the weekend. The box is heavy, but you lug it over anyway.

“Let me help you with that—“ his voice cuts through the mental list flickering through your mind, startling you enough that you practically jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He's taller than you remember, greyer, hotter. 

“You didn’t,” you lie, “just caught me off guard.” The step back is involuntary. 

“Where did you need it?” He holds the heavy box without trouble, it barely seems to register, a testament to at least one of the rumours you’ve heard about him, that everyone has heard about him—his strength. Seemingly just to compound the thought, he shifts it to get a better grip, and for a moment holds it with one hand. 

“Yeah uh, just there is fine. Thanks.”

He gives you a tight smile after putting down the box, highlighting the deep scar that begins from the top of one eyebrow and runs down his nose, ending just under the other eye. It’s jarring enough to see it healed. Unwanted images of what it must have looked like fresh, of having a bloody slash across his face fills your mind's eye. It sends a chill up your spine. 

Clint's smile evaporates under your gaze, the usual scowl takes over while a curious guilt burns within you.

“Thank you.” You repeat yourself, giving him a smile of your own. A tiny, silent apology. He nods.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

“Your dad asked me to meet him, I forgot you work here.”

“Forgot? I didn’t know you knew it in the first place.” You mumble it mostly to yourself as you begin the process of filling the shelves with the returned tapes. 

“I’ve seen you here before.” He leans against a bare space on the wall, the leather in his jacket creaking as he crosses his arms. You’re not sure what to do with that information, and the easy assumption is that he’d been in the store before, or that he’d walked by enough times, seen you during a shift enough times to recognize you as the video store girl. You accept this assumption.

“Been here a few years.”

“I know—“

“Look, whatever bullshit my dad is trying to get involved in, can you please just tell him to stop?” The words bubble up, spilling out as you slide tape after tape behind the corresponding case. He frowns, you continue.

“He doesn’t need to be getting himself mixed up in things he shouldn’t be getting mixed up in.” His expression is cold when your eyes lock, the reminder of who he is, of his reputation makes your stomach drop.

“It’s not my business, it’s not anything I want to know, but it shouldn’t be his business either.”

“Your dads a big boy sweetheart, not up to me to tell him what to do.” 

The bell chimes over the door, ripping your attention away from the endearment. Your father walks in. Something curdles in your gut that he smiles at the sight of Clint, smiles in a way that spells trouble.

“You’re late.” Clint’s tone is icy, the warmth that curled around the syllables he’d directed at you has frozen over into something unwelcoming. It served to highlight a warmth you hadn’t noticed. That curdled thing shifts to a warmth of your own to see the smile die on your fathers face, to see him chastised. Shame eclipses it however, you focus on your task and leave them to their business.

Your father leaves without a word once their meeting is done, Clint doesn’t say anything either, but his eyes find yours, they linger longer than necessary before he walks out of the store. Thoughts of him linger, of his strength, of his voice, of the shape of the word sweetheart in his mouth until the rush comes and you forget all about him.

-

It’s not until a week later that you see him again, another unofficial meeting at the video store. They stand in the x-rated section, the two of them speaking in hushed tones while half-heartedly pretending to look at the cheap pornos lined up on the shelf. The curtains for the section aren't completely closed off, giving you a clear view of them from where you stand at the aisle just outside of it, and you’ve stacked those shelves enough times to know exactly what Clint is looking at. Something inside jumps at the thought of knowing which tape caught his attention, however superficially. Barely legal babysitters, a girl that Bobby, your shithead coworker has taunted you with by saying she looked an awful lot like you.

Your brow creases when you see him idly pick up the case, watch him study the image of the bubbly girl smiling cheekily. He puts it down, and then looks back at you. Your stomach drops, but you don’t look away. Heat floods the whole of you, a cold drop of sweat following the line of your spine. They leave without a word, but the look in his eye stays with you.

-

The heat turns on a week after that, blessed warmth blows steadily through the vent in your room, chasing away the chill that’s haunted the whole of your house. Clint walks in with your father that night, a tight smile greeting you in the kitchen. 

“Shit, I didn’t know you were home tonight.” Your dad frowns, take-out bags in his hands and something burns clean through. Anger, annoyance, embarrassment when Clint frowns in understanding. 

“I never work on Thursdays.” 

“Fuck. Okay well—“

“You serve yourself a full plate, and we’ll make do with the rest.” Clint speaks over your dad, that same tone you’ve heard a few times, the one that leaves no room for argument fills the tiny kitchen but you protest anyway.

“It’s fine. I can just go out and get myself something.” It should make you happy that he wants you to have some, but all you can focus on is the fact that it’s him that offers it and not your dad.

“Get yourself a plate, and fill it. Come on.” Your feet bring you to him, your hands reach for the cupboard and obey while your dad says nothing. 

“That’s it sweetheart, go on, grab as much as you like.” He opens the containers and urges you, his tone softening up into something warm, something almost nurturing. You smile up at him, taking a little bit of the sticky sweet orange chicken, you huff out a laugh when he tuts at how little you take. 

“That’s not enough. Don’t be shy, there you go.” He slides a few more pieces onto your plate before opening up another container.

“You want fried rice? Or just the steamed one?” His hands are scarred, his knuckles littered with the tiny silver lines of stitched over skin. His fingers are deft when they open the containers, for a second you imagine how they’d look opening up the button of your jeans, or the tiny ones on your favourite cardigan. 

“Veggies too, here have some broccoli.” He tips another container, piling the shiny, bright green vegetables onto your plate while you reign your thoughts back in.

“That’s more than enough, I won’t eat all of this.” He waves you away.

“Eat.” He urges, and with a shy, tight lipped smile and less than wholesome thoughts, you sit at the table and eat. 

Your dad serves himself after Clint, silently. His plate has perhaps half the food that yours does. 

“I won’t eat this all, you—“

“No, that’s yours. He should’ve considered his daughter before coming home without enough food. Next time he will.” Clint eats, impervious to the sulk on your dads face. 

The strangeness of it all isn’t lost on you, to have someone who is for all intents and purposes a criminal, going to bat for you against your own father. If this had happened a few years ago, if you’d been younger, more naive, you might have felt bad for your dad, you might have stuck up for him and defended his actions, but you aren’t that person. The shut off heat comes to mind, the unpaid bills over the years, the endless schemes to make a quick buck, the general neglect moves your fork across your plate. 

Clint catches your eye and winks, a cheeky thing that fills your body with heat, shoos away the very idea of neglect. 

Undeterred, your dad continues a previous conversation you tune out. Your eyes are fixed on the man across from you, on the breadth of his shoulders and the flex in the muscles of his jaw and neck as he chews through his bites of food. 

When they leave, the thought of him lingers. The sound of his voice fills your ears when you tuck yourself in, the heat of his form beside you fills your bed like a ghost, until you fall asleep and dream of that wink. 

-

It doesn’t register at first, but after the take-out fiasco, the meetings at your house tend to take place on Thursdays. They fill out the kitchen, talking about things you have no reference for, coded language regarding God knows what while you make yourself dinner, or tidy up, while you fold laundry on the couch. Little things pop up too, the fridge is full of food, a rare occurrence and part of you suspects that Clint is responsible. How novel, that the neighbourhood goon would push your father into providing. 

It shifts eventually, from an influence on your father, to him providing directly. It starts with a coffee, a warm, sweet one from the diner down the street given to you without a word before another video store meeting. Fresh donuts on another night, breakfast before a shift on another morning and although completely confusing, it feels a bit like a feral cat bringing dead mice to your door. An offering, a courtship? You shake your head, eat the food, drink the coffee, and enjoy the donuts. 

-

Rain pours, heavy and relentless as you finish up vacuuming the musty old carpet of the store. A loud sigh leaves your mouth, already shivering in anticipation of the short walk home in what is quickly turning into a fucking monsoon. A car pulls up in front of the store, idling just outside the door and you recognize it as Clints. 

“Get in!” He shouts from the open window when you open the door, pressing yourself as close as you can to lock it without getting drenched.

With a frown you stare at him, noting the lack of your father. 

“Come on, get in sweetheart, I’ll drive you home!” He reaches over, unlocking the door and you jump in as fast as you can. You don’t escape the water, despite it only being a few seconds your jacket is soaked, water droplets run down the back of your neck. He turns the heat up full blast and you’re more grateful that you know what to do with. 

“Thanks, what are you doing here?” You rub your hands together in front of the vent, soaking up the warmth. 

“I didn’t want you walking home in this.” His tone is simple, matter of fact. He drives slowly, the windshield wipers are working as hard as they can but the visibility is still trash. 

“Why?” 

“It’s pouring, you shouldn’t have to walk home in this, you shouldn’t have to walk home at all.”

“And why shouldn’t I–”

“Because.” The word comes out in a huff, almost annoyed–no, not annoyed, passionate, “If it were up to me you wouldn’t even need to work.”

Your mouth clamps shut, your mind races. Thoughts swirl as he turns slowly down your street. Heat that has nothing to do with the air blowing through the vents claws at your chest, curls in your gut and trickles to the place between your legs. 

He parks outside your house, dark and lifeless, coming up out of the concrete like a rotten tooth. 

“Why are you saying that?” The car rumbles, the rain pelts against everything. His eyes are hungry when they meet yours and the air in the car, in your lungs is gone. 

“Because you deserve to be spoiled. You deserve to be taken care of and loved–” the words are a tide, a great big wave on the horizon of a barren desert. 

“You definitely shouldn’t have to worry about bills or whether there will be heat in your house, you shouldn’t be taking care of your dad, he should be taking care of you.” A crack spreads through the veneer of the fantasy and clarity comes through. Where you thought he was confessing his feelings for you, it was actually a paternal worry. 

Embarrassment burns so much hotter than desire.

“I’m fine–”

“I know, I know you’re fine but I don’t want you to just be fine. I want you to be happy, I want you to smile.” He frowns, his big hand engulfing yours and it only makes you feel worse, until he pulls you in and presses his mouth to yours. He swallows the gasp, along with an unintentional whimper. His kiss is softer than you'd ever expected, a delicate, plush press of his lips to yours until your arms drift up to slip along his neck. He feeds you a sound of his own, a low, rumbling thing as he deepens the kiss. He tilts his head and slips his tongue past your slightly open mouth, slides along yours, licks deep until you moan.

When he pulls away the world is on its ass, your heart races and your pulse pounds both in your ears and in your cunt. 

-

His jacket thwacks onto the ground of your tiny bedroom. It’s accompanied by your soaked jacket, the discarded items surrounded by tiny pools of rainwater but you couldn’t care any less. His hands squeeze at the meat of your hips, they slide around to the small of your back, press you close to feel the heavy weight of his cock against your hip as he presses you down onto your tiny bed. 

The lust, the want is so intense it drips onto your inner thighs. It clouds any and all thoughts that aren’t about his tongue licking a hot stripe up your neck, or the look on his face when he kneels between your legs, when he sees the glossy lips of your sex, the wet spread of you begging for any part of him. 

His cock barely bobs, it lands like a brand against your cunt when he settles in the cradle of your hips, bracketed by your thighs. His lips engulf a nipple, his tongue swirls mercilessly around the sensitive peak and liquid fire burns clean through you. With a steady suck and a life-altering flick of that tongue he rocks his hips. His cock spreads your seam wide, coating himself in your arousal, the fat tip of it bumping your clit with every push and pull. 

There isn’t enough air, there isn’t enough room in your lungs. 

“So fucking wet for me huh baby?” He nudges at your nipple with his nose, his tongue licking at it again and again before he moves to the other breast. He sounds almost pained as he worships your chest, breathing hard through his nose as you stare in horny silence.

It’s so hard to focus on anything but the all-consuming heat of his mouth on your nipple, or the heavy weight of his cock against your mound but you try to take in the details of him. The scars on his golden skin, the freckles on his shoulders, the size of him on top of you, so broad he blocks the light when he moves up towards your mouth. He’s an eclipse, a dark, welcome shadow across your sky, across your life. Until him, you hadn’t realized how fucking bright everything had been, how blinding, how exposed.

“Gonna take care of you.” He kisses a path up to your neck, leaving both nipples wet and puffy. “Gonna fuck you how you deserved to be fucked, you want that?” He reaches down, pressing himself harder against your clit. 

An inhuman sound comes from somewhere in your throat, the part of your brain that forms words has left the building. 

He laughs, a cocky, self-assured thing. 

“Come on, pretty baby, tell me. You want my dick don’t you? Because I really wanna give it to you, but I gotta hear it. You gonna be my good girl and tell me?” The tip of his dick slides deliciously over your clit and it’s so good you might come just from the stimulation, it’s already building at the base of your spine, spreading through your hips like a warm bath. 

“Oh yeah, she wants me so fucking bad huh? Look at her, all wet, trying to pull me in, greedy little thing.” He moans almost to himself, looking down to watch himself tease you halfway to madness, 

“Please Daddy–” It slips out, unbidden, unmistakable and panic hits like a bucket of cold water. 

His eyes shoot up, silently pinning you to your bed and for a split second, you can almost pinpoint every single drop that hits your window. 

“I–I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I–” You scramble for a second, trying and failing to get out from underneath him. You don’t make it far, his grip tightens, his eyes dilate, a grin spreads across his handsome face. 

“Oh baby, that’s what you need huh? Just a daddy to take care of you. A real one.” His lips drift across your skin as the rain pelts harder, the soft glow of your lamp casts his face in shadows at this angle, the scar on his face looks more pronounced, his normally slicked back hair falls in soft tendrils. Something swells, an emotion you can’t really parse, it lodges itself in the back of your throat. 

“Let me take care of you, baby.” His kiss is gentle, his hands too, hitching your legs high on his hips. You’re wet enough that he slides right in, but the size of him bottoming out inside you makes you gasp out a surprised moan. 

“Holy fuck–” You swallow thickly, breathing deep despite feeling like his dick is in your lungs.

He lets out a deep sigh, licking his lips before he looks down to see himself stretching you open on his length. 

“That’s so fucking pretty, Daddy’s in there nice and deep.” His words send a shock of pleasure through your body, like a lightning strike pulling more and more liquid arousal to seep out around him. He sees it, and smiles big. 

“Oh you like that, you just wanna be my baby don’t you?” 

You want to answer, you want to use your words and pull him apart, make his heart race the way yours does but he pulls his hips back and thrusts in deep and every word falls out of your head, leaks out around his cock, comes out as a breathy pant. 

Your inner thighs burn, sweat beads on your skin and his, the slick rhythmic noise between your legs fills the space between you along with your heavy breaths. Rain pelts outside, lightning flashes, shining a spotlight on the vulgar tableau like a spotlight, like a camera flash for an image you never want to forget. 

He’s so fucking beautiful, so warm against you, so fucking hard inside you. His eyes take in the no doubt cock-dumb expression on your face and there is only desire in his gaze. The rest of the world falls away under the weight of it. One big palm skates up, squeezing at the weight of your breast, his thumb brushes against the sensitive peak before sliding up and pressing gently against the base of your throat. There is no threat, only the comforting feel of him holding you down, the reassuring feel of just how much of your skin his hand can touch at once. It sends a hot lick of desire up your spine. 

“Harder–” You pull him closer, canting your hips up to meet his thrusts, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, the blunt ends of your nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders and he pulls his lip into his mouth at the sound of your voice. 

There is no preamble, no teasing, in a moment he’s up and kneeling between your legs. Those big hands are holding onto your hips tight enough to bruise, thrusting, and pulling you towards him at the same time. Your bed rocks, your breasts bounce, and your brain runs celebratory laps around itself on just how lucky you are to have found this man. 

His face is a frown of concentration, mouth open, dark eyes fixed on the way you leak around him, on the way your hands scramble for purchase on anything they can reach. He grunts, moving one thigh up so your calf rests against his shoulder and the other reaches down to swirl mind-blanking circles at your clit. 

“Oh god–” Your stomach tenses at the threat of pleasure looming, heat spreads and he doesn’t alter his movements, he doesn’t speed up. 

“That’s it baby, come on, you can do it.” He nods at you, his eyes guiding you into the abyss, his thumb in place and it’s almost there, you can taste it. 

“Come on, pretty baby–” He leans forward a little while keeping his rhythm, lining himself up and then he lets a glob of spit fall slowly over the target of his thumb and the thought, the act, the feel of that extra hot slip sends you over the edge. 

Your voice breaks with it. Your body clenches tight as a bowstring, and he only grips tighter, fucks you harder, swirls his wet thumb faster. Your pulse pounds in your ears as you ride out the high, the vulgar sounds between your legs only get louder, more obscene until he pulls out, and tugs at himself in tight, fast movements. The sight of him over you, bathed in shadows and silhouetted by the streetlamp outside, his arm flexing, muscles shining with exertion while he strokes himself above you is enough to reignite that desire in your belly. 

It’s only compounded when he lets out his own unadulterated moans, when he leans forward again and palms your breast, squeezing as he paints you in himself. 

He’s the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him after he comes. That constant tension you’ve come to recognize in his shoulders is gone, the scowl he wears in the video store is replaced with a serene, soft expression as he wipes his cooling come away from your skin after making his way naked and unbothered to your bathroom next door. A shyness creeps in along with the clarity of what you’ve done. Any stress you’ve leached away from him, seeps into your body the longer you lay there, naked and hyper aware of the shift in who he is to you. 

“You okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?” He tosses the damp washcloth into your laundry basket, but lingers beside you, sitting at the edge while you lay there, naked, damp and fidgeting. 

“No, no, not at all.” You take a deep breath, try to smile but he frowns, his warm hand settles softly, lightly on your belly. You can see the way he draws up, shoulders rising with the growing tension. 

“Are you upset that this happened?” There’s something slithering through the tone, through the undercurrent of his question and you can see it clear as day, doubt that you wanted this, doubt that you wanted him. 

“No! No, this was, it was great, really.” Your smile is real, and his eyes are intense, trying to decipher your words and your body language. You rise, shoving down that self-conscious chatter about your body, about the fact that he can see everything. 

“I–Clint, it was really good…I’m just, I’m nervous about what happens now.” Your hand holds his arm, breathing through and ignoring the mean little voice that focuses on his hand on your belly. 

“What do you mean?” His thumb rubs at your skin, frown in place.

“Well, what is this?” You gesture to the two of you, “not to be that girl, but what are we? You’re working with my dad, are we dating? Was this just a one night thing? Are we going to pretend nothing happened–?” Questions spill out, word vomit in his lap like a sick cat. 

“Okay, okay–” His hands land on your arms, sliding up to cup your cheeks and the tension leaves him again, a smile replaces the frown and you mirror the expression back, embarrassed. 

“I am happy with whatever you want. I would prefer this wasn’t a one-time-thing, at this point I don’t even think my dick would get hard for anyone but you, sweetheart.” He pulls you forward softly, but firmly to straddle him. 

“As for your dad,” He lets out an annoyed sigh against your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there before shaking his head.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure he has a future in what I do.” He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t give you any details and you don’t ask. Your arms wrap around his neck, your fingers thread through the damp hair at the base of his skull. 

“So what happens now?” he pulls you closer, his strong arms make you swoon but you focus. 

“I’d like to keep seeing you. I’d like to take you out on a real date, show you off.” 

“Really?” Your teeth dig into the plump of your lower lip, heat spreads through every inch of you, pooling in the parts of you that are pressed up against the parts of him. 

“Yeah baby, of course, if you’d let me.” His smile is so soft, so sincere it bolsters you enough to pull you forward, his mouth begs for yours and you have no choice but to obey. It’s soft and sweet, and when you pull away your face is warm with the feelings swirling within. 

“I want that too, but–”

“What is it?” His hands stroke your back, soothing, strong, reassuring.

“Can we just keep it to ourselves for a little bit? I don’t want to deal with the drama of my dad. Not just yet.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” 

-

Your dad shoves himself into the kitchen an hour later, shaking himself off like a wet dog. Clint sits at your table, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands and the smile, the pleasant conversation between you is gone and it’s like he’s another person. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Your dad speaks to Clint, ignoring you completely, it doesn't phase you. The clench in Clint's jaw though, that makes you smile to yourself. 

“Why? I told you I would come find you.” He frowns, rising and putting his cup into the sink. 

“This isn’t going to work if you aren’t going to listen to me.” He leans against the counter, pointedly staring your father down. Your father crumbles. 

You rise, knowing whatever they have to speak about is none of your business. 

“Thank you for the coffee, sweetheart.” He says it as you walk away, tone cold but you smile anyway. His smell lingers in your room, in your sheets, wraps itself around you as you fall asleep. 

-

Your heart leaps, a staccato, tachycardic thing that would worry you if weren't for the recognizable shape of him entering the video store. He smiles a private smile, hands you another sweet coffee he knows you like from the diner. His fingers linger on yours when you take it from him. He pulls a warm pastry from one of the big pockets in his jacket, and gives it to you with a wink. Your face warms and suddenly, keeping this whole thing a secret seems so stupid. Every molecule of you wants nothing more than to jump over the counter and climb him like a tree, wanting to feel those strong arms wrapped around you. 

Your dad walks in, and the urge dies. The thought of his expression if he saw that is enough to curdle milk. 

“You busy on Thursday?” Clint asks low, uncaring and you shake your head no. “Don’t make plans.” He winks again, and then turns, and leaves you with the sweet taste of coffee in your mouth, wishing it was his tongue instead.

-

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[viinchester]

Shape Of You

Warnings: Mentions of an injury and that it's being taken care of (nothing too graphic), Depictions of Sexual Content (Minors DNI!), Rough/Intense Sexual Content, could be considered Dubcon by coercion (not really imo, but just to be on the safe side), Themes of Possession and Objectification

Fandom: Dexter (TV Show/Series)

Pairing: Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper x F!Reader

Request: by Anon

Summary: Brian takes care of your injury after you've taken a nasty fall, however you can't help but feel like something's off about the situation. Unaware of his dark thoughts and oblivious to the deeper manipulation at play, you clear your mind by focussing on his comforting presence, and things quickly get heated.

Word Count: 3.271

My Masterlist

A/N: For some reason, I really struggled with this.😬 I rewrote it like 3 or 4 different times entirely, I hope it's not too noticable.😅 I was also unsure when exactly to refer to Brian as "Rudy" so I tried to only do it whenever the writing directly represents the Readers thoughts about him.💕 I still had a ton of fun writing this and I hope I could do the idea that anon had justice and that you guys like it!🙏🏼 I would really appreciate reposts/comments with feedback.👀 Feel free to request stuff, I always enjoy getting some inspiration to keep the writing going.💙

Brian knelt beside you, his touch gentle as he pressed the damp cloth to your leg. The sharp sting of the cut made you wince, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the embarrassment of how it had happened.

You had tripped, just like you seemed to always do. This time, it had been over something small, a simple crack in the sidewalk, causing you to suddenly lie on the ground, blood welling up and staining your skin.

Heat rose in your cheeks in frustration at yourself and the fact that Brian now had to take care of you, but he was ever calm and didn't seem the least bit bothered.

Not saying much, he offered you a soft smile and then continued tending to your cut, his focus entirely on the injury itself.

He’d always been good at this type of stuff, fixing things while being composed and so in control — qualities you usually greatly admired in him.

But as you sat there in that moment, feeling the warmth of his touch, something didn’t seem right.

You knew you should be glad.

Here was your boyfriend, cleaning up your mess, like he so often did. You were fortunate, really, to have someone like him — patient and ready to swoop in when you inevitably fell again. So though you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off, you did your best to simply brush it aside.

After all, this was Rudy. Sweet, dependable Rudy, who always seemed to know exactly what to do and was there for you whenever you stumbled — literally and figuratively.

And even if his fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary on your skin right now, it likely didn't mean anything. The way in which he inspected your bloodstained leg with a look of concentration reassured you further.

“You really should be more careful,” Brian suddenly said, his voice low and soothing. His gentle words and focused demeanor helped ease your nerves.

You chastised yourself for ever thinking twice about his actions. Your boyfriend was simply trying to watch out for you, that's all. Why were you even doubting him in the first place? Maybe it was just the pain from the cut or the embarrassment of tripping again. Or maybe it was the whole thing with the Ice Truck Killer going on at the moment.

Yes, that had to be it. It had probably made you more paranoid than you'd initially thought.

But you had absolutely nothing to worry about, because the sweet man kneeling in front of you was nothing like that monster.

Forcing yourself to relax a little, you sighed.

"I know," you mumbled, as he expertly bandaged your leg, secretly marveling at how steady his hands were.

It was easy to forget how awkward you felt in moments like this, with him so effortlessly tending to you. You crooked a smile at him then, but Brian didn’t meet your eyes right away. He was too busy inspecting his work, a subtle smirk of his own tugging at the corner of his mouth as he secured the bandage.

To you, he seemed satisfied with his patch job, but inside, something else simmered. He felt an almost childlike joy about the way you sat there, so vulnerable, your leg limp in his hands.

He liked seeing you this way — hurt, but not too hurt. Just enough to need him, to be reliable on him.

It stirred something deep inside of him.

“There,” he said, leaning back a little to admire the bandage. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a split second, something unreadable passed between you, but it was gone almost as quickly as it came. “Does that feel better?”

You looked down at your leg and inspected the professionally wrapped bandage. It was not too tight and not too loose. It was perfect. Just like him.

Tension oozing from your body, you nodded and looked up at your boyfriend again, smiling earnestly. “Yeah, much better. Thank you.”

His smile widened just a fraction, not quite reaching his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m here to patch you up,” he said with a lightness in his voice that made you feel a little better. “I’d never let anything happen to you.”

The way he said it — his voice smooth and promising — made you smile, comforted by his presence.

Rudy really loved you, didn't he? He was always right there when you needed him.

He stood up and offered you his hand, and despite the slight apprehension earlier, you eagerly took it. His grip was firm and steady as he helped you to your feet, making sure that you avoided putting too much weight on your injured leg.

You pushed past any lingering odd emotions and focused on the fact that you were grateful for him. You had nothing to worry about — not with Rudy, not with the man who never made you feel stupid for being clumsy, who was always kind to you, the calm in your storm.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you said softly, your voice carrying gratitude.

Brian's eyes flicked to yours, a faint twinkle in them. He felt content.

As he held your gaze for a moment longer, he could clearly see the relief and appreciation in you. It had him suppressing a grin, the way you were so easily fooled.

To him, you were perfect in your vulnerability, of course. A doll. Beautiful, delicate, and breakable. He liked you that way — liked the way your clumsiness brought you to him, having to be fixed, to be held together. Every scrape, every fall, was a small gift, an opportunity for him to touch you, to take care of you. To make you his again, piece by fragile piece. You were his creation, something he had molded with care and patience, and he was the only one who could keep you whole.

Or take you further apart, if he chose.

But for now, he was content to play the role you expected — your Rudy, the one who would always keep you safe.

He watched you as your eyes briefly flickered to his mouth and up again, and knew what you were going to do before you had even fully decided on it.

Slowly, you leaned in and brushed your lips against his, wanting to show him just how much you appreciated him.

Letting you take control for a moment, Brian allowed you to believe that you were doing something for him, even though he knew better. You were in his hands, for as long as you lived. The thought thrilled him in a way you could never know, in a way he would never let you see.

Keeping his lips perfectly still, Brian decided to act surprised by your sudden gesture, pausing for a few seconds, until he could just about feel you starting to pull away.

He kissed you back then, using every bit of his self-restraint to start softly, and his hand came up to cradle the back of your neck in a tender movement. Slowly, he deepened the kiss, daring to go further by tightening his grip on you slightly, almost imperceptibly.

After a few moments, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your heart beating faster. When you looked up at him, his smile was still there, and he looked as warm as ever to you. As you lost yourself inside his eyes, Brian felt that familiar pulse of satisfaction.

You didn’t know it, but you were already his, caught in the delicate web he had woven around you. He could see how much you trusted him and the unguarded naivety you held had been obvious to him from the very first moment that you two had met.

You were simply too brittle for this world. Too easily shattered by its sharp edges, too flimsy to protect yourself from the falls you constantly took. That’s why you needed him. That’s why you would always need him.

As his thumb stroked the pulse point along your neck, feeling the quickened beat beneath your skin, he smiled at you. It was a soft and loving smile, one he had perfected for you.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Brian now addressed your last sentence, his voice calm and encouraging, with only a tiny hint of something darker that you didn't seem to notice. “No matter how clumsy you are, I’ll always be there to fix you when you break.”

The words, meant to comfort you, immediately had their desired effect. You happily beamed up at him while blushing furiously.

“I’m really lucky to have you,” you told him and then leaned in again, kissing him softly and embracing the moment.

Wallowing in the comfort and warmth he provided you with, you slid your hands up his chest, deepening the kiss. You didn’t want to think or talk anymore, just enjoy the feeling of being with him.

Brian watched you through half-lidded eyes, noticing your movements growing more desperate with every passing second. He could feel the tension in your body — the way you were almost pleading for his control — and it amused him, in a way.

You didn’t even realize how effortlessly you fell into this role, how naturally you let yourself be pulled into his world.

Moving his hands down to your waist, he squeezed them a little tighter than usual, but you didn’t seem to notice the extra strength in his grip, too absorbed in your need.

When you grasped the hem of his shirt and tugged it up to pull over his head, he lifted his arms and let you, suppressing a smirk.

It was obvious to him that you needed this physical closeness. Your skin pressing against his, fingers now fumbling with his belt in a frenzy — you were letting go of any lingering doubts and focusing solely on him.

Feeling a sense of smugness, he guided you with quick, assertive movements, prying your clothes away with a roughness that seemed to match your urgency. You gasped as he yanked off your shirt and then dug his fingers into your skin, his touch simultaneously gentle and commanding. Leaning further into him, you longed for release already and how he always made everything else seem insignificant when you were together like this.

Brian’s lips determinedly traveled to your throat, kissing you with an insistent fervor now. You shuddered under the ferocity, but didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him. His teeth grazed your skin, causing your head to fall back in an open-mouthed moan, arching your body against him, desperate for more. The heat of his passion overwhelmed you, pushing any thoughts of discomfort aside. Hands roamed your body, his traces both prodding and tranquilizing.

He could feel the way you were giving in to him and letting him take over, allowing him to guide you, and that’s exactly how he liked it. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging in even more, and when you winced, he knew you felt it — though you never pulled away.

You wanted this. You needed him to be in charge.

When he led you into the bedroom, your discarded clothes left in the wake of his deliberate actions, his movements were filled with a raw intensity.

You shortly cringed at the sudden pain shooting through your injured leg when his weight pressed down on you as he pushed you onto the bed, but his lips crashing against yours with hunger made you almost immediately forget about any hurt. Kissing him back just as frantically, you wrapped your arms around his neck to cling onto him. He slipped his tongue between your lips almost forcefully, licking over every hidden crevice in your mouth with purpose. His hands roamed over your body and you moaned into Brian's mouth, his touch both a source of solace and pleasure for you.

Deep down on the inside a part of you noticed a subtle shift — Rudy was not being as gentle and careful as he normally was — but that part was swiftly drowned out by the sensations of everything else going on. All you could truly acknowledge in that moment was the incredible desire for him to make you forget everything but the feeling of him against you.

As if he somehow knew about what you’d felt, Brian interrupted the sloppy kiss and moved once more with intention and a vigor that sent your heart racing. His hands, bruising but controlled, pushed down the last bit of garment left between the two of you and you gasped as fresh air hit your intimate zone. You hadn't even realized how wet you'd gotten and now felt slightly ashamed at the way your body obviously liked the way he handled you and the way he'd been — and still was — pushing you and testing your limits, teetering the edges of breaking them.

He was still Rudy though, still the man who you trusted most in the world, so you didn't give it much more than a passing thought and decided to just roll with it.

Even though it would probably give you pause if you properly questioned it — the fact that he didn't usually act this way and only when you were injured or reliant on him in some way — for more than two seconds. But you didn’t question it for more than two seconds, couldn't, as your body deliciously responded and distracted you instead.

When Brian finally pushed into you, you cried out, your fingernails digging into his shoulders and leaving half-crescent-shaped moon indentions in his skin. He allowed you to adjust to his size for a short while, pushing his forehead against yours with his mouth hanging open in a silent groan as he relished in the feeling of being inside you.

After enough time passed for you to become used to him, you patted his shoulder and nodded ever so slightly, not capable of words.

Brian understood though, and immediately began to move, quickly setting a pace that was fast and demanding.

Pressing your eyes shut, you clung to him, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him impossibly closer — entirely missing the way his eyes were filled with something completely wild and dark. Focussing on the feeling of your boyfriend pushing and pulling inside of you, he soon began to hit that delicious spot deep in you, and you moaned loudly.

Brian leaned down then and you could feel his hot breath against your ear, his voice low and rough.

“You need me, don’t you?” he whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine. You frantically nodded while gasping for air, unable to answer anything. “Whenever you need me, I am — and will — be there, every. single. time.”

He punctuated each word with a sharper and deeper thrust, angled directly at your sweet spot, leaving you choking for breath with tears in your eyes at one point. His words, though assertive, felt like a promise of security and care to you.

The room was heavy with heat, your breaths mingling, the sound of your bodies crashing together filling the space. Each push sent a jolt through you that made your head spin. You lost yourself in it all, in these repetitive motions, his touch, the feeling of his skin against yours.

One of his hands now moved to your clit and his movements became even more resolved and driven. He was controlling the moment, steering it exactly where he wanted, and your body responded accordingly. You could feel yourself being pulled in by the sensation, as he pushed you towards the edge.

“God, you’re so perfect like this,” Brian grunted, his voice a mix of command and encouragement. “Come on, it's alright. You’re mine, aren’t you? Just let go.”

Tears rose in your eyes as you felt your body react to both his words and actions, the increasing intensity overtaking everything else and throwing you into a rush of pure ecstasy.

Your fingers dug into his back, your breath ragged, and all at once you fell into the waves, pulled underneath by their impact. You couldn't breathe for a moment, until finally, with a twist from Brian's fingers and a sharp cry from you, you reached the surface again.

The release hit you hard, sending rows of pleasure crashing through your body, and all you could do was lie there and take it, face screwed up in the pleasure of it.

Brian followed soon after, his movements rough and forceful as he found his own release, breath hot against your neck as he groaned, low and deep.

For a moment, the world stilled as the both of you tried to calm your breathing, the overwhelming physical connection between the two of you leaving you in a daze. Your heart pounded in your chest, your body trembling beneath the weight of his body on you.

After what felt like ages, but was likely only seconds, Brian lifted himself up and out of you, leaving you feeling strangely empty at the loss of him.

He collapsed beside you then and the room fell into a heavy silence in the aftermath of what you'd done.

As he lay beside you, Brian's mind was a whirlpool of satisfaction and dark pleasure. He reveled in the way you’d clung to him, completely oblivious to the extent of his control. The contrast between your dependence on him and his calculated dominance over you joyed him immensely.

Lifting his head, he turned to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush your hair back from your face, his caress tender again and a stark difference from the intensity of the moments you’d shared just before. His fingers grazed over your skin, his touch so feather-light and soft, it immediately erased any lingering concerns in you.

It was an act, of course. A way to further embed his influence. The compassion was a calculated gesture, a way to reinforce the illusion of care while keeping you bound to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked carefully, his voice carrying a tone of worry that felt comforting, and you nodded, reassured by his touch.

He always knew how to make you feel cherished, and you clung to that sense of security.

He noted the way your body relaxed against his, your breathing steady and calm. The pretense of concern came naturally to him, a mask he wore so well.

His hand now rested on your cheek, his thumb brushing softly as he leaned in closer.

“I love you,” he whispered, the final nail in the coffin, as always, his gaze lingering on you and studying your relaxed and smitten features. To him, you were more than just a partner; you were a project, a creation he had formed. The sweetness in his voice was a facade that masked his true intentions.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you felt another wave of affection and safety. Any fleeting worries were overshadowed by his sedative presence. You knew he was there for you, providing the care and support you needed.

“I love you too,” you responded, wrapping your arms around him and drawing him closer, feeling his warmth envelop you.

And as you nestled closer, Brian’s thoughts were filled with a dark fulfillment. The control he wielded was subtle, deeply woven into the fabric of his relationship with you.

And you, in your innocent trust, had made it all too easy.

With the quiet settling in, you allowed yourself to sink into the comfort of his presence and fell asleep.

[avocado-writing]

pairing: logan howlett x afab!reader. 18+, minors dni. angst; smut (p in v unprotected sex; handjob - logan receiving; oral - reader & logan receiving). canonically bisexual reader. mentions of pregnancy attempts. dp+w movie spoilers.

synopsis: in the Void, after leaving the other dead in your own timelines, you and Logan are reunited.

words: 8.5k.

notes: this was inspired by not your man by @studioghibelli and the worst logan by @coweye! please go and read both these fics and show their authors some love, they are both incredibly talented writers who deserve it! dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

The past couple of days have been a lot. 

To be honest, anything that isn’t sitting at a bar drinking the place dry is a lot to Logan nowadays. He’s used to low lights, rumbling conversation around him, the fuzzier end of consciousness. Even now he aches for a drink, knowing he’ll have to wake up sober next to the asshole in red he spent the night putting down in that fucking minivan. 

He hopes, at least, he has been met with all the surprises that this place can afford him. 

Ah. But that’d be too fucking easy, right?

That Cajun bastard’s liquor sits comfortably in the cradle of his palm and he chases away lucidity one swig at a time. Tries to block out the half-baked plan Wade is concocting with the other poor bastards who have been stuck here, even if it’s all probably pointless. He only chimes in to laugh at their hope. 

Then Elektra turns, withering pity in her eyes, and seems to properly assess him for the first time. 

“They’re gonna be so disappointed when they see you.”

“Who?” he snorts, past the point of caring that he’d disappoint anyone. It’s then that Elektra hits him like a fucking freight train with just one word spilling from her lips: your name. 

Logan feels a flood of memories come back to him. Ones he’s spent too long trying to drink away. The early morning when you’d hide under the blankets together, your hand cradling his face and letting the whole world consist of just the two of you. The stolen kisses in quiet corridors so the students at the mansion wouldn’t catch you and start silly little rumours. 

Him holding your lifeless body in his arms surrounded by the rubble of what used to be your bedroom, your powers unable to save you. 

He doesn’t have anything to say, merely spitting vitriol to anyone who tries to speak to him, even that damn kid who still prefers the other dead Logan to him. Why wouldn’t she? He’s a fucking mess, worth less than nothing, and that Logan was a hero. 

He retreats in the evening to lick his wounds or, hopefully, drown them. People keep trying to fucking talk to him and he does not want it. Yet they’re fucking relentless, like the Void is perfect at creating gut punch after gut punch for him. Laura walks away into the darkness after successfully making him feel like shit - not that it’s difficult these days - and when he hears more footsteps he assumes it’s Wade coming to harass him about tomorrow. 

“Oh, will you fuck off - ?” he snarls, but the sight of you there, half lit by a dying fire with orange dancing on your skin, oh, it just kills any venom he can muster dead in his throat. 

Logan is looking at a ghost and he has never been less prepared for anything in his long, long life. 

Your mouth has fallen open into a soft “o” as you look at him, brows knitted together as you take in every imperfect aspect of his being. 

“Lo?” you whisper. Your voice hasn’t changed. 

“Logan,” he replies, gruff, unsure if he’s confirming or correcting. But fuck does it sound good to hear his name out of your mouth again, even if it’s just a syllable. 

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and take a seat on one of the logs which has been pulled up as a makeshift bench. He tries not to watch the way the fire lights up your eyes. There’s an agonisingly long pause before you finally attempt conversation.  

“Long time no see, huh?” you ask with a weak grin. Fuck. It’s like a dagger. Your humour was always something which endeared you to him. Unlike Wade you never took it too far, cultivating your sincerity with your silliness in order to grow yourself into peoples’ hearts. 

His heart especially, and now it aches. 

He grunts, because he can’t bring himself to actually say anything. Can barely look at you. You keep talking, either not noticing or barrelling on regardless. 

“You know, when the gang said that you were here… I didn’t believe it. Thought there was no way a fucking Wolverine would fall into this place.”

“Let me guess,” he sneers, taking another long drag of bourbon, “I’m not what you expected.”

You laugh, an easy little thing, and part of him hates you for it. For reminding him of how it sounds. 

“I mean, you’re not. But not because of what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” It comes out as a snap, lip curling back over his teeth in disgust. You do not look bothered in the least, just crossing one leg over the other and leaning back. 

“Because I know you, Logan. Knew my Logan too. Bet you’re spiralling, making yourself out to be some kinda disappointment. Well you’re not. You could never be.”

He desperately wants to argue but he simply doesn’t have the gumption. Besides, it’s nice to hear someone say something kind about him after all these years. 

“So,” you say after another one of those painful pauses, “considering every time you look my way you wince, you have a me in your timeline?”

He laughs without any humour in it, stares into the flames for so long they start to hurt his eyes. 

“Yeah. I did.”

“Ahh. ‘Did’. I died, then?”

You say it so flippantly, he can’t fucking stand it. 

“Mmm.”

“Makes sense. Don’t think I’d leave you in any timeline, so the only way I could see us ending would be if I wasn’t there any more.” You sigh, stretching your legs out to warm them. “Can I ask how it happened? Call it morbid curiosity.”

He absolutely does not want to talk about this. But, also… it’s you. Maybe not the you that was his, exactly, but it is you. Perhaps you deserve to know. He tries to stay dispassionate, as if he is a doctor quietly recounting the facts of death to a family member. 

“Mansion was attacked. Everyone died, including you. I wasn’t there. We’d had a fight, I went out drinking. When I got back you were gone.” He flexes his fist around the neck of the bottle, trying to avoid shattering it, but desperately needing to hold onto something. 

“Oh.” The fire crackles loudly. “What did we fight about?”

This will kill him. He will die in this Void. 

“You wanted to do another round of IVF. I didn’t want to be disappointed again.”

The words settle like a cloud of choking ash over the two of you. He takes a long drink. What a fucking failure he is, couldn’t even knock you up properly. 

“Fuck, Logan. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it help if I tell you I probably wasn’t that mad? I’ve never been really angry with you, you know. My Logan… we used to bicker a lot, we both had short fuses, but it never meant anything in the long run.”

He doesn’t know if it does help or not. Is it better to know that you died hating him, making it easier? Or that you were snuffed out while loving him the whole time?

“Your turn,” he says, because he can’t bear to continue this particular line of conversation, but for some reason he wants to keep talking to you. Your voice is a comfort he thought he’d long since lost. 

“You wanna see a picture?” you ask, a grin pulling at the sides of your mouth. No, he doesn’t, but when you reach into your jacket to grab the photograph, he finds himself holding his hand out to take it. You slowly float it over, telekinesis absolutely unnecessary - but you always did use it to make the little things easier. 

It’s old. Frayed and disintegrating at the edges, a thing which has been held and looked at over and over again. Faded slightly despite the fact that you clearly try to take good care of it. 

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening. You chuckle. 

“I know.”

Because, despite the lack of facial hair and addition of a decent rack, the woman with her arm around you in the photo is him. 

The Logan in the picture is about as butch as they come, decked out in a Wolverine’s trademark flannel and leather. One of her arms is wrapped around you to keep you close against her, the other playfully flipping the camera off with a middle claw, and she’s laughing with a joy he hasn’t seen on his own face for years. You’re pressing a kiss into her cheek and hanging onto one of her thick biceps. The two of you exude happiness. 

“She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She could be a mean cunt sometimes, smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, but fuck we were the centres of each other’s world.” You let out a long sigh and hold your hand out - Logan goes to give you the photo but instead you gesture for the bourbon. He passes it and you and you drink deeply, gratefully. “I’d been in a string of bad relationships. Guys who took me for granted, women who were toxic but I didn’t realise until I was in too deep. Then she came along and well… she was a fucking angel in plaid.” 

Logan’s thumb absentmindedly strokes the photo. He’s pretty sure there’s a near-identical one back in his timeline. 

“Our mansion was attacked too. She died getting the kids out.”

Fuck. Fuck. No, he can’t do this. He can’t face the way he should have died. He really is the fucking worst Wolverine. He snatches the bottle back from you, you give no resistance, and he polishes it off. The photo flutters to the ground. 

“I think it’s time you fucked off,” he growls out. You roll your eyes, fucking roll your eyes at him, something his version of you did on pretty much a daily basis, and the knife in his heart twists further. 

“Well, Logan, I’m not gonna do that. Because this conversation is the most whole I’ve felt in a long time, and I’m pretty sure you feel the same way.”

He doesn’t. He does. He wants you to disappear forever. He wants to hold you close and kiss you, beg you never to leave again. He hates you. He loves you so, so much. 

He’s such a ruined man that it is laughable. 

“So what, I come along and just replace your little girlfriend? First Wolverine that you manage to get your hands on; is that what you’re hoping for?”

You bark out a laugh. It echoes around the trees. There are tears in your eyes when he turns to look. 

“Girlfriend? Logan, you were my fucking wife!” 

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that the laughter engulfs you, peals of giggles that double you over. You hold your head in your hands and it soon turns to bitter sobs. He wants to reach out and hold you, apologise for ever making you sad. He tries to get any lingering drops from the bourbon instead. 

“We got married at the mansion. Charles officiated. The kids made us cards. We didn’t get a honeymoon because we didn’t have the fucking time. We had five years. Five really happy years and you know what? We wanted a baby too. We were getting a donor lined up! And then when the attack happened you were the one getting all the kids out I begged you to come with us but you were too fucking good, you had to stay behind and make sure nobody followed us. And it cost you your fucking life. They ripped you apart Logan. I know because all I found of you was your head and your wedding ring. I didn’t even get time to mourn because I had a dozen children to fucking take care of! And I did because I knew that’s what you’d want me to do. It’s what you died for. So I lived in the fucking woods with all of them for years, and they were my family, and I made sure they were as safe and happy as I could make them. And you know what happened then? When they were all grown? A fucking TVA agent appears out of nowhere and tells me, ‘oops! Sorry! Your Logan wasn’t supposed to die, it was meant to be you!’ So they fucking throw me in this hellhole to rot away into nothing and I’m sorry, Logan, I’m sorry that when I heard you were here I got my fucking hopes up that you might be happy to see me, because if there was one person who understood all of the shit I’m going through then it might be you.” You throw your head back up to stare him dead in the eyes. “And it’s pathetic because you know what? Even after all this? I’m still not angry with you. I’m still happy you’re here. Because seeing you makes me feel better, despite everything.”

It’s a long-ass rant, and your words hang in the air after you’re done. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He opens his mouth to apologise but the words just won’t come out. Because, yeah, if he really dissects himself and looks at the parts laid bare, he’s glad you’re here too. 

He reaches down to rescue the photo before an ember lands on it, gingerly extending into you. When you take it back his fingers brush yours. He wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves. 

“Who was the donor?” he asks eventually. That does a lot to alleviate the mood, and you smile through tear-streaked cheeks. 

“You might not like the answer.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me it was Scott.”

“The two of you got on okay! Butted heads a lot but he was always a good friend to us. Plus it was cheaper than going through an agency.”

He growls to himself and it makes you laugh, but properly this time. Things have started to soften and it’s… nice. To be like this with you again. You pause for a moment, stuck on whether to ask a question; hesitate over whether it’s a good idea, then barrel on regardless. 

“Can I ask a weird question?”

“You’re dangerously close to sounding like Wade,” he replies. You groan at that idea. 

“Ugh. Fucking Deadpools, man. We get one come along every now and then and trash the place before fucking off again. Apparently there’s like, a tribe of them out there somewhere.” You give a full-body shudder. “Imagine. No, it’s nothing like that, I guess. Can you… can you take off your glove? Left one.”

He has a horrible feeling about this but when you ask so nicely, that air of vulnerability around you, well it just seeps into his fractures and breaks him open. It takes a moment but he does, flexing his bare hand in the cool air. 

You reach around your neck and pull at a thin chain he’d barely noticed. The ring at the end slides up from where it’s been resting on your sternum under your shirt, glinting as you remove it. 

“Give me your hand.”

This is a bad idea. 

He does anyway. 

You slip the ring on his fourth finger, softly twisting it to fit over his knuckle as you go. It is the perfect size. 

“Will you look at that,” you mumble, not releasing your grip on him. “She… you always told me your hands were kinda big because of the claws. Like I cared. One of my favourite parts about you.”

Your fingers trace along his, finding the spaces between them and gently slotting your hands together. Logan isn’t sure if he’s the one who closes the grasp or if it’s you, but a beat passes and suddenly you’re holding hands. 

He’s not done this with you for so fucking long. An age of aching which is relieved at the feeling of your palm up against his. 

“So now what?” he eventually has to ask. You smile. 

“Well, I mean, your Deadpool is probably gonna get us all killed tomorrow…”

“Ugh. Don’t call him ‘my Deadpool’.”

“… so I’d quite like to just spend tonight holding your hand, if that’s okay. Seems like a pretty nice final night to me.”

When you hit him with those soft eyes, what other fucking choice does he have?

You don’t speak much for the rest of the night. Eventually the fire dies out. Laura comes to seek you out the next morning, and is surprised to find you lying side by side with this other Logan, the most deeply asleep she’s ever seen you, fingers laced together so tightly with his it looks like it might hurt. 

He comes to the fight, of course; dredging up what little courage he has left in him in order to prove he’s not totally pathetic. You catch his eye and smile so wide that he feels likes he’s done at least one good fucking thing in his life. He hears the sound of you ripping into people with an enthusiasm he hasn’t witnessed for years. The last glimpse of you he gets before he jumps through the portal is you using your telekinesis to tear a man’s head off and he does not want to examine himself too closely when it sends a jolt of arousal down his spine. 

They leave you all there to face the end, but everyone knew that’s what you were all getting into. There has been a net gain and loss of nil. He never had you again. Not really. Not for anything longer than a night, and maybe that will be enough. 

Yes. That’s enough. It has to be. 

When he tells Wade he’ll go into that room, when he volunteers to die, he does it with the knowledge he’ll be doing something good, finally. Something you’d be proud of him for doing. And with you waiting for him on the other end of oblivion it really doesn’t seem too bad a fate. 

But then Wade does what he always does and fucks up his perfectly meticulous plan, and they both make it through, so he has to keep going. 

When Wade asks the TVA agent to help the group of you they left behind, Logan is sure to add on that people should get the opportunity to go back to their timelines - surely it’s what you’d want (this oddly selfless request has Wade raising an eyebrow which he ignores). After all, why wouldn’t you want to go back? It’s where you belong. Where you’ll be happiest. Putting things nice and neatly back into their place after this whole fucked-up venture. 

He doesn’t have you, but he’s still alive and wants to be, and that’s something. A lot more than he’s had for a long time now to be honest. 

His life becomes this strange little thing that’s wrapped up with Wade’s. He sleeps on his pull-out sofa until he has somewhere proper to put down his roots. Tries to lay off the booze as much as he can even if each day is a fucking struggle. Makes steps towards finding a proper place for himself; even gets a job on the door at the bar across the street. It’s okay. One step at a time. He can put himself back together like that. 

Imagine his surprise, then, when a week later there’s a knock at the door. 

He assumes it’s Al who’s forgotten her keys, or is too drunk to fish them out of her purse after bingo, so opens it without really thinking. 

The second time you’ve nearly stopped his heart in seven days. 

“Hey,” you say. 

“Oh,” is what he can manage. You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Your go-to. 

“Yeah. Sorry. I uh, followed you back, I suppose. The TVA were gonna send me home but I asked where you were and when the answer was ‘here’, well… didn’t make sense for me to be any place else.”

He blinks at you. After a beat of silence he can tell you hate, no doubt wondering if your choice was the wrong one, he lifts his hand to cup your face. You stiffen for a second and then nestle into his palm. 

“You’re real,” he states. You press your hand to his. 

“I am.”

He pulls you into his chest and you are more than willing to come. He feels the way you bury yourself into him, nose first, remembering what he smells like. Your arms wrap around him so tight it’s like you’re scared he will disappear when it should be the other way round: if anyone is dreaming it’s him. You bothered coming here for him. You uprooted your whole life for it. 

He could hold you forever but the neighbours are nosy and the apartment is a mess. He presses his mouth close to your ear. 

“Wanna get a coffee?”

You pull back to meet his gaze. 

“I’d love that.” Your eyes drop and you pull a face. “Oh, uhh, you might wanna get changed first, though.”

He looks down and realises what shirt he’s wearing before letting out a groan, which gets you chuckling. 

“Wilson’s letting me borrow his shirts until my first paycheck comes in. Just to slum around the apartment.”

“Oh, so you’re not ‘employee of the month at the dick sucking factory’?” You ask, reading the slogan on his tee.

“No. Looks like Wilson won out over me.”

The fact he’s made a joke hangs in the air for a moment and you burst into laughter, real actual laughter, and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever heard.

He grabs the only plain shirt Wade has left out, slices off the sleeves just because, and grabs twenty dollars from his roommate’s wallet. Soon enough you’re sitting in the little café near his building. The sky is grey and overcast, just threatening to rain but not quite bothering, and the two of you are tucked away in a corner table while Taylor Swift plays over the sound system. 

Logan does not like that he knows it’s Taylor Swift. This is what living with Wade has done to him. 

You watch him with affectionate eyes across the table, making sure nobody is paying close attention before using your telekinesis to stir the little metal spoon around in your latte. You nod at his mug. 

“You take coffee the same way as she did. Boring and black.”

Logan’s nostrils flare a little in a laugh. 

“Yeah, and you take yours the same way too. So fucking dense with syrup that it’s not coffee at all.”

“Oh you were always such a coffee snob! ‘Babe you gotta try it plain first so you can appreciate the aroma’,” you say, putting on a gruff affectation as a parody of his voice. 

“You do need to try it plain f—”

He’s interrupted when a sugar lump floats into the air from the pot in the middle of the table and launches itself at him, bouncing off of his pectoral. He cocks an eyebrow. 

“Real mature, bub.”

“Grouch.”

“Contrarian.”

“I’m not a—” you pause, realising there’s no way to win against that accusation, and grin at him instead. 

“Where are you staying?” he asks after a long drink. It’s not booze. He kinda wishes it was booze. But also, he knows it’s best not to go down that path again, for everyone’s sake.

“The mansion. Turns out I died in this timeline too, so you and I are two for two here” - there’s a hint of a smile at your own macabre observation - “but they were using my room for storage so they just let me have it back.” You grimace a little. “It’s been weird. It’s my space but it’s not, y’know?”

“I get that.”

He probably gets it better than anybody. Nice to have someone to share this strange, singular feeling with. 

“You should come around. Laura’s there too, I know she’d be glad to see you too.”

“She settling in okay?”

“Yeah. It’ll take a while, but everyone has been really understanding and kind. I think she’ll thrive here.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You give him a smile that lets him know you believe it. Your eyes cast over him, taking in this new, slightly more settled Logan, falling still when you see what’s pressed against his fourth knuckle. 

“You’re still wearing the ring.”

“Oh,” he replies, surprised. Flexes his fingers as he looks at it. It’s been so comfortable there, so utterly unobtrusive and right, he hasn’t even noticed. “You want it back?”

A beat passes as you consider the question. Coffee is sipped. Another sugar added and stirred, perhaps just for show. 

“I don’t know,” you settle on. “I kinda like seeing you wear it but… if you were gonna have my ring, I’d want it to be one that was meant for you.”

He lets that idea settle between the two of you. Suddenly, slowly, you’re reaching forward, laying your smaller hand over his thick, rough one. 

“Logan. I want to be with you. In every way you’ll have me, all of it. I don’t know if it was fate or god or plain luck that threw us back together but I’m certain I don’t wanna waste this opportunity. I’d love you in every lifetime, in every timeline. I can’t be without you ever again, I think it would just kill me - and if I know you, you feel the same.”

He doesn’t even bother arguing because he does. When you turned up on his doorstep a scant couple of hours ago a part of his soul had been healed; your existence like kintsugi to piece him back together. A man made of adamantium and gold. 

“I’d like that,” he manages. 

“Yeah?” Your eyes glimmer with a hope which he’s not been privy to for a long time now. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, okay then,” you say with a smile, and drink your coffee. 

The two of you do not take it slow. How does one take it slow when your soulmate comes back into your life? You are not exactly the same person he once knew, but you understand each other in every way which matters. Your souls fit together like puzzle pieces. The two of you are whole again. 

Then again, perhaps he doesn’t need the version of you he used to have. Maybe, now, he needs this you - rougher around the edges, a little older and more wary, a fit which is better for him. Someone who can put up with his bullshit as Al once bluntly put it. 

You barely spend a night apart. You stay over with him on Wade’s pullout (inciting an input of, “something the two of you had better do, we can’t afford a kid on my income—!” before Logan had hurled a water bottle at him) meeting up with him after his shift is done in the small hours, getting something to eat at one of the greasy spoons which remain open. He devours full plates of fatty food; you stick to slices of pie which you feed him bites of from your fork. When you get back to the apartment you cuddle up on the uncomfortable mattress which folds from the sofa and fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

He sleeps pretty well nowadays. 

The two of you only realise you haven’t kissed yet when you do it for the first time. You’re making a coffee run, tugging on his jacket because you like the smell of cigar smoke and it’s thicker than yours. A little act of intimacy which has become commonplace. 

“Same as usual?” 

“Mm-hm.”

“Boring,” you make an exaggeration of a sigh, before leaning over the back of the sofa to press your lips to his. He automatically leans into it, tilting his head up so that he can meet you; it’s a chaste little thing, a peck between two people who will only be parted for a moment, but you pull back in surprise when you realise what’s just happened. 

“Oh!” you say with delight, eyes sparkling.

Your hand slips around his neck to cradle him, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. You gently pull him back for another. Longer this time. Lips slip together, moving carefully in something a little deeper. When you break for a moment it’s Logan who pulls you back. This third kiss is on the brink of hungry. He slides his tongue to swipe against your mouth and you let out a happy little hum at the intrusion. 

His arm curls around your back. With a little tug he pulls you over the back of the sofa and into his lap, making you yelp with glee. His mouth returns to yours, crushing, greedy for any little noises you’re able to make. You relax into it and are happy to take whatever he gives you. 

Wade finds you making out on the couch like a pair of teenagers, coffee forgotten. He does not let Logan live it down for a week. 

The apartment is fine, but not a long term solution. Wade and Al are constant presences that stops the two of you being fully at ease together. Logan knows that invitation to go to the mansion is always there, but it’s a while before he takes it - he really isn’t sure what he’ll feel, being back at a place he last saw burned to the ground because of his pigheadedness. Might just break him all over again. 

But ah, when you nock your fingers in the spaces between his, he can face anything. 

One night, exhausted and full of diner food, he agrees to go back to yours - the two of you have had a late night coffee meaning you’re still a tiny bit buzzed, a little too much to fall asleep on the pullout. Instead you get a taxi to yours, near enough, tipping the driver well when he drops you in the middle of a random street and choosing to walk the last minutes hand-in-hand.

The mansion is quiet. Everyone is mostly asleep. And Logan does feel strange being back here, but it isn’t a bad strange. Just another aspect of this new life he has to compartmentalise. 

You drag him through low-lit halls, confident in the steps which will lead you back to your room; he recalls a similar journey from his own timeline in the night you first hooked up, smuggling him to your bed down the corridors all wandering hands and breathless kisses and giddy giggles; but there’s no part about you that wants to hide this. 

You’d show your Logan off to the world. 

You’ve tried to make the room your own, he can tell. It’s pretty big and spacious. Good view. Has an ensuite which he plans on monopolising. He shucks off his clothes and sleeps in just his boxers, arms holding you to him so he can feel every part of your body against his. His chest hair bristles between your shoulder blades and you hum contentedly. 

He agrees to come to breakfast the next morning and, to their credit, people are good at not staring. The members of the team he recognises from his past keep their distance unless he seeks to close it. Hank gives him a smile. 

“Good to see you, Logan.”

“Mmm,” he manages. Laura comes down to grab something to eat and lights up when she sees him. She gives him a hug which skews on the side of awkward but he’s grateful to receive it, and he can see how pleased you are watching this development. 

He comes around more and more often. 

Less time spent at the apartment with Wade - who constantly complains about the fact and Logan cannot tell if he’s sincere or not - more living in the pocket of you. He helps you sort out the furniture in the room so that there’s more space; you’re moving a chest of drawers to another corner together when a photo falls out from behind them. Trapped against the wall for years. Long forgotten. 

“Oh,” you say, lifting it up and bringing it to your hand with a wave. Your face twists into something strange and bittersweet, a mask Logan isn’t quite sure how to comprehend, but he quickly understands why when he joins you. 

It’s a picture of the two of you. 

Not exactly the two of you, of course; the ones of you who lived in this timeline. Logan is posing on the back of his Harley, you’re propped up on the seat next to him with your head thrown back in laughter. The two of you look… young. This must have been taken when you first started going out. 

Your thumb caresses the photo in a movement he’s familiar with. 

“Huh. Looks like we were together here, too. Who’da thunk it,” you mutter.

He slips an arm around you then because he’s feeling oddly sentimental. It’s reassuring. No matter what timeline it is, there’s a you who loves him and a him who loves you. A simple and irrefutable truth, like the fact that the sun rises every day or the moon moves the tides. 

“Apparently Magneto got me in the late noughties. Feels like a bit of a pathetic way to go, but diverging timelines, I guess.”

Logan knows that in this timeline, he stuck around for a while after. Poor bastard, he thinks. Having to live those years without you. That’s a misery he understands all too fucking well. 

But not any more. 

You leave the photo on your dresser, loathe to throw it away, and continue moving furniture to make room for the TV you just bought. Logan hates sharing the one in the living room, especially when the hockey’s on.

Eventually Logan is spending so much time with you he’s barely living at Wade’s any more. You’ve suggested they’d be happy to have him back in the mansion for a “teaching job” like you have, though he knows there’s never much teaching involved, more helping kids learn to defend themselves without too much collateral damage. Still it’s a fair chunk of change better than his current miserable doorman’s salary and it means he’d be living at more sociable hours.

Plus he’d get to move in with you, an idea you’re both secretly happy about. 

So he hands in his notice at the bar and packs the scant few belongings he has at Wilson’s into a cardboard box from Bad Dragon, which is strangely the only one Wade could find him (“god Peanut that’s so weird, oh well!”). Looks around the apartment he’s called home for some time, feels not entirely pleased to be leaving it. 

“And remember sweetie, if it all goes incredibly wrong and you realise the place you’ve belonged the whole time is on my undoubtedly piss-soaked pull out sofa bed, Al and I will be happy to have you back with minimal taunting.”

Logan fixes him with a look. 

“Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” The word is odd coming from his mouth but not insincere. Wade goes to say something that’s no doubt stupid and inappropriate, however he softens at the last moment. 

“Any time. Go get ‘em, tiger, I’m rooting for you.”

You’ve moved your stuff so he can have a side of the closet, and drawers in the dresser, and he resumes his life with you. 

It takes only a couple of days for him to settle and realise how much he prefers this. Living with you properly. How, really, he couldn’t stand to be apart from you. How he wants to be there for every second, hear every laugh which drips from you, comfort you whenever something threatens to ruin your happiness. 

He falls asleep with you wrapped in his arms every night. Wakes up with you there. Pretty fucking perfect if you ask him. 

There’s nothing special about the morning when you first make love except for the fact it’s the morning when you first make love. It’s a border the two of you haven’t quite crossed yet. Almost as if you’re both afraid to make the commitment, like it may break you apart; there’s perhaps an underlying fear that you’re being unfaithful to your partners from your own timelines. That being together like that dishonours their memory. 

It’s a salve, then, that the longer you’ve been together the more you realise that you don’t love each other as a stand-in for the ones who died, but entirely on each other’s own merits. He doesn’t look at you and see the body he held in the manor. He sees someone who he’d protect, give his life to, become a dog for because he’s utterly in love with this you, the one who was so happy to find him in the Void, the one who patched him back together when he was at his most broken. 

There’s nothing to second guess in this relationship. It is the most solid foundation he’s ever had, and from the way you look at him every morning as if he’s hung the stars, you feel the same. 

That morning he’s holding you particularly tight. It’s a Sunday, the quietest day at the mansion, and the two of you are in bed later than you’d usually be. You’re both awake because you’re pressing more and more into each other’s bodies, nestling together like nesting dolls. His arm slung around your waist, hips against the swell of your ass. 

You shift slightly and he feels his cock harden in interest. Why wouldn’t it? Most beautiful person in the whole world right here in his bed. He might be old but he’s not a fool. 

He’s aware your hips are moving again, pressing yourself into him harder. He lets out a quiet, gruff laugh. 

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Mmm, maybe I am, Howlett. What are you gonna do about it?”

You squeak with laughter as he surges upwards, pinning your hands to the mattress either side of your head so that he can look down at you. Such a pretty picture beneath him. Hair all fanned out, eyes sleepy and sexy, ready to take in the syrupy-slow pace of the morning. 

His lips press into yours softly but firm. You hum into the kiss, slipping your wrists from his grasp so that you can wrap your arms around his broad neck and tug him closer. Your legs slowly match pace, looping at his waist. His cock is free to press against your clothed core now and he doesn’t waste a second of the opportunity; he grinds down, never letting it distract from the kiss for a second, even smiling into it when he can feel the blunt head of his dick catch your clit. You gasp. 

“Logan…”

Oh yes, that’s it. That’s the voice. He could listen to you say his name a million times and it would still be the sweetest sound in the whole fucking universe. 

He kisses you again and again, getting more fierce now. Tongues slide together and you moan into his mouth. Teeth clack with the force of it. He wants every sense to be drowned in you. Your smell, your taste, your touch. You’re holding him so tightly it’s like you’re worried you’ll just float away from the bliss of it all.

He’d never let that happen. He’ll keep you right here in this bed, forever, if you’d let him. 

With a display of telekinesis he’s not expecting, Logan finds himself on his back. You stare down at him with wide, hungry eyes, and he’s never been more turned on in his entire life. 

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask breathlessly, and he finds himself huffing out a laugh because fuck, as if you’d ever have to ask. You take his meaning and giggle before you start to make your way down the plain of his chest. A kiss dropped on the top of his pectoral, followed by you moving that sweet mouth around one of his nipples to play with it. Logan huffs and arches into your touch like a schoolgirl. You use your teeth to continue the trail, tracing around his abs - which have become less pronounced ever since he started eating right, and you’ve often expressed your pleasure at this fact - mouthing at where his muscles shape his Apollo’s belt. 

Your hand goes to palm his cock through his boxers and he has to make a concentrated effort not to come. It’s been a while since he was touched properly like this, and though he used to be able to go all night when he was a younger man, he truly doesn’t know if he has it in him today.

You seem delighted by this development though. Holding his gaze you slowly drag his waistband down to his thighs, watching in delight as his cock bobs up, half-hard. You take him in hand and pump him lazily, languidly, enjoying every stroke which makes him firmer. You prop yourself up on your free arm, elbow on the mattress and palm cradling your jaw, eyes on him like he’s the show of the century.  

“Handsome, handsome, handsome man,” you sigh, dreamily. 

“Old man,” he chuckles. 

“Not mutually exclusive.”

He has to concede that with the way you’re looking at him like you might eat him alive.  

When he feels your mouth around his cock his brain almost short-circuits. It’s warm and wet and willing, your tongue gliding along the thick vein you find there before caressing his head. Logan grunts, fisting the blankets, and a familiar snik has you looking up. You grin around his shaft when you see his claws have popped out from the intensity of his gripping hands. 

Pleased, you continue with your work. You bob up and down as the fire builds in his belly, a low heat which is soon bubbling over when he feels you press the tip of your tongue into his slit, humming with pleasure as the taste of his pre floods you. Logan is aware he’s beginning to tighten in a way which suggests that if you don’t stop now things will be over entirely too soon.

Claws retracting, his hand comes to grab your hair. His cock is enveloped in the sweet velvet of your throat, in fact he can feel himself brush against your uvula, and when you look up at him like that he almost gives up completely. He powers through though, carefully guiding you up and off. You wipe your spit-soaked mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Oh… was it not…?” you don’t voice the word ‘good’ but it hangs there anyway. Logan rumbles with a laugh.

“Fuck, it was the best thing I’ve felt in years. Wanna fuck you properly, though. Come up here and sit on my face, baby. Need to taste you.”

Your eyes go wide. Like he’s come up with the idea of the century.

“Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

There is nothing elegant about the way you pull yourself up the length of his body, but it is filled with a primal need which is far more sexy. You pause at his abdomen in order to rub your soaked cunt across his abs a couple of times. Fucking the muscles there. You throw your head back in gratification and continue up along his chest before a strong thigh is planted either side of his face.

Looking up at you from his back is his favourite view. Logan wastes no time in clamping an arm around either one of your legs and pulling you cunt-first onto his tongue, you gasp and writhe in delight.

“Oh fuck, Logan!” you hiss. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the voice he wants to hear. All strung out with sex and pleasure because of him. He fucking buries himself in you. Kisses your pussy sloppily, changing his attention from between your clit and your folds, no rhythm to his need. When your fingers scratch his scalp in your need to grab a fistful of hair he thinks he might be in heaven. His hips buck into the air, imagining the action of taking you before he’s even properly started. You start to fuck yourself on his face. Hips grinding down onto his beard, groaning at the stubble there which prickles and pleases.

“I’m gonna--”

“Fuckin’ do it,” he mumbles from between your legs. You cum in his hot, wanting mouth; all the furniture in the room rattles as you let out a little involuntary telekinetic jolt.

You are not done. This was the appetiser. Eyes still ravenous you peel your pussy off of his face, sweeping down to kiss him so you can taste yourself there. Moaning in delight at the musk.

“Wanna ride you…”

“Anything,” he breathes because, yeah. He will do anything you ask, anything you want. He’s a loyal hound at your heel. 

When you take his cock it’s with less teasing this time, more intent. Spreading your legs wide you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink down. He wants to grab. Your flesh, the blankets, anything. Sensing his desperation you hold out your hands when he’s far enough inside you and he meets them in midair, pressing his fingers between yours, knuckles white from the effort.

Hips nestle against his. You begin to move.

“Logan…” 

Your name leaves his lips in a similar whisper, dragged out through his throat from his very heart. You look down at him, eyes clear and wide and lucid despite the heady pleasure.

“Logan. I love you. I love you.”

Yes, you love this him. Not as a stand in for the Logan you lost, not as some sort of idol on a pedestal, but because you’ve fallen for him just like he’s fallen for you. He is worth loving. He is. He is worthy of you. It is a realisation which hits him with the force of a bomb. He grips you tighter.

“I love you too,” he confesses. He feels his pulse sync with yours from where he’s sheathed inside you, grips your hands tighter because he knows you can take it; you hold him back just as hard. Your hips rock in a wild rhythm as he brings his own up to meet them. It’s hard to know who’s fucking who, it’s wild and desperate and raw, but you keep chanting those words as a manta.

Logan. I love you. Logan. I love you.

He only lets go of one of your hands when he can feel he’s about to finish, dropping it to your clit in order to press rough circles there. You come messily over his cock and he spills inside you, pumping you full of him. Marking you as his.

You collapse into his arms, sweaty and spent. He holds you with arms like iron. Cock still inside, softening now, but he doesn’t want to to break the contact.

You pull back after a moment of breathing together, propping your elbow on his chest.

“Hey.”

He smiles back, a real smile, something he’s not been truly able to produce for years.

“Hey.”

“I meant it, you know. I love you,” you trace a pattern on his collarbone, silly and intimate. 

“I know. So did I.”

“Mmm, okay, good.” You kiss him and hum into it. “We should get up.”

“Probably.”

“But let’s not.”

“Sounds fuckin’ good to me.”

You laugh, and oh you are the sunlight. 

The summer heat is cloying but Wade has set up some parasols on the top of his building to hide under, he did not specify where he got them but a few local restaurants seemed to be without on the journey back to the apartment. The group of you are definitely not meant to be up here, but with the weather so hot, nobody cares enough to cause a fuss. 

It’s a small gathering. Logan stands at the grill because it’s where he’s most comfortable, supervising the chaos. That awful mutt of Wade’s is looking up at him with expectant eyes and, when he’s sure nobody is watching, he throws her a hamburger which she goes crazy for. 

And it’s… nice. He didn’t even complain when Wade put on the 1989 album. A few of his old roommate’s friends, a couple of them now mutual - Piotr is a pretty relaxed guy to be in the mansion with, and the two teens who Wade somehow befriended get along with Laura. You’re talking with Peter who for some reason is always at these gatherings but he’s probably the least offensive person here. 

He says something which makes you laugh, and you look over to Logan as you both settle. You gesture at the bottle of soda in your hand, an invitation; he nods. 

You stand, rummage in the cooler, and close the gap. He eyes the glass bottle of Dr Pepper with disapproval; you give him a playful shove. 

“C’mon, be good. You just got your one month chip. Keep it up, we’re proud of you.”

He grumbles his acceptance and takes it. It is pretty refreshing to be fair. He settled the hand he’s not using on the grill around your waist, pulling you so that you settle nice and snug against his flank. You grin up at him, pleased with the show of affection.

“Hey handsome,” you chuckle. 

“Hey gorgeous.”

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been, you know that?”

Day by day he’s letting himself believe it. That he’s the kind of man who could make someone as amazing as you happy, as over-the-moon with joy as you make him. 

Before he can answer Yukio appears by the grill, pointing a Polaroid camera in your faces. 

“Smile!” she says, and the two of you do, because she’s a nice kid and you don’t wanna let her down. She snaps a photo and watches it quickly develop, shaking it loudly in the air before admiring her work. 

“Awww, cute! I hope me and Ellie are like you guys when we’re your age. Here ya go!”

She passes over the photo before skipping away to find her next victim. Logan has to try and hide a laugh at the indignant splutters that are escaping you. 

“Our age…?!” you mutter, but soften when you look down at the picture. It’s nice. The two of you make a good-looking pair that’s for damn sure, he can almost understand Wade’s insistence of “letting him watch one night”. But most importantly, the two of you look… happy. With each other. With this slice of life. 

“This is a great one,” you declare. 

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s looking at you. 

When you get home tonight, late by the time you pull up to the mansion, you’ll toe off your shoes as you walk in through the door like you always do, but this time you’ll pause to put this photo in front of the one you found behind the chest of drawers, and Logan will feel content that he never has to be without you again. 

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

[grandline-fics]

OHHHH I GOT AN AMAZING IDEA WHAT IF READER DOESN'T GIVE ONE PIECE MEN A KISS BACK AFTER THEY KISSED READER?

DESCRIPTION: When you don’t kiss them back

WARNINGS: None. This isn’t an angst fic I promise, established relationships in everyone’s but Law’s

CHARACTERS: Shanks, Doflamingo, Law, Ace. (Doflamingo's section can be interpreted as being part of the Immune To Your Charms universe but doesn't necessarily have to be)

WORDS: 2,561

A/N: I'm back after being sick so my writing is still a bit on the rusty side! Thank you for this request and I hope you like it. I kept everything light hearted and more on the playful side with this request which works out well since today's April Fools Day. Enjoy 💕

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI

———————

SHANKS

Sometimes on the Grand Line there are moments of monotony, even for a crew as adventurous and boisterous as the Red Hair pirates. With the previous island long gone and no new island in sight for fun and entertainment in sight, you all had to find your own ways to pass the time. Lounging in one of the hammocks strung up on the deck for these long stretches of nothing you cast your sights around the Red Force, searching for inspiration. For a while nothing came to mind. Then when your gaze found your Captain and lover at the other side of the deck, you slowly smiled as an idea began to form. Shifting in the hammock, you made yourself comfortable and slowly let your eyes slide closed while you waited for your moment.  

Shanks missed you. Your watch had been the last one of the night and early hours so when he woke, your side of the bed was cold. Despite the general lack of activity as they sailed calmly he still had his duties to oversee first before completely relaxing. Finally when he ensured nothing else needed to be done, he made his way directly to where you were lounging. It was cute how peaceful you looked but there was too much space on the hammock for his liking. With a grin he slid his arm under you and effortlessly had you lifted just enough to lie down before settling you to rest against him. 

You were more than used to moments like these so you merely let Shanks adjust you both with your eyes closed and body relaxed. Shanks softly spoke your name to gently coax your mind to sharpen to focus on him. Holding back the urge to laugh you instead let out a soft hum of acknowledgement, letting him know you heard him but still you didn’t open your eyes. You didn’t need to to know the half pout beginning to pull at his lips. “Didn’t get my good morning kiss today.”

At that you finally opened you eyes and Shanks grinned broadly at you, of course that would get your attention. He leant in to get the kiss he was dying for all morning but when his lips met yours he frowned because at the very last second you’d pressed your lips into a tight line. This was not the kiss he’d been so eager for. You didn’t kiss him back. Shanks lightly narrowed his eyes to see the playful glimmer dance in yours. Immediately he knew you were only doing this to be a menace and not because he’d actually done something to deserve being denied your affection. 

Shanks chuckled softly, this was any easily remedied situation. With a confident smile firmly in place he leant in again. You eyed Shanks carefully, all too aware of what you were getting in for when you made the decision to mess with him. You remained as relaxed as possible beside Shanks as he pressed his lips against the crown of your head, then your temple. Slowly he moved precisely, placing tender kisses against your skin. He made sure to kiss your cheek, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth, and your jaw. But never your lips. Finally he placed a kiss against your jaw before moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck, his lips strategically near the spot you both knew was a weakness of yours. Then without warning he took a breath and blew a raspberry against your skin causing you to laugh and struggle away from the persistent ticklish feeling. “Okay, okay you win!” You grinned, pushing at his head. “You win!” 

Finally relenting, Shanks pulled back to grin at you broadly, his arm around you tightening to keep you close against him again. Closing the last amount of distance you granted Shanks his prize and kissed him deeply, smiling into it when he happily returned it. 

DOFLAMINGO

How you came to find yourself in Dressrosa’s Palace was still unexpected to you at times. Even more shocking were the circumstances that led you and Doflamingo to get together in a functioning and actually loving relationship. Something that also threw Dressrosa’s King off too on many occasions, not that he’d openly admit it. Were everyone saw the fearsome, bloodthirsty pirate, you…well you saw the bloodthirsty pirate aspect of that too. However you never feared the man, it was physically impossible to feel it. You could most certainly feel frustration with him and annoyance, you were the only one to never back down and confront him on anything he did that you didn’t agree with. More than anything though, you felt safe with him and reassured that you were literally the only person for him.

Today though you felt playfully curious, wondering just how much Doflamingo would put up with your mischief and random testing of his limits in patience. You strode casually into his office and smiled sweetly, watching Doflamingo pause in his work to sit back slightly in his seat to observe your approach. Even with his glasses hiding his eyes from view, you could read his body well enough to know he was already anticipating some sort of nonsense from you. Since it was you though, it was nonsense he welcomed and he grinned. “Now what’s brewing in that mind of yours today?”

“Can’t I grace you with my presence?” You asked with a smirk as you sat on the edge of the desk and lightly tapped your lips, a wordless request for a kiss. Knowing that wasn't all you were up to Doflamingo still grinned wider and leant forward, his lips pressed against yours. The second he noticed you didn’t reciprocate it he pulled back to regard you carefully. Innocently you blinked at him and tapped your lips again. With a dramatic sigh, Doflamingo brought his lips to yours and just like before you didn’t return the action. He pulled back to frown down at you.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you want to kiss me?” You asked, your expression still a perfect mask of false concern.

“You going to keep sitting there like a statue?” He asked with a small teasing grin. “Don’t you want me to kiss you?”

“I do but the thing is I was working out the numbers and you owe me a lot of kisses before I can kiss you back.” You explained sweetly and shrugging lightly. “Until it’s even, I can’t kiss you.”

“And how did I amass such a debt, exactly?” Doflamingo chuckled, finding this far more entertaining that reading overzealous reports from middle rank pirates under his command looking to impress him. “Since I’m King, can’t I pardon myself?”

“Won’t work with me Doffy.” You shook your head, swiftly dodging this time when he tried to claim your lips while you were speaking. Quickly you pinched his chin and stared at him with playful severity. “I need ample payment. If kisses are too simple, you can get creative to get rid of the debt.”

“Creative, huh?” Doflamingo grinned pressing a kiss against your unmoving lips. “A kiss is one. How many does a back rub take off my bill?”

“Oh a really good one is five.” You told him, you should have expected he’d find a way to enjoy this instead of get impatient or agitated. Doflamingo laughed and leaned in a confident grin shaping his lips that made you suspicious. 

“If I send Trebol on a mission?” Your eyes glinted immediately but you still didn’t take the initial offering. This was a negotiation after all. “Oh and he can’t return for at least two weeks.”

Immediately you broke out into a grin and tapped your lips once more. This time when his lips met yours, you returned it eagerly. If it meant you weren’t bothered by Trebol for a while, he could have as many as he wanted.

LAW

“Is it true that when people kiss their brains release a hormone that’s the same as when they use drugs?” You asked curiously from your spot on the sofa, looking over to watch Law pause in reading his medical notes to meet your gaze. It wasn’t rare for you to ask random questions like is. A lot of the times it was because you were genuinely curious but other times you were asking because you either wanted to fluster or toy with him in some way. Today’s question seemed to one of those days. His eyes narrowed slightly, trying to not give an outward reaction.

Subtly clearing his throat Law returned to his medical notes, focusing on the words on the paper and not on your question echoing in his mind. “Something like that.”

“So you could get addicted if you kissed someone enough times?”

“Not exactly…” Law began, tapping his foot lightly on the floor. He was about to go into the complicated biology and chemistry of it all but then you asked another question.

“Is that why you haven’t kissed me yet?” You grinned as Law all but choked on nothing. “Scared you’ll get addicted?” His widened eyes looked to you again and he was thankful no-one else was around to have heard it otherwise it would have made things more embarrassing; for them to see him begin to blush so childishly. 

Instead it was just the two of you, staying behind to watch the Polar Tang while they explored. It had been peaceful and calm, just what he wanted up until you threw your bomb of a question into the usually content atmosphere that occurred when you were together. Now he had to try and force his mind to restart, to form an actual response instead of just the blank, openmouthed floundering he was currently doing. It only made things worse to see you so thoroughly pleased with yourself, your lips curved into the proudest smile. As your Captain, he should have reprimanded you but he could only imagine finally kissing you, doing what the two of you had been dancing around for a while now; finally give in. “Wouldn’t get addicted if I kissed you.”

You shifted in your seat and pulled yourself closer to Law, eyes firmly on his face. Gently you took the forgotten medical notes from his hand and set them behind you before leaning in. “I’m willing to test the theory if you are.”

There was no backing out of the challenge now, not after he’d boldly stated he’d be fine if he kissed you. Besides he didn’t want to back down, not when he could see a hopeful shine in your eyes under the playfulness. Carefully he set his hand on your side and leant in, pressing his lips to yours only to glower when you smiled but made no further response. He pulled back to scowl at you. “The hell you call that?”

“What? We were testing if you’d get addicted if you kissed me, not the other way around.” You protested with a grin. “So did it work?”

“Idiot! Do it right this time.” Law snapped but without his usual sharpness in his tone.

“You want to kiss me again already? Sounds like you are addicted after-” Your playful taunt was cut off when Law’s lips claimed yours. It had taken all of your restraint the first time to hold back in kissing Law and there was no way you were ever going to stop yourself again. Despite all your teasing, maybe you were the one that was going to prove the theory right and be the addicted one. 

ACE

The feast was in full swing, plentiful food and drink seemingly never-ending and that was perfectly fine for you and the rest of the Whitebeard crew. You would have thought that you all would have grown tired of the partying by now but because of the close relationship of the crew it never lost its impact. Hundreds of parties and feasts in your memory and all of them feeling like it was the very first one. Tonight you and the others made yourselves comfortable in the festive environment amongst the civilians of the island town you were staying at. Letting the infectious joy heighten in you, you looked around with a smile and soon set your sights on Ace who as always was the life of an already lively party. 

Ace was surrounded by civilians and crew alike, talking animatedly and warmly. For the residents of the town you could see they felt as if they’d known the pirate for a lot longer than a mere evening but that was your boyfriend all over, able to put anyone at ease and give everyone the right amount of attention. It was something you always admired about him. In the middle of whatever he was talking about you froze when Ace suddenly met your gaze and pointed you out with a broad grin. The civilians looked to you excitedly while the rest of the crew in earshot rolled their eyes in amusement; most likely having heard this story for many times before. You offered them a smile and small wave before getting pulled into your own conversation again.

It wasn’t long before you heard hurried footsteps sound from behind you. You turned and were pulled immediately into a kiss by Ace. You reacted against your initial instinct and kept your mouth firmly closed. It hadn’t been your intention to not kiss Ace back and when he pulled back with a pout you swiftly grabbed his hand. Quickly you swallowed the mouthful of food you’d been eating before your boyfriend appeared. “Sorry, that was just really bad timing.”

“It’s never bad timing though if I get to kiss you though.”

“That’s sweet but it is bad timing if I’ve got a mouth full of food, Ace.” You argued with a laugh only to roll your eyes when Ace grinned and shook his head.

“Still not seeing a downside to the scenario. Two of my favourite things right there; food and you.”

“You’re so weird.” You laughed while Ace grinned down at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you tightly.

“And you love me for it.”

“Sadly that’s true. I’m madly in love with every part of you, including your food obsession.” You smiled and leaned further into the comforting embrace you were in. At this time of the evening, when he’d had his fill of food and drink Ace became more affectionate and clingier than usual. As long as he was in touching range of you by this time he was happy to continue the feasts and parties for another handful of hours. Reaching up you adjusted Ace’s hat so you could see more of his face and pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his lips in silent apology for your unintentional rejection. Then you brought him into a second, deeper kiss, only pulling back when your attentions were grabbed by some of the civilians calling for Ace to tell them another story. You sighed slightly and pulled back, remaining securely in his arms. As fun as the feasts and parties were, you couldn’t wait to get back onto the ship and set sail again since it meant less people would be vying for Ace’s attention and you’d get him all to yourself again.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @sagyunaro , @artemis162534 , @rosemary-lungs , @thecraftywriter , @rorozorolover

[afterglowsainz]

eternal sunshine | charles leclerc

summary: you and charles decide to fake date to get back at your exes

fc: ariana grande

a/n: a bit late (mostly because i didn’t had any time nor inspiration) but finally here it is, a fic about THE 2024 monaco grand prix winner

—

liked by arthur_leclerc and others

f1.wags charles leclerc posted a statement earlier today confirming the end of his relationship with his girlfriend

view all comments

username NOOOOOO

username pls say sike pls say sike

username definitely not the way i wanted to start the weekend like

username so love is dead guys good to know 💔

username they were the it couple 😢

username im going to pretend i didn’t see this

liked by bffusername and others

ynupdates it’s confirmed that y/n y/l/n and her boyfriend have broken up after fours years of dating

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username WHAT

username omg nooo😭

username why is everyone breaking up!!!

username i don’t believe in love anymore

username her best friend liked the post so it’s really really true i’m gonna cry 😭

username yeah also the sun posted an article saying that a close source to the couple confirmed it

liked by f1.wags, ynupdates and others

deuxmoi actor jacob elordi and actress charlotte berzatto have been spotted recently on different occasions going out on dates

tagged jacobelordi, charlotteberzatto

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username excuse me what?

username and who’s this charlotte girl? 🤨

username she’s an european actress

username charles leclerc’s ex girlfriend

username wait wasn’t he dating y/n y/l/n like two weeks ago? i’m confused

username girl they broke up where you’ve been 😭

username yeah but they broke up like five minutes ago this seems…

username i did not expect that

username not them breaking up with their partners to get together 😭

liked by carmenmmundt, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername new things coming soon who’s happy🫧💐

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username OMG WE’RE GETTING A NEW ALBUM

username you actually just cured my depression with this post

username mother has that post breakup glow

username we love to see it

lilymhe gorgeous! 💕

yourusername lilyyy💘

username the flowers???

username who send them!!!

username jacob elordi count your days

username charles in the likes?? 😭

username they’re friends chill

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and others

charles_leclerc happy times 😁

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username pookie came back! 🫶🏽

username now what is charles doing in a music studio 🤨🤨

username he’s so hot just ughhh

username is that… y/n’s dog… ???

username nah

username now that you mention it i think it could be but idk 😭

username he’s so boyfriend coded

username y/n in the likes 👀👀👀👀

username this just keeps getting messier and messier😭

liked by bffusername, francisca.cgomes and others

ynupdates y/n has been seen recently on multiple dates with formula 1 driver charles leclerc

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username ma’am???

username well this took a turn

username are they actually dating or…

username i meaaan look at that third and last pic and ask again

username the lore on this four people is just endless fr 😭

username they’re so real for swapping partners just like that

username literally blink and you miss it

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and others

yourusername my new single ‘don’t wanna break up again’ is out now for all of you💘 i also sing it for the first time ever on snl tonight if you’re interested in that🫶🏽

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username YES NEW MUSIC FROM MOTHER

username this song ATE

username the queen is back i used to pray for times like this😭

lilymhe such a gooood song💓 (liked by yourusername)

username so you’re telling me THAT man used to turn up the volume of the tv to not hear her cry??? yeah he’s DONE

username i literally heard that and had to pause for a second because what???

username also her calling their relationship of four years a “situationship” 😭😭

username she’s so unserious i love her

charles_leclerc on repeat 24/7 ❤️‍🩹

yourusername 🤍🤍🤍

francisca.cgomes completely obsessed!💖 (liked by yourusername)

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and others

scuderiaferrari such a pleasure to have yourusername on the garage this weekend! 🫧

tagged yourusername, charles_leclerc

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username she looks stunning 🤩

username the pic with charles omg they’re so cute🥰🥰

username y/n in the paddock every race week please and thank you

yourusername tysm! forza ferrari❤️

username babes what other words in italian did charles taught you? i need to know

username dare i say new ferrari it couple?

username the fact that they haven’t confirmed anything 😭

username i mean you don’t really have to be a genius just a bit of common sense

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and others

charles_leclerc keep the podiums coming🏆🐎

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username il predestinato does it again 😮‍💨😮‍💨

username let’s go charles 💪🏽

username yesss charles show y/n what you can do‼️

carlossainz55 nice race!👊🏽

username very well deserved podium, such a nice race charles❤️❤️

username the fact that he was looking for y/n the whole time he was on the podium 😭

username I KNEW I WASNT THE ONLY ONE WHO NOTICED

username no cause bro was looking everyone and once he clocked her the biggest smile on his face

yourusername congratulations! ❤️‍🩹

charles_leclerc ❤️

liked by arthur_leclerc, joris_trouche and others

f1.wags if there was doubt before there definitely isn’t anymore! charles leclerc and singer y/n y/l/n were spotted kissing at the after party of this weekend’s grand prix and leaving together

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username THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE

username don’t know if i wanna be charles or y/n to be honest

username joris and arthur liking this 😭😭

username i love that they’re together they just fit

username agree, a bit unexpected since their exes are also dating each other but still, they’re very cute💕

username okay i wasn’t a fan of y/n but i’m definitely gonna start listening to her now

username does this mean we’re getting happy songs from y/n about charles?

username omg girl I HOPE

liked by charles_leclerc, lilymhe and others

yourusername eternal sunshine (the song) is out right now with the very special appearance of charles_leclerc in the music video (❤️) and eternal sunshine (the album) is out next friday! 💕

tagged charles_leclerc

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username i’m so so proud of y/n this song is perfect! can’t wait for the album 🤍

username this is the first time she’s featured a boyfriend in a music video and i’m so down for it🥰

username they’re look cute together!

username them on the bts of the video 💞💞💞

lilymhe you’re perfect and this song is everything🤍

yourusername love love love you lils 💘

username who would’ve thought mr charles leclerc can ACT!

username “hope you feel alright when you’re in her” i gasped

username no because that took me by surprise

username okay but we got “i got a good boy and he’s on my side” so it brought me back hope

charles_leclerc so proud of you, mon coeur❤️

yourusername i love you charlie❤️

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and others

charles_leclerc so so so proud of you my love❤️ this is the most amazing project ever and the fact that i was able to participate in any way brings me so much joy. you’re a musical genius and an incredible human being🤍 stream eternal sunshine☀️

tagged yourusername

view all comments

username if you look closely you can see me in the background crying

username this is- they’re so- i’m- 😭

username no but they’re so perfect for each other i could cry

pierregasly who would’ve thought you could act 🤣

carlossainz55 new skill for the cv 😂

username “a musical genius and an incredible human being” charles leclerc why don’t you just rip my heart out yourself

username she looks so pretty in the mv and they’re so good together💞 i’m so happy for them

username no longer a child of divorce THESE are my real parents🫶🏽

yourusername i love you and i’m very very proud of you too❤️‍🩹

charles_leclerc mon amour you’re everything 🤍

[ghostlyferrettarot]

🌸ʕ◔ᴥ◔ʔ Pick a Picture:⋆ 𖦹˚🐻｡💕˚Let's be honest! How your desired person really feel about you?!⋆ 𖦹˚🐻｡💕˚

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

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🐻Masterlist🐻 🐻Masterlist 2🐻

⋆𐙚ʕ◔ᴥ◔ʔ Pile 1:

Hi pile 1! Good news, hehe. Yes. They like you. This person isn't just attracted to you physically (which yes, they definitely are), but there's something deeper at play. It's like every time they see you, something inside them is activated. It's not just desire: it's curiosity, tenderness, a connection they can't quite explain yet. They may not show it obviously. Maybe they act indifferent or speak to you with that neutral tone that leaves you wondering. But behind that, there's a sea of ​​emotions. They look at you when you think you're not looking. They remember things you said weeks ago. They're genuinely interested in what's going on with you. And you know what else? You inspire them. Not only do they like you, but your energy awakens a more vulnerable and authentic version of themselves. This may scare them a little. Sometimes when we really like someone, the first thing we do its backing off a little. So if you feel like they sometimes pull away, don't take it as a lack of interest. It's fear. It's the typical "what if they reject me?", "what if this gets real?" This is the kind of connection that could grow if both of you allow it. They see you as someone special. And even if they don't say it with words, their actions, the small, subtle ones, are starting to show it. Let them come to you. Don't force anything. If this person is meant to be a part of your life, they'll do so by choice, not by pressure. And that's the most amazing way someone can stay.

⋆𐙚ʕ◔ᴥ◔ʔ Pile 2:

Hi Pile 2! This is complicated. Yes, there's attraction. You're not crazy, you're not making this up. That spark exists, that strange energy that jumps when your eyes meet or when they text you something that makes you think. This is so confusing. But the problem isn't the connection. The problem is that this person doesn't know what they want. They may have someone else on their radar, not necessarily in a serious way, but there's something or someone who has their mind half-done. Or they're simply at a stage where they don't even fully understand their own feelings. Sometimes they pursue you intensely, and other times they leave you on read. There are times when you feel like you're moving forward, and suddenly it's as if you've taken three steps back. That's not because they don't like you. It's because they're in conflict with themselves. This doesn't mean you're not enough. On the contrary: sometimes the attraction you generate throws them off. Maybe they don't feel ready for someone like you. Or they don't want to hurt you, but they don't want to let you go either. So they keep you there, in that emotional limbo where no definition is forthcoming and everything is expectation. Honestly, it's not fair to you. This situation wears you down, leaves you confused, and makes you begin to doubt your own worth. And you deserve clarity, not crumbs of attention or excuses disguised as "I just don't know what I want." Pay more attention to what they do than what they say. If their actions don't match their words, there's your answer. Don't get attached to someone's "potential." You deserve better than that.

⋆𐙚ʕ◔ᴥ◔ʔ Pile 3:

Hi Pile 3! I feel like being in this situation isn't easy, and liking someone who doesn't return your energy the way you feel it… it's hard. But I'm going to speak from the heart: this person doesn't see you the way you see them. It's not that they don't value you. They may really like you, they may love you as a person, they may even throw you the occasional flirtatious hint. But that doesn't always mean they have real intentions. Sometimes people behave ambiguously because they like the attention, or because you feel comfortable, or simply because they don't know how to set clear boundaries. And it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, you probably gave it your all, i feel like you were loving, attentive, you were there. But that commitment needs a mirror. And this person isn't reflecting the same back to you. For some of you i feel like they may already have someone else in mind. Or they're simply not looking for something right now, and you showed up right at a time when they weren't ready to open that emotional space. Whatever the reason, it's not about you, it's about them. But that doesn't change the fact that you deserve someone who will choose you without hesitation pile 3. Don't wait for something to change. Don't put your heart on hold for someone who isn't taking care of it. There's something much bigger and more beautiful waiting for you, but you have to let go of what isn't giving you anything real to make room for it.

⋆ 𖦹˚🐻｡💕˚ Thank you for reading and let me know if it resonated!⋆ 𖦹˚🐻｡💕˚

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 4

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter warnings: slow ass burn because the series will be extended indefinitelyyyy yall wanted this 😅, so much kissing, sexting, star wars reference, THIS YOONGI, cliffhanger hehe

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 6.7k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: December 14, 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ A/N: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |  Masterlist

You glance at the clock again and chew your bottom lip, heart ricocheting against your ribcage. When you sent Yoongi the text, you knew it was overdue. You were finally in a good place—and he was part of what was good.

You’ve known Yoongi for years, but it’s only in the past few months that you’ve really gotten to know him. At this point, you’ve spent hours with him in every context imaginable, from tantruming Haneul to Miss Rachel dance sessions, from boring afternoons to big milestones. But this feels… different.

He’s coming to your place. You haven’t seen him in weeks, not since you kissed in the rain, and he showed up in the hallway, not since everything fell apart and started to piece itself back together again.

You’d started in your pajamas—just a soft cotton set with peaches on them—but after one glance in the mirror, you decided against it. Too casual. Now you’re in a cream-colored cardigan with a camisole underneath and matching joggers. You dabbed on a little lip tint, brushed out your hair, spritzed on a tiny bit of perfume. Now, you honestly look like you tried and while you don’t want to be too obvious, you remember he has been the one trying for months. It wouldn’t hurt if you showed him a little effort. And at least now you know you look cute.

The doorbell startles you, and you jolt forward causing a dull pain in your neck, which has been bothering you for days. You roll your shoulders back, in hopes to shake some of the tension away. You wipe your palms on your joggers and rush to the door, catching a quick glance at your reflection in the hallway mirror. You look… fine. You hope.

When you pull the door open, there he is.

Yoongi.

Yoongi stands in your doorway, wearing a gray hoodie, jeans that sit just right on his hips, and New Balance slides—slides—despite the winter chill. His hair, slightly longer now, still looks as soft as when you ran your fingers throu—

“Hey,” he says, stalling your thoughts. His dark eyes meet yours, something in his expression making you a bit self-conscious. But boy did you miss him.

“Hi,” you manage, your voice smaller than you intended. You clear your throat and gesture at his feet. “Slides? In this weather?”

Yoongi glances down, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “I was in a rush.”

“Come in,” you say, motioning for him to enter. “When I texted you, I didn’t say it had to be tonight.”

“It had to be,” he says quietly. “For me.”

Your cheeks flush, and you quickly change the subject. “Do you want something to drink? Water? Tea? Iced americano?”

He smiles, seemingly glad that you recall his favorite. “Iced americano sounds good,” he says, settling onto the couch.

You head to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice and coffee. When you return, you hand it to him, watching as he fumbles with the straw a bit. You forgot just how cute he is.

You sip your drink, glancing at him over the rim before deciding to fill the quiet. “So… first day at the daycare,” you start casually. “It went well.”

Yoongi leans back, his shoulders loosening just a little. “Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“It was… honestly, it was so great,” you say, the words tumbling out as you set your drink on the table. “The kids are adorable, and the space is beautiful. Everything’s so well set up.” You pause, the memory of the morning making your chest feel warm. “I forgot how much I missed doing that, you know? Like, preparing activities, seeing their little faces light up when they learn something new… it just—it feels good.”

Yoongi’s lips tug into the faintest smile, his gaze steady on you. “You look happy talking about it.”

You nod, almost to yourself. “I am. I feel… lucky, I guess. That I get to do this again.”

His eyes soften in that way that makes your stomach flutter. “I’m proud of you,” he says simply, his tone steady and sincere.

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is blink at him. “Really?”

“Of course,” he says simply, leaning back against the couch. “It’s not easy starting over. But you did it.”

“Thanks, Yoongi. I really appreciate that.” You pause, then add, “I’m proud of me too.”

He smiles at that, the kind that’s so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t looking.

You grin back, the memory of the morning still fresh. “Well, we also had a capybara mascot.”

Yoongi coughs. “Oh? A mascot? That’s… interesting.”

“Yeah,” you nod, narrowing your eyes at him. “It seemed really into me. Kept shaking its ass in front of the kids, though, which… you know, questionable.”

“Shaking its ass?” Yoongi repeats, lips twitching.

“Weird, right?” you protest, though you can’t help but grin. “The thing was strangely enthusiastic.”

Yoongi shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. “Sounds like a fun mascot.” 

But then, he’s not done, like he’s empathizing with the man in the suit. “And of course he would be enthusiastic, it’s your opening day. I mean they probably briefed him to be supportive of you and whatnot. And to be that energetic despite the tormenting heat of that costume, he’s seriously doing the lord’s work…”

Huh.

You blink at him, before you decide to test the theory out.

“Haneul kept calling it Appa,” you say with a straight face. “I told him there’s no way his appa is in a capybara suit.”

Yoongi chokes on his drink, coughing again.

“Are you okay?” you ask, patting his back.

“Fine,” he croaks, his voice raspier than usual. “Just… went down wrong.”

You eye him suspiciously but let it slide, suppressing a smile that’s threatening to slant your lips. 

He’s definitely the man in the suit. You’ll get him to admit it one day.

But for now, you brace yourself for the talk you wanted to have.

You set your phone down carefully, the action feeling weighted, like it’s tethered to the words you’re about to say. Your fingers twist nervously in the hem of your cardigan, and you glance at Yoongi, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “Yoongi… umm, I wanted to say  I’m sorry.”

He looks up at you sharply, his brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?”

“For shutting you out,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You swallow hard, the vulnerability in your chest blooming uncomfortably. “I was in such a bad place mentally. I hated myself, I was dealing with so much unresolved shit that I hadn’t even begun to work through.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. Quiet eyes, just watching you, letting you process your emotions. So you continue.

“Just as you depended on me to care for Han, I started depending on you too. I wasn’t happy with my life, but when I was in your place, I felt detached from my misery. Felt wanted and needed which made me feel good. But then… when Sung Kyung showed up, it was like everything I was already struggling with just got amplified. I thought I was protecting myself, but instead, I just… pushed you away.”

He leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and the way he looks at you—tender and unguarded—makes your heart ache. His eyes are dark and steady, the kind that seem to see straight through you, but not in a way that feels invasive or harsh. 

“I felt very insecure and abandoned from so many things in my past. I have been working on it though, and I feel like I’m in a better place now.”

The faintest trace of a smile ghosts across his lips as he finally speaks. “I get it,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’m glad you’re better. I’ve been there too. Feeling like you have to be strong for others when inside you’re struggling.” He gnaws at his lip. “If I’m gonna be real, I thought you pushed me away because you wanted out. Honestly, if I were you, I’d dip too.”

“Oh Yoongi…” you start, but he shakes his head, so you let him carry on.

“It’s okay, I know my life is… complicated. Everything that happened in the last two months, hell, in the last year, threw me off, too. Like I just lost control of my life. Shit kept piling on and I didn’t know how to deal. But at the end of the day, all I wanted was to do right by Haneul, to make sure he was loved and safe. That was my focus.”

“You’re an amazing dad,” you say with sincerity. “And you’ve been an amazing friend to me, too. Even when I didn’t deserve it. You didn’t give up on me.”

His eyes soften further, and he shakes his head, brushing your gratitude away like it’s unnecessary. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says, his voice almost gentle.

“At first, I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me,” you admit quietly, glancing down at your hands. “I thought maybe you moved on. Or… that you’d rather I wasn’t in your life anymore.”

Yoongi leans back slightly, his posture relaxing as he tilts his head to study you. “Peep the countless messages on Kakao that’s left hanging…”

“I know, and I’m sorry for that. I read every single one. And there were many times that I thought about replying, but I needed to sort myself out. I’m a mess and I didn’t want to drag you down, or add into whatever’s on your plate. You did say your life is complicated.”

“Yeah, but I was just worried about you, because…” his eyes drop to his drink, pauses, then he shakes his head with a chuckle. His gaze meets yours again, his expression firm. “Just promise me something.”

You blink, your hands stilling in your lap. “What?”

“Promise me you won’t do that again,” he says, his voice carrying just the faintest edge of vulnerability. “Don’t shut me out, no matter what’s going on.”

You nod before you can even think. “I promise.”

His lips curve into a faint smile, and the sight of it tugs at something deep inside you. It’s such a small thing—a slight upturn of his mouth, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes—but it feels monumental. Like the bridge you’ve both been too scared to cross is finally, tentatively, being rebuilt.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You think about the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, the way his voice wraps around your name like it’s something precious. And so you think, maybe, just maybe, this could still be something.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Hey–what happened to your shoulder?” he asks suddenly, breaking the moment.

You blink, caught off guard by the shift. “What?”

“Your shoulder,” he repeats, nodding toward it. “You’ve been rolling it a little since I got here. Is it bothering you?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” you say, feeling a little self-conscious. “It’s nothing, really. Just a strain from running, I think. I’ve been pushing myself a bit harder lately, trying to, you know, get my life together and shit.”

Yoongi frowns, his brows knitting together. “Running’s good, but you can’t overdo it. A shoulder strain’s no joke. If you don’t take care of it, it’ll just get worse.”

You smile faintly, appreciating the concern in his voice. “Okay, Dr. Min,” you tease lightly. “Any recommendations?”

He huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t let it go. “I mean it. You have to be careful. My shoulder was busted for years, you know. I have a few tricks,” He pauses, glancing at your cardigan. “Can I…? I can take a look if you want. Only if you’re okay with it.”

You gulp. Loud. The neighbors probably heard it. And for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. His expression is earnest, his hand already halfway lifted in a gesture of permission.

“Uh, sure,” you say, your voice quieter than intended. “That’d be… yeah, okay.” You shift in your seat, angling your shoulder for better access.

He waits for your nod before gently tugging at the edge of your cardigan. “May I?”

Your pulse quickens as you shrug it off your shoulder, leaving the strap of your camisole exposed. The cool air brushes your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of Yoongi’s hands as they settle lightly on your shoulder.

His fingers press gently at first, testing the tension in your muscles before applying more pressure. You inhale sharply as he works through a particularly tight knot, your body instinctively leaning into his touch.

“Here,” he murmurs, his tone soft but focused. “This is where it’s worst, right?”

You nod, unable to form coherent words as his hands move with ease, kneading the aches away. Each press of his fingers sends a mixture of relief and something else coursing through you, straight down towards your core.

“You’re really… good at this,” you manage to say, your voice a little breathless. Brain starting to turn into mush.

He chuckles lightly, the sound vibrating against your back. “Years of experience. Needed surgery to get my shoulder sorted out. That’s why I’m serious about this stuff. You need to be careful with it.”

His words linger in the air, and you find yourself focusing not just on the pleasure of his touch but on the deep timbre of his voice, and the way he’s always looking out for you even in the smallest ways.

“Thank you,” you whisper, glancing over your shoulder to meet his gaze. His hands still for a moment.

“Of course,” he says softly, licking his lips as you find his eyes going to yours.

Oh my god. You want to kiss him. Shit, you really do. You wonder if you should turn fully to face him. 

But then his hands slip away, leaving your skin feeling colder.

You adjust your cardigan, clearing your throat as you sit back, your mind spinning. The intimacy of the moment—of his hands on you, the quiet concern in his voice—has left your heart like it’s going into cardiac arrest. If he fancies himself as Dr. Min he better fix this.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling faintly. “Better. Thanks, Yoongi.”

“Anytime,” he replies, with a small, almost shy smile.

He leans forward slightly, eyes searching yours, and you find yourself doing the same, your heart pounding in your chest.

For a second, you think he might kiss you—or maybe you’re the one who wants to close the distance. 

But then he stands.

“It’s pretty late, I should go,” he says softly, though his voice carries a hint of reluctance.

“Yeah,” you say, standing with him. Your legs feel unsteady as you walk him to the door.

As he steps out, you hesitate for a moment. “Thanks for coming over, at short notice.”

“Nah, I wanted to,” he says, pink dusting his cheeks before he admits. “Is it weird if I say I’ve been waiting for it?”

Before you chicken out, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for waiting, Yoongi.”

He blinks, startled, then he’s rubbing his wrinkled nose with his index finger. “Goodnight.”

“Drive safe…”

You close the door and lean your back against it, pressing your hands to your cheeks as if that’ll somehow contain the giddy energy bubbling up inside you. It’s stupid, really, how much a simple night with Yoongi—his laugh, his voice, that damn massage—has you grinning like an idiot.

But you can’t help it.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like your heart is beating again, a rhythm that feels almost foreign after the weeks of emptiness you’d carried around.

So, it’s been a week since Yoongi came over. 

Each morning at the daycare, Haneul’s nanny walks through the door with her usual warm smile, holding Haneul’s tiny hand as he toddles in. It’s what you’ve grown used to, so you’re not expecting anything different. But sometimes, when the door swings open, you hope that maybe this time, it’ll be Yoongi instead.

It never is.

You shake off the feeling quickly each time. He’s busy, of course. He has his music, his idol schedules. It makes sense that he’d leave the daycare routine to someone else.

But still.

The thought lingers, one you don’t want to examine too closely. Instead, you focus on the small joys: Haneul’s excited “Sarang!” when he sees you, his delighted giggles during circle time, the way he clutches Bora 2.0 during nap time.

And at night, when you’re settling into bed, your phone buzzes. That’s when Yoongi comes to you—not in person, but through his name on your screen.

Yoongi: How’s your shoulder? Dr. Min is still monitoring your progress. You: Much better, thanks. Might even survive the crossfit sesh Joon’s dragging me into. Yoongi: I just texted Namjoon. You’re off the hook. You: What? Yoongi: Can’t do crossfit with a bad shoulder. Doctor’s orders. You: Fine You: You know you’re not a real doctor right? Yoongi: 😑

Then another night:

Yoongi: Haneul wouldn’t stop saying sarang this, sarang that today. Like a little broken record. You: 🥺 My heart can’t handle this. Yoongi: I know.

And then the casual starts to shift:

Yoongi: Did I tell you Haneul fell asleep on my lap during my zoom meeting today? I couldnt move for like an hour and my arm died. You: No, but that sounds adorable. He probably misses u. Yoongi: Yeah. Shld probably cherish this while he’s still not embarrassed by me You: Definitely cherish but why would he be embarrassed by you? You’re such a good dad. Yoongi: I’m trying. But honestly? Sometimes it’s hard. I think about how much I’m giving him and I wonder if it’s enough

You pause at that text, staring at the screen for a long time.

Yoongi doesn’t open up often. When he does, it feels like he’s peeling back a layer, letting you see something raw, something vulnerable.

You: I think every parent feels like that sometimes. But from what I see, Han is such a happy kid. You’re raising him well and he’s so lucky to have you. Yoongi: I needed that. Thank you.

And then, late one night, the tone shifts entirely.

Yoongi: What are you doing right now? You: Bed. About to sleep. U? Yoongi: Same. Thinking about that night. You: Which night? Yoongi: When I came over. And you almost kissed me. 🙂

Oh, shit. Is he drunk?! You sit up, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. Mind thinking nonsense, like if this is about to be a booty call, what panties are you changing into?

You: 💀Be for real. You were definitely leaning in more. Yoongi: Maybe. Yoongi: Would it have been so bad tho?

Your cheeks burn as you stare at the screen, unsure if your heart is racing because of his words or because of the way they make you feel. You start laughing in disbelief, and soon you're screaming into your pillow. What the hell?!

When you finally compose yourself, you decide you want to ask him if he’s being serious. But before you can even start to type, another message comes through.

Yoongi: Stop overthinking it, beautiful. Good night. 😉

It’s late afternoon, and the daycare is winding down. Kids are being picked up by the HYBE employee parents or the designated guardians. There’s only one kid left, and he just happens to be your favorite.

“Sarang!” Haneul’s little voice calls, his gummy smile wide as he wraps his tiny arms around your legs.

“Hi, baby!” you say warmly, scooping him up into your arms. His chubby cheeks press against yours as he nuzzles into your neck, and your heart melts a little. “Wonder where Nanny Mel is…”

Before you can fully bask in the moment, you hear another familiar voice.

“Ready to go, Haneul?”

Yoongi steps into the daycare, looking effortlessly casual (and annoyingly sexy) in his usual hoodie and slides. His hair is swept back today, and you have to mentally shake yourself out of staring, not just of how he looked, but because this is the first time he has ever picked up Haneul from your daycare.

The tiny tot, however, has other plans.

“No!” he says firmly, clutching onto you tighter.

Yoongi arches a brow, amused. “No? It’s time to go home, buddy.”

Haneul shakes his head, burying his face in your shoulder. “Play more!”

You stifle a laugh, patting Haneul’s back gently. “He’s been having a good day,” you explain, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest at Yoongi’s soft expression as he watches the two of you.

“Well, I can see that,” Yoongi says, his lips twitching in a small smile. He steps closer, holding out his hands. “Come on, Han. Let’s not bother Teacher Y/N anymore, okay?”

But Haneul just whines and clings to you like a little koala, refusing to budge.

Yoongi sighs, running a hand through his soft hair. And you would probably have swooned if you didn’t have other pressing matters. “Aish, this kid…” Yoongi sighs.

You shift Haneul in your arms, trying to coax him down. “Sarang, your appa’s here to take you home. You’ll see me tomorrow, okay?”

But Haneul just shakes his head again, this time tightening his little fists around your sweater. “Noooo!”

Yoongi crosses his arms. “You know, I thought I’d gained a bit more brownie points in the past months, but clearly, you’re still his favorite person.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” you tease, bouncing Haneul gently in your arms. “He loves you.”

“Yeah, but he adores you,” Yoongi counters, his eyes crinkling in a soft smile that makes your heart do a little somersault.

Finally, after a few more minutes of coaxing and promises that you’ll play together tomorrow, Haneul reluctantly lets go, sliding into Yoongi’s waiting arms.

As Yoongi adjusts Haneul on his hip, he glances at you, his expression softer than usual. “Thanks for putting up with him.”

“It’s not putting up with him,” you reply easily, ruffling Haneul’s hair. “He’s a sweetheart. You’re doing a good job, Yoongi.”

Yoongi pauses, his eyes meeting yours for a long moment. “Thanks,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with something you can’t quite place. “That… means a lot.”

Before you can respond, Haneul suddenly tugs on Yoongi’s hoodie, his little face scrunching up as he says in broken, hopeful words, “Sarang… come… home?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart feels like it might burst.

Yoongi blinks at his son, his expression softening, before a mischievous glint sparks in his eyes. He looks up at you, lips curling into that smirk. “I know, buddy. I’d take her home too if I could.”

Stfu?

The comment leaves you completely shook. Is he joking? Is he serious? 

As you try to process his words, Yoongi just winks at you, adjusting Haneul on his hip as he heads out the door.

You’re left standing there, stunned, as he calls back over his shoulder, voice smooth like butter, “See you tomorrow, sarang.” And with a bite of his lip, he’s gone. Taking the rest of your sanity with him.

The lights are dimmed, the daycare is quiet, and the faint smell of crayons and hand sanitizer lingers in the air as you finish locking up for the night. It’s been a long day, but instead of feeling tired, you’re restless. Yoongi’s words plague your mind. From the time he brought up the almost kiss over Kakao and that quip he dropped when he picked up Han the other day.

Now you’re sitting in a bus stop near HYBE, gripping your phone tightly, staring at Namjoon’s contact. You’ve already typed and deleted three texts. Why is this so hard? Finally, you force yourself to type something and hit send before you can overthink it again.

You: Are you with Yoongi right now?

A reply pings back almost immediately.

Namjoon: Nope, but why? 👀 

You groan. Of course, Namjoon would latch onto that. You can practically hear his teasing tone in your head.

Before you can second-guess yourself again, you press the call button. He picks up after two rings, and before he can get a word in, you rush to say, “Don’t. Just—don’t say anything stupid, Joon.”

“Yo?? Me? Stupid? Never,” Namjoon says, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “But fine, what’s up?”

You hesitate, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “I need your help.”

There’s a beat of silence before Namjoon responds, his voice laced with amusement. “Okay, what kind?”

“Not the kind where you get to tease me endlessly,” you say, narrowing your eyes even though he can’t see you. “Just… can you get me to Yoongi’s studio?”

Namjoon is silent for a moment, and you almost think the call has dropped, but then he laughs. Hard. The kind of laugh that makes you want to hang up and never speak to him again.

“Joon!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he wheezes, barely catching his breath. “My baby's all grown up. I’m so proud of you.”

“Stoppp,” you mutter, your face heating up. “I just… there's something I need to say to him.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawls, clearly unconvinced. “And this ‘something’ couldn’t wait until, I don’t know, Monday?”

“Namjoon!”

“Alright, alright,” he says, the teasing note in his voice softening. “I’ll text you the access code to his floor. Yoongi’s probably in there working himself into the ground anyway. He’ll be happy to see you.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay…Thanks..”

“Use protection,” he says, his grin practically audible. “His kid’s still a baby.” 

“GOODBYE, Joon.” You hang up to the sound of his laughter. Such an ass.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing in front of Genius Lab, Yoongi’s private sanctuary. The dimly lit hallway is eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the hum of a vending machine down the hall. Your eyes fall on the cat flipping you off on the doormat, bold letters reading: GO AWAY.

Yeah, okay. Maybe you should.

So you stand there, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. What are you doing? What’s the plan here?

You didn’t think this through. Not really. It feels reckless—like the day you went to his apartment and found Sung Kyung there with Haneul. You swallow hard, trying to push the memory away. You can’t think about that now.

Taking a deep breath, you raise your hand and knock. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

You start to think maybe you should leave. Maybe this was a shitty idea. Maybe you should turn around and—

The door swings open.

Yoongi stands there, his expression caught somewhere between surprised and exhausted. His hair is slightly mussed, probably from running his hands through it, and he’s wearing a black hoodie with the sleeves of one arm pushed up to his elbows. His eyes widen when he sees you.

“Teacher Sarang,” he says slowly, like he can’t quite believe you’re standing in front of him.

“Hi,” you manage, gnawing on your bottom lip.

For a moment, neither of you moves. 

Yoongi glances past you, his brows furrowing slightly. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

“I know,” you say quickly, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “I– I just… I wanted to talk. If you’re not busy.”

He blinks, his eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for something. Then he steps aside, holding the door open wider. “No, yeah, come in.”

You take a tentative step inside, the familiar scent of coffee and faint traces of cologne washing over you. The studio is dimly lit, the soft glow of monitors reflecting off sleek black walls. It’s minimalist but warm, the kind of space you’d expect from someone like him. There’s a quiet energy to it, one that feels a little intimidating.

Yoongi closes the door behind you, leaning against it. “So,” he says, his tone careful but not unkind. “What’s on your mind?”

“Honestly,” you take a deep breath, staring at your socks before you lift your eyes to meet his gaze. “You.” 

“Oh…” His brows shoot up in surprise, but the smirk that tugs at his lips betrays him. He straightens, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh?” you parrot as realization dawns on you. The look on his face? Like he has planned this all along. Like all the things he’s been saying and doing is part of an elaborate Jedi mind trick he played on you. And now you’re here—right where he wants you.

A quiet laugh escapes his lips as he lets you stew in your own nerves. He doesn’t move—just stands there, waiting, like he knows exactly what you’ll do next.

You take a step forward, then another, closing the distance until you’re toe-to-toe with him. The smirk growing on his face is both sexy and infuriating as shit. But okay, you remind yourself, he’s been the one waiting on you, chasing you… It’s time to put your big girl pants on.

“I wasn’t planning this,” you admit, letting your bag drop to the floor. “Your doormat’s rude by the way. But… Been thinking about what you texted. If it would have been so bad… if we…”

“You’ve been thinking about that?” He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to follow your train of thought. He licks his lips, maybe subconsciously, but your eyes are drawn to it like a magnet.

“Not just that. Don’t act all innocent. You’ve been planting all these little seeds in my head lowkey for weeks, Min Yoongi.”

His gummy grin widens. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Suspicious as fuck…” You huff, your fingers reaching for the drawstrings of his hoodie. You tug on them playfully, your gaze flicking up to meet his. “And saying that shit in front of your own kid?”

“Damn,” He full-on chuckles, shoulders bobbing as he looks up to avoid your accusatory gaze. 

After a while, he looks down. “And you came all the way here just to call me out?” He challenges, voice dropping dangerously lower. “Or are you finally gonna do something about it?”

Your pulse quickens as the distance between you shrinks, his presence so close it feels like it’s wrapping around you. You swallow hard. The thread holding your resolve together snaps.

And then it happens.

You close the space between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s every bit as desperate as you’ve imagined it would be. There’s no hesitation with him, like he knows you are going to pounce and he is ready to be devoured. This mf–

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his arms wrap around your waist, steadying you against him. The way your lips move is fierce, breathless, like neither of you has the patience to take it slow. His tongue swipes against yours, curling in just the perfect way to turn your legs into jelly. Then, his grip tightens to spin you around and–shit–your back hits the door.

Hot and heavy, he breathes your name against the crook of your neck sending electric currents down to your fingertips. You’re easily coming undone with every graze of his soft lips, his wet tongue as it licks a stripe of skin from your neck towards the shell of your ear and the haze of lust is pulling you under slowly but surely.

But you’re not content to stay there. You push him forward, your lips locked again with his as you guide him toward the couch.

He follows easily. When the back of his knees hit the couch, he sits heavily, pulling you down with him so you’re straddling his lap.

You open your eyes and you find him locked on you, dark and all-consuming. But then something else catches your eye from your periphery, like there’s another pair of orbs vying for your attention.

“GAHH! The fuck is that?!” you push yourself to a standing position, pointing towards…

The head of the capybara mascot.

Yoongi immediately turns crimson, his ears burning as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Knew it,” you say, staring at him in amusement. 

“Fuck.” He groans, slumping back against the couch as he covers his face with his hands. “This is literally the worst way you could have found out.”

“Why the hell didn’t you just tell me?!”

“Because I didn’t know if you wanted me there,” he mutters, peeking at you through his fingers. “I just… I wanted to support you. And obviously I wanted to see Han off on his first day so the costume was—” He pauses, clearly regretting his life choices. “Seemed like a good idea.”

Then it hits you—the exaggerated enthusiasm, the ass-shaking, the way Haneul kept calling the mascot Appa. You burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

Yoongi groans again. “This is so embarrassing.”

You climb onto his lap, straddling him without thinking, and gently cup his puffy cheeks between your palms. “No, no, it’s cute.”

“You’re never going to let this shit go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” 

The laughter fizzles out, replaced by a quieter kind of warmth as you shift closer. His fingers tighten slightly on your hips, grounding you in a way that feels steady and sure.

“I wanted to be there for you,” he says softly, his voice low and sincere. “I didn’t know how to do it without… pushing too much.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you turn to face him, your gaze meeting his. “You didn’t have to do all that, Yoongi,” you say, your voice just as soft. “But it means a lot that you did.”

His lips quirk into a small, almost shy smile. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. When he lets out a quiet sigh, you get bolder, letting your lips trail down to the corner of his jaw and then just barely grazing his neck.

Yoongi’s breath hitches, hands twitching slightly where they rest on your back. “Y/N…”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “I like this look on you,” you tease, your thumb brushing over the faint pink blooming on his cheeks. “My shy little baby boy…”

He narrows his eyes on you, hands settling more firmly on your waist. “Don’t push it,” he warns, but there’s no heat to his words, only fondness.

Suddenly, a knock sounds on his door.

“Yoongi-hyung…” the voice calls out. “You still alive in there?”

“Fuck off, Hobi. I’m busy.”

“There’s an extra pair of shoes out here. And I thiiiink I’ve seen it at the daycare.”

You meet Yoongi’s eyes and he’s barely suppressing a grin. He shrugs, as if to say, it’s up to you if you wanna soft launch this thing.

Eh, why not?

“Hello, Jeonghyeon’s appa,” you call out, confirming his suspicion.

You hear giggles and then a rap on the door. “Wow y’all really not gonna let me in, huh?”

“GOODBYE Hobi.” You and Yoongi say in unison, and then you burst out laughing.

“Bye, lovebirds.”

“Did he need you for anything?”

“Yeah, actually,” Yoongi sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “Been working on a track that’s due tonight. Actually it’s been due and this is my last extension.”

“Oh,” you pout.

“Don’t pout, pretty girl.” 

“I guess you’re gonna have to kick me out now.”

“Not because I want to. You're welcome to stay, but you might have better things to do.”

“S fine. I’ll go…” you stand up, planning to collect your bag where you dropped it when Yoongi pulls you back down by your belt loops, your full weight settling on him. He doesn’t seem to mind as he cages your body against his strong arms, leaning you both back so his chin can rest on your shoulder, the one without the strain.

“I am so happy you came,” he mumbles against the fabric of your top.

“I haven’t. But you better make me. Soon.”

His chest shakes against your back, “You’re horrible.”

You stay wrapped in his arms for a while, neither of you saying much, the silence warm and comfortable. But eventually, the moment comes when you know it’s time to leave. With a reluctant sigh, you sling your bag over your shoulder and turn to go—only to find Yoongi already on you, his lips capturing yours once more.

“Yoongi—mmmph…” you giggle, pushing him away lightly. “You're never gonna get work done.”

“Let me take you to dinner tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He catches your wrist, pulling you back for one last kiss—this one softer, slower—before pushing the door open for you.

“Text me when you get home,” he says and you nod.

You leave the studio with your heart in overdrive, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin. By the time you’re in the elevator, you’re grinning like crazy, excitement bubbling in your chest.

Saturday can’t come fast enough.

That night—

You: Are u still in the studio? Yoongi: Yeah :( You: Good luck with your track. I’m going to bed. Gnyt. Yoongi: But i miss you.……….. You: lol You: What do you want? Yoongi: What can you offer? 😇

You sit up on your bed, pulse kicking up again, the way it usually does when Yoongi is involved. Is he really asking for…? 

Fuck okay you’ll bite. 

You let the strap of your thin cami fall on your shoulders, angle your phone camera so it’s aimed at your cleavage. 

You compose the money shot: one hand softly grasps one of your breasts making it almost spill out of your top. Your other nipple, taut and perky, its outline faintly visible against the fabric. Just the perfect visual to tease and still leave a bit of mystery.

You get a few shots and send what you think is the best one. 

You: [image attached] Yoongi: fuck Yoongi: baby you’re so sexy You: I’m baby now? What happened to Teacher Sarang Yoongi: idk she definitely not the one sending nudes You: stfu Yoongi: Go away im busy now You: GOODBYE yoongi Yoongi: pick you up at 7? You: If you make it worth my while Yoongi: [image attached]

Oh you’re dead. It’s a shot of his very pink knuckles, his very veiny hands grasping his very hard cock against his dark grey sweats.

You: shit You: yes you may pick me up at 7

Your head is spinning when you cozy up under your blanket and bury your head in your pillows.

Not knowing that come morning your head will be spinning for an entirely different reason.

Dispatch Breaking News:  SUGA of BTS and Actress Lee Sung Kyung In A Relationship Congratulations to the couple.

Part 4.5 >

A/N: Ahhhhhhh 🥲 I was initially gonna end it in the part where Yoongi opens the door to his studio and you say Hi. 

But decided last minute to throw y’all a bone(r) and extend the scene a bit, in the spirit of Christmas. But that also meant getting to that awful last bit… another dun dun dun

Hope you all liked it still! See you at the comments. As per usual, tell me what you liked, hated, etc etc. Shout at me or whatever!

I always appreciate your feedback. And if you are able to, reblogs are also amazing. :)

Thanks for reading you lovely, beautiful human xo

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[minisugakoobies]

Match My Freak | JWW

Pairing: Voyeur!Wonwoo x Reader

Genre: smut, non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: non-consensual voyeurism, dirty talk, non-consensual use of camera/recording, masturbation (f), use of sex toy (vibrator), mentions of masturbation (m), mentions of oral sex (f receiving), cumming in pants, unreliable narrator, Wonwoo is not a good guy here (ymmv)

Word Count: 1.8k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Your neighbor loves it when you put on a show for him.

A/N: Yeah so... I just like the thought of a Wonwoo who likes to watch. 🤷‍♀️

🚨 IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH NON-CONSENSUAL VOYEURISM, DO NOT READ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. DO NOT COMPLAIN TO ME - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO READ. 🚨

Unbeta’d as usual. If you like this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

The sun’s beginning to set when Wonwoo takes his seat in the ratty old armchair by the open window. He removes his glasses, carefully wiping them clean with a cloth he pulls from his pocket before placing them back on his nose. He’s a little early tonight, but it’s fine. He’ll wait. He’s a patient man. 

The minutes fall away like dominoes, each one ticking into the next. The sun dips lower, casting dark shadows over the alley that separates his apartment building from the one next door. A flicker catches the corner of his eye and turns to look, gazing into the window directly across from his bedroom. As he sits quietly, patiently drumming his fingers on the soft cushioning of the chair, a figure enters the room.

Wonwoo has loved you from the moment he first saw you. It’s been a little over six months since you moved in across the way. In all that time, he hasn’t learned what you do or where you’re from or even what your full name is. But it’s fine. None of that matters. 

He’s sure you were made for him.

You walk around your bedroom, following the same well-worn path that you do every evening. Disappearing into your bathroom and emerging a few minutes later in a silky bathrobe. Sitting at the vanity to attend to your skincare routine, gently massaging your beautiful skin with rich creams and moisturizers. Wonwoo appreciates the way you care for yourself. He likes that you have your nightly rituals. He has his own, too.

He reaches for his camera.

It’s late summer, the time of year when there’s no relief to be found at night, the air just as warm and suffocating as it is during the day. Sweat prickles on Wonwoo’s forehead, but he ignores it. He’s glad your landlord is as cheap as his. Air conditioning units would only make this difficult for him. He’d figure it out, of course, but it wouldn’t be as easy as it is now. 

Sometimes he thinks it’s a sign from the universe, how easy this is. Proof that the two of you are meant to be.

He brings his camera to his eye, playing with the focus, until the pretty face reflected in the vanity mirror is perfectly clear. Click-click-click goes the shutter, the only sound that can be heard in Wonwoo’s bedroom, other than his heavy breathing. 

His room is pitch black around him. Wonwoo’s always been comfortable with darkness. It hides all manner of sins. It hides him from your view on nights like this, even when you walk over to your window to lift the sash. A light breeze ruffles the bottom of your bathrobe, exposing more of your thighs to Wonwoo’s hungry eyes. His finger strokes the shutter button again. 

You undo the belt of your bathrobe, letting it fall open, and Wonwoo captures the reveal of the sheer babydoll chemise beneath. It skims the tops of your thighs, not quite covering the matching pair of panties you wear with it. Wonwoo’s gaze roams over your body, admiring the way the clingy material highlights your skin. He loves when you dress up for him. You never bring anyone home. Who else are you wearing these things for, if not him?

Of course, you’ve never acknowledged his presence. That’s part of your game, isn’t it? To display yourself for him but never look at or talk to him. Put on a show but never react to him taking your photo or touching himself. 

He’s very good at playing your game. After all, he wants to win. 

You’re a worthy prize.

You recline on your bed, propped up against a stack of pillows, and start scrolling on your phone. As he watches, shutter clicking, your free hand slides down your torso. Your fingers curl, pressing into your covered pussy, rubbing in slow circles. Oh. Wonwoo swallows thickly. 

It’s one of those nights. 

Silently, he puts his camera down again. Locates the button that switches from photo to video. And clicks it. 

The red light flickers on. 

Wonwoo quickly brings the camera back to his eye, practically cracking his glasses in the process. He fixes the focus, aiming the lens at the hand between your legs. As you start to caress harder, your legs part slightly, giving him a clearer view of your panties. The tiniest swirls of lace are visible to his eye, as is a growing wet spot. He silently thanks the universe that he splurged on an expensive camera model. 

Your nightgown is rumpled up around your waist as you press your hand more firmly against your cunt. It isn’t enough, judging by how you dip your fingers beneath your panties to glide over your slit.

“Come on, baby.” Wonwoo wasn’t planning on adding narration to this recording, but the words slip out anyway, in a low, urgent tone. “Slide them in.” He zooms in again, on the wetness gleaming on your fingertips. 

He’s disappointed when you pull your hand away, but that feeling is short-lived when he sees what you’ve reached for - the bright red toy that you keep under your pillow. It’s long and thick and Wonwoo feels his cock jump at the thought of it spreading you open. 

He could use it to help stretch you for him. 

Swiftly, rather desperately, you shimmy your panties down your legs, and Wonwoo’s mouth floods with saliva, nearly choking him as he stares entranced at your bare pussy. He wants to put his lips on it, kiss it until you’re squirming, pleading for him to slide his tongue inside. You’d make such a beautiful mess of his face. 

His earlier impatience is forgotten now as you work yourself up, dipping the tip of the vibrator in and out of your soaking folds, the quickening rise and fall of your chest letting Wonwoo know how much you’re enjoying teasing yourself. By the time the toy disappears into your cunt, Wonwoo’s just as breathless himself, and hard as a rock. 

“Yeah, just like that,” he murmurs, adjusting his lens again to capture the deft movement of your hand. “Fuck yourself for me.” For him, just him, and no one else. 

As if obeying his very command, your hand moves faster, and your mouth drops open in a pleasured gasp. Wonwoo groans. If only he could record the sounds you’re making, too. But you’re not loud enough for his camera to pick them up from here. 

He clucks his tongue. There’s no way he’ll accept such weak noises when he’s the one fucking you. He’ll coax loud cries from you any way he can. 

Your body undulates like a wave, hips canting as you plunge the toy deeper, and something inside Wonwoo snaps. There’s too much distance between you right now. With an aggravated huff, he slips off the chair, kneeling in front of his window. He lets his camera rest on the window sill as he lines up his shot. It’s better. But it’s not enough.

He needs to be closer.

As quietly as he can, he clambers out onto the fire escape. 

He’s taking a risk by being out here. There are no lights in the alley, but the glow of the moon is bright. That doesn’t stop him. He moves silently, crouching against the chipped metal railing, camera peeking through the slots, closing the distance between you as much as he can. 

For now, anyway.

His grip on the camera turns to iron. He’d rather fall off this fire escape than drop it. He glances around the alley, double checking that there’s no one else around. Once he’s reassured that it’s just you, him, and the moonlight, he refocuses - first his mind, then the lens. 

His breathing quickens as the toy slides into your folds again and again. He’s never envied an inanimate object more. He licks his lips, imagining the taste of you on his tongue. You’re not sweet, he’s sure of that. There’s nothing sweet about you, the way you tease him, leaving your curtains open like this. Inviting him to watch. 

Tempting him to do more.

His cock strains against the fly of his jeans, and he drops a hand to his crotch to squeeze himself, biting back a moan. Desire overwhelms him, but he can’t risk jerking off out here. The absolute last thing in the fucking world that he needs right now is to get caught. That would fuck up his plans. That would destroy him.  

Your other hand plays with your breasts, pushing your babydoll up until one is exposed, thumb rolling over and around the nipple. Wonwoo pictures himself there, lying beside you, head bent to take your other nipple in his mouth. He’s not sure he’d be able to hold himself back and allow you to finish yourself off. His fingers twitch at the thought of taking the toy from you and fucking you with it, through orgasm after orgasm, until you’re both drenched in sweat and exhausted.

He shoves the fantasy aside for later and retrains his steady gaze on your motions. He grips himself again when you start to pump the toy in and out faster. Your hips rise to meet each thrust, and Wonwoo might ruin his boxers at the sight. Fuck, he can see through the zoom how soaked the insides of your thighs are. He palms his erection slowly, trying to give himself just the slightest bit of pleasure, not enough to tip it over, only enough to feel good, and that’s when you start to come. 

As he gawks open-mouthed into the lens, your pretty pussy swallows the tip of the toy one last time. Then your hand suddenly lets go, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead. You shudder and writhe, and Wonwoo nearly drops his camera as he loses control too, the wet warmth of his cum spreading in his pants. 

Doubled over on the fire escape and breathing hard, it takes him a moment to regain his composure. Once he’s recovered, he stops the recording, and lifts the camera to his eye again to take another look. You haven’t moved from your bed, but you did remove the toy, and now have one hand tracing lazy circles around your clit. He wonders if you’re going to go again. Some nights you seem insatiable, seeking your high with a fervor that gives him chills to recall.

He’ll make sure you get your fill, when it’s time. 

For now, he’ll keep on watching. 

He’s always been a patient man. 

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[honeyslibrary]

Late Again | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, angst, cursing, not sure what else, edited once.

Summary; Inspired by this request: Hi hi!! I love your writing, especially for Quinn and I was just wondering if you could write some Quinn x reader angst? Like maybe he's been coming home late and she reaches her breaking point w him? Tysm!! 💕💗

Word Count; 3.4k

Author’s note; This was requested sooo long ago n I'm so sorry for the wait, but nonetheless I hope you like it. 😊 I listened to the song The Exit by Conan Gray when I wrote this, it doesn't fit the vibe, but it's a great song I newly discovered. Also I have no idea if he likes chicken fried steak, I just chose something random lol -Honey

You poked at the dinner you'd carefully prepared—chicken-fried steak, Quinn's favorite—half-heartedly pushing the mashed potatoes around your plate with your fork. The food was getting cold, untouched. You couldn't even bring yourself to take a bite. A home game tonight against the St. Louis Blues—he’d mentioned it this morning, and you’d nodded, knowing the routine all too well by now. Quick meal, pregame nap, then off to the rink. You understood how demanding his schedule was, but tonight was supposed to be different. He promised. The effort you put in, starting dinner earlier than usual so he’d have time to eat before his nap, now felt wasted. The smell of the crispy steak and buttery potatoes filled the air, but it only made you feel emptier.

You sat alone at the dinner table, your eyes flicking toward your phone every few minutes, hoping for the screen to light up with a message from him. But it never did. The minutes stretched into an hour, the silence from your phone growing heavier with every second. He’d promised to be home for dinner today—said it with that familiar smile like he really meant it this time. But here you were, waiting, yet again. The clock on the wall ticked louder in the empty room. The sound seemed to amplify the absence, reminding you of just how late he was. You glanced at your phone one more time, willing it to show some sign of life—an apology, an excuse, anything—but the screen stayed dark. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing.

You took a deep breath, trying to quiet the disappointment clawing at your chest, but it didn’t help. The food, once so full of effort and care, now seemed like a mockery of your good intentions. You wondered if he even realized how much you’d gone out of your way tonight, or if he’d forgotten, caught up in his routine, his career, his world. You weren’t sure anymore.

An hour and a half late now. You stood up from the table, abandoning the cold meal as you walked over to the window, peeking outside as if expecting to see his car pulling into the driveway. Nothing. The quiet suburban street was empty, just as it always was. The sky had started to darken, and with it, the flicker of hope you’d been clinging to all evening. How many more times would you find yourself waiting, wondering if you were ever going to be a priority in his life again?

The more you thought about it, the more the dull ache of disappointment twisted itself into something sharper, hotter—anger. It started as a slow simmer in your chest, but with each passing second, the heat rose, spreading through your veins like wildfire. Was he serious? A bitter sigh escaped your lips as you walked back into the kitchen. You grabbed your plate first, then his—untouched, of course—and headed to the garbage can. With one swift motion, you scraped the food into the garbage, the chicken-fried steak falling in with a dull thud. It almost felt like a relief to throw it away, like you were getting rid of something that no longer had meaning. The mashed potatoes smeared against the sides of the plate as you tossed the rest, the food you’d spent time making reduced to nothing more than trash.

The pans on the stove caught your eye next, and before you even realized what you were doing, you were scooping the perfectly good leftovers into the trash as well. The scent of the meal you’d so carefully prepared—the aroma of rosemary, garlic—rose up as if to remind you of the effort you'd put in. It stung, but you didn’t care. Fuck that. He didn’t deserve your cooking. He didn’t deserve the time, the thoughtfulness. Not anymore.

His favorite meal, no less. What a joke. You felt ridiculous for even caring so much, for putting in the effort when he clearly couldn’t be bothered to be home like he'd promised, or even give you the courtesy of a text.

You slammed the pans down into the sink with more force than necessary, the clang reverberating in the quiet kitchen. You stood over the sink, glaring at the pile of dirty dishes, your hands tightening and un-tightening at your sides. The dishwasher was right there, but using it felt too easy, too detached. You needed something more physical, something to work out this simmering frustration before it consumed you.

So, instead, you grabbed the sponge and turned on the water, scrubbing the first plate with a force that made your knuckles whiten. The warm, soapy water splashed up against your arms, but you didn’t care. You scrubbed harder, as if each circular motion could somehow scrub away the resentment building inside you. The plate wasn’t even that dirty, but you attacked it like it was covered in grime.

Each scrape of the sponge against ceramic echoed in the quiet kitchen, filling the space where his excuses should have been. The more you scrubbed, the more it felt like you were scrubbing away the traces of him—his absence, his broken promises, his selfishness. If only it were that easy. If only a sink full of dishes could clean up all the messes he was leaving behind.

It was Quinn’s second year as captain of the Canucks, a role that had transformed him in ways you hadn’t fully anticipated. The weight of the 'C' on his chest seemed heavier this season, with expectations higher than ever after last year’s breakout performance. The team had exceeded everyone’s predictions, turning heads and silencing critics with a season no one saw coming. Now, all eyes were on them to prove it wasn’t just a fluke.

You knew Quinn was feeling that pressure—how could he not? He had something to prove, not just to the fans, the media, or his teammates, but to himself. The burden of leadership was always in the back of his mind, quietly pushing him to go harder, to be better, to set an example. And you understood that. You really did. You knew he was doing the best he could, managing the weight of it all in his own way. But even understanding had its limits. And so did you.

Quinn, on the other hand, seemed to have no boundaries when it came to pushing himself. It was almost like he didn’t know how to stop, how to pull back. Even now, he was still nursing that hand injury—an injury that should have sidelined him weeks ago—but he kept playing through it, insisting he could handle the pain. Thirty minutes a night, almost every game, skating until exhaustion blurred the edges of his vision. You’d seen the way he winced sometimes when he thought no one was looking, flexing his hand to work out the tightness, but refusing to sit out even for a single shift.

You admired his dedication. How could you not? His determination, his relentless drive to push through, to carry the weight of the team on his shoulders—it was part of what made him the player, the leader, that he was. But it was also the part of him that worried you the most.

You knew he felt like he had to do it, that as captain, anything less than perfection wasn’t enough. And while you respected that drive, it didn’t make it any easier watching him run himself into the ground night after night. Especially when you were the one sitting at home, picking up the pieces of what was left, wondering if he was going to come back from each game a little more broken than before.

You were patient. You’d learned to be. But your patience wasn’t endless.

The sound of the front door opening jolted you from your thoughts, the creak of the hinges cutting through the sound of the running water. You pause, your hands submerged in soapy water, your grip tightening on the sponge as Quinn stepped inside. He walks in, clad in his usual post-practice attire—Nike sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a black compression shirt clinging to the lines of his torso. He looked worn, as if the weight of the day hadn’t just been left on the ice but was still hanging on his shoulders, pulling him down.

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a quick once-over, but you didn’t say anything. The words felt stuck in your throat, trapped behind the frustration and sadness swirling in your chest. Instead, you turned back to the dishes, resuming your task with more force than necessary, the clinking of the plates louder than before. You didn’t offer a greeting, and neither did he. It was almost as if the two of you existed in different worlds now—yours, filled with waiting and disappointment, and his, consumed by the game, by the pressure that never seemed to leave him.

Quinn, oblivious or perhaps just avoiding the tension, didn’t seem to notice your silence. Without a word, he headed upstairs, his footsteps soft but steady, the sound growing fainter as he disappeared into the bedroom. A familiar ache settled in your chest as you stood there, staring down at the soapy water swirling in the sink. You could feel the sting of tears threatening to rise, but you blinked them away quickly, shaking your head at yourself.

Anger had been your companion all day, burning hot and steady in his absence. It had been so easy to hold onto, so easy to let the frustration build when you didn’t have to see him, when you didn’t have to look into those hazel eyes that always seemed to make your resolve crumble. The anger had felt justified when he wasn’t there—easy to fuel when it was just you, alone, staring at a cold, empty dinner table. But now that he was home, the anger began to unravel, slipping away and leaving only the sadness behind. It happened every time. That familiar pang of disappointment mixed with resignation, the sharp edges of your frustration softening into something more complicated, something you didn’t have the energy to untangle.

You bit your tongue, holding back the words you wanted to say—the questions, the accusations, the things that would start a fight you weren’t ready to have. You’d been here before, in this exact moment, torn between wanting to yell and wanting to break down. But you didn’t want to argue tonight. Not again.

The dishes were your only focus now, your hands scrubbing mechanically as your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t quiet. You wondered if he even knew how much you’d been waiting, not just tonight, but for weeks, months—for some sign that you still mattered in all of this, that you were still a part of his world. But it was getting harder to tell, harder to feel like you weren’t slowly fading into the background of his life, just like the sound of his footsteps fading upstairs.

By the time you finished the dishes and wiped down the counters, the kitchen was spotless, as if the day hadn’t happened at all. The room was clean, but the heavy silence remained, settling into the spaces between the freshly scrubbed surfaces. You paused for a moment, staring down at the empty sink, the exhaustion setting in—not just from the chores, but from everything that had been weighing on you lately.

When you finally made your way upstairs to the bedroom, Quinn had already begun his pregame nap. You stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame for a moment, just watching him. He was sprawled out on his stomach, the way he always slept, one arm curled beneath the pillow, his face turned slightly to the side. In sleep, the tension in his features was gone, the hard lines softened, and for a brief second, you felt a pang of something—nostalgia, maybe—for the way things used to be. Before all the pressure, before the distance between you had grown so wide.

You stood there, caught between wanting to crawl into bed next to him and knowing it wouldn’t make a difference tonight. He was already somewhere else, lost in the brief reprieve of sleep before the game. You let out a quiet breath and turned away, heading back downstairs, leaving him to his rest.

In the den, you curled up on the sofa, pulling a throw blanket over your legs as you flicked on the TV. The familiar theme song of One Tree Hill played in the background, but your mind wasn’t fully on the show. You watched the characters move across the screen, but their drama felt distant, unimportant compared to the real-life ache sitting in your chest. You’d seen these episodes a hundred times before, and yet tonight they felt like nothing more than white noise, a distraction to fill the space while Quinn slept upstairs.

Time passed in a blur of dialogue and background music, your eyes unfocused on the screen. You’d just started another episode when you heard footsteps approaching. You barely registered them until Quinn appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame just like you had earlier. He stood there for a moment, running a hand through his hair, before exhaling a deep sigh that seemed to carry the weight of everything unsaid between you.

"I missed dinner," he said, his voice quiet. It wasn’t a question, just a statement. The guilt was there, hanging in the air between you, but it didn’t quite land the way you wanted it to.

You turned your head toward him, feeling the familiar mix of emotions bubbling up—frustration, sadness, the lingering ache of disappointment. You nodded slowly, your voice calm but clipped. "You did."

That was all you said. Two simple words, but they carried so much more. The weight of your unspoken thoughts lingered in the air between you: You missed more than dinner. You missed me. You missed us. Again.

For a moment, Quinn didn’t say anything, just stood there, as if searching for something to say that would make it better. But nothing came. The silence stretched on, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the same exhaustion that you felt deep in your bones. Hockey had taken so much from him, and in its wake, it felt like there wasn’t much left for the two of you.

You shifted on the couch, turning back to the TV, not sure what else there was to say. If you opened your mouth now, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to stop the flood of everything you’d been holding back. So you stayed quiet, letting the distance between you grow a little wider, hoping—just once—that he’d be the one to cross it.

Quinn lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, the silence between you heavy and uncomfortable. You could feel his eyes on you, like he wanted to say something, to bridge the growing gap, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, his shoulders slumped, the weariness from the day etched into every part of him.

You kept your eyes on the TV, pretending to be more interested in the show than in the ache inside you. You didn’t trust yourself to look at him right now—not when the quiet between you felt so suffocating, so loaded with everything neither of you were saying. If you looked at him, you were afraid the dam would break, and all the frustration, the loneliness, the resentment that had been simmering beneath the surface would come pouring out.

He took a deep breath, and you could hear the slight hesitation in the exhale, like he was on the verge of speaking but didn’t know where to start. "I’m sorry," he finally muttered, the words barely audible, but they hung in the air nonetheless. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t enough, but it was something.

You closed your eyes for a brief second, letting the apology settle in, but it didn’t ease the ache. You had heard it before—too many times now. It always came after the fact, always when it was too late, and it never felt like enough to patch up the cracks that were forming between you.

Opening your eyes, you kept your gaze fixed on the TV, though you weren’t really watching. "You always are," you said softly, your voice lacking the sharpness you intended. There was no anger left, just a quiet exhaustion that had taken its place. "But it doesn’t change anything, Quinn."

The words hung between you, heavy and final. You didn’t mean for them to sound so distant, so resigned, but that’s where you were now. It wasn’t just about tonight, or the missed dinners, or the broken promises—it was about the slow unraveling that had been happening for months, the quiet slipping away of the relationship you once had.

Quinn pushed off the doorframe, his expression unreadable as he took a few steps into the room. He stood at the edge of the sofa, as if unsure whether he was welcome to sit down. His eyes, those familiar hazel eyes that once made your heart skip, were full of something—regret, frustration, maybe even guilt. But none of it seemed to change the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most.

"I know," he said, almost under his breath. He rubbed a hand over his face, the fatigue obvious. "I’m trying, I really am. It’s just—this season… it’s a lot." His voice trailed off, and you could hear the helplessness in it. He didn’t know how to fix this, and maybe he didn’t have the energy to try anymore.

You nodded, finally turning to look at him, but the sadness in your gaze must have said more than your words ever could. You understood that the season was demanding. You understood the pressure, the expectations, the endless grind. But understanding didn’t make it any easier to deal with the growing distance, the nights spent waiting, the feeling that you were slowly becoming an afterthought in his life.

"I know it’s a lot," you replied quietly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he’d walked in. "But it’s not just about the game, Quinn. It’s about us. I’m still here, waiting for you to show up… and I don’t know how much longer I can keep waiting."

The vulnerability in your voice hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you saw the conflict flicker across his face—worry, a twinge of something else, maybe fear. He took another deep breath, his hands flexing at his sides as if he wanted to reach out to you but wasn’t sure how.

"I don’t want to lose you," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, as if admitting it out loud made it all too real.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening at his words. For a second, you almost believed him, almost let yourself hope that this was the moment he’d truly understand how close he was to losing you. But then reality sank in, and you realized that wanting wasn’t enough.

"You already are," you said softly, the weight of your admission settling over both of you like a heavy blanket. You saw his expression falter, the pain in his eyes unmistakable, but there was nothing more you could say. You were tired—tired of the waiting, tired of the excuses, tired of being second to hockey and everything else in his life.

Quinn stood there, rooted in place, his eyes searching yours for some sign that he could fix this, that there was still time. But you didn’t know how to make him understand that you needed more than apologies, more than empty promises. You needed him to be here, fully present, not just physically but emotionally.

Without another word, he let out another sigh and slowly walked back toward the doorway, retreating once again into the space between you that had become too wide to cross. And you stayed on the couch, watching the TV, your heart aching with the truth you couldn’t ignore any longer: the Quinn you once knew was slipping away, and you didn’t know if he would ever come back.

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