#keeping in mind this is all for years in the future

[k-dgn]

Sana's Web

New Writer Debut, A/N at the end! 7.7k Words

~ CHAPTER 1: Forming a Thread ~

SN: Schedules ended early, so I stopped by your place. Don't keep me waiting too long! 

You were currently at your studio downtown working on edits for your latest client. Some headshots and stills for a new group YG was set to debut later that year, your usual routine. After working in the photography industry for so long, coupled with the rate at which new groups were being pushed out, all the idols seemed to start blending together in your head. Still, you counted yourself blessed and fortunate enough to be able to work with the people that you had. Though you tended not to get starstruck as easily anymore, you thought back to a particular photoshoot you were hired for a couple months prior that hit you a bit differently. When you got the email from a JYP representative that said they were interested in your body of work and wanted to bring you onboard for a solo member project they were working on, you couldn't deny that you weren't at least a little excited to see who you'd be getting the opportunity to work with. You had gotten a chance to work with idols from most of the top name agencies, but this would be the first project you'd be working on under JYP.

On the day of the shoot, your mind was racing thinking about who it could be, but those thoughts were instantly washed away when Sana walked on set. It turned out that the project you were hired for was the next in a line of “Yes, I am” photobooks the company was putting out. After laying out your vision and going over the general game plan for the day, you all got to work. Throughout the shoot you remained the consummate professional that you always were, but you would be remiss if you did not acknowledge how captivating Sana was. She had this inexplicable aura to her that kept drawing you in, only for her to swerve your expectations with an ever-present bubbliness that she had all but trademarked at this point in her career. In between set and outfit changes, you would show her shot previews asking for her opinions. She gave input here and there, even suggesting some things she wanted to try that not even you had thought of, further cementing her status as a veteran idol in the industry. 

All that was fine and well, but it was the little things she would do and the small details you'd take notice of in between shots that made this particular day feel a little different. The way she would lean in close to your shoulder as you showed her the camera. The way her eyes sparkled whenever she looked at you, giving you her full undivided attention whenever you paused the shoot to give her some direction. The way her smile lit up the room when she liked a certain shot preview. You weren't uncomfortable with the atmosphere she was creating on set between the two of you, in fact it was quite the opposite. You were almost more nervous that you were being too comfortable and that it might be perceived as being unprofessional. You tried your best to shake it off, coping that this was just how her personality was, but in the back of your mind a thought flickered that maybe, just maybe there could be a little something more going on there. Nevertheless, you trucked on and finished the rest of the shoot without issue. 

A little part of you was sad that your wonderful time working with Sana had come to an end, but you were grateful for the opportunity either way. You spent the next few days compiling and editing the best shots from the day before sending it over to the company, thanking them for bringing you onboard and stating your openness to future projects with them. Afterwards, all you could do was  hold out some hope that her company would hire you for future endeavors.

Another week passed by and you still hadn’t heard back. Just as you had started to give up hope, you finally received a response, but it was a little different than what you were expecting. Instead of a JYP representative, the message was from Sana’s personal manager. In it, it said that Sana had really enjoyed the finished shots and wanted to thank you personally, leaving you a time and place to be at. As ecstatic as you were, you kept your composure and replied back, thanking them once again for the opportunity and that you’d be happy to meet up. 

On the date scheduled for you, you pulled up to the JYP building and parked in the garage. It turned out that the company had closed off their downstairs public café for a few hours per Sana’s request to give the two of you some privacy. When you walked in, you saw Sana sitting and leaning back at a booth in the corner away from the cashier stand, scrolling on her phone to pass time waiting for you to arrive. She was dressed rather comfortably wearing an pink oversized knit sweater adorning her arms. Underneath, you could see she was wearing a black top, its thin straps hanging on to her exposed shoulders. You remember thinking that even dressed down, she was jaw-dropping.You had to admit, you were a bit nervous being alone with her for the first time, but you steeled your resolve and made your way to the booth. As you approached, you remembered the feeling you got when she looked up and flashed you a smile. Even to this day, you’d never forgotten the look she gave you when she beckoned you to come join her, placing her phone down and once again giving you her full attention.

The two of you exchanged pleasantries and started up some small talk. She told you that she was overjoyed to see the end results of the shoot, and that she felt like you had made her look especially pretty that day. Thinking quickly on your feet, you smiled and countered that you really didn’t do anything, and that her visuals came to light all on her own. You even went ahead and thanked her, going so far as to say that it was one of the easiest and most fun shoots you’d had the pleasure of doing. You then remarked that she was just as pretty today without all the fancy clothes as she was when you last saw her. That compliment seemed to do it as she giggled and playfully hit your hand, replying that you didn’t look too bad yourself as she quickly eyed you. She then inquired about you for a bit, wanting to know a little bit more about the person behind the camera. 

As you started going through your backstory, she placed her elbows on the table between you, interlacing her fingers and resting her chin on her hands. Between her arms, you could see the slightest hint of her cleavage peeking through. Though she wasn’t as endowed as some of the other members in her group, you remember thinking that what she had suited her quite well. In that moment, she was truly embodying the cutie-sexy persona that she had become famous for. Her eyes remained locked on yours as you spoke, sometimes nodding her head showing that she had a genuine interest in learning more about you. You eyes however were having slight troubles reciprocating. There were a couple of instances where you caught your gaze trailing downwards, but you swiftly corrected yourself hoping that she wouldn’t notice. It was your first time being alone with her 1-on-1 after all and you didn’t want to leave her with a bad impression, even though you couldn’t deny that you liked what you were seeing. 

Unbeknownst to you, she was doing everything with a purpose. She knew from the moment she leaned forward that she had you in the palm of her hand, but wanted to let you finish your story before moving ahead with her real plan. After you wrapped up, her hands dropped to the table as she hugged her arms, accentuating her bust even more as she leaned forward. Your eyes glanced downward one last time, but this time she made it known that she caught you red-handed, her beautiful smile growing even bigger. As you nervously tried to laugh it off, in a calm voice she told you something that you’d never forget for the rest of your life:

"So…I know you've probably worked with a lot of big time idols..." Sana said as she leaned forward, slowly sliding her hand across the table before placing it on top of yours. "...but have you ever fucked one before?" 

You silently gulped as your eyes trailed from her hand up to her eyes. The cute, bubbly idol known the world over was nowhere to be seen. In front of you now was a vixen, her eyes lidded as the corners of her lips curled into a devilish smile, her true intentions for this meetup clear as day. 

That day was the first of many more meetups to come. Some days she’d message you to come by her apartment, other times she’d say she’d go to yours. Either way, they all ended the same way: the two of you heaving for air next to each other after another lust-filled night. It was primal the way the two of you would go at one another. From the second the two of you got your hands on each other, it was like nothing could ever tear the two of you apart. She was almost insatiable in the way she would be all over you, making you feel each and every bit of her entire being. Clearly, whatever you did seemed to check all the boxes for her as she kept coming back for more. What started off as a call maybe once a week quickly evolved into one every few days. You weren’t one to complain though. She was arguably one of the most attractive idols in the entire industry, so you made sure to make the time whenever she wanted it. Fast-forward a couple of months later, and today was another one of those times.

-----

A couple of hours passed and after finishing your work for the day and rushing back home, you were now in the elevator on the way up to your apartment. Given your resumé, you did quite well for yourself, getting a nice top-floor apartment in a secluded corner of the building away from the potential prying eyes of neighbors. You input the code to your door, the same code you had given to Sana a few weeks prior since she frequented your place so much over the last few months. You walked inside and kicked off your shoes before making your way into your living room. Normally when you knew Sana would be over, she would be waiting for you on the couch watching whatever drama she was into at the time, but this time she was nowhere to be seen. You looked around in confusion before tentatively calling out to her.

“Sana…? You here?”

“Mhm!” you heard echo out from your bedroom door. “Just freshening up a bit. Wait for me out in the living room, ok?”

You shouted back your acknowledgement and plopped yourself down on your sofa. You'd had a pretty long day at work and were ready to unwind, so you figured a few more minutes of waiting wouldn't hurt anybody. You whipped out your phone and began scrolling. A few minutes turned into 10 and you started to get impatient. Just as you tossed your phone aside and were about to get up to go check on her, your bedroom door opened, but you still couldn't see Sana. What happened next froze you in place.

Slowly, Sana emerged from your bedroom. It was night time and the lighting was a bit dim, but through it you could still see her entire figure. Her hand was raised above her head, caressing one side of the door frame as she leaned on the other, stepping forward a bit before stopping and crossing her legs. The light from the living room illuminated her body in all the right ways, letting you see all that she had to offer. She was almost fully nude, only wearing a pair of black heels and a matching pair of black lingerie stockings that went up to her thighs. Your eyes trailed upwards as you continued to take in the sight. Her pussy was clean-shaven, just the way you liked it. Her midriff was toned but not muscular and her hips were wide, perfect to be grabbed on to. The breasts you struggled to look away from all those months ago during your first 1-on-1 meeting were now being proudly displayed before you. They were supple and were the ideal size for her frame. She had done her flowing brown hair in a simple manner, the curls of the ends framing her chest nicely. Her eyes told you everything else you needed to know about how this night was about to go. They were the same eyes she gave you before your first time together.

“Took you long enough.” Sana remarked with a hint of playfulness. She turned around to give you a look at her petite ass before looking over her shoulder. “Come here.”

You were caught in a trance as you took in everything that just happened. Sana smiled to herself knowing the power her and her body had over you before walking back into your bedroom. Without thinking, you slowly rose from the sofa and followed her inside. The lights were dimmed in your room as well, but it was just enough to set the mood. She was standing at the edge of your bed, gazing back at you with her eyes brimming with lust. As you walked over you discarded your top, exposing your chest to her. You weren't as muscular as a bodybuilder, but you were no slouch either. You took pride in the way you took care of yourself, and the look on Sana’s face as she took in your body told you that the work you had put in was worth it. Both of your eyes were feasting on each other as you made your way over to her, and the excitement the two of you shared was palpable. You stopped in front of her as she raised her arms, placing them on your shoulders while you held on to her waist. With devilish grins and one last look into each other's eyes, the stage was set for what would undoubtedly be yet another incredible night.

She tilted her chin up, closing her eyes as you leaned down to meet her halfway. Electricity surged through your veins as your lips met in spectacular fashion. Every kiss with Sana was like the first time all over again. Her lips were tender, with a tinge of sweetness emanating from the lip gloss she knew you loved the taste of. She softly moaned into your mouth as your hands began trailing her sides, feeling her and lightly massaging her curves. Her arms hooked themselves around your neck, pulling you in deeper as if to tell you that there was no escaping her now, not that you would have wanted to anyways. Your tongues soon joined the fray, weaving themselves together in a back and forth battle for dominance. Slowly she began to acquiesce, conceding to your victory over her mouth. She sank backwards as you gently guided her to lay on the edge of the bed, your faces never once parting.

You could feel that the tension building up down below was nearing an all-time high, so you decided that it was time to kick things up a notch. You pulled away from her lips leaving her breathless as you stood upright, quickly unbuckling your pants and kicking them off. Sana meanwhile looked up to you with the same insatiable grin you had grown accustomed to, taking her hands and slowly massaging each of her boobs. Her eyes then locked on to your cock, standing proudly just above her face as she bit her bottom lip in anticipation. If there was one thing you had learned during your times with the sexual vixen lying perpendicularly beneath you, it was that touch meant everything to her. 

She knew how to use her touch to bring about the perfect amount of tension in whatever she did. With her lidded eyes now locked on yours, she gently wrapped one of her hands around the base of your cock, guiding it down to her face before sticking her tongue out and gliding along your underside from the base to your tip. When she got there, she tilted you down a bit further and planted a tender kiss on the most sensitive part of your head. You hissed out as your face contorted in pleasure, trying your best to prevent your knees from buckling. Sana looked back up at you with a smug look, again feeling like she knew how to hit all of the right buttons. Wanting to take things a step further, she guided your tip down and took you inside her mouth. Her lips wrapped around your head and she swirled her tongue, moaning as she enjoyed the taste of your precum while also sending vibrations straight to your core.

Not only did Sana like to touch, she liked to be touched. As she got to work tilting her face to the side to take more of you in, you cradled the top of her head to support her, softly petting her as you hummed out in pleasure. Your other hand grabbed a handful of one of her boobs and massaged it. You coyly pinch one of her nipples, sending a jolt throughout her body, and getting a slight yelp of enjoyment out of her. She kicked off her heels and brought her knees up to the bed. Your hand then moved from her breast and caressed the inside of her thigh, lightly teasing her as it made its way up her leg. When you got up to her pussy, your fingers traced her lips sending shivers up her body. She closed her eyes and moaned out once again, reveling in your touch as she began sucking in earnest. You looked down to your fingers, parting her lips and seeing that she was quickly growing wet from pure arousal. Slowly, you insert one finger before withdrawing and repeating, getting a little more in each time. Her velvety walls fit snugly around your finger, just as tight as every other time you'd gotten the chance to be inside her. Your thumb massaged her in small circles outside as a second finger entered her. 

“Mmmmmm yes…” Sana moaned out as she briefly pulled her mouth away from your cock. You kept a slow, steady pace in fingering her as she began lifting her hips from the bed to meet you. She tilted her head up and arched her back, voicing her pleasure as she jerked you off. She wasn't away from you for too long as she then dove right back in, swirling her tongue along your length before taking you in once more. She delicately bobbed back and forth around your tip, breath-filled moans escaping her lips each time she pulled her head back. Her other arm wrapped itself across her chest, pushing up both of her tits. You would have been perfectly content with just all of this foreplay with one of the most beautiful and sought after women on the planet, but you both knew that this wasn't the only reason she had come by tonight.

"Isn't it about time for you to be a gentleman?" Sana asked of you, teasing your lack of oral reciprocation. You smirked, knowing exactly what the bubbly girl desired of you.

"Hmmm, well, I can't let you shave yourself for me and then not reward it. That would be bad manners." You replied, as you readied yourself to  reposition your entire frame to fit in between her legs. Sana took this time to crawl further into the bed, setting her head a little upright, leaning against the headrest of the bed. You moved next to the bed towards the end, as you got on, crawling towards her with her legs spread open, inviting you, she closed her lingerie-covered legs in your face. This took you by surprise, as you were fully expecting to have had a mouthful of her delicious pussy by now, but instead you were met by her, admittedly beautiful, legs closed in your face and smirk on hers.

"Not so fast! You haven't earned it yet." Sana berated you, devilish grin staring down at you. She wasn't mad, but she was definitely enjoying teasing you. You weren't really sure what about, this time.

"Oh is that so? And why is that?" Was your reaction to her, trying to pry what you supposedly did wrong.

"I heard from insider intel, you were shooting shots for a different girl group today! I bet you fucked them too, while I was out here waiting for you!" She yelled back, the pitch and volume of her voice rising as she pointed a finger at you accusatory, accompanied with a big smile and bigger eyes. Your face turned deadpan, as her accusation finally started to make a semblance of sense. 

"All of the members were underage..." You told her, clearly not entertaining her guess. Her mouth now fell wider agape as she started to look at you in disbelief. 

"Don't tell me-" She started to reply, but you gave her no chance to even finish that sentence and interrupted her.

"Absolutely not, that's disgusting. Besides, Sana, you know you're the only client of mine I've ever fucked." You continued, pleading your innocence, absolutely not entertaining any sorts of accusations of illegal behaviors.

"Okay fine!" Sana relented. "But I still think we should do our usual game!" Her arms now crossed back over her body, as she looked away to her left with a pouty mouth.

"Ah, so that is why you spoiled me with the start of a blowjob just now, huh? You wanted to get a head start!" You accused her back, knowing damn well nothing ever comes free when it's from her. "Fine, but you're just going to lose like every other time."

Sana's face perked up as her smile grew bigger, facing you head on once more. You both sat upright, facing each other. Sana spread her legs with her knees pointed towards the roof, as you slid yours under hers, bringing your cock closer to her pussy, but leaving some distance in between. This game the two of you played was simple. You and Sana faced each other, and you had to finger Sana whilst she jerked you off. First one to cum, loses. Loser has to give in to the winner's demands.

You both looked into each other's eyes intensely, placing your hand in front of her dripping pussy, as she placed hers on top of your stiff cock. Without any kind of start sign, it was Sana that started off the competition, spitting onto your dick, making sure it stayed wet while she started off with a high tempo. You were expecting some kind of countdown, but you wouldn't lose from this. You took a different approach from Sana, and started off with only your thumb on her pussy, rubbing in circles on and around her clit, slowly. You used the rest of your fingers to press down onto her skin above her vagina, adding some pain and pressure to her pleasure. You were still holding on easily, but you'd already figured out Sana's weak spots. Her moans were giving her away, and you were clearly winning this race. She decided to up her commitment, using her other hand as well now, gripping it tightly around the base of your cock, putting firm, constant pressure while having her other hand twist and turn smoothly around the head of your dick. 

If she was using two hands, so would you. Your other hand joined the fray, slowly inserting your index finger into her slit, pulling it out, inserting your middle finger into her slit, and following up with inserting both at the same time. Her legs started to tremble against yours, and you could tell this race was in the bag. You were enjoying the feeling of her soft, velvety hands gliding up and down your shaft, but you could enjoy so much more if you endured. You kept the pace of your inserted fingers slow, curling your fingers inside of her, touching all of her insides slowly, while having picked up the pace with your thumb, going as fast as you could, rubbing back and forth in between her lips.

"I can feel it Sana, you're going to lose!" You gloated, sure of your victory.

"Shut up!" She sneered back, not having given up yet. Her actions confirmed this, as she clearly broke the rules of the game, and pulled her lower body away, to dive right into your cock. Her lower body slid backwards, her legs straightening as she was forced to do a split with her legs, just to fit on the bed, her legs split spread against the base of the headrest. Her upper body went down, her mouth plunging around your cock as your hands were now left Sana-less. One of her hands was holding all her hair to the side, and the other was still tightening the base of your cock as she tried making her way down.

"Oh, I don't think so!" You yelled back, not accepting defeat so easily. You leaned your right arm over her back, making use of the fact her ass was still so close thanks to her forced split, and started fingering her from the back.

"If you want to cheat so bad, you can choke on my cock while you lose!" You continued, now placing your left hand on the back of Sana's head, holding her down on top of you and pushing her to your base as far as you could. "Hrrkkk?!" was one of the more understandable sounds she made, as her moans were mixed with gags. Her warm spit was dribbling down from her mouth onto your balls, as she forced her tongue out against the base of your cock in an attempt to not gag as much. Her both hands had started digging into your thighs, but not in an attempt for you to release her. She was letting you force her, there was no intention to escape, as her conviction to win must have taken over. Her nails were firmly planted in your skin, sure to leave marks. No, she wasn't pushing you away, she was holding herself down as well. Her face revealed her true thoughts however, her eyebrows worriedly coming together in between her eyes, which were rolling back into the back of her head. Please cum fast, or have your dick grow small, were the two thoughts repeatedly rushing through her head, a place already being pierced by your cock. It didn't take long for the sensation of your fingers going wild inside her and your cock bulging in her throat to finally make her submit though. You felt the warm liquids of her squirt leak onto your hand and shoot against your headrest, as her mouth tightened on your member and her legs started to shake violently, signaling your victory, as you finally let her head go and come back up for air.

"Looks like I win. Again!" You relished, as Sana's make up had started running a little from her cheating in the game, now looking directly back at your face, a pouty expression painted on her visage.

"I wouldn't keep fucking you if you couldn't win, you know." She scoffed. She was clearly upset with her loss after pulling out all the stops. She kept looking at you, with puffed cheeks and a furrowed brow.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry." You replied, your hands up in the air in an apologetic manner. "You got close to winning, I'll admit." This made Sana's pouty face lighten up, and you can tell she gained a sense of determination to turn close to winning into a decisive victory, next time you play your game. You can't help but wonder what new cheats and tricks she'll have up her sleeve.

"I let you win! You're lucky I like it when you tell me what to do! But a deal is a deal. What would you like this time?" She said as she regained her composure, her doe eyes staring into your soul, as her split laid legs turned into her holding her knees in front her body, pulled close to her torso with one arm as her other hand was swiping hair out of her face, which was now tilted sideways. Despite the black tears rolling down her cheeks, she somehow managed to still look cute in this erotic atmosphere.

"Let's see... You seemed pretty hell bent on sucking my dick just now. I'd like to continue that!" You decided after deliberating it shortly.

"Huuuuuuuh? Then, what about me?" Sana replied, back to pouting now. She agreed to the rules of the game, but clearly still had plans to satisfy her own needs first. This didn't come as a shocker to you. Ever since you started fucking Sana, you've known her to be insatiable. No amount of fucking could ever be enough for her.

"I'll eat your pretty little pussy out first if I get to do what I want afterwards?" You replied, having that one prepared, knowing exactly how she would react. Nothing was ever free with Sana, and this relationship was as casual as it was transactional.

"See, I knew you'd pick something fun! Sure, I'm game!" She replied gleefully, laying her hand on your arm, as if to commend you. Sana took a deep breath, eyes closed, and leaned back into the bed, lying on her back as you took the hint to move backwards and create space for her. You were back on the bed where you started, Sana laying in front of you as her knees were in the air, closing the path forward.

This time however, it only took the slightest touch of your fingers against her stocking covered calves to move open. She allowed you in between her legs, as you laid your head down before her pussy. You took in her smell as you planted a soft kiss on her entrance. It was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but think you'd never thought you'd fall in love with the smell of somebody's vagina until you got close to Sana's. She let out a soft chuckle as your lips first touched, burying her hands in your hair. You were off to a good start. Your tongue slithered from left to right, up to down, hitting all the weak spots she had. If the fact that her hands were now grasping onto your hair or her moans were any indication, you were doing good. She was still sensitive from cumming just now, and you knew just how to abuse that. 

You pulled back, creating some distance from her pussy and you, only to spit on it, causing Sana to yelp from surprise. You didn't give her very much time to be confused, as you jammed your still wet index and middle finger into her slit as far her body would allow. Her back arched against the bed, supported by her head falling into the mattrass, as she moaned out a loud enough "fuck" you thought it'd be impossible for any neighbors you had to have not heard that. You went back to your tongue play, slowly licking every inch of her pussy, whilst your fingers were pounding away furiously at her inner walls. The rhythmic dissonance soon proved too much for Sana, as her thighs squeezed tightly against the sides of your head, trembling like you were in the midst of an earthquake, before letting up with the rest of her body, falling limp in the bed. Now my fun begins, you thought to yourself, feeling the same kind of happiness an experienced craftsman feels after a job well done.

Sana laid there, heaving, eyes closed, surely savoring the feeling. You didn't let up though, and felt you deserved what was about to happen next. As you were getting off the bed readying your next move, Sana opened her eyes, looking for you next to her on the bed but not finding you.

"Alright, lie down, it's my turn." She pushed out in between the breaths in a slightly sultry tone.

"Lie down?" You asked, already standing next to the bed, before reaching both your arms under the girl, and flipping her body a quarter circle on the bed. You laid her down again on her back, in a way which made sure her head was hanging off of the edge of the bed close to you. "I have a better idea."

"Oh..." She exhaled, her tone now fully sultry with a hint of hungriness in it as her eyes locked onto her target. She was ready to devour what you presented her, biting down on her lower lip in anticipation. "And what exactly did you have in mind?" She asked, playing innocent.

"Open your mouth." You commanded, and she obediently followed. Her mouth opened as wide as she could, and even took the courtesy to stick her tongue out for you. "Good girl" were the next words out of your mouth, and coincidentally, also the last discernable words you were going to make before cumming. She seemed to like being called a good girl, but you wouldn't give her a chance to confirm it audibly. You fired your cock into her mouth, clearly still frustrated from her starting a blowjob twice this evening with no intention to finish them. You managed to slide your dick about halfway into her mouth, before stopping and holding it there. You thought to yourself, let's give her a chance to prove she actually is a good girl. And sure enough, she picked what you were putting down, and started moving her head away from your cock and back halfway over it, trying her best to service you. Although the attempt was sweet, this wouldn't make good for her cheating. You leaned your body forwards, letting both your hands fall onto her exposed tits, grabbing a handful with each.

She yelped a muffled "hnngh" as you clutched her chest tightly, before forcing rhythmic gagging sounds out of her small body. Playtime was over, and you started pounding her throat, forcefully shoving your cock all the way down to its base inside of her mouth. Her eyes shot wide open, as you towered above her, matching her gagging moans with your own delighted moans. Sana loved the sound of you enjoying yourself, and couldn't resist the temptation herself any longer. Despite her entire consciousness was focused on not choking on your dick, her hands move on their own as they found their way to her pussy once again, rubbing her clit with the same rhythm as you were fucking her face.

Spit was drooling from her mouth onto your balls, and you felt the urge to cum near. You decided to pound all the way down her throat one last time, making the dent your dick made on the inside of her neck clearly visible, holding it there for a second or two before pulling out. Your cock was now hanging above Sana's face as she gazed upon it with hungry, obsessed eyes as her spit, tears and mascara were mixing on her cheeks. You release her tits, giving them one last squeeze before you start to jerk yourself off to completion.

"Stop!" Sana screamed at you furiously. "I want to finish you off!" She continued, as her right hand left her pussy, leaving her left hand there alone. She grasped your spit covered cock tightly and wasted no time in rapidly stroking your cock up and down and up and down again.

"Im gonna fucking cum." Is what you wanted to say, but your moans and enjoyment made sure to slur that speech  to something barely understandable. Sana understood however, as she presented her face, ready to accept your load onto it. You shot out string after string of cum onto her lips, her cheeks, some in her mouth, until everything was either covered in you, or mixed with her mascara, spit and tears. The moment that first drop hit her cheek sent Sana over the edge as well, causing her third orgasm of the night. She wasn't planning on opening her mouth and swallowing your cum, but she couldn't stop herself from moaning, leading to some of it making it in either way. She wasn't about to complain though, and gulped down happily. 

You almost fell to your knees after this, but somehow managed to find the strength to stay standing. You had to. Sana hadn't let you cum on her face before, so you had to do everything you could to remember this moment. Suddenly you had an idea. 

"Wait here!" You screamed before darting off out of the room. It took you less than ten seconds to return, and with you a polaroid camera. "I know you don't like pictures because they could leak. So I brought this!" Sana looked at you, her head resting on the bed, trying her best to not let any cum drop off of her.

"A polaroid camera? Hahaha! Okay, sure. But only one picture this time." She replied in a bubbly tone. You were slightly surprised by her agreement, but not about to spoil the chance. You positioned yourself whatever way you knew best, and snapped a picture of the defiled idol's cum covered face. You smiled happily at the printed out piece of film paper, as Sana saw your look in the corner of her eyes.

"Does my cum covered face make you that happy? Maybe I should let you do it a little more often... Or maybe I shouldn't if you will always forget to bring me a towel when you're done." She teased you, the cute and bubbly tone ever present in her voice.

"Oh, shit!" You exclaimed, before storing your picture in a drawer in your nightstand rapidly, dashing out and returning to the girl with a towel.

"That's more like it." She replied before letting out that cute little laugh of hers and wiping her face clean.

-----

You were now laying in your bed with your arm around Sana, herself snuggling up next to you. As per usual, she never liked to leave right away, opting instead to unwind for a little while longer. You were watching some TV while Sana scrolled through her phone. After some time, you lowered the volume and patted her back, getting her attention.

“Hey, Sana?”

She tilted her head, placing her chin on your chest and looking up at you with her doe-like eyes. 

“About what you said earlier…I meant what I said.” you said slowly.

She crooked her head to the side and furled her brow, confused as to what you were referring to.

“I really haven’t been with any of my other clients. Truth be told, I haven’t even thought about it.” 

Sana turned her body to sit up. She thought to herself for a second before letting out a deep breath. “Good. And you better not think about it in the future either. Don’t forget, you are mine.” she said in a serious tone.

This got your attention. When you think back to what the two of you had going for the last few months, you believed it to be casual at best. As such, seeing Sana getting worked up over the thought of you being with other idols struck you as odd. Your confusion must have been plastered across your face, since just as you were about to push the topic further, Sana lifted her finger and placed it on your lips, shushing you.

“Stop. I know what you’re thinking, and I didn’t mean it like that.” Sana retracted her hand and sat up fully, crossing her legs as you sat up to join her. “What I meant was, I like being able to call you whenever I’m free. I don’t want you getting around to the point where I can’t reach you whenever I want to. Also, you satisfy my needs perfectly so I’m having a ton of fun. You can call me selfish, but I just don’t want to ruin this by making it any more complicated than it is. Besides, you’re having fun too, right?”

You nod your head in agreement, but then another thought strikes you. “So what then? You’re just free to do whatever you want, meanwhile I’m not allowed to be with anyone else? Sana, that’s hardly fair.” you huff as you cross your arms.

Sana recoils a bit at this and looks down at her lap. You mentally facepalm, already regretting what you had just said and wishing you could take it back. You reach out a hand placing it on her thigh. “Wait…I didn’t mean for it to come off that way.” Sana brings her knees up, hugging them close to her chest as she looks back up at you, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. 

“...is this not enough for you?” she says, her voice almost breaking. She quickly sinks her head down to her knees, hiding her face from your view. You’re quick to move, scooting yourself beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“Yes! Of course it is, Sana. I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me. I really am grateful for what we have going now, I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t enough. You are, Sana. You really are. If you don’t want me sleeping with other girls, I won’t.” you affirm as you rub her arm, hoping to console her.

“Do you mean that? You won’t sleep with anyone else if I say so?” you hear her squeak out.

“If it means still getting to sleep with you, I'll do it.” you respond, hugging her even tighter. You lean down and kiss the top of her head. After a few seconds more of holding her there, you notice her grip on her knees begin to loosen.

“Hehehe, wow...Just like that, huh?” You tilt your head down towards Sana in bewilderment. It wasn’t until you took a pause and really looked that you realized she wasn't crying at all; rather, she was giggling.

“Oh my god, are you fucking kidding me right now?!” You nudge her away from you as she rolls onto her side, still holding onto her knees as she finally bursts out in laughter. You scoot back away and actually facepalm this time. 

“Ahhh I wish I could have seen your face. You must really like me that much, don’t you?” she teases.

You turn to look at her with a defeated expression, getting another laugh out of her. “I can’t believe you…” you sigh before letting out a chuckle, seeing the humor in the situation she put you in yourself. Sana wipes her happy tears from her face before collecting herself and sitting upright next to you.

“Listen, of course you can sleep with other girls, it’s not like we’re exclusive or anything. I just don’t want to see you whoring around the entire k-pop industry now that you’ve gotten a taste of what it’s like. But, I’ll tell you what! You’ve been good to me these last few months. Like, really good. I think I know a way I can return the favor…”. You tilt your head once more, egging her on to continue her thought. “I really did like the work you did for my solo photo book. Is there anyone else over at JYP that you’ve always wanted to work with? I know I’m the first from my company to shoot with you, but I think the least I can do is introduce you to another idol, maybe find you some more work in the future?”

In truth, you'd hoped that your work with Sana would lead to more opportunities for your career, but you hadn't considered who you'd want to work with next if given the choice. "Oh, that would actually be very nice, Sana. Do you have any suggestions?"

Sana contemplates for a moment. "Well...I could introduce you to anyone really. How about someone else in Twice? I'm pretty sure any of my members would be happy to shoot with you?"

You pause and take a second to think, weighing out your options. Of all the idols at her company you had to admit that you would have loved to work with any of them, but there was one name that came to mind. You figured now was as good a time as any to shoot your shot.

“Well…I think I’d like to meet Mina if that’s cool with you…?”

Sana’s face lights up immediately. “Ah, of course! I’ll set up a meeting later this week. Let me message her right now to see when she’s free. Oh, this is gonna be so great!” She then giddily turns to reach for her phone and starts texting. 

You sit there dumbfounded, a huge smile on your face as you start to get excited at the thought of the impact this shoot could have on your career. Mina was famous for her stunning beauty, and you couldn't help but to already start firing off ideas in your head on how to capture her ethereal qualities. You've always admired her gorgeous visuals, and were chomping at the bit to meet her in person. Meanwhile, Sana silently chuckled to herself as she typed away. She knew full well that Mina would be the perfect person to introduce you to for "other" reasons, reasons you would soon find out.

______________________________________________________________ A/N: This is a collaborative work between 2 authors who share an immense love for Twice! Thank you all for taking the time to read our fantasy. Any and all feedback is welcome, so please feel free to leave a comment or shoot us a message sharing your thoughts! This is only the start of a long journey between Sana and Y/N, and who knows? Maybe a few other members may be making an appearance ;)

[finelinefae]

bambi [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: y/n tries a dating app and meets the CEO of Pleasing

word count: 8.6k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, dating app, online dating, deer!reader, first date, first kiss, fluff, age gap (9 years)

a/n: this is the first part of a new series. as usual the first part is a lil slow to set things up but I'm excited for what's to come of this one. there's going to be a lot of cuteness and all the things i love writing about in this one so i can't wait to share more !

. . .

Most of the time Y/N didn’t want to be in control of things. 

From a young age, she had to be in charge of everything. She had three younger brothers and was born to a single mother who worked hard to keep everything afloat in their tiny, townhouse. So inevitably she became an adult before she could even buy a lottery ticket. 

Her life wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t easy. With the constant nagging from her much younger siblings and the dampened sleeve of her t-shirt—evidence of the hours she spent comforting her mother through tears—Y/N had just had enough.

Her life had become an abundance of things she was struggling to keep up with. She had no reprieve throughout her daily life, no way of stopping or just letting go. 

She worked six-hour shifts at the supermarket, studied marketing at university, did the school run in the mornings, and often in the evenings too, if her mother was too tired to get off the couch. She tutored her youngest brother, who was falling behind in math, and kept the house in order while all three of them stayed glued to the television.

Even worse, her social life was practically nonexistent.. She was twenty-one and spent her Friday nights making dino nuggets and catching up on an incessant amount of laundry from the past week. 

Y/N wasn’t sure where her life was heading. The loneliness and stress was so overwhelming she could barely breathe. 

One night, the weight of it all brought her to tears as she thought about her future after graduation. Most of the girls she knew were planning gap years, travelling to places like Brazil or Italy. She tried to picture herself boarding a plane, but the only thing she could imagine was her mother calling mid-flight, asking her to pick up one of the boys from school.

She pulled open her phone eyes blotchy and nose stuffy from crying. Her loneliness was hitting her hard and she was desperate to feel some kind of connection, even if it was five minutes of conversation. So, she opened the only dating app she had on her phone, one that she’d installed many moons ago when she wanted to open herself up to meeting new people. 

She barely used it after realising she wasn’t the best at small talk and whenever a guy would ask for a date, her introverted self would refuse to step foot out of the house. But on occasion she’d find herself wondering, searching for someone to take her mind off of everything. 

Y/N swiped past copious images of men, seemingly unphased by all of them. She swiped through so many, that they almost began to look the same - 5’9, tanned, shirtless or lifting weights trying to show some kind of strength that proved to women they were most definitely ‘manly’. 

When she started to believe all hope was lost, she paused when her eyes settled on a man who didn’t look much like the others. He was tall, with brunette curls and green eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He wore rings on his hands in every single picture and in one of them he wore a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal a sleeve of tattoos. In most of his pictures he wore comfy sweaters and knitted cardigans with grey or black trousers. In one of them he wore a pair of blue jeans and had a small, battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye in his back pocket. 

She read his bio beneath. 

‘Harry, 30

Likes: scrabble, food, cats, books, cardigans

Dislikes: loud chewing, music played too low, emails, wearing sunglasses indoors at dinner is absolutely criminal’

She clicked the heart on his profile, eyes widening when the words ‘MATCH’ appeared on the screen in big bubble writing. He hadn’t sent her a message but clearly he had liked her own profile which was surprising considering she had barely anything on it. 

As she was mulling over what to say to start the conversation, three bubbles quickly appeared then disappeared, replaced by a message. She held her breath, reading the words. 

Harry: Hey, pretty dress

She frowned, wondering what he meant by that but then remembered she had a picture of her on her profile, showcasing one of her favourite dresses. It was a baby pink slip dress she had made out of silk fabric. 

Y/N: Thank you, I made it! :) 

Harry: You did? Wow! Looks better than most of the ones I’ve seen in my own store.

Y/N: Do you own a clothing store?

Harry: Something along those lines

Harry: Although they don’t sell pretty dresses like yours 

Y/N: They’re probably a lot better, I use cheap materials 

She cringed at her message, hoping she didn’t sound broke or not put together by saying she used something cheap.

Harry: I’m even more impressed

She smiled, watching him type a new message. 

Harry: What brings you here?

She tried to sum up how she was feeling without making herself seem like a weirdo. She didn’t want to sound like a recluse looking for human interaction no matter how much she felt like it. 

Y/N: I’m tired of everything, just want someone to keep me company 

Harry: I get that. Should I be worried? Are you okay? 

Her heart warmed, she couldn’t remember the last time someone asked her if she was okay. 

Y/N: I’m okay now, thank you for asking !! it’s just everyday life stuff.

Harry: Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything you want to talk about. I’m right here to listen… or read 

Y/N: thank you, that truly means a lot!! xx

Harry: No problem, love x

Y/N’s heart flickered at the name he had placed on the end. 

They texted for hours, well into the middle of the night. Y/N was giddy, rolling around on her bed, smiling so hard her cheeks ached. They had so much in common—both preferred quiet nights in, were family-oriented, loved literature and art and even fashion. He was funny and sweet, always checking in to make sure she was comfortable and that he wasn’t overstepping with his questions. Despite how much they had in common, they had a lot of differences too.

Y/N: Is it raining where you are? Xx

Harry: Hm, just checked outside and I think the clouds are coming over. I don’t mind though autumn happens to be my favourite season.

Y/N: omg really? 

Harry: What? You don’t agree?

Y/N: No omg are you kidding? I’m much more into spring. I like that it’s sunny with a slight breeze so it’s warm but not too warm so you can still wear a sweater

Harry: Ahhh I see, you do give spring I must say

Y/N: You think so?

Harry: Even from looking at your pictures, you look like a tulip or something. 

Harry: Or the little deer from that movie

Harry: What was it?

Harry: Bambi!

Harry: Maybe that should be your name - Bambi 

Y/N: That’s one of my favourite movies !! 

Y/N: I happened to think Bambi is a very pretty name 

Harry: Then I’ll call you Bambi 

Y/N: Well what should I call you?

Harry: Anything you like, Bambi 

. . . 

Y/N was working her shift at the supermarket. She was already entering her final hour, her stomach rumbling as she packed frozen pizzas onto the shelves. Although she had been working hard to get things done so she could go home on time, her mind was constantly wandering. 

It had been a full week of talking to Harry. They had converted to messaging on WhatsApp after exchanging numbers and every day Y/N would wake up to a morning text message from him telling her to have a good day and that he would be right there in her pocket if she ever needed anything. In the evenings, he would make sure she wasn’t going to sleep with anything heavy on her mind. He’d ask her questions about what she ate and if she had any time to herself in the day. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt a little less lonely. She went about her day with a little pep in her step feeling the excitement of texting the man she had only just met. She didn’t know what it was about him but a part of her felt safe with him. Maybe it was the fact he was nine years older than her and knew what it was like to be under stress with so many things but he understood her in a way no one else did. 

And Bambi.

Every day, it was Bambi this and Bambi that, and every time, she’d swoon or smile at the nickname he had given her. It was silly, maybe even a little ridiculous, how much it affected her. But she couldn’t help it—every time he said it, a bubble of excitement grew inside her. She liked someone for the first time in a long time, and it brought something new, something light, into her overwhelming life.

After days of just simply texting, Y/N had asked him if he wanted to video call tonight. It would be her first time hearing what he sounded like and part of her was nervous. What if he came across differently from how he was over text? What if he didn’t look the way he did in the numerous pictures he had sent her? What if after calling tonight, he didn’t like her anymore?

Hours later, Y/N was tucked up in bed readying herself to call him. She had showered and blow-dried her hair, wearing her comfiest pink pyjamas with her body wrapped up in her duvet. Her thumb hovered over the call button, gnawing on her bottom lip as thoughts raced through her mind.

She gasped when Harry’s face appeared on her screen just seconds after she pressed call. It was their first time ever talking like this, and her heart raced as she took in the sight of him. He was sitting in a desk chair, a large framed artwork hanging on the wall behind him. His shirt was slightly rumpled, his tie loosened around the collar, and his curls fell lazily across his forehead. He looked so effortlessly handsome, it almost didn’t seem real.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking the stillness of her bedroom. It carried a warmth, soft and steady, like the glow of a campfire, and she felt herself melt under its gentle heat.

“H-Hi,” she squeaked, her cheeks immediately flushing with warmth. Her nerves bubbled up as she realized she was staring at him, trying to comprehend that this was actually happening. Surely she was dreaming, she pinched herself to make sure. 

Harry’s eyes softened when he heard her shaky greeting. “You alright?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, amused smile. His tone was gentle, almost teasing, but there was something deeper there—like he was studying her reaction and enjoying every second of it.

She nodded quickly, fumbling with the hem of her pyjama shirt. “I’m good! Just… surprised you answered so fast.” She giggled nervously, her voice high-pitched and sweet, like she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “I thought it’d take a few rings at least.” Her blush deepened as she tucked her knees up to her chest.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, making her heart flutter. “I was waiting for you to call,” he admitted, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. 

Her heart skipped a beat, and she shyly glanced up at him through her lashes. “Really?” she asked, her voice soft and a little disbelieving. 

He smiled, a slow, adoring smile that made her stomach flip. “Yeah, really. I’ve been thinking about it all day.” His voice had that low, confident tone, but his gaze was gentle, like he wanted to make sure she knew he meant it. “The only thing getting me through work.”

“You’re still at work? It’s nine-thirty!” she exclaimed, glancing at the clock in disbelief.

Harry’s lips curled into a playful smirk. “Is it past your bedtime, Bambi?” he teased, leaning back in his chair as he glanced at her through the screen.

Her heart stuttered hearing that nickname come from his own mouth. She felt like if the camera wasn’t on, she’d be floating around her room like a bright pink orb of light, “N-No,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “But shouldn’t you be going home by now? You’ve been working all day.”

He let out a small chuckle, shrugging as he glanced down at the papers scattered across his desk. “Got a lot to catch up on. Too many late nights spent talking to you.” His voice was warm, laced with affection despite his teasing.

Her heart sank for a moment, guilt creeping in. They’d been texting non-stop for weeks, and she hadn’t once thought about how it might be affecting his workload. He’d told her before that he worked for a clothing company, and it suddenly hit her how busy he must be.

Noticing the shift in her expression, Harry’s voice softened. “Y’thinking too much in that little head of yours?” he asked, cutting through her thoughts.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted quietly, biting her lip.

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. “You know I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, right? I love talking to you, Y/N. I think... I might even be a little obsessed with you,” he confessed, his smirk turning into a softer smile.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a second, all she could do was stare at him, her heart thudding in her chest. “I-I think I’m obsessed with you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. 

“Yeah?” His voice was full of warmth, a hint of disbelief in it, like he hadn’t expected her to say it back. She nodded shyly, clutching her pillow tighter against her chest, her heart racing.

Harry huffed out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face to hide the wide grin that had taken over. “God, you’re even cuter than I imagined,” he murmured, his words full of adoration.

They talked for hours, diving into everything and anything that crossed their minds. It was the longest conversation they’d had since they started talking, and Y/N found herself more captivated by Harry than she thought was possible. The way he laughed, the way he listened—it all just pulled her in deeper.

In the middle of her sentence, she noticed Harry looking at her with an unusually soft expression, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite place. He suddenly spoke, cutting her off mid-thought. “Can I take you on a date?” His voice was gentle but firm, catching her completely off guard.

“O-Oh,” she stammered, blinking in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to want to meet her so soon, but her heart leapt at the thought. “I’d like that,” she replied, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Very much.”

His own smile widened, a mix of relief and excitement in his eyes. “How about Saturday evening? I could pick you up.”

“But wouldn’t that be too long of a drive?” she asked, biting her lip. She knew he lived in the city, about forty minutes away without traffic, and she didn’t want to inconvenience him.

Harry’s expression didn’t falter. “It’s not too far at all. Trust me, I don’t mind,” he said confidently. “I’ll pick you up at 8, sound good?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, the idea of seeing him in person making her pulse race. She nodded shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mhm, that sounds perfect.”

Harry’s grin grew, his eyes twinkling, “Can you wear the pretty dress you made?”

Y/N blushed, “You don’t want me to wear something a little more sophisticated?” 

“Y’ can wear whatever makes you comfortable, I don’t mind but I think I’d like to see that little dress y’ made.” 

She nodded, stifling a yawn as it slipped out. It was getting late, and Harry was still at his office, working. “Y’tired, lovie?” His voice softened.

“A little,” she lied, knowing full well she was more than exhausted. But the thought of ending the call made her chest tighten—she wanted to keep him on the line, even just for a few more minutes.

Harry chuckled softly as if he could see right through her. “Why don’t you rest those pretty eyes for me, yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, the gentle authority in his words making her entire body relax. She practically melted at the sound, her heart skipping a beat.

“M’kay,” she whispered, her eyelids already heavy as she let herself sink deeper into the comfort of his voice.

“I’ll be right here, alright?” he reassured her, his tone gentle and full of warmth.

She managed a soft smile, her words barely audible as her exhaustion overtook her. “Promise?”

“Promise Bambi,” he whispered, his voice the last thing she heard before sleep pulled her under.

. . .

“Mr. Styles?”

Harry looked up from his computer, peering over the rims of his glasses. His receptionist, Lindsey, stood in the doorway. “The samples for the newest collection have arrived. Would you like me to bring them in?” she asked, her voice polite but efficient, as always.

“Yes, please, Lindsey,” he replied with a sigh, signing off another email before hitting send. The endless stream of tasks had him feeling drained.

Though Harry wasn’t usually the type to show much warmth towards his employees, Lindsey was different. She’d been with him for years—long enough to earn not just his respect, but his trust. She was one of the very few people he relied on within his company. 

Harry was the CEO of Pleasing, a major fashion company he had built from the ground up. His first line had been designed in a small studio, crafted with his own hands and the help of a few close friends who still worked by his side. Now, it was a global brand. He was on Forbes 30 under 30 and had features in magazines like GQ. He was even in Time magazine for most influential people. 

Despite all the success, his day-to-day life had become an endless loop of emails, business meetings, and deadlines. Time for anything outside of work was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Lately, though, something, or rather someone, had started to make him reconsider how he spent his time.

He checked his phone once more having only picked it up a minute ago for the same reason. He hoped to see a message from Y/N, in fact he was eager to. Ever since he had messaged her on the only dating app he used, he hadn’t thought of anyone else but her. 

It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, one born out of the loneliness that weighed heavier than ever that night. Harry sat in his dimly lit office, the silence around him almost suffocating. He hadn’t dated in over a year, not since his last relationship, which had ended on a bitter note. That girl had taken advantage of him, using his desire of the relationship he wanted to manipulate him. She had drained his bank accounts, maxed out his credit cards on shopping sprees and lavish holidays with her friends, leaving him both financially and emotionally exhausted. After that, he’d grown wary of trusting anyone.

When he joined the website, he wasn’t exactly hopeful. The chance of finding someone who truly understood his career and mirrored his desires in a relationship seemed slim.

But then he met his Bambi. 

He hadn’t been searching for anything specific that day, just scrolling aimlessly, but something about Y/N’s profile made him pause. There was a warmth to her, a genuine spark that went beyond her pictures. She didn’t seem to realise just how captivating she was, and that drew him in even more. It wasn’t just her beauty—though she was stunning—it was the way she spoke about the things she loved. Her messages were full of passion, filled with rambles about her favourite books, little moments in her day, or random thoughts that popped into her head. 

Y/N had ignited something within him. He was excited for this newfound thing they had going on, a spark he hadn’t felt in years. Every message from her left him smiling at his phone, wondering what she’d say next. It was the kind of excitement that made the day feel a little brighter, knowing she was just a text away. He found himself looking forward to the simplest things—her daily updates, the way she’d ramble about something she’d seen or read, and even the photo updates she’d send him of things she was doing.

For the first time in a long time, he found himself imagining what it would be like to share his life with someone, instead of the quiet solitude he’d grown so used to. He couldn’t shake the thought of Y/N being that person—the one to bring warmth into the corners of his once-lonely home. He pictured what it would be like to have someone in his space, their presence adding a new kind of lightness. Someone to be there in the small, everyday moments and to keep him company after a long day at the office. 

He couldn’t wait to meet her in real life, hold her in his hands and kiss the lips he spent nights dreaming about. 

Harry snapped out of his daze when Lindsey opened the door and the manufacturers entered the room behind her, holding the fabric samples in their hands. They greeted him timidly, laying the samples on the table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows. 

He walked over, black polished shoes clicking against the mahogany wood floor. He sighed when he took in the samples, he didn’t need to feel them to know they weren’t good enough. Uncapping the red pen, he drew a cross beside each sample, the men behind him releasing a shaky breath. 

“Come back when you have what I want,” He murmured, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. 

He checked the time on his watch and cursed. Today was his niece’s birthday and he promised his sister he’d visit in time for her birthday party this afternoon. “Lindsey,” He called, hearing her shoes against the floor before she opened the door to his office. 

He pulled on his blazer, “I’ve got to leave, did you wrap that gift I gave you the other day?” 

Lindsey frowned, “It’s under my desk but what about your meetings this afternoon?” 

“Cancel them.” He shrugged.

His Porsche was parked out front by the time he stepped out of the building. He put the gift into the passenger seat and made a mental note to stop somewhere to buy a birthday card. 

He glanced at his phone when a text came through.

Bambi: Half way through my shift. It’s been pretty rough, sorry for the late reply xx

His heart leapt when Y/N’s name appeared. He took his phone when he reached a red light and typed in a reply.

Harry: it’s okay lovie, call me when you finish yeah? x

He was desperate to speak to her even if it were just for a mere few seconds. 

Making a left turn, he pulled into the parking lot of a small supermarket on the highway. It looked run down and old but there wasn’t anywhere else he could go to before he reached his sister's house.

People sat outside, smoking cigarettes and drinking out of beer cans. He ignored the glances they made towards him and his car. 

He stepped inside and walked along the aisles, pausing when he noticed someone stacking things onto a shelf. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. She was wearing blue jeans and a fuzzy white sweater, her hair was braided and fastened with pink, silk bows. She wore wired earbuds, her pink ballerina flats tapping against the laminate flooring. 

She must have felt his gaze because her head lifted, eyes widening as they met his. Her soft, pink lips parted slightly, and in that instant, it was as if the world shifted—everything falling perfectly into place between them, as though they were always meant to find each other naturally. 

Harry hadn’t noticed the sugar spilling from the bag she was holding until the store manager stormed over. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sharp tone made Y/N jump, her body snapping upright as she stood frozen in front of her manager, fear flashing across her face.

“I-I’m s-sorry, I—” Y/N stammered, her voice trembling.

“How many times do I have to hear the same excuse from you?” her manager snapped. “Stupid, useless girl, costing me the whole damn shop.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I-I know... I promised it wouldn’t happen again. It was an accident, really,” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady.

Harry’s frown deepened. Again? This had happened before?

From the way Y/N stood there, trying so hard not to cry, it was painfully clear—this wasn’t the first time her boss had spoken to her like this.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he watched the exchange, a surge of protectiveness rising in him. He had only known Y/N recently, but seeing her like this—small, vulnerable, and clearly hurt—stirred something deep within him. He couldn’t just stand there and let it happen.

“Excuse me,” Harry spoke up, his voice calm but firm, stepping closer. The store manager turned to him, annoyance flashing across his face.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the manager spat, his glare shifting to Harry.

“Actually, I think it does,” Harry replied, his eyes steady on the man. “You don’t need to speak to her like that.”

The manager scoffed. “And who the hell are you?”

Harry didn’t blink, his voice lowering. “Someone who knows when respect is lacking.”

Y/N looked up at Harry, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t believe he was stepping in. Her heart raced, a mix of relief and anxiety bubbling inside her. She wasn’t used to anyone standing up for her like this.

“Y/N, why don’t you take a minute?” Harry said softly, glancing over at her, his voice now gentle and reassuring. The tears in her eyes made his chest physically hurt. He’d be quick with this useless piece of shit so he could give her all his attention.

She hesitated but then nodded, her gaze flicking between Harry and her boss. She quickly turned, slipping away from the confrontation, her hands shaking as she tried to compose herself.

Harry turned back to the manager, his calm exterior masking the frustration brewing underneath. “Speak to her like that again, and I won’t hesitate to have this place torn down, brick by brick, and replaced with a building I own. Then you’ll know firsthand what it’s like to deal with a real fucking manager.” 

With that, he turned on his heel, already making a mental note to have his team look into this place. It was clearly lacking in more ways than one—enough to warrant being shut down for good he hoped. 

Y/N stood behind the building, her back to him, shoulders trembling as she cried into her sleeve. Harry’s heart clenched at the sight. “Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured softly, stepping forward and gently pulling her into his chest. “Tha’s enough now, Bambi. Don’t waste your tears on him,” he whispered, his large hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. Holding her close felt unexpectedly right, as if this was exactly where she belonged, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she sniffled, her voice small. “This isn’t how I wanted you to see me for the first time.”

His eyes softened with affection as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully, he wiped her tear-stained, blotchy cheeks, his touch tender. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart,” he whispered, “S’alright now, y’ don’t have to go back in there.” He cupped the back of her head, feeling how soft and silky her hair was. He couldn’t seem to fathom that he was actually holding her after days of imagining what she would feel like.

She pulled away and for the first time Harry could get a proper look at her. He didn’t think it possible for her to be even more beautiful than the pictures he had of her on her phone but she was. Her features were soft, cheeks permanently pink like the colour of tulips on a spring day, her lips were the perfect shape, so delicate like two petals pressed together. She was a walking angel. 

“Hey stranger,” He grinned, those perfect cheeks turning pink. If Harry had one goal in his life it was to make her all flustery and blushy. 

“Hi,” She peeped, hands fiddling in front of her.

Her eyes widened when she saw the tear stains on his shirt, the damp spots revealing the tiniest hint of the tattoos on his torso. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your shirt,” She cringed.

“Hey no need to apologise, ‘s not even ruined and I’d rather you were okay than some easily replaceable shirt.” He assured her. “Are y’ sure you’re okay? Don’t need to go in there and beat him up or anything,”

She smiled at that and the sight made his heart sing, “No it’s okay. I-I’m okay, thank you for looking out for me. I don’t normally have people doing that very often.”

He frowned. He didn’t like how often she spoke about how little help she got from other people. If anything, it made him want to take care of her even more than he already did. 

“I should probably head back in. I still have three more hours of my shift,” she huffed, clearly reluctant. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

Harry’s expression softened, but his tone remained firm. “You don’t have to,” he said, his gaze holding hers, protective and unwavering.

Y/N frowned, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “But I need the job, Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I can’t just leave.”

His jaw tightened at her words. He hated seeing her stuck in a place that didn’t value her, where she wasn’t respected. “I know you need the job,” he replied, gentler now, trying to ease her worry. “But no job is worth being treated like that. Not by him.”

She bit her lip, glancing back at the store, anxiety clearly weighing on her. “What am I supposed to do, then? I can’t afford to lose it.”

Harry stepped closer, his hand finding its way to her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re not going to lose anything,” he said softly. “Let me take care of it. Of you.”

Y/N blinked up at him, her heart pounding. “Take care of me?”

“Come work with me,” He offered. 

There weren’t many positions available at Pleasing, but Harry didn’t care. He’d make something work—anything to keep her from going back into that place and dealing with the jerk inside.

“In the city? I... I can’t do that, Harry. I still have school, and my brothers...”

“You can work around it,” he said quickly, eager to find a solution. “I’ll pay for your gas to and from the city, or I’ll have someone drive you. Hell, I’ll drive you myself if it makes you feel better. Whatever you need. Just don’t stay here.”

He sighed softly, taking her small hand in his larger one, her warmth a comfort even as doubt flickered between them. “Just... think about it, yeah?” His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of her hand, trying to ease the tension.

Y/N hesitated but nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

A grin spread across Harry’s face, his relief palpable. “Thank you Bambi.” He swore he saw her pupils carve into love hearts at his words. 

. . . 

Y/N hadn’t returned to her job at the store just as she promised Harry. It wasn’t only because Harry was insistent she didn’t go back but her manager had been pretty verbally abusive for quite some time now and she thought better than to go back and work for someone who was just plain mean. 

A few days had passed and Saturday rolled around quickly. Y/N was giddy with excitement, preparing everything in time for Harry to pick her up to take her on their very first date this evening. She had arranged a babysitter to look after her brothers since her mother wouldn’t be home until late. It wasn’t often they splurged cash on hiring a babysitter but Y/N wasn’t going to rearrange her date with Harry for anything.

She’d made a list of everything she needed to do: wash and blow dry her hair, shave every inch of her body, and paint her nails with the glazed pink polish she’d ordered online. Her hair was in curlers as she carefully laid out her outfit for the evening—a pink satin slip dress she’d made herself, paired with white kitten heels that matched perfectly. With the season shifting into autumn, she added a thin white cardigan to keep her warm in case the night turned chilly on the way home.

She wanted to look perfect. Especially after the fiasco the other day when he had rescued her from her mean manager. 

Everything seemed to move in slow motion the moment she laid eyes on the man from her phone. He was even more perfect than she had imagined—taller too. It still hadn’t sunk in that she was about to go on a date with this man—the one who wore a black suit to work and had saved her from cruel, terrifying managers.

And the way he spoke to her afterwards, comforting her with his big, heavy hands around her. She wanted him to pick her up and take her wherever he went. 

Y/N sighed blissfully in front of her vanity. As Y/N finished her makeup, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry. 

Harry: Just outside x

She peeked through the window, catching sight of him standing by a sleek black car, leaning casually against the door. He looked breathtaking in a fitted black suit, hands in his pockets as he scanned the street. Her nerves fluttered, a mixture of excitement and anticipation bubbling up. She took a deep breath, smoothed down her dress, and grabbed her cardigan before heading out the door. 

The moment she stepped outside, Harry’s gaze snapped to her, dark and intense. He straightened up, eyes travelling over her form, taking in every detail of her appearance. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine.

“Y’ look stunning, Bambi,” he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. He took a step closer, his large hand cupping her cheek, thumb grazing her soft skin. “All this f’ me?”

Y/N blushed, biting her bottom lip nervously. “I-I wore the dress you wanted,” she mumbled shyly, looking up at him through her lashes, “Do you like it?” 

“‘S perfect,” He murmured lowly. 

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” He opened the car door for her, watching as she slid into the passenger seat, her delicate form contrasting with the dark interior of his Porshe. Harry’s eyes lingered on her legs for a moment before he shut the door and walked around to his side.

Once inside, he reached over, resting his hand on her thigh, the warmth of his touch comforting her immediately. “You nervous?” he asked, glancing at her with a small smile, though the look in his eyes held a trace of dominance.

“A little,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft and shy.

Harry gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. “Y’ don’t have to be nervous around me, love, promise ‘m not scary. Least of all t’ you.” 

Y/N smiled, loving how he made it clear she was different, that he treated her in a way no one else could. It warmed her to feel special, especially when that feeling was rare for her.

As they drove, their conversation flowed easily. Y/N found herself opening up more and more, rambling about anything that came to mind. Harry listened intently, his smile soft as he asked questions, showing genuine interest in everything she said. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the car, and each time she answered bashfully, his lips curved. 

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as they drove deeper into the city. The lights grew brighter, illuminating a part of town she rarely found herself in—where the wealthy lived, with towering apartment complexes and upscale restaurants lining the streets. Harry pulled over in front of a sleek Italian restaurant, where a man stood waiting by the curb.

“Are we allowed to park here?” Y/N asked, her face bathed in the glow of the restaurant’s lights.

Harry suppressed a grin at her confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well… I just assumed we weren’t eating here, which is totally fine! You don’t need to impress me with a fancy restaurant.” Her cheeks flushed pink as she tried to clarify.

Harry’s lips curled into a teasing smirk. “What if I told you we are eating here?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A-are we?”

Without answering, Harry reached for her hand, brushing his lips over the back of it. “Y’ too cute,” he murmured. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.” He stepped out of the car, passing his keys to the valet standing nearby, before adjusting his blazer and moving to open the door for her, his hand stretched out toward her for her to grab onto. 

Y/N hesitated, her mind reeling. There was no way they were eating at this restaurant—the kind with a year-long reservation list and three Michelin stars. She’d heard rumours that a single course here could cost more than her entire paycheck for the week. But as she took his hand and stepped out, it felt impossible to believe this was really happening.

Harry intertwined their fingers, offering a brief nod to the waiter who opened the door for them. “Harry… are you sure? They probably don’t have any tables for people just walking in,” she whispered.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, love. I made some arrangements.”

Her brows furrowed in surprise. “Arrangements? How?”

Stopping at the ‘Please Wait to Be Seated’ sign, Harry finally turned to her with a playful twinkle in his eye. “I own the restaurant.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open as a waiter approached, menus tucked neatly under his arm. “Good evening, Mr. Styles. Your table is ready.”

Feeling like she was in a dream, Y/N walked hand-in-hand with Harry to a private table near the large glass windows at the back. The breathtaking view of the city’s skyline stretched out before them, and the table, set for two, was tucked away to offer them some privacy. 

As they were seated, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the quiet stares and murmurs from other guests. She knew Harry owned a clothing business, but… just how successful was he?

The waiter laid the menus out in front of them and left them to decide what they wanted to order. Y/N hadn’t even noticed as her wide eyes gazed around the room at the glowing chandeliers. 

Harry reached for her hand beneath the table, “Are y’ okay love?” He asked. Y/N’s gaze snapped towards him, “I hope ‘s not too much.”

“H-Harry, I really appreciate you bringing me here, I mean even stepping inside is a dream come true, but… I c-can’t afford this.” She felt awful saying it but it was true and it was better to tell him now than when she’d finished her meal, she wouldn’t want him thinking she was out for his money.

Harry frowned, “Bambi, this is a date. Y’ don’t have to pay for anything.”

“B-but I can’t use your money.” She told him. 

She couldn’t hear it but Harry’s heart was singing in his chest. She was exactly what he was looking for someone totally opposite to all the women he had dated in his past. 

He cupped her cheek in his hand, “Look at me Y/N,” Big, doe eyes gazed into his, “Please stop worrying and let me take care of you. I know y’ haven’t been given that in the past but ‘m here now and I want this. I wanted to bring y’ here and I want y’ to be spoiled and I want to treat you in the way you deserve. So can you pick something from the menu and let me look after you Bambi baby, please? Think you can do that?”

Her lips parted, slowly nodding her head but she quickly said one last thing, “You don’t have to take me to fancy places to make me feel spoiled Harry. I already feel spoiled enough just getting to be with you.”

He smiled, eyes glistening under the low light of the chandelier. He placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed as a small thank you. “Have you decided what you’re going to eat?”

"Hmmm," Harry grinned, watching Y/N's pouted lips as she studied the menu with intense concentration. "I can't decide between the truffle pasta or the smoked salmon!" she huffed, clearly torn.

"How about this," he offered with a shrug, "I’ll get the smoked salmon, you get the truffle pasta, and we can share? That way you can try both."

She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You don’t want something else?”

He had been planning on ordering the steak and potatoes, but seeing how much this small decision seemed to weigh on her, he didn’t mind changing his mind. The smoked salmon was one of his favourite dishes anyway.

When the waiter came over, Harry confidently placed the order for both of them, which made Y/N visibly relax. She hated the pressure of ordering her own food, so the simple act of him taking charge made her feel instantly at ease.

“We’ll make sure to have your order as a priority, Mr. Styles,” the waiter nodded respectfully before walking away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow. They must really like you here.”

Harry chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t I mention I owned a clothing business?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, “But I thought it was just a boutique or something.” She shrugged, clearly unaware of the scale.

Harry laughed a warm, deep sound that made her stomach flip. “Bambi,” he said, pulling her gently into his side until their cheeks were almost touching, “See that guy’s sweater? That woman’s hat? And that lady’s dress over there?” She nodded everytime he pointed towards them, her heart skipping a beat at their closeness. “We made all of those.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “W-wait, you own Pleasing?”

Harry nodded, a small, proud smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Y/N couldn’t even count how many times she had opened the Pleasing website, scrolling through pages of clothes she desperately wanted but couldn’t afford. And now, she was sitting across from its owner—no, she was on a date with him.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling away slightly to gauge her reaction. "Which reminds me, have you given any more thought to the job?"

She had, actually. The idea had been rolling around in her mind ever since he’d mentioned it. "What's the role again?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"My assistant," Harry replied smoothly. "You’d help with emails, scheduling meetings, running errands—nothing too complicated. Just being my right hand.”

“Wouldn’t that be awkward, though? Since we’re, y’know... dating?”

Harry smirked, catching the implication. "So, there’s going to be a second date?" His teasing tone made her blush. “And if anything, it makes it better. I’d get to see you every day instead of just texting."

“But what about school?” Y/N asked, trying to think practically.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said easily. “Whatever you need. We can make it work.”

“Shouldn’t there be an interview or something?” she quipped, trying to lighten the moment, though her heart was racing.

Harry sighed dramatically, playing along. “Alright. Hello, Miss Y/L/N. Welcome to your official interview for the position of Mr. Styles’ personal assistant.”

Y/N giggled, her nerves easing as she followed his lead. “Well, hello Mr. Styles. Thank you for having me.”

Harry’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes twinkling as he played along. “First question,” he said, leaning closer, their faces now just inches apart. “How do you feel about spending every day with me? Answer carefully—it’s a tough one.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Well, Mr. Styles, I think I could manage that.”

“Good answer,” he praised, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “Next question: Can you handle a man who’s very particular about his coffee?”

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow in playful suspicion. “Are we talking normal particular, or... like, twelve-steps-to-make-a-single-cup particular?”

Harry chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Maybe somewhere in between. But don’t worry, I can teach you.”

Y/N laughed softly, her nerves easing even more. Being around him was easy, natural—like slipping into something familiar and warm. “I think I could handle that.”

"One last question," Harry murmured, leaning in even closer. His gaze flickered to her lips for a brief second before locking back onto her eyes. "How do you feel about sneaking around with your boss?"

Her laughter died down, a trace of seriousness replacing it. She knew the risks—things had to stay professional, no hint of their relationship could slip through especially since Harry would not only be her boss but was the Senior Director and had to have the respect of everyone.  But still, she couldn’t resist.

“I think it could be fun,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Good,” He murmured, “I think you’ve passed the test, Bambi,” Y/N noticed how close his lips were to hers, if she moved her face forward they’d be touching, “Any questions?”

. . . 

Harry pulled the car up to the curb just outside Y/N’s house, the gentle hum of the engine fading as he switched it off. The street was quiet, the only light coming from the street lamps casting long shadows on the pavement. Inside her house, the windows were dark, and she silently hoped her brothers were already asleep, sparing her the awkwardness of explaining why she wasn’t rushing inside.

The silence between them felt comfortable yet charged, neither making a move to leave. It was as if both of them knew the night shouldn’t end yet, even though it had to at some point. Y/N looked down at her hands, nervously tracing the edge of her coat, stealing glances at Harry every few moments. He seemed deep in thought, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, but the same hesitation hung in the air between them.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said softly, her voice breaking the silence.

He turned to her, his expression soft but intent, as if weighing every word. “Don’t need t’ thank me Bambi,” he replied, his eyes lingering on her face a moment longer than necessary. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go home,” She huffed, looking down at her fingers on her lap.

Harry’s lips curved into a small smile, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. He leaned back in his seat, turning his body slightly toward her. “Y’ want to go back to mine?”

She wanted nothing more, the pain of saying no physically paining her, “M-my brothers... they have school,” she murmured.

“S okay,” He smiled. 

The air between them felt thick with unspoken feelings, and she could feel her heart race as the weight of his gaze settled on her. He reached over, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch soft.

“Bambi,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly more intimate, like he was laying something important on the table.

She turned to face him fully, her breath catching as his fingers brushed against her cheek, lingering just long enough to make her pulse race. The space between them seemed to vanish, and suddenly, all she could think about was the way his lips would feel against hers.

Neither of them spoke. The tension that had been simmering all evening finally boiled over. Harry’s hand cupped her cheek, and in that quiet moment under the dim streetlights, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, like they were both testing the waters. But as soon as their lips touched, a wave of emotion flooded over her, and she couldn’t help but respond. Her hand found its way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, slow and lingering. It wasn’t rushed or hurried—just soft, warm, and full of everything Y/N had been dreaming about for longer than she cared to admit. 

When they finally pulled apart, Harry rested his forehead against hers, both of them catching their breath, their lips still tingling from the kiss. His hand lingered on her cheek, as though neither of them was ready to let the moment slip away just yet.

Y/N opened her mouth to say something, maybe to break the silence or make a joke about how long they’d waited for this. But before she could speak, a loud thud startled her. She turned her head, eyes widening as the lights in her house flickered on. And there they were—her brothers, pressed against the living room window, grinning like fools and making exaggerated kissy faces at them.

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, mortified. Her face flushed a deep shade of red as she fumbled with her seatbelt. "This is so embarrassing."

She pushed the door open and scrambled out of her seat, grabbing her purse in a flurry of panic. “I am so sorry, Harry. I-I have to go,” she stammered, her words tumbling out in a rush as she awkwardly tried to regain her composure. “Thank you for dinner, a-and the kiss! Oh, and the job too!”

In her haste, her heel caught on a paving stone, and she stumbled slightly, her purse nearly slipping from her hand as she made her way toward the front door.

Harry watched her, his mouth half open, caught between amusement and disbelief. She was flustered, rambling, and absolutely adorable. He couldn't stop the soft chuckle that escaped him as he leaned back in his seat, shaking his head.

"Bambi!" he called out the car window, grinning. “I'll take that as a yes on the job?”

Y/N turned back briefly, her face flushed but her smile shy and genuine. “Yes! Definitely yes!” she called over her shoulder, before hurrying inside, her brothers still laughing from the window.

As she disappeared through the door, Harry chuckled to himself, the warmth from their kiss still lingering. He turned the ignition on, shaking his head in disbelief at how the night had unfolded. It was far from the graceful goodbye he had imagined, but somehow, it felt perfect. He couldn’t stop smiling as he pulled away from the curb. 

Yeah, he thought to himself, that definitely meant she was taking the job.

[cryptfile]

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names.

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little mia cause i’m surviving aka going through the worst semester of my life at uni? internships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published,, feel free to send more logan requests since i've basically been a slut for him for a while now (i'm rotting in hell).

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place—. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about all that you were before, weirdly connected to you through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

my masterlist

[c-digital-being]

Randomly had the idea of, in the far, far flung future, Atlus releases like, Persona 17 or something, and I keep coming up with random absurd things about the game (and other things for this bizarre world where new Persona games never stop coming out)

P17's main color is light beige, they used up all the colorful colors by Persona 15

The main concept for P17's "other world" is based on some obscure, loose metaphor a psychologist used for the human subconscious one time, they had ran out of smart, semi-sensical metaphors by like, Persona 10

^ A friend of mine suggested that the "other world" be sandwich themed because a totally real psychologist compared the layers of mental instability to the layers of a sandwich (and to make the excuse that the main color represents the bread)

^^ The Velvet Room is a Subway

There are like 17 Social Stats to increase, they can only be ranked up like once or twice each, but doing it for all of them is tough, especially since you don't know which you'll need to unlock what

They've made so many Personas based on mythology and fictional creatures and the like, that Altus started coming up with their own mythologies just so they could base more Personas off them

There are Social Links / Confidants for every tarot card arcana ever made, but they still needed more Social Links / Confidants, so Atlus had to start making up their own arcanas

P17 actually takes place over the course of 2-3 years, otherwise you wouldn't have enough time to complete all the content even at max efficiency

There are like 32 magic affinities / elements, and like 14 physical ones, each party member commonly specializes in 2-3 magic affinities / elements, as well as a different physical affinity / element

The mascot character is like, an aardvark or something, it has no relation to anything in the game and it's kinda obvious that Atlus is just running out of popular animals to make into mascots

By popular demand, the P17 protag is finally bisexual, have fun trying to date all 50+ romance-able characters in the game, you asked for this

A deluxe version with even more content somehow is in development, get ready for Persona 17 Toasted a couple years after P17 releases

Speaking of rereleases, "Reload"s of previous Persona games have become somewhat of a standard, Altus has said Persona 13 Regrown (P13 is plant-themed) is nearing completion

There are rumors that P17 will have a spin-off that plays like a 3D Collect-a-Thon Platformer, mostly because it's one of the few genres of games the Persona series hasn't tried out in a spin-off yet

On the topic of spin-offs, the Persona Q games have lost their goddamn mind, each game still includes the groups from all of the previous Persona games as well as the group from the most recent Persona game at the time, Q14 literally has like over a hundred party members you can use, it's insanity

Thank you for joining me on this delve into complete Persona-themed stupidity, and I hope you're as hyped for Persona 17 as I am

[ms--lobotomy]

40k Lion being an an absolute freak. A slutty old man. A whore. Anything will do really.

Normally I don't answer requests while they're closed, but @kit-williams has a long overdue birthday gift involving Lion of either type. I was already going to do 40k Lion, but this is the kick in the ass I needed to finally write the fic. Thank you, Anon!

Summary: Lion reunites with an old lover.

Word Count: 649

Content Warnings: This one's real soft but like. Armor kink and breeding and vague NSFW

Image Credit: @squishyowl

You were going to become a mother. At least, that's what he had promised you. Before Horus lost his mind, before the man you loved vanished without so much as telling anyone where he'd gone. Ten thousand years had gone by. Despite your nature as a Perpetual, it was a long and accursed wait for something that might not even happen. Ten thousand years, and you'd not given up for a day.

Someone who'd been the lover of a Primarch would have had to go into hiding for the foreseeable future. So hide you did, moving from planet to remote planet and never staying for more than a few Earthen years. It was late at night while you worked. The noises you heard were like small earthquakes, but rhythmic as one thump superseded another. Right after the last one, you heard a knock.

"Shouldn't you be...?" you asked, words failing you.

"What in the galaxy do you mean?" you heard a familiar voice respond.

It all clicked in your mind. Perhaps the footsteps of a Primarch were so unfamiliar to you nowadays, so otherworldly that you'd mistaken them for something else. You hadn't looked out of any windows, but you saw a familiar shade of green. And you'd recognize the voice anywhere, if it was a little huskier and a little more worn.

"Lion?"

"Indeed," he replied, "now if you could invite me in, that would be quite welcome."

You tilted your head. He was never one to announce his presence, and the Lion you knew would open the door himself if he'd wanted to see you. Oh, well, you've reasoned with yourself. Most people change in ten thousand years. As you approached the door, you saw the familiar etchings in his verdant armor. You opened it and craned your neck up to look at him.

"You've aged," you said softly as he ran a hand along your cheek. His wrinkles were far more pronounced, and his hair was silver instead of the blonde you remembered. His forest-green eyes were the same, and he made rare eye contact with you as the crows feet grew deeper with his smile.

His smile widened. "You haven't," he replied, kneeling down. He slipped a hand behind your knees and lifted you up, his armor cold against your skin.

You relaxed. Despite the metal armor, his hold was as comfortable as your remember. He stood up. You hadn't felt that rush of air in a long while. You were now higher above the ground than you were tall.

He lifted you to his mouth, and you bared your neck as he pressed kiss after soft kiss into it. His whiskers were still rough against your skin, but that was a welcome feeling after going so long without it. Your eyes met again, and you let out a light giggle.

"I've missed you," he mumbled before resuming his activity.

"I've..." you started. How were you even going to begin to describe how you felt, those ten thousand years of sleepless nights waiting for him? That empty feeling of waiting, of not knowing whether your efforts were for nothing. Relief didn't even begin to cover how you were feeling. "I've missed you t-!"

He set you down and knelt before you again, pressing his lips onto yours and pressing you into the side of your house. The straps of your sundress were pushed up and to the side, and your eyes widened as his closed. After a minute, he pulled away.

"Too soon?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"N, no," you whimpered. You made no effort to pull the straps of your dress back up, thanking your lucky stars that you had no neighbors.

"Good," he said. "Now, help me take off my armor. I want to keep my promise to you."

"What-?"

"You're going to become a mother when I'm done with you."

Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

This is not a rewrite and just barely canon compliant. The first few chapters take place during ACOWAR and the remaining take place 80 years in the future.

Read on AO3

-

They came for her in the night.

Hair unbound, in a thin night dress, the fae males came with rough hands and lewd stares. They pawed at her body and threatened to strip her naked if she made a sound. They threatened worse if she fought them. Elain Archeron was bound, gagged, and left to rot for days in a cell where she wept silent, bitter tears. Did anyone know she was missing? She’d been separated from Nesta, whom she could hear screaming day and night like a wild animal. It was a promise of what she’d do should she get free of her own restraints—Nesta would go out fighting.

But Elain had decided compliance would serve her better. Even when they returned, reeking of iron and salt, Elain was certain it was all a misunderstanding she could clear up. Feyre was fighting a war—they must have thought she and Nesta were helping. They were, of course, but Elain had concocted a pretty lie she was certain would stand up to scrutiny. They hadn’t known the full scope, had merely been welcoming their sister back home.

They were innocent—which was the truth.

It was only when she was dragged into that throne room that Elain understood she was merely collateral damage. Her life meant nothing to the fae, just like she’d always been told. She was merely a copper piece to be bartered with before she was ultimately discarded. 

She was exhausted and starved after days of nothing—not even water, which dripped into her cell but was inaccessible to her due to the gag shoved in her mouth. Four human queens watched—the same who had come to her home, who had listened to Feyre’s pleas for help. Elain tried to maintain eye contact with them, but none would look at her.

They might feel a little shame, but not enough to put a stop to what was coming. There, situated on the gleaming onyx marble floor, stood a cauldron big enough to bathe in. Smoke poured around its iron rim, warning her of what would happen should she be submerged. Elain tried, vainly, to keep herself from being shoved in. Her foot caught on the lip before Elain was tossed into the frigid water. She held her breath, intending to just pull herself out.

Hands, rough and unyielding, grabbed her limbs. She tried to scream, which only pulled water into her lungs. Elain struggled to expel it, which only caused her into inhale more water. Her lungs were on fire as panic flooded through her. Every mechanism her body had was working against her, making her an enemy of herself. Elain tried to vomit up that water, which caused her to gulp down more. Her mind was frantic, legs kicking against the hands wrapped around her ankle.

Please! She screamed in her mind, praying some long forgotten deity sympathetic to humans would emerge. Humanity had long abandoned the gods who, truthfully, had abandoned them first. They blessed the fae with superior senses, strength, and magic they could call upon at will. What had they given humanity? Nothing but suffering.Why should humans offer prayers and worship when they turned their backs on them?

Elain had never been religious, truthfully. But right then, she was desperate. Please, she begged again. There was no answer to her, only her limbs loosening and the once burning pain fizzling into an almost pleasant numbness. She’d thought the drowning would be the worst part.

Elain was wrong.

Just as her mind began to blacken around the edges, letting her slip into hazy oblivion, the hands yanked Elain further into the endless waters she drowned in. The heat and pain that had once bubbled in her lungs spread outward, burning Elain from the inside out. Her bones were ground to dust, reforged in that white flame. She could feel it pouring from her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Elain tried to scream, but more flames licked along the back of her throat, rendering her mute. 

The hands that had once dragged her down now seemed to cradle her, holding her gently as Elain’ sensitive skin scabbed and flaked away before mending itself. She felt each stitch, each pull of the invisible, immortal thread that was remaking her. 

I don’t want it. Please, Elain thought, twisting around in that boundless, endless water. She stretched out her hands trying to find the boundaries of this cruel, cold new world but there was nothing at all. Time had become meaningless, though she was certain she’d been suspended for an age. If she managed to escape, she’d find a millenia had passed.

Elain choked back a bubbling sob at the thought. A whole life lost, and for what? The obsession a few women had around immortality? One kings drive to punish her sister? Elain didn’t understand the politics at play, searching for some answer that would explain what had happened. 

And oh. Feyre must be miserable over the whole thing. A life dedicated to keeping her and Nesta alive and safe—ruined. Elain wished she could tell Feyre none of this was her fault—that she forgave her for any wrongdoings Feyre might have committed, that she didn’t blame her youngest sister for any of this. 

Nesta would be next, unaware of the horrors waiting for her. Elain was certain it would break her. Maybe it was for the best she’d gone first—perhaps whatever horrors the cauldron wanted to inflict would extend no further than Elain’s body. Perhaps Nesta would be shoved in only to find her feet touched the bottom. She wished for it, trying to will away the unbearable pain as she prayed and prayed, and prayed.

The hands that held her stroked her cheek, and all at once the pain was gone. She wasn’t dead—Elain could feel her frantic pulse beating in her chest, but nothing hurt anymore. What would happen next, she wondered? She wanted to know what would become of her—was there some afterlife she was being ushered off to? Some new horror she was moments from being subjected to?

Elain felt warmth flood through her as a reassuring presence made itself known. Pressing itself against her chest, the voice echoed through the dark, fear can’t harm you. Not anymore. Ask your questions—and receive an answer. 

Elain felt loved, felt it as surely as she felt the cold come rushing back toward her. She didn’t want to leave that reassuring embrace, but water was rushing over her, along with her need for air.

Her knees slapped against the unforgiving ground as she gasped in a breath of air. Through her soaking hair, Elain looked up to find Nesta staring back at her, eyes wide with horror. It had been years drowning in the Cauldron. She knew it had been.

But she was right back where she’d started. It was like no time at all had passed. Elain wanted to scream, but air was too precious to waste on fear. Something else was pressing against her mind, whisper that she needed to turn, to look, to see.

“Don’t just leave her on the damn floor.”

The voice was new to her and yet somehow familiar. If a voice could be a home, that deep, masculine sound certainly was. Elain felt the cloth draped over her shoulders before she dared to look, taking in the man in question.

Something clanged through her, answering a question she hadn’t known she’d been asking. It was a cruel twist of fate to feel that twang, that snap, that last, missing piece fall into place. Their eyes locked, drinking in one russet, one gold. She wanted to touch him, to bury her face in the collar of his jacket and inhale the warm, masculine scent of her. 

The world had fallen away and Elain forgot why she was on the floor or what had happened mere moments before.

I’ve found you. 

“You’re my mate,” he whispered, answering the question she’d clearly been shouting between them. He pulled on the thread between them, yanking Elain back to the present. Mate.

Oh, no. 

Pure terror clawed at her. It was a nightmare that remained unending, that she couldn’t wake from. Nesta was yelling, just as soaked as Elain was though uncovered and uncared for. No one had come to claim her. That was a relief, Elain decided. She merely remained on the floor, unwilling to go to that man.

Elain needed to go home. 

–

“Are you sure about this?” 

Feyre asked for the millionth time that day. Elain had never been more sure of anything. Feyre didn’t understand, small minded and distrustful of humans despite living nineteen years of her life as one, but Graysen would. They were a love match—he’d fought his father to propose to her, though no one thought she was good enough. She’d been impoverished and no one back home had forgotten that. Her sudden wealth had been explained thoroughly by their father receiving the missing chests on his once sunken ships.

She knew now it was the price paid for taking Feyre away. Graysen didn’t, though—he believed the lie. Still, she knew how he’d fought to make her his wife and Elain had to believe that love would hold even now.

Even after she’d become the very thing he hated. 

Wiping her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress, Elain turned to face Feyre. “Promise you won’t hurt him.”

The look in Feyre’s eye told Elain that her sister would hurt him if she felt it was necessary. That this was a promise she could not keep. Still, Elain demanded it rather than confirm, once again, that she wanted to see him. She’d been locked up in this mountain prison for months, subjected to the tiptoeing of Feyre’s winged friends and the uneasy conversation with Lucien Vanserra. How long before he decided to stake his claim? She’d been reading about mating bonds—how they affected males, the laws that governed them, and perhaps most horribly of all, that they could not be broken.

Only rejected. 

Elain didn’t want to speak to him again. Instead, she wanted to put everything behind her and go back to a life that made sense. 

“Even if he takes you back—”

“He will,” she whispered fiercely, twisting the iron engagement band around her finger anxiously.

“Even if he does,” Feyre repeated, undeterred, “you’ll outlive him by centuries.”

“You don’t understand,” Elain heard herself say, catching the look of hurt that flitted across her younger sisters face. Feyre didn’t, though. How convenient that the male she loved also happened to be immortal and her mate. Elain often wished for that, too—that the bond would snap between her and Graysen and she’d, at least, have something to cling to. She didn’t have that, though it didn’t make the love she felt any less present. The mating bond meant nothing to her—Lucien might have some uncomfortable claim over her, but he didn’t have her heart.

And he never would, she vowed. Elain had begun to pin all her feelings of resentment on him, heaping all the hurt onto his shoulders regardless if he deserved it or not. Elain didn’t particularly care about his feelings, in part because she didn’t think he cared about hers, either. She was simply an object he was entitled to.

And everyone wanted her to give him a chance. She could see it on their faces, the pity when they mentioned him, the cajoling when she wouldn’t give him the time of day. Rhys would pointedly refer to Feyre as his mate when Elain was in earshot, as if Feyre no longer had an identity outside it. Cassian and Azriel shifted around her, eyes looking everywhere but at her. Claimed, they seemed to whisper. 

What about what she wanted? What she needed? No, Elain would go. If Graysen wanted to reject her, he could do so in person. Though, she prayed he wouldn’t. Too afraid to use her magic to see what might happen, though it whispered against her mind she only needed to ask, Elain allowed herself to be carried into the human lands. 

When they landed just outside the high, stone walls, Elain caught her sisters stiffening. She knew what they saw out here, knew they viewed this place as inferior. Beneath them. They’d gladly accept immortality if it meant they never had to return to this place. Had it truly been so terrible, Elain wondered? Had there been no joy? No happiness? 

She’d had all that. Her life hadn’t become a waking nightmare until she’d been turned. There was no joy, no happiness for her as an immortal fae. Rhysand’s palace in the mountains was overwrought and impersonal, everything dressed in neutral creams and beige. Feyre liked it that way, but Elain missed color. She missed living things, the passage of time. 

Archers on the walls pointed arrows at Elain, who trembled slightly. Everyone was watching—the eyes of the fae on her back, the humans on her front. Elain wasn’t afraid they’d hurt her—Feyre wouldn’t allow it—but she was afraid Graysen wouldn’t come out. That he’d reject her.

“Tell Graysen that his betrothed has come for him. Tell him…tell him that Elain Archeron begs for sanctuary.”

She knew her role, here. She was supposed to convince him to aid them in the upcoming war. Elain didn’t dare glance over her shoulder where Rhysand stood, afraid if she did, he might guess all her thoughts. He’d realize, too late, that she had no intention of helping them. That if it came down between leaving with Graysen and leaving the fae to fight their own wars, well…

It was horribly selfish. Terribly unkind. Elain tried to ease the roiling guilt in her stomach, sloshing around as it demanded she do as she’d been told. 

Elain wanted both, but if she had to choose, just this one time, she wanted to choose herself. 

Behind her, her sisters talked quietly though Elain wasn’t listening. All she heard was the soft crunching of boots on snow—she knew those steps, had heard them creeping over wood floors not that long ago. 

The door opened with a bang, and there he was. Wild, blue eyes scanned the space before landing on her, and a gloved hand slid through his warm brown hair. Relief shuttered over his handsome face. Elain staggered a step forward as Graysen lurched for her, stopped by his father.

Oh, no.

She hadn’t factored him in. Hadn’t thought he’d come. The elder Nolan stared at her coldly, and Elain knew he knew. Graysen might not know, but his father did. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked coldly, staring down that birdlike nose of his. She’d never liked him, and he’d never liked her. Perhaps he was about to get what he’d always wanted—a life free of Elain Archeron.

To her credit, Elain tried to address him. Her words failed her, terrified it was all over. That the fae had succeeded in stripping her of every last ounce of her humanity. Elain and Graysen merely stared at the other, separated by an invisible boundary neither of them could cross. He wasn’t listening.

“Elain—why are you with them?” he finally asked, unconcerned with the words they were saying.

Nesta answered for her, like she always did. Elain tried to find her voice—she managed to stammer out the plea Feyre had rehearsed with her. Give the humans sanctuary, she pleaded. Please. 

And then, he told them. Nolan, hand still on his son's shoulder, staring at her with a mix of triumph and hate. This was it—the moment Elain had been dreading. She’d wanted to tell him herself, to explain it all. It wasn’t as if she’d jumped in willingly, though perhaps to a man like Nolan, it simply didn’t matter. She ought to have died rather than become one of them. 

And here she was.

Allied with them. The fae who had never done anything to prove themselves, once again making demands. Elain could feel her resentment rising with just as much ferocity as her fear. Her alliance with her sister would cost her everything. Feyre had gave, and gave, and gave—but Elain had, too. She’d convinced Nesta to let Feyre and the fae in, had sent the servants away with gold and promises they’d be alright. Had tried to do the right thing.

And for what? 

“I would be inclined to believe you if you were not lying to me with your every breath.”

Elain fumbled for her words. “I—I am not, I—”

“Did you think that you could come to my house and deceive me with your faerie magic?”

It was Rhys who spoke, smooth and clear. “We don’t care what you believe. We only come to ask you help those who cannot defend themselves.”

Elain drowned it out, trying to silently plead with Graysen. His eyes were locked on hers, and she knew what he was seeing. The magic that made the fae so lovely—deceitfully so, because mortals often fell into their traps before they were ripped to ribbons.

Or worse. 

Feyre’s friends tried to keep the lie up, but Nolan wasn’t having it. When Mor said any weapon could harm a mortal, insinuating Elain still was one, Nolan spoke again with far more venom.

“But she isn’t a mortal, is she? No, I have it on good authority that it was Elain Archeron who was turned Fae first. And who now has a High Lord’s son as a mate.”

Elain didn’t know how she didn’t throw up right then and there. As Jurian—his likeness was painted in every schoolhouse, in every history book, and on the armor of so many soldiers—stepped out to inform everyone he had told the Nolan’s everything—Elain forced herself to breathe. Graysen’s lips had parted, his expression slack. Did he think, because she’d been assigned a mate at random, that she was done with him? She wanted to step toward him, but Feyre and Nesta were flanking her, half shielding her with their taller bodies. Jurian monologued, out of place for the scene. Elain couldn’t make sense of any of it. Why was he there? Why was he talking? 

Elain wanted to scream at them all to shut up, shut up, shut up! It was a power contest with each person attempting to one up the other at her expense. They didn’t care about her. In fact, Elain believed they were hoping for all this—the overwrought theatrics, the sneering human lord, and her eventual breakup.

What would be left? Oh, she’d grieve—she was certain they thought so—but then she’d fall into Lucien’s waiting arms like she was supposed to. Maybe they’d make her. She wasn’t clear on that front. 

“I did not mean to deceive you,” Elain whispered when a lull in the conversation allowed her to. Graysen’s emotions seemed to war over his features before settling into a flatness that scared her

“I find I have trouble believing that,” his father said.

Graysen spoke, finally, his every word a knife. “Did you think you could come back here—live with me as this…lie?”

“No. Yes. I—I don’t know what I wanted—”

“And you are bound to some…Fae male. A High Lord’s son.”

Elain was going to be sick. “His name is Lucien,” she told him, wanting to be honest. 

Graysen’s temper rose, cheeks coloring with anger or something else. She couldn’t say. “I don’t care what his name is. You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?”

“It means nothing,” she swore, hating how her voice broke. She was a crier by nature, and here, even in her anger, it seemed those tears would betray her. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it  or why they did—”

“You belong to him.”

There, beneath his angry words, was the same hurt pooling in her gut. Elain stumbled forward only to be shoved back by Nesta and Feyre. “I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”Graysen’s eyes flicked to her sisters, to the fae warriors lingering behind her, crinkling at the corners as he made some last minute decision.

“I want to speak with her. Alone.”

A chorus of no’s erupted from everyone and Elain was pulled back further not by Rhys, but by Azriel. She shoved his hands off her, infuriated that once again, everyone else got to decide her fate. She tried to surge forward and Feyre began negotiating, ever opportunistic.

“Here is how things are going to go—”

“Let her go,” Graysen called, interrupting her sister, his hand on his sword. Cassian rose to full height, clearly seeing a challenge. It was unfair, she thought as Graysen unsheathed his blade in warning. 

“You promised!” Elain called, restrained by Azriel as she thrashed against him. “Feyre, you promised!”

“Is this the famed diplomacy faeries have to offer us?” Nolan asked, his alarm plain. Overhead, on the walls, his men pointed ash arrows at all of them. Rhys surely had noticed—what was the likelihood they’d all escape? 

“Let’s all calm ourselves,” Rhys said as if he’d read Elain’s mind. Perhaps he had, though she hadn’t felt his presence. Glancing over his shoulder, he beckoned for Azriel to bring Elain forward.

Elain shoved Azriel away from her person, smoothing out her skirts with whatever dignity remained to her.

“I want to speak to her. Alone.”

“No,” Feyre repeated, apparently willing to die on this hill. “Whatever you have to say to her, you can say to all of us.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Graysen snapped. “Is she your prisoner, then?”

“No, of course not—”

“Then let her answer for herself,” Graysen demanded. “Lady Elain?”

“I…yes. I’ll speak with you.”

“Not alone—”

“However he likes,” Elain snapped at Nesta, frustrated they were going to try and control this whole thing.

“Ten minutes,” Graysen conceded, perhaps realizing that, otherwise, he’d have a bunch of faeries in his courtyard making demands on him. “Ten minutes and you can have your shelter.

“No wards,” his father added, still sneering down his nose. “We don’t need them.”

Rhys seemed to bristle, though he merely said, “Suit yourself.”

Graysen beckoned Elain to follow him, sandwiching her between his own body and his fathers. She marched through the doors, wondering if this wasn’t, somehow, a mistake. A trap of some sort, where she’d be slaughtered as an example.

“Ten minutes,” his father warned, stalking off with a few guards. Graysen didn’t wait, flinging his arms around her body.

“Oh, gods,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I thought you must be dead.”

It only took Elain a minute to wrap her arms around him, too. Was that her shaking, or him? “They took me in the night. Held me for days, I—” a sob escaped her, silencing whatever else she said.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked, taking her face in his hands with such gentleness it threatened to ruin her. Thumbs sweeping over her cheeks, Graysen looked as if he could see her, and not the otherworldly beauty meant to make her a predator.

“They killed me,” she told him, tears streaking over his cheeks. “It hurt.”

“Tell me what you’d have me do–”

“Your father–”

“Will not interfere,” he murmured. Graysen released his hold on her face to tuck her hair behind her ears. “He promised me when I put that ring on your finger…worthless as I understand it to be.”

“I love it,” she whispered.

“I’ll help your faeries at the gate in exchange for you,” Graysen told her, “in whatever way you’ll have me.”

“Can I…can I stay here? I hate it there,” she whispered, still holding him tightly. “It’s like a beautiful prison. Every time I try and leave my room, someone is waiting at the door for me.”

Graysen’s relief filled Elain with the same. “I was hoping you’d…yes. Besides, I’ve heard rumors of a creature who might be able to unmake you.”

“Truly?” It was a dangerous thing to hope, and yet Elain couldn’t help herself.

Graysen’s smile was a beautiful thing. “Truly.”

[summercreolefanfictioner]

the scent wafts in, her name making him beg on his knees chap 1.1

pairing: dabi / todoroki touya x fem!oc / reader (MODERN AU)

summary: He mentions her name after 6 months in therapy, absentmindedly narrating vivid memories of her. She was the only good thing during his darkest times.

(In which Touya returns home after rebelling against his family for 7 years. And no, it wasn't about forgiveness. He wanted to fix himself because of a certain someone.)

themes: nsfw, domestic abuse, violence, alcoholism, cigarette smoking, toxic relationships, mental health, co-dependency and other related themes (YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)

notes: for this one, pls keep in mind that touya didn't have much scars on his face; mostly are on his body to accomodate the plot; charas might be ooc since this is modern au

Todoroki Touya has returned; it wasn't a drill.

The eldest of the Todoroki family has returned, and it was all over the news like wildfire. Pictures of him were around tabloids and newspapers, imprinted on TV screens along with family pictures of his 13-year-old self as news anchors and writers all over Japan broadcasted about the Endeavor Corp. finally having its original heir back to where he belonged. Two years ago, Todoroki Shouto announced he wouldn't be the one to replace his father, Todoroki Enji as the owner and CEO of their family business. However, Shouto focused on one part of the Endeavor Corp., particularly their sports and training business, as he wanted to become a personal trainer someday.

Touya was aware of what was happening on the business side of his family despite his rebellion seven years ago. After all, he saw them all over the news, watched his father on TV, and observed how everything was faring for them. So when he returned to the main house, he was a bit surprised at a few details he had missed. For one, his mother, Todoroki Rei, had already been discharged from the mental ward, faring well and welcoming him back with a big, warm hug and fat tears rolling down her cheeks. It also seemed that things were a lot better between his parents, but some of them still held reluctance to forgive their father.

Particularly him and Natsuo.

Enji was aware of their hatred towards him, hence he would talk to them politically, as Enji the CEO of the Endeavor Corp., not as their own father. Toya believed it was only fair. He would've resorted to violence if that wasn't the case. Speaking of which, that was another reason, he returned.

"I have to settle things between this family and me once and for all," he informed them on the first day of his return. "I need to talk to Father."

He knew what Enji would say to him. His father will apologize and be remorseful over what happened. He will also mention about him being his successor in the future, even though he was having none of it.

"I don't need that title anymore," Touya coldly argued, resisting the urge to punch him in the face as he knew he wouldn't defend himself after everything he had done to them since they were kids. "Not from you, specifically."

Enji understood. Touya meant, "I will have that title by my own hands, not because you passed it to me cheap because Shouto didn't want it anymore." Afterwards, his father explained everything he was required to do before his first day in the company. He also mentioned something along the lines of, "You need to undergo rehab and therapy for a while. I knew what you have been up to these past seven years with your cigarette addiction and alcoholism."

Before, Touya would violently react, would be against his decision and say, "You're just scared because I might surpass you." Now, he just nodded at his direction much to Enji's surprise.

"Why are you so shocked? You think I will half-ass my return to this family?" Toya questioned, slightly mocking him.

"I know you wouldn't," Enji commented.

And before Toya left his office, he added: "Just so you know, I am not doing this for the family."

Enji raised a questioning brow.

"I'm doing this because of a certain someone."

------

The first few months of Touya's rehab and therapy were tough as shit, gnawing at him like sharps and digging his soul like he was trapped in darkness. He felt overwhelmed by everything, talking about his feelings all day, breaking out of his shell, and slightly wanting to just break things and be alone. Touya craved darkness at some point, the urge to be violent creeping on his shoulder like the devil even though a rational part of him warned him that it would not be the best choice. He wanted to destroy himself at this point, missing the familiar pain his piercings left on his ears and nose. He was breathing hard to calm himself, persuading his brain to shut its damn trap.

It's getting annoying, fucking shit. Everything's been chaotic.

The first few days were blank, spending it staring at mindless paintings and counting how many times the water from the faucet dropped in the sink. It was eerie yet relaxing, the silence enveloping him like a plague until it bit back to tell him how much madness he needed to unleash but couldn't. He secretly had his mp3 player in his pocket, and he would watch the door and the shadow underneath, checking if someone would come in. To this day, he still couldn't take it out.

He missed that damn voice, but he needed to be patient. He shouldn't miss her. He shouldn't think about her. This is nothing, he convinced himself. This is nothing compared to all the abuse I've endured before. The angry stare. The hateful remarks. The violent beatings. The disapproval underlying Enji's tone. His rough hand smacking him in the face. The burning scars left on his skin from the heating iron. The pitiful stares. The blood he spat from his mouth.

Everything.

EVERYTHING.

I WANNA DIE.

Out of panic, he quickly reached for the mp3 player from his pocket, a secret he kept from the treatment center. He wasn't supposed to have any gadgets with him, but he knew he had to. He couldn't drink alcohol. He couldn't smoke a stick to curb this annoying feeling. He cannot destroy shit. But he had to hear that soothing voice. He had to endure.

He put in the earbuds and played the audio, his breathing coming down in sighs as he felt himself relaxing.

"Touya..."

"Yes, call me that," he said to no one, tears streaming down as he smiled in satisfaction.

"Touya..."

"Touya..."

"Are you awake?"

"I made you breakfast."

"Touya..."

"Do you want me to take an off day from work?"

"Yes," he answered, hugging the pillow beside him and imagining it was her. "Just stay. Stay with me."

"Touya..."

"I love you..."

"Touya..."

I love you too.

------

Touya has learned something, and that therapy was another form of circle from hell, or that was just him. He heard people preach about therapy all the time, that undergoing therapy healed them, made them see the light at the end of the tunnel, and had them humbled in a way they could never explain. Touya wished it was the same for him, but nah. It wasn't. Therapy was another circle from hell. It made him too vulnerable, too open he could feel the burnt scars on his skin itching too much the more the therapist asked him about himself.

He also thought his therapist couldn't care less about his minimal responses, the first few days boring him as the man asked about his name, how old he was, what he did for a living after he ran away, what helped him cope—you know, the basic questions every therapist could ask for.

"Todoroki Touya. 26. I did odd jobs. Alcohol. Cigarettes. Fighting."

The therapist looked displeased, he noted. He probably wanted more answers than that.

"Have you been in therapy before?"

"No."

"What do you expect from this session?"

"I don't know."

"Why are you seeking therapy?"

If he was being honest, Touya's answer would be: "I don't know? Just to get this shit done, I guess?" Not like he would be rude now. After all, he returned as Todoroki Touya after seven years of rebelling. He should keep his damn trap if he wanted them all back.

Even her.

"Do you want to become a better person?"

"Yes."

next chap

masterlist

[none-of-these-days]

I had so much fun dressing up my sims for Halloween. The theme I picked for myself this year was "masquerade at the Immernacht circus" - so I went with something less spooky and a bit more elegant for the costumes! 🎪⚰️

We have Grace (the empress) as our fortune teller. Are you brave enough to allow her a look into your future?

Alexander (the emperor) as our ringmaster and art director. He's the one keeping the show running.

And Avery (the hierophant) as our talented magician. Whatever strange phenomen you might encounter, keep in mind that magic is but an illusion. It all just happens in this sweet little head of yours.

please note: I don't know much about tarot. The cards picked for these characters are entirely based on a quick Google search.

cc used

Grace l The Empress

horns @saruin/ jewellery @sakuraflora / hands @.saruin/ wings @nolan-sims/ dress @madlensims/ tail @.saruin

Alexander l The Emperor

hat(*) / top(*) / bottoms(*) / tail @.saruin

Avery l The Hierophant

top(*) / bottoms(*) / gloves(**) / wings @.nolan-sims/ bat

* perma-paywall cc by Beckysims (search for Beckysims simfileshare to avoid the paywall) ** Sims 4 Gothic Style kit

[xxsksxxx]

Almost Heaven

Summary:

Mulder’s attempt to find more exciting cases to investigate while stuck in the bullpen turns into another weekend trip to the forest.

Meanwhile, Scully is faced with a tempting offer that could change both her future and their lives.

This story is complete, and I’m going to post one chapter a day.

AO3 | Back to the Beginning | @today-in-fic

Chapter 11: Almost Heaven

Washington, D.C. Scully’s apartment Sunday, November 29th, 1998, 9:05 pm

Scully raised her arm and checked her watch for what must’ve been the tenth time in the last hour. With a sigh, she got up from the couch and turned the TV off. It was no use anyway. She’d tried reading, she’d tried cleaning, and she’d even gone through her closet, finally putting all the summer clothes in a suitcase and storing them in her basement. The movie she hadn’t been paying any attention to was just the last straw. Nothing made her stop thinking about calling Mulder.

Just call him, she thought, exasperated with herself. You dropped a bomb on him in the car earlier. You might as well call him now instead of waiting for your usual bedtime conversation.

She’d tried all day to not succumb to the temptation to pick up the phone. If she wanted to keep being in Mulder’s life, things needed to change. She’d drive herself crazy if she kept up being caught in the middle between her hopes and reality. He was her best friend, the person she wanted to find truths with and uncover lies. But she had to learn how to accept that what she felt wasn’t the way he thought about her. He needed her in his life as his touchstone—and she wanted him as her romantic partner. And if she didn’t want to end up getting hurt, she needed to get back to treating him like a friend and not like a potential lover.

The thought that they would never be what she had hoped for only a few days ago, pierced her heart, and she swallowed. I’m not a lovesick teenager. I’m going to be alright, she assured herself. They’d been friends for years, and she had loved their relationship. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be able to be just as happy if things went back to the way they had been.

She checked her watch again and shook her head at herself. This was getting ridiculous, she was torturing herself for no reason.

With determent steps, Scully walked towards her phone and carried the portable to her living room window, looking outside. The parked cars lining the street were illuminated by the streetlamps, the wet roofs from the earlier November rain reflecting the light like sparkling stars.

For a second, she thought one of the cars looked like Mulder’s and squinted her eyes, trying to check if she could find her partner. You’re losing your mind, Dana, she thought. Stop seeing him everywhere and just call him already. You’re starting to see ghosts!

With a deep sigh, she pressed speed dial 1 and listened to the phone connect. Mulder picked up after the second ring.

“Hello?” he asked, his voice tense. She had been right, Mulder had probably been agonizing all afternoon about their conversation, and she closed her eyes against the sudden realization that she was the cause of his anguish. I should’ve called him right away, she thought guiltily.

“Mulder, it’s me,” she replied quietly, suddenly as anxious as Mulder, even though she didn’t know why.

“Hey, Scully, everything ok?” he asked immediately, and she kept her tone light.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I know this is not our usual time to call. I hope I’m not interrupting whatever you’re doing?”

“No, no, you’re not interrupting. I was just thinking about the case. You were right. The gunmen couldn’t find anything more on the sighting. It turns out Mr. Murphy is kind of known for having seen—,” he trailed off. “Phenomena.” She could hear the defeat in his voice and wished he was sitting in front of her now so she could touch him. With a shake of her head, she ruthlessly squashed that thought. This was exactly what had gotten her into trouble this weekend. He was her friend. Friends didn’t want to stroke each other’s hair, hug and hold each other, kiss, and touch each other’s bodies. With an internal sigh, she admitted to herself that she had still a long way to go before she was truly going to be in a place where she would be ok with just being Mulder’s friend.

She realized she’d been quiet for a while and focused back on Mulder’s breathing coming through the line.

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she said seriously. Mulder grunted in acknowledgment, both knowing that there wasn’t much to say about the case anymore.

“So, what have you been up to? Did you have a good rest of the day?” he asked tightly, fishing for any information he could about what she was going to do. She heard a crack through the line and realized that he was eating sunflower seeds.

“Not much, did some chores, did a bit of reading. Pretty uneventful.”

“Did the medical journals have any new interesting mutants?” he joked, and she felt warmth spread through her, happy that he knew her this well.

“Nothing that would be considered an X-File, I’m afraid,” she joked back, feeling the tension slowly dissipate. It was going to be alright, she decided.

The crack of another sunflower seed being snapped open came through the line, and she smiled.

“I made a decision, Mulder,” she said calmly, reminding herself why she had called. “I’m not going to take the job offer.”

Mulder didn’t reply, and she felt the urge to fill the silence with an explanation. “I thought about it and tried to imagine what it would be like. And I realized that I couldn't even imagine it.”

She gripped the phone tighter, feeling her sweaty hand slip on the receiver, uncomfortable to be this open about her feelings. “And I thought about everything we’ve experienced, Mulder. All the things I still want to find, the questions I want answers to.” She took a deep breath and soldiered on. “We’ve got things to get done, Mulder. And I don’t want to do it without you either—not even temporarily,” she finished quietly.

There was a long pause, and finally, she could hear Mulder let out a long breath. “I’m glad, Scully,” he said earnestly, and Scully closed her eyes.

“Well, I’ll let you go then, Mulder,” she breathed, the relief making her nearly dizzy. She waited a moment for his reply, but when it didn’t come, she added a soft ’Good night’ and hung up the phone.

Scully placed the receiver back in its place on the side table and made her way into her bathroom, preparing to get ready for bed. She was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster of the last few days.

Scully was just brushing her teeth and pulling the jar with her nighttime cream from her cabinet, a headband holding her hair back when a soft knock sounded on her front door, and she turned in surprise.

She hardly got unexpected visitors. At least not the ones that knocked, she thought wryly. The only one who ever dropped by this late was—Mulder. Of course. But how could that be? She’d been on the phone with him only ten minutes ago. There was no way he could’ve driven over here in that short amount of time.

She hurried over to the door, and after a brief check through her door viewer, she pulled it open. “Mulder?”

Mulder pushed past her without looking at her, and she closed the door behind him, turning around in surprise. “How did you get here so fast? Did something happen?”

“I was sitting in my car when you called, trying to get up the nerve to come up here,” he explained, starting to pace her living room. She leaned back against the doorjamb, watching him, her brow furrowed.

He suddenly stopped and turned to her, his eyes brimming with emotion. “Why, Scully?” he asked. “I don’t understand. Why did you even have to make a choice?” He pushed his hair back with his fingers and shook his head. “I just don’t get it. You’ve been the one who’s told me that we shouldn’t give up. That we would get the X-Files back if we played our cards right. And Skinner makes one job offer, and you’re doubting everything?” He looked at her with wide, questioning eyes, and she turned her own eyes to the floor.

How could she explain to him that it wasn’t just about that? She did believe they’d get the X-Files back, but she had felt like that was no longer enough. Not anymore. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, struggling for the right words. How could she explain that she had tricked herself into believing she could have it all this weekend—that she had wanted what Dana dreamed of when she was sitting alone on her sofa on lonely Saturday nights? But that was completely on her. How could he have known? “I don’t know, Mulder. I guess—I guess I just felt—like I wanted something else.”

Mulder watched her wordlessly for a moment. “I thought I had made it clear. Back in my hallway a few months ago,” he began, and her eyes flew up to his. “Not just your importance to the X-Files—but also to me. Personally.” His eyes didn’t shy away from hers, and she could see his anguish. “I thought you felt it too.”

Scully’s eyes searched his face for what he was talking about. Of course, she remembered the hallway and everything that nearly happened there. How could she forget? “Felt what too?”

“Oh, come on, Scully. If I remember correctly, you wanted that kiss just as much as I did. Because if you didn’t, let me tell you, you were sure sending mixed signals!” He put his hands on his hips, his body language a clear challenge.

“Yes, Mulder. Yes, I wanted to kiss you. But what does that have to do with this? Why are you here?”

“I just want to understand! How can you even think about walking away from this, from us after everything—after what I told you—” His voice trailed off, and for a moment Scully could see the young boy he must’ve been. His eyes were huge and sad, and despite his confrontational words, she could still hear the vulnerability in his voice.

She took a step forward and placed her hand on his chest, looking up at him. “I wanted that kiss very much, Mulder. But I just don’t understand you sometimes.”

He leaned closer, almost as if he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t miss a word of what she was saying, and that gave her the courage to go on. “Why did you invite me to come along to West Virginia this weekend?”

“Because the gunmen had found Mr. Murphy’s message on an internet site and his memories of the Mothman seemed accurate,” he explained slowly, clearly still not getting where she was going with this.

Scully nodded, her thoughts confirmed. He’d never intended anything personal to happen during the weekend.

Mulder was still watching her, his eyes darting between hers. But he kept silent, so she tried a different route to make him understand. “Mulder, why did you brush me off last night, when I came over to your motel room?” She searched his face, trying to see the truth in his reaction. But Mulder looked utterly confused.

“Brush you off? What do you mean?”

“When I came over to your room, Mulder, when I asked you if you wanted to take a break, spend time together, go out to dinner, maybe go to the movies?” She realized her voice had started to get an edge to it and took a deep breath to calm herself down. This was not Mulder’s fault, she reminded herself. Just because she had thought he’d finally made a move to turn their almost kiss into a getaway weekend with hopefully a real kiss or two, didn’t mean that’s what had been on his mind.

Mulder’s eyes softened, and he brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Because I thought we could maybe spend some time together, looking for that Mothman. Reconnect. Remember how much fun we had when we were investigating these cases? How you’d call me crazy—and then go on a boat with me anyway to find Big Blue?” he smiled sadly. “I wanted to see you smile, and have some fun for a change, instead of all the shit details we’re stuck with every day now.” He placed his palm against the side of her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, almost tenderly. “Remember when we were in that cemetery in Bellefleur, Oregon? Our first case? The way you were shaking from the cold and the rain, your lips were blue. And yet you were so excited,” he smiled affectionately at her. “And your laugh. Despite it all, you laughed like you were the happiest person on the planet.” Mulder shook his head and took a deep breath. “Something changed for me that day, Scully. I knew I never wanted to ever do this alone again—and I wanted to have that this weekend. I didn’t want it to end, keep investigating until we were laughing about this case like we did back then.”

He let his arm drop and took a step back. “I guess that’s why I asked you if you wanted to come along. I just wanted to spend the weekend with you. Make you smile, do something exciting together, and maybe even show you a Mothman.”

Scully snorted, and Mulder laughed, reaching over and taking her hand in his. “That’s what I don’t get. You seemed to look forward to the weekend as much as I did. But then something changed. And it seems to be about—,” he paused, looking at her uncertainly, “not being in the mood for pizza?”

Scully just shook her head, squeezed his hand, and pulled him over to her sofa. They sat down together, never letting go of each other’s hands. “It’s not about pizza, Mulder. I guess we didn’t have such different ideas about the weekend after all. I wanted to spend time with you as well. And that Mothman did sound interesting—at least until it started to rain, and I was freezing—in the wrong clothes,” she explained, and Mulder looked chagrined.

“I should’ve told you that you would need hiking gear, shouldn’t I have?” He grimaced, and Scully nodded but didn’t reply. That wasn’t the point she wanted to make, though. “Why didn’t you want me to touch you?” she asked quietly, and Mulder’s brows drew in confusion.

“Didn’t want you—. Scully, what are you talking about?” He grabbed her other hand as well and pulled her closer, their faces only inches apart. “I don’t understand. And I really, really want to. When did I say I did not want you to touch me?”

“When I wanted to see if you’d gotten hurt. You moved away from me so fast, you’d think I’d burned you.” She bent her head down, ashamed of her neediness. She felt like a child, getting rejected over wanting a hug.

Mulder let go of her hand and put his fingers under her chin, lifting her face back to his. “Scully look at me.” When her eyes met his, she could feel them fill with tears, and she swallowed, trying not to let them spill over. This whole emotional roller coaster of a weekend was catching up with her at that moment. “There is never any time when I would not want you to touch me. Trust me on that,” Mulder said earnestly. “The reason I moved away was because I did hit my head pretty hard in the forest, and I didn’t want you to make me go to a hospital to get checked for a concussion.” He gave her a crooked smile.

Scully stared at him in disbelief. “Mulder—,” she started, but he put his finger against her lips to silence her and then bent his head down. “Scully, would you mind checking my head? I think I hit it pretty hard yesterday,” he said quietly, but his voice trembled slightly.

Scully stared at him until a slow smile broke out over her face. She placed her hand on his shoulder and kneeled next to him on the sofa, tenderly brushing her fingers through his hair, carefully inspecting the bump. She gave the back of his neck a little scratch while she was at it, and he raised his face to her, only inches away. Scully let her hands glide to his face, cradling it between her palms. “Your head seems to be fine, Mulder. Although—,” she whispered, but before she could finish whatever she had meant to say, he leaned in and softly covered her lips with his.

With a moan, she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Mulder didn’t waste any time and lifted her off the couch and into his lap. She felt her heart thunder in her ears and straddled his legs, gripping his hair with both of her hands. He moaned into her mouth and pressed her hips closer to his, jerking against her. This was what she had been hoping for all weekend. It’s still the weekend, her mind filled in helpfully, and she ruthlessly squashed the thought down, far too busy trying to get another moan like the one before out of Mulder.

She felt his hand sneaking under her sweater, stroking up her back, and a wave of heat coursed through him. Scully pulled back slightly, trying to catch her breath while Mulder reached out to pull her in for another kiss, but she put her hand against his chest, softly stopping him from moving in again.

“That’s why, Mulder. That’s what I thought I could never have.” She gave him a soft kiss on his upper lip and followed it with a nibble on his lower lip. “I wasn’t sure if I could keep going day after day, knowing that you didn’t feel for me what I feel for you.”

Mulder leaned his forehead against Scully’s. “You’ll never have to wonder about that again, Scully. Not as long as I’m alive.” He leaned in for another kiss, and she could feel his smile against her lips. Before he could deepen the kiss again, she got off of his lap and held out her hand to him. “Why don’t we move this to the bedroom, Mulder? I feel like we’ve done enough talking.”

Mulder didn’t need to be told twice.

[butchshepherd]

I've been thinking to myself hey I maybe I should email this breeder, just bring up our potential interest in a future puppy and also I guess ask if they think their dogs could have the potential for assistance work, but first of all I might as well have never written an email in my life bc I have no idea how to go about this!!! And second of all, especially for the latter but I could always leave that out for the first time lol, if they answer negatively in some way I would likely not recover (I am not a well adjusted individual and rsd is a lovely little thing). I know myself well enough to know I would find it very discouraging and the embarrassment would probably also make it harder to contact them in the future 🥲

[bizarrelittlemew]

i was hoping to make a post like this under happier circumstances, but here goes.

as some of you know, everything with the cancellation and renewal campaign has happened right on top of the worst part of my mom's cancer treatment (plus the show was cancelled on my actual birthday 💀). i won't go into details, but it's been tough. lots of ups and downs, mostly downs, luckily ending (for now) on as much of an up as circumstances allow. the whole thing has been weirdly tied to the cancellation for me, kind of amplifying every feeling. the grief got mixed up, and there was so much of it - mourning the loss of the kind of future i thought i'd have with my mother and the time we might not get, mourning the end of a show that means so much to me and is such a big part of my life. different types of grief, sure, and of different magnitudes, but in one big ugly swirl. i sort of had a breakdown right at the start of february, and it was because of news about my mom, but it morphed into my brain telling me everything i'd ever written was shit and wanting to delete it all. stuff like that, spilling over.

anyway. i was holding off on writing this post to see if the show got picked up by someone else. but i still want to say it. because what also spilled over was the support and community from this fandom, and being in this space (despite the rough times and high emotions) helped me through it, because of all of you here. whether we talk regularly, or you left a comforting reply or simply a like on one of my posts about having a hard time (i tried to keep them few), or wrote a nice comment on a fic, or said something funny or nice or insightful in the tags of a gifset, or was active here (or on twt) in any way, talking/sharing/creating stuff about the show - THANK YOU.

you all helped me through all the ups and downs, and i am so grateful. thank you for being here, listening, distracting, helping me feel some joy despite the horrors. i love you and i love this incredible show and all it has brought and will continue to bring and inspire, and although it should go without saying, i'm not going anywhere. just do me a favor and give yourself a big ol' hug from me, and know that you made a difference for some random guy on the internet (but in reality for many more, and for this fandom as a whole, just by being here and being you) 💕

[mildcicada]

[r0semultiverse]

WAIT- is this one of the alternate timelines created from the space-time sword ("Shintō Amenogozen")!? 👀

I'm an anime-only bsd enjoyer & ever since that damn sword popped up after Atsushi & Akutagawa killed him on the boat but he was able to erase/undo(?) that timeline, I've been thinking that technically means there's multiple timelines. This would be the one where Fukuchi won that conflict we just saw or something else entirely is going on given the way he's dressed (if that even is him)! 👀👀👀

[meatriarch]

yknow im probably going to sound a bit overdramatic for a moment with this sorry but,

ive said like two lore streams ago or w/e that im not going to let myself get as heated as i did at the start with how gun's been handling ( read : forgetting she exists ) maria all this time bc at this point i consider my portrayal of her an oc, as i essentially feel across the board with my other texas muses frankly but like.

i do think, while i was obviously thrilled to no end that they announced maria & she was playable etc, i do think the execution of her in-game really sincerely disappointed and pissed me off so badly. like yes end of the day shes a bunch of pixels etc etc whatever sure but its like. genuine frustration at how absolutely sidelined she has been since day one. and i know theres plenty of valid arguments for other characters receiving similar treatment ( ie. sonny ) in a variety of ways, and i do get the angle of maria initially serving as a haunting of the narrative, haunting her friends and sister and being more of that sort of invisible presence rather than physically there in the moment like they all are - but its severely disappointing to see just how little they give a shit about her, both in lore & in gameplay etc.

model-wise? shes completely fine i adore how she looks and everything shes beautiful shes adorable shes exactly as babygirl as i hoped and imagined her to be & look. but shes otherwise both so underwhelming and so borderline useless ( being generous ) and her ability is just the most uncreative pointless thing i feel they could have thought to give her. like. theres so many pieces i can rip apart for just that alone but i dont wanna yap for an eternity lmao

i just wish they gave an ounce of a shit about her. and like sure yes they could easily alter things or add on things on for her in the future etc. sure, yeah, fine and all but its just... i dont think im going to forget how sloppily put together they made her. or how they've consistently forgotten & disrespected her all these months. and with them branching away from her & the friendgroups' story into other victims' as time passes, their already sheer-ass attention spans are only going to grow thinner across the rosters and i guess in my eyes theyre just never going to make up for any of how they treated her character. and like yes thats fine bc i & others will do her infinitely better justice than they ever will but its still just like... its still disappointing.

like so much went wrong with that release day that i think i was just trying to cling onto the excitement of her just being playable but everything else, certain other complaints etc i wont get into, made me think that disappointment in how she was executed was an exaggeration on my part bc im too attached to her lmao and so i kinda just internalized the disappointment i think but it really is just like man. i feel like ive lowkey been in mourning of her since she was released. no faith at all that they are ever going to give her an ounce of dignity outside of how her model looks.

and again. i know i and the fandom do her infinitely more justice than they ever will at this point and that fact alone does make up for this all, i just wish she was remotely fun to play as and didnt feel like such a slapped together, zero-thought, near copy-paste non-asset in-game. i play her bc i love her but she also just makes me fucking sad LMAO

.

[manasurge]

.

[asterparfait]

my 2023 art summary!