#I actually quite like how this came out :>

[no-144444]

HI!!!! I am such a huge fan of your work, could i request something with charles where the reader is max verstappens sister but she's a pop star (think sabrina carpenter) and charles and her are dating on the dl but he goes to her concert and gets spotted and then everyone goes crazy with fan theories and they hard launch with the music video, and max is pissed because a, she's off limits to drivers. and b, why didn't they tell him.

anyways, that was just my thoughts, thank you girl!

don't dim your light- c.l

summary: you have a secret boyfriend and an album coming and you realise that hiding yourself and your life only makes you feel like shit.

pairing: charles leclerc x fem! verstappen! popstar! reader

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Being the sister of Max Verstappen meant two things: 

1: You were famous. 

2: You were off-limits to every single other driver.

Too bad that you’d fallen for your brother’s rival (/husband???). Charles was perfect, everything you’d ever wanted in a man. He was kind, caring, thoughtful, and most of all… fucking gorgeous. It had been months of sneaking around because, while Charles didn’t feel scared at all to drive a car around at top speed, actually risking his life, he was scared of your brother. Like, scared to death. 

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“Bebé,” he whined, holding you against him. “My love! Do not leave me here!”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling, as you pushed his hands off of you. “I have to catch my flight!”

“But if we don’t spend Christmas together I won’t see you until the summer!” he groaned. 

“The joys of dating a popstar, I guess,” you shrugged, grabbing your suitcase. You pressed a kiss to his cheek and smiled. “I’ll see you in Monaco, alright?” 

He frowned then pressed his lips to yours as hard as he possibly could. “I love you.”

“I love you too, you big sap,” you smirked. He rolled his eyes.

“You are so mean to me, you know that?” he huffed. 

“Bye Charles!” you called after yourself, leaving his Monaco apartment. 

It had been 7 whole months of bliss with Charles. Obviously, you’d met him prior to the first date, knowing him quite well from all the stories Max had told you, but shockingly, it took a Puma brand ambassadors dinner for him to make the first move. He was evidently very nervous, but you’d started to love his weird dorky qualities. He was sweet, and kind, and that’s all you really cared about. 

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“London, can we make some noise?!” you cheered. The stadium roared back to you. You had done it. You’d sold out the O2 for 4 whole nights. You were one of the biggest pop stars on the planet. “Are you guys ready for one last song tonight?” they screamed back at you. “Alright, this one is new, I hope you like it!”

The intro to Bed Chem started, and you knew everyone already knew it (it had been leaked a few months ago), but you danced and sang it exactly how it was meant to sound. One thing you loved about being on stage is how free you felt. All of those people were there to see you, which melted your heart. You loved every single fan you’d ever come across and appreciated every single one of them. They made you, they made your success. 

As the song finished, ‘new album out next week! xxx’ flashed behind you on the screen, and the crowd went wild. 

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You walked into your dressing room, exhausted from the night, and slightly hurt that despite offering to fly them out, none of your family came. You understood, Max’s career was important, and it was his last chance before the regulations changed to get the most out of the car. He wanted his fifth so badly, mostly because he wasn’t sure he was going to stay around from 2026 onwards. He had a family now. He had a baby and P to take care of. He didn’t like the media circus that F1 had turned into, or the fact that it was a popularity contest. Your entire family had been built around Max, and you knew why, but it didn’t make it hurt any less when you were reminded of the fact that you were just the second kid. 

“My love!” Charles cheered, wrapping you up in his arms, startling you. “You were incredible! You were amazing!” he pressed kiss after kiss to your neck and cheek as you hugged him back, ecstatic that he was here. 

He had taken the time out of his insanely busy schedule, on a race week, to come see you on the literal other side of the world. He truly was the best boyfriend in the world. 

“What are you doing here?” you chuckled, shocked by his presence. “You should be getting ready for Japan!”

He shrugged. “I’ll be fine in Japan, I wasn’t going to miss you performing!” 

You pulled him closer once again, pressing your lips against his. “I fucking love you,” you whispered, trying to make your voice sound steady. 

“I love you too,” you smiled, pulling back. The way he looked at you. All the love in the world. Like you hung the fucking stars just for him. He adored you, and you felt it. You felt  bathed in his light the second he walked near you, that’s how much he loved you. “Don’t cry,” he frowned, wiping the tears you hadn’t even noticed were falling, away. “I hope they’re happy tears,” he teased. 

You nodded, burying your head in his chest. “They are. They really are.”

He wrapped his arms around you and held you tight. “I’m glad.”

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y/nverstappen

liked by charlesleclerc, maxverstappen, and 8,983,837 others

y/nverstappen SHORT N SWEET OUT ON THE 6TH OF APRIL BITCHES!!!!!!! ROYAL COURT (with lady broski) OUT ON THE 8TH OF APRIL BITCHES!!!!

comments

user8: prepare to be SICK of me

brittanybroski: ROYAL COURT MENTIONED 💯💯💯💯💯💯 -> liked by y/nverstappen

user999: SHE'S GLOWING

user7: not the grinch picture 💀

maxverstappen: Congratulations Y/n! -> liked by y/nverstappen

user66: DID ANYONE ELSE SEE WHO WAS AT HER SHOW????? -> user92: LITERALLY! -> user933: charles what is you doing here loca?

calebhearon: SHE'S STUNNING -> liked by y/nverstappen

oliviarodrigo: and she's serving. as per usual. liked by y/nverstappen -> user88: LOCA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE -> user22: THE GIRLS ARE HEALING.

user09: now i need to know who bed chem is about... -> user44: thick accent... (charles leclerc) -> user94: officer it's this one! -> user88: on MY cellular device? -> user21: me when i'm delusional.

user802: BED CHEM ATE SO FUCKING HARD OMFG

user213: where is her family? she sold out the O2 for 4 consecutive nights AND is releasing her second album, and they're nowhere to be seen? jos 'i support my daughter' verstappen my ASS. -> user2342: right? It's so unfair, her entire life has been built around max and he couldn't even go see her on the biggest night of her life while pierre gasly and charles leclerc can? It's bullshit.

user90: she's so hot i cannot do this anymore.

user87: charles lurking in the likes...? -> user36: tbf a lot of the drivers follow her, it could be a coincidence.

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f1gossip

liked by pierregasly, landonorris, and 890,848 others

f1gossip Drivers Charles LeClerc and Pierre Gasly were seen at a Y/n Verstappen concert in London this week! They seemed to be enjoying themselves, though there was no sign of Max anywhere!

comments

user88: pierre and lando are messy

user99: WHERE WAS MAX? THIS WAS Y/N'S BIG MOMENT???

user929023: OMFG BED CHEM IS ABOUT CHARLES WTF -> user97437: no it's not she can't steal my husband -> user4: she can, and she did

user772: he looks so drunk in the last photo lmao

user942: WHAT A SUPPORTIVE BOYFRIEND!

user847: Pierre's sunglasses are taking me out rn 💀 -> pierregasly: what's wrong with them? -> user88: ARE CHARLES AND Y/N TOGETHER??? -> pierregasly: 🤷🤷🤷

user92: they'd be so cute together!!!!

user902: omfg max would KILL him if they're together

user935841: do we all remember the interview where max said he'd fucking shove any of the drivers off the track if they went for his sister? like does charles have a death with? is he not despressed enough?

user91234: charles when i catch you

user7: if he stole my wife, i'm going to be pissed (i've never met her and she doesn't know i exist)

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"People saw you today," you yawned, laying in bed with Charles. The concert was over, and Charles had surprised you with his presence, though it was more than welcome. You were both lying in the luxurious hotel bed as you settled down for sleep, his arms wrapping around you.

He nodded. "I know. I just thought people would assume we're friends though."

You rolled your eyes. Bullshit. “You’re such a bad liar,” you chuckled as his jaw dropped at the accusation. 

“I am not lying!” he stressed, but his smirk gave him away. 

“Charles LeClerc, you wanted people to find out, didn’t you?” you gasped, hitting him with a pillow. 

“I did not!” he hit you back.

What ensued after was a pillow fight that ended with you holding him down against the bed, and his lips on yours. The amount of alcohol you'd both consumed meant that the kiss was messy, but amazing all the same. It was all teeth and tongue, all passion, all Charles.

“You were so pretty up there,” he whispered against your mouth, completely at your mercy. “Felt like you were singing just to me.”

You chuckled, pulling back. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded, biting his lip. “So perfect,” he sighed. 

“I still think you wanted people to find out,” you argued, getting off of him. 

“Well of course,  but that’s-”

“Charles!” you squealed.

"My love!" he chuckled, holding you closer. "How in the world, do you expect me to try and hide the fact that I love you-?"

He was interrupted by your phone ringing. You groaned, he groaned, yet you got up and sat up, grabbing it, answering without looking at the caller id.

"Are you dating Charles?" Max's voice sobered you up pretty quickly. You stuttered for a moment, then laughed.

"W-what?" you questioned. "No."

He huffed from the other side of the phone. "Are you sure? What was he doing at your show?"

You rolled your eyes. "I don't know, maybe he actually enjoys my music and wanted to come see me? Is that so outlandish?"

"You know that's not what I'm saying."

"Yeah, you're not even interested in my life enough to ask. The shows were great, thanks for asking dickhead," you scoffed before ending the call and blocking his number. He was so... self-involved. He'd stopped caring about you and your interests when you were only kids, too focused on the plan to notice that fact that you were there, and that you adored your big brother. Nevertheless, he didn't care, so you had to stop caring too.

"Are you alright?" Charles whispered, wrapping an arm around you.

You nodded, too fragile to answer. You knew you'd break down crying if you answered verbally, so that would have to do.

"I'm sorry," he pressed gentle but grounding kisses to your neck and back as you gave yourself a moment to soak it all in. "I know how hard this is on you. I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to apologise for loving me," you whispered, your voice breaking.

He chuckled. "I'll never apologise for that," he smiled against your skin. "I'm just sorry that your family are... difficult."

You nodded, leaning into him. "They are."

"You were radiant up on that stage tonight," he beamed. "Don't let them dim your light, please baby."

You nodded. "You're right. No more dimming lights."

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The song was simple and from your next album, it could be your second single of the album, and you knew it was catchy and good. It was a good plan, a great plan, even. You and Charles would hard launch your relationship to the world with a music video appearance. Not only would it show the world your relationship, it would also be a great way to generate buzz for your upcoming album. Win-win. The idea was sexy and cool, and shooting it was as much fun as you'd imagined (aka, a lot of kisses, a lot of him touching you, and a lot of retakes), and by the end of the shoot you were convinced it was your best video yet.

You weren't going to tell Max before the video came out. You weren't interested in getting two different lectures, so you decided you'd prefer one long one. Charles supported your decision, and didn't tell anyone shit until the night the video came out.

By then, it was fair game.

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charlesleclerc & y/nverstappen

liked by pierregasly, arthurleclerc, oscarpiastri and 6,893,234 others

charlesleclerc isn't she lovely? please, please, please mv out now.

comments

user92: YOU'RE JOKING

user23: WHAT A PERFECT COUPLE

user9535: stood up and applauded.

user76: this is my niche and i'm so here for it.

brittanybroski: MY WOMAN, NOOOOOOOOO

user024: she's perfect. she is so perfect.

user924084208: can i be her when I grow up? (i'm 34)

user3: she's kind of a slut... -> user9: please please please for the love of god shut the fuck up

user45: idk who I want to be more -> user83: charles. -> user82: charles. -> user08424: charles. -> user36824: charles. -> user24: charles. -> user1: charles. -> user56: charles. -> user75: charles.

pierregasly: KNEW IT FROM THE START ->charlesleclerc: is that because we told you or...? -> pierregasly: trying to steal my thunder rn is CRAZY -> charlesleclerc: trying to make this about yourself rn is CRAZY -> y/nverstappen: BOTH of you are acting like idiots, please refrain

y/nverstappen: ilysm -> charlesleclerc: i adore you -> user923: sleeping on the highway tonight!

lewishamilton: :) -> charlesleclerc: thanks bud :)

user834: what does he see in her?

user2: what does she see in him?

user5: is she aware of his cheating scandals in the past? -> user34: it's almost like people can grow and change! hope this helps xxx

user645: she is about to get her heart broken

user2321: she couldn't have picked someone more... suited to her? -> user8: mate she's a popstar and the sister of Max Verstappen, what about Charles LeClerc isn't 'suited' to her?

francocolapinto: 😍😍😍 -> user830: what is blud doing?

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y/nverstappen

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, pierregasly, and 4,873,933 others

y/nverstappen just 2 days until the album, here's so photos of yours truly to hold you over 💋

comments

user935: anyone notice how max has been MIA and angry since her London shows?? -> user5684: i'm employed what does this mean? -> user33: stop trying to stir shit up bro

charlesleclerc: beautiful girl liked by y/nverstappen

user88: max looked like he was ready to kill charles today lmao

user93940924: she's glowing

user6: not mentioning charles i see... -> user9: girl fuck off -> user4: they've been publicly dating for 2 days, calm down.

user09: sigh... i could treat you better y/n... -> charlesleclerc: no you could not. -> pierregasly: let's reel it in buddy ffs -> charlesleclerc: what??? is defending my honour cringe now? -> pierregasly: not just now, it always was.

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When the album launched, you were nestled in your apartment, alone. You were so excited for a night nice in, but of course, your plans were foiled by a knock on the door, and an outpour of dutch from your brother's lips.

"Fuck off Max," you shouted from your side of the door. "I don't want to talk to you."

"I'm missing a race for this," he sighed, his voice softer than you'd heard it.

You opened the door, and he did something unexpected. He hugged you. A full-blown tight hug, the kind he hadn't given you since you were a kid.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You shrugged, pulling out of the hug. "I wasn't interested in the lecture."

"But I know Charles, I could've... I don't know, helped?" he paced around your kitchen. "I just... I don't understand why you felt like you couldn't tell me."

"Max, you said you'd shove anyone off track if they went for me, so I don't understand your disconnect. I'm happy with Charles, like really fucking happy. He makes me feel great, and he cares about me. He loves me. And I'm so sick of trying to make myself smaller so that i can fit into your life. I adore you Max, genuinely, I do. You're my big brother and I love you, and you should be celebrated for your incredible accomplishments, but so should I. I'm not going to sit here and make myself any more unhappy just because it'll make your life easier. I-I won't do it. I want to be able to post my boyfriend, go support him at races, and everything else all the other girlfriends can do. I'm not going to hide him or myself to make you more comfortable," you pushed through the tears building behind your eyes, and stared him right in the eyes. He needed to hear that your life wasn't just about him.

He was quiet for a moment. "I'm happy for you, and I'm sorry that I'm not very good at... being there for you."

He looked uncomfortable. He'd never been very good with his emotions, so that was probably the best you were going to get.

"Thank you," you smiled. "And you really didn't have to miss a race for me, but thank you anyways."

He nodded. "I care about you. I want you to be happy," he explained, looking down.

You were both silent for a few seconds.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" you offered.

He looked up and smiled. Same old Max. Same old you.

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y/nverstappen

liked by landonorris, charlesleclerc, maxverstappen, and 6,243, 563 others

y/nverstappen: and she's out! thank you all so much for the love, mwah!

comments on this post have been limited

maxverstappen: Very proud!

charlesleclerc: i love you so much you're so pretty (please please please let me come over tonight)

landonorris: SHARPEST TOOL IS SUCH A BANGER liked by y/nverstappen

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navigation for my blog :)

ferrari masterlist

[totalswag]

heyyy can i request angst with drew, maybe they had a fight (totally a misunderstanding bc yk how we get when we’re on our period 😔) and he was just really mean to her, she feels real bad abt and later he apologizes plss 🙏

love your writing!!!

apologies in the after math ⎯ DREW STARKEY

authors note hi, thank you for your kind words. i hope you enjoy reading lovies. so close to 2k of you all, oh my gosh, i'm so grateful!!

masterlist

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summary its the time of month and you get overstimulated easily. drew and you have a little argument that leads you two for not talking for a bit till he comes into your shared room.

warning(s) being on your period, crying, arguing, cussing.

You started your period yesterday and have not been in the best. Your mood swings vary every single time during your period⎯don’t know what mood you’ll be. You've been lying on the heating pad since four in the morning⎯You're going through it now. 

The cloudy weather makes you feel peaceful, and you're snuggled up on the couch, watching movies to distract yourself from the cramps. This is your typical routine on your period because you don’t have a lot of energy to do anything in the very beginning.

Drew left the gym around seven in the morning and was heading home. He went with Chase, one of his Outer Banks castmates. He texted you that he was only around the corner from the house.

Drew came to the house, put his stuff down, stepped into the living room, kissed you on the cheek, and asked if you wanted to join him in the shower to ease your cramps.

"Come with me, baby; it will feel good," Drew encourages, kneeling in front of you and leaning forward, reaching, softly caressing your lower back.

Drew does everything he can to ensure your well-being during your period. He despised seeing you in pain and discomfort. He secretly brought you coffee, donuts, and your favorite flowers the last time you were on your period. He also respects your boundaries.

"I don't see why not," you shrugged, removing the blanket from your body and folding it before following Drew down the hall to your shared bathroom. 

A few hours go by, you are in one of your negative mood swings. You woke up from an hour nap. Drew and you had a fight⎯the fight began over something pointless. Of course it did. Drew had left his shoes in the middle of the hallway yet again, and as you stumbled over them, something inside you cracked. 

Drew casually dismissed your aggravation with a lazy, "Relax, it's just shoes," lightly chuckling, and you let out a rush of pent-up frustration.

"You're always doing this, Drew! You have no regard for anyone else's space or time. It's like, "Geez, are you even trying?"

His jaw tensed as he put down the drink he was holding. "Are you serious right now?" His tone was cut as a warning. "You're overreacting."

"Don't you dare tell me I'm overreacting," you said, your face flushing. "Maybe if you actually paid attention for once—"

"Fine!" he said abruptly, cutting you off. His voice rose, intense. "Do you want me to pay attention? Fine. But maybe you should quit looking for reasons to start a fight. Not everything is a major issue, you know."

The words felt like a slap. Tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them, and you fought to let them fall. You stood paralyzed, unable to speak due to the lump in your throat. Drew inhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair and muttering something under his breath.

As time passed you didn’t say a word to Drew—both of you were quiet. You stayed in your shared bedroom scrolling through tiktok. Drew was somewhere in the house doing something.

There was a soft knock at the door, "Hey," Drew said, hesitantly and quietly.

You didn’t answer. Part of you wanted to stay stubborn, but the crack in his tone made your resolve falter. 

The door creaked open, and you could hear his cautious feet. "I'm sorry," he added, bringing his voice closer. "I should not have spoken to you like that. "I didn't mean it."

You peered out from beneath the cover, seeing his sorrowful gaze. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and his hair was ruffled, as if he had raked his fingers through it in irritation.

"I was out of line," he added, crouching near the bed. "I just lashed out." That is on me."

Drew continues to explain he was even more out of line knowing you are on your period and you have these little moments where you aren’t in the best of moods. He was validating your feelings, putting the blame on himself. However, you shouldn’t react that way to begin with.

The honesty in his tone made your throat clench.

"I'm sorry, too," you said quietly. "I didn't intend to provoke a fight. "I just..." I've been feeling lousy all day and took it out on you. "I should not have done that."

Drew shook his head softly. "No, do not do it. You are free to express how you feel. "I just want to be better for you."

He grabbed your hand and lovingly squeezed it. "Will you come out with me? "I have something to show you."

Curiosity got the best of you. The wonders of what he has for you. Was he doing something to make up for the altercation? So many things running through your mind. 

When you entered the dining room, your breath hitched. The table was set with your favorite dinner, and candles flickered softly in the dark lighting. An arrangement of your favorite flowers was placed in the center, their beautiful fragrance filling the air.

"I know it doesn't erase what I said," Drew replied softly, caressing the back of his neck. But I wanted to make it up to you. You mean everything to me, and I detest the thought of you thinking I don't care,” wrapping his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek a few times.

Your eyes welled up again, but this time with glad tears. You hugged him firmly and buried your face in his chest.

"Thank you," you replied softly. "This means everything to me."

He kisses the top of your head and wrapped his arms around you. "You mean everything to me," he said quietly back.

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[flowersforbucky]

where the lines overlap

logan howlett x reader (dofp!logan x mutant!reader)

word count: 8.7k

summary: no one gets under your skin quite as much as logan howlett - and he knows it, too. sex pollen trope.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, sex pollen so dub con, frenemies to lovers? they aren't enemies but logan and reader don't really get along, reader is a mutant with pyrokinesis, reader is afab, reader is described as being smaller than logan, no use of y/n, wet dream, fuck or die situation, oral, pet names (bub, princess), brief pain kink for logan, unprotected p in v, cream pie

author's note: takes place after the events of days of future past - so everyone's alive, charles is old af, and logan has a pretty streak of silver in his hair. not proofread super well so please ignore any errors.

There's certain things that you like to think about when you're pissed off. It’s a coping mechanism that you learned in therapy at the ripe age of eleven.

Go to your happy place or whatever.

For you, that's the mansion's courtyard after a fresh snowfall, and having the library all to yourself on a rainy day, and the comfort of your bedroom on one of the rare days that you aren’t teaching, or training, or on a mission.

At this point in your life, you’ve forgotten just about everything you were taught in that therapist's office. It's not like you had wanted to be there, but your parents had been worried and scared – and rightfully so. With the unexpected emergence of your pyrokinetic abilities came multiple accidental house fires born out of preteen angst.

So they did the only thing they knew to do at the time – stick you in therapy in hopes you would acquire some anger management techniques.

These days, you have a pretty good handle on your powers. With a lot of time and effort, you learned to control them – and not just control them, but yield them in a beneficial and productive way.

All of that progress comes dangerously close to going out the window anytime you're in close proximity to Logan Howlett.

Maybe all is an exaggeration – but no one else makes your fingertips burn hot with fire that threatens to break through the barrier of your skin quite like him. From his bossiness to his arrogance and attitude, you’ve clashed heads since the first day you met him.

Today is no different.

“Don’t use so much force.”

You curse as the tip of the blade impales the target a whopping three inches from the center. By far your worst throw yet, though this one isn’t entirely your fault.

You snap your head towards the unexpected but familiar voice, pulling your last dagger from the holster secured around your thigh before chucking it in his general direction. It flies past him, bouncing off the wall behind him.

You knew that it wouldn’t actually hit him. And if by some miracle it had, he’d heal in two seconds and then go right back to being a pain in your ass.

A good looking pain in your ass, admittedly. But a pain in your ass nonetheless.

He looks at you with an amused expression. “See? Too much force.”

“I didn’t know that having giant forks for hands made you an expert on throwing knives.”

He exhales a breathy laugh, staring at you for several seconds before turning to pick the dagger up from the ground. He then proceeds to collect the rest of the knives that you had previously thrown from the body of the practice target.

In heavy silence, he struts over to you with the daggers in hand. He turns to face a wooden target board, finding the balance point of the knife before sending it flying through the air.

Bullseye.

“A long time ago, when I first joined this team, Charles made me practice a non-power related method of self-defense, too.” He pauses, lining the second dagger up with the practice dummy. To no surprise, it’s another perfect throw.

“Wanna guess what I chose?”

You snatch the remaining knife out of his hand.

“How to annoy someone by sneaking up on them and giving them unsolicited advice while they are minding their own business?”

You position your feet once again, holding the knife up in preparation to take aim. Your eyes dart back and forth between the blade and the target ahead of you. You hesitate, feeling nervous under his gaze.

Logan moves from standing beside you, to standing behind you. Your breath catches in your throat as his large figure looms over you. If he were to took a step forward, his chest would brush against your back.

He uses the tip of his boot to nudge your heel forward half an inch, adjusting your stance. He takes your right hand in his, and you have to consciously remind yourself to breathe.

A wave of annoyance washes over you that he’s able to fluster you so easily. It makes you as pissed at yourself as it does him. He’s barely touching you – his hand dwarfing yours is the only point of physical contact, but you’d think that he were pinning you up against a wall with his body.

You tell yourself the sudden light-headedness and increased heartrate is because of the newfound closeness, and nothing more. You’re used to being around Logan – the two of you live together and work together. His general presence is nothing new. But the intimacy of your current predicament is.

And maybe the fact that notes of tobacco and bourbon are infiltrating your senses doesn’t help.

“As unsolicited as my advice may be,” he says lowly as he pulls your hand back slightly, “I give it because if there is ever a situation where someone's trying to hurt you, and you’re unable to light them on fire for some reason, I would really hope that you could at least impale them.”

He tightens his hold on your hand, and then snaps both of your wrists forward. Surprisingly, your brain registers to release your grip just in time. When the tip of the blade impales the center of the target perfectly, he drops your hand.

But he doesn’t move from behind you.

“Much better. Now come back upstairs. Charles needs to see all of us in his office.”

••••••

You and Logan are the last people to enter Charles’ office.

Storm, Scott, Jean, Marie, and Bobby have all found places to sit throughout the small room. Logan chooses to lean against the door that clicks shut behind him, while you exhale in relief at the sight of an empty chair on the opposite side of the room, next to Marie.

“Ah, how nice of you two to join us,” Charles greets. “I was starting to think that Logan got lost on his way to retrieve you.”

You force out a laugh, earning a side-eye from Marie as Charles launches back into whatever he had been in the middle of before you two interrupted.

“Everything okay?” Marie murmurs to you. “You looked a little sick when you walked in.”

“Oh, yeah,” you shrug her off without looking at her. You keep your eyes on Charles. “Yeah, I'm just tired. Been training all morning.”

What were you supposed to tell her? That you were thankful to be wearing a tactical suit so that Logan couldn’t see all of the goosebumps that bloomed across your skin when he was practically breathing down your neck less than five minutes ago? Or that the walk back up to Charles’ office was filled with a loaded silence in place of your usual bickering and banter?

Marie might be one of your closest friends, and you trust her, but Logan is something of a fatherly figure to her. There’s no way you’re letting her hear those words come from your mouth.

You try your hardest to focus on all of the information that Charles throws at you. You’re all to leave on a mission early tomorrow morning. When he explains where you’re going and why, chills run down your spine.

Alberta, Canada – more specifically, Alkali Lake. All of your friends seem to tense up at the mere mention of the place.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip, fighting the urge to sneak a glance to try to gauge Logan's reaction. You’ve never been to Alkali Lake before, and you’re far from excited about going – you can only imagine how he feels, given his history with the abandoned military base.

After no word of any activity surrounding the base for years, Charles had been made aware that the recent disappearance of a group of young adult humans had been traced back to Alkali Lake – to a modern day subsidiary of the group Weapon X.

The same group responsible for Logan’s skeleton being made from adamantium.

This, of course, is where all of you come in.

After a detailed rundown of the goals for tomorrow – the main one being safe extraction of the humans – Charles dismisses all of you to rest for the remainder of the day.

When everyone stands up, you finally risk glancing at Logan, but he’s already opening the door to Charles’ office and strutting away.

••••••

Thick stubble scratches your innermost thighs as sharp teeth and soft lips alternate between kissing and biting the sensitive flesh between your legs.

His face is covered in your slick from the three orgasms he’s already pulled from you with his tongue. He lays nestled between your legs, pinning you to the mattress beneath you. Your thighs rest across his shoulders, his hands splayed across your belly.

You're putty in his hands.

“I've gotta say, the sounds you make when you cum are way cuter than the sounds I'm used to hearing from you,” Logan muses against your cunt. His voice sends a vibration over your already overstimulated core.

You can only guess that the sounds he’s referring to are annoyed sighs and you telling him to shut the fuck up, but right now, you don't care enough to ask for any clarification.

“Yeah?” You yelp when his tongue flicks against your swollen clit. “Maybe if you spent less time pissing me off you’d get to—”

You're cut off by him plunging the tip of his index finger inside you. You writhe against him, your walls constricting around the digit.

“Less time pissing you off, more time letting you fuck my fingers and face. Got it.”

The slamming of a door somewhere outside of your room causes you to bolt upright in your bed.

You open your eyes to darkness except for the red glow of the numbers on your digital alarm clock that read 12:26 in the morning. Your heart feels as if it’s going to beat right out of your chest, and your skin is clammy with a thin layer of sweat. You throw your covers away from you in an attempt to cool yourself off.

“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck—”

You whisper the three words to yourself over and over again until your breathing resumes a normal pattern.

You’re alone, of course. In the comfort of your private room, where you had fallen asleep several hours ago. The difference between now and then is an uncomfortable pool of wetness between your legs, soaking your underwear.

You can’t even recall the last time you had such a vivid sex dream. It felt utterly lifelike – you reach down between your legs, trailing your fingers over the skin of your inner thighs where you had felt his beard tickle and tease you.

How the fuck are you supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, when you’re having to work together to rescue humans from Alkali Lake? How are you supposed to come up with smart-ass remarks for his endless taunting and teasing when you’re going to be trying your hardest to not replay the images of his hazel eyes looking up at from between your thighs?

“Get a fucking grip,” you whisper hiss to yourself.

It’s Logan. The same Logan who acted like he was too good to say more than ten words to you the first half a year that you were with the team. The same Logan that tries to get you benched for the dumbest, smallest reasons he can think of. The same Logan that condescendingly calls you kid or princess every chance he gets because he knows it gets under your skin.

You need a glass of water. And some fresh air, and a cold shower—

You start by picking up the pair of sweatpants that you’d discarded before falling asleep a few hours ago. You step back into them, deciding to trek to the kitchen for some ice water. Your mouth feels as dry as cotton.

As you approach the end of the hallway that leads from the team member's bedrooms to the kitchen, you hear the soft shuffling of footsteps and see low lighting that spills from the refrigerator.

As soon as you step into the kitchen, you come to a halt. You recognize the large frame standing in front of the open fridge right away.

Of fucking course it would be him. And of fucking course he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt.

You clear your throat to announce your presence, not quite trusting your voice to speak. He looks at you over his shoulder, a bottle of beer pressed to his lips.

You walk over to the cabinet beside him, keeping your eyes off of him entirely as you get a glass.

“What's got you awake at this hour?” He closes the fridge, leaning back against the edge of the countertop. The only light in the room now comes from the small, dim bulb above the sink.

If he only fucking knew, you think. If he only knew that the real reason you are out of bed right now is because you’d just woken up from an extremely graphic, jarring dream of you riding his face.

You fill the cup up with cold water from the kitchen sink and take a large swig before once again turning to face him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” you answer with a vague gesture to his half-dressed form and beer bottle.

He takes in your appearance, too. His eyes trail from your exposed feet, to your baggy sweatpants, and up to your even baggier t-shirt before settling on your face. You feel particularly vulnerable under his gaze right now. You compare how you look to how he looks – with his stupid abs that look like God himself chiseled them from stone and his sweatpants that hang just a little too comfortably.

You sip on your water just to keep from biting your lip.

“Guess we were both thirsty,” he shrugs as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Guess so,” you hum, and because you don’t want to fall into an awkward silence and it’s the only thing you can think to add, you say, “Nervous about the mission?”

His expression darkens and posture tenses at your question. “I am,” he admits. “And if you knew as much as I do about that place, you’d be nervous, too.”

You huff. Your grip tightens around the glass in your hand at the mere insinuation that he knows your feelings. “Who says that I’m not?”

“If you’re going, you’re not nervous enough.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You take a deep breath, knowing damn well the direction that this conversation is headed. You’d heard it all from him before – anything to keep you as far away from him as possible.

“Of course I’m going, Logan. Whether you think I’m good at it or not, it’s my job.”

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re good at your job. It’s about experience—”

You laugh, cutting him off. You can feel the telltale warmth of fire beginning to form beneath the tips of your fingers, your irritation threatening to bubble over.

“Experience?” you exclaim. “Do I need to remind you that I’ve been with this team for three years now? Just because I’m not two hundred years old like you doesn’t mean that I don’t have experience.”

“I’m very aware of how long you’ve been with this team, bub,” he says calmly, which makes you all the more heated.

“For three years you’ve spewed every bullshit reason you can think of to keep me on the sidelines,” you laugh. “I wish you’d fucking admit that you just don’t like me. It’d be a lot more respectable than acting like you’re worried about—”

Logan’s gaze drops to the glass in your hand, making you come to an abrupt pause. You follow his stare, realizing that you’ve managed to melt the glass where your fingertips grip the glass. Water begins to leak out from the holes, spilling onto your sweatpants and the floor below you.

There’s no visible flames emanating from your fingertips. Your anger hadn’t progressed to full on fire, just intense heat, but still. No one else makes you come as close to losing control as him.

No one. And he seems to know it, too. You can tell by the smug look on his face.

You dump what little liquid is left into the sink before chucking the distorted glass into the garbage.

You start to storm past him, to get away from him and go back to your room without another word, when he grabs you by the wrist. You look at him in bewilderment – this is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that he has held your hand in his.

“Didn’t know you were so hot and bothered over me,” he says with an amused smirk.

You rip your hand away from him, an exaggerated look of disgust on your face. Your recent dream pops into your head and you have to remind yourself that he’s not Jean or Charles – he can’t read your mind.

“You're lucky that you've got those handy healing powers,” you spit as you once again begin exiting the kitchen. “If I thought there was a chance of it actually shutting you up, I’d burn more than just Charles’ vintage glassware.”

You hear him say your name, but you’re already speed walking back to your room and playing your list of happy place thoughts on a loop in your head.

The soup that Storm makes when everyone at the school seems to get sick at the same time. One of your younger students picking you a flower. The smell of fresh laundry, the crisp pages of a new book.

Finally, your bedroom door clicks shut behind you.

You would have been better off just enduring the discomfort of a dry throat, you think. You don't know what's worse – not being able to sleep because you're rattled from a wet dream about him, or not being able to sleep because you've once again allowed him to get under your skin.

You crawl back under your covers, hoping that when you close your eyes, you don't see his face again.

••••••

Logan doesn’t make any more appearances in your dreams for the rest of the night, but that doesn’t stop him from being the first thing you think of when you open your eyes in the morning.

And as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, the only thing on your mind the entire flight from New York to Alberta.

From the tension that filled the air when he corrected your knife throwing technique yesterday morning to the warmth of his calloused hand when he grabbed you by the wrist in the kitchen last night, you're fighting a losing battle with no one but yourself.

As far as you can tell, he’s utterly unaffected. The fact that he chose to sit directly in front of you on the jet instead of any of the other empty seats says as much.

Not even ten minutes into the flight, you're staring at the tufts of his hair and his broad shoulders when you have to remind yourself that there's two telepaths occupying this jet with you. Though you trust both Charles and Jean to not read your mind without cause, the mere possibility of either one of them accidentally tuning into your thoughts and seeing a replay of your most recent dream or hearing you think about what it would be like to tug on those stupid fucking tufts of hair that resemble kitten ears is enough to mortify you.

You find yourself grateful that you brought a book and headphones with you to distract yourself for the duration of the trip.

An eerie feeling creeps into your bones as soon as you step onto the hanger of the jet. You can’t deny that the scenery surrounding the military base is beautiful – from the snowcapped mountains to the frost covered lake, it’s picturesque. But then your gaze settles on the large dam, and you remember what lies beneath.

“Can't say that I've missed this place,” Logan grunts, drawing your attention to him. His face is impassive other than his mouth being set in a hard, straight line as he stares out towards the water.

It's rare for Logan to elicit feelings outside of burning irritation (and maybe, possibly, sometimes arousal) from you – but right now, there’s a part of you that wishes the dynamic between the two of you were different.

As much as he infuriates you, you still care about him. You wish you could say that you didn’t, but the fact that you feel the urge to reach out and give his hand a reassuring squeeze makes that pretty hard to deny.

That urge dissipates as quickly as it comes over you. The bitter chill of the mountain wind and your teammates voices pull you back to reality. You awkwardly fiddle with one of the daggers strapped to your thigh instead.

“Jean and Scott, the two of you take the west side of the building,” Charles instructs when the group nears the discreet entrance. “Bobby and Rogue, clear the east wing. Storm and I will be keeping watch outside to make sure that no one tries to escape with the humans.”

“What about us?” you ask with a slight nod towards Logan. The fact that neither of you had been given instructions yet leaves it to be assumed that you’ll be paired up together.

You and Logan working as a pair was nothing out of the ordinary, and although that typically comes with a lot of annoyance, right now you can’t help but feel a little relieved by it.

Even if you are still irritated at him for his behavior and choice of words in the kitchen last night and even if you do think of him between your thighs every time you look at him for more than five seconds, he’s still more familiar with this place than anyone else here.

And no matter how much he makes you want to tear your hair out, there's never a time that you feel unsafe when he's near.

“You and Logan are to inspect the basement,” Charles answers. “I trust that you can refrain from melting any antique personal property until we are back at the mansion, my dear,” he adds with a knowing smirk.

“I was planning on paying you back for that,” you mumble.

“No,” Charles sighs. “You weren't. It was very expensive.”

Logan snorts, earning curious glances from everyone other than you and Charles. He does get a nasty side-eye from you – a silent promise to deliver on last night’s threat to find something to burn other than vintage glassware.

Your teammates split up into their respective groups upon entering the base, leaving you to follow Logan's lead towards the lower levels.

It’s unsettling just how silent it is. The only sounds are that of yours and Logan's boots against the ground. You'd be able to hear a pin drop from across the building.

And it's cold. The kind of cold that makes your bones ache. You instinctively flex your fingers, focusing on the warmth that radiates from the tips.

As the two of you make your way through the dark, seemingly endless basement, checking each room for signs of life, you can't help but think of Logan being here under much different circumstances.

You don't know the full extent of his time here – even he only remembers bits and pieces. But you know enough to know that this can’t be easy for him.

The fact that he's being uncharacteristically quiet only reaffirms that. He makes none of his typical taunts and jabs, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

You find yourself damn near wishing he’d make some snide comment about how you’re walking too loudly and how being partnered up with you feels like babysitting duty – if he did, maybe then you wouldn’t feel this annoying, persistent worry over his mental well-being.

“Logan,” you begin quietly as the two of you approach a large set of hospital style double doors at the end of a corridor. “I know being here can't be easy for you. I'm sorry that you have to be.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, not meeting your eyes as he slowly pushes one of the doors open, peaking into the room before stepping inside and holding the door open for you.

“Just part of the job, bub,” he sighs. “I know what I signed up for.”

You enter, walking past him into the dark room. You shine your flashlight around the cramped space. Right away, you can tell that it’s vacant, as all of the other rooms you’ve checked have been. But it’s different – whereas most of the rooms have been completely empty, this one contains multiple twin sized beds. No frames, no pillows, just plain white sheets on each one.

“I know you do. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and he shines his own flashlight around the room from right behind you.

“It’s okay, princess,” he snorts. “I’m a big boy. You don’t gotta pretend to be worried about me.”

Princess. Your fingertips tingle as soon as the pet name leaves his lips.

“I’m not pretend—”

The sudden, loud clicking of a deadbolt echoes through the room, silencing you. You and Logan stare at each other for a brief moment, startled and confused, before he turns around and pushes on the double doors to no avail.

He slams the full weight of his body against the metal, but it doesn't budge.

“What the fuck,” he growls in between repeated strikes against the doors.

“Logan and I are locked in a room in the basement,” you say as you click on the communication device in your left ear. “The door automatically locked after we came inside. We can’t get it open—”

You’re met with white noise.

“My fucking comm isn’t working.” Panic begins to set in as you yank the device out of your ear to inspect it. There’s a small green light indicating that it is on, but for whatever reason, it isn’t getting signal.

“Scott? Storm? Can anyone hear us?” Logan says as he messes with his own communication device. “Nothing,” he grunts after a moment of silence.

“Professor? Jean? If either of you are listening, now would be a great time to poke around in our brains and let us know.”

Nothing indeed.

“Okay,” Logan says as he backs away from the double doors. “Blast them.”

“Blast them?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “They’re industrial metal doors. They’re like two feet thick. These walls are made out of concrete.” You bang your first against the rock solid wall for emphasis. “What the fuck do you think fire is—”

“I don’t hear you suggesting anything!”

“How about not setting the room we are trapped in on fire? Only one of us has regenerative—”

A loud hissing noise sounds from above, causing you and Logan to both point your flashlights up towards the ceiling. You squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Large vents make up well over fifty percent of the ceiling, releasing what appears to be a fog like substance. It quickly transforms the air above you into one large, milky looking cloud.

“Charles! Storm! Scott – we need help. Quickly, we need help. I don’t know what’s going—”

You continue to shout into the communication device while Logan alternates between punching the door with his fists and throwing the full weight of his body against the metal, but all of your efforts are futile. The doors don’t budge, and you hear nothing but static from the comm.

You frantically glance around the room, looking for another escape route. There’s no other doors, and no windows. You’re completely enclosed by the four concrete walls and the impenetrable metal doors.

“Hold your breath!” Logan shouts as the fog descends upon the two of you, but it’s too late. The sickeningly sweet smelling mist encompasses you, making it impossible to see anything other than the thick silver vapor. It infiltrates your nostrils, causing you to gag. You cough, desperately trying to clear your airway of the substance.

It burns – your throat, your nostrils, your eyes and skin. Anywhere that it comes in contact with you feels like pins and needles.

You’re vaguely aware that Logan is somewhere to your left, asking if you’re okay in-between coughs and gags of his own. You can’t catch your breath well enough to answer him.

His hand clasps around the top of your arm. Your vision goes fuzzy and you collapse into him, light-headed from the profuse coughing.

“I think it’s dissipating,” Logan whispers in a strained voice, still supporting you so that you don’t fall to the floor. You risk cracking your eyes open the slightest bit, and realize that he’s right. There’s still a veil of mist surrounding you, but it’s no longer so opaque that you can’t see even two inches in front of your face.

You take deep breaths, making no effort to step away from him as you attempt to regain control of your breathing. Your lungs feel like they are on fire and your throat feels like you haven’t had any water in days.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice comes out as a croak.

“Can you stand?” he asks you. You nod, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace.

As soon as he steps away from you to see if the doors are still locked, the momentary relief that you felt when the fog began to dissipate is replaced with renewed terror. The room, which was previously dark except for the light from your flashlights, suddenly glows a deep red color from the ceiling that now emits crimson fluorescence.

You open your mouth to call out for Charles or Jean again, when a throbbing sensation radiates throughout your gut. You clutch your hands over your abdomen, gasping at the sudden and awkward feeling.

Logan turns his attention away from the doors and back to you as soon as he notices how you’re hunched over. You stumble over to the bed that's closest to you, the world blurring around you in shades of red.

“Something is wrong,” you gasp out. You know you're stating the obvious – something has been wrong since the moment that the doors locked behind you.

He's next to you in two long strides, kneeling beside the bed and looking up at you in concern. The ache in your lower belly seems to worsen with his close proximity. Your skin feels feverish, making you want to peel your tactical suit off of your body.

“Tell me what you're feeling,” he demands. Other than obvious confusion and fear, he appears physically fine. You piece together that whatever that shit was, it’s effecting you much differently than it is him – undoubtedly due to his healing abilities.

You can't form a coherent sentence – all you can focus on is the way that the discomfort in your abdomen travels down to your groin, making you clench your thighs together. You have the inexplicable desire to reach out and pull him to you, as if having him as close as possible to you is the only solution for every uncomfortable thing happening to you.

“You gotta talk to me, bub. Tell me what’s going on,” he says when you don’t answer him. He puts a hand just above your knee and you have to hold back the whimper that threatens to break through your lips. He notices your pained expression and quickly withdraws his hand from your thigh.

“No!” you gasp, grabbing his hand in yours out of desperation to maintain some level of physical contact with him. “I – I don't know how to explain what’s happening. Just – I just need you to keep touching me. Please. Whatever that fog was, it’s making me feel like…”

You trail off, realizing that you must sound every bit as insane as you feel. You don’t know how to begin articulating what’s happening to you, because it makes no sense. When the silver mist first started to rain down from the ceiling, the last thing on your mind was Logan pinning you to one of these mattresses and railing you until you until you see stars. Now, you think that if he so much as stops holding your hand, you'll fucking die.

A look of clarity washes over Logan’s face – with a hint of something else that you can't quite pinpoint, too.

“I think I know what this is,” he murmurs. His stare is locked on one of the daggers strapped to your thigh. He squeezes your hand in his, though you don’t know if it’s to comfort you or himself.

“I’ve heard of this before. Didn’t know it actually exists. I came across it once when preparing a lesson on Alkali Lake—”

“What is it?” you implore.

His eyes finally flicker back up to yours. Images of last night’s dream flash through your mind again. Instead of his hand holding yours, you visualize his slender fingers pumping inside you. You stare at his lips, imaging the feeling of them sucking love bites into the meat of your inner thighs –

“It’s a chemical created for breeding experiments,” he answers after a pregnant pause. “They – Weapon X – wanted super mutants. Some of the subjects were… less than compliant. This made it so that they weren’t able to fight it.”

You let his words sink in. It’s not something you’ve ever heard of, but you don’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. How could you, with the way that your pussy is throbbing at the mere sound of his voice? Under normal circumstances, you might not read too far into that. But right now? On a mission, locked in a creepy basement, unable to get in contact with your teammates?

“Weren’t able to fight it,” you repeat slowly. “You're saying there’s only one way out of this.”

He doesn’t answer – just looks at you with sympathy. With pity.

“No,” you shake your head. You yank your hand from his grasp and move back across the mattress as the gravity of the situation hits you. To distance yourself from him feels like ripping air out of your own lungs, but the alternative is borderline unthinkable.

“I can’t – won’t ask that of you,” you declare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that laughs at you, as if saying it’s cute that you think you have a choice. The pain and longing grow with each passing second, threatening to consume you from the inside out.

“You’re fine. It would be different if it was both of us. But you shouldn’t have to do this just because you're stuck here with me.”

“Have to? You make it sound like it would be a punishment for me,” he chuckles darkly. He finally rises from where he had been kneeling next to the bed. He stands beside the mattress, looming over you in the maroon lighting.

“Let’s not overcomplicate this, princess,” he murmurs. He grasps your face in his palm and tilts your head to look up at him. His touch is a balm – it feels like running a burn under a cold stream of water.

“I'm gonna take care of you, and then you can go right back to tolerating my existence.” He runs the calloused pad of his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip. Your eyes flutter shut, reveling in the sensation of the singular digit against your flesh.

“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t dreamed about this. Or were you moaning about someone else who just happens to have the same name as me last night?”

Your eyes shoot open at the revelation that not only had you said his name in your sleep, but he’d fucking heard you. And has the nerve to tease you about it at a time like this.

He's smirking down at you. His smugness irritates you often, but right now it’s enough to cause the tips of your fingers to burn hot. You jerk his hand away from your face, causing him to hiss when your fingers wrap around his wrist.

He chortles, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. The reaction fills you with annoyance – of course he would have a fucking pain kink.

As much as it pisses you off, it also spurs you on. Blame the influence of the chemicals that you’re currently under, but the fact that he can so easily tolerate and even enjoy something that would have anyone else running in the opposite direction does something to you.

You’re past the point of finding it in you to care about consequences. You’re no longer thinking about how you’ll be able to look him in the eye when this is over, or how you’ll pretend like everything is perfectly normal when the two of you are back on the jet with your teammates.

Maybe you can fight this drug, or maybe he’s right and there’s no point in trying. Either way, you’ve decided that you're going to have him before you leave this room.

You drop his hand, bringing yours to the zipper at the neckline of your tactical suit. You slowly tug it downwards, gauging his expression as he watches you expose your chest and stomach.

For once, he’s all out of smart remarks.

A part of you feels a sense of satisfaction and wants to continue taking your time with undressing yourself, just to keep him looking at you like this – but every fiber of your being is screaming at you for more.

You waste no more time with shoving the restrictive Kevlar material down your arms, leaving you in only your bra from the waist up. Logan unfreezes at the sight, crawling onto the bed on his knees. You maneuver yourself so that you’re laying flat against the mattress, pulling him down with you.

He rips the fabric of your bra away from your breast, immediately attaching his mouth to your nipple. He rolls it between his tongue and teeth, causing you to arch your back into his touch. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, pinning yourself to the mattress with his body. You mewl at the feeling of your pebbled nipple in his warm mouth.

His other hand attempts to free the opposite breast, but the fabric is too tight and restrictive. He let’s out an annoyed growl, pulling back to unsheathe his claws and snip the material in between your tits, letting them spill free.

“Hey! I loved that bra—”

Your complaint dies in your throat when he slates his lips over yours.

There’s nothing slow or sensual about the way that he kisses you. He slips his tongue past your lips, moving his lips with fervency and urgency – like he needs this as badly as you do.

You buck your hips up into him, desperate for any amount of friction. He grinds down against you, his erection evident even through the thick material of both of your tactical suits.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss to unzip your suit the rest of the way down. He peels it down your thighs, only stopping to discard your boots. When you’re left in only your underwear, he looks at you with a satisfied smirk.

“So, what exactly was I doing in your dream to have you saying my name like that, huh?” he asks as he toys with the waistband of your panties.

You roll your eyes, your patience growing thinner as the ache in your belly grows stronger. He can tease you about that all he wants when you’re back in the safety of the mansion, when you’re no longer under the influence of potentially life threatening chemicals and capable of thinking of a proper comeback.

“Shut up and eat me out.”

His smirk only grows, but he doesn’t tease you any further. He tugs your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor. He lowers himself onto his stomach, still fully dressed. Under less dire circumstances, you would’ve been eager to get him out of his clothes, too – but right now, your highest priority is feeling his mouth on you.

No wet dream could have prepared you for how euphoric it actually feels for his teeth to nip at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, or the way that his tongue draws lazy circles at your hole before his lips lock around your clit.

You writhe against him, chasing the release that you’ve been desperate for since the second the vapor first came in contact with your skin. He’s more than generous, expertly nursing at your swollen bud as he eases a slender finger inside your cunt.

One finger – that’s all it takes to feel your climax building, the coil in your lower belly tightening. You feel your walls pulse around the digit as your orgasm washes over you. You don’t even try to hold back your cries and praises of pleasure, letting him know how good he’s making you feel.

When he sits back, his lips and beard glisten with your slick in the red glow that encases you both. You push yourself into a sitting position and reach for the zipper of his suit, antsy to shed his clothing now that your physical discomfort had been quelled – at least for the time being.

He helps you, shrugging out of his vest and tugging his undershirt over his head. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but never shirtless for you. You want to dig your nails into the planes of his chest, and run your tongue along the protruding vein that disappears beyond the waistline of his pants –

You undo his belt buckle and pop open the button of his pants before hastily yanking both his pants and boxers down in one movement. His cock springs free, bobbing inches before your face. You start to adjust your position on the bed – to get on your knees and take him in your mouth – when a low chuckle causes you to pause and look up at him.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, earning a confused pout from you.

“You don’t want me to suck your dick?” You ask with raised brows.

“S’not about me right now, bub. I said I was gonna take care of you, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Now lay back down for me.”

You aren’t going to argue with that.

You return to your original position on the mattress, pulling him down with you. He hovers above you, using one arm to support himself on the bed. He takes his cock in his free hand, stroking his length a few times before nudging his head through your folds until he’s lubricated in your juices.

“Don’t you worry, though,” he murmurs against your lips. He teases his tip at your hole. “If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I'll let you.”

“Oh, you’re so thoughtfu—”

He sheaths himself inside you, turning the end of your retort into a gasp. He fills you entirely, stilling to allow both of you time to adjust to the sensation. The stretch is damn near blinding, making your eyes roll back into your skull. You glance down between your bodies, halfway expecting to see him jutting out of your stomach.

He fucks you similarly to how he kisses you – like this is saving him as much as it is you. It's rough, and fast, and messy – and you dread the moment that it’s over.

No one has ever filled you as completely and perfectly as him. You don’t think anyone else ever will, again.

Each drag of his cock along your walls has you clenching around him, each time his head rams against your cervix you can’t help but cry his name.

He snakes his hand in between you, reaching down to where his body collides with yours. His thumb massages over your sensitive clit.

You rake your nails down his back and he hisses in approval, snapping his hips into you at a brutal pace.

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess,” he grunts before kissing you again.

You don't have time to overthink the sentiment before your second orgasm is washing over you. Logan cums as soon as he feels your pussy pulsating around him, fucking you until he's spilled every last drop of his warm seed deep inside you. When you're both finished, he stills inside you and rests his sweat-slicked forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

“You think it worked?” he grunts.

As if on cue, you hear the deadbolt unlock from the other side of the room. A second later, Storm’s voice sounds from your communication device that had fallen to the floor at some point.

“I don't feel like there’s a ticking time bomb inside my vagina anymore. So, I’d say yeah, it worked.”

He huffs a laugh, and then pulls out of you with a sigh.

“Logan,” you say, stopping him before he can pull away from you entirely. He stares down at you, waiting for you to continue.

You aren’t even sure what to say. Truthfully, you just weren’t ready for the moment to end and for things to go back to normal between the two of you.

“Thank you,” you spit out after a moment of loaded silence. “For… helping me,” you finish lamely.

“Don’t thank me, bub,” he chuckles. “It’s far from the worst thing that's happened to me in this place.”

••••••

You sleep the entire flight back to New York.

And as soon as you've showered and your head hits the pillow after returning home to the mansion, you sleep for another ten hours. Every time you wake up and think that you're finally well-rested, your body says otherwise and you're asleep again within minutes.

You wish you could say it’s a dreamless sleep, but that would be a lie. You see Logan’s face every time you close your eyes.

But it's different than the last dream you had of him. It isn’t images of his head between your thighs or his fingers slipping in and out of you.

It’s just.. him. His presence. The lingering feeling of his lips on yours, the light flavor of tobacco and menthol.

And the echo of the words he spoke as he teased you with the head of his cock and made you cum around his length.

“Don’t you worry, though. If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I’ll let you.”

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess.”

When you wake, the ache between your thighs for him remains, despite the fact that the effects of the drugs had long since faded.

You know you shouldn’t read too far into words spoken while the two of you were locked in that room. But you can’t help but keep thinking that he wasn’t under the influence of chemical subjugation. Which leaves you questioning if he meant the things he said, or if he was just trying to lighten a scary, impossible situation for both of you.

You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

When you finally gather the courage the knock on his door, the sun has set and everyone has retired to their bedrooms for the evening.

You almost dash back into your own room during the few seconds that it takes him to open his door. He wears sweatpants, a plain black t-shirt, and a surprised expression.

“Hey, bub,” he greets you apprehensively. You don't normally make a habit of stopping by his room for late night chats. “Was starting to worry that you’d fallen into a coma.”

He opens his door wider, motioning with his head for you to come inside.

“Felt like it,” you give a small laugh. “Whatever was in that shit wore me out.” You take a seat on the edge of his bed, nervously wringing your hands together.

“You feeling better now?” he asks as he leans against his dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes trail over the large muscles of his chest and shoulders. The memory of his body caging you to the twin sized mattress in the basement of the bunker flashes through your mind.

You nod, hoping that it’s convincing.

“All things considered,” you shrug. “I just wanted to check in with you. Has Charles… said anything?”

What you're actually trying to ask is if Charles interrogated him about where the two of you were during the mission, why no one was able to contact either of you, and why you have been so exhausted that you've done nothing but sleep for the last day, but you trust that he knows what you mean.

“He hasn’t said anything, but..” he trails off, eyes darting around the room to avoid your gaze. “It’s Charles. Safe to assume he knows and is just being decent by not saying anything.”

“Right,” you murmur.

If he doesn’t already know, it's only a matter of time before you slip up and imagine the feeling of his lips on yours or the sounds of his moans in the middle of a mission debriefing.

“And the humans..? They’re all okay?”

“They are,” he assures you with a soft smile. “They’re all receiving medical attention, and most have been reunited with their loved ones.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “No thanks to us, I guess.”

“No,” he laughs. “I suppose not.”

He pushes himself off the dresser, walking the few feet to where you perch at the edge of the mattress. He sits down beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. He smells of Old Spice deodorant and spearmint toothpaste, and it makes you the room spin around you.

“But everyone’s okay. They’re safe. And you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. He’s close enough that you can practically feel the heat from his body. You risk looking at his face, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

“Yeah,” you finally agree. “You’re right. Well, I’ll let you get some rest. I just wanted to check in with—”

You start to stand up, when he cups your jaw in his hand and pulls your face to his. He’s hesitant in a way that he wasn’t yesterday – he gives you the opportunity to pull away before he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip, as if asking for permission.

When you don’t give any kind of indication that you want him to stop, he pulls you flush against him and slips his tongue past your lips. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, twining your fingers through his hair.

He takes his time with you. Whereas yesterday’s kisses were filled with urgency and desperation, todays is tender and sensual. Now, you’re allowed the luxury of taking your time.

He lays down against the mattress, pulling you with him. You straddle his stomach, your lips never once breaking contact. His hands grip the globes of your ass, his fingers digging into the meat through your pajama pants.

You grind against the hard planes of his abdomen, earning a throaty growl from him.

He breaks away, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“I said something I didn’t entirely mean yesterday,” he whispers, out of breath.

“What?” you ask, sitting upright and looking down at him. “You aren’t going to let me suck your dick?”

“No,” he chuckles. “God, no. I meant that. If you still want to, that is—”

“What is it, then?” you interrupt with a playful nudge to his chest.

“I said you could go back to tolerating my existence. But I hope you wanna do a little bit more than just tolerate me.”

You laugh under your breath, leaning down to press your lips to his once more.

“I could see myself doing a little bit more than just tolerating you.”

oooops i accidentally wrote another fic where logan overhears something that he wasn't supposed to 😅🫠 did not originally plan for that to happen hahaha

check out some of my other logan fics -

by the end of the night

dog tags drabble

[gothicfied]

Bf!Nam-gyu / Player 124 Headcanons

Pairing: Boyfriend!Nam-gyu x fem!reader (No Squid Game AU)

Warnings: Mention of drug use/withdrawal, other than that it's just fluff (maybe a teeny tiny bit of angst), not proof read (english isn't my first language)

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who you met at the club he worked at during a night out with your friends. He took one look at you and knew he was in love immediately — Your makeup, your dress, your hair, that you spent hours trying to style it, just everything about you was perfect. He genuinely had to stop what he was doing for a second to get his thoughts straight.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who just couldn't help but give you drinks on the house, trying to make small talk with you. The music was loud, blaring out of the speakers not far away from the bar, but he didn't need to hear you. For him, it was enough to see you up close, to see you smile and laugh at his cheesy attempts at pick-up lines. He laughed along, trying to overplay his nervousness, which didn't quite work.

જ⁀➴ It wouldn't have been the first time that Boyfriend!Nam-gyu took a girl back home with him that he met at his work, but you were different. He wasn't staring at your body, looking down your cleavage when talking to him, no, he was actually interested in getting to know you. During your short conversation, he could just tell how kind and lighthearted you were. After all, not every girl would entertain his flirting.

જ⁀➴ After a few times seeing you around the club again, Boyfriend!Nam-gyu had secured your phone number, which you wrote down on his hand with a little heart next to it. You couldn't exactly tell why you liked him this much, hut he was weirdly charming and appreciated the fact that he wanted to take you out on a proper date some time. He was cute, you couldn't deny that, so you took up on his offer.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who stayed true to his word and texted you right after his shift, setting up a date and time for a meeting outside his workplace. He already had everything thought out in his head, perhaps even imagining little scenarios about you before falling asleep.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who could now actually introduce himself as your boyfriend after a couple of dates, long phone calls and deep talks late at night when you'd stay over at his place. The two of you had developed a strong bond in no time, finding out that you had more in common than you first thought. And, in your opinion, he was the best partner you could wish for. Nam-gyu was attentive, always noticed if you felt bad and cheered you up, funny.. what wasn't there to love about him?

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who you helped get clean and also get a better job. The first few weeks of withdrawal weren't the easiest on him nor your relationship, but you absolutely made it work. You'd comfort him during a breakdown, wiping his tears away for him and hold him against your chest. Your nails would scrape the back of his neck, making him let out a shaky sigh.

"I'm.. sorry about that, baby-" Nam-gyu sniffled, taking a deep breath before looking up at you. "There's nothing you have to apologize for," you replied back, a bit shocked about the fact that he would think he needed to say sorry for crying. "I'm here for you, okay? I love you, don't forget that."

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who would frequently buy you your favorite flowers. You'd always ask him what the occasion was and he'd always just shrug, claiming that he didn't need an occasion or a reason to maks you happy.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who would try to help you while baking something, but would mess everything up he was involved with. Cookies came out burnt, brownies didn't fully bake through.. whatever it was, it just didn't work out. But, you two had fun while doing it and that was all that mattered. Well, not all the time maybe (you reaaaaally wanted those chocolate chip cookies).

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who kisses you awake every morning, even if you could sleep in. Whenever he has to wake up before you, he'd pepper kisses all over your face, partially to also annoy you.

You slowly opened your eyes at the feeling of Nam-gyu's lips against your, turning your head away from him. He laughed and tried to lean over to give you another, but you weren't having it. "Leave me alone!" you blurted out, eyes still closed and all.

"Jesus, can't I kiss my girlfriend goodbye anymore?"

"No."

"Why? What did I do?"

"I hate you."

"Good morning to you too, princess."

[everestgale]

You're lucky. What I would give to be able to forget—

[Drawing and design notes under the cut]

*cackles* Turns out, even putting just Hero through Moment of Clarity wasn't enough for Everest, they needed to make all of their voices suffer :]

This drawing was a very funny one because it just kept evolving until it got to what you see now! It was supposed to be a quick doodle where I send my human Hero to MoC... but then I wanted to add the other voices and give this drawing some nice lineart... and then I wanted to add flat colors to make sure each character is distinct from one another... and then I added light shading—

Despite how much it grew out of my control, and despite how much trouble it gave me composition and concept-wise, I'm quite happy with the final result. I'm glad I could at least play around and make some concepts for how my voices would change during the Moment of Clarity. Some were definitely on the simpler side, but others had quite a few neat details! If you're curious to read my thoughts on that, well, there we go!

Stubborn: definitely one of the simpler ones, though both of his Adversary-borrowed horns are snapped, almost symbolizing his usual will to fight depleting almost completely. He also has a bunch of bruise/dust marks all over him, as though he just came out of a fight.

Broken: I went with the obvious one and gave him a bunch of cracks for how shattered he is. But I also made his ears longer (which is the case for all of my voices that have "loose"/hair-like feathers - which are Hero, Smitten, and Broken)... and also he has a suspicious scar on his neck—

Cold: he is the voice that has the least "damage" on him, only really having some missing/messy bang feathers. He does, however, seem even colder than usual, insisting that all other voices are too soft, and they need to be numb and unfeeling... what's a better way to represent that than to literally have him covered in light icy texture?

Paranoid: my poor Paranoid always, always wears gloves when he can, it's a headcanon of mine that he feels extremely uncomfortable and anxious without them. And, uh, he is not wearing any in this drawing. Also just like the Hero in this and previous MoC drawings, he does not have any claws on his hands. His claws are gone :]

Skeptic: he was a difficult one for sure, I couldn't quite figure out how to represent his damage and distress. I ended up breaking a link on his neck shackle (which is barely noticeable), breaking his spiky collar feathers (which is barely noticeable), and adding a light "unraveling" texture (which is, again, barely noticeable). He does look very uncertain and confused, though, so at least I got that right!

Smitten: Smitten borrowed some of the elements from his HEA design, mainly the straightened hair and fallen-out curls. But to differentiate between the two designs, I also added a crack along the center of Smitten's face, like the one you might see on a broken heart :]

Opportunist: Opportunist actually doesn't seem to be doing too horribly during MoC (at least if you compare him to some of the other voices), which is why his design isn't as damaged as some of the other ones. He is tattered and messy, sure, but not completely destroyed like some of the other voices, though I did make sure to give him a very wide-eyed... half-scared, half-empathetic expression, I guess.

Hunted: while his quote "Kill or be killed" was taken out during one of the updates, I really wanted to include it in the drawing because I think it characterizes Hunted during this route very well. That's why his primary damage is blood splatters, from numerous and numerous and numerous deaths.

Cheated: he was fairly simple to do because his default design is already cut up and stitched together. All I needed to do was to add a few more gaping wounds and unravel his stitches. That's why his right ear is missing, too!

Contrarian: similar to Cheated, Contrarian also just got a feature of his regular design—cracks—greatly exaggerated. Contrarian really didn't seem to be doing well during MoC, which is why I went all out on his cracks. Couldn't let him open his eyes, or drop his "smiley" expression completely, but you hopefully can tell that he is barely hanging in there.

Hero: oh, Hero, my sweet, sweet boy Hero. I already talked about his MoC design in a previous post—broken visor feathers to represent his destroyed nature as a "hero" and missing claws—and his long, very unkempt feathers represent the passage of time (how long they've been stuck in there) and almost unraveling (how badly has Hero been damaged by whatever they all experienced in the lead up to Moment of Clarity).

...should be all I wanted to ramble about! Hope you all like this drawing as much as I enjoyed making it :]

[angelic-writer]

“Lunch is over. We’ve gotta go.” Carter said as he handed M&M’s back to Gavin who happily took them and put it back in his bag. Everyone else got up and began to head to their classes.

For the rest of the day, the others tried to focus on their subjects like normal. However, they couldn’t stop thinking about the triplets and how interested they are in joining Tyler's exploration group. The idea of going outside while there are murderous entities roaming around sounded like tempting with fate. They all know what would happen if a mimic gets them. They've seen the reports over the years. They couldn’t risk it. They already had enough things to deal with. Not to mention the fact that Tyler had been getting more and more reckless by the day. He’d do whatever he can to keep up the tough kid persona.

After school, they all went home after saying goodbye to each other. Another school day done and over with. Mavis and Charlie immediately went straight home, arriving at 4 PM. Their mom was putting the dishes in the dishwasher when they came in the door. “Hey guys! How was your day?” She asked as she dried her hands with the flannel.

“Uh, it was alright. Three kids transferred to our school today. They were nice.” Mavis replied, plopping his backpack on the floor.

"And their friends back home are quite the daredevils!" Charlie added.

“I see. I’m glad to know. Maybe you two will finally get some more friends, besides Carter and those scene kids.”

“Dad, Tyler and Gavin are fine. They’re not hurting anyone with their fashion sense.”

“I know, I know. I just worry for them.”

Mavis sighed and went upstairs to his room. Charlie rolled her eyes. "You need to take a break from those televangelists." She said before following her brother.

Delilah Mallard looked out the window at the bright blue sky that was dotted with clouds. Those kids... I worry about them, esoecially Charlie. She's been ignoring the curfew more and more lately. I hope those two aren't getting her into some serious trouble.

She sighed. Just a couple more hours of normalcy before the curfew and the daily broadcast. She reminded herself to lock the doors beforehand.

Elsewhere, Carter arrived at his own home and saw his mother, Camila sitting at the kitchen table with his father, Santiago serving her food. “Hey mom.” He said, giving her a small hug.

“Ah, welcome back, hijo. How was school?” Santiago asked.

“It was good. Three kids actually came to our school today. We didn’t get a chance to show them around, but they seem nice. One of them actually told me that if Keith tried to mess with them, they’ll give him hell.”

His two parents chuckled. “Pretty feisty ones you got there, huh?” Santiago asked.

“Yeah, they are. I hope I can talk to them more. Maybe I could introduce them to you guys.”

“Oh, that would be great. It’s nice to have new faces here.” Camila said. Carter noticed that her olive skin looked a little paler than usual. He took note of the number of breaths she took, noticing that it was a bit faster than normal. He looked to the counter and saw that there were a couple of pills left in the bottle.

“Hey dad, do you mind if I pick up mom’s medication?” He asked.

“Oh no, Carter, you don’t have to do that. I’ll do it after dinner-”

“Papa, it’s fine. I can take care of it. You just focus on mom.”

“…Alright. There should be enough for her dose.”

“You be careful, Carter. There’s a lot of dangerous people out there.” Camila said, clasping her son’s hand.

“I will. I’ll see you later.” With a kiss on the cheek, he was out the door. He got in the car and started driving to the pharmacy. Ever since he was a kid, his dad had to take care of her. He felt bad for him, having to deal with doctors and medical bills, so when he was old enough, he took the mantle whenever he’s not around.

He still remembered the first time he noticed something was wrong.

He and Mavis were playing in the backyard like usual. Santiago was in the patio, watching them and Camila just came back from the grocery store. After putting the bags away, she greeted her husband with a little nose kiss. Everything was perfectly normal when she suddenly put her hand on her chest.

“Ngh…”

“Camila? You okay?” Santiago asked.

“Chest… tight… hurts… I-I think…” She was struggling to take deep breaths.

Santiago’s eyes widened. “Dios mio, you’re having a heart attack! Here, sit down right now.” He led her to one of the patio chairs and sat her down. “Putting more strain on your heart is the last thing we need.”

Carter and Mavis had stopped kicking a soccer ball around and was now looking at his mom with concern. “Mom? Are you okay?!” The two boys rushed over to see what was going on.

“Ah, mierde, that hurts…”

“Mom?! What’s going on?! Are you okay?!” Carter asked in a panicked voice.

“I-Is something wrong, Mrs. Rodriguez?!” Mavis joined in on his friend’s panicking, his 6 year old brain not understanding what was going on.

“D-Don’t worry… I’m okay. I’m just feeling a little under the weather today.” Camila tried to reassure them.

The two boys looked at each other. That did not look like she was under the weather.

“Alright, boys. I’m gonna need you to stay back. Give her some air.” Santiago gently pulled the boys back. He was on the phone with someone they didn’t know, but they would get their answer a second later.

“It’s going to be alright. I called for an ambulance and they’ll be here soon. Just try to keep calm and it’ll be okay.”

It felt like time had stopped for the 7 year old. Ambulance…? Such a foreign, alien word… Why did his mom need it? Was she sick?

“Mrs. Rodriguez, are you okay? Why is Mr. Rodriguez calling an ambulance? Are you sick?” Mavis asked, voice trembling.

Camila smiled a reassuring smile. “Yes, I’m okay. I just need to go to the hospital and I’ll be just fine."

“But why do you need a hospital? You look perfectly- Well, you looked perfectly fine.” Carter said, trying to understand what was going on.

She sighed. “I may look like I’m fine. But this sickness… is inside of me.”

“Inside…? What do you mean…?”

That was the day he learned about her heart condition. She was diagnosed with it a week later. Arrhythmia causes improper beating of the heart, the doctor told little Carter. Sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow. Sometimes, it can cause the heart to beat erratically. It can be fatal.

Fatal.

That word bounced around in his brain years later. He didn’t want to lose his mom. He wanted her to see him go through all the milestones in life. Prom, graduation, getting his first job, moving out, having a family - He wanted her here for all of it.

He pulled into the parking lot of the pharmacy and got out of the car. As long as he and his dad are here to take care of her, she’ll live to see it all.

Project Mimicry (Vol 1) - Chapter 1

"In the beginning, God created the heaven and the Earth." - Genesis 1:1

1983

"This is a test. This station is conducting a test of the Emergency Broadcasting System. This is only a test."

A long, screeching noise blared from the old TV. The Markson family had a different program on when they announced the test. It was some cowboy show their dad loved so much. For eleven year old Jade, it made her stomach churn. It was an odd sound, different from the sounds of horses and gunfire that came from the living room while they were doing family worship. It made her want to jump into her mother's arms and pray to Jehovah for the noise to stop.

Her mom, dad and brother were silent as the attention signal droned on. After a minute, it stopped.

"This is a test of the emergency broadcasting system. The broadcasters of your area in voluntary cooperation with federal, state and local authorities have developed this system to keep you informed in the event of an emergency. If this had been an actual emergency, the attention signal you have just heard would have been filed by official information, news or instructions. This station serves the northern Alabama area. This concludes this test of the emergency broadcast system."

Jade fiddled with the pages of her book, trying to think of the right words to say. Her brother, Caleb had resumed work on his drawing, seeming to not care about anything. Her mother let out a small sigh. "I swear, can they not scare the kids like that?"

"Mom..." Jade quietly said. "Why do they send out something like this? What if it hadn't been a test? Are... Are we gonna die?"

Opal got up from her chair and pulled her into her arms. "Oh sweetie, we're not gonna die. Everything's gonna be okay. This whole thing will blow over in no time."

"Well Jade," Opal's husband, Simon, chimed in. "They played the test on our TV because they want to inform us on what's happening. The world is at a very turbulent time at the moment so they are doing their best to keep us informed. If we were actually under attack, we would've been hiding in the basement." He let out a small chuckle.

"Well, what can we do to make it better?" Jade asked.

"Pray to Jehovah, of course. Our safety is his priority and if we pray to him, he'll protect us."

Jade smiled and snuggled into her mother. Jehovah is the only thing she knew. She may not be like the other "worldly" kids, but she didn't need all those material goods. She didn't need to see the latest movie or buy the newest toys. As long as she had her family and Jehovah, she can get through anything.

Caleb let out a soft coo.

"Oh, we didn't forget about you!" Simon lifted him out of his baby chair and gently rocked him. The whole family began to giggle.

This was their life. This was their routine. Jade was determined to be a good older sister to Caleb. And soon, he will be baptized.

-------

December 24th, 1983

"This is an important message from the Crestwood police department. This is not a test. I repeat, this is not a test. The Crestwood police department has issued a Shelter-in-place Warning for the county of Crestwood until further notice. Reports of unknown figures have been confirmed by law enforcement and the Department of Babylonian Crusaders. For your safety, until 5 PM to 6 AM, stay home, lock all doors and windows and, in the event of a break-in, have access to a loaded weapon at all times. Do not call 911 unless you need to report an emergency. The Crestwood police department and the Department of Babylonian Crusaders thanks you for your cooperation.

Stay tuned for a message from the representative of the Department of Babylonian Crusaders."

"Hello. My name is Dr. Lloyd Evans from the Department of Babylonian Crusaders. We have been receiving reports of unknown organisms that we've decided to call mimics. You may have already gotten the alert from the EBS about this phenomenon, but we're here to tell you about what those mimic types are and what you can do to protect yourself.

The first type are the defensive mimics. They are a sub group of mimics that take on the role of a protector when they find a human. Some pose as aggressive mimics to ward off other humans or they deceive humans they perceive as harmful with their harmless look and kill them. Think of it as a predator camouflaging itself in order for them to eat their prey.

There are three types of defensive mimics. There are Batesian, Mullerian and Emsleyan or Mertensian mimics.

Batesian mimics are harmless. They pose as a harmful mimic to ward off anyone they tries to hurt them or their human.

Mullerian mimics are two or more mimics that advertise themselves as harmful to ward off predators. These mimics often work in groups of two or three.

Emsleyan or Mertensian mimics take the form of a less harmful mimic to deceive the predator and kill them.

These ones can be considered safe, but you should still be wary of them. Aggressive mimics are the ones you need to watch out for. Now, aggressive mimics are the type of mimic that pose as humans to kill them. These types use mind games to toy with their victims. If they haven't committed suicide, the mimic will finish the job.

Predators are a mimic group where they take the form of a loved one, deceive them into thinking they are the real person and then use psychological manipulation. Those are the most dangerous types of mimics and we strongly advise to avoid them at all costs.

Parasites are [REDACTED DUE TO SIGNAL GLITCH]

Now, here's what you can do to keep yourself safe. Stay in your homes after 6 PM, lock all windows and doors and keep a loaded weapon with you at all times. In the event of a mimic attack, follow the S.A.F.E. principle.

S - Secure yourself in a room.

A - Access the situation. Learn how the mimic operates.

F - Fire your weapon. If the mimic attacks, do not hesitate. It can mean life or death.

E - If possible, escape. Do not let them win.

We hope this message keeps you safe. We're very sorry for the interruption and we hope you have a Merry Christmas!"

Though this message was broadcasted to most TVs, some of them reported the S part saying something different. According to reports, it said "Surrender yourself to the Lord."

--------

1987

The young man's back was pressed up against the wall. The shotgun he had in his hands had one shell left. The creature that was at his door kept calling out to him in a mockery of his wife's voice.

"Ralphie... Please let me in... I'm sorry for sca-a-a-aring you back there. You know how I am."

His grip tightened. That wasn't her. That wasn't his wife. She was dead. And now, he was going to die too. His eyes started to fill with tears.

Marla... I'm so sorry... I couldn't protect you... I couldn't save you from these things.

The image of his wife sprawled out on the kitchen floor flashed in his mind. Her neck that was gushing blood... He swallowed, trying to hold back his vomit. They had followed the rules. They had done everything the broadcast said. What did they do wrong? They had to have done something wrong for something like this to happen.

He gritted his teeth. Pondering over this won't help him now. Remember the S.A.F.E. principle, Ralph. Remember.

He secured himself in his bedroom, grabbing his shotgun so he could protect himself. He analyzed the situation. The creature, the mimic, was trying to use his wife's voice to lure him out, using his nickname. Ralphie was what she would call him when he came home from work. The way she said it made his heart soar. However, when it said his nickname, it felt like nails on a chalkboard.

The high school sweethearts had moved into the rural Alabama town after they had gotten married in New York. They thought getting away from the bustling city life would help them. They were in the talks of starting a family when the broadcast came on, talking about reports of mimics.

"Talk about bad timing. On Christmas too." Marla had said while bringing out the cookies and milk. "Let's hope Santa gets there okay."

"I hope so too. But hey, look on the bright side. This lockdown will end at 6 AM tomorrow. We've still got time to celebrate, right?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Besides, anything's fun with you." She gave him a light peck on the cheek.

A low sob escaped him. There was so much they wanted to do together. So many things they had planned. Their entire life... They were now gone.

Oh Marla... Why did they have to take you? What did we do?

God, please... Please help me.

He wiped his face. No, crying and pleading to some higher being isn't gonna solve anything. I have to survive. I have to live on for Marla! If I can get out of here, I could alert the police.

With a sense of courage taking over, he pointed his shotgun at the door. The mimic had begun to claw at the door, no doubt leaving scratch marks in the wood. "Ralphie... Please... Let me in. It's so cold. My neck hurts. Help..."

"Shut up... You're not her..."

The doorknob rattled.

"You're not her. You're not her! You're not her!!"

There was a sudden loud banging making him jump. "Ralph, open the goddamn door! You'd really leave me out here with these things?! How could you?!" The thing screeched.

"You're! Not! Her! Leave me alone!! You killed her, you monster!! You're not- You're not her!" He screamed, tears streaming down his face. "Just try and get me! I dare you! I'll fucking shoot you if you try anything!"

"Ralph..." His 'wife' had begun to cry. Normally, it would cause him to go over and hug her, but he will not be swayed. What it was doing, it was disgusting. It's desecrating his wife's memory, his image, his everything. The nerve of the creature...

The door flew open, allowing Ralph to see the monster. Though it was hard to see through the darkness, what he could see made him freeze.

Its form was tall and lanky, its arms and legs stretched out to an almost inhuman degree. What little hair it had on its head was beginning to fall off. Its skin was beginning to sag. Ralph could swear he was beginning to see bones. The mimic looked at him with empty eyes yet it pierced his soul with an intense glare. It opened its mouth to speak, but all that came out were rasps and gargles.

Ralph began to shake, his aim wavering as he stared at... He didn't even know what he was seeing. It was human, but at the same time, it was not. It looked like his wife, but it was like looking at a decomposing carcass. The smell... It smelled like rotten eggs left out on the hot sidewalk. Bile threatened to come up his throat, but he held it in.

One shot. He had to make it count. If it failed...

The creature began to laugh. It was the kind of laugh that made you cringe. It was an ear-piercing, gurgling laugh that was like if you tried to imitate a toy clown on its last legs.

Ralph pressed his finger on the trigger. Taking a deep breath, he screamed out.

"I will not let you kill me!!"

The gun went off.

--------

2017

The group of kids stared at the small house as their two older brothers talked to the movers. The smallest one of the bunch hugged her teddy bear. Though leaving their home state of Florida didn't seem like a huge deal at first, Catherine still had her doubts. Sure, they were free from all the hurricanes, but they still had friends there. They still had people they could talk to.

But now, she and her brothers moved to a new town. There was no one she knew there. And there was... an abundance of churches. Lots and lots of churches.

@chibisrpblog

[nonphoto-blue]

Lucky Lucky ꕤ Cho Hyun-ju x Reader [1/?]

Read on AO3 Masterlist Summary: After your previous manager runs away to America with the funds meant to kickstart your debut, your band 4tune is left to pick up the pieces in an impending scandal. The new manager, Cho Hyun-ju, says she’ll do everything to ensure your debut is successful, but it’s a long road until she gains your trust, especially when her own secrets come to light. Or, the kpop/krock/band AU no one asked for.

Warnings: Slowwwww burn. Kind of an inherent power imbalance but reader isn't taking bs from anyone, and reader is 20+. Reader is AFAB and uses she/her. She's implied to be Korean/from South Korea but no physical description is used.

A/N: So I've had the horrible idea of a kpop au for Squid Game since the first season came out. Originally I'd thought of a Sangwoo x Reader fic but it felt in bad taste at the time. Season 2 came out and I can't stop thinking about Hyun-ju so uh. You're getting this.

Five years. You’ve been in trainee hell for five years, learning the ins and outs of PR, songwriting, language, appearances, how to fucking smile at a camera when all you wanted to do was sing and play guitar and look out at a crowd with more people than you can count on your hands. All for your dreams to be stolen away, packed up in bags and expedite-shipped to the United States. 

If you could go back in time to tell your past self to save herself the trouble and give up music altogether, you’d consider it. Or at least tell her to flip off the agency scout the second he approaches. Sure, you’d still be busking on the street, but you’d be spared this bullshit and continue life with hope still. You don’t want to be an idol. You want to be– you are a musician, and the evidence was going to be your debut.

Your band, 4tune, is slated to record your debut in a month, and begin promotions just a couple months from now, but thanks to your no-good-money-stealing-piece-of-shit ex-manager, the money set aside for appearances and advertising is no longer in the company’s bank account. With grim faces, you, your bandmates, and a few members of the company higher ups gather around a table in an emergency meeting.

“It’s ridiculous,” Se-mi crosses her arms across her chest, huffing her bangs out of her eyes. “What a coward.” She stands, crossing to a floor-length window and staring at the skyline of Mapo-gu, disbelief written on her face. 

Your mouth forms a thin line. “Who just… takes the money and runs? How was he allowed to take all of it anyway?”

“That’s all we know,” the CEO, Hwang In-ho, murmurs. He laces his fingers together and scans the rest of the band’s faces as you take in the not-quite-death-sentence he delivered your group. “We’ve got the police in South Korea and the United States investigating, but they haven’t found him yet.”

“So what does this mean for 4tune? I mean, are we… still going to debut?” Young-mi asks. 

“We don’t have a manager, we don’t have money, we don’t have a debut.” Jun-hee puts a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes in exasperation. 

“Actually,” In-ho raises a finger. “We do have a new manager for you. She couldn’t make this meeting, but she’s coming up from Busan after lunch. You’ll meet her tonight or tomorrow.” He leans forward in his seat, and rests both arms on the table in front of him. “Rest assured, you will debut.”

You can’t help but feel your lips curl into a sneer. A new manager? Who’s to say this one won’t make off with whatever scraps of money are left? You hear Se-mi scoff from the window, her thoughts echoing your own. Jun-hee looks hesitant, but Young-mi looks up at In-ho with hope.

“What’s her name? What’s she like?”

“Cho Hyun-ju. She’s an old acquaintance.” Looking over the group’s faces, In-ho stands, and begins to make his way to the meeting room door. “I’ve known her for a long time. She’s a good person.” Hardly glowing praise, but you suppose anyone would be better than the ex-manager. The other company members follow In-ho out of the room, meeting adjourned, leaving just your group members with their thoughts.

Your gaze lingers on the frosted glass door they left from. “Great. A manager, but no money. She can drive us around and shit, but we have nowhere to go. What’s the point?” Your words are bitter, spat in sorrowful resignation. 

Young-mi, ever the optimist, takes your hand in her’s. “Let’s give her a chance. In-ho sajangnim vouched for her, I say we see how she clicks with us before giving up on her.” She smiles meekly at the other members. None of you share her optimism, but with a shared side eye, the rest of you begrudgingly hear Young-mi out and agree.

“Fine,” you offer. “But if she does anything remotely shady I’m clawing my way out of this contract.” ꕤ

Despite the sudden wrench in 4tune’s future plans, you all have a schedule to uphold, so you go through the motions as if nothing was wrong. After a short break for lunch, language classes, pose training, you finally make it to the only part of training that doesn’t feel like a chore: rehearsal as a whole band. 

The rehearsal space is intimate; a small room with warm wood-panel flooring and a three-person couch in the corner. Se-mi’s drum kit is already set up on the drum rug, as is Young-mi’s keyboard and three amps, one for Young-mi’s bass, one for Jun-hee’s guitar, and one for yours, as well as a vocal mic on a long arm. Stepping into the space brings an energy you thought would be lost following this morning’s bad news, and you place your guitar’s hard case down with a determined vigor.

You unlatch the case, and pull out your guitar, a Fender Lite Ash Telecaster. The strap rests perfectly on your shoulder, the neck fitting perfectly in your left hand, a guitar pick in your right. The quarter-inch cable plugs into your guitar with a satisfying click and the amp hums to life when you switch it on. You set upon tuning your guitar, but it doesn’t take much adjustment for any member of the band, and soon your group is playing the first notes of what will be your title track for your debut.

It’s an upbeat song, and the lyrics are inherently hopeful and optimistic. You feel the stress pouring out of you as you hear how well the band plays together. From the wailing of Jun-hee’s guitar, to the machine-like precision of Se-mi’s drumming, to the effortless jumping from keys to bass by Young-mi, pride fills your heart knowing that you’re collaborating, and creating something beautiful in spite of everything going wrong.

You play rhythm guitar and sing. Closing your eyes, you pour your heart and soul into the high-energy chorus, the softer verses, and everything in between. As the outro plays out and you all play your final notes, a soft applause that crescendos into a quick flurry of claps breaks through your reverie. 

You hadn’t noticed when she came in, but at the door stands an unfamiliar woman. She’s tall, and seems a bit younger than In-ho. Her hair is cut at her shoulders with blunt bangs reaching her eyebrows. She’s dressed well, and she’s not standing timidly per-se, but there’s an awkwardness to how she holds herself, like she’s unsure if she’s allowed in this space.

“I’m sorry,” she smiles at the band. “I was told you were in this practice room and I heard you playing. You all sound amazing.”

Young-mi smiles back. “You must be the new manager! It’s nice to meet you! I’m-”

“Young-mi, right?” Young-mi nods. The woman turns to the drumset, “You’re Se-mi,” to the lead guitarist, “and Jun-hee,” and then she turns to you, and says your name so tenderly, so kindly, every fiber of your being is shouting at you to give her a chance. “And yes, I’m Cho Hyun-ju, your new manager.” ꕤ

Rehearsal stagnates after Hyun-ju’s arrival as the band seems more interested in the new arrival than playing, but you keep your guitar plugged in and guitar strap on. Young-mi puts down her bass and steps away from her keyboard to approach Hyun-ju immediately, Jun-hee following soon after. You pluck out a few notes here and there, trying to at least try to get through your part of the next song, but after Se-mi stands up from her drumset, you give up trying to continue rehearsal.

Hyun-ju seated herself on the couch in the corner. Jun-hee and Se-mi stand in front of her, and Young-mi sits beside her. “I’m excited to work with you all,” Hyun-ju half-bows in her seat. “You sounded amazing playing just now, your debut will be a hit, I can just feel it.”

“We’re happy to have you here too. I’m sure you’ve heard but our last manager flaked out on us.” Se-mi explains. Hyun-ju hums a condolence, eyes casting down to the ground. “We’re almost ready to record our album, so I’m sure you’ll have a lot to do coming up.”

You clear your throat, walking over to the group. “What experience do you have managing?” You don’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does. It’s supposed to be a light conversation about her work history, not an interrogation into her credentials. Hyun-ju’s face falters at the stern tone, and you kick yourself internally.

“Managing specifically, I've done most of the tasks individually before. That is, things like schedule management and driving and the like. I do have experience in the music and idol industry outside of management.”

You try to school your expression, you really do, and you pull your lips into a not-quite-smile that ends up looking more like a grimace. “Well then,” you push out, “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers EP7: The Boat Scene 'Do you want to jump or do you want to fall?'

So yep, joke's on me. I was so wrong about how this scene may unfold and the episode in general. Credit to Jojo for keeping me on my toes. I wanted to dedicate a post to this, both for the fantastic performances but also the great character beats here.

BISON'S RESOLVE FOR REVENGE

I kept wondering just how resolute Bison would be. I thought that if he saw how upset Kant was about him getting hurt, he may waver. But it actually seemed to have the opposite effect.

Bison is understandably livid at Kant. I think a portion of that rage is intensified because it's with himself. The betrayal cuts deeper due to his own negligence. He should have known better, and Fadel warned him as such. As the confrontation unfolds, Bison's steely resolve veers towards agitation and restlessness. A twitch. An itch beneath the skin. An almost defiant urgency to squash any margin for hesitancy or doubt - that the sooner this is over with, the less risk there is for him to have second thoughts. Khao does a wonderful job of trickling out only the tiniest of hairline cracks in that resolve, to keep us guessing.

Forcing Kant to jump could also be a test for remorse. 'If I tell you to jump, will you do it or will you fight back or even beg for mercy?' If Bison wanted Kant dead, he could have done it already. We see him consider all the brutal ways he could do so. And yet the one he chooses is actually the least hands on. Watching Kant enact his own demise seems to be a testament to something Bison wants an answer to: a confession perhaps. 'Are you sorry for what you did? Do you regret it? Do you feel bad for me? Was it worth it?' and most importantly 'Do you love me? Did you ever love me?' When someone hurts us, we often want them to admit to their wrongdoing. To take responsibility for the damage they've caused as it gives validation to our pain.

Kant is debilitated by fear, but he's also resigned to his guilt. It's been chasing him this entire time. So he doesn't deny or rebuff what Bison's saying. Doesn't try to deflect or swerve like he's done before now. Neither does he put up a fight for his life. He displays a bedded in helplessness, an acceptance that something you saw coming has finally caught up to you.

When Kant does jump, it seems to take Bison a second to register what's happened. The fact that Kant doesn't come back up. The realisation that Kant may actually drown and die. And he panics.

KANT LAID BARE

(This is my cue to gush about First's acting). I loved his choice of line delivery in this scene. How quietly he speaks. How small, tired, broken and subdued this makes Kant appear. It's such an unexpected but phenomenal choice. It provides a complete 180 to Kant's usual brand of flirty showmanship. That's isn't to say that version of Kant is entirely false but he's definitely been playing up the 'perfect boyfriend' bit. To be as smooth and charming as possible, and to say all the right things to win Bison's heart. This is the first time Bison is seeing Kant stripped of all that bravado. And what's left underneath? Just a man whose desperately afraid.

The sheer terror that First portrays here is so layered and visceral. He doesn't just capture that primal fear of death, but there's so much more you can read into outside of the little he does say. Underlying all that physical and mental torment is trauma, a childlike desperation that renders him completely at a loss.

He didn't have a choice when Chris threatened him to become a pawn. He didn't have a choice when it came to choosing between his brother or Bison. He didn't have a choice to walk away. And now he doesn't have a choice in how Bison wants his revenge. I've talked about the loss of control and agency with these two characters quite a bit, but this is the epitome of having your autonomy entirely stripped from you. Kant is both paralysed by his fear of drowning, but also by his guilt and knowing that he brought this on himself - having sealed his fate when he agreed to the job in the first place.

"I promise when you wake up, the version of me you'll see is the real me." What happens when you strip a person of all their defences? You get down to their rawest form. And now we're seeing it.

Thank god the pair reconcile next week, because this was absolutely agonising to sit through. Firstkhao have done it again, but did we really expect any less?

You can keep tabs on bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for my other long-form posts around The Heart Killers, which I’ll be updating in real time as the show airs.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 15

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: I've made some cute headers for the thing!!! What do you guys think??

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14

• ··········· • ············ •

It was fascinating how quickly he realized that, for hextech to go astray, one of them had to die. There was no doubt in his mind that if his tech had been deviated to another path, one of its creators had to disappear.

“That’s a complicated question to answer.” looked back at him, smiling sadly. “If it helps us keep the tech away from her, I need to know.” “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you…It’s just that complicated… The answer is both, neither, and I don’t know.”

He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his hair, frustration written on his handsome features. 

“Maybe… if we could try the rune in a safe environment…” Viktor made his way back towards you, placing his tray on the table you had placed yours on, and sat down. “...we can figure out what it is.”

The taller man gently placed a plate on the piano bench next to your thigh. It contained two of the same creamy strawberry pastries he had given you before. You looked at him and smiled as he mentioned them to you with a tilt of his head.

Jayce immediately grabbed the mug with coffee and took a swig. Viktor, however, had a mug filled with something that was topped with heavy cream and what looked like chocolate powder. If it tasted like it looked, it must just be a sugary bomb to his palate. He grabbed a spoon and took a small piece of cream, bringing it to his mouth, closing his eyes as the sweetness hit his tongue.

It was strange watching him bring any food to his lips since his counterpart almost had to be force-fed. It was even stranger when he actually made a little approval sound of whatever he was eating.

“Councilor Tallis.” A familiar voice came from the entrance, and the clicking of heels followed it.

Jayce immediately looked back at Mel’s approach, straightening up and pushing a hand through his hair, trying to comb it back in place.

The beautiful woman walked towards the piano, the golden lines on her skin shimmering and reflecting light. You had to admit, Mel Medarda was perfection. Add that to her cunning and her smarts, and it shouldn't surprise anyone that she became a sorceress herself. 

“Ah, the troupe is all here.” She said, jokingly, her smile not reaching her eyes but seemingly honest nonetheless. She looked at you and extended a hand. “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced. Mel Medarda, Head Councilor.”

You got up from your seat at the piano and shook her hand, wanting to add “universe hopper” at the end but deciding not to.

“That was quite the first impression.” She kept smiling at you, placing a hand on Jayce’s shoulder, and the inventor smiled up at her.  “Not my usual MO, but unfortunately it couldn't be helped.” You answered, smiling back at her, sitting back down. “I look forward to speaking with you in the future. I do need to steal Councilor Tallis away for a moment. Governing body business and all that.” She rolled her eyes as she squeezed Jayce’s shoulders, and the man stood up.

If you had to hazard a guess, the 'governing body business' involved Jayce recounting what had happened in the lab with her mother and Salo on their little impromptu inspection.

“No need for stealing council Medarda,” Viktor said, not looking up at her from his sugary delight. “We gladly offer him over…”

Jayce looked back at his partner with an unamused expression.

“We’ll finish this later.” He looked at Viktor and then back at you.

As they both walked away, you resumed your playing, your fingers drifting over the keys spontaneously. You saw Viktor’s head snap up as he scooped the last drop of cream into his mug, leaving only a beige-looking liquid in it. 

“I take it you don’t know how to play.” You looked back at the keys, gently swaying with the melody. “I write numbers on a blackboard, and I tinker with things that more often than not explode in my face. Much like writing music, playing music escapes me.” He pointed the spoon to the keys. “Wanna try?”

You suggestively raised your eyebrows and tilted your head to the keys, enticing the poor scientist. Sliding over to one side of the bench, you patted the space, taking the small pink pastry and eating it in one bite. He looked confused at first, but his curiosity got the better of him. The need to know things and try things were always qualities that didn't seem to waver in any iteration of Viktor—the passion for learning never ceasing or decreasing.

He sat next to you, adjusting his leg and leaning his cane on the side of the piano. Viktor cleaned his palms on his pant legs and cleared his throat. You heard the barista groan.

“Oh Gods. Not the scientist at the piano...” he mumbled loud enough for both of you to hear. “I do believe our friend Loriel is not happy about this turn of events…” Viktor announced just as loudly as the bartender, and Loriel took a very deep breath. “He is going to love what comes next then.” You added turning back to the ivories.  “Maybe the Academy's cafe isn’t exactly the best place for piano lessons.” Viktor whispered, turning his back to the bar, some doubts in his voice. “Then they shouldn’t have placed the piano in the cafe.” “Why is the piano in here anyway?”

Viktor looked back at Loriel, who shrugged and mouthed something to the tune of 'to torment me.' You laughed, and Viktor followed with a snicker. He straightened up, as best as he could, squared his shoulders, and placed his hands on the keys. You mimicked his stance and realized that all of your right side was touching all of his left. From shoulder to knee, and yet there were no feelings of panic bubbling in your stomach.

“Why are we so stiff?” You whispered to him, moving your head slightly to look at him. “Is this not how professional piano players play?” “Not unless they want to look like a douchebag.” You shook your shoulders a bit and relaxed; he did the same. “May I?” You pointed to his hand, asking permission to touch and move them. He nodded, and you placed his two index fingers on two specific keys. “Now you do this.”

(Chopstick piano)

You placed your own index fingers on the ivories, slightly away from his, and moved them in sync, both fingers reflecting what the other was doing. The melody was simple and repetitive, and the movements were pretty mechanical. Easy to learn.

Viktor caught on quickly, the movements coming out slowly and clumsily at first but becoming familiar with every try.

“Please play something else!” Loriel half shouted exasperatedly, and you looked back at him, about to give him an angry look but noticing he was half joking.

“Remember when I told you magic is just like music?” You whispered to him, and he nodded, excitedly looking at you. His golden eyes were bright and joyful. “Yes, once you’ve played a note the first time, the next time it becomes easier.” “And what we did in the closet.” You looked down onto your side of the keys, missing the red tint that appeared on his cheeks. 

Nudging his knee gently, you made a gesture for him to start playing his little tune. At some point, you started to add another melody, a rhythmic thumping that intertwined with the simple notes he was playing. You heard rather than saw Viktor's little gasp of excitement.

“Thank goodness.” You heard Loriel say. “Now keep moving along the playlist.”

When you ended the music, he followed your lead and stopped his actions but did not take his fingers from the keys. 

“You know what? Let’s switch it up.” You slid from your side of the bench and nudged his shoulders to the side where you sat, him clumsily going and readjusting his leg.

You sat where he had been before and showed him the repetitious keystrokes you had added previously to his beginner lesson. His long fingers easily managed to touch the keys as you started to tap your foot on a steady tempo. Slowly but surely, the scientist managed to accompany your foot-tapping with his playing.

Letting him go over the chords a couple of times, you jumped in. First doing the same simple two-finger melody and then jumping to a more complicated part, completely changing the melody.

You felt Viktor slowly swinging to the melody, his shoulder bumping into yours as he enjoyed the music. You followed his movements, and the two of you went on playing. He would stop whenever you played a more complicated part, a little laugh coming out of him,

With a final pressing of the keys, the song ended, and you smiled triumphantly at the scientist beside you. He looked down at you; it was noticeable that his cheeks were becoming a pretty shade of red, while his eyes looked at his fingers and then shifted back to you.

Even though you had noticed how you had been closed before, now it dawned on you just how close you two were. You could see the brown flecks in his eyes, the small scar he had on his forehead from the goggles digging into his skin, and his pulse quickly beating on his neck.

You felt a small touch on your little finger and glanced at it, surprised at the sudden contact. His hands had moved, and he was brushing your pinky with his, slowly as if not to scare you. You felt your heart quicken and turned back to face him, eyes wide.

“Should I have asked?” He mumbled slowly, tilting his head down, his brown hair falling from behind his ear. “About?” you let out in a breathy whisper, doing the best you could to keep your eyes from wandering around his face.

He moved his finger to interlock with yours, the corners of his lips tilting up.

 “It’s fine…” And it was. There was no panic or anxiety. There were no urgent or nightmarish visions of hexangels.

Gently he pulled your little fingers towards his hand, adding your ring finger to the weave of hands. You managed to breathe and blink, your eyes unfocusing on his face, waiting for anything to happen. When it didn't, you went back to those golden pools of his.

Viktor looked at you waiting for a protest, but you said nothing. No constructs, no golden enemies. In a moment of boldness, you moved your hand under his and turned your palm up, him giving you the space you needed to do it. When you were comfortable, you slotted your fingers in his. You didn’t squeeze or grab his hand, just letting the weight of him become familiar. 

Much like in your universe, his hands were long and bony, with callouses from using every tool at his disposal. They had a tepid warmth to it, the playing of the piano letting the blood flow to his extremities. 

“My hands are always cold.” He noted, scratching the back of his neck, and you looked at his long fingers on yours. “Should wear some gloves.” You joked, nudging him and squeezing his hand tentatively. “I like this better.” He raised an eyebrow smugly, and you snorted, looking away in fake annoyance. You felt his hand squeeze back and looked back at him. The expression on his face was far from embarrassed; if anything, he knew exactly what he was doing, a loopy side smile plastered on his face. You shook your head, a smile on your own face. “You’re a sneaky one…” “Heh…I do hail from the Undercity." He joked, and you laughed out loud, placing your forehead on his shoulder, feeling him laugh too.

“Viktor!!!” A smooth, hurried voice came from the corridor, and a bouncy Sky Young walked into the cafeteria.  “Miss Young!” He half-shouted back, making his assistant's head snap to him.

He moved your still intertwined hands away from the keys and in between both your bodies. He gave you one last squeeze before letting go.

“Oh…I have been looking for you.”  “I have been here for the last two hours,” he said, stretching in front of you, reaching for his cane. “Sorry. Jayce is with Councillor Medarda, and the door is locked, and Councillor Salo took my key from me and…” She looked at you, her exasperated ramble coming to a halt. “Oh. Hello. Sky Young, a pleasure to meet you!”  “Hello.” You told the younger woman, smiling, and answered with your name. “I thought you two knew each other…” Viktor said, getting up carefully and moving to stand next to his assistant. “I said I’ve seen her around…I never said we had been introduced.” You quickly retorted. “Also, do I need to reschedule the appointment for this morning?” “Ye—” she started, but Viktor interrupted. “No need; we can do it now.” “But their name is on the morning slot.” Young noted, grabbing a small planner. “It’s not their fault we had an inspection on their fault. If anything, the council should be the one to schedule their appointments.” He said with finality and turned around. “Come now, you two. Time to get to work.”

You and Young stared at each other and both shrugged, smiling at each other.

“Thank you, Loriel.” You shouted and waved back at the barista as you walked away from the cafe. “You’re welcome! Come back any time... Seriously!”

• ············ •

“So, you can now combine runes?” Viktor asked, sitting at his table at the lab, writing furiously in his little notebook. “And I’m also starting to…not need to push them out…like…physically.”

The scientist looked at you. You've been sitting here for 40 minutes; 20 of those had been Viktor trying to shoo Sky out of the room.

“Example,” he prompted, and you nodded.

You faced him, the big front doors behind you. You cleared your throat and drew the known string of runes in front of you. Waiting for a second, with your hands by your side, you blinked, and the runes disappeared. The door behind you whooshed open.

“That’s new.” Viktor’s eyebrows shot up. “Can you reverse it?” “I can close the door, but not lock it.”

His eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched. He started to go back through the notebook, getting to the pages where you were both annotating the runes and suffixes.

You walked towards him and leaned into his table, looking at the notebook. You had feared that after the little moment at the piano, the rest of the evening would be awkward, but no. He hadn’t mentioned it, but he wasn’t tiptoeing around you. It was just good old Viktor.

“You’ve never shown me this rune.” He pointed to the mend rune with his pencil and looked up at you. “Technically, you've seen it. But I can show you again. May I?” 

You pointed to his purple-colored pencil, and he gave it to you with a doubtful expression. With a bit of force, you snapped the pencil in two, and he groaned.

“Please do not break my writing utensils. I really don’t want to explain to the council why I need to buy more colored pencils…It’s already a hassle as it is.” He swiveled the stool to turn to the table where you placed the pencil. “They apparently don’t understand the concept of color coding.”

You snorted while drawing the rune. The small tendrils that came out of it searched the pencil for where it was broken and joined it, making it whole again. The only trace of something happening was the shimmering blue vein where it was snapped.

“Fascinating…” He grabbed the pencil and inspected it from every angle. “Have you tried this with a bone?”

Blinking slowly at him, you squinted your eyes and furrowed your eyebrows, the doubt he had previously now written on your face. 

“What?” “A bone.” He shook his arm to demonstrate.  “You want to break some for me to try?” You retorted sarcastically, but the thoughtful look on his face made you shake your head. “No…I have not tried it in a bone. I haven't encountered a broken bone to try it on, and you will not provide me with some.” “Oh no…not mine.” He made a few swirls with the pencil on the notebook, finding out it worked just like before.  “Whose bones are you gonna break, stick bug? You’re all length and sharp corners…” 

You crossed your arms, raised one eyebrow, and leaned into the table with your hip, your face bearing a mask of doubt. His expression shifted to unamused, his lip pinched and his eyebrows knotted. 

“First of all…stick bug?” He spat the word out comically, and you laughed, nodding. “Second of all, some bones can be easily broken by applying pressure in certain key points. No need for brute strength.”

“Yeah? And how many bones have you broken, Mr. Applied Pressure… you joked, shifting to sit on the table. “Several, actually…” “Yours don’t count…”

Viktor opened his mouth to argue but closed it with a humph, turning away from you. You snorted at his spoiled expression.

“How many have you broken? all talk, I bet..." He mumbled, turning the stool fully towards the table. “Several, actually... and not mine either.”

You thought of those last few hours on your timeline, grunting and fighting. Violet had given you some sort of lesson on what she called ‘blocking with your face’ that somehow involved not just that but also punching, kicking, and general shit talk. 

You missed Vi. The one that chuckled when you talked back to her. The Vi that had looked at you weirdly when you asked her to punch you because you needed to know how it felt and not be scared of it. The undercity fighter, who looked impressed when you managed to punch her after dodging a blow.

“The music schools where you come from are very competitive…” Viktor’s voice snapped you back to the lab. He frowned when he looked at you, his expression shifting from annoyance to concern. “Are you alright?” “Yes… Sorry…” You cleared your throat. “If we find someone with a broken bone and willing, we’ll try it on them.” “I guess we can do that…” He flipped the book back to the page where he had taken notes. “You should use that rune to lock the door.” “The lock is not broken, though.”  “True…but I think we may need to go in a more…symbolic route. The pencil, after you mended it, reverted to its original form. In if core, that’s what the mend rune does when spoken.” “So I'd be reverting the unlocked door back to its original state." You mused, and he nodded. He patted your knee and pointed to the door, encouraging you to try it.

Still sitting on the desk, you spoke the runes: wind, coda, mend, unlock. In a second the door drifted closed, the door locking with a click. 

You looked at Viktor, who had a winning smile on his face.

“This stick bug seems to be pretty good at this magic thing.” He swiveled his stool back around to turn to write his findings.

With a swish of your finger, his little wheeled bench rolled back away from its original location, while he made a squeaky surprised sound with his throat.

“That is not fair.” He said, pushing the stool back with his feet. "I thought you hailed from the Undercity." You joked, getting up from your sitting place and going behind him to gently push back to the table. "Yes, I do." He said proudly.

You squeezed his shoulders and turned to walk away, unlocking the door with a flick of your finger.

“Where are you going?” He inquired, turning to watch you walk away. “Mother is expecting me.” You walked backward, looking at him and smiling. “Some sort of dinner celebration, event…I don’t know…I just know that I am now obliged to be there, but here…”

With another flick of the wrist, the ceiling above his head became filled with little shimmering stars.

“To keep you company…” You finished with a wink and walked out the door.

You didn’t hear the happy sigh Viktor gave as he looked up at the soft, shimmering lights. And you didn’t see him placing his notebook on the table, walking to the couch, and just staring contently at the little starlight you manifested in the ceiling while gently stroking his palm, remembering how it felt against yours.

• ············ •

The smile on your face as you made your way to the elevator was cut short when the thing pinged open.

Rictus stood, eyebrow raised, staring at you from inside the empty elevator.

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ִֶָ mullet!stan pines x farmer's daughter!reader ♡༉‧₊˚.

honestly idk what happened i just wrote this in like 40 minutes because the idea wouldn’t leave me alone, i never write this fast sorry for the random but i love that dynamic 🤍

Gravity Falls market days were a real mess you’d grown up in but never quite adjusted to. the sun sat high and too mean, slanting golden light across the rows of wooden stalls and voices carried sharp over the sound of shuffling feet. you didn’t mind the noise because it made the hours feel faster.

your hands worked quickly, sorting the last of the peaches into the old wicker basket, as you clearly remembered your mom’s words “don’t bruise the fruit, honey; folks don’t buy what looks spoiled.” you smoothed your palm over the fabric of your overalls, standing up straight to greet the next customer and—

he wasn’t what you expected and you weren’t sure what to make of him. broad shoulders under a faded red jacket, hands stuffed into his pockets, huge dark bags under his eyes. he looked rough, unpolished you'd say, like he’d stepped out of a life far removed from your quiet one and found himself here by accident.

he nodded toward your baskets. “how much for the peaches?”

you sized him up. “depends,” you answered. “you actually gonna pay?”

that caught him off guard, did he really look that bad? his lips twitched into grin. “didn’t know this place came with an interrogation.”

“it’s not interrogation,” you shot back, leaning against the edge of the stall. “it’s just business. besides, you look like the type to run off with free samples.”

he laughed then. “well, guess you caught me,” he held his hands up like he’d been caught red-handed. “but im starving here. what’s it gonna take to get one of—”

“ahh, you must be the scientist everyone talks about.” you interrupted him, shifting the basket awkwardly against your hip.

“uh right, that's me.”

“mom mentioned you,” you continued, even though he didn't seem in the mood for conversation. “said you were. . . weird.” the word came out of your mouth before you even realized it, and your cheeks instantly flushed. great. off to a fantastic start.

but he didn't seem offended. on the contrary, he looked amused, slightly raising his eyebrows. “weird, huh?”

“her words, not mine,” you explained quickly, though it wasn't exactly untrue. “but yeah. she said you moved out here to study something? bugs? dirt?”

he chuckled. “somethin’ like that. but im pretty hungry. so what’s it gonna take to get one of those?”

you should’ve turned him away, told him to come back with cash like everyone else. but your gut told you he’d actually gone a little too long without a decent meal. yeah, thats how bad he looked.

so you reached into the basket and handed him one.

“on the house,” you said.

he blinked at you, caught somewhere between surprise and suspicion. “seriously?”

“just this once,” you warned. “but if you come back, i expect full price.”

“aww, isn't that adorable, thank you, sweetie.” he took the peach, turning it over in his hands. “heard people here mentioning you're generous girl.”

...

the sun begins its descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink as you ride your bicycle down the lonely country road. the day has been long, filled with selling farm food. your hat shields your face from the fading light, but a chill is settling in as the evening approaches.

the basket on your bike rattled with what was left of the day’s haul, less than you’d hoped for but enough to keep the house running another week. your legs ached from pedaling though. the cold was creeping in now.

when the headlights appeared behind you, cutting through the soft twilight, you almost didn’t notice. but then the car slowed, pulling up beside you and you heard the window roll down.

“need a lift?” a smoky voice asked.

it was him. Stanford. the same red jacket, the same grin. he surely hadn’t been expecting to see you but was damn happy about it anyway.

you hesitated as you looked at him and his car, tightening your hands around the handlebars. “and leave my bike?”

“throw it in the back,” he told you, jerking his thumb toward the back seat. “unless you’re real set on freezing out here.”

you glanced at the empty road stretching ahead of you, then back at Stanford. he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to offer something for nothing, but he also didn’t seem like the kind to push it if you said no.

so you nodded. Stanley gave you a reassuring smile. “hop in, toots. it's getting cold.” you let him haul the bike into the back before climbing into the passenger seat. the warmth from inside is immediate, a stark contrast to the cool evening air.

he didn’t say much at first, just flicked on the radio and kept his eyes on the road. but then, without looking over, he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you.

“here, take this. it’s not much, but it’ll keep you warm.”

you took the fabric and when you putted it around your shoulders, you felt the softness of it against your skin, grateful for the gesture. “thank you,” it was too big, the sleeves hanging loose past your wrists, but it was so warm. although it smelled very strongly of cigarettes.

he shrugged modestly. “no problem. it’s the least i can do after the way you treated me last week.”

“so,” he said after a beat, glancing over with that same crooked grin. “what’s a farmer’s daughter doin’ out on the road this late?”

you pulled the jacket tighter around you. “work doesn’t stop just ‘cause the sun goes down.”

“hard worker, huh? guess your mom was right about you.”

you glanced at him in surprise and furrowed your brow. “you keep bringing up my mom like you actually know her.” you said suspiciously.

“ran into her a couple weeks ago,” he admitted. “she was real proud, talkin’ ‘bout how her daughter’s the backbone of the farm.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you turned your gaze back to the road. “she talks too much.”

“nah, she’s just proud of you.” this time, you stayed quiet, letting the hum of the engine carry you the rest of the way home.

...

the next time you see him, it’s at the farm on early morning, when dew still clings to the grass and the sky’s a pale, watercolor wash. you’d barely had time to start on your chores when that same old car rumbled down the dirt track.

Stanley stepped out, wearing that red jacket you’d given back last night, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “you forgot your bike.”

“you didn’t have to bring it all the way here.” you smiled shyly

“well,” he glanced around, assessing the place, “figured you could use it more than i could. besides, wasn’t much of a detour.”

in addition, it was the first time Stan met your dog as he stayed at the farm to try the freshly baked apple pie that you offered.

you were hauling a basket of fresh vegetables from the field when you heard a low, warning growl. you looked up, biting back a grin. “she won’t bite.”

“uh-huh,” Stan said, standing frozen in place as the big scruffy mutt circled him.

you set the basket down, whistling low, and your dog trotted over, tail wagging now that you’d given the all-clear. “this is Molly,” you said, ruffling her ears. “dont worry, she’s just protective.”

Stan crouched slowly, one knee to the dirt, sticking his hand out like he was afraid she might lunge. Molly sniffed him once, then pressed her head against his palm, tail thumping in approval.

“well, look at that,” he said, scratching behind her ears. his hands are so big, calloused, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. Molly leaned into his hand, letting out a pleased huff. “she likes me.”

but then Molly rolled over, flopping onto her back in the dust and he laughed. “spoiled,” he said, rubbing her belly as she wagged her tail.

“you don’t even know the half of it. she gets the best scraps off the table. mom says it’s why she’s got such shiny fur.”

Stan grinned. “lucky dog.” oh, how he wished he could be in Molly's shoes. to be needed at least by someone, to be taken care of, to be fed. “so, you sellin’ this week?”

you nodded, but your gaze drifted toward the fields. there was still so much work left to do, rows and rows of crops waiting to be picked and sorted. you sighed, already feeling the ache in your arms.

Stan seemed to catch on. “well, if you’re ever lookin’ for extra hands, i know a guy who owes you a couple favors.”

...

you don’t know why you start bringing him food. it’s not like Stanley asked for it and he’s certainly not the kind of man who’d admit if he needed it. but you, the sweetest girl in town, noticed how he looked that first day at the market, hunger written all over him like and that makes it impossible not to.

it started with a couple of peaches tucked into a paper bag which you carefully left on the counter of the Mystery Shack with a quick, “thought you might want something fresh.” but then it grew into a jar of honey. then. . . in a bundle of wildflowers tied with twine.

one day, you showed up with a loaf of bread so fresh it was still warm, wrapped in an old tea towel embroidered with little sunflowers. Stanley was tinkering with something behind the counter, muttering something about journals but when he saw you, he stopped, wiping his hands on his pants.

“you know, you don’t have to keep bringing me this stuff,” he said even as he took the loaf from your hands.

“i know, yeah, but you’re always here, and I figured. . . well, everyone deserves a decent meal now and then.” he looked at you for a long moment, longer than felt normal, trying to figure out if you were pulling some kind of trick.

“thanks,” he said your name. “that means a lot.”

and it becomes a thing, fresh eggs one day, a loaf of bread the next. you don’t stay long when you drop them off, because Stanford always says he's kinda busy here, dealing with some of his "scientific research”, so you quickly greet him, maybe say some comment about the weather, but every damn time he sees you, his face softens, genuine smile appearing on it, his shoulders relax too. maybe you’re not just bringing food but something else he’s been missing.

and sometimes, Stanley feels too lonely, so he pulls out an old chair and offers you coffee, the two of you sitting on the porch while he tells you about his life.

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 27

(Neige is a Mourning Dove Harpy, and often sings with other Mourning Doves in the early mornings, calling with them and cooing as he flies around Sage Island. Neige is a stress plucker, so he will occasionally have bald-spots on his neck where he had picked and plucked his own feathers. He usually tosses his feathers after molts, but has since been collecting and saving his feathers so he can use them to make something for the Human with them)

Warnings; ovulation, explanation of ovulation and menstrual cycles, less than behaved students, protective Platonic Yanderes, several yanderes, competing yanderes, more fluff, comfort chapter, selkie, hellcat, sphinx, harpies, minotaur, shadow-man, drider, plant Nymph, Nemean Lion, Gnoll, Werewolf, Shinigami, Unicorn, Kelpie, Water Nymph, Satyr, Fawn, merfolk, Cecaelia, Genie, Naga, Dragon, Vampire Bat,

~~~~

Things had settled down considerably when Malleus and the other students- those that came with Crowley and Diasomnia- left. The tension that had been in the air lulled and quickly faded away along with the icy cold. Thankfully, you had managed to keep Malleus calm and bring him back to reason without incident and you knew Crowley and the other professors were glad too.

You sighed, sitting back on one of the many couches with Grim as Divus was quite content to join you, looking as worn and stressed as you felt. Even Trein seemed to be counting himself lucky that Malleus was convinced to leave without incident. It vaguely interested you to see the professors in such a domestic setting as the all seemed much more approachable now that they were the ones guarding you. Part of you felt relieved to get a break from the intensity of the other students.

"Tea?"

You looked up somewhat startled to a cup of tea being held out to you. Out of politeness, you accepted the cup while Trein joined you on your other side, lounging on the long couch with a sigh.

"I had a few questions for you, if I may?"

"Of course Professor."

"Please, Trein or Mozus would suffice, (Y/n). No need for formalities in your own home."

"Force of habit, Sir."

"How often is your cycle? It would behoove us to plan in advance so your schedule can be addressed and so we are made aware ahead of time."

You sipped the tea to give yourself a moment to collect your thoughts, figuring one of the professors would ask eventually. At least they seemed far less influenced by your scent and by your ovulation, so they seemed safe enough to let your guard down around them. The tea was a nice herbal blend that was gentle and soothing in your throat.

"Monthly. The bleeding period marks an end of the cycle to begin anew. Ovulation is at the height of the cycle, meaning more fertile, not more interested in finding a mate."

"Mating isn't required for ovulation?"

"No. But there is a set timer on my fertility as a result. Every month marks another sex cell- we call these cells eggs- lost and most Humans have a set number of eggs. I still have years left on my timer, but it does continue to march on. When I am out of eggs, the cycle stops and I am considered to no longer be fertile."

"How long does the actual ovulation period last?"

"The height of it is only 12-24 hours. But the hormonal imbalance leading up to and after take a few days."

Trein nodded, sipping his own tea as he hummed watching the drink pensively. You watched Crowley walk over to the angled couch next to the one you were on, curling his legs under him like a great big bird perching. His talons ended in wickedly sharp points, and you vaguely realized he must have removed his shoes before settling. Divus spoke up next, his voice a relaxed drawl.

"So for at least a day everyone on campus will be attempting to burst the doors down. Lucky for us today and tomorrow are free of classes. I trust you've been keeping up with your homework?"

"As best I can. It has been a hectic first month. Goodness knows I've been attacked so many times it feels like years have passed."

Divus frowned at his, watching you for a long moment before he spun his red riding crop between his gloved fingers. A sudden glow came from the gem on it and you found your clothes had changed to comfortable lounge-wear in reds, blacks, and whites. While you examined your new clothes a sudden weight fell on your shoulders and you realized he had placed his fur over you. This must have been an act of extreme trust or protectiveness as even Crowley looked surprised with Divus' behavior.

The lovely professor patted the top of your head gently as he settled back down, almost insisting you stay put where you had settled. Trein seemed to be of a mind with Divus as the couch changed shape to a much more comfortable and plush piece of furniture, the large screen on the far wall adjacent flicked to life. As you got comfortable in the large and warm fur coat, you heard footsteps and turned to see Coach Vargas and Sam approaching with their arms full of snacks.

Grim purred excitedly and snuggled into your lap as a movies began to play, the professors all settling down around you.

~•§•~

"Can you believe this, Rook? Telling us- her sworn guards- that we can't be present to protect her during such a delicate time!"

The Harpy was ranting angrily to the Drider that accompanied him, Epel keeping pace next to the large Drider as they followed the Peacock. Naturally, Vil was furious he wasn't allowed to even accompany the others in confronting Malleus. He deserved the right to be there after saving those Royal Sword Academy fools that had let themselves be stabbed in the back by that prince. Instead, Azul and his two goons were selected to go.

He was so angry he could scream!

"I don't believe we have actually sworn to anything, Roi du Poison, merely agreed to accept duties should they fall upon us. Non, it would not be fair to claim we are sworn knights, but perhaps Mademoiselle Trickster would look upon us favorably if we did swear ourselves to her protection."

"We will have to do that when the duty to guard her falls upon Pomefiore. Which means you at least have a few days to shape up, Epel!"

The plant Nymph jumped at suddenly being called out, nodding quickly to the temperamental Harpy ahead of him. Epel had been busy thinking about the Human in question, remembering how soft her hands were holding his and the way she stood up for him so passionately. He wanted to protect her from everyone else and prove he can take on the protector role for her, so her soft hands never have to harden with work.

"O-of course, Housewarden Vil!"

"Don't think I've forgotten how you kept slipping back into your accent during the photoshoot despite my warnings."

"Right... Sorry, Housewarden Vil, I will work harder."

"As you should. We all need to be at peak when we finally have the right to guard her."

Rook and Epel both nodded, quickly agreeing with the proud Harpy.

"Yes, Vil!"

~•§•~

"To think, no one was selected this week! I thought we already prooved we were trustworthy to guard that Mousey!"

Leona snarled and paced atop his sun-warmed rocks where he usually lounged in Savanaclaw, clearly in a bad mood. He was growling and his tail lashed behind him as he walked, not only angry at being cheated out of a day so that ridiculous Malleus could stop his bitch-fit, but furious he was not trusted at this crucial time. Nevermind the fact that the same dorm is not likely to be selected twice in a row, Leona was angry and felt cheated.

"I'm just sayin', Leona, maybe it's a good thing she's stuck with the teachers."

"And how," Leona roared, "is this possibly a good thing!?"

"Because no one else can get to her either, right?"

"..."

"If they're keeping us away, they're keeping everyone away."

"Ruggie, for once you actually seem to have a brain rattling around in that skull of yours."

The Gnoll huffed at the obvious insult, planning to steal all of the cash Leona had in his wallet as revenge. Jack was sitting nearby, unsure what was his rank now that Savanaclaw was no longer guarding the precious Human. It seemed like Leona wasn't keen to run him off, in any case.

"Isn't this a good thing for her too? I mean, yesterday was rough on her with the Overblot and the attack. I think she deserves some time away from it all."

"Oh? And you think the professors aren't just going to stress her out more?"

"No," Jack shook his head, his fur bouncing with his movements, "you saw how mad professor Divus got when you made her skip his class. And Trein is always praising her any time she answers a question in class. I think the professors all see her as their pup and are going to act like she is their pup. Even Headmage Crowley calls her his little chick."

"Annoying as you are, you have a point, Puppers. Nothing to do about it now."

Leona sighed and flopped down almost dramatically on the warm rocks, the tension in the dorm falling as the Lion returned to lounging. Of course, everyone was still keen to know who was declared winner after the interruption during the Spelldrive. Most of the Pride figured they would win, not even aware Malleus had been holding back during their game.

~•§•~

"Do you think we should tell Papa Hades?"

"Tell him what?"

"That she is in the middle of her cycle!"

"I mean, maybe, but Headmage Crowley said he has it under control."

"Come on, Idi-nii!"

Ortho whined loudly, making Idia look over at him from the game he had been playing with his online buddies, trying to set up a game with the more absent than usual MuscleRed. Idia figured everyone was just gonna let the professors handle it, no need for him to step in. Even if there was a problem- which there wasn't- he still had cameras all over that building and would be the first to know of any issues.

"What??"

"Aren't you the least bit worried about her?"

"She has the entire staff of NRC as her DPS, Tanks, and Healers, what would I be worried for?"

Ortho sighed, seeming to visibly deflate as his breath fogged up his mask. Idia was right, of course, but Ortho was still worried. He liked playing games with (Y/n) as well as talking with her about everything he could think of. It was only natural the young Shinigami was worried.

"Look, Ortho, we can video call her later if she feels up for it, okay?"

"Okay..."

~•§•~

"To think, those-! Those-! Those hooligans know (Y/n) is in the middle of her cycle and completely exposed to their vile thoughts!"

"Riddle," Trey tried to soothe the upset Unicorn who was prancing and pacing and tossing his head back and forth angrily, "I'm sure the professors have it well in hand."

"Do they, Trey? Do they? Absolute hogwash!"

"You saw Malleus return to Diasomnia, and there was no black sky or rolling storm so he left peacefully. Everyone else who could pose an issue couldn't possibly stand against all of the staff together."

Riddle stopped his trotting and pawed at the ground in frustration, ripping up a bit of the grass sod under his hooves. Even his tail was curling and flicking as he took back up his worried trotting pace. Riddle was working himself into a meltdown and even Trey wasn't doing much to help soothe the distressed Unicorn, though not for a lack of trying.

"-and if someone gets by them, what then? No matter what happens someone-"

Riddle was babbling at this point, occasionally kicking one leg back as he walked and stomped angrily. He was obviously no longer listening to any of the four who stood trying to calm him, muttering axiously and snorting every few steps. No matter what Trey said there was clearly no snapping Riddle out of his current mindset.

Cater had retired to lay along Trey's back, lazily looking at his phone as he checked the ever increasing follower count on (Y/n)'s magicam account. Cater was glad that the staff thought of adding himself, Vil, and Rook as page admins so the soft Human would be kept away from the thirsty messages sent by countless monster accounts. At least he could delete these messages and send the tame ones through for her to read.

"THE TREES!"

"The... Trees?"

"Yes, the trees outside of Ramshackle! How did I miss it? They're easily a way someone could get in and hurt dear (Y/n)! We must warn the Headmage at once!"

Riddle reared up, whinnying loudly as he took off towards the mirror, Trey tiredly following after with Cater tagging along on the ride. This left Ace and Deuce looking at one another before shrugging. They wanted to see (Y/n), sure, but they also knew better than to bother the teachers or her many guards. Maybe they would text and check in on her.

~•§•~

Azul sighed as he and the twins returned to the Monstro Lounge, feeling surprisingly worn even though they weren't the ones facing off with the Dragon. Even being around with that tantalizing scent in the air was all too tempting an offer to their senses despite the beast that stood guarding the soft Human. All three had a taste of those pheremones and felt their own bodies cry out in response, longing for a taste or just to submerge themselves in the alluring scent that taunted them.

"Ne, Azul, d'ya think we're gonna get to guard Shrimpy soon?"

"I certainly don't see why not. Erikír's betrayal and Overblot certainly put us in good standing with her given we were who she sought out in times of strife. Leona was allowed to guard her after he proved himself, I don't see why the same won't be true for us."

"She sure smelled good though. Just wanna take a big bite and squeeze till she pops!"

Azul frowned at the swaying Eel that giggled to himself, biting playfully at the empty air in front of him. He had been in a considerably good mood following the brief encounter with (Y/n) and had not stopped talking about her. Similarly, Jade seemed to be lost in his own world, standing off to the side with his mouth open and his eyes closed.

Azul could tell immediately that both twins were affected by (Y/n)'s alluring scent and longed to return to the soft Human for another dose of that scent. Not like Azul was any better. He could feel the way he longed to reach out and grab her, holding her close to his chest while he nuzzled her neck. The things he would do if he were only allowed.

~•§•~

"Hey, Jamil, what d'you think made the wish work when (Y/n) made it?"

"Hm?"

"The wish. What do you think made it work?"

"I don't know, but don't you dare make another one or you might just wind up killing her on accident."

"But what if it means something?"

Jamil sighed as he tidied up his nest of pillows, Kalim's beautiful golden lamp shining in the center. The Genie was lounging next to his lamp, toying with the gem-topped lid and smiling absently. It had been on his mind ever since it happened last week and he wondered if it had something to do with the Human.

"I doubt it means anything. You can't grant another wish for her, that's final."

"But why? I'm sure it will be fine-!"

"Kalim! You kill anyone who makes a wish. Anyone. No matter how well intentioned you are, you kill them. Consider yourself lucky it didn't kill her. Not even being a member of the Al-Asim family would be able to save you from Malleus if you killed her. You are so lucky it didn't turn out differently. Don't tempt fate."

~•§•~

"Malleus?"

Lilia asked gently, approaching the sullen prince who sat looking out over the Diasomnia domain. Though he had agreed to leave at the behest of (Y/n), he still wanted to fly straight back and make that soft Human he adored accept him as her mate. His instincts roared and rattled in its gilded jail to be set free so that he may take what is rightfully his.

Malleus didn't even hear the other Fae approaching as he glowered and stared outwards. He wanted his mate and he didn't want to have to keep his distance, but those words kept repeating in his head and tormenting his every moment. The Dragon didn't know his beloved (Y/n) could ever look so angry like she did in that moment.

'I don't think I want to be part of your Hoard.'

Ice slowly crept up under him as those words repeated in his head and he clutched his chest in pain. Lilia took notice as well and quickly stepped in to soothe the Dragon. Though he wished she had done it differently and without threat, Lilia had to admit that (Y/n) handled Malleus expertly and he had no doubt she would fare just as well as his bonded mate.

"Malleus, I'm going to guess you keep hearing her threatening to leave the Hoard? She told you she wanted to stay so long as you could respect her space during her cycle. She still wants to be in the Hoard, she's just under a lot of stress right now."

"... It hurts, Lilia. I didn't think it would hurt so much."

"Love can hurt. Especially when you already love someone so much you just want to hold them close, but they aren't to that point yet. (Y/n) Isn't to that point yet, but she will be."

"What if she denies me? If she turns me away when I finally bare my heart to her?"

"She won't."

Malleus slumped into his arms, hiding his face as he fell to his knees at the window, his heart seizing in pain at the thought of what could happen. He didn't want to face the loneliness of his existence for much longer. It was a painfully lonely existence, the life of a Dragon, but now there was a light in his darkness, stars in his inky sky, the moon shining upon his face in the endless night.

The stars never seemed quite as bright without his darling love close by. The air was never as sweet. The whining of the wind was not as musical. Even his own nest felt so very empty and lonesome.

Lilia rest a hand on the Dragon's shoulder, laying one wing across his back to soothe him. It wasn't the embrace Malleus was craving, but he still took comfort from his friend, Hoard member, and caretaker. All the Bat could really do was be there for the Dragon while the waited.

~•§•~

You were cozy and extremely comfortable in what was now a cocoon comprised of Divus' fur, blankets, snuggly stuffed animals Trein insisted you take, and one happy boy Grim.

Sam was busy making a delicious smelling gumbo in the kitchen while you hummed along happily to the jaunty tune of the movie you were watching. It was catchy and bouncy in all the right ways that had you practically wiggling in your cocoon like a happy silk moth larva. The five men had been quite happy to show you all of their favorite timeless classics and you had to admit the beasts certainly knew how to swing.

For what felt like the first time in a very long time, you were able to just exist and enjoy what you were doing. There was no worry of gently navigating around the beasts feelings or the constant arms race they all seemed to be in for your affections. You could just vibe and snack to your heart's content, feeling so very protected in the large cuddle fortress you had made out of the couch.

Trein had even brought over Lucius who cuddled up to Grim and wrestled with the energetic kit. Even as the two napped in the growing pile of cuddle, Divus was the one to remind you to drink and move around every once in a while. Crowley had been trying to get Trein or Divus to give up their spot to no avail and pouted next to Vargas on the other couch.

If you could get more time like this, maybe things wouldn't be too bad after all.

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Nappers

Dpxdc Prompt #10

Danny was really excited to spend the summer with his second cousin(?) he didn't really remember, but apparently Jack Fenton's cousin was Gotham billionaire Bruce Wayne, a serial adopter.

Jazz had discovered the connection and gave him a call to see if he'd mind Danny staying over for summer because Danny decided he was going to tell his parents at the end of summer about his ghost problem, and Jazz wanted him to have a safety net.

He didn't really have a big family at home, with his parents being largely... absent and Jazz moving to Gotham for college. It would be great to be in a house that wasn't empty again.

Now if only his newly discovered family could stay awake long enough for Danny to talk to them.

"So how's living with our cousins?" Jazz asked him through his Fenton-phone. He flopped onto his bed and groaned.

"They're all seem nice but I haven't really seen enough of them to know yet."

"Danny, you've already been there a week, shouldn't you know them at least a little bit? You usually warm up to people quickly, as long as they aren't trying to kill you."

"Man I kinda wish they were out to get me, then I'd probably see more of them than I have already."

"..."

"..."

"Okay Danny walk me through our family, and what you know so far about them."

"Well first there's Dick, he apparently lives in Bludhaven and supposedly comes back to Gotham to visit fairly often, haven't seen any of him yet though."

"Then there's Jason, I've seen him come over after dinner a couple of times, but he's seemed in a really bad mood and I'm getting weird vibes from him so I haven't talked to him much yet either."

"Cass, Steph, Tim, Damian, and Bruce are the ones that actually live here at the manor and outside of when I first arrived I haven't actually seen them awake enough to talk to me. Anytime I've caught a glimpse of them they're taking naps and I'd feel bad waking them up, Tim especially (he looks like he needs the rest)."

"What are they, nocturnal or something?

"That's what I thought too! But the Manor is even more dead during the night than the day. If I had wanted to live with a bunch of zombies I'd have spent summer in the zone, not come all the way here."

"The only people that have stayed awake long enough for me to actually get to know them are Duke and Alfred! Duke's great, but he seems to have a day job so I only see him for breakfast and dinner and any time I can catch him before he sleeps after. Alfred's amazing, but he already has so much to do around the Manor, I feel bad bothering him."

"It is only the first week you're there, and there was a huge Arkham breakout your first day so everybody around Gotham is a bit tense while the Bats are trying to recatch everyone. Could you give it another week for me? See if it'll be an option for if our parents react badly?"

"For you, Jazz, I'll give it another week, but I can't just trade one empty house for another."

"Thanks, little brother."

"Love you, Jazz, bye."

Danny hung up the phone and sighed, he new there was something off with his cousins, but he couldn't quite place it. Constantly napping, disappearing during the nights, but always on guard when they were awake.

He had a week to figure it out, but if he didn't there'd be no real lost love. He'd come up with some excuse, stay with Jazz for the summer or something. If his parents reacted badly and he didn't have this safety net, it'd be difficult sure, but Danny and Jazz would figure it out.

Danny thought it would be nice to have some other family that had his back for once, but hey, maybe he just had shitty luck when it came to blood relations.

[mywhisperingwords]

am i what you wanted? | fred g. weasley

summary: casual. no strings. just something to forget the loneliness. right? word count: 7.6k masterlist

The air at the party feels heavier than usual, like everyone is trying too hard to pretend they’re having a good time.

You’ve spent most of the night nursing a drink you don’t particularly like, offering polite smiles to people you barely know. It’s not your scene, but you came anyway because that’s what friends do—they drag you out, convince you it’ll be “fun,” and leave you regretting it by the second hour.

You’re just about ready to slip away when you spot him—Fred Weasley.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, casual and effortless as always, but there’s something different tonight. The usual spark in his eyes is dimmer, his smile not quite as wide. He’s talking to someone, but his gaze keeps drifting, like he’s only half paying attention.

You consider leaving without a word. After all, you’ve spent years perfecting the art of avoiding him. Not because you dislike him—quite the opposite.

Your stupid schoolgirl crush on him hasn’t quite fizzled out, no matter how much time has passed.

And of course, there was the matter of his latest relationship, a whirlwind romance with someone you considered a friend, Leah.

It would be wrong to approach him now, wouldn’t it?

But then Fred’s eyes land on you, and there’s no escaping. He gives you a faint smile, a shadow of his usual grin, and lifts his drink in a lazy sort of greeting. It’s an invitation, subtle but unmistakable. Against your better judgment, you cross the room.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, his voice low enough to cut through the background noise without effort.

You shrug, trying to seem unaffected. “Alicia dragged me out. Said I needed to get a life or something.”

Fred huffs a quiet laugh, looking down into his glass. “Sounds like something she’d say. George said the same to me, actually. Guess misery loves company.”

The comment surprises you. Fred doesn’t usually talk like that—so openly, so vulnerable. It’s enough to make you pause, to glance at him more carefully. “You don’t seem miserable,” you say, testing the waters.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a long sip of his drink and stares past you, like he’s trying to find the right words. “You’d be surprised,” he finally says, his tone softer now.

It’s an opening, one you hadn’t expected but can’t ignore. “What happened?”

Fred glances around, his expression unreadable, before gesturing toward the balcony. “Do you mind? It’s a bit loud in here.”

You follow him outside, where the night air is cool and quiet compared to the chaos inside. He leans against the railing, staring out at the city lights, and you stand beside him, unsure of what to say.

“She left,” he says abruptly, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about her—his ex.

“Oh.” It’s all you can manage.

Fred smiles faintly, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. Not the dramatic kind of leaving either. No big fight, no slamming doors. Just… stopped caring, I guess. Said it wasn’t enough for her.”

The confession stirs something in you, a mix of sympathy and something sharper, harder to define.

You’ve never known Fred to be anything but confident, self-assured. Seeing him like this—guarded, almost uncertain—it’s disarming.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, and you mean it.

He glances at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, it feels like he’s seeing you for the first time. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How loneliness sneaks up on you. One day you think you’re fine, and the next, it’s like you can’t breathe.”

You nod, because you understand more than you’d like to admit. “Yeah. It’s awful.”

Fred studies you for a moment longer before offering a faint, almost wistful smile. “You get it.”

The words settle between you, warm and unspoken, and before you can overthink it, you say, “Maybe we’re just terrible at choosing the right people.”

Fred laughs then, a soft, genuine sound that eases some of the tension in your chest. “Maybe we are.”

It feels like an unspoken agreement, a quiet acknowledgment of shared pain. And when he leans just a little closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, you don’t pull away.

&

The door slams shut behind you both, barely closed before Fred’s hands are on your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth is on yours again, urgent and consuming, and the world outside this moment ceases to exist.

You’re not sure how it started—or maybe you do—but you’re too caught up in the feel of him, in the way he kisses like he’s unraveling a part of himself he’s never shown anyone.

Your back hits the edge of the couch, but Fred doesn’t stop. He moves with you, stumbling through the dark like neither of you can think beyond each other.

You barely make it to the bedroom. A trail of discarded shoes and jackets marks the path, forgotten in the haze.

He pauses only briefly, just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. “This…” he begins, his voice rough, barely a whisper. “This is what I needed. Something… easy. No expectations.”

The words are quiet but land with a weight that sticks somewhere in your chest. You know what he means—casual, uncomplicated, something to dull the ache of loneliness he spoke of earlier.

Your heart lurches, but your mind, clouded with want and the intoxicating proximity of him, nods before you can think it through. “Yeah,” you murmur, barely above a whisper. “Me too.”

The lie tastes bitter even as the kiss resumes, as his lips trail down your neck, as his hands find your skin. You tell yourself you’re fine with this. It’s Fred, and it’s what he wants. Isn’t it better to have this than nothing at all?

When morning comes, he’s gone.

You’re not surprised—he doesn’t strike you as the type to linger—but the silence in the room feels deafening. The sheets are cold where he was, and you stare at the ceiling, replaying his words in your head.

Something easy. No expectations.

Your agreement, muffled and uncertain, rings louder now. You agreed. This is what you signed up for. So why does your chest ache? Why does it feel like you’ve made a mistake you can’t undo?

You sit up, the mess of the night scattered around you—a shirt draped over the chair, an overturned glass on the table. It’s all so mundane, yet it feels like the air has shifted in your room, like the walls are pressing in.

You bury your face in your hands, letting out a slow, measured breath. Maybe this wasn’t the right decision. But you can’t change it now. Fred was what you wanted for so long, wasn’t he? Maybe this is all you get.

Maybe this is all you’re allowed to have.

You hope you can convince yourself of that.

&

The pub is buzzing, laughter and conversation spilling out from every corner as you sit wedged between Alicia and George.

Fred is across from you, casually leaning back in his chair, a pint of beer balanced between his long fingers. His laughter blends with the noise around you, effortlessly charming, as always.

It’s easy to forget, in moments like this, that this is supposed to be casual. Easy.

You catch yourself watching him longer than you should, noting the way his hair falls into his eyes when he laughs, the way his smile lingers just enough to make your stomach twist.

You remind yourself to look away.

The conversation circles back to someone’s recent breakup, a natural segue into a casual remark about Fred’s ex.

It’s Angelina, sitting two seats down, who says it without malice—just an innocent mention of the girl who was once by his side.

“You were so into her, Fred. Thought you two were endgame, honestly,” she says with a smile, tipping her glass toward him.

Fred’s expression flickers, just for a second, but it’s enough to change the energy at the table. The easy grin falters, his fingers tightening around the glass. “Yeah, well,” he says, voice light but guarded, “things don’t always work out the way you think they will.”

The group catches on quickly, steering the conversation elsewhere, but you can’t take your eyes off him. There’s something in the way his shoulders tense, in the way he avoids eye contact, that makes your chest tighten.

The rest of the evening is a blur of noise and small talk. You find yourself gravitating toward the bar, needing space, needing air. But you don’t get far.

Fred appears beside you, leaning on the counter with a quiet sigh. His eyes are darker now, shadows of something unspoken behind them. He doesn’t say anything, just glances at you, and suddenly the air feels heavier.

“Come with me,” he mutters all of the sudden, so low you almost don’t hear it.

You hesitate, your heart skipping, but you follow.

He leads you down a narrow hallway, past the kitchen, until you’re standing outside the bathroom door. He checks once over his shoulder before pulling you in, locking the door behind him.

“Fred, what are you—”

He cuts you off, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that takes your breath away.

It’s messy, hurried, like he’s trying to drown something out. His hands find your waist, pressing you against the cold tile wall, and you can feel the tension in his grip, the desperation in the way he kisses you.

It’s different this time—more frantic, less controlled. There’s no room to think, no space for words, just the heat of him against you and the quiet hum of the pub muffled beyond the door.

When it’s over, you’re both catching your breath, the silence settling around you like a weight. Fred’s forehead rests against yours, and for a moment, it feels like he might say something—something real, something vulnerable.

But then he steps back, adjusting his shirt, his eyes not quite meeting yours. “Thanks,” he mutters, almost too softly, and the word hits you like a slap.

You blink, trying to find something to say, but he’s already unlocking the door, slipping out like nothing happened.

You’re left standing there, the cold tiles against your back, your pulse still racing. You stare at the empty space where he was, your mind replaying the moment in vivid detail.

Something about this feels wrong. But then again, wasn’t this what you agreed to?

&

It’s late. Later than late, really, with the kind of stillness in the air that only comes when the rest of the world is sleeping.

But you’re wide awake, perched on the edge of your couch with a half-empty glass of wine in your hand, listening to the faint hum of the city outside.

You don’t know why you’re waiting.

Or maybe you do, but admitting it feels like giving it more weight than it deserves.

It’s been a few days since you saw Fred—since he showed up at your door for the first time, with that crooked smile and a cocky, unspoken challenge in his eyes.

You hadn’t known what to expect then, and you still don’t know now. But when you hear the knock at your door, your chest tightens in anticipation anyway.

You set the glass down and cross the room, opening the door to find him leaning against the frame, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

“Bit late for a social call, don’t you think?” you tease, though your voice wavers just slightly.

Fred grins, that easy, practiced grin that always feels like it’s hiding something. “Thought you might say that. But then, you’re still awake, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and step aside, letting him in. He walks past you, his steps slow and deliberate, like he’s taking his time to assess the space.

It’s not the first time he’s been here, but he looks around like it is, his gaze lingering on the small details you’d never think to notice.

“You always keep it this tidy?” he asks, turning to face you with a smirk.

“I knew you were coming, didn’t I?” you shoot back, closing the door behind him.

Fred laughs, the sound low and warm, and suddenly the room feels smaller.

It’s always like this with him—this electric push and pull that leaves you feeling off-balance and exhilarated all at once.

He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the back of a chair, and then he’s sitting on your couch like he’s been doing it for years.

You join him, keeping a safe distance between you, but it doesn’t matter. The tension fills the space anyway, a quiet, unspoken thing neither of you is willing to address.

“So,” Fred says, his eyes flicking to the wine glass you left on the table. “Drinking alone, are we? Rough night?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Not rough. Just… quiet.”

Fred hums, leaning back and stretching an arm along the back of the couch. His fingers are close enough to brush your shoulder, but they don’t.

“Well,” he says after a beat, “I’m good at making noise. Want me to liven things up?”

You turn to look at him, arching a brow at his choice of words. “That depends. What exactly do you have in mind?”

He grins again, wider this time, and before you know it, you’re caught up in one of his ridiculous stories—something about a prank that went wrong back at Hogwarts and ended with George covered in soot and screaming about cursed cauldrons.

You’re laughing so hard your sides hurt, the kind of laugh that feels like it’s shaking loose all the tension you’ve been carrying for days. Fred is laughing too, his head thrown back, his shoulders shaking.

And for a moment, it’s easy to forget the doubts gnawing at the edges of your mind.

But then the story ends, and the laughter fades, and the room feels too quiet again.

Fred’s laughter dies in his throat first. He turns his head toward you, the space between you charged, his expression softening as his eyes flicker to your lips.

“You’re staring,” you whisper, trying to keep your tone light, but your pulse betrays you.

“Am I?” he murmurs back, his voice low and teasing, but there’s something in his gaze that makes it hard to breathe.

You don’t know who moves first—maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you—but suddenly, the space between you disappears. His mouth meets yours in a rush of heat and hunger, and your body reacts without thought, your hands tangling in his hair as he pulls you closer.

He tastes like mint and something else, something unmistakably Fred, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It starts like it always does—feverish and desperate, hands searching, breaths stolen. Fred’s hands find the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head, and your back hits the cushions of the couch before you even realize you’ve moved.

But somewhere in the middle of it—between the hurried kisses and the whispered curses—something shifts.

His touch slows, his fingers trailing along your skin with an almost reverent softness. He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your lips, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like there’s more to this than just a casual arrangement.

Your chest tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat.

Fred pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if you feel it too.

But then the moment passes, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head like he’s dismissing some unwelcome thought. He presses a lingering kiss to your collarbone before shifting his weight and standing, grabbing his jacket from the chair.

“Leaving already?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred hesitates, his back to you. “Yeah,” he says, his tone lighter than the moment calls for. “Gotta keep you wanting more, don’t I?”

The grin he throws over his shoulder is forced, you think, but you don’t call him on it.

You watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and you’re left alone again, your chest tight and your mind racing.

This is what you signed up for, you remind yourself. Casual. Fun. No strings attached.

So why does it already feel like so much more?

&

The party isn’t much different from the last one. A haze of laughter and music hangs in the air, the dimly lit living room thrumming with energy as bodies mill about. You’re leaning against a wall, clutching a drink, when you spot him across the room.

Fred.

Your breath catches—not because you didn’t expect him to be here, but because it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this since everything began.

In the few weeks since that night, he’s always shown up at your door under cover of darkness, a secret that slips away before the world wakes. Now, he’s here, among friends, out in the open. It feels… surreal.

His eyes catch yours, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he looks away. You should probably do the same, pretend he’s just another person at the party, someone you barely know outside of shared jokes and casual conversations.

But something about seeing him here, the same Fred everyone else knows, tangles in your chest.

The game between you feels different now. Riskier.

You manage to avoid each other for most of the night, though you’re painfully aware of him. The way his laugh carries over the music. The effortless charm in the way he leans against the kitchen counter, surrounded by people.

But it’s when you least expect it that it happens.

You’ve slipped into the quiet hallway, hoping for a moment to breathe. He appears from nowhere, leaning casually against the wall a few feet away. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, low enough that no one else could hear.

You swallow, refusing to meet his gaze. “You’ve been avoiding me too.”

A ghost of a smirk crosses his face. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches, filled only by the distant hum of the party, the bass thudding like a heartbeat. Then he shifts closer—too close, considering the thin walls and prying eyes just a room away.

“This is risky,” you murmur, though you don’t move away.

“Since when do you mind risky?” he counters, his voice teasing but quiet. There’s a flicker of warmth in his tone, a reminder of those moments when he’s let his guard down just enough to let you in.

You should push him away, but you don’t.

Instead, you glance up, and for the briefest second, he looks at you like he’s about to say something important. Something real. But he doesn’t. He’s Fred, after all.

Instead, his hand brushes yours, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know I shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You hesitate, your chest tightening. “Then why are you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers graze your wrist, light and hesitant, before he steps back, creating a distance that feels far too wide.

“I shouldn’t be,” he says again, as though repeating it will make it true. Then, softer, “But I am.”

The air between you feels heavier than it should. He’s pulling away again, retreating into the shell of secrecy he’s so carefully built. It frustrates you more than it should.

“You don’t have to make this so complicated,” you say, surprising even yourself.

Fred’s jaw tightens. He glances at the door leading back to the party, his gaze distant, before his eyes flicker back to you. “You think it’s that easy?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know how to.

Instead, he leans in, his voice a whisper. “Careful. Someone might see us.” His words are teasing, but there’s an edge of something sharper beneath them.

And then he’s gone, disappearing back into the crowd as though nothing happened.

You’re left standing there, your heart racing and your thoughts tangled in ways you can’t quite unravel.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You don’t see him again, but his presence lingers like a shadow, like a secret you can’t escape.

And when you finally leave the party, stepping out into the cool night air, you can’t help but wonder if this game you’re playing is one you’ll ever win—or if it’s one you’ll lose before it even truly begins.

&

It’s been days since the party.

Days of wondering if Fred will show up again, if you’ll hear that familiar knock on your door in the dead of night. He doesn’t call, doesn’t send any owl—not that you expected him to. But his absence still gnaws at you.

When the knock finally comes, it’s past midnight. You hesitate for a moment, standing barefoot in the hallway, staring at the door like it might vanish if you blink. Then, as if on instinct, you reach for the handle.

Fred is there, leaning against the frame, his hair tousled, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything, just steps inside, his hands finding your waist almost immediately.

It’s fast, like always. A trail of kisses down your neck, murmured words you can barely catch, and then you’re stumbling toward the bedroom. It’s almost routine now—the way he knows exactly how to pull you apart, the way he leaves before the sun comes up.

It’s the same pattern, the same urgency, like he’s trying to chase away whatever’s haunting him.

Only this time, he leaves without saying much of anything. A quick glance back, a muttered “I’ll see you,” and then the door clicks shut behind him.

The quiet that follows feels heavier than it should. You sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the empty doorway, wondering why the familiar ache feels sharper tonight.

&

Alicia’s offer couldn’t come at a better time. “You need a reset,” she says, twirling her straw in her iced tea. “Seriously, this guy is perfect. Smart, funny, normal. Give it a shot.”

It’s not like you have anything better to do, so you agree.

The date is fine. Fine. Paul is nice—charming, even—but there’s no spark. By the end of the night, you’re both laughing about how you’d make better friends than anything else.

It’s late when you finally get home, the streets quiet and dimly lit. You’re fishing for your keys when you notice the shadow near your door.

Fred.

He’s leaning against the frame, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He looks up as you approach, his gaze flickering to the key in your hand before settling on your face.

“You’re out late,” he says, his voice casual.

“I had plans,” you reply, matching his tone as you unlock the door. You don’t elaborate, and neither does he.

Inside, the tension follows you, crackling in the air as you set your bag down and turn to face him. He’s watching you, his expression neutral but his shoulders taut, like he’s holding something back.

“How were the plans?” he asks, his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it you can’t quite place.

“They were fine,” you say. “We’re better off as friends.”

He nods, his lips pressing into a thin line, and for a moment, you think that’s the end of it. But then he’s stepping closer, his hands finding your waist like they always do.

This time, it’s different. His kisses are rougher, his grip firmer, but there’s something else underneath it—a quiet desperation, like he’s trying to claim something without admitting it. His hands linger longer, his lips move slower, and you let yourself lean into it, pretending not to notice the shift.

Afterward, he’s quiet again, lying beside you in the dark. The air feels heavier, and you can sense the walls going back up before he even moves to get dressed.

As he pulls on his shirt, he pauses, standing by the door with his back to you. For a moment, it seems like he’s about to say something, but instead, he runs a hand through his hair and exhales softly.

Then, just before he leaves, he glances back over his shoulder, his gaze flickering to yours. “Let me know when you’re too busy.”

It’s barely a whisper, so quiet you almost miss it. But there’s something in the way he says it, something unsaid lurking beneath the words, that lingers long after he’s gone.

You sit there in the dark, replaying the moment over and over, wondering why it feels like he just said goodbye.

&

Angelina’s birthday party is already in full swing by the time you stumble through the door, only half-committed to being there. The laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—it’s all too loud, too bright, too much.

But you came anyway, maybe out of habit, or maybe because part of you hoped you’d find a distraction in the chaos.

Fred is here. You noticed him immediately. He’s impossible not to notice, leaning against the bar, his easy smile tugging at something in your chest you’ve been trying to ignore. He hasn’t come near you, hasn’t even spared you more than a glance. But that glance—it felt like it saw too much.

You bury your feelings in your drink, letting the bitterness of it settle the knots in your stomach. It doesn’t help.

“Alright, what’s with the face?” Alicia’s voice cuts through the noise as she drops onto the couch beside you. “You look like someone just ran over your cat.”

“I’m fine,” you lie, swirling the last of your drink. “Just…thinking.”

“About your nonexistent love life again?” she teases, nudging your shoulder. “Seriously, you need to loosen up. Or at least stop picking all the wrong people.”

You force a laugh, but it feels hollow. Alicia doesn’t know. No one does. You’ve kept Fred a secret, just as he asked. The weight of it presses heavier tonight, threatening to spill over as you down the rest of your drink and reach for another.

As the night goes on, the alcohol blurs the edges of everything. Faces blend together, voices turn to static, and you’re left moping in the corner, the ache in your chest louder than any song playing.

Fred’s there, somewhere. You’ve caught glimpses of him—his easy posture stiffened, his smile more strained than usual. But he doesn’t approach, and you don’t give him the satisfaction of looking too long.

By the end of the night, most people have left, and the crowd has thinned out. You’re sitting on the couch, staring at the bottom of your empty glass, when a shadow falls over you.

“Let’s get you home,” Fred says, his voice low but firm.

You look up at him, the alcohol dulling your usual instincts. “I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but there’s something gentler in his gaze, something that makes your chest tighten.

You don’t resist when he helps you up, his arm steady around your waist as he guides you out the door. The walk home is quiet, the chill of the night air biting at your skin. Fred doesn’t say much, and neither do you, but the silence feels heavier than usual.

When you finally reach your flat, he helps you inside, sitting you down on the couch as he disappears into the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water, kneeling in front of you.

“Drink,” he says simply.

You take the glass, your hands shaking slightly as you bring it to your lips.

“Fred,” you start after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “Stay.”

He looks at you, startled by the request. “I—”

“Please.” The word spills out before you can stop it, raw and pleading. “Just for the night. I don’t want to be alone.”

He hesitates, his expression flickering between something unreadable and something achingly vulnerable. Then, finally, he nods. “Alright.”

Relief washes over you as he helps you to your feet again, guiding you to your bedroom. He’s careful as he tucks you into bed, his hand lingering briefly on your shoulder before he steps back.

“You’ll stay?” you ask again, your voice softer now.

“I’ll stay,” he promises, his voice low and steady.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

When you wake up, the room is quiet, the sunlight streaming through the curtains. For a moment, you lie there, disoriented, the haze of last night still clinging to your thoughts.

Then you notice it—the bed is empty.

Your stomach drops, a hollow ache blooming in your chest as you sit up. The other side of the bed is cool to the touch, and for a moment, you wonder if he left as soon as you fell asleep. The ache sharpens, and you feel foolish for believing he’d actually stay.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you bury your face in your hands. Of course, he left. Of course, this is what it always is with him—half-hearted promises and fleeting moments that never mean as much as you want them to.

It’s only when you lower your hands that you notice it.

A glass of water and a small packet of painkillers sit neatly on the nightstand.

Your breath catches as you reach for the glass, the pieces falling together in your mind. The bed might be cool now, but the faint warmth lingering on the pillow tells a different story.

And then you hear it—the faint click of your front door closing.

Your chest tightens, your heart pounding as you realize the truth: Fred stayed. He kept his promise.

The ache in your chest softens, replaced by something you can’t quite name. It’s not relief, not entirely. It’s something more fragile, more complicated.

He stayed.

And for now, that’s enough.

&

The pub feels suffocating tonight, the air heavy with laughter and music that’s a touch too loud. You’re sitting at the edge of the booth again, nursing the remnants of your drink while the conversation at the table flows around you. Fred is there too, only a few feet away but worlds apart, as always.

At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be.

But tonight, something is different. You’ve caught him looking at you more than once, a flicker of warmth in his gaze that lingers just a moment too long before he turns away.

And then there are the little things—how he slid the drinks menu your way when you couldn’t reach, the casual way his hand brushed yours when passing the salt, and the faint smirk on his lips when you dropped your napkin, like he found your clumsiness amusing.

It’s maddening. These small, almost imperceptible gestures that would mean nothing if it were anyone else, but with Fred, they feel like everything.

You glance his way now, trying not to linger. He’s leaned back in his chair, his long fingers drumming lazily against the table, his attention seemingly on George, who’s telling some animated story about a prank gone wrong. But then, as if he feels your eyes on him, Fred looks up.

The corners of his mouth twitch, and there it is again—that fleeting, private smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.

It’s a cruel kind of softness. The kind that makes you want more.

“Leaving soon?” His voice pulls you back, low enough that it barely cuts through the noise, and you realize he’s speaking to you.

Your heart skips. You shrug, trying to feign indifference. “Maybe. You?”

His smirk deepens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Not yet.”

The words hang between you, unspoken but understood. The plan forms, unspoken as always. You’ll leave first, and he’ll follow.

When the clock creeps toward midnight, you push yourself up, offering the table a vague excuse about an early morning. Fred doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension, the way his fingers still against the table as you grab your things and step into the cool night air.

The sharp contrast of the quiet street is a relief at first, but it doesn’t last. Your thoughts churn, the familiar mix of guilt and longing rising to the surface. You shake your head, trying to focus on the walk home when you see her.

Leah.

She’s leaning against the wall just outside the pub, her arms crossed, the faint glow of a cigarette in her hand. She looks up when she hears you, her face illuminated by the streetlamp above.

“Hey,” she says, her tone casual but her gaze sharp.

You freeze, your chest tightening. “Hey.”

Her lips quirk into something that’s not quite a smile, and she takes a slow drag of her cigarette before exhaling, the smoke curling into the air between you.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head slightly.

She must’ve watched you—you hadn’t even noticed her in the pub. Had Fred?

You force a shrug, your voice tight. “Long day.”

She hums, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Fred seemed to have been distracted too. Must’ve been one of those days for everyone, huh?”

The mention of his name sends a jolt through you, but you keep your expression as neutral as you can manage. “Yeah, maybe.”

Leah watches you for a moment longer, her gaze unsettlingly calm. She takes another drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her heel. “You two seemed friendly tonight.”

Your stomach twists, but you don’t falter. “We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

Her lips press together, her expression unreadable. “Sure.”

The pub door swings open, the sound spilling into the street, and your heart sinks as Fred steps out. His hair is a little messy, his face flushed from the warmth of the pub. He glances around, his eyes landing on you almost immediately.

“There you are,” he says, his tone light as he steps closer. “What’s taking so long? I thought you’d—”

His words die as his gaze shifts, landing on Leah.

His smile falters, and for a moment, the easy confidence he always carries slips. “Leah.”

“Fred,” she says smoothly, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp as they flick between the two of you.

He straightens, shoving his hands into his pockets as the tension thickens.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice tighter now.

You feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. You glance between them, your chest tightening. You can’t do this. The weight of the secrecy, the guilt, the unspoken accusations—it’s too much.

“I was just leaving,” you say quickly, your voice steadier than you feel.

Fred’s gaze snaps to you, his brow furrowing. “Wait—”

“I’ll see you later,” you cut him off, stepping away before either of them can stop you.

You won’t see him later, you’re sure of it.

The last thing you hear as you walk away is Fred’s voice, quieter now but still tinged with something you can’t quite place.

“Leah, we should talk.”

You don’t look back. You can’t.

&

You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The faint hum of the city outside is no comfort tonight. It’s too quiet, too still, and your mind refuses to stop racing.

You picture them together—Fred and Leah. You imagine their conversation, her calm but sharp gaze and his uneasy expression. Maybe they’re sitting close, voices low and familiar, smoothing over the jagged edges of their breakup. Maybe they’ll work things out. Maybe they’re already back together.

The thought is a knife to the chest, twisting deeper with every passing second. You roll onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you, but it doesn’t help. The ache is relentless, carving itself into every corner of your heart.

Hours pass. The clock on your nightstand glows faintly, marking the time you’ve spent wide awake. 2:47 a.m. Your body is heavy with exhaustion, but your mind won’t let you rest.

You try to reason with yourself. Fred never promised you anything. This was always supposed to be casual, meaningless—a fleeting distraction for both of you. You knew that. You agreed to it.

And yet.

A sharp knock cuts through the silence, jolting you upright. For a moment, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat.

Another knock.

You stumble out of bed, heart pounding, and shuffle to the door. When you open it, Fred is standing there, his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled like he’d left in a hurry. The faint light of the hallway casts shadows across his face, but his eyes are clear, intense.

You can’t speak. You just step aside, and he walks in without a word.

The door closes behind him, the lock clicking softly into place. He turns to you, his gaze searching, but whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t say. He just steps closer, his hands brushing against your arms before they settle on your waist, pulling you toward him.

There are no questions, no explanations. Just his mouth on yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the way you feel.

It’s different this time.

The usual rush of urgency is gone, replaced by something quieter, softer. He touches you like you’re fragile, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. His hands linger, tracing patterns on your skin, and his lips trail down your neck with an almost reverent slowness.

When he lifts you, carrying you to the bed, it’s not hurried or thoughtless. He lays you down gently, his weight pressing into you as his lips find yours again.

It’s almost too much. The tenderness, the quiet intensity—it’s overwhelming in a way that makes your chest ache.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is goodbye. If this is Fred’s way of ending things, giving you something to remember before he walks away for good.

The thought makes your throat tighten, but you don’t stop him. You can’t.

When it’s over, you lie there in the dark, the sheets tangled around you, his arm draped loosely over your waist. His breathing is steady, his body warm against yours, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is enough. That this could be enough.

But then he stirs, pulling away.

You turn to watch him as he sits on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t look at you as he stands, gathering his clothes and pulling them on with quiet efficiency.

Your chest tightens, but you don’t say anything. You just watch as he moves to the door.

He hesitates, his hand on the knob, and for a moment, you think he might say something. But he doesn’t. He just turns back to you, his expression unreadable, and steps closer.

He leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss.

It’s the kind of tenderness he’s never shown before, the kind that makes your heart break even as it swells.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours for a brief moment. There’s something there, something unspoken, but before you can grasp it, he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re alone again.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, the ache in your chest heavier than ever.

This is goodbye, you think.

You close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come.

&

The weeks without Fred are a blur of emotions, each one more exhausting than the last. Some days, you manage to feel like yourself again, like the world might not actually end without him. Other days, the grief hits you like a wave, dragging you under with the weight of all the unsaid words and the things you wished could’ve been.

Your friends help, of course. Alicia keeps you busy with plans you don’t want to make, and Angelina sends you pep talks at odd hours of the night. But there’s a hollow ache they can’t touch, a space inside you carved out by Fred and left empty when he walked away.

You try to fill it with distractions—new books, long walks, even the occasional half-hearted date—but nothing works. Because no matter what you’re doing, your thoughts always circle back to him. To the warmth of his hands, the sound of his laugh, the way he looked at you that night before he left.

The worst part is the silence.

For weeks, there’s no word from Fred. No knocks at your door, no teasing notes slipped under the frame. He’s just… gone. And while you tell yourself that’s what you wanted—that it’s for the best—you can’t stop wondering where he is. What he’s doing. If he’s with her.

And then, one day, the silence breaks.

It’s mid-afternoon, and you’re home, though you have no memory of how you spent the morning. The hours have blurred together in a haze of restless pacing and half-formed thoughts, none of which have brought you any peace.

When the knock comes, you almost don’t hear it. It’s soft, tentative, like the person on the other side isn’t sure they’re welcome.

Your heart stutters.

You tell yourself it’s probably Alicia or Angelina, or maybe even Leah. But when you open the door, it’s Fred.

He looks different in the daylight. There’s no mischievous grin, no late-night bravado. Just him, standing on your doorstep, his shoulders tense and his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Hi,” he says, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

You stare at him, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or slam the door in his face. “What are you doing here?”

Fred shifts, glancing past you into the flat before meeting your gaze again. “Can I come in?”

You want to say no. You want to tell him to leave, to take all the chaos and heartbreak he’s brought into your life and walk away for good. But instead, you step aside, letting him in.

Fred moves to the middle of the room and stops, his eyes scanning the space like he’s trying to memorize it. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t relax, just stands there, his weight shifting from foot to foot.

“I didn’t know if you’d let me in,” he admits after a moment.

“Why are you here, Fred?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—guilt, maybe, or fear. “I needed to see you. To explain.”

“Explain what? That you left? That you couldn’t give me what I wanted? What I needed?” Your voice wavers, betraying the anger you’ve been holding onto for weeks.

Fred flinches but doesn’t look away. “Yes. All of it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I was a mess when we started this,” he says finally, his voice low and steady. “Leah and I were over, but I wasn’t okay. I told myself I didn’t want anything serious, that I couldn’t handle it. And then you…”

You hold your breath, waiting for him to continue.

“You made me feel like I could handle it,” Fred says, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And that scared me. It made me feel wrong, like I was moving on too fast. Like I didn’t deserve it.”

You blink, his words sinking in.

“I pushed you away because I was scared,” he admits, meeting your eyes again. “But that doesn’t excuse what I did. I hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “And now? Are you still scared?”

“Yes,” Fred says without hesitation. “But I’m more scared of not being with you. Of letting you slip away because I was too much of a coward to fight for this.”

Your breath catches, your chest tightening with a mix of hope and fear. “And what happens when it gets hard again? When you start to feel like it’s too much?”

Fred takes a step closer, his expression earnest. “Then I’ll tell you. And we’ll figure it out together. Because I’m done running, and I’m done pretending this doesn’t mean something.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost too much. You look away, your hands trembling as you try to keep your emotions in check.

“What are you asking for, Fred?” you whisper.

He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might not answer. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. “I’m asking for a chance. To do this right. To give you what you’ve always deserved.”

You close your eyes, his words washing over you like a wave.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice barely audible. “But we take it slow. No more secrets, no more running. We do this the right way.”

Fred nods, a small, relieved smile breaking through his tension. “Slow. Got it.”

He steps back then, extending a hand like he’s meeting you for the first time. “Hi. I’m Fred. Nice to meet you.”

You laugh, the sound a little shaky but genuine. “Nice to meet you, Fred.”

For a moment, you let yourself smile, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. Then you glance at his outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow. “Though I have to say, you look a lot like this guy I used to know. Total pain in the arse, but surprisingly charming when he wanted to be.”

Fred grins, his eyes lighting up in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat. “Well, I’m hoping I’m nothing like him. He sounds awful.”

“He was,” you say, shaking his hand firmly. “But I think you might be an improvement.”

Fred laughs, the sound warm and unrestrained, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe again.

[crime-scene-psychic]

I honestly think that the Nolan Batman trilogy was the best and worst thing to happen to the Batman franchise, because on one hand, it was the first live-action instance of trying to make Batman more gritty and serious (because while the Keaton, Kilmer, Clooney movies took the story much more seriously than the 60s television show, they were still goofy at times, which is why I honestly think they're the best rendition of Batman, because they were able to balance silliness with seriousness, which is what Batman is all about, but that's obviously an entirely different thesis) which then allowed for more people to take comic book movies serious, consequently leading to the rise of the DCEU and, obviously, the MCU (we would not have the MCU today and the actual good movies that came out of it without Nolan's trilogy, there's simply no argument there).

However, the Nolan trilogy also unfortunately made "dark, gritty Batman" the norm, meaning that once anyone tries to actually have some fun with Batman, they immediately get shit on by comic book dude bros. It also created the most annoying characterization of the Joker that everyone has been trying to replicate since and no one will be able to replicate, because they simply do not understand the character (I honest to God think the closest live-action actor who has ever made a Joker character work besider Heath Ledger was Cameron Monaghan in the Gotham television show, and he wasn't even really Joker??? but at least he didn't make it everyone else's problem and was a good mix of goofy and psychotic, not just psychotic) and will never be Heath Ledger (but they don't stop trying much to my forever annoyment).

And while I can recognize the cultural and significant impact on the comic and film community that Nolan's trilogy had, it is still by far my least favorite adaptation because of how serious it takes itself (and of course, the racism. The racism is actually the bigger one for me. Fuck Christopher Nolan for that. Ra's al Ghul is NOT a white man just because you want a plot twist, and you CANNOT just erase Bane being mixed race because you fucking FEEL LIKE IT because him being mixed race is extremely relevant to his origin). Batman has had serious moments in the comics, don't get me wrong, and I know things must evolve and change over time and that I cannot expect an 80 year old character to not be further developed throughout the decades, but it almost feels as if Nolan and Goyer (the writer) read a Sparks Notes version of the history of Batman, cracked their knuckles, and said "yeah, I think I got it."

Spoiler alert: they did not get it.

When I watch the Nolan trilogy (which I haven't in quite some time and I really don't want to, even to prove a point to people on the Internet) I notice how uninspired it feels, story-wise. While the action and cinematography is excellent, the story is lacking for me, and when you're telling a story like Batman, that has decades of content, you cannot just forgo storytelling for cool special effects.

I'd much rather watch a Batman adaptation that has the shittiest effects known to man with a writer who whole-heartily cares for the characters they're writing and has taken time to research. And that's honestly one of the biggest problems the comic book film industry is having now, both DC and Marvel. They're not hiring people who actually care about these characters to write them and they're focusing much more at appealing to everyone they can instead of who the movies should be made for: fans.

You're gonna have such a harder time convincing my mom, a woman who only cares about Wonder Woman, to watch the new Captain America film than you would someone who has read the Sam Wilson Cap comic run. And while this entire issue stems from the fact that the film industry is just that, an industry, and has become less about filmmakers making art and more-so how much money investors and producers can get out of ticket sales, it is still infuriating to see franchises you care deeply about be ruined by guys just there to cash their paychecks and be done with it.

And really, the film industry as we know it needs to be fucking demolished from the inside out, but that will never happen and now we're a bit off-topic. So, back to Batman.

I think another issue I have with newer live-action Batman adaptations is that they choose to forgo a VERY IMPORTANT character when it comes to Batman/Bruce Wayne's evolution as a character and story line.

Robin.

Since whatever the fuck the casting of Chris O'Donnell in 1995 was (why was he, like, a grown man?), people have been afraid to touch a live-action Dick Grayson with a six-foot pole (besides Titans, which I'm gonna get to in a sec). Which is ridiculous, because he is, like I said, an insanely important character when it comes to showing the growth Bruce Wayne goes through.

Bruce Wayne becomes Batman because he is so angry about his parent's deaths and the corruption of Gotham that he doesn't know what else to do. All the money in the world cannot change things for the better, his own father tried and died for his troubles, and he is left with no other option. Bruce Wayne works during the day to fight corruption via charity and his company, Batman works during the night and is able to do what Bruce Wayne can't (beating the shit out of people, mainly). The two are separate sides of the same coin.

And despite this seeming like a good arrangement, it's pretty obvious in most adaptations (at least they get THAT right) that beating the shit out of people in back alleys is not a good replacement for therapy. You're able to see the toll being Batman has on Bruce. He quickly becomes more occupied with being a vigilante than being himself. Bruce needs something to break through this internal struggle and help him balance both lives.

And so a boy named Dick Grayson comes along.

Dick's so important (and so are the other Robins, of course, but Dick being the first means I have to talk about him a bit more) because he forced Bruce to get his shit together. Here's a boy who's about the same age Bruce was when his parents died, who also just saw his parents killed in front of him, and is so full of rage he has no idea what to do. Sounds familiar...

Bruce is able to help himself by helping Dick. He gives him an outlet to vent his anger and frustrations while also looking out for him in the best way he can. While there are many issues with how Robin comes to be in various comic runs (and if this was real life it would be fucking ridiculous) Dick becoming Robin is extremely important. If he hadn't been taken in by Bruce Wayne, if he'd been allowed to let that anger continue to bubble up inside of him, he probably would have killed Tony Zucco and that would have been enough to set Dick down a terrible path he might not recover from.

The same goes for Bruce. If he were to set out and kill the person who shot his parents, he wouldn't be a hero anymore because that single event would shatter the entire point of Batman, which is that he is not meant to decide who lives and dies. If he were, how would he be any different than all the villains in Gotham that he fights as Batman? How would he be better than the corrupt businessman and politicians that he has to battle as Bruce Wayne? He wouldn't.

Batman needs Robin and Robin needs Batman, because they are yin and yang. Light within darkness, darkness within light. You cannot separate these characters and still tell an accurate story, it's impossible. I think that's a huge issue Nolan's movies have, on top of many others. You cannot accurately present to me a Batman story if there is no Robin, just as you couldn't give me a Robin story without Batman.

Every Robin is so important to how Bruce Wayne as a character is developed, and disregarding this as a creator is not only disrespectful to the character, it misses the entire point. I refuse to take your adaptation of Batman seriously if you can't figure out how important Robin is. He isn't just some kid sidekick, he isn't an optional side character, he is what makes Batman human. You cannot have gritty, Neo-noir Batman and forgo Robin just because you see him as the sidekick in tights. When Batman was silly and took itself less seriously, sure, there wasn't a lot to Robin nor Batman's troubling pasts. But now that you want to deep dive into Bruce Wayne's psyche and pick apart what makes him the way he is you wanna throw in the towel and erase the part that humanizes him? Fuck. You.

You can't make a complex Bruce Wayne and take away parts that help audiences understand his complexities, that's fucking STUPID!

Titans, for all its faults and problems, will always have my gratitude as it had the fucking balls to give, without a doubt, the best and most rounded live-action adaptation of Dick Grayson we have ever seen. Titans introduces Dick at a very important and rocky time in his character arch: him leaving Bruce.

If you're not in the know, there's a falling out between Bruce and Dick that's been written a couple different ways over the years, but all comes down to Dick being "fired" from being Robin and leaving Gotham. This is a bit of a newer story line in comparison to how long the character of Dick Grayson has been around, and eventually leads to Dick becoming independent from Bruce, signalling his evolution from "side kick" to his own hero, Nightwing. However, there's issues with Dick having to give up the Robin mantel, because it's something that is whole-heartily Dick Grayson. Robin wasn't something Bruce Wayne came up with, it was the nickname his parents gave to him. Even the colors are his, those were the colors of the Flying Graysons' uniforms. Robin is much more than just a vigilante alter-ego to Dick, it is the last link he has to his past and his parents. So when this is taken away from him and given to another, this causes a huge internal struggle for Dick, as he has to deal with the anger he now has for Bruce, a man he originally looked up to and idolized. This is Dick seeing how wrong it was for Bruce to do some of the things he did to Dick, despite at the time those choices being what both needed.

The way Titans is able to portray this extremely delicate time in Dick's story line in a way that not only makes sense for his character, but also allows for growth is really admirable. Like I said, the show isn't perfect by any means (can I PLEASE get a Romani actor to play Dick PLEASE) but it's the first time I feel that the character is wholeheartedly taken serious in a live-action setting. You can tell the writers have a better idea about how the characters should interact in a live-action setting and while some choices are questionable to me, the heart is there.

Nolan's movies in comparison feel soulless and devoid of all creativity and love. He does not care about these characters, no matter how much he tries to make you think that, and he never will. Christopher Nolan, you will NEVER convince me that you give two shits about Bruce Wayne. And if you, the director, can't bother to care, why should the audience? Why should I care about your adaptation if you can't even be bothered to put an ounce of individuality into it?

With Matt Reeves' Batman films underway, things are getting worse again. For a while, we only had to deal with the shitty Joker adaptations that tried to replicate Ledger's Joker, but with the Reeves Batman movies, the film bros are making themselves known again. I remember when the new design for the Riddler dropped and I said it was shit and people on Twitter and YouTube got SO PISSY at me and told me I just don't understand Batman and that I'm childish for enjoying the designs for Gotham Riddler/ Batman Forever Riddler and whatever and that I'm stupid, which none of those things are true, I hate to be confident in anything, but I think I know more about Batman than you do, Twitter troll.

The suit sucked and the character sucked. They just created a new character but gave him the Riddler's name. That's NOT the Riddler. That's honestly closer to Hush than Riddler, so just... do that? But of course, less people know about Hush than Riddler, and you're not trying to make a film for fans, you're trying to make money, so why would you ever be so silly as to do that! I'm not gonna talk to much about the new Riddler, just because it's super old news and it's not the point I was trying to make here, it's just something that continues to piss me off when it comes to gritty recreations of characters, because Riddler really never was supposed to be some Zodiac Killer wannabe, he's supposed to be a guy who leaves you riddles and makes you solve them and he's supposed to be a little silly about it. And I'm not saying you can't do a more gritty Riddler, because Arkham Knights did it super well imo! Just don't reinvent the wheel! Don't just make a new character and call him by another's name, that's a disservice to the character themselves and their creators.

This is a hard topic, because you have people who get the point of these characters (people who have actually read a comic before and paid attention to the story) but you also have insufferable film/comic bros who worship the ground Nolan and Reeves walks upon and who don't even take time to explore the rest of the Batfamily comics (his gang of vigilante children show up in the stand-alone Batman comics, though, so I don't know how they're missing this, unless they have the reading comprehension of a goldfish, which they probably do tbh). It's why I think a lot of these weirdos don't like Gotham Knights or Wayne Family Adventures, because they hate the thought of there being any semblance of fun in the Batman franchise. Not everything needs to be doom and gloom! Let Dick Grayson be bisexual and let Bruce Wayne have a PTA rival! You can have your cake and eat it too!

I know this seems like a silly sentiment coming from a person who just wrote an entire essay on this, but maybe don't take Batman so seriously? I don't mean, of course, that you can't care about these characters, I'm actually saying the opposite! I care very deeply for these characters, so much that I obviously spat all this out. I just think some people need to fucking chill when it comes to realistically portraying Batman. There's nothing wrong with taking a more serious approach to the characters and I have no problem modernizing them, but you can't just have action hero Batman, you have to have the human behind the mask too. And if you can't balance that, then I'm sorry, but you shouldn't be making Batman adaptations, because you obviously don't understand what the character is about.

I'm nervous to see where Reeves will go with the character, and only time will tell. I've heard rumors he plans to introduce Robin, I've heard rumors he doesn't. Either way, it's obviously out of my hands and I'll have opinions either way, but I really hope he has a better understanding of the history of the franchise than Nolan. While I appreciate, again, what Nolan did for revolutionizing not only the Batman franchise but the comic movie industry as well, I can still find faults in how he went about things. I truly don't believe we can have a worthy adaptation of Batman live action without Robin and without embracing the silliness of Batman's villains and I really hope producers, writers, and directors realize that soon.

Sorry if you read all that...

[yuurei20]

Dialogue Comparison: Tsumsteds 1, 2 and 3

(proofreading by @/aoi-hitomi-50 ♡) EN came up with cute solutions to the "tsum" condundrum:

Original Cater: They're all stacking up perfectly…ah! EN Cater: And did you catch how they all zoomed over to stack together?

Original Floyd: Stack up? EN Floyd: Yeah, they got hustle all right.

Original Epel: Like building blocks, they "stack"…… EN Epel: It's funny seeing such cute things zoom around like that.

Original Jack: "Stack" on top of each other… EN Jack: They are rather adorable.

Original Jack: If I were to put a name to how they stack up one after another… EN Jack: Maybe if we just did a cute play on the word "zoom," like…

Original: Tsum Tsum!!!!! EN: Zoom Zooms!

Original Crowley: Ahh, how rare it is for students of our school to come together in such perfect harmony! EN Crowley: Goodness gracious me! I wholly reject that suggestion with the sum authority of my station!

Original Crowley: Thus it is decided, let us call these "mysterious creatures" Tsums! EN Crowley: I hereby dub these strange creatures "tsums"! I've kept a slight phonetic similarity to your suggestion. Out of kindness.

Original Cater: A casual half-up hairstyle and a diamond mark under its right eye… EN Cater: It's got a tiny pompadour ponytail, and a diamond mark under its right eye…

(This was a correction: Cater's hair is described as a pomadour in the game guide, even with a note specifying that it is not half-up.)

(Tsumsted 2)

Original Ortho: I wonder if it is a creature with a habit of 'stacking' itself on top of others…ah! EN Ortho: Is zooming over to stack on top of one another a behavioral trait for them..? Ah!

Original Azul: When they gather in one place, they "stack" themselves…Many of them, one after another… EN Azul: Zooming together to stack into a pile… One after another…

Original: Tsum Tsum!!!!! EN: Zoom Zooms!

Original Crowley: …quite. And thus, for convenience, we decided to dub these creatures "tsums." EN Crowley: …Yes, that's the same ridiculous conclusion the last group arrived at, and one that I overrode in favor of "tsums."

(Tsumsted 3)

Original: Tsum Tsum!!!!! EN: ZOOM ZOOMS!

Original Crowley: Once again everyone has come together. It seems that this was the correct name after all. EN Crowley: Aaand there it is. It just wouldn't be the same without the group conclusion unilaterally overruled in favor of "tsum."

Original Vil: This is a head massager. It's used on the head, not the stomach. EN Vil: This is a head massager. It's for the scalp.

Original Kalim: I see, Tsums don't eat or drink, huh. EN Kalim: Oh, right. Tsums don't drink tea, huh?

Original Vil: To see you outside--is it going to snow next? EN Vil: …and actually outside for once. What's next, the sun rising in the west?

(The "will it snow next" is a common expression in Japanese for when something unexpected happens, but in adapting it to English the EN server might have compromised yet-unconfirmed world-building in the Twst universe: "the sun rises in the west in Twst" is a common fan theory that has yet to be disproven in the original game.)

[harunade]

moots 2 . zhang hao

pairing: camboy!hao x camgirl!reader

synopsis: your camboy friend, Hao, comes over for the first time. The two of you make the promised collab but end up catching feelings

warnings: smut!! p in v sex, biting, alcohol mentions, idiots in love.. , recording while fucking, making out, basically drunk sex,, not proofread possible typos

wc: ~ 1.8k

a/n: part 2 guys!! Im so happy u liked the first one :’)) part 3 where they become official might come out soon methinks

Your streams became something ordinary for you. Once every two days, you would doll yourself up, wear the most revealing pieces of clothing and make yourself cum on camera. What was even better was that people loved it! In two weeks you made enough money to cover rest for the next half of the year, when you usually lived paycheck to paycheck.

As for your new friend, you and Zhang Hao kept in touch as promised. He was present on your streams and you were on his. He made himself known by sending at least $50 and asking you to moan his name, which you happily did. Returning the favour, your name was moaned as well on his live, except you didn’t always have so much money to spend, but still did it anyway.

Unbeknownst to you, whenever Hao came across your videos or lives, his cock got inevitably hard. Normally, he wouldn’t have problems with erections, since he jerked himself off on camera almost daily, but ever since he met you, it’s like you put a spell on him. Sure, he spoke with girl on that site before, but you were the only one he looked forward to see post and had notifications on for.

Whilst for you, Hao was like your dirty little secret. You watched all of his streams, but didn’t always make yourself known. You gained a community pretty quickly, reaching 20k followers in the first month, and your fans shipped you with Hao together. It was common for either of you to recieve donations with pleads to collab.

@/sheloveshao: haha yn someone just send me $100

@/lovelyyn: damn?? so now u got money to ask me out or what

@/sheloveshao: r u saying i was broke before..? well i actually wanted to ask u out but now i dont wanna

@/lovelyyn: hao.. we still have that collab to do :)

It was quite obvious both of you avoided this subject. The thought of meeting with Zhang Hao in real life and “collabing” made your stomach hurt. After talking daily, you gained a liking for him. But since he was a camboy, he probably played with hearts too, so you resorted to just being friends. You face palmed yourself mentally for even bringing it up. Hopefully he won’t think of you as a creep.

@/sheloveshao: you’re right.. what if we met this weekend? if i’m not wrong you live about 20 mins from me

Your heart sank. You wanted to meet him, but at the same time didn’t. You were just too nervous!! Your celebrity crush but also crush but also friend wanted to come over, and both of you knew it would end up with him getting in your pants. That’s what you two do, after all. You didn’t know he was actually as nervous as you.

@/lovelyyn: i’m not opposed.. bring some red wine too.. I’ll have the camera ready ;)

Whew.. you tried so hard to sound as if it barely affected you but your legs were shaking while typing. At least that was done with, and you had 3 days to mentally prepare yourself.

Zhang Hao on the other hand, couldn’t be happier. Maybe happy is too strong of a word… he was definitely excited, both ways. He didn’t only plan to fuck you, but he wanted to surprise you with some sushi first, since he’s a gentleman after all. It wasn’t very manly of him, but he called his friend while kicking his feet. “Guess what, Hyuck.. i’m meeting y/n next weekend!” he exclaimed as soon as his best friend picked up. “What.. are you for real? How did that even happen?” Hao couldn’t wait to give all the details, he was probably more excited than you were. “Well.. it was her who asked in the first place. I came up with the time and she told me to get some wine and that she’ll have her camera ready.. so you know what that means” he giggled towards the end. “Yeah yeah, bring a pack of condoms,too, you sex freak. But don’t get too attached, if she’s a camgirl who knows how many guys she’s done this with” the words spoken by his best friend created a dent in his heart. I mean, were you really meaning to play with his feelings? Did he have feelings for you in the first place? Hao failed to understand how you got so deep into his brain. Sure, he talked to camgirls before, but you had something different. He could actually talk to you without you just asking to collab for his fame.

—

The remaining days went by in a blink, and Hao was knocking on the door of your apartment. He looked lime a child visiting his relatives. He had grey sweatpants on, an oversized black hoodie and a backpack. He was carefully holding a paperbag with sushi inside. He gulped when he heard the door unlocking.

“Hi” you smiled at him and welcomed him in. You weren’t dressed too fancy yourself, just shorts and a tshirt.

The two of you sat down at your table and started chatting. The awkwardness quickly disappeared as soon as Hao pulled the red wine out of his backpack.

“You’re so much more fun than i expected you to be” you tell him before sipping the last drops of wine in your glass. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” he laughs back.

Although he seemed to have fun, Zhang Hao was still thinking about what his friend said. You two hadn’t actuallt done anything yet, but he was still scared. He knew he had to charm you well enough for you to like him back.

—

Much too many glasses were now empty, and the bottle was thrown somewhere on the ground. Next to it was Hao accompanied by you, laughing hysterically at everything and anything. The second mistake of the night, other than drinking so much, was turning your head to face him. You were met with his beautiful brown eyes and saw his hair falling to his forehead. His lips were plump and rosier than usual, and he had a gone look in his eyes.

You didn’t know if you should kiss him or not, but you definitely wanted to. It seemed as if he had read your mind. “Kiss me, pretty?” you didn’t wait a moment before attaching your lips to his, cupping his face in the process. His larger hands went to your waist, carefully throwing you on top of him.

Stranding his hips, the kiss got heated. This new position allowed you to feel the boner in his pants and to rub down on it. You knew you were doing it right when you felt him whimper in your mouth. Normally, Hao gave off a dominant energy in his livestreams, but now he was putty in your hands.

—

“Hao..” you whimpered from below him. In the meantime you moved to your bed, where the brunette boy took of your shirt as well as his hoodie. So far the two of you didn’t do anything other than kissing and biting each other’s skin. You made sure to leave some marks on Hao’s neck. Maybe it was wrong to think this way, but you felt like Zhang Hao should be your property, and that was the best way to show everyone else. And in return, he gave you the same treatment. You neck, chest and belly were covered in kisses and bite marks from the boy in question. He loved the way you grabbed at his hair while he was doing it so much that he just couldn’t stop.

“Should we film?” you asked in a half ironic tone. Hao’s head rose from the crook of your neck and for a second you swore you could see sadness in his eyes.

“I think i have a better idea, just wait, beautiful” he said before diving back into your lips.

—

You grew needier with each moment and the boy above you made it his mission to tease you. “Please, Hao, just fuck me already..” your voice was like a drug to him, and he obeyed immediately. Both of your clothes were gone in no time and he slid a condom in his throbbing cock.

He grabbed it in his hand, and rubbed his tip up and down your drenching pussy, teasing you further and admiring you. Obviously, he had seen you naked before, but you looked even better in real life.

Right before pushing in, he looked you in the eyes, silently asking for permission. “Yes, please..” you murmured.

He bottomed out and let out a sigh. That was the moment the both of you had been wanting for so long. None of you could believe what was actually happening and how good it actually felt.

As Hao was thrusting in and out of you, he grabbed his phone, recording a quick 5sec video of his cock disappearing inside of you and reappearing. He would need that later.

—

Altough it was the first time you two met, it seemed like you had known each other for eternity. Zhang Hao figured out your body in an instant and knew exactly how to get you off, and you knew exactly when to clench your muscles to help him get off as well. Furthermore, you both came at the same time, which had to mean something, right?

Zhang Hao plopped next to you, resting for a bit before cleaning you up with a towel. He then got in bed next to you, welcoming you into his arms. This definitely wasn’t casual…

“What are you planning to do with that video?” you asked him. He almost forgot

Zhang Hao posted said video on his account.

the duo you guys knew you needed <3 @/lovelyyn

Not even two minuted had passed that both of his and your phones started buzzing. People were liking, reposting and commenting on your joint post. “I think they liked it” you laughed. “I did too..” the boy next to you was happy to hear that, as he enjoyed every second himself.

—

It didn’t take you long to tap out, leaving Hao with you in his arms and a lot on his mind. You were even more wonderful than expected. You were kind, beautiful and smelled amazing. He definitely knew he wanted you. It was only a matter of time before he figured out how to ask you to be his girlfriend.