#I always post this first on ao3 then here

[frostimochi]

second best

(logan howlett x reader)

summary: You and Logan are both in love with people completely out of reach. After a seemingly innocent joke made for you and him to get together, the two of you brush it off. But as days pass, the idea seems less ridiculous. Then one night, Logan approaches you, finally agreeing to the idea--and what starts as a fake relationship soon takes an unexpected turn.

word count: 17.6k chapter count: 10/10 (finished!) author’s note: ok this is my very first time posting any media i've made on tumblr...i can't guarantee i'll do it again, but i will def be writing more on my ao3 account if you wish to see more! this is also a mix of the x-men films and x-men ‘97 for context. it's a bit rushed but i hope you all enjoy! :)

chapter 1 - what we carry

The night was tense. Clouds of smoke, smoldering debris choked the air, and the distant sound of sirens echoed through the city. It was another X-Men mission coming to an end. You crouched low behind the crumbling remnants of an abandoned building, your heart hammering in your chest as you peeked around the corner. Flames flickered in the distance, casting shadows across the deserted street.

But you weren’t alone; Logan crouched beside you, eyes sharp and focused, his senses tuned into the slightest movement in the darkness. He grunted softly, the usual gruff in his voice present, even when he whispered. "They’re circling around. We need to move."

You nodded, adrenaline still coursing through your veins after the battle that had nearly gone sideways. The mission had been simple enough on paper, but nothing ever went as planned in the field. What was supposed to be a routine infiltration turned into an all-out firefight when the enemy showed up in greater numbers than anticipated.

"Stick close," Logan added, his eyes flicking to yours for just a moment, a brief concern crossing his usually impassive face. "You good, bub?"

"Yeah, I’m fine," you lied, already feeling the dull ache in your side from where you’d taken a glancing blow. You could push through it, just like you always did. This wasn’t your first mission, and it certainly wouldn’t be your last. But the fatigue was beginning to weigh on you, not just from the fight, but from everything else—specifically, your own personal endeavors from a few days back.

You and Remy have gotten awfully close. Closer than you probably should have allowed. But he was still wrapped up with someone else, and that reality gnawed at you. The thought lingered as you and Logan crept forward. It wasn’t just the mission weighing on you tonight.

As the two of you moved through the shadows, working your way toward the extraction point, your thoughts only continued stranding to Remy. The way he’d effortlessly deflected attacks earlier, how his movements were always so fluid and confident. You couldn’t help but admire him, desire him. A familiar pang hit your chest, knowing the truth deep down; he only had eyes for Marie.

Just like Logan only seemed to have eyes for Jean.

The thought made you glance at Logan, who was scanning the area ahead. Even now, you knew he was thinking about her, about Jean. The woman who could never be his, no matter how much he wanted her. In the end, you were both stuck in this endless cycle of wanting someone who was just out of reach.

The extraction point wasn’t far, but just as you neared it, a gunshot cracked through the air. You flinched, instinctively ducking as Logan pushed you back against the wall, his body shielding yours.

"Stay down," he growled, his claws extending with a sharp snikt. He didn’t hesitate, charging toward the threat before you could react. The sound of a struggle echoed through the alleyway as you pressed a hand to your side, wincing.

By the time you caught up, Logan had already taken care of the attacker, standing over him with a dark look in his eyes. His claws retracted as he wiped the blood off his knuckles with a grimace.

"Let’s get the hell out of here," he muttered, his voice low. 

You didn’t argue, following him in silence as you both slipped into the shadows, heading for the jet. You were the last few to escape, as the night felt colder, with the exhaustion hitting you full force as the adrenaline began to fade.

. . .

Later, as the two of you sat in the dimly lit jet, silence stretched between you and Logan. The mission was over, but the weight of everything else from your physical pain, to personal life still stuck at the back of your mind. You leaned back in your seat, staring out the window as the city disappeared beneath the clouds.

"You alright, Y/N?" Logan’s voice broke the silence, his gaze still on you, seeing you still holding onto your side.

"Yeah," you replied, though the aching pain had gotten worse, and your thoughts still scattered. But you knew he wasn’t asking about the mission.

"Doesn’t seem like it," he remarked, a knowing edge to his tone. “You’re awfully quiet.”

You looked over at him, unsure if you wanted to brush it off or actually talk about what was on your mind. 

"I don’t know, Logan," you admitted quietly. "Everything just feels... off lately.”

His eyebrows furrowed in questioning, as you continued. You didn’t feel any reason in hiding it anymore, since there wasn't anything left you could do at this point. The fatigue didn’t help either. Processing a single thought was a different pain on its own.

“Just wishin’ Remy looked at me the same way as Rogue.” you replied in a soft-spoken whisper. 

He didn’t respond right away, just leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment.

"You’re not the only one," Logan finally said, his voice low and rough. "Sometimes it feels like I’m just also going through the motions, you know?”

He paused.

 “Jean... she’s never gonna look at me the way I want her to. Not while she’s with Scott."

"You ever get tired of it?" you asked suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Logan looked over at you, one eyebrow raised.

“Of what?”

“Wanting someone you know you’ll never have?”

Logan let out a low, almost bitter laugh, leaning back in his seat. "More than you know. But it’s not exactly something I can just turn off, you know? Not in my nature."

"Yeah, well, easier said than done," you muttered, trying to shrug it off. "I have bad luck with these things.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, just watched you with that quiet intensity of his, noticing what others overlooked. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his presence grounding you, in a way that Remy’s never had.

"Luck’s overrated," Logan said finally, his voice low and steady. "We make our own way without it."

Another beat of silence passed, the air thick with everything left unsaid. But something about the quiet was comfortable now. You weren’t alone in your hurt anymore, and neither was he.

"We’re a real messed up bunch, huh?" you said, forcing a small laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Logan smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah. A real bunch of idiots.”

You silently nodded in agreement, the heaviness in your chest finally settling. You both sat there, the weight of your unspoken heartaches still lingering in the room. It was strange how easy it was to talk to Logan about it, but you knew he understood it quite well. To want someone so badly, yet know you could never have them.

Maybe that's why, despite the exhaustion, despite the pain and confusion, you could finally let yourself close your eyes, knowing that even though you couldn’t have everything you wanted, at least you had this moment. This understanding. And maybe that was something worth holding onto. For now. 

chapter 2 - what we seek

Back at the mansion, things had settled back into a familiar routine. The mission was behind you, but it didn’t stop the heartache for Gambit slipping back in. The lingering feeling always felt like a stab in the chest, a constant reminder of what you couldn’t have.

The truth is, it was supposed to happen. You and Remy had planned it out several nights ago: a quiet, simple evening away from the team, just the two of you. There had been moments; rare, unguarded looks from him that had felt like a promise, a hint of something more. You’d felt it, that same, exhilarating thrill that always seemed just within reach, and for once, you’d let yourself believe in the possibility of something more. But in the end, the odds never seemed to work out in your favor. He stood you up, and was later found reconnecting, rekindling his love with another woman from his past.

Rogue. Marie. 

You had nothing against her—hell, you admired her deeply, and spoke with her several times outside of missions and training. You were sure she didn’t know about what had been happening between you and Remy. You couldn’t deny they were both drawn together in a way that was undeniable, magnetic. Whatever was between you and him had been put aside. You knew it would never compare.

In the end, it was easier to keep to yourself, easier to pretend nothing had changed, but the pain of wanting something just out of reach, kept you from finding any real peace. And in those moments, you found yourself drifting, walking the halls of the X-Mansion at odd hours, going places where you knew no one else would be.

One of those nights, you stumbled to grab any kind of sustenance. The kitchen was quiet, as you poured yourself a late-night drink. A few footsteps from behind broke the chaos of thoughts bursting in your mind, and you turned to see Morph entering with their usual grin. They slid onto a stool, giving you a once-over with exaggerated curiosity.

“So... heard you and Wolverine had a heart-to-heart last night,” they said, a smirk forming.

You rolled your eyes, setting the bottle down, visually annoyed. “Does anyone around here not know everyone else’s business?”

Morph shrugged, leaning back in their seat. “Hey, it's not my fault the walls are thin.”

You let out a sigh, swirling your drink absentmindedly. "And what does everyone think they know, exactly?"

Morph grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. "Not much... just that two lonely souls found a little solace in each other’s company after a rough mission." They paused, quivering an eyebrow. "Did I miss anything?"

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. "Sometimes, Morph, you’re worse than the tabloids."

"All I'm saying," they continued, "is that sometimes we get so caught up in what we can’t have, that we miss what’s right there."

Raising an eyebrow, you took a sip of your drink. It burned through your throat as you slammed it back down on the table. You took a heavy breath before responding. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

“You and Logan should get together. Problem solved.” Morph crossed their arms, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Right,” you snorted, but his comment gnawed at you. “And how exactly would that solve anything?”

Morph just grinned, tilting their head thoughtfully. “Well, think about it. You two already get each other. You're both in love with people who are already taken. So why not take some of that stress off? Might as well team up and have a pity party together.” 

“Funny,” you replied dryly. “But Logan and I both know where we stand. We don’t need to complicate things further.”

Morph leaned in, their playful smirk never wavering. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You’re telling me you’d rather mope around with this crush on a guy who can’t even remember your name when Rogue’s in the room? That’s some next level torture.”

You shot them a glare, trying to ignore how his words cut a little too close to home. “I’m not moping. I’m just—”

“Just what?” they interrupted, leaning back with feigned innocence. “Waiting for Gambit to realize he made a mistake? Please. At this point, he probably thinks you’re just his backup plan.”

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Sure I do,” Morph replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got the whole tragic love story going on. It’s like a soap opera, only less exciting. So why not shake things up? You and Logan could make quite the team. Brooding heartthrob meets the queen of unrequited love? It’s practically a rom-com waiting to happen.”

They chuckled, and before you knew it, he morphed into the Wolverine himself. They adopted his brooding, eyebrow furrowing expression, capturing his essence flawlessly. “So, Y/N,” They said in a low, gravelly voice, “still hung up on Gambit? You know he’s not exactly waiting around for you, right?”

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain your composure. “You’re really going to keep this up, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” they replied, their expression a mix of seriousness and playfulness. “Why settle for someone who’s already got his eyes on Rogue when you could be with someone who actually sees you? Like me.”

“If only the real Logan could see you now. You wouldn’t last a second if he was here,” you quipped.

 “He’d probably give me a high five for finally getting you to lighten up.”

“Sure, right before he throws you out the window,” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly. “Even if Logan and I bothered to give each other a chance, it's just another excuse for some love-hexagoned drama for the students to feign on.”

“Hexagon? I thought this was more of a straight line,” Morph said, shrugging playfully, returning back to their form. “How much longer are you going to let Gambit’s rejection keep you down?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of their words. “I don’t know, Morph. I’m still trying to figure out my feelings for Remy, and you know how complicated things are with Marie in the picture.”

Morph leaned in closer, their expression softening a bit. “Look, I get it. It’s a mess, but you can’t just let it stop you from exploring something new. What’s the harm in talking to the wolverine? You might be surprised.”

“Talking to Logan?” you repeated, rolling your eyes. “What’s that going to do? I’m not looking for a rebound or a distraction. I’m not that kind of gal.”

“Just a chat,” they insisted, his voice lightening again. “You never know. Maybe you’ll find out that you have more in common with him, more than just a mutual crush on unavailable people.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes, getting up from your seat. “I appreciate the pep talk, but I’m not ready for that right now. I need to deal with my own stuff first.”

Morph crossed their arms, the grin returning. “Fair enough, but just know I’m here, waiting, when you’re ready to make your move.”

“Thanks, but really, let’s just drop it for now,” you said, feeling a bit lighter in thought as you made your way out of the kitchen.

As you walked through the familiar halls of the X-Mansion up to your room, Morph’s words were still in your head. They had a point, no matter how much you denied it. Maybe this was something you needed, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

What could possibly go wrong?

chapter 3 - what we plan

The X-Mansion had another afternoon buzzed with its usual energy, the sounds of training and laughter echoing through the halls. You found comfort in your routine, but your thoughts often drifted back to Morph’s words from a few days back. Yet, every time you found yourself lost in those thoughts, a rush of uncertainty would follow.

After an intense training session, you retreated to the common room, seeking solace in the company of your teammates. As you entered, you spotted Logan across the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he talked to Jean. Even bothering to talk about what Morph said to you with him was pointless. He had his own things to deal with, if it wasn’t clear enough.

You grabbed a nearby magazine, your eyes skimming the pages, but your mind wandered elsewhere. You recalled Morph’s words, their constant suggestion that you should pursue something with Logan. It felt too foolish to consider now. He had his own problems, and his own, personal interests. 

As you tried to concentrate on the text, you caught snippets of their conversation. Jean laughed at something Logan said, and your heart sank a little. You shifted in your seat, pretending to be engrossed in the magazine while you tried to make sense of your feelings. Was it even worth pursuing something with Logan, or was it just a fleeting thought sparked by Morph's teasing?

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the hours pass, and the only person left in the room was you. It was late. You threw the magazine back on the couch, and decided to head back to your room, making your way up the stairs. As you walked down the hall, you suddenly bumped into Logan, who was on his way back down.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You okay, bub?”

“Yeah, just didn’t see you coming,” you replied, trying to mask your heart pounding out of your chest.

He offered a small smirk, his expression softening. “You’re awfully lost in thought lately. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. Should you mention Morph’s suggestion? Or the nagging feeling that there could be something more between you two? Instead, you shrugged lightly. “Just the usual stuff...training, missions, you know how it is.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “You sure–?”

“Yeah, well,” you interrupted, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, “there's a lot on my mind.”

He studied you for a moment, those intense hazel eyes piercing right through. “You wanna talk about it?”

The weight of his gaze continued to send your heart racing. 

This was it. You could either keep running from your thoughts or just finally spit it out.

 “I was thinking about what Morph said to me a few nights ago.”

A flicker of curiosity crossed Logan's face. “Morph? What’d that hellspawn say this time?”

You bit your lip, gathering your thoughts. “He mentioned us. Getting together. It’s ridiculous, I know.” The words tumbled out before you could stop yourself, leaving you feeling quite awkward. You tried presenting yourself enamored by crossing your arms and looking casual, but anyone could see right through that it was taking a toll on you.

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed, and paused for a moment, taking it into thought. He then let out a soft chuckle.

 “Y/N, don’t let Morph’s nonsense mess with your head. They're just trying to stir the pot, like always.”

You bit your lip, still unconvinced. It took him that long to form his sentence? You assumed the both of you were just not in the mood to discuss it, which was partially true. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It just had me thinking it over so much, that I–”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand, his expression shifting to one of playful exasperation. “Seriously, don’t overthink it. We’ve got enough to deal with without getting tangled up in that kind of drama.” 

And that was that. In the end, maybe it was a stupid idea after all. He placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a nod of reassurance as he walked back off.

You took a deep breath, attempting to collect yourself as you reached the top floor when you stopped dead in your tracks. There he was. Remy, standing there, hands in pockets just right in your way, with his usual playful smirk softened by something unreadable in his expression. He straightened up when he saw you, his eyes flickering that made your heart clench.

"Chère," he greeted, voice low and smooth, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond with the same warmth you usually did.

“Remy,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even, standing still. Though, your emotions stirred uneasily beneath the surface. After everything that had happened, after he’d stood you up and had made the decision to be with someone else, you couldn’t ignore the pang of frustration gnawing at you.

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to steady yourself, but the words you’d been rehearsing came spilling out faster than you expected. "Have you figured out what I mean to you yet?”

His easy smile faltered, and he looked away for a second before meeting your gaze again, regret shadowing his eyes. “Y/N, it ain't like that. I never wanted to hurt ya...”

“But you did, didn’t you?” The question hung between you, heavy and thick with the nights he’d promised and didn’t show, the times you’d let yourself believe he might actually feel the same way.

His hand reached out, but you pulled back before he could touch you. "I waited for you, Remy. I thought—” You trailed off, hating the vulnerability in your voice, but there was no point hiding it now. “I thought we had something.”

He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck, frustration clear in his stance. “Y/N, you mean a lot t’ me, but Marie... she’s somethin’ I just can’t let go of. She’s always been there in a way I can’t explain.”

You swallowed hard, nodding slowly, the ache in your chest settling as a numbness began to take its place. “I see.”

“No, chère,” he protested softly, stepping closer, his expression earnest. “I care for ya, but Rogue... she’s part o’ me.” He shook his head, struggling to find the right words, but they felt like nothing more than just empty echoes.

In the silence that followed, you took a step back, pressing your arms around yourself to hold together the pieces of your heart that felt like they were splintering apart.

"Fine. Let’s just pretend it never happened."

With that, you turned and left him standing there, resisting the urge to look back. If you stayed, you’d only keep finding yourself hoping for something that would never be. Remy reached out as if to stop you, but you turned, stepping away before he could say anything more, with your footsteps echoing against the quiet walls of the mansion. You were done letting yourself be second place.

As you reached for your door, you took a shaky breath, attempting to swallow the wave of emotions that had been threatening to burst free. You’d tried for so long to keep those feelings buried, to push them aside and pretend that things didn’t affect you as much as they did. But tonight, it felt impossible. You would do anything to get back at him, just as he did to you.

Just as you were about to turn the doorknob and enter your room, a voice behind you broke the silence. “You sure you’re alright?”

Startled by his voice, you turned, finding Logan standing there.

He’d seen it, hadn’t he? The hurt, the anger, what had just happened a few moments earlier...he couldn’t have just let it go unnoticed.

As you stood there, still reeling from your conversation with Remy, Logan’s voice broke through your thoughts. His tone was unusually gentle, his gaze fixed on you.

“I, uh, heard some of that back there,” he admitted, his voice low. “...Kinda hard not to.”

You nodded, letting out a sigh of defeat. “Yeah...”

Logan took a moment to steady himself, his expression shifting as he gathered himself before speaking again. “So, you’re done waiting around for him to make up his mind?”

“Completely done,” you replied, crossing your arms. “I’m tired of this backup shit.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like Gambit and Jean could use a wakeup call...” His tone turned mischievous, and you could almost see the thoughts racing behind his eyes. “You up for causing a little trouble?”

“What do you have in mind?” you asked, intrigued.

Was he actually reconsidering what you told him?

“You know... I thought about what Morph said to you, after hearing all that earlier,” he admitted, looking a bit conflicted. “At first, I figured it really was just them stirring the pot, trying to rile us up. But then...” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his jaw, clearly gathering his thoughts. “Then I started thinking that maybe they were onto something.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected confession. Logan, of all people, wasn’t one open to change, let alone do something like this.

 “If they want to ignore what’s right in front of them, maybe they need a reason to think twice. We show up, give ‘em a taste of what it feels like to be on the outside looking in. You and me... pretending we’re hitting it off.”

Your eyes widened.

 It was simple, maybe a bit petty, but the thought of flipping the tables felt too satisfying. And this was an opportunity that might never come again.

 “So, you’re saying... we should act like we’re into each other?”

“Exactly,” he replied. “A few meaningful looks and some well timed moments. It’ll have them second guessing everything they thought they knew about us.”

“Tempting,” you admitted, still in thought about wanting to go with this crazy idea, but still hesitant on what could happen from it. You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Okay, I’m in. But we need to set some ground rules; no crossing lines, and we keep it strictly for show.”

“Deal.” Logan extended his hand, and you shook it, sealing the agreement with a firm grip.

. . .

As you settled into bed that night, you stared up at the ceiling, replaying the day’s events in your mind. The idea sounded nice at first, and maybe it was originally Morph playing along, trying to play matchmaker. But now it was official. 

And you had no idea what you were about to get yourself into. 

chapter 4 - what we act

You woke up to the muted light of morning, filtering through the curtains. Your mind was already racing with thoughts of the day ahead. Today, you’d be putting the plan into action with Logan, and the uncertainty tormented you. How would it feel to pretend to be something you weren't? Taking a deep breath, you got out of bed, bracing yourself for whatever might unfold.

Making your way to the kitchen for a quick breakfast, you hoped to dodge any awkward encounters, but there he was. Logan stood at the counter, stirring coffee with an unreadable expression as he leaned against the counter, lost in thought.

As soon as he noticed you, a small smirk played on his lips, something almost conspiratorial. “Mornin’,” he said casually, but there was a spark in his eye that hadn’t been there before.

 He definitely had something in mind. 

“Morning,” you replied, trying to play it cool as you grabbed a glass of water. The room felt heavy with unspoken tension, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but feel a bit self conscious under his stare.

Logan set down his mug, his expression shifting to something slightly more serious. “You still up for this?” he asked, voice low, and quiet enough that no one else would overhear.

You took a deep breath, giving a decisive nod.

A moment later, you heard footsteps in the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of Jean’s laughter. Logan gave you a subtle nod, the silent signal that it was time to begin. You took a step closer to him, glancing up through your lashes just enough to catch his eye.

He responded immediately, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in, his hands lingering beneath the hem of your pants, just enough for the warmth of his touch to spread over you like a shockwave. “Play along,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You tried to settle your heartbeat as the footsteps grew closer. Jean and Scott rounded the corner, stopping abruptly when they saw the two of you standing so close, Logan’s arm around you, that spoke of something far more than friendship. You saw the flicker of surprise on Jean’s face, quickly masked with a forced smile, and a hint of something else in Scott’s usual stoic expression.

“Oh,” Jean said, voice a touch higher than usual, “Good morning, you two.”

Logan just nodded, that small, mischievous smile barely hidden. “Mornin’, Jean. Scott.”

Jean’s gaze flicked between you two, as though trying to piece together how she’d missed this...development. Her eyes lingered on you, a flash of something unreadable crossing her face, and you had to resist the urge to smirk. You were definitely giving them both something to think about.

Scott cleared his throat, trying to break the strange silence. “Didn’t realize... you two were so close.”

Logan’s arm tightened around you just a bit. “Well, there’s a lot people don’t realize,” he replied smoothly. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you, and the flicker of jealousy in Jean’s eyes told you it wasn’t lost on her either. You were tensed up in his embrace, and it didn’t help that your body was heating up right at that moment. Your throat was suddenly dry, struggling to utter a single word.

Scott's eyes shifted between you and Logan, his normally composed expression giving way to slight discomfort. Jean, on the other hand, tried to maintain her composure, but you could see the question in her eyes, the slight arch of her brow as if she was piecing things together.

“Well,” Jean said, attempting a breezy tone, “it’s... nice to see everyone getting along.” But her gaze had more to elaborate, the forced smile not quite reaching her eyes.

“Yeah, who knew?” Logan replied, his smirk turning just a little more smug as he pulled you closer. He was playing it up perfectly, and the look of surprise on both their faces was strangely satisfying.

Scott gave a polite nod, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the scene. “Right. Well, don’t let us interrupt.”

With that, he turned, gesturing for Jean to follow him down the hall. As they walked away, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, her expression unreadable but unmistakably intrigued.

When they were out of your vision, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Logan finally released you, a satisfied look in his eyes.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he said, his tone teasing, still laced with an undercurrent of seriousness.

“Yeah, but this was just a warm up,” you replied, a smile creeping onto your face despite the nerves churning in your stomach. “We’re going to have to keep going with this...show of ours.”

“Just keep it casual, and we’ll be fine.” Logan replied, getting up from his chair. He didn’t step away immediately, though; the space between you felt more charged than it had any right to be. His hand lingered again. This time, near yours on the counter, close enough that you could feel the warmth, and for a fleeting moment, it was quite easy to forget that this was all just for show.

You cleared your throat, shifting back slightly, giving yourself some breathing room. “Right, casual,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant. 

The silence stretched, comfortable but weighted, almost feeling the unspoken change in his gaze.

“You’re overthinking it,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with a familiar spark. “If you keep acting like it’s a big deal, they’ll notice.”

You felt a slight heat creep up your neck, but shrugged it off. “I’m not overthinking,” you shot back, attempting to keep your tone light. “Just making sure I’m... convincing.”

He stepped a little closer, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Convincing? More like being stiff.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Not true.”

“Y/N, you looked like you had a stick up your ass.”

“I’m doing my best, okay? It doesn’t just happen overnight.”

Logan’s expression stayed steady. “Good,” he said, his voice softer but still direct. “That’s all we need.”

You took a breath, nodding slowly, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s just... a lot to think about.”

“Then don’t overthink it,” he replied with a slight grin. “We’re just giving them a show. Keep it simple, don’t force anything. They’ll see what they want to see.”

You nodded, only then remembering that once again, you had to continue this show of yours. You and Logan would be heading out on a mission tonight, with you alongside him. Together. They hadn’t told you who else would be joining, which left a gash of uncertainty in the pit of your stomach.

“Right, the mission,” you replied, trying to shake off any leftover tension. “No pressure, right?”

Logan chuckled softly, “No pressure at all. Just another night making sure no one dies.”

“Yeah,” you took a small breath, a smile breaking through your nerves. “And pretending to be in a relationship.”

“Remember to keep it simple,” he reminded you, a tease in his tone, while on your gaze before he walked off. “And maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you take the lead.”

 A knot of anxiety formed in your stomach as he left you alone in the kitchen. The mission ahead felt daunting enough, and the thought of maintaining the pretense of a relationship with him sent your mind racing. 

This wasn’t going to be so easy.

chapter 5 - what we suppress 

The evening air was cool and crisp as you made your way to the X-jet with Logan, Scott, and Marie, who was adjusting her gloves in silence. Scott’s gaze was steady, his expression all business, but you caught the slight hesitation as his eyes passed over you and Logan. Logan noticed too, throwing a quick, almost smug grin Scott’s way as he placed a casual hand on your shoulder. The warmth of his touch caught you off guard, but you willed yourself to keep a neutral expression, feeling the cool, easy role settling over you.

Marie, catching the gesture out of the corner of her eye, raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. If anything, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips, like she knew something Scott didn’t. Scott, meanwhile, looked at Logan and then back at you with an expression somewhere between surprise and doubt, but he stayed quiet.

“Alright, listen up,” Scott began, folding his arms as he launched into the mission brief. “Intel indicates there’s a cache of prototype weapons and possibly experimental compounds stashed in the warehouse. Marie and I will sweep the perimeter. Logan, you will take the inner corridor. Y/N, secure the samples if you find any. We need evidence, so keep it quiet, keep it subtle, and stay on comms.”

“Understood,” Logan replied, the lazy smirk still lingering as he squeezed your shoulder for effect. You fought back the urge to shove him off, partly because his touch felt oddly...reassuring, but mostly because Scott’s slight frown felt like its own kind of victory. And seeing it any longer would make you cry of laughter. 

The X-jet lifted off, slicing through the night sky. You shifted your attention to watching your surroundings, taking a seat besides Logan, glancing at Scott who began to outline the plan once more.

“Alright, everyone. We’ll be approaching the warehouse in ten minutes. Rogue and I will cover the perimeter while you two head inside. Stay alert,” Scott instructed.

“Roger that,” Logan replied. “You just make sure to keep those laser eyes to yourself.”

“Very funny,” Scott shot back, his tone dry. “Focus on the mission, Logan.”

As the jet soared through the clouds, you glanced at Logan, who wore a smirk that could only be described as infuriatingly charming. “So,” he said, leaning closer. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Guess I'm being your emotional support tonight,” you uttered in a sarcastic manner. It happened almost naturally; turning your mind off to focus on what was ahead, you couldn’t deny it helped your case. “Someone has to keep you in check.”

“Good luck with that,” he retorted with a chuckle. “But I have to admit, having you by my side makes this whole mission a lot more interesting.”

“Glad to hear I can spice up your life, Logan,” you replied, trying to match his nonchalance. “Just don’t get too distracted by my presence.”

“Ah, you must be talking about your ability to look cute while doing nothing.”

You couldn’t help yourself but have a big smirk plastered on your face. “I can assure you, I’ll be doing plenty of ‘nothing’ while you’re busy kicking ass.”

Scott’s voice cracked through, his tone annoyed. “Are you two done flirting? We’re almost at the drop zone.”

“He’s right,” Marie chimed in with a sly grin, glancing over her shoulder at the two of you. “Save the romance for after we’re done.”

Logan’s smirk only grew as he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry, Anne. It’s just mission talk. Mostly.”

The jet began its descent, and you felt the subtle shift in atmosphere as everyone went into mission mode. As soon as you touched down, the team moved quickly. Rogue and Scott split off to cover the perimeter as planned, disappearing into the shadows around the warehouse. Logan gave you a quick nod before signaling toward the side entrance, both of you slipping quietly inside.

The place was dark and still, the distant hum of machinery faint in the air. Logan took the lead, moving with a quiet precision that belied his usual rough demeanor. You stayed close, eyes scanning every corner, trying to ignore the fact that he was keeping just a little closer than necessary.

The comms crackled in your ear. “Y/N, Logan, we’re in position,” Scott’s voice came through, steady and calm. “Any movement?”

“Negative,” you whispered back. “Place is dead quiet so far.”

As you moved further into the building, a tense silence settled between you and Logan. He slowed, gesturing for you to check a nearby door while he kept watch. You edged forward, opening it just wide enough to peer inside. The room was packed. Crates, steel tables, shelves lined with sleek weapons and unknown tech. Jackpot.

“Found something,” you whispered into the comm. “Looks like prototype weapons, maybe more.”

“Copy that,” Marie replied. “Get what you can. Scott and I are still clear.”

You quickly snapped photos of the equipment, putting smaller prototypes in your pockets while Logan kept his gaze fixed on the corridor. But as you finished, footsteps echoed down the hallway, breaking the stillness. You froze, eyes darting to Logan, who signaled for you to keep low. You quickly ducked behind one of the tables, as he slid beside you.

“Company.” you murmured.

Logan gave a subtle nod, resting a steady hand over your lips as a signal to keep calm. His fingers lingered for a beat, sparking a warmth you tried to ignore, forcing your attention back to the sounds approaching.

Scott’s voice crackled in your ear. “Status?”

Logan cast you a sideways glance. “Just a little activity. We’re fine.”

The shadow of a guard passed just outside the doorway, pausing for a tense moment. You held your breath, clutching the edge of the table to keep from shifting, as Logan’s hand brushed yours in silent reassurance. The faint metallic clink of the guard’s gear sent a shiver up your spine.

The sound of boots hitting concrete grew louder. Guards. Too many to take head-on, especially in such a confined space. Logan’s sharp eyes darted around before locking onto a supply closet a few feet away. Without hesitation, he pulled you toward it, tugging the door open just wide enough for the both of you to slip inside.

The space was cramped, barely large enough to hold the two of you. Logan’s body pressed against yours as he adjusted his position, his arm braced against the wall to keep from crushing you entirely. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his warmth seeping through the tension of the moment.

“Really?” you whispered, your tone dry despite the situation. “This is your big plan?”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea, quiet down,” Logan replied, his voice barely above a murmur. His tone was clipped, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

The voices of the guards grew closer, and the beam of a flashlight passed just outside the slats of the door. Your breath hitched, and Logan caught the sound, his gaze flicking to yours. He shook his head slightly, silently telling you to stay calm.

The guards paused right outside, their conversation muffled but tense. Logan’s jaw tightened, and his hand instinctively rested near his hip, ready to unsheathe his claws if necessary. But the seconds stretched on, and the guards eventually moved on, their voices fading into the distance.

Logan let out a quiet breath, his eyes flicking to yours. “Told you it’d work.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the tight space and the way his confidence somehow made the situation feel less suffocating. “Sure, if by ‘work’ you mean nearly giving me a heart attack.”

He shrugged, the movement almost brushing against you. “Heart’s still beating, isn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the corner of your mouth from twitching upward. “You’re impossible.”

The two of you stepped out, looking back and forth around the room to ensure no one else was around. But the momentary quietness didn’t last for long. 

Shouts from the guards grew louder, their heavy boots pounding against the concrete floors. Logan’s grip on your hand tightened as he tugged you forward, weaving through the maze of corridors.

“This way,” he urged, his voice low but urgent.

You followed close behind, heart hammering in your chest. The narrow hallway gave way to an open loading dock, the cool night air brushing your face like a lifeline. But the guards weren’t far behind.

“There!” one shouted, raising a weapon.

Logan didn’t slow, yanking you behind a stack of crates as bullets ricocheted off the walls. He growled low in frustration, eyes scanning for a way out. Spotting a gap between two trailers, he pointed. “Through there. Go!”

You didn’t hesitate, ducking through the opening and sprinting toward the perimeter fence. The sound of Logan’s claws slicing through the chain link sent a jolt through you. He gestured for you to crawl through first, covering your back before slipping out himself.

The two of you bolted into the cover of the nearby woods, the sounds of pursuit fading into the distance. You quickly turned on your comms for a moment.

“Scott, Rogue—they found us. We’re heading back to the rendezvous point.”

Marie’s voice crackled in response. “Got it. We’re still clear on our end. Stay low, and we’ll meet you there.”

Scott’s voice followed in. “What happened?”

“Guards,” Logan growled, keeping his pace brisk as he scanned the woods for any sign of pursuit. “Too many for subtlety. But we’ve got what we came for.”

“Just make it back in one piece,” Scott replied, an underlying tension in his voice.

“Always do,” Logan said with a smirk, cutting the comm connection before Scott could fire back.

The night pressed in around you, the sound of your breaths and the faint rustle of leaves filling the silence. After a few minutes, you slowed your pace, leaning against a tree to catch your breath. Logan stopped beside you, his sharp eyes still scanning the dark forest.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low but softer than before.

“Yeah,” you managed, your heartbeat finally beginning to settle. “Thanks for the assist back there.”

Logan shrugged, but his smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Wouldn’t have let you face that mess alone.”

You gave a small smile, feeling the weight of the moment settle. “Still, you didn’t have to...you know, drag me into that closet.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback. Instead, he locked eyes with you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes before he finally looked away.

“Come on,” he said, breaking the silence. “We’re not out of the woods yet—literally.”

You rolled your eyes but followed as he led the way through the trees, the faint sounds of the team waiting in the distance.

The treeline opened up to reveal the sleek silhouette of the X-jet, its ramp lowered like a beacon in the darkness. The faint hum of its systems was a welcome sound, promising safety and a chance to catch your breath.

You and Logan dashed through the trees, the X-jet’s ramp now fully lowered, and you kept close, adrenaline propelling you forward. Breathing hard, the two of you made your way to walk inside.

Scott was already at the base of the ramp, his arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place. Marie stood beside him, leaning casually against the side of the jet, her sharp eyes flicking between you and Logan as you approached.

“You cut it close,” Scott said, his voice tight with barely restrained irritation.

“Yeah, well, we ran into a little welcoming party,” Logan shot back, his tone deliberately nonchalant as he marched up the ramp. He didn’t spare Scott a second glance, leaving you to catch up.

You hesitated, brushing a stray leaf from your sleeve as you met Scott’s gaze. “We’re fine. The mission’s intact. That’s what matters, right?”

Scott’s expression didn’t soften, but he gave a curt nod. “Get on board. We’ll debrief on the way back.”

You moved up the ramp, feeling Marie’s amused eyes on you as she followed. “What’s his problem?” you muttered under your breath.

Marie smirked. “Oh, you know Scott. He hates it when things don’t go perfectly. But between you and me...” She glanced toward Logan, who was already settling into his seat. “I think it’s something else that’s got him all twisted.”

Before you could respond, the hatch sealed shut, and the jet hummed to life. Scott took his place at the controls, his movements stiff, while Marie slid into the co-pilot’s seat. You dropped into the seat across from Logan, who leaned back with a sigh, his usual smirk creeping back onto his face.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

“Nah,” he replied, though his tone didn’t match the word. After a beat, he added, “You did good out there.”

The simplicity of the compliment caught you off guard. You nodded, hiding a small smile as you turned your gaze to the window. The X-jet’s engines hummed steadily, the familiar sound almost lulling you into a sense of comfort after the chaos of the mission. You were both finally in the air, the tension of the night starting to dissolve with each mile that passed.

You shifted in your seat, feeling the exhaustion catch up with you. The adrenaline was wearing off, and fatigue hit harder than you expected. Logan, sitting beside you, seemed just as tired but still alert, his eyes scanning the cabin like he was always prepared for the next move.

You leaned slightly toward him, your head subconsciously moving toward his shoulder. At first, you told yourself it was just to ease the aching muscles in your neck, but as you settled against him, something else tugged at your chest. His shoulder was warm, a solid presence that somehow made everything feel a little less chaotic.

“Don’t get used to it,” you murmured, trying to push down the warmth flooding your cheeks.

Logan’s voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge of something softer to it. “Wasn’t planning on it.” He shifted, adjusting his posture to make you more comfortable, but you could tell he wasn’t going to make a joke out of it this time.

You let the quiet settle between you, eyes half-closed as your thoughts wandered. This isn’t supposed to feel this way, you thought, the weight of the moment suddenly heavy in your mind. It’s just supposed to be a game, a distraction. But the more time you spent with him, the more you realized that it was starting to feel like something else. Something real.

As the jet continued its steady flight, you let the thought drift to the back of your mind, pretending it wasn’t there. For now, you’d let yourself stay in this bubble, pretending this whole “fake dating” thing was still just that.

But deep down, you weren’t so sure anymore.

chapter 6 - what we hide

When the X-jet finally touched down at the X-Mansion, you felt a quiet relief. The doors opened with a hiss, and you stepped out first, walking briskly to the conference room where the debrief was set to take place. Scott, Marie, and Jean were already inside, sitting at the long table, their expressions unreadable.

Jean, ever the perceptive one, was the first to look up as you and Logan entered. Her gaze lingered on you both, a quiet smile tugging at her lips, but there was something behind it. A glimmer of knowing that made you feel suddenly exposed.

“Mission accomplished?” Jean asked, her voice warm but with that trademark sharpness that suggested she’d already read through the comms logs.

“Yeah,” Logan replied with his usual gruffness, dropping into a seat beside you. His knee brushed against yours, the contact so subtle it could’ve been an accident. You fought the urge to look at him, to acknowledge the sudden shift in the air.

Scott didn’t waste time getting down to business. He slid a tablet toward you, showing the photos of the prototypes and weapons you’d collected. “Is this all of it?” he asked, his voice more controlled than before, but the underlying tension between him and Logan was still palpable.

“Yeah,” you replied, your eyes still on the tablet. “Everything’s documented. No casualties on our end.” You searched through the pockets of your uniform, putting the mini prototypes down on the table. “And...these too.”

Jean nodded, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. “Good work,” she said, her tone still warm, but there was an edge to it now as her gaze shifted between you and Logan. She seemed to linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, her eyes narrowing just slightly in that knowing way.

“Everything went smoothly?” Jean asked, her voice casual but with a hint of something deeper. “No... surprises?”

You swallowed, not sure if she was referring to the mission or to something else entirely. You glanced at Logan, who was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way his jaw tightened that gave you the feeling he was just as aware of Jean’s subtle probing as you were.

“Yeah, no surprises,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Everything went as planned.”

Scott slid the tablet back toward the center of the table, his gaze lingering on it for a moment before he looked up. “Alright, I think that covers everything. You’ve done good work,” he said, his tone indifferent, but not unappreciative. “Get some rest. I’m sure we’ll have more to discuss soon.”

You nodded, ready to leave the debrief behind you. The tension had been thick in the room, and now that the mission was officially over, you couldn’t wait to take a breath without everyone’s eyes on you.

Logan, however, didn’t move immediately. He turned his head toward you, that familiar, unreadable expression on his face. “You coming?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

You nodded again, standing up. The two of you started toward the door when Jean’s voice stopped you.

“Hold up, Y/N,” she called. “I need to talk to you for a second.”

Marie, who had been standing by the door, gave you a knowing look. Logan glanced at you, his expression unreadable, before shrugging. “I’ll be outside.” He gave you space to handle this, but the shift in the air was undeniable. You felt a wave of unease wash over you.

You hadn’t expected Jean and Marie to corner you after the debrief, but here you were, sitting across from them in the hallway just outside the conference room. You felt the weight of their gaze, the silent question hanging between you.

Jean, always the more subtle one, folded her arms, her smile just a little too knowing. "So," she started, her voice smooth and casual. "How’s everything going? You and Logan, I mean."

You stiffened, caught off guard. Your heart thudded in your chest, and for a moment, you found yourself lost for words. “Uh, it’s good,” you said, your tone a little too light, betraying the nervous flutter in your stomach. “You know, the mission’s over, so...”

Marie raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smirk. “Yeah, sure,” she said, her tone dripping with that playful sarcasm you’d come to recognize. "It’s just... y’all seem real comfortable around each other, huh? A bit more than just teammates, wouldn’t you say?”

I guess they were really buying it now. This is good.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, what do you mean?”

Marie’s eyes glinted mischievously as she crossed her arms, leaning in just a bit. “Oh, come on, sugar. You two were pretty cozy back there. I’m just sayin’.” She tilted her head in a way that made it clear she was teasing, but there was an edge to her tone that made your heart race, a sudden panic crawling up your spine.

Jean smirked, sensing the discomfort in your response. "I was reviewing the comms from the last mission— must be something going on between you two.” Her voice was lighthearted, but there was something about the way she said it—acting like a couple, that made your chest tighten. You knew she wanted to get something out of you.

You laughed nervously, brushing it off. “It's nothing like that, really. We're just—just getting the job done, you know?” Your voice was a little too fast, a little too defensive.

Marie raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quaking upward. “Mhm, I bet. But you can’t deny the vibes, sugar.” She shot a glance at Jean before continuing, her tone more teasing. “Just like how Scott’s been all mopey over Jean lately... though, we all got our own little dynamics going on.”

Jean nodded, the smile never quite fading. “You and Logan, Scott and I, and—” she paused, glancing at Marie, “Remy...and Marie. It’s funny how these things just...happen, huh?” Her words had a casual air, but you could tell she was trying to gauge your reaction.

You felt your throat tighten at the mention of Remy.

Gambit. 

Right. 

You knew you were technically pretending to be with Logan, but hearing it brought you back to reality. You weren't a real couple. You just had to keep reminding yourself of that. But... the way they were talking about their relationships so casually, it felt so much more real.

Marie’s smile softened a bit as she leaned in closer. “It’s okay, sugar. You don’t have to have it all figured out with him right away. Just take your time. I mean, things with Logan can be... complicated.”

Jean nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Logan’s not the easiest to figure out, I know. But he’s got a good heart under all that stubbornness. Just... don’t be afraid to let him in when you’re ready.”

You forced a smile, nodding in agreement even though your thoughts were racing. Pretend. Right. You had to keep it together, keep up the act, even though it was becoming harder to distinguish the lines between reality and the mission.

“Thanks,” you said, clearing your throat. “But it’s really nothing. Just... keeping things professional.”

Marie winked, still teasing. “Alright, sugar. But if you do decide to make it more than just a mission thing, you know where to find me.” Her tone was playful, but there was a softness in it too, a subtle kindness you appreciated.

As you, Jean, and Marie finally parted ways, heading off in different directions, you took a breath, trying to shake the awkwardness that had settled in the pit of your stomach, and made your way to the door.

As you stepped out into the hallway, you spotted Logan just a few paces ahead, his back to you as he walked toward the staircase. He must have been waiting for you, or maybe just lingering after the meeting, but either way, you appreciated his presence to stick around.

“Hey,” you called out, your voice slightly strained as you reached him.

He turned slightly, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “How’d it go?” His eyes flicked toward you, searching your face with an intensity that made your heart beat a little faster.

You paused, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It went... fine.” You tried to keep your tone casual, but something in the way you spoke betrayed the uncertainty you felt. “They’re just curious about us.” You couldn't help but add the last part with a slight edge, as if the mere mention of it made your insides twist.

Logan’s brow furrowed, his usual unreadable expression faltering just a bit. “Curious?” His voice was low, like he was still trying to process exactly what that meant.

You nodded, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, well... they think we’re actually a thing. Jean was all smiles, and Marie...” You trailed off, shaking your head as if it would help shake away the unease. “It was just a lot of teasing, I guess.”

A slight chuckle escaped Logan’s lips, and he glanced over at you, his expression unreadable but laced with something... almost like amusement. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

You shook your head. “No, of course not,” you said, perhaps a little too quickly, but you quickly recovered. “Just enough to keep them satisfied.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer to you. “Yeah, well, it’s working, I guess,” he said, his voice just a little quieter now, a little less casual. He paused, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. “But maybe we should kick it up a notch, huh?”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “Kick it up a notch?”

Maybe it was a joke, or maybe it wasn’t. You couldn’t tell.

You swallowed, trying to keep your cool, but something about the way he looked at you stirred something beneath the surface. “Well, I wouldn’t mind,” you said, your voice a little quieter than you intended, as your faces grew uncomfortably close.

Logan’s smirk faltered just for a moment, and you could feel the shift in the air around you. He didn’t immediately respond, the space between you both suddenly charged with something you weren’t sure you were ready for. He blinked, almost surprised, but then leaned back with a casual shrug as if to shake it off.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, eyes narrowed, “I guess it wouldn't hurt.”

 His tone wasn’t as teasing as it would have been, which was a bit unexpected in your eyes. You tried not to think much of it. This was a fake relationship, after all. 

For a moment, neither of you moved. Your faces were so close now that you could feel the heat of his breath, your pulse racing in your ears. Logan held your gaze, and you saw that flicker of something deeper. Something that didn’t quite match the playful tone of his words.

But, just as quickly as it appeared, he brushed it aside with a half-hearted wink and a shrug. "Guess we’ll figure it out as we go along, huh?"

You nodded, a quiet tension still hanging in the air. As he turned and walked toward the stairs, you lingered, fighting the urge to follow him, the strange weight of the moment heavy on your chest.

One thing was for sure; things were definitely not as simple as they seemed anymore.

And though you couldn’t pinpoint what specifically, it was there.

chapter 7 - what we share

You watched Logan retreat upstairs until he disappeared around the corner, the faint scent of cigars along with it. The rest of the team had either gone to bed, or disappeared into their own corners of the mansion, leaving you alone with your thoughts. It was strange, how a place so full of people could feel so empty. You didn’t want to sleep just yet, your mind wide awake from the teasing Jean and Rogue had done just minutes ago. Lost in thought, you heard your stomach grumble.

A snack sounded better than staring at the ceiling for hours.

The mansion was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood settling. You reached to open the fridge, it's cold light spilling over shelves of leftovers and mismatched condiments. You grabbed a soda and some crackers, shutting the door with a quiet thud.

The voice startled you, making you jump slightly. You turned to find Logan leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, that unreadable look still firmly planted in his eyes. The surprise faded into a familiar calm.

“You always raid the kitchen this late?”

The voice startled you, and you turned to find Logan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, that same unreadable look in his eyes.

“I thought you just went upstairs?” you replied, keeping your tone light. “What’s your excuse?”

He smirked faintly, stepping inside. “I don’t really sleep. Figured I’d hang with you instead.”

You raised an eyebrow, popping open the soda. “That your way of saying you’re hungry?”

Logan shrugged, grabbing an apple from the counter. “Maybe. The girls kept you wide awake, huh?”

You hesitated, the soda can cooling your hand. “More like the mission from today,” you admitted, leaning back against the counter. “Feels like I’m still out there, you know? Like my body made it back, but my head didn’t.”

Logan nodded, grabbing an apple from a nearby bowl of fruits, biting it hard. “It’s normal. First few times, it messes with you. Then it just...sticks with you differently.”

“Comforting,” you said dryly, and he chuckled.

Before either of you could say more, another voice broke the moment.

“You two always this chatty at midnight, or am I just lucky?”

You turned to see Scott standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, a disapproving tilt to his head.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Relax, Summers. We’re not plannin’ a coup.”

Scott gave a slight smirk but didn’t lighten much. “So are you two... a thing now?” he asked, his tone playful but still searching. "Or just the late-night hangout type?"

You felt a sudden awkwardness settle in the room, and Logan’s posture stiffened for a moment before he smirked, looking back at you to respond.

“A bit of both.” you replied, your voice a little quieter than you intended. You glanced at Logan, unsure of how much to say, or if you even wanted to say anything at all. The last thing you wanted was to dive into an explanation that neither you nor Logan had figured out yet.

Logan’s eyes flickered to yours. "Yeah, something like that."

 “Right. Well, if you’re both done with your midnight snack, and well...cracking your little situation, the danger room isn't going to run itself tomorrow.” He looked at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

He left without another word, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Logan finished his apple, tossing the core into the trash. “He means well,” he said, almost grudgingly.

“Yeah,” you said, setting your soda down, taking a bite of some crackers. “Doesn’t make it any less annoying sometimes.”

Logan smirked, pushing off the counter. “Well, you heard the man. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“I will.” you replied, taking a small sip of your soda once again. You noticed Logan’s expression, lost in thought about something in particular. He stood near the hallway door, contemplating going on with his own endeavors, or staying with you. Either way, it was obvious the two of you weren’t planning to go sleep anytime soon. Not yet. 

“So, speaking of cracks,” you began, the words coming out slower than you expected. “You ever had anyone, you know, break through yours?”

Logan’s eyebrow twitched. “What, you mean, like, past loves?” His tone was neutral, almost shaking his head back to reality.

You nodded, curious but not pushing. “Yeah. It doesn’t have to be deep or anything. Just... someone who actually made you feel like you were seen, I guess.”

Logan glanced down at his feet, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. He didn’t respond immediately, but you didn’t expect him to. Logan wasn’t exactly one for talking about his past.

Eventually, he let out a breath, his voice quiet. “Yeah, a few. Doesn’t last long, though. When you’ve lived through what I have, it’s hard to let anyone in too close.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, your lips curling into a small grin. “Yeah, I get that. But it’s funny, still willing to fake date someone, even with all that baggage.”

Logan’s eyes flickered toward you, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might have been a smile if he wasn’t so stubborn. “Don’t read too much into that,” he muttered.

“I’m just saying,” you teased, leaning against the counter with a raised eyebrow. “If you can pull that off, maybe letting someone in isn’t as impossible as you make it sound.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement there, just barely. “Fake dating is a hell of a lot easier than the real thing,” he grumbled, clearly trying to avoid admitting anything deeper.

“Sure, but it’s still a step,” you shot back with a shrug. “Maybe next time you won’t need a cover story.”

Logan paused at the cabinet door, hand on the handle, probably to get another snack, but he didn’t open it right away. He looked over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You seem pretty sure about all this relationship stuff now," he said, voice low and teasing. "Didn't know you were such an expert."

You chuckled, leaning back against the counter with your arms crossed. "Oh, I'm not," you replied, giving a small shrug. "Just trying to figure it out. I mean, we all have our baggage, right?"

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly, and he stepped closer again, almost instinctively closing the distance between you two. There was a shift in his gaze, a flicker of something else, something a little more raw. "Yeah. Baggage," he muttered. 

“I’ve got enough to fill a warehouse,” he added, for a short moment; his voice still rough, but edged with a dark humor. "Doesn't mean I’m looking for someone to help carry it."

“I understand,” you said quietly, your eyes lowering as you reached for your soda again. You took a small sip, gathering your thoughts. “I’ve got my own baggage too. Probably more than I’d like to admit.”

Logan didn’t say anything, but you could feel his attention on you, steady and unwavering. He let go of the cabinet door, walking slowly to where you were seated. 

“I get why you’d rather keep your distance,” you continued, your voice quieter now, your fingers lingering close to your soda can. “I think... I think I’ve been doing the same thing, just in my own way. Maybe I’ve been keeping people at arm’s length, too.” You met his gaze then, your eyes a little hesitant. “Maybe because I’m scared. Scared of getting hurt again, or worse, scared of realizing I was never really enough in the first place.”

Logan’s gaze softened, just a little, and his lips parted to say something. He hesitantly placed a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re more than enough,” he said, his voice quieter than before, a hint of sincerity lacing his words. The way he looked at you, like he was trying to convey something else without saying it directly— it made your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you just stood there, feeling the weight of his hand, and the moment. There was something about Logan that made you want to let your guard down, to let him see parts of you you refused to show anyone else. Something about the way he didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you, he just let you be you. Authentically you.

It was never like that was Remy. No, not even. You wished.

“So, fake dating aside,” you replied, eyes darting away, interrupting the silence. “Do you ever think about what you’d want... if you actually did date someone? For real, I mean.”

"For romance..." he muttered, as if the word tasted foreign on his tongue. His gaze drifted, not quite meeting yours, as if searching for something in the air between you. He sat beside you now, arms on the table counter. 

"I guess it’s easier when someone’s already... taken, you know?" He finally met your eyes, an expression of something you couldn’t quite place in them. "It’s, well, you care about someone but you don’t have to act on it. Don’t have to figure out all the mess of... well, actually being with them. You can care from a distance, and that feels safer. That’s all." His voice was low, a little rough, but there was no bitterness in it, just a resigned honesty.

You didn’t say anything at first, processing what he’d said. It was a strange admission, and yet it made a twisted kind of sense. Logan had always kept his emotions buried so deeply, so well-hidden, that hearing him open up almost caught you off guard.

He cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "I’m not saying I’m some kind of martyr or anything. I mean, Scott and Jean have their thing. I’ve got my... Well, whatever the hell this is." He waved his hand vaguely in the space between you jokingly, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. "But yeah, it’s easier that way. You don’t have to deal with the what-ifs, the risks. You just... live in the moment and let it go."

“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out,” you said, chuckling, trying to keep the mood light, but even you could feel the pain of his words. “The whole ‘keep it at a distance’ thing.”

Logan’s lips curled into a small, humorless smile, but there was a hint of sadness in it, too. “Figured out? Nah.” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees, still looking at you with that same unguarded look. “It’s just... easier to not feel too much. You know?” His voice was quieter now, and for a moment, you thought he might say more.

You didn’t push. You didn’t need to. You understood. You both had your own ways of coping, your own defenses, and the idea of letting anyone in too close felt dangerous. Too uncertain.

"Yeah," you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness of the moment. "I get that. It’s easier to... not care too much, right?"

“If I care too much, they’ll get hurt in some way. Ain’t easy, letting someone in."

"Well,” you paused. “I still think the right person would help with the mess. Maybe it doesn’t have to be so...scary. More of just being there when things get messy."

For a moment, there was silence, and you both sat there. Logan’s eyes softened, just a fraction, and you saw the smallest shift in his expression. It wasn’t much, but it was there, something opening up, if only for a moment.

"Maybe," he said quietly, looking down at his hands. "But for now, I think I’m good with the fake dating thing."

“Yeah,” you said, your voice soft with a quiet understanding. “For now, we’re good.”

Logan stood up slowly, stretching his shoulders with a quiet grunt. "Well, we’ll see what the future holds," he said, his smirk returning, though it was lighter this time. "Get some sleep. Don’t forget about tomorrow.”

You nodded, your smile faint but genuine. "Yeah, I won’t, don’t worry. Thanks, Logan."

He gave you a small nod before turning toward the door. As his footsteps echoed down the hall, you stayed in the kitchen for a while longer. You never realized how easy everything was with Logan. You understood each other a bit too well.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

chapter 8 - what we break

The early morning silence greeted you as you pulled yourself out of bed. You stifled a yawn, stretching as the cool air nipped at your skin. Training day. No missions, no more disasters, just time in the danger room, blowing off some steam without needing to worry about anything else.

You moved through your routine, pulling on your workout gear and splashing cold water on your face to wake up properly. Training days weren’t always your favorite, but they offered a sense of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic life. At least, that's what you said, confronted by anyone who didn’t understand.

That optimism is what carried you all the way to the Danger Room. Standing in thought with your earphones in. As the doors hissed open, your steps faltered when you caught sight of who was already there.

Logan.

And Remy.

They were sparring in the center of the room, their movements fluid yet calculated, each step and strike of power and precision. Logan's growls punctuated the sharp clash of their practice weapons, while Remy’s easy smirk didn’t falter, even as he narrowly dodged an incoming blow.

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could run off before they noticed, Remy caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye and called out, “Morning, chère. You here to watch or join in the fun?”

You held out one of your earphones and froze, like a deer caught in headlights. Words failed you as your brain scrambled to come up with something, anything—that wouldn’t make you seem out of place.

Logan’s head turned at Remy’s greeting, his sharp gaze locking on you. His expression was neutral, but something about the slight tilt of his head made it feel like he was sizing you up.

“Oh, uh—yeah,” you stammered, stepping further inside before you could talk yourself into running the other way. “Thought I’d... get some training in.”

Remy straightened, tossing the staff he’d been holding to his other hand with a cocky flourish. “Perfect timing, non? We could use a fresh pair of eyes. Logan’s got his claws out today.”

You laughed awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Logan grunted, brushing past Remy and heading to the weapons rack. “You just gonna stand there or jump in, bub?”

Before you could respond, another voice chimed in.

“Well, this is going to be good,” Morph’s familiar voice drawled from the corner. They were leaning against the wall, arms crossed, their mischievous grin on full display. Clearly, they've been watching the whole thing, and from the look on their face, they weren't planning on missing a second of what was about to unfold.

You threw Morph a glare, but it only made them grin wider. Great. An audience.

“Uh, I’m good for now,” you said quickly, waving a hand. “Just warming up.”

You moved to the farthest available spot on the mat, your face heating under the weight of Logan’s and Remy’s lingering gazes. As you stretched, you could feel Morph’s eyes on you, too, like they were silently narrating every awkward twitch and stumble in your movements.

Trying to ignore them, you dropped into a stretch, but your limbs felt stiff, and your balance was off. Every now and then, you caught snippets of the sparring behind you. Remy’s smooth banter clashed with Logan’s gruff responses, the sound of their training weapons striking echoing through the room.

“Keep up, old man,” Remy quipped, his voice light as he sidestepped one of Logan’s swipes with infuriating ease.

Logan snorted, stepping forward with a calculated swing that nearly clipped Remy’s side. “Watch yourself. I’m just warmin’ up.”

You winced, fumbling mid-stretch. Morph’s muffled laugh caught your ear, and you shot them another look over your shoulder.

“What?” they asked innocently, though his smirk said otherwise.

“You’re distracting,” you muttered, focusing on your stretches again.

They chuckled, leaning casually against the wall. “I’m not the one completely flushed out.”

“I’m not flushed,” you snapped under your breath, though the evidence was plainly there.

Morph snickered, their ability to make you squirm practically a superpower in itself. “Sure, sure. And I’m not morphing into Gambit to test your poker face next.”

You groaned internally, pretending to ignore them as you tried to focus on the stretches. The sharp clang of Logan’s claws retracting pulled your attention for a brief second, and you couldn’t help but glance over.

Logan, as ever, was no-nonsense, brushing off one of Remy’s quips as he grabbed a towel from the bench. But when his gaze flicked toward you, sharp and assessing, your heart stumbled. Did he know how awkward and embarrassing this felt? Being forced to be with the guy you maybe still liked, along with your fake boyfriend?

 He probably smelled it. 

���Looks like she’s gonna warm up all morning,” Logan remarked gruffly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward just slightly. “You plan on actually doin’ anything, princess? Or you gonna keep flailin’ over there?”

Your head snapped toward Logan at the jab, and your hands dropped to your sides, clearly annoyed. 

"I’m stretching. It’s called preparation. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Remy’s laugh rang out before Logan could reply, a smooth, teasing chuckle that grated on your already frayed nerves. "You keep talkin’ like that, you’ll rile him up more than me."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you glanced between the two of them. "You’re both impossible."

“Aw, don’t be like that," Remy said, stepping closer, his ever-present smirk softening just a touch. "We’re just havin’ a little fun. No harm, non?"

You forced yourself to stay still, but every inch of your body wanted to react. Remy’s words felt like a mockery. Your stomach twisted from all of it. There was something in the way his tone lingered, in the flicker of his red eyes towards Logan, that made your blood simmer. 

You then turned towards Logan, of why you’d roped him into this in the first place. Gambit, Remy, the one who had broken your heart, had stood you up weeks prior, leaving you feeling small and humiliated. The worst part? He didn’t even seem to remember. But you did.

Meanwhile, Logan's expression was as unreadable as ever. Carved from stone, he gave away nothing, and yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else. Was he irritated? Amused? Or was it something else entirely? Whatever it was, it only bothered you more.

You gritted your teeth, stretching through the awkwardness while Logan and Gambit lingered too close for comfort.Remy was still smirking like he was in on some private joke, and Logan, for all his gruffness, didn’t seem to mind the tension he’d stirred up. You stole a glance at Morph, who, to his credit, had the decency to mime zipping his lips after Logan’s warning, but his eyes still sparkled with mischief.

With a sharp inhale, you pushed yourself up from your stretch and took a step toward Logan. “You’re right,” you said loud enough to catch both of their attention. “I should stop warming up and actually do something.”

Logan raised a brow, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his expression. His arms were crossed, his posture relaxed, but there was a tension in his gaze, like he was waiting to see just what you were up to.

With deliberate steps, you closed the space between yourself and Logan. His expression shifted slightly, confusion mixed with curiosity, his body stiffening just enough for you to notice. When you stopped in front of him, his brow furrowed further.

Despite the rapid pounding of your heart, you reached up, cupping the edge of his jaw lightly with one hand, and pressed your lips to his.

The world seemed to still for that brief moment. His lips were firm but warm, slightly chapped, with a roughness that was distinctly Logan. The kiss was soft, unhurried, and intentional. You allowed yourself to linger just long enough to make it convincing, feeling the way his breath hitched almost imperceptibly, the slight tension in his shoulders as though he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

When you pulled away, his eyes were on you, sharper than ever, and his lips parted just enough to give you the satisfaction of having caught him off guard. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of surprise, intrigue, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“I’ve changed my mind about joining you two. I’m going for a run.”

You didn’t dare glance back at Logan as you strode toward Gambit, who looked as though someone had just yanked the rug out from under him. His smirk faltered for a split second, just long enough for you to savor the moment. But he recovered quickly, twirling his staff and tilting his head at you as you walked out.

Behind you, Morph let out a low whistle, clearly delighted by the sudden shift in the room’s energy. Logan said nothing, but you could feel his gaze burning into the back of your neck. If you focused hard enough, you might’ve been able to hear the faintest scoff.

As you headed to the outer yard of the X-Mansion, you couldn’t bring yourself to just run just yet. Your mind was still stuck on what happened in the Danger Room. The moment with Logan. The kiss. It felt like an impulsive decision, one that hadn't really been thought through, but in a way, it had felt right.

Mind racing, you were still standing outside the mansion, the weight of what you’d done sinking in. The morning air did nothing to settle your thoughts, only sharpening the confusion swirling in your head. What the hell had you been thinking? You didn’t even have a chance to understand it before your body had already moved. Shaking your head, you walked back inside, your footsteps heavy on the floor.

You’d barely made it to the hallway when you heard the unmistakable heavy footfalls behind you. The sound of Logan’s boots on the floor echoed loudly, and you could feel his presence long before he spoke.

“Thought you were goin’ for a run,” Logan’s voice cut through the silence, low and tinged. He was obviously pissed.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. 

“Changed my mind,” you muttered, your pace never slowing as you reached for your keys. Your mind raced, but you kept your gaze straight ahead, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

His footsteps quickened, cutting the distance between you in two long strides until you reached the door to your room. You didn’t stop, but the sound of Logan’s voice, low and tense, made your heart stutter.

“Why the hell’d you do that?” he demanded. 

You finally stopped, but only to face him with your back against the door, your body tensing at the proximity. He stood there, eyes narrowed, like he was waiting for you to crack. His jaw was clenched, and there was an almost predatory tension in his stance.

“You were the one who wanted to kick things up a notch,” you replied. No matter how sarcastic you may have sounded, it was honest.

Logan’s expression flickered, something close to frustration flashing in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, barely retracting as he crossed his arms. “That was never what I had in mind.”

You raised an eyebrow, and despite everything, a slight smirk tugged at your lips. “I’m not the one who started sparring with Remy. The last person I want to see. You didn’t exactly make it easy to just sit back and watch.”

He stepped closer, just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His gaze flickered down to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto your eyes. It was intimidating, and you held yourself back from trying to look away.

“I didn't need you to make me look like an idiot,” he muttered, voice low, almost rougher than usual.

You stood there, back pressed against the door, heart pounding in your chest as Logan’s presence loomed just inches away. The room felt smaller with every second that passed in silence.

You heard his voice, low and rough as he leaned in to repeat himself. “Why’d you kiss me?”

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke. “I didn’t kiss you to mess with your head, Logan.” Your voice was steady now, no sarcasm, no defensiveness; just raw honesty. “But you’re the one who... made me think something else was going on.”

Logan scoffed, that almost sounded like a laugh, while shaking his head taking a step back. “Oh really? The same way you thought you had something else with Gambit?”

“What the fuck, Logan?”

The words caught in your throat, your breath quickening as the sting of his accusation hit harder than you expected. You pushed yourself off the door, taking a step toward him, your voice tight with disbelief. “Don’t you put that on me,” you snapped, pointing a finger to his chest. “You agreed to this.”

“You’re right, I did,” he replied, his eyes burning with something between anger and confusion, maybe even a hint of jealousy. “But you’re the one stuck in some damn fantasy of what could’ve been with that...cajun." 

“I’m not the one pretending like something’s going to happen with Jean.” The words were out before you could stop it.

Logan’s expression hardened in an instant, and the room seemed to freeze. His jaw clenched, muscles tensing under the strain of what you just said. You could feel the air crackling with tension, the unspoken words hanging heavy between you both.

He stepped back, looking at you as if you’d just struck him with something harder than your words. “You think that’s what this is about?” he spat, voice low and dangerous. “You think it’s about her?”

You didn’t back down, your own frustration burning. “Isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice cutting through the thick silence. “You’re stuck in some fantasy about her, too. Hell, everyone can see it. But don’t act like I’m the only one holding onto something that isn’t real.”

Logan let out a sharp exhale, his fingers gripping the edge of his coat, fighting to keep his cool. His eyes, though, were wild now, full of something you couldn’t quite define. “I’m not you,” he growled, the words coming out rough. “I don’t make mistakes like you. I don’t...” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

You took a step toward him, your eyes never leaving his. “And what? You think you’re the only one capable of making mistakes?” you shot back, your voice bitter. “Maybe we’re just not meant to have what we want. Because they could care less, to even bother giving a shit about us.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel the anger, the disappointment of what you’d just thrown into the air. Logan stood there, his chest heaving, and for a moment, neither of you knew what to say.

He finally broke the silence, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I never said I wanted her,” he muttered, staring at the floor for a moment before looking back at you. His expression was as callous as ever, but the way he stared you down; he couldn’t say it himself, but his eyes could.

Your eyes softened from his answer, but the lump in your throat practically stopped you from giving a response. It didn’t help that your head was pounding from how chaotic your nerves had been turned over. Logan let out a frustrated sigh as you had nothing left to say, from his subtleness, and took a step back. His eyes were still on you, but there was a certain finality to his gaze now, something cold and resolute that you weren’t ready to face.

“Forget it,” he muttered, voice clipped, his face unreadable. “Whatever this is—whatever we are—it's done. I’m done.”

Before you could say another word, he turned and walked toward the door, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. You stood there for what felt like an eternity, the weight of the argument crashing down, the finality of it all, and the overwhelming ache in your chest settled deep into your bones.

And god, you hated it.

chapter 9 - what we mend

The days had dragged on like an unending weight. Each glance between you and Logan felt like a punch to the gut, both of you stiffening the moment the other entered the room. You didn’t even need to look at him to know he was avoiding you; his silence was louder than any words could have been. The same could be said for you. It was easier this way. Or so you told yourself.

Since that morning in the danger room, when your lips had lingered a fraction too long on his, everything had become... complicated. What had been a simple, calculated arrangement of a fake relationship, the harmless flirtation, was now tangled in a mess of confusing emotions. Neither of you had addressed it, but the tension between you had only grown thicker.

At dinner, you had barely looked up from your plate. Every time you did, you’d catch Logan glancing in your direction only to quickly look away. His eyes were stormy, unreadable, and it frustrated you more than anything. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d actually spoken to him, at least not without a stilted awkwardness between you.

The team noticed, of course. Marie, with her usual sharp eyes, had raised an eyebrow at the silent distance between you two. "You two been fightin’ or something?" she’d asked, but you’d merely shrugged, offering a vague response that did little to explain the situation.

Now, as the evening wore on and the mansion fell quiet, the tension was unbearable. The silence in your room felt suffocating, tossing and turning in your bed; and no matter how much you tried to focus on something—anything—to distract yourself, your thoughts kept wandering back to Logan. The way his lips had felt on yours. 

But the line had already been crossed. And you didn’t want to cross any others. 

With a decisive moment, you stood from your bed, slipping on your socks with a swift motion. You had to see him. You just had to know if this feeling—this damnable, undeniable feeling was mutual, or if you were completely losing your mind. 

Your steps were quiet as you walked down the hall, your heart pounding louder than the sound of your footsteps. You reached Logan’s door, hesitating for only a moment before you knocked. The sound echoed in the silence.

"Who’s there?" His voice came through, rough and thick with the weight of the day.

"It's me," you said, and before you could second-guess yourself, you turned the handle, pushing the door open.

Logan was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in his iconic white tank top and bootcut jeans. His posture was rigid, as though he were waiting for something. When his gaze met yours, his eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything. He took another puff from his cigar, which didn’t help how thick the air was between you both. It was almost as if the room itself was holding its breath.

“What do you want?” he asked in slight annoyance.

 “I don’t know,” you muttered, the words coming out harsher than you intended. 

Logan didn’t move, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a tension in the air, something thick and unspoken. The silence stretched between you both like a taut wire, neither of you wanting to touch it, but neither able to ignore it either.

“You could’ve stayed away,” he said, his voice rough, like he was holding back something he didn’t want to admit.

“I know.” you whispered, a pang of guilt in your tone. “Look, I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean to push you.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might just brush it off, but then he spoke again, softer now. “It’s not just you.” His eyes flickered, as though searching for something in you, something he wasn’t ready to admit either. “I didn’t mean to snap at you either. It’s just... it’s easier if we both just pretend it didn’t happen.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words pressing against you, making your chest tighten. “It’s not easier,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the thick air between you. "It’s not easier for me."

Logan didn’t respond immediately. His eyes dropped to his cigar for a moment, a slight frown tugging at the corner of his lips. He exhaled, letting the smoke curl into the air, his gaze returning to you, but this time there was something different in his eyes. Something that softened the hardness you’d seen earlier.

“Then why the hell are we still doing this?” he asked, his voice low, rough with something that almost sounded like frustration. “Why are we still pretending if it’s this complicated?”

You took a step closer, your pulse quickening with the proximity. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“I don’t know," you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. "But I can't stop thinking about it—about you. I can’t keep pretending it was just nothing." You looked up, your gaze meeting his, finding him waiting for something, something you couldn’t name.

For a long beat, neither of you moved. Logan’s gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, his jaw tight, as though fighting something inside him. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shifted forward on the bed, a breath escaping him as if he were finally deciding to let go of whatever restraint he’d been holding onto.

“You’re not the only one,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, barely above a whisper. “I’ve been tryin’ to ignore it, but... hell, you make it hard to forget.”

You took a breath, stepping closer, your body drawn toward him against your better judgment. You could feel the heat between you, the crackling tension that had been building for days now, impossible to ignore any longer.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean to make things so damn complicated.

Logan’s eyes softened, just slightly, and his hand reached out, brushing the back of your fingers with his. The contact sent a shock through you, like electricity, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him close the gap between you.

“Not your fault,” he said, his voice thick, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “It’s me too. I’m... I’m not good at this shit. But I—” His words faltered, his eyes searching yours for something, anything. “I can’t pretend either.”

You didn’t give him the chance to say anything else. You pulled him toward you, crashing your lips against his. The kiss was hungry, desperate, full of all the unspoken feelings you’d been trying to ignore for so long. Logan’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, as if afraid to let you slip away.

You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. All the confusion, the frustration, the longing—it boiled over in a wave of heat that left you breathless. His lips were firm against yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter. The only thing that existed was the storm between you both, the undeniable pull that had always been there, buried beneath layers of doubt and distance.

When you finally broke away, you were both gasping for air. Logan’s forehead rested against yours, his hands still holding you close as if he needed to keep you tethered to him.

"Shit, I...that didn’t help, did it..." you whispered, your voice shaky, but a faint smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t know if it was a question or a statement, but it didn’t matter.

Logan’s laugh was low and rough, the sound a mixture of frustration and amusement. "No, but I figured as much." he said, but his eyes were still on you, intense, searching for something.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them, your hands lingering on his chest to keep a certain distance. "I—"

Before you could finish, Logan’s lips were on yours again, cutting off any further words. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just need. 

“Shut up.”

His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, gripping you with a possessiveness that made your heart race. The way he touched you felt urgent, almost frantic, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his tank top, and you pushed yourself closer, needing more of him. His lips were rough against yours, parting briefly for a breath, but you didn’t give him the chance to pull away. You kissed him harder, deeper, as if trying to erase all the space that had ever existed between you.

Logan’s fingers dug into your thighs, lifting you slightly as he pulled you closer, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that left you breathless. You could feel the heat of him through the fabric, and it made every nerve in your body hum with need. His grip on your thighs was firm, possessive, as if he was claiming you in a way that was both comforting and maddening. The way his hands moved, pulling you closer and closer, left you feeling dizzy, lost in the feel of him.

His lips traveled down to your jaw, and you gasped, a shiver running through your body at the feel of his breath on your skin. You couldn’t stop the way your hands wandered, exploring the hard planes of his chest and shoulders, wanting to touch every part of him. His scent, the warmth of his skin, the feel of his rough hands—it was all too much, and yet it wasn’t enough.

You let him take off your shirt, urging him to do the same, and one thing led onto the next.

Logan's hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but gentle, as if he were memorizing every curve of your body. You felt the steady rhythm of his breath against your skin, his lips trailing soft kisses along your collarbone. Each kiss ignited something deep within you, a rush of warmth that spread through every part of you. You moved closer, your hands instinctively reaching for his back, your fingertips grazing the muscles beneath his jeans.

His breath hitched slightly as your fingers brushed the waistband of his jeans, his body tensing at the touch. You could feel the intensity rising between you, the need in his movements, in the way his lips ghosted over yours before finally capturing them again. The kiss was deeper this time, more urgent, as though everything in the world had narrowed down to this single moment.

You pulled back just slightly, your chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to steady yourself. “Logan...” you breathed, your voice shaky as you searched his eyes, trying to read the same urgency, the same longing that mirrored your own. But there was still hesitation there, just beneath the surface. Still, neither of you moved, too tangled in the heat of the moment to do anything but breathe each other in.

His hand slid down your back, resting against the curve of your hip, fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your pants. He pulled you closer again, the intensity of his touch making your pulse quicken. “I know,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Me too.”

And the rest? It could only be described as bliss.

chapter 10 - what we confess

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the warmth. Strong, steady, and unfamiliar in the best possible way. It wasn’t just the weight of the blanket cocooning you or the soft glow of morning light spilling through the curtains. It was him.

And you were in his bed.

Logan’s arm draped across your waist, his fingers loosely splayed over your stomach as though even in sleep, he refused to let you go. His chest pressed against your back, the soft rhythm of his breathing stirring the fine hairs at the nape of your neck.

For a moment, you didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe, afraid that the slightest shift would shatter the fragile peace of the morning. You let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel safe, for once, in the quiet intimacy of it all.

Then his voice, low in a whisper, broke the silence. “You awake?”

You turned your head slightly, catching his sleepy gaze. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and there was a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow. It was so endearingly Logan, so unlike the composed version everyone else saw, that it made your chest ache.

“Yeah,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Logan’s lips twitched into a lazy grin. “Good. Thought I might’ve crushed you in my sleep.”

You snorted softly, your fingers reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “Not even close. Though you do snore.”

“Snore?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Princess, you’re hearing things.”

“Sure,” you teased. “You sounded like a chainsaw. A grumpy one.”

A chuckle rumbled low in his chest, and he tightened his arm around your waist slightly. “Guess I was too comfortable. Not used to sleeping next to someone who doesn’t wake me up kickin’ in their sleep.”

“Don’t test me,” you said with a mock glare, but your smile betrayed you.

His grin widened as he propped himself up on his elbow. “Noted.”

It was a strange kind of comfort, lying tangled together without the unspoken words or half-faked plans hanging over you. But the comfort didn’t last. The two of you had hardly gotten any words out last night, and reality, as always, had a way of creeping back in.

Logan shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His gaze softened, the usual storminess of his eyes replaced with something warmer, something gentler. “We gotta talk.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. We do.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the words you both needed to say hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Logan broke the silence.

“This whole fake-dating thing,” he started, his voice measured, “I didn’t think much of it at first. Figured it’d be a pain in the ass, but... I don’t know. Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling fake.” He paused, his hand brushing yours lightly. “At least for me.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, the weight of his words settling in your chest. “Logan...”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently. “I know you were hung up on Remy. And hell, I thought I was hung up on Jean. But the truth is…”

Logan hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words.

“She was someone I thought I wanted,” he said, his voice quieter now, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. He glanced away for a beat, exhaling softly, before meeting your gaze again. “But... it was never real. Not like this.”

“This?” you asked softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

“This,” he confirmed, his hand finding yours and curling around it. “You. Us.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you found yourself struggling to speak.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out?” he added, his voice softer now. “How hard it was to just... stand by while you kept lookin’ at him like he was everything?”

Your chest tightened, his words stirring something deep inside you. “I—”

“Don’t,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Don’t say anything you’re not ready to say. Just... be honest with yourself. With me.”

You bit your lip, your eyes dropping to where his hand rested against your cheek. “I don’t think I love him anymore,” you admitted quietly, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. “I thought I did. For so long, I thought I’d never get over him. But now...” You looked back up at Logan, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t imagine myself without you.”

Logan’s lips quivered into a small, almost disbelieving smile. “Good,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “’Cause you’ve been driving me crazy, darlin’. Watching you smile, hearing you laugh... it’s all I’ve wanted for a while now.”

A small laugh escaped you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his lips brushing yours lightly. “But I don’t mind. Not with you.”

The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the desperation of the night before. This wasn’t about drowning in the moment. It was about finding something real, something worth holding onto. When it finally broke, your foreheads stayed pressed together, both of you breathing in the shared space.

“So, what now?” you asked softly.

Logan smirked. “Guess we stop pretending.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “You in?”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “Yeah. I’m in.”

And as his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you’d already found it.

[joannasprose]

KNUCKLE VELVET

description:

“. . .Nothing hurts like you do. Like the way you say I love you.”

Following VI’s ‘betrayal’, the heartbreak, and cruelty that rests in her heart, she begins to embark on a path of full of physical and mental depravities that threaten to kill her tenfold.

That is, until you find her again.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

read part two here!

pairings: vi x reader, caitlyn x violet

word count: 1.4k

content warnings: angst, violence, denial of feelings, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, 3 parts series.

authors note: sorry for being gone for a little while !! I did not have any motivation to write but now it’s Christmas break so I’m hopeful I’ll write a little more <3 I hope you guys enjoy this have a good holidays 🌀 also my inspirations were knuckle velvet and the carpet ep by ethel cain - hence the chapter title and wip name :P ( also cross posted on ao3!! my user is joannasprose if u wanna read it there! It’s also linked in my navigation :) )

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

Her knuckles are aching—swollen and bloody from her fights. Fights that were, at first to make money for herself, yet now has turned itself into something formally depraved. Perhaps another form of self-deprecation, of hurt and of the brutality in which she finds herself subjectedto.

Everything begins to hurt—the throbbing in her head, the pain of childhood melancholy, and most recently, a rebirthed heartbreak. The memory of Caitlyn's cruelty is wedged between her ribs, along with her fingers and in the wounds that won’t heal.

So maybe that’s what it is, her reasoning for putting herself on display: for digging her nails deep into her skin as her fists meet her next unfortunate opponent.

But as she lays half awake in her bed, reminding herself that she cannot help anyone if she won’t help herself, a prolonged breath leaves her mouth.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

YOU FIND YOURSELF sat in the stands, hands in your lap as the crowd's cheers begin at a simmer and slowly shape into a boil. The hairs on your skin have created goosebumps in anticipation, waiting unnervingly as you wait for her to enter the stage.

In all honesty, you feel a bit stalkerish. You had never found yourself trying to formally talk to her—in your defense, it had been seven years since then. Since everything went wrong and since everyone had changed. Yourself included.

And perhaps, if she had truly wanted to see you again, why hadn’t she come to find you. To scrape up the pieces of a broken love and pull you in her arms again? You try desperately to pull yourself out of your thoughts as you see her, finally, stepping out of the archway and in the attire you always saw her in.

To anyone else who might not have known her as well as you did, they might have brushed her off as just another Zaunite. One who raved in the spotlight and indulged in the delights Zaun had to offer. But you knew better.

You could see it in the indents of her skin—and though you had never come too close to her, your vision along with where you sat had been enough for you to recognize her anywhere. There were rumors that she had come back; rumors of her being in acquaintance with a piltie, others speaking of the havoc she’d caused around the streets of Zaun, sometimes even Piltover.

When you had first acknowledged them, your heart ached. For her, and then for Jinx, for Ekko. And sometimes, even for yourself.

The roars of the crowd hadn’t died down, in fact, they had grown louder when her opponent had finally come on stage. He was five times bigger than Vi in size, and usually, you hadn’t wondered whether or not she would win. Vi was a skilled fighter, fast on her feet, and level headed.

But now, as you watch her bring her balled fists up to her face, her eyes shuddering, her stance becoming wobbly as she puts her left foot in front of the other—you shamefully begin to wonder if she could truly win it, with the way she looks now.

In the first round, and even half of the second, she had the high ground. Blood was split, from his face and from her knuckles. But slowly, her movements had begun to deter, the sways becoming a more prominent factor in it all. And in the split of a second, one dipped in blood and in alcohol—his fist met her face and she’d hit the ground.

You couldn’t help but bring a hand to your mouth as a gasp left your throat. She didn’t get up, not this time. But her limp body laid there, unmoving on the ground as the crowd counted. All you could do was there, all you could do was watch as someone unknown to you, lifted her off the ground, and carried her out of the ring.

For whatever reason, seeing her like this pained you more than anything. In truth, you didn’t like the fact that she was doing this to herself. Nothing good had come out of it. In your eyes, she didn’t look happy or grateful from the outcome.

Just tired and hurt.

And so there you found yourself, standing from your spot and sifting through the crowd. Some cursed at you for blocking the view as the man below gloated his victory—but you didn’t care for it. Desperate to find her.

But you stop at your tracks at your realization. Find her and say what? You think to yourself.

You’d been gone, she’d been gone. She’s moved on so what is there left to say? But you push your hurt and questions aside, resuming your hair and leaving out the doors the brawling scene.

When times had become unbearable, much like this one, you found yourself thinking of the past.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

THE NIGHT IS how it should be. Your body pressed up against hers as the wind whistles, as those grueling goosebumps come around as they always have, and as Vi speaks, “Are you even listening?” She asks, looking down to your face resting on her shoulder, a crooked smile on her lips.

“Of course I am,” you say, smiling as she rolls her eyes.

“Oh sure,” she begins, trailing off before resuming, “what was I talking about then?” An even wider smile finds itself on your face—recalling the moments prior to this one.

“Um…the intricacies of…structures?” It’s silent until a laugh pulls itself from Vi’s throat, the pearls in her gums taking their place on stage as she speaks, “seriously? Did you even try?”

You pull yourself away from her, slapping her shoulder playfully as you bite your lip, “Dude! Can you blame me? It's freezing cold out here. My skin might freeze and fall off my bones.”

Vi hums in response, turning her attention to the city—the buildings that stand oh so firmly, all beautifully made in their own ways.

The silence is evident. Apparent enough to make you anxious as you take it all in.

Giving into the silence, you speak, “Vi? What’s wrong?” You follow the path that her eyes lead to. But to no avail, all you find are scattered lights and people who look like ants compared to the both of you.

“Nothing I just…” she says, beginning to bring a hand to ear to her, a sheepish smile on her lips now as you look at her. “I just don’t want this to end,” she says and then she looks at you. With a look of endearment and love and anything you’ve found yourself dreaming of.

“Promise me you won’t change. Promise me you’ll always be with me.” A smile finds itself on your lips as you lift a hand to her cheek, watching as she closes her eyes and grabs your wrist, gently.

“I promise. I won’t change. Not now, not ever.”

You say, genuinity laced across your lips.

Because it was true. It was, you’d truly meant it.

———

It hadn’t been that hard to find her.

A turn down an alleyway and you saw her.

Alone and slumped against the bottom of the stairs. For a long moment, you just stared. Unsure of how to approach her and what to do. Even now, would she have remembered you? Even after all those years, thinking of her and wondering where she could have ended up, had she thought of you?

Or were you just simply another thing abandoned and forgotten.

Undermining that fact, you stalk towards her anyways, gently and with precaution.

Finally, as you’ve set closed, watching her heaving on the sets of stairs, you see her for what she is now: a raw, gaping wound.

Hesitantly, you lift your hand to her shoulder, desperately wanting to push her into a sitting position. But the moment your hand falls close to her skin, she reaches out her own to grab your wrist. Not gentle like it used to be, but harsh.

A startled breath leaves your throat, wanting to pull away but she still holds on to you.

Her vision is squirming, her eyes are looking in every direction before befalling you.

Before her hand loosens and is gentle once again, like you’ve always known.

But she’s let go of you now as she speaks, “y/n?”

to be continued. . .

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

KNUCKLE VELVET

CHAPTER ONE: MISUSE OH

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 3

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Irregular eating habits mentioned specifically in this chapter (WC: 5.5k)

( Previous chapter / Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

-

You spot him alone in the library. Months have passed and winter has made its presence known.

Levi is staring at the fire. When his eyes lock with yours, you think they lack their usual cutting edge. Instead, he just looks tired.

“You gonna gawk much longer?” he asks. 

“Well…” Your grip on your book tightens; you stay rooted to your spot. “You don’t mind if I intrude?”

“This is a public space, isn’t it?”

It is, but it doesn’t mean you won’t ask.

Levi doesn’t leave when you sit on the sofa opposite him. The two of you stay like this, letting the crackling fire be your guiding light into the night.

.

.

.

It isn’t that Levi always preferred being alone, it’s just that it’s had a way of finding him.

Growing up, Levi remembers seeking affection—craving it, in fact—like a moth seeks a flame. Levi worshiped the ground his mother walked on, loved to listen to her speak, imitated her, anything to hear a “Well done, my Levi”. He imagines it made him a needy brat, that he was probably a burden to his mother.

When she died, he thinks that's when it happened. When he began to close in on himself, when he started to keep his emotions close to his heart.

"My boy, what wonderful craftsmanship!" Mr Jakowski's joyful voice assault's Levi's ears, plugging him out of his wandering thoughts.

Levi looks up at his boss, ignoring the smell of fresh paint.

Mr Jakowski is leaning over Levi’s shoulder, spectacles shining under the dim amber light. A large grin creeps on his rosy face, a contrast to the blue paint smeared on his white shirt. "What are ya making, hm? Is that something—"

"—personal," Levi cuts him off, shifting in his seat to conceal his work.

His boss lets out a loud bark. He pulls back from Levi. “Hah, mysterious as always, our Levi!”

Levi has been working at Mare Lumber Co. for a little more than a year now. His boss, Adam Jakowski, originally an Eldian from Liberio, is the sole carpenter in town. Levi likes working here. Most days, Levi tends to the till, manages the inventory, and assists Mr Jakowski with customer orders. It's routine work, really, but it feels good to be working with his hands, with his mind. 

“And how are you doing?” Mr Jakowski asks, propping his back against the edge of the counter, a habit of his whenever he chats idly with Levi. 

“I'm fine.”

"Are ya sure? You seem a little distracted, dear boy."

Mr Jakowski got in the habit of calling Levi ‘dear boy’ shortly after he took the job. At first, Levi told him off—sure, Mr Jakowski was older than Levi, but Levi was nearing his forties at this point. Levi was not a boy—never had been, perhaps.

And yet, he soon noticed something strange: every time he corrected the man, Mr Jakowski would correct himself, a distant glaze in his stare… only to make the same mistake the next day.

One day, his wife took Levi aside.

“You musn’t be cross with him, Levi,” Mrs Jakowski had said with a gentle voice. “My Adam and I… we lost our son ten years ago. Marleyans butchered him. And ‘dear boy’… that was Adam’s nickname for our son. Sometimes, I think… I think in his heart, my husband never quite got over it.”

After that, Levi never corrected Mr Jakowski again.

“Levi, are you listening to me?" Mr Jakowski laughs. "You’ve got that glaze in your eyes of a dreamer, the way my daughter be sometimes. Never seen it on ya before.”

Levi scowls. “I think you need to clean your glasses, old man.”

“Is it that missy staying at your house that’s got you looking so—”

“No.”

“Sure about that?”

At that, Levi stays silent. Of course, he’s sure. He'll be damned if he lets trifling innuendos get under his skin.

And yet, Mr Jakowski's eyes glint knowingly all the same, as if catching wind of something Levi isn't aware of. It almost makes Levi want to speak up (though, to say what?), but before he has the opportunity to say a thing, the man leaves him be. Levi listens to his receding footsteps and the tinkering noises soon coming from the workshop area of the store.

Levi reverts his attention onto the wooden figurine in his hands, casting it an altogether unimpressed look.

What he’s making… it’s stupid, isn’t it?

For the last week and a half, Levi has been using his lunch breaks to work on it. Right now, this wooden creation is simply a great blob of nothing. And yet, Levi can’t stop from continuing it. It started with your arrival, this idea, when something spurred deep in him to create and he doesn't know if it will lead to anything.

Perhaps he's wasting his time, perhaps—

The bells on the door chimes. Levi's eyes swerve up.

And he promptly places the figure on his lap, concealed right under the counter.

Because you've just entered the shop, greeting him with a pleasant smile. “Afternoon, Levi!” The door closes, light pooling around you, dewy and delicate. "Are you on your lunch break?"

Levi lifts a brow but gives you a slow nod. 

"Oh, good, I was scared I got your lunch time mixed up..." You lift a basket that was hidden behind your back, showing it off like it was some prized thing. “Ta-da!”

Levi just stares, not understanding what he's supposed to be seeing. 

“I brought lunch.” 

Oh, that's a first. You've never come all the way into town to visit his place of work, let alone have lunch with him. Is this because he accidentally let it slip that he sometimes skips lunch on his work days? You seemed particularly affronted last night; you'd washed the dishes grumbling something beneath your breath... 

“Miss Adler, is that you?” As if on cue, Mr Jakowski appears to Levi's left side, safety glasses still lodged on his head. He lets out a full-belly laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "I thought I recognized your melodic voice. It's good to see ya! I’ve been telling Levi to bring you around for some time now, but he's kept you all for himself."

"Has he, now?" you muse. "That's not very polite of you, is it, Levi?"

Levi keeps his expression blank.  

Mr Jakowski steps around the counter. "Is that lunch I see? You know, Levi rarely eats much in here."

“I know, that’s why I’ve come. I'm on a mission to change that, sir. I've brought lunch and even my secret trump card… cake!”

“You sure know the way to a man's heart, Miss Adler!” You pinch your lips, seemingly flustered, but Mr Jakowski is already shifting his attention to Levi, something almost devious splitting in his boss' expression. Levi's gaze narrows instantly, suspicious of whatever is to come next. “Now, you heard the lady, dear boy. You wouldn't want to reject the hospitality of such a kind woman, would ya?"

Levi considers Mr Jakowski. His offer sounds tempting enough, but Levi's already shirked his duties by working on his project. His lunch time is practically over...

His boss seems to read his mind. "Take an extra hour." Mr Jakowski walks over, squeezing Levi's shoulder—not painfully, but not lacking zest. The man leans closer, the smell of paint weaving into Levi's space once more. "Shop's quiet today, anyway—I'll handle it. And don't forget to hide that little secret of yours. Wouldn't want her to see your gift before it's finished, hm?"

Levi's eyes flicker from Mr Jakowski, then onto you. His shoulders rise... then fall again. He gives in with a sigh. You came all this way, after all, and Levi was never one to waste food.

“Fine,” Levi mutters, eying Mr Jakowski, “I'll be back in an hour, on the dot.”

.

.

.

“What are you reading?” you ask him one night. The two of you are at it again—sitting on different armchairs, reading in front of the fireplace. It's been a routine of yours these last evenings. 

“History books.”

You raise a questioning brow—that wasn't what you expected Levi to be interested in. 

Levi seems to pick up on your question before you even voice it.  “I want to understand why you upsiders do it.” 

Upsiders, the term coined by those living in the Underground for those living above.

You tilt your head. “Why we do what?”

“What you live for.”

.

.

.

Levi feels like he’s about to outright melt.

The park at this time of the day seems to gather heat like a damn magnet. Sitting on a picnic blanket under a large willow tree isn’t enough to stop sweat from coating his neck—summer is in full swing, and even the yellowing grass blades around them seem to feel its effects.

Over the last minutes, you’ve been telling him all about your morning: how you worked in the garden, how you cleaned up around the house.

“… then I went back into town to buy lunch," you explain, one hand outstretched as you caress the grass blades with the tip of your fingers. You seem content, relaxed. "I'm very excited to hear your thoughts on the cake, 'Vi. It’s a specialty from the Southern part of Marley, apparently.”

Levi squints, the eyelid on his bad eye trembling from the glare cast by the sun. Laid out between the two of you is something that’s just short of a small feast. Sandwiches, sliced fruits, fresh lemonade, and a takeaway box that contains what Levi can only guess is this infamous cake you're so excited to make him try. 

Vegetables, cheese, sugar. Levi still isn’t used to having these ingredients in such abundance. Maybe he never will be. 

But he certainly won't let any of it go to waste. 

"Hey, didn't I tell you to take it easy?" Levi mutters, picking up a cheese sandwich. "You didn't need to waste your free time doing all of this.”

"Come on, after my big freakout from last week, it's the least I could do."

"I told you, it was nothing—“

“But it wasn’t to me. I wanted to do this,” you cut in, weighing each word like it held its value in gold. Levi notices you reeling your hands into fists... only to be ushered out of existence as you shrug off the uncertainty. “Besides,” a bright smile brackets over your face, "all of this is keeping me busy. If I don’t do this, well… I've found that I just want to sleep all the time. At least, like this, I’m too occupied with thinking too much. Know what I mean?”

Levi thinks he does. It's why he always enjoyed cleaning so much, to some extent; it kept the edge off of things. He isn’t sure what that says about either you or him.

"I'm glad I could see where you work," you continue. "The shop has a certain aura to it, doesn't it?"

"It's the smell of saw dust and paint. You get used to it."

"I meant there's warmth to the interior." You snort, rolling a particular grass strand between your index, tugging at it without ripping it out. "But I like the smell, too, now that you mention it. I've only dabbled in oil paintings here and there, but it reminds me of that. I imagine adding color to something—anything, really—for a living must be rewarding. You get to style furniture according to someone's wishes, make sure it's dear and personal to them. That's pretty amazing, right?"

Levi almost smiles. Count on you to spin what some might consider mundane work and describe it as something magical. You've always had a knack for doing that, even in times of adversity. 

"And that boss of yours sure seems eccentric," you muse as you lean back, "bet he makes every day feel extra special.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Your eyes drift up to the sparse clouds. “Special’s… good. Special’s fun.”

Levi's lips twitch. Yes, he supposes that's true. Many things can be said about Mr Jakowski, but boring is not one of them.

"You and him are similar in that way," he murmurs beneath his breath. 

(You make every single of his day feel special, too.) 

A gentle breeze picks up the front section of your hair; it makes the smile on your face more noticeable, somehow more in the spotlight. For a moment, a delicate silence settles in, one filled with the sound of tree branches swaying above, its shadows moving across your face. Levi catches himself staring at you—again. Before he knows it, he's watching as you draw your attention on the food options laid on the picnic blanket. Your eyes stop onto a particular plate. 

Without even thinking about it, Levi raises the plate towards you.

You grin, grabbing a slice of spinach pie. "Thanks." As Levi retreats his hand back, placing the plate back on the picnic blanket, he notices you pausing. His eyes meet yours; your eyebrows knit together. "Hey, what's that on your hand?"   

Levi feels the heat of your attention as he glances down at his palm. Ah, that. The bandage. Levi forgot all about it. Earlier, while working on his personal woodwork project, Levi accidentally cut himself. The cut is superficial in nature, and the blood that leaked out of it felt excessive. Like his body was being dramatic for no good damn reason.

Unsurprisingly, your reaction blows out of proportion, too. "Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?" 

"S'fine." Levi now holds his sandwich with both hands, trying to shield his bandaged hand so you don't reach for it (somehow, he thinks you will). He's not sure how to handle your care right now, so he turns away from you, pretending to be interested in seagulls foraging nearby. "I patched it up."

“Still, you should disinfect it when we’re home…”

(Levi still isn’t used to that term of possession. We. Like it's his home, as much as much it's yours. Something shared.)

"I can make an ointment that'll speed up the healing process, perhaps, so you're not encumbered for very long,” you continue. Levi glances back at you. You're holding your chin thoughtfully. “I’ll need to go buy some tea tree oil for that. Maybe I should also stock up on ethanol and other essentials while I’m at it...”

The sight of you all pouty causes Levi to scoff. “Thought you weren’t a doctor no more?”

He takes the last bite of his cheese sandwich. 

“For you, Levi, always.”

Levi chokes. He begins to cough, the half-eaten bread hammering at his chest. 

Your hand is on his back just as soon as his coughing fit starts. "You okay?"

Levi nods with a blank expression, swatting your touch away. He stares at you from the corner of his eyes, disbelief lodged behind his gaze. Shit. Why do you have to say stuff like that? It's like you're trying to make his heart explode or some shit. 

“Cutting yourself at work and almost choking to death.” You whistle lowly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch, Ackerman.”

“I choked because of you, Adler.”

“Because of me?” You blow air with your lips. “Why, what did I do?”

“You—“ Levi feels himself growing hot—too hot. Blast this damn heat. “Forget it.”

You lean back, looking at him curiously. “Is this the fate that awaits me in a few years when I reach your age? Choking and half-finished sentences?”

Levi’s eyes narrow. “Well, aren't you full of jokes today?”

“Thanks. I’m trying real hard, in case you couldn’t tell.” You bite back a full-teeth grin; Levi hates how adorable you look, even when you're teasing him—especially when you're teasing him. “Maybe that’s what I should pursue next, huh? Comedian… that'd be quite the career change.”

Levi shakes his head. “I’ll have to support you financially for the rest of your days.” 

A burst of laughter rolls out of you. It makes Levi feel queasier still.

“Hey," you say once your laughter has dimmed down. Your gaze holds his, bright and true. "What were you working on anyway, that you ended up cutting yourself?”

“Nothing.” Levi doesn’t supply you with more information, the memory of the unfinished figure flashing in his mind. It's trivial, the sort of work he's been doing, especially compared to what Mr Jakowski builds. “Just keeping busy.”

Because Levi’s life is just that now. He has to keep himself busy, to fill it with things so he doesn’t stop moving.

“Hey, Levi?” Levi looks back at you, and you shoot him a lopsided smile. “Do you ever think your past self would believe you’re out here now, carving wood for a living?”

Levi considers your question. He’s not the sort of person to wonder about these questions, but he’s not surprised that you still are. 

The answer is simple. No, his past self wouldn’t believe it. His past self wouldn’t believe most of it.  

He tells you as much, aching to change the subject. “What about you? Picked up a pencil yet?”

“Hm… not yet. Haven’t been feeling it, to be honest." There's something a little sad hanging on your face for the shortest moment, only to be replaced by wide eyes and parted lips. “But, oh, I promise, that doesn't mean I don't like your gift or anything. The supplies you bought—I'll make sure they don't go to waste! I just—”

"Hey, breathe," Levi interrupts, his eyes charged on you. "It's fine if you don't. There's no pressure.”

Your shoulders deflate. You give him a tired smile. “Thanks.”

In the distance, a school bell rings. Children begin to pour out of the building, like a flock of birds leaving the nest, knowing it is there to come back to.

“Anyway,” you say, reaching for the sealed container. “Enough of that. It's time for my favorite part of any meal: sweets. I’m eager to know your thoughts on this lemon tart.”

(The answer? Levi will discover he has a taste for lemon desserts.)

After that day, it becomes a routine of sorts. You show up some days to have lunch with Levi. On the grass under the willow in Mare, you and Levi watch the sea drift from afar, cake laid out between the two of you.

.

.

.

“Oi, what’s this?”

You look up from your notes on your desk. Levi has barged into your office, holding the silver tin you asked to be delivered to him. 

"That's Valerian root,” you answer.

”Valerian root,” he repeats, eying you suspiciously. “Why?”

"Um... think of it as a gift, I guess?"

"Why? We’re not friends."

A grimace flashes on your face—ouch. So, Levi doesn't see you as a friend, even if you're starting to consider him as such, anyway.

"Well., I noticed you seem to have insomniac tendencies, so I...” You clear your throat, swatting a dismissive hand in the air. “If it makes it easier to accept it, think of it as a medical order."

"A medical order." Levi scrunches his nose, pinching his lips together. "And what does Valerian root do, anyway? "

"Valerian root is tea. Or well, not tea. It's an infusion. But you can brew it the same way and it helps... it helps to fall asleep."

.

.

.

When Levi comes home that night after work, the sun is setting low over the sea, a red dot over the horizon. There's a gentle breeze in the air, one that carries with it the smell of salt and sand from the beach just below the valley. 

As soon as Levi is home, he slips into his usual patterns. He takes his shoes off, swapping them for the soft slippers Gabi and Falco once gifted him. He grabs his indoor cane by the entrance, just where he left it. Then, like a rite of passage, he makes his way to the common room, expecting to find you. 

You're not there. Instead, the quaint room that serves as a kitchen, living room, and dining room is empty, a distinct smell of herbs in the air.

Levi recognizes the scent almost immediately; it's the same fragrance that hung around the Survey Corps infirmary on any given day. Frankly speaking, Levi equates the smell with, well, you. It's been years since he smelled it.  

Peppermint, chamomile, tea tree oil... there was always a particular mixture of herbs you favored to treat ailments. Funding within the Survey Corps was sparse, after all, all the more within the medical wing, so to remedy this, you had to get creative: you bought cheap herbs in bulk and created balms with what the Survey Corps could afford. The same herbs Levi now smells in the air.

And Levi suddenly gets a sense of...

Home. 

It's corny, really, that all of a sudden, he feels more at home than the home he's inhabited in the year of living alone. But maybe that's the thing about getting older; there's just smells that remind of the past, things that feel impossible not to acknowledge.

In a way, Levi is grateful that those scents are what he associates with your infirmary, with your hands. Later, when his leg was wounded, and he became accustomed to the stomach-flipping stench of strong antiseptic solutions prevalent in Marleyan hospital tents, the memory of you—of his fucked-up sense of home—remained untainted.

"Oh, fuck!"

A crash assaults Levi's ears. He turns, only to find you half-bent down, picking up a pile of books from the ground. You straighten back up, looking flustered at the sight of him.

"L-Levi,” you huff, “y-you scared the living out of me!"

Levi's brows draw low, shooting you an unimpressed look in return. "Then you should pay better attention." You're holding onto a bunch of books that pertain to gardening. 'Flower symbolism' reads one cover.  "If these were the streets, you'd be a dead woman by now."

His words cause you to roll your eyes at him, although a playful tug of a smile graces your lips not a second later. "This isn't the streets, 'Vi. There's no one out there to hurt me, least of all within the confines of this house."

Levi knows you make a point, but his nature has always been to be suspicious of everything, and that much hasn't changed here. He wishes you'd be a little more careful, at least for his sake.

"Anyway, welcome back... how was the rest of your day?" You dart past him, placing your pile of books on the kitchen table.

Levi notices you've changed since he last saw you; you're now wearing a long skirt that reaches below your knees. Levi has never seen you wear anything like this. He wonders if you got it at the market in Mare, or if this is something you bought on your travels.

"Levi?"

Levi swerves his attention back to you.

Right, your question.

"Same as always." The rest of his day was, in fact, just as Mr Jakowski had predicted. Quiet. "What's all of this, then? You starting a bookclub or something?"

"Not quite. I spent my afternoon at the public library. Have you been?" Levi shakes his head. "Walls, Levi, it's even bigger than the one we had back hom–I mean, back on Paradis." You pick up a random book, flip through it and show him a page that's all about flower propagation. "I'm gonna make sure your garden's perfect."

Levi’s brows scrunch low. Truth be told, he doesn't see the big deal with flowers. Aren’t there more practical things to grow, like vegetables? Flowers seem to take up place and suffer the risk of easy destruction.

But maybe it's simply not for him to understand. 

"Hey Levi, are you listening to me?"

"Yeah.”

"What was I talking about?"

Levi glances at you. There's a spark of defiance flashes in your stare. 

He crosses his arms over his chest, face impassive. "Something something... gardening."

You chuckle, placing the book back on the table. "Actually, I was asking you if I could get your opinion on where to plant what tomorrow. You've got the next two days off, right? Can I spare a moment of your time?"

Levi doesn't work Saturdays and Sundays. The weekend, as Marleyans call it, is for rest.

"Yeah, I'll help." 

"Great!"

With that decision out of the way, Levi leaves you to it. He stops in his bedroom to grab a clean change of clothes and then heads to the bathroom to start his rigorous pre-dinner routine (Levi's found that he will not, cannot, rest before he completes it). 

It all starts with a shower, where Levi rubs at his skin until it is raw and pink, massages his scalp and hair until it's lathered and soapy, the scent of his lemon-scented soap rampant. Once Levi is pleased that every part of him is clean, he rinses himself with hot water, the act oddly meditative as he feels every muscle, every bone in his body come undone, one limb after another.

As soon as he's done and toweled dry, it's shaving time. 

Tonight, as Levi lays out his shaving kit by the sink, he can't help but pause at the sight of his reflection.

Levi stares at himself. 

Over the last three years, time has caught up to him, in more ways than one. His hair has gotten longer, yes, but it's the strands of silver now framing his face that Levi lingers on. Then, there are wrinkles on the sides of his eyes, on his forehead, on his smile lines that are new. He's even accrued a collection of freckles on the ridge of his nose; somehow, he thinks the warmer weather in Marley is responsible for that. 

In some strange ways, with every new year Levi ages, he thinks he looks more and more like Kenny, minus the facial hair. That son-of-a-bitch got his way with him after all, it seems, and despite this, Levi suspects Kenny would still call him a runt if he were here standing next to him right now.

"Still can't grow facial hair, huh, kid?" Kenny would say. "And you're still just as short."  

Yeah, that sounds like Kenny alright. 

"Hey, 'Vi?” A shy knock makes Levi turn his head towards the door. “I forgot to give you the balm I made for your cut. Do you want it now?"

"Gimme a moment," he mumbles. "... I'll be right there."

Levi finishes his routine. He shaves his face and massages his leg. He changes into indoor clothes. 

By the time Levi’s done, he finds you sitting on the sofa, flipping through one of your books while stroking Scout. It seems you've already started the preparations for dinner; there's simmering onion soup that's replaced the previous smell of herbs over the stove.

This time, upon hearing him approach, both you and Scout look up, almost synchronically. It makes Levi's heart a little warm—why does it feel so strange to have an audience waiting for him? 

Before Levi can contemplate on this very question, you've swung to your feet. "Here, sit down; I’ll get the balm."

Levi does as he's told, taking a seat on the free spot—on the other side of the sofa, next to Scout. His peripheral catches you first washing your hands over the kitchen sink, then retrieving something from the ice-box. 

Scout's purr pulls him back to the sofa. The kitten has made her presence known, demanding attention from Levi, and Levi obliges her. He scratches her under her chin like he always does, using his unwounded hand to do so.

Soon, the cat's purr vibrates against his fingertips. 

"She misses you, you know." Levi glances over your shoulders. You're standing on his other side, bending down. "May I?" you ask, looking at his palm laid flat on the arms of the sofa.

Levi nods.

Carefully, you take his hand into your own, flipping it to remove the bandage and analyze the cut. The wound runs across the tender flesh of his palm, ending with his index. It's not a deep cut by any stretch of the imagination, but it is on his five-fingered hand. Just his luck. 

“Did you know that Scout sometimes goes into your bedroom, meowing into the void?" you say in passing, eyes focused on his wound. "It's like she's looking for your ghost or something.”

"That cat needs to get used to me being absent." 

"She's just attached to you. Can you blame her?"

Levi's throat goes thick. No, he supposes he can't blame Scout, not when he's felt that same emptiness himself before, knows how damaging it can be.

"Anyway, I hope she grows used to me being here, too. For now, she still refuses to enter my room when it's just the two of us, but I think we may bridge that gap soon." Your voice turns into a coarse whisper, leaning closer to Levi like Scout might somehow overhear—and understand you. "I may or may not have bribed her with some leftover tuna."

"You mean you’re spoiling her."

"Hey, all's fair in love and war." You lean back. A knowing smile tugs at your lip, delicate like the first bloom of spring. "Besides, there are worse things for a cat to be."

After that, you focus on tending to Levi's wound—disinfecting it, adding balm, wrapping a clean bandage by the careful press of your hands. It brings Levi back to the old days, when he'd watch you either tend to him or his comrades. There was always this intensity, this non-bullshit attitude, that would always wash over you. It made Levi aware just how seriously you took your job, how dedicated you were to your craft. It was one of the first things that made him respect you.

Now, as Levi watches you at it again, there is something else, too. Something that speaks volumes of just how touch-starved he's become. He tries to ignore the warmth that blooms under your touch, tries not to think about how long it’s been since anyone that wasn’t his doctor touched him like this.

He fails.

It might be why, when at last you seem satisfied with your work and rise to your feet, Levi finds himself doing the same. He stands, moving with no objective in sight, the scent of herbs and home and you beckoning him closer. 

As he does, he ends in your personal space, his fingers almost grazing yours. 

He freezes. 

You seem just as surprised to find him in your space. Levi watches as your lips subtly part, the smallest shift in your expression that narrows into your eyes widening. He listens to your breath catch; it makes the tip of his fingers tingle.

"Um... Levi?" 

Levi blinks, panic swelling in his chest, but before he can say a thing, a sudden "mrrrp" vibrates below. What happens next is a blur, but Scout has somehow jumped off the sofa, intertwining herself between you and him, and the sudden feeling of fur on your bare legs must have taken you by surprise.

Because the next moment, you’ve bumped the back of your calves against the edge of the sofa, almost tripping back. 

Luckily, if there's one thing that hasn't changed, it's Levi's instincts. He instantly latches onto your elbow, steadying you, your warmth blooming beneath his grasp. 

“Walls,” your voice vibrates against the shell of his ear, breathless. "... Thanks." 

You straighten, taking a subtle shift back. Levi finally lets go, clears his throat, and moves away. He flexes his hand, trying to rid himself of the tickling sensation he'd just felt. 

"It's nothing." He focuses on Scout, who's skittered away and in between the dining chairs, looking at you and Levi with wide eyes. Levi exhales harshly as he stares at her. "Tch, have a care, you damn cat. We're practically titan-sized to you; don’t creep around like that unless you want to end trampled on."

The rest of the evening is uneventful. Like every other evening since you moved in, you and Levi share a meal, seated at the dining table, facing the window with a viewpoint on the sea. You share tidbits of information you've learned about the village and its inhabitants, while Levi provides scarce comments here and there. You discuss Gabi and Falco’s upcoming visit for the solstice, and everything you plan to do with them.

Everything is just as Levi remembers it being. The setting is different, there are people missing… but there is something soothing that he is here now, with you, with scents that don't feel foreign, with foods that feel familiar. 

One thing does loom over Levi's mind, though.

Levi swears you drew closer when he stood.

.

.

.

One night, you fall asleep in front of the fireplace.

Come morning, Levi's gone, but there's a blanket draped over your body.

.

.

.

That night, Levi can't sleep. That in itself isn't shocking; Levi's always been a chronic insomniac. Still, when the telltale signs of a sleepless night make themselves known and Levi realizes he's in for one of those nights, he doesn't waste time. He gets up and goes to make himself a fresh cup of valerian root tea.

Half-way there, however, something stops him in his tracks.

It's your the door to your bedroom, half-ajar, warm light pooling out.

And Levi sees you.

You're on the floor, crouched over something. Next to you, it seems that your bribing paid off; Scout is by your side, staring at you with keen interest, tilting her head as she looks at your every movement. 

That's when Levi notices what you're doing, what you're twirling around one by one, as if to show the cat.

Your drawing materials, his gift to you. You've taken them out of the desk he built, laying them all on the floor to inspect them.

Pencils, an eraser, a notebook.

Huh.

-

Thanks for reading! This is a slow build into feelings and healing, but I hope the journey will be worth the read. If you have a minute, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments/tags. Take care <3

[musings-of-a-rose]

My First, My Last, My Always - a PedroStories Secret Santa Exchange Event

Pairing: Francisco “Frankie” Morales x f!reader

Word Count: 2751

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: @prolix-yuy My beloved LJ - when I got your name, I literally squeed! And then felt an immediate sense of “omg will I be able to write something worthy of her?” I thought and thought about what to write for you and then I had it. I have had this idea for a Frankie fic since I started posting back in late 2021, but I’d never written it. I even had a name for it and a plot line! Now I know it’s because I was saving it for you. Have a very happy whatever you celebrate and know that not only are you extremely talented, you are one of the nicest people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.

**This is for the @pedrostories Secret Santa exchange event!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

I met Frankie when we were 5. I had just moved to the neighborhood, in the middle of summer. Which meant no school, so no way to make friends. A few days later, as my parents were unpacking, I sat on the couch, leaning on the back of it to stare out the front window. To my surprise, on the front porch of the house across the street from me sat a boy. He had his head in his hands and looked a little sad and lonely, his brown hair and loose curls sticking at odd angles, like he had woken up and come outside. 

“Mom, can I go say hi to the boy across the street?” I ask, already getting off the couch. 

My dad glances through the front window, seeing the boy on the steps. “Sure. See if he wants to play soccer.” He tosses me a soccer ball that he had just unpacked, which I miss. 

I grab it and head outside, walking straight towards the boy. He doesn’t seem to pay me any mind until I’m on his lawn. He looks up at me, furiously wiping at his eyes. 

“Hi!” I say, smiling at him. 

“H-hi,” he replies, his eyebrows furrowing together.

We sat there in silence for a few moments. “Do you want to play soccer?”

He sniffs. “Yeah, sure.” He stands, coming to meet me in his yard. We end up just kicking the ball back and forth for a minute. His shoulders are still slumped, like he’s carrying something heavy. I stop the ball with my foot, taking a step closer to him.

“Are you ok?” I ask, my face full of concern.

“ ‘m fine,” he mumbles. 

“It’s ok if you’re sad. I am too,” I confess. He looks at me, cocking his head.

“You’re sad?”

I nod. “Yeah. We just moved here. My dad got a new job. I had to leave my friends.”

He nods. “Sorry about your friends.”

I shrug. “Thanks. So are you ok?”

He looks at his house and then back at me, coming closer. “I don’t even know you.”

I tell him my name. “But call me Rea.”

“Frankie….my parents fight a lot. Sometimes it’s too loud. I come out here to get some quiet.”

“Oh. Well, if you want, you can come over to my house whenever you need to get away.”

His eyes widen, filling with a light I hadn’t seen yet. “I can? You mean it?”

I nod, a smile forming on my face. “Yeah! We can play games, my mom makes great snacks, and my dad is building me a treehouse soon!”

From that day on, Frankie and I were inseparable. We lucked out in being placed in the same classroom that fall, Frankie taking me on a tour of the school. He told me what bathrooms were stinky and what kids were mean. He came over pretty much every day, my parents taking an immediate liking to him when I came back home with him. I did overhear them saying something about that poor boy, but they never complained. Frankie was there for family game night, pizza night, and movie nights. My parents took him to the county fair with us, the zoo, and our weekly trips to the library, where I would get every book they had on drawing and Frankie would pick out books on flying. He once told me he wanted to be a pilot. 

Middle school is pretty much the first time we spent away from each other, since some of our classes were different. He took shop and I took art, trying to hone my skills as an artist as it brought me so much joy. I don’t know how I would’ve survived middle school without his presence, his strength to help me through a really rough transition time. He would claim it was all me supporting him, but I think we just work well together.

In 8th grade, Frankie came over for pizza night as usual, us heading out into our treehouse after to hangout and watch a movie on a tv I had carted up there with a long extension cord. It had a vhs player in it and so we would watch whatever we could rent. We settled down and got comfortable, a bowl of popcorn between us. 

“Hey, Rea?” Frankie looks nervous, not quite looking at me. 

“Yeah?” My words are garbled because of the popcorn in my mouth.

He clears his throat, still not looking at me. “Have you kissed anyone yet?”

I stop chewing. I had wondered if the boys talked like the girls, as that’s all they could talk about. Kissing boys. I hadn’t thought about it at all, until it felt like I was the only girl who hadn’t kissed anyone yet.

“Uh…no. You?” My stomach fluttered like it had butterflies in it and I didn’t know why. 

“N-no.” We sat there for a moment, the movie continuing on in the background. “Maybe we could kiss each other? So we could say we did it?”

My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest. I hadn’t felt like this before, other than the time Frankie took my hand at the fair and guided me through the haunted mansion that we’d been through a dozen times a few weeks back. 

“Oh. Uh, y-yeah.” 

Frankie sits up, finally looking at me. “You sure? I just thought since we knew each other it wouldn’t be weird.”

I sit up too. “Yeah. Makes sense.” 

After a few awkward body shifts, he pressed his lips to mine and the butterflies in my stomach went wild. And when he broke the kiss I’ll admit, I was more than a little sad. His face still close to mine, he gave me a small smile, those dimples on display.

“There. Now we’ve each kissed someone.”

I didn’t realize it at the time, but that first kiss was when things changed, I think. We started high school that next year, our schedules separating us further. Frankie joined ROTC (Reserve Officer’s Training Corps) and I joined the art club, my parents surprising me with private instruction from a local artist that I admired. We still saw each other at lunch, and he was still over at our house more often than not, these days more because of whomever his mom was currently dating. But everything felt…different. I brushed it off, not knowing how to put it into words.

Then, our senior year, Frankie came to me with another proposition. Neither of us had been intimate with someone else, and who better than someone we know and trust? The boys had been talking about it and the girls had definitely been talking about it. I wasn’t against the idea of sex. I just never got around to it. So when Frankie proposed the idea at our weekly movie after pizza night, I agreed, that familiar butterflies in my stomach feeling coming flooding back. 

In true Frankie fashion, he came prepared and had studied. He set up the treehouse with extra cushions and candles, putting flowers everywhere, with some music in the background. He already knew about protection and knew how to use it, shyly admitting he had asked his friend Santi how to put one on. Frankie was gentle with me, making sure I was ok as we both shared this experience. After, we laid together in the blankets, Frankie holding me to his side as his fingers traced the skin on my hip, both of us content to just be with the other. 

Things didn’t technically change between us, aside from another romp or 2 in the hay, so to speak. I didn’t understand why he never asked me out until a couple months later, when he told me he signed up for the army. 

“Go to college, Rea. Get that art degree and make millions off your drawings. You’re amazing.”

And while I shed many tears, I did just as he asked, even driving him to the airport on his way to basic, where he gently kissed me and told me to live my life, but don’t forget to write. 

I wrote to Frankie often, chronicling my college life as he told me about his, once his time in basic training was up. We still had weekly calls where I would tell him about my drawings, and he would tell me animatedly about learning to fly helicopters and also that his friend Santi was with him too. 

I was the first one he told about going for a special forces group, Delta Force, and his acceptance there. Santi’s too. Sometimes it would be a few weeks between us chatting, but I understood. He was dealing with literal life and death scenarios. Or at least preparing for them. 

I picked him up every time he came home from tour, sometimes with a girl on his arm. I’ll admit the first time I saw it, a part of me envisioned leaping on the poor girl and tearing her eyes out. But I had remind myself that he was overseas and I’m sure it gets lonely and I’m glad he had someone to comfort him, no matter how much I wished it was me. I dated too after that, the longest one sticking around for about 8 months before I caught him cheating on me with his secretary. Which is incredibly cliche of him. 

I eventually graduated with an art history degree, getting a job at a local art gallery and selling my own drawings on the side. It was a pretty awesome deal, getting to work and do the thing that I love. I sometimes worry it would end badly, mixing business with pleasure. But it ended up being the opposite. 

Frankie and I still talked, but over the years our calls became less and less frequent. Sometimes I was away on an art bid and other times he was on a mission, gone for weeks at a time. He would still check in from time to time to at least let me know he was alive. His absence left a hole in my heart though. He was my one constant through life, the person I could share anything with, my first for a lot of things. The few words we did exchange helped me to get to the next call, which I know is unhealthy, but not matter what I did, I couldn’t fill the void he left behind. 

Present Day

“Are you sure you’ll be ok?” My mom asks me for the millionth time. 

I chuckle into the phone. “YES mom. You guys won a cruise! Go celebrate Christmas on the high seas. I’ll come visit when you get back.”

“Well…if you’re sure. I- no! You will absolutely NOT be wearing a speedo on the cruise! Rea I have to go talk some sense into your father. We’ll call you when we get back.”

I laugh this time. “Have fun mom.” In the background before I hang up, I hear my father playfully yell. “Hey! Give me back my man panties!”

My laugh turns into a sigh as I look around my condo. I had been packing to head to my parent’s home in the morning to spend Christmas Day and a few days after with them. I unpack and head into the kitchen, pulling out a couple of steaks to rest before cooking them. I’ll make extra and then not have to cook on Christmas. Sounds like a plan to me. I make some hot chocolate and settle on my couch, a thick Christmas themed blanket thrown over my legs. I’m about to take a sip when I hear a knock at my door. I set my mug down and toss the blanket off. My neighbor is a little senile and sometimes locks herself out of her apartment. In one of her clear moments, she gave me a spare key to let her into hers, in case it was during a time when her nurse wasn’t around. I unlock the door and open it, her name poised on my lips. But instead I’m met with the biggest, brown puppy dog eyes that I’ve ever seen. 

“Hey, Rea. You’re home.”

Shocked. I am stunned. “I..y-yeah. So are you?” Nice. Good one. 

He smile, those dimples showing off as he rubs at the back of his head, the Standard Oil Heating cap I’d given him from our road trip across the state still on top. “Yeah.” It’s quiet for a moment. “Can I come in?”

“What? Oh. Yeah! Come in.” I step back to let him in, giving him extra space for the bag slung on his back. He sets it down just inside the door, kicking off his boots too. 

“Are you ok?” I ask him, noting the scar on the bridge of his nose and a fresh cut on his cheek. 

“I am now.” Silence between us, like we haven’t talked our entire lives. Although it had been a few months since I’d spoken to him, outside of my unanswered letters. 

“Did you want some-” I start, hitching my thumb over my shoulder to point towards the kitchen. 

“I almost died.”

A hole opened in my stomach and my heart fell right into it. “What?”

He nods, taking the cap from his head to wring it between his hands, but not before running his fingers through those soft brown curls. “I can’t give you details. Classified. But I almost died. I mean, I saved us all, but if I hadn’t moved my head…”

“Oh Frankie!” I throw my arms around him, the time that we hadn’t talked dissolving in an instant. His arms wrap around me, his face pressing into my hair. 

“I love you, Rea.”

“I love you too, Frankie.”

“No,” He takes a breath. “I’m in love with you.”

Those familiar butterflies that only he seems to put there come back, like they’d never left. I break the hug and take a step back, trying to look at his face. Surely he’s kidding right? This is all some joke that I don’t understand?

“We were spiraling and the engines wouldn’t cut back on and all I could think about was you. How I had this amazing friend in my life for most of my life who never judged me for where I came from or what I wore, who always supported me no matter what, who let me get pineapple on my pizza even though she hated it just because she knows I like it. She always saw me for me. And how I was so fucking stupid for never seeing it before and yet, somehow knowing I’ve been in love with you since that first kiss. I made a promise that if I got out of there alive, the first thing I’d do is come tell you, in person how I feel. And I know it’s sudden, and I know you may not even feel the same. Hell, I don’t know if you even have a boyfriend. I know I’ve been a shitty friend lately, but I-”

I grip his shirt and pull him to me, pressing my lips to his. For a moment, he doesn’t move, shocked by my reply. But then he snaps out of it, his hands coming up to cup my face as he presses his tongue against my lips. I part mine every slightly, whimpering slightly when he pushes his tongue past my lips. One hand drops from my face, outstretched behind me as he walks me backwards, his hand hitting the wall before he pushes me up against it, that same hand cupping my face again before tracing down my body to squeeze at my hip. I wrap my leg around him, pulling him closer as my fingers tangle in his soft curls. But then he pulls back, just enough to look me in the eyes. 

“I take it this means you feel the same?” He’s smiling, but he’s also serious. 

“I’ve been waiting for this since our first kiss. But I don’t think I understood it then.”

Frankie groans. “What a stupid couple of assholes.” We chuckle together, his nose brushing against mine. 

He smiles, his eyes getting that big puppy eye look to them. “So you’ll be my first and my last?”

I smile back. “As long as you’re mine.”

Within a few months, we’re married. Our first, our last, and our always.

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[sinister-sincerely]

hi sin... :3c ... >:3c

we care youuuuuuu 💜💜💜

much sillies!! & much lovely art!! from @midnight-mourning @luckyyyduckyyy @soupdweller @wyervan & i, for you!!! 🫵

we hope that you are doing well! and that you are taking care, giving yourself grace through the highs & lows alike. it's not always easy, but you're not alone. hopefully this gets a laugh for ya to enjoy 💜

& in the future, if you'd like to draw together, or simply chill ambiently... the offer is always open!

... In full disclosure this took me a wretched amount of time to pull myself together to actually respond to.

(Its a long one, just a heads up. I do think its worth it though)

To say I was floored~ moved~ touched~ The words pale in comparison.

I believe the saying that a measure of someone being a good person is how they treat those that can do nothing for them.

And here I am, a stranger, being shown a kindness that I am not so sure I deserve but am grateful nonetheless.

To think that anyone, let alone all of you, amazing writers, artists, … people I respect and admire thought of me for even a moment to do something like this.

Depression- it holds me back a lot of the time.

It convinces me, like I am sure it does MANY of those readin' this, that your absence in this community, in this world, would not be felt.

There is a reason that I am a part of this community.

Its because it has a way of pulling together some of the most wonderful people I have ever had the pleasure of getting to know.

Now. I wanna return some of that kindness and talk specifically about the ones that pulled together to do this for me. (And also a few that are never far from my mind too)

@divinit3a

You are one of the only people I know that can just be there and your presence felt. Charismatic in the most brilliant way, I love the way your personality shines through everything you interact with (whether that be your writing or something as simple as a Tumblr post)

There is a reason that when you entered the community that people were drawn to you. You have an ability that is both captivating as it is striking in how powerful that magnetism is.

I am so grateful I get to know you, and I am so excited to see what else you create whether that be in this community or elsewhere.

I will always be a supporter, a fan, and most importantly a friend.

Read their stuff!

@midnight-mourning

Sometimes I get caught up in the fact I actually get to speak with the person who has wrote one of my favorite works on AO3.

I first stumbled upon your fic the day it was published and immediately fell in love with the snarky depiction of Sun (and the beautiful mysterious Moon) that you created in a world that has so much more left to be uncovered.

You manage to balance your life along side updating which in of itself seems like such a superpower that I envy to the core.

You also floored me with the kindness you've shown through out us chatting back and forth. Sometimes I feel just in awe that I can say we know eachother…

@luckyyyduckyyy

Talk about someone I've been actively following for awhile- Lucky, your ANE fanfic was one of the very first I read when stumbling upon the DCA community! It inspired me to take a chance at writing myself and posting it for the first time.

If I hadn't come across you- well, I wouldn't be here now… How do you even begin to pay that back?

I have no idea how I can thank you enough for doing that for me, let alone thank you for doing the above for me…

Its my hope that I get to continue to be friends with you, learn more from you and maybe one day manage to give back a fraction of what you've given me…

@soupdweller

AHH! Hi! So- I have no words but thank you.

I've admired your art for a very VERY long time and its such a cool, (and a bit) intimidating (but in a good way) gesture to have this coming from you too.

Your rendering is beautiful.

The way you laid out the DCA's internals still give me steampunk vibes in the BEST way with the colour palette~ I can gush forever but I also wanna seem cool and somewhat mysterious in that 'kinda quiet way'…

… I'll cut that out for now ^^

on a serious note, thank you, you don't know me very well but you still did this and what I mentioned before about the measure of being a good person- that describes you.

@wyervan

… Would it be weird for me to say that anytime I think of the DCA as humans I can't for the life of me not picture the AU forms that you created that has single handedly metamorphosized into a community Slasher Y/N multiverse?

That is an amazing talent, I am just in awe at what you've managed to not only do, but also how you've brought so many people together!

I have so much to say, and yet I don't wanna put my foot in my mouth by actually following through with the amount of admiration I wanna express.

Thank you for taking part in this for me, we don't really know each-other much just yet but I hope that changes. You seem like such an amazing person, I'd love to gossip about skinny, scrawny, somewhat unhinged guys with you sometime.

-

I have a few people I wanna shout out too

@amarynthian-chronicles:

Thank you for always supporting me, even when I don't think I deserve it. You've been an amazing person to me, and I hope I get more opportunities to return the favor

@gniteruirui

Gosh. You've been such a beautiful person to get to know this past year or so. Your artwork gives me life, and seeing your name pop up in all the ways it does makes me smile.

@lets-zofifi-stuff

I hope you continue to have more good days vs bad- I hope the sun shines on you and you always find random luck whenever its needed.

You were one of the first people I made friends with here on Tumblr… I may have also looked back and saw that you even made a post about me when I left Tumblr the first time.

@bubbiethesaur

I don't have enough words to express how much I adore you for just being you. Thank you, I hope I can be a friend that deserves you.

I just wanted to tag you- You are so talented, wonderful, and kind.

Something about you just makes me smile whenever I see your username come up. I've always wanted to get closer to you, friendship wise, but I also get scared because you're so cool.

I've been working on it.

Just know that our conversations in Qwille's discord have always been some of my favorite moments in this community.

@maldefekt

Thank you for reaching out to me- even that most recent time when you saved me from something I know would have haunted me forever!

I am looking forward to getting to know you more

[muiitoloko]

Moonlit Secrets

Summary: A maid stumbles upon her eccentric employer's dark transformation during a full moon, uncovering a truth more horrifying than she ever imagined.

Pairing: Sinclair Bryant × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Violence, Injury, Intense Fear, Supernatural Themes, Gore, Sexual Undertones and Animalistic Behavior.

Author's Notes: Here’s another story I wrote but never shared—after posting about a zombie, I figured, why not share this one too?

Also read on Ao3

You rang the mansion's bell, your finger pressing against the brass button as the chime echoed faintly through the empty halls inside. "Mr. Bryant?" you called softly, leaning closer to the heavy oak door. No answer. Frowning, you shifted your weight and peeked through one of the large windows. The house was silent, unnervingly so. The drawn curtains offered only glimpses of the dimly lit interior, and you found it strange—Sinclair was usually so meticulous about his home, keeping it well-lit even when he wasn’t expecting company. Could he have left?

Sinclair Bryant was, without question, an odd man. Despite his kindness and your generally amicable working relationship, you couldn’t help but feel a certain unease around him at times. He lived in this sprawling mansion, far from the city, seemingly content in his isolation. Over the two years you’d worked as his maid, you had never seen anyone visit him. He spent his days wandering the grounds or buried in his books, endlessly curious about the future yet so detached from the present.

And then there was the strangest quirk of all: he always gave you time off during the full moon. At first, you hadn’t thought much of it—Sinclair was eccentric, after all. But now, standing at his door under the eerie glow of tonight’s full moon, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. Still, you had come here for a reason: you’d forgotten your cell phone, and you needed it. You knew you shouldn’t be here, not tonight, but the mansion’s eerie stillness only added to your resolve to grab your phone and leave as quickly as possible.

Your fingers brushed against the spare key he’d given you months ago, tucked safely in your pocket. Sliding it into the lock, you hesitated for a moment before turning it. The heavy door creaked open, revealing the grand foyer shrouded in shadow. The air inside was cool and still, carrying the faintest hint of something earthy and metallic. You stepped inside, your footsteps echoing faintly on the polished floor.

“Mr. Bryant?” you called again, your voice louder this time, yet still met with silence.

As you moved through the house, your nerves prickled with unease. The usual hum of Sinclair’s chatter, his baritone voice rambling on about one topic or another, was nowhere to be heard. The house felt… empty, but not abandoned. Books were stacked neatly on tables, a cup of tea sat half-finished on the counter, and the faint glow of a lamp illuminated the corner of his study. Everything appeared normal—yet the silence was deafening.

The kitchen was eerily quiet as you stepped inside, the faint metallic smell stronger now. Your gaze landed on your cell phone lying on the counter. Relief washed over you at the sight of it, though the battery was dead. You pocketed it quickly, your heart rate beginning to steady after the unnerving silence.

But then—a noise.

It was faint, but distinct, coming from beneath your feet. You froze, every nerve in your body on edge as you strained to listen. There it was again—a dull, rhythmic thud, almost like footsteps, but heavier, more deliberate. You glanced toward the basement door, now painfully aware of its presence. The noise seemed to be coming from below.

Your first instinct was to leave. Grab your phone, get in your car, and drive back to the city. But what if it was Sinclair? What if he needed help? You hesitated, torn between your sense of duty and the gnawing unease twisting your stomach. Sinclair had always forbidden you from entering the basement—a rule you’d never questioned before. But now, with the eerie sounds and the strange atmosphere, your curiosity was impossible to ignore.

Taking a deep breath, you crept toward the basement door. It loomed before you, a solid barrier to whatever secrets Sinclair had kept hidden. Your fingers brushed the handle, trembling as you turned it. The door creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness. The noises grew louder, reverberating through the still air.

"Just a peek," you whispered to yourself, as if the words could dispel your growing anxiety.

With each step, the air grew colder, heavier, the metallic scent thickening until it was almost suffocating. At the bottom of the stairs, a massive metal door stood dented and imposing. The noise was louder now—an animalistic growl that sent a chill down your spine. You hesitated, your mind racing with absurd possibilities. Could Sinclair be keeping something down here? Was he hiding something sinister? You scoffed at the thought. Sinclair was kind, gentle, eccentric, sure—but a serial killer? Impossible.

The growl came again, deeper, angrier, and your curiosity got the better of you. Steeling yourself, you pushed against the heavy door with all your strength. It groaned on its hinges, opening just enough for you to peer inside.

And then it burst open.

Claws the size of daggers shoved the door aside, the force sending you stumbling backward. A massive wolf loomed in the doorway, its golden fur shimmering in the faint light, its eyes glowing with an unnatural amber hue. The creature’s nose twitched as it sniffed the air, its fanged snout curling into a snarl.

Your gaze darted past the wolf to the shredded remains of clothing scattered on the floor—Sinclair’s clothing. Panic seized you as your mind raced to the worst conclusion. Did this wolf kill him?

The wolf lunged forward, and you reacted on instinct, kicking it in the face with all the strength you could muster. The creature growled in surprise but recoiled, giving you just enough time to scramble to your feet and sprint up the stairs.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you ran through the mansion, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. You didn’t stop until you were outside, the cool night air biting at your skin. You bolted toward the road, desperate to reach the city, to find safety. But the mansion was isolated, and the city was miles away.

A deafening snarl erupted behind you, and before you could react, the wolf appeared in your path. Its massive frame blocked your escape, its glowing eyes boring into you.

“Stay back!” you screamed, stumbling backward. Your legs trembled, your body frozen in fear.

The wolf tilted its head, its snarls softening into a low growl. For a moment, you swore you saw recognition in its eyes—something human, something familiar. But then it lunged, knocking you to the ground. Its weight pinned you down, its hot breath fanning against your face as its claws dug into the earth beside you.

Your breath hitched as you writhed beneath the creature, its hot breath fanning over your face, carrying a faint coppery tang that made your stomach churn. “Please,” you begged, your voice trembling. “Please don’t hurt me!”

The wolf growled low, its amber eyes glowing with an intelligence that sent a chill racing down your spine. You felt its claws press against the dirt beside your head, its massive weight pinning you in place. Desperation surged through you, and your fingers scrambled for anything within reach. Your hand brushed against a jagged rock, and without thinking, you gripped it tightly.

With a cry, you swung the rock upward, striking the creature on the side of its head. The impact made a sickening thud, and the wolf let out a deafening howl, recoiling from you. Its weight lifted just enough for you to scramble free, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you stumbled to your feet and bolted.

The night air was cold against your sweat-dampened skin as you ran, your legs carrying you to the relative safety of your car. You dove behind it, your chest heaving as you peeked around the edge, your gaze locked on the wolf. It was rising to its full height now, standing on its hind legs.

Your blood ran cold.

It wasn’t just a wolf. It couldn’t be. The creature’s hunched frame towered over anything remotely animalistic, its fur rippling under the moonlight. Its amber eyes gleamed with something distinctly human, and its snarling maw curled back to reveal teeth too large, too sharp for anything natural.

It was a werewolf.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head in disbelief. “No, that’s not possible. They don’t exist… they can’t exist.” But the evidence was right before your eyes, every horrifying detail confirming what you refused to believe.

Sinclair’s quirks, the isolation, the full moon schedule—it all clicked into place. “Oh my God,” you breathed, your voice barely audible. “He wasn’t killed by the wolf… he is the wolf.”

Your eyes darted back to the creature just as it threw its head back and let out an earsplitting howl, the sound reverberating through the still night. Fear gripped you as your body refused to move, rooted to the spot as the creature lowered its gaze to the horizon. But then, silence.

When you dared to look again, the creature was gone.

A cold dread settled over you as you realized the absence of noise was even more terrifying. You stiffened, ears straining to catch any sound. And then you heard it—a low, guttural growl, so close it sent shivers down your spine. Slowly, you turned your head, your heart slamming against your ribs as you found yourself face-to-face with the werewolf.

Its massive frame blocked out the moonlight, its amber eyes fixed on you with a predatory gleam. Drool dripped from its snarling jaws, pooling at your feet. Its lips curled back, revealing jagged teeth as it loomed closer.

“Stay back,” you stammered, raising your hands in a futile gesture. “Please, Sinclair… if you can hear me… don’t do this.”

The werewolf paused for a fraction of a second, its eyes narrowing as if it recognized the name. But then it lunged, and you barely managed to sidestep the attack, the sound of its claws raking against the car’s metal door making you cry out in terror.

You ran, darting around the vehicle, but the creature was fast—too fast. It lunged again, pinning you against the hood of the car. Its weight was suffocating, its claws digging into your shoulders as its snarling maw hovered inches from your face.

“Please!” you screamed, your voice breaking as you struggled against its grip. “Sinclair, stop! You’re in there—I know you are!”

The creature hesitated, its growl softening into a rumbling snarl. Its amber eyes locked onto yours, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw a flicker of recognition, of humanity. But then its jaws snapped inches from your face, and you flinched, tears streaming down your cheeks as you fought against its crushing weight.

Desperation took hold, and you kicked upward, striking its chest with everything you had. The creature snarled in frustration, its grip loosening just enough for you to twist free. You scrambled across the hood of the car, your body trembling as you pressed yourself against the windshield.

The werewolf didn’t give chase. Instead, it circled the car, its glowing eyes never leaving yours. Its movements were slow, deliberate, as if it were toying with you, savoring your fear.

As the werewolf circled the car, you made your decision. You couldn't outrun it in the open, not with its speed and power. You had to fight back. Steeling yourself, you bolted toward the mansion. The beast roared behind you, but you didn't dare look back. Your trembling hands shoved the heavy oak door open, and you slipped inside, slamming it shut and throwing the lock. The sound of claws scraping against the door sent a shiver down your spine, but you wasted no time. You needed a weapon.

Your mind raced as you sprinted through the halls, your shoes skidding on the polished floor. Sinclair's office—he kept strange artifacts there. If there was anything that could help you, it would be there. Reaching the door, you slammed it shut behind you and locked it, your breath heaving as you pressed your ear to the wood. The silence was deafening, broken only by your ragged breathing.

Turning, you scanned the room in desperation. Bookshelves lined the walls, their contents useless in the face of claws and fangs. A desk stood in the center, cluttered with papers, a globe, and—your eyes locked on it—a silver dagger gleaming under the dim light.

You darted to the desk, your fingers closing around the cool metal handle of the blade. A memory flashed through your mind—Sinclair, sitting at this very desk, explaining the properties of silver and how it hurts werewolves while you had laughed it off. "Werewolves? Mr. Bryant, this is ridiculous," you'd teased, your voice light with amusement. Now, the weight of the dagger in your hand felt like the only thing standing between you and death.

The door rattled violently, and the sound of splintering wood made your stomach drop. The werewolf was here. You gripped the dagger tightly, backing toward the far end of the room. The door burst open with a deafening crash, wood and metal flying as the beast stormed inside. Its glowing amber eyes locked onto you, its lips curling back to reveal teeth as sharp as razors.

"Stay back!" you shouted, though your voice cracked with fear. The werewolf snarled, its massive frame blocking any chance of escape.

It lunged.

You raised the dagger, but its weight slammed into you like a freight train, knocking the breath from your lungs. The dagger flew from your grip, skittering across the floor and out of reach. Pain flared in your shoulder as you hit the ground, the creature's claws raking against your skin. You screamed, writhing beneath its crushing weight, the metallic tang of its breath filling your nostrils.

The werewolf’s snout was inches from your face, its snarls vibrating through your chest. You clawed at the floor, desperate to find leverage, but its claws pinned you in place. "Sinclair," you gasped, the name spilling from your lips. "If you're in there, please, don’t do this!"

The creature hesitated, its growl faltering. For a brief moment, its amber eyes softened, a flicker of humanity piercing the feral rage. But then the snarl returned, louder, angrier, as if it were fighting an internal battle. Its jaws snapped dangerously close to your neck, and your survival instincts kicked in.

You drove your knee upward with all your strength, striking its ribs. The beast howled in pain, its grip loosening just enough for you to twist free. You scrambled across the floor, your eyes darting toward the dagger lying just a few feet away. But the werewolf recovered quickly, its massive claws swiping toward you. You barely rolled out of the way in time, the floor splintering where its claws struck.

Your hand shot out, fingers brushing the hilt of the dagger. The werewolf lunged again, its weight slamming into your back and sending you sprawling. The dagger slipped from your grasp, clattering against the floor. The beast pinned you again, its claws digging into your arms as it growled low in its throat, saliva dripping onto your skin.

"Please," you begged, your voice trembling. "Sinclair, fight it! You're stronger than this!"

The werewolf's snout hovered just above your face, its growl shifting to a lower, almost purring rumble. You froze, your breath catching in your throat as its massive body pressed down on you. Its glowing amber eyes narrowed as it sniffed along your skin, inhaling deeply as though committing your scent to memory. You flinched when its wet nose nudged against your neck, then lower, grazing the curve of your belly with a deliberate and oddly possessive motion.

A growl rumbled from deep within its chest, strangled but unmistakable. It wasn’t anger—it was something else entirely. Then, the beast spoke—or at least, it tried. The words came out as guttural sounds, half-growled and half-formed, but clear enough to make your blood run cold.

“Female…”

Your entire body went rigid, your pulse thundering in your ears. The word echoed in your mind, alien and impossible, yet undeniably real. This creature—this monster—had spoken, its voice deep and rough but disturbingly human. You stared into its glowing eyes, desperately searching for some flicker of Sinclair, of the man you thought you knew. But the werewolf’s gaze was primal, assessing, as if it were measuring you, weighing your worth.

Its snout nudged your belly again, this time with more insistence. The motion made your skin crawl, your stomach churning as another growl vibrated from its chest. “Puppies…” The word was low, guttural, and horrifyingly deliberate. Your heart stopped as realization dawned.

Oh God. No. This couldn’t be happening.

You tried to move, to scramble away, but the werewolf’s massive paw pressed against your shoulder, pinning you to the ground. Its nose brushed against your hip, its hot breath fanning over your skin as it sniffed again, a low, approving growl rumbling deep in its throat. “Strong… female,” it growled, the words sending a wave of revulsion and panic through you.

The werewolf wasn’t just assessing you—it was claiming you. The realization hit like a freight train, leaving you trembling beneath its overwhelming presence. Was it… in heat? The thought made bile rise in your throat, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. The beast lowered its head, its nose brushing against the curve of your neck as it growled again, the sound dark and possessive.

“Fit… for pups…”

Oh, God. You couldn’t think about what that meant. You couldn’t let yourself even consider it. Your fingers groped blindly along the floor, desperate to find the silver dagger you’d dropped. The werewolf seemed too preoccupied with its assessment, its massive frame shifting as it sniffed and growled, its amber eyes filled with an unsettling mix of hunger and recognition.

“You… mine,” it growled, the words sending a shiver of terror down your spine.

Your fingers brushed against something cool and metallic, and relief surged through you as you realized it was the dagger. But the werewolf noticed your movement, its eyes snapping to yours with an intensity that stole your breath. It growled low, the sound filled with warning as its massive paw pressed harder against your shoulder.

“Stay,” it rumbled, the command clear despite its guttural tone.

Your hand closed around the dagger’s hilt, your heart racing as you tried to keep your movements subtle. The werewolf’s snout hovered above you, its glowing eyes locking onto yours as if daring you to defy it. The air between you was charged, every second stretching into an eternity as you weighed your options.

And then, with a surge of adrenaline, you acted.

You drove the dagger upward, aiming for the beast’s side. The blade sank into its flesh, and the werewolf let out a deafening roar, its body jerking backward as pain wracked its form. You scrambled to your feet, clutching the dagger tightly as you faced the creature, your chest heaving with fear and determination.

The werewolf whimpered like a wounded dog, its massive frame trembling as blood dripped onto the polished floor, pooling beneath its hunched form. The pure silver burned into its flesh, the wound sizzling faintly as it writhed in pain. It should have filled you with triumph, with relief—after all, the beast had tried to kill you. And yet, as it curled on the ground, its anguished whimpers echoing through the room, you felt an overwhelming pang of pity.

Because the werewolf wasn’t just a monster. It was Sinclair.

The realization churned in your gut. This wasn’t some mindless beast attacking out of instinct. Somewhere, deep within that hulking frame of fur and muscle, was the man who had spent countless hours rambling about the future, the man who always remembered your birthday with an oddly specific gift, the man who, despite his eccentricities, had been nothing but kind to you. Sinclair wouldn’t have hurt you—not if he had been in control.

Taking a tentative step forward, you hesitated. The werewolf’s glowing amber eyes snapped up to meet yours, narrowing with a warning growl. The sound was low and guttural, filled with pain but unmistakably meant to keep you at bay. Still, you couldn’t ignore the pitiful way it tried to curl around its wound, its massive frame trembling as it attempted to lick at the gash. The blood staining its golden fur was darker than you’d expected, almost black in the dim light.

“Sinclair,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You weren’t even sure he could hear you, let alone understand. “I know you’re in there. Please, let me help.”

The beast growled again, the sound rumbling through the air like distant thunder. But it didn’t move to attack. Its eyes flickered to the dagger in your hand, then back to your face, the intelligence behind its gaze undeniable. You hesitated, heart hammering in your chest as you crouched slowly, lowering the blade to the ground. The metal clattered against the floor as you kicked it away, the sound echoing ominously in the still room.

It was a gamble, a stupid one at that. If the werewolf wanted to kill you, nothing was stopping it now. But it didn’t lunge. Instead, it let out another low whimper, its massive body sagging against the floor as the pain of its wound consumed it. The silver was doing more damage than you’d thought, its effects clearly more than the creature could bear.

“Okay,” you murmured, taking another cautious step forward. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just… just let me see the wound, okay?”

The werewolf’s head snapped up, its lips peeling back in a snarl. You froze, raising your hands slowly as if you were calming an angry dog. “Easy,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “I’m not going to hurt you, Sinclair. I promise.”

The growl softened, though its amber eyes stayed locked on you with a predator’s intensity. Slowly, you closed the distance between you, your knees nearly buckling as you got close enough to see the wound. Blood seeped from the gash where the dagger had struck, the fur around it matted and sticky. The faint smell of burnt flesh made your stomach turn.

“You’re going to be okay,” you lied, not entirely sure if it was true. Your hands trembled as you reached out, the heat radiating from the creature’s body nearly scalding your skin. It flinched as your fingers brushed its fur, a warning growl rumbling deep in its chest. But it didn’t move away.

The fur was coarser than you’d expected, sticky with blood and sweat. “Shhh,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. I’m just going to check the wound.”

The werewolf let out a low rumble, something halfway between a growl and a sigh. Its muscles tensed as you pressed gently around the wound, the sharp tang of blood filling the air. “You’re hurt bad,” you muttered, more to yourself than to the creature. The silver wasn’t just burning the skin—it was spreading, the edges of the wound turning an angry red that made your chest tighten.

You needed to clean it, but how? The kitchen was too far, and you doubted the werewolf would let you leave without reacting. Your gaze flickered to its face, and for a moment, you saw something almost human in its eyes—pain, fear, maybe even shame.

“Sinclair,” you said again, your voice firmer this time. “I need to stop the bleeding. Please, let me help.”

The werewolf huffed, a sound that might have been a reluctant agreement, though it was hard to tell. You tore a strip of fabric from your shirt, wincing as the sound of ripping cloth seemed to echo louder than it should have. The creature watched you intently, its amber eyes following your every movement as you pressed the makeshift bandage against the wound. It flinched, a growl rumbling deep in its chest, but it didn’t pull away.

The blood seeped through the fabric almost immediately, staining your hands as you worked to stem the flow. “You’re going to be okay,” you whispered again, though the words felt hollow. The werewolf’s breathing slowed, its growls turning to soft whimpers as the pain dulled. For a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you could save him—that the man you knew as Sinclair wasn’t entirely lost.

You finished tying the bandage in place, your hands trembling as you stepped back, keeping your eyes locked on the massive creature before you. The werewolf’s chest heaved with labored breaths, its amber eyes tracking your every movement. You were about to turn and make a run for it when it took a slow step forward, then another, its hulking form moving with a deliberate, unsettling grace.

“Stay back,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you backed away, your legs trembling with exhaustion and fear. Your foot caught on the edge of the rug, and you stumbled, falling onto your back with a thud. Pain shot up your spine, but there was no time to focus on it—the werewolf loomed closer, its glowing eyes locked onto yours.

You dragged yourself backward, your palms scraping against the polished floor as you moved. The werewolf’s steps were slow, methodical, its claws clicking softly against the wood as it closed the distance. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to get up, to run, but your body refused to cooperate. The beast stopped just inches away, its massive head tilting as it regarded you with a predatory intensity.

You closed your eyes tightly, your hand shooting out instinctively to shield yourself. “Please,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Please, don’t…”

The expected attack never came.

Instead, you felt something warm and rough brush against your outstretched hand. Your eyes snapped open, your breath catching in your throat as you watched the werewolf nuzzle against your palm. The gesture was oddly tender, almost hesitant, as if it were testing your reaction. Its amber eyes softened, the predatory gleam replaced by something almost… mournful.

“Sinclair?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The werewolf huffed softly, its massive frame lowering to the ground with a pained sigh. You froze as it rested its heavy head on your leg, the weight of it startling but not unwelcome. It made no move to attack, its body curling slightly as if seeking comfort. For a moment, you were too stunned to react, your heart hammering in your chest as the beast let out a low, rumbling growl—not of aggression, but of exhaustion.

You swallowed hard, your hand trembling as you hesitantly placed it on the creature’s head. Its fur was coarse but warm beneath your fingers, and it let out a soft, contented noise as you stroked it lightly. “This… this is better than being mauled,” you muttered, your voice shaky.

The werewolf’s breathing slowed, its massive frame rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Its growls softened to faint rumbles, almost like a purring dog. “Strong… female,” it rumbled, the words slurred but unmistakable. “Strong… puppies…”

Your hand stilled, your blood running cold at the words. Puppies? You didn’t dare dwell on the implications, not now. The werewolf shifted slightly, its weight pressing more heavily against your leg as it seemed to relax further. Its amber eyes fluttered closed, and within moments, its body stilled entirely.

It was asleep.

You sat frozen, your mind racing as you tried to process what had just happened. The beast’s head was heavy on your leg, but you bore it, not daring to move and risk waking it. The steady sound of its breathing filled the room, and for the first time that night, the tension in your chest eased—if only slightly.

What had you gotten yourself into?

Sinclair Bryant, the eccentric millionaire who spent his days rambling about the future, wasn’t just odd—he was something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something that shouldn’t exist. And yet, here he was, his monstrous form draped across your lap like a loyal hound.

Your fingers brushed against the werewolf’s fur again, almost absently. You weren’t sure what to do next—if you should leave, try to wake him, or simply wait for him to change back. But one thing was certain: your life, and your understanding of Sinclair Bryant, would never be the same.

[gridzdoodle]

hmm tf2 comic 7 got me feeling things here's a one shot

December 5, 1987

(2.7k wordcount also cross posted to ao3)

December 5, 1987: 5:30 am

On the dot, Spy found his body rousing to awakeness, at the same time and in the same way it had for an irrelevant number of years. He unceremoniously shoved off the thick blanket that he recalled Jeremy had bought on discount several years ago. A small lifetime ago, he might have yearned for the fine silken thing that he’d gifted his son at some point. Now, he was just warm.

There was that one constant, even as his life took him every which way. Up before the team (save for Jane, who was easy to avoid if he pleased). Up before the kids for a moment of peace (though anything was peace to him after it all). Up before Jeremy, to relieve the man (he really was on now, wasn’t he?) of some chores so he could rest just a little while longer. He really did need it nowadays, in his condition. 

Before all though, Spy would be afforded a moment to himself.

December 5, 1987: 5:52 am

Currently clocking in at four weeks of continuous residence, Spy had found himself falling into routine. The air was cold and the sky was dark and the flame that lit his cigarette was warm and he was content. The Willis family would enjoy the cozy embrace of sunlight when it came, but this moment would remain his. In this moment, there was nothing to do, and wasn’t that beautiful? He could go about slowly, methodically, knowing that everything was going to turn out just fine. 

The sky was lightening. Judging by every other morning he had spent staring at the same sky at the same time, Spy could guess that the sun would be peeking up from behind the neighboring house. As good a queue as any to duck back inside to start the day properly. 

December 5, 1987: 6:30 am

The little ones would be getting up one by one, between now and 7:30. Jeremy might get up between 7:30 and 8:00 depending on how his body would decide to treat him that day. Yesterday he seemed more active, so the earlier end of the spectrum was more likely. That gave Spy around an hour of interrupted time to take care of things before Jeremy would be insisting that he could do it himself.

He would start off with breakfast. The kids were always starved first thing in the morning, natural of growing children. Something simple, generally applicable, and all around practical. He went to the cupboard and reached for the oats. Weaning the household off whatever prize-inside cereal their father had the habit of buying was certainly a task. But four weeks of consistent no-budging breakfasts had practically solved that problem, thank god. Now it was just a matter of who took their meal what way, which wasn’t rocket science. 

By the time Spy had fetched the oats, milk, and almost brought the water to a full boil, he could hear the squeal of a little voice ricochet from the door, to the hallway, to his ears. That would be little Tammy, no doubt. He killed the heat and followed the sound.

December 5, 1987: 6:42

“Eeek!” Tammy squeaked, and Spy was only a little surprised to find her on top of the dresser thrice her height. To his left, he found the top bunk bed vacant with poor Tommy down below clenching a pillow over his ears to try and get a few more precious moments of shut-eye.

“Quel est le problème?”

A sniff, “Spider! ‘n my bed! Get it off!!” 

Well, that was two accounted for, though he didn’t trust Jeremy’s construction skills enough to leave the girl up there for a moment more. In a few strides, Spy’s foot brushed the foot of the dresser, and he extended his arms to the top. When the girl’s squirming jostled it, he opted to plant his hands on either side to stabilize it. 

“I’m afraid I will not be taking care of that until you get down from there. Please get down from there, by the way.” and he extended his arms once more. Tammy looked about anxiously, yet ultimately decided to make her way into his waiting arms. Though when Spy went to place her on the floor, he found her limbs wrapped so tightly around his torso that something in his spine might have rearranged itself. 

Spy nearly shook her down. 

“What if it’s on the floor?” she blubbered. Spy did a once-over.

“It is not.”

“Are- are you sure..?” Spy looked again.

“Oui. Very.” He crouched to the ground, giving Tammy little choice but to part with him. There was no struggle, reassurance a success. “Where did you say it was?” She made a gesture to her own bunk. It was not a very tall one, so he simply leaned over the top and found it completely vacant of creepy crawlies.

It is gone, he would have said, if he was not interrupted by the squeal of another little voice. A foot below, Tommy flailed his arm wildly, and a little something careened and collided with the bedframe. There was the offending spider, all gangly limbs and jerky movements while making a mad dash from the danger, a sight now unfamiliar to Spy. In a swift movement, he had its abdomen pinched between gloved fingers. It wriggled with all its might before he disposed of it in a tissue, and then the wastepaper basket by the door. 

“I’m making breakfast. Be ready.” which was only a formality.

December 5, 1987: 6:55

Peace on earth existed for ten minutes each morning, when Spy quietly worked on breakfast while Tanya worked on her book as she waited. Idly, Tanya’s finger toyed with the edge of To Kill a Mockingbird . Parallel to her, Spy fussed between stirring the pot and preparing the mix-ins for each bowl. 

A splash of milk in the bowl for Tommy and Tammy, plus a glass for each while he had the jug out. Tammy absolutely refused any large chunks of fruit, so he mashed the handful of blueberries with the back of a fork. For Tommy and himself, he left them whole.

A spoonful of strawberry jam would later turn Todd’s bowl of oatmeal pink, and he knew that would be enough for him. He stirred, it was cooked by now, and filled a couple glasses with water. Heat killed, Spy reached for a little ceramic dish, and then for the highest shelf in the cupboard.

Jeremy’s bowl received a small splash of milk and the faintest drizzle of honey. On the side, a glass of water and a little dish of AM pills. The heart, pain, and renal medication met the bowl with a satisfying clink.

Now that left one bowl.

“Is there anything you’d like?”

“ I’d like to see pa at the table in the morning again, maybe with a side of Tam-Tom being quiet for once?”  Spy sighed. Her frustration had only multiplied as the weeks passed, and it seemed she could only catch her father for minutes a day when he wasn’t asleep or when she wasn’t at school. “But I could settle for a nice tall glass o’ make my English teacher stop making us do so much stuff .”

Junior high and an increasingly absent father had been tough on Tanya, but Spy knew she was tougher. The least he could do was make himself an unapologetic ally, listen to her woes whenever she came to him. It had taken them this far, through years of babysitting and now indefinite residence, and he had no intention of stopping now.

“Let me see about that one. Hmm.” Spy made a show of looking through the refrigerator, then the pantry, then the cupboard. “Ahh, I’m afraid I used the last of the ‘quiet kids’ mix last night. As for the ‘lighten the workload juice’, I believe– oh, did you hear that?” Spy noted, in perfect flatness while Tanya was failing to suppress her amusement. In a couple strides, he made it to the door and opened it.

“Now let us see this,” Spy murmured, leafing through the newspaper, serious facade unwavering as he read the headlines aloud. “Unimportant, weather, unimportant again, oh, how interesting…” he peeked up from the page, pleased to see Tanya fully invested in his bit. “This news story, ‘Local English instructor, assassinated!’ No leads, no fingerprints,” he peeled his gloves off and set them down next to the paper, “all classes to be postponed indefinitely!” At this time, Tanya’s book was flat on the table as an unfettered laugh streamed from her lips. Victory. 

Spy glanced back down for a quick moment, “Ah, but breakfast is not. What would you like to have, genuine requests only please, unless you’d like to take some plain oats.” After the girl’s laughter had trailed off, she considered, and piped up: “Cinnamon! And brown sugar in it too!” Now that was doable. He was happy to add a dash of cinnamon and a conservative spoonful of sugar to her immediate chagrin. 

“What, that’s nuthin’! You could’nt’a added a little more?” She pouted. “Non, I’m not in the habit of serving sweets in the morning.” which earned him a melodramatic slump from her. He sighed. Spy was becoming weak in his old age. “And I will remain firm in my decision. Oh. What is this. It looks like the oatmeal is ready to plate. I will now turn around, and since this matter is so urgent, I will leave the spoon in the sugar.” Which wasn’t entirely a joke. 

December 5, 1987: 7:13

“Can we go watch cartoons?”

“Yes-”

“Can we go now?”

“Have you finished your breakfast?”

“No-”

“Non.”

“But you said-”

“I would have said yes, when you finish eating.”

“Why?”

“You could tip your bowl on the couch, and I won’t clean it up.”

Todd conceded, and switched tactics to shoveling as many oats as he could eat at once. On the other side of the table, Tommy was falling asleep into his bowl while Tammy went on about nothing entirely discernible. Tanya, thank god, was taking care of the cleanup. Spy had already cleared his ingredients, so there were only the dishes to attend to. First the cooking pot, followed in quick succession by the first two bowls. She had to scrape bits of residual mush from Tommy’s bowl, but Todd and Tammy had practically cleaned theirs for her.

And then. 

“Pa’s stuff’s gonna be cold…” Tanya muttered, looking at the last dish. Spy cautioned a glance behind him, the kid in a clear struggle of indecision. He came to meet her, true to her words his fingers met a bowl barely above body temperature. Hmm. “I guess I will just have to bring it right away.”

He got to go, at which point Tanya wasted no time taking the glass of water and dish of medicine. “I got it, don’t worry!” She said, as though she needed an excuse. Spy let it happen. They made their way down the hallway, which he couldn’t help observing each time he walked down it. Dozens of frames lined the walls, little snapshots of their lives slowly connecting. There were most of the kids by far, and the stark contrast between the pigtailed toddler to the young woman before him might have given him whiplash so bad he would have dropped the water if he was the one holding it. 

He was forever grateful that Jeremy had taken so many pictures of all of the children, it filled in the seven year gap, and when he looked at them it was like he hadn’t missed a moment. Of course, pictures couldn’t compare with memories, but it was another thing entirely when they coincided. Todd’s smile of pride as he correctly guessed 1,782 jellybeans was just as infectious as that day. 

Naturally there were plenty of pictures of Jermey, granted, less pale. 

They made it to his door, and Spy turned the knob with his free hand. The bedroom was spacious, and the bed was too large for one. There were even more pictures, of Jeremy himself, of his mother, of him, of his friends, of his children most of all. A picture of Jeremy from his mercenary days was accompanied by a clock which read 7:22, and a tear-away calendar which read December 4, 1987. The practical decor clashed with the seven Tom Jones posters, but whatever made him happy, Spy told himself. 

Right now though, he was laid on his side tangled up in some sheets. It seemed that he didn’t hear the door open. 

“Jeremy?” “Pa?”

Spy set down the bowl on the nightstand, and Tanya mirrored his movement. He would have to be woken up, it seemed. She looked near ready to do it herself, but it had been too many times that Spy had to remind her to be gentle. He would have to do it himself.

Spy sat on the vacant side of the bed, the one that might have been occupied by a spouse if that sort of love decided to stay with him. “Jeremy,” he repeated, to no response. In  perfect carefulness, he connected his hand with the once sticking out of the bedding, perhaps the tactile input would rouse him like several mornings before. 

A backstabbed Sniper on his shoulder. The gibs of teammates fallen to an enemy Demo. Gray Mann. Years of mercenary work. Jeremy fourteen years ago, still moving, that slowed in his arms. A coldness and a stiffness that could never be mistaken was found in his son’s hand. 

A tiny squeak behind him. Tanya, clever and perceptive Tanya. Why did she have to come? 

“Is he okay..?” and the wavering of her little voice near made Spy lose composure entirely.

“I believe he has a fever.” he decided, and pressed a palm to his frigid face. “Merci, Tanya, but I would not want you to become ill as well.”

“What about you?”

“Please, you had better worry about your siblings instead. Make sure they have not destroyed the living room. Leave your father to me, yes?” Tanya, in her childish trust, only looked once over her shoulder as she walked out the door. 

December 5, 1987: 7:51

“My friend, you must remember that Herr Mundy’s case was a very special one–I had begun work almost immediately, a near infinite budget, all necessary parts on hand, a fully stocked infirmary–even if I flew out this very minute I doubt I could replicate my results.”

“I understand.”

 “Do you really?”

“I understand.”

“I am very sorry.”

“I understand.”

The telephone slotted neatly back in place. The room was cold. The bowl was cold. The bed was cold, except for the part Spy was sitting. The blanket cast aside when he searched for any sign of life certainly was not doing Jeremy any favors. That would never do.

With the fabric draped over him, he could pretend. Pretend that he was the grandfather when Tommy and Tammy played house. Pretend that he hadn’t seen the effects of gravity pooling blood to the parts of Jeremy’s body that rested against the mattress. 

A mad giggle and excited squeal from across the hall. What was the game of choice this week again?

“Boom!” Todd shouted. Right. This week they were outlaws in the southwest, two against two. 

“Wait, what town isn’t big enough for both of us?” Tommy scratched his head. He always preferred a more thorough worldbuilding in his pretend play. 

“How about…” Todd fiddled with his toy sword, “Teufort New Mexico! Y’know, like the place on papa’s mail!” At that point, he charged right for his brother, who jumped a foot in the air.

That day, Spy recalled, Jeremy was busy in the kitchen fixing himself another cup of coffee, but was quick to join in the fun. 

Spy had lingered alone in the room long enough, he decided. The little ones would soon look for a new playmate, and perhaps he could distract them from the fact that he was the only one who could. 

[yaut-jaknowit]

T’a’yta says he has to hold himself back, I gotta hold myself back mc has way more self control then me. I would've taken him to the bedroom the second he said I didn't have to break a sweat. He wined and dined so much the first date that no other dates are required we're officially married the second he gets me against the closet door. All this to say I hope there's a part 2 and that you never have trouble sleeping dear writer.

Strangers Part 2

Character: T'a'yta (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 3538

Summary: You meet up with Ze'se to recap everything you've been through with T'a'yta. And boy, is she happy to hear how good the date went. She forces you to text him that moment to go on a second one. T'a'yta agrees. Now, for a second date!

Author Note: I completely agree with you. If any Yautja like him did that do me, I'd propose to him that moment. Thank you so much for the love!

Part 1

Masterlist

Ao3

After your first date with the handsome and endearing T’a’yta, it was love at first sight. He had your heart already. No, ifs, ands, or buts about it. T’a’yta had stolen it right out of your chest and posted it on top of a throne. Truly. The Yautja treated you like royalty. You felt it. The first date sealed it in with him.

Of course, as any normal human, you were nervous to go head first. All of your past relationships have clearly failed. Here you were. With what you seemed to be the perfect gentlemen. T’a’yta even told you to take your time. He’ll wait. The way he said it to wasn’t even creepy or disturbing. He’s letting you take control. To take control of such a beast of a man. You internally swooned at the thought. Your cheeks flushed hot with heat.

That was two days ago. Your friend who set him up with you wanted to know all about it. She had called you the morning afterwards, begging for you to meet up with her. Ze’se is an amazing friend. So, despite work draining you during the day, you agreed to a dinner meet up with her. Which Ze’se happily agreed to said place and threatened harm if you didn’t show. That… you didn’t know if she was joking or not.

With the threat of harm hanging over your head, you threw on some comfy clothes. This was a causal outing. No reason to be all dolled up to see your friend.

Being the person Ze’se is, she invited you to a nice, sit down restaurant with good food. You didn’t need to show up in a dress or anything of the sort. That didn’t mean you could show up like a slob. Just down the middle. Perfect. Just how you like it. Like always, Ze’se will pay as well. Never has she ever let you pay. Not even when you try to sneak or be quick. Nothing escapes her watchful eyes.

The building is welcoming when you walk in. It’s not a large food joint but the place is packed with the lobby full of waiting customers. You stroll up to the host stand and greet a man standing there. Poor thing looks a bit overwhelmed and tired.

“Hi. I’m with the Ze’se reservation,” you told him with a gentle, easy going smile. His dark blue eyes dart down to the screen in front of him. He scrolls through a list before his eyes lit up. The host steps out from behind the stand and motions to follow him.

“Follow me.” You comply and shadowed behind him. Further into the restaurant, you see just how full it was. Completely understandable why he has that look in his eyes.

Your eyes look through the crowd and find the only Yautja here. Her towering form sitting on a chair designed for someone of her size. A few people are giving her looks but she’s not caring one bit. Humans are still getting a feel about having Yautjas around normally. People still aren’t fully used to alien walking among them. You’re not one of those.

Ze’se bright gaze lit up when she spot you through the crowd. The host finishes up the guide and departs with a forced smile. You take your seat across form hers. She is immediately scanning over your neck with observant eyes. You knew what she was looking for, know she would find nothing. To her disappointment.

That sharp gaze of hers narrowed when she came up empty handed. “Did he not impress you?” Ze’se asked with her voice filled with suspicion. You rolled your eyes with a small smirk then looked down at the menu.

“Oh my god, Ze,” you groaned. Yautjas. They are so fast about life. That’s one thing you find ironic about the different lifestyles. They act like they have no time in the universe. Yet, their life expectancy is over a thousand years old. While humans are the opposite. Acting like we’ll live forever and taking all the time in the world with doing stuff. There are outliers in each species. But, that’s one thing you’ve come to notice around Yautjas.

“Just because we didn’t fuck doesn’t mean I don’t like him!” Thankfully, no one was paying attention to the two of you. That would’ve gained some nasty glances. Specially from the parents nearby.

The suspicion in her gaze doesn’t go away. You sighed and bowed your head. “I would think he’d at least give you a temporary mark. You do have his scent on you though.” Ze’se seemed pleased about that though. Yautjas and their scenting. You sneaky sniffed the air but didn’t catch anything different.

Content with her findings, Ze’se changes her expression to a softer look. You forced down the heat in your cheeks to disappear before meeting her bright eyes again.

“But, to let you know, everything went well. He took me out for a dinner date. A wonderful date.” You flicker your gaze down at the menu while talking. “Just like you, he paid for everything and didn’t even give me a chance.” T’a’yta kind of reminds you of Ze’se. Was it customary for Yautjas to pay? Because it wasn’t gendered, clearly.

A server popped up and greeted the two of you. “Welcome in guys! My name is Sarah. Today we have a special going on for our soups.” Waters were placed down with a carbonated drink in front of Ze’se. “Are we ready to order? Or do we need some more time?”

Since the two of you have been here far too many times to count, you already knew what you want. You looked up at the server. “We’re ready, thank you. Could I get the long ham sandwich with a fries on the side? And a Pepsi to drink?” Ever since you tried that sandwich, you fell in love with it. Whoever is back there, working their magic knew what they were doing. It was delicious.

On the other side, Ze’se made her order. The server wrote all of it done before scampering off to other tables. Busy day.

One thing the two of you loved about this pace was it cater to Yautjas as well. One of their cook’s was a Yautja himself. Authentic Yautja Prime food. The first time you tried a dish… regret. Ze’se must have known how spicy it was. You were dying.

Once the server left, the two of you fell back into the conversation.

“We went to my favorite restraint in the city. T’a’yta had surprised me by renting out the whole place!” Truly, you couldn’t believe he had done that for you. “It was just the two of us.” Then, a certain memory popped up. You tapped your hand on the table.

“Oh my god! When I tried to order a simple salad because I didn’t want to spend a fortune on a meal, he bought every appetizer on the menu!” From there, you finished up the story. You recapped it to her. All the way to when he took you home and pinned you to the closet door. Ze’se had a grin on her face. “I said I would love to go on another date with him.”

The sparkles in her eyes were scary.

“When’s the next date?” she immediately asked afterwards. By now, the food had arrived in the middle of your recap. Busy or not, they knew how to get their food out quickly.

You shook your head. “Not yet…” Ze’se face darkened amidst her eating. “I-I was going to talk to you about it.” Then, you ducked your head down to hide away from her piercing gaze. “Plus, work has been busy!” And it had. You’ve been going to work and coming home just to sleep. Rinse and repeat. You were lucky to get time to have that date with T’a’yta.

Ze’se growled your name and put down her form gently. “Do not let a good thing such as this slip away. “ The tone of her voice was evident with seriousness. She truly didn’t want you to lose this opportunity. You sighed again but nodded timidly.

“Pull out your phone and text him now.” You jerked your head back before following her demands. The food was temporarily forgotten about. As you typed away at the screen, you would glance at her staring you down. Each time she caught you, your gaze snapped back down to the phone.

Sent. You flipped the device around so she could read it. The message pleased her. All you wrote about how you had a goodtime and enjoyed his company and kindness. You also would like to go on a second date. Not that you believed it was fully needed since he’s given you all the green flags in the world. But you wanted to take it slow and easy. You had to remember, he’s alien with different cultures and views.

By the time you two finished up your meal, it had become dark outside. You stepped out onto the sidewalk first with Ze’se following afterwards. Anyone nearby cleared a large bubble around the two of you.

Strong arms wrapped around your torso and brought you close to her warm body. You returned the gesture in full before pulling back. “I’ll let you know about he says, okay?” you promised Ze’se. Not only does she care you and your love life. Ze’se wants to make sure you are safe as well.

She pointed a stern finger at you. “You better. I know where you live.” Anyone else would’ve ran for their lives at that threat. Not you. Instead, you laughed and nodded your head.

“I promise.” Then, the two of you spilt ways. You returned home, back to your apartment.

Walking through the front door gave you a reminder of that evening with T’a’yta. You had almost let him in. Almost.

As you go to se down your stuff on the kitchen counter, your phone buzzed. Instantly, your head started to race.

It was a message from T’a’yta.

And he wanted to on that second date.

Both of your arms were thrusted into the air with a loud cheer. You danced around the living room before responding back to him. You already had a place in mind on the weekend. Which now couldn’t come any sooner. Only three days away and you wanted it right now. You wish you didn’t have to work, let alone in the morning.

With the knowledge of having plans for Saturday, the work week decided to drag on at a snails pace. Plus, everything that could go wrong, went wrong. All of the work to fix it fell onto your lap. To the point they tried to make you stay for overtime. You put your foot down and gone to your midday date with T’a’yta.

A smalls hop was set up inside the mall. Not many notice it. Unless work of mouth got around. That’s how most people know about it. A pottery shop you’ve been dying to go to. Work either has you too busy or no one wants to go. They have a cute little dragon you were excited to paint on. You had the idea to painting it like T’a’yta.

Up front, stood T’a’yta in all of his glory. It was good to finally see him again. It felt too long to go without seeing him after the first time. T’a’yta had made such an impression to you.

A bright smile plastered onto your face when you first saw his brown scales. He was easy to spot with what little people occupied the shop. You quickened your steps towards him, adding a pep with each step.

T’a’yta instantly noticed the moment you turned the corner. A watchful eye was kept on you until you reached the shop. His lumbering form turned towards you. You peered up at him with a warm smile.

“I’m so glad you could make it, T’a’yta. I hope this didn’t throw a wrench in any plans.” You didn’t know what his schedule was like. If he had any plans outside of this. He wasn’t from here and probably had people he wanted to see. Or even a hunt or something on those lines.

His massive head shook side to side. T’a’yta slowly reached out and brushed his knuckles against your cheek. He most likely felt the heat that boiled your skin alive at this point. “No, no. I had nothing going on,” he reassured before the two of you walked up to the front counter. A young man waited for the two of you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you decided to start up a casual conversation with him. The man was quick to answer any of your question about this whole process.

It wasn’t long until the two of you are at a table. In front of you was the adorable little dragon you craved to get. T’a’yta got a miniature house. The two of you picked out your colors and put them on a palette. Ready for use. You were beaming at T’a’yta with sparkles in your eyes. Finally, you were here. Not alone. A future romantic partner. The idea excited you.

“What had you been doing between our last date and this one?” you asked and picked up a paint brush, adding color to the tip. T’a’yta seemed a little out of his element with the arts and crafts. But, he followed your lead.

“I’ve been mainly ready to pass the time,” he answered and dipped a brush into some green paint.

Reading?! A man who liked to read? Could he get any better? You were thankful that Ze’se had introduced you to T’a’yta.

The paint brush in your hand lowered a little to focus on him. “Oh? What do you like to read?” The two of you might have different genres but still. To find a guy who enjoys reading is unheard of. Imagine if the two of you combined your libraries together! Fuck, you’re already thinking about the future.

He starts to paint the side of the house with a green. “I have a vast variety for my own library.” There were plenty of stars in your eyes just at that. “Currently, I’m reading…” he says something that your human brain couldn’t understand. That sounded alien. That only made you realize how much you didn’t know about his culture. Only to want to know more about it, about him. “Are you a book worm?” If only he knew.

“A lot. When you come by again, I’ll show you the library in my apartment,” you offered to him. Your paint brushed created brown base along the dragon as the starter. The brown nearly a match to T’a’yta’s scales. “I’ve got so much that it overflows into the living room.” T’a’yta looks up from his mini house. His blue eyes reflected the sparkles in your own.

“Would you have time later today to show me?” he asked you. “I can show you my own whenever you want. It’s on my ship.” On my god, his ship? You’ve never stepped foot off of earth before. Would he take you at least into the atmosphere of earth? That… that would be a dream come true.

“I would happily show you.” Next, you added the lighter tan color to the dragon’s chest and belly. “I might have a few book you may want. I would be more than happy to let you borrow… if you let me borrow some,” you teased him with a sly smile. His mandibles widened into his own smile.

He let his paint brush stop for a moment. “Name a time. I’ll make it happen.” You nodded your head rapidly. T’a’yta chuckled and returned to his paint job.

“Next weekend?” Not tomorrow. Even though you have it off. Like you’ve said before, you wanted to take this slow. You’ve learned your lesson before to go slow in a relationship. It’s a safer route. Next weekend offers plenty of time to recuperate after today. Work is the only think that gets in the way.

“it’s a date.” No one could wipe off the smile on your face. Another date. It’s already planned. For trading books and seeing an alien space craft up close and personal. That couldn’t come quick enough.

This date continued on. The two of you painting at what trinkets you’ve picked. Light conversation flowed between the two of you. It was nice to get to know him some more.

At the end of the date, you both take your pieces up to the counter. The same young man is there again and helps you with the checkout process. Before you had a chance to slip your card into the reader, T’a’yta beat you to it. You huff with a pout.

The worker estimated a week and half until you could come back to pick up the figurines. You wished to be able to pick them up now. Because the little dragon was adorable while it was unfired.

If T’a’yta was a dragon, your figurine would be a perfect march to him. All the way down to his gorgeous blue eyes.

Both of you walked out of the strip mall shop and stood on the side of the sidewalk. Those that meandered around the city gave the bulky beast a wide berth. You stepped closer to him, wanting to take in the unique scent of his. How you were going to miss it over the week away from him.

It was unique to him. Alien if you had to put a name to it. But it made up T’a’yta.

Softly, you placed a hand on his clothed chest and stood on your tippy-toes. Even then, you didn’t reach his shoulders. As if he could read it on your face, he bends at the waist. This close to his face, you saw all the small details that made up his features. To the light scars, to the dark speckles in his blue eyes, to the wrinkles that showed his age as a skilled elder. You reached with your free hand towards his cheek and cupped it gently. It gave him all the time in the universe to pull away if he wanted. Instead, T’a’yta leaned into your touch, eyes slowly closing.

“I wanted to thank you for all of this. You don’t have to pay for me though. I can pay for my own stuff,” you told him in a voice above a whisper. What’s with Yautjas and wanting to spend their money? The next time, you had to beat him to the punch. No matter what.

T’a’yta’s eyes opened quickly. The brown Yautja stood back to hid full height. Your hand snapped back, surprised by his sudden movement. But, he caught it before you had a chance. You were pulled into his space, closer than before. “You don’t pay for anything. I pay. I have told you this before,” he growled deep from his chest. Something about it wasn’t scary or terrifying. It was a statement. He wouldn’t let you win this.

The unfamiliar feel of his skin against your was a stark reminder. You felt a shudder run up the length of your spine. “I’ll provide for you. This is my way of showing that to you. I’m an elite hunter. I provide.” Shit, and he did that on the first date. He really, really did. And he kept doing it too.

You took a shaky breath in and released it. Yet, you were a stubborn creature. More than a mule on a bad day. As much as you wanted to tell him no, you knew that wouldn’t work. He’s just like you. You could see it in his eyes. With another deep breath, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged him down to your level. For a moment, you hesitated, trying to figure out how you’ll do this. Then, you pecked your lips on his upper, inner jaw. His body tensed under your touch the second your mouth made contact with his. Then, his hands gripped your hips and tugged you closer.

“I’ll take this as you agree.” Damn him.

“I’ll get you one of these days,” you retorted at him. T’a’yta chuckled and rubbed his eyebrow to your forehead. A sign from him in Yautja that he returns the affection.

“Let’s go to my apartment. I still need to show you my library,” you offered to him. His fingers clenched on your hips for a second before he released you.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he agreed before stepping back and giving you space to breathe. His scent still filled your nostrils and almost overwhelmed you.

The two of you began to walk down the side walk, ignoring everyone’s eyes on you. They were judging you. But, you could care less about what they thought. If your love was to an alien, who cares? He treats you like royalty.

Like a guardian, T’a’yta walked in step with you. All the way back to your apartment. Unlike last time, you let him in and showed him what your home looked like. The library was a plus.

[nocasdatsgay]

Kept - Harlots of Autumn Fic

Pairing: Reader/Beron; Mentions of past Reader/Lucien and mentions of past Reader/Vanserra Brother | Rating: E | Word Count: 2230 |

Autumn Harlots Master Post| Previous Part: Sold | Read on ao3

Summary: Lucien was gone from Autumn. The High Lord requests your presence a week later to find out if you’re worth keeping. 

Trigger Beron. Vague mentions of past non-con. Dubious consent. Power imbalance. Non-con due to power imbalance. Blow jobs. P in V sex. Fire Rope. Inappropriate use of High Lord Powers

A/N: Merry Crisis. It’s still Christmas Eve here so. Anyways no time like the present. HEED THE WARNINGS. 

Gen Tagging List: @secret-third-thing @readychilledwine @acourtofladydeath @lady-of-tearshed @daycourtofficial @hieragalbatorixdottir @mybestfriendmademe @thisblogisaboutabook @ninthcircleofprythian @pit-and-the-pen @ysmtttty @jon-snows-man-bun If I tagged you by accident let me know

A month of mourning. The whole Forest House was in black daily, solemn moods on every face. The only person you mourned was Lucien. He was so kind to you for so long. He kept his brothers at bay for the first year but eventually they got their hands on you. 

Leon, one of the two you were supposed to be mourning, was the roughest. He liked it when you cried- be it from pleasure or pain. He always made you look him in his ugly brown eyes while he fucked you. And he always forced an orgasm out of you. You might as well enjoy it too, he would whisper in your ear. 

If there was a grave to spit on you would have done it. 

The other brother was just an annoyance when he was alive. Sloppy and drunk most of the times he called for you. You could get him off with your hands and he would pass out immediately after. When he did fuck you he was quick. Maybe it was a blessing he died before taking a wife. 

It was only five days after the announcement of what happened that you received a letter with the High Lord’s seal. Your heart stopped when you saw he requested you meet him in his quarters after dinner. You tossed the letter and burned it- you didn’t want the other two girls, Beca and Rhian finding it. They were kind but even after a few years you still didn't trust them fully yet. 

When you went, you put on one of your better dresses. A burnt orange one that you wore last month at the ball. It was the newest, you felt maybe it would look better if you showed off how you appreciated his generosity. There was a guard at the door. He looked down his nose at you before knocking. A call from the other side and he let you in. 

“High Lord,” you walked in and curtsied. You kept your eyes on the floor. “You called for me?”

Silence. You didn’t look up, too afraid of this being a test. 

“I did.” He finally broke the silence after a moment. You kept your eyes on the decorated carpet. “Do you know why I called for you?” 

“No, High Lord.” 

He hummed. “Beauty but no brains then. That explains why that runt didn’t wish to keep you. I do not know why, considering he was no better.” 

You heart quickened. 

“I gave you a task when you were hired. Entertain my youngest. You must be abysmal company if you could not keep his attentions. Do you have anything to say for yourself? You may speak.” 

“High Lord, I assure you I did my best-“

“Your best obviously wasn’t good enough. Did you know? Of his dalliances with that creature?” 

You winced. “No, High Lord. I did not.”

He hummed. “I believe you. If there was one thing he did learn, it was how to be sly. Besides, if you lied I would know. I always know.” He paused and you held your breath. “That still leaves me with you. What to do with you? Are you worth keeping?” You didn’t answer. “Show me why I should keep you.” 

Your stomach sank. You knew what he wanted. 

“How would you prefer me?” You replied softly. 

“Take three steps, then kneel.” Three small steps and you kneeled on the plush carpet. “Eyes on me.”

Your gaze snapped up. He looked at you from where he lounged in his chair. You had never seen him in such tight clothes. A simple and loose ruby undershirt, the top untied. Your gaze flickered to his brown leather trousers- another article of clothing you’d never seen him in. He looked younger like this. You’d call him handsome if he were a stranger. If you didn’t know what kind of male he was. He stood. You could see and smell his arousal even from a short distance. 

“You are a pretty one,” he stepped up and grabbed you by the chin. Gods, he looked like Eris this close. “But are you worth keeping after your failure to please that runt? Open your mouth.”

He let go and you opened your mouth, resting your tongue on your bottom lip. He forced two fingers into your mouth. You only recoiled slightly from the sudden movement but kept yourself from gagging as he pushed back further. You took a calculated risk: you closed your mouth around his fingers and sucked gently. He grinned. 

“You’re a nasty little cunt. To think you were pure when we got you.” He pulled his fingers out and straightened himself. “Show me how you please a High Lord.” 

You gathered up your hair in the ribbon you kept on your wrist. He laughed at you but you didn’t pay him any mind. With your hair secured, you reached out for his trousers. For half a moment, you wondered if it would be sacrilegious to pretend this was Lucien. You did that sometimes. You wish you knew more when he bedded you so that you could make him feel good too. 

You focused and realized Beron had a belt on- it wasn’t typical Autumn fashion. Still, you undone it from the buckle and undid the button on the trousers. The dark hair on his navel came into view and his clothes were pushed aside. Heat pooled instinctively between your legs at the peak of his straining cock. When you pulled it out, you didn’t know if you physically or mentally made a noise. It was unfair how attractive the Vanserras were considering their personalities. Looking at it fully, it was just as pretty as his sons’. His hand went to your head while you stroked him. Gods, you hope you did this like he wanted. His hand didn’t leave your head while you licked up the underside of his length. 

You kept your eyes up, looking at him from under your lashes when you took him in your mouth. You bobbed once, coating him in your saliva. He tasted different- sharp like Fire Whiskey. He groaned, fingers digging into your scalp to hold you still. You knew what would come next and relaxed your jaw. 

“Good girl,” he sighed and thrusted into your mouth. 

Your mind drifted. Lucien called you a good girl. When he stretched you out with his fingers. When he made you come on his cock. The memory made your panties wet. Your gaze unfocused thinking about him; sucking his cock. He’d reward you and make you feel good too. Beron must have noticed. He grabbed your ponytail and yanked your head back. 

“You focus on me,” he snarled, flames in his eyes. 

“Yes sir.” You muttered and opened your mouth again. 

You made a point to stare at him as he thrusted into your mouth, hand tight on your hair. Did he fuck his wife like this? Did he fuck the other girls like this? They never said. They only talked about the heirs. 

“I see why they wanted you,” he groaned, his thrusts getting rougher and threatening to gag you. “You’re so fucking pretty on your knees. Cry for me and I’ll give you a treat.” 

Beron started pushing down your throat. You gagged once but caught yourself. As commanded, your eyes watered. He seemed to like that. It didn’t take long for him to come down your throat. You swallowed, the aftertaste like whiskey coating your mouth. You desperately prayed to The Mother you wouldn’t cough or choke. He stepped back, your salvia leaving a string from the head to your lips. You didn’t dare wipe it away. 

“Get up.” Beron caught his breath. He let go of your hair and you watched him stroke himself again. “Get up and bend over the chair.” 

You got to your feet and scrambled to the chair he’d been sitting in. You bent over the left arm. In your mind you were terrified but your body- you could smell your own arousal and his. You told yourself it was from thinking of Lucien. Deep down you knew the truth. You liked it. You bit your lip as he came up behind you. You stood your toes, hopping to lift your rear the way he might want. 

His hands gathered your skirt, lifting. He reached under and you inhaled sharply when his warm hands caressed your thigh. He tugged on your undergarments, making them fall to the floor at your feet. 

“I’m keeping these,” he said. 

You could hear him move. He reached down and you made sure to quickly step out of them. You didn’t understand why he would want your undergarments. His sharp inhale startled you. 

“You almost smell good enough to eat. Maybe one day if you earn it.” 

You didn’t know what that meant. 

Suddenly warm fire wrapped around your neck- he had made a fire rope. It didn’t burn but was still warm against your skin. Then he pulled. You gagged and choked as you tried to sit up and lessen the pressure. He laughed and tugged it again. 

“Lift your leg whore.” 

You steadied yourself and lifted your left leg up onto the arm of the chair. Then two more fire ropes wrapped around your wrists. You yelled when your hands were yanked off the chair and moved to your back. He pulled on those, holding you up and you tried to shift your weight to take the pressure off your throat. The rope fire holding your arms behind your back held fast just like the rope on your neck. But it seemed to be what he wanted. You felt him let one hand go and throw up your skirts. He run his fingers along your slit. 

“Whore indeed.” You whimpered when he pushed two fingers into you with ease. “My boys trained you well. Are you always this needy?” 

You knew better than to answer. His fingers felt around until he hit a spot that made you clench. The bastard chuckled. He loosened his hold of the fire on your neck long enough to shove his cock into you without warning. You moaned involuntarily. 

“Been a long time since I had such a tight cunt.” He thrusted and jolted you forward. He let out a deep groan and did it again. “Maybe you are worth keeping.” 

Beron fucked you in long hard strokes, dragging himself out slowly only to thrust into you quick and hard. The chain on your neck tightened, making you dizzy. You tried to focus, to figure out what he wanted from you. Did he want you to come? Did he want you to be silent or vocal? Vocal seemed to be what he wanted. Each time you gasped and whined when he tugged the chain made him grip your waist harder. 

And it felt good. 

Each stroke hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. It didn’t help that each thrust rubbed you against the arm of the chair, stimulating you from the outside. And with the pressure from the chain on your throat- it was hard not to let go. 

“You like this don’t you,” he whispered. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you gasped. 

His fingers dug into your thigh.“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, high lord.”

“Good girl.” You whined and he groaned. “I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to walk out with my seed in your cunt. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you struggled to get out, “High Lord.” 

He finally loosened the chain of fire on your neck and held you by the ones on your wrists. He cursed and came. You could feel the heat of him coat the inside of you. Then unexpectedly, he pulled you up flush against him. 

“Come for me.” He whispered in your ear. “Come for your high lord.” 

A command your body couldn’t disobey. You moaned loudly, pulsing around him, pleasurable warmth rolling through your body. It felt so good you forgot for a moment who had you in his grasp. Then the ropes vanished and he let go. You fell face first panting into the chair cushion. He stepped back, pulling out and leaving his cum dripping out of you. 

“Clean up your mess.” 

You pushed yourself up, turning to see him watching you intensely. Your eyes dropped to his softening cock. It was muscle memory at that point. You got on your knees and licked him clean. You looked up at him the whole time, watching to see if he approved. He reminded you of Asher, the way his face held no emotion or tell at what he was thinking. Then he shoved you away. 

“You can stay. Don’t make me have to call for you again, understand?” He tucked himself back into his trousers. 

“Yes High Lord.” 

“Out.” 

You scrambled to your feet, his sticky mess dripping down your thighs like he promised. It was by the grace of The Mother no one was in the hall as you made your way to your chambers. Beca and Rhian were missing when you entered- another blessing. You were shaking by the time you drew a bath and got into the water. You washed away the smell of him and tried desperately to not think about what would have happened if you had not pleased him. 

[pinep-ne]

Req: How do you think Charles and Arthur's first romantic dance went out? It can be a drabble or one shot, whichever you'd like! Go ham-

Ohh I love this.. I have an answer and a little one-shot for you. I got really carried away with this one,,

I think in a modern au, which is what I am assuming, for the sake of *romantic* and their *first*, it'd have to be the classic dinner date.

I like to think they knew each other beforehand from work or similar, and after some painfully obvious pining, Abby and Hosea were practically begging Arthur to just ask the dude.

I've never really thought of Charles being the type to initiate too much in relationships, being alone for so much of his life, and Arthur's probably had more experience being a ladies' man if Mary says anything, so I thought the trope fit. And with Charles being a closed book, Arthur probably didn't have any other promising ideas such as this one.

So he pops the question, to which he receives a sheepish yes. Panics a little because he was fully expecting to be friend-zoned, or a secret open-ended thing in between, and also had nothing else planned except for a place, a budget, and the time.

Of course the cherry on top is that the 'table-for-two at a warmly lit and hushed restaurant that pours champagne for hundreds' scene isn't really something familiar to either of them, so the dinner itself ends up pretty abysmal. I mean the evening is nice, and they're clicking, and it's not necessarily awkward, but they'd really just rather be anywhere but here.

Anywho. In truth, as their relationship unfurls I think Charles and Arthur would kind of stray to the more unconventional dates— hiking, camping, volunteer work, roadtrips, etc etc. It's safe to say a rich and lavish night of romance isn't really something they're super inclined to. Plus, there's just something a little impersonal about sitting across from the table from your potential lover, and these idiots have always seemed like the 'parallel play' type to me.

I hope I've embodied a lot of this in the fic well enough... sorry if it's all a bit of a spoiler!

Anywho. I hope you enjoy!!!!!!!!! It gets a little introspective like most of my works... so apologies in advance. And for reference, this is probably set in the early 2000s.

(i have this fic and more posted on ao3!)

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Arthur leans across the center console, trying to catch a glimpse of the apartment numbers once more. Re-checks his watch. Flips the visor down, and re-checks himself. He gives the reflection a once-over, kneading at his face, flicking back a particular chunk of hair, only for it to bounce back over his forehead. Curses, mulling over for the umpteenth time this whole affair, and steps out of the truck.

He thinks, immediately, that he should've asked earlier. In April, or something. Not December, when the sun's always further than it should be, and the truck only starts up on a prayer. It's too cold to wear something nice without it looking unfitting, but he supposes he's done okay. He wonders if Charles is any better, as if the man's ever looked bad a day in his life.

The quick jaunt to the door has his stomach flipping inside itself. He buzzes once, and twice, and considers a third time before it squeals open. Straightens. Crosses his arms before letting them down again at his sides. Thinks it better to just push them both into his pockets.

Charles is there, like he should be.

He's wearing about the same thing Arthur is, about the same thing they both wear normally, only more polished. Boots and jeans and a simple flannel, covered by a thickly lined denim jacket.

He gives Arthur a look. Something akin to amusement, maybe. Holds his gaze to Arthur's and gifts him an earnest little smile, like it's a secret just for the two of them.

Usually, he's got an inch or two on Charles, but with the man on the doorstep, Arthur's looking up a good bit. He's got one hand on the door, the other occupied with necessities, rested in the air with idle anticipation. Gaze following Arthur's every move, every frantic bout of shuffling, and fidgeting.

Arthur's chest stirs at the sight, at the tilt he keeps his neck to. He lingers on the feeling, and breaks the contact, looking over his shoulder while it settles.

It takes a second or three for him to even process that he's supposed to do something. He shifts on his heels and lets out a chuckle himself, smiling ear to ear.

"Hey," he huffs, and gazes up once more.

"Hey," Charles mimics. It makes them both laugh, the whole situation. Arthur can't seem to wipe the smile off his own face at that. He shoves fists further into his pockets, glances back to the truck, then down at his feet. Face feeling like ice, burning at the core. He's sure it's screaming quite a shade of red.

He steps back, letting Charles step onto the porch beside him. "You ready?" He asks, to which Charles hums.

They both settle in the truck. Arthur quickly fumbles for the keys before he can bear any drawn silence. His shoulders drop as the engine sputters to life, just ready to start the damned night.

He doesn't remember ever being this anxious for anyone. With Mary, there was almost a standard, or rubric for him. He knew her type well, what she fawned over in their early days. Could mold himself into it easily enough and be loved by a woman how he ought to be loved, and in turn love her the way he ought to love her.

With Charles, it seems it's flipped itself around. Some way or another Arthur'd bared himself enough for Charles to wrench that mask from him. And he supposes that is the issue, that there may in fact be nothing behind it, or at the very least, an entirely lesser man. One that would be realized, and discarded for what it's worth.

But, hell if he doesn't want it. Hell if Hosea didn't plead him for it either.

Arthur never told him about this excursion, but he plans to. Regardless if it goes well or not. The man deserves that much and more after putting up with his stubborn self. He just worries like a parent should. Arthur doesn't blame him, with how his past two relationships went. He supposes he worries too. Wonders many more chances he can take, before his heart is disciplined into something less malleable, less childish.

If anything, he is grateful that it'd have to happen now. He's felt freer, softer than he has in years. By instinct he wants to hate that, wants to beat it down before it gets a chance to blossom, but as a stronger nature, he finds that mere notion impossible the moment Charles finds him again, and shows him how easy it all is.

And Christ, it makes him sick.

They haven't even made it a minute down the road before Charles nudges Arthur, supposedly thrilled if the look on his face says anything, but with something unreadable behind it.

Arthur figures his nerves must be afire, too.

Charles turns to him, speaking low, an odd tilt of his tone, "Surprised you didn't bring me flowers or nothin'," he rests his elbow on the center console, pausing. "The girls told me about your... 'charms', as they called it."

Arthur balks, "Oh— pff. You're kiddin' me," he groans, rubbing a palm over his face.

Charles makes an amused noise through closed lips. "Maybe Ms. Gaskill just told it a little rosier than you did."

Arthur tilts his head around, shrugging. "Well... I mean, it was all puppy love back then. I ain't blamin' her none."

"Lucky I'd known before. Woulda second-guessed this whole thing."

Arthur leans back in his seat, one arm outstretched to steer, like those big rig drivers. Trying to loosen up, even if it seems unnatural. He looks at Charles, brows furrowed. "You ain't already?" Still trying to ride on the teasing, but there is genuine surprise there. He wonders if Charles wants it just as bad.

Arthur watches him open a pack of Marlboros, offering one. Watches him light both and take a drag. Voice a little more genuine, a little lower, "Can't say I'd ever," he says.

Arthur nods to that, and they fall back into silence.

The last bit of blue hour has fallen beneath the horizon, a void swallowing the road. The restaurant is further into the city. Not like neither of them really live in the city to begin with. The reviews were good enough, a little too distinguished for his taste, but he hopes there's at least some bit of casual-ness, with it being downtown.

They make it to the place, parking a block or two down. Before Charles can even think, Arthur's rushed out of the car and rounded to the passenger side. He whips open the door with a flourish and bends down with a hand out, grinning coyly.

Charles barks a laugh, turning his face away, as if he could flee the scene. "You bastard."

But Arthur persists, cheeks round with an actual smile now, still holding a palm out for Charles to take. "You ain't an exception to my romantic charms, Mr. Smith."

Charles steps out, shoving past the hand. "Sure," he breathes, face to face with Arthur on the curb, who's stood like a deer in headlights, performance quickly smothered. Charles gives him a perplexed look.

"Could use a little work, though. Face gives it away." He starts down the sidewalk.

"My— What about my face?" Arthur's pitch raises, catching up to Charles. He merely laughs in response, and throws another look Arthur can't quite put his finger on.

They reach the restaurant. A glistening tower of brick, about three stories, crammed between its larger neighbors. Arthur quickly settles in. Strides past Charles and makes a bee-line to the host, leaning across the stand. Mumbles where Charles can only hear the drawn vowels of his accent, low and grumbly.

They both follow the host like a family of ducklings. It's a lot more crowded than Arthur anticipated, or wanted frankly. He immediately begins to recognize his own askew presence, but decides not to bother.

Their seats are snug against the wall, on the second floor, with a little square table that hardly fits both their forearms, and a large window that reaches past their heads and down to their heels.

They each order a beer, in quiet agreement that they've already painted an odd portrait of themselves by wearing jeans to what is quite the esteemed establishment. There's a second of consideration before just picking the cheapest meal the place has, and deciding they'll share it.

Charles shifts in his seat. He clears his throat and takes a few sips of beer. Clearly the dread in the air has become palpable.

"Arthur, how've you been?" He says. It's blunt, and uncomfortably shallow. Arthur thinks like second nature, though with some amount of disappointment that it's where they must tread now before hitting any deep-end.

He tries his best to salvage it, anyway.

He takes a few sips himself before opening... whatever this conversation should be... and scrunches his face at the taste. Right. Cheapest options.

"Well y'know," his confidence tapers as soon as it had been mustered. "Pretty static right now. Dutch ain't sending me on any jobs lately, 'cause of the ice. Good time to—"

Charles, honest to god, giggles, though faint, waving his hand in a subtle gesture to Arthur. "We're not here to talk about work, Arthur," he sets both his elbows on the table, shifting again, like it's some interrogation. "How are you?"

Arthur sits, lips parted. He looks out from the window, then back at Charles, who stares expectantly. Then, his body suddenly rights itself, reanimating with an odd ferocity.

"Right— sorry... I ain't really connected like this, with you. Just not used to it." he pauses, "Long way from coworkers now..." he winces. "But I'm good. Not just in a shallow way, I mean. I'm real happy about this. Happy, in general. At least Hosea thinks so." he looks back out to the window, humming. "How're you holding up yourself? I know you... ain't really open up much 'round work and all."

Charles also falters, it seems, spotlight suddenly upon him. Arthur thinks the same epiphany's occurred to the both of them simultaneously. That a date does, in fact, take two.

Charles opens his mouth with a brief noise, much like a string of vowels that've been severed. He settles a little dejectedly, posture slightly shrunken.

"I don't really know what I'm doing, to be honest," he says. Avoids looking for Arthur's reaction, he barrels on. "It's just been a while since I've really... pursued anything? But I'm glad— y'know, that you are, but I'm also glad myself. Content, I think. Maybe a little anxious," he huffs and hides behind his beer again.

Arthur balks, "You?" He watches Charles perk up, smile growing, even if a little reluctant. "And here's me wakin' up 'fore dawn and starin' off half the day, I was so worried."

"We're in the same boat then," Charles says in stifled laughter. Arthur bites his cheek, stirred by the sight of it. He keeps the yarn spinning, coaxing more, slowly peeling back the layers eagerly.

The food comes, and he takes it as an opening. They share it together as planned, which could be a little tastier with the damn price of it. Not that Arthur is really paying attention.

They trade throughout the night. Little details, and Arthur learns more than he'd expected to. About Charles' mother, with sparse mention of his father. That this is both their first serious date with another man. That Charles has a sweet tooth, shyly confirmed after the pursed lips he'd given when Arthur declined a dessert. Little quirks about him that Arthur's already begun nailing into his own heart, forgetting entirely to share anything about himself until prompted to.

By the end of it, the creaky stools and odd stares all around hardly really mattered anymore. He supposes he's grateful for the experience as they walk out, and only knows for sure when they're both shoulder to shoulder on the street again. His heart stutters despite it. He feels he owes something.

"Charles. Hey, I'm uh," he stops them when they reach the truck. "Sorry if this was all kind of a bust."

Charles faces him, remnants of a smile still lingering. "What do you mean?"

"Not that I didn't enjoy it! I mean you're— it was really amazing. I loved it, I'm just kinda realizin' maybe the fancy night-outs ain't fit for us, or me for that matter," his hands stay at his middle, fidgeting with the keys, averting his gaze.

Charles looks at him even more confused. Taking a second to process that, then, his features relax in what seems to be understanding. He lends another smile, "Your company was wonderful Mr. Morgan," his voice falls back into that same timbre from earlier in the evening. "But I think you're right," he says, to which Arthur only huffs.

They settle back into the truck, silence looming over once again. Arthur can hear the rustle of fabric as Charles shifts in his seat; he doesn't feel any urgency to turn the keys.

"What about lights?" Charles asks.

"Lights?" He mimics.

"Christmas lights. Whole festival for them, next weekend. Should be near your area." He does the same move he'd done on the drive here— elbow on the console, except his head rests in his hand, and he's leant closer a great deal, wholly confident in his proposal, although Arthur can't imagine how he's already figured out the answer.

He clicks his tongue, turning the keys. "Sure," he says. "I'd love that," voice pitched and quieter, like an admission to himself.

The drive back is in contentment. Arthur feels like a wad of knots that've been untied and strewn limp on the floor. Part of him longs for more, more of Charles, more of his voice, for some odd reason. Part of him wants to just crash at his place and wake like it's been the two of them all along, but he knows he can't rush it. For both their sakes.

Dutch has always prodded him for having a pliable heart. He's never found it in him to disagree. He's starting to think he wouldn't have it any other way, though.

They reach the screen door, mirroring the position they were in just hours earlier, Charles on the doorstep, Arthur tilting his head to meet his eyes.

He sways around, air a lot colder, trying to keep his nerves about, before stilling a moment, and turning to Charles with as much coolness as he can. "What was it about my face? Said it didn't help my 'charm'?" He asks, voice breathy.

Charles squints, confused, before his eyebrows raise with recognition, a faint laugh bursting out— a small 'oh' buried somewhere between it.

He takes a breath, "You blush a lot, Arthur."

Arthur's face scrunches, "What?" He exclaims. "That ain't fair, 's just cold, Charles,"

"Mm. I noticed it that first ranch job in August," Charles offers, snuffing out Arthur's poor excuse.

Arthur turns his head to where the truck sits, trying to save the embarrassment for later, if at the cost of Charles' amusement. "Pfft. Bastard. It can't be that bad?"

"How do you think Hosea picked up on it before either of us did?" Charles supplies, still grinning.

Arthur grumbles out a string of empty curses, letting the topic go, for now at least.

A pause. The truck rumbles behind them.

Arthur inhales sharply, "Well I suppose I should get going."

"Yeah," Charles says. He rests his hand on the door handle.

"Thank you, for y'know. See you next weekend?"

Charles searches his face, eyes like palms tracing the shadowed features. "Yeah. Take care."

Arthur lends a smile in response and finds another shot back at him with a fervent sincerity. Turns around before it gets the best of him, and walks down to the truck.

[eetherealgoddess]

ꨄThe Bulliesꨄ

Oneshot - Semi Dark Content - College Setting

❦Baji and Kazutora have always been assholes to you. Can Chifuyu help?❦

Matsuno Chifuyu, Baji Keisuke, and Hanemiya Kazutora x Female Reader

❣︎Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics. Might be slightly ooc. Honestly thought the Haitani brothers would’ve been a better fit for bullies but here we are❣︎

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, WATTPAD, & AO3 UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable.

✩Characters are 18+ as always.

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

The Bullies

“Stop it!” You hiss before snatching your arm out of the omegan’s grip, causing you to lose your balance and fall. Your behind lands on the floor as you angrily glare up at the culprits. Bruises are layered all down your arms and legs from the impacts of their daily antics. The cold from the tiled flooring freezes the bare skin of your thighs and legs. Your bottoms were snatched off at the beginning of the torture session, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Your top has been torn in half, the fabric now fitting you as a vest.

Your eyes squint when the flash of the phone glows in the dark, empty auditorium. You curse under your breath when you realize another picture has been taken of you in a vulnerable position. More leverage to use against you.

“God, betas really are weak. Look at you.” The solid black haired omega eyes you with disgust, hands shoved in his pockets. The man with his hair pulled back in a bun brings a finger to his own blonde strand of hair and pulls it behind his ear before bending to your level.

“This must be embarrassing for you! Imagine being so useless. You can’t even fight back,” he beams with a wide, close - eyed smile, “…I guess you really can’t help it, can ya?” Kazutora’s arm reaches for you before you smack it away, causing him to chuckle.

You hear a buzz and watch as they both straighten their stances and eye their devices. They grin before turning their attention back to you.

“Alpha’s callin.’ We gotta go.” Baji says before turning on his heel, not giving you a second glance. Kazutora follows before stopping and turning back to you with amusement gleaming through his eyes.

“Good luck walking through campus like that.” He dangles your pants before tearing the fabric and tossing it to you. The door shuts behind them as you're left with tears at the corners of your eyes. You slowly pick yourself up before limping to grab your phone. You call a friend to help you out of this situation.

“Man, what happened to you?” Chifuyu, one of your close friends that you met on campus a year ago asked as he walked you to your dorm. A couple hours after you called, he brought you clothes and first aid. You were thankful, but very exhausted from the circumstances you’ve been dealt.

“Look Fuyu, I-I’ve kept it from you for a while now because I didn’t want to make anything weird, but I’m honestly sick of it.” You stopped walking down the path before he halted in his steps and turned to you with curiosity on his expression.

“Your omegas are major assholes. They’re the ones who do this to me all the time. They’ve physically assaulted me in numerous ways and harassed me. They even took pictures of me after tearing my clothes off and threatened to post them. It’s like they take pride in humiliating me just because I’m a beta.” Maybe they don’t like your friendship. You have no idea, but it started ever since you and Chifuyu became friends. The closer you two got the more ruthless they became.

You didn’t think it could be jealousy considering you’re not an omega and alphas usually prefer them over betas anyway. You’ve never been courted and they’ve been together for so long. Long before you and Chifuyu met. You have no clue what their problem is. You would’ve told him sooner if the slight jabs stayed light, or if they hadn't threatened to post all those naked pictures of you.

You become slightly nervous as you watch Chifuyu’s blank expression. You worry that you’ve done something wrong and may have ruined their relationship because of his reaction. That is, until he seems to come back to reality and gives you a slight smile.

“I’ll take care of it.”

The next day goes very smoothly. No forced interactions with the omega males, nor any harassment or anything else you experience each day from their torture. Unfortunately, you hadn’t seen much of Chifuyu either but evidently he must’ve meant what he said considering nobody bothered you today. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, causing you to grab the device and eye the notification that states, “come to my apartment.” Your eyebrow raises at the lack of context Chifuyu gives but you don’t really worry about it and head over.

When he lets you in, you couldn’t help but smell the strong pheromones in the air. As a beta, it doesn’t affect you the way it would an alpha, but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to the scent. Its strong cinnamon and earthy fumes remind you of burning incense. You follow Chifuyu through the living room to the hallway in confusion.

“Hey, what’s going on?” You asked as the smell became stronger. You wondered how Chifuyu didn’t go into a rut himself with how overwhelming the scents are.

“Relax, Y/n. You’ll see. It’s a surprise for ya.” He smirks back at you before reaching the wooden door. He grabs the knob and pushes the door in, gesturing for you to walk in first.

You gasp at the display of Chifuyu’s bedroom. Your face heats up at the view of Baji and Kazutora bent on all fours with their naked asses in the air. They wear ball gags in their mouths as well as thick plugs in their behinds. Their cocks are swollen, leaking slick on the comforter. At this angle, you couldn’t see their faces but could only imagine how red they were. Chifuyu gently pushes you in the room more before closing the door behind him and walking towards the omegas.

“After you told me about my mates acting up, I decided to have a little chat with them. I need to explain something to you…” He rests an arm over Baji’s lower back before bringing the opposite limb down for a swift and harsh slap against his ass cheek, causing a moan from the omega’s throat, “…a few heats ago, I guided them through it like I usually do. What I wasn’t expecting was a piece of your clothing embedded in their nest.” Your eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment.

No way.

Chifuyu makes his way over to Kazutora, giving a slight squeeze to his testicles which causes him to whimper against his ball gag. “Honestly, I was a little scared that you guys were having an affair since they wouldn’t stop asking about you so I made them give me their phones.” Your eyes continued to stay wide throughout the calm speech Chifuyu was making. You can’t believe how casual he’s acting. Alphas are known to be territorial creatures. You have even seen him knock some guys out for making perverted remarks about his partners. It’s insane he never confronted you about it.

“Chifuyu, I-!” You didn’t want him to think that you did anything wrong so you were going to explain what really happened, until he cut you off.

“Seeing some of those pictures of you made me realize that maybe I don’t mind the connection between you and my partners. Maybe I wouldn’t mind mating with you either.” He smiled. Your jaw hangs open at the statement.

“Holy fu-!” You're cut off again as he continues.

“Since I didn’t mind it. I was gonna give it time. Let it play out and deal with it head on when it’s time. I understood that you were probably too intimidated to tell me anything so I let it slide, but before I could court you…” Kazutora yelps once Chifuyu snatched the plug from his ass, slick oozing out as he looks down at the object in his hand.

“…I didn't know that the pictures were against your will. And worst of all, that they had been abusing you.”

“A-Alpha, please…” Although the ball gag muffled Kazutora’s speech, you could hear the begging clearly.

“Fuyu…I’m s-!” Before Baji could finish his muffled plea, the plug was also snatched from his ass as well as a harsh slap meeting his cheek.

“I didn’t say either of you could speak.” Chifuyu wears a stern expression on his face before commanding them to kneel on the floor, facing you.

You flinch before awkwardly facing down at the vulnerable omegas kneeling in front of your feet, the jingle of Kazutora’s earring sounding like a collar. You played with the hem of your shirt, not knowing what to do, especially with the intense eye contact they’re both giving you. You could tell they were in a forced heat by the sweat on their bodies and the dimness in their eyes. This is such an embarrassing situation for you, and yet you could see the excitement within their flushed faces.

“So on behalf of my omegas, I am sorry for their dishonorable behavior. They don’t know how to express themselves emotionally. They tried to do that shit with me and I fucked the shit out of both of them. It’s how we mated.” Chifuyu shrugged before walking to stand behind his kneeling partners. He placed his hands on his hips before giving you a wide smile.

When he unclips the ball gags from their heads, you eye them with shock as they place their hands on their laps. Both men apologize with Kazutora crying and Baji with an embarrassed, yet pouty expression on his face.

“It’s fine, I guess. Just don’t do that shit again.” You said, scratching the back of your head.

After that, you don’t really know how but before you could leave, you let Chifuyu talk you into getting your vagina eaten out by his partners as a way of a meaningful apology, and they lapped that shit up like it was their last meal. You honestly couldn’t believe it. You almost didn’t accept it until he made his claims. Next thing you know you had Chifuyu’s cock inside of your pussy from behind as you sat on his lap, his hands spreading your legs as your juices were still getting lapped up.

All in all you didn’t leave that room until you were bonded to the pack, the bites having been slightly painful and yet arousing. Honestly, you hadn’t even known you were fully mated to them, mentally checked out until Chifuyu caught your attention and told you to bite all of them back.

You didn’t really have a choice but to accept your fate. It wasn’t so bad, the abuse stopped though the omegas still teased you. Chifuyu makes a great alpha when it comes to relationships and there was definitely a lot more romance in this partnership than you expected, although you didn’t really expect to be in a relationship with any of them in the first place.

[kcscribbler]

Christmas Fic Masterpost

Figured I'd toss this up in case anyone's looking for holiday-themed stuff, specifically. All fics here are either set around holidays or themed accordingly, and I make no claims as to their literary quality, lol.

My BBC Sherlock and ACD Sherlock Holmes fic are not included in the list as they're not on AO3 yet, but they are available on request.

Star Trek TOS

Of Luck And Miracles (4.2K, Kirk & Spock)

A deliberately plotless piece of Original Series fluff for those of us who don't feel very Christmassy this year.

A Celebration in Infinite Combinations (60K, gen ensemble & OC)

The first year of the five-year mission is a critical time for the crew of the starship Enterprise. With a new chain of command, a new crew, and a new captain who must prove himself to both, all must work together and learn to function not as a crew, but as a family. Ten mini story arcs revolving around ten sets of characters, all converging in the last chapter.

Gifts (7K, Kirk & Spock)

Five times Jim and Spock gave each other something, and one time it wasn't necessary. Early-era TOS.

Star Trek AOS

New Beginnings (1K, Kirk & McCoy)

Jim's never really celebrated Christmas before, at least not with someone who actually wanted to be there. This is…new. (It's super weird.)

One Step Forward (9K, gen, Kirk & Spock focus)

Grounded on Yorktown base for the winter holiday season, the remaining crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise deal with being haunted by metaphorical ghosts of Christmases past. Full warnings inside fic.

Loki Series

A Light in the Window (5.5K, Loki & Mobius)

On the eve of the multiversal war, the God of Time and Director of the TVA rendezvous one last time in a tiny beach house in the Florida Keys. Set near the end of the Storyteller 'verse, about twenty years after the events of Ready or Not.

A Green Christmas (14.6K, Loki & Mobius)

Holiday fluff and potential tree-related punnage, that's all. You've been warned. Part Five in the Storyteller verse, set a few weeks after the events of To Begin Again.

BBC Merlin

None Goes His Way Alone (25K, gen ensemble post-S2)

Merlin has always thought that the sorcerer chooses the familiar; his new familiar begs to differ. Canon-compliant not-quite-fix-it fic for S5 finale.

And for anyone who, like me, is feeling a little jaded about the holidays, you can find a 100% angst-free, silly or fluffy self-recommendation for each fandom below the cut. 💙

Star Trek AOS

All's Fair (9.4K, gen ensemble cast)

He needs a staff that will call him on his bullshit, not blindly obey his every command; one that actually enjoys his company rather than tolerating it with a fake smile. One who has somehow, despite all odds and his own initial intentions, wormed their way under his skin to wrap around his heart. It would kill him to lose them, now. Also now, he wants to kill them. It balances out, somehow.

Star Trek TOS

Action & Reaction (2K, gen Triumvirate)

Or, The One With the Checkmate. Tag scene to A Piece of the Action.

Loki Series

Crossword Clues (2K, Loki & Mobius)

The infirmary of the TVA is where non-jet-ski magazines go to die.

[gigglemugger]

The Naked and the Blind (or The Ballad of Meg Halsey) | Chapter 4.

Fandom: Re-Animator (Movies - Combs), Herbert West - Reanimator - H.P. Lovecraft.

Pairing: Herbert West/Meg Halsey

Rating: Explicit, or at the very least Mature.

Archive Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence.

Chapters: 1. | 2. | 3. | 4. | 5. | 6. | 7. | 8. | 9. | 10. | 11.

Synopsis:

"Meg Halsey had a problem. In fact, she had several problems, the first of which, she acknowledges while looking at her semi empty living room, is that she can't afford to live alone anymore. The second one is that she doesn't wanna go back to her daddy's house again. This would be an inconceivable notion to her thirteen year old self, even her sixteen year old self, but at twenty five, she'd really choose living under the bridge first. Ok. Maybe not that." Meg Halsey is perfect: Beautiful, accomplished, a bright future doctor. She escaped her hometown and moved to New York, where she likely would have stayed forever. After her mother dies, though, she is forced to move back to Arkham and face everything she wanted to leave behind. --- A.K.A I made a tumblr post about how Crampton/Combs are romantically involved in all of their collabs, got replies and decided to write down a suggestion of "what if Meg was the protagonist, not Dan?" Also I did the cop-out summary thing and pasted the first paragraph of the fic. It's highway robbery. Criminal (I'm sorry).

Word Count: Multi Chapter, so far 12,779.

AO3 Tags: I uhhh......... I have no idea what I made it started with one tumblr post then one reply and here we are, I included other works by Lovecraft here and rounded Arkham up and then ran, Character Study, In a way, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Dan Cain, he doesn't exist, Danbert shippers cry I get it, Canon-Typical Violence, Animal Death, Eventual Romance, Slow Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, this fic is an affront to god just like herbert's reagent, Not Beta Read.

Language: English.

CW: Meg went through some trauma. Dead parents, dead cat. She also helps kill her dad later on, considering, so. It's a heavy fic, but if you liked the movie you'll be fine.

Chapter Summary: Meg reads the file and then goes even further than that. THIS IS THE CHAPTER WHERE RUFUS DIES. Also, experiments are conducted on a rat.

AO3 link.

Chapter notes:

This is where I add more original story elements, like West experimenting independently in an adjacent place. I also used the novelization version of West's past, which is he is an orphan, and that's about it cause that novelization is hmmm bad, and since West is a villain, not knowing much about him is sort of the point (which doesn't help me, no).

4. My body's broken, yours is bent.

“You had no right to do that!” Meg took a deep breath. Not even a hello. “You went behind my back to retrieve a student’s file.”

“Did you tell him that I lied?” She asked. Ace and Ed were looking at her from the couch, like little kids caught in a fib—even though Meg would never tell they were with her.

Her father made a pause.

“No. I told him you were retrieving it for me. I also said you were under the impression I was going home.”

“Did he believe you?”

“Seemed to.” She knew he hadn't, of course. West was much sharper than that. “Now will you tell me why I lied to Herbert West for you? Why did you need his file?”

“Curiosity?” She'd have to do better than that. “I was… Interested in his work with Gruber. Details of it.”

Another pause.

“West, he's… He's complicated. I'm starting to think it might have been a mistake to let him in.”

Wait, what?

“What do you mean? You were crazy about him at dinner…”

“Yes, I was, but unfortunately… I'm not so sure now.”

Huh.

“What did he talk to you about?”

“He… He said he had some proof of an experiment he began conducting under Gruber's tutelage. He was too annoyed by what he saw in my room to let me know much more about it. Accused me of nepotism. I was myself so shocked that my only daughter would do this that I let it slide.”

“I'm sorry, daddy,” Meg reiterated, but didn't drop it. “Did he say what kind of experiments?”

“No. He left, I'm assuming to do his work. He is also interning. Splendid at it. A bit cold, but then again…”

“Yeah...”

“Don't think I'm letting this go just because West is unusual,” Meg sighed. “I'm being serious. You will come by the house tonight, drop this file and stay away from Herbert West. Do you hear me? Stay away from him.”

“OK, daddy. I will.”

“Good. That's that. Goodbye,” Meg opened her mouth, but the dial tone sounded before she could say anything. She put the phone down in complete mourning.

“So, is he gonna come burn our house down?” Ace asked. Meg half-smiled at that.

“No, he wants me to drop the file as soon as possible.”

“Well… Let's take a look at it.”

“I'll do it. You guys can just go and have fun with anything else. Thank you for the help.”

“I'm curious about whether or not West has felonies!” Asenath said. Meg sat down.

“No way he does, he wouldn't be accepted into the college if he did. This is an institution, not a prison.”

“You'd be surprised,” Ed said. They looked at him. “What? Several generations of my family went to Miskatonic. They weren't all angels. There's even rumors of illegal books inside their vaults.”

“You mean the Necronomicon?” Meg asked, before continuing. “Well, that's a rumor, that book is not re–” Ed and Ace cut her.

“It's real,” they said, in unison. She looked at them for approximately five seconds before realizing it was probably not worth it to get into it.

“Ok…” She agreed, retrieving the file from her bag. “Anyway… Not the Necronomicon, but I got into a lot of trouble because of it.”

“Cool,” Ace rubbed her hands. “Let's dig in.”

There was nothing in West's file to indicate anything wrong, really wrong. Born in the US in 1960, not at Miskatonic but in Boston, orphaned at age four. Lived in a house for boys most of his life, excelled in approximately everything, got scholarships to several institutions. Meg went straight for Switzerland, but all that they said about whatever happened to Gruber is that he worked with him, assisting with research, until Gruber died…

“...Of a mysterious ailment, in his office!” Meg read out loud. “I knew it! This is the version I heard from staff, before West showed up. He told me that Gruber died in a lab accident.”

“Why would he lie?” Ed asked.

“Well, I think it was to cover his ass,” Ace said, taking a chip from the bowl she insisted on bringing from the kitchen. She had one of her legs thrown over Ed's lap, and happily munched. “He lied to you because you asked. No one else asked about whatever it was, he’s probably too intimidating. He was clearly saving face in case you started telling people about mysterious ailments he might be involved with.”

“It says here,” Meg continued, nodding in agreement, “that West was with Gruber when he died. He had to undergo psych evaluation, due to his “severe state of shock.” He was cleared. This is all we've got.”

“So, you know he lied.” Meg put the file down and her head on her hands. She was silent.

“What now?” Ed asked.

“I'm gonna stop. Do like my dad said and just leave it alone. I'm sure there's something wrong, but I just can't keep going. Look at what I did today... I can’t keep going like this. I Have better things to do.”

“You aren't gonna stop,” Ace said. Meg looked up. “You need to go after West.”

“Nath…” Ed began, putting his hand on her arm. In a second, Asenath looked at him, then at her roommate. She laughed, waving her hand.

“Sorry. I get really intense sometimes…” “Ace…” Meg started, eyeing her suspiciously. She shrugged.

“It was nothing. I just think there's something more here, that's all.”

Sure.

Meg looked at her own hands.

“I… This is gonna sound weird, but I think I've been dreaming about him.”

“I'm sorry. I mean, it might be because you think there's something wrong. It might not go away.” Ace passed her the bowl. Meg gratefully took a chip.

“Yes, but the next alternative is to start stalking him.” Both Ace and Ed looked at her. “What? I'm not gonna stalk West. I can’t. I’ll do something else.”

“OK,” Ed said. “Suit yourself.”

West didn’t show up to class all week. Meg took that as a blessing, considering she didn’t wanna look at him for longer than even ten minutes. The shame of having stolen his file, of having asked around about him, of breaking into her father's office was enough. She was twenty-five, she wanted to be the best in class, she needed to study, not chase down potentially mentally ill men.

There was also no talk of West, as if he didn’t exist. Hill seemed satisfied, and Meg wished that he would keep that smug smirk off of his face for a second.

The only person who went against you is gone. Hill seemed to read that thought off of the surface of her brain because he looked at her and smiled.

“Ms. Halsey,” he called on Wednesday. She looked around. Thankfully she's not here. “I'm sure you are as happy as I am that our friend West is not here, given your bad relationship with him.” She paused.

“I'm not sure I understand, Dr. Hill,” Meg said, holding her bag tighter to herself. “I have no relationship with West.”

“Well, it seemed that some people were under the impression you were invested in him, for the worse.”

“I'm not.”

“Is that so?” In lieu of a brain, he had a heart on his tray that week. The class was about that—how it pumps for someone but not for others. How it betrays the very body it's supposed to supply. How transplants go wrong. Meg looked at it, the veins, arteries… The whiteness. How small it looked outside of a body. How terribly out of place.

Not good enough for a new body. Too much fat.

Hill took a scalpel to it, and cut it off.

“Yes,” Meg reiterated, but her voice faltered. She refused to look away from the heart when he looked at her. “I assure you that I'm not invested in any way, better or worse.”

“I'm sure you wouldn't be. I simply heard different from your father.”

“Well, that was then.” When he made the third incision, she looked away. “Good night, Dr. Hill.”

“Good night, ms. Halsey.”

Meg was tired off of her mind on Friday. She was leaving the hospital, sore, Harrod’s voice still ringing in her head with every mistake she had made (no deaths, thank God!), the chemical smells imbued in her brain, under her fingernails. She was finally, finally, breathing some fresh air, when she overheard two nurses talking:

“...on some stray rats.” The nurse had a cigarette, which she dragged. The other one agreed. Meg looked through her bag for her keys.

“He’s been very pressing with lab hours according to the Doc. He had some research he needed to conduct, I asked what kind of research, the doc said he refused to tell her.”

“So?”

“So she refused to lend him the lab,” the second nurse said as if it were obvious. “I told her that whatever it was, she was right, it had to wait. Everyone had a right to the equipment.”

“And was the kid angry?”

“‘Course he was. West is interesting… He’s probably the worst student we have, attitude wise, and that’s saying something. Remember that Lennox kid?”

“Do I? I was so happy when he graduated bottom of the class…”

“Wanna hear something stranger?” The first nurse paused. Meg pretended she hadn't found her keys ten seconds ago.

“What?”

“Some janitor said he's been using the old building they're renovating as a place to… Do things, I think.” A snort.

“And you believe him?”

Meg walked away. She opened the door to her car, shut herself in and took a deep breath.

The seat underneath was soft, and though the car had an enclosed air sort of smell, she opened a window to breathe. The two nurses had already gone back inside, the street light illuminated the place where they were.

Meg decided to drive straight home, lest her brain make her go see the building herself. Traffic was light, she paid attention to the street. She was always a careful driver, a careful person in general. This was a… Difficult time. She could attribute her obsession with West to her mother’s death, to grief. It made sense. That was it.

She parked outside, opened the door to more fresh air, and found Ace standing outside of the door. Her face was stained with tears, her eyes red and lips were swollen. In her arms, laid the body of Rufus, unmoving.

“Oh my God,” Meg said, closing the door to her car, sprinting towards them. “What happened?!”

“He… Got stuck… And… Fell…” Ace said, trying to keep herself calm, with labored breaths. Hiccuping. “He… Suffocated… On one of the…. Glass jars.” Meg picked up the cat’s body in her arms and shivered.

“He's cold…”

“I put… Him… In the fridge…”

“Why?”

“My dad… He… He does things. He's a… Well, he's weird…” She took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. The smell… I didn't know what else to do…” Meg nodded, numb. “I'm so sorry…” What kind of a person is Asenath's dad?!

It didn't matter. Not now. She felt herself begin to convulse. Her face contorted into an ugly cry. Meg had seen dead animals before, sure—dissections, experiments—but never her own cat. The most contact she had with loss was her dog, who died of old age, and…

And…

“But you’re going to be ok, right?” She asked, holding the beige phone’s wire in between her fingers, looping them in between the swirls. She was waiting for her mother to answer anything other than a no on the other end, but she paused for so long...

“The doctors don’t know yet…” Julia said, struggling with another cough. The door opened again and there was a breeze, but Meg didn’t look to see who it was this time. All she could see was the corkboard to her left filled with pink, blue, yellow fliers, advertising either book clubs, fitness clubs, film clubs…

Dead mom clubs?

“I—I don’t know…” Meg said.

“We… Need to bury him. We need… To say a few words.”

“Is that why… Is that why you were crying when you pet him?” She asked, looking at her. She knew it made no sense for it to be true—people don’t predict things like that—and Ace seemed to be as shocked, hurt and upset by Rufus’ death as Meg—which means she probably couldn’t have killed him, even if it was weird she put him in the fridge.

Right?

Meg closed her eyes. The floor was stony underneath, there was wind coming through the tree leaves, the sound of the neighbors turning their television off—and Rufus, heavy in her arms, still had his eyes open and fixated on the floor.

“I… Sensed something was off,” Ace admitted, sounding calmer. “You don’t believe in this kind of thing, though. Let’s… Bury him and then you can rest, really rest. Okay?”

The funeral didn’t last long. Ace did most of the talking. She also brought a candle, several weird crystals she threw inside of the box, and a crucifix (just in case), whereas all Meg brought was an inability to talk, or move. She had Rufus as her cat for seven years, had picked him back up when she moved to Arkham again. She was so happy she could see him…

The “coffin” was lowered into the ground. It was the wooden box where Meg had stored her prom dress for years—a dress which now laid on the floor of her room in a pink, frilly cloud of tulle and nothingness.

Ace handed her a shovel, which she mechanically grabbed. They both worked to fill the hole again—it was a comfort that the neighbors had been sympathetic after the girls told them why they had knocked at such a strange hour. Both dug in silence. Meg buried the shovel, gathered the dirt, and threw.

“He had a coin, in my dream…” She said, softly.

“West?” Meg looked as if she hadn’t noticed she had said the words out loud. She nodded, burying the shovel again.

“You dreamt with him again?” Meg waved her head. “So just once?”

“I… Think. I don’t remember my dreams well.”

“You must be really upset if you're talking about West, if that's better than…” Ace looked down. “I'm sorry.”

“I know.” Meg took a deep breath. “Thanks for helping me.”

She couldn't sleep that night. Rufus would usually room with her in bed, offering his small comforting form. She felt cold.

Meg wondered what her classmates would say about her sentimental proclivities—it was only a cat after all. She wondered what West was doing right now. She wondered if the nurses were right, if he was actually experimenting with animals, if he was actually at the old building. She never even thought of it, the old Miskatonic they had to renovate. It was out of her regular path. Meg looked at her clock. One am. She was doing this, wasn't she? She was changing, going out of her room, taking her keys off the bowl, going into her car and driving… Wasn't she? She was so sure there was something wrong, she couldn't simply let it go.

The night was surprisingly warmer than she expected, as if there was something inverted about the world—up was down, left was right, Meg Halsey was after Herbert West. She walked to her car, opened the door and desperately tried not to think.

It was eerie to drive through Arkham at night. Though Meg didn’t really believe the stories—Necronomicons, cults left and right, expeditions that leave and don’t come back under mysterious circumstances—the town was still cozy by day and creepy at night. Her knuckles were turning white on the steering wheel before she forced herself to take a deep breath.

Sure, it wasn’t just Arkham that got her like that, the prospect of seeing West was making her heart beat faster, her head hurt. She turned on the radio with one of her mother’s old Glenn Miller tapes, which she still had and had been listening to non-stop for the past week. It was about the hundredth time she listened to ‘In The Mood,’ but it comforted her, probably more than it should.

The University wasn’t far. The old buildings were a little further along the path, she had to walk there. Meg parked her car in the empty parking lot of the hospital, looking at the glass doors before she realized that the only thing that made her stop there was force of habit. Filling her lungs and turning the vehicle off, she weighed all the possibilities of what would happen:

She could find West was a murderer, which she was expecting (or that he was at least involved in some kind of illegal activity). She dies, he kills her (yay, Meg!).

She finds out nothing about West, doesn’t even see him. It was a myth that he was lodging in the old buildings.

He is lodging in the old buildings because she denied him a home and he is so odd that no one else wanted to give one to him—no matter how much cash he had on his person.

Only one way to find out for sure.

Meg rubbed her hands together, to create heat, even though the night’s warmth was engulfing her. She was in the middle of the stone path towards old Miskatonic when she stopped. Anyone inside the Edwardian structure could look out from the window and find her figure watching back. She wondered how intimidating a slender woman of medium height could be to anyone who might be waiting in there. Which, if she were honest, was probably no one.

Meg circled the property. She had heard rumors of open windows, people going in there to do drugs before the University finally decided to take charge. If he was there, he must have gotten in somehow, and she doubted that it was through the beautiful wooden doors—one of the only parts of the building that went without decay. She walked a little further down, her footsteps echoing through the night, and when she found the open window, North of the front door, she froze. It was ajar, clearly, without care to be put back and there was a cloth on top—a black one, which covered part of the glass. It was possible to climb it, considering how tall windows were in that particular building. Meg looked down at herself, her shoes, her skirt, and decided that she came all the way there. No turning back now.

For all she had seen her roommate in college enjoy being dragged by the police, and getting in fights with faculty, the adrenaline of it all, she couldn’t herself understand the need for it. When her feet touched the rotten floor of the classroom, and the smell of mold filled her nostrils, she felt nothing other than absolutely ill. The dark awaited ahead. She heard nothing but herself and mice in the walls.

Meg wondered, as she walked, how far along were the renovations really? Everything seemed almost porous with decay—every wooden plank voiced a complaint when her flats touched them—the ceiling had holes, the paint was peeling. She wished she had brought a flashlight along because the further from the windows the less she could see ahead. Everything inside old Miscatonic was boiling hot, like the place wanted her to burn alive.

Amazing ideas lately, Meggie.

In the middle of one of the labyrinthine hallways—classrooms, stairs, once beautiful now dreadful—Meg sighed. Some of the rooms held construction material, but she didn't look. She was afraid, holding her labored breaths. She felt her hands sweat, her shirt cling to her, her long beige skirt turn into the only dry part of her clothing. She was never one to sweat so profusely, but she figured her body needed to make all of this psychological turmoil go somewhere. Could you blame it?

What the fuck are you doing here? She asked herself, almost aloud, hoping it wasn’t aloud like it had been when she was digging with Ace.

You need to go back ho—

A noise was heard in one of the classrooms. Her head snapped in the direction of it, lured almost like a predator to prey. A screeching came next, loud and inhuman—rat? Guinea pig?—begging for something.

Release? Death?

“DAMN IT!” A loud scream. It was undoubtedly West. It came from the end of the hallway to her left—at the only spot which was illuminated. Meg’s pulse began pounding and her legs began following it before her brain could make her feel stupid about not seeing the light before.

On the threshold, she looked in.

“West?” He looked back at her.

[feyhunter78]

Pink Pastels

Description: Single dad Miguel who replaced himself in a new universe meets his daughter's favorite teacher, you, who just happens to have a shitty boyfriend and doesn't yet know how much the O'Hara family wants you to stick around

Pt 2

I cracked y'all, and I blame TikTok

“Ms. Y/N, watch me, watch me!” Gabi calls, waving her arms in the air to catch your attention.

“I’m watching, go ahead.” You encourage her, smiling brightly when she does a successful cartwheel, her hair spilling from the loose braid one of her classmates had done for her during quiet reading.

You know teachers aren’t supposed to have favorite students, you tell each and every one of your students that you don’t have favorites, that you adore all of them equally. But Gabriella O’Hara holds a special place in your heart.

“Did you see, did you see?” She asks excitedly, running up to you, dark curls tumbling wildly around her shoulders.

You kneel down, and brush the hair back from her face, still smiling brightly. “I did, that was amazing, who taught you that?”

“My dad, he helped me practice.” She says, giving you a toothy grin, one front tooth missing from where she’d knocked it out eating an apple yesterday.

A tear-filled lunch that had been until you reminded her that now the Tooth Fairy would come visit her. The idea of a sparkly fairy leaving her money in exchange for her tooth dried her tears quickly, and soon enough she was proudly showing off her lost tooth (safely contained in a Ziploc bag) to anyone who would listen.

“Well, it seems like your dad is a very good teacher, then.” You say, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze before her friends dragged her back onto the playground.

You stood back up and rejoined the other first grade teachers.

“She’s adorable.” Janey says, nodding at Gabi who was playing tag with a few other girls.

Janey taught in the classroom next to yours. You started teaching at the same time, but she’d been hired at Steve Rodgers Elementary a year before you. Janey was the first friend you made when you got hired, and you soon became close friends inside and outside school.

“She’s so well-behaved, too; I wish I knew who her mom was, so I could thank her.” You say, a slight grimace on your face, when you watched two boys from your class begin to shove each other.

You called out to them, and they stopped, giving you guilty looks before running towards the swing sets.

“There’s no mom, she walked out on Gabi and her father after she was born.” Melissa says, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched her kids.

Melissa was a senior teacher at Rodgers Elementary. A tough love works the best teacher with the confidence of a god, and a nose for gossip like you couldn’t believe.

“Oh, that’s so sad.” You say, your heart hurting for the sweet little girl who always wanted to sit next to you during story time. Gabi had told you about her dad many times, but never mentioned her mom, you just assumed she was away for work often, or that they didn’t have many things in common.

You looked at Gabi, watching as she helped one of her friends tie their shoes. Sitting beside them and patiently demonstrating on her own sneakers. How could anyone walk away from her?

“It is, but her dad…he’s hot, I’ve seen him in the pickup line, he’s like a male model or something.” Melissa says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You gave her an incredulous look. “Melissa! That’s a parent you’re talking about.”

She shrugs. “Hey, I’m married, I’m not gonna do anything, but one of you could.”

Janey turns her head to hide her laughter, and you smack her arm. “Janey, hitting on a child’s parent is wildly inappropriate, besides I have Todd.”

Melissa snorts, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Todd was not a popular man around the school, especially after what he pulled on your birthday.

The bell rings signaling the end of recess and your kids begin to line up, ending your conversation as the three of you are pulled in different directions.

There’s a knock at your door, and you look up from grading papers, to see Janey. “Hey y/n, Gabi’s father is here to see you?”

You shoot her a look of confusion and begin to tidy up your desk, then stand, smoothing out the wrinkles in your baby pink dress. “Oh, yeah, sure, let him in.”

Janey disappears, and the space is filled by a giant of a man. He towers over the desks, making them look even tinier than they already were. His shoulders are massive, his biceps you swear are bigger than your thighs, though you could be exaggerating, but you’re honestly not sure, and when he fixes those dark brown eyes on you, and suddenly the floor beneath you feels unsteady.

“Mr. O’Hara, how can I help you?” You manage to get out, motioning for him to take a seat in front of his desk.

“I’ll stand.” He says curtly. His voice is deep, settling in your bones, the faint whisper of an accent, and confidence behind his words makes you nervous for a moment, then you recognize the feeling, not nerves…something else, something much more inappropriate.

“Oh—okay, is there something you need, is Gabi okay?” You ask, realizing she isn’t in the classroom with him.

“She’s fine, just sitting outside with her book.” He explains, his eyes piercing straight through you.

“Margaret and Margarita, right? Your daughter an exceptional reader, in both English and Spanish, you should be very proud.” You say, giving him a smile, hoping the compliment will soften his expression and make it seem like he didn’t want to murder you.

Melissa was right, Mr. O’Hara was gorgeous. With a strong jawline, high cheekbones, a mess of thick dark hair, and perfectly formed lips, all tapering down to the body of an Adonis, clothed in a white button up that stretched across his broad chest, and black slacks that clung to his muscled legs like it was their job and rent was due next week. But his expression was flat, his eyes cold, his stance rigid.

“Why did you lie to my daughter?” He asks flatly, looking down at you, as if you were a bug on his windshield.

You blink up at him in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be.”

An indignant expression flashed across your face before you could stop it, and you saw Mr. O’Hara’s lip twitch. “I’m not apologizing, I’m asking for clarification.”

“You told Gabi that the Tooth Fairy was going to visit her, I wasn’t going to do the Tooth Fairy , she doesn’t need false hope.” He snaps, leaning forward slightly, towering over you.

The hair on your arms stands up, but you brush it off as a stab of guilt goes through you. He was a single dad, maybe he couldn’t afford such frivolous traditions. “Mr. O’Hara, if this is a financial issue, I am so sorry. I should’ve tried to comfort her another way, my sincerest apologizes.”

“This isn’t a financial issu—comfort her?” He stops midsentence, his brows furrowing.

“She was upset because she lost her teeth, it’s her first one, a ton of kids get a little scared, but the promise of a reward usually clears those tears right up.” You tell him, holding your hands up in a pacifying way as you talk.

His eyes dart down to your hands, then back to your eyes, lingering for a moment on your lips. “I didn’t—Gabi didn’t tell me she was scared.”

“She was probably a little embarrassed. She talks all the time about how brave you are and how she wants to be just like you when she grows up.”

His expression softens.

“I actually—”you turn to rifle through your desk until you find Gabi’s latest assignment—“have something for you.”

He takes the paper from you, and you can’t help but notice how his hands dwarf yours, his tanned skin is scattered with small scars, and his calloused fingertips brush against yours. “What is this?”

“I had the kids draw a picture of their hero and then write a few sentences about why that person is their hero. I think she was one of a few who didn’t draw Spiderman.” You laugh softly.

He cradles the paper and a soft smile spreads across his face as he reads her writing under his breath. “Porque mi papá lucha contra los monstruos en mi armario.”

“I had to look that one up, my Spanish is terrible.” You admit sheepishly, watching as he reads her words over and over again.

“Thank you, for this, and for comforting Gabi.” He says, folding the paper carefully and sliding it in his pocket.

“Of course, I love Gabi, she’s such a pleasure to have in class.”

He looks at you, really looks at you, and you’re struck by how similar he and Gabi are. They have the same nose, the same almost curls that frame their faces, and when he tilts his head ever so slightly to the side you almost burst out laughing. You can’t count how many times you’ve seen Gabi do that exact same thing.

“You know Gabi talks a lot about you, how pretty you are, she was right.” His voice is low, smooth, and sends a jolt through you. Then he takes his leave, with you standing there stunned, wondering what the hell just happened to you.

Eternal Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir

[fag4dykestobin]

i kind of sat down and thought about steve and robin cooking together, and then i entered a fugue state and came out of it with a little over 1.7k words written about them being domestic besties (domesties?). so um. enjoy :)

-

Robin has destroyed one of her mom’s pans again, so she’s been banished to Steve’s house.

Well, okay, let’s back up.

Robin, waking up and feeling especially productive, had taken it upon herself to make some scrambled eggs. Nice and simple, right? So she had grabbed the first spatula and pan she could find, and… scrambled those eggs! She even remembered the salt and pepper! Unfortunately, as Robin had remembered after she oh-so-lovingly scraped off the nonstick coating, metal utensils and nonstick pans didn’t really get along. Oops. Panicking, she had scraped her mess into the trash and called Steve to pick her up. So, really, she had banished herself, preemptively.

“How the hell did you even do this much damage?” Steve asks, holding up the pan. The look of befuddlement on his face is picture perfect; you could teach children how to identify emotions with that face. Robin would pinch his cheek if she wasn’t so embarrassed.

“I don’t know! I just tried to make some eggs!”

“Rob, there’s like, a solid cube of—”

“A cube is a 3D object, dingus.”

“This is a 3D object!”

“Not in that way! It’s not a cube! You mean a square!”

Steve throws up his hands, one of them brandishing the pan and waving it around. “Fine! There’s a solid square…” Steve gives Robin a look. She nods her head at him in acquiescence. “... Of coating rubbed off of this thing. Why were you punishing your eggs like that?”

Robin leans back on the counter she’s been sitting on, legs swinging. Her heel hits the cabinet once, and Steve’s eye twitches, but he says nothing. Because he loves her. But she tries to avoid doing it again, for his sake. “I had to get that yolk distributed! I was working fast, Evie, the burner was on and I wanted it evenly mixed—!”

“So why didn’t you mix it in a bowl before that?!” Steve looks so stressed. It's kind of funny, given how unimportant the subject matter is. Robin suppresses a grin.

“I forgot! I was groggy!”

Steve groans, setting the ruined pan down and rubbing a hand over his face. “... When we move in together,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at Robin, “I am keeping my metal utensils in a locked safe.”

The warm, fuzzy feeling that always appears when Robin is reminded of their future together, their permanence in each other’s lives, it fizzes and pops in her chest like a sparkler. It’s still such a comforting feeling, even after all these months.

It doesn’t stop her from antagonizing him a little. “Like I don’t know what combination you’ll set it to,” she scoffs.  “I could just break in. To spite you.”

Steve sits with that for a moment. “You’re breaking my heart, Robbie, you know that? You break my heart.” Not a real comeback. She’s won their battle of the bits, this time around.

“Well, anyway,” Steve continues, “I am really hoping you didn’t eat those eggs after seasoning them with metal filings.”

“It wasn’t— I don’t think the coating is metal. I don’t know what it is, actually, but I don’t think it falls under metal filings.”

Steve hmms. “Well, it’s not, like, plastic, right? Or silicone? That would just melt.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Well, it can’t be metal, because it loses a fight with metal spatulas.”

Steve thinks for a second. “Is… God, I mean, I guess there are other, other uh… what’s the word? For, like, not from plants?” Robin scrunches her brow in thought. “Synthetic? Inorganic?”

Steve snaps his fingers. “Yeah, both of those work. There’s probably things that aren’t plastic or metal that can be used to cook with, but it feels weird. That there’s another category out there.”

Robin nods in agreement, and they sit in companionable silence for a moment, contemplating on the nature of cookware.

“Anyway, no, I still haven’t eaten.”

Steve curses, gets up from leaning on his kitchen island, and steps over to the cabinets where he keeps his pots and pans. “Yes, God, okay, let me feed you. Still want eggs?”

“You know it!” Robin says, and Steve gets to cooking, bustling around the kitchen with practiced motions. It’s nice to watch him cook. He gets very focused, in a way that doesn’t usually come naturally to him. Steve doesn’t usually like talking while he’s cooking, but he hums bits of songs, bobs his head to the beat.

In no time at all he has a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Robin, and she hops off the counter to sit at a stool at the kitchen island. She grabs the plate from Steve and smacks a wet kiss on his cheek, making him roll his eyes with a smile and subtly wipe her spit off.

Steve takes a seat across from her, and she notices that he doesn’t have anything. Did he already eat? “Did you already eat?” Robin asks.

Steve blinks. “Oh. No, I forgot.” He has a tendency to do that; when he cooks for someone, he can get so caught up in it that he forgets to make some for himself, and is left to scramble afterwards. “I’ll make myself some eggs after you’re done.”

An idea comes to mind. An attempt at redemption, maybe. “Let me?” Robin asks.

“And let you ruin my pans? No thanks.”

A flash of genuine hurt passes through Robin, and she lets it show on her face in the form of a pout. The comment isn’t unfounded, but… “No, please! I know what I did wrong, I’ll do better this time. I’m not sleepy anymore, either.” She just wants to take care of Steve like he takes care of her. She wants to feed him eggs, goddamnit! When was the last time anyone fed him eggs? Actually, if she thinks about that one, she’ll get sad, so she stops thinking about it.

Steve can obviously see her earnestness, and he softens. And rolls his eyes. But that’s just him being Steve, so Robin loves it. “Whatever you want, Birdie. Just don’t burn them. Oh, and use garlic powder.”

So Robin practically inhales the rest of her eggs and toast (very tasty, as always) and gets to work. Steve sits at his stool at the island, trying and failing not to watch Robin like a hawk as she bumbles around his kitchen (“That’s not enough garlic powder, Rob, put some more in there, it won’t bite!”  and “Use the small pan on the top shelf— no, the other small pan. No, the other—”), but she does eventually get a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. Not as good looking as the one Steve presented her, but it smelled good, and didn’t have weird inorganic pan flecks in them. Steve gives her a sloppy kiss on her cheek this time, over-exaggerating and putting way too much saliva in it, seriously, was he a dog or something? Robin BLECH’d and rubbed at her cheek, but he looked happy at his plate of food, so. Overall success, even if sacrifices had to be made.

Robin leaned on the island on her elbows, face a foot away from Steve’s as he picked up a forkful of egg. He side-eyed her.

“Do you… want some…?”

Robin waved a hand at him. “No, dingus. Eat it! Do you like it?”

“Okay, okay!” Steve rolled his eyes and ate his forkful. Robin stared at him as he chewed, looking out for emotions such as delight and wonder, but also disgust and revulsion.

She found nothing. Steve looked normal. He ate another forkful, eyeing her.

“So?” Robin prods.

“They’re eggs?” Steve says, mouth still half full.

“Swallow!” Steve rolls his eyes and does as she asks. “Nothing else? They’re just eggs?”

Steve nods, shrugging a little. Robin feels a little let-down. The first time Steve had made her eggs, it was life-changing. He put heavy cream in them. Robin doesn’t think her parents had ever bought heavy cream in their lives.

Robin guesses that it makes sense, though. This is just how he makes eggs, duh. Still, it makes her feel kind of bad, that she couldn’t give Steve the same feeling he gave her.

Steve seems to sense her inner turmoil. “They’re— it’s good, though! You did a good job. I do like it.” He seems kind of… embarrassed, but grateful. “You didn’t have to make them for me. Thanks.”

Robin bumps his shoulder with her own, and then retreats to her seat, allowing him a bit more personal space. But not too much! She kicks at his shins, and he kicks back, a smile on his face.

Cleanup is easy as Steve washes the dishes and Robin dries. It’s the small, domestic things, like this, that make her so excited to eventually live together. It’s so easy and companionable, full of chatter about band practice and Dustin’s latest science experiment. She can’t wait to graduate.

After the dishes, though, they’re both at the kitchen island again, silently staring at the pan Robin had ruined at her house earlier.

“... It seems like a waste to throw away,” Robin complains.

“I know, right? But it’s, like, useless now.”

Robin hums. “I mean, no, it’s still like… metal. I feel like we should be melting it down.”

Steve stares at her. “In what world would it be more useful melted down?”

Robin squawks, indignant at her idea being challenged. “You know what I mean!”

“No I don’t! Do you just want a, a… what’s the word? A bar of metal.”

“Ingot.”

“Do you just want an ingot hanging out on our mantelpiece?!”

“Well, I didn’t before, but now I do!”

They look at each other for only a moment before dissolving into simultaneous giggles, shared joy crackling and leaping between them.

Steve settles down first. Still grinning, he turns to put the pan at the very top of a relatively bare cupboard. “Fine, we’ll just… keep this to be melted down later.”

Robin can’t do anything to stop the twin grin on her face, not that she would ever want to. “I love you, Evie.” The words come easy, and the delight and surprise on Steve’s face is as wonderful as always. He pulls her into a hug.

“I love you too, Rob.”

[branches-of-time]

The House That Built Me

“Figured you’d either still be at the tavern, or were already home wondering where I was.”

He smiles at you, soft, before looking away. “I was at the tavern most of the day, like I planned this morning. But… something didn’t feel right. I wasn’t really… giving it my all, and I think the patrons could tell.”

You frown. “What didn’t feel right? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Windblume. I’m just fine.”

You aren’t convinced. “Then, uh… do you feel like sharing what isn’t fine?”

His gaze drops to the dark sea below. “I think you know what it is, actually.”

Cryptic as ever, you take a moment to ponder what he might mean. He takes the silence as an opportunity to elaborate. “I never really wonder where you are, you know?"

~~~~~~~

Inazuma, all raging storms and war-torn, is calling your name. Shamefully, you find yourself running north instead, searching for something, anything to fill this home-shaped void in your heart.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll come to find that home is a person, more than a place.

Pairing: Venti x Reader - Established Relationship, GN!Reader

Word Count: 11,033

Contains: [angst (with a happy ending)] [crying] [cuddling] [emotional hurt/comfort] [lack of communication] [loneliness] [memories] [not canon compliant] [pet death] [Reader & Venti are both adults] [Reader is not Traveler but they essentially take their place in the game's plot] [self-deprecating reader] [separation anxiety] [set prior to Version 2.0] [songfic]

A/Ns: This is a songfic! Title and verses written throughout the fic are from the song- "The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert.

Lastly, some context- Reader is a Riftwolf-Human hybrid, can manipulate all seven elements but has an affinity for Geo.

I know they say you can't go home again.

Sand, warmed by the afternoon sun, swells between your spread fingers as you press your hands down into the ground at your sides. Summoning a modicum of Geo elemental energy, your hands meet no resistance as they sink into the compacted grains like a hot knife through butter. You drop your raised shoulders and let your hands bury several inches into the beach until the sand surrounding them is cool, untouched by the heat of the day.

Dismissing the energy you’d been using to repel it, you allow the ground to resist you again. You note the weight of the sand as it presses down on the backs of your hands, and the firm bed of grains packed beneath your palms. You shut your eyes and flex your fingers slightly, focusing on the soft grit of Falcon Coast as it surrounds your hands in its weighted embrace.

Breathing a heavy sigh, you reopen your eyes, dropping your head and cursing the earth beneath you. This attempt at grounding yourself is doing little to ease the knot in your stomach, nor the tightness in your chest. Looking up and out across the expanse of ocean before you, the sight of Musk Reef looming in the distance doesn’t help either. You refuse to allow your gaze to drift any further south.

You begin to ask yourself what you’re even doing here, and why you thought this was a good idea. You’re no stranger to fleeing to Mondstadt whenever the world overwhelms you, but this specific beach perhaps wasn’t the wisest choice. Certainly not when the very thing you’re running from is the sea.

You hadn’t put much thought into where to go, you just knew you wanted to go home. Materializing at the waypoint east of Windrise was simply instinctual. Though, when you arrived, you didn’t turn and head north like you had so many times before. No, you took a running jump off the cliff below, gliding south and landing on the coast.

Sitting here now though, hands buried in the same sand you first washed up on after clawing your way out of the abyss… it’s not as comforting of a spot as you thought it might be. You don’t feel grounded at all, caught up between memories of the past and fears of the future.

Tugging your hands out of the sand with a frustrated huff, you turn your head to glance behind you at the cliff to the north.

…Maybe you should’ve gone that way instead. Maybe you should go home.

 I just had to come back one last time.

Materializing at the earlier waypoint once again, you pause to collect yourself for a moment. Making frequent use of the waypoints, especially in your current state, isn’t very wise. Then again, you aren’t in a very wise state. Taking a deep breath to dispel the dizziness, you let the warm breeze caress your cheeks. Looking around from your current vantage point, you find yourself grateful for the lack of people in the area. Even Chloris is currently nowhere to be found.

Well, at least you can think in peace. Jumping down from the crumbling ruin, you steady yourself against an archway, narrowly avoiding crushing a small patch of lamp grass. …Perhaps you should’ve taken another moment to collect yourself. Perhaps you shouldn’t be wandering through the wilds all on your own, in such a state.

You scoff at the latter thought. This is Mondstadt, and you’re… you. What’s the worst that could happen?

Pushing aside the thought that more alone time may not be what you need right now, you think yourself through your predicament once again as you set off on a walk.

-

You’d been reluctant to leave Mondstadt and set out for Liyue, despite knowing that you’d get no further answers to your myriad of questions here. Not to mention the nagging, relentless tug of fate, pulling you away from the nation you’d come to call home. You knew full and well that you’d have to leave. You’d find no peace in an attempt to ignore the call, and settle here indefinitely.

Still, that didn’t stop you from milking your time here as much as possible. You’d gotten to a first name basis with nearly every soul in the city by the time you ran out of tasks to busy yourself with. Gained quite the notable reputation for yourself in the process too, although that hadn’t been your goal. You truly just didn’t want to leave.

You’d trekked over every hill, passed through every valley, climbed to every peak and turned over every stone and leaf along your way. You explored the nation’s ruins, deciphered inscriptions half faded into their stone, and felled every field till- …ruin guard that stood in your way. You’d braved the frozen peaks of Dragonspine, and gained a newfound appreciation for the Pyro element in the process.

You stood atop the celestial nail, looking out through the blizzard and over the expanse of land to the southwest.

The vast, foreign land that laid before you scared you more than the journey to the top of the nail had.

After all, you didn’t fear falling. The wind at your back would surely catch you, you had no doubt.

Flecks of Cryo stung, colliding with the flushed, exposed skin of your face. You closed your eyes, balance wavering slightly as a result. A small arm was quick to wrap itself around your waist.

No, you didn’t fear falling. You feared leaving.

You leaned into the safety of your Archon’s hold, their concerned voice perfectly audible in spite of the blizzard winds surrounding you. “Are you alright? Do you need to get down?”

You feared leaving him.

-

Leaves from the end of a tree branch brush against your perked ears, pulling you back into the present. Shaking your head and drawing your ears down on instinct, you look around and realize your muscle memory has carried you the rest of the way home. Tucked away against a small cliff south of the Thousand Winds Temple, stands an even smaller cottage, forgotten to time. An Anemo Samachurl paces in circles in the yard, and its Geo counterpart sits on the old stone stairs leading into the home.

Ma'am, I know you don't know me from Adam.

The Geo Samachurl turns to look at you, and you give it a small wave in acknowledgement. Its attention lingers on you for only a moment longer, before turning back to continue watching its Anemo companion instead. A smile plays on your lips, tight and bittersweet.

You make no move to continue approaching, instead opting to back up a few paces and lean against a nearby tree, observing.

They can sense enough of your shared origins, or- maybe it’s the lingering abyssal energy on you… regardless, they can sense something on you that they recognize. Nothing specific, but something familiar enough that they feel no need to take up arms upon the mere sight of you. In all honesty, you feel the same. Their presence here doesn’t pose any genuine threat, so you’re content to leave them be.

In the many months that have passed since Venti and you moved out of this place, it’s become a haven for others. Whether it be traveling adventurers seeking shelter for a night, wildlife seeking refuge from a passing storm beneath the awning, or even your old Khaenri’ahn kin seeking a place to camp, the cottage has served many.

The both of you have kept a distant eye on the place since your departure. Though, Venti has found himself remaining more distant than you since these Samachurls have set up camp. While your presence doesn’t ring any alarm bells for them, the same cannot be said for Venti. While he holds no ill intent toward them either, something about the aura he emits sets them instinctively on edge.

You can hardly blame them. You’d raised your hackles and bared your teeth at the bard, defensive upon your first encounter as well. Looking back, he was hardly posing any threat then either, but at the time, you viewed everyone and everything as a potential enemy. After all, you’d just escaped the abyss and been tossed to the shore of Falcon Coast by the waves, your weaker control over Cryo failing you halfway across your attempt at an ice bridge. Waking up on hot sand to find a humanoid being with an unsettling gaze emanating a suspiciously divine aura above you was more than enough to kick your fight or flight into gear.

You attempted both, in that order. You immediately dug your hands into the sand and threw fistfuls of it at the stranger, successfully disorienting them and giving you an opening to flee. With nothing but ocean to the east, you bolted west, and then north, headed for higher ground intent on gaining an advantage.

Looking back now, you know nothing could’ve stopped Venti if he’d truly wanted to catch you. At the time, though, you felt pretty confident in having outrun him. By the time you felt like you’d lost him, you found yourself also lost amidst trees, the uneven terrain obscuring your sense of direction. So- tired, thirsty, hungry, scared, and confused- you dropped from a run to a walk. Pressing forward in the direction you’d run in, you kept your ears at attention to catch any threat before it could catch you.

-

The Anemo Samachurl breaks from its quiet chanting and pacing, its sudden cry pulling your focus from the past. From the way it points and takes off in a run, and the way its Geo counterpart rises to follow behind, you assume it must have seen something in the woods that caught its attention. You see nor sense nothing of note, and dismiss the likely false alarm. Probably just wildlife, or perhaps a Dendro slime looking to play. As the two little shamans run off into the trees, you take advantage of the vacancy they leave behind.

But these handprints on the front steps are mine.

You figure you’ve got enough time for a quick visit before they return. Besides, the worst that’ll happen if they do catch you in their “camp” will be a few disgruntled spells cast toward you as you hightail it out of there. It’ll be fine.

Approaching the trio of old stone steps that lead to the front door, your gaze catches on two handprints engraved into the highest stair. Memories begin to surface.

-

Sitting on the stairs with your back pressed to the door, you found yourself growing frustrated with the green-clad individual in your yard. Well, perched in one of the trees in your yard, to be precise.

You’d taken up residence in this old run-down cottage once it seemed that no one else had been occupying it. The first few days had been blessedly peaceful, it seemed the area was rather devoid of other life. Well, threatening life, at least. There were plenty of plants and animals, plus a little pond close by, providing far more sustenance than you’d grown used to surviving on. You figured it was as good of a place as any to try and sort out your next move. You hadn’t put much thought into what you’d do once you escaped, after all. You found yourself feeling… lost. After charging ahead with your focus locked on a single goal for so damn long… you didn’t know what to do with yourself now that you’d achieved it.

You weren’t lost for long though. The nosy stranger that found you on the beach proved to be the next target of your focus. Your peaceful existence in this cottage overlooking the sea didn’t last long before you found yourself in their unwanted company once again. They might’ve thought they were subtle, hiding amongst the treetops and watching you quietly.

They weren't. You could sense them. Hell, even if it weren’t for the strange aura they emanated, you could smell them. They carried a strong scent of fermentation with them, and you could easily pick up on the pungent smell in the wind.

On the third day of your silent standoff, you grew fed up with this stranger’s odd behavior. You only knew one way of settling things, and that was face-to-face, not through some weird game of observation. You cleared your throat, preparing your underused voice and searching for your words. Tilting your head back to look at the trespasser, you snarl at their relaxed stance, laid back across a branch like they’re asleep.

“Come down.” You bark the command up into the trees.

The stranger doesn’t comply, but they do acknowledge you, opening their eyes and turning their head to look down at you. “So you can speak!”

You’re in no mood to entertain their conversation, certainly not before making sense of their intentions. “Come. Down.” You repeat, voice flat and serious.

“Are you gonna throw sand in my eyes again?” Light and playful, they question you.

You huff. “No.” Not without good reason, at least, you think to yourself but fail to vocalize.

They hum in thought for a moment before going quiet again. You let the seconds pass, growing more irritable with each one. Just as you’re about to call them down once again, they roll to the side, willingly falling from the branch they’d been laying on. Your muscles twitch and lock for a moment as you stop yourself from… from… from what? What were you going to do, run and try to catch them? Why would you do that? They’ve done nothing for you.

Your lack of action proves itself inconsequential as the stranger falls at a remarkably slow speed. It’s less of a fall and more of a… decent, you suppose, seeming to effortlessly defy gravity. Righting themself midair to land on their feet, they pull their cape forward on their shoulders, beginning to approach you.

You plant your hands firmly on the stone at your sides, readying yourself for anything.

“While that wasn’t the most convincing answer, I suppose I can extend a bit of trust to you. I sure hope you don’t make me regret it though!” They come far closer to you than anyone with a sense of self-preservation ought to. They hold a hand out between you, and you stare at it, waiting for something to happen. “I’m Venti, a bard from the city.”

Finally getting your first proper look at them up close, you’re struck with the strangest sense of recognition. You couldn’t pinpoint it to save your life, but… something about this person feels… familiar. Distant, hazy, and inexplicable, but it’s there nonetheless.

You don’t like it.

When you make no move to do… whatever they seem to want you to do with their hand, they drop it, and you flinch at the sudden motion. Frowning, they question you. “Might I ask for your name in exchange, my dear trespasser? We can hardly get to know one another without exchanging some basic information.”

Your brows pinch in frustration at the stranger's many words. They say a lot, and they say it fast. It’s been… you can’t recall how long it’s been since you last held such conversation. One word stands out to you, though. “Trespasser? Me?”

He nods. “Well, technically, yes! I don’t know much about you yet but I do know that this isn’t your house.”

“How?” You question, eyes narrowing, watching as they stupidly step even closer.

“How do I know that this isn’t yours?” They question you in return.

You nod, claws sharpening, palms itching with pent-up Geo energy crackling beneath your skin.

“Because it’s mine, silly!” They laugh, reaching out toward you.

Your instincts take over as the stranger moves to grab you, and you force your hands into the stone beneath you. Releasing the Geo energy you’d been holding onto, you use the repelling force to launch yourself up off the stairs and at the fool standing before you.

You don’t make contact with them though, stumbling forward into what suddenly becomes thin air and tripping over nothing, sending yourself straight to the ground. Righting yourself before you can even register the impact, your claws tear through the dirt and grass as you turn back to face your opponent on all fours.

You freeze at the sight of them, casually propped against the railing of the stairs, clearly not poised to fight. With no weapon in their hands, and refusing to take on any sort of combative stance, you find yourself locked in a one-sided stand-off.

Not taking their eyes off you, the stranger pats the banister they’re leaning against. “I wasn’t reaching out for you, friend.” As you process their words and the seconds turn into a minute, they make no move to attack you, so you slowly let your guard down. Just slightly. Bending at the knees, you settle in a deep squat on the ground.

When the stranger seems confident enough that you aren’t about to throw yourself at them again, they allow their attention to leave you and fall to the step where you’d just sat. Following their gaze, you notice two handprints now carved into the stone, the very edge of the stair chipped away in places where your claws had caught on it.

You ready yourself for an attack, as this stranger surely won’t take kindly to destruction of, apparently, their property. But they make no move to do any such thing. They simply look back up at you with a knowing smile.

“You take after Morax, I see.”

Up those stairs in that little back bedroom, is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.

Smiling and shaking your head at the memory, you make your way into the small home. It’s rather bare, even more so than it had been when you first found the place. The two of you had taken all of your personal possessions with you into the teapot, leaving nothing but the basic furniture behind. After all, you had far better options awaiting you through Tubby’s sub-space creation.

Seeing the cottage in its original state, it once again becomes clear to you just how little Venti had customized the place prior to you moving in. He didn’t, and still doesn’t have much to his name, truly living the life of the wandering bard he identifies as. Most of what he does have he keeps on his person, whether that be in the physical sense, or dematerialized and stored away.

The cottage turned into a bit less of a shelter and more of a home over the many months you spent there with him. You stocked the little kitchen with far more than just his assortment of fruits, and an array of objects you collected from your outings lined the shelves. Looking back now, with a bit more insight on your own mental and emotional states, you venture a guess as to your behavior. You were likely hoarding whatever you found as a means of making up for how long you spent having nothing.

Venti never shamed you for it, even though he likely understood the behavior from the beginning. He was incredibly empathetic, and kinder than you felt you deserved, even once parts of your past became known to him. It took some time, given your struggle to keep up with his words, and the bigger struggle of finding your own. You managed to get it across to him eventually though, and he’d been benevolent enough to take you in.

-

You come to a stop in the bedroom doorway, surveying the place through the lens of the past.

You remember countless hours spent at the small desk in the corner, hunched over paper with text on it that you couldn’t decipher. Venti stood beside you, one hand on your shoulder, patiently teaching you how to make sense of the symbols you saw.

You remember less stressful hours spent sitting on the floor, curiously plucking at the strings of the bard’s various instruments with your claws. He’d sit on the bed watching you, naming the notes and teaching you how to turn your discordant noise into beautiful music. You were never as good as he was though, and you really didn’t mind. You preferred to listen to him playing, anyway. The bard possessed a beautiful voice, and the soft songs he’d sing to you in the dark of night never failed to put your tormented mind at ease.

Staring at your designated spot on the floor, you laugh at the memory of countless nights spent refusing his invitations. He’d offered his bed to you from the beginning, insisting that you deserved it more than he did. Besides, he said, he was used to sleeping in trees and fields, on barstools and street corners. He claimed he wouldn’t miss the bed at all.

You wouldn’t hear of it. Vehemently denying any offers, you stubbornly slept- atop as many blankets and pillows as you’d allow him to give you- on the floor by his bed like the dog you were. He wasn’t the only one used to sleeping in uncomfortable places, and you weren’t about to lose your edge by getting too comfortable too soon.

You think of the way you woke up this morning, wrapped in soft, warm blankets on a wide, plush mattress, face nuzzled into his neck, arms around his waist.

You’ve both come a long way.

You hear the familiar sound of distant hilichurlian chanting, and make your move to leave, bidding your old bedroom a quiet farewell once again.

Slipping out of the cottage and rounding the side of the building in a few long strides, you narrowly manage to evade their notice. Peeking around the corner, you watch them return to their prior posts. The Anemo Samachurl diligently paces between the trees, its Geo companion keeping watch from the stairs.

You smile, and turn to make your silent departure.

-

Checking in on your old home had been a successful distraction from the thoughts you’re trying to avoid, but you couldn’t linger there forever. Still, feeling unprepared to return to the teapot and try to put on a brave face for Venti, you find yourself wandering. With no particular destination in mind, you let your feet take you where they may.

You try to think of nothing at all for a while, failing over and over again as your mind searches for something to latch onto. Apparently counting your steps wasn’t entertaining enough for it.

After a while of failing to meditate on your walk, you find yourself leaving grass and stepping onto a dirt path. Looking up and around, you realize you’ve made your way to the road leading to the Thousand Winds Temple.

Turning and looking south, you can see the massive tree at Windrise, off in the distance. Far, far, beyond that, bringing your eyes to the horizon, you can see the snowy peaks of Dragonspine beyond the tall cliff of Galesong Hill. You sigh.

And I bet you didn't know, under that live oak, my favorite dog is buried in the yard.

A few months after arriving in Mondstadt and settling in with Venti, you found yourself exploring the icy riverbank that borders Dragonspine. The stubborn bard, wrapped in the thickest cloak he owned, trudged along behind you.

You’d told him he didn’t have to join you that day, but the thought of you exploring unfamiliar territory without him apparently just didn’t sit right. So, in spite of his occasional grumbles over the increasing cold, he never left your side.

The area was predictably desolate, save for a few Cryo Hilichurl archers lounging on the icy banks like they were on summer vacation. You weren’t looking for a fight that day though, just to explore, so you avoided drawing their attention given the divine company you were in.

Later on, as you were focusing hard on what Pyro energy you could summon in an attempt to melt the ice encasing a chest, you found something far more valuable. Venti saw it first, having been eyeing the surroundings while you were focused on the task at hand. Calling your name, he summoned your attention with ease.

Turning to look at him, your gaze followed his pointed finger and landed on a dog, slowly making its way toward you.

The animal was fairly large, but certainly far from threatening given the state it was in. As it drew closer, Venti lowered himself to his knees in the cold wet grass, suddenly forgoing his prior reluctance to endure the elements. You smiled. It seemed like he’d learned a thing or two from you about dealing with fearful dogs.

You followed suit, crouching down beside him and getting on the dog's level. The shivering animal hesitated, coming to a stop about fifteen feet away. Materializing some fresh meat you’d caught on the journey there, you quietly held it out toward the dog.

It sniffed the air, but refused to move.

Tearing a chunk off, you gently tossed it in the dog’s direction, and it landed a few feet in front of it. Sniffing harder, the animal carefully approached the offering, sticking its head out as far as it could to reach the food and avoid coming closer.

The two of you spent the better part of an hour luring the dog toward you, slowly but surely winning it over with continued offerings of fresh meat.

Upon closer inspection, you were honestly shocked that it was still standing. Skin stretched tight across its ribcage, hip bones two sharp peaks, spine a long mountain range down its back… the thing was clearly starving. You weren’t sure if it was the stress of a difficult life, a sign of old age, or both, but what you assumed had once been black fur was almost white from graying, particularly in its face. It trembled incessantly, and as soon as it came close enough and didn’t seem apt to bolt, Venti untied his cape and wrapped it around the dog, who shockingly didn’t fight it.

Maybe Venti had been serious when he claimed he could talk to animals.

You fed it more bites of meat as the two of you quietly discussed the best way to get it home. Blessedly, once the dog realized that neither of you held malicious intentions, it switched gears surprisingly fast. More than just tolerating your presence, the dog actually began to cling to you, frantically whining when you both stood up, fearful that you’d be leaving it behind.

Abandoning your half-melted treasure, you knew it was time to leave. You were quite a ways from home and you weren’t about to try teleporting the dog in its current state. So instead, you carefully picked her up, frowning at how little she weighed. Venti took the remaining meat and distracted the nervous dog with more offerings of food as you began your long, slow journey home.

“Don’t- don’t feed her too fast. I know she’s hungry but I don’t want to make her sick.”

Venti nodded, tearing off smaller bites. “I remember.” He cryptically confirmed.

You adjusted the dog in your hold, pulling Venti’s cape up around her neck. “…Remember what?”

He suppressed a shiver, but you still noticed. “You ate yourself sick on fruit and raw meat the first night you spent here.”

Your head turned quickly, staring down at him. “You were watching? Even then?”

He nodded, expression solemn. “I followed you home, you know? It just took a few days for you to notice that I was there.”

You walked in thoughtful silence for a while after that, wondering if your scattered senses had failed you, or if he was actually better at hiding his aura than you thought.

-

The dog lived with the both of you in your little cottage for a few good months. She gradually put on weight, and some life returned to her alongside it. She still moved slowly, though, and you feared she was in pain.

By that point, you’d befriended a timid alchemist with mint-green hair, and sought her assistance. She’d kindly offered you a medicine of her own creation, advising that the dog seemed rather old, and likely suffered from joint pain. You offered her payment in Mora, which she politely refused. You eventually got her to accept a small assortment of bones you’d gathered in exchange, correctly surmising that the offer would be too tempting for her to refuse.

Sucrose’s medicine seemed to help, because the dog moved with noticeably more ease once you began giving it to her. She was far from spry, but she seemed comfortable, so you were content. She was also content, in the precious, innocent way that only a dog can be. Just happy to be alive, happy to be fed, happy to be safe. Happy to be near someone that loves them, and happy to be near someone they love.

“Adagio.” Venti had once said, gently raking his nails through her fur on a warm, sleepy afternoon.

“What’s that?’ It was far from the first time he’d said a word you didn’t know.

“In musical terms, it means played slowly… I think it would be a nice name for her.”

You considered it for a moment, and found it rather fitting, nodding in agreement with a smile. “I like that.”

Adagio spent her days laying in the shade near the cliff’s edge, watching the waves lap at the small shore below. Looking back, you can thank her for teaching Venti that you can survive a half a day on your own. She could hardly chase you all over Mondstadt, or weave her way after Venti through the busy city streets, so when one of you needed to go out for something, the other would stay home with her. One of the two of you were always there, and she never knew the pain of being alone again.

She spent her nights curled between the two of you. She couldn’t make the jump up onto the bed, and you were still stubbornly sleeping on the floor, so Venti made the executive decision to heave the mattress onto the floor as well. As silly of a sight as it may have been to an outsider, the three of you were comfortable, curled together amidst blankets and pillows on the too-small mattress, bed frame abandoned on the other side of the room.

Nothing lasts forever though, and it seemed to you that the best of things were always the quickest to go.

As months passed, her movements went from slow to slower, and she started struggling with more things. She could no longer steady herself to make it up and down the three stairs to your home, so one of you carried her every time. She slept more and moved less, and her love of food began to wane.

This wasn’t your first experience with something like this. Though it had been an awfully long time since you lived through it last, you still knew what was coming.

That didn’t make it hurt any less, though. Not at all.

Both of you sat awake with her through the final night, keeping her comfortable and telling her how much you loved her. You’d never hoped harder that Venti’s communicative abilities held true.

You kept it together until she released her final breath, and when you knew she was gone, you allowed yourself to fall apart.

Up until then, your walls had been an impenetrable fortress. No emotion escaped unless you allowed it. Venti had never seen you cry.

So when your pain escaped you this time, falling in heavy golden tears and landing in her gray fur, he could only stare. He knew this wasn’t his moment to intrude on, so he didn’t. He didn’t rush to wrap you in an embrace, nor did he try to offer any hollow words of comfort. This was pain. This was loss. He was intimately familiar with it, and he knew it had to be felt.

There isn’t a single detail of that night that you don’t recall, and the teal tears that fell next to your golden ones are no exception.

That was the first time you saw him cry, too.

-

The evening breeze cools the hot golden tracks running down your cheeks. You watch tears fall onto the dirt path beneath you, and then you close your eyes.

-

You both sat there with what remained of her until the morning sun slipped in through the window. You were surprised when Venti broke the silence, offering to bury Adagio beneath the Windrise tree.

You spoke through a voice thick and strained from your cries. “That’s… that’s a really special place.”

He nodded. “She was a really special dog.”

You wiped the fresh tears from your eyes before they could fall, turning to face him.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He put his hand out, laying it next to Adagio on the mattress. “Unless you’d prefer elsewhere?”

You knew what to do this time. Reaching out and laying your hand in his, you shook your head slowly. “No. I think Windrise would be perfect.”

-

Opening your eyes, you raise your head to glance once more at the massive tree across the sprawling field. Bidding Adagio another quiet goodbye, you pull in a shaky breath, and turn, heading north.

Walking in silence for a while, you try to let your emotions settle. The tears you just shed seemed to help a little, but the knot in your stomach won’t leave you.

You follow the road a little while longer, but when you find yourself nearing the temple, you take a detour and head west, off the beaten path. You aren’t keen on running into whatever random explorers might be camping there this evening. Besides, the scent of cecilias is on the breeze, and you’d rather follow that instead.

Making your way up the uneven terrain that comprises the base of Starsnatch Cliff, your mind returns to its ruminations over what brought you here today in the first place.

You leave home, you move on, and you do the best you can.

The reason for your reluctance to leave Mondstadt became abundantly clear on the day you finally set out for the neighboring nation. As you left Dawn Winery behind and crossed the border, headed for Stone Gate, it sank in quickly.

Venti wasn’t beside you.

Up until that point, he’d been the literal wind at your back every step of the way. Every commission you completed, every request you fulfilled, every inch of land you explored, he was right behind you. Or beside you, or above you, or in front of you…

Regardless, he was there. Answering your questions, telling you stories, helping you make sense of the unfamiliar. Whether it be words you couldn’t yet read, customs you didn’t yet understand, or emotions you couldn’t yet identify, he was your guide through it all. The Stormterror crisis came and went, as did the… incident with Signora, and the two of you grew ever closer as a result of it all. You could fill a book with the stories of what you two went through in the mere year you spent in this nation. But, as you sat together beneath the Windrise tree one evening discussing it all, it slowly grew clear that it was coming time to move on. As if the notion alone wasn’t stressful enough already, there seemed to be an unspoken understanding that it was a journey you must undertake alone.

So, you did. You’d packed your things, said your temporary goodbyes, and set off on your own without so much as once giving in to the urge to ask him to come along. The goodbyes were, after all, only temporary. You hoped. If you made it through whatever awaited you in Liyue alive, you always planned on returning home.

And you did. Many times.

You, scared as you’d been, made it through the lively adventure that was your initial trip to Liyue, and you’d come out much stronger for it. You found a confidence that you’d forgotten you possessed, forced to show itself once there was no travel companion for you to rely on.

Quite early in your journey, you gathered that you weren’t completely alone anyhow. Sure, in your day-to-day there was no talkative bard trailing behind you, and the nights proved themselves awfully lonely indeed. But Venti’s parting words, “may the wind protect you”, proved themselves surprisingly literal as you took note of one particular Yaksha. After a few nights at Wangshu Inn, and a few bowls of almond tofu shared in relative silence, the man had made himself into your shadow shockingly fast. He never seemed to be around when your gaze searched for him in a crowd, but was always conveniently there the moment you ran into trouble.

Still, in spite of his protection, not to mention your growing, innate connection with the God of your favored element, you longed for home. You longed for your home. You longed for your God.

I got lost in this whole world, and forgot who I am.

So, once the dust, or, well, waves had settled and Rex Lapis had been “officially” laid to rest, you found yourself headed northeast.

In spite of how proud you’d been for making it on your own, all of that crumbled the evening you first crossed back into Mondstadt. You could've used any of the waypoints you’d resonated with, could’ve gone right back home to the cliff overlooking Falcon Coast. But something about that just didn’t feel right. Not for your first return.

Walking the path back toward Dawn Winery, you tried to keep your composure. You tried to not get irrationally emotional over the familiar sight of Anemo crystalflies fluttering over the grape vines. You ignored the warmth in your chest at the sight of soft yellow candlelight illuminating the cottage windows along your path.

Your weakening grip on your emotions completely failed though when you caught sight of a small, green-clad bard, legs dangling from the edge of a rooftop, plucking at his lyre.

You burst into tears on the spot, folding in on yourself and crumpling to the dirt beneath you.

He dropped the nonchalant act instantly, dematerializing from his perch on the rooftop and reappearing beside you in a small, warm burst of Anemo energy that you didn’t see through your tears, but definitely felt. He’d questioned you frantically, worried you were hurt, not understanding what was wrong. Eventually, largely thanks to his embrace, the sobs wracking your form eased enough to assure him that you were fine.

You’d just missed him, was all.

The array of conflicting emotions that flashed in his eyes at the admission would've intrigued you, had you not been so absorbed in your own at the time.

In spite of how badly you craved his company, you’d already proved to yourself that you could travel on your own. So, you continued to. After an extended stay in Mondstadt to recover from your first eventful excursion, you began traveling between the two nations more regularly. Having resonated with most of the waypoints and Statues of the Seven in Liyue as well, it was easy to hop over for the day and still come home to Venti at night.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it, this brokenness inside me might start healing.

Such was your routine until Madam Ping had introduced you to her Teapots. Adeptal magic was quite the wonder, capable of impressive feats, and the new home offered to you was no exception. When you learned that not only could you live in it, but you could invite others in as well, you were over the moon. You were, of course, reluctant to bid a more permanent farewell to the little house overlooking the sea that you’d grown so familiar with. But when faced with something as convenient and extravagant as the teapot, you could hardly turn it down.

Venti had been more than interested in your offer when you brought the thing home and showed it to him. After bestowing a permanent invitation upon him, he took a liking to the space quite quickly, happy to help make yourselves a new home. Having already been informed of your penchant for Mondstadt, Tubby had crafted a world for you that resembled the land of freedom’s sprawling hills, cliffs, and beaches to an impressive degree. Your new home was far grander than your old one, but with a little time and personalization with what you both brought from the cottage, it really did start to feel like home.

It was… nice, having a safe place to return to every night, regardless of where you were or what you may be caught up in. It was even nicer that Venti seemed to quite enjoy spending time there as well. There’d scarcely been an evening where both of you hadn’t wound up in the teapot together, sharing stories of your respective days over dinner.

Things carried on like that for the remainder of your time in Liyue. You spent more and more time in the land of contracts, and less and less in Mondstadt as a result. Sometimes you’d have reason to return, and somehow you’d almost always run into Venti while you were there. Time spent with him in the teapot was no less real, but it always felt… special, when the two of you were together in Mondstadt again.

Out here, it's like I'm someone else, I thought that maybe I could find myself.

Still, just as it had been with Mondstadt, you couldn’t linger in Liyue forever. You’d built a reputation for yourself there to match your standing in Mondstadt, making a slew of new connections, exploring, finding answers and more questions alike. It was time to move on. Inazuma loomed far, far off on the southern horizon, and it was up to you to make the first step to reach it.

You didn’t want to.

You stood on the docks, looking out at Guyun Stone Forest, and at Beidou’s ship anchored nearby.

You found yourself feeling something you hadn’t felt in a long while. You felt the same as you had when standing atop the celestial nail, only this time it was somehow worse. It scared you. Yes, the prospect of setting off effectively alone to yet another unfamiliar nation, but more than that. It scared you because you thought you’d grown past this. You thought you could handle this. You thought… you thought you’d outgrown this immature sense of homesickness.

You were wrong.

If I could walk around, I swear I'll leave.

That’s how you found yourself here, ambling through the wilds of Mondstadt. You really, really don’t want to leave. But you know that you have to.

You think of the stories you’ve heard in Liyue, of the terrible war raging in the island nation to the south.

You release a shaky breath into the cooling air.

You pray that you’ll make it back alive.

Won't take nothin' but a memory, from the house that built me.

Following the cecilias as their trail grows thicker, you weave your way up to the peak of the massive cliff.

You’re only slightly surprised to see a small figure, dressed in a very familiar shade of green, sitting with their back to you at the very edge.

Tension you didn’t notice you were holding melts from your shoulders at the sight of him.

You do your best to push aside the emotional storm you’ve been caught up in, and you call out to him, playful. “Fancy seeing you here!”

He twists at the waist to face you, following your movement as you approach. “I could say the same, love. What brings you here?”

You laugh softly as you come to a halt beside him. “Well, I could ask the same of you.” You carefully lower yourself to the ground, letting your legs dangle off the cliff beside his. “Figured you’d either still be at the tavern, or were already home wondering where I was.”

He smiles at you, soft, before looking away. “I was at the tavern most of the day, like I planned this morning. But… something didn’t feel right. I wasn’t really… giving it my all, and I think the patrons could tell.”

You frown. “What didn’t feel right? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Windblume. I’m just fine.”

You aren’t convinced. “Then, uh… do you feel like sharing what isn’t fine?”

His gaze drops to the dark sea below. “I think you know what it is, actually.”

Cryptic as ever, you take a moment to ponder what he might mean. He takes the silence as an opportunity to elaborate. “I never really wonder where you are, you know?”

You glance at him, bemused for a moment before growing serious. “Oh, what, were you- like- watching me today? How… Wait, how long have you been up here, actually?”

He doesn’t look at you, but he shakes his head. “I don’t have to be watching you to know where you are, dear.” The wind tousles your hair. “I’m already everywhere. All the time. If the wind can reach you, I’m there.”

“...Oh. Right.” You let your own gaze fall to the sea. “Maybe I let myself forget sometimes, just how… literal that is.”

You remember the warm sea breeze from this afternoon, the brief gust that cooled your tear-stained cheeks early this evening, and the wind that brought the scent of cecilias down toward you.

“...So you could tell that I was here today.”

“Yeah.” He confirms quietly. “There was something… discordant, blowing in from Falcon Coast this afternoon. It didn’t take long for me to identify you.”

Guilt blooms within you. “Is that when you left the tavern?”

“No, I didn’t head out immediately. I mean- I can hardly turn off my omniscience, but I do still try to give you privacy in spite of it. I figured if you needed me, or… wanted me, you would call out.”

The way he says “wanted” makes your frown deepen.

“But, when the tone of the air only continued to sour as time passed, I did eventually give in to my concern.”

You pluck at the grass beneath you to busy your hands. “I’m sorry for distracting you. I really didn’t mean to, I just…”

He turns to you, cutting you off. “Please don’t say that. I couldn’t care less about losing out on a few mora at the tavern. I care about the fact that you’re out here, crying to yourself, all alone.”

A familiar tension makes itself at home again in your throat. “I…”

You trail off, lost for words. Venti makes up for it though, seeming to suddenly have quite a bit to get off of his own chest. “I can sense the difference between someone who wants to cry on their own, and someone who’s crying because they’re on their own.” His pained voice nearly cracks. “I never thought I’d feel the latter coming from you. But I’ve felt it more than once now, and… I don’t know what to do.”

At his confession, honesty slips out of you, and you can’t hold back the tears that come with it. “I miss you.” You turn to face him, and then look past, gesturing weakly out to the sprawling land of freedom behind you. “I miss this! I miss home! I miss you!” Voice breaking, you choke on your tears and lean into him, crumpling pathetically down onto his lap and curling yourself around him like the needy animal that you are.

His hands settle on you, one on your back and another reaching for your legs, pulling you against him so you don’t slip off the edge. His winds would cradle you if you fell, but he’d rather prevent the problem before it can happen. His own voice is tight with emotion when he speaks. “You have me, love. You- you hold me every night, I bid you goodbye every morning, you can visit Mondstadt whenever you please!”

You shake your head vehemently in his lap, crying harder.

“I’m sorry, love- I- I really don’t understand. In what way do you not have me?”

You practically shout your answer into the fabric of your sleeves, turning your head just enough to pointlessly attempt to wipe your face. “When I leave! I have to leave! I have to leave, and leave you behind, and you aren’t with me, and I’m alone again every time I go!”

One of his hands comes up to carefully comb the damp hair from your face, the black tips now wet with shimmering gold. “When you leave Mondstadt? Like… like when you go to Liyue?”

You nod, almost hyperventilating as your fears spill from you. “I should've never gone there alone! I wanted to ask you, I wanted you to come with me so badly but something told me that I shouldn't ask, that I should go alone, and so I went and I was so fucking scared but- but- but I was fine- I was fine- I made it back alive and so what if I cried every night because I missed you? I had a fucking nation to save it’s not like I could come home crying to you about it! And- and I mean Xiao was there but I- I- I can fight I can hold my own I don’t need protection I need a friend! I need company! I need you! I- I knew I’d be fine but fuck I felt so alone and I missed you, I missed you, I missed Venti, I missed Barbatos, I missed you SO MUCH-” You suddenly heave for air in the middle of your spiel, breathing in too hard and choking on your own spit. Feeling about as vulnerable and pathetic as you’ve ever been, you give in to the misery, grasping for purchase at any part of him you can reach. Your claws dig into the thin fabric of his tights in a way you know you’ll be frantically apologizing for later, but in this moment you can’t bring yourself to stop. You can't bring yourself to do anything but cry, and cry, and cry.

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, the only sound he makes instead being a quiet, gentle hush, over and over, focused on calming you down. The cool hand that finds its way beneath your hair and settles on the back of your hot neck feels like heaven, and for a moment you cry harder at the relief. His other hand pets across the broad expanse of your back in slow, rhythmic, sweeping motions.

When your cries have quieted enough for you to focus on his words, he says something that surprises you.

“I’d have gone, if you’d have asked me.”

You hiccup a question. “Wh-what?”

“To Liyue. I would have been more than happy to go with you, if you’d have only asked.” His lithe fingers gently massage at the tension in your neck.

You twist in his hold just enough to look up at him. “Seriously?”

He gives you a weak smile, but it’s more sad than anything. “Of course. The only reason I didn’t invite myself along was because I wanted you to have the freedom to choose. I figured… if I offered to go with you, you might feel obligated to bring me with you.”

You laugh, but there's no humor in it. “This whole time… this whole time I really thought that you didn’t want to go.”

He’s visibly pained by the thought. “Why in the world wouldn’t I?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know… I just figured you had your reasons. It is another nation after all, and I’m still… not too sure how Archons feel about crossing into one another’s territory.” You clear your throat and scrub at your eyes and cheeks with a fist. “Figured maybe you didn’t want to run into Morax or something…”

He laughs, and there’s a bit of life in it this time. “Even the prospect of running into that old block-head wouldn’t be enough to stop me from accompanying you.” He takes your hand in his, stopping your aggressive assault on your messy face. “And while certain Archons might be… less than enthralled to see me again, just because I’m with you doesn’t mean I have to be recognized.”

Your brow furrows. “Venti and Barbatos don’t look all that different…”

He smiles down at you good-naturedly. “True. But I could take another form if it came down to it. Something unrecognizable to even them. If there’s anything I know how to do, it’s how to hide in plain sight and not be found.”

In spite of the tears still staining your cheeks, you give a small smile to your absentee God. “You’d really go to such lengths? For me?”

He gives you a confident nod. “For you and you only, love.”

His hand continues its gentle ministrations across your back, and your muscles gradually relax. You run a hand along the fabric of his tights, waiting for your breaths to come steady. As your senses slowly return to you, your fingertips brush across a few small tears in the material, and you cringe. Venti notices as much, and reassures you. “Hey- It’s alright. Don’t worry about that.”

His words are too late to stop you from raising your head enough to observe the damage, your hand gently cupping his thigh. “I didn’t scratch you… did I?”

“Nope! Just caught the fabric is all.” You aren’t inclined to believe him, given that with his abilities he could’ve healed any minor wounds before you even knew they were there.

You huff, dropping your head to his lap once more. “I’m still very sorry. I’ll buy you-”

“That won’t be necessary-” He tries to cut you off, but your insistence overpowers his own.

“I am buying you a new pair.”

He sighs in reluctant acceptance, knowing better than to challenge you. “Alright, alright. If you insist.”

You lay there for a moment, idly kneading at his thigh and letting the soft sounds of the evening wildlife fill the silence. Still, you struggle to wrap your head around the recent revelation. “You’d really be willing to leave this place?”

He laughs beneath his breath at your disbelief. “I mean, not permanently. If you’ve hatched some plan to move to Snezhnaya that I don’t know about, then I might have to disappoint you…”

You relax further at the familiar, playful edge that returns to his voice. “Nah, nah, nothing like that… just- on my journey away and back. Not- not even every time! Just… sometimes. It… really would’ve been nice to have you by my side the first time, actually, but I know it’s too late for that now. I just… wouldn't have felt so lost.”

His smile fades a bit at the confirmation of a long-held suspicion. You had been missing him as badly as he’d missed you.

You catch the shift in his demeanor, no matter how slight. “...I’m making you sad…”

One of his hands finds yours. “Only at the realization of how oblivious I’ve been.” He laughs, humorless. “All those nights I couldn’t sense you in the wind, all the time I spent wondering if you were okay… you weren’t. You were holed up somewhere, crying, alone, afraid…”

His eyes pinch closed and you squeeze his hand. “It’s not on you. I should’ve been more honest with you before I left.”

He huffs, and then he’s quiet for a moment, thinking. It’s times like these in which you wish you could read him as well as he can read you. “...I could say the same.”

You stare up at him for a moment in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He holds your gaze for a moment and opens his mouth to speak, but seems to think better of whatever he had to say. His focus shifts from you and out to the sea. “...Like I said, I would’ve been happy to follow you. I never should’ve let you grow to believe otherwise.”

You pout just slightly at the less-than-complete sounding answer, but another question overrides your focus. “Is Liyue… the limit?”

The hesitation in your voice gives him pause. “What do you mean?”

“Is Liyue, like, as far as you’re willing to go.”

His eyes brighten in understanding, and you’d collapse from relief at the shake of his head if you weren’t already on the ground.

“Oh! No, not at all. I really meant it when I said I’d risk running into the other Archons for you.”

You release his hand and reach up to pinch the fat of your cheeks between your claws. He pouts, reaching down to stop you. “What’s that for?”

“I’m afraid I’m dreaming or something…”

He laughs properly, a beautiful sound. You crane your neck up to glance southward. The wall of storms barricading Inazuma are still there, an awful sight. You drop your head back to his lap with a heavy sigh.

He pats you gently on the cheek. “You’re wide awake, I assure you.”

Reaching up, you gently bat at the braids that hang at the sides of his face, chewing on your lower lip. He reads you like a book. “I think we’ve learned something this evening, dear.”

“What’s that?”

He catches your hand mid-air, splaying his fingers out and lacing them between yours. “It’s that when we have something to ask of one another, we should do it.”

The corner of your mouth turns up, and you meet his gaze. “Is that your fancy way of telling me to spit it out?”

He giggles. “Maybe.”

You sigh, letting your gaze drift away from him and up to the stars far, far above. “Would you be so kind… as to accompany this scared old dog all the way to Inazuma?”

You close your eyes, waiting for a “no.”

It never comes. Instead, he squeezes your hand in his, and you’re shocked to hear relief in his tone when he answers you. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Your eyes flicker open, unsure. “Is… is that a yes?”

He nods vehemently. “It is.”

The tears that spring to your eyes catch you by surprise. He wipes them away with his thumb as they fall. Sniffling, you question him again. “There’s- There’s a whole war going on over there right now, you know?”

The blue in his braids brightens, and in the dark of the early night, you notice the same turquoise light begin to shine from his chest, beneath the thin fabric of his white shirt. “I’m no stranger to war.”

You reach up, tracing a gentle finger across where you know one of his Archon marks to be. “...That you aren’t.”

His thumb swipes across the black star at the base of your neck, half hidden by your collar. “...Guess that makes two of us, huh.”

It’s a rhetorical question, but you hum in confirmation nonetheless. Rising from your spot on his lap, you wiggle your way around until you’re seated beside him properly again. Reaching an arm out, you wrap it around his shoulders, and he leans into you. Both of you stare out across the sea, watching the lightning flash in the storm to the south.

“I don’t even know what I’m gonna be able to do to help.” You sigh. “But I know I have to go.”

One of his hands finds yours again. “Whatever may come, I consider it an honor to fight alongside you.”

You bark a laugh, shaking your head at the notion. “Hey now, I just asked you to come with me, I never said anything about putting you in the line of fire.”

He smiles. “I know, I know, but still… if it comes down to it-”

“If it comes down to that, I’m hauling you over my shoulder and taking us both home.” You cut him off in a no-nonsense tone.

Your seriousness doesn’t cause his mirth to falter. “I fear I’m gonna be the one dragging you home if we run into Signora while we’re there.”

A low growl reverberates from your chest at the mere mention of her. “We’ve still got a score to settle.”

He pats you on the thigh placatingly, humor in his words. “Darling, how many times must I reassure you? I let her take it from me.”

“Still, she didn’t have to be so fucking rough about it. I’m not after the gnosis. She made this personal.” You snarl.

His soft laughter subsides as he shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue.

The two of you watch the lightning show for a short while, before you grow tired of the dreadful sight and opt to focus on something better. Unwrapping your arm from the God at your side, you stifle a laugh as he voices his sudden startled displeasure. You apologize as you reposition yourselves, moving away from the edge a bit and turning the both of you around. “Sorry about that, didn’t realize you’d almost fallen asleep on me.”

He pouts. “Can you blame me? You’re warm, and it’s been a stressful day… and speaking of-”

You nod. “I know. We should be getting home soon. But- look.” You point at the beautiful sight of Mondstadt City, lit up for the night, a beacon of hope and freedom standing strong in the distance. “Isn’t that a sight worth sticking around a little longer for?”

He sighs in content as you pull him against you once more. You can’t feel the swell of pride in his chest at the sight, but you can hear it in his voice. “It sure is.”

Lifting his hat from his head and placing it in his lap, you comb your fingers through his hair, finding your own satisfaction in the way he melts against you. The two of you admire the city for a long few minutes, and a thought occurs. “As much as I want you beside me… I feel bad taking you from your people.”

He shakes his head and the motion tickles as his hair brushes against your chin. “They don’t need me, love. At least, not in the day-to-day sense.” He huffs. “Honestly, I think the most prominent place that my presence will be missed is the tavern, and that’s of little consequence in the grand scheme.”

You know he’s right, but the guilt still nags at you. “I guess…”

He leans away just enough to turn and look you in the eye. “You are one of my people too, you know?”

You hold his gaze, considering it. Have you really been here long enough, or made a big enough impact on the region to be bestowed with such an honorary title? “...I suppose I do.”

He reaches up and cups your cheek, eyes pleading. “Then let me be there for you.”

You breathe a sigh of acceptance. “...Okay.” You turn your head and plant a quick kiss against his palm before he can pull away.

He lets his hand drop, but doesn’t turn away. “I’m really sorry that you’ve been carrying all of this pain with you for so long. I should have questioned you on it sooner.”

You pick his hand up from his lap, taking it in yours. “It’s not your fault. At least, certainly not anymore than it is mine. I should've just asked you to come, the worst thing you could’ve said was no.”

“I still hate that you even thought I might’ve said no. I… should have made my willingness clearer.”

“Nah, I mean, after a year of following me around Mondstadt I think you were quite clear. I’m just… dense.” You summon a few tiny Geo shards in your palm before allowing them to crumble into a shimmering pile of dust. “Comes with the territory, I suppose.”

Venti scoffs. “Well if you’re dense, then I’m diffuse.” A tiny gust of Anemo swoops in and lifts the dust from your outstretched palm, scattering it to the wind.

You watch your two energies mix and dissolve into the night air. “I guess they do say that opposites attract.”

He hums. “That they do, love.”

You expect him to turn back toward the city, and he almost does, but then he hesitates, and calls you by name. “I want you to remember something.”

Your interest piques, brows raising above tired, lidded eyes. “And what’s that?”

His tone is serious. “You are not alone. Ever. Not if you don’t want to be. I don’t want you hesitating to call on me ever again. If you need me, if you want me, I’m there. No exceptions.” Maybe it’s the day’s exhaustion catching up with you, but the light in his eyes feels like a beacon, guiding you home. “You don’t ever have to be alone again. Remember this, please.”

Something warm blooms in your chest, and it’s in this moment that you realize the knot in your stomach has loosened. It isn’t gone, but it’s hardly noticeable anymore, and you finally breathe easy. You hold his gaze for a moment before nodding, serious. “I will.”

He brings his hand up, holding his pinky out toward you. “Promise?”

You smile, reaching out and wrapping yours around his. “Promise.”

He exhales, satisfied. “You wanna stay out here a bit longer?”

You open your arms in invitation. “I’d love to.”

Shuffling around once more, you help situate him between your legs, pulling him back against your chest.

“Alright, but don’t hold it against me if I fall asleep out here. You make for quite the comfortable bed, you know.”

You smile, nuzzling into his hair and breathing him in. The heavy scent of fermentation he once carried is now nothing but a faint whisper. “I won’t mind.” Lifting your gaze from the distant city lights, you quietly admire the stars above. “Not at all.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! You can find my commentary on this fic in the notes right here on Ao3. For more info on my OC Saoirse (aka this fic's "Reader"), along with links to various relevant playlists and moodboards, you can find it all here, in the notes of my fic series "This Is Unconditional." This is fic 4 of 16 that I'm doing based on combining prompts from this list! [Day 6 (Singing) & Day 21 (Memory)] Header Image Source: Me, for once! It's an in-game screenshot that I took myself.