#I am rolling this around in my head a lot we will see if it makes an appearance or not

[woso-dreamzzz]

Appendix

Kim Little x Teen!Reader

Summary: You need your appendix out

"So," You say with clenched teeth, awkward and a little bit wary as you lay on the physio table," Am I in trouble?"

"I don't know," Your sister says with that air of disapproval that she always has," Are you?"

"Kim," You groan," Why do you do this?"

"I don't know. Why do I do this?"

You roll your eyes, pressing your head back against the table. "You're just like mum."

"Well when there's an age gap as big as ours, that's bound to happen," Kim says dismissively," But I think the real problem here is why you don't tell me you were hurt."

"I'm not hurt. I'm in pain. There's a difference."

"Your snark isn't needed right now," Kim warns you," You're not hurt. You're in pain, fine. Why didn't you tell me?"

You wince. "It didn't seem that bad this morning? Honestly, I thought it was cramp."

"You thought your appendix nearly blowing up was cramp?"

"I have a high pain tolerance? I didn't even cry when I broke my arm a few years ago!"

You can see your sister angrily swipe her hand over her face as she takes a moment to recompose herself.

"The ambulance is on its way but the staff are pretty confident that you'll have to have your appendix out."

"Is that surgery?"

Kim rolls her eyes. "Yes, it's surgery. How else are they going to get it out?"

"I don't know! Can't they like...I don't know!"

"The pain's making you delusional," Your sister says fondly, that odd smile on her face she gets when you really show off the age gap between you both.

"I'm not delusional!"

Kim's hand gently pushes your hair off your sweaty forehead. "I should have known you weren't feeling too good when you asked me why we didn't have giant rats running around and blocking the Tube tunnels."

"It's a genuine question!"

But it's also a genuine question that never gets answered as you're loaded up into an ambulance and given enough pain medication that you kind of think it's a waste because of your naturally high pain tolerance.

You don't really remember much after that, just feeling a little woozy and your sister holding your hand until you wake up again.

Kim's a lot older than you - around eighteen years older than you - so she's never really been around much in your childhood. By the time you were born, she was already going off for her first stint at Arsenal and you were back home in Scotland, still unable to lift your own head up.

It's kind of amazing actually that you've both ended up playing on the same team despite the age gap.

You were at the start of your career. Kim was nearing the end of hers.

But she's definitely still holding your hand as you wake up.

"Kim," You groan," Kimmy..."

"Yeah?"

"They took my organ! I'm organless!"

She smiles at you, a little amused as she forces down a small laugh. "You're not organless. They just took out a little piece that was making you sick."

You frown at that. "But can I have it back?"

"You want your appendix back?"

"We can send it to Mum!" You say," She's been missing us at home. She can have my appendix to remember me by!" Your sudden delight is stamped out though as you stare at your sister. "Kim, do you still have yours? We need to take it out to give to Mum!"

That's the thing that actually makes her laugh, shaking her head fondly at you as you waffle on about anything and everything that comes to your mind.

At least until all the exhaustion takes over again and you're fast asleep in bed again.

Kim sits next to you - a watchful eye and presence by your bedside - with a hand in your own.

"Knock, knock?" Comes the voice from the door," The kid not awake yet?"

"She was. Briefly. Awake and high."

"Oh, man." Katie pushes past Steph lingering in the doorway. "We missed it? Was it at least recorded? This could have been blackmail for days!"

"Did I record my little sister high off pain medication for your viewing pleasure? No, Katie, I didn't. She doesn't need to be teased about it."

Katie shrugs as the rest of the team floods into the tiny room you're sleeping in. "Just askin'. It's not a big deal. I'll find something else."

"We bought flowers," Lia intervenes easily, placing the vase on the bedside table," And some food for you. Just sandwiches and stuff. Nothing fancy."

"Thanks. It's nice of you to come and visit. I'm sorry she's not awake yet."

Lia shrugs, perching on the arm of Kim's seat. "it's alright. She's just had surgery. She needs the sleep. We can wait."

"Wait so you can tease me?" Your groggy voice says," Jokes on you. I'm totally in control of myself."

You blink a few times to clear the sleep from your eyes, keeping a grip on Kim's hand as you smile. She squeezes lightly, a reminder of her steady presence next to you.

She won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

"Now, did you guys bring me food or just flowers? Hospital food sucks."

[chimivx]

@jeonginsleftcheek & @minkieater & @bananayuyu thank you for the tags <3

@minkieater my tace girl, i love you so much! i wouldn't be where i am without you! sisters4ever <3 you're my absolute best friend, going thru life with you is a blessing and i hope you never forget how special you are to me even when my anxiety makes me a big ol' meanie

@bangtanhoneys my lovey <3 you've been with me since i started this blog YEARS ago, i adore you and the friendship we share! i wrote most of vegas with your help.. couldnt have done it without you! <3

@hh0320 you've been with me a long time too, you'll always be a staple here on this blog, (a household name to tace and i) your talent amazes me, truly. you inspire me! everything you create has me absolutely gagged <3

@j-0ne25 i fell head over heels with your fics and never thought we'd ever be moots, you are celeb status to me, but here we are, i feel so so lucky <3

@chans-room we adhd gemini's found each other and i'm so thankful to know you and chat with you <3

@terry-tarte my heart and soul, the air i breathe, i love you and your mind and your crazy thoughts and your rambles!!! <3

@jeonginsleftcheek whenever your user pops up i smile. i have to get through your fucking masterlist and I WILL. <3

@bananayuyu we've met recently but i already adore you so much. you and tace share a beautiful friendship, so that means i'm gonna love you too naturally... your mind amazes me, your deep thoughts, your words... thank you for your support! <3

@lookitsjess we've been on tumblr together forever it seems, my heart always feels warm when i see you pop up <3

@lxveuntold MAX, we've been here together a long time too, and i can't tell you enough how much i adore you and how fun it's been to watch you create, and learn, and grow, and love your craft... you mean a lot to me! <3

@chwedout you in my notifs means its a good fucking day. i love when you're active, and your user makes me tweak. vernon lovers unite <333

if i missed anyone i'm going to scream and cry and throw myself onto the ground and roll around miserably. if we are moots just know that i love and appreciate you even if we don't talk everyday <3 you guys are my safe space, i love it here. <3

rb to tell ur mutuals ur fond of them

[chanranghaeys]

🎼 complementary wavelengths

Wouldn’t falling in love with your research partner compromise the integrity of the research study? You had no idea. But if that were the case, then you were in for some major trouble.

pairing: university professor!vernon x high school teacher!fem!reader word count: 2.8k+ genre: fluff for valentine’s day! rating: g tags: non-idol au, distant college friends to ???, first love :(, they both grew up!, we stan emotionally healthy MEN in here warnings: i claim no accuracy on the academic process because i am not a teacher and no accuracy on the mathematics and scientific concepts here because i am absolutely not a mathematician or a scientist

a/n: surprise lexi @heechwe, i’m your secret cupid! a huge thanks to jupiter @ddeonghwa-s for hosting this secret cupid valentine’s event! it took A WHILE for me to churn this out but we persist and bounce back to writing! a very very special thanks to kae @ylangelegy for beta reading! and to @svtreverie, @choitcherryanne, and k for being my forever hypegirls mwa mwa

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“So, Ms. Y/L/N, do you have a Valentine's date already?”

You roll your eyes for what must be the millionth time. “For the last time, this is grounds for unbecoming conduct, young lady.”

“I’m just saying!” Your student Sofia laughs. “You deserve to have a good Valentine’s Day this year.”

“Since when have you played matchmaker for me, Ms. Chwe?”

“Since we saw you crying in the school parking lot,” Sofia’s best friend Meena chimed in supportively. Come on, Ms. Y/L/N. You can’t expect us to sit around and do nothing.”

“Especially not for our favorite Maths teacher!”

You shake your head at these two high schoolers. You knew you couldn’t play favorites amongst your students, but these two and their stubbornly infectious energy sparked a little of your youth back in you. Plus, you really couldn’t blame them because they were right about that school parking lot incident.

It was after this brunch date went terribly wrong a few weeks ago. And while it was very unbecoming of a teacher for her students to find her squat and sobbing against her car, these two were like guardian angels that took you under their wings and brought you ice cream and were girl’s girls all the way—as if they weren’t almost a whole decade younger than you.

Since then, Sofia and Meena would secretly try to find you a potential Valentine’s date amongst teachers, guardians, single parents, older siblings, school staff, or anyone at this point. They were wholly invested—and not just because you were the best teacher they’ve ever had in their very subjective opinion.

From afar, you see a familiar figure leaning against his car, signature plain white tee with jeans underneath his selected outerwear of the day—this time, it was a black denim jacket with a matching Yankees cap.

You've noticed him for a while now, dropping by a few days a week. You've thought about approaching him several times as well, but you always stopped this impulse. However, today was different.

“Sofia, would you mind calling over your brother here for a second?”

“What is this about?” Sofia had her eyebrow raised. Despite her age, it was hard not to take her seriously given that you were both standing at the same height.

“You know what this is about. He told me that you gave him my email address.”

A look of understanding lit in Sofia’s eyes. “Ah, that thing. Yeah, gimme a second.”

Meena stayed behind to continue the line of questioning. “So what’s that thing?”

“It’s a post-grad thing of sorts. Don’t mind it, you have enough schoolwork on your head to be thinking about this.”

She just chuckled in return. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I remind you that Sofia’s brother is single, handsome, respectful, decent, and smart. You can see why I personally have a vested interest in this thing already.”

“Meena.”

She heard your tone shift and straightened herself. It was a subtle reminder that she was still your student and that you were still her teacher.

“I’m just stating facts,” she said with a shrug and a quieter tone.

Sofia’s distant voice calling out for her friend caught both of your attention. At the same time, you see the figure in black and white walking toward you in his confident and deliberate strides.

“I’ll go ahead Ms. Y/L/N. See you tomorrow! And good luck on the thing,” Meena said with a smile and a wave. When she passes the figure, she does a slight bow out of respect, which he reciprocates. This exchange quirks up the corner of your lips. You recall what Meena said earlier, and it prods at you with an irk of frustration.

It frustrates you that she’s right.

When he finally stood before you with a smile, a flood of memories came crashing back. Suddenly, you’re back on your college campus standing underneath your favorite tree, a girl in front of a boy.

“I got your email, Professor Chwe. It’s been a while.”

“It has been a while Ms. Y/L/N.”

You chuckle at your monikers. Who knew two scruffy college students would turn out to be respectful academicians? “Formalities aside, it’s so nice to hear from you again Vernon.”

“Likewise.”

“I see the teaching gig in university hasn’t changed your sense of casual style.”

Vernon looks you up and down in your sensible collared button-up and slacks ensemble. You completely ignore the growing flutters in your stomach. “I can see that this high school has changed yours.”

“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do. The kids actually like my sense of style, mind you.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed Sofia starting to wear blazers all of a sudden. I never thought that it’d be you I’d blame for that.”

You feel something in your chest, a sudden churn and an unexpected leap. As a teacher, you’ve mastered your emotions enough to mask your face into one that wouldn’t give everything away. But these primal emotions were almost too much to bear.

Is this what it really feels like to face your first love after so many years apart?

“Anyway,” you continue as a means to deflect before anything else gives away your true feelings. “You emailed me about your dissertation? You really didn’t give much away. And you know you could’ve just sent me a message.”

“Oh, yeah!” Vernon nods vigorously in emphasis of your statement. “I need someone good in applied mathematics.”

“And you need me for that because?”

He blinks at you. “Because you are good at applied mathematics. I want your help for my musicology dissertation.”

You let out a sigh of disbelief. “Vernon, I—”

“And don’t you dare say you’re not good,” he insists with his finger pointed at you. “I’ve read your research papers. I don’t even know why you stay teaching in high school. You could’ve been tenured by now. Or on a sabbatical like me.”

He’s read my research papers? So he’s been following my work? You shake your head to clear these unnecessary thoughts, which are immediately replaced by a sense of uncertainty. “I don’t know, I’m pretty busy these coming months…”

You really didn’t know why you were avoiding it. This was the perfect academic opportunity and you had no idea why you were avoiding it.

Okay, scratch that. You knew exactly why—because of him.

“No problem, we’ll be able to pace the progress. Besides,” he continued, “you’ve always been my study buddy. I know we’ll be really good partners for this one.”

With one sentence, he has almost reduced you to a blushing schoolgirl with a huge crush.

Oh wait, weren’t you one already?

But still, you couldn’t resist stoking the flame that had been sparked inside you. So you ask, “Why me? Were there no other worthy research partners in your esteemed university?”

“Nope. I choose you,” he answered with a lopsided smirk. “I think you’ll understand why when you hear what my dissertation is about.”

“What is it about?”

“Do you wanna go out for coffee?”

“What?”

“What?” Vernon said in more of a statement than a question.

“What does coffee have anything to do with this?”

“Unless you want to keep standing here with your students watching us, I think it’s better if we continue this discussion somewhere else.”

You peer over his shoulder to see Sofia and Meena watching the two of you from the car like hawks, ready to catch any significant interaction that might give away what you two were talking about. When you met their line of sight, they were ready to bring their phones up to feign their disinterest.

“There’s a cafe on the next street over. If you’d like to go there…”

“Nice,” he said cooly, his voice low and sure.

He lifted his phone to his ear. From your peripheral vision, you see his sister raise her own phone in response. It was almost comical how you could see their silent reactions from across the courtyard, with Meena vibrating with excitement and slapping the other girl’s arm as you hear Sofia’s voice trying to sound calm through the speaker of Vernon’s phone. You see them hurriedly lowering the car window and lifting their thumbs up toward your direction.

They seem to think they have finally succeeded. You wouldn’t give them that benefit yet.

When he hung up, Vernon addressed your confused look. “Sofia’s been annoying me about getting the car anyway, so they can have it. Let’s walk?”

It was silent at first. The early afternoon sun cooperated with the cool breeze, setting the atmosphere for a nice leisurely walk. Students and office workers were milling around the nearby commercial strip, with the sounds and conversations all mingling in the background.

It had been years since you last spent time together like this, in an environment not too different from this one. After your study sessions in the library, you two walked together to your shared classes, which by some stroke of luck always seemed to happen for at least one class every semester until you graduated.

You both hung in different circles. He hung around with his fellow music majors in band practices and the college’s musicians organization, while you spent the majority of your time with your mathematics batchmates in the library or the school quad, catching up on problem sets and homework before you needed to make it to your choir’s rehearsals at night.

But when you ended up as seatmates in your first semester, you made a comment on the Bach piece he was listening to, how Bach was actually a pretty mathematical composer. He asked you how you knew that.

You said, “I take mathematics. I needed a cool fun fact for introductions.”

From that moment on, Vernon took it upon himself to make you appreciate how mathematical Bach’s pieces were. Music became your common language amongst everything else in the background, and the rest was history.

“Okay,” you began, “You know that we haven’t really spoken to each other since graduation. So…why choose me? Not that I’m complaining, though! I’m just…shocked, I guess. And confused. Because if you’ve read my research, you’d know that it’s been years since I published anything.”

Throughout your rambling, Vernon simply looked at you. When you finally stop, you notice the clear brown of them looking straight into you. It had been years, but they were the same eyes that looked at you, that listened intently when you were explaining a complex math concept.

It had been years, but that almost unblinking gaze of his still made your heart do unexplainable leaps in your chest.

You broke away from the intensity of his gaze. He took this as a cue to answer your question. “I was looking for research papers to help me form my framework. Then I stumbled on your computations of metered wavelengths and frequencies, and their relation to different kinds of sound.”

That paper. “Oh.”

His lips turned up in the corners when he continued. “I suddenly remembered how we randomly theorized this during one of our study sessions. I couldn’t believe you actually turned it into your master's thesis.”

“You still remember that?”

“Of course. I never thought I’d find someone so in tune with me and my random theories.”

“If you’ve read the paper, you’ll know that it wasn’t a random theory at all. You might just have discovered the makings of a postulate as a college sophomore.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible without your mind making sense of it. You really are the brightest of your batch.”

You scoff at the remark. “We’re not in college anymore, Vernon. There are a lot of other bright minds out there.”

“None quite like yours, I’m sure.”

You reach the cafe and order in—a decaf iced americano for you, and a hot chocolate for him. As soon as you two get seated, he finally launches into an animated discussion of his dissertation topic about discovering the medical applications of using the various sound wavelengths from certain types and compositions of music to aid in both the operation and healing process of a person, with the goal of identifying a singular formula to determine the right wavelength for each medical situation. He had his medical experts, all he needed was his mathematician.

It was a lot to digest, to say the least.

But by the end of it all, you were in awe of both Vernon and his mind. He is smart. He’d always been smart, but it felt like the confines of university and immaturity bounded his full potential. Now that he’s seen and explored the world of academia, he was able to finally showcase how bright of a mind he really is.

“Can I tell you something?” You set down your coffee and leaned forward.

As if second nature, he mirrored your action to the tee. “Shoot.”

“I’m proud of you. Really. You used to be this mysteriously awkward guy in college who just played around with guitars and 808s. But I always knew you’d put that big brain of yours to good use.”

He opens his mouth as if in reply, but stops midway and just smiles and scrunches his nose. After a beat, he nods with a look of quiet decision. “Can I tell you something, then?” He asks, worrying his thumb with his other hand as he looks at you. You nod in response.

“It was you that inspired me to be this version of myself. Because you can’t only be smart, you also have to work hard. None of my friends back then had that mindset, then came you.”

“What are study buddies for, yeah?” You raise your fist in front of you. He looks at it and smiles his trademark gummy smile. In return, he bumps his own fist into yours, reminiscent of how you two would check in on each other during extended hours in the library finishing a project or a paper. A fist bump to make the heads bump, you two used to say.

Instead of lowering his fist after, he holds it there flush against yours. “Would it be weird for me to say that it’s honestly more than that?”

“What do you mean?”

He took in a deep breath and let out an exhale just as deep. “When I read your papers, I remembered everything we went through in uni and I just…kinda fell in love with your brain again, I guess. Even until now, you—and your work—inspired me to just do it. Then you started popping up everywhere in my life again and…I remembered how I did kinda fall in love with everything else about you. I was just too young and chicken to see it before.”

It took you a whole minute to find your voice again because how could he be this nonchalant? “You’re really just here dropping all these truth bombs without any warning, huh?”

“Like you said, we’re not in college anymore. I’d rather say it now than never.” Vernon’s smile is a shy one, hidden behind his hot chocolate cup. You can’t believe it took a dissertation paper for anyone’s feelings to be revealed—much less his.

As your mind reels with Vernon’s revelation, you scramble your brains to come up with a lighthearted retort. “So are you still kinda in love with me? Just so I know what and how we’re working on this project.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think you’re doing any better. Don’t think I don’t see you staring whenever I fetch Sofia from school.”

You gape at his reply. “How do you even know where to look for me?”

“You’re her last teacher of the day and you both leave the school at the same time. I told you. You just came barging into my life again unannounced, and it wasn’t even your fault. You just sort of…fell in there.”

A smug look took over your features, one you really couldn’t help after hearing all that he had to say. “Vernon Chwe, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were so down bad for me.”

“For that whip-smart brain and that adorable smile, maybe—theoretically—astronomically and catastrophically down bad even.”

You fight the heat rising to your cheeks—and fail. After a cough to hide your growing embarrassment, you say, “I think we’re done for the day.”

“Sure. So. Same time tomorrow?”

You were about to answer when you suddenly realized, “Vernon, it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow. Don’t you have any other plans?”

He shakes his head and looks you straight in the eye as he says, “Just you. If you say yes.”

Wouldn’t falling further in love with your research partner compromise the integrity of the study? You had no idea. But if that were the case, then you were in for some major trouble.

[calebsmoocher]

Asking them to go check on a strange noise

It’s movie night and they’re all snuggled up under the blankets…until she hears a weird noise. “Babe, wtf was that? Can you go check?”

Written for Caleb, Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, and Rafayel

Word count: ~1K for each lead

cw: lots of...kissing, I don’t know if I’d genre it as horror; I tried my best to make it scary, but it’s also just straight crack.

A/N: I saw this tiktok and have been laughing ever since imagining how the boys would react to MC asking them to check on a strange noise, and they’re met with that. Fair warning, I have included the scary pictures from the filter. So…no freaking out (they're not that bad). I had so so much fun writing this, i was fucking shitting my pants laughing. Anyway, here’s da link to the tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@...twill/video/7469968509217312043?_r=1&_t=ZS-8tqutQlM2cB

Caleb

“Caleb, did you hear that?” 

He cocks his head towards her, taking his eyes off the laptop between them. “Hmm? Hear what?” She furrows her brows, pausing the movie and sitting up much to his dismay. He’s still lying down, empty arms gesturing for her to come back. But she stays still, hunching over like it would help her hear better. Then she hears it again. 

A sharp grating noise, like nails being dragged across a chalkboard.

“That!”

Caleb sits up now, brows creased. “Okay, I heard that…” he says cautiously. He waits for it to sound again, but there is only silence. “Maybe it’s the saucepans moving around. We used a lot of pans for dinner.” She shakes her head, lips pulled taut. That was no saucepan.

Creeeek. 

She jumps, clutching at his bicep. “Babe, go check.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” He goes to wrap an arm around her, flashing her a smile, but she slaps his arm away.

“I’m serious, Caleb. Please, can you go check?” Well, how can he say no to that pout? He rolls his eyes, pulling the blanket off of him and hauling himself up.

“Okay, okay.” He saunters over to the door. He turns the door knob and opens it confidently. “Be back in a second, pipsqueak. Don’t play it without me.” He leaves the door ajar as he leaves and she watches as the darkness engulfs him. 

Her breaths are uneasy. He’s been gone for at least two minutes. What was taking him so long!? She slides her legs out from under the blankets and shuts the laptop. The whole time he had been gone, she had heard nothing. She pushes herself up and waddles to the door, gripping the wall tightly.

“Caleb!?” she whispers into the darkness. 

Nothing.

She sucks in a deep breath, holding her fists out in front of her as she takes a tentative step into the hallway. “Caleb!” she tries again. She can hear her own heartbeat pounding in her chest. It’s thrumming in her ears. Every breath she’s taking is like a shrill drag in the silence of her house. She can feel something behind her. Eyes peering at her that she can’t see even when she looks over her shoulder shakily. No, no, there’s nothing there! She makes it to the end of the hallway before trying to call for him again, wetting her lips before parting her lips. But a weight crashes into her, enclosing around her chest like a vice.

“RAHH!”

She screams, thrashing in his arms. Caleb can barely hold in his laugh as he pulls her closer to calm her down.

“Caleb!” She kicks out at his shins and he yelps. “Fuck you! Seriously!?” His whine struggles into an open laugh. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice is still breathless from laughing. He presses kisses into her hair, stroking her arms. He feels her frantic pulse through his palms, and it compels him to leave more guilty kisses all over her. 

“You are not sorry.”

“I am. I am,” he reassures her. He kisses at the juncture of her neck, his hair tickling her cheek.

“Okay, enough. Seriously.” She tries to wriggle in his grasp, guiding them back towards her room to no avail. He only hugs her tighter. He loves holding her like this, her scent flooding his senses. Her warmth, although no match for his, soothing his palms. His biceps. His chest. He feels a warmth fan at his nape. And he smiles even wider into her nape.

Wait.

A chill runs down his spine. Who the fuck is behind him? He whips his head around and is met with a chalky face gleaming down at him. Its lips are bloodied and spread into what he can only describe as a carnivorous smile. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Caleb throws her forward away from the snarling beast behind him, maneuvering his body quickly to face it. The girl frowns before she screams, eyes latching onto the monster towering over them. Its eyes are a cloudy blue, bulging at its sockets. And its eyebrows are thin and sharp. Her throat is hoarse from that singular scream and she latches onto the back of Caleb’s shirt, boxing her shoulders in. 

Caleb punches it square in the face, bouncing his weight back and forth as adrenaline pumps through him. The monster recoils with a snarl. Its lips quiver before it lurches forward towards them. The girl screams, squeezing her eyes shut. She hears him land another punch. And she hears the monster squeal in pain. Caleb is panting hard, pupils blown as he holds his fists close to his face. 

“What the fuck,” he rasps before slamming his fist into its jaw, “is this!?” The monster lets out an angered shriek before backing up, bracing itself. Fuck-

“It’s gonna charge at us!” Caleb throws his arm back at her, pushing her further down the hallway. “Get back!” She scrambles backwards, hands still gripping his shirt tightly. He turns to run, arms out to sweep her. But as he moves, their legs tangle and they’re both sent crashing into the floor. 

The monster is snapping at Caleb’s legs despite his barefoot attempts at clocking it in its jaw again. His palms haul his weight down the hallway in escape. 

“Oh my god!” The girl screams. Scrambling to her knees, she hurls a nearby book at it. It barely hits its head. She throws a vase. An odd shoe. Anything her hands can latch onto. The monster snarls up at her, puss and blood dripping from its mouth and onto the wood.

“What are you doing!?” Caleb screeches at her. He almost loses his toes. “You’re making it worse!”

Tears blur her vision. She doesn’t stop launching objects at it. One even hits the top of Caleb’s head. “Well what the fuck am I supposed to do!? It’s trying to eat you!”

Caleb thrusts his palms out and an invisible force pins the monster down. It flails and struggles, teeth snapping at the air. Arms snatching and clawing just shy of Caleb’s legs. She sees him visibly sigh, throwing his head back at her.

“Shit, get your gun.”

The girl gapes, wobbling to her feet. “What!?”

“What do you mean ‘what’!? We have to get rid of this shit!”

She shakes her head. “I don’t have it here! I left it at the association!” He throws his head even farther back before wrapping his spare arm around her and tugging her against his chest.

“Caleb, what-” His hand covers her eyes and he breathes into her ear.

“Just…close your eyes for me. Cover your ears too, if  you can.” She does as he says, shaky hands pressing over her ears.

Despite it, she hears the unforgiving squelch and crackle of bones crushing. Of the floorboards breaking and the wood snapping. Of fluids spurting out and smacking against the walls. Her breath hitches in her throat as she feels the splatter of hot fluid on her legs. 

When it’s all over, Caleb one handedly scoops her into his hold, his other arm still over her eyes. When he finally removes it, she’s seated on the kitchen counter, his arms on either side of her legs. He grabs a cloth and begins wiping the blood off her leg, offering her a small, hesitant smile.

Zayne

She digs her face deeper into Zayne’s chest and he presses a kiss to her forehead. There’s a dip in the audio of the movie playing from her laptop as the characters creep along the walls of the haunted house. She grips onto Zayne’s  forearm, lifting it to semi cover her eyes, eliciting a soft laugh from him. Truthfully, he was no better at horror movies than her. Cautiously, he lowers his face into her hair, using the top of her head as a shield. And he prays she won’t notice. 

“Doctor Zayne, are you scared?” Of course she would notice. He breathes into her hair with a chuckle. “You’re cool and collected on the operating table, but a cheap jumpscare is enough to unsettle you?” Her voice is barely above a whisper as she teases him. Despite being so tense herself, she insists on teasing him.

“I admit, horror movies are not something I usually watch. On the operating table, at least I have the security of anesthesia to prevent my patients from jumping out at me.” He kisses her hair, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “As a hunter, you must have a lot of experience with scary monsters. Does this mean I should entrust myself in your care?”

She rolls her eyes, leaning into him as their attention returns to the movie. She can almost taste the jumpscare about to happen. The characters on the screen wear fearful expressions as the camera zooms in on their shaky lips. The camera pans around them, setting up for the appearance of the monster behind them. But as the screen moves she hears a stretching noise, like the expanding of elastic, followed by the rip of tape. But it sounds right outside her door. She immediately flings out her hand to pause the movie, looking back at Zayne.

“Did you just hear that?”

It sounds again. Exactly like a balloon inflating. The crinkle of latex. The heavy breath of air like someone exhausted.

“Are you sure it didn’t come from your laptop?” She shoves the laptop so he can see it better. 

“It’s paused!” She sits up, removing the quilt. “It came from out there.” She points a shaky finger to her closed door. She turns, shooting him a pleading look.

“Can you go check?”

He rubs his neck, letting out a humourless laugh. “Maybe a light’s blown. Do you really want me to go have a look?”

“Yes,” she whines. “What I said before…I was kidding. Please.”

He gives in, kissing her once more on her forehead. “Okay, I’ll have a look. Don’t worry so much; it’s most likely nothing.”

Just as he wraps his fingers around the door knob the strange noise sounds again. Zayne halts and she slides to the edge of the bed, slowly getting to her feet. She stands a good two metres behind him, hands over her heart. He offers her a reassuring smile, twisting the handle down and letting the door creak open. The hallway is pitch black besides the trickle of light from her bedroom. 

He pauses. It’s silent for all but three seconds until the horrid stretching noise echoes down the hall. It’s quieter this time. She sees Zayne visibly swallow before peering out to the left. He stays there for a few seconds before turning back to her. One foot still in her room while the rest of his body is engulfed in the darkness.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I didn’t see anything.” She creeps closer, sighing out before lowering her hands from her chest. 

“I’m sorry, I was being silly. It was probably my neighbours.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He ruffles her hair. “Would you be more comfortable if I closed to door-”

As he speaks, the sound interrupts him and she sees a pale, white monster rise behind him.

“Zayne!” The man whips around. As he throws himself back into the door, it flings open fully, revealing the monster in its entirety. It has a small, smiling face upon a balloon-like body. Inflated and looming over them. Its head nearly touches the roof yet its feet are planted on the floor, engulfed in its huge body. 

“Oh what the fuck !!” Zayne’s voice is a struggle between his usual, even tone and surprise. He spins his body around properly, taking a protective stance in front of her. A pointed ice shard fires towards the monster before breaking against the wall besides its head. 

He shoots another but it misses the monster by a mile. He pushes up his glasses before wiping the back of his hand over his upper lip. A ring of icicles circles his wrist, rotating like arrows ready for release. He fires one more but it shatters on impact against the beast’s chest.

“Zayne! What are you doing!?” He lets out an exasperated gasp. Almost like he’s holding back a laugh. She was right. 

“Oh my god. What am I doing?” he thinks. He manages to compose himself momentarily, gripping the door and shutting it before the monster can close in on them. He crashes his back against the wood, facing her with his mouth agape.

He rubs his palms down his face, exhaling shakily. “I’m sorry,” he apologises immediately. The girl struggles to her knees, hands covering her mouth as she laughs. She was this close to pissing her pants. In both fear and from how incredibly, mortifyingly funny the situation was. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologises again but she only waves her hand through her laughs. “That caught me off guard.” Another burst of laughter. Oh Zayne. “Okay, I’m going to open it again. Are you ready?”

Wait what?

She stops laughing, eyes widening. “What? Noo!” Before she can protest further, he’s already turning the handle and she has to hurl herself up on her feet. When the door opens again, the monster is still there. It’s smile hasn’t moved. And its wide, unblinking eyes look directly at her. Zayne directs his arms outwards as a blinding flash of aqua lights up the hallway. She feels the sudden chill wrap around her as the room’s temperature drops. The monster is frozen away in its personal ice prison. Its creepy smile immortalised in the doorway of her bedroom.

Zayne sighs, pushing his glasses up again. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. Her laugh returns to her, though it is more in relief than anything. “What are we going to do with it?” She asks. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair before kneeling at her bed and dragging her laptop towards them. The screen had gone to sleep in the chaos.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Surely there must be reports of it.” He clicks the keyboard to wake the laptop up, but in doing so he resumes the movie. The bloodied face of a clown lunges towards him, a shrill scream blaring out from the laptop’s speakers.

“FUCK!”

He slams the laptop shut before burying his face in his hands. Oh Zayne.

Sylus

She had managed to convince Sylus to join her for a movie night in her cramped Linkon apartment, the two of them barely fitting on her bed. His arm is wrapped loosely around her shoulder, not wanting to smother her. Unfortunately, her laptop had lost charge, so their movie night was on its last legs; the two of them peering down at her phone screen. He didn’t mind, though. To be honest, he wasn’t even paying attention. His eyes watching her reflection when the screen would go dark. 

“Sylus, you’re squinting,” she laughs in his face. “You old man!” Sylus can only groan, rubbing at his temple as he opts for just shutting his eyes and resting his head on top of hers. 

“If you’re going to insist on us watching movies like this, at least let me upgrade your phone.”

“No way. My phone hasn’t failed me once in the seven years I’ve had it.”

“Sweetie, It’s definitely outdated.” She pauses the movie, maneuvering herself on top of him.

“Are you free tomorrow?” 

He cradles her jaw, kissing her nose. “Are you asking me out on a date? What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s go to the optometrist.” He groans, pushing her away playfully. “It’ll be so much fun. We’ll get your eyes checked. And I’ll help you pick out some new glasses.”

“You’re killing me, kitten.” She giggles, swatting his hands away and giving him a kiss. Her thumbs brush away the hairs in his eyes, tracing along his eyelids up to the arch of his brows. 

Crash.

She halts, and he supports her weight, gripping her waist. They both look at the door then back at each other.

“What was that?” She asks. He sighs, beginning to soothe the back of his knuckles down her sides.

“It was probably Mephisto.” The girl narrows her eyes.

“I thought you said Mephisto was out keeping tabs in the N109 zone.” Now it’s Sylus’ turn to pause. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Did I say that?” he asks genuinely. She nods.

“Yes, you did.” They hear another clutter, like plates knocking against each other. She leans back onto her ankles, tugging him forward. “Sylus, can you go check?” She puts on her best pout.

“What, are you scared?” His voice is slow and even, taunting even as he pushes forward to the edge of the bed anyway. “Between us, wouldn’t you say you have more experience as a hunter dealing with situations like this?”

“Sylus,” she whines. She follows behind to the door, comforted by the way his broad back fully blocks her view. He twists the handle and the door opens with a squeal. He shoots her a crooked smile over his shoulder before heading down the hallway. 

She sighs out, crossing her arms in the warm light of her bedroom. She can hear his footsteps quieten as they get further away. After a moment, she hears them fade back into focus and he stands at the doorway.

“There’s nothing. Come see for yourself.” He offers her his hand and she hesitantly slides her palm into his. She walks out into the corridor, putting one tentative foot in front of the other. It’s not that she didn’t trust Sylus, but she had heard something moving in her kitchen. She feels the thump of her heart beat against her chest as she braces herself along the wall. Turning a blind corner like this always made her cringe into herself.

“Boo.”

She jumps, her shoulder hitting his jaw and eliciting a painful ‘tch’. Despite the fact that she was still holding his hand and she knew he was right behind her, her nerves were still set alight.

“Sylus!” He rubs at his chin, laughing into the darkness.

“I can’t help it. It’s cute when you’re all worked up like-” Her eyes latch onto a face in the darkness, pale and long. Oh, now she is definitely freaking out. She yelps, throwing Sylus in front of her. His arms jerk out to balance himself before he looks up.

The face is bulbous in shape, and its tethered by a long, thick string where its neck should’ve been. Its mouth is agape and stretched unnaturally lengthwise. Suddenly, the face descends down towards them, a ghastly sound leaving its mouth.

“Oh shit!” He punches it reflexively. He blindly reaches behind him, pushing her further back. Red rings conjure around his wrists as he takes a protective stance. The head jerks back upon the impact and takes a second to balance itself before descending again. It’s slow in its motions. Almost dumb-looking. Sylus sends a whip of energy towards it, but it only fades through the monster’s face. He tries again. Nothing.

Sylus cocks his head. “Okay, what the hell.” Without a second thought he shakes away the energy links and moves towards the head. He wraps his hand around the slimy string and pulls it down before sending his fist straight into its face. She hears it whine in pain, a breathy hollow sound as its face begins to lose shape. Sylus furrows his brow, letting go of the string and shaking the fluids off his hand. The monster just floats there, its expression having not changed. 

When it rushes down towards him again, he lets it. And yet as it closes in on him, it doesn’t harm him. Only circles and inspects him. Its eyes move to the girl, giving a tentative swish before floating towards her. She holds her head back, breath shaky and arms ready to throw a punch if necessary. It doesn’t seem to want to harm them. But it’s still this unknown, hideous creature in her fucking kitchen.

One look at Sylus is all it takes. One look that conveys ‘I don’t want this shit in my fucking house’. Sylus has taken on a relaxed posture, hands in his pockets. He throws a kick at the face, slamming it into the wall. He doesn’t let it get back up, using his legs to knock it down into the ground. Through its whines she almost feels sorry for it. One last kick and the face deflates completely, like a balloon released. He grinds it into the floor with the toe of his shoe. And just to be sure it’s really gone, he gives the shrivelled face a couple of nudges.

The girl breaths out, smoothing down her hair in relief. “What the fuck…” she sighs out. He matches her gaze before moving towards her and giving her a reassuring pat. “You told me nothing was there. How did you miss that!?”

He can’t even laugh, instead settling for a grimace. “I’m sorry, kitten. Truthfully, I have no idea where that came from.”

“We seriously need to get your eyes checked. I’m booking the appointment right now.”

Xavier

It’s a rare chance of divine, cosmic intervention wherein both she and Xavier had coinciding days off. They had spent the day out, window shopping then trying every second restaurant they saw. Now, she’s snuggled up with him in her bed, watching a nature documentary: a Symphony of Life. Her fingers play with his hands, tracing around his knuckles. The veins that protrude at the back. The heft of his wrist as she turns it over. 

“You seem awfully interested in this documentary.”

She breathes out through her nose quickly, not bothering to look up from his hands. “What can I say? Butterflies are my favourite insect.” She feels him press a kiss into her hairline. 

“Yeah, I think we moved on from butterflies about thirty minutes ago.” He rolls onto his side, pushing the laptop to the side before settling his knee between her legs. His hand slips from hers and she finds them wrapping around his biceps as he leans over her. 

“You’ve got the energy to keep this up?” She asks, smiling up at him. “I thought for sure the hot pot we had for dinner would’ve put you to sleep immediately.” He smiles sheepishly at her, planting a kiss on her cheek. 

“What am I going to do tomorrow while you’re off with another squad, traversing the disassociation area?”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.” 

He kisses down her neck, nipping lightly at the skin. “I guess we’ll just have to make the most of tonight.” Her hands travel down to the hem of his sweatshirt, sneaking her palms over his stomach. He breathes out over her, grabbing her wrist.

“How did your hands get so cold so fast?”

She laughed into him, sliding the fabric up further. “Xavier, I think you might just run really warm.”

Scraaatch.

Her hands freeze much to his dismay, and she leans back.

“Did you hear that?”

He kisses the corner of her lip. “Yeah, I heard that.” The awful creaking noise sounds again. She sits up forcefully, knocking him back. He rolls onto his back with a groan, arms reaching blindly to grope at her.

“There it is again!” She climbs over him, looking around her room. 

His head follows her as she paces around, shuffling things on her desk. “I don’t think it came from in here, baby.” His arms are splayed out on her bed, and his eyelids are starting to droop.

“I know. I’m looking for my gun.” This wakes him up a bit.

“Why would you need your gun?” His laugh is soft. He struggles to sit himself up, stifling a yawn. 

“Xavier, I am like ninety percent sure there is something in my house right now.” She brushes her hair behind her ears, sucking in a few deep breaths. “Xavier, won’t you check?”

He blinks at her but gets up nonetheless. He stops her frantic pacing, twisting the door handle. Before he steps out, he gestures for her to follow him. “Won’t you come with me, partner?” She swallows and nods. They are hunters after all. In the eerie hallway, there’s nothing but the light shining from her room. That’s what she got for trying to save on her electricity bill. They step out together, shuffling down. 

She hears the achy scratching noise again, like the cry of a door hinge mixed with the squeal of nails across a chalkboard. 

“Are you scared?” Comes Xavier’s voice in the dark, she can see him faintly beside her as her eyes adjust to the dark. “Do you want me to hold your hand?” Her chest is pounding with resounding thumps that she is sure he can hear. Nevertheless, she inhales sharply and shakes her head.

“No, I’m not scared.” Maybe she says this in an attempt to calm herself, because there is undoubtedly something in her house. And she prays that it’s an animal of some sort. Preferably a neighbour’s cat. Or maybe a bird. A squirrel maybe? But she can’t fathom how an animal could get into her third floor apartment.

“Really? Then, can you hold my hand?” She looks back at him and his smug smile comes into focus. She rolls her eyes before sliding her hand into his, their fingers interlocking. 

“Do you feel better now?”

He brings the back of her hand up to his lips, planting a kiss. “Much better.”

They step into the living room, backs turned slightly into each other. She listens out for the creaking sound again. It’s faint but constant; and she can’t exactly pinpoint where it’s coming from. 

“Hey,” Xavier’s whisper brings her attention to his finger, pointed at the closed laundry door. She hesitates to take the next step forward so Xavier does it for her. He holds out a protective hand in front of them, as he walks towards the door. The scratches are intermittent now. Gnarly and mean. That’s no neighbour’s cat. Just as his hand wraps around the door knob, it bursts open almost knocking him back.

A creature shrouded in darkness emerges, claw marks etched into the wood of the door. Though her eyes had already adjusted to the dark, she could not make out the features of this monster. Almost like light did not reflect off of it. It was pure darkness with the exception of its glowing, white eyes. 

“AHH.” Xavier screams first, stumbling back into her. Her own scream is shrill and interrupted by a fearful hiccup. What the hell is that? The creature moves sporadically, its arms and elongated fingers digging frantically into the wood. It lurches forward, breaking into a sprint towards them. It doesn’t help that they’re within arms distance of it, either. 

“Holy fuck. I’m too tired for this shit.”

“Xavier!” Her voice snaps him out of his fear induced daze and he scoops her up, throwing himself back through the house. The creature scuttles after them, its footsteps heavy and shaking the walls of her apartment.

Once she finds her feet, she leads him towards the entrance. She isn’t even sure if they’ll be able to outrun the motherfucker. They’re backed up against her front door as she’s frantically shoving the wrong keys into the keyhole. 

“Xavier! Do something!” She cries. His body covers her and he wipes his brow, looking around hysterically. 

“Yeah, fuck, hold on.” He throws his palm out and encloses it around the air before the creature. A flash of golden light surges through her apartment, forcing her to shut her eyes. When she can open them again, she sees the hilt of his sword wrapped tightly in his hand. He drags his index and middle fingers up the blade and a rune of light projects forward. 

The creature is livid now, arms enclosing around them. He feels its inky coldness surround him. Can feel it cut into his cheek. But he’ll be damned if he lets it touch her. 

“Comet trail.” A projection of his sword slams into the creature and the apartment goes white around her. She feels the rumble of the ground beneath her and is swept off her feet. 

When she comes to, she sees the broken headboard of a bed on her dining table. Then the total obliteration of her ceiling. She recognises Xavier’s belongings: like his lamp, his full-body mirror (now shattered), his kettle, even parts of his fucking couch, blown to bits and scattered around her barely recognisable apartment. What. The. Fuck. In his endeavour to take down the creature, he had also annihilated half the complex. At least his own apartment--right above hers--incurred the most damage. How was she not dead, was the more pressing question. She has her answer when a hand helps her to her feet.

“Sorry about your…”

“Xavier, what the fuck.” She watches him tiptoe around the rubble that was her home. There is a stain of pure darkness where he had exorcised the creature. He kicks the debris around it, squatting to inspect it closer.

“That’s a shame. I thought at the very least it would drop a protocore.”

“That was no wanderer.”

Rafayel

The girl reaches up behind her, playing with the out of place strands of Rafayel’s hair. He feigns a frown, swatting at her fingers. 

“You’re blocking the screen, cutie.”

“Hmm?” She hums, reaching again and poking at his cheeks. She’s lying on his chest, head tucked under his chin as an old movie plays on her laptop. 

“This is my favourite part.” 

Her mouth falls open and she rolls onto her side. “Hey, you said you hadn’t seen this movie before!”

He turns her face towards the screen by her jaw, locking her in place with a tight hug. 

“Whaaat? I don’t remember saying that.”

“Rafayel, you liar.” She tries swatting at his face in her cramped position but he quickly stifles it.

“How else would I get you so eager to have a movie night with me? You’re always turning me down.” Now it’s her turn to scoff.

“I do not.” He ‘yeah yeahs’ over her, pressing soft kisses into her hair to get her to quieten down. As they settle back into the movie, there are sounds of footsteps outside her door. She shifts uncomfortably peering up to see if he has any visible reaction. He only looks down at her with a smile and leaves a kiss on her nose. Then she hears it again. They’re quick, scurried footsteps. Okay, now she has to sit up.

“Rafayel, I hear something.”

“What is it, cutie?” She pauses the movie, turning to face him fully with a serious expression. He recognises this and cups her cheek, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“Listen…” she holds her finger up. Sure enough, the footsteps sound again. Like something walking up and down the hall, stopping right outside the door, then going away again. His expression hardens to match hers.

“Scaaary.” 

“I’m not hearing things, right? Babe, can you go check on it?” He gapes at her.

“You want to send me out there?” She can’t tell if he’s pretending to be scared or not, the way his heart is beating so evenly despite the fact there was something outside her bedroom door. But her confusion dissolves as she sees him slide off the bed and walk casually to the door.

“Miss bodyguard, don’t you think you ought to be coming with me?” She rolls her eyes with a huff, getting off the bed. She wasn’t usually this jumpy when she heard strange things. She was never this jumpy on the job, in fact. “If there is someone in your apartment, we’ll have a better chance taking them out together.”

He takes her hand in his before opening the door. He looks left and right before stepping out first. The hallway is pitch black and the light switch is all the way on the other side. He shoots her a reassuring smile, snapping his fingers and lighting a pink flame between them. Its light can only go so far, though. They walk down the hallway reaching the end and entering her living room. 

“Don’t worry, cutie. See? There’s no one here.” It’s true, she can’t hear the footsteps anymore. Maybe their ears were playing tricks on them. 

As he turns them around to go back up the hallway, his flame extinguishes and the smoke carries off menacingly in a gust of wind. She feels her heart drop. Wind? In her third floor apartment? In a hallway with no windows?

“Rafayel, did you…”

He’s quick to reassure her, even though his brows are now knitted and his heart is beating a little faster. “It’s okay. It’s nothing.” Before he can take another step forward, something emerges out of the door in front of them. It turns its head to look at them. Rafayel yells, backing up immediately.

“GET DOWN!”

The figure takes on the appearance of a woman, but as its face comes into focus its mouth is wide open and stretched inhumanely wide. Darkness enshrouds its pale, hollow eyes. It’s a ghost. It has to be a ghost. With a real, physical body. A real, physical body that is coming towards them. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!” He pushes her blindly, in an attempt to get her behind him, but instead she’s launched into the wall. “WHAT THE FUCK!” Rafayel stumbles backwards, despite the ghost’s advances. It has a gnarly shriek, like its crying out. She almost wants to cringe from how harsh it is against her ear drums, but there’s no time. The adrenaline forces her to her feet.

She can feel sweat break out under her arms. On her brow. All over her body. She braces her fists, wrapping them tightly before sending it flying at the entity. It screams in its recoil, so loud she swore it shook the house. It’s head jerks back with a resounding crack. But it refolds itself with that same menacing crack, unfazed. Its arms are clasped together in front of it. It looks almost scared of her, but she dismisses the thought.

“Oh my God, don’t touch my girl!” Rafayel throws a punch at it, sending it back into the wall with another crack. He’s frantic, bouncing his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet. His head turns to look at her. “Shit! Hold my jacket!” He tears the fabric from him, handing it to her before returning to his defensive position. The girl grabs it on instinct, but her brows are furrowed. 

The ghost clambers to its feet. Its hands are now braced against the wall, supporting itself. She doesn’t know what to feel, torn between the fear pumping through her and the churning of gears in her head that insist that what she’s seeing doesn’t line up. Rafayel advances on it, pulling his hand and threatening a punch. She watches the creature cower back, boxing its shoulders in.

“Rafayel, wait!” He doesn’t listen to her, landing the punch and sending it into the ground. She runs up to him, wrapping her arms around his flexed bicep and pulling him back. “Wait! Just wait a second.” His breaths are heavy and ragged. She can see his wrists shaking as they cool down. They watch as the ghost staggers to its feet again. It almost turns away, taking aimless steps in the hallway.

“I think it’s more scared of us than we are of it,” she says. Rafayel sucks in a breath, rubbing the sides of his mouth. He realises it too, lowering his swollen fists. The creature’s cries are broken now. He takes a step towards it and it flinches. It makes him cock his head.

“Fucks sake. Well…” he rubs his temple, suddenly feeling guilty, “what do I do now? Take it outside?”

“Huh!?” 

“Do you have a better idea? I’m all ears.” Rafayel’s voice is rasped. Honestly, she’s stumped.

“Okay, that sounds like a good idea.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I mean, should I call anyone?”

“You’re the hunter here, Miss bodyguard.” Right. He’s right. She turns the hallway light on, instantly eradicating anything scary left about the situation. Now, there’s just a ghost in her hallway, whining pathetically from having endured getting suckerpunched three times. 

“Right, well, can you get it to the front door? Then we can deal with it outside.” 

He shot her an incredulous look. “I’m not touching it. Do you have a walking stick or something?”

She leaned a hand on her hip. “Now, really, why would I have that?”

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Thirty Seven)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Thirty Seven: Y/N and Cillian start their Christmas morning early, and it's clear Cillian had a lot on his mind. But after an affirming chat, and calling his family, Y/N can see he's secure again. [Anxiety/Fluff/Emotional]

@meadowshelby @strangeions @borntodiemp3 @lavender-haze-01 @watermeezer @cherry-cilly @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme

Leabh - Irish word/endearment for baby/small child. You all wanted Cillian saying more Irish words, so here you go!

-------------

You wake up to Cillian pushing himself insistently up behind you, rutting against your pyjama clad backside with a half-mast erection. Half asleep, you reach back your right hand and cup your hand over his hip, assisting his movements. “Hmm, Merry Christmas to you, too” you sigh, “Is that my Christmas present? Only… I think you gave me that last night.” His lips are pressing gentle kisses into the nape of your neck. 

“You get more than one,” he grumbles against your skin. Then he moves his head, and places his chin gently onto your shoulder. “Merry Christmas, mo ghrá.” he says quietly. 

You smile and turn your head, craning your neck, to see his face but he's so close to you he's blurry! “Maybe I should give you your Christmas present?” You say, turning over in the bed. Untangling your limbs, your reach beneath the duvet and cup around the shape of him over his pyjamas bottoms. “Question is, what do you want?” You ask, slowly moving your hand up and down. “Cause I've got two hands, and I've got one mouth…” you feel him twitch against your palm. “...and of course there's the other thing…” He grumbles deep in his throat and pushes his mouth hard down against yours, rutting his hips against your touch. You giggle into the kiss as his horny reaction, but boy do you like this wake-up call. 

Within moments he's pawing at your pyjamas, desperate to free your body from them. In a flurry of limbs and movements, you both disrobe. He inserts himself between your knees, hands planted into the mattress by your shoulders, and looks down at you with a sleepy-lidded smile. “Hello,” he smirks, and you giggle a little. He looks a little pale, but for a blush to his cheeks and neck, and it seems to make every freckle stand out more. 

“Hello,” you say back, raising your eyebrows. He shifts a little, bends to kiss you softly, then rises back up without the smile from before. You frown. “What's up?” You reach up your right hand and push your fingers through his tousled hair. He drops his head for a moment then moves again, shifting himself from above you, and drops back down onto the mattress beside you once again, drawing the duvet up to his middle. You frown as you turn over onto your side to face him. “Cill?” 

“Sorry,” he rolls his eyes as he stares above him. 

Realisation sets in and you bite your bottom lip in a shred of sympathy for him. “It's fine…it - it doesn't matter.” You reach out your hand and rest it against the centre of his chest, running your fingers along the light smattering of chest hair. He places his hand over yours. “Don't disappear inside your head now. Cillian, it doesn't matter. Maybe that one just wasn't for me,” you say, hoping it sounds like a nonchalant passing. When he smirks, you hope it's in acceptance. 

He sighs and turns his head on the pillow, rolling his eyes again as he faces you. “You're hornier than I am and you're not bothered.” He smirks, but you can see he still feels a little jilted by his own body. 

“To be honest, Love, I feel a bit sickly anyway. Would have ruined the mood entirely if I threw up on you during.” You turn down the corners of your mouth and laugh a little. It's not entirely true - there's nausea there, but it's negligible - but you can see when he smiles a little brighter than it has made him feel better. “C’mon, throw your jammies back on and we'll go and get coffee, and you can make breakfast.” 

“Oh, can I?” He laughs lightly. “It's Christmas, is it not my day off?” 

“I'm pregnant, I couldn't possibly.” You laugh. 

“Here, missus, if you're gonna be using that excuse for the next few months, I'm fit to be moving out.” Cillian laughs as he sits up on the side of the bed. He hastily pulls his pyjamas back on and stands up, stretching his body tightly. Dropping his arms, he turns to face you. “C’mon then, Christmas Day breakfast.” He nods towards the bedroom door. He's brightened up, thankfully, and you know the slight change in his earlier intentions is pushed aside. 

It's only when you land downstairs and catch sight of the clock above the cooker that you realise it's still early, not having even reached eight am. You had followed Cillian down, but he had been ahead by a moment or two, and you can't immediately see him as you approach the kitchen island, but it takes only a second to see him shivering right outside the back door with a cigarette between his lips. You sigh and take the kettle to the sink to fill it, a little pang of bother than he didn't at least do that before he went outside. You carry the kettle back in both hands and set it onto the base to boil. Mugs and coffee press at the ready, you scoop ground coffee into the press generously and then turn and lean against the counter. Folding your arms under your bust, you stare out at the doors and Cillian pacing a little in the still dark garden, illuminated only by the kitchen light filtering out. You smile when he turns, spotting you through the doors, and pushes a doughy-cheeked smile to his face. He tosses the cigarette butt aside, blows his lungful of smoke above him, and pulls open the door. 

“It's fecking freezing!” He gasps, pushing the door quickly closed. He stands on the mat at the door and shudders his entire body. “Think I lost me balls as well.” He teases himself and you can't help smirking. 

You open out your arms, “Come here - I’ll hug you warm.” with his shoulders hitched up under his ears, he walks over slowly and gratefully accepts your offered cuddle. He is cold! You run your hands up and down his back as he squeezes his arms around you. You sigh as he hugs tighter. “Hmm, better?” 

“Yeah, much better.” He mumbles near your ear. He taps his hands lightly against your back and you take the cue to let go. He grabs the kettle as it boils and fills the coffee press, and you linger beside him just happy in his space. 

“One Christmas,” you begin, “I was about six. I got this baby doll, and a pram.” You smile, and he turns his head to smile at you, listening as you speak. “And it had moveable limbs, and the pram was white with blue details. It was clearly second hand, now that I think back on it as an adult, but I was so delighted by this pram. A week after Christmas it was stolen outside the front of our house - I was playing and I'd left it out there when I went inside for a minute. They took my pram, the doll, and this old handbag of my mother's she'd let me keep.” You raise your eyebrows and wrinkle your nose. “I cried for days.” You laugh at yourself. 

“Moral of the story is don't leave your baby in the front garden?” Cillian teases. “No, I'm only messing. Did you write to Santy the next Christmas for a replacement?” He asks, focusing as he slowly pushes down the plunger on the coffee press. 

“My Dad got me a new doll for my birthday,” you smile softly. “What was your favourite Christmas present when you were small? Did your parents do Christmas that way?” 

“Yeah, they did, but sure I'd Orla, Síle and Páidi below me too so money wasn't exactly flying about. I'd Batman's outfit one year.” He laughs, pouring coffee into the waiting mugs. He looks up and offers you his best, deepest “Batman!” with a grin. 

“Aw, baby Cillian dressed up as Batman.” You chuckle, “I bet you were gorgeous with your eyes shining out of the mask.” You reach for one of the mugs and wrap both of your hands around it. “I was thinking,” you say, watching as he lifts his mug by the handle. He turns and stands in a mirror to you - back against the counter. 

“Hmm?” He raises his eyebrows. 

“After the scan, we take the photos and drive down to Cork, get all of your family together and tell everyone over dinner. Maybe we can get extra pictures and let your parents keep one.” You suggest. 

He nods his head slowly, “All together is definitely the best idea.” He agrees. “If we do it in a restaurant, nobody can murder me.” 

“Stop,” you scoff. “Cillian, nobody is going to react badly. They'll be shocked maybe, but it isn't going to be a shit show.” You know you've considered this yourself, and you're nervous about it too, but he seems to be very wary of a negative reaction from his family. “Síle will be delighted, you know it. And Páidi will just be happy you're happy. Orla might be a little more outspoken, like your Mum and Dad, but so what? You'll have, in your hands, a photograph of our baby until you can hold them in your arms yourself and that's what's going to matter.”

“I know,” he says, staring out across the kitchen as he raises his mug to his mouth. Swallowing the hot drink awkwardly, he holds it close to his chest. “What do you think about Mal said?” He asks, and you realise that you've been waiting for him to bring it up properly. 

“About his Mum?” you raise your brows and he nods. “I think we should be happy for her. She accepted what we told her, which is just as significant and perhaps a bit more shocking.” 

“I am,” he says, but he screws up his face. “I mean, I'm not unhappy about it. But it's been a year. And it's my sons living in that house too.” 

“Is there the issue? That he'll be there with the boys?” You ask gently, not wanting to make him feel like it was a stupid thing to worry over. Of course it wasn't. Another man helping to raise his kids? Of course that hurts. 

He sighs, “Maybe?” He shrugs. “They're only visiting in here, much as I tell them it's their home too. It isn't, is it? They live there with her. And it'll be him too. I dunno how I feel about that.” 

“Same way they feel that you'll be raising this baby while they're out there?” You say, thinking aloud. 

He scoffs, but he nods. “Yeah. Exactly.” he sighs again and sips from his mug. “Am I being ridiculous?” He asks, and you get caught - as you always do - on his pronunciation of the word: ridic’lous.

“No,” you shake your head.”You miss your boys, and being there all the time, and this is all kicking it into higher focus. But Cill,” you turn to face him, “They're not little kids now, Malachy drives, Aran's doing his leavers… He isn't bringing them up. You did that. And you did it well, and you continue to be there however they'll let you. Please, Love, don't torture yourself. You're a great Dad, and you'll continue to be a great Dad for them - and for baby Murphy.” He smiles softly, blinking slowly, and you reach out your free hand to his bicep. “You need to put it out of your head, because it's clearly affecting you.” 

He sighs deeply, “Well, yeah, we saw that.” He tuts. 

With your hand still on his arm you squeeze gently. “Just let yourself off the hook, okay? It's fucking Christmas.” 

It's evening time when he hangs up the phone, having spent an hour ringing around his sons, siblings, and parents, and you watch Cillian's walk down the last few steps of the stairs from your spot on the sofa, bundled into the sofa cushions with a mug of hot chocolate and an opened but as yet untouched tin of shortbread biscuits. He sighs as he lands at the bottom, and grins cheekily. “I don't think I've spoken to my Mum for as long in weeks.” He laughs. His accent is thicker from talking with family, and you love it. “They'd dinner with Síle and Griff, and Páidi’d been in. And then I was told to get off the phone because she wants to watch the Christmas EastEnders.” You laugh loudly as he shakes his head. “Boys are grand, they're all grand, so there y’go.” 

“Good, glad everyone's had a good day.” You smile as he walks towards you, his sock clad feet silent on the floor. The TV's glow and the lights on the tree are all that illuminate the room, and he drops down beside you with another sigh. The day has been quiet and gentle, with no big hurrah but with plenty of love. “Are you okay?” 

He claps his hand down against your thigh and nods immediately, “Yeah, I am. Are you?” Smiling, you nod your head. You place your hand on top of his, and as soon as you do he flips his hand over and catches your fingers in his. “Next Christmas we'll be having Santy visiting.” He smiles, and you can tell he's been thinking about it a lot. “And then for the next however many years.” He shakes his head with a smile, his blue eyes sparkling. “I didn't think I'd get to do all the things I missed about the boys being small again, you know? It's mad. I can't…” he sighs, and squeezes your hand. “Thank you.” 

“Thank you?” You frown, bemused. 

He grapples for what he wants to say for a moment, then lets himself babble it out. “You've been so much for me since we met, you know? And when I got into my head and decided to fuck it up there, I forgot about all the stuff I wanted - with you. But you're here, and that wee one is gonna be here, and fuck…like, it's everything. Everything.” 

“Oh, Cill.” You smile, your eyes feeling warm as emotions build quickly. “Of course I'm here. I love you.” 

“I can't wait for this now, you know? The whole fucking thing - our family, our baby, our life changing, even. I'm so fucking ready for the new year.” He smiles so earnestly you feel your heart thump a little quicker. “I love you so much.” He reaches out and places his hand awkwardly against your belly. “And I love you,” he crouches forward, talking more to your boobs than anything, “You hear me in there, leanbh?” You can't hold the tears in as you watch him and listen, and you smile as they fall down your cheeks. “You keep growing in there, leanbh, yeah? And when you come out here and meet us, and your big brothers, you'll be wanting to get back in but, sure, we’ll get you a nice pram and you'll be grand.” You laugh, tears still falling, and he looks up at you from his crouched position. “Ah, and now your Mammy's crying. Don't be crying,” he sits up and draws his hand from your belly up to your face, rubbing each cheek with the back of his hand. “They better be happy tears.” 

You sniff and nod as he takes his hand away, “The happiest.” 

[telesodalite]

Been thinking about idw1's outliers lately, and how sort of wild the whole concept is from a worldbuilding standpoint, and it struck me that most confirmed outlier abilities tend to be really useful, or flashy, or powerfully dangerous, and few to none tend to be like, really boring, or totally impractical, or even entirely useless? Which, doesn't really make sense when considering the fact that outlier abilities are seemingly random.

Surely not everyone who's born an outlier gets something useful?

And I don't mean like, "good" useful, but any sort of useful, even if that means you can kill people with your voice, or give a power boost by exploding yourself, those are still "useful".

But surely there had to be some with abilities that were totally impractical, or nonbeneficial, or at the very least just insignificant or purely aesthetic and pointless?

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

Sophie Shepard & Kaidan Alenko (ME1) 1/?

MIRA'S MORE CANON ME1 "After everything that happened with Zaeed, Caleston, and the Villa? I think need to tell you a few things about BAaT." "Well, after everything that happened with Zaeed, Caleston, and the Villa? I think I might owe you an explanation about how I really know Anderson." AKA: Zaeed Massani and the case of the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad message ping. :) Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (2021)

[kelpiemomma]

Rolling around thoughts of BT (or Cooper) being like. Half aware that theyre... not in a game, but that this isn't the first time they've done this. Not quite Sans Undertale behavior, but just... BT somehow comprehending that time has just gone back several seconds. Offering Cooper words or encouragement. Or Cooper knowing that an IMC grunt is about to come out a specific door without knowing how or why he knows. Something tells him he's been here enough times, once you go through those doors you need to duck and cover or else a Stalker is going to shoot you. It's real, for them, but something is taking them back, giving them a second try, a third try, however many tries it takes to get it right.

[prlssprfctn]

Jason, being a semi-canonic common hallucination in the family after his death, could lead to the stupidest AU ever.

Imagine everyone seeing him — Bruce, half of the time, Dick non-stop, Tim more often than not, and eventually even Alfred starts seeing little boy's silhouette in the corner of his eye, but he never admits it, because someone needs to stay sane in this family.

It is a lot like real-life cases when cult families start to see collective hallucination, and it somehow syncronises in their minds, so they hear and see the same things, you know?

So, yeah, everyone sees Jaybin around.

Everyone but Damian. Damian is a normal one. He also knows his Akhi is alive and well, so whatever. And it takes him some time to figure out that his family is bat-shit insane, but when he does, he decides to use it on his advantage.

Damian, calling Jason: Akhi, you should visit me. It is getting awfully boring here.

Jason, frowning: You know I can't. They think I am dead, and I can't risk my plan, especially now, when Red Hood is gaining-

Damian: We will pretend you are a hallucination.

Jason: ...What?

Damian: So, there is a plan...

So, a few days after this call, Jason arrives at the Wayne Manor. He still thinks his brother's plan sucks, but gaslighting is one of his many talents, so surely, they will figure something out. He can lie his way through this meeting.

Expect, he doesn't even need to lie. His family is actually insane.

Bruce, bumping in Jason:

Jason, staring back: Uh-

Bruce: Wow. You look so grown-up. And we look so alike. Nice one, brain.

Jason: ?..

Tim, leaving his room: Hi, B, hi- Oh, damn. Hi, Jaybin. Nice leather jacket.

Bruce: Right? I guess his ghost just grows up with us now.

Jason: ????

Alfred, nodding along, out of nowhere: Master Dick will hate it. He looks taller now.

All of them: (peacefully leave the room)

Jason: What. The. Fuck.

Jason waits for the moment of clarity to happen as he chats with Damian in the kitchen, but... nothing changes. They really, really think he is a hallucination. So... he starts hanging out around more. Both because Damian is getting angsty, and because it is kinda... amusing.

Tim, stuck on the same case for a few nights, non-stop: Oh, it is really just me and you in this, Jason.

Jason, playing Mario Cart on the table by his side: Maybe take a nap, dude.

Tim: No, I need to figure out this case with-

Jason, rolling his eyes: Red Hood had already dealt with it. Go to sleep.

Tim: ...You are such a good self-care kind of hallucination.

Jason: ...

Damian: Your bets, when will they realise that you are a real person?

Jason: At this point, I am not sure that they will, even if I start screaming that I am real.

Damian: Fair. I bet a year would do.

Jason: ...A year and a half.

Dick visits the Manor. He cooes at Jason, muttering something about "of course, he would have grown up in a punk," and Jason almost breaks his role to hit him on the head.

Jason, arms folded on his chest: You know, you need serious help, dad.

Bruce, blinking at him slowly: Probably. You know what else I need?

Jason: Sleep? Retirement? To stop adopting strays? The list is endless, man.

Bruce: ...Coffee. I need more coffee.

Jason, groaning: What the fuck!!!

Alfred figures out that Jason is real, eventually. Solely because he catches him sneaking a few extra cookies, and hallucinations are not supposed to eat. He plays along with him and Damian until the very end, anyway.

(Damian ends up winning the bet because Jason loses it once and pushes Bruce down the stairs, when he starts reciting some precautionary tale about him. Everyone is flabbergasted.)

[flowersforbucky]

for always and ever is always for you

old man!logan x healer!reader

word count: 15.2k

summary: logan is getting sicker by the day, and charles' seizures are occurring more and more frequently. logan didn't think he'd ever see you again - but desperate times call for desperate measures.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, descriptions of blood and illness, angst, logan's pov, reader is afab, language, slow burn as far as one-shots go, no use of y/n, caliban being sassy, mutual pining, friends to lovers, unprotected p in v, oral (m&f receiving), face sitting, cream pie, some dirty talk and pet names

author's note: thank you @embbarnes for reading this and letting me rant about it and assuring me that it's worth posting 🫶🏻 this took me an embarrassing amount of time and i have to say i am pretty proud of it. flashbacks are in italics

divider by @saradika-graphics!

“This is the third time in the last week, you know.”

Logan stares down at the deep red splatters of blood that creep towards the drain. The skin of his knuckles begin to turn white from how harshly he grips the edges of the sink – he’s surprised the ceramic doesn’t shatter. He turns the faucet on, lowering his lips to the weak stream to collect enough water to rinse the taste of iron from his mouth.

“I know that,” Logan spits the now pink tinged water into the bowl and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You don’t think I fuckin’ know that? I’m the one hacking my lungs up here.” He shoves past Caliban, exiting the small bathroom.

Logan doesn’t want to snap at him – hates that it happens as often as it does. But right now he’s late for work and the last thing he needs is to hear Caliban harping on about this again while he scrambles to find his car keys.

“You know I hate to keep bringing this up,” Caliban continues as he follows Logan into the makeshift kitchen of the abandoned smelting plant.

“I find that hard to believe,” Logan mumbles under his breath. He finds his keys hidden under some junk mail and shoves them in his coat pocket before pouring himself some coffee to take with him to work. It’s day old and not as strong as he’d like for it to be, but he’ll be glad that he has it when midnight rolls around.

“Charles,” Caliban continues. “The medications are doing very little to help him anymore. We’re having to give him twice as much as we were a month ago, which means we are running out twice as fast. He’s getting worse. You both are. We need to find a… specialist that can help with both of our problems.”

Logan snorts in response, practically able to feel Caliban’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

“There ain’t a thing that any doctor can do for me and you know it.”

Maybe Logan hasn’t had the flu, or strep throat, or even the common cold in two hundred odd years, but he knows there’s no prescription that any physician can write that would stop his very bones from poisoning him.

“Let me rephrase that, then. Not a doctor. You need to see a healer.”

Logan freezes, his posture going rigid.

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re going to say, I suggest shutting the fuck up.”

“He’s had a record number of seizures so far this week,” Caliban implores. “You’re barely standing upright. There’s a chance that she could help you both.”

“She’s out of the question,” Logan spits before storming past him. He yanks the door open and slams it closed behind him as he steps into the late evening Mexico sun.

How does Caliban even know about you? Some of Charles’ rambling in his rare moments of lucidity, no doubt.

It doesn’t matter if you can help or not.

For a lot of reasons, it doesn’t matter.

The most obvious one being he hasn’t talked to you in over a year and doesn’t know where the fuck you’re at.

••••••

“You don’t have to stay back there, you know. You can come closer. You’re not in my way.”

There’s no hint of condescension in your voice. Only patience, and reassurance. Still, Logan doesn’t budge from his position in the corner of the mansion’s infirmary.

You don’t press him any further.

He had lost track of how long he’d been standing here, just watching in complete silence as you tend to the young mutant’s injuries.

Logan doesn’t even know the kid’s name. He doesn’t know any of their names. But he’d been the one to find all five of them in a locked cell on today’s mission, and he isn’t going to leave this room until he knows that they are all okay.

You’d already taken care of four out of the five. They now rest peacefully in individual beds, no doubt the warmest and safest they’ve been in God knows how long.

Your hands hover a few inches above a young boy’s chest, emitting a pale purple glow as you wave them over his torso, letting your powers radiate from your palms into his body.

Logan notices the color of your power isn’t as vibrant as it was when you’d healed the first child’s injuries, or the second, or third. Originally a bright violet, it’s now a lackluster lavender.

He also doesn't miss the way that you suddenly close your eyes with furrowed brows, but he remains in the corner, watching you carefully. You dig your teeth into the flesh of your bottom lip in concentration, causing Logan to take an involuntary step forward at the pained expression on your face.

Your hands drop down to the railing of the bed that the boy lays in, clutching the bars to keep you from falling over as the energy you’d been emitting fades away.

“Shit,” you huff, out of breath. A thin layer of perspiration glistens on your forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Logan asks as he moves closer to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you grunt, nodding as you look up at him. You give him a forced smile that does very little to reassure him. “I’m fine. It’s just been a while since I’ve had to use so much of my powers in such a short amount of time.”

“Maybe you should sit down for a minute, yeah?” Logan looks around the infirmary, walking a few feet away to grab a chair for you. He places it next to the bed that you’re still using for support.

“I’ll be as good as new soon,” you assure him as you take a seat. “This happens occasionally.”

Logan stands beside you, awkwardly leaning against the edge of an empty bed next to the boy’s. He watches as you lean forward, taking the kid’s small hand in your own. There’s no resurgence of purple – you’re simply holding it. The boy is sound asleep, so the act makes Logan wonder if it’s for his comfort or your own.

“If I exert too much energy at once, I feel the effects of it. Not enough to really hurt me, just.. leave me feeling like I need to sleep for a week,” you explain with a weak chuckle. Logan’s eyes are fixated on the way that your thumb soothes over the skin of the boy’s hand.

“A gift that comes with a price,” Logan murmurs. “I know how that feels. Though it sometimes feels more like a curse in my case.” He instinctively glances down at his knuckles, his claws sheathed away.

“I can see how it would feel that way,” you agree, glancing up at him with a soft expression. “But it’s not what your power is that determines whether it’s a curse or a gift. It’s what you do with it. And these kids are alive because of you. A lot of people are, because you choose to use it for good. I’d say that makes it a gift.”

“I guess I should try to look at it that way more often,” he hums.

“Plus, having the ability to heal yourself has gotta be pretty neat. I think you’re the only person here who would never have to ask me for my help.” You glance back up at him, a hint of a smirk ghosting your lips.

They’re pretty, he thinks – your lips. He mentally scolds himself, knowing now isn’t the time or place to be thinking about your lips.

“You can count on that, bub.”

When Logan wakes, he doesn’t have the chance to mourn the memory he’d found himself reliving in his sleep.

He does find himself on the floor by his bed with the breath knocked from his lungs. His hands come to shield his ears, attempting to block out the high-pitched shrieking that makes his ear canals feel as if they are filling with blood.

Judging by the sunlight streaming into his room through the thin, tattered curtains covering his windows, he guesses that it’s mid-afternoon. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours – meaning it also couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he had given Charles his most recent dose of medicine.

With the world shaking around him, a half empty bottle of liquor and an old coffee mug both shatter as they fall off of his bedside table and hit the ground.

Logan and Caliban had recently cleared off all shelves in the smelting plant, moving anything that could potentially fall and break during one of Charles’ episodes closer to the ground, but after a long night of driving around drunk assholes, it’s easy to forget that even a ceramic cup on a small table is a hazard.

He can tell by the way that the air around him feels as if it weighs ten tons that Charles has to be close by. He musters all of his strength to force himself to his feet. Each movement feels as if he’s in slow motion as he fights against the psionic energy that works to keep him frozen in place.

As slow as if he has hundred pound weights attached to each of his feet, he makes his way from his bedroom and to the common area. When he turns the corner, he first sees Caliban, still as a statue with his facial features contorted in agony and his typically alabaster skin turning redder by the second from the pain. He’s less than a foot away from where Charles sits in his wheelchair, where he appears to have been watching a movie.

Logan frantically looks around the room, searching for where he had placed the bag of injections and pills when he’d forced Charles into swallowing his last dose just a few hours ago.

He finds it on what is used as a dining room table. It’s sheer good luck that Logan had thought to prepare an emergency dose of the injection earlier that day, most likely thanks to Caliban’s lecture from yesterday evening still looming in the back of his mind.

After what feels like hours, Logan finally reaches Charles with the injection and plunges the needle into his chest. The second that the medication enters his system, the seizure ceases.

Caliban and Logan both collapse to the ground in relief. Logan clutches his chest, trying to steady his heartbeat and regulate his breathing.

“You dream of her just as she dreams of you,” Charles whimpers through labored breaths.

“What?” Logan snaps, glaring at Charles from his position on the dirty floor. His ears must still be ringing from the effects of the seizure, because he can’t have heard him right. “Quit reading my mind.”

“Your thoughts are always loud when you think of her,” Charles murmurs, turning his attention back to the movie on the screen in front of him as if nothing had happened.

It's the first time, Logan realizes, that Charles has mentioned you since the day of his first seizure. Even without specifically saying your name, Logan knows exactly who he’s referring to.

“Make that four incidents this week,” Caliban grumbles as he jerks the plastic bag filled with medication out of Logan’s hand. He digs through it, pulling out a pill bottle and dumping two into his palm. “He’s averaging an episode per day, and each one feels stronger than the last. It’s only a matter of time before he kills–”

“Do you know where she’s at? Can you track her?” Logan interrupts him. Caliban pauses to look at him, visibly annoyed.

“Oh, so it’s a good idea now that he–” he jabs a finger in Charles’ direction, “mentions her once, is it?” He stomps over to where Charles watches the television, seemingly oblivious to the conversation happening right beside him.

“Take these. Both of them.” He shoves them into Charles’ palm and then storms past Logan.

“Didn’t say anything about it being a good idea,” Logan grunts, following him into the kitchen. “But you seem to think it is and I don’t know what else to do. So can you find her or not?”

“Of course I can,” Caliban retorts defensively. “As long as you have something with her scent on it.”

Logan throws his hands up in frustration, and then rakes one hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“I haven’t seen her in over a year. Why would I have anything that smells like her?”

“It doesn’t have to be dosed in her favorite perfume,” Caliban huffs. “But I can’t track anyone without some amount of their scent to go off of.”

“Goddammit,” Logan groans between gritted teeth. He turns in the opposite direction, heading back to his bedroom.

He thinks back to the last time that he saw you – the last time that his life had any sense of normalcy. The day of Charles’ first seizure, the day that he saw seven of his friends die, you weren’t there. By some miracle, you had been out of town.

But a few days before that – it had been snowing. It was the first snow of winter and you had taken a group of younger students to play outside in the middle of class.

Logan was called over by a few of the kids who begged him to help make a snowman. You kept to the sidelines, watching him with the students, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself to keep your cardigan pulled securely around your chest.

He remembers pausing what he was doing to run over to you and insist that you take his jacket until you were all back inside. He remembers how much he liked seeing you wear it, and how silly he felt when he didn’t like that you remembered to give it back.

He remembers being enveloped in the smell of honey and cream when he shrugged the jacket back onto his own shoulders. Less than a week later, he found himself in Mexico with no need to wear such a heavy leather jacket.

It's now been over a year since he’s so much as touched it.

Logan begins rifling through the drawers of the dresser that looks to be as old as he is, containing all of the clothing that he owns. It doesn’t take but a few seconds until he recognizes the feeling of the worn leather against his fingertips.

He brings the jacket up to his nose, inhaling where your skin and hair had rest against the collar. He breathes in deep, concentrating on the scent that transports him back to before his life was completely uprooted and turned upside down. With his eyes closed, it’s easy for him to let himself believe he’s standing in the kitchen of the mansion with your arms around his neck.

It's faint. If he didn’t have enhanced senses, he may not have been able to detect it at all. But it’s there – familiar and nostalgic and unmistakably you.

••••••

It takes Caliban all of sixty seconds to pinpoint your location.

Logan doesn’t quite know how to feel about learning that there’s only one state in-between the two of you. He wasn’t sure where he expected you to be, really – it doesn’t surprise him that you didn’t stay in the state of New York, and he didn’t think you would return to your hometown, but knowing that you’ve possibly been just a half day’s drive away from him this entire time makes a lot of emotions surface that he’s been trying to push down for the last year.

He begins the drive just after six in the morning. By the time the sun starts to set that evening, he enters the city limits of Silverton, Colorado.

Nestled in the snow-capped Rockies, the small town couldn’t be more polar opposite of where he has resided for the last thirteen months. The stark differences nearly cause him to turn his limousine around and head back to the smelting plant without even bothering you – if you’d chosen somewhere like this to live, there’s no way you’d be content with the brutal, dry heat of northern Mexico.

But this is the closest he’s been to you in nearly four hundred days, and despite the fact that he’s spent the last ten hours of this car ride thinking about what he’s going to say to you and still doesn’t fucking know, he can’t bring himself to go back to Mexico without trying.

Without at least seeing your face. Without at least seeing for himself that you’re doing okay.

He knows it’s selfish. He knows he made his choice when he took Charles to Mexico without even letting you know that they were alive. It doesn’t matter that he had his reasons for doing so, it doesn’t matter how much it killed him inside – he made his choice and he should have to live with it, without disturbing your peace and asking any of this of you.

He justifies it by telling himself that it’s for Charles, and Caliban. Maybe it’s his pride, but he refuses to make his ailing health your responsibility. Asking you to help with Charles is already asking too much.

He turns down a dirt road, following the approximate – not exact – instructions that Caliban had provided. Thankfully, it’s a small town in both size and population, so it doesn’t take him too long to find the neighborhood that Caliban had described.

He knows he has found the right house when he sees your car. He recognizes it instantly due to the cracked rear bumper that you still have yet to have replaced and its unique sage green color that peaks through the light dusting of snow.

He pulls into your driveway, parking his limousine next to your vehicle and turns off the engine. He takes in the appearance of your home – a small, cozy cabin with smoke erupting from the chimney. All of your curtains are pulled closed but there’s enough light peaking through them for him to know that you’re inside.

The thought occurs to him that he might not find you alone. It’s been over a year – you could have found someone to build a life with. They could pull into this very driveway at any moment. Hell, you could have a baby for all he knows. He might be seconds away from learning that you have a whole family of your own–

His thoughts only stop spiraling when he sees your front door swing open, your face peeking around the frame a second later. Confusion is etched across your features as you notice the limousine parked in front of your porch.

You don’t yet know that it’s him due to the limousine’s tinted windows, he realizes.

You exit the house, stepping onto your front porch with your arms crossed over your chest as you wait for the driver of the vehicle to make themselves known.

You haven’t aged a day. Your hair being longer than the last time he saw you is the only physical proof that any time has passed at all.

Logan attempts to clear his face of all of the emotions coursing through him and opens the driver’s side door, stepping out of the vehicle.

Thanks to the adamantium poisoning his body, his eyesight has started to decline over the last few months. But Logan doesn’t need to have his glasses on to know that you look like you’re seeing a ghost.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you in a cautious voice. He stays planted where he’s at, waiting for you to respond before coming any closer to the front porch steps.

He swears he watches you go through all five stages of grief in under a minute. Confusion fades to shock, shock turns to denial, and denial morphs into anger before you’re left with a blank expression.

“I know I’ve got a lotta explaining to do,” Logan starts. “If you’ll let me, I’ll answer every question you have. I’m just asking you to hear me out.”

It takes every ounce of self-restraint that he possesses to not walk up the steps of your porch and wrap you in his arms. He may be standing just a few feet away from you, but it doesn’t feel real. He’s convinced that at any moment, he’ll wake up back in his pathetic excuse of a bedroom in the smelting plant.

You take a few small, tentative steps forward. Your eyes never leave his, an unreadable expression on your face. Logan can’t tell if you’re trying to decide if he’s real, if you’re about to jump into his arms, or if you’re about to yell at him to get the fuck out of here.

You come to a stop on the bottom porch step.

“What’s the deal with the limousine?” You nod towards the vehicle behind him.

“I’m uh – I’m a limousine driver,” he answers lamely.

“A limousine driver,” you repeat with raised brows, though it doesn’t sound like a question. “You know, there have been a lot of nights that I’ve laid awake wondering where you’re at and what you’re doing. Of all the possibilities, I never considered limo driver.”

Logan opens his mouth to respond, but quickly shuts it again when you turn on your heel, walking back up the steps and to the front door. You pause before you cross the entryway, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“Take your shoes off at the door. Don’t be tracking snow into my house.”

Logan watches you retreat into the house, his body frozen in place. As far as initial reactions go, he supposes that could have been significantly worse – but he knows he isn’t out of the woods yet.

He follows you inside, kicking his boots off at the door and closing it behind him.

The inside of your house is warm, thanks to the gentle fire going in the fireplace in your den. It’s cozy – you’ve decorated for the approaching holidays. Garland and twinkling lights adorn your mantle, and in the corner of the living room is an elaborately decorated tree. The whole place smells like a mixture of the candle burning on your coffee table and whatever you have cooking in the kitchen.

It's not just cozy, he thinks. It’s homey. And he’s about to ask you to leave it all for a dirty, grimy, old smelting plant.

He follows you into the small kitchen, where you stir something in a giant pot on your stove.

“Do I even want to know how you found me?”

He can tell that you’re trying to maintain a level tone, but he doesn’t miss the way that your voice shakes and rises an octave on the last word.

He clears his throat, pulling out a chair for himself at your dining room table.

“His name is Caliban. He’s a mutant who can track other mutants. I asked him to find you.”

You hum in response, continuing to tend to the food in the pot with your back turned to him. Logan knows that telling you he asked Caliban to track you down is just the tip of the iceberg here, but he doesn’t want to throw too much at you at once. So he watches as you grab a variety of seasonings from the cabinet above you, and lets you take your time with questioning him further.

“And why did you ask him to find me?”

“For Charles,” Logan answers. “I didn’t want to disturb you after all this time. I know you’re probably angry and you have every right to be but.. his seizures. They’re getting worse. The medications that I give him aren’t helping like they used to.”

You cover the pot with a lid, and turn the dial on the stove down to low before turning to face him. You lean up against the counter, your arms once again crossed over your chest – a telltale sign that you’re on edge, Logan remembers well.

“You mean the seizures that killed a bunch of our friends and have caused the United States government to classify his brain as a weapon of mass destruction?”

Logan gives you a curt nod. “Yeah. Those seizures. We’ve been living in an abandoned smelting plant just south of the border in Mexico. He mostly stays inside an old water tower. The metal it's made from helps keep the seizures contained to the immediate area around us, but.. they’re getting stronger. Happening more frequently.”

You chew on your lower lip, a passive expression on your face as you take in Logan’s words. You don’t meet his gaze, your stare fixated on something on the other side of the room.

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” Logan counters.

You turn away from him again, reaching into a cabinet to grab two bowls. Logan watches as you ladle some kind of soup or stew into the bowls and pull two spoons from a drawer.

You place one bowl in front of him, and the other at a chair across from him before retrieving a bottle of dark colored wine and two glasses.

“It’s only been a year since I last saw you but you look about ten years older,” you finally answer as you uncork the bottle and fill the two glasses. You push one across the small table. “Sorry. I haven’t had much of a reason to keep any whiskey on hand.”

Logan’s not surprised by the observation – you’re not wrong. He knows the adamantium poisoning his body has taken a toll on his physical appearance. His hair and beard have started to gray, his skin appears more leathered, his under eyes more crinkled.

After barely aging a day in decades, the difference between a year ago and today must look drastic to you.

But that isn’t why he’s here. He can handle some aches and pains, some coughing fits, and all of the other ailments that come with typical aging. He can hide it all from you – he won’t make that your burden to bear in addition to asking you to help with Charles.

“Yeah, well,” Logan starts, staring down at the stew in front of him to avoid your gaze. “That’s what working night shifts and taking care of a ninety-seven year old disabled psychic with Alzheimer’s induced mega seizures does to a person.”

“No one asked you to do that, Logan. I would have helped you if you had given me the chance. I would have followed you any–”

“I know,” Logan cuts you off. “I know you would have. But I had just watched almost everyone that I love die. I couldn’t risk it, letting you get hurt too. Staying away from you for the last year, it’s.. it’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I did it because I knew it would mean you’re safe.”

You’re silent. Your lips quiver, and Logan loses his appetite at the way your eyes begin to gloss over with unshed tears.

“Did you at least think about reaching out?”

If your watery eyes make Logan lose his appetite, the brokenness in your voice makes him feel sick with himself.

“Every single day.”

He doesn’t tell you that you frequent his dreams, or that he thinks of you every time a Pink Floyd song comes on the radio, or that he hears your voice in the back of his mind telling him to drink more water when all he’s had that day is coffee and bourbon.

He wants to. But he doesn’t.

You give a small nod to his answer, but otherwise say nothing. You pick up your spoon and take a small, unenthusiastic bite of the food in front of you. Logan forces his attention to his own stew, not really wanting to eat but knowing that he needs to – he had only stopped for gas and a bathroom break once during the drive here. He hasn’t eaten anything since he choked down a stale granola bar before leaving Mexico early this morning.

The two of you sit in a loaded silence. Despite how heavy it feels, he can’t help but feel more relaxed in your presence than he has in a long, long time.

Your spoon clinks against the empty bowl when you finish eating. Logan looks up to see you gulping down the last of your wine.

You sigh. A long, exaggerated sigh.

“Why couldn’t you have shown up yesterday, before I put up all of my Christmas decorations?”

••••••

Logan thinks that the interior of his limousine will smell like a Christmas tree threw up in it for the next few months.

Not that he’s complaining. The sickeningly sweet scent of balsam is a small price to pay for you agreeing to come to Mexico.

He knows he probably shouldn’t feel as relieved as he does – he doesn’t even know if your powers will be effective in helping with Charles’ seizures.

But he can't lie to himself. The entire time he spent the better part of the night helping you pack your things into totes to load into your car and his limousine, he was on edge – afraid that you'd change your mind at any moment.

Of course he felt relieved when he watched your car pull out of your driveway after typing the smelting plant’s address into your GPS early this morning.

Approximately eleven hours later, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so glad to be in Mexico. The drive to Colorado, packing for hours into the night and then getting a few hours of shut eye on your couch, and then the drive back to the smelting plant has taken a toll on him.

His hips ache from sitting for so long and he’s experiencing what has to be a pinched nerve in his lower back.

That’s a first for him.

When he arrives back home, he’s relieved to find that he got here before you. Maybe he’ll have enough time to take a long, hot shower and let some max strength ibuprofen go into effect before you can notice the way that he hobbles inside.

“Oh, thank God,” Caliban exhales when he sees the door open and Logan limps inside. “You haven’t answered any of my calls or texts. Did you even think to check if I was alive? He could have had a seiz—”

“Sorry,” Logan grunts, walking past him to retrieve the bottle of painkillers from a cupboard in the kitchen. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied, trying to get back here as soon as possible and what not.”

He tosses back four pills dry and then turns to face him again. “And I knew you weren’t dead. You blew up my phone enough to assure me of that.”

“Well, a reply or two keeping me updated would have been nice. Tracking you only tells me so much.”

Logan rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have the energy for this right now.

“She’s on her way here now. How’s that for an update?” He pushes past Caliban, just wanting to go stand under a painfully hot stream of water.

“You actually managed to get her to agree to come here?”

“I’m as surprised as you are.” Logan grabs a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen counter and starts walking towards his room. “And get the spare room cleaned up for her.”

••••••

“I know it isn’t much, but I’m gonna get you a better mattress tomorrow.”

A few hours later, long after Caliban and Charles have retired to the old water tower for the night, Logan stands in front of where you perch on the edge of the twin sized cot in your bedroom – if it can even be called that right now.

Aside from the sad excuse of a bed, the only other things in the room are a small bedside table with a lamp, and several storage totes containing your belongings that Caliban had brought in from Logan’s limousine.

If he’d had more time to prepare, he would’ve done more, but just forty-eight hours ago he never would have guessed that you would actually be sitting here in front of him.

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “It’ll be better once I have some of my things unpacked.”

“Right,” Logan nods. “Well, I'll leave you to that then. Just.. let me know if you need anything.”

He turns to exit the room, but freezes when he grabs the doorknob. He turns back around, and finds you looking at him expectantly – almost hopeful.

“I appreciate it. You coming here. You don’t owe me anything after the way I just ran off without any explanation. But I'm really glad that you’re here.”

His heart swells when he sees the way that your expression softens. You’re too good, too forgiving and understanding. The fact that you let him into your home, served him dinner, and packed up your entire life into a few boxes and came here after a year of no contact proves it.

He takes a step closer to you, trying his hardest to ignore the sharp burn that radiates from his lower back as he forces his body forward. Despite how hard he tries to hide the discomfort, you seem to notice that something is bothering him – he can tell by the way your brows furrow together and your mouth sets in a harsh line. You scoot back a few inches on the cot mattress, making room for him to take a seat next to you.

“And I just want you to know that I’m sorry,” he continues, cutting you off before you can even ask if he’s okay.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to hear me say it. I’m sorry for the way I handled things. It wasn’t fair to you. I was just scared shitless and wanted to do what I could to keep you safe. Getting as far away from you as possible seemed like the best way to do that at the time.”

Logan internally curses his rambling. Typically a man of few words, he can’t help but feel silly at the sentiment. You’d always had a way of drawing a level of vulnerability from him that no one else ever had. He still feels that effect today.

“I understand why you did what you did, Logan,” you start. You look at him with such understanding that he feels himself physically relax at your words.

“It just… hurt.” You give a small shrug, bringing your hands together to dig your nails into your palms. “I lost my friends too, you know? You and Charles included. I know that you and I, we were never…” you trail off, but he knows what you mean without saying it.

Together. Never truly together.

A million almosts that never amounted to what he truly wanted run through his mind. He’d long ago accepted that you and him would never be more than an unspoken thing but the reminder of it still stings, coming from your lips.

“Anyway,” you shake your head. He wonders if you’re thinking of the same memories that he is – the seemingly small ones.

The ones that he wouldn’t have expected to stick with him, but ended up haunting him. Having a drink in the mansion’s courtyard together after particularly exhausting missions – or even just particularly exhausting days of teaching children. Walking into the kitchen to find you making lunch – and you just so happened to have made enough for him, too. You, on the back of his motorcycle with your arms secured around his stomach, your bodies pressed as close together as they ever had been.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still hurt over it. But the truth is, I was too relieved to find you standing in my driveway to tell you to leave. And I missed you too much to not come back here with you.”

Your voice is barely a whisper by the time you finish speaking. A singular tear leaks from the corner of your eye, which you hastily wipe away.

“Just don't fucking do that again, okay? I definitely wouldn’t be as forgiving if it happened a second time.”

“I wouldn't forgive myself if it happened a second time,” Logan tells you – and he means it. He still doesn’t know if he can forgive himself as is. But you seem to forgive him, and that's enough for him for the time being. “I promise. M’not going anywhere.”

“Good,” you murmur with a small smile, seemingly content with his reassurance. “So, about Charles… I was thinking, if the seizures are as bad as you've told me, I probably won't be much use if he's actively having one. I was thinking that starting tomorrow, I could try to work with him using my powers little bits throughout the day. Not too much at once so he doesn't get frustrated.”

You're right. There’s nothing that anyone can do once one of Charles’ seizures begins, except for Logan. It’s solely due to his healing factor that Logan is able to muster enough strength to administer one of Charles’ injections during a seizure. Humans – as well as mutants like you and Caliban – are rendered incapacitated.

“I’ll let him know that you’re here in the morning,” Logan nods in agreement. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

“I hope so,” you sigh. “I’ve missed him.”

As content as he’d be to sit here and talk to you all night, you’ve both had long days of driving and tomorrow brings a lot of uncertainty, so he knows that he should let you get some rest.

“We should probably try to get some sleep,” he says reluctantly. He starts to push himself off of the cot when the nerve in his lower back catches and causes him to hiss in pain. He tries to play it off, hoping you didn’t notice the way he visibly grimaced at the sudden sharp pain.

“Logan? What's wrong?” You ask, concern etched in your voice. He refuses to meet your gaze, knowing it'll be harder to lie to you if he looks you in the eyes. Instead he forces one foot in front of the other, and takes a slow step forward.

“It’s nothin’. Just stiff from driving so much is all.”

He feels your hand wrap around his wrist as he starts to take another step, stopping him in place. He hangs his head, still refusing to look at you. He doesn't think he can handle the concern and worry that is undoubtedly written on your face.

“If you were anyone else on the planet, I might believe that.” You stand up next to him, and your grip on his wrist only tightens. His face heats up; a side effect of your questioning stare and close proximity.

“But I’ve seen you get impaled with a crow bar before. It healed before I even had time to fret over you. So what’s really going on?”

It hits him how naïve he was to ever believe that he’d be able to easily conceal what’s been happening inside his body from you. The effects of the adamantium poisoning have been becoming more physically apparent for a while now, and you of all people – someone so familiar with not only illness and injury, but also him – were bound to pick up on the fact that something is very different than the last time you saw him.

He finally looks at you, your face every bit as concerned as expected.

“My healing factor has started to slow down,” he says delicately, trying to keep his tone even. The last thing he wants to do is freak you out even more.

“Slow down? How?”

“The shit my bones are made of seems to finally be aging me.” He chooses to forgo using the word poison, but still answers as honestly as he can bring himself to.

“But you don’t need to worry yourself with that, ‘kay? That’s not why you’re here. Some back pain isn’t anything that I can’t handle,” he quickly adds when distress distorts your features.

You purse your lips, leaving him wondering how you’re going to respond.

There’s a sudden sensation radiate from where the skin of your palm and fingers are wrapped around his wrist – it’s a soft vibration, soothing and serene. It starts at his hand and travels up his arm before expanding through his chest, back, and eventually down to the soles of his feet.

For a few moments, he feels like he’s floating. The weight of the adamantium bones disappear for the first time in decades, leaving him feeling feather light. The feeling fades away as gradually as it appeared, and with it subsides the pinching in his lower back.

He realizes that he’s looking at you as if you grew a second head. He doesn’t know why he’s so taken off guard – he’s seen your powers first hand before. He just never imagined there would be a time that he’d actually learn how it feels to be on the receiving end of them.

He glances down at where you finally release your hold on his hand. When you pull away, he sees the remnants of a purple glow emanating from your palm.

“I figured you would have said no if I had asked beforehand. Am I wrong?”

“No,” he admits in a gruff tone. “Guess not.”

“Well? How does your back feel now?” You look at him with raised brows, as if you don’t already know the answer.

“Better. But don’t make a habit out of that. I want you saving your energy for Charles.”

Truthfully, he physically feels the best that he has in months. In addition to his back being free of the sharp pinching sensation, the chronic stiffness that has plagued his body is gone. Even his eyesight seems clearer.

But he thinks back to one of his earliest memories of you – the one that had presented itself in his most recent dream. He remembers the vibrancy of your power gradually dimming as you grew more tired and the way that your forehead glistened with sweat when you were worn out from excessive use of your powers.

You roll your eyes and plop back down on the edge of your cot.

“I’m more than capable of helping you and Charles both. Do you think I’d really let you suffer, knowing you’re in discomfort?”

He knows that trying to fight you on this is as about as useful as arguing with a brick wall.

“I don't doubt your capability,” he tells you gently as he eases towards the door to your room. “But I'm not the priority here. Now get some rest, alright?”

Your response is a brief nod that tells him he hasn’t heard the last of this conversation.

“Goodnight, Logan.”

Just down the hallway, he traces the tips of his fingers over where your hand had been wrapped around his until he falls into the most peaceful and comfortable sleep he’s had in over a year.

••••••

“She’s a healer. She worked at the school as a nurse and teacher. You remember her, yeah? She’s here to see if she can help us out some.”

Logan hands Charles a double dose of pills and watches until he’s swallowed them. They are already running low on the seizure suppressants as is, but he makes him double up anyway. He’d rather be on the safe side, since you are going to be working with Charles this morning.

“Of course I remember her,” Charles retorts after he’s taken the pills. “As if I could ever forget with how often I see her face appear in your mind.”

“Could you do me a favor and not mention that, maybe?” Logan grumbles. He doesn’t doubt that it’s true, but he’d prefer Charles to not mention it within the first five minutes of seeing you.

The door to the old water tower creaks open, allowing midday sun to infiltrate the dim space as you come inside. Caliban enters behind you.

“Hi, Charles,” you greet him cheerfully “It's so nice to see you.”

Your voice doesn’t give it away, but Logan notices the nervousness in your gait – in the way that your posture is rigid and your footsteps are shorter and quicker than normal as you walk over to them.

Charles gives you a smile – the first genuine smile that Logan has seen from him in as long as he can remember.

“Hello, my dear,” he beams at you. “We’ve missed you.”

You return his smile with a bashful one of your own, and wring your hands together in front of you.

“I’ve missed you guys, too,” you say, your eyes flickering between him and Logan. “I’m glad to be here. I’m going to be using my powers to try to get your seizures under control. Is that okay with you?”

“Anything sounds better than these two cramming pills down my throat like clockwork,” he grunts with a glare at Logan and Caliban.

“It’s not exactly fun for us either, you know,” Caliban scoffs.

“Enough, you two,” Logan interjects when Charles opens his mouth to respond. “We—” he motions to himself and Caliban, “are going to give them some privacy.”

He'd be lying if he said the thought of leaving you alone with Charles during what will undoubtedly be a vulnerable time didn’t make him nervous. But he doesn’t want to overcrowd and overwhelm him, either.

Though a large majority of Charles’ seizures are random, many have been brought on by a state of a emotional distress, too.

He knows that he doesn’t exactly possess a natural aura of peace like you do.

A hint of anxiety flashes across your features before you quickly compose yourself. Logan starts to follow Caliban’s lead to the door, but stops when he's directly in front of you.

He reaches out and almost puts a hand on your waist before he thinks twice of it. His fingers linger awkwardly at your hip for a moment before he drops the hand back down to his side.

“I'll be close by, okay? If you need anything,” he says to you lowly. He glances over his shoulder to see Charles now tending to his bonsai tree, not paying attention to anyone around him.

“I know,” you assure him with a smile and nod of your head. “Don’t worry. I won’t push him. If he starts to get agitated, frustrated, bored… I’ll stop immediately.”

Logan gives you one final, short nod before reluctantly following Caliban outside and back into the smelting plant.

“You sure do seem to be getting around well for someone who could barely walk yesterday,” Caliban says in a faux casual voice as he tugs the balaclava style mask off of his head as soon as he is out of the sunlight.

Logan sighs and curses under his breath, already knowing the direction that this conversation is headed.

“Now that I'm thinking about it, I also didn't hear you having any nightmares all the way from the water tower last night. Must have had a good night’s sleep.”

“What's your point?” Logan snaps. He yanks the fridge open, scanning the scarce shelves for something to eat.

He really needs to go to the grocery store once you've finished up with Charles. And buy you an actual bed. And stock back up on Charles’ medications –

“No point,” Caliban continues, “Just glad to see that you changed your mind about telling her about your condition is all. Even if you did threaten me within an inch of my life to not tell her right before you left for Colorado.”

“What can I say,” Logan grunts. “She isn't blind. She clocked it within an hour of being here.”

Logan spends the next hour alternating between pacing the floor of the smelting plant and smoking cigars outside of the water tower. He reminds himself repeatedly that everything must be going okay, because if it wasn't, he would know by now.

He also reminds himself of the intense feeling of tranquility that came over him when he felt the effects of your powers. He can’t imagine anyone not finding it euphoric – even Charles, in all of his stubbornness.

He's finishing up a cigar when you exit the water tower after what feels like an eternity. He immediately stubs it out, remembering how you used to tease him about getting cancer if he didn’t stop smoking.

It wouldn’t surprise him if that was an actual possibility for him these days.

“How’d it go?” he greets you. He tries to keep his voice neutral – doesn’t want to make it obvious how anxious he’s been for the last hour. “Did he do okay?”

“I guess we won’t really know until he either has a seizure or… doesn’t,” you sigh. “He did surprisingly well. But the damage that the Alzheimer’s has done to his brain is widespread. I doubt there’s much reversing it. My goals are to reduce the severity and frequency of the seizures and to stop the damage from progressing any further.”

The two of you walk side by side back to the smelting plant, where Logan opens the door for you.

“So that means that I might be staying here for quite some time.”

You ease past him through the small doorframe, your chest grazing against him ever so slightly. The familiar light scent of vanilla and honey lingers after you’re walking away.

Were you just smirking at him or is he hallucinating?

Scratch that, were you just flirting with him?

“I think I can find a way to be okay with that.”

He didn’t expect you to go back to Colorado anytime too soon, given how much you packed – and the fact that your fucking Christmas tree sits in the common area – but he can't ignore that hearing you imply that you have no intention of leaving in the immediate future brings him more comfort than it probably should.

With your back turned to him as you open the refrigerator, he’s unable to see your expression, but he hears you hum in response – a sound somewhere between amusement and contentment.

“But if I'm going to be staying here for any amount of time, the food situation is going to have to improve. How do you live like this?”

He sighs, remembering the current state of the fridge and cabinets. He ended up settling on an overripe banana for breakfast. He normally reserves grocery shopping for his off days – Mondays or Tuesdays – but those days had been occupied with traveling to and from Colorado this week.

“I’ve got some errands to run today,” he starts, feeling an inkling of nervousness settle in the pit of his stomach. “Get some groceries and refills on Charles’ medications… if you wanted to come with me.”

He tells himself that he invites you because it just makes sense – of course you need to familiarize yourself with the area that you're going to be living in, even if it's just temporary. It's important to know where the closest grocery store, and gas station, and pharmacy is.

And it also just makes sense that he would be the one who to show you around. Charles can't even go to the bathroom by himself and Caliban is allergic to the sun.

That's what he tells himself, anyway.

“I could be persuaded to go with you,” you drawl. “If…” You trail off, leaving Logan to look at you with a cocked brow.

“If you let me ride in the backseat of your limousine?”

••••••

“Well? Was it everything you thought it would be?”

Logan sits directly across from you in a small booth at a mom-and-pop diner. It’s nearly noon and you had yet to eat today, so Logan made the last minute decision to pull into the restaurant’s parking lot after acquiring Charles’ medications.

“What?” you question as you swallow a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes. It may not be breakfast time anymore, but he knew you would appreciate the fact that this place serves all day breakfast.

“Being chauffeured around in a limousine.”

“For some reason the limo smelled like a Christmas tree farm exploded in it,” you say nonchalantly. “But the driver insisted on taking me out for all you can eat pancakes so I’m still going to leave him a good review.”

“I’m sure he had a perfectly good reason for his limo smelling like that,” he retorts in mock defense. “But he probably should try to take care of that before he goes back to work tonight,” he adds, making a mental note to pick up some air freshener at the store.

A cheeky grin spreads across your face. You look like you’re about give him some kind of smart remark when the waitress walks over to the booth with a steaming pot of coffee.

“Good to see you in here with someone for a change,” the older woman, who Logan knows is named Lucille without having to look at her name tag, remarks as she tops off both of your mugs. “Did you finally take my advice?” She asks Logan.

“Every time he comes in here I tell him that he needs to get on one of those dating apps,” she says to you before he can answer.

You immediately cover your mouth to keep from spewing your coffee across the table.

Logan’s face heats up by ten degrees. He should have known better than to trust Lucille to be able to read the room.

“No,” he snaps. “I have not downloaded Tinder. Or Bumble, or Hinge. Maybe you should give them a try and stop worrying about my love life.”

He shoos her away, but she just cackles and slaps him on the shoulder.

“Honey, I’ve been married for forty-five years.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s your ring?” He asks, nodding towards her naked ring finger.

“We’re not allowed to wear jewelry on the clock, Nosey Nelly,” she jabs back. You sit silently, watching the interaction with pursed lips to keep from laughing.

“Nosey Nelly,” Logan grumbles under his breath as he fishes his wallet out of his pants pocket. He pulls out his debit card and slaps it into her palm.

You finally release a snort of laughter when Lucille waddles away.

“I take it that’s your best friend?”

“Believe it or not, she’s an improvement from Caliban.”

The two of you finish your meal with easy flowing conversation. You tell him what led you to Colorado, and about how you worked part time at a veterinarian’s office and part time at a bookstore. He tells you about some of the drunk, unhinged customers that he's had in his limousine lately.

It’s easy for him to forget that less than forty-eight hours ago, he hadn’t seen you in over a year.

Before your lives were irrevocably altered, you had been one of the closest friends he had ever had. One of the most important people in his life. Sitting across from you now, it’s too easy for him to remember why that was.

••••••

Logan’s reluctant to go to work tonight.

And it’s not just because he fucking hates his job and isn’t in the mood to tolerate the bachelor party currently occupying his backseat.

To an extent, he’s always nervous to go to work. He works night shifts because Charles sleeps at night, and is therefore less likely to be triggered into a seizure during the nighttime hours. It’s the safest time for Logan to be away.

It hasn’t happened before, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t. And with you now at the smelting plant, he worries about it happening while he’s away even more than he typically would.

He arrives at the strip club that the groom had requested he drive to and parks. They all drunkenly stagger out of the back of the vehicle, leaving Logan to relish in the silence after the door slams shut.

He pulls his phone from his coat pocket and sees that he has no messages.

He’d told you to text him if you needed anything, so it’s a good thing that you haven’t, right?

It’s just before midnight, so you're most likely asleep. The lack of a text is probably not anything as drastic as the conclusions that his brain is jumping to.

Still, he can't stop his fingers as he types out a message and hits send.

How’s the new bed?

After your brunch date – Lucille's words, not his – the two of you bought enough groceries to feed four people for a week and then went to the only furniture store in town to find you an upgrade from the fold out cot that they'd happened to have on hand when you arrived.

His phone dings just a minute later. He releases the breath he’d been holding before even reading your response.

It’s a major improvement. You were right - not too soft, not too firm. Though it feels a whole lot bigger than it did in the store.

He reads over the text at least five times and thinks back to your time in the mattress store earlier that day.

The first couple mattresses you tested out were too soft, the next few too firm. Logan didn’t mind that you were being indecisive – really. He was secretly relieved to have an excuse to spend more time with you, away from Caliban and Charles.

He laid down on a mattress that you hadn’t checked out yet and instantly thought that it was significantly better than his personal mattress at the smelting plant.

“What about this one?” He asks, patting the empty space next to him on the queen sized bed. You walk over to the opposite side of the bed and crawl in beside him. With your arms down at your sides, one rests against his. The mattress is more than big enough for you, but with him next to you, it’s a cozy fit.

He types: Is that a good thing or a bad thing? and presses send before he can overthink it. His screen shows that you read the message right away, and he can’t help but imagine the smirk on your face as you lay tucked beneath the covers.

The words ‘What do you think?’ appear on his screen.

He thinks he feels like a fucking teenager with the way that a few harmless, borderline flirtatious text messages from you has him imagining what it would be like to really share the bed with you.

His jeans begin to feel uncomfortably tight. He clicks the phone off and tosses it in the empty passenger seat beside him, before he says something that crosses a line that he can’t uncross.

••••••

The relief that your powers had provided Logan had been blissful but short-lived.

By the time he gets home from work at around four in the morning, his back pain has returned with a vengeance.

Everyone is asleep when he gets in, of course. He hobbles to his room as quietly as he can. Caliban and Charles are in the water tower, but he doesn’t want to wake you up. He hopes that by the time that you’re both awake later today, the pain will have subsided in his sleep.

Two hours after he lies down, he realizes that sleeping it off is an impossibility with the amount of discomfort he’s in. He’s done nothing but toss and turn in a futile attempt to find a comfortable sleeping position, the extra strength ibuprofen and his heating pad only doing so much to ease the stabbing sensation at the base of his spine.

He knows the answer to his problem is just down the hallway.

But it's early – the sun is just now starting to rise and he has yet to hear you stir from your room. He can't bring himself to wake you up over some back pain, knowing that you'll need to use your powers to help Charles soon.

He sits up with a deep groan, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. If he already can't sleep, he may as well make something to eat and settle the rumbling in his stomach.

Taking slow, short strides, he walks back down the hallway to the kitchen as quietly as he can manage.

He comes to a halt when he sees your door open, your head popping out from around the frame.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask, your voice huskier than normal with sleep.

“How’d you guess?”

You step into the hallway, still in a pair of plaid sleep pants and an oversized crewneck.

“Your bed creaks every time you move.” You cross your arms over your chest, standing less than half a foot away from him. There’s evident concern on your face when you take in his stiff posture. “This place has thin walls.”

“Sorry to keep you awake.” He looks down at the ground, embarrassed. “I’ll stay in the living roo—”

“Don’t be silly,” you stop him. You grab his hand in yours and begin to pull him back in the direction of his bedroom.

He thinks about protesting – part of him wants to tell you that you shouldn’t bother. He thinks he should tell you that he appreciates it, but he’s a lost cause, and the relief will only be temporary.

But your hand is too warm and your skin is too soft and in the end, he isn’t strong enough to deny himself the feeling of your touch, so he let’s you lead the way to his bed.

You drop his hand to position yourself on one side of the bed. You don’t get underneath the comforter, but you do pull it back on his side so that he can crawl beneath it.

His isn’t quite as big as your new bed – it’s only a full size mattress, so it’s even more cramped than when the two of you laid on the mattress in the store yesterday, but he isn’t complaining.

It's unchartered territory for you two, this type of intimacy. He doesn’t remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone, but if there’s one person on the planet that he trusts enough to allow next to him in such a vulnerable state, it’s you.

“Lay however is most comfortable for you,” you instruct him gently.

He maneuvers onto his side, facing you. You copy his position, your faces inches away from each other’s on a shared pillow.

“Now close your eyes,” you whisper.

He does as you ask, and then feels your palm rest against the thick stubble of his jaw. Your thumb grazes across the skin of his cheekbone. He melts into your touch before you’ve even started using your powers.

“Is this okay?” you murmur.

“Mm-hmm,” he sighs against your hand. “Could just lay like this for a while and I’d probably fall asleep. Don’t even need to use your powers.”

You snort and run the tips of your fingers through his beard.

“How about I do both? That okay?”

He nods, too tired to think about stopping you.

He falls asleep to the soft hum of your powers within minutes, and dreams of the color purple.

••••••

Over the next few weeks, everyone falls into a comfortable routine.

You continue to work with Charles for an hour in the mornings and then again in the evenings. Your powers help him more than Logan ever could have hoped for. Not only is this the longest he’s gone without having a seizure in months, but he’s also increasingly lucid and alert, and more like his old, spunky self than ever.

Most weeknights you cook dinner for everyone, and Tuesdays become the day that you join Logan in going to town for a weekly grocery restock and brunch at the same diner that he first took you to a few weeks ago.

He tries not to make it too obvious, but it quickly becomes one of the best parts of his week – even with Lucille’s relentless teasing about how there’s “no way you’re just friends” and Logan would be “the biggest idiot on the planet to not lock you down”.

Neither of you ever put much energy into disagreeing with her.

The other best parts of his week occur early in the mornings, before daylight breaks and Charles and Caliban are still sound asleep. He gets home from work and you move from your bed and into his, relieving him of any physical discomfort he could be experiencing from hours of driving around and lulling him to sleep.

The first few nights, he’d wake hours later to find that you had escaped back to your own room after he’d fallen asleep. Then, one morning, when he woke up, he opened his eyes to find your face resting against his shoulder.

You stopped bothering to go back to your own room after that.

This evening – Christmas eve – Logan sits on his bed and stares at the gift that he’d gotten you while you finish preparing the dinner that you’d been working on for the last few hours.

He feels silly. There hadn’t been any discussion on getting each other gifts and he worries that it’ll make you feel weird.

It’s an espresso machine – nothing too fancy, but it’ll get the job done. You had recently mentioned how much you miss the espresso machine that you had in Colorado. The house you had been renting came furnished, which included an espresso machine that you were unable to bring with you to Mexico.

He stopped by a Target before work a couple nights ago and picked it out. To top off how silly he feels, he’d completely forgotten to buy wrapping paper or even a gift bag, so he’ll just be handing it to you as is.

“Dinner is almost ready!” He hears your voice call from the kitchen.

The smell of honey glazed ham and fresh rolls wafts down the hallway. He places the box containing the espresso machine on the floor beside his bed, planning to give it to you after Charles and Caliban go to bed in a few hours.

When he rejoins everyone in the common area, Charles is watching Home Alone and Caliban is gathering plates and silverware for everyone while you remove a large dish of baked mac and cheese from the oven.

“Smells great,” Logan compliments as he grabs a beer out of the fridge. “Anything I can help with?” he asks, as if you hadn’t all but shooed him out of the kitchen just an hour ago.

You place the casserole dish on a trivet before grabbing one of the plates that Caliban had set out.

“Yes, actually,” you say, surprising him. You hand him the plate with a small smirk. “You can make Charles a plate.”

“Oh, can I?” He takes a step closer to you, taking the plate and grinning down at you. “Are you sure you trust me to do that?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that you’ve been alive two hundred years and haven’t taken the time to learn to cook.”

“Well, I guess I'll just have to have you teach me-"

“Would you two stop flirting and get me some ham?” Charles voice booms over the television and silences you both.

Logan notices you purse your lips to keep from smiling as you turn your attention back to the spread of food across the dining room table.

Soon, you’re all four sat around the dining room table with plates piled high with traditional holiday dishes. Logan is halfway through clearing his plate when Charles clears his throat to speak.

“This is wonderful,” he directs at you. “Thank you very much. You know, this all feels very familiar to me…” he trails off, glancing between you and Logan from across the table. The smile on his face fades, and in it’s place appears an expression of confusion.

From the corner of his eye, Logan sees your grip on your fork tighten.

“Thank you, Charles,” you tell him. You try to sound cheerful, but Logan doesn’t miss the nervous edge to your voice. He knows that you’re noticing the same thing as him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Yes, these candied sweet potatoes are delicious,” Caliban interjects in an obvious attempt to maintain easy conversation. “You'll have to give me your rec—”

“This feels so familiar,” Charles repeats and all three of you go silent.

In his gut, Logan fears that he knows what is coming. It always starts this way. One minute, everything will be perfect. The next, something triggers a memory, or a feeling, and Charles is hit with the weight of the past – with the weight of the trauma that his brain normally blocks out.

“This feels like… how Christmas used to feel. When we’d have dinner at the.. at the mansion. With all of our friends before I.. before I killed them—”

“Charles,” Logan says firmly, but Charles continues to stare into space. “It wasn't your fault. Okay? Let's enjoy this nice dinner. Do you want some more green beans—”

But he’s unable to finish his sentence before it begins. The exact thing he’s been the most terrified of since you arrived here weeks ago.

Across from him, Caliban's face is frozen in agony. Beside him, your mouth is open as if to scream, but no sound comes out. Every one around him is still, and his body suddenly feels a few hundred pounds heavier.

It's been weeks since Charles’ last seizure, but Logan knew it was too good to be true – knew that it was bound to happen again eventually. He'd planned for this, knowing the effects of the psionic energy would hurt you as they do Caliban.

Logan forces himself into a standing position by pushing off of the dining room table, and then takes as big of steps as he possibly can to get to the opposite side, where Caliban and Charles sit.

He ignores the blinding nerve pain all over his body, he ignores the intense ringing in his ears, he ignores the way it feels as if all of the air has been ripped from his lungs and reaches down to grab the bag of medication from the compartment beneath Charles’ wheelchair – where he's made sure to keep it, in case of this exact scenario.

Despite his shaking hands, he manages to retrieve an injection and uncap it. He jabs the tip of the needle into the flesh of Charles’ shoulder with as much force as he can muster, then collapses to the floor beside him.

Charles releases a grief stricken groan, realizing what had happened. Logan hears both you and Caliban gasping for air.

“I'm sorry,” Charles cries. “I'm so sorry..”

Logan pulls himself off of the ground using the edge of the table and instantly turns his attention to you. Your eyes are wide and your hands are visibly shaking in your lap, but you exhale the breath you'd been holding when your eyes meet Logan's.

You push your chair back, standing and closing the distance between the two of you. Your hands grip the tops of Logan's biceps. He instinctively rests his on the sides of your stomach.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your voice wobbly and several octaves higher than normal.

“I'm fine,” he assures you delicately. “Are you okay?”

You nod, hesitantly at first and then more confidently as you take him in and seem to realize that he really is alright.

“I'm fine too,” Caliban grunts from across the table. “Don’t worry yourselves with me.”

Logan and you both quickly retract your hands, breaking the embrace. You turn your attention to Charles, who seems to be in another world.

“Charles? Are you alright?” You ask him softly.

“Hm?” He hums as he glances up at you. “Oh, yes. I’m alright. I think.. I think I’d like to go to bed now,” he murmurs. Logan, you, and Caliban all exchange glances before Logan tosses the bag of medication to Caliban.

“Give him a double dose of the suppressants and some sleep medicine,” Logan instructs him. Caliban nods wordlessly and wheels Charles away from the dining room table, towards the smelting plant’s door.

Once they’ve left the building, Logan turns to you. You look visibly shaken, and he can’t blame you. He remembers all too well how frightening the effects of the seizure was the first time he experienced it. Even with this one being relatively short lived, he knows it had to have been more painful and scary for you than it was for him.

“I’ll clean all of this up, okay?” He says, gesturing towards the half eaten dinners and the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. “You go relax. Take a shower, lay down for a while—”

“Really, Logan. I'm okay, I prom—”

“Will you do that for me?”

To his surprise, you don't object any further. You give him a small nod, and a comforting squeeze to his hand as you walk past him.

He doesn't release the sigh of both relief and frustration that he’d been holding in until he hears the shower turn on a few moments later.

••••••

As soon as Logan finishes tidying up from dinner, he cuts two small slices of an apple pie you had baked and puts them on a plate for the two of you to share.

Your door is slightly cracked, the soft orange light from your table lamp spilling into the hallway. He knocks quietly and waits for you to tell him to come in.

You’re in your pajamas, tucked under a blanket with a book partially obscuring your face. You do little to acknowledge his presence, so he takes a seat on the edge of your bed and places the plate of pie beside him.

The room looks significantly different than it did just a few weeks ago. In addition to the new bed, you'd also acquired a vintage dresser and an area rug that you’d found for cheap at a thrift store. You have books in piles throughout the room, one of the things that you were most adamant about bringing with you from Colorado.

“Charles is alright,” he tells you gently. “He must have just been really tired. He didn’t nap much today. Caliban said he fell asleep really quickly after taking his medicine.”

“Except that wasn’t why he had a seizure,” you sigh, closing your book. Logan now has a better view of your face, and the first thing he notices is that your eyes look red-rimmed and watery. You sit up straight, and he inches closer to you on the bed.

“Hey, what’s going—”

“It was definitely my fault that he had a seizure,” you sniffle, looking at him with defeat.

“What? No,” Logan shakes his head. You have a blanket draped across your lap, but Logan places his hand on your knee over top of it. “What makes you say that?”

“I always work with Charles for an hour in the mornings and an hour in the afternoons,” you start, frustration evident in your voice. “But this afternoon, I cut our session short because he wasn’t really in the best mood and I wanted to get started on prep for dinner.”

You wipe underneath your eye with the sleeve of your shirt and look away from Logan’s gaze.

“Sweetheart, you can’t blame yourself for this,” he assures you as he rubs slow circles on your knee with his thumb. “He was having seizures almost every single day before you got here. You’re not the reason he had a seizure today. But you are the reason he’s been able to go weeks without having one.”

“Okay?” He prompts when you don’t respond. You finally look him in the eye again, and offer a small nod of agreement.

He hands you the plate of apple pie, earning a small smile from you.

“Wait here. I’ve got something for you,” he tells you as he stands up and begins walking towards your door.

“Something for me?” you question, but he’s already halfway down the hallway.

He grabs the espresso machine from beside his bed and heads back to your room. He still feels nervous to give it to you, but right now he’s just hoping that it will help cheer you up.

When he re-enters your room, you’re forking a bite of pie into your mouth and freeze when you see what he’s carrying. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, still holding the box. You sit the plate of pie on your bedside table and scoot closer to him.

“Logan, you didn’t have to,” you murmur. He hands you the box and you hug it to your chest, but only look at him. He thinks your eyes are starting to look watery again. “I feel so bad. I didn’t get you anything—”

He waves his hand in dismissal, not surprised at all by your reaction.

“I know I didn’t have to. Just wanted to. Is that okay?”

You inspect the espresso machine with a bashful grin. “Thank you. I love it,” you assure him with a gentle squeeze to his hand. “I just wish I had gotten you something, too.”

“That’s not necessary,” he says, staring down at where your hand holds his. “You give me everything I need just by being here.”

You go still at his words with a look he can’t quite read on your face. You pull your hand away from his before placing the espresso box on the floor next to your bed. The hand that previously held his comes to cradle his face, your thumb grazing along his cheekbone. He turns his head ever so slightly to the side so that his lips graze against your palm. He kisses the skin once, then twice, and your eyes flutter closed.

His heightened senses don’t miss the way your heart rate picks up, or the way that you hold your breath as his lips linger on your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” He murmurs into the side of your hand. You open your eyes, your pupils dilated.

“Same thing I’ve been thinking about for years now,” you whisper as you lean forward, pulling his face to you.

You capture his lips in yours, opening up for him without hesitation. He slips his tongue into your mouth, the sensation simultaneously feeling brand new and like you’ve done this dance a hundred times before.

He scoots further back onto the mattress, away from the edge. He pulls you with him, guiding you onto his lap. You straddle him, his hands resting on your lower back. You fist your hands around the fabric of his flannel, pulling him flush against you.

It's years of pent up desire and longing that you pour into each other. You drag your teeth along the swell of his bottom lip and he groans into your mouth, resisting the urge to buck his hips up against your center.

He knew you looked sweet, smelled sweet – but never would he have guessed that you’d taste even sweeter. Even if it weren’t for the faint hint of cinnamon and apples from the pie you’d nibbled on, he’d think you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

You grind down against the uncomfortable bulge contained by his jeans and whimper – the prettiest sound he’s ever fucking heard and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You pull back, your chest heaving from lack of air.

“Why didn’t we do that years ago?” you ask breathlessly. He reaches up to your face, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he answers quickly. His eyes lock on your kiss swollen lips and he thinks you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now – staring down at him with puffy lips wet with his kiss. “But now that I’ve kissed you, I’m not gonna stop. Gonna kiss you for as long as you’ll let me.”

And to prove his point, he starts trailing wet, open mouth kisses along your jaw and down your throat. You throw your head back, giving him unhindered access to the skin of your neck. He alternates between kissing and nipping the tender flesh, leaving a damp trail across your skin.

You grab at the hem of your shirt and Logan pulls away to allow you to tug it over your head. You’re left naked from the waist up and Logan is left feeling like his cock is going to break through the zipper of his jeans.

With your tits directly in front of his face, he latches his mouth to one nipple and palms the other in his hand. You rock yourself against his erection, chasing the relief that the friction provides you.

“Logan,” you pant from above him. “Please—”

He pulls his mouth away from you with a wet pop, leaving your nipple glistening and taut.

“Tell me what you want, honey.”

You let out a low whimper at the pet name and drag your fingers through his hair. He toys with the waistband of your pajamas pants, popping the elastic band lightly against your skin.

“Your mouth,” you say, the words somewhere between a whine and a plea. “I wanna feel your mouth on me.”

He groans at the bluntness of your words. Hearing you say that you want his mouth on you has his cock throbbing in his pants.

“Yeah?” He taunts as he maneuvers you off of his lap. He quickly tugs his own shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his chest, your mouth slightly agape.

He tilts your head so that you’re looking at his face again and tugs at your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

In that moment, he hopes you never stop looking at him like that.

“You gonna sit on my face?”

You nod, eagerly. You push your pajama pants down past your ass and thighs, and Logan helps pull them the rest of the way over your calves and ankles. You lean forward, reaching for the waistline of his jeans and fumbling with the button until it pops open.

He sees you completely naked before him and his brain goes momentarily blank. He can’t believe he actually gets to see you like this – bare for him and more perfect than he ever could have envisioned.

And believe him, he had tried. Nothing could have prepared him for how it actually feels to see you, touch you, taste you after years of yearning for you.

“Lay down for me?” You ask with a small laugh, snapping him out of his trance. He does as you ask, placing his head on one of your pillows.

You straddle his chest, your back to his face. He helps you inch backwards until your pussy hovers directly over his mouth. He pauses for a moment, spreading your thighs apart with his hands to give him a clear view of your already dripping cunt before yanking you the rest of the way down to his mouth.

You moan as soon as his tongue slides through your wet folds, bracing your hands on the defined planes of his chest. The sweet and salty tang of you fills his mouth and he has to resist moaning goddamn, I love you into your cunt.

He could get drunk off of the flavor of you.

You grind yourself against his face, your juices coating his beard and your inner thighs. He’s so focused on working you with his lips and tongue that he doesn’t even notice you pushing his jeans and boxers down until he feels his cock spring back and slap his lower belly.

“Fuck,” you moan at the sight of him. You pump him in your hand, smearing the pre-cum from his slit down his shaft. “You're so big. I don’t know how you’ll fit inside me.”

He hears you spit, then feels it drip across his tip. You smear the warm wetness down his length and press a kiss to the side of his cock before taking him in your mouth. The head nudges against the back of his throat before you pull back, then ease back in, slow and deep.

He’s always loved your lips, but right now he’s doesn’t think he could ever love them more. He wants to watch as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head along his length, but that’s going to have to wait for another time.

Right now, he’s right where he wants to be. He has your swollen clit locked between his lips, sucking on it to the point that your legs quiver around his head. You lean forward, pressing your chest against his stomach as you run your tongue down the entirety of his cock and stroke him in your hand.

“I’ve waited so long to taste you,” he grunts from beneath you. The vibrations of his voice making your pussy clench around the finger that he teases your hole. “This cunt’s so fuckin’ sweet.”

He eases his index finger past your entrance, your walls constricting around the digit. “And so fuckin’ tight,” he adds, pumping in and out of you as you begin to move forwards, then backwards, up, and then down – grinding against his finger.

“Logan, I'm gonna cum,” you cry and it makes his balls tighten. He feels it – the way you gush around his finger and the way your legs clench around his head.

You ride out your orgasm above him, and then collapses against his chest. Your skin is sticky with sweat against his, despite the fact that the current cold front has the smelting plant colder than normal tonight.

You roll off of him, falling onto the mattress next to him. Your slick glistens on your thighs in the soft glow of your lamplight. It's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, he thinks. You fucked out and delirious from your climax.

But he thinks he might fucking die if he has to spend one more second of his abnormally long life not knowing how it feels to be buried inside you.

He helps pull you into a sitting position, and then lays you down in his place. Your tits heave as you try to regain control of your breathing. He's on his knees, fisting himself in his hand as he nudges your knees open. Your eyes are locked on his cock, a look of half excitement and half terror.

“You can take it, honey. I know you can,” he coos.

He slaps the tip against your clit, then glides it up and down your wet length. Not entering you quite yet, but coating himself in your slick. He looks down at himself next to your pretty, wet cunt and imagines how it’ll be to see it sliding in and out of you.

“Just been a while, that’s all,” you say, pulling him down to the by the back of the neck. He lines himself up at your entrance, nudging just the tip in. Even that’s a stretch for you, he can tell by the way your mouth forms an O shape.

He goes still for a moment – for your sake, but for his own, as well. He has to adjust to the warm tightness of your pussy before he trusts himself to go any deeper.

“I know, baby. Been a while for me too. Been waiting for you for a long time.”

He slates his lips over yours, kissing you messy and deep as he slowly sheaths himself inside you. He stills again once he’s buried to the hilt, and breaks the kiss to look down at you.

“You okay?” He murmurs. He props himself up on one forearm by your head, and brings his free hand to roll one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You give him another eager nod, and wrap your legs securely around his hips, hooking your ankles together just below his ass.

“Mm-hmm,” you sigh. “Need you to move now, Logan.”

With his cock throbbing inside you, he doesn’t make you tell him twice. His length drags along the soft, spongy interior of your walls as he pulls out and eases back in. He gives you a few languid, slow strokes to accommodate the newfound stretch before it's hard for him to hold back.

He gets lost in it all – in the wet, tight heat of your cunt, in the sounds that your bodies make as he repeatedly snaps into you, in every expression on your face and every noise that slips past your lips.

You snake your arms around his abdomen, your hands coming to rest on his lower back.

“H-how’s your back?” You stammer out as he continues to piston his hips forward.

“I've never been better,” Logan grunts, resting his sweat slicked forehead against yours.

It's the truth. He’s never felt better than he does right now, between your legs – even if he is feeling this in his back. He'll deal with any and all repercussions later, once he's felt you cum around his cock while you cry his name.

You smile up at him as if to say wanna bet?

You flatten your hands across his skin at the base of his spine, and he doesn’t have to be able to see it to know what you're doing. He's experienced the effects of your powers enough by now to recognize them instantly – the low vibration they emit and the immediate warmth that spreads throughout his body.

“Gonna make me cum, honey,” he warns you. “Feels too good.” He feels your walls constrict around him when he calls you honey.

“Kiss me and I’ll cum with you,” you tell him in a breathy voice that he could listen to talk in all fucking night.

He kisses you again, this time more hurried than anytime before as he chases both of your releases. He spills into you with a deep groan as your cunt spasms around him. You moan his name into his mouth until he stills inside you, the last ropes of his cum filling you up.

He isn’t sure how long the two of you stay like that – with him still tucked inside you, laying pressed against you with his face nuzzling the crook of your neck. You trail your fingers up and down his spine, the sensation the only thing grounding him to reality in his post orgasm haze.

Finally, he pulls back enough to look down at you.

“Stay here,” he says earnestly. “Stay with me. Don't go back to Colorado. One day, we’ll go anywhere you want to. Just the two of us. But right now, please stay—”

“Logan,” you shush him gently. “I wasn’t planning on going back to Colorado. Or anywhere without you.”

He exhales, and kisses you on the forehead before finally pulling out of you and plopping down beside you. He tucks you between his chest and his arm, your head resting just above his heart.

“You know, this new bed of yours is a whole lot comfier than mine,” he comments casually.

“Hmm,” you hum and tilt your head to look up at him. “You should probably sleep here tonight. For your back, of course.”

He laughs, sleep threatening to overtake him at any second. He presses a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“I'm not going anywhere without you, honey.”

••••••

some of my other logan works

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

by the end of the night - worst variant logan has nightmares and mutant reader with emotional regulation abilities helps him sleep better

claw kink drabble

thank you so much for reading 🫶🏻

[cathnospam]

Thinking about doing one of those 21 sex questions for couples with canon!Katsuki Bakugo aka your boyfriend.

Black!Reader, Virginity Loss Mentioned, Canon!Bakugo, Mentions of Sex, Slightly Smutty, Bantering

He thinks it’s stupid at first. Not wanting to engage in such a dumb activity, “For fucking what? I already know everything about your body.”

Bakugo was always the type to tell you no, as he was doing it, but this suggestion did take a bit of convincing seeing as he was never the type to be very vocal about the intimate moments with you both.

“C’mon…” You whine holding his strong bicep he had curled in with the other. You almost get distracted by his strength and began lifting your legs to swing on him as if you were a monkey.

“ALRIGHT!” He shrugs you off, sucking his teeth seeing how excited you were to finally wear him down. “What are the questions, dumbass.”

You both lean on the headboard of your dorm bed and scroll through the several ads and comments to find the section of questions.

“Okay, first question; are you and your partner sexually active—“

“Obviously.”

“‘Suki…”

“What?! It’s a dumbass question.”

You roll your eyes and scoff at your pouting boyfriend still with his arms crossed and eye’ing you down and landing his eyes back to the screen.

“Does your partner know how to satisfy you?”

“Well yes, I believe you do.”

Bakugo blows out his nose and looks away, not wanting to answer you almost took offense and your face must have shown it, because he gestures his hand out to you, “Of course you do, dumbass why do you think we do it a lot.”

“A lot is an understatement.”

“What?! Not even you idiot!”

“When’s the last time we had sex, ‘Suki.”

“…”

“Hellooooo.”

“Am I answering your questions or the fucking websites.”

“Question 4: How often do you and your partner have sex.”

“DON’T SKIP 3–“

“QUESTION 4–“

“THIS FUCKING AFTERNOON WE DID SO WHAT?”….”You were practically begging for my dick.”

“I wasn’t the one humping your ass when I got out the shower—“

“SHUT UP. And I wasn’t humping you I’m not a fucking dog.”

“Grinding whatever, your dick almost slipped inside from what you was doing!”

“AND?!”

“We have had sex about 4 times this week. It’s only Tuesday.”

Bakugo shifts around, cheeks warming up, he can’t help it. Honestly, it shocked him how much he enjoyed sex with you, you took each other virginity and through out the time you both were just having casual sex it was a lot of learning involved and it became addictive to him. It started off as him just wanting to learn to be better, but now the improvement is what also motivates him.

The way you scratch his back, the way you cream on his dick, your soft plushy body against his, the faces you make are all because of him. You subconsciously stroke his ego when you do that.

You became his best worst distraction. The main reason it became embarrassing for him is because you brought it out. He loves and hates you sometimes for it.

“Then we’ll cool down. I told you to always tell me no if you don’t want to.” He deadpans trying to ignore how shy I’m his body language is becoming.

“Who said I wanted that? I never told you no for a reason. Blondie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You giggle, looking back at the dimly lit screen to scroll for more questions, “What’s something or somethingS your partner does during or after sex you can’t get enough of.”

You wait, turning your head at your Blondie, seeing as he is looking at your first to respond, “Ladies first.”

“You—ugh fine.” You sit up from your bent over position and Katsuki’s eyes couldn’t tear from yours. In all honesty he was curious to know too. “I love those…rare moments when you’re directly in my ear and you moan my name, you don’t talk often during, but it’s …hot or whatever.”

He huffs out a chuckle looking away for a moment, he figured from the way you clench down everytime he does.

“Anything else?”

You pause, poking your tongue through your cheek. “Yeah. When you hold my hand when you go down on me, you always act like I would hate your sweat on your hands when I really love it.”

“Because you’re gross.”

“Oh shut up!”

“….what else.”

His voice grew soft. You didn’t want to tease him about it, but you also loved when he became attentive to what you said, you knew by the twinkle in his eye he wants to know more, mainly because he definitely will be doing all those things you love even more now.

“I love when you slap my ass. It hurts in a good way.”

“I do too. Next time I might land an explosion on it—“

“You bet not, you damn pervert.”

“Shut up, what else.”

“…um….it’s embarrassing.”

“Just fucking tell me it’s just us.”

“….When you clean me up after, y’know either with a towel or in the bath. And sometimes in the bath it lead to you to …”

“To…?”

“Finger me.”

You notice the curl in his lip, it’s kinda hot to him how you’re admitting all of this. He wants to pry more, but from your embarrassment he will spare you…for now.

“Well, I guess I like how you get so clingy when you’re cumming. It’s hot. You act like a fucking koala and you just won’t let go of me.”

“Just Like…?”

“Tch.”

You teased him, you knew that word love is still hard for him to say, and you both knew what he meant, but it was worth a try to get him to say it.

“I ….enjoy when you demand what you want. Like the other day when you told me to lay back so you can ride my thigh.”

“….” You couldn’t say much but smile and feel shy. Honestly it was something you were terrified to do because who on earth tells Katsuki what to do?

“Good. Glad y’liked it.”

“Don’t make it a regular occurrence though you not in charge here.”

“Shut up!”

“Also when you kiss me all over after cumming. You’re such a damn sap after getting your brains fucked out it’s kinda hot.”

“Y’know….”

“What it’s true, dumbass.”

“Anything else.” You sang, seeing his flinch at you coming closer to his face he groans, “That’s all you can’t get enough of?”

“Tch…I ain’t telling you all of ‘em.”

“It would take all night.”

Bakugo prayed you wouldn’t hear that last part, but you did. Knowing he would probably walk out the room, so you don’t tease him, “One more. Just one more.”

For the first time in a while you seen conflict in his eyes, also similar to when you first asked him if he was ready to have sex with you.

The silence was loud, not awkward but it was enough to make you want to move on until he spoke—-

“The way you trust me.”

“…”

“You let me inside you, touch you, and all that mushy shit we have read in those books and knowing you let me is fucking…hot or whatever.”

“….”

“I say bend over you do it, I make you say my name and you do it, I say on your knees you do it….you just….trust that I’m ganna take care of you. Like you depend on me.”

You still didn’t have much to say, you realized being dependent on Katsuki was something he always took pride in. He may “complain”, but deep down he loves knowing he is the only one that sees you at your most vulnerable.

Bakugo hates the silence, throwing up all of that love knowing damn well he struggles to even say the word, he groans uncomfortably, “Fucking say something—“

You lean over to him, lips crashing gently with his, you taste the mintyness of his breath as he slides his tongue inside your mouth, a natural reflex he has a habit of doing whenever you two kiss.

“Of course I trust you. You’re Katsuki.”

His eyes widen for a second before pulling away, “The hell thats supposed to mean.” He says light heartily .

“‘Means you’re worth trusting….I hope you trust me too.”

You idiot. If only you knew he trusts his life with you.

You stretch back on the headboard and exhale and ease the tension, “Been knowing you and ‘Zuzu since elementary of course I grew to trust you.”

Bakugo groans at the mention of Deku and that damn nickname. “Whatever.” He blushes. “What are the other questions.”

“Oh so noooowwww you wanna know—-“

“WHAT ARE THEY?!”

[auroracalisto]

with all the power in oz

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 2.2k words summary: the reader, rather anxious and studious, finds their self head-over-heels with none other than fiyero, supposed boyfriend to galinda upland. to placate this, they somewhat agree to meet him at the ozdust ballroom. a/n: YOU pronouns are used to address the reader, but there is no usage of y/n. just watched the movie today. tried to find a fic, couldn't. here I am writing one instead. reader worries a lot. so me. you're welcome. also, I'm going into this blind. I have unfortunately never seen the actual musical (downsides to living in the middle of nowhere) so I'm only going off based on wikis and the movie. it should be gn as I read through it like... five different times, but please let me know if I missed something!

Breathtaking. That's what he was. But could you truly refer to a man like him as breathtaking?

The very features that graced his face were absolutely mesmerizing, and you felt like a fool watching him at times. How could you not? He seemed so full of life, so full of... well, not a care in the world, really. It was as if he brushed everything off of his shoulders without hesitation.

You could only wished you were the same way.

No cares, no worries. How lovely that would have been.

No, you hold onto the things that happen to you as if you have no other way to live. You hold grudges, you think over things that happened years ago that no one could possibly remember.

For someone who wished to be a sorcerer, you had a hard time simply letting things go. Your emotions often got the better of you, even when you knew better. Even when you wished it could be the opposite. But perhaps that was the way of the world.

Not a man in Oz could tell you otherwise.

Books in hands, you crossed the path to your dormitory, brows cinched together in mild concentration.

You had a project in your history class, and an extensive paper to complete on the study of mathematics—of all the things you could have had, a paper in mathematics. You'd rather perform magic in front of the entire student body, but you couldn't.

As you walked, you heard your name come from behind you. Eyes flicker back, a soft frown on your lips. You see him—Fiyero. The one fool you meant to avoid with all the gumption within you.

You'd melt just being near him.

"Fiyero," you softly greet.

He gave you a charming smile, coming up to walk with you. "Heading back already?" he asked.

"I am."

"Working on the project, hm? We could work on it together if you'd like. I'm sure our minds could do wonders," he said, a playful wink coming from him.

"I'm fine," you simply said.

He blinked slowly, but his smile never wavered. "Come now," he said, your name leaving his lips rather sweetly. "Surely you're not going to spend the rest of your evening alone. Why don't you come to Ozdust tonight?"

You looked back at him, frowning. "Ozdust. Me. I don't think so, Fiyero."

"And why not? I'm sure you'd be as dashing as ever."

You stopped in your steps, eyes searching his for but a moment. "Dashing. Are you in earnest, Fiyero?"

"Yes," he said, smiling.

"And what of Galinda? You'll be with her. Why invite me?"

"She doesn't need to know. It's not her business," he said. "Besides, she will be busy with Elphaba. I'd much rather spend time with you."

"And I think you're just pulling my leg," you said defensively. You crossed your arms over your chest, careful to keep your books close.

"Pulling your leg? I haven't even touched you," he said, a cheeky grin on his lips. "Come now, don't play coy. You should come."

"And if I do?"

"Then I'll be quite happy."

You rolled your eyes and went to walk away.

A hand wrapped around your bicep, and you paused, glancing over your shoulder at him.

His eyes widened a bit and he dropped his hand, albeit hesitantly. Perhaps he didn't think he would actually reach out to you. He cleared his throat.

"I really would like you to be there. You'll have the time of your life."

"The time of my life," you repeated. "I don't think you realize how much I dread parties."

"Have you ever been to one?"

"No."

"Then how do you know you dread them?"

"I just know," you said. "I feel it in my bones. I know going will just get on my nerves."

He scoffed, placing his hands on his hips. "I think you're foolish for that," he said. "Come on. What are you losing? A couple hours to work on a project that you know you could finish in a morning session? You'll be fine. Come to the Ozdust tonight. I'll show you a good time."

You clenched your jaw. "I don't want—"

"—I would like you to be there. That is all. I won't ask again." He gave you another small smile before he looked away. "I'll see you around. Perhaps tonight?"

You stared him down. He would like to see you there? Was he being honest? And what of Galinda? Would he be going behind her back? Wasn't he madly in love with her, or something? Or was it the other way around?

He said your name once more, and you looked up at him, letting out a soft sigh.

"Right. Perhaps tonight," you softly said.

The smile on his lips was rather... hopeful than anything else. There wasn't anything smarmy by it. He seemed as genuine as the glint in his eye—the one he used when he spoke with anyone he trusted. At least, you hoped so.

The night came quickly as you finished up your outfit—one you would hope you didn't look completely foolish in. The color you chose seemed to fit well with almost anything, but you still worried. You always worried about something.

Time was of the essence. You weren't even supposed to leave Shiz University's campus, but here you were, sneaking like some scoundrel.

Well, perhaps you were, listening to the requests of a man who already had a girlfriend—a fantastically beautiful one at that.

But you paid no mind. You did what you could, and soon, you found yourself walking down the steps of the Ozdust Ballroom.

Never had you been in a place like this. It was almost... breathtaking, had it not been for the overpowering smells of perfume and some kind of drink wafting from the bar. Your eyes flitted from patron to patron until you finally spotted him—Fiyero.

He looked just as handsome as ever.

Good Oz, what in the world were you doing? This was foolish.

You took a step back, staring at Fiyero for a moment as he spoke with another man, drink in hand. You needed to leave. This was ridiculous. You were ridiculous! Never in a thousand years would you ever imagine yourself to do such a thing—

"You made it!"

Fiyero's voice rang out above the music.

You look to him, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Because of course he saw you as soon as you had decided to leave.

Fiyero smiled and made his way to you, taking your hands in his, drink left with the confused man behind him. Surely he didn't just up and leave in the middle of his conversation.

You part your lips and go to speak, but to your dismay, Fiyero is instant.

"I was afraid you had changed your mind," he said. "You look ravishing, darling."

Your eyes widened. Ravishing? You'd been called many things in your life, but never ravishing.

"Galinda couldn't make it?" you asked.

"Wha—no, she couldn't. But what of it? I didn't ask her to the Ozdust, I asked you. I'm glad to see your face."

Warmth blossomed in your cheeks as you watched him. "Fiyero, please... I shouldn't be here."

"Oh, nonsense," he said, grinning all the while. "Come. Dance with me."

"But I don't—"

"—do not say you don't dance. I can teach you."

"Teach me?"

"It's as easy as breathing," he said.

"For you, maybe, but not for—"

"—humor me," he said, smiling.

You pursed your lips. Of course he had to give you that charming smile and the sweet bat of his eyelashes.

"I do not dance," you repeated.

"I think I will be the judge of that."

He grabbed your hands once more and pulled you out into the ballroom floor, smiling all the while.

"You'll be a natural. I can just see it."

"I feel like if I were a natural, you wouldn't have to teach me," you said, gasping as he pulled you close to his chest. His face was dangerously close to yours, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips.

"You know," he began, eyes flickering back to your eyes. "We all start somewhere, do we not? You should know that better than anyone."

"What? What does that—"

He interrupted you by spinning you by your arm, back into his embrace. The music was rather ambient, not quite one for dancing so enthusiastically, but Fiyero embraced it. Hand to your hand, face close to your face.

"See? A natural."

"You merely spun me around, Fiyero. Do not be foolish."

"You could have fell flat on your face," he said, a boyish grin evident on his lips.

"Stop looking at me like that," you defiantly said. "You are far too close to me for my liking."

"Oh, feisty, are we?" he asked, moving his body along to the music and forcing you to go along, too. You nearly stepped on his toes several times. "I do not think there is anything wrong with the way I'm looking at you. You're rather breathtaking, if I may."

Breathtaking. The same way you had described him only hours before. He wasn't a mind reader, was he?

No.

Of course not. That was foolish. He was merely a man. Nothing of great importance—no power within him other than the power he held in every single eyelash as they batted down at you, making you melt over and over again.

"What of Galinda?" you repeated.

"What of her?"

"You shouldn't be calling someone who isn't yours breathtaking. It's quite..."

"There is nothing wrong with admiring the beauty in front of me," he said, your name playfully leaving his tongue. "Look at me. Galinda and I are only friends."

You rolled your eyes. "Do not lie to me."

His eyes widened a bit. "Lie? I do not lie. We are friends and nothing more. Though I do believe she thinks differently..."

"She must," you said, huffing softly.

"But that does not make it true. I have eyes for someone else."

"Eyes for someone else?"

He tilted his head once more. He was rather endearing when he did that.

"Who did I ask to their very first party?" he asked, smiling. "It's quite a feat, isn't it? Afraid you wouldn't show, and then you do, questioning me and everything I stand for, hm?"

Warmth found its way to your cheeks once more. You looked away from him. With the crescendo of the music, Fiyero pulled you closer, fingers lacing with yours. His lips hover dangerously close to yours.

"You know, if you would just give it a chance, perhaps you and I could make some magic of our own."

You let out a curt laugh. "You—oh, good Oz, I hope you never use that line on anyone! Has that worked for you before?"

He gave a cheeky smile. "It seems like it's working on you."

"Absolutely not!"

"Not even a little!"

"No!"

His smile only seemed to grow. "Truly?"

You looked away, swallowing thickly. "I mean... no. Not even a little. Not at all."

"You're lying," he said.

"I am not."

"I do think I know what I'm talking about," he said, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to the soft skin of your cheek. "Come now," he said. "Stop with the lies."

You looked up at him, a soft huff escaping you.

"Fine. I lied. It may or may not be working. But it's not just because of what you said."

"Oh? Are you saying you like me for more than my suave words?"

"Suave words? Who in Oz said they were suave?"

He just smiled, his eyes flickering to your lips once more. "Do you think instead of just a dance, I could try something more?"

"Try what?"

"I think you know."

You blinked slowly at him, your fingers gently gripping onto his tunic. Your lips part in mild surprise, but you realize that you shouldn't have been. He'd been eyeing you the entire evening.

"Very well," you softly said.

"Wonderful," he replied, and in a swift motion, he pressed his lips to yours. It was short as he pulled back almost as soon as he had kissed you, but it was enough to keep you wanting more.

"Fiyero, that wasn't—"

"—come with me," he softly said, lacing his fingers with yours once more. "Somewhere without so many prying eyes, yes?"

Your answer was almost instant: "Yes."

Fiyero led you back up the staircase, and he didn't look back once at the ballroom.

"Where are we going?" you asked.

"Somewhere where I can see you and only you," he said. "If that's alright."

"Oh," you softly said. "Yes. That's alright."

"Then follow me," he said. "Do you trust me?"

You smiled sincerely for one of the first times in the evening. Did you trust him? What kind of foolish question was that? If you had the chance, you'd do whatever he'd ask of you. You found your answer rather quickly, knowing within yourself that it was far truer than any other statement you had ever uttered.

"With all the power in Oz."

[nerdlvr]

✩ 69

(MDNI)

smutty smut , nerd jisung x hot girl experienced reader , ji's first time giving head , 69 sex position (first time writing this ahh) , pussy eating , dick sucking , sorta face riding , she's on top , big dick ji (canon) , lots of body fluids , jisungs a pussy hungry dork , kinda pt. 2 to library head , lmk if i missed anything!

jisung would probably die of embarrassment if you could see his face. he was practically foaming at the mouth, cheeks burning red as you wiggled your ass in his face, your soft giggles only made him impossibly harder as he imagined how you'd mock him for looking this desperate.

"come of ji, just give it a taste."

he watched as your juices glistened against your folds, hips still wiggling in a taunting motion.

"i- i don't know if i can do- oh my-"

his hands came up to grip your thighs, the soft kitten lick you landed on his tip making his head spin.

"we can stop if you want ji-"

your small fingers wrapped around his length, gently gripping his base as you leaned down again to give his leaking head a kiss.

"fuck- don't do that- i'm gonna-"

you giggled again, moving your hand away his length and placing it on his thigh, slightly turning your body to get a look at him,

"baby look-"

you reached in between your legs, reaching into your core to collect your juices before extending your fingers out in front of his mouth.

"taste."

he stuck his tongue out, eyes meeting yours as you placed your wet fingers on his tongue. a grin spread on your lips as you watched him moan against your fingers, eyes rolling back into his head.

"good?"

he nodded quickly, mouth chasing your fingers as you pulled them away from his lips.

"now here-" you pointed to your core.

his tongue poked out to wet his lips, a small gulp running along his throat, "tell me if it's too much okay?"

you wanted to laugh at his question but your voice got caught in your throat, body going limp against his lap as he dove straight in.

"ji- jisung wait-" you gripped his thighs, moans leaving your lips as he lapped at your dripping core, tongue stiff against your clit. his hands were harsh against your hips, pulling your ass closer to his face, glasses pressing painfully against your supple skin.

you gripped his length, trying your best to also bring him some pleasure, but your forehead pressed against his pubic bone, eyes squeezed shut as he completely devoured you.

"jisung please- slow down- i- fuck."

he let go of your clit with a loud pop, fingers coming up to rub against your heat as he angled his head to look at you, "am i doing good? am i?"

you turned to face him. his glasses were foggy, pushed close against his face, swollen lips parted slightly awaiting your response.

"doing so good ji, just go a little-" he didn't get to hear the end of your response, ears zoning out as he got back to slurping at your juices.

jisung had never been a fan of sweets, but tasting you was almost addicting. everything else was a blur (partially due to his foggy glasses) the taste of you against his tongue turning his brain into mush.

he could cum like this alone, your hips moving gently against his tongue, your soft sounds filling his ears, but you were not a quitter. your hands wrapped tightly around his base as you forced yourself to remain steady, lips wrapping his aching length.

a smile spread on your lips as you felt him moan against your core, hips jutting up slightly against your mouth. you were quick to move against him, spit starting to collect in your mouth as you bobbed your head along his length.

he detached from your core, whiny moans leaving his lips as you picked up speed, sloppy noises of spit coming from below him,

"fuck- fuck- fuck- you're so good at that- fuck."

he pulled your hips down towards his face again, tongue flat against your heat. his grip tightened as he rocked your hips against his face, his groans vibrating against you as he pressed himself deeper into your cunt.

you moved your mouth away from him, spit helping your hands glide against his length as you jerked him off,

"ji- ji baby- yes- just like that-"

your body was now upright as pressed yourself onto jisung's face, his grip on your hips guiding you against his tongue. you rubbed yourself on him like your life depended on it, stomach tightening at the feeling of his stiff tongue grazing your swollen bud,

"so good baby- so good."

only deep groans could be heard from him as you continued to rock against him, using him to reach your high.

his glasses clattered against the bed as they fell off his face, giving jisung a new sense of freedom as he began to shake his head against your core, new vibrations radiating against you.

"keep- keep going ji- i'm gonna-"

he winced slightly as your grip on his length tightened almost painfully, your orgasm making your whole body tense above him. you fell against his lap again, loud moans leaving your lips as he eased you through your orgasm, soft hands massaging your ass as his tongue slowed against you.

if jisung thought you tasted good before, now he thought you tasted amazing. his tongue prodded at your pulsing hole, new juices flowing out of you. he sucked desperately, this new taste better than the last.

but his trance was short lived as he felt you pinch his thigh, your pained moans bringing him back to earth.

"jisung! jisung! too much, hurts, please."

he let out a nervous chuckle, hand coming up to scratch his head,

"s-sorry, you taste really good-"

your giggling made him flush, his sheepish personality coming back once again.

"that- that's a compliment! good taste of body fluids usually means good diet and hygiene! in my biology clas- oh!"

he threw his head back against your sheets as you lips wrapped around his tip, tongue swirling against the flushed skin.

"i don't give a fuck about your biology class jisung."

rude. but not like he cared, the rest of his biology class probably wasn't getting insane head.

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader play the vanity fair game show

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based off the OBX3 interview + suggested by this ask <3

“I am Madelyn Cline and we are here to test how well we know each other.” Madelyn said into the camera, sitting in the “hot seat”. The rest of her OBX costars sat opposite her in two rows, shoulder to shoulder and grinning ear to ear. Drew sat in the back, along with Rudy, JD, and Austin, where y/n sat in the front with Madison, Carlacia, and Chase. Drew wore a light purple blazer, a color the boys had made sure to tease him for all day, but he didn’t mind. Y/n liked the color on him, so of course he was going to wear it.

“... and we’re the cast of Outer Banks!” Madison and Carlacia said, the rest of the cast joining them and waving at the camera. Madison put her head down with a giggle before composing herself and straightening up once more. Y/n could feel Drew’s fingers combing lightly through her hair, playing with the ends as they waited for the game to begin. She looked back at him, grinning at his long, tousled hair. He smiled back, his fingers continuing to run through her hair as they focused back on the game.

“Ok, first question: which astrological sign do I like the most other than mine?” Madelyn said, the end of her marker resting on her lip as she thought. Quickly, the room burst into shouts and guesses, everyone clamoring to win the very first point of the game. Drew stood from his chair, craning his neck to see what Madelyn’s card read.

“Hey, no cheating!” Y/n pointed at him, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face before he sat back down.

“I’m gonna say Gemini.” Drew said, raising his eyebrows as he glanced into the camera.

“Gemini women. Yes.” Madelyn replied, giving Drew the first point. The rest of the cast booed playfully, Drew patting himself on the back as Madelyn’s turn continued. Once she asked her last question, it was Drew’s turn in the hot seat.

“Y/n has to wait to answer.” JD said, the cast turning to y/n, her mouth falling open.

“That is definitely not in the rules!” Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes.

“Now they are.” Rudy said with a shrug.

“Ok, what is my secret talent? Bonus, where did I learn my talent?” Drew read, looking over the question card at his co-stars until his eyes met y/n’s. She narrowed her eyes, trying to read into what Drew was going to write on the card, after all, he was a man of many talents.

“Sleeping.” Carlacia said.

“You play piano?” Austin guessed.

“See what’s happening is you're just giving me a lot of ideas.” Drew said, taking the cap off of his marker as he prepared to finalize his answer.

“Oh, write it down, I know it.” Y/n said waving her hand for him to write faster. Once he finished, Drew looked at her to answer.

“Juggling.” She answered, Drew flipping the card around to reveal his answer: juggling/insomnia.

“Question two: what’s my favorite food?” Drew grinned, writing his answer down quickly.

“Mama Jodi’s casserole!” The cast said in unison, Drew nodding as he flipped the card around.

“Almost burned down the apartment complex cooking that one time.” Chase pointed out, causing Drew to gasp.

“That was actually y/n’s fault.” Drew said, pointing a finger at y/n who scoffed.

“You were the one that was distracting me!” Y/n shot back, raising her hands in surrender as she thought of the memory. It had been Drew’s birthday and y/n had decided to surprise him with his favorite casserole. However, the two of them had gotten so entranced in an intense game of Mario Kart that she completely forgot about the food in the oven… until the smoke alarm went off.

“Fine, I will take some blame… only a little bit.” Drew cracked a smile as he shuffled onto the next card.

“Last question: who is my celebrity crush?” Drew scowled, biting his lip as he thought.

“Y/n y/ln.” Rudy said quickly. A small smirk spread across Drew’s lips as he hurriedly wrote his answer down, the rest of the cast hooting and hollering as y/n covered her face with her hands and a flush spread to her cheeks.

“Yeah, that’s correct…” Drew said bashfully, scratching his jaw. “I don’t think she likes me though, if I’m being honest.”

“Definitely not.” Madelyn teased, nudging y/n’s arm playfully.

The game continued, each member of the cast having their turn into their hot seat until it was finally y/n’s turn.

“Drew has to wait to answer.” Y/n said, pointing at Drew. His mouth fell open, his competitive nature kicking in as he groaned.

“The rules, Starkey.” Austin said, shaking his shoulder lightly as y/n picked up her first card.

“What is my favorite movie?” Y/n asked, pausing to think of her answer before writing it down.

“La La Land? The Lego Movie? Moulin Rouge?” Chase guessed, attempting to rattle off as many guesses as possible.

“Pitch Perfect!” Madison said with a giggle, to which y/n nodded.

“Yes, very big Pitch Perfect fan.” Y/n responded. The cast had many memories of watching (and performing) the movie during quarantine when all of them were confined to their shared apartment complex.

“Next question: what is my go-to karaoke song?” Y/n raised her eyebrows as she wrote her answer down on the card.

“Something Taylor Swift, yeah?” Madelyn asked.

“Surprisingly, no.” Y/n laughed. Drew and y/n had hosted many karaoke nights in their shared apartment, the entire cast fitting onto their sofa to sing and dance the night away. The two of them had even gone as far as buying a karaoke machine, complete with mics and lights. It was quite a hit.

“Oh my god, I know it—” Rudy said, snapping his fingers as he searched for the right answer.

“Alanis Morisette...” Drew whispered, to which y/n scowled at him.

“You Oughta Know!” Madelyn cheered, stealing Rudy’s answer with a giggle.

“Yep, that’s right… thank you, Drew.” Y/n said, quirking an eyebrow at Drew who just smiled back. Y/n shuffled her cards for a moment, drawing out the final question.

“Oh boy, last one...” Y/n said dramatically, the cast letting out a string of “ooohs” as y/n cleared her throat.

“What’s my on set snack?” Y/n read, quickly scribbling down her answer as her co-stars looked between each other. Drew sat there, a smug grin on his face as he watched their castmates struggle to answer the very simple question.

“I literally had the same snack every single day.” Y/n said, hoping to direct her co-stars in the right direction.

“I never had the same break time as you two, that’s not fair!” Carlacia said, turning to face Drew who simply shrugged.

“The answer was pickles.” Y/n said, turning the card around to reveal her answer.

“What kind? We need specifics.” JD asked, quirking his brow.

“Dill. The ones in the bag.” Drew answered for y/n, who simply nodded.

“And with that, we are the cast of Outer Banks…” Y/n led, gesturing to her friends opposite her.

“Thanks for watching!” The cast said in unison, waving to the camera.

[monzamash]

★ last chance; long live the inbox graveyard! —i pick a long forgotten request in my inbox and write a short blurb or musings

hot tub time machine lando norris x you —no warnings, just fluff "could we get a number 14 (pool/hot tub sex) with lando pleaseeee? so excited that you’re writing again!!" —requested by anon on october 8th, 2024

“happy birthday, sweetheart...”

“i really needed this," he sighed, "knowing i would be home with you for this was the only thing getting me through the last few of weeks.”

lando could feel every single ache and pain wash away as he slid into the hot tub, stomach full of the gorgeous italian spread you’d ordered for dinner. his favourite. he swore you were an angel sent to earth, everything you did for him was heavenly, he could never find the words to tell you how much he loved you.

“you look so happy lan,” you smiled, dropping the kimono you’d worn during dinner as lando’s eyes cast across your body, luring you into the tub.

“i’m very happy - especially when i get to enjoy all of this… c’mere pretty girl.”

a soft giggle slipped from your lips as you grasped his hand, "let me get a bottle of red wine for us to share and i'll join you — do you wanna open the one daniel gave you?"

"ooo, are we entering that portion of the night?" lando asked suggestively as you stood up, shooting him quizzical look.

"what do you mean?" you asked earning a loud laugh from the tub, water splashing a little as lando pulled himself up to the edge, smiling over at you with a look you knew all too well.

"as soon as you start on the red wine, you get so frisky," he stated as if it was a well-known fact, one that you certainly weren't aware of.

"i do not!" you staunchly defended, earning another loud scoff.

"oh, wow," lando laughed, "yes, you do baby and i'm not complaining so crack her open..." he teased as you carefully stepped into the tub, with lando's help of course, eyes still narrowed in annoyance.

"okay so maybe wine makes me a little more amorous than usual but i think i'm just like that when i drink, no?" you pouted, earning yourself a pity kiss from the birthday boy.

"red wine makes you horny and that's okay," he teased again with a cheeky smirk on his face as you handed him the stemmed glass, "ta."

"we'll see then, won't we," you tutted, pouring two glasses of wine while lando chuckled to himself.

"i already know what's gonna happen but sure," he baited with a wink as he slowly dunked his head under the water and emerged with a shake of his wild curls, sending water flying across the room and all over you.

"you are so sure of yourself tonight."

lando's eyes skimmed across your body briefly while you claw-clipped your hair up, not wanting the hassle of having to dry it before going to bed. secretly you knew where the night was headed, red wine or not— it was his birthday after all, but you weren't about to admit that to the man hypnotised by your every move, jaw slack from the glorious view of your cleavage.

lando was a simple man.

"well, i am the birthday boy after all so i reserve the right to be cocky once a year, yeah?" he taunted from the other side of the tub.

"yeah, only once a year..." you rolled your eyes humorously.

the distance between the two of you seemed too far for lando, so he sculled the rest of his drink and carefully placed the glass on the floor before giving you a mischievous smile.

"steady on, party boy," you chuckled as he leaned forward and snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you into his warm hold.

"i just want to focus all of my attention on you," he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen out of your clip, his emerald irises darted over your face, finally resting on yours.

"i missed you a lot, you know."

you took that as an invitation to straddle his lap and rest your elbows over his shoulders, wine glass dangling from your fingers. lando smoothed his hands down your back and and pressed fiery kisses across your chest. his lips travelled back up your neck, along your jaw before finding your soft lips in a slow, passionate kiss. you moved in sync with him, bringing one of your hands up to trawl through his wet, tangled curls. the chlorine always got the best of them.

lando hummed quietly into the kiss before pulling back slightly, "this is the best birthday i've ever had... and i couldn't be more in love with you," he confessed as you took the chance to admire the sweet boy you'd chosen to share your life with.

you grasped his face gently between your hands and pressed another soft kiss to his lips, making sure he knew just how much you loved him, no matter what life threw your way.

"i love you too, darling... happy birthday."

a/n — the first of the end of (f1) season sale!! this hot tub request actually wasn't forgotten, just half-baked so thank you anon for sparking up the inspiration to finally finish it! hope you enjoyed it 😌

[bohemianblasphemy]

MGG prompt. 🥺 Reid’s favorite holiday is Halloween and he’s disappointed when his plans fall through for the evening so you invite him to hand out candy at your house, and once he arrives he’s very into your Halloween costume, and you end up not passing out any candy. 😉😉

I love me some Spencer Reid 🥺✨ spooky smut coming your way!!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Contains: Unprotected sex, Spencer fucking you in your costume, Reader receiving oral, fishnet ripping… fun stuff!

“What do you mean you’re not doing Halloween this year?” You were shocked, leaning over Spencer’s desk as he was sitting in his chair.

“My plans fell through… so it’s just sit in my apartment and watch some horror movies that night.” Spencer shrugged, but you could see the disappointment behind his expression. He LOVED Halloween- come October and it was the only thing he’d talk about. You hated seeing him sad, especially during his favourite time of the year.

“Hey, I have an idea.” You said, the cogs in your head turning.

“Come over to mine… we can dress up and hand out candy, watch some scary movies. I don’t want you to be alone…” you said softly, hoping that he would take you up on your offer.

Spencer’s eyes had a spark of excitement from your offer- not only because of Halloween but also because he could spend time with you.

“Y-yeah! I’d like that a lot…” he gave you that goofy smile he always gave when he was excited, making your heart flutter at the sight.

“Great! I’ll um… text you the address, you gotta wear a costume though… or you’re not being let in.” You teased, making him fidget in his seat.

“Oh I will be, don’t you worry.”

- - -

The few days to Halloween rolled by as Spencer and yourself had finalised your plans for that night.

You stood at your bathroom mirror, applying the final touches to your makeup - the pink and blue eyeshadow blended to perfection, bringing your elvira costume together with the tall wig and long black dress that showed off your curves perfectly.

The timing was impeccable as you heard the doorbell buzzing, your favourite boy genius had arrived on time. You eagerly made your way towards the door, opening it to see Spencer… in normal clothing.

“Spencer I told you to dress up!” You said to him, a bit of disappointment in your voice. “What do you mean? I am dressed up…” Spencer smoothed over his shirt.

“I’m an existentialist.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you couldn’t help but laugh. He was such a dork, but you couldn’t help but admire him for it.

“Besides, it looks like you’re the star of our Halloween night…” Spencer smiled softly, his eyes running over you as he admired your costume.

The soft blush on your cheeks was undeniable, smiling sweetly at him. “Thanks Spence… come in.” You pulled the door open wider, watching him walk inside and take in the surroundings of your home.

He saw the giant bowl of candy, meant for any trick or treaters who were to pass by the house but couldn’t help but take a piece for himself.

“Got a lot to choose from…” he smiled as he unwrapped the piece of candy, putting it in his mouth and chewing slowly.

Smiling at him, you nodded. “Whoever comes to the door is gonna have a hard time choosing…”

There was undoubtedly tension between you both, you had no problems speaking when you were at work together but now? The air was just full of unspoken feelings and longing…

“Uhm… i have some movies that we can watch, if you’re wanting to watch something…” you turned around, trying to break the silence that surrounded you both.

“I have Halloween, The Lost Boys, Scream, The Thing- take your pick.” You handed him the DVDS that you had in your hand, he takes them and momentarily grazes his fingers on yours, making the flush on your cheeks burn brighter as you watch him go through the selection of movies.

“The Lost Boys first?” He grinned, seeing the smile on your face.

“My favourite… yes let’s do it.”

The doorbell rang, hearing a muffled “trick or treat!” From behind the wood.

“I’ll get the door… you pop the movie in yeah?” You looked to him as you grabbed the candy bowl.

“Yeah of course.” He looked as you turned around, admiring the way that you looked in your costume as you answered the door to the trick or treaters.

In that time you took handing out candy and closed the door, Spencer had taken a seat on your couch ready to watch the movie, waiting for you to come sit beside him.

Upon your return, Spencer smiled up at you as you sat down. Ready to watch as he pressed play.

The movie plays, the title card with the aerial shot of the carnival in Santa Carla is in view and you focus on the screen- Spencer, trying to get avert his eyes to the screen was looking at you, he couldn’t get over how you looked in that outfit…

He felt bad for not watching the movie, but he enjoyed watching you. He could see the excitement in your eyes as the vampires on their bikes driving off through the sandy dunes and smiled softly at your reactions.

You could feel his eyes on you, knowing that he wasn’t paying attention- but you couldn’t help but love that he was watching you instead of the movie.

You turned to face him, A dash of confidence building up inside you.

“Spence?” You whispered, locking eye contact with him.

Spencer’s eyes went wide and he swallowed hard.

“I-I um…” he stuttered, not being able to look you in the eye. His nervousness settling in as he looked toward his lap.

Using your index finger you pulled his chin up, making him look at you.

“Do you like what you see Spence?” You whisper, your sweet tone sending a shiver down his spine.

Of course he did, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you in your costume.

“Yes…” he whispered, watching you move closer toward him. The gap between you both was agonisingly thin, his pupils blown with desire for you.

Leaning in further, you could feel his shallow, shaky breaths on your lips- feeling his needy desire for you buzzing off of him.

“Do you want this? Do you want me?” You said quietly, smiling at the hitch in his throat.

“Yes… god yes.” He whined, there was nothing in that moment that he wanted more than to have you… to take you.

Taking that opportunity, you moved forward and captured his lips with yours, tasting the lingering candy on his tongue.

Spencer couldn’t help the soft moan that came from within him as you kissed, his slender fingers coming up to your cheek but pausing within an inch of you.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, watching as you nodded. He pulled you into him, his other arm snaking around you and holding you closer as he kissed you once more.

Your hands reached his chest, slowly unbutton his shirt and splaying it open to reveal his torso.

“Pretty boy…” you praised him as you pulled away from his kiss; watching his chest rise and fall shakily at your touch as your fingers ghosted along his warm skin toward the button of his pants, a tent evidently filled the space in front of his zipper.

“W-wait-“ he panted, gently taking your wrist. Leaning forward he encapsulated your lips again. “I-I need to taste you, please.” Spencer’s voice was yearning.

“Hmm…” you replied, a smirk appearing on your lips. “I think that can be arranged.” Spencer watched as you stood up, extending your hand to him.

Taking your hand, he followed you down the hallway to your room. Closing the door behind you Spencer took your waist, walking you backwards to the edge of the bed and lay you down- splayed out for him as your split of your black dress bared your fishnet clad legs.

Spencer looked down at you, in awe of how beautiful he thought you looked in your outfit as he sat down on his knees by the edge of the bed.

His long fingers traced along your thighs, feeling the flimsy material of the tights. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, hands tracing further up your legs to your pelvis.

With a shaky breath, he traced lightly along the front of you- your body quivering for more.

“Can I?” He whispered, looking up at you for permission. After seeing you nod, he didn’t hesitate to dig his fingers in the tights, ripping them open to reveal what lay beneath them making you gasp.

“Spence those were my good ones…” you giggled softly. “I’ll buy you another- fuck I’ll buy you 10 pairs… they look so good.” He praised you, moving closer to where you wanted him most.

So beautiful.” Spencer was in awe as he played with the elastic of your underwear and pulling it to the side, admiring your glistening cunt.

Placing a few kisses to your thighs, he traces his lips up to your pussy- flattening his tongue against you before bringing the tip of it to your clit, swirling around the sensitive nub.

The taste of you was going to be the death of him, moaning at how good it felt- something he could never get enough of.

“Spence….” You breathed out, your hands reaching for his brown hair and pulling at them- eliciting a sudden moan from him as he continued his assault with his tongue.

Your noises filled the room, each going an octave higher as he you reached your peak, the grip on his hair getting tighter as you came hard on his lips and tongue.

Spencer looked up at you, his lips wet with your desire and his eyes filled with want.

Your eyes followed him as he stood up. Starting to fiddle with the button of his pants and letting them fall to the ground at his feet, leaving him in his briefs.

All you could do was stare- your eyes raking over his form, seeing the tent that had formed under his briefs.

He watched your eyes and smirked slightly as he toyed with the elastic, hooking his thumbs under the material and pulling them down setting himself free.

Him standing bare before you was a sight for sore eyes. “God Spencer…” you whispered, admiring him as you went to take off your costume- but he objected.

“Leave it on… please.” He pleaded. “I wanna take you like this…” he said shyly as he took a step over to you and crawled on top the sheets, hovering over you.

He looked over you, seeing you eye him from below in awe- the yearning to feel you overwhelming as he positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with his tip.

“C-can I?” He whispered, his face coming down a few inches from you as you nodded enthusiastically. “Yes Spencer, please…”

Slowly and steadily, he started to move himself inside you- a gasp falling from his lips he moved his hips, listening and watching as your mouth fell open; the most heavenly sound that has ever hit his ears falling from your lips- calling his name and your fingers digging into his shoulders.

His thrusts became faster, more desperate. The eagerness to please you, to feel you- to make you cum the only goal on his mind.

“I-is this good? Please tell me it feels good-“ he was panting, desperate to hear you praise him. “Sp-Spence you feel so good- so good f’me…” you couldn’t help the shuddering words that came out, ecstasy building up in your core.

A small whimper rolled out of Spencer at your praise, whining as he continued rolling his hips into yours. The pressure of his orgasm was building up inside him quickly.

“I-I’m not gonna last.” He whispered, another whine following his words.

“Let go Spencer, please…”

Spencer’s thrusts became more erratic as he watched you fall over the edge- calling out his name as you came hard around him, clenching yourself around his cock.

His breathing became jagged as he felt himself twitch inside you, his orgasm hitting him like a tidal wave as his cum coated your walls.

“God you’re- you’re so beautiful, so perfect…” he watched as you glanced up at him with half lidded eyes and parted lips that had messy red lipstick all over them, basking in the after glow. His hair stuck to his temples, making you giggle as you unstuck it from his head. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted that, wanted you…” you smiled, touching his cheek gently as though he was made of glass.

Spencer leaned into your touch, his pupils blown with admiration. “Me too…”

There was a silence between you both, before he piped up once more.

“Definitely the best Halloween I’ve had.” He smiled at his own sentence, making you giggle as he lay down beside you- giving soft touches as he held you close- content with being there in that moment with you.