#It was just as painful to write as it is to read. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dailynnt · 1 day ago

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AURORA

ᴺᵒʳᵗʰᵉʳⁿ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗˢ

༘✩ Summary: A relationship that survived a breakup but could not be forgotten. Like the northern lights that appear only at certain moments, their feelings had their peaks and troughs, but always remained on the horizon. You meet your ex at some event. The feelings are still alive.

༘✩ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader

༘✩Age restrictions: 18+

༘✩ Size: one shot

༘✩ Tags: ex to lovers, longing, smurt, cursing, sex, unprotected sex, detailed description of explicit scenes, alcohol

༘✩ Dedication: This work is dedicated to my beloved Armys. I wrote this work thinking of you. I hope this work resonates with you - @myjungkookthighs, @kelsyx33, @someoneelse0109, @mskookie, @kooccult, , @smokinghotstargirl , @curse-of-art, @rispwr, @kooko007

༘✩ From author: I have long dreamed of writing a story like this and here it is in one day. I tried my best for you and I really hope you will like the way I described the love that does not die, even if it seems that it is the end. Inspired by a song I found not so long ago and it immediately associated me with Jungkook💜❤️‍🔥💘 And I'll add another one, the lyrics of which are also here. Enjoy 🙏🏻🥰

You didn't expect to see him. You thought you would never see it again in your life. Certainly not here, among dozens of strangers, in a room flooded with soft light that resembled the glare of the northern lights. But he was here.

Your eyes meet and your heart skips a beat. He is approaching, accompanied by one of the organizers of the event you have come to. He keeps his eyes on you and you can't look away either. He seems to be the only one who could touch the strings of your soul, and they seem to be starting to pluck.

He approaches and stops a few steps away. He didn't expect to see you again either. Your last words had clearly created a great gulf between you that neither of you could cross.

He was not prepared for his heart to beat faster and his breath to become ragged, as if after a long run. But he couldn't show it, he had to control himself.

"Y/N would like to introduce you to one of our biggest sponsors. Jeon Jungkook." - He introduce Jungkook. "And Mr. Jeon, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She's a writer with whom our publishing house works." - Your eyes are greedy. You literally study each other, trying to find what has changed. And if anything has changed at all.

You look at him, waiting for him to behave. Will he pretend that you don't know each other? Or will he say that there is no need to introduce you? Because you used to be the whole world to each other.

"It's nice to meet you, Y/N." - Jungkook says. So he chooses not to be an acquaintance. Hmm, in fact, he is.

"Likewise." - You reply briefly and discreetly. Jungkook pulls your hand towards him and you put yours in his. An electric pulse goes through your whole body.

He has the same look in his eyes. The same movements you know. You used to know every detail about each other. And then you lost it.

This man in front of you was your ex-boyfriend. He was the man who made you feel like the world stopped when you were with him. He was your passion, your trusted friend, your lover. Everything between you was intense and pure, but like everything that burns brightly, it burned out. The breakup was hard and painful.

You felt your heart flutter at the familiar touch. It was more than physical contact - it was like coming home after a long journey. You didn't want it, but just like then, you couldn't shake this deep attachment. You tried to forget him, tried to let him go, but he was remained by you every day, in you every thought. And now, when your hand is back in his, you realized that you was never really ready to let go.

"I read your story. It's amazing. I'm not surprised why it's so successful." - Jungkook says, and you think you're going to fall through the floor. He's a great actor, you've always known that. But you're don’t. Even though your heart is burning with excitement and old feelings are bubbling to the surface, you think you have to go. You can't even let him be with you, because you'll lose all control.

But let's be honest, the walls you've been building for six months since the breakup has cracked. Just looking at him makes you want him to be yours again.

"I am sincerely grateful for your words. But to be honest, you don't strike me as someone who reads romance novels." - You can't contain your sarcasm. Jungkook laughs lightly, his husky voice vibrating, and this vibration ignite your bones.

"Actually, Mr. Jeon is a very creative person. He's a professional photographer." - The event organizer explains, not realizing how much these words can make your heart beat faster. Because you know his profession well.

Jungkook smiles, his eyes rest on you again, and his words sound as if he wants to share something more intimate.

"Yes, I often photograph couples." - He says, his voice softening as if he's immersed in his memories. "For me, photography is not just art, it's a way to feel emotions. Sometimes music, movies, or even novels can inspire moments that seem real only through the lens." - You can't help but smile. He's fended off your sarcastic attack, but the thing is, you doubt he could have read your novel.

Jungkook glances down at your red silk dress, which fits your figure perfectly, seductively emphasizing all the curves of your body. Curves that were once his territory. The curves he knows so well, the ones he's touched so many times

Jungkook holds his breath for a moment. He remembers how that delicate skin trembled under his fingers, how your breath grew deeper every time his hands traveled over your body. And now, looking at you, he feels an almost unbearable urge to run his fingertips over your collarbone again, to go lower, to run his hands around your waist, to put his hand on your lower back, where his touch always made you moan slightly.

His imagination shamelessly draws pictures of that red silk fabric slowly sliding off your body, revealing to him everything he remembers so well. His fingers involuntarily clench into a fist - the desire is too sharp, too real. He knows he has no right to touch you, knows that there is a gaping hole between you, created not only by hurt feelings but also by time.

But, damn it, how much he wants to reach out, to touch at least the ends of your hair, to run his fingers over your cheek, to feel the warmth of your skin again.

And then, when you finally catch his gaze, he quickly masks the thirst in his eyes with a barely noticeable smile. If only you knew what's going on in his head right now. If you knew that this evening is awakening in him what he has been trying to suppress for so long.

"Then I apologize for my hasty conclusions. I am sincerely grateful that you read my work." - You say and quickly add, because you can't stand Jungkook's company anymore. If he wants you to be strangers, you should stay strangers forever. "It was nice to meet you. Have a nice evening." - You say, giving the men a casual smile and walk away, barely able to keep yourself together. You don't let Jungkook know how much of an impact he has on you, even six months later.

After the breakup, your life turned into an endless marathon of forgetting, although in reality you were just trying not to remember. Your heart was cut like glass, and your mind was exhausted from trying to make yourself stronger. Every day you were learning a new role: a successful woman who was moving forward, even though your inner world was in ruins.

There was no shortage of men around. They came and went-attractive, confident, ready to give you everything you lacked. But each of them remained a shadow, and even the best moments with them felt empty compared to what you had with him. Those evenings when they spent together in bed, or just watching a movie in each other's arms, when there was no time, no space, nothing but your two hearts beating in unison.

You were trying to be "normal," trying to find your way and not think about him. If someone had told you six months ago that he would reappear in your life, you would have laughed, because you were sure that you would never let that happen again. You did everything you could to forget. You immersed yourself in work, wrote, traveled, had short-term meetings, but all of this was just a temporary escape from your own pain.

Over time, you thought, that you might actually be left alone, just to find myself again. You were no longer looking for someone who could give you back the feeling of the real connection that you had. It was your choice, your decision to try to relive this love that you couldn't forget.

But all fate decides. It's not interested in your plans or his plans. It has its own plan and it made sure that your paths crossed again. You are afraid that you won't be able to resist if Jungkook tries to make contact. You love him, but it's unlikely that you'll ever be together again.

The official event is over. You stay at the afterparty. When you enter the restaurant where the party is taking place, you feel a lot of stares. But you are not interested. You stayed after the event because you are excited. Because of the meeting with Jungkook, you can't get rid of the obsessive thoughts and feelings that want to find him and be with him until the morning.

You cautiously study the crowd around you. You don't find Jungkook. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you hope that he has already left, that your chance meeting was just a game of chance, and that's enough. But the part of you that never learned to forget him feels empty.

You stand at the bar, twirling your wine glass in your fingers, letting yourself relax. The atmosphere of an afterparty is lighter, more relaxed than an official event. People are laughing, the music is flowing with a soft rhythm, making your body sway slightly.

And then you feel it. A gaze. His gaze.

Like an echo of the past that won't let go. At first, you don't turn your head, don't give him that pleasure. But you can't stand it, and your eyes meet. You literally give him a second of your gaze, look away. This is enough for him. He comes closer, stands next to you. His perfume is a familiar scent that makes your pulse quicken. A scent that makes you almost crazy.

"Dancing?" - His voice is low, almost inaudible over the music, but it cuts to the core. You look up at him. His eyes are dark, deep, something has changed in them, but at the same time they are still the same. The eyes that looked at you with love and passion.

"I don't think that's a good idea." - You answer, sipping your wine so that he doesn't notice your excitement.

"Come on. It's just a dance." - He holds out his hand and you look at it. You hesitate, but the devil on your shoulder whispers: you want this. He wants this. Go. Go with him. It's just one night. And you make a choice. You put your hand in his.

He leads you to the dance floor. A slow, sensual melody fills the space between you. His hand on your waist is hot, his fingers gently squeezing the silk fabric of your dress. With his other hand, he holds your palm in his, gently but firmly.

You move to the music, his body almost touching yours. It's not just a dance - it's a dangerous game, a test of willpower. And you seem to have already lost. He has deprived you of all willpower.

You look into his eyes and try to understand what is in his mind. What does he want? Just to know what your life has become? Or does he want to try to cross the line? Jungkook's smile is mysterious. The hole from piercing on his lip stretches. You make a titanic effort not to look at his lips.

You dance, every movement a dangerous test. His hand slides to the small of your back and your breath hits you. He always touched you like this - confidently but slowly, as if he was savoring every moment.

But suddenly he leans a little closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

"It's... so familiar, isn't it?" - His voice is husky, and you know he feels the same way you do. It's an unrestrained desire to give in to the feelings that overwhelm you. You pull away and look up, catching his eyes. There, in their dark abyss, something forbidden flashes. Memories. A desire.

"It's in the past for me." - You lie. "The past should stay in the past." - You try to make your voice sound confident, but you don't seem to be succeeding. His hand presses lightly on your back.

"Do you really believe that?" - He asks. The silence between you says more than words. You are standing on the edge of an abyss where it is so easy to fall.

You don't know what to say. Your heart is pounding furiously in your chest, and your hands seem to remember what it feels like to touch it, to feel its warmth. You continue to move to the music, but now everything seems even slower, even more tense.

His fingers gently run down your back, a barely perceptible touch that leaves a pulsating trail. He leans in a little closer, his breath burning your skin.

"You say the past should stay where it is." - He smiles at the corner of his lips, as if he can read your thoughts. "But it seems to be catching up with us, Y/N."

You want to object, to say something prickly, but your body is treacherously drawn to him. His hand moves even lower down your back, almost on your buttocks. It makes you hold your breath. This is nothing. It's a game you've both played before. But didn't you know that things always go over the top with Jungkook?

You stop. He stops too. There are only a few centimeters between you, but it's enough to make every cell in your body burn.

"Jungkook..." - You whisper, not even knowing what you want to say. He looks at you, carefully, almost painfully slowly. His gaze slides across your face, lingers on your lips, and then meets yours again.

"Tell me I have to stop." - He whispers, leaning closer, barely touching your cheek with his nose. "I won't touch you unless you let me." - He says it quietly but confidently. And this is the cruelest thing. Because you don't know what will be worse for you - if he actually touches you or if he pulls away.

You want to tell him to stop. You really do. But instead, your fingers involuntarily clamp down on the fabric of his jacket, not allowing you to move away.

"I can't..." - You give up. So quickly, so foolishly. This admission was enough.

His lips touch your neck very lightly, causing a shiver to run through your body. You sigh, tilting your head as if to give him more access. And he does not refuse.

"Why do you still have this effect on me?" - You protest out loud. He was quiet, almost broken by his own feelings. He ran his fingers along your collarbone, causing your eyes to close.

"Because we never really let go of each other." - He said what you needed to hear. What you hadn't allowed yourself to admit for six months.

You inhale sharply, meeting his gaze. Deep, dark, full of desire. Another moment, and this thin line between temptation and prohibition disappear completely.

"Let's get out of here." - His voice sounded almost like an order, but you knew it was not just a desire. It was a need. Your shared need for each other.

You nodded, and he immediately took your hand, intertwining your fingers. You left the hall quickly, without looking back. The night city greeted you with cool air, but a fire burned inside you.

Jungkook opened the car door for you, and you got in, feeling your heart pounding madly in your chest. He quickly walked around the car, got behind the wheel, and in a moment you were already pulling out of the parking lot.

"Where are we going?" - You asked, even though the answer wasn't that important. Jungkook gave you a dark, hot, intoxicating look.

"To my place." - He answered. Your heart literally threatens to jump out of your chest. The sensation of butterflies in your stomach excites you to incredible emotions. He puts his tattooed hand on your thigh, as if to claim you. You can feel your underwear getting wet in anticipation of what will happen at Jungkook's house.

"This is crazy." - You say, barely audible. Jungkook smiled.

"And you like it." - He said, still smiling. You wanted to deny it, but why would you, when it's really true.

Jungkook closes the door behind you, and you immediately find yourself pressed against the wall. His lips are so demanding, so powerful over yours. Your insides tremble because it's all so familiar to you. It feels like the six months of separation just didn't happen.

Your hot breath mingled with his as he pulled away from you to take a breath. He was looking at your face. Your eyes were slightly squinted, your lips swollen from kissing, your skin burning from his touch. You were as beautiful as the first night he fell in love with you.

"Are we really going to do this?" - You asked. Your voice broke into a whisper as he ran his fingertips down your neck, along your collarbone, and even lower to the neckline of your dress.

"Yes..." - He says hoarsely, between kisses on your neck. "I should stop, shouldn't I?" - He asks your opinion. You want to moan as he bites your skin and then runs his tongue over the spot.

"Jungkook..." - You breathe out. You don't know if you're begging him to continue or to stop. He stops kissing your neck. Your faces are separated by a few centimeters.

"Last chance to say no, my love." - He says. Fuck, he called you "love," he called you that because he loved you, does he still love you? You ran your fingers along his jaw, gently but firmly.

"Do you want me to say it?" - You ask with a challenge. Let him decide too, you are not the only one responsible for your actions. He squeezes your buttocks with his hands.

"No." - Jungkook says confidently. You smile seductively, giving him the green light. But he's in no hurry to continue what he's started. You know he's waiting for the words.

"Fuck me, love." - You ask. Jungkook's cock twitches in his boxers when he hears those words. Fuck. How can you say that so easily? He's going crazy. He throws himself on your lips, pressing his strong body against yours. His tongue enters your mouth with authority and finds yours. Six months. Six fucking months he wanted you back. He dreamed that you would be in his hands like this. And he made a promise to himself that if he could get you back, he would never let you go again.

Your underwear is getting wet. You are so excited that you think you will burn with passion. Jungkook's tongue seems to be punishing you for being away for so long. His hands are squeezing the meat on your buttocks with good pressure. He picks you up in his arms, and you only cry out softly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Jungkook puts you down on the floor in his bedroom, interrupting your unrestrained kisses. He lightly touches your silk shoulder and runs his finger under the strap of your dress. He sees your erect nipples through the fabric of your dress. One movement and the shoulder strap is on falling down. He does the same with the other strap. He pulls down the silk and it slides over your figure.

As the dress falls to the floor, gathering at your feet, a picture he literally imagined when he saw it at the party flashes before his eyes.

His cock hardens even more, because your naked body is a frenzy. It's his weakness. That's what makes him commit sin.

He takes your tits in his hands and squeezes it. He feels that you are real. That he is not dreaming about you, as he has been for the last six months. He bends down and eagerly sucks on your erect nipple. Oh, it's a rosebud on his tongue. It tastes so sweet. Jungkook plays with your nipple with his tongue. When he sucks harder, you feel pain, pain that brings pleasure and sweet agony. Jungkook massages the other breast in his hand, and then smoothly moves to the other breast to savor it as well.

You throw your head back and enjoy his actions. You're addicted to the way he crosses the line.

Your pussy is throbbing and you're wetter than ever. You haven't had intimate relations since you broke up with Jungkook, so now you're just going crazy with every move.

Jungkook pulls away from your chest and smiles. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his hard cock sticking out of his pants.

He comes close and puts one arm around your waist. You watch him closely. He leans in and you think he's going to kiss you. You even close your eyes, but when nothing happens, you open them to check where he is. He's right there, and he's wearing a cheeky, sly smile.

"Let's see how wet my girl is." - He suggests. His hand goes into your panties, instantly finding your excited clit. He presses his fingers on it and you forget how to breathe.

"Fuck. Honey, is this waterfall for me?" - He asks you, and you can't answer him because you're losing your mind to his movements on your clit. You moan, loud and seductive. Jungkook can't help but kiss you. He covers your lips with his own and kisses you deeply, hotly, while building up your orgasm with his fingers.

You moan into his lips. Jungkook plunges two fingers into your passage and wants to curse. He forgot how tight it is in here. He's angry, thinking that someone else could be in that pussy besides him. So his movements and kisses become rougher.

The pressure he creates with his fingers excites you even more. You like it, but it's not enough because it's not his cock.

Jungkook gently lays you down on the bed, which is so familiar. It has witnessed your love so many times. Jungkook pulls down your thong. He looks at your pussy with great greed, the thong sliding down your slender legs. When your underwear is in his hand, he is in no hurry to throw it away. He touches the fabric with his nose, inhaling your scent.

"This is what my love smells like." - He says. You blush. This is so damn intimate. Jungkook throws your thong somewhere near your dress at floor. You watching him.

He's still as handsome as ever. A slim, toned body where every muscle is visible when it moves. You know so well what those muscles are to the touch. Only he seems to have new tattoos on his right arm. You notice that the eye that was below the elbow is gone, and now there is a green ink mark that says "bulletproof" instead. Oh yes, it's really about him.

"Did you have sex with anyone after me?" - Jungkook distracts you from looking at his tattoos. You raise one eyebrow. Why would he want to know in the middle of your lovemaking?

"Why do you ask?" - You don't answer, but ask your own question. Jungkook takes off his pants and throws them somewhere else.

"Answer me." - He says with authority. And this word sounds more like an order. You resent this. Why do you have to talk to him about it? You, for example, know without a doubt that he has definitely fucked some girls.

"Does it matter to you?" - You ask, not listening to his order. It matters to him. He was your first man, and the thought of anyone touching your body, which is unprecedentedly his, pisses him off.

Jungkook takes off his boxers. You can see his cock, hard and erect, hitting his thighs. You salivate at the sight of it. Jungkook's nude figure drives you crazy. You dream of him entering you and finally destroying you and all your desires not to be with him.

Jungkook approaches you dangerously.

He grabs your ankle and pulls you to the edge of the bed with a sharp movement. You scream, not expecting him to do this. He sits you down on the edge of the bed and leans in almost touching you. His lips are near yours and his breath burns your skin.

"Answer me when I ask you questions. Because when I want to know something, it's important to me. So, will you tell me? Did some dickhead touch my pussy? Or at least your tits, which also belong to me?" - He speaks low and commanding. His voice echoes in your head. How does he have such power over you? Why are you so excited by these words? You want to tease him more. You know it could be dangerous, but you've always been a gambler.

"What would you do if I told you that dickhead were?" - You ask. Your words have an immediate effect on Jungkook. His eyebrows raise and his eyes darken with rage. He lifts you up, pulling on your arm. It doesn't hurt, but it's sharp. He presses you down and you feel his erect cock resting against your pussy.

"So you're saying you were?" - He asks, but his voice isn't as hard as he looks. "You promised you'd be mine alone. My little slut. You wouldn't let anyone fuck your pussy. You're lying to me." - He says, smiling defiantly.

"I didn't lie. I asked you what you would do if I was like you and found a free cock? Huh?" - You ask with the same audacity. Jungkook squeezes your buttocks.

"I'd wipe him off the face of the earth." - He says casually. "Because he touched something that's mine."

"I'm not yours." - You say. But what are you saying? You are his. Every cell of that body belongs to him. You can't be with other men because you've never met anyone who can compare to him.

"Mine." - He argues with a wide smile on his lips. It makes you angry, even though you agree with him. "You're still mine... that's why you're here now. No one can touch you like I can, no one can love you like I can, no one can fuck you like I can, no one can keep your secrets like I can. I will give you all of this, and I will never let you go." - The lump in your throat prevents you from breathing normally.

You hold back the tears that threaten to fall down. Let these words be true. Let him keep his promise. Because you want to be with him. Jungkook breaks into you with a kiss to assure you of his words. Two lonely tears drops melt between your hot kiss. Jungkook pulls away and you breathe heavily into his lips. He wipes away the tear tracks with his thumbs.

"I haven't had anyone." - You confess, your voice desperate. "I couldn't even bear a strange man touching my body. So you are right. I couldn't be with anyone else." - Jungkook smiles with satisfaction. He knew that.

Jungkook sits on the edge of the bed and invites you to sit on his lap. You climb on top, holding onto his shoulders. Jungkook's cock lies between you, and you look hopefully between your bodies. Jungkook touches your chin with two fingers and lifts it, forcing you to look at him.

"I need to stretch you first, baby. You haven't had sex in a long time." - Jungkook says with pleasure in his voice. You nod your head in agreement.

Jungkook puts one hand on your hip and moves the other to your pussy. He dips one finger into the passage and moves the top down, creating some friction. You sigh blissfully, closing your eyes. After a while, he plunges his other finger in. The pressure increases and you moan softly. And when Jungkook plunges his third finger in, you feel a slight discomfort. It's only his fingers, when he puts his cock in it will hurt.

Jungkook has stretched you properly, and then he invites you to ride him.

"Give me a good ride." - He asks you. You smile and get up to sit on his attractive cock. Jungkook puts his cock’s head against your entrance and presses. You slowly lower yourself and when his tip plunges into your passage, you almost immediately feel pain. You scream out in pain and he stops, but not for long. He gives you a few seconds and then pushes down on your hips, lowering you. You're in pain, and you bite your lip to hold back your screams.

Finally you are filled with his cock to the brim. You feel it twitching inside you.

"Fuckin' shit." - Jungkook curses. He holds back as best he can. He really forgot how tight you are.

You sit like this for no more than half a minute. In the meantime, Jungkook has been working on your clit to get you used to its length. You squeeze his shoulders. He kisses you and you want to get down to the real business.

You start moving on his hips, lifting yours. The first movements are accompanied by pain. But after a while it feels good. You squirm on his lap and let out strangled moans. Jungkook helps you by supporting your hips and admires his beloved's face. It eloquently shows pleasure.

"How do you like riding my cock? Huh, baby? Did you miss it?" - Jungkook asks playfully. His voice breaks because you're riding his cock so well.

"Yeah..." - You answer in a long breath. It feels so good, it's pure ecstasy, it's euphoria. You're chasing an orgasm and he's taking you there.

"Let's make this reconciliation unforgettable." - Jungkook suggests. He takes over the initiative with his hands. He squeezes your thighs harder and pushes you deep and sharp. Your head is spinning from these movements. You bite your lips again, but Jungkook moves closer to you. "Don't hold back the moans I deserve." - He orders. You stop biting your lips, and now your loud moans fill the entire room.

Jungkook has found just the right spot. You feel like you're about to come. Your fingernails tear off the skin on his shoulders.

"Love..." - You call out to him. "I'm close."

Jungkook absorbs your expression with an absolutely lustful gaze. He speeds up his movements, but not so that he can come. He's definitely not done with you yet. You raise and lower your hips on Jungkook's lap to finally have the orgasm you've been waiting for.

When the knot in your lower abdomen is untied, you throw your head back and moan long and hard. Your velvety walls are squeezed by Jungkook's cock, and he jerks you upward to keep from cumming himself. You don't realize it right away. Only when you're on your knees, resting your pussy against Jungkook's abs, and you feel his hands on your buttocks.

"What a good girl. You have your first orgasm." - He counts.

Jungkook orders you to lie down on the pillows and spread your legs for him. He positions himself between your legs without sinking into you. He kisses you on the lips, filling your mouth with his tongue. Your tongues intertwine in a dance of love and passion. When you need air, Jungkook breaks the kiss. He goes down to your jaw, then your neck. He savored every inch of your skin, memorizing it again, as if he were discovering something long forgotten but painfully familiar.

He covered your body with kisses until he was in front of your pussy. The memory of his tongue on your clit makes you wet. Jungkook kisses your folds with a weightless kiss, and you're already trembling. He smiles out of the corner of his mouth.

"I forgot how sweet she is." - He comments. You lift your head to see him between your legs. He kisses the inside of your thighs, not wanting to leave an inch of skin on you that he hasn't kissed.

When he begins to lick your clit, making circular motions around your clit, you can't hold your head up. You fall back on the pillows. Your back arches unconsciously. Jungkook squeezes your buttocks and then sucks on your center. You moan again, and Jungkook thinks he'll never get tired of the sound. He's happy that he's the only one who hears these sounds.

You come on his tongue very quickly. Your swollen, excited clit didn't need much attention. You jerk on his tongue and Jungkook presses his tongue against your center to make sure you have your second orgasm of the night as long as possible.

You stop twitching and breathe heavily. Jungkook kneels down by your spread legs and you can see his beard glistening with your juice. He wipes his chin with his hand and comes closer to you.

"Is my baby satisfied?" - He asks. You are almost unable to speak. You smile and barely speak.

"It was just as fucking gorgeous as ever.” - Jungkook laughs heartily, and once again wants to kiss you. You taste your cum on his tongue. His kisses become slower, deeper.

"I've been waiting for this for so long..." - His voice was quiet, almost hoarse, when he broke away from your lips. You, too, had secretly dreamed that you would have the opportunity to be together again. And who knows how it all will worked out.

Jungkook plunged into you again. His cock entered you painlessly this time. You couldn't get enough, because this is what you will always need. You bent to meet his touch, feeling your bodies merging in a single rhythm.

Every movement was slow, as if he wanted to prolong this moment as long as possible.

Jungkook knew every curve of your body, every weakness that made you sigh and tremble. But this time it was different. Deeper. Stronger. It wasn't just desire. It was something more.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as your lips found each other again. He was everything to you that night - a fire that burned from the inside out, and a sea that enveloped you in its waves.

He took his time.

You didn't want it to end.

Your breaths mingle, hot and uneven, as his movements become stronger. He feels a wave of some new emotions, as if he is rediscovering a familiar body.

"You have no idea how much I..." - Jungkook stops, his lips barely touching yours. You open your eyes and stare into his handsome face. You notice beads of sweat on his face and a few loose strands of hair.

"How much what?" - Your voice sounds almost hoarse, and he smiles because he knows you're on the verge.

"How much I missed you." - He finally whispers. You don't have time to say anything because Jungkook is pushing you. You lie in his arms. Your legs are intertwined around his waist. He is deep inside you and this is the best moment of the whole year.

His movements are slow and deep at first, but with each new one he speeds up. He fucks you like never before, and you close your eyes, enjoying the sensation. You feel another orgasm coming over you. Jungkook's hips thrust fast and you choke on the sweetest orgasm of the night.

Jungkook comes after you, filling you to the brim with cum. He jerks inside you for a while and stops only when he releases himself with a whimper.

He collapses into the crook of your neck and you both breathe heavily. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. His heavy breathing mingles with yours, and your heart hasn't yet returned to its normal rhythm. Your throat is dry, and you urgently need water.

Jungkook finally stands up and smiles at you with satisfaction. You reflexively do the same.

"You... water?" - Your voice breaks, and you're almost ashamed of how weak it sounds. Jungkook smiles slightly, realizing that you're asking him for water.

"Just a moment, my love." - He says and pecking on your lips. He gently pulls out of you. You try to sit up and cover yourself with the blanket you had sex on.

Jungkook puts on his boxers, finds a bottle of water on the table, unscrews the cap, and hands it to you. You take a few sips, trying to come to your senses. Jungkook sits down next to you, rests his hands on the bed on either side of your hips, and looks you straight in the eye.

"I don't want to let you go anymore." - He says clearly. You freeze.

"Jungkook..." - You want to say something, but you find yourself unceremoniously interrupted by him.

"I'm serious." - He interrupts. "I was an idiot for letting you leave back then. I thought it was for the best, that you and I would destroy each other if we stayed together. But you know what? It was even worse without you."

You look at him, feeling something hot squeezing your chest.

"I don't know if..." - If we should start again. You want to say. But he interrupts you again. The conversations during sex were frank, but now that you're back to reality, things are just as complicated as they were.

"I know." - His large hands gently wrap around yours. "And I'm going to do everything I can to make up for my mistakes. I don't want just one night, Y/N. I want everything. I want you. I want our future."

You see the sincerity in his dark eyes, and it almost scares you. You're afraid, even though you really want to start over.

"What if it doesn't work out again?" - You share your worries.

"I will make it work. Every day. Every time you doubt, I'll prove to you that I love you more than ever." - He leans in slowly, giving you a chance to stop him. But you don't. Your lips meet again, and this time the kiss is not so hot, not so hasty. It's deeper, more tender.

Like a hope.

Like a promise.

"Let's try again." - You agree. You look into his eyes, reading everything he didn't say out loud: fear, hope, devotion. Jungkook has never been a man to give up easily, and now he was proving it again.

Your fingers involuntarily squeeze his hand, as if checking to see if he is real, if this moment is real.

"Do you promise we will?"

He leans in even closer, his forehead touching yours.

"I promise." - He whispers. And this time you believe him.

Like the northern lights that appear only at certain moments, your feelings had their peaks and troughs, but they were always on the horizon. You could get lost in each other, disappear, losing light, but you came back, blooming with new colors.

Because your love is like the sky itself. Eternal. Unpredictable. And worth waiting for.

#jungkook x reader #ex to lovers #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x f!reader #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #bts fanfction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook fic

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cyborgartalchemist2 · 2 days ago

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Need to point some queer rage at something, white cishet persecution kink it is.

I absolutely despise this kind of cishet nonsense. And here's why-

White cishets recognize that being different is an automatic point against the rest of society. They know that marginalized groups are disqualified by the oppressors for the most basic of human experiences like finding love.

But they stop at that.

Because instead of letting that information strike a nerve they see 'a thrilling experience' to write/read about. The forbidden romance. A star crossed love doomed to be denied by all around the lovers. But, instead of including some form of marginalization like... one of them having a different skin color, being transgender, or disabled and considered incapable( incorrect) of fulfilling their half of the relationship, one of the lovers is a different species(still white and nearly human, think twilight or acotar) or this kind of rubbish where the only disqualifier for their relationship is that doctor/patient is frowned upon and can have power imbalances... not sure if it goes against the hypocratic oath, but it does have the possibility for damaging reputations..

Why make up these ridiculous reasons for a romance to be forbidden instead of taking from the laundry list of actual reasons a couple might experience aggression and refusal of acceptance?

Because they want the drama, pain, and angst that comes with marginalized romances without losing their privilege. They want "I love you, even though I know I shouldn't." But they want it without having to dismantle their own prejudices or do any work to understand that the reasons that make some romances forbidden are wrong and harmful. They don't want to admit that society is full of bigotry and prejudice, they just want dramatic romances where against all odds, the lovers come together.

I know white women who write these are often disadvantaged by being ciswomen, but it doesn't erase the fact they make up arbitrary and downright ridiculous barriers for their white het romances. It's an insult more than anything. It's someone saying "I recognize that some love is denied by the systems of power in place, but instead of accepting that I can do something about it by discussibg it, I'm going to appropriate the energy and flavor that comes with forbidden romances but with completely normal and acceptable members of society who would never experience this kind of denial. Simply because I want to read something dramatic without feeling guilty or being confronted with my own privilege."

And don't get me started on those made up slurs... like... balleraggot is disgusting. Tell me you don't understand the creation and use of slurs without telling me. Honestly... where did 'gonna make slurs that are ripped off of real and truly harmful slurs' sound like an even remotely good idea?

#writing #This shit is so fucking bad and I know this rant may be a little ridiculius but I am angy at so much and this made an easy target

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jackedjacket · 2 days ago

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I just finished catching up with Spy x Family and I have to say how incredibly impressed I am with how amazing of a psychotherapist Loid is despite not technically being one himself. Endo's portrayal of how he reacts to Melinda's delusion that her husband is an alien is the way therapists should be treating/reacting to their clients who have delusions. He does not laugh at her. He does not dismiss her. Instead, he validates that it would be unrealistic to think we live in this universe alone. He asks her what has brought her to this conclusion. He suggests that perhaps her husband is a friendly alien, or that something similar could have happened to cause their rift (such as him getting superpowers). And more than that, he offers tangible solutions. He gives her a journal to write about the times when she thinks he may be reading her mind, why she thinks this, and how these times make her feel. More than that, he suggests that she actually addresses the concern of her husband being distant (which is what triggered this delusion) with him in order to get to a solution (yes, Loid's long term goal is to get Desmond in the office and develop a deeper contact with him, but that's besides the point).

And more than anything, I love this section here;

He knows the stigma of being mentally ill might make her not want to come back, and he knows that being mentally ill doesn't matter. What matters is that something is causing her an incredible amount of distress and pain, to the point that she came to see him, and that's what needs to be addressed.

When Loid first started pretending to be a therapist, I didn't really think we'd see much of it, and certainly not him actually treating patients. But the kindness, compassion, and understanding that he actually puts towards his patients is incredible and is something that we need more in real world therapy. This is the type of treatment that would help people. This is the understanding people need.

#spy x family #sxf #sxf manga #sxf spoilers #spoilers #loid forger #mental health #mental illness

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weirdero · 2 days ago

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I’ve seen a lot of people speculating that Gemma’s storyline will lead to a cloning reveal, which like, it’s a decent theory and wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But god, this show is so specific and detail oriented Ben Stiller himself has even said nothing in the show is a coincidence. The cloning theory has also been shut down a couple times by some producers and writes from what I understand and idk I feel like a cloning reveal would just be so boring. And honestly, I don’t know if this is insane, but I’m fully leaning towards the idea that when it comes to Ms. Casey/Gemma, it’s more of a resurrection situation.

Okay so hear me out I believe our Ms. Casey is still physically Gemma her original body, her bones, her blood she’s alive baby that’s her but like also it’s not her. It’s like in horror or fantasy stories when a character dies and comes back but comes back wrong YK?. Physically it’s still them but it’s not them. In my opinion, her brain has been completely reset, wiping away whatever kind of person she used to be.

To back this theory I’ve been heavily leaning on the interaction between Ms. Cobel and Helena in the parking lot and just the general existence of the Mammalian Nurturable department.

Now, I might be reading into this too much, but I just love these characters so much and this show so please bear with me, this is a long one.

this season Harmony/Ms. Cobel is a problem. Like there is just no way she isn’t. Lumon is already struggling to keep it together after the scandal the main four caused, and a change in management isn’t helping. People are (probably) starting to pay attention, and they do not need that kind of heat. Ms. Cobel literally crashing tf out making herself homeless and sneaking around in the dark probably isn’t helping.

Helena’s choice of words have always stood out to me. She’s calculated, smart, and precise in how she speak just like Harmony. Both of them are masters at saying exactly what they need to without ever outright saying it yk? So when she she spots Cobel in the parking lot in the middle of the night she clocks her immediately.

Harmony walks out as if she still has a job in that bitch and has the audacity to tell Helena what her needs are and exactly how they should be met. And in my opinion, Helena is appalled but not surprised. She calls her out on her behavior.

“I hear ego, hubris, and arrogance. Kier teaches us they only cause pain.”

To me, this isn’t just a read it’s a warning. Harmony doesn’t take it. She bites back, calling Helena a NEPOTISM BABY. wild.

And I mean look at Helena’s face.

So Helena lays it out for her as plainly as possible

“We didn’t have to ask you back.”

No translation even needed, she just said it flat out Baby, we don’t need you here. You do not, no matter what you think, represent us. You are not Lumon.

And Harmony, being just as cunty clocks her shit right back

“You didn’t have a choice.”

At this point, Ms. Cobel isn’t just skating on thin ice she’s walking across a frozen lake in metal combat boots, her ass skipping around as if the ice won’t break. And that’s her mistake.

Helena, after giving Harmony multiple chances to walk away. Multiple chances to come back in on lumons terms. Multiple chances to stop playing in her fucking face, finally pulls back with a kind smile and offers her a chance to “restart”.

As they walk towards the car, Ms. Cobel locks eyes with Helena’s bodyguard and the instant terror is actually insane. Full deer in headlights.

A lot of people saw that shot and took it as a straight-up Sopranos esque death threat like, if she gets in that car, she’s not gonna survive the drive (RIP Audriana). And sure, it could be as simple as that, but this show is just way too good for it to be that simple.

I think Cobel recognizes the bodyguard. She knows him and I mean like fr knows him.

I saw a theory on Reddit suggesting that the bodyguard might be someone she knew maybe a former coworker, someone from her personal life (they suggested it could’ve been someone she was super close with before she even became the woman we know today) idk just somebody she knows knows and out of nowhere suddenly, he’s here, presented as Helena’s bodyguard. But it’s not him. It’s his skin, his bones, his blood but it’s not HIM.

And the way it plays out, it doesn’t seem like the bodyguard recognizes her at least not in the same way she knows him. That stare man that stare. I didn’t even know Harmony could experience fear. Who knows, maybe in that moment she’s reflecting on everything that’s happened. She bitched out the boss’s daughter in this empty ass parking lot on the brink of a mental break down, and suddenly there’s a chance to start over. All she has to do is get in that car, with that man, talk to the higher-ups, and hit the “reset” button.

Basically my theory is that Lumon are essentially grave robbing the fuck out of that town. Taking people who have been in serious accidents car crashes, house fires, construction site falls, factory explosion, hell even a drive by. I also think they’re also taking drug addicts, the homeless people who have no loved ones looking out for them, or even looking for them at all, the ones who are confirmed to be gone in every way, physically or emotionally. They’re taking these people and giving them a full system reset rebooting the computer.

By doing this, Lumon gets to create a free labor force that works 24/7 without question or resistance, exploiting people who have no emotional ties or support systems. Blank slate baby! They’re also using these individuals as test subjects for whatever weird shit they wanna launch out as a new product.

This helps explain a lot of the weird shit going on with the employees at Mammalian Nurturable. They look so rough and are also really off-putting towards outsiders. Which is understandable but I genuinely believe they haven’t even “clocked out” in days, if not ever.

Even though this theory makes the most sense to me, It still has its plot holes like if Gemma isn’t a clone and it’s her “resurrected” where does she go when she’s not her innie. In Season 1, she tells Mark she’s only conscious as her innie for a couple of minutes at a time, and the longest she’s ever stayed “alive” was the 8 hours she spent with his department. So where tf is she if not there as Ms Casey i don’t know man I do not know.

Anyways I have some other general curiosities about the town itself and why Lumon decided to build their main building there. I saw a TikTok video of someone saying it reminded them of company-built towns like Hershey Pennsylvania or Kodak Town, and I agree. Anywho I love this show so much it hurts I hope it never dies I literally missed having an obsession this intense I hope it gets all the love and awards it deserves!!

#severance #severance season 2 #helena eagan #helly r #harmony cobel #ms casey #Gemma/ms Casey

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veilsofroses · 2 days ago

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Hello, nice to see another blog writing for Bleach! Welcome 🤗

I hope you don’t mind me making a small request. Headcanons for Byakuya, Kisuke, Jushiro and Ichigo (all with gn!reader) for when they take care of you after you return from a mission injured (nothing major)? Just some soft and fluffy, content. Thank you! And hope you have fun writing!

— @satsugacafe 💜

Tending to your wounds

Byakuya Kuchiki, Kisuke Urahara, Jushiro Ukitake, Ichigo Kurosaki x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of open wounds and blood, just fluff <3 author’s note: that is so sweet thank you sm 🥹 also my phone kept wanting to autocorrect jushiro to juanito

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Byakuya Kuchiki

Despite his icy exterior, he is constantly worrying about you

When you return from your mission, you’d try your best to hide your injury from him but he’d see through you like you’re made of glass

He’d notice immediately the subtle winces and how you avoid touching your side

He would eventually corner you to confront you. A simple, “you’re injured,” and you’d have no choice but to reveal the small but painful cut you sustained on your side

He would insist on taking care of it himself, no need for any of the healers. “Sit.” There is no room for discussion in his voice so you oblige

His face would remain in its usual unreadable expression as he’d bandage your wound but his touch is noticeably soft, making sure to make it as painless as possible

Once you’re all bandaged up, his touch would linger on your waist for a few moments, as if he’s grounding himself by feeling your skin. Possibilities of how it could’ve gone much worse run through his mind

“Do not let this happen again.” It’s an order, yes, but under his reprimand is a plea to never put yourself in danger again for his own sake

He wouldn’t be able to bear losing his love again

⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Kisuke Urahara

He would excitedly greet you in your return, planting kisses on your face and casually noting the blood that seeped through your sleeve

Wait… blood??

Once he realized, he’d spring into action grabbing all the necessary items before you could even say a word

To anyone else, he’d look like he’s casually following routine, but he’ll be making note to use the best medicine he has saved just for you. He wouldn’t want you feeling another ounce of pain

He’d try to hide his panic with jokes. “I don't want to imagine what the other guy must look like.” He might even get a little touchy as he’s bandaging you up, the pervert he is

Unfortunately, he’s an open book to you. It’s all a facade to distract himself from the fact that you’re actually hurt

You’d stop him before he can make another bad joke, “Relax, Kisuke.”

He’d look at you bewildered for a moment before looking down, shaking his head, chuckling

Besides Yoruichi, you were the only other person who could read him so well and that still amazed him

The best medicine he did use because you felt better than ever after he patched you up

He’d pat your head. “Why, of course. You’re being treated by the best there is,” acting like he wasn’t about to throw up smh

⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Jushiro Ukitake

The entire time you’re gone, he’d drown himself in paperwork otherwise he would have carved a hole in the floor from his nervous pacing

Seeing you finally walk through the door would earn him the biggest sigh of relief

That is until he noticed you limping. Anyone else would have missed it

He’d waste no time in questioning you about it. You’d try to brush him off, of course, nagging him about him giving you an interrogation rather than a warm welcome

But he’d have none of it. You’d sigh in defeat and lift your pant leg, revealing a small laceration on your calf with a half-assed bandage

He would immediately start scolding you, telling you that you shouldn’t have taken an enemy on by yourself

Then start the questions. “How did this happen? Why didn’t you call for backup? How long ago?“

He’d snap out of it when you falter trying to take another step and he rushes to catch you before you fall

He’d follow up with an apology, holding you tight and reassuring you he’s just glad you’re back home safely

Helping you walk, he’d bring you to the healers and stay by your side the whole time, making sure they heal you until you’re good as new

And even then, he’d be watching you carefully. You’re still recovering from a hefty mission, after all

So that’s his excuse to spoil you for the next few days with your favorite treats, massages, and anything else you request

⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Ichigo Kurosaki

The second he’d lay eyes on you after you return from your mission, he’d be at your side, frantically scanning you over. “Are you hurt?” are the first words out of his mouth

He’d ask that about a thousand times

You’d try to reassure him that you’re fine but unlike Kisuke who would at least try to hide his freak out, Ichigo would simply freak tf out at the sight of blood on your arm

He’s unsure of what to do at first, the sight of you injured scrambles his brain

Eventually, you’d calm him down enough that he’d finally lock in and realize you need to be treated

He’d use the limited knowledge he’s gotten from his dad in the clinic and bandage you up to the best of his abilities, nervous about possibly hurting you further

After you’re set, he’d go silent, holding your hand, and you’d immediately know he’s blaming himself. “I should’ve been there to protect you.”

You’d pull him in and he’d hold you, gently as to not hurt you but firmly. If it was up to him, he’d never let you go again

You’d tell him you’re capable of taking care of yourself and he knows that, but he can’t help his protective instinct over you and would vow to never let harm come to you again

- - - - - -

tag: @satsugacafe

#bleach #bleach x reader #byakuya kuchiki #byakuya x reader #byakuya kuchiki x reader #kisuke urahara #urahara x reader #urahara kisuke x reader #jushiro ukitake #ukitake jushiro x reader #ichigo kurosaki #ichigo x reader #ichigo kurosaki x reader #fluff #headcanon #x reader

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modernquackfare · 2 days ago

Note

Hello, how are you? If you're taking requests could you please write this one. Its been cooking in my brain since christmas.

Its a bit funny, angsty with lots of misunderstanding. So basically, Ghost has a civilian wife he never told the taskforce because he's overprotective. Now they are in deployment and simon is downright a pain in the ass with a permanent chub in his paints.

Soap or Gaz thinks he's like that due to being sexually frustrated and enlist a not so new recruit who have been with them for like six months, to get rid of simon's problem and it doesn't hurt that the recruit has a crush on Ghost.

The last day of deployment and they make the operation seduce ghost on when its so happens to be bring your family to base day and the taskforce finds out about wife!reader.

Could you please write this, i know its a bit long and complicated. Thank you❤️❤️

A/N: This was an awesome idea to write and think about! Thank you for the request :) i kinda did a little bit of head hopping here, sorry, and i hope it doesnt take away from the enjoyment of reading TT

Ghost x Wife!reader

•◌•◌•★•◌•◌•

This really isn't Ghost's scene anymore. A dim and dusty dive bar, considered upscale in comparison to The Foxhole back on base. Every surface slick with polished wood, torn cushions under his thighs, and the smell of a deep laugh lingering in every corner. At the very least, they serve drink that isn't watery beer or tequila that tastes like paint.

It's not the bar itself, per se, that he's lost his taste for—but rather the hand that shakes his shoulder away from his glass, leading to an arm that leads to the Scottish pain in his ass.

"Her over there," Soap nudges, blithely unaware of his own pointing finger. "Thas' gotta be yer type, aye? C'mon, throw us a bone here, or we’ll need to start huntin' for the perfect lad for you instead."

"Don't start, Johnny," Ghost grunts, his unoccupied hand dusting the air in dismissal.

Gaz leans in, warm gaze turned to the very woman sitting at the bar just feet away. None of them can quite recall her name, but hers is a bit of a familiar face. A smile in the hall, or accidental eye contact in the briefing room. One of a hundred others, Ghost bitterly notes, adjusting the fit of his trousers under the table.

Is it too much to hope for a quiet night out, with nothing but a bourbon to nurse and a silent curse at Ghost's own decision to persist in this line of work? It's been on his mind lately, that decision of his. He could have settled, found himself some kind of security gig or the deed to a run down warehouse he can turn into a gym. Found himself his very own Rocky Balboa to lead to victory—or something.

"If you won't do it, I will," Gaz quips, pushing himself out of the booth and striding on over to Miss Solitude at the bar. The woman turns, gaze flicking from Gaz, to their table, and then back to Gaz.

Soap shakes his head. "Right in there, like a bloody rat up a drainpipe. You’ve gotta be quicker than that, LT. No need to be shy, you just buy her a bevvy and get to talkin'."

"Was never a chance to begin with."

"Like hell there wasn't."

The conversation is finalized with a scoff and flicking hand, as if Ghost meant to shoo away a buzzing fly. Might as well be.

***

If it wasn't the long showers, it was how distracted he was behaving lately. If not that, then it definitely came down to the absolute wallop Ghost landed on Soap a week or more later during their hand-to-hand combat training. Something has the lieutenant in the trenches of his own mind—and if only to preserve the unbruised quality of his own skin, Soap recruits Gaz in his efforts to get Ghost laid.

Gaz snickers behind his hand when Soap first suggests the idea. "You sure that's the problem here? It's not like—"

"Just think about it, Gaz," Soap insists, gesturing as if presenting to a row of investors. "He's never spent a night anywhere but in his own bloody room. Like he's some kind of old man who needs to be in bed before nine. I mean, look at him."

The two turn to watch Ghost in his spot by the wall, gazing into a gooey custard bun he's torn in half. He squeezes it, shoves one half back into its wrapper, and stuffs it into his pocket.

Gaz whistles softly. "It's like watching a big cat pace in a cage."

"Aye, I know. And I have a plan to fix it." Soap then gestures across the firing range, to a certain figure clutching a pistol in two hands. Liora, her name is? Something like that.

Raising an eyebrow, Gaz tilts his head. "What, with her? Girl from the bar? She was nice when I talked with her, but she's already got her eyes on someone else already. Not sure who, but she's practically taken, mate."

"Never say never," Soap winks nonetheless, gesturing lightly as Liora lays down her gun. He then shrugs suggestively, beginning his trek towards her. "Lt's a silver tuna, being all masked up and sour as he is. Given the chance, well—"

"I'm sure," Gaz sighs, tinged with light amusement. "Go on, then. Go ask her."

***

As it turns out, Soap and Gaz have half their job done for them. Liora, as quiet as she is, and largely suspicious about her two superiors' intentions, eventually reveals that her affinity for this mystery man does, in fact, lead back to Ghost. Akin to a schoolgirl, she's got a crush. A fierce one.

In between missions, while Ghost is tapping away at a laptop and twitching in his seat, Gaz nudges Liora into delivering him some coffee. If not that, Soap pushes her into volunteering during training to spar with him. All the while, she tries to hold his gaze a little longer, let her hand linger just a little more. This time in particular, Soap and Gaz giggle across the room like children with a toy car, watching as Liora gathers up her courage to tell Ghost a joke.

"Soap said you liked jokes," she shrugs. "So...why did the soldier bring a ladder to the training ground?"

"Mmh, why?" Ghost mumbles, half attentive to her words.

Liora cluelessly sits beside him, half a giggle in her voice. "To join the high ranks." It coaxes an amused huff out of him—and nothing more.

***

How could Ghost find anything funny these days? The tension is up to his ears, racing through every vein. And his wife, God, his poor wife back home has no idea what's in store for her once this damned deployment is over. You sent him a lovely little video from the shower this morning to try to ease the pain of being away for so long. A sweet gesture in intention, but all it's done is exacerbate the ache in his loins and tongue for a familiar feel and taste, to hold you in his arms and sink steadily into you or press you to the wall as he takes what he needs from your soft, pliable body.

Ghost grunts. Damn his mind. He's the very farthest thing from a professional when it comes to you. Liora—or so the others call that girl—is gone by the time he's come to his senses, replaced by Soap, who pounds a closed fist against his back in greeting. "Hopeless, brother. You're hopeless."

"Piss off, Johnny."

"You keep squirmin' like your gear's riding up," He sighs, hands on his hips. "Still cannae wrap ma head 'round why you won't just give her a shot."

Ghost glares up at him, attention diverted from his work. "You been puttin' her up to this?"

"She's nae faking, Ghost. C'mon. Give the poor lass a chance. C'mon, ma pride's hingin' on this, mate." Soap grabs hold of his shoulder and shakes it around, moving him like a damn joystick. "Go on, you wee bawbag, at least give her the time o' day."

"14:32, you muppet."

Soap leaves it at that with a laugh, swaggering off elsewhere as Ghost counts down the hours until he can retreat to the privacy of his room and fist his cock to your little videos until it hurts.

***

The end of his deployment. Never a sweeter day there's been—aside from your wedding, perhaps. Ghost is shedding layers in his room, yanking off his fatigues in exchange for civvies, just as the creaking sound of his unlocked bedroom door sounds out. You're here. Normally, Ghost saves you any kind of journey and just heads home alone—but the impatience is getting to his fevered brain. Besides, you could do with a little break from the house.

He turns to face you. "Oh, I've been on the brink of murdering—"

Ghost's words come to an abrupt halt at the sight of Liora, rather than you, standing in the doorway of his room. This is a dangerous situation for her, invading on a superior's privacy without a clear go-head. Not to mention rude in it of itself. He drops his shirt, suddenly aware of his own half-dress. No one but his wife sees him like this, tattooed sleeve bared, boots off and nothing but a face mask to hide his identity.

He doesn't speak, thinking his cold stare would do the job for him, as it tends to, but clueless Liora steps forward in a rush of misplaced confidence. "Just wanted to say goodbye," she whispers, her hand reaching out to stroke his arm. It makes his skin tingle in all the worst ways. "Guess I'll have to find a new sparring partner for now, sir. Hope they can take hits as well as you."

Does she not see it, he wonders. How he dodges her touch and exhales a sigh of indifference. Poor girl. She's got a lot to learn.

His indifference, nonetheless, does not deter her. Liora trails her hand up his shoulders, far too intimate for a girl who is little more than an acquaintance. But curse his speed, failing him at the most crucial of times—the door opens again, and of course, you walk in as Ghost has a hand on Liora's wrist. Unclear to you whether he meant to push it away or pull it closer. Ghost releases his grip and mutters a sharp, "leave us," to the girl, before facing his beloved wife.

There you stand, as pretty as the day he met you, gaze flitting from a mortified Liora—now leaving the room—to your husband. Ghost stalks closer, brown eyes softening at the sight of you. "Was waiting for you, love."

"You needed company to wait for me?" You ask, arms crossing before your chest. That sting of instinctual fear and possessiveness, the tight curling ache in your gut that clenches at the thought of being deceived and abandoned by the once you love most—you can't ignore it. Logic attempts to unfurl its spindly talons, telling you that it would make no sense for Ghost to have called some girl into his room just as his wife makes her way up to see him. But what was she doing in his room? Pawing at him, as if it were her place to do so?

Ghost's gaze falls fondly upon you, warm and uncharacteristically tired. "Didn't ask for her to come in. She helped herself."

"Really?" you huff, treading forward to stop before him. "Didn't look like it, Si."

"Doesn't have to," He grunts back. "You trust me."

It's true. You know the kind of man he is, and it isn't a cheating fool that takes what he has for granted. God knows he wouldn't risk losing more after everything he's already lost. Especially not you, the light of his shadowy life. Your arms fall to your sides, and you sigh. "She must have had real guts, then. Coming into your room, trying to...what was it she wanted, anyway?" Feeling the tension siphon from the room, Ghost returns to packing, laying haphazardly folded shirts into his last duffel and grunting a noncommittal sound. "Fuck if I know. 'M pretty sure it's Soap and Gaz's doing, though. They've been insisting on me giving her a chance. Poor tossers got another thing comin'." You laugh as you take a seat beside his bag, glancing around the room. Impersonal decor, as always. Ghost has always been a private person, even within the confines of privacy. Hell, his closest friends don't even know you exist. It used to make you suspicious, being his secret girlfriend back in the day. Now, though, the secrecy is natural, comforting even.

"I don't suppose you'd be up to ending that streak, would you?" You suggest, leaning over his bag.

Ghost can only sigh, the deepest gust of breath he's ever held. May God smite him where he stands if he ever says no to you.

***

Gaz, mouth agape, glances over at the Scot beside him. "A wife?"

Ghost, inevitably, agreed to let the two of them meet you. That makes three other people out of the entire base that knows of your existence—the third being Price. You wave, albeit a little shyly, and smile in greeting the numpties that Ghost has spoken so much about. Good guys, if a bit foolish. "That's me."

"Creepin' Jesus," Soap grimaces, in all of his discomfort and mild embarrassment, "Didnae ken you had a wife, Lt. Couldnae have told me that before I started nudging that other poor lass into trying to get a ride outta you?"

Flicking his head up in satisfaction, Ghost chuckles. "Teach you a lesson, you children. I think you owe my missus an apology." "Ach, sorry ma'am," Gaz concedes, while Soap follows with a similarly apologetic smile.

"You've got a bonnie one, Lt. Save some for the rest of us, eh?" "Not happening. What the hell made you think that was a good idea?"

Soap glances over at him, eyebrows raised. "What, setting you up? You needed a ride, man, you were fair uptight and tense all the time. Almost put a window in my face wi' that fist o' yours."

It evokes another breathy laugh from you, drawing your husband's loving gaze before it trails back to Soap and Gaz. "Right. But that's my business, isn't it?"

"Thanks for trying to help him out anyway," You cut in, nodding your head politely to their happy smirks. "I'm sure he needed it, even if he does do his best not to show it."

Your words earn you a stern gaze—but nothing you couldn't handle. Let Ghost direct that energy into something else. Something fun that you have a few ideas for.

Soap and Gaz bid their goodbyes to Ghost before walking off, audibly muttering, "how the hell did that sour old bastard get such a sweet wife?" Or something along those lines. Regardless, you turn your attention to your dear, suffering husband with a tricky smirk. "So. You've been having some difficulties lately? Anything I could help with? If you're not expected to be somewhere else within the next hour or so, that is."

It coaxes a deep chuckle out of your husband, who's already sliding his hand 'round your waist down to the curve of your ass, gently squeezing. Nobody's around to see, anyhow. Ghost whispers into your reddening ear. "I think we'll be needing more than an hour, sweet thing." •◌•◌•★•◌•◌•

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bonnie-the-butcher · 3 days ago

Text

Rip Tide | Chapter III

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 6.810 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I refuse to let the fanfics in this app gaslight me into forgetting just how pathetic Rafe was in the show. Like just because a man is dangerous and unhinged doesn't mean that he isn't some needy little dumbass that begs 24/7. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

Rafe tries to cover up a painful groan, mumbling something unintelligible as you carry him up the stairs. He’s draped entirely over you, half his weight weighing you down as you tiptoe over the steep steps, hoping that your slow pace comes off as caution rather than as struggle.

You are struggling, though.

Struggling to figure out why you got yourself into this mess in the first place.

It's way past ten. The night outside is as dark as anything, the wind howling wildly against the heavy windows of Rafe’s house. But you’re not at home, with a belly full of nothing, sleeping to try and distract from the hunger as your brother’s friends play around outside, their laughter lulling you. You’re carrying a stranger up the stairs of his house, praying that his parents don’t catch you.

Rafe’s arm is tightly wrapped around your shoulders, squeezing your side to his chest. His other arm, once resting carelessly over the handrail, is now crossed over your body, resting in the dip of your waist.

He fists the fabric of your top as he tumbles, a gasp catching in his throat the second you grab him, pulling him upright before he can fall onto the stairs.

A drunken giggle falls from his lips. – Oops. – He’s grinning. You can feel him looking at you, but your eyes drift down the railing, peeking at the distant ground beneath.

It’s a wonder to you that no one has died falling down these stairs.

You press his arm tighter around your shoulder.

Reaching the solid ground of the second floor almost feels like a conquest, but you look forward only to be met with a multitude of doors, all of them painted white, with nothing to tell you who each room belonged to. – Which one is your room, Rafe? Where do you sleep? – He groans, looking around in confusion, as if he didn’t recognize his own home, then he stops and looks at you for a moment, giggling. – Rafe. – You adjust his weight, your back aches from dragging him around everywhere. He must be as exhausted as you are. – I’m serious. Aren’t you tired? Don’t you wanna go to bed?

He seems amused by the question.

– You wanna– You— He laughs loud enough that you have to shush him, but he’s still chuckling with his mouth against your lips. – Sorry. You… You wanna go to bed with me? That was quick.

– Oh, I bet it was.

His smile twists into a frown, brows knitting together. – What’s that– Hey, watch out! Careful.— What’s that supposed to mean? – You’re the one laughing now, but you reach for the first door, and Rafe stops you. – That’s, uhm, that’s Sarah’s room.

– Oh.

– I don’t wanna see Sarah. I don’t. – His voice is heavier than it was before, and you can see his eyes struggling to keep open even as he tries to rub the exhaustion away.

– It’s okay. We’re not gonna see Sarah right now. We’re gonna put you to bed. Your bed, preferably.

Rafe’s laughter has fully died down now. You keep wandering down the hall, opening doors and finding guest rooms, and bathrooms and offices, already resigned to the fact that you aren’t getting any help from him.

– Are you gonna sleep with me? – He asks suddenly, looking at you as if it was a serious matter.

– No, Rafe. You’re the one who’s gonna be sleeping. – You sneak a glance at your watch. 10:46. John’s probably freaking out. You reach for another door, this one closer to the end of the hallway, right beside the double doors you assume belong to his father. – What about this one?

– That’s Wheezie. Wheezie’s room. Why— Why won’t you sleep with me? – He’s ridiculous. You laugh before you can help yourself. There’s a childishness to the way he asks such an absurd question, his voice is so small, his eyes are so big, his lips remain open even after he stops talking. Like a kid asking his babysitter if she can stay for christmas. You don’t answer, still laughing to yourself, because you don’t know what to say.

– What about this one?

– What’s so funny? – He’s not smiling anymore.

– Nothing. Nothing’s funny, Rafe. You have to sleep. Is this your room?

– Guest room.

– Jesus Christ. Which one is yours?

– Are you gonna sleep with me? – He’s trying to stand in front of you and look you in the eye, but he can’t even stand on his own feet, you have to steady him.

It’s better to let drunk people think they’re in control than to anger them by denying. You’ve learned your lesson way back when. So you just tilt your head and bat your eyes at Rafe, trying not to smile too condescendingly. – Is that what you want me to do? – He nods, inching closer, his hands reaching for you. – Sure, then. I will. Where’s your room?

– Kiss me.

– Where’s your room, Rafe?

– Kiss me first. – You roll your eyes at him, though he’s already draped over you again, his eyes, still blown out despite the charcoal purge, staring at your lips. In the darkness that surrounds you, you only see the outline of his expressions: his crooked smile, his parted lips, the gleam that catches his eyes, reflecting something foreign, that you can’t quite read, as he leans into you expectantly. Your lips catch the corner of his mouth, his breath hitches, and he turns to try and deepen that little peck, like a starved man savoring the crumbs before getting to the main dish.

There’s a pleasure that comes from crushing his expectations, though you know it isn't healthy to feel like that. You remain there, your lips against his, for only a split second before you pull away.

You try to move towards the next door, but he’s quicker than you are.

Before you can take another step, Rafe hooks an arm around your waist and yanks you backward. The motion is sudden, but it isn’t ffortless, your back pressing against his chest just as his own crashes into the wall behind him.

You dodge his lips before he can kiss you, and his mouth remains there, against your cheek, brushing upwards to rest against your temples when you exclaim in a hush: – Are you trying to wake the entire house?!

– It wouldn’t have made any noise if you’d kissed me, like you promised. – He bemoans in a whisper.

– I did. – You want to laugh, but you keep your face still, though you smile despite yourself.

Rafe scoffs, still holding you against him. – Y’know, Barry was right. You are a tease.

Just like that, your playful mood vanishes.

You stare at him for a couple seconds, unsure of what he meant by that.

You try to tell yourself that Barry would never say something like that about you, especially while you’re not around, but a little part of you crawls with doubt.

You’re frozen at that moment. He’s watching you, waiting, head tilted, blue eyes gleaming. You want to ask, but you’re not sure you’ll like the answer.

You exhale through your nose and push forward, trying to shake off the feeling like water from your skin. – You’re really high, huh? – You take a step back, but he moves with you, much steadier than someone as inebriated as he is should be.

– Look at me. – He whispers, his voice is soft, but you know he isn’t asking.

Rafe leans in a little too close as you step back, his breath warm on your cheek, his hand now hovering over your waist. His fingers twitch, as if he’s fighting an urge, trying to figure out what part of you to dig in first.

– Look at me. – He whispers again, the command almost too soft to be one. His eyes never leave you, he drinks you in, you can feel his gaze going through every inch of you, his hands struggling to keep in place.

You pull away, eyes darting to the door behind you.

– Rafe. – It’s not a warning, you don’t know what it is. But Rafe doesn’t even seem to hear it. There’s something more in the way he watches you now, a flicker of something far too intense.

– Look at me. – He repeats. It sounds like a plea, the way he barely murmurs it, his body swaying, almost as if magnetized to you. His hand, once hovering, brushes the inside of your arm as he reaches for your waist, then starts climbing upwards. – You promised. – he whispers, lips curling slightly as he presses into you, his touch lingering in places you didn’t think it would go.

It’s as if he's testing the boundaries, seeing how much you’ll let him get away with. How much you will allow.

Your heart skips a beat, almost frozen within you.

You try and focus on the task at hand. You shift your weight slightly, ready to play the part— to let it slide for just long enough to get him into bed, to make sure he’s safe.

To make sure you're safe.

– Where’s your room, Rafe? – You push the question out like it’s any other, because you refuse to let yet another person play with you like that.

You didn’t learn from the mistakes of the other girls JJ tossed aside. So you had to learn from your own mistakes.

Rafe wants you to give him something, something deeper than compliance or defiance, something he can bite into.

You won't.

You're not a doll, hanging on the wall, he can just grab at and play with until he tires himself out. You're not a toy.

You cared about JJ. You don't care about Rafe. You tell yourself that again as you look up at him, waiting.

He doesn’t answer immediately. He just steps closer, his eyes darting to your lips, to the space between you that’s suddenly more charged than it should be. – You’re eager, huh? D’you want me?

His lips glisten as he whispers the question. You can’t tell where he’s looking at anymore. Rafe’s eyes drift everywhere your skin shows, and though his hand still lingers, pressed against your ribcage, just beside your chest, where the top covers you, he seems to delight in the naked warmth of your inner arm, brushing against the back of his hand.

– I want you to go to bed.

– So you can tuck me in? – His thumb draws patterns beneath your chest, gaze shifting between your lips and your neck, almost in reverence.

– I can do that.

– Only if you kiss me first.

His words hang in the air between you.

You know he won't give this up.

He'll be calmer if you give him what he wants. Maybe this will help you, but you have to play your cards right. So you tilt your head, and you smile.

There's something different in the way he looks at you now. All of that edge melting into desperation as he watches you, expectant, frozen in place.

Your hand lifts, slow and deliberate, brushing against the side of his neck. The tips of your fingers trace his jawline as he lets it hang open, breathing heavily, eyes lidded, waiting for your move. Your touch is featherlight, barely there, but Rafe chases it. It’s the only thing he does, he leans in, he breathes deep, brows furrowing. His breath stutters when you touch him, fully, your palm splayed against his skin. His throat bobs, his eyes flutter, but he's finally still.

Waiting.

Hoping. Like he’s letting you do this, instead of cajoling you into it.

You pull him by the neck, slowly, afraid he still isn't steady enough to weather any harshness, and he barely watches, his eyes already closed, opening ever so slightly when your mouth touches his.

A quiet, shuddering sigh spills from him before he can stop it. His fingers dig into you, into your sides, pulling you closer, his body pressing into yours like he needs this, like he needs you.

His lips part again, eager, desperate— But he doesn’t devour, he only melts.

His breath is warm, uneven, fanning over your skin with every shaky exhale. You can feel the goosebumps rising along his arm as you let your hand trail there, climbing farther up his bicep until you get to his shoulder, and let it travel to his neck. Rafe sighs again, crumbling in place, his hands gripping you like he's trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his fingers.

Then there's the sound— the softest, neediest noise from the back of his throat as your lips move against his. He's drinking you in, savoring every second, hands slipping lower, mapping the curve of your waist. His fingers press into the fabric of your top, clinging, grabbing, until he finds a single slit of exposed skin on the small of your back, and sinks his hands under the top like he wants to pull you inside out, like he needs more, like he'll never get enough.

You feel the conflict rippling beneath his skin— he's holding back even as his fingers dig into you, even as his lips chase yours as if he needs you in order to breathe. He sways slightly against you, melting into you, his body betraying just how much he wants this.

He makes another sound, this one closer to a moan, his lips parting further, his nose brushing yours as he leans in, chasing the warmth of your kiss as if he’s afraid you’ll take it away.

And then, you do. Just as quickly as you give, you take it back.

Your fingers tighten around his neck, taking a quiet gasp from his lips as you pull away. And Rafe remains there, unwilling to let go, his lips still parted, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His eyes— dazed, glassy— flicker between your face and your mouth, trying to chase your lips back against his, hungry for more.

You don't give him the time to try again.

There are only two doors left. The double doors, and a single one, the one he’s pressing you against. You reach for the handle and turn it. Rafe stumbles into you, and you catch him, laughing again, though a little quieter. – C’mon, let’s get you to bed.

He nearly whines as you close the door behind him, but smiles stupidly when you press him to the door again.

His hand finds your waist, drifting upwards against your back, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. He’s still breathing heavily when he pulls you in, but you turn before he can dive into you, and his lips end up pressed on your jaw.

He lets you look around, but keeps you in place, hitting the light switch.

His room is wide, but it's cluttered. The walls, the floor, the furniture, the curtains—everything is bright white, like an asylum. It’s the kind of space that should feel sterile, untouched. But it isn’t.

Clothes are draped over chairs, magazines are thrown haphazardly on the desk, and the only pop of color that looks intentional—an unevenly sprawled blue duvet that hangs off the mattress—looks like it was barely considered, a half-hearted attempt at warmth in a place that rejects it, completely.

The mess isn’t overwhelming, but against all that blankness, every stray item sticks out like a bruise.

You feel Rafe’s hands on your face, his fingers stroking lightly against your cheek. – Like what you see? – He mumbles, looking dazed. – Feels like home, doesn’t it? – You think it's sarcasm at first, but with the way his eyes bore into you, you’re not sure you can laugh.

He’s still looking at you expectantly, as if trying to hypnotize you, but you take his hands, and you pull him in. – C’mon, Rafe, let’s lay you down.

He hums, fingers squeezing yours softly:

– I’m kinda sad, y’know? – He’s almost docile in the way he lets you lead him, eyes clinging to your every move, doing his best to be compliant.

You try to reward him with simple touches. Your hands bracket his shoulders, then drift down to his hands, and back up, leaving goosebumps behind whenever skin touches skin.

Rafe stands there for a moment, back facing his bed as you throw the duvet on the bed and adjust it. He only finally sits down when you put your hand on his shoulder again.

– You really wanted to go to that party, huh?

– Nah. I really wanted you to keep that top off. – He giggles, a feather-light touch as his right hand traces the hem of your shirt, a vice grip as his left cups your hip. – You have a tattoo. I like tattoos. – His right hand drifts upwards, to your collarbone, he reaches to push the sleeve off so he can see better. But you grab his hand again, and he keeps it there.

– Thanks. – Your voice is low, but not a whisper.

Rafe’s grin is sharp, his hand is clammy. And though he still hums when you draw patterns on the back of his hand, he stares at the ink on your chest with a shade of vitriol darkening his eyes.

– You know who has a tattoo exactly like yours?

Of course you do.

You freeze, movements stopping, and he turns his hand in yours to pull you closer, setting it in the dip of his neck. – Who?

– Your little buddy, JJ.

You try to keep your face smooth as you look at Rafe. – We got the tattoo together.

He nods, still smiling, but there’s something else there. – How’d that happen, huh?

That's too long a story to tell to a drunk man.

– Can you lay on your side for me? – He looks at you blankly for a moment, but does, and stays quietly, watching you kneel on the bed, next to him, and pull a pillow from the snowdrift of blankets and cushions sprawled around his bed. Rafe shifts a little forward, his chest pressing against your legs, allowing you to tuck the pillow under him. – Here you go. Is that good?

– It’s nice. Feels nice. – You note the way his eyes droop slightly, almost like he enjoys having you fuss over him. You make a move to step back onto the floor, but his arm loops behind your knees, his hand on the side of your thigh, keeping you in place. – I don’t know what it says, though.

– What?

– Your tattoo.

You swallow. – Of course you do. You saw it.

– Not really.

His hand reaches for your collarbone again.

– Rafe.

– Just let me see it. – He almost pleads, the smile on his face is so cajoling, so sweet. You move his hand, but it remains flush with your skin as you pull the fabric down just enough. – Viam–

– “Inveniam Viam.”

– What is it? – He whispers, fingers brushing the letters softly, insistently, as if they were braille, something he could only grasp by touching.

– The name of his dad's old boat. It just happened to be a motto I really liked. – His hands are warm, too warm, and the way he moves them, just shy of scrubbing, like he’s trying to wipe the words from your skin. – Its shorthand for a Latin saying: “Aut Inveniam Viam aut faciam”. It means “either find a way, or make one.”

Rafe’s eyes go round for a second, and he whispers the translation under his breath as he stares at the tattoo, savoring the words in his mouth.

– It's very… – He stares at the ink for a moment, as if searching for the right word. – proactive. – His eyes bore into yours. His hands are suddenly lighter, suddenly calmer. They don't press as deeply into your flesh. It's like you’re watching someone who's possessed: Rafe flitters back and forth between a nice guy and a manic creature. – It's not very JJ, though. He’s not that kind of guy.

You want to tell him that the motto is JJ to a T. That he’s the guy that does whatever it takes to get at what he wants, but just as the thought strikes, it becomes clear that it’s exactly right: JJ couldn’t find a way to Kie, so he made one, through you.

Whatever it takes.

Even if it takes using someone like a prop to throw around, and then tossing them.

– If you say so, Rafe.

– I do. – Hes’s staring again. – JJ’s a coward. He can’t stick to anything. He's not proactive. He just goes around throwing shit at a wall and hoping it sticks.

You don't say anything.

You don't know what to say.

A week ago, you would’ve thought Rafe was wrong. That he was just talking shit because he hated JJ, and he couldn't comprehend the person beneath the persona. Now you wonder if there truly is a ‘person’ —Something deeper than the antics JJ uses to woo people into thinking he's cool— That maybe that ‘persona’ actually is JJ, and you're the idiot trying to see something softer, sweeter, where there is not.

– You're staying, right? – The question startles you out of that thought. Rafe’s looking at you now, half his face squished against the pillow, and his fingers pull your sleeve back over the tattoo, as if he’s shutting the door on that conversation.

Your mind takes a while to process it.

– What?

– You’re staying. – A statement, not a question. You look at him for a moment, your brain flipping through all the possible responses he could have to a “no” before you can say anything. – You can’t go now. It’s late.

– Lay back, Rafe. – He nods, obedient, but his eyes betray a twinge of mistrust as they fall closed, then slit open, and close again. You look back at the bathroom door, ajar on the corner. – Do you need more water?

– I’m fine. D’you need clothes?

– Clothes?

– To sleep in. I can land you a shirt, if you want. – His hand brushes the fabric of your top, fingers tracing the collar, edging against your skin. – It gets really cold in here in the middle of the night. Of course, if you like to sleep naked, then I won’t stop you either.

You scoff: – And here I was, thinking there were no gentlemen left in this world.

– I aim to please. – He chuckles. His arm is still wrapped around the back of your knees, and he looks up at you, almost hopefully, an absent-minded smile on his face.

– I can’t stay, Rafe. – It would’ve almost pained you to say it, if it weren’t for his previous comment.

– Yeah, right.

– I’m serious. My brother’s probably crashing out as we speak. If I don’t leave now, I’ll probably only get there after midnight and God knows how long his little lecture’s gonna take.

– That sucks, y'know? I really wish there was a way that you could sleep right now and avoid a lecture from the jobless hobo that lives in your house. – He gasps dramatically, ignoring your clear lack of amusement. – Wait a minute! I know what.

– Hilarious. – You step back onto solid ground, but he holds onto you.

– You said you’d sleep with me. You promised.

You didn’t, though. But you were sure he wouldn’t appreciate that fact.

– Well, Rafe, sometimes I lie. – You chuckle, though there wasn’t much humor in your words, yet Rafe remains completely serious.

– You can stay. You’re already here. What else are you gonna do? Walk home? Alone there, at night, in the cold?

– It’s not cold, though.

– Yeah? And what if it starts raining? You’ll get— You’re gonna get sick. Then you’ll miss work, and you’ll lose your job. And then — then — Your jobless brother’s gonna have to figure out how not to starve all on his own.

You raise a brow, stewing in the intent behind his words for a second. – You’re not manipulative at all, are you?

– I'm Persuasive. – He corrects. – Because— Because I’m a proactive kind of guy, alright? And you know I'm right.

To your own chagrin, you do.

He is right.

It would be easy—so easy—to just lay back into the mattress beside him. To just fall asleep and put all your problems —John. Barry. JJ and Kie— on hold until you're in the mood to deal with them tomorrow. And maybe you like the way Rafe’s looking at you, like he needs you there.

But that’s exactly why you can’t stay.

Because everyone you know is already taking the easy way out, and so far, you've been the one that had to deal with the catastrophes that came from that. It was clear enough that none of them could deal with it on their own. So who was gonna help you clean up the mess if you chose the easy option and it eventually blew up in your face?

Not John.

Obviously not Barry.

JJ even less.

You have to do the right thing. Not because it's right, but because you don’t have another option.

– You are right. – You say, and he seems satisfied. This time he lets you step back onto the floor. He lets you step away. – But John’s still gonna be pissed in the morning, might as well get it out of the way now. – This time, you look straight at him. – I'm just…a proactive type of girl, y'know?

He isn't amused at your joke. More than anything, he seems frustrated. – Sleep tight, Rafe. Try not to toss and turn too much.

You open and close the door before he can say anything else, hitting the light switch on your way out.

It's 11:36. You step down the hall with light steps, and down the stairs with firm ones. The Cameron house is beautiful, you’ve always thought so, but like that, empty, in the dark, it looks like a husk. The shed of something that outgrew it, something that had nearly been suffocated within its walls.

You breathe much lighter when you step out through the back door, despite knowing you still have an hour long walk ahead.

There’s a feeling of surveillance in these suburbs, something Orwellian, dystopic. You cross the street, walking past perfectly manicured lawns and white picket-fences with the sense that someone’s watching you. Lurking somewhere.

Rafe’s light, the only light that remained on as you walked away, fades slowly in the distance with every step you take. The transition between the good and bad part of the island gets less subtle with every passing year: Vibrant green lawns become smooth, empty roads; those become overly curated golf fields, that become bumpy, broken roads, that finally become dirt paths and empty lots as you finally reach the Cut.

You try to glimpse at your watch in the all-consuming darkness. 00:04. You get startled by the nervous barking of a neighborhood dog every so often, but the farther you go into the marshes, the less you hear.

It’s 00:21 when the warm lights of your home finally peek through the thick leaves and endless trails around the riverbank, but there’s no comfort that comes with that realization.

The walk up to the porch seems to stretch for longer than the entirety of your walk before it, and you realize you’re dragging your feet. For a moment you ponder the possibility of going in through the back, just to avoid your brother. But it seems stupid. Childish.

For almost eighteen years you came and went through the front door. No one ever asked you where you went, who you were with, what were you doing. Nobody ever cared about what you did or didn’t do. Not your father, and damn sure not John.

You shouldn’t have to sneak into your own home just because he finally started caring.

And you shouldn’t be afraid to face him.

But you are.

The bitter smoke of marijuana still lingers about the ashtrays up front, ignited by a single recent spark that you can see bright as day when you stand before the door. John had probably just walked in, his impatience finally getting the best of him.

You click your tongue, and rub your temples, bracing for the impact to come.

A ceiling fan buzzes lazily in the distance, the creek of its rusty rusty metal blades cutting in every so often, like a pained squeak.

You realize that the deep breath you just took did nothing to help your nerves as you step into the living room to see it almost completely bathed in darkness. The kitchen light is on, but the warmth that bleeds in through the open door does nothing to ease the atmosphere.You feel like the first kill in an 80s horror movie, one foot after the other, the floorboards creaking under your shoes, the phone that buzzes on the dirty dinner table.

You reach for it. It’s not broken, no more than it already was. So at least you have that.

The screen lights up with a notification that vanishes before you can register it.

– So. How was it?

You have to breathe in so you don’t jump at the sudden question.

John stares at you from the couch, his jaw tight, his foot bouncing in a steady rhythm against the floor. JJ sits beside him, shoulders tense, hands clasped between his knees. He’s not looking at you.

You stop exactly where you were, heartbeat hammering in your ears.

The silence is thick, stretching between the three of you like a live wire.

– How was the night? Good? It's a little early to be coming home from a figure eight party. – His voice is steady, cold. But it isn’t calm. He’s staring through you, like he doesn’t recognize the person standing in front of him, like he’s never seen you in his life. – Maybe it wasn’t so good, after all.

You don’t wanna give into him. You know damn well that won’t make it any easier.

– This James Bond routine isn’t really your style, John. Don’t you wanna come right out with the accusations? Save us all some time.

He laughs, but the sound is bitter. Contained. More a scoff than anything.

You try to keep your composure, waiting for his words.

All you hear is JJ exhaling sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. John, though, doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His foot just keeps bouncing, a barely restrained coil of anger.

– Who were you with? – he asks, voice low.

– I was with Barry.

– Bullshit! – John stands abruptly, and JJ stiffens beside him. The room is too small, too suffocating. – Barry just left. He was looking for you. Looked like he’d seen a ghost. So what? What’d you do?! Did you leave your best friend to go home with Rafe Cameron?! Is that where you were?

– I didn’t leave Barry. Barry left me with Rafe. I didn’t even go to that party.

– No?! – He laughs again, the sound reminiscent of a rattlesnake. You feel like he might pounce on you at any given moment. – So what? WHAT? You just stayed there? To do what? Fuck him?!

– Jesus Christ! – You exclaim. Your head is pounding. – I’m not the one whose fucking my way up the social ladder, John. You are! Don’t go around throwing stones from your little porcelain house, this shit isn’t cute anymore.

– Yeah! Because you hooking up with Rafe Cameron is just completely normal, right?! Is that why you’ve been acting so weird, huh?! Your drug dealer boyfriend wasn’t enough so you had to go and get yourself a psychopath too?!

– What the fuck is wrong with you?! Barry’s not my fucking boyfriend, John! We’re friends! It’s not my fault you’ve never managed to make friends with a girl you didn’t want to sleep with!

– FUCK YOU!

– No, fuck you! I didn’t sleep with Rafe Cameron, okay?! He was high! He was wasted! All I did was drive him home.

– Yeah right.

– That’s the fucking truth, okay?! If you don’t believe me, I don’t care! But don’t start accusing me of shit I haven’t done!

– I told you not to go!

You shift your weight. – And I told you this shit wasn’t your decision.

– That’s not the point! I tell you that Barry’s bad news, and what do you do?! You go out with him! I tell you that Rafe Cameron is a creep, and you go out of your way to be alone with him! And then you go to a party where I can’t even reach you–

– I DIDN’T GO TO THE PARTY! And you couldn’t reach me because YOU took my phone!

– That’s not the point!

You’re the one laughing now. – Oh, sure! What is the point then?! Please! Enlighten me!

– The point is that you’re doing this shit to piss me off!

– You are UNBELIEVABLE, John! Actually un-fucking-believable!

John lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. – Jesus Christ. What the hell is wrong with you?

You clench your jaw. – Nothing is wrong with me! I just don’t need you making choices for me! You never did before!

– Are you kidding me?! – He gestures wildly. – You were the one who left with Barry and Rafe Cameron. How am I supposed to trust you when these are the choices you make?! Do you even hear yourself?

– They’re not as bad as you make them out to be.

John looks at you like he doesn’t even recognize you. – You can’t be serious.

JJ shifts beside him, eyes flickering between you both, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He still hasn’t said a word.

– You don’t get to tell me who I can be around, John. – you say, trying, but failing, to keep your voice even. – You don’t own me.

His face twists. – It’s not about that!

– Clearly it fucking is!

– It’s NOT! It’s about the fact that you don’t fucking listen, – He snaps. – I told you not to go, and you did anyway. Like it was nothing. Like my opinion—like my concern—doesn’t mean shit to you.

That stings.

Your voice softens, just slightly. – That’s not fair.

John exhales sharply, shaking his head again. – No. What’s not fair is me having to sit here, wondering if I’m gonna have to drag your ass out of some mess Barry and Rafe got you into.

– Oh! You’re gonna drag me out of a mess?! YOU ARE? I’m not the one who’s getting detained every other day, okay! I’m not the one who has to be bailed out of stupid, or worse, illegal, situations, John! That’s you! That’s all you! My friends aren’t getting me arrested!

– You don’t have any friends.

The words hang in the air, heavy and final.

You inhale slowly.

John’s watching you, waiting for you to say something—anything—that’ll make this argument last another hour. Something he can use to make you the guilty party whenever he needs you to bail him out of stupid situations again.

But you don’t.

And you won’t.

The silence stretches.

JJ shifts again. His knee bounces.

John clenches his jaw, looking away. – Whatever.

That’s all he says before he turns and disappears down the hall, his bedroom door slamming shut behind him.

JJ exhales, rubbing his face with both hands. He still doesn’t look at you.

You stare at the empty hallway. At the door that won’t open again tonight.

And you wonder why it still feels like you lost.

– You shouldn’t have done that. – JJ’s voice is barely above a whisper. He finally raises his head to look at you, his expression worried, almost saddened. Like half of this isn’t his own fault.

– I’ll take a lecture on things I shouldn’t do from a lot of people, JJ. I’ll even take a page out of my brother’s book. But I don’t wanna hear shit from you.

His blue eyes are narrow as he sits there, brows furrowed, hands clasped. He looks like a beggar. The analogy isn’t very far from the truth. All JJ ever does is take. He begs and he whines and he takes, and no matter how much you offer it’s never enough.

Because he doesn’t want your help.

He doesn’t want your time.

He doesn’t want your attention, or your affection, or whatever it is that you give to him for free.

He wants the validation of knowing he doesn’t have to do anything to get you to give him whatever he wants.

JJ exhales sharply, rubbing his face with both hands. You can feel the tension in the room shift slightly.

You’re tired.

Tired of him.

Tired of John.

Tired of this conversation.

You turn on your heel, but before you can make it to your door, JJ grabs you by the wrist, his fingers digging into you.

– Don't do this. – His voice is softer, quieter now, a hint of something vulnerable underneath the anger.

– What, JJ?! What am I doing?! – You snap, pulling your wrist from his grip, the frustration bubbling up again.

– You’re shutting me out! Again. – His voice drops to a near-whisper, and there's a flash of something else in his eyes—a mix of hurt, of something darker. His hand doesn’t let go, but his grip loosens just slightly, like he’s unsure of himself now. You feel his breath, warm against your skin, as he takes a step closer.

– I’m not doing anything to you, JJ! Let go of me! – You try to back away, but he steps forward, into you, pressing you against your door. The space between you feels thick, too charged.

– You are! – His tone is exasperated now. He's persistent, almost pleading, as if he’s trying to make you understand something he can’t put into words. His hand moves up, brushing your arm lightly, and you feel his gaze on you, unsettling in its intensity. – You know exactly what you do to me! But you're still brushing me off! – He glances over at John’s door, pulse quickening. His voice lowers even more, as if the very air in the room is thick with unspoken words. – Let’s just talk... in your room, okay?

– No. – You say it sharply, not even thinking about it, just wanting the space between you both. – I’m going to my room. And you can fucking leave.

JJ’s eyes flash, but it’s not the rage you expected. Instead, there’s a faint shadow of something deeper, something more twisted beneath his frustration. His jaw clenches, and you see that strange desperation flare up in him again.

He only scoffs at you.

Like the mere suggestion is ridiculous. – Stop acting like a child! This shit isn't fucking funny, okay?!

– Get off of me!

– Oh yeah? Is that what you want?

– It's what you're about to do, right now. Get the fuck off of me!

JJ takes a step back, hands up in mock surrender. And you don't wait for him to change his mind. You turn the handle, and step in.

But you barely have the time to brace yourself before he’s right there, his body pressed against yours, his chest against your back as his arms come around you to slam the door shut behind him. You gasp, caught off guard by how close he is—too close. The heat radiating off his skin, the thundering beat of his heart, and the tension in the air suffocates you as he pulls you toward him, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

His grip on your arm is iron, dragging you back with him until your body is flush against his, barely any space between you. The overwhelming closeness, the way his chest rises and falls against your back, makes your mind race, your heart pounding even faster in your chest.

– I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but isn’t fucking cute anymore, okay?! – His voice is low, rough, as if it’s a demand rather than a question. The intensity in it has your body tensing, your pulse skyrocketing.

You can feel every inch of him pressed against you—his chest, his legs, the creeping feeling of his hands as they climb up against your neck—and it's too much. You instinctively shove at his chest, desperate to put some distance between you, but he's relentless, his grip tightening as he pushes you further into the room.

You stumble, your back hitting the door with a soft thud. But there's no escape, not with him this close. You can’t breathe, can’t think straight with him so near. His eyes lock onto yours, unwavering.

– Stop it, JJ this shit isn’t funny! –You try again, more forcefully this time, your hands pressing against his chest. – Let go of me!

But he doesn’t, his body still caging you in, his face just centimeters from yours. His breath is shallow, and for a moment, it feels like the world has narrowed down to this single point of contact.

– Not until we talk. – he murmurs, his voice rough, almost desperate. He doesn’t back away, his proximity overwhelming in the silence that follows.

96 notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 1 day ago

Text

i love you, in every life ࿐‧₊ worst logan - imperfect for you

chapter summary: You and Laura find yourselves in the void. A few months later, Wade—who claims to be from your universe, and a different Logan appear with a way out.

word count: 17.3k+ (31k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: alright! this is the second part, the first part was the logan movie, and while i recommend you read it, you don't necessarily have to.

most of this actually takes place after 'deadpool and wolverine.' surprisingly, i found this logan to be the hardest to write for, so i apologize if people think his character is wrong, i tried my best😭

also this is split in two parts! it's too long for tumblr to fit in one post!

(also, i know that it's 10 pm est, but i felt like i had to put this out now after watching lady gaga and bruno mars' performance at the grammy's)

warnings/tags: canon to 'deadpool and wolverine', black widow!reader, worst!logan, laura calls reader mom, violence, heavy angst, detached!reader, loverboy!logan, slow burn, fluff, wade wilson interruption, happy ending, not proofread

series masterlist - part 1 → part 2.5

“Laura!” You called out, your voice bouncing off the walls of the house. “Lau—”

“I’m here! I’m here.” Laura said, walking away from the staircase and to the front door where you stood.

You put your hands on your hips, “you know, you can try to skip school again, but I will find out. Like I always do.”

She rolled her eyes, adjusting her backpack, “yeah, you’re all-knowing Mom. Can we just go? I promise I won’t skip school again.” Laura walked past you, “even if it was just last period.” She muttered.

You leaned over her shoulder, “wanna say that again?” You asked with a smirk, as she sighed and shook her head before opening the door.

At least 5 people in black suits with orange accents. “Y/N Howlett? Laura Keen?”

Your hand reached behind your back for your hidden dagger as Laura clenched her fists, claws ready to come out.

“Yes?” You asked hesitantly.

“On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the sacred timeline.” The man without a helmet said, “hands up.”

Both you and Laura moved at the same time, with you throwing your dagger into the chest of one of the men and Laura stabbing one of them with her claws. Before you could do much more, someone from behind grabbed you, pulling you backwards through an orange door, another man doing the same with Laura.

Immediately you were both in another place, it almost looked like a retro, but futuristic, office space. Laura growled at the man holding her, but his grip on her was surprisingly tight.

“You punched a hole in the timeline after that stunt. Now, you have to be terminated.” A woman said to you, as you tilted your head.

“Come again? Hole—timeline—what?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at you, “you gave your husband back his memories and caused a large anomaly, spreading you throughout the timeline.”

“You’re making no fucking sense. You can’t just take me and my daughter away from—”

The woman looked at one of the men who brought you and Laura here, “this is the one from Earth-100006, right?”

The man looked down at his small tablet then back up at the woman. “…No. They’re from Earth-100005.”

She sighed, waving her hand. “Terminate them.”

“What?” You growled, taking one step forward before a baton touched you, making you disappear.

“Mom!” Laura yelled. “What did you do to—” The baton touched Laura, making her disappear as well.

---

When you woke up, you were lying on sand, the sun beating heavily down on you. Every inch of your body felt heavy, and a searing pain radiated from where the baton had touched you. Blinking against the sunlight, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, sand clinging to your palms.

“Mom!” Laura’s voice snapped you out of the haze. She was stumbling toward you, her backpack missing, her hair wild from whatever had just happened. Relief coursed through you when you saw she was unharmed.

“I’m here,” you rasped, your throat dry as dust. You reached for her as she dropped to her knees beside you.

“What the hell just happened?” she asked, her voice trembling with anger. “Where are we? Where did they send us?”

You looked around, trying to get your bearings. The landscape was barren, a wasteland of jagged rocks, broken remnants of buildings, and endless dunes of sand stretching into the horizon. The sky above was gray and swirling, like the calm before a storm. In the distance, you could make out twisted shapes—structures or machines—but nothing alive.

“Not sure,” you said, pulling Laura closer for a moment, “but it’s not home.”

Laura’s claws slid out instinctively as she scanned the area. “This place… it feels wrong.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You pushed yourself to your feet, testing your weight against the burning ache in your muscles. You checked your back for your dagger, but it was gone. “First thing’s first: we need to figure out where we are, what those bastards did to us, and how to get out.”

Laura nodded, her fists tightening. “If they hurt you, I’ll kill them.”

You smirked despite everything. “You’d better get in line, kiddo.”

Before either of you could say more, the faint hum of engines reached your ears. You turned sharply, squinting against the haze, and saw figures approaching in the distance.

“Shit,” you muttered, pulling Laura behind you as the shapes grew clearer. There were three vehicles—ramshackle but armored—kicking up dust as they sped toward you. They screeched to a halt a few yards away, and several people jumped out, armed to the teeth.

“Don’t move,” one of them barked, pointing a rifle at you. He was tall, bald, and scarred, his pale eyes scanning you with a mix of suspicion and recognition.

Laura growled, her claws sliding out.

“Easy,” you murmured to her, raising your hands slightly. “We don’t want to start a fight we can’t finish.”

“Y/N Howlett,” a woman’s voice said from behind the group. She stepped forward, her piercing gaze cutting through you. Her presence was commanding, and her bald head and strange demeanor set her apart from the rest. “And Laura Keen. Interesting. We’ve been expecting you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not creepy at all. Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Cassandra Nova,” the woman replied coolly. “And you’re in the Void. Welcome.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for the warm reception,” you shot back. “Now tell me what you want before I lose my patience.”

Cassandra tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Fiery. I see why he loved you.”

Your chest tightened. Even though she didn’t say his name, the context was clear enough. “Don’t.”

“Oh, but I will,” she said, stepping closer. “You’ve lived so many lives, Y/N, and yet, every time, he’s there. Do you even know why?”

“Lady, I don’t have time for your cryptic bullshit.”

“Patience,” Cassandra said, raising a hand. “I don’t need to waste time with questions when I can just take the answers.” Her eyes began to glow faintly as she focused on you.

The sensation hit like a wave—cold, invasive, and sharp, as if someone were clawing through your mind. But as quickly as it started, Cassandra reeled back, her expression twisting in confusion.

“You…” she whispered, narrowing her eyes. “Why can’t I get in? What are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you shot back, forcing yourself to stand tall despite the pounding in your head. “You try that again, and I’ll show you exactly what I am.”

Cassandra’s lips thinned, but before she could respond, Laura lunged forward without warning, her claws flashing as she aimed straight for Cassandra’s throat. But before she could make contact, one of the armored figures moved in, grabbing Laura by the arm and throwing her back. Laura landed with a grunt, but she was back on her feet in seconds, ready to charge again.

“You’re wasting your time,” Cassandra said, her voice cold. “Surrender, or this gets much worse for you both.”

“Not happening,” you shot back, your grip tightening on your dagger.

Before the situation could escalate further, a deafening boom echoed from behind Cassandra’s group. Everyone turned just in time to see a massive fireball hurtling toward them. It slammed into the sand, sending a shockwave through the ground and knocking several of the armored soldiers off their feet.

“What the—” Laura started, but another explosion cut her off, this time from the opposite side.

Two figures appeared over the dune, running at full speed. One was a man engulfed in flames, flying just above the ground, while the other was heavily armed, his face hidden behind a tactical mask. The flaming man shot another fireball at the soldiers, while the masked figure opened fire with a barrage of bullets, cutting down two of the soldiers before they even had a chance to react.

“What the hell is going on?” Laura shouted, glancing at you.

“No idea,” you muttered, watching as the battle unfolded in a blur of fire and gunfire.

The flaming man soared over Cassandra’s head, sending another blast of fire in her direction. She dodged it easily, her eyes narrowing in anger. “Kill them!” she ordered her remaining soldiers, but they were already being overwhelmed.

The masked figure moved with deadly precision, taking down soldiers left and right with well-aimed shots. He was fast—too fast for them to keep up.

The fight was chaotic, but in the middle of it all, Cassandra’s gaze locked onto you again. “This isn’t over,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. Then, without warning, she disappeared in a flash of light, taking the remaining soldiers with her.

You and Laura stood there, breathless and confused, as the battle ended as quickly as it began. The flaming man and the masked figure approached cautiously, their weapons still at the ready.

Laura’s claws were still out, her stance tense. “Who the hell are you?”

The flaming man extinguished the fire surrounding him, revealing a young, blonde man with a cocky smirk. “Name’s Johnny Storm. And I think we just saved your asses.”

The masked figure stepped forward, removing his helmet to reveal the grizzled face of a man you didn’t recognize. “And I’m the Punisher. You’re welcome.”

---

“So, you were all sent here. For ‘not playing nice,’” you said, crossing your arms and scanning the group. Johnny leaned casually against the wall, the cocky smirk never leaving his face. Frank Castle, aka the Punisher, stood nearby, stoic as ever, his arms crossed like a living wall. The new trio—Elektra, Blade, and a man Johnny had called Remy—watched you with varying degrees of suspicion.

Elektra’s eyes narrowed. “That’s putting it lightly,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. The twin sais strapped to her thighs gleamed in the low light. “Apparently, stabbing the wrong guy gets you sent here.”

Blade snorted. “Wrong guy was a senator.”

Elektra’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “He deserved it.”

“Not the point,” Blade muttered, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He was built like a tank, his presence commanding even in silence.

Remy, with his disheveled brown hair and glowing red eyes, let out a low whistle. “Look like we got new recruits,” he said, his Cajun accent thick. “You gonna play nice, chére, or you gonna cause trouble?”

Laura’s claws slid out with a snikt, her glare cutting through the room. “Try me.”

You stepped in front of her, placing a hand on her arm. “Laura. Not the time.”

Remy held up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy now, petite. Jus’ makin’ conversation.”

Johnny laughed. “Gambit’s harmless—well, unless he’s got cards in his hands.”

“You got a point?” you asked, turning to Johnny, your patience wearing thin. “Or do you just like hearing yourself talk?”

“Both,” Frank said gruffly, finally speaking up. His voice was deep and gravelly, and his expression made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for games. “But Johnny’s right about one thing—we’re all here because the TVA didn’t like what we did. Same with you and the kid.”

You sighed, glancing at Laura. Her fists were still clenched, claws out, but she hadn’t made another move. “Fine. We’re all rebels. What’s the plan?”

Elektra’s smile turned sharp. “Plan? There’s no plan. We survive.”

“Survive what?” Laura asked, her voice laced with skepticism.

Johnny leaned forward, his smirk fading. “The Void ain’t exactly Club Med, sweetheart. There are worse things out there than us.”

“Like what?” you asked.

Blade stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Alioth.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Alioth?”

“A predator,” Blade said simply. “Consumes anything it touches.”

“Big purple smoke monster,” Johnny clarified, his hands miming an explosion. “Real nasty. You see it, you run.”

Laura scoffed. “We don’t run.”

“Then you die,” Frank said bluntly. “We’ve seen it happen.”

Elektra stepped forward, her gaze fixed on you. “This place isn’t just a dumping ground. It’s a death sentence. The TVA sends people here to get rid of them permanently. If you’re smart, you’ll stick with us. We know how to stay off the radar.”

“Why would you help us?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “You don’t know us.”

Remy grinned. “Maybe we jus’ like company.”

“Or maybe we want to see what you’re made of,” Elektra added, her voice edged with challenge.

Before you could respond, a loud crash echoed from outside the bunker. Everyone froze, their heads snapping toward the door. Johnny’s hand ignited in flames, and Blade unsheathed his sword.

“Alioth?” you asked, your voice low.

“No,” Frank said, moving toward the door. “Too small. But it’s not friendly.”

Laura moved to your side, her claws ready. “Let’s find out.”

Elektra smirked. “I like her.”

Johnny opened the door cautiously, flames crackling in his palm. The rest of you followed, weapons at the ready. The landscape outside was as bleak as ever, the gray sky swirling ominously.

“Over there,” Blade said, pointing to a figure stumbling over the sand. It was humanoid but moved awkwardly, like it wasn’t fully in control of its body.

“TVA tech,” Frank muttered, his grip tightening on his rifle. “Looks like one of their enforcers.”

“Not anymore,” Elektra said, her eyes narrowing. “It’s corrupted.”

The figure turned toward you, its eyes glowing an unnatural green. Its body twitched violently before letting out an unearthly screech. Without warning, it charged.

“Move!” you shouted, grabbing Laura and pulling her back as Johnny hurled a fireball at the creature. The blast knocked it back, but it kept coming, its movements erratic and unnatural.

Blade stepped forward, his sword gleaming. With a swift, calculated strike, he severed the creature’s head. It crumpled to the ground, twitching before going still.

“What the hell was that?” Laura asked, her claws still out.

“TVA cleanup crew,” Frank said, kicking the remains. “Sometimes their tech gets left behind and... mutates.”

“Mutates into what? Zombies?” you asked.

“Close enough,” Johnny said, extinguishing the flames on his hand. “That’s why we don’t go wandering around unless we have to.”

Elektra looked at you and Laura, her expression unreadable. “Still think you can handle this place?”

You met her gaze evenly. “We don’t have a choice.”

---

It had been months since you and Laura entered the void. Frank had died a few days after you and Laura arrived, presumably by Alioth or what they call the ’Deadpool Corps’.

Since Johnny had left a few days ago and hadn’t returned, you and Laura decided to go out and look. There wasn’t any clues or leads until Laura came upon a Honda Odyssey with two men inside it. One in a red suit, tied up with seatbelts, and the other in a yellow suit with the same face as her own father.

She knew it wasn’t him, that he wasn’t their Logan, but it seemed like this was her only lead. She got into bloodied and wrecked car and drove it to base.

---

Wade finally woke up, sitting up on the bed, “where are we?”

“No clue,” Logan held up a whiskey bottle he was drinking from, “but I like it here.”

Rumbling came from outside the place they were in. Wade went to the entrance standing by it’s side when a woman came in and used her sai to knock Wade down.

Behind her a man entered, wearing black sunglasses, and after that was another man, holding a stack of playing cards.

“Okay, look at you… all. You must be the others. Terrific. So just to refresh, you are one- ”

“Elektra.” She said.

“Elektra, yes. Who could forget? And you, I was not expecting to see you here, thought you were… you know, retired.” Wade said in an accent.

“Retarted?”

“Retired.” Wade said again. “I’m already in the void. I’m not trying to get cancelled again.”

Blade, or Eric, pointed his blade at Wade, “I don’t like you.”

“You never did.” Wade turned to the other man, “and who’s this succulent reminder of my own inadequacies? Look at you. You look like the superhero version of Hawkeye.”

“The name’s Remy LeBeau. Le Diable Blanc, but you can call me the Gambit.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen Sling Blade hit me again.” Wade asked.

“They call me the Gambit.” Remy said again.

“Do they? Are you sure you didn’t just really, really want them to, but it never quite worked out?”

Remy turned his gaze from Wade to Logan in the back, “you know, we never had a Wolverine up in here. But I can tell you now, it’s just a common courtesy to ask before you drink up all of my liquor.”

“It’s a good think I don’t give a fuck.” Logan shot back. He went to take another drink from the bottle when Remy tossed a playing card, breaking the bottle in half, glass shattering to the floor.

Wade stood up and looked between Remy and Logan, before settling his gaze on the latter, who tossed the top half of the bottle on the ground. “So embarrassing.”

Logan grabbed another bottle from the shelf.

“Well, now that that’s settled, look, we came a long way to find you three.”

“There’s five of us.” Elektra corrected.

“There’s five? Is one of them Magneto? Dear sweet God in heaven, let it be Magneto, because with him- ”

“He’s dead.” Blade cut in.

“Fuck!” Wade yelled, “now Disney gets cheap? It’s like Pinocchio jammed his face in my ass and started lying like crazy.”

“Ooh, you nasty! Mon petit rouge. Laissez les bons temps rouler, huh?” Remy said.

“Not a single word, what do you do exactly?” Wade questioned.

“Charge the playing cards. Make ‘em go boom.”

“Your power is close-up magic, that’s good. We’re not totally fucked at all. So, who brought us here?”

“That would be me.” Laura said, as she walked down the stairs into the room. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Holy shit. Logan. That’s her. That’s X-23. She’s the one I told you about.”

Laura looked at Logan, younger than the one she met years ago. Part of her wondered if this is how he looked before it all went to shit.

Wade looked to the others, “hey, how did you all get stuck in the void?”

“There was a knock at the door, TVA sent me here.” Blade said.

“Me too.” Elektra added.

“Maybe I was born here. It’s- it’s hard to know for sure.” Remy answered.

“TVA decided our universe was dying. And I never even got a chance to fight for it.” Blade continued.

Laura walked close to the wall, watching Logan continue to drink from the bottle of Jack Daniel’s in his hand.

“People like us don’t go quietly. TVA knows that, so they took us out.” Elektra said.

Wade kissed his gloved fingers and pointed it towards them, “the answer is yes. I’m in.”

“In what?” Blade questioned.

“A team. Me, you, you and me. All of us together. Let’s get the fuck out of this place.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s a fucking liar!” Logan called out.

“It was an educated wish!” Wade yelled back. Logan scoffed at him as Wade continued, “Look. We’ve been inside Cassandra’s lair. The only way out of the void is through her. She can get us home. She told us.”

“Wait a minute, you’ve been inside? And you made it out alive?” Blade asked.

“Bullshit.” Elektra commented, “nobody’s ever done that.”

“We did.” Wade answered.

“Every time one of us has gone up against her, they die. The Punisher, the Quicksilver, the Daredevil.” Remy started.

“Daredevil, I’m so sorry.” Wade looked at Elektra.

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.”

“Even that sweet, baby angel, Johnny Storm. He up and gone missing like, what, two days ago?” Remy said.

“Ah, that’s so sad. Wherever this Johnny feller is, I’m sure he’s thriving. Look, there’s strength in numbers. All right? Us, plus you guys. We can put Cassandra over our knee and force her to let us out of the void. I know what it means to feel self-doubt.”

“I don’t feel that at all.” Elektra looked over at Blade.

“I’m good.” He said.

“Now, I get your gut like a coke duct tape worm.” Wade continued.

“It’s like you’re in the middle of my soul.” Remy said.

“You guys may not have been able to save your universes, but you can avenge them. It’s what Johnny would have wanted.”

“Wait. You knew Johnny?” Elektra asked.

Before Logan could respond, you walked into the room, passing by Remy. “Yeah, he’s the reason Johnny is fucking dead.”

“Ah, ah. I’ll have you know that Cassandra killed him, not me. He was the one who ran his little mouth.” Wade said, throwing up his hands in mock defense.

You clenched your fists, holding back the frustration that boiled beneath the surface. “You didn’t help, Wade. You egged him on. You could’ve shut up for once.”

Wade waved a dismissive hand, leaning back against the wall. “I mean, that’s debatable. Can’t really shut up when you’re this charming.”

“Charming?” Elektra muttered, her eyes narrowing as she looked between Wade and Logan.

Laura’s gaze flickered between the two of them, tension evident in the way she crossed her arms.

Logan’s eyes hadn’t left yours since the moment you walked into the room. He stared at you, the bottle of Jack still halfway to his lips, forgotten. You didn’t look like you had aged, not that much anyway. It was a jolt to his system, like stepping into a memory. There you were, alive. In this damn place.

You could feel his gaze burning into you, and though you tried to avoid it, there was no denying it now. You had locked eyes with him, this other version of Logan. His brows furrowed slightly, like he was trying to figure you out, but there was something deeper in his eyes—recognition.

“I have to go,” you muttered, stepping back outside.

Laura looked between Wade and Logan before following you. “Mom!” she called, her voice sharp and worried as she jogged to catch up.

You didn’t stop until you were a good distance away from the others, your back turned to her. You exhaled, your hands gripping the railing of an old platform overlooking the desolate landscape of the void. Laura slowed when she reached you, her boots crunching lightly against the gravel.

“Mom,” she said again, softer this time.

You closed your eyes, steadying your breathing. “I’m fine,” you replied, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you.

“No, you’re not.” Laura crossed her arms, watching you carefully. “That wasn’t him. You know that, right?”

You turned to face her, your expression conflicted. “I know it’s not him,” you said firmly, but the words felt hollow. “It’s just… he looks the same. Sounds the same. Even drinks the same damn whiskey.”

Laura studied you for a moment before speaking. “But he’s not the Logan you knew. He’s not Dad.”

The reminder hit you like a punch to the gut. You’d had years to grieve, but seeing another version of him alive and well—so close yet so far removed from the man you loved—had ripped open wounds you thought had healed. You shook your head, trying to push it all away.

“I just need a minute,” you said, turning back to the railing.

Laura hesitated, glancing back toward the hideout. “Do you want me to…?”

“No. Go back inside,” you told her. “I’ll catch up.”

She lingered for a moment, clearly reluctant to leave you alone, but eventually nodded. “Fine. But don’t take too long. Wade’s already planning something stupid, and I don’t trust Blade not to stab him.”

You almost smiled at that, but it didn’t quite reach your lips. “I’ll be there soon.”

Laura gave you one last look before heading back toward the others. You waited until her footsteps faded before letting out a long, shaky breath. You gripped the railing tighter, your knuckles turning white.

---

Night had fallen in the void and Logan found himself outside sitting on a log, in front of a fire with a bottle of alcohol. He wasn’t allowed to think about this other version of you, or his own before Laura walked by him.

“Hey, hey. I’m not lookin’ for company. Get out of here.”

Laura sat down anyways, letting out a small chuckle. “You remind me of him. Angry. Drunk. Mean…”

“Sounds like a great guy—”

“Wasn’t finished.” Laura cut Logan off. “Showed up when it mattered the most. Couldn’t help it.” She watched as Logan sighed, his eyes still on the crackling fire. “You might not know it, but… you’re a good man, Logan.”

He chuckled, “you might not know it, but apparently, I’m the worst Logan.”

“I got to have a life because of you. I got to grow up because of you. A lot of kids did.”

“A lot of kids didn’t grow up because of me. Trust me, kid, I’m no hero.”

Laura looked over at him, her eyes trailing over the yellow suit. “That suit says different.”

“Yeah. Do you like it? Scott used to beg me to wear it. So did Jean, Storm, Beast. Y/N.” His voice cracked on your name, but he continued. “All of them. They wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t. Told ‘em they all look fucking ridiculous. I mean… I couldn’t have ‘em thinkin’ I wanted to be there. And then one day, while I was off on my own, the humans came… and went mutant hunting.”

“I can guess the rest.” Laura spoke.

“No, no, let me… Let me say it. I… I need to say it. By the time I stumbled home shitfaced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. Every…” Logan stifled a sob, his bottom lip quivering as he remembered the horror almost perfectly.

Scott and Beast’s bodies were at the front of the mansion, clearly trying to protect everyone else, while you and Storm were near the kids with Jean in front of you.

“This suit’s all I got to remind me of who they were. And what I did.”

Laura didn’t speak, just looked at Logan as he sniffled and took another drink of his whiskey. Finally, she spoke, “we’re headed to Cassandra’s at sunup.”

“Have fun. Not my fight.”

“We won’t pull this off without you.”

Logan briefly glanced at Laura before returning his gaze to the fire. Laura clenched her fists and stood up, beginning to walk away.

“Hey,” Logan called after her. “Whoever you think I am, you got the wrong guy.”

She turned around to face him, “you were always the wrong guy.” Laura said, before returning on her way to base.

Logan watched Laura disappear into the darkness, her parting words echoing in his mind like a bad tune stuck on repeat. “You were always the wrong guy.” The fire crackled as he shifted on the log, the whiskey bottle in his hand feeling heavier than it should. He stared into the flames, his jaw clenched tightly, the weight of her words hitting harder than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t the right guy. He never had been.

The sound of footsteps crunching against the gravel behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He didn’t look up right away, figuring it was Laura again, coming back to throw another jab. But when the footsteps stopped a few feet away and silence followed, Logan finally glanced over his shoulder.

It wasn’t Laura. It was you.

The firelight danced across your features, casting shadows and illuminating the faint lines of tension around your mouth. Your arms were crossed, and your expression was unreadable, though your eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation. Logan turned back to the fire, lifting the bottle to his lips.

“What do you want?” His voice was gruff, a practiced barrier meant to push people away.

“I don’t know,” you replied honestly, your tone soft but steady. You hesitated before stepping closer, the gravel crunching beneath your boots. “Maybe to talk. Maybe to figure out why I feel like I already know you.”

Logan snorted, shaking his head. “You don’t know me. And I don’t know you.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the flames. “Whatever you’re lookin’ for, you’re not gonna find it here.”

You didn’t move, just stood there, watching him. “Maybe not. But I can’t ignore it—this... whatever this is.” You motioned vaguely between the two of you. “It’s like looking at a ghost.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “Funny. That’s what you feel like to me.”

Your brows furrowed at his words, but you stayed quiet, letting the weight of them sink in. After a long moment, you spoke again. “Laura told me about what happened to the others. To… your version of me.”

He tensed, the grip on his bottle tightening. “Don’t,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t talk about her.”

“I’m not trying to pry,” you said, stepping closer. “But I think we’re both avoiding the obvious here. In your world, I’m dead. In mine…” You trailed off, the ache in your chest making it hard to finish. “He’s gone.”

Logan looked up at you then, his sharp gaze meeting yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The fire crackled between you, the silence stretching until it felt like the void itself.

“Seems like we’re both ghosts,” Logan finally muttered, looking back at the flames.

“Maybe,” you said softly, sitting down on the edge of a nearby log. “But ghosts usually have unfinished business.”

Logan smirked, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah? What’s yours?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you looked up at the dark, starless sky, your hands resting loosely in your lap. “Trying to make sure Laura survives this hellhole. Trying to get us out of here.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, studying you in the flickering light. “She’s a tough kid. Reminds me of someone I used to know.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “She gets it from her father.”

He didn’t respond, just took another swig of his whiskey. But there was something in the way he looked at you—something unspoken but heavy. You both knew what it was, even if neither of you wanted to say it.

After a moment, you stood, brushing the dust off your hands. “We’re leaving at sunup,” you said. “You should come with us.”

Logan shook his head. “Not my fight.”

You let out a murmured growl, “too fuckin’ stubborn.” You said quietly, crossing your arms over your chest and looking into the crowd of trees nearby.

But he heard it. He finally turned to face you completely, that one word throwing him off. It wasn’t that he hadn’t heard you curse before—he had, in one of your other lives—but it never seemed natural coming from you. Now it did, like it fit in a way it hadn’t before.

Logan’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he studied you for a moment longer, as if trying to reconcile the you he remembered with the one standing in front of him.

You didn’t seem to notice his lingering gaze, or maybe you just didn’t care. Your arms stayed crossed, and your jaw was tight as you stared into the trees, the firelight flickering across your face.

“You done sulking, or should I give you some space to mope?” you asked, finally turning to look at him.

“Mope?” Logan echoed, an edge of irritation creeping into his tone.

“Yeah, mope. Sit here and feel sorry for yourself while the rest of us try to figure out how to not die tomorrow.”

“Not my fight,” he repeated, leaning back against the log and taking another swig from his bottle.

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Because it’s easier to sit here and wallow than to do something that might actually matter.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared at you, his sharp gaze trying to pierce through the wall you’d thrown up.

“What’s your deal, anyway?” he asked finally. “Why the hell do you care so much what I do?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “I don’t care what you do. I care what happens to Laura.”

“She’s a tough kid. She’ll figure it out.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” you shot back. “And you know it. You’ve got this thing in you, Logan—this need to protect people, even if it’s buried under all the whiskey and self-loathing. You’re just too damn stubborn to admit it.”

Logan snorted, the sound low and humorless. “Yeah? And what makes you such an expert on me, huh? You don’t even know me.”

You blinked, and he wasn’t able to tell if it was you holding back tears or clearing your face of your emotions.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you asked quietly. “You look at me like you don’t know me, but you do. I might not be her, or any of the ones you’ve met, but… I’m still me. And you’re still you. Still Logan. You just—”

Your voice broke, but you stopped yourself from letting it out. Crying wasn’t something you did, not anymore. You held your head high, jaw tight, and swallowed down the lump that threatened to rise in your throat. But Logan didn’t look up.

He kept his gaze firmly on the fire, his knuckles white around the bottle in his hand. His silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until you finally gave up. Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked back toward the base. Your footsteps echoed in the quiet void, but you didn’t look back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much this hurt you.

Logan didn’t move, didn’t call after you. The only sound left was the crackling of the fire and the distant whisper of the wind in the trees. He stared into the flames as if they held answers he couldn’t find, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

When he finally spoke, it was to himself. “I can’t do this again.”

The words were barely audible, but they carried the weight of lifetimes. He took another drink, letting the burn of the whiskey distract him from the ache in his chest. But no matter how hard he tried to drown it, your voice still lingered, cutting through the alcohol like a knife.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

Because looking at you hurt. Because every time he did, he saw her—his version of you. The one he’d failed. The one he couldn’t save.

And maybe, if he admitted it to himself, because he was scared. Scared of letting you in. Scared of losing you all over again.

---

When you got back to the base, Laura was leaning against the wall, sharpening one of her claws with a whetstone. She looked up as you entered, her expression unreadable.

“Did he come around?” she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair as you sat down heavily on one of the benches. “He’s too stubborn. I should’ve known better.”

Laura snorted. “Stubborn runs in the family.”

You gave her a sharp look, but she just shrugged and went back to her whetstone. The rhythmic scrape of metal on stone filled the silence, but it didn’t do much to calm the storm in your chest.

“He’ll show up,” Laura said after a moment, her tone more subdued. “He always does. Even when he says he won’t.”

“Maybe,” you muttered, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. “But it’s not my Logan.”

Laura paused, her hand stilling for a moment before she looked up at you. “He’s still Logan,” she said quietly. “And you’re still you.”

You didn’t respond. What could you say to that? She wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make it any easier.

---

Logan stayed by the fire long after it had started to die out, the whiskey bottle empty at his feet. He should’ve gone back to the base, but the thought of facing you again felt like too much.

The truth was, he wasn’t sure he could do it. Not after everything he’d already lost. Not after what had happened to his world, to his team, to you.

But as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, he found himself standing, brushing the ash from his hands.

Maybe Laura was right. Maybe he was too damn stubborn for his own good.

But if there was even a chance he could make this right, if there was even a sliver of hope that he could protect you—this version of you—then maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.

---

“Ooh! Look at that there!” Remy exclaimed, looking ahead at Cassandra’s base. You see them biggum hands come closed. Ain’t not a wonna gettin’ up inside there.”

“I think what Gambit’s trying to say is getting Juggernaut’s helmet ain’t gonna be easy. I’m just making stuff up at this… yeah. Tilt up to Blade.” Wade trailed off.

“Gun!” Blade called out, as he stood up in the car through the opening in the roof. You lifted the gun up to Blade, who took it and aimed at the base.

“Where’d he get that little beauty?” Wade asked.

“That’s Punisher’s AT4.” Elektra answered.

“Which Punisher? There’s been, like, five of them.”

“There’s only been one Blade, and there’s only ever gonna be one Blade.” He spoke, before shooting the gun. It hit the closed hands of the Ant-Man suit causing Elektra to speed up, driving through the fire from the explosion before turning the car to a halt.

Cassandra’s minions aimed their weapons at the group as you all exited the van. You and Laura stood in the back with Wade and Remy in the front, and Blade and Elektra to the sides. Wade looked up into the head of the enlarged suit to see Cassandra.

The Odyssey’s trunk opening caught everyone’s attention. Turning to look, you saw Logan exiting the van. His eyes instantly met yours before briefly glancing at Laura. He moved to the front beside Wade.

“Ooh, this is gonna be good.” Blade commented.

“You know how long I’ve been waitin’ for this? Whoo! I’m about to make a name for myself here.” Remy spoke.

“I don’t think you guys walk away from this.” Logan commented.

“You just make sure people know what happened here today. And when you get out of here, you have a drink for me, yeah?” Remy finished.

“You just stay on our six and get inside.” Blad ordered, moving to the front. You, Laura, and Elektra moved with him, standing in front of Wade and Logan. “We’ll make sure you get the package.”

“And we’ll get our ending.” Elektra said.

You pulled out your batons, powering them on as they shone blue, the faint hum of their charge filling the air. Laura slid on her sunglasses, her claws extending with a metallic snikt. Everyone was ready—Blade with his katana, Elektra twirling her sais, and Remy flicking a charged card between his fingers.

Cassandra’s minions surged forward, a chaotic wave of bodies armed with guns, knives, and makeshift weapons. You took a deep breath and moved in sync with Laura and Elektra, forming the front line of the attack.

Logan hung back with Wade, his eyes narrowing as he watched you dart forward, your movements swift and precise. It was like a dance—graceful, brutal, and deliberate. Each swing of your baton hit its mark, dropping Cassandra’s soldiers with calculated efficiency. He couldn’t reconcile this version of you with the shy physics teacher he’d known. This wasn’t the you he remembered, who’d tucked herself away in a world of equations and theories. This version fought with a cold, detached precision that sent a shiver down his spine.

“You seeing this?” Wade said, nudging Logan as he ducked a stray bullet. “Your girl’s got moves.”

Logan grunted, not taking his eyes off you. “She’s not my Y/N.”

“Right, right, multiverse shenanigans. Still, if I were you, I’d feel a little insecure. That physics degree sure didn’t teach her how to do that.” Wade gestured wildly as you flipped over one of Cassandra’s soldiers, your baton cracking down on his skull mid-air.

Logan ignored him and started up the steps toward the lair, his claws unsheathed. “C’mon, we’ve got a job to do.”

“Ugh, fine. Leave the fun to the professionals,” Wade muttered, following Logan while tossing a grenade over his shoulder. It exploded behind him, sending a group of minions flying.

Meanwhile, you spun around, parrying a blade aimed at Laura before kicking its wielder into Elektra’s path. “We’ve got this!” you shouted. “Go!”

Laura glanced at you, her lip curling into a snarl as she slashed through another attacker. “Make sure they don’t screw it up.”

You smirked. “Like I’d let them.”

Logan heard you, but he didn’t turn back. He didn’t want to. Seeing you fight like this, kill like this, wasn’t something he could reconcile. In his world, you wouldn’t have hurt a fly, let alone taken a life. And yet, here you were, effortlessly carving through Cassandra’s forces like you’d been doing it your whole life.

“Seriously,” Wade panted as they reached the top of the stairs, “how are you not having, like, a major existential crisis right now? I mean, you’re watching your not-wife turn into a murder machine. That’s gotta mess with your head.”

“Shut up, Wade,” Logan growled.

Meanwhile, the five of you stood in front of the stairs, bloodied and battle-worn. Blade smirked, flicking blood from his sword with a casual shake of his wrist. “Heh. Some motherfuckers still trying to ice skate uphill.”

There wasn’t time for banter. Cassandra’s remaining minions surged toward you like a swarm. You darted forward, Laura beside you, the two of you moving as a deadly unit.

“On your left!” you shouted, swinging your baton in a sharp arc to deflect a blade aimed at Laura’s ribs.

“Got it,” Laura replied, ducking low and slashing through the attacker’s legs before finishing with a swift upward strike.

The chaos of battle roared around you, but your focus locked on the figure in the center. He was barreling through the fray, tossing bodies like rag dolls.

“Mom, we take him together,” Laura called, already moving toward him.

You nodded, gripping your batons tightly. “Go high; I’ll go low!”

As you charged, Juggernaut swung his massive fists toward you. You ducked under one blow, the force of it creating a shockwave that rattled your teeth. Laura leaped over the other, her claws slashing across his arm. Sparks flew as her adamantium claws met his reinforced suit.

“Damn it,” Laura growled, flipping back to avoid his retaliatory strike.

“Helmet,” you reminded her, dodging another swing.

“Working on it!” she snapped, lunging forward again.

You feinted left, drawing his attention, while Laura climbed his back like a feral animal, her claws digging into the material. Juggernaut roared in frustration, reaching back to grab her, but you jabbed your baton into the back of his knee, sending him stumbling forward.

“Keep him down!” Laura shouted, her claws ripping through the side of his helmet.

“Trying!” you yelled, slamming your baton into his other knee. The impact sent a jolt through your arm, but it was enough to drop him to one knee.

Laura didn’t hesitate. She yanked his helmet free and flung it toward you. “Catch!”

You grabbed it mid-air and shoved it into Laura’s backpack. “Got it!”

Juggernaut let out a guttural roar, swinging wildly in an attempt to regain control. Before he could stand, Laura’s claws flashed, slicing clean through his neck. His head toppled to the ground with a sickening thud, and his massive body collapsed seconds later.

“Nice work,” you panted, wiping sweat from your brow.

“Don’t get cocky,” Laura replied, but there was a hint of a smirk on her face.

The two of you turned your attention to the giant Ant-Man helmet, Cassandra’s lair. Laura adjusted the backpack on her shoulders you handed her and glanced at you. “Boost me.”

You crouched, lacing your fingers together. Laura stepped into your hands, and you launched her upward. She caught onto the edge of the massive helmet, her foot claws extending as she began scaling the structure.

“Almost there,” she called down.

You stayed on guard, fending off any straggling minions who dared approach. Laura reached the top, pulling the backpack from her shoulder and tossed it into the lair where Wade grabbed it.

“Catch that?” she asked.

“Perfect throw,” you replied, knocking out a soldier with a swift elbow strike.

Before Laura could climb down, one of Cassandra’s soldiers used a psychic lasso, yanking her down. She fell, twisting mid-air to land on her feet, but more minions rushed toward her.

“Laura!” you shouted, moving to intercept them.

“I’m fine!” she snapped, slashing through one of the attackers. “Just keep them off me!”

The group fought with renewed vigor as the minions closed in. Elektra moved like a blur, her sais spinning with lethal precision. Blade fought alongside her, his katana carving through the enemy ranks. Remy flicked charged cards into clusters of soldiers, the explosions creating openings for you and Laura to strike.

The battle reached its peak when a low, rumbling growl filled the air. You looked up to see a massive dark cloud—Alioth. It loomed closer, its ominous presence sending chills down your spine.

“All clear!” Blade shouted as the last of Cassandra’s minions fell.

You exchanged a glance with Laura, both of you breathing heavily. “Let’s move!”

The air shimmered as a glowing portal opened above you. You watched as Wade and Logan jumped through it, disappearing into the unknown.

You felt a pang of something—loss, maybe?—as you saw Logan vanish, but you pushed it aside. There was no time to dwell on it.

Especially when not even moments later, orange doors appeared in front of you.

---

“So, how does it feel to be in the past, Sparky?” Wade asked you, putting an arm over your shoulder.

You promptly shoved it off, “don’t call me that, suka.”

Wade let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like you’d just stabbed him. “Ouch, that hurt, Sparky. Right in the feelings.”

You gave him a look. “Try again, Wilson.”

“Fine, fine.” He sighed, adjusting Dogpool in his arms. The little thing was fast asleep, drooling all over Wade’s sleeve. “But you gotta admit, it fits. You know, because of the—” He made an exaggerated exploding motion with his fingers.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Can we just go? I’d rather not stand in the middle of a parking lot looking like a rejected Suicide Squad lineup.”

“I don’t know, I think we make it work,” Wade said, waving a hand between the three of you. “Got the grumpy old man, the feral murder daughter, and the ex—” He stopped himself, side-eyeing you before clearing his throat. “—the badass chick with secrets. Feels like a sitcom waiting to happen.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just get us where we need to go, Wilson.”

“Alright, alright. Welcome to Casa de Deadpool—where the beer is warm, the floors are sticky, and the roommates are blind. Follow me.”

Wade led the way, humming some off-key tune while you, Logan, and Laura followed. You glanced at Logan. His face was unreadable, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. He hadn’t said much since the fight, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He wasn’t your Logan. You weren’t his Y/N. But still… it was hard not to see the familiarity in his face, the way his brow furrowed just so, the way his jaw clenched when he was thinking too hard about something.

You looked away. No point in getting caught up in what-ifs.

“Alright, home sweet home!” Wade announced, throwing the door open.

The inside was… exactly what you expected. Empty pizza boxes, half-drunk bottles of something questionable, and the faint smell of something that had probably died under the couch.

Blind Al sat in her usual spot, her head tilting slightly in your direction. “Oh great, more people. Just what I needed.”

“Oh, don’t be rude, Al,” Wade scolded. “These are my very special guests. We’ve got Grumpy Claws, Murder Jr., and Timey-Wimey.”

“I’m not calling them that.”

“You don’t have to, but the audience will.”

Al sighed, clearly used to Wade’s antics. “Are they staying?”

“Just for a bit,” Wade said, tossing Dogpool onto the couch, where he immediately curled up. “Logan here needs a drink, and I’m guessing these two need a place to not be hunted by crazy bald ladies in giant Ant-Man skeletons.”

Al’s head tilted toward Logan. “You drinking my whiskey?”

“...Maybe.”

“Then you can sleep outside.”

Laura smirked, and you huffed a quiet laugh. Logan just shook his head, muttering something under his breath.

You leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed. “So what now?”

Wade clapped his hands together. “Now? We celebrate. We drink. We unwind from our very successful murder spree. And then, bright and early tomorrow—” He paused, leaning in like he was about to share some big, dramatic secret. “—we figure out what the fuck to do with you guys.”

“I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen. I have some money stashed somewhere, I’ll go get it, come back, then me and Laura can leave so we never have to see your faces again.” You said.

Wade let out a loud, exaggerated gasp. “Leave? Leave? Y/N, honey, sweetheart, my beloved time-traveling murder mom—why would you ever want to leave me?” He clutched his chest like you’d just driven a knife into his heart.

Laura crossed her arms. “I can think of about twenty reasons.”

“Okay, rude.” Wade pouted, shifting Dogpool in his arms. The little thing let out a content sigh, completely unbothered by the chaos. “But seriously, you’re gonna take off just like that? No heart-to-heart? No teary-eyed goodbye? No passionate ‘will-they-won’t-they’ moment with Grumpy Claws over there?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not interested.”

“Are you sure?” He wiggled his eyebrows, then pointed at Logan, who had yet to say a word. “Because that face screams tension.”

Logan let out a long breath through his nose, like he was physically restraining himself from punching Wade in the throat. “I’m not dealin’ with this shit right now.”

Wade gave him finger guns. “That’s a tomorrow problem, huh, bud?”

Logan ignored him. Instead, he looked at you. “This money you’re talkin’ about—where is it?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to go off alone, get it, and come back in one piece.”

Laura scoffed. “She can handle herself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Logan said, looking at her before turning his attention back to you. “But I ain’t gonna let you run off and get yourself killed when we just finished dealin’ with enough shit.”

You stared at him for a long moment. The way he was looking at you—it was careful, measured, like he was trying to keep himself in check. You knew that look. Your Logan used to look at you the same way. Like he was always preparing himself to lose you.

But this Logan wasn’t yours. And you weren’t his.

Still, you looked away first. “It’s in a lockbox at a storage facility a few miles from here.”

“Great,” Wade said, clapping his hands together. “Field trip!”

“No.” You turned to Logan. “I’ll go. Alone.”

“Not happenin’.”

“Logan—”

“No.” His voice was firm, final. “I’ll go with you.”

You exhaled through your nose. “Fine. Just let me freshen up.” You walked off to where you hoped the bathroom was, but not before mouthing, “parar” to Laura.

You locked the bathroom door behind you, glancing around the small, cluttered space. Wade’s idea of ‘freshening up’ probably involved nothing more than spraying deodorant over questionable hygiene decisions, but you had other plans.

Stepping up to the sink, you turned the faucet on, letting the water run just to make it sound like you were actually doing something in here. Then, moving quickly, you flipped the lock on the window and shoved it open. The cool night air hit your face as you glanced outside—an alley, empty except for a couple of overturned trash cans.

Perfect.

You hoisted yourself up, slipping through with practiced ease before lowering yourself down onto the pavement below. The moment your feet hit the ground, you took off down the alley, keeping to the shadows.

Back inside, Laura leaned against the wall near Wade’s stained couch, arms crossed as she watched Logan shift impatiently.

“She takin’ a damn shower in there?” Logan grumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

“She said she was freshening up,” Laura replied casually, not looking up from the knife she was idly flipping between her fingers.

Logan huffed. “It’s been long enough. I’m gettin’ her.”

Laura didn’t move as he pushed off the wall and headed for the bathroom. The moment he reached for the doorknob, she spoke.

“You should wait,” she said.

Logan shot her a look over his shoulder. “Why?”

Laura finally looked up, her expression unreadable. “Just ‘cause.”

That made Logan pause. His eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between her and the closed bathroom door. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Kid,” he said, his voice low and edged with suspicion, “where’d she really go?”

Laura met his gaze evenly. “She’ll be back.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “Damn it.” He turned, pushing the bathroom door open with enough force to slam it against the wall. The running faucet mocked him, the open window sealing the truth of it.

“She ditched us,” he muttered, running a hand down his face.

Wade peered in behind him. “Oof. Classic Sparky move. You love to see it.”

Logan turned on his heel, his glare cutting through Wade like a knife. “Where’d she go?”

Wade shrugged dramatically. “Beats me. But if I had to guess? Probably somewhere far away from your grumpy ass.”

Logan growled, storming back into the room. “Damn stubborn—” He turned to Laura. “You knew.”

She didn’t flinch under his stare. “Yeah.”

His fists clenched, frustration mounting. “And you let her go?”

“She can handle herself,” Laura said simply.

“That ain’t the point,” Logan snapped.

“Then what is?”

Logan opened his mouth, then shut it. What was the point? That he didn’t want her runnin’ off alone? That the thought of her out there, possibly in danger, made his gut twist?

“She’ll be fine,” Laura said again. “She’ll be back before you know it.”

Logan shot her a sharp look. “And you knew she was gonna pull this shit?”

Laura didn’t even flinch. “Yeah.”

Logan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Damn stubborn woman.”

Wade, now comfortably sprawled on the couch, feet kicked up on the armrest, wiggled his fingers dramatically. “Aw, look at you, all worked up. It’s almost like you care.”

Logan glared at him. “Shut the hell up.”

Wade gasped, hand over his heart. “Ouch! That’s no way to talk to your bestest buddy in the whole world. You know, if you keep scowling like that, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

Logan ignored him, turning back to Laura. “Where’d she go?”

Laura shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

“Bullshit,” Logan growled. “She told you something.”

Laura arched a brow. “Even if mom did, why would I tell you?”

Logan stepped forward, voice dropping low. “Because she’s out there alone, and I don’t trust her not to get herself into trouble.”

Laura tilted her head. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Logan clenched his teeth, nostrils flaring. “Damn kid’s just as bad as she is.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

Wade, now peeling an old banana he found on the coffee table, piped up. “Look, let’s be real here—Sparky probably ditched us so she could do some shady, assassin-y, Black Widow type shit. Maybe she’s robbing a bank! Maybe she’s breaking into a top-secret government facility! Maybe she’s meeting a mysterious lover who—”

Logan shot him a look that could’ve melted steel.

“Or,” Wade continued, grinning, “maybe she’s just getting her money so she can take Little Miss Stabby Hands here and leave your grumpy ass behind.”

Logan’s jaw tightened.

Wade snapped his fingers. “Ohhh, there it is. That realization. That little pang in your chest. That Oh no, I don’t want her to leave feeling.”

Logan ignored him. “She said somethin’ about a storage facility,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “A few miles from here.”

Laura sighed. “And now you’re gonna go after her?”

“Damn right, I am.”

“She doesn’t want you to.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

Laura watched him for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine. But don’t get all dramatic when she punches you for following her.”

Wade sat up, tossing his banana peel over his shoulder. “Ooooh, I gotta see this. Road trip!”

Logan grabbed his jacket off the chair, shooting Wade a glare. “You’re stayin’ here.”

Wade pouted. “Rude.”

Laura smirked. “Good luck.”

Logan muttered something under his breath and stormed toward the door, already regretting whatever the hell he was about to do.

---

You hadn’t been at this storage facility in almost 2 decades, from before you joined the x-men. It was a standard procedure, you left large amounts of cash, fake id’s, and weapons hidden in almost every major city.

The lock clicked open with a soft beep, and you tossed it onto the floor, pushing the storage unit door up. The metal groaned as it rolled upward, revealing the small space packed neatly with everything you’d left behind years ago—cash, fake IDs, weapons, emergency supplies. It was all still there, untouched.

You exhaled through your nose. Good. This would be enough to get you and Laura far away from New York.

You crouched down, lifting a duffel bag from the pile, zipping it open. Stacks of cash, bundled and secure, sat inside. Grabbing a few more rolls, you stuffed them in before reaching for one of the smaller, locked cases in the back. Inside were passports, IDs, credit cards—everything you’d need to disappear.

Your fingers brushed over one of the old IDs. It was worn from time but still legible. A name you hadn’t used in years. A version of yourself that no longer existed.

“Never thought I’d see you here.”

The voice sent a jolt up your spine. You knew it before you even turned around.

Logan.

You let out a slow breath before standing, keeping your expression neutral as you turned to face him. He stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his gaze flickering between you and the duffel bag.

“Took you long enough,” you muttered, zipping the bag closed.

He stepped inside, boots heavy against the concrete. “Could say the same about you,” he replied. “Sneaking out like that. Real subtle.”

You slung the bag over your shoulder. “Wasn’t trying to be subtle. Just effective.”

Logan scoffed. “Right. And this little errand of yours—it’s just about gettin’ cash?”

“That’s exactly what it is.” You met his eyes, unwavering. “I came here to get what I need. Then I’m leaving.”

His jaw tightened. “And by ‘leaving,’ you mean what? Takin’ off across the country? Across the world?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah,” he said sharply. “It does.”

You clenched your jaw, adjusting the bag strap. “Not to you.”

Logan’s brows furrowed, a flicker of something in his eyes—frustration, maybe something else. “You really think I don’t give a shit?”

You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Logan—”

“No, you listen,” he cut in, stepping closer. “You don’t wanna stick around, fine. You wanna take off with the kid, start fresh? I get it. But you don’t get to act like I don’t care.”

You looked away, pressing your lips together.

“I know I ain’t him,” Logan continued, voice lower now. “And you ain’t her. But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna let you walk away without sayin’ a damn word.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. “Fine.” You walked out of the unit and picked up the lock you’d tossed to the floor. You threw it toward Logan, not bothering to hide the annoyance in your voice. “Mind lockin’ up for me? Thanks.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and headed down the narrow hallway, duffel bag weighing on your shoulder. You knew he’d follow. Hell, part of you expected it. Still, you kept your pace brisk, eyes forward, determined not to let him see the mess of emotions churning behind your calm façade.

Sure enough, you heard his footsteps closing in on you just a few seconds later. “Hey,” he called, his tone halfway between annoyed and concerned, “hold up.”

You didn’t stop. “I don’t recall askin’ for backup, Logan.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice low, “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

Rolling your eyes, you quickened your stride. “This is none of your business. I just need what’s in that storage unit. Then I’m done.”

“Done with what?” He stayed right on your heels. “You keep sayin’ you’re leaving, but leaving for where?”

“Somewhere that isn’t here,” you shot back, pushing open the heavy exit door. The chill of the evening air hit you like a slap, but you welcomed it. At least it was better than the stale, fluorescent-lit corridor.

Logan grabbed the door before it slammed shut, following you outside. “And what about Laura?”

“What about her?” You spun around to face him, jaw tight. “She’s comin’ with me. That’s it. We’ve both been through enough.”

“Enough of what, exactly?” His gaze flicked to the duffel bag. “You got money, IDs, weapons in there? Where’re you even plannin’ on goin’?”

You tightened your grip on the strap, resisting the urge to throw a punch at the damn question. “Somewhere quiet. A place we can actually live. Maybe not a perfect life, but a life that’s ours, away from… all of this. Away from Wade and the insanity he brings. Away from you.”

Logan’s expression clouded, though he tried to mask it behind a scowl. “Could just as easily do that in New York. Wade might be a pain in the ass, but he’s not forcing you to stay.”

You huffed a humorless laugh. “Because it’s so easy, right? Laura and I just hole up in some apartment, pretend everything’s normal when half the city’s got vigilantes flyin’ around? When there are still people lookin’ for us—always will be?” You shook your head, glancing at the ground. “No. We’re done with that.”

He took a step closer, voice lowering. “So that’s it. You’re gonna vanish and start over. Another new name, new ID, new everything.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the flutter of guilt. “Worked before. It’ll work again.”

For a second, you both fell silent. A car drove by in the distance, headlights flashing across the storage facility’s cracked walls. You squared your shoulders, forcing yourself not to look at him. The way he studied your face was too familiar, too painful.

Finally, Logan cleared his throat. “I know I’m not him.” His tone had lost some of its edge. “I’m not your Logan, and you’re not… mine. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to stand here and watch you self-destruct.”

Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest. “Self-destruct?” you echoed, voice trembling with anger. “That’s rich, comin’ from the guy who’s been drinking himself into oblivion every night since I laid eyes on him.”

He clenched his jaw, but he didn’t deny it. “I’m not sayin’ I got my shit together. I’m sayin’ you don’t have to do this alone.”

“How ‘bout you cut the crap,” you fired back. “We don’t know each other. We’re strangers. I’ve known you for, what, two days? I’m doing what’s best for my daughter. And if that includes taking her out of this state, then that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his patience fraying at the edges. “You really think you can just pack up and disappear?”

You tightened your grip on the duffel bag, your stance unwavering. “Worked before.”

“That’s not an answer.” He stepped closer, his voice low, edged with frustration. “You’re actin’ like I’m some kinda obstacle. Like I’m one more thing you gotta shake off before you can breathe easy.”

You huffed a humorless laugh. “That’s exactly what you are.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Bullshit.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to leave, but his voice stopped you cold.

“You’re runnin’,” he said.

You exhaled sharply, spinning back around. “I am not running.”

“Feels like you are.”

“No, Logan, you don’t get it.” Your voice sharpened, cutting through the tension like a blade. “This isn’t about you. This isn’t about Wade. This is about Laura. About what we need.”

Logan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “And what? You think ditchin’ the only people who’ve got your back is the answer?”

“I think getting away from this life—your life—is the answer.”

Something shifted in his expression, something bitter and tired. “So that’s it? You wanna go play house somewhere, pretend none of this ever happened?”

You squared your shoulders, forcing yourself not to flinch at the weight of his words. “No one’s pretending anything. I just don’t want to look over my shoulder every damn day.”

Logan scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what happens when the past catches up to you? Because it always does.”

You stepped forward, closing the space between you. “Then I’ll deal with it. But I’m done doing it your way.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The night air pressed in, thick with everything left unsaid. Logan’s gaze burned into you, searching, waiting. But you didn’t give him the answer he wanted.

He exhaled, looking away. “You’re makin’ a mistake.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But it’s mine to make.”

Logan clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. You half expected him to argue, to push, to demand something from you. But instead, he just nodded, stepping aside.

“Fine,” he said, voice gruff. “Do what you gotta do.”

You didn’t linger. Didn’t give yourself time to second-guess. You adjusted the strap on your shoulder and walked past him without another word.

As you disappeared into the night, Logan stayed where he was, fists clenched, jaw tight. Watching.

Letting you go.

---

The car you bought from a used-car dealership was silent, other than the radio softly playing pop music that Laura liked as she stared out the window, her sunglasses over her eyes.

You had just exited the New York City traffic and were heading south—but other than that, you didn’t know where you were going. Maybe you would stop somewhere in Pennsylvania, or West Virgina if you were lucky.

Laura tapped her fingers against her knee in rhythm with the song playing on the radio, her sunglasses perched on her nose as she stared out the window. The highway stretched ahead, empty except for a few distant cars.

"You know where we're stopping?" she asked, her tone casual, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity.

You kept your hands on the wheel, eyes scanning the road ahead. "Not yet. Somewhere quiet, somewhere we can lay low for a bit."

Laura tilted her head slightly, still watching the trees blur past. "So, nowhere specific."

"Nowhere specific," you confirmed.

She nodded, letting a few moments pass before speaking again. "You think he's following us?"

You exhaled through your nose, gripping the wheel a little tighter. "Probably."

Laura hummed. "You gonna punch him if he shows up?"

You smirked. "Maybe."

Laura smirked back, adjusting her sunglasses. "Can I watch?"

"If he pushes his luck, I'll make sure you get front-row seats."

Silence settled between you, only broken by the soft hum of the music and the occasional sound of the tires on the road.

Then, Laura spoke again, her voice quieter. "You sure about this?"

You glanced at her briefly before turning back to the road. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "Just… we’ve been running for a long time. Feels like that’s all we ever do. What happens when we stop?"

Your fingers flexed on the wheel. "Then we figure it out."

Laura nodded slowly, like she was mulling it over. Then, after a beat, she said, "We’re out of snacks."

You snorted. "I’ll stop at the next gas station."

"Good." She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. "But if he shows up, I’m picking the next destination."

"Deal," you said.

Neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew Logan would catch up eventually. The only question was when.

---

“Whaddya think about Florida?” you asked, swirling your milkshake with the red-and-white striped straw. After two days of driving, you and Laura had landed in Nashville—not exactly planned, but necessary. The money situation was getting tight, and you had a stash here.

Laura sat across from you in the dingy diner booth, picking at the fries on her plate. Her sunglasses were still on, even though the place was dimly lit, the neon “Open 24 Hours” sign flickering against the window beside you.

She shrugged. “Kinda humid, isn’t it?”

You snorted. “That’s your issue with Florida?”

She popped a fry into her mouth. “I don’t like humidity.”

“Well, we’re runnin’ out of options,” you said, taking another sip of your milkshake. “I’d rather not head west, too many people I don’t wanna run into. And the north? I’m done with the cold.”

Laura considered that, chewing thoughtfully. “So, Florida.”

“Yeah.”

She tapped her fingers against the table. “Ever been?”

“A couple times,” you admitted. “But never long enough to get comfortable.”

Laura leaned back, arms crossed. “What’s in Florida?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Hopefully? A quiet place. Some space. Enough cash to keep us moving if we need to.”

Laura was quiet for a beat, then said, “And what if we don’t need to?”

Your hand froze over your cup. You looked up at her, but she wasn’t looking at you—she was staring at her plate, pushing a fry around in the ketchup.

You exhaled, setting your drink down. “Then we don’t.”

Laura didn’t say anything, but she nodded slightly, like she was mulling it over.

You let the silence settle for a moment before reaching into your jacket pocket and pulling out a small envelope. You slid it across the table.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Fake IDs. A couple different names for you, just in case.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Where’s yours?”

You smirked. “I’ve been doin’ this longer than you, muñeca. Mine are already handled.”

Laura picked up the envelope, flipping through the IDs. Her lips twitched when she landed on one. “Carla?”

You rolled your eyes. “It was short notice.”

Laura shook her head, stuffing the envelope into her pocket. “How much cash do we have left?”

“Enough to get us a motel for the night,” you said. “Then I’ll hit the stash in the morning, and we’ll go from there.”

She tapped her nails against the table. “And if someone’s watching it?”

You took another sip of your milkshake. “Then I deal with it.”

Laura didn’t argue, but she gave you a look.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

She tilted her head slightly. “You sure you don’t want him to come after us?”

You froze for half a second before scoffing. “Logan?”

Laura shrugged, popping another fry in her mouth. “I mean, it’d be kinda funny. Watching him all pissed off, trying to track us down.”

You smirked. “I’d give it a day before he gave up and found a bar instead.”

Laura chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah. Probably.”

The conversation shifted after that—lighter, easier. You finished your food, paid in cash, and headed back to the car.

As you pulled onto the empty road, Laura leaned back against the passenger seat, her feet propped up on the dashboard. “If we go to Florida, I’m picking the first place we stop.”

“Deal.”

The road stretched ahead, dark and open, with nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional song crackling from the radio.

For now, it was enough.

---

The Florida heat wasn’t as unbearable as you’d expected. It was different from the suffocating summers in New York or the bone-chilling winters in Canada. Here, everything moved slower—the ocean waves rolling onto the sand, the palm trees swaying in the breeze, the distant hum of cicadas at night. For the first time in a long time, you and Laura weren’t running.

The job at the high school had been a last-minute decision, something stable to keep you grounded. It wasn’t hard work—not compared to everything else you’d done in your life. Wrangling teenagers in gym class was nothing compared to dodging bullets or teaching mutant children to use their powers. And Laura? She was doing good. She got her GED, started talking about what she wanted to do next. It was a normal life, or as close as either of you could get to one.

You leaned back in your chair on the porch, the scent of saltwater drifting through the air. Laura was sitting across from you, flipping through a book while picking at the remnants of her dinner.

"You gonna eat that or just mutilate it?" you asked, raising a brow at the half-demolished slice of pizza on her plate.

Laura shrugged, still looking at her book. "Not hungry."

You snorted, reaching over and stealing a piece of crust. "Then quit wasting good food."

She kicked your shin under the table, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make a point. "I was getting to it."

"Sure you were." You chewed the crust, glancing out at the ocean beyond the dunes. The sky was starting to darken, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting everything in shades of orange and pink.

Laura shut her book with a soft thud. "You think he's still looking for us?"

You didn’t need to ask who she meant. "Probably."

She rested her chin in her hand. "You miss him?"

The question made you pause, your fingers tightening slightly around the crust before you set it down. "I don’t know."

Laura gave you a look. "Liar."

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "It’s complicated."

"It always is with you two."

You huffed out a quiet laugh. "And how would you know?"

Laura smirked. "Because you get that look whenever I bring him up."

You frowned. "What look?"

"The one you’re making right now."

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. "Even if I did miss him—which I don’t—it wouldn’t matter. He’s not the same Logan, and I’m not sticking around to see if he turns into him."

Laura was quiet for a moment before she said, "He still came after us."

"Yeah, and?"

"And that means something."

You shook your head. "It means he’s stubborn."

"Or it means he cares."

You scoffed. "He knew us for two days."

Laura shrugged. "Sometimes that’s enough."

You didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, you picked at the label on your beer bottle, watching the condensation roll down the glass.

After a while, Laura stood up, stretching. "I’m going to bed."

You nodded, not looking up. "Night, muñeca."

She hesitated for a second. "You’d tell me if you wanted to go back, right?"

You finally looked at her, meeting her eyes. "I don’t want to go back."

Laura studied you for a moment before nodding. "Okay."

She disappeared inside, leaving you alone with the sound of the waves and the quiet hum of your thoughts.

You didn’t want to go back.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t expect him to show up.

---

He showed up.

You were walking out of the store, picking up some more food since Laura ate a lot, when you saw him across the street, talking to some guy.

It was clear he hadn’t seen you—if he did, it would’ve been a miracle, spotting you in a parking lot full of suburban moms and their SUV’s. You quickly put the final bag in the trunk and closed it, getting into the driver’s seat, glad that an SUV was blocking the window, and of course that you were wearing a wig.

You scrolled through your phone, quickly looking up plane tickets before purchasing two for Anaheim, California, which left in three hours. It would be a short trip, long enough to take Laura out to Disneyland—somewhere she wanted to go when she was younger, and maybe see the sights before coming back.

With the tickets secured, you tossed your phone onto the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel, exhaling slowly. You could still see Logan across the street, standing near a bar, talking to some guy you didn’t recognize. His stance was the same as always—broad, solid, like he was ready for a fight even when there wasn’t one. You couldn’t tell if he was actively looking for you or if it was just dumb luck that put him in the same town. Either way, it didn’t matter.

You put the car in drive, pulling out of the parking lot with careful ease. No sudden movements. No panic. You were good at this—disappearing.

By the time you got home, Laura was already sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels with half a bag of chips resting on her stomach. She barely glanced up when you walked in.

"Got food," you said, setting the bags on the counter.

"About time," Laura muttered, grabbing another chip. "I was starting to think you got lost or arrested."

"Very funny," you deadpanned, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Pack a bag."

That got her attention. She sat up, eyeing you with suspicion. "For what?"

"California," you answered, twisting the cap off your bottle. "Leaving in a few hours."

Laura blinked. "Wait… what?"

"You heard me," you said, taking a sip. "Disneyland. Quick trip."

She narrowed her eyes. "You saw him, didn’t you?"

You paused mid-drink before lowering the bottle. "Doesn’t matter."

"That’s a yes," she muttered, tossing the remote onto the couch. "You’re seriously dragging me to Disneyland just to avoid him?"

"I’m taking you to Disneyland because I promised," you corrected. "Avoiding him is just a bonus."

Laura folded her arms. "You know he’s gonna find us eventually."

"Probably," you admitted, leaning against the counter. "But not today."

Laura exhaled through her nose, clearly debating whether or not to argue. Finally, she stood up, brushing chip crumbs off her shirt.

"I’m picking the first ride," she said.

You smirked. "Deal."

---

The airport was busy but not unbearable. You and Laura moved through security without issue, your fake IDs holding up just as they always did. It was second nature at this point. The two of you boarded the plane, settling into your seats with practiced ease.

Laura put her headphones in, shutting the world out almost immediately. You, on the other hand, couldn’t quite relax. You had that feeling again—that gnawing sense that you were being watched, even when you knew you weren’t.

Logan would look for you. You knew that much. But you also knew how to stay ahead of him.

For now, at least.

You leaned back in your seat, closing your eyes. Just a few days away. That was all you needed.

Just a few days.

---

“Wade,” Logan growled into the phone. “Your contact was fucking useless. They’re not here.”

There was a pause on the other end before Wade let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh no! You mean my totally legitimate, not-at-all shady informant lied? Color me shocked.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his teeth. “You told me they were still in Florida.”

“Well, yeah, because I thought they were,” Wade replied, his voice way too casual. “Turns out, your little murder mom and stabby daughter are really good at vanishing. Who knew?”

Logan clenched his jaw, his patience wearing dangerously thin. “Did you actually talk to this guy, or did you just pull a name outta your ass and hope for the best?”

“Okay, first of all, rude,” Wade said. “Second of all, I did talk to him. And third of all, I’m beginning to think you have trust issues.”

Logan let out a low growl, glancing around the dimly lit parking lot. He had been following a lead for hours, only to find himself at a dead end. Again. “You got anything else, Wilson, or am I wasting my time?”

“Well, I mean, if you’re asking me—”

“I wasn’t.”

“Fair,” Wade admitted. “But if I had to guess—and I am very good at guessing—I’d say Y/N is doing what she does best.”

“And what’s that?” Logan asked, already annoyed by whatever bullshit answer was coming.

“Running.”

Logan’s grip on the phone tightened. He knew it was true, even before Wade said it. He had seen enough of you to know your patterns, and disappearing was your specialty.

Still, something about it didn’t sit right. You had said goodbye. He just hadn’t wanted you to go.

“So what’s your next move, grumpy pants?” Wade asked.

Logan exhaled sharply, kicking at a loose rock on the pavement. “I don’t know yet.”

“Well, I do,” Wade said. “You stop chasing her like a crazy ex-boyfriend and let her live her life.”

Logan ignored the jab. “They ain’t safe on their own.”

“Oh, please,” Wade scoffed. “Y/N could take both of us in a fight with one hand tied behind her back. And Laura? That kid is a human blender with anger issues. What exactly are you worried about?”

Logan didn’t answer.

Wade sighed dramatically. “Look, I get it. You’ve got feelings—gross. But maybe, just maybe, you should consider that she doesn’t want to be found.”

Logan clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

“Or, you know, keep chasing her,” Wade continued. “Nothing screams ‘healthy relationship’ like stalking.”

Logan ended the call without another word.

He stood there for a moment, jaw tight, before slipping his phone back into his pocket. His eyes scanned the quiet street, but there was nothing. No sign of you.

Not yet, anyway.

---

It was the first time in a while—months—that you saw Laura this happy. Being in the Void had been hard on both of you, but now, as you walked around Disneyland with Mickey Mouse ears perched on your head and a churro in hand, things felt lighter.

Laura, wearing her own pair of ears, pointed toward one of the bigger roller coasters. “That one.”

You raised an eyebrow, taking a bite of your churro. “You sure? You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” she asked, arms crossed.

“The look you get when you won’t admit you’re nervous.”

Laura scoffed, turning toward the ride again. “I’m not nervous.”

You smirked. “Uh-huh.”

“Are we going or not?”

You chewed thoughtfully, glancing up at the towering structure of the coaster. “I dunno. I’m kinda enjoying this churro.”

Laura grabbed your wrist and started dragging you toward the line. “You can eat and walk.”

You laughed, letting her pull you along. “Pushy.”

As the two of you weaved through the crowd, the excitement buzzing in the air was infectious. Kids in princess dresses, parents trying to wrangle toddlers, and groups of friends laughing between bites of overpriced snacks. It was normal.

By the time you reached the front of the line, Laura was practically bouncing on her heels.

“You gonna scream?” you teased, nudging her.

She shot you a look. “No.”

You snorted. “We’ll see.”

The ride operator waved you forward, and you both climbed into the seats, pulling the safety bars down.

As the coaster lurched forward, Laura gripped the handlebar a little tighter.

You smirked. “Told you.”

She didn’t have time to retort before the coaster shot up the first incline. The wind rushed past you, the clanking of the tracks beneath adding to the anticipation. Then, the drop.

Laura let out a yell—not quite a scream, but close enough.

You threw your hands up, laughing. “Told you!”

“Shut up!”

The ride twisted and turned, the loops pulling at your stomach in a way that was both exhilarating and oddly grounding. For those few minutes, there was no running, no fighting—just pure, unfiltered fun.

When the ride finally slowed, Laura’s breathing was slightly heavier, her face flushed from the rush. You grinned at her. “Admit it, that was fun.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

As you stepped off the ride and made your way back into the park, Laura bumped her shoulder against yours. “Okay, you pick the next one.”

You took another bite of your churro, already eyeing the spinning teacups. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

---

The fireworks exploded in bursts of color, painting the night sky over Disneyland. The crowd around you and Laura watched in awe, gasps and murmurs of excitement filling the air. Laura sat cross-legged on the grass, her arms resting on her knees as she stared up at the display.

"You know," you said, breaking the comfortable silence between you, "when I was your age, I never got to do this kind of thing."

Laura glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. "Watch fireworks?"

"Have a normal night," you corrected. You leaned back on your hands, feeling the cool grass beneath your palms. "Theme parks, vacations, junk food... not exactly things you get when you're trained to kill people before you hit puberty."

Laura hummed in acknowledgment, turning her gaze back to the sky. "Guess we’ve got that in common."

You exhaled through your nose, nodding. "Yeah. But at least we’re here now."

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the fireworks crackle above her. Then, almost reluctantly, she said, "It’s weird."

"What is?"

"Not having to fight," she admitted. "Being... normal."

You tilted your head, watching her carefully. "Do you like it?"

Laura shrugged, pulling at a loose thread on her jeans. "Yeah. I think so."

You smiled, though she wasn’t looking at you. "Good."

The fireworks continued, shimmering reflections dancing across Laura’s sunglasses. The two of you sat in easy silence, the kind that didn’t need filling.

Eventually, Laura spoke again, quieter this time. "How did you and dad get together?”

You glanced at Laura, the question catching you off guard. She was still watching the fireworks, her expression neutral, but you knew her well enough to recognize when she was fishing for something.

You took a slow breath, leaning back on your hands. "That’s kind of a long story, kid."

Laura shrugged. "We’ve got time."

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, I guess we do."

For a moment, you just watched the bursts of color in the sky, letting the memories settle in before you spoke. "When Ororo first brought me to the mansion I had heard stories of the X-Men—and of the Wolverine. I kinda hated them all at first, how they were able to live an almost normal life even though they were all mutants.”

You shrugged, “took me a while to get used to them—to tolerate them. Took me the longest to get used to Logan though.”

Laura glanced at you, her expression unreadable behind her sunglasses. "Why?"

You let out a short breath, watching the last of the fireworks fade into the sky. “From the second I arrived he was always… there. Not in a ‘grumpy old man’ way like I thought he would be, but he would save me a spot for dinner, did the chores I didn’t want to do that Scott assigned me. Hell, he was the first person to show me Star Wars."

Laura turned her head toward you, adjusting her sunglasses. “Wait. You had never seen Star Wars before?”

You smirked. “Believe it or not, I had other things to do growing up.”

Laura hummed in response. After a moment, she said, “So, was that when you knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That you loved him.”

You hesitated, watching as a little girl in a princess dress skipped past, holding her father’s hand.

“No,” you said finally. “Not then.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Then when?”

You thought about that for a second. “I don’t know. I guess all the gestures caught up to me. The way he wasn’t afraid to be around me like some of the others were. It wasn’t until one night when I snapped at him, asking him why he had been doing all this that he confessed.”

Laura shifted slightly, crossing her arms over her knees. "Confessed?"

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the memory. "Yeah. It wasn’t some big romantic moment. It was just… him being honest. Told me he wasn’t the type to say things out loud unless they meant something. Said he didn’t expect me to feel the same, but that he wasn’t gonna pretend he didn’t care."

Laura raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And… I kissed him," you admitted, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Told him he was an idiot for waiting so long to say it."

Laura scoffed. "Sounds about right."

You tilted your head, glancing at her. "What, you expected some fairytale confession? A love letter? Logan wasn’t that type of guy."

Laura shook her head. "No, I just… I don’t know. It’s weird thinking of him like that. Like, all soft."

"He wasn’t soft," you corrected. "He was still stubborn as hell, still grumpy, still fought me on just about everything. But he never made me doubt how he felt."

Laura was quiet for a moment, looking back up at the sky. "Guess that’s what matters."

"Yeah," you said softly, following her gaze. "It is."

A comfortable silence settled between you as the last of the fireworks fizzled out, leaving nothing but smoke trails and the distant hum of the park.

"So," Laura said after a moment, "if he never said anything that night, do you think you would've?"

You thought about that, your fingers tapping against your knee. "Eventually. But he beat me to it."

Laura nodded, processing that. "Good thing he did."

You smiled slightly. "Yeah. It was."

Another pause. Then, in a quieter voice, Laura asked, "Do you think you'd ever—" She stopped herself, shaking her head.

You turned to her. "What?"

"Nothing."

You studied her for a second before letting it go. Instead, you nudged her shoulder. "C'mon, we've got one last ride before the park closes. You promised I got to pick the next one."

Laura groaned but got to her feet anyway. "If it’s the teacups, I’m never forgiving you."

You grinned, standing up. "Guess you’ll have to find out."

As the two of you made your way through the thinning crowd, Laura side-eyed you. "You know, for someone who says they don’t like talking about the past, you sure didn’t shut up about it."

You shrugged. "Maybe you caught me in a good mood."

Laura smirked. "Or maybe you just like remembering the good parts."

You didn’t respond to that. You didn’t have to.

Because maybe she was right.

---

After coming back from Disneyland the lightness didn’t leave. Maybe because it was the first ‘normal’ thing you two had done in months—maybe ever. Just a mother and daughter enjoying their time together.

The grocery store was quiet for a weekday afternoon—just the usual crowd of retirees, moms wrangling their toddlers, and bored cashiers going through the motions. You moved through the aisles quickly, grabbing the essentials: eggs, bread, milk, and way too many snacks to keep up with Laura’s ridiculous metabolism.

You checked your list, crossing off the last item, before making your way toward the checkout. As you tossed the groceries onto the conveyor belt, you let yourself breathe. Things were steady. Normal.

Laura was getting comfortable, and, for the first time in a long time, so were you.

It wasn’t permanent—you knew that much. But for now, it was enough.

You grabbed a carton of ice cream, but something made you pause. That feeling. The faintest prickle at the back of your neck. The one that always hit when someone was watching you.

Cautiously, you moved closer to a nearby Employees Only doorway, keeping your expression neutral as you reached for a yogurt on the shelf. You adjusted your grip on the container, using the reflective surface of the glass door to scan the store behind you.

There.

A figure standing near the magazine rack, pretending to skim through an issue of Sports Illustrated. Too broad-shouldered to be just any guy, too stiff to be casual. You knew that build. That stance.

Logan.

Your stomach clenched, but you kept your movements easy, natural. It didn’t make sense. He shouldn’t still be here. You had been gone for days—long enough that he should’ve moved on, left Florida entirely. You had given him nothing to follow. No trail, no leads.

So how the hell did he find you?

You put the yogurt back, pretending to consider a different brand. The reflection shifted—Logan wasn’t at the magazine rack anymore. He was moving. Closer.

Before you could react, a hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the Employees Only door.

Big mistake.

Years of training kicked in before you even thought about it. You twisted sharply, breaking the grip, and slammed the person into the wall inside the backroom. Your dagger was out in a flash, pressed firmly against their throat.

Logan.

His jaw was tight, eyes sharp but not surprised. He barely reacted to the blade at his neck, just met your gaze with that same unreadable expression.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered.

Your grip on the dagger tightened. “I should gut you for grabbing me like that.”

Logan arched a brow. “Go ahead. Might be the only way to get rid of me at this point.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, pissed but not at him. At yourself. Because you should’ve known he’d find you. You should’ve been more careful.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, your voice low.

Logan smirked slightly, like the answer was obvious. “Lookin’ for you.”

“Try again.”

He held your stare, his throat moving slightly under the blade. “Not here to fight, darlin’. Just talk.”

You scoffed. “That why you dragged me back here? Didn’t exactly scream ‘peaceful conversation.’”

“You were gonna bolt.”

“Damn right I was.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, his patience clearly thinning. “Can you put the knife down?”

You hesitated, then pressed it a little harder—not enough to break the skin, but enough to prove a point. “Give me one good reason.”

Logan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“That’s not a reason.”

He sighed, then, softer this time, “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Your stomach twisted, but you ignored it, stepping back as you lowered the dagger. Logan exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if he’d been expecting you to actually use it.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you shot back. “Because if you don’t explain yourself in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna drag your ass out of here and dump you in a very public place.”

Logan smirked, but there was something tired beneath it. “You sayin’ I can’t handle a crowd?”

“I’m sayin’ I don’t want to deal with security after I kick your ass in front of an audience.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, then leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “Been lookin’ for you,” he admitted. “Figured you wouldn’t make it easy, but damn, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms. “Didn’t know I owed you a trail to follow.”

Logan’s jaw flexed, something flickering in his eyes. “You don’t. But that doesn’t mean I was just gonna let you disappear.”

Your fingers curled against your biceps. “Why not? That was the whole point of leaving, Logan.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Because I don’t think you actually wanna run.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “You don’t know me.”

Logan tilted his head slightly. “Really? ‘Cause anytime your frustrated with me you get this,” Logan gently traced your skin with his thumb, “little crease between your brows—”

You grabbed his wrist, peeling it away from your face, your grip firm but careful. Logan didn’t resist, just watched you, his expression unreadable. His hand was rough, calloused—familiar and unfamiliar all at once. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“You don’t get to do that,” you said, voice low.

Logan tilted his head. “Do what?”

“Touch me like that.” You let go of his wrist, stepping back. “Like you know me.”

Logan let out a short breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I do know you.”

“No,” you corrected. “You know her.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he’d argue. Instead, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Maybe I don’t know this you. But I know enough.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Yeah? And what exactly do you think you know?”

Logan’s eyes flickered over you, his expression softer now, more cautious. “I know you’re scared.”

Your stomach twisted. “Of you?”

“No,” he said simply. “Of this.”

You swallowed, your nails digging into your arms. “You’re reaching.”

Logan’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “Am I?”

You shook your head, turning toward the exit. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Yeah, you are,” Logan said, and you felt his presence behind you before he even moved. He wasn’t blocking your way, but he was close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the weight of his stare. “You can run all you want, sweetheart, but I’ll still be here.”

You gritted your teeth, turning on him. “Why?”

Logan held your gaze, his voice steady. “Because I don’t think you want to leave.”

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “You don’t know what I want.”

“Don’t I?” He stepped closer, just enough to make your breath hitch. “If you really wanted to disappear, you would’ve done it by now. You know how. Hell, you’ve done it before. But you didn’t.”

“I took Laura to Disneyland,” you shot back. “Not exactly the best place to fall off the grid.”

Logan’s brow arched. “You sure that’s all it was?”

You hated how easily he was reading you—how he saw right through the excuses. He wasn’t wrong. You could’ve taken Laura anywhere. Could’ve changed your names again, disappeared into some far-off city where no one would find you. But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed just close enough. Close enough for him to find you.

Logan’s voice softened. “You keep tellin’ yourself you don’t want this, but you’re still here.”

Your throat tightened. “And what about you?”

Logan’s jaw ticked. “What about me?”

“You followed me,” you said. “I told you I was leaving. I told you I was done. And yet here you are.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, his gaze locked onto yours. “Yeah. Here I am.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with everything you weren’t saying. You hated the way your chest ached, the way his presence felt—not just familiar, but right. And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady. “You should’ve left.”

Logan didn’t flinch. “So should you.”

You clenched your jaw, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. This was dangerous. Not because Logan was a threat, but because he wasn’t. Because for the first time in a long time, someone had chased after you—and you didn’t know what to do with that.

Logan stepped back, giving you space. His expression was unreadable again, but his voice was softer this time. “I’m not gonna force you to stay.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet sigh. “But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t give a damn, either.”

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you turned, pushing the exit door open.

You didn’t look back.

But Logan didn’t stop you.

And somehow, that made it worse.

---

You brought the bags of groceries inside, the faint smell of lemon cleaner hitting your nose as you made your way to the kitchen. Laura was sprawled out on the couch, flipping through Netflix with the kind of lazy ease only she could manage.

“You clean?” you asked, setting the bags on the counter.

“Obviously,” she muttered, not looking away from the screen.

You arched a brow, glancing around. The place did look cleaner—the floors weren’t covered in her usual mess of books and abandoned socks, and the kitchen counter was actually visible.

“Wow,” you said, pulling out a carton of eggs. “Guess Disneyland really did change you.”

Laura scoffed. “I just got bored.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you started putting things away. “Whatever you say, muñeca.”

She finally glanced over, eyes narrowing. “You were gone a while.”

“Traffic,” you lied easily, shoving a loaf of bread into the cabinet.

Laura sat up, crossing her legs. “Liar.”

You shot her a look. “Excuse me?”

She tilted her head, studying you like she could see straight through you—which, knowing her, she probably could. “You saw him, didn’t you?”

You didn’t answer right away, focusing instead on the milk you were putting in the fridge.

Laura sighed, rubbing her face. “God. And you didn’t deck him?”

“I didn’t exactly have time,” you muttered, shutting the fridge door with more force than necessary.

“So, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you said, turning to lean against the counter. “He was at the store. He grabbed me. We talked.”

Laura’s brows lifted. “He grabbed you?”

You waved a hand. “Not like that. He pulled me into a back room.”

“That sounds worse.”

“It wasn’t.” You exhaled, crossing your arms. “He just… wanted to talk.”

Laura scoffed, leaning back against the couch. “Right. Because Logan’s known for his communication skills.”

You smirked. “Yeah, well. He tried.”

Laura studied you again, her expression unreadable. “And?”

“And what?”

“What did he say?”

You hesitated, running your tongue along your teeth before answering. “That I don’t really want to run.”

Laura huffed a quiet laugh. “He’s not wrong.”

Your jaw tightened. “It’s not that simple, Laura.”

She shrugged. “Never is.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here. He’ll move on.”

Laura hummed like she didn’t quite believe that. “If you say so.”

You pushed off the counter, deciding this conversation was over. “Go set the table. I’ll make dinner.”

Laura didn’t argue, just stood up and stretched before heading toward the kitchen. As she passed, she muttered, “You should’ve decked him.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Maybe next time.”

---

Logan was right—he didn’t leave. But he didn’t force you either.

You assumed he learned your schedule because for the next few weeks he was there, always in the background. After work he’d lean against his truck across the street from the school.

When you went grocery shopping he was there, following from a distance.

remember that there is a second part to this!!

109 notes · View notes

steveseddie · 2 days ago

Text

‘cause it’s you and me

rating: g | cw: none | wc: 1,9 k | tags: eddie lives, hospitals and injury recovery, steve has a crush, he also knows how to play guitar, fluff

written for @steddielovemonth day one | You and Me by Lifehouse & the quote “every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”

read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know how much time he’s spent on the chair that is next to Eddie’s hospital bed.

Too long probably, if the recurrent pain on his back means anything. But not even that is enough to prevent Steve from staying glued to that chair, neither are the doctor’s mean looks or Robin’s insistence about him getting proper sleep or meals for that matter. Steve only leaves the chair when he has a shift or when he wants Wayne to have time alone with his nephew or when the nurses wheel Eddie away for surgery or tests or physical therapy. That’s it.

It makes the months that Eddie spends recovering blur together. Sometimes, Steve even forgets what day it is, only managing to keep track of it by the nurse’s schedule or depending on who shows up to visit Eddie. The kids and Wayne and Robin all come on different days, effectively balancing keeping their friend company with their everyday lives.

All of them except Steve.

Ever since Spring Break, it’s been Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Find Eddie. Get Eddie’s heart beating again. Drag Eddie out of the Upside Down. Pray that Eddie makes it out of surgery. Wait for Eddie to wake up. Comfort Eddie when he’s in pain. Take Eddie’s mind off of the murder charges that haven’t been dropped yet or the loss of their trailer or the long hours of physical therapy ahead of him. Listen to Eddie ramble on the days that he feels better about books and music and Dungeons and Dragons. Watch Eddie sleep and only then try to get a little sleep himself.

The last one might sound a little creepy but Steve thinks it’s justified considering he still can’t forget how Eddie looked when they found him– pale, bloody, dead. Watching him sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly but steadily is the only thing that calms Steve enough for him to doze off in that damn uncomfortable chair.

Only at some point it stops being entirely about making sure that Eddie is alive– the staring. Suddenly, Steve can’t keep his eyes off of Eddie at all times.

Steve stares at his face while Eddie reads a book to him out loud and forgets to pay attention to what he’s saying. He stares at Eddie’s hands while he explains something to the kids and completely miss a question from Henderson. He stares at his mouth while Eddie slurps the extra jello cup that Robin sneaked in past the nurses and blush when she catches him and smirks knowingly at him.

It takes Steve some time to figure out why he looks at Eddie so much, obvious as it is, and when he finally does he actually leaves his chair and heads to the bathroom for a proper floor freak out.

He just doesn’t know what to do with these feelings for Eddie or where to go from there so he just– doesn’t do anything.

And things stay the same.

Except for the way Eddie keeps getting better.

The doctors are so optimistic that they announce that Eddie might get to go home soon. They have him doing laps around the hospital and start slowly tapering off his pain meds and encouraging him to pick back up things he used to do like writing and playing guitar to work on his dexterity, they said.

It’s why Eddie starts writing down plans and ideas for future dork campaigns again and why Wayne brings his sweetheart to the hospital.

(Eddie almost cried when he saw it, making grabby hands and hugging it against his chest with a happy sigh.

“I swear you’re happier to see that thing more than you’ve ever been to see me,” Steve muttered through pursed lips.

“Steve, don’t call her a thing! She can hear you!” Eddie protested, appalled. Which wasn’t a no but at least later he tells Steve that there’s enough room in his heart for two sweethearts.)

It’s not like Eddie goes back to being a rock god on the guitar right away and his writing is intelligible more often than not, but none of that stops him. He keeps trying, keeps practicing, and Steve loves him more and more for it.

Yes. Love. The first time the word pops up in Steve’s head it leads to yet another bathroom floor freak out but once he realizes it, he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting it out several times a day.

He’s doing it right now while watching Eddie excitedly write down a D&D character sheet for him with his tongue poking out adorably between his lips, tempting Steve to lean in and kiss them. So when a nurse interrupts them to take Eddie away for some test, he appreciates the short break.

When he’s alone, Steve reaches for the notebook that Eddie left on the bed. It’s off limits for any of the kids, but Eddie has let Steve peek at it before. He doesn’t think he’ll mind.

He reads his character sheet, recognizing some of the nerdy words while others fly completely over his head. Then he leafs lazily through pages of notes and doodles until he pauses at what looks like an unfinished song, fragments of lyrics and melodies written messily over the page.

Steve sends a sidelong glance to Eddie’s guitar where it’s leaning against the wall.

He’s never told anyone but he took some guitar lessons back when he started high school, hoping that playing an instrument would help get him girls. He knows how to read music and can fumble his way through a few simple songs, but he never made it past that. It seemed useless when he already had Nancy, and then when he didn’t have her anymore, he had the kids and the Upside Down and playing guitar didn’t seem like a useful skill to have when fighting monsters.

He chuckles. “Guess I was wrong,” he mutters to himself, thinking about Eddie saving the world with a Metallica song of all things.

Without giving it much thought, Steve stands up and carefully grabs the guitar, bringing it back with him to the chair and resting it on his leg, Eddie’s notebook open on the bed in front of him.

He clumsily places his fingers on the fretboard and tries to play the melody that Eddie wrote down. He messes up a few notes, but for someone who hasn’t touched a guitar in years he thinks he plays it decently enough. Eddie would surely do a better job, but it still doesn’t sound half bad. Maybe he can ask Eddie for help to improve and–

“What are you doing?” Eddie’s voice breaks through the melody. His fingers slip and the guitar makes a loud, screechy sound that makes Steve wince.

He whirls around and finds Eddie staring at him from the door, his face unreadable.

Steve gulps, his cheeks pinking up at being caught. “Playing guitar?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “Since when do you know how?”

“I– uh, I took lessons years ago but I stopped,” he says, tripping on his words. “I– I found your– your song and I was trying to play it–”

Eddie’s eyes dart to the notebook on the bed. Steve winces again, worrying that Eddie will get mad because he went through his things or because he touched his sweetheart.

“That sounds nothing like what I wrote.”

Or because he butchered his song.

Steve blushes brighter, reaching for the notebook and fumbling to close it. “Sorry, I– it’s been a while and I was never that good to begin with.”

With three long strides –and a lot less limping than a month ago, Steve proudly notices– Eddie reaches his side and snatches the notebook from Steve’s hands.

“Give me that!” He says, flopping down on the bed and flicking furiously through the pages, his face pinched.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry, I– I didn’t think you’d be mad–”

“You bet I’m mad!” Eddie says with a huff, patting the bed sheets, trying to find something.

Steve shrinks down on the chair. “I– I think I’m gonna go–” he says, pushing himself to his feet. Better to leave now before Eddie finds whatever he’s looking for and throws it at his head.

“Aha!” Eddie gasps, holding up his pen. Then he notices Steve standing awkwardly and frowns at him. “Wait, what? No, stay. Play it again.”

Steve blinks down at him. “What?”

“The song!” Eddie urges him but his voice is soft, gentle. “Play it again, Stevie, please.”

Stevie. Please. He’s not mad.

“What?”

Eddie heaves out a sigh, but it comes across as fond. “Dude, I’ve been trying to figure out the right melody for that song for like, half a year!” He says, shaking his notebook aggressively. A few pages fall off, but he pays them no mind. “But I just couldn’t get it fucking right, there was always something missing! And it was whatever you were doing when I walked in!”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“Not at you, Stevie, no,” Eddie chuckles. “Just mad that it was you who figured it out with your secret magic guitar skills and not me.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and he can’t help but let out a chuckle himself. “So you want me to do it again?”

Eddie nods enthusiastically and that’s enough to make Steve flop back down on the chair, propping the guitar on his legs and doing his best to play the song like he did before.

He must get it right because Eddie lets out an adorable squeal before using his pen to cross out something and write down whatever Steve accidentally came up with.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, I’m gonna have to dedicate this song to you now as a thank you,” Eddie says, grinning so wide at his notebook that it shows off his dimples.

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. It feels hot to the touch, probably from the pet name. “Too bad it’s a love song,” he jokes weakly, even if he wants nothing more than for Eddie’s words to be about him.

Eddie glances up, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I know,” he says softly, his eyes flickering nervously over Steve’s face.

Oh. Oh.

Stomach fluttering with butterflies, Steve stands up, grabbing the guitar by its neck to prop it up against the wall.

“Uh, you– are you leaving?” Eddie asks, chewing anxiously on his pen as he watches Steve move around silently. Little does he know that his heart is currently screaming at him to gently tackle Eddie into the bed.

But first–

“Just making sure your guitar is safe before I go over there and kiss you, Eds,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up when Eddie squeaks again, his eyes widening.

“Oh, o–okay. That’s smart. Yup,” he stammers out, his voice an octave higher, his cheeks pinking up. “Does that mean you also–”

“Feel that way about you?” Steve asks, sitting on the bed next to Eddie, who nods expectantly. Steve reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “Yeah, Eddie, I do.”

When Steve leans in and finally, finally kisses him, Eddie lets his notebook fall to the floor so he can grab Steve’s shoulders. The urgency to write down that perfect melody now replaced by an urgency for Steve.

But it doesn’t matter, Steve thinks that melody is now seared into both of their memories forever, as is their first kiss. The first of many.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddielovemonth #stranger things #stranger things fic #i know i'm late but i left my house at 4 am yesterday and came back at midnight sorryyyy hope you all enjoy it x #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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babybeeelle · 11 hours ago

Text

Hiii, long time no see. I was writing a different story, but I wasn't satisfied in the direction it was going so this just spouted from my brain. This was based off a request, but I'm dramatic so I amplified it :)

Summary - When Agatha's grief causes her to lash out at the reader, she hurts them deeply.

Warnings - Agatha needs therapy, mention of self-harm scars, near-death experiences, and detailed? suicide attempt.

Word count : 4400+

a/n - Very important Warnings. The is a very detailed fic. Please please please read them and make a safe decision to continue reading💖

What's Said and Done

You didn't intend for your reminiscing of Nicky to trigger Agatha the way it did. You had hoped that maybe the decades upon decades spent grieving together created a safe space to talk about the short, but treasured time you all had with Nicky. You craved to fill the hole his death left with the precious memories that had filled your heart with joy. You wanted that for Agatha. You wanted to mend the corrupted memory of him. He deserved to be cherished.

It was obvious now Agatha couldn't. You knew that unadulterated grief that was entangled into her loving soul very well. You thought her forgiving Rio, inviting her back into her heart after two centuries, meant that she was in a stage of grief where she would want to talk about him.

You had so many memories of Nicky etched into your heart, moments that glowed like a lighthouse in the violent weather of grief.

The day he first came into your lives, his tiny hands were gripping tightly to your fingers as Agatha held him, and his wide, curious eyes darted around the unfamiliar space in the bedroom of the little cottage you shared.

Rio had been cautious at first. Viewing his birth from the door frame, knowing she was going to be the one who would lead him to the afterlife before he could truly live.

Yes, she created him, but she also knew the possible complications of creating a precious life unnaturally. But when Agatha looked at her, tears brimming in her eyes as she nodded her head, she could see Agatha was thankful for giving her the time he deserved. To Rio, the pain would be worth it.

Anyone could tell Nicholas was made from Rio. The resemblance was uncanny as he grew older. His facial structure mirrored hers perfectly, from his sharp jawline to the delicate angles of his cheekbones. His eyes a warm chocolate, filled with mischief, were identical to hers. Even down to the smile lines that shined so brightly with his perfect smile. He truly was a mirror image.

There were the little everyday moments that had became everything.

Rio kneeling in the backyard, dirt smudged on her cheek as she pressed her hands to the soil, coaxing life from the earth. Nicky crouched beside her, his tiny fingers buried in the dirt, eyes wide with awe as delicate petals bloomed before him. Every time a new bloom appeared, he’d clap his hands and turn to Agatha with Rio's smile.

Then there were the nights Agatha loved most. She would sit on the edge of his bed, her hands glowing with a soft purple light as galaxies lit across his bedroom ceiling. Stars twinkled, planets drifted in slow, mesmerizing orbits, casting his room in a cosmic glow. Nicky’s small hands would reach up, tracing constellations only he could see, his laughter light and full of wonder.

It was all the things Agatha didn't want to remember.

Her shoulders stiffened while she was putting away laundry. “Why?” Agatha asked finally, her voice low and clipped.

You frowned, caught off guard by her tone. Feeling the sudden change in energy, you began to rub your scarred arm, a self-soothing habit you picked up when you began to feel on edge. “Why what?”

“Why do you have to bring him up?” she said, halting the chores. She turned to face you as you stood beside her. Her eyes were trained on yours, unwilling to break eye contact. “Do you think that helps? Reliving every little memory like it’s going to bring him back?”

The words stung, but you took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “I don’t bring him up to hurt you, Agatha. I just... I miss him. I thought maybe we could talk about the good times, try to focus on—”

“On what?” Agatha snapped, her voice rising. “On how he was never ours to keep him? How we couldn't heal him? On how everything we tried wasn’t enough?” She slammed her hand on the dresser in agitation causing you to jump, eyes-widened as your breath was caught in your throat from surprise. “Because that’s all I see when I think of him.”

Your heart clenched as you watched her unravel, the grief in her voice morphing into anger. “It wasn’t your fault, Agatha,” you said quietly reaching out for her hand. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head as she avoided your touch, crossing her arms defensively. “Of course you’d say that. You always have to be the understanding one, don’t you? Always so composed, so...forgiving”

Her words hit like a slap, but she was being unfair. “You’re not the only one who lost him, Agatha. I lost him too. And Rio—”

“Don’t,” Agatha interrupted, her voice cutting through the room. “Don’t you dare bring her into this.”

The tension between you thickened as your shared grief and unresolved pain collided.

“Why not?” you challenged, ready to defend. “She loved him too. We all did. And maybe it’s hard for you to see, but she’s been trying, Agatha. She’s been trying to make things right with you.”

Agatha's lips curling into a bitter smile. “Trying?” she repeated mockingly. “Trying to what? Pretend like everything’s fine? Pretend like she didn’t—”

“Like she didn’t what?” you demanded as you cut her off, beginning to believe she had never truly forgiven Rio. “Say it, Agatha. Whatever it is you’ve been holding in, just say it.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her body trembling with fury. “Like she didn't take him from us. He’s gone, and all you can do is sit there and talk about him like that’s going to fix anything.”

You stared at her, a silent conformation of your theory. "It wasn't her fault and you know it. He was our boy too," you whispered in defeat. You weren't sure if she had even heard you. But her response showed you she did.

"It wasn't her fault?"

But before you could respond, she delivered the blow that shattered your soul.

“He was never your son,” she said, her voice sharp as she looked at you like you were nothing to her. “Not you. Not Rio's. He was my son. I'm the only one that did anything and everything to keep him alive, and here you are defending Rio like you always do,” she spat out with a sneering expression.

The words hit you hard. You felt physically sick. Your breathing was shallow like Agatha's words were constricting your lungs.

“No,” You protested, your voice breaking. Your eyebrows scrunched as your eyes shone with tears, searching Agatha’s face, desperate for any sign that the woman you loved hadn’t truly meant those words. “You don’t mean that."

Agatha’s expression hardened leveling down to look you straight in the eyes. “I mean it from the bottom of my heart,” she seethed, annunciating every word. “God, I can’t even look at you. It's pathetic. You have no right to be crying right now.” Pushing past you, she walked to the door like your very presence disgusted her.

You staggered back a step, clutching the edge of the dresser to steady yourself. Your tears fell freely now.

“Where are you going?” You asked, your voice thick from crying, inadvertently pleading for her to stay.

“Anywhere but here,” Agatha bit without looking back.

With that, she stormed out, her footsteps echoing down the stairs. The back door slammed shut moments later, leaving the house in a suffocating silence.

Letting the dam crumble, you clasped your chest, trying to ease the ache that felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.

Your legs seemed to move on their own, carrying you to the bathroom in a haze.

As you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the reflection staring back at you felt foreign, like someone you barely recognized. You searched your own face for something, anything, that might explain why you weren’t enough. Why Agatha couldn’t bear to look at you.

"How could anyone love you?" that dark, familiar voice in the back of your mind whispered. It had been gone for a while, but it has returned making its mission to demolish all the progress you've made.

You gripped the edge of the sink so tightly that your knuckles were turning white. Agatha's words echoed endlessly.

"He was never your son." "Not you. Not Rio. He was mine."

The venom in her voice, the disgust in her eyes—how could she say something like that? How could she not see how much you loved him, how you would've given everything if it meant saving him?

You couldn't wrap your head around it. She couldn't actually think that of you, right?

The intrusive thoughts came in waves, each one dragging you deeper into despair.

"She doesn’t want you anymore. She'd be better off without you. Rio too." You squeezed your eyes shut, as though it could stop the endless spiral.

The thought of Rio did it for you. Rio’s face flickered into your mind. Her eyes, usually filled with warmth, was devoid of any love for you. She's death, literally. She is a cosmic being, and you are so...ordinary. You didn't have a sharp, captivating aura like Agatha who demanded anyone and everyone's attention the second she walks into a room.

Your love wasn't worth all the pain. You weren't worth all the pain. You're a burden to them.

The weight of those thoughts pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. You needed both of them. There was already a piece of your heart missing, but Agatha and Rio kept your heart from crumbling. You wouldn't survive that pain again.

You glanced down at the sink, where droplets of water had leaked from the faucet. For a moment, you began to visualize your arm as the faucet, slowly leaking blood.

Your gaze shifted back to the mirror. The self-hatred hit you like a tidal wave. How could they love you? Agatha’s words weren’t just anger—they were confirmation of your deepest and darkest fears. That they didn't need you the way you needed them.

The familiar ache in your chest morphed into a dangerous mission. You opened the drawer beneath the sink, your trembling hands rummaging through its contents until they found what they were looking for. You hesitated for a moment, pausing as you were unsure if this is what you wanted. You had been so good, so happy. Then you remembered what your reality had shifted to.

It was a little purple jewelry box. It once held the ring on your finger from a day you'd never forget. A vow of a love that would be everlasting. But as you opened the box and found the blade hidden within, none of that mattered anymore.

Freeing it from the packaging, you noticed it still had the same sharpness from the last time you used it, and the glint made your stomach twist in anticipation.

The blade felt cool and familiar in your hand as you slowly sank into the cold, empty tub, the icy surface sending a chill down your spine. You hesitated again, gripping it tightly, the thoughts racing through your mind almost convincing you to stop. But one reason kept you convinced: you were doing this for them. This way, you could take the burden of yourself off their shoulders. You were doing them a favor.

With a shaky exhale, you glided the blade lightly across the center of your arm, testing the waters. The first cut was a shallow line that only allowed little bubbles of blood to come to the surface, but the sting grounded you nonetheless.

With more urgency, you pressed down harder, carving another line into your skin. Blood welled up, slowly making its way down your arm like a raindrop rolling down a window.

Taking a deep breath in, you moved the blade down to your wrist where you knew the blood would really flow. As you exhaled, face scrunched, you swiped quick and deep, finally getting to the point where you knew you did damage.

But it wasn’t enough. You craved balance, symmetry. You mirrored the cuts on your other arm, your movements growing more frantic, wanting you're relief to come faster. The tears flowed in rhythm with your blood, causing a hysterical laugh to escape from your throat.

Your vision swam as exhaustion began to set in, your body growing heavy. The pain that had once felt grounding now dulled, your consciousness blurred. It never really dawned on you who would be coming soon.

On cue, a familiar presence filled the room. The usual warmth was now an unwelcoming cold. Her usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced by wide-eyed panic as she took in the scene before her.

“No, no, no, no,” Rio panicked, her voice raw and breaking as she kneeled beside the tub. Her hands were trembling as they hovered over your wounds.

“You can’t do this to me. I won't do it. I refuse to take you,” she cried out in anguish as tears streamed down her face, denying her duty as Death, denying the natural order.

Her hands glowed a faint green as she pressed her palms to your arms. A tingling warmth spread through the cuts, knitting the torn flesh back together. She murmured soft reassurances under her breath, though they were as much for herself as they were for you. Her power wasn’t meant for this, for preventing death, but she gave freely of herself, pouring every ounce of her strength into pulling you back from the edge. The strain showed in her creased forehead, but she fought against it because her heart depended on it.

When the bleeding finally stopped, Rio sagged back on her heels, her hands trembling as the adrenaline drained from her body. Her breath came in uneven gasps, her pulse pounding in her ears. She stared at you, her vision blurring with a mixture of relief and pain.

Carefully, as though you might shatter at the slightest touch, she reached out and gathered you into her arms. Your body was limp against her, your head lolling weakly onto her shoulder. She could feel the shallow rise and fall of your chest—too faint, too fragile—but you were breathing. That was enough.

She pressed a trembling kiss against your temple, her lips barely grazing your skin as she carried you from the bathroom. Each step was slow, deliberate, as though she feared moving too quickly would send you slipping away from her again.

By the time she laid you down on the bed, the world around you was a hazy blur, shifting in and out of focus. The weight beneath you felt unfamiliar—softer than the cold tub, warmer than the tile floor. A distant pressure tugged at your limbs, grounding you, but your thoughts drifted in a fog. Sounds came muffled, like you were underwater.

Rio’s voice, low and strained, broke through the haze. You couldn't make out the words, only the shape of them, the warmth in them. Then she was gone, footsteps fading, leaving you adrift in the silence.

A moment later, something soft slipped over your head. The scent of lavender and something faintly smoky curled into your nose, stirring something deep in your chest. A trembling breath left your lips, the familiarity of it pulling you back, dragging you closer to the surface of awareness.

Your lip quivered. A whimper—barely more than a breath—escaped before you even realized it. The sweater clung to your skin, warm and safe, and for the first time since your body hit the tile, the numbness began to crack.

“What is it?” Rio asked urgently, cupping your face with her hands, searching your face for any signs of pain or discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you whispered, still dazed, “She doesn’t want us anymore.”

Rio froze, her heart dropping at the words and the hopelessness in your voice.

She cupped your face, her thumbs brushing away the tears that continued to fall while she forced herself to stay calm, to steady her voice. “That’s not true,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “Agatha loves you. She loves us. She’s just... hurting.”

You shook your head weakly, your gaze unfocused, lost in the thick fog of exhaustion and heartbreak. "She said it. She said... he wasn't ours, only hers. She doesn't want us.” Your voice cracked, breaking on the last sentence. “She doesn’t want us.” Your words grew softer, fading into incoherent murmurs as exhaustion pulled you under.

Seeing you like this brought bile up. Your pain was making her physically nauseous. Rio’s arms wrapped around you tightly, as though sheer force alone could keep you from slipping away again. “She’s lost in her grief,” she said softly, resting her chin on top of your head. “She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t.”

But your eyes were already fluttering closed, exhaustion and despair pulling you into an empty, restless sleep. As your breathing evened out, Rio stayed by your side, her hand resting on yours.

For a long moment, she simply sat there, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. She leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

She wanted to believe Agatha hadn’t meant it, that the words had been spat out in grief and anger, not truth. But seeing you like this—weak, barely conscious, drowning in the pain Agatha had inflicted—made it impossible to excuse.

“She’s lost in her grief. She didn't mean it," Rio murmured again, this time to herself.

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

The argument replayed in Agatha’s mind as she sat on the bench, viewing the garden Rio created centuries ago as the cool night air brushing against her skin. Her fingers pressed against her temple, rubbing slow, desperate circles as if she could knead away the headache forming beneath her skull.

She took a swig from the half-empty beer bottle, the taste flat and useless to distract her from the ache in her chest. Her words had been cruel, sharp-edged daggers thrown in anger. "He was never your son. Not you, not Rio. He was my son." The memory of your devastated expression was seared into her mind.

She’d meant it in the moment. Or at least, she’d convinced herself she did. Grief over Nicky had festered into something raw and ugly, and in her anguish, she had taken it out on you—the person who had only ever tried to love her through her faults. Your love was pure.

While Nicky had inherited little of your features, what you had given him was more personal than any resemblance. Your ability to love someone regardless of their past and all the terrible things they've done is one of a kind. Agatha was sure there was no one who could ever grace this world the way you did. That was what made you stronger than any power she or Rio could ever possess.

But that purity was suffocating. It was too much like his. It was like he had never left. And yet, he was gone.

That was the worst part. Every time she looked at you, at Rio, it was a reminder of what she had lost. Of what she could never get back.

It wasn’t fair that you and Rio were still here with her when he wasn’t. It wasn’t fair that you kept loving her, even after all the ways she pushed you away. It wasn’t fair that you could carry on, bearing his memory with softness, while she was drowning in the weight of it.

Maybe that was why she lashed out. Because she hated that you were proof love could survive grief. And she hated herself even more for resenting you for it.

But now, in the openness of the garden, regret gnawed at her, eating her alive. She wished she could take it back, wished she could go back in time to undo the pain she’d caused. She hated herself for how easily the words had slipped out, sharp and unforgiving. It was a defense second nature to her. It was as unstoppable as her magic siphoning. It relented before she could remember that the people she lashed out at were the ones she loved most.

The sound of the back door slamming and heavy footsteps jolted her from her thoughts.

Agatha shot to her feet, as she carelessly discarded the bottle she had been nursing. She turned sharply, her heart hammering against her ribs as Rio strode toward her. The guilt and sorrow clung to Agatha like a shadow, but Rio wasn’t here to acknowledge her pain. This wasn’t about her.

She didn’t speak at first, only stood before Agatha, her entire body trembling with a rage barely containable as she tried to formulate her words carefully. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, her fists curling so tightly at her sides that her knuckles went white.

Agatha froze. The half-empty bottle hung uselessly at her side, momentarily forgotten. Her gaze flickered toward Rio, taking in the rigid set of her shoulders, the barely restrained fury rolling off of her in waves. Then Agatha saw it—dark stains smeared across Rio’s hands, stark against her skin. The realization hit her like ice water.

Your blood.

Her stomach twisted violently. She felt the breath hitch in her throat as her gaze snapped back to Rio’s face. The rage was still there, burning bright, but beneath it—buried just deep enough to go unnoticed by anyone else—was fear.

“You know what you’ve caused?” Rio’s voice was low and deadly, trembling with restrained rage.

Agatha swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I—”

Rio cut Agatha off before she could try to explain. “Do you know what Y/N tried to do because of you?” The words were spit through clenched teeth, but her voice cracked on your name.

“What... what-” she stammered. Once again, getting cut off.

“She thought you didn’t want her anymore. That you didn’t want us anymore.” Rio’s composure shattered, her breath coming in ragged bursts. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to find the love of our lives bleeding out in that tub? Because of you? Because you let your grief fester into something that poisoned her?”

Rio’s hands trembled as she dragged them through her hair, her breath coming in sharp, angry heaves. Then, suddenly, as if overwhelmed by the weight of it all, she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and let out a harsh, shuddering breath.

Agatha couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Her vision swam, your face flashing in her mind—not the way she had last seen it, but the way it looked utterly lifeless

Tears welled in her eyes, her hands trembling as she clutched at the edge of the bench for support. “I... I didn’t know,” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.

Rio dropped her hands, her gaze snapping to Agatha with something close to disbelief. Then she laughed, humorless and bitter. “You didn’t know?” she echoed, voice raw. “How could you not know, Agatha? Don’t give me that pathetic reasoning, Agatha. You know her more than you know yourself. You know how deeply she feels everything. Love. Pain. And now she thinks you hate her.”

Agatha’s tears spilled over, her chest heaving with the weight of her guilt. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just... I didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t know how to-.”

Rio’s expression softened for a fleeting moment, the raw pain in Agatha’s panic stirring something deep within her. But she quickly steeled herself, unwilling to let sympathy distract her from the truth.

"You need to fix this." Her words were quiet. Firm. And final.

Agatha blinked through the blur of tears. She hadn't felt this type of fear since Nicky.

“If you’ve ever loved her, if you’ve ever loved us, then you’ll make this right,” Rio said filled with tiredness and desperation. “Because if you don’t, you’ll lose us both.”

Agatha’s breath hitched.

Rio’s words hung in the air like a heavy, suffocating fog. Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode back inside, the door swinging shut behind her with a thud.

She had been so consumed by her own grief that she hadn’t realized she had become the very thing she had feared, the thing that had broken you.

Agatha stood there in stunned silence, her mind reeling. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed into the dirt of the garden, her fingers dug into the soil as though it could somehow anchor her to the ground. The weight of Rio’s words crashed over her like a tidal wave, and for the first time, the full gravity of her actions hit her.

Her guilt twisted like a knife in her gut. Her sobs were quiet at first, but soon they grew louder, wracking her body with the force of hardened grief. Her pain pulsed around her, a sickness that spread without forgiveness. Her gaze darted around, watching in anguish as the pink azaleas she had once tended with such care now wilting, their petals curling in on themselves as if recoiling from her presence. The energy emanating from her twisted the life around her, black veins creeping up the stems, the poison of her emotions seeping into the earth.

Just like she had seeped into you. It was a silent parallel of how she had poisoned you.

The thought made her sick.

She had always known that her anger and pain had pushed you and Rio away, but she hadn’t realized just how far it had gone until now. The fear that she might lose both you and Rio, it was too much to bear. And for the first time, the full weight of her actions hit her, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn’t know how to fix it, how to undo the damage she’d done. But she knew one thing for certain: if she didn’t try, she would lose you both. And that was a price she couldn’t afford to pay.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #rio x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #agatha x rio #agathario #nicky scratch #nicholas scratch

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jjsloverre · 1 day ago

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introducing… babydaddy!jj x pouge!reader

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babydaddy!jj who… was the biggest fuckboy in the obx, but after knocking you up, he decided to be there for you

babydaddy!jj who… cheated on you multiple times until he realized how much pain it was causing you and the baby.

babydaddy!jj who… always protected you from all the kooks and anyone who dared to even try you.

babydaddy!jj who… deep down, loved you to death but never knew how to show it.

babydaddy!jj who… always took you shopping, and catered to your every need.

babydaddy!jj who… was excited to have a baby with you, and even asked you to be his girlfriend!

babydaddy!jj who… was terrified he’d end up being just like his dad to his kid, so he swore to love and protect you forever, no matter the cost; he’d make sure you and the baby would be safe and sound.

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pouge!reader who… never understood why jj was the way he was until he opened up to her.

pouge!reader who… was extremely heartbroken when she found out jj kept sleeping with other women while she was carrying his child.

pouge!reader who… was super excited to have a baby, even if he would be a potential deadbeat.

pouge!reader who… loved jj deeply, flaws and all; even if she had to let him go.

pouge!reader who… was extremely emotional during her pregnancy, crying over everything, but jj was always there to help her.

pouge!reader who… constantly helped jj in any way she could, or any way he would allow her.

pouge!reader who… always kept jj going, even if he didn’t believe in himself. her love was the only thing that kept jj going.

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a/n: feel free to request anything! this is gonna be so fun to write i feel!

taglist: @sturniologirlzz @sturns-mermaid @aaliyahsturniolo @ethanthequeefqueen @sophand4n4 @masongetinmybed @kieeslove @bee-43 @chalahyung01 @eddxemxnson @always-reading @superlegend216

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masterlist:

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#jj maybank #outer banks #obx #jayj𓆉 #obx cast #jj maybank fic #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #outerbanks jj #obx jj

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edward-munson · 1 day ago

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I don't care | S.H.

Summary: Taking care of Steve after he was attacked by an army of demobats seems like a lot of work, only because apparently he doesn't like you.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of injury, allusion to smut

Word count: 2.2k

☆°•○♡

"You want them spicy or not?" You ask Steve as you make nachos for dinner for both of you.

He's lying on the couch, on his back. He still recovers from the attack of the demobats. His neck is almost fully scarred, but the bites on his stomach and his sides are still painful. You've been laying low together for close to two weeks.

Your friends didn't want to make you team up with them to find Vecna and kill him. Not that you're not brave or strong enough to do so. But you're still pretty new to all of this and someone had to stay with Steve. So you didn't even bother opposing the idea, even though he's not your biggest fan.

God knows why, he never told his reasons. And your friends didn't know either. Maybe Eddie did, but he wouldn't open his mouth about it.

"I still think this is really unnecessary. I'm not a fucking child" He complains as he walks past the kitchen door, leaning against the sink.

With crossed arms, he looks at your food. You made chilli beans, guacamole and cheese sauce for the spicy nachos. You look up at him, trailing your eyes on his neck for an instant before raising an eyebrow to him.

"You can't even hold your own weight, Harrington. Stop being a crybaby".

Steve scoffs at you, but doesn't move an inch from his position. "Jesus, I wish we had another plan".

You drop the spoon you were using, turning your face to look at him. "I'm only doing this because they asked me to. Get off your own ass".

You leave the kitchen, walking out to the bedroom you were sleeping on. You were staying at his house. It's not like there were other options, but you couldn't refuse to stay there when he's alone and barely walking. Well, he can walk. The worst part is that he needs rest because of his wounds.

The past two weeks you've been quite getting along. Not that much, really. It's not like you were friends. Probably more like close acquaintances. Because obviously, he was the one pushing you away.

You didn't leave your room for a while, you were too annoyed to eat, and since it was dinner for the two of you, it didn't feel like you should eat anymore. You decided to spend your time watching something on the TV, which would easily make you get bored.

And then you would read books, or write stuff. It's been pretty tough lately since Vecna appeared. Max almost got killed and now she was staying at Dustin's house. The other kids were coming back to Hawkins to help, maybe Eleven might be able to do something about that.

You actually wished you were doing something fun. Like, taking a trip to the beach or snowboarding since it's fall and the weather has been cold. Your thoughts were pushed back by a knock on the door. Steve didn't open it and you didn't mention doing it either, so he just stayed there.

"Sorry I was an idiot" His voice came out muffled through the closed door. "I know I've been cranky and annoying".

You only opened the door after a couple of minutes, not exactly sure if he was still there. But he looked up from the floor at you. "You used to be nice. I mean, way before this curse happened".

He stayed quiet, because you were right. But what else can he do if the world was turned upside down (almost literally) again? And you almost got them killed once, not on purpose of course.

You were also the one to get too close to Robin and he hated seeing his best friend sharing her friendship with someone else. Because up until then, he was the only one she was the closest he had to a friend, even though he had a strong relationship with Eddie too.

None of it was your fault, but he grew annoyed over you. He couldn't lie to himself and say you weren't too kind and helpful. But he started to become extremely unenthusiastic over you through the year.

"A lot has happened since then. I'm trying to live up to the fact that we're against another monster again" Steve leans an arm against the doorframe, but refuses to keep his gaze at you.

"Which isn't my fault, by the way. Not to mention I'm the one who pulled you out of the watergate before you were eaten".

Another few seconds of silence, which was followed by a sarcastic nasal laugh. He shook his head and hung it low to the floor.

"Oh, you want a prize for that? Because I remember clearly when I didn't ask for your help!" His words were harsh, even if not intended.

But now you were the one who didn't know what to say. Until you feel the bitter taste on your tongue.

"Guess I should've let them rip your skin apart, then".

He saw the door shutting in front of him, cursing himself for being extremely idiotic and insensitive. He almost felt like punching his own face for that.

Steve heard you talking to Eddie that night through your walkie talkie. It was a little bit hard to hear because the reception was static for you. But you could listen to Eddie and God, you missed him and the others. It started to become unbearable to live with Steve. He heard you lament the whole situation, complaining about the way you were treating each other.

He was bitter about the things they were going through. He was angry he couldn't have done more. And he was taking it out all on you. He couldn't face another apology on the same day, because he knew he didn't deserve to be forgiven. Not right now.

The next day, he made breakfast by himself. It took you by surprise, but by the time you were up, he had already eaten. And you wouldn't want to eat with him either. You remember Nancy saying the bickering was just "sexual tension" but you knew it didn't have anything to do with that.

Even though you felt your ears burning from the thought, you couldn't deny to yourself that he was pretty charming. And seeing him shirtless whenever he would change the gauze made you feel weird. God, his hair was always pretty while yours looked like a bird nest after waking up.

The day seemed to have lasted longer since you haven't exchanged a single word to each other. He was focused on watching movies, playing video games and listening to music. He was getting bored out of his mind, but there wasn't much he could do being injured.

You, on the other hand, went out to do some errands. In fact, you didn't care you left him alone. You were getting tired of staying inside. So you went to see Max, and invited her to eat at Burger King. She seemed to feel better to do something like that too. Everything seemed pretty fuzzy lately.

Will, Mike and Eleven were pretty close to Hawkins. Thanks to Argyle who thinks he's a speed racer, and Jonathan who encourages him to drive long hours so they can arrive as soon as possible.

It was almost 7 PM when you came back home. You've finally had some fun after a week. You obviously couldn't be going out since they still haven't found Vecna and he knows about you too. The man in front of you seemed pretty pissed that he didn't see you were out until he woke up two hours ago.

"What? Don't give me that father look" You dropped your backpack on the floor and followed upstairs.

He's got a whole show prepared and he wasn't feeling like he would regret it this time.

"You know you can't just fucking go out and yet, you still do" He walked behind you, like a mother scolding a child.

"Yeah, dad. I know so. But here I am, back in pieces" You turned on your heel to look at him before closing your door.

Much to your dismay, he was faster this time, holding it with his right foot and right hand. Even injured, he was still stronger than you.

"No, don't push it. You can be an easy target for him, you know that?"

You huff, dropping your arm to your side. "Look, Harrington. I'm an adult, and I'm very aware of what I do or don't do. So please, just stop making a scene and leave me the fuck alone".

Steve couldn't even stand arguing with you anymore, it was so tiring. But he knew he would blame himself if something ever happened to you out there. He couldn't let this happen to you, even though you've been annoying him for whatever reason.

He took a step towards you, his hands balling into fists. The way your eyes were boring into him in an unamused face irritated him even more.

"Look, honey" His tone was purely sarcastic and you felt it not only in his voice, but in his demeanor too. "You know you're putting yourself at risk doing that. If I'm not fucking sure you're safe as well, I won't live with that".

At each passing second, you could feel him walking to you, but you couldn't walk back. You couldn't run from him, you couldn't get away from him. You wouldn't, you didn't feel like you wanted to.

"And not just because of my friends, they sure would kill me. But because I couldn't lose another person" You feel his breathing hitting your face, his eyes flicking as he looks at you.

He looks down at you with such intensity, it's crazy how there's a magnetic pull towards him.

You hold his gaze, feeling a cold shiver down your spine. He didn't look like he was about to snap at you, even though his tone was a bit loud.

He furrows his brows when he sees your lip curling into a smirk. "Well, Steve" His fingers move by the sound of his name, you always call him Harrington. "I thought you didn't care if I died or not".

This time, he was the one to smirk at you. "Honey, I don't remember saying I never cared about you".

Your stomach sank at that. Because now as you think of it, it comes crashing down as a realization that he never really said anything related to that. He truly never spoke about it.

"Doesn't seem like it"

"You see, this is why you annoy me so much" His nose bumps into yours, but he still gazes at you like he doesn't mean to avoid eye contact.

"Yeah? Then you should–" He doesn't let you finish your sentence.

Steve crashes his lips against yours, his hands flying down your hips. He feels your immediate reaction as you don't correspond right away. For a few seconds, he thinks he's done the wrong thing and almost regrets it, until you grab him by the neck with both hands. You wrap your fingers around his neck, your fingertips grazing the nape of his hair.

Your lips are smacking his lips in a hurry, while he runs a hand to cradle your face. He slips his tongue into your mouth and holds his breath when he feels your tongue moving in sync with him. He doesn't want to admit this is what he wished he could've done before.

Steve has been so stressed lately that he could only think about defeating Vecna. He didn't realize how much you were willing to take care of him these weeks. All he knew was that he also had to take care of you. And this is why he became so angry when you left without him knowing.

Especially because if something did happen to you, he would feel the regret of being an asshole to you.

He rips a low whimper from you when he gently grasps your lower lip by his teeth as he heaves against your mouth. You're both too absorbed into your own feelings, leaving grunts and gripping each other everywhere.

His fingers were digging your skin every time you would kiss his jawline and he was growing eager. He didn't want to look like he was trying to take advantage of you, only noticing now how much you also wanted this.

He then roughly pulls your shirt off, watching as your chest is quickly rising and falling. And his eyes sparkled when he saw your cleavage for the first time like that. Your bra perfectly hugging your round big breasts.

Steve didn't wait any longer, holding your waist and pushing you back against your bed.

That night, he pounded on you just like you dreamed about. He slapped his hips against your ass just like you wished someone would one day. The air was filled with sounds and lust.

You didn't even notice when your friends arrived right after he had an orgasm. You didn't have time to get dressed, only getting caught when Robin opened the door to you both naked. He didn't have time to remove his condom. She saw you naked. And worse. She saw her best friend naked.

And you thought it was going to be awkward, until Eddie turned the awkwardness into "I knew these idiots would fuck".

The night was all about this. They decided to leave the Vecna subject for the next day.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

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tr4gictea · 3 days ago

Note

Hallo!! can I req a lyney, kaveh and haitham x reader (again..) with reader who constantly overworks and ends up sleeping t theirb desk? I loved the last rain fic u rote RAHHHH thank you sm!!

Overworked!Teen!Reader+Lyney,Kaveh,&Alhaitham

❥Masterlist

Tags: fluff, overworked reader, no beta we die like men,

Including: Lyney, Kaveh, & Alhaitham

word count: 3k words

A/n: Hi! thank you for the request @cheri-2047! Heyyy... how yall doing... I'm back and I am going to post constantly. And one announcement at the end of the story!

Also, state if you want your fic to be written in a platonic or romantic manner or I will choose for you. This is very much a threat >:D (JKJK(kinda(not really(but please write what the intentions you want(this is for your enjoyment and my piece of mind that i made something you wanted(I love you <3))))))

Alhaitham

Art: @ Ahiii7 on twitter

You stare at the clock in the corner of the desk, the hand is slowly creeping towards midnight. The library was empty except for you, your desk was scattered full of textbooks, essay guides, and empty cups of coffee. Your tired eyes gaze over the essay structure, ensuring that every comma, period, and word is perfect. This essay had to be perfect.

You rub your eyes feeling tiredness wash over you but you can't stop now. Your hand was starting to cramp up from how much you were writing but you had to keep going. You can't stop. Not now. This Akademiya application essay is too important. If you don't get into the akademiya now that will throw off your whole plan of becoming the youngest person to join Spantamad in the akademiya's history.

Getting into Spantamad at such a young age would prove your capable. Your parents expect nothing less from you, you've always been told you have what it takes. But was that true? Do you really have what it takes to get into one of the best schools in teyvat?

You push those thoughts aside. No, you have to be perfect. You continue to scratch away at the essay on your desk annotating notes you hadn't noticed before. When suddenly a bolt of pain is sent through your hand, making you drop the pen and grip your hand in pain.

You begin to massage your hand, and you allow yourself to sink into your chair. Your eyelids felt so heavy, that all you want to do is rest and be done with this essay. Maybe you can take a quick nap, just to so you can get some energy. You set the timer beside you to 30 minutes so it wouldn't be too long of a nap. It couldn't hurt to take one break, could it?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Alhaitham was always the first person to enter the akademiya. Even before he became the acting grand sage he was always the first person to enter those doors. He has a set-in-stone plan that he has put together for himself to follow. Even if one thing is off, his whole day feels like a mess.

First, he wakes up before the sun rises and has a short 3-mile run, he then gets ready for his day while Kaveh is talking his ear off about something. When he arrived at the school he'd enjoyed the silence of an empty place.

That's why when he hears a loud beeping coming from inside the library he is immediately ticked off. He marches his way into the library prepared to kick some student out. His 10 minutes of silence in the halls have been ruined by some student thinking there someone special to be able to leave that noise going and no think that he's- Oh wait, it's you.

When the acting grand sage turns the corner, he is met with the sight of you sleeping on a library desk filled with stacks of books and cups of what looked like coffee. He turned the alarm on your desk off with a small tap. Your face was scrunched into an angry face and you were mumbling something in your sleep.

He hated to admit but it was kind of, cute.

He looked at the papers in front of you, they were submission essays to the Akademiya. Each one was different from the last. Touching on a different subject in each essay he read. He's seen these essays before, you showed them to him so he could check if there were any mistakes. He had told you they were fine but you somehow managed to find the smallest mistakes a re-write the whole essay again. You've been overworking yourself too much lately and it was not good for someone of your age.

"(Y/n), (Y/n)?" Your breathing was slow and it looked like you were deep in sleep. You were probably up for a while if you are still in the N3 stage of sleep. He would take you into his office so you could get some rest away from others' eyes.

He draped his cape over you carefully picked you up and carried you to the elevator up to his office. He figured it would be less embarrassing for you to be asleep in front of a bunch of college students.

He placed you on a couch he had placed in his office a couple months ago. Alhaitham looked down at you on the couch and saw your smile soften.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your eyes began to slowly blink open, the soft fabric underneath your body was comforting compared to that hardwood desk. You hugged the pillow next to your head allowin- wait.

You blink your eyes open at the sudden realization that you aren't at your desk anymore. Your body shoots up from its resting position and looks around the new area. Your eyes adjusted to the new lighting and a blur of what looked like an office came into view. It looked like Alhaitham's office.

"Hm? You're up," You turned your head to see Alhaitham at his desk writing down something on a stack of papers. "I've prepared a cup of chamomile tea for you." He gestures to a cup of tea on a side table beside you.

You thanked him and took the tea off the table, it was warm to the touch and wasn't too hot at all. "How long was I out for?"

"10 hours and 46 minutes," He responds. You hum in response and go back to your tea. "You know, you shouldn't be overworking yourself like this."

"I know, I just... need everything to be perfect." you sigh and hug your knees close to your chest.

"Perfection is something even the greatest scholars have never achieved, and you will never reach it either," His reply felt cold but warm at the same time. You could tell he was trying to give some type of comfort in his own weird way.

"But, if it's not perfect, what's the point?" How am I supposed to be the person that everyone thinks I am?

"In truth, people want something real. Something that reflects your thoughts, your ideals, and personality." He looks up from his work and gives you a small smile. "You are a very sharp and determined person, I know you are more than capable of writing this without having to work yourself to death." Were those words of comfort? From Alhaitham?! The most unloving man alive?!? And with a smile that wasn't condescending?!?!

"Who are you and what have you done with the Acting Grand Sage?"

His smile falters into his condescending smirk. "I let you sleep in my office and this is the thanks I get? Ungrateful." He rolls his eyes playfully.

"Words of comfort from you are odd." You chuckle.

"Hm?" He raised his eyebrow at you, "I do not know what you mean? I am always comforting,"

"Okay then name one time in the past week that you comforted someone."

He pulled his arm under his chin and thought long and hard about it. "Ah yes, I gave Layla notes on her thesis and told her it was average enough to get an 'A'. "

"You didn't actually say that to her, did you?" Your mouth agape at this man's lack of social skills.

"No, I didn't say it to her," He pauses for a moment. "I wrote it on the front of her essay." The scholar answered with a straight look on his face.

"Dude..."

Lyney

Art: @ m_iothle on twitter

"Fuck..." You sigh as you let yourself fall onto the ground. You are currently atop a roof in the Court of Fontaine looking into the window of a Fontainian official's house. You had been tasked, by Father, to gather as much information as you could about the man as you could.

The dim light inside the home and the moon are the only things illuminating your surroundings as you adjust your position. You take out a notebook and start flipping through weeks of information on this guy. Every detail mattered — what this guy ate, who he spoke to, what time he went to bed — it all mattered.

Reading through you could see patterns forming, patterns that could be this man's downfall. But the job was taking its toll. You barely slept for weeks, surviving off caffeine, small sandwiches, and will. Though your senses have been sharpened through harsh training you find yourself having trouble keeping yourself upright.

"Just one more hour..." You mumble as you try to fight off sleep, your words echo in your head as you scribble down more notes in your journal. Minutes blurred into another as your eyes grew heavier, you fought the sleep, shifting into other positions, but your body had other plans.

And just like that — they were out.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Lyney grumbled, tapping his foot on the floor as he waited for you to return from your mission to give him a briefing. His teeth shuddered as a cold breeze hit him. Lyney had been waiting up to an hour for you to show up but to no avail had he seen any sight of you.

You've been late to meetings, but never more than 10 minutes. An annoyed expression spread across his face as he realized he would have to come find you himself. About half an hour later Lyney found you knocked out on the roof across from the target.

"Hmm, aren't they adorable?" Lyney hums to themselves as they smile down at they're sleeping, sibling. He scans over your face taking note of your eye bags and unkept hair. Your notebook dangles loosely from your fingertips, he bends down and plucks it from your hands. You've been neglecting to take care of yourself and from the looks of it, you fell asleep on the job. Well we can't have that, can we?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

A loud crack jolted you from your sleeping position. You sprung yourself up from your relaxed position — ready to fight whoever shot at you. But to your surprise, you only find Lyney with a straight face and his eyes showing no emotions for you to read.

"L-lyney?!" You blurt out, "What are you-, wait! Is it check-in time already?!" You say in a panic suddenly remembering the meeting.

"Yes, my dear sibling it is far past the time we agreed on," He grumbled. "And not only have I found you asleep on the job, you have also left yourself open to attacks."

I scoffed at his words "I'm hidden, the target has no idea I'm here."

"Hm," He hummed then lunged at you, he grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back. "Even if you are hidden that does not make you invisible — you are still open to attacks."

You struggle against his hold, every time you try to pull yourself out of his grip Lyney twists your arm causing pain throughout your body. "Well, I just woke up and you're stronger than me."

"Is that the excuse we should carve into your grave then?"

You stop struggling for a second taking in his words. Your body was noticeably sluggish, normally when someone had you in this position you could easily twist your way out of it. But your exhaustion had cost you some of your strength — which left you helpless under Lyney.

The magician loosens his grip and lets you move away from him. "Y/n, I get it, this is your first mission and you want to do your best. But this is not the mission you should lose sleep over."

"I know... but I want to make Father proud and give me more missions in the future—,"

"— And they will, but at this rate, you'll burn yourself out." A pang of frustration and concern twisted in his chest. "If you go about every mission like this then you'll end up hating the idea of getting sent out on the field."

You keep your head low feeling a twinge of shame for overworking yourself. Lyney lets out a sigh and places a hand on your head, "You did great work today Y/n, you should be proud."

A smile threatens to appear on your face as he praises you, "But the next time Father sends you on a mission I hope that you will remember to take care of yourself. Got it." It sounded like he was more demanding of you than asking.

"Yes sir!" you say, excited about the prospect of getting a second mission.

"Good, now head back to the house and get some rest," He turns away from you and starts flipping through your notebook. "I'll take care of the rest."

Kaveh

Art: @ m_iothle on twitter

Who says that kids can't handle pressure? Because they obviously haven't met you! The demanding life of owning a restaurant is tough on your parents; so you're here to lighten their load. Do they need more utensils? You'll buy some! Short staffed? Pfft easy, you'll jump in! Crippling debt from when your father started the business? Take it out of your own pocket! When people ask you about the pressure, what pressure? Pressure is for non-achievers who are too scared to get what's needed to be done.

You live and breathe by this mantra; it's all that keeps you in business and out of the streets. You work hard as your parents' underpaid accountant. The idea of the business clasping caused you to work long work hours well into the night, such as this night.

The evening moonlight shows through the window, casting on your face. The dinner rush has started, and the sound of utensils hitting plates runs through your ears. Your parents are running from kitchen to table carrying heavy trays of food and empty plates. You can see tired lines itching onto their faces as they tirelessly work.

The restaurant work had also taken a toll on you — causing you sleepless nights wondering if you were gonna have a home the next day. All you could do was adjust your parent's budgeting to something more sustainable.

You are currently seated at the bar working out the details of next month's budgeting plans. You rub your temple to try and soothe your nerves. You look at every cent of money that goes in and out of this place. Every little dollar counts.

The rent is due soon. The money was looking scarce. The price of tomatoes is getting higher, so we might need to push more egg-related dishes to customers. Maybe you could switch to a cheaper brand. Looking over the spreadsheet it didn't seem like your parent's restaurant had much time left. Maybe —

Your head snapped forward, then snapped back up.

No. You have to stay awake.

You blicked rapidly and chugged down half a hot coffee to keep you from falling asleep. You needed to figure out how to save the business. If the restaurant went down then your parent's dreams would go down. This place wasn't just a job for them but also their home, literally. Your father never looked happier when he was in the kitchen even with bags forming under his eyes. Your mother thrived on making recipes for others to try. And you lived here — it offered such a warm and inviting atmosphere that you loved.

So you pressed on, even as your eyes grew heavy and your head dropped...... SLAM!

A cup slamming on the table jerking you up right from your half-sleeping state. You look up to see a slightly drunk architect sitting next to you. You recognized the man as Kaveh, the famous architect who often came down to your parents' restaurant to drink his sorrows away. You two frequently chatted when he came around and considered each other as kind of friends.

He had a joyful expression on his face and looked to be celebrating something by himself. This is odd for him as when he comes in he's often here to yap on about some horrible client he's has.

You are unsure of when he got there in the short time you rested your eyes but it was probably a little while ago. You look at the clock across from you, it reads 11:36 PM. Fuck, you let yourself relax and wasted an hour and a half. You groggily stretched out your arms and lazily picked up the pencil to continue your work.

"Late night?" Kaveh says facing his body toward you.

You fidget with a strand of your hair. "Something like that." You huff out.

"You don't look that great," He said trying to put it as nicely as possible.

"I'm fine," You brush him off as you take a sip of your now cold coffee. His eyes scan over the mess of papers surrounding you and frowns.

"Y/n, I get you're trying to help your parents but — you can't do that if you're dead on your feet."

You let out a small chuckle "Those are some wise words for a drunkard."

He chuckled nervously, remembering a certain sage who spoke those words to him "Yeah, they're technically not my words but they helped me when I was working myself to death."

"Well, I don't really have a choice," You mutter. "If I don't fix this budget then—,"

Kaveh stops you with a hand to your face. "The restaurant will not shut down if you rest during the night." He furrows his eyebrows. "This restaurant is your parent's responsibility — not yours."

The architect reaches for the paper in front of you and carefully stacks them together. "Now, you go rest for however much you need to and come back when you have energy?"

You wait a beat before responding, one night's rest couldn't hurt? "Alright," You sigh in defeat as you push yourself off the high stool.

The numbers could wait — just a little while.

For my announcement, I will not be as genshin-focused from now on. I will still post genshin things if you request it but I will be trying to focus on other fandoms like MHA/JJK/Demon Slayer. This is mostly because I have not been enjoying genshin anymore and it's gotten kinda stale in terms of everything. So if you have any requests I will do them but other than that I'm not writing genshin. (also, yes true meaning will continue but it will end at Fontaine because I don't wanna write Natlan #ProudNatlanStoryQuestHater)

More Genshin Impact Stories *ੈ✩‧₊˚

More Alhaitham Stories ˚ ༘ ୭ ˚. More Lyney Stories ₊˚.༄ More Kaveh Stories ˚ ༘ ୭ ˚.

REMEMBER TO SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON, OBLITERATE THAT FOLLOW BUTTON AND, REQUEST FOR A SHOUT-OUT IN MY NEXT VIDEO 🗣🗣🗣🔥🔥🔥

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vividiana · 2 days ago

Text

tastes like she might be the one

pairing: Astarion x f!Dark Urge · word count: 5.3k

rating: E for shameless smut (MDNI)

tags: blood drinking, period sex, oral sex, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, masturbation, Astarion being a little feral, porn with (some) plot, idiots in love, post-canon, general Durge spoilers

“Well, all of that’s to say that if you would like to… indulge, this might be your one and only chance to do so.” “Oh. I see.” Astarion’s eyes light up at the idea and Eve’s breath hitches when he takes a couple steps closer, his face just inches away when he says: “Then I suppose we better make it count.”

a/n: I did it, I succumbed to the Urge and wrote a period kink oneshot. hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

tagging some of my lovely moots who were hyping me up as I shared snippets from this fic: @khywren @nerdallwritey @xxnashiraxx @obsessedwhyyes @verbenaa @bby-bel-art @hellethil @arzen9 (thank you so much for getting excited about this with me. tbh it would have still been sitting in my wip doc if it weren’t for you all ❤️)

the title is from "LUNCH" by Billie Eilish

read on ao3 · dividers

As Eve is leaving the market, she feels her lower abdomen clench painfully in a manner she doesn’t recognize. She winces, tightening her grip on the grocery bags and tries to figure out what mundane malady it could be this time as she hurries back to the apartment.

Soon, she reaches the familiar facade, but as she goes for the handle, the door swings open. Eve startles when she sees Astarion, wide-eyed and visibly tense.

“What are you doing?” she yelps when he pulls her inside, standing just inches away from the pool of sunlight spilling onto the hardwood floors. “Get away from the door!”

She kicks it shut behind her, the room safely dim again. But Astarion seems to pay no mind to the obvious danger, as he grabs the bags from her and puts them on the ground, before turning her around and assessing her body as if looking for something.

“What happened? Where is it? Show me.”

“Where is what? Are you okay?”

“The wound!” he shrieks, voice high-pitched from nerves. “Hells, I can smell your blood, I could smell it from blocks away. Did someone attack you? Who do I have to kill?”

Eve freezes as the pieces connect in her mind. The pain. The scent of blood that was imperceptible to her but obvious as alarm bells to Astarion’s senses.

Eve laughs at the absurdity of it, Astarion’s eyes widening even further as he tries to fathom what in the Hells she’s on about. Bhaal hand-sculpted her for one purpose and one purpose only, designed her to carry out his gory vision most efficiently, and yet he still made her bleed like this…?

“Oh, that petty son of a bitch!” Eve says to no one in particular. After a deep breath, she reaches for Astarion’s hands and explains in a calmer tone: “I’m not hurt, Star. I think I just got my period. It’s as novel to me as it is to you, honestly.”

She watches as Astarion’s expression cycles through a series of emotions, so clear and unfiltered. First confusion, then relief, and finally a peculiar mix of glee and dread.

“Oh. Oh. ALRIGHT.” He takes a step back, frantically looking up and down her body. When his mouth opens again, words spill out in a chaotic monologue punctuated by nervous giggles. “Fear not, I am so prepared for this. Well, truth be told, my only knowledge about half-elves and menstruation comes from Shadowheart and I don’t know how reliable that is, she tends to be a tad dramatic, don’t you think? But let’s think hmmm… A bath! Would you like me to draw you a bath? Wait, no, you must be hungry, let’s make you some food first.”

He reaches for the grocery bags and darts upstairs.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Eve asks warily as she follows him up to the kitchenette.

“Oh yes darling, I am doing quite SPLENDID myself, I am just concerned about your comfort!!”

Rather unceremoniously, Astarion turns the grocery bags upside down, produce tumbling in all directions across the counter. He grabs a small knife and begins to peel some potatoes whilst aggressively humming Down by the River.

As Eve watches his frantic movements, her stomach drops in realization.

“Star…” she starts, walking up to him.

“YES, my dearest?”

“Is the blood… distracting?”

Astarion’s nervous, high-pitched giggle is enough of a confirmation.

“OH YES! Incredibly so! But do not worry about me, the concern right now should be YOUR COMFORT.”

“Oh gods,” Eve sighs, massaging her temples. “Is this what the next tenday is going to look like?”

“TENDAY?” Astarion stabs the counter, the tip of the knife wedged into the wooden surface. There is sheer panic in his eyes when he turns around and asks: “You bleed for a tenday?”

“I don’t know, this is a first! But as far as I know, people can bleed for anywhere from three to ten days?”

“THAT’S FINE. We will get through this together!” He yanks the knife out and resumes his task.

Eve stands there for a moment, watching him, unsure of what to do with herself.

“Are you hungry, is that the problem? Would feeding on me help?”

For a moment, Astarion freezes. He turns around, knife in hand, his gaze slipping down Eve’s body for a split second.

“What exactly are you offering?” he asks when he meets her eyes again, and Eve can feel her cheeks grow hotter in an instant.

“GODS, ASTARION.”

“I’M JUST SAYING–”

“YES, I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING–”

“IT COULD HELP WITH YOUR CRAMPS–”

“OKAY, I’M GOING TO TAKE A BATH NOW, BYE.”

“SOUNDS GOOD, I’LL KEEP PEELING–”

“YOU’VE ALREADY PEELED A DOZEN POTATOES, THAT’S TOO MANY POTATOES FOR ONE PERSON.”

“I’M STILL LEARNING, GIVE ME A BREAK.”

“OKAY I’M LEAVING NOW, I LOVE YOU.”

“I LOVE YOU TOO.”

Eve storms off to the bathroom. As she starts pouring water into the tub, she tries to push away the mental image of Astarion’s head between her thighs.

She adds some lavender oil into the water and gets inside, the hot temperature helping soothe her cramps. She leans her head against the edge of the tub, trying to make sense of all this.

Perhaps the reason she doesn’t remember this happening before is because her body put this particular function on hold while she was fighting for her life every day, sleeping on the ground, and eating irregularly. But now in the six months since the Netherbrain fell, she has been able to finally feel safe, giving her organism a chance to settle back into its natural rhythm.

It still doesn’t explain why Bhaal didn’t just skip this part in the design process, but Eve does not even want to begin to understand his sick and twisted ways, so she pushes those thoughts away and tries to relax.

After fifteen minutes or so, there is a light knock on the door.

“Yes?”

The door creaks and Eve opens her eyes to see Astarion with a mug in his hand, looking a tad embarrassed.

“Hello,” he says as he continues to stand awkwardly in the doorway.

“You can come in, I won’t bite.”

He walks up and places the steaming mug on a stool by the tub. Eve can smell the mix of chamomile, ginger, and something else she doesn’t recognize. Astarion kneels beside her, arms propped on the edge of the tub.

“I brewed you some herbs that should help ease the pain. And there’s stew cooking, it will be done in an hour or so.”

“Thank you.” She reaches for his hand and places a kiss on his knuckles, eliciting a soft smile.

“I’m sorry about earlier. It was a lot to process all at once. I thought you might be bleeding out on the street somewhere and I couldn’t do anything about it, I was just stuck inside waiting for you to come back. And then you waltz in here as if nothing happened and once I knew you were safe, the smell of your blood was–” He trails off with an absentminded smile. “Well, let’s just say I’ve gotten somewhat accustomed to it now, but it is still quite distracting.”

“I’m sorry you were so worried, that must have been terrifying.”

“It was. But I also should have known that if anyone was foolish enough to attack you, you could handle it just fine. Anyways, you should drink your tea,” he says, passing her the mug. She takes a sip, the herbal mix blossoming on her tongue, and hands it back to him. “Are you enjoying the bath?”

“Yes, the hot water is helping a lot. But, I’m afraid there is something wrong with our tub.”

“Which is?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

“It’s missing an elf.”

“Ah, an easy fix,” he says with a smile.

Eve takes another sip of her tea as Astarion slips out of his clothes. She shuffles forward to make space for him, and he slowly lowers himself into the tub behind her, gasping as he touches the hot water. She leans back against his chest, nestling into his open arms.

After a moment of silence, Astarion asks:

“So, we don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to… But, um… Doesn’t this seem like a design flaw?”

“No, we do have to talk about him, because what in the actual fuck was he thinking? As if my whole life wasn’t bloody enough. And I can’t even justify it in any pragmatic way, because it’s not like I needed to bear more Bhaalspawn. I was supposed to be the last one!”

“Daddy’s special girl.”

“Do not ever say that again.” She elbows him and Astarion laughs behind her.

After her bath and dinner, Eve decides to head downstairs and visit Derryth while the apothecary is still open. She explains the situation and asks for some menstrual cloths and anything that could help ease her cramps. The woman watches her intently as she listens, brows furrowed.

“Okay, so personally this is none of my business of course,” Derryth says, raising her hands defensively. “But as an apothecary, I feel obligated to ask: are you aware that you do not need to bleed every month? There are ways you can stop it.”

“There are?”

“Yes. Well, but first: are you and Astarion trying to conceive?”

Eve just stares blankly ahead as her life flashes before her eyes. It’s not something she ever thought to consider, she just assumed… Well, he is undead, after all.

“Umm… is that even… possible?” she asks weakly. “Given our… situation?”

“Under regular circumstances, no,” Derryth rushes to answer and Eve sighs with barely concealed relief, “but I’ve heard of some rituals… I don’t know, Eve, stranger things have happened. But no, unless you go out of your way to achieve it, you’re safe.”

“Okay. Then no, we are absolutely not trying to conceive. Gods, could you imagine–”

“I’d rather not,” Derryth says curtly. “Now, if that’s the case, then there is absolutely no need for you to suffer every moon. There are different ways you can go about it, the one that seems most popular with my clients is this tonic,” she says as she pulls out a couple of bottles from the drawer behind her and places them on the counter. “It’s fairly easy to use, it comes in these little bottles and you drink one the first night of each tenday. And there you go, problem solved.”

“That sounds… awfully easy,” Eve says as she eyes the medicine before her.

“Well, yes, because it is.”

“Does it have any side effects?”

“Of course it doesn’t. It’s supposed to make your life easier, not harder,” Derryth says with the patience of a parent explaining the most obvious concept to their child.

Eve gets a month’s supply to try out, along with some pain medicine to help carry her over before the tonic starts to work. When she gets back to the apartment, she shows Astarion the bottles and explains how it all works.

“That’s probably for the best,” he says. “I’m glad you won’t have to go through this pain again.”

“Yes, me too, but…” Eve hesitates for a moment, but the memory of Astarion’s frantic energy from this morning is enough to give her the confidence to suggest: “Well, all of that’s to say that if you would like to… indulge, this might be your one and only chance to do so.”

“Oh. I see.” Astarion’s eyes light up at the idea and Eve’s breath hitches when he takes a couple steps closer, his face just inches away when he says: “Then I suppose we better make it count.”

There is a moment of tense silence as they regard each other, Eve’s chest rising and falling heavily at his proximity.

But then the final thread of self-control snaps and Astarion pulls her closer, capturing her mouth in a greedy kiss, swallowing up the gasp that slips past Eve’s lips as she opens up to him. Suddenly, the air around her is all citrus and spice, Astarion’s scent and taste mixing into an intoxicating combination. It could easily sweep her off her feet were it not for his hands digging into her hips, anchoring her against him.

With a firm tug to her lower lip, Astarion breaks away, an undeniable urgency to his movements as his mouth slips down to her neck and he inhales sharply, head nuzzled against her. His voice is low and breathy when he says:

“Hells, you smell divine.”

With bated breath, she awaits the sharp sting of his fangs, wanting nothing more than to give him everything he craves. But instead, Astarion’s hands slip down to the back of her thighs and Eve’s body instinctively follows, like it’s a routine they’ve been rehearsing. She jumps, legs wrapping around his waist as if that’s precisely where they belonged.

Eve sinks her fingers into his soft curls, kissing him with a newfound ferocity. She barely registers the steps Astarion takes until with a loud clatter, he kicks a chair out of his way, and she realizes they’re at the dining table. He lets go of her with one hand to push his notes to the side, pieces of parchment flying to the floor as he seats her on the edge.

Astarion breaks the kiss, pinning her in place under his watchful gaze, the room silent save for the heavy pounding of Eve’s heart.

“Indulge, you say? Don’t mind if I do.”

Astarion sinks down to his knees before her, and the sight of it alone is enough to make Eve’s head spin with need, the overwhelming desire to feel his mouth against her skin, to hear the savory sounds that escape his throat every time he tastes her.

He tugs at her waistband and Eve lifts herself off the table just enough to let him pull her pants down and toss them to the side. Astarion swallows hard when she parts her legs for him and it looks like it’s taking him every ounce of self-determination to not rip off the final barrier between them and devour her right there and then.

His hands reach up to push her back, and she leans away, propped on her elbows, not daring to miss out on a single moment of this hypnotizing spectacle. A low, guttural sound rumbles out of his chest as he presses his lips to her plush thigh and starts kissing up, closer, and closer, and–

Eve winces at a sharp stab of pain that begins to radiate down her thighs and up her spine in a throbbing, dull shiver, the hard wooden surface beneath her doing nothing to soothe her discomfort.

Astarion pauses, leaning away to meet her eyes.

“Are you alright, love?”

“I, um–” she sighs, bemoaning the need to be rational at a moment like this. “I am loving this energy, I really am. But there is no way we’re doing this on a table, my back is killing me.”

“I suppose we can make do with a bed, then.”

He wastes no time as he rises to his feet and scoops her up, and in that moment Eve is convinced that she could get used to being carried like this. Astarion rushes to the bedroom to find Scratch splayed out across the mattress, raising his head curiously as they enter.

“Out,” he orders with poorly concealed desperation.

The dog whines, but darts out of the room obediently, and Astarion kicks the door shut behind him. He lowers her onto the edge of the bed and retrieves some pillows to place under her back.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, I feel quite spoiled, actually. Are you comfortable?” she asks, unconvinced, watching as he once again gets to his knees on the hardwood floor.

“Oh, trust me, I am exactly where I want to be,” he says in a tone that erases any lingering trace of doubt from her mind.

Eve falls silent as Astarion’s hands begin to snake up her thighs, lithe fingers reaching the hem of her underwear, eyes meeting hers for a final confirmation that feels superfluous given their current predicament, and yet he still seeks it. Eve nods slowly, her throat too tight with anticipation to utter a sound, and she watches as Astarion hooks his fingers in and begins to slide the garment off her body with nigh religious reverence.

Once it slips down to her knees, she can finally get a better view and gods damn it, she changed into clean clothes less than an hour ago and already the fabric is ruined, a dark, rust-colored stain blooming along the gusset.

Eve shuffles her legs, helping Astarion slide the underwear completely off her. She expects him to toss it on the floor, but instead she watches, transfixed, as he folds it meticulously before slipping it into his pant pocket.

“Excuse you–”

But her objection dies in her throat at the sight of Astarion parting her thighs with unmatched focus. For a moment he just kneels there completely still, pupils blown wide, watching her like a predator poised to strike. It would be unnerving if it wasn’t him.

He hooks his arms under her thighs and pulls her closer, resting her legs on his shoulders.

Under his scrutinous gaze she becomes utterly aware of the wetness between her thighs, blood and arousal mixing into one. Suddenly, her mind drifts away from her kneeling lover to the softness of the silk bed sheets beneath her, the sheets that they got as a housewarming gift from Shadowheart, the ones that Astarion was so excited about, and however weakly, she whispers:

“Wait– We’re going to ruin the sheets–”

Her words seem to snap Astarion out of his trance and he looks up from the sanguine scene before him to meet her gaze.

“I can live with that.”

And as if to prove his point, he lunges forward, their moans mixing in unison the moment his tongue drags a firm line along her center. His grip on her tightens, surely enough to bruise, but Eve is way past the point of caring. Damn the bruises, damn the sheets, all that matters right now is the inferno raging within her, the ungodly sounds erupting from the depth of Astarion’s chest as he feasts on her like a man starved.

Eve’s elbows give in beneath her and she falls back on the pillows, losing sight of his efforts. Instead she reaches for him, nails scraping against his scalp, legs crossed behind his head and urging him closer. Astarion’s nose presses deliciously against her clit as his tongue enters her time and time again, his groans vibrating through her core.

One of his hands wanders to the hem of her shirt, lifting it up past the soft curve of her stomach. He leans away ever so lightly, lips brushing against her as he pleads:

“I need to see all of you.”

Eve complies, the tempo of Astarion’s tongue hastening the moment the linen slips past her the stiff peaks of her nipples. As she tosses her blouse to the side, she is struck by how completely bare she is before him, all the while Astarion looks as if he might have just come home from work, every button accounted for, every thread in place. A perfect picture of composure, were it not for the state of his curls, dampened with sweat and flattened against the grip of her thighs, nor the blood smeared against every inch of his exposed skin.

His tongue leaves her, but before she can protest this newfound emptiness, his mouth shifts up, lips closing around her clit with a firm suck as a single finger teases her entrance. Astarion slips inside with no resistance, one knuckle deep, tormenting her with how it’s simultaneously overwhelming and not nearly enough.

“Please, Star–”

But before the words fully leave her lips, they blossom into a wanton moan as he sheathes his finger, and beckons her, brushing against the spot that makes her feel weightless, like she is not of this world.

She bucks her hips into him and he moans against her cunt, encouraged by her reaction, and soon enough a second finger follows. He slides in slowly, the stretch combined with the suction of his lips pushing any previous aches and discomfort from her mind, leaving naught but an all-encompassing surrender, delicious pressure rising within her.

Through the haze, she reaches down, fingers teasing the points of his ears, and she knows exactly what she is doing, knows the effect it has on him, how it coaxes the sweetest sounds from his lips she is sure she will never get enough of.

She recalls the first time she did it, over a year ago, back when neither of them knew how to define the curious companionship that has grown between them. It elicited the most unrestrained noise she ever heard from him and Astarion must have been taken aback by it, too, because he tore her hands away from him, pinning them above her head. He told her then that she was playing with fire but she couldn’t help it, couldn’t tear her eyes away from the blaze.

It consumes them both now, eliciting the most obscene sounds from her love, his fingers picking up speed as they dart in and out of her, brushing deep inside with every stroke.

She knows she won’t last long, cannot last long, not with the way he has become fluent in the language of her body, knowing exactly which strings to pull to make her sing.

And sing she does, mouth falling open with praises that get increasingly terser, until the only word she can remember is his name.

She cries it out as she grasps the sheets, the moment the pleasure becomes uncontainable, when it lights up every nerve, every inch of her skin. It’s a trust fall and he is right there to catch her, just as he always is. Just as he always will be.

Astarion’s grip doesn’t soften as she rides out this crest, his mouth and fingers relentless in drawing every last one of her moans, her eyes shut in pure bliss.

But then eventually all of her energy evaporates, her thighs growing slack around him, and Astarion retracts slowly, placing the softest kiss on her clit before getting to his feet.

Eve feels the mattress dip as he crawls towards her and she somehow wills her eyelids to open, only to witness Astarion’s bloodied fingers slip into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as he begins to suck. The display is enough to make her throat go dry, skin flaring up with want that never got the chance to subside.

Finally when he salvages every single drop, he lets go, eyes meeting hers as his fingers leave his mouth. Eve takes in the gory state of him: there is blood on his lips and chin of course, but also some on his nose, and is that…? Yes, somehow a bit of it found its way to his brow line. She can’t help but laugh as she tucks a flattened curl behind his ear.

“You look…”

“Happy?” Astarion offers, making a show of licking his lips in a manner that is surely against some moral law.

“I was going to say insatiable.”

“You would be correct,” he admits as he cups her cheek.

He kisses her deeply, his taste a heady mixture of them both, laced with the metallic tinge of her blood. And suddenly their bodies are flush against one another once more, hands wandering, the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh. Eve’s hand slithers down between them, Astarion’s jaw going slack the moment she palms his still-clothed cock.

Her breath hitches at the feel of him in her hand, but Astarion seems to have a plan of his own because he manages to compose himself, leaning away to ask:

“Can you take more?”

“Try me,” she dares, the attempted edge of her words dulled by how breathless she is.

A wide grin blooms on Astarion’s face, the tips of his fangs glinting in the moonlight when he asks:

“How is your back?”

It takes her a second to register the meaning of his question. Truth be told, she completely forgot about it, the pain pushed out into the far corners of her mind by the overwhelming pleasure.

“It’s better.”

“Excellent. Do you think you can sit up?”

“Yes?” she says, unsure of where he is going with this.

Astarion leans away enough to pull his shirt over his head, and then rests on his back, tapping his shoulders as he says:

“Then sit.”

“What?” she asks, swallowing hard.

“You heard me.”

Slowly, Eve gets to her knees, trying to ignore the way the wetness pooled between her thighs seems to shift with the movement. But the shameless anticipation painted on Astarion’s face is enough to weed out any sprouting insecurities, and so she moves up, caging his head between her thighs and gripping the carved headboard for support.

There is a moment of stillness when she hovers over him, and then Astarion’s gaze travels from her face down to her core and he licks his lips at the sight because of course he does.

Eve rolls her eyes and says:

“You’re ridicul–”

But before she can finish the thought, Astarion grabs her waist and pulls her down, forcing an ungodly gasp out of her and suddenly all she can think about is how overwhelming the feeling of his mouth is in that position. Astarion gives her a slight, encouraging shove, and Eve starts rocking against him, chasing the friction that feeds the tempest brewing within her.

Astarion seems to be completely lost in the feeling, clawing at her thighs and moaning against her cunt in a way that vibrates deliciously up her spine. Eve wants to hear more of those sweet sounds, so she looks back, witnessing the erection straining against his pants and she reaches out to stroke him through the fabric. He groans, the movements of his tongue growing sloppier by the second, as she’s trying to unlace his pants with one hand without losing her balance.

“Need a little– Ah– Help,” she gasps when the task quickly proves beyond her current capabilities.

Astarion lets go of her thighs, nimble fingers moving to unfasten the garment in no time. He pulls his pants and underwear down just enough to free his untouched cock and Eve’s mouth waters as she catches a glimpse of how hard and flushed it is.

She leans back, propping herself with one hand as the other reaches out to spread the bead of precum over the head. As much as she can muster from that position, she starts to stroke him, encouraged by the truly obscene sounds that start erupting from his throat.

But then she feels her side cramp up, her arm giving in beneath her. Astarion’s hands dart to grasp at her waist to keep her from collapsing.

“Bad idea,” she admits as she regains her balance, clutching at the headboard.

Astarion hums a noncommittal ‘mhm’ against her center as he settles back into a rhythm. His tongue is relentless in forcing ragged gasps out of her, but Eve wants to give him more, so in a flash of lust-laced genius, she offers:

“Bite me.”

Astarion’s eyes widen, his pupils dilated to the point where she can barely see the scarlet encircling them. He turns his head to the side and Eve would mourn the loss of his touch, were it not immediately compensated by the deep guttural moan that escapes his mouth the moment his teeth sink into her thigh.

Somehow, in all this time together, they have never done this. The initial sting is much sharper than usual, but as Astarion starts to drink, blood leaving Eve’s body in greedy pulls, she feels the familiar throbbing sensation begin to radiate from the wound, her cunt pulsating with every sip he takes and oh gods–

She watches mesmerized as Astarion reaches down and starts to pump himself and the image alone is enough to push her towards the edge. Her fingers slip down to her center to gather some of her slick before gliding up, tracing circles around her clit, her movements matching the rhythmic groans that Astarion makes with every mouthful of her blood.

Eve knows that he’s close, recognizes it in the timbre of his voice, the furrowed line between his brows, the tension in his muscles as his strokes pick up pace. She swallows hard, wishing for nothing more than to watch him unravel beneath him, to witness–

It sneaks up on her this time, the electrifying shudder that tears through her body. Her mouth falls agape, knuckles white as they grip desperately at the headboard as if it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Through the bliss, she barely registers the final guttural moan coming from somewhere below, the thick, hot rivulets painting her back.

Astarion’s mouth reluctantly leaves her thigh, his tongue cleaning up any remains of blood off her skin. Eve can feel his hands come up to her waist to steady her, but for now all she can do is just sit there, breathing heavily, head spinning with blood loss and afterglow.

After a couple moments she wills her muscles to move, her legs shaky as she shuffles down Astarion’s body before collapsing on top of him. His arms drape softly around her and they lie there in silence, utterly spent.

Eventually, Astarion slips out from underneath her, and Eve would reach out to stop him if she had any energy left. Instead, she burrows her face into the pillow and listens to the soft clicks of Astarion’s heels against the floor (how did he keep his shoes on all this time?) as he rustles through some drawers.

When he returns, she feels his palm nestle in between her shoulder blades, his voice soft and steady when he utters the incantation:

“Te absolvo.”

Healing magic begins to radiate across her body, lifting the heaviness from her muscles and dissipating the fog clouding her mind. And then there is another sensation as what she assumes to be a warm wet cloth runs gently along her back before slipping between her thighs, erasing the evidence of whatever the Hells it was they just experienced.

Suddenly, Eve feels a pang of disappointment and she voices it by mumbling incomprehensibly into the pillow.

“I don’t speak Ghukliak, love,” Astarion says.

Eve groans before turning her face to the side. She meets his amused gaze, spotting the Amulet of Silvanus that adorns his bare chest.

“I said: ‘are you done already?’ You don’t want more blood?”

Astarion laughs heartily as he grabs another cloth to clean his stomach and chest.

“Oh, and I’m the insatiable one? I always want more blood, dear, but you look like you could use a break, you know.”

“Excuse you, I feel excellent.”

And as if to prove it, she props herself up and sits on the edge of the mattress. She takes a sip from the water cup he left for her on the bedside table before getting to her feet.

Astarion watches her intensely as she approaches. Usually, he’s much more relaxed after he feeds, but Eve can see that there is still some tension in his features, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly as she steps into his space.

She knows he’s holding himself back.

And that just won’t do.

Her arms drape around his neck, and she leans in, lips brushing against his ear as she whispers:

“Take as much as you want, Star. It’s a rare treat, after all.”

Eve delights in the strained gasp that leaves his lips, in the caress of his hands that trail down to her waist before pulling her flush against him.

“How awfully selfless of you,” he drawls, leaning in to kiss her.

a/n: aaaaaand with that, I have officially passed 100k words on ao3. what a glorious way to reach that milestone 😅 I would love to hear your thoughts on this one, especially since I rarely write smut so any feedback is super helpful ❤️

#can I offer you some vampire smut to stave off the sunday scaries?#astarion x durge #astarion x the dark urge #durgestarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfiction #astarion smut #my fic

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