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vantetaes · 2 months ago

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SPRING FLING🫧🥂

COUNTRY BOY! EREN X CITY GIRL BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! yn goes back to visit what once was her home 15 years ago, only to meet a new face.

WARNINGS!!! 18+!!! high sexual themes! oral (f receiving), penetration, slow burn before smut

a part of you missed it. waking up to the fresh smell of sausage sizzling in hot grease while grits simmered on a burner next to it. feeling the cool summer breeze whip around your sweltering body from playing kickball in the large mowed field with some of the towns kids. drinking freshly squeezed lemonade your grandmother made before tending to her garden.

as the driver slowly approaches your grandparents estate, your heart couldn’t help but to let up a little. the large white house still sat perfectly on their plot of land.

“yn, sweetheart!” the houses screen door flys open with a screech. your grandmother dressed in a flowing white dress, tan beach hat, arm decorated with small gold bangles and her wedding band catching rays of sun.

the driver places his car in park, opening his door to retrieve your suitcase from the trunk. hopping out of the yellow vehicle, the older lady meets you halfway. wrinkled hands caressing your face, she smiles.

“it’s been too long. you’re all grown up on us!”

before anything could leave your lips, a grunt comes from around the bend of the house. your grandfather, covered in motor oil and dirt caked overalls. he removes his gloves, walking towards you and his wife, smile reaching his ears.

“ah i would hug ya honey but im dirtier than the pigs!”

your grandparents liked the life they lived away from the city. the way they could sit on the wrap around porch, grandfather sipping a beer and grandmother some lemonade, their towns newspaper tucked in their palms. watching as the sun ducked their bright red barn, casting a golden glow over the crops and animals grazing on the lush landscape. the stars peeking through transparent clouds, moon creating its atmosphere in the sky.

your grandmother enjoyed picking fresh fruits from her orchard, baking pies and making jams with the delectable fruits. your grandfather loved the lake that sat on the other side of the large property. growing up you’d grown to love these things about them.

as for yourself? you wouldn’t be caught dead doing half the things they do.

your career path led you to pharmaceutical consulting. working for one of the biggest companies in the world. it wasn’t something you enjoyed, but it funded the life you wanted.

living in a penthouse, well off from the city below you. the work was intense, demanding, and you needed to stay on top of it. anyone is replaceable in jobs such as those.

which is why you put in every single pto hour you had into a month long vacation.

to the middle of nowhere.

the wheels of the suitcase clank against the wooden stairs as your grandfather lugs it up the flight. following behind the older lady, excitement bubbles out of your grandmother while she quickens her pace, rushing to the door at the end of the hallway.

when she pushes the door open, it gives way easily, the hinges murmuring softly. the air that greets you is faintly cool, laced with the sweet scent of spring. someone had left the large french windows cracked open, the lace curtains drifting in slow, ghostly ripples.

“just like you left it, darlin’!” the lady says cheerfully.

stepping in feels like stepping back into a memory too fragile to hold in your hands. the room is pale, almost dreamlike. soft white walls, still wearing faint shadows of posters long torn away, frame the space. A canopy bed sits against the far wall, its sheer, pastel pink and ivory drapes spilling down like delicate water, pooled at the floor as if waiting for someone to step through them. the bed itself is made, layered with quilts of faint creams and frilly edges, whispering of afternoons spent sprawled on its surface with a book or diary.

“mary anne, we gotta get back to town to pick up some more feed for the chickens! ‘for the sun go down! i ain’t got my glasses either.” after placing your suitcase inside the threshold, your grandfather gives the back of your head a slight hold before placing a small kiss to the top.

“okay! okay! you ain’t gotta rush, clyde!” the two eventually leave you alone to unpack and do as you need.

to the right, a dresser waits, its porcelain knobs cool and familiar, though you can see chips where small hands must have struck too hard, too often. a vintage vanity mirrors the scene beside it, its surface cluttered with an array of glass perfume bottles, now dulled with dust. the mirror above has started to haze, its edges flecked with age, but you can still catch glimpses of yourself. a cushioned stool still sits beneath, its ruffled seat faded and threadbare.

the light here is alive. golden and warm, it pours through the cracked windows, catching on floating dust motes that swirl like restless fireflies. outside, unseen branches scratch faintly against the frame, their new leaves brushing with the weightlessness of spring. the breeze curls in through the cracks, carrying the faintest hints of magnolia and freshly turned earth, slipping beneath the canopy and rustling the skirts of the curtains.

there’s a rug in the center of the room, its edges frayed, and around it—near bookshelves that haven’t been touched in years—small details stand out like relics: a porcelain music box with its lid still half-open, a stuffed rabbit missing one eye perched on the window seat. all of it feels caught in a quiet kind of waiting.

your footsteps are softened by the wooden floor beneath, the boards groaning faintly under your weight. you look around and inhale deeply. it smells faintly of lavender, of clean linens, freshly cut grass, and mahogany wood.

the hot water washes away the weight of the morning and plane rides, the steam curling in soft, misty clouds that cling to the glass. you stand under the spray longer than you need to, letting it loosen muscles you hadn’t realized were tight, letting it strip the last remnants of dust from your skin. when you finally step out, the room feels cooler, the steam clinging to the mirror and walls in beads of condensation.

lathing your body in cocoa butter and applying a fair amount of lip balm.

you pull on something simple: a soft white tank top and a pair of loose cerulean cotton shorts, light enough to let the sun find your skin. carefully pulling your shower cap off, the water droplets falling down to your shoulders, running off your moisturized skin. you grab a new bottle of sunscreen from your spwarled out suitcase, the book ‘if cats disappeared from the world’, and your black chanel sunglasses.

as you make your way barefoot down the creaking staircase, everything tucked in between your arm. the house warm and bright in a way that feels both lived-in and empty. you’re halfway to the back porch when the front door swings open, and your grandparents call for your attention.

“hey, hold up a minute-” your grandfather says, pausing just inside the doorway, his hat in one hand and the keys to the truck jangling in the other. Your grandmother lingers behind him, hands resting on her hips, her face soft but serious.

“-we’re headed into town for a bit.” she says. “need some supplies for the farm and a few other things.”

you nod, shifting your weight onto one foot as you glance toward the back porch, toward the promise of sun and quiet.

“‘fore you run off-” your grandfather adds, pulling the hat onto his head.

“one of the town boys is ‘posed to be stoppin’ by. hes gone take a look at the barn, see about fixin’ up some of the beams we been neglectin’.”

“you’ll know him when you see him.” she says, a touch warily.

“so just keep an eye out. he’s probably fine, but you know how folks can be.”

something about their tone. half warning, half habit. makes you bristle. you know how quickly people judge someone based on a name, a family, a shadow cast long before them.

“all right.” you say lightly, hoping to end the conversation before it becomes something heavier.

“i’ll be outside if he shows up.”

your grandmother nods, giving you one last lingering look, and then they’re gone—boots on the porch steps, the truck’s engine growling to life and disappearing down the road. you linger by the door for a moment, watching the dust settle in the empty yard. the house feels quieter now, a little too still.

when you turn toward the back porch, the sunlight calls to you again, warm and golden, a balm for whatever comes next.

the back door opens swiftly, letting in gusts of spring air to sweep across the floors. trudging through the plains of grass tickling your thighs, you find yourself at the small floating pond your grandfather built. it sat in front of the large red barn, creating a scene of what farm living actually is.

the pond is fairly quiet, except for the hum of cicadas and the faint lapping of water against its banks. the cows deep moo a little in the distance. the sun hangs high, drenching everything in gold, and the heat wraps around you like a second skin.

you’re stretched out on a reclined lawn chair, a thin towel draped beneath you to catch the sweat. your sunglasses shield your eyes, and a book rests open in your hands, though the words blur a little under the laziness of the afternoon. a half eaten sandwich and a glass of fresh strawberry lemonade sweats beside you, the condensation leaving rings of water on the tiny wooden table. it’s sweet and cold against your tongue, a small relief in the heaviness of the heat.

your top is flung casually over the back of the chair, leaving you in a white bathing suit, comfortable and unbothered as you let the sun soak into your skin. the soft breeze off the water kisses your shoulders every now and then, rustling the pages of your book.

it isn’t until the sharp, uneven sound of boots on gravel carries over the quiet that you lift your sunglasses, brow pinching.

at first, you only catch a shadow moving toward you from the far side of the reservoir. someone tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly not your grandparents.

“hey!” the voice calls, deep but rough, like he hasn’t spoken much today.

you sit up a little straighter, your sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you look him over. he’s closer now, close enough for you to see the sharp lines of his face, the way dark hair falls a little too messily over his forehead. he’s wearing a plain t-shirt, worn jeans stained at the knees, and scuffed boots that kick up small puffs of dirt as he moves. there’s a toolbox in his hand, which he sets down carelessly at his feet.

“you’re, uh…-” he trails off, scanning you quickly before looking away, his jaw tight. he was issued to seeing old people on this property. but you were a sight for sore eyes. he couldn’t help but fixate his green eyes back onto you. watching as the beads of condensation dripped from the glass to your exposed cleavage, sliding down between your moisturized boobs. that were too big for the swim top your sported. his eyes fed off the way your e/c* eyes shined in the light under the black shields, lips glistening under the rays.

“im here for the barn. your grandparents said someone would be around.” his words are tight and frigid.

you blink, caught between annoyance and curiosity.

“yeah, they mentioned you.” you let your sunglasses slide back into place, leaning back in the chair as if his presence hasn’t disrupted anything.

“didn’t realize you’d be here so soon.”

“you’re welcome.” he mutters, a hint of sarcasm threading through the words as he squats to grab the toolbox.

you raise a brow, bristling.

“didn’t say i was thanking you.”

that makes him pause, glancing up through his lashes like he can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed. a scoff releases from his lips.

“you sure are a real warm welcome, huh? and you’re reading a book about.. cats?”

“and you’re a little grumpy for someone who just got here. not that it’s any of your concern, i prefer cats over mutts.”

he huffs out a breath, maybe a laugh, but it’s hard to tell, and shakes his head, muttering something you can’t quite hear. you watch as he straightens up again, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as if to dismiss you entirely.

“look, i’ll stay outta your way. just here to fix the barn, ma’am.” he says, nodding toward the distant structure.

“you can go back to… whatever this is.” his gaze flickers briefly over your lemonade, the book, your sprawled-out figure in the sun, before he turns on his heel and starts walking toward the barn.

you glare after him, irritation bubbling to the surface. the nerve of him, showing up out of nowhere with a chip on his shoulder like you’re the one invading his day.

“you’re welcome.” you call after him pointedly, though he doesn’t stop, just throws a hand up in a half-hearted wave of dismissal.

the barn door groans open in the distance, and you sink back into your chair with a huff, flipping your book shut. for the first time all day, the quiet doesn’t feel so peaceful anymore.

he had been long gone by the time your grandparents arrived back at the house. watching the sun set on the horizon out of the kitchen windows, casting a warm orange and pink hue to the house. you couldn’t help but to think about how strange of an interaction that was today.

“some’ wrong, darlin’?” your grandfather asks, pulling apart a small peice of his dinner roll, slipping it into his mouth.

“nothing papa. just tired i think. not really used to the time difference again.”

the kitchen smells like sugar, butter, and lemon zest. thick and warm in the morning light streaming through the windows. you stand beside your grandmother at the granite counter, your hands dusted in flour as you work a soft, pliable ball of dough, rolling it carefully under her watchful gaze. the little puffs of flour catch the light as they float lazily to the counter, turning the morning into something hazy and dreamlike. outside, the morning doves are already humming, and the breeze carries the faintest whiff of honeysuckle through the cracked window above the sink.

“not too thin now, dear.” your grandmother says gently, leaning over to inspect your work. her hair is pinned back neatly, and there’s a streak of flour on her cheek that she hasn’t noticed.

“these tarts need some structure, or they’ll fall apart ‘fore they make it to the church. we can’t have a lock in with no tarts, honey.”

“yes, ma’am.” you mutter, suppressing a small smile as you focus on the dough, guiding it into perfect little circles for the tart shells.

the table is cluttered with bowls and ingredients. deep red raspberries, bright and glistening, piled in a pale ceramic dish; a glass juicer with lemon pulp still clinging to its grooves; a small jar of sugar, the lid left slightly askew. your grandmother moves around the kitchen like she always has. calm, methodical, humming a hymn under her breath as she fills the air with the scent of baking pastry. you help her spoon the tart mixture into the shells, carefully pressing a few raspberries into each before she slides them into the oven, her hands covered in oven mitts patterned with sunflowers.

while the tarts bake, she chats softly about who will be at the church service, about old friends and new faces, her voice lilting as if trying to bridge the years that you’ve been gone. it’s comforting, her easy way of speaking, and you let it wash over you as you wipe down the counters, the scent of caramelizing sugar growing richer by the minute.

“i really appreciate your help this mornin’.” her sweet voice fills the silence.

your grandfather appears in the doorway just as you’re checking the tarts, a small grin tucked beneath his mustache. hes holding a set of keys. old, scratched, and gleaming faintly in his calloused hand.

“got something for ya.” he says, the words light but carrying a weight that makes you stop mid-step.

your grandmother glances over her shoulder, smiling softly as if she’s been expecting this.

“go on, now. see what he’s got.”

you follow your grandfather outside, the morning sun already high and hot, the light pooling across the gravel driveway. parked just off to the side of the house is a truck—not new by any stretch of the imagination, but clean, its pale blue paint shining faintly in the sunlight. it’s an older model, rounded and boxy in that classic way, and you can see where he’s spent hours tinkering with it. fresh tires, a polished hood, the faint scent of oil and steel lingering in the air.

“you’re givin’ me this?” you ask, a little breathless.

“sure am.” he replies, pressing the keys into your palm with a nod that’s gruff but affectionate.

“i’ve been workin’ on it a few months now. runs smooth s’ever. figured you might want somethin’ to get around while you’re here.”

the gesture hits you harder than you expect, and you swallow against the sudden warmth building in your chest.

“thank you,” you say softly, running your fingers over the keys before looking back at him.

he pats your shoulder in that firm, no-nonsense way of his.

“you go on, take her for a spin. just don’t let it sit idle too long, y’hear?”

you decide you can’t possibly drive your new truck around town in the same pajama bottoms and rumpled tank top you’ve been in since morning. after a quick shower, you stand in front of the mirror in your childhood bedroom, brushing your hair as the sun filters softly through the lace curtains. you choose something easy. a flowy white sundress, the fabric soft against your skin, cinched at the waist, flaring out below. it’s the kind of dress that moves when you walk, catching the breeze and making you feel like youre floating. slipping on tan sandals and grabbing your sunglasses.

sliding into the truck feels surreal, the leather of the driver’s seat warm beneath your legs as you turn the ignition. the engine rumbles to life with a satisfying purr, and you grip the wheel with a grin you can’t quite suppress.

the drive into town is nothing short of idyllic. the windows are rolled down, the warm breeze tugging at your hair and the hem of your dress as you cruise past fields of tall grass and wildflowers. radio crackles softly, static giving way to an old country song you don’t recognize but hum along to anyway. the town comes into view slowly. a handful of streets lined with brick buildings, white picket fences, and storefronts with painted signs. it’s small and familiar, a place where everyone knows everyone, and yet it feels entirely new through your eyes.

you park the truck just off the main street, slipping the keys into your bag before heading toward the square. the town is quiet, but there’s enough movement to remind you that life trickles on here. people chatting on porches, kids weaving through alleys on their bikes, a group of guys sitting on the bed of an old truck parked near the general store.

you don’t notice them at first, too busy taking in the details of the place. but their voices, loud and lazy—drift over as you pass.

“well, well.” one of them drawls, amusement curling through the words.

“ain’t expect to see you all the way out here.”

you glance over sharply, your gaze landing on none other than him. eren jaeger. leaned back against the tailgate of the truck, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. his friends exchange looks that border on curious and entertained.

“didn’t expect you to talk to me.” you shoot back without missing a beat, stopping just a few feet away.

eren raises a brow, clearly enjoying this already.

“oh, don’t worry. i’m just surprised you’re not still sunbathing by the pond, princess.”

“princess? it’s yn to you. and all of you.” you repeat, folding your arms across your chest.

“also, big talk for someone who can’t even find full jeans.” your acrylic points to the dirty man-made holes decorating the boys jeans.

that earns you a snort of laughter from one of his friends, but eren just tilts his head slightly, the smirk never faltering.

“guess you’re still mad about yesterday. why you so upset at me, darlin’?”

“mad? please.” you say, rolling your eyes. “nothing even happened.”

“mmh. sure you aren’t.” he says, pushing off the tailgate to stand up fully, his height a little more imposing up close. there’s something sharp about him. his voice, his gaze, but beneath it is something else, something less certain. you get the feeling he’s used to being looked at sideways, just like your grandparents warned you about.

“you always this charming, or is it just for me?” you ask, tipping your chin up slightly. eyes meeting his low green ones.

he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as his friends snicker quietly behind him.

“you’re somethin’ else.” he mutters, more to himself than to you. turning on your heels, you rush to excape the uncomfortable encounter.

“see you around, princess.”

the next day stretches out slow and quiet. the house feels bigger without your grandparents, their absence leaving a stillness that clings to every corner. you’ve taken full advantage of the solitude, padding barefoot through the rooms in an oversized t-shirt and little else. the fabric brushes against your thighs as you move, worn soft with age, like an old friend. the back of the shirt reads something about a fishing derby from a year that predates you, and you’ve rolled the sleeves haphazardly up your shoulders, letting the collar slip wide against your collarbone.

you spend the morning lazing on the couch, your legs sprawled across the cushions as you flip halfheartedly through a book you aren’t really reading. somewhere outside, birds chatter, and the cicadas hum their slow, pulsing chorus.

it’s the kind of day where time feels like it doesn’t exist. you shuffle into the kitchen whenever you’re hungry, toast a bagel you don’t finish, drink lemonade straight from the pitcher, and leave the radio on low just to fill the silence. some soft, crooning voice filters through the speakers, adding to the lazy weight of the afternoon.

you’re perched on the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, flipping through an old fashion magazine you found tucked in a drawer when the knock comes, sharp and sudden against the door.

it startles you, your head snapping up as the noise echoes through the quiet house. the second knock follows quickly, impatient this time. you glance toward the clock on the wall, but it’s no help, just another reminder that time isn’t real today.

frowning, you slide off the couch, tugging the hem of your t-shirt self-consciously as you head toward the door. the knob feels cool beneath your fingers as you pull it open just far enough to see who it is.

and there he is.

eren, standing on your grandparents’ front porch like he belongs there, though his posture suggests otherwise. hes got one hand braced against the doorframe, his other hooked loosely in the pocket of his jeans. a thin white t-shirt clings to him in the heat, faint smudges of dirt streaked across the fabric like he’s been working outside all day. his dark hair looks even messier than it did before. some tucked into the cowboy hat, other strands falling over his forehead and curling faintly from the humidity.

for a moment, he doesn’t say anything, his gaze catching on your bare legs before he flicks his eyes up to meet yours. his expression shifts, something unreadable dancing just beneath the surface. you realize too late how you must look: hair messy, t-shirt oversized and sliding off your shoulder, a little breathless from having rushed to the door.

“what?” you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest as if that might protect you from the way he’s looking at you.

“nice greeting.” he says dryly, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.

“well, you did show up uninvited.” you shoot back, arching a brow.

“what do you want?”

eren exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused but trying not to show it.

“your grandparents asked me to stop by. said there’s a busted pipe in the barn and they didn’t want to wait until they got back to fix it.”

you frown, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe.

“and they sent you?”

“clearly.” his lips twitch, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“believe it or not, i know how to do more than just piss you off.”

you roll your eyes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“well, the barn’s out back. you know where it is. the big. red. building.”

“i do. smartass.” he says, but he doesn’t move, and there’s a spark of something in his eyes. mischief, maybe. that makes you suddenly aware of just how much skin your t-shirt doesn’t cover.

“what?” you ask again, sharper this time.

“nothing.” he shrugs, the movement lazy as he pushes off the doorframe and takes a step back.

“just didn’t peg you for the type to lounge around in your underwear all day. but what do i know? you wore a bikini outside.”

heat flashes across your cheeks instantly, and you grip the edge of the door tighter.

“it’s not underwear, creep. it’s comfortable.”

“sure.” he says, smirk fully formed now as he starts toward the barn, hands tucked into his pockets.

“looks real… comfortable.”

you slam the door before he can say anything else, the wood rattling in the frame.

“asshole.” you mutter under your breath, but your voice is drowned out by the sound of his boots on the gravel, his laughter carrying faintly through the cracked window.

the hum of the radio drifts on, and sunlight still slants through the windows, but something about the space feels restless now. like the air has been disturbed and won’t settle again. you find yourself standing by the door, chewing your lip and staring at nothing in particular.

it’s curiosity, you decide. that’s all it is. you’re just curious about him. about the boy who showed up at your door unannounced, dripping sarcasm like it’s second nature, as though he thrives on pressing your buttons. that’s why, after pacing the kitchen once or twice, you tug on a pair of shoes and head outside.

the barn stands at the back of the property, worn and familiar, its paint faded and roof patched with tin that glints under the afternoon sun. the gravel crunches beneath your feet as you cross the yard, your shadow stretching long ahead of you. you can hear him before you see him. something clattering against metal, followed by a low muttered curse that drifts out through the open barn doors.

you pause just outside, peeking around the corner. eren is crouched low near the base of a wooden post, his toolbox spread out beside him, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. sweat glistens faintly along the line of his neck, dark hair curling slightly against his temple, though he seems too focused on whatever he’s fixing to notice you.

“i hope you don’t talk to the pipes like that.” you say, stepping into the doorway.

eren glances up sharply, his eyes narrowing as soon as he sees you.

“what are you doing in here?”

“just checking on you.” you lean against the frame, arms crossed, the hem of your t-shirt fluttering faintly in the breeze.

“you could be in here stealing, for all I know.”

he snorts, turning back to the pipe.

“yeah, im gonna steal an old tractor and a pile’a hay. that’ll really set me up for life.”

“you’ve got the attitude for it.” you shoot back.

eren doesn’t respond right away, just reaches into his toolbox and pulls out a wrench, testing the pipe with a faint metallic screech. you take the opportunity to wander further into the barn, your bare legs brushing against the dust-speckled air, the smell of earth and old wood thick in your nose.

“don’t distract me.” he mutters after a moment, though there’s no real heat in it.

“distract you from what?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

“you seem like you know what you’re doing.”

“i do.” he replies quickly, then pauses to glance up at you again, that familiar edge of sarcasm tugging at his voice.

“but I don’t need you hovering over me like a supervisor.”

“im not hovering.” you say, wandering toward the ladder that leads up to the loft. You trail your fingers along a beam as you go, the wood rough and splintered beneath your touch.

“im just… observing.”

“observing me.” he corrects, the corner of his mouth twitching.

you shrug, tilting your head to look at him.

“maybe. you’re hard to figure out.”

“well… why are ya tryin’ t’figure me out?” he fires back, turning his full attention to you now. his gaze is sharp, but there’s something behind it. something curious, like he’s trying to pick you apart the same way you’re doing to him.

you hesitate, feeling your face heat up despite yourself.

“im just bored.”

“bored ?” eren repeats, his voice dry.

“well, sorry im not here to entertain you, princess.”

you bristle at the nickname, pushing off the beam to face him fully.

“will you quit calling me that?”

“what?” he says, smirking now. “does it bother you?”

“obviously.”

“good.” he huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he goes back to the pipe, adjusting the wrench with a sharp twist. the muscles in his forearm flex with the movement, beads of sweat dripping from his body.

“you’re insufferable.” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you turn and start to climb the ladder to the loft. the wood creaks faintly under your hands and feet, but you ignore it, needing to put a little distance between you and him.

“where are you going?” he calls from below, sounding more amused than anything.

“away from you!” you shout back, hoisting yourself onto the loft and brushing the dust from your knees. the space is dim, beams of sunlight filtering through the slats in the walls, catching on cobwebs and hay strewn across the floor. you sink down near the edge, letting your legs dangle as you glance back down at him.

“don’t worry. i won’t distract you from all your hard work.”

eren glances up at you with a look that’s half exasperation, half something else. he stands, tossing the wrench back into his toolbox with a faint clatter.

“or you could just gone back in the house. you’re a real piece’a work, you know that?”

“you’re one to talk.” you shoot back, swinging your feet slightly.

“you act like you hate me, but you keep showing up.”

“i don’t hate you and i keep showing up for your folks, not you.” he mutters, scrubbing the back of his hand across his forehead as he looks away.

“you just talk too much.”

“and you’re just cranky.”

he lets out a soft laugh, one that seems to surprise even him. when he looks back at you, his expression is different, though it’s hard to tell in the dappled light of the barn.

“you don’t know anything about me.” he says finally, his voice quieter this time.

you tilt your head, studying the man below you.

“maybe not. but I know you’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

eren stiffens slightly at that, his jaw ticking as he averts his gaze. for a moment, the only sound is the wind pressing against the barn, rattling the boards, and the distant hum of cicadas.

“you don’t know that either. and what about you, huh? showing’ up outta nowhere. bein’ as bossy as you are?” he says eventually, his tone flat.

“im a pretty good judge of character. and i used to live here. a lot changes in fifteen years.”

he scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it.

“you’re annoying.”

“and yet you’re still here.” you say, letting a smile creep onto your face.

the loft creaks beneath you, but you don’t think much of it at first. it’s old, worn by years of weight and weather, and the barn itself seems to hum with the memory of its age. eren is below, fiddling with his toolbox, muttering curses under his breath as he wrestles with some stubborn pipe or post. you’re perched on the edge of the loft, legs dangling as you watch him, not bothering to hide your smirk.

“you’re taking forever.” you tease, your voice carrying through the barn.

eren pauses, glancing up with an annoyed glare.

“if you think you can do it faster, darlin’ , be my guest.”

“oh, i didn’t say that.” you reply, leaning back with a huff of satisfaction.

“i’m just observing how inefficient you are.”

he mutters something under his breath, shaking his head, and you’re about to push his buttons again when the sharp sound of splintering wood freezes you. the beam beneath you gives a slow, aching groan. erens head shoots up, noticing the lift giving in right where you sat.

you don’t have time to react. the wood cracks loudly, shattering the stillness, and suddenly you’re falling.

it happens in a rush. your stomach lurching, air rushing past you, hands scrambling for anything to grab. you hit something solid but not the ground. the impact knocks the wind out of you, but there are arms around you, holding you tightly.

“jesus christ!” eren’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and alarmed. “are you stupid?”

your brain catches up slowly, heart still slamming against your ribs as you look up to find eren staring down at you. his face is just inches from yours, his arms wrapped firmly around you where he caught you before you could hit the floor.

“i—” you start to say, but the words catch in your throat.

eren lets out a breath, long and shaky, as he lowers you carefully to the barn floor. his hands linger at your sides, steadying you. “are you okay?”

you try to nod, but then you feel it. the sharp, searing pain radiating up your leg. you wince, shifting slightly, and his eyes dart downward.

“you’re hurt.” he says flatly.

“no, i’m fine,” you lie, but as soon as you move your leg, the pain worsens. you look down to see a gash along your shin, blood streaking your skin where the wood must have splintered against you.

eren notices immediately.

“shit-” he mutters, reaching for you before you can protest. “don’t move.”

“eren, i’m fine,” you insist, but your voice wavers when you try to put weight on your leg.

“yeah, sure you are,” he shoots back, already scooping you up before you can argue. his arms slide beneath your knees and back, lifting you effortlessly.

“stop squirming, unless you wanna make this worse.”

you freeze, stunned at the way he carries you, like you weigh nothing at all. his face is set, focused, though you swear you can see a flicker of concern beneath the irritation.

“you don’t have to carry me.” you mumble, feeling heat creep up your neck.

he doesn’t look at you. “and what, let you drag yourself back to the house? don’t be stupid. now imma have to fix up the loft.”

the walk back to the house feels longer than usual, the silence stretching between you save for the crunch of his boots against the dirt. you steal glances at him—at the way his brow furrows in concentration, at the way his arms flex slightly beneath your weight. his grip is careful, like he’s afraid of jostling you too much.

“you’re really dramatic, you know.” you say quietly, trying to lighten the mood.

eren snorts, glancing down at you with a raised brow.

“me? you’re the one who decided to fall through the damn barn.”

“it wasn’t a choice.” you mutter, pouting slightly.

“whatever you say, princess.”

he carries you through the front door like it’s nothing, kicking it open with his boot before setting you down gently on the couch. the shift makes you wince, and he notices, crouching beside you immediately.

“last door on the left, under the sink.”

“stay put.” he says, voice low but firm, before disappearing into the bathroom.

you sigh, leaning your head back against the cushions as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind nothing but the dull ache in your leg and the embarrassment settling deep in your chest.

when eren comes back, he’s holding the first aid kit and a damp towel. he drops onto the floor in front of you, his knees brushing the edge of the couch as he sets everything down.

“this might sting.” he warns, wetting the towel before carefully pressing it to your shin.

you hiss through your teeth, nails curling into the couch cushion. “you could be a little gentler, you know.”

“i am being gentle.” he says, though his tone lacks its usual bite. he works quickly, cleaning the blood and dirt from the scrape before carefully dabbing it dry.

you watch him quietly as he unwraps a roll of gauze, his movements surprisingly careful, his expression softer than you’ve seen before.

“you didn’t have to do all this.” you say softly.

eren doesn’t look up, focused on securing the bandage.

“yeah, well. you’re not exactly good at taking care of yourself.”

“is that your way of saying you care?”

he pauses for half a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. the look he gives you is unreadable, but there’s something there. something warm.

“just… don’t do anything stupid like that again.” he mutters, his gaze dropping back to the bandage.

you bite back a smile, watching as he finishes and sits back on his heels. his hands linger on your leg for a moment, testing to make sure the gauze is secure before he finally stands.

“thanks.” you say quietly, your voice soft.

eren just shrugs, grabbing the first aid kit and standing to his full height. “don’t mention it.”

you try to mimic his movements, grabbing onto the arm of the couch for support until the pain shoots you right back down. eren wastes no time meeting you at eye level again, frowing a little.

“you need to stay put. stop being so damn hardheaded, yn.”

“finally you use my name.” his eyes burn deep holes into yours, brown chunks of hair framing his face.

“eh. i still like princess.”

he pauses, just for a second, as if he’s considering something. then he turns, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“both are real pretty though.” he mutters, but his voice is quieter now, softer. there’s an edge of something else there, something that’s hard to place.

you feel your heart pick up, and before you can even process the thought, before you can even think to stop him, he’s closing the space between you. his hand comes to rest gently on the side of your face, and then, with surprising tenderness, he leans in. the kiss is slow, hesitant at first. just a brush of lips against yours. but it deepens quickly, and for a moment, it feels like time itself is holding its breath. maybe you were holding your breath. his hand curls around the back of your neck, and you instinctively lean into him, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his lips presses against yours, soft and urgent.

the kiss is over almost as soon as it started, and when he pulls back, his face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your skin. his eyes are dark, a little unsure, but there’s something raw there too.

“eren?” you whisper, breathless, unsure of what to say, what to do with the sudden surge of emotions.

he doesn’t speak at first, just looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. his fingers linger against your skin for a second too long before he pulls away, stepping back.

“um, guess i’ll get going then.” he says, voice low, almost like he’s unsure of himself for the first time.

he basically rushes out the front door, leaving you with a bloody gauze pad wrapped around your shin and a sense of confusion.

the farmer’s market buzzes softly with life. the air smells of ripe peaches and freshly baked bread, and the sunlight filters through the trees, dappled and golden. you weave through the crowd, your basket swinging lightly on your arm, filled with a small loaf of sourdough and a jar of honey. it’s your favorite part of the week, wandering between the stalls, picking out produce and listening to the steady murmur of the townsfolk.

you’ve got a small crumpled list tucked into your hand: oat milk, a jar of honey, maybe some fresh greens, and you’re weaving your way through the market when you spot him. eren. he’s standing with a man you can only assume is his father. the resemblance is impossible to miss: the sharpness of the jawline, the same dark hair, though his father’s is streaked with gray, and the way they both carry themselves. quiet and a little standoffish. they’re posted at a vegetable stand, crates of carrots, onions, and cucumbers spread out before them. eren’s arms are crossed as he listens to something his father says, his brow furrowed like he’s only half paying attention.

something about the way eren glances around, almost restless, makes you hesitate. you watch for a beat longer, tucked slightly behind another booth, debating whether to approach. but then eren looks up, and his gaze lands on you. for a second, he’s still, his face unreadable. then his eyes shift slightly, narrowing, and it almost feels like he’s warning you.

you step forward anyway, hobbling a little on your sore leg.

“eren.” you say, your voice soft but steady. his name feels strangely loud against the background chatter, and both he and his father turn to look at you.

eren’s face tightens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. his father, on the other hand, gives you a long, slow once-over, his sharp green eyes cutting into you with a coolness that makes your chest tighten.

“who’s this?” his father asks, his tone mild but clipped, like the words have edges.

“yn, sir.” you offer quickly, stepping closer and giving him a polite smile.

“i’ve been staying with my grandparents for the spring. i’ve seen eren around, so i thought i’d introduce myself. he helps around a lot.”

you hold out your hand, but his father doesn’t take it. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the booth’s counter, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“introducing yr’self, huh?” he says, his voice light, almost amused, but there’s something underneath it, something just sharp enough to make your stomach flip.

“not many of the town folk bother to stop by our booth, let’lone introduce themselves. guess you must be curious.”

you pull your hand back awkwardly, your smile faltering as you glance at eren.

“i just thought it would be nice, sir. i apologize.” you reply, trying to keep your voice even.

“your vegetables do look great.”

his father lets out a soft huff of a laugh, barely more than an exhale.

“yeah, they do, don’t they? we put a lotta work into this land. more than most people around here would know.”

eren shifts beside him, his jaw tightening.

“dad.” he mutters under his breath, but his father doesn’t even glance at him.

“you stayin’ with the wrights?” his father asks, tilting his head slightly.

“figured. they’re good people, always minding their own business. shame not everyone in town does the same.”

you blink, the words settling in your chest like stones. there’s no malice in his tone, not directly, but the weight of them is unmistakable.

eren’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, his shoulders tense.

“she’s just trying to be nice.” he says, his voice low, almost resigned, like he knows it won’t make a difference.

his father finally straightens, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“nice is fine-” he says, glancing at you again. “-but not everyone ‘round here is friendly as they seem. might be worth ‘membering.”

the air between you feels tight, uncomfortable, and you’re not entirely sure if his words are meant as advice or something closer to a warning. you force another smile, even though your face feels stiff, and take a small step back.

“well, it was nice meeting you.” you say, your voice a little quieter now.

“i’ll let you both get back to work.”

eren looks at you then, his lips pressing together like he wants to say something but can’t. his father, however, just gives you a small, curt nod.

“have a good day, darlin’.” he says, the words clipped and formal.

you turn quickly, your cheeks burning, and make your way back into the flow of the market. the cheerful voices and warm sunlight feel duller now, muted by the lingering tension.

it’s not until you’ve stopped by another stall, pretending to inspect a bunch of lavender, that you feel eren’s presence beside you. you glance up, and there he is, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face pulled into a scowl.

“sorry about him.” he mutters, his voice low. “he’s… he’s just like that.”

you shrug, trying to act like it didn’t bother you, though the knot in your stomach hasn’t quite eased.

“it’s fine.” you say softly, but the look he gives you says he doesn’t believe you.

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the market swirls around you, full of life and sound, but between you, there’s only a quiet tension. finally, eren sighs, tilting his head toward the edge of the market.

“come on,” he says. “let’s get out of here.”

you’ve learned to move quietly, to slip through the back door of the house when no one’s looking, to meet him at the edge of the woods by the lake when the sun has set and the stars are just beginning to prick the sky. everything feels like it’s wrapped in silence, soft and secretive. even the air between you seems charged with something unspoken, something thrilling. for two weeks.

he was addictive.

soft whispers under your large quilts as his lips traced kisses from your neck to lips. engulfing you in a warm embrace. wind blowing through the windows he snuck into.

he loved seeing you drive past him casually in your truck while picking up groceries for your grandmother. watching your hair whip in the wind and the low hum of the trucks engine passing by.

when you and him sat in his living room, playing with the golden lab he named ‘scout’ when he was four. your fingers comb through his mane, tilting your face upwards to avoid from being licked by the drooling animal.

whenever your grandparents gave him yet another daunting task around the farm, he’d watch as your sprawled out in a bikini. sipping the sweet tea, beach hat shading your face. watching as the droplets of water dripped down your chest. he’d hate to admit how many times he’s almost nailed his hands to the barn.

“you okay over there?” your arm, half up in a wave, drawling his attention from your new position. you lay on your chest, slowly pulling at the strings holding your top up. letting them dangle off the side of the chair, you slide the waistline of your bottoms down a little.

“eren! why don’t you come have some lemonade with me?”

you were driving him nuts.

he loved how lively you would get after spending the afternoons in a tiny, quaint bar located on the outskirts of town.

the drives back usually consisting of you halfway out the passenger window, eyes gazing up at the sky as you took advantage of the open landscape. eren would watch you intensely, eyes bouncing from the road back to you.

pulling into erens dirty path driveway, he pulls your body across the long front seat, carefully tucking his arms under your knees and around your back.

“im not drunkk!” you whine, face buried into the crook of the man’s neck while he places you down softly on the dark leather couch. closing his front door, his hand runs through his brown locs with an exasperated sigh.

“you need to sober up so i can take you home, yn. i ain’t trynna deal with a angry mob of old church people.” his height blinds out everything in your path as he stands over you. his large hands cup your face gently.

“boy im grown, come here.” you whisper, pulling him down by the forearm, eyes never leaving his. green eye flicker from your eyes to your glossed lips. your essence was like a gravitational pull.

lips locked onto one another, you can’t help but to notice he much softer his lips have gotten.

“you been exfoliating?”

“i’on know what that is, shut up and kiss me.”

it was hungry. borderline filthy the way his hands rubbed you down slowly. caressing the dips of your waist, cold jewelry slides across your stomach, hitching your breath. the tank top you wore stood no chance. brown nipples poking through the sheer cotton fabric.

hes smiling. feeling his hands roam you so freely. he couldn’t help but to take his thumbs and pointer fingers, slipping them into his mouth and out with a quick pop! going back under your shirt, he takes your perky buds in between his fingers, rolling them slowly as the rest of his hands cup your breast.

“oh! eren- oh my god.”

his lips pepper kisses all over your exposed skin, nipping at spots before kissing over the pain. hands roam down to your thighs, giving them tight grips before sliding down the couch.

eyes latched onto each other, you can’t help but to whine.

“please eren.”

this was the first time in years you’ve felt this strong of an attraction towards someone else. crazy for it to be eren of all people.

“please, what?” he’s slowly tugging at the drawstrings of the shorts you wore. eyes locked on you with a burning passion. sitting up against the arm of the couch, your shorts make it to the other side of the room.

your jaw is wide , eren hissing when you tug at his long brown locks. the moment he’s sliding his middle fingers into your burning core, stretching you open as his thumb slowly teases your clit. his body proceeding lower, all you can feel is slight gust of air hitting your cunt. his lips wrap gently around the swollen bud, sucking agonizingly slow, saliva and slick stick to the man’s face. he hums into your taste, wrapping his arms around the base of your thighs. he laid fully out on the couch.

instantly, you’re falling apart. moans breaking out in short whimpers and high gasps, grinding into his palm and nose. feeling his tongue slip inside your clenching hole, only to add two of his slender fingers.

his fingers scissor up into your throbbing cunt, hitting your sweet spot.

“babyy” you whimper, barely able to get anything out with the man’s face devouring you below. eyes closed in euphoria and concentration. hands interlocked into his head full of hair, your moans grow louder.

“doin’ such a good fuckin’ job, princess.”

feeling how he used his thumbs to spread open your pussy, using his tongue to penetrate your clenching hole. his tongue dips into you, coating his tongue in your cum, before coming back out and circling your swollen bud. the repetitive sensation sends you into a fit of louder moans, enticing the man to keep going.

“oh! ba- fu,fuck eren! im fucking c-“ the pressure builds, coiling tighter in your abdomen until you can't hold back anymore. not even when you’re cumming all over the man’s face, does he stop. he wants more now. he needs more.

from the first day he saw you out by the water, he knew he wanted you for himself. he watched the way you interacted with the townsfolk and farm animals. how sexy you were effortlessly. walking around your grandparents farm with nothing but a bikini on and practically see through shorts.

he hated to see other men in town look at you. the way the old, decrepit men would sit in the farmers markets and watch you browse around. whispering to each other while you naively chose your fruits and vegetables.

he didn’t want to share you with anyone.

his body jolts to a standing position, with ease he’s dipping down to pick you up off the couch. a large wet spot decorated the leather where you lie. he’s carrying you over his shoulder down the narrow hallway of the house.

“where we goin’?” you ask, eyes low and hazy.

you make it to the well decorated room. posters and band prints scattered on the wall , a radio sat in the corner, humming random songs from the station eren left it on. his bed was royal blue and well kept.

that was until you were being pounded into the bed.

you nails grip for anything they can reach. digging straight into the bed set, while his throbbing cock dips in and out of you. he has your right leg thrown over his shoulder, hands pinned to your waist as he draws out. face twisting in pleasure. his dick coated in the slippery substance, a faint white line forming the base of his cock as he moves in and out of you repeatedly .

“makin’ such a mess on me. pretty fuckin girl.”

he waste no time, throwing your other leg over his shoulder, locking you in as he quickens his pace. shallow breaths escape his mouth, eyes locked in concentration. you’re stuck with your mouth in an -o- shape as the man pounds you relentlessly. with a swift pull out, he taps against your side.

“on your knees, princess.”

on all fours, he wastes no time reinserting himself, bottoming out while his nails dig into the supple skin on your waist. the sound of skin slapping together and the wet squelches of your abused cunt bounce off the walls, filling your ears.

“i’ve wanted you for so long, you’re so good to me- fuck!”

the more your honey coated words fall from your lips, the more the man wants to ruin you. he wants to see you beg for him. he needed to have it.

pulling your arms from under you, he pins them to your back, locking you in an unforgiving arch. he feeds you slow, agonizing pleasing, strokes. loved watching the way your pussy desperately gripped around him as he pulled out.

trying your hardest to escape the abuse of your cervix, you try to pull away, only to receive a fire fueled spank on your ass.

“take this dick, baby. you had all that mouth ‘member? you can do it, i know ya can.”

his pace quickens, yearning for your release. the only thing you can form is small gasps of air as the man shows no mercy on your smaller frame.

“eren! oh shit- im cumming again ple-“

he releases your hands, using his free hand to rub at your clit as he continued fucking into you.

your body goes limp, clear liquid spewing out onto the man’s blankets. he flips you back over, eyes dark and full of hunger still.

“gimme just one more? please, honey. she just so good.”

folded into a middle split off the bed wasn’t something you ever thought you could do. yet here you were, on your back, eren standing in front of you, holding your legs apart.

his hips roll into yours, digging at your inside slowly. head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowed and eyes low. your hands hold onto his muscular forearm, trying to keep grounded as the man was wearing you out.

with a few more thrust, he pulls out. long white ropes decorate his chest.

“you’re something special, yn.”

after your grandparents had gone into town for their usual errands, you find yourself at the edge of the lake, hidden in the soft embrace of the willow trees. the faint glow of fireflies flickers in the warm spring air, and the world feels still, like it’s holding its breath for what’s to come. eren’s there before you, waiting, leaning against a tree with a smile that always makes your stomach flip.

“thought you’d never show up,” he teases, his voice low and smooth, like it’s a secret only meant for you. his eyes flicker over you, and the corner of his mouth pulls into a crooked grin.

“you just like being dramatic,” you reply, though you can feel the flutter in your chest as you walk closer, the pull between you too strong to ignore.

he steps forward, closing the space between you, and before you can say anything else, his lips are on yours. quick, soft, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless. it’s always like this, quick, a rush of feeling that neither of you can seem to contain. he pulls away just as quickly, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“you’re insane.” you whisper, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

he grins, taking your hand and guiding you down the worn path toward the lake. the grass brushes against your bare legs, soft and cool under the fading light. the blanket he’s spread out by the water is a patchwork of colors. faded reds and yellows that look almost too bright against the darkening sky.

you settle down beside him, the scent of wildflowers heavy in the air. the lake reflects the dimming stars, the quiet ripples in the water mirroring the racing of your heart.

“y’know. ive been havin’ a lot of fun with you.” he playfully nudges your body, rocking you to the side.

“i know. imma miss you, country boy.” the fake southern accent rolled off your tongue sarcastically. although the tone was funny, something about erens aura shifted.

“what’s up? why’ve you gone all quiet?” you ask, eyes fixated on the male. the moonlight illuminated his face, exposing every freckle, unshaven parts of his face, and his eyes locked onto yours.

“i jus’ really don’t wanna let you go, princess.”

“don’t go all sappy on me now. i’ll visit when i can, you know that right?” he just nods, taking a drink of the beer he had before your arrival. the air was thick and warm, your knees pressed together, watching the water reflect the bedazzled night sky as eren just shuffles in his spot.

“yn, promise ya wont forget me?”

“eren-“ you try to stop the conversation before it happens. instead ending up in a tight hug from the man. his arms latch around your waist, head resting over your shoulder.

“im serious, yn. i ain’t ever felt this way for nobody.” pulling away, all you can see is his bright green eyes burning into yours.

“how could i ever?”

you lean in, your free hand brushing against his jaw as you kiss him. it’s slow, deliberate, and familiar, yet it feels new in the way it sends warmth flooding through you.

his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his touch firm but gentle as he deepens the kiss, like he’s trying to hold onto the moment for as long as he can. the world around you fades. the quiet lap of the water against the shore, the soft hum of the crickets. until there’s nothing but him.

when you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. eren’s thumb brushes over the curve of your jaw, and his lips curl into a small, almost sheepish smile.

“you ever thought about visiting the city?”

random inspo pics at the bottom? yes!

624 notes · View notes

just-dreaming-marvel · 1 month ago

Text

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 43

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,225ish

Summary: You, Logan, Charles, and Laura are on the run.

Warning(s): canon violence, injuries, illusions to sex, Logan is jealous of a child

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Logan stopped at a gas station as soon as he believed he had put a safe distance between the group and the smelting plant. Logan got out of the driver’s seat and got into the back of the limo. He was relieved to see that you were sound asleep, still breathing. He reached to take you from Laura, who was still caring for you, but she held tight and growled.

“That’s my wife you have your paws on, kid,” Logan retorted. “I’ve got to get that bullet out of her before—“

“Laura already took the bullet out,” Charles responded.

“What? When?”

“While you were driving.”

“Still.” He reached over to try to grab you again. Laura shook her head as she kept you near. “Damn it, kid!”

“It’s okay, Laura. He’s going to take care of her. He takes good care of us.”

Charles shot Logan a soft smile, knowing that Logan had truly done so much to take care of everyone. Laura slowly released her grip, allowing Logan to pull you into him. He could hear the beat of your heart, allowing him to relax a bit.

“Logan, we need to talk,” Charles said after a moment. “Maybe you could give Laura some change for the mechanical horse.”

“Fine.” Logan pressed a kiss to your head before gently laying you back down. “Come on, kid.”

Laura glanced at Charles, who gave an encouraging smile and nod before she followed Logan out of the limo. Logan led her to the mechanical horse and inserted a few coins, allowing her to ride it.

“Stay put,” he ordered before heading back to the limo. “Come on, sweetheart,” Logan whispered as he knelt beside you in the back of the limo. “Wake up.”

“Logan?” You rasped, blinking.

“I’m right here… you had me scared there for a moment.”

“What—What happened?” You glanced down to see that your wound was healed, leaving behind a scar.

“Laura took out the bullet when you fell asleep.”

“Where is she?” You groaned as you sat up.

“You need to lie back down.”

“Logan. I’m fine. Where’s Laura?”

“She’s on the mechanical horse outside,” Charles responded.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s not my biggest concern at the moment,” Logan muttered, eyes still scanning you for more injuries.

“She should be,” Charles said. “Did you get any information from the woman she was with?”

“I got the woman’s phone.”

Logan pulled it out of his pocket, surprised it at stayed there after the fight. He opened it up to see a video already pulled up. You sat up, leaning into Logan.

“You need your glasses,” you told him.

“Shit,” Logan muttered as he reached into the front and grabbed his glasses. He slipped them over his nose and looked at you over them. “Better?”

“Much.” You leaned in and kissed his cheek. Then Logan pressed play.

“My name is Gabriela Lopez,” the woman on the screen introduced. “I’m a nurse. And for ten years, I worked for Transigen Research in Mexico City. Transigen is owned by an American company. What I am about to show you is illegal in the U.S. and Canada. They told us we were part of a pharmaceutical study. But, of course, that was a lie. These children were born in Transigen. They were born here, and have never left. They have never seen the sun or the ocean, rain or snow or any of God’s creatures. They have no birth certificates. No names, besides the ones we have given them. They were raised in the bellies of Mexican girls. Girls no one can find anymore. Their fathers are semillas geneticas, special seeds in bottles. We do not dress them up for Halloween. We do not call them ‘baby’ or kiss boo-boos. Don’t think of them as children. Think of them as things with patents and copyrights. They thought we were too poor and stupid to understand. We’re poor, yes, but we are not stupid. This is business. They are making soldiers. Killers. These are babies of mutants—“

As the woman spoke, the video showed different clips from the facility. The children of different ages and mutations. The children being trained and fighting. It broke your heart to see all of this. Laura came up in the video a few times, breaking your heart even further. The phone died before the video finished. Logan tore off his glasses and looked at Laura.

“North Dakota,” Charles stated.

“Mmm?” Logan hummed.

“You took that woman’s money. You said you would take the child there.”

Logan kept his eyes on Laura, watching her grow angry as the machine stopped. “What is she?”

“She’s your daughter, Logan.”

“Alkali…” You whispered. “Alkali has your genetic code.”

Logan’s worried gaze met yours. “Not just mine,” he said. He went to the door and opened it.

“Logan,” Charles called.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t wanna hear about it anymore.”

“Logan.”

“Just stop!”

“I have to pee.”

Logan huffed before grabbing the wheelchair out of the trunk and helping Charles into it. You got out and leaned against the limo, watching everything unfold. Laura was growing angrier at the machine as it refused to move more. She let her claws out of one fist and went to slam it into the controls, but Logan caught her wrist. Logan finished another quarter from his pocket and held it up.

“Last ride,” he told her.

Logan placed the coin in the insert, causing the mechanical horse to begin moving again. Logan and Laura glared each other down for a moment.

“You’re welcome,” Logan said before limping away to help Charles.

You shook your head, already exhausted from just watching Laura and Logan interact. Pushing yourself off of the limo, you came over to Laura.

“When the ride’s over, you want to go in and get some snacks?” You asked her.

Laura nodded. When the ride was done, Laura took your hand and you led her inside.

“You can get whatever you want,” you said. “Don’t worry about what Logan may tell you.”

You walked around with Laura as she grabbed chips and a drink. Looking out the windows, you realized that Logan wasn’t back yet.

“I’ll go grab some money,” you told Laura. “Stay put.”

You went back to the limo, only to hear Logan shout back at the store.

“Not okay!” He was holding Laura’s wrist, whose claws were out. He dragged her out of the store. “Come on. Get in the car.”

“What happened?” You asked.

“She just tried to kill the worker. You need to be watching her.” He pushed her in your direction.

“Logan—“

“Let’s just go.”

~~~

You stayed in the back with Laura and Charles as Logan drove. You kept your gaze out the window. Laura sighed as she sided eyed you. Slowly, she moved over to your side and pulled at your hand.

“What is it, Laura?” You asked, trying not to sound exhausted.

She held up her palm and wiggled her fingers around.

“She wants you to make a flame,” Charles said with a smile.

You held up your palm and made a small flame. “This?” You questioned.

Laura smiled and nodded. She watched with awe as the flame flickered above your palm. You were watching her reaction, that you missed the soft smile Logan had as he watched you from the rearview mirror. Charles noticed that Laura’s backpack was open. He reached in, pulling out X-Men comics. He smiled as he noticed they were mostly about you.

“Laura,” he called, motioning to the comics, “are you a fan?” Her enthusiastic nod caused Charles to chuckle and you to melt. “Yeah? I am, too.”

“Charles,” you shook your head with a scoff, unable to stop the smile.

“Logan though,” Charles motioned to the man driving, “she’s her biggest fan.”

Laura shook her head, causing you to laugh. You closed your palm, extinguishing the flame.

“Get some rest,” you urged. Laura immediately cuddled into your side.

You couldn’t help but wrap an arm around her to keep her close. You glanced up towards Logan, meeting his softened gaze in the mirror.

“You all should get some sleep,” Logan muttered. “I’ll keep driving.”

“You sure?” You asked.

“Get some rest, sweetheart.”

~~~

Logan drove to Oklahoma City, where the night life was bustling. Laura woke up and moved from your side to the window, staring at all the bring lights.

“Is this where we’re hiding out?” Charles asked.

“We’re not hiding out,” Logan responded. “We’re gonna get a couple of hours’ sleep, clean up, get some new clothes, get a new ride and get outta here.”

Logan pulled the limo up to the front of a Hotel and Casino. He got a suite with two rooms, two bathrooms, and a living room with a couch in the middle. On the way to the elevator to head there, Laura stopped in front of a store window, looking at the clothes.

“Come on, let’s go,” Logan urged. “Hey Laura.”

“We need clothes,” Charles said.

You placed a hand on Logan’s arm, catching his attention. “I’ll deal with the clothes,” you told him. “Why don’t you get everyone else upstairs and settled in? I’ll be right there.”

Logan was heavily debating on telling you no. But he was exhausted and needed to give Charles his meds. “Fine.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out some cash. “Let me know if you need more.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You went over to Laura, who was still by the windows. “Go with Logan. I’ll grab the clothes and be right up.”

Laura hesitancy matched Logan’s, which was both cute and annoying. She shook her head and grabbed your hand. You sighed and looked back at Charles and Logan.

“I guess she’s staying with me,” you told them. You could see that Logan didn’t like that plan. “We won’t be long.”

With huff, Logan gave a nod and you headed into the store.

~~~

Logan had already cleaned up Charles and put him in to bed when you and Laura arrived with the clothes. You set the bags on the coffee table as Logan stepped out of the other room, downing a small bottle of alcohol.

“Kid will sleep on the couch,” Logan said. “We get the bed in here.”

You nodded, looking Logan up and down. “You should get cleaned up.”

“So should you… I can wait until the morning.”

Suddenly, Laura was back at your side, grabbing your hand. She tugged at it before placing it palm up. You laughed.

“Do you want a flame?” You asked. She nodded. You lifted up your other had and formed small flames in both of your palms.

Keeping her eyes on your flames, Laura side stepped over to Logan and tugged at his jacket. She pointed at your flames.

“Yeah,” he gave you a soft smile. “She’s cool, kid.” He took her head and guided her to sit down on the couch. “Now, stay here. Sleep.”

You let Laura take one last look at your flames before you extinguished them. Logan took the needed steps over to you and took your hands. With a groan, he pulled you up.

“Come on,” he muttered, guiding you to the bedroom.

You turned your head. “Good night, Laura.”

Logan shut the door between the two of you and Laura before guiding you back to the bathroom and shutting that door. He wrapped you up in his arms and held you close.

“I thought you were going to die,” he whispered, failing to hide the shake in his voice.

“I’m right here, Logan,” you replied quietly.

He pulled away quickly as he began to cough, using the counter to hold himself up. You placed a warm hand on his back and began rubbing circles.

“You’re getting worse,” you mumbled.

“I’m—“ he coughed, “fine.” He wiped off his lips with his jacket as he turned back to face you. His hands found your hips and pulled you into him.

“We should get some rest. We can clean up in the morning.”

The two of you took some of your clothes off before stepping back into the bedroom. Both of you immediately noticed Laura sitting in the bed, waiting for the two of you.

“No,” Logan said, shaking his head. “There’s a perfectly good couch out there. Go.”

“Logan,” you giggled, “the bed is big enough.”

“Are you serious?”

“I can sleep in the middle. If you can’t handle it, there’s a perfectly good couch out there.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, hating how you used his own words against him. He already knew he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight, but he had least wanted to hold you close as he failed to sleep. Besides, he was also done fighting with you. It was taking too much out of both of you.

“Fine,” he sighed before pointing at Laura, “but stay on your side of the bed.”

Laura moved to one side, allowing you to crawl into the middle. Logan went around to the other side. Laura went to cuddle into you, but Logan quickly pulled you back into him.

“My wife,” he growled, tightening his arms around you.

You could sense the growing tension between the two and you quickly placed an arm out towards Laura and on arm on top of Logan’s. “There’s enough of me to go around,” you told them.

You weaved your fingers through Logan’s as Laura wrapped around your outstretched arm. You watched as she fell asleep. Logan kissed your head before he buried his head into your neck. For that brief moment, there was a sense of peace and family in that room, causing you to fall asleep with a small smile on your face.

~~~

Logan was up first. He took care of Charles, changing him, before laying out Laura’s clothes. He took your new clothes and his into the bathroom. As he came around to pick you up from the bed, he noticed Laura carefully watching him. She was still gripping your arm. Logan went to pulled you into him when Laura growled.

“Stop that!” Logan scolded as quietly as he could. “I’m just trying to take care of her. I’m not gonna hurt her… She’s my wife. I love her.”

Laura hesitated a moment before she let go of your arm. Logan pulled you up into his arms and carried you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with his foot. You moaned as you began to come to. Logan set you on the counter and held you up.

“Logan?” You rasped.

“Hey, princess,” he gave you a small smile before pecking your lips.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking care of my wife, like I should be.”

Logan pulled off your shirt, revealing the new scar from the bullet wound. Logan’s calloused hand gently ran over the scar before he bent down and kissed it. You closed your eyes, inhaling sharply at Logan’s tenderness. He trailed kisses up your neck to your ear before pulling away.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered. “Gotta start the shower.”

You nodded, giving Logan the signal to move. He moved as quickly as he could to get the shower on and remove his clothes before helping you with the rest of yours. Logan wrapped his arms around you, but you pushed against his shoulders.

“You can’t go carrying me around like you used to,” you said, running a hand through Logan’s hair. “It hurts you too much.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he responded. “Let me carry you until I die.”

Logan firmly kissed you as he carried you over to the large hotel shower. He held you up against the tile wall.

“Logan,” you breathed.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “Let me show you.”

~~~

After some shower sex, you and Logan lovingly washed each other before getting ready for the day. Logan kept coughing, causing you to help him get dressed. You were grabbing his shirt when he began coughing into a towel. He pulled it away to see specks of blood on it. He quickly tossed it away, not wanting to worry you further, before downing another small bottle of alcohol.

“Here,” you said, holding up the shirt.

“I can do it,” he grumbled.

“I know, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be getting help.” As carefully as you could, you helped Logan put his shirt on, his flannel, and then his jacket. “There.” You fixed the collar. “Ready to save the world.”

His hands slid around your waist, tugging you into him. “I don’t want to save the world anymore… I just want to save my world.”

The two of you shared a kiss before exiting the bathroom.

“I’ll go check on Laura and Charles,” you said, noticing Logan eying Logan’s bag and the files spilling out. You reached down and grabbed his glasses from the table, sliding them onto his face. “Mmm,” you hummed, “handsome.” You gave him another kiss before heading to the other part of the hotel room.

Logan sat down on the end of the bed and began flipping through the files. The files held information on the mutant children, including Laura. It also confirmed that Logan’s genetics were used to create Laura. He tossed the files aside and continued looking in Laura’s bag. There were X-Men comics, most of them were about you. He flipped through one, the ending page catching his eye. You were in a wedding dress while Logan was pictured in a tux. The two of you were kissing at your wedding. Logan’s heart clenched at the thought of making it official. Grabbing the comics, Logan marched into the room which Charles was laying on the bed watching a movie and you were helping Laura tie her shoes.

“You read these in your spare time?” Logan questioned Laura, holding up the comics. “Oh, yeah, Charles, Y/N, we got ourselves an X-Men fan. Or, an Ember fan more like it. You do know they’re all bullshit, right? Maybe a quarter of it happened, but not like this. In the real world, people die! And no self-promoting asshole in a fucking leotard can stop it!”

“Logan,” you scolded.

“This is ice cream for bed-wetters!”

“Logan,” Charles tried.

“That nurse has been feeding her some grade-A bullshit.”

“She’s allowed to believe in the good of what we did, Logan,” you said. “We did do a lot of good… and even the good times end.”

Logan scoffed.

“I don’t think Laura needs reminding of life’s impermanence,” Charles added. “Did you say something about finding us a new ride?”

Logan picked up the pill bottle on the dresser and held it up. “Two more pills in one hour.” He threw them at Laura, who caught them. “Give ‘em to him.” He grabbed your hand and dragged you into the other room.

“You need to be nicer to her,” you whispered, growing angry at him. “She is your daughter.”

“No, she’s not. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t leave the room.” He yanked you closer, crashing his lips against yours. “I love you.”

Logan slipped out of the room, leaving you standing there. Your hand went up to your lips, fingers brushing against them as the taste of alcohol and blood lingered on them.

next chapter >

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syncsnzthings · 27 days ago

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SFW OC snzfic - lab experiment - Rowan and Daniel

I've been obsessed with this concept for a while, I can't stop thinking about it.

SUMMARY: Rowan agreed to be the test subject for his friend, who works in/runs a lab that tests pharmaceuticals for companies that make allergy meds. He has no idea that he's not testing an antihistamine; it's something a lot more interesting. WARNINGS: Sneezing, long holdbacks (in a way), mild scientific malpractice if you squint, something akin to sneeze torture but not really WORDS: 3,100

━━━━━»•»🌺

The door to the lab finally opens and Rowan's head perks up to see Daniel wheeling in a tray covered by a thin sheet of cloth. Rowan, ever eager to help, had agreed to be the first test subject for a compound Daniel's lab had produced. Although he works in data entry and has no connections to the actual lab practices—save for his friendship with Daniel—he always ends up getting dragged into these things. He has such a hard time saying no when he's the best test subject any of them can think of.

Daniel and his lab associates do contract work for various pharmaceutical companies, mainly companies that produce allergy medication. Because of this—and factors unknown to Rowan, though he knew there were some—Daniel had taken up a project in creating his own compound with some of the research money the lab had been granted.

The basic rundown he was given was that this medication was supposed to prevent him from sneezing. It's a challenge finding something that will halt Rowan's allergies entirely; he seems to be allergic to everything under the sun, and he's never found an allergy medication that completely mitigates all of his symptoms. Hence, he's the perfect test subject for whatever Daniel and his associates cook up.

"Rowan," Daniel greets him with a friendly smile after he crosses the short distance from the door to the side of the medical cot Rowan is sitting on. He stills the cart, adjusts it slightly to be within reach but not in the way, then turns his full attention to Rowan. "Are you ready to test this out? You haven't taken your usual allergy medication today?"

Rowan returns the smile , his back straightening up in anticipation for the test. "Just like you said. I hope it's worth it, I've been itchy all day."

"Even in the winter, with no seasonal allergens around, your nose is insatiable," Daniel replies, dry amusement coloring his usually professional tone. "And you swallowed the liquid ten minutes ago?" Rowan fixes him with a look. "I have to cover all my bases. It's important that everything is accounted for."

"Yes, I took the stuff when you told me to and then came right here," Rowan says. "I've been waiting here for you forever, you know."

"Ten minutes is hardly forever," Daniel says distractedly. He pinches the thin cloth covering the cart between gloved fingers and tugs it aside, folding it haphazardly and placing it on the counter lining the adjacent wall.

Rowan finally gets a glimpse of what's underneath. He's used to a sight similar to this because of his history of volunteering as a test subject: a tray of allergens, each guaranteed to produce some kind of reaction in him. Usually the tests are for antihistamines, so triggering his allergies doesn't make him react too horribly. This time, he finds himself getting slightly nervous. Daniel had never used the word antihistamine this time, he only said that it was supposed to stop him from sneezing. Daniel is nothing if not precise, so the sudden switch in vocabulary had instantly struck Rowan as odd. He's off his usual allergy meds, and he has an unknown substance working its way through his blood.

"Are you ready to begin?" Daniel turns his eyes back to Rowan, a flash of something Rowan doesn't recognize passing over his expression.

"Well, as ready as I ever am, I guess!" Rowan replies, trying to sound chipper despite his increased nerve.

Daniel nods once. He reaches for the tray on the cart and picks up a long feather, pointed at the tip but quickly morphing into soft disarray closer to the base. Rowan takes in a quick anticipatory breath as Daniel's hand approaches his face. The sharp tip of the feather begins tracing a gentle path along the rims of Rowan's nose and his breath catches again, this time caused by the tickle that instantly spreads up through his sinuses. Whatever it is that Daniel had him take, it did not make his nose any less sensitive to the stimulus.

Rowan pauses, his breath hitching sharply for a long moment. He's entirely prepared to sneeze and let Daniel mark this one down as a failure for now. But nothing happens. His breath evens out again only to pick back up into quick hitches and gasps. He sniffles and blinks his eyes open to look at Daniel.

"Wahh- hih! What's hahhppening? I need to… ihh!" Rowan stutters through his unsteady breathing. His vision is slightly unfocussed, but he swears he sees Daniel's lips quirk up into a satisfied smirk.

"It looks like the compound is working perfectly," Daniel offers as a simple, unhelpful answer. He continues teasing Rowan's nose with the feather, turning it on its side now to let the soft, flexible plumes rub against Rowan's sensitive nostrils.

Rowan twists his head to the side and Daniel lets him do it, lowering his hand to watch intently for a reaction. Rowan's hands hover uselessly in front of his face, steepled to catch a sneeze that doesn't seem to be coming. His shoulder shake with rapid breaths and his face is pinched in pre-sneeze agony. "Haa-! Hih! Ihhh! Ahh… HIH! Uhh…"

After a moment, the immediate need to sneeze seems to pass with no real result, leaving Rowan itchy and irritated. He brings the heel of his hand up to scrub at the underside of his nose, trying to rid himself of the tickly feeling. He turns watery eyes to Daniel. "Wha-hat's going on?"

"This compound is designed to stop you from sneezing, not remove the urge to do so." Daniel watches Rowan rub his nose, then reaches out with his unoccupied hand to gently take hold of his wrist and pry Rowan's hand away from his face. "It's going to take some… extensive testing to be sure it works to its full capacity."

Rowan lets out a shaky breath and sniffles softly. "How much testing?" His eyes fall down to the tray piled with allergens and he suddenly feels much more apprehensive than earlier.

"I'd like to see how far I can trigger your allergies before your body fights the compound entirely. If it does at all, that is." Daniel doesn't wait for a response before reaching down to set the feather back on the tray. He switches to a small, unlabeled glass container with a spritzer. He unscrews the cap, extends it out to Rowan, and lifts it. "Go ahead and give this a sniff."

Rowan can already smell the strong scent wafting out of the container. It's definitely a perfume. His nose twitches with a renewed tickle without even needing to sniff the substance. But Daniel keeps the container held out to him, so Rowan reluctantly leans forward and gives the pungent fumes a tiny sniff. His eyes glaze over with moisture and his nose twitches again and his breath catches.

Daniel urges the container forward. "Again. I need you to take a deep breath through your nose."

Rowan makes a small noise in his throat, half way between a whimper and a gasp, but he does it again. He sniffs the perfume until he has to pull back to gasp again, his nostrils flaring in instant irritation. His sinuses burn and his breath catches, his chest heaving with the rapid inhalations.

Daniel looks satisfied with that and he replaces the cap back on the top of the container. He considers for a moment, then seems to decide on something. He aims the spritzer directly at Rowan and gives a few sprays. The droplets land everywhere; on Rowan's shirt, on his face, on his lap, on his hands which are once again poised in front of his face ready to catch the sneeze that won't come.

Rowan's eyes widen in distress for a brief moment before they flutter shut again. The scent of perfume surrounds them, invading every inch of Rowan's allergic nose and giving him no reprieve from the overwhelming burning, ticklish sensation. He gasps in shallow, rapid breaths that brig him closer and closer to the relief he so desperately needs. It's being kept just out of his reach, driving him wild with need. His hands begin fanning in front of his face like it'll help him escape the feeling.

"Still working as intended," Daniel notes, his own interest barely masked by scientific detachment. He watches as Rowan struggles against his allergies.

Rowan is stuck like this for several minutes, unable to get a single breath in past his desperate hitching and sniffling. He briefly tries to rub at his nose again, but the scent of the perfume is still stuck to his hands and only causes him to break out into another fit of helpless gasps. Allergic tears well up in his eyes and he doesn't have the control to blink them away.

Wordlessly, Daniel lifts a cut sprig of goldenrod blooms from the tray of allergens. As soon as Rowan's breath has almost returned to a manageable pace, Daniel brings the pollen coated flowers up to his face and rubs them directly against his pink, twitchy nostrils.

Rowan's nose is a sight; bright pink, quivering uncontrollably, reacting to even the slightest stimulation. The pollen sets him off again nearly instantly. There's a light dusting of golden dust coating his flaring nostrils and tears streaming down his cheeks. The way he's desperately sucking in breaths is starting to sound closer and closer to whimpers and moans of distress.

"You're quite a sight like this, you know," Daniel comments. He sets the flowers on the cot next to where Rowan is seated and steps directly in front of him. He can see the way Rowan's nose is running, the way he's only barely managing to contain the mess by sniffling nearly constantly—as often as his frantic breaths will allow.

Daniel lifts his hand up to Rowan's face. He uses his thumb to swipe away a tear that falls down his face, then drags it across his cheek toward his nose. Gently, he presses the pad of his thumb against the twitching tip of Rowan's nose. Rowan only reacts by gasping deeply and then returning to his efforts to mitigate his suffering. Daniel can't help an amused hum. He begins rubbing a small circle on the tip of Rowan's nose, adding pressure to manipulate and squish the flesh under his finger.

"The effects of the compound can only reach so far. If we stimulate your nose enough, you might just be able to get a sneeze out," Daniel says thoughtfully, his eyes laser focused on Rowan's nose. He presses up on Rowan's nose and watches his nostrils flare frantically with every breath. "You'd like some relief, wouldn't you? We'll have to increase the discomfort before you can let it out, obviously, but it'll be worth it."

Rowan can only nod rapidly in response, the movement causing Daniel's thumb to rub and press against his irritated skin. Daniel's lips quirk up and he removes his hand from Rowan's face. He looks down at the tray again and takes a moment to scan his options. While he puts together a plan in his mind, he takes a vial of chinkni in his hand and absently holds it near Rowan's face.

"Here, sniff as much of this as you can," he instructs. He doesn't even have to look to know Rowan is eagerly following his instructions. He can hear the desperate little sniffs and feel the puffs of breath against his hand.

Once he can no longer feel Rowan's breath on his hand and he can hear his test subjects whines rise in pitch, Daniel sets the vial down and reaches for the feather again. He tips another vial on its side and sprinkles a layer of dust over the length of the feather, coating it entirely. He does the same with a pepper shaker, then lifts the feather to inspect it, making sure the entire thing is coated in the substances.

Daniel's eyes flick over to Rowan before he decides to start. Rowan has completely given up on sniffing back the tide of runny mucus in his nose, instead just letting it drip down his upper lip in a steady stream. Allergic tears are flowing non stop from his eyes and he looks like he might break at any moment. Daniel plucks a tissue from the small packet on his tray and uses it to wipe the clear mucus from the underside of Rowan's nose.

"If this doesn't make you sneeze, then I don't know what will." He tosses the tissue into a trash bin in the corner of the room, then brings the feather up to tease Rowan's nose once again.

The light tickling against the outside of his nostrils doesn't seem to do much of anything anymore. Rowan is too lost in the throes of his allergies to notice the light stimulation. Daniel hums shortly and begins inserting the tip of the feather into Rowan's nose. He doesn't stop, slowly pushing until every inch of Rowan's nostril is filled with the tickly plumes of the feather, coated in layers of dust and pepper. Immediately, he uses his fingers to twist the feather in a circle, dragging the instrument against the sensitive inner flesh of Rowan's nose.

Rowan gasps wetly and his nose twitches uncontrollably. The entire appendage seems to be quivering with anticipation of the release. His tears fall in thicker streams and his chest heaves with the frantic, rapid breaths he manages to pull in. Despite all of this, he tilts his head back to allow Daniel better access to his nostrils. He's so desperate to sneeze, he'd let Daniel do anything to him if it meant he could finally get relief.

But still, nothing seems to be happening. He whimpers as the tickle builds and builds, but nothing comes of it. Daniel slowly begins pulling the feather out of Rowan's nostril, the agonizing stimulation causing him to whine in protest. Once the feather is almost completely withdrawn, Daniel shoves it back in as far as it'll go. He repeats the process, quicker now, until he's thrusting the feather in and out of Rowan's desperate, trembling nose. With a quick flick of his wrist, he withdraws it completely, then wastes no time in inserting it fully into Rowan's other nostril to do it all again.

To Rowan's dismay, and to Daniel's enthusiastic interest, Rowan still can't seem to sneeze, no matter how helplessly allergic he gets. Daniel pulls the feather free, watching as a string of mucus connects the tip of it to Rowan's red, twitching nose. With his free hand, he plucks another tissue free and uses it to break the string and pinch the mess away from Rowan's nose.

"Still nothing? This compound is more effective than I thought." Daniel drops the soaking wet feather into the trash bin along with the tissue. He pulls a few more fresh tissues free and guides them into Rowan's hand. "Here, you're going to need these. I have a backup plan."

Rowan's hands tremble as they weakly grip the tissues. He doesn't use them yet, too preoccupied with hitching around several false starts. Daniel watches him for a moment; takes in the sight of his nose, which is bright red, irritated, and wriggling with a mind of its own. Rowan looks like the picture of allergic misery.

After allowing himself to indulge for a moment, he turns to pick up an unlabeled container resembling a sinus spray. He steps closer to Rowan. "This should completely counteract the effects of the compound. You need to be ready, because the effects will be nearly instantaneous. Are you ready?"

Rowan gives a small nod and Daniel nods as well. He lifts the nozzle of the small container to Rowan's nostril and presses it inside. The cold plastic makes Rowan's nostril flare.

"Get your tissues ready. As soon as I spray this, you'll need them." Daniel waits for Rowan to lift his hands, still clutching the tissues, then sprays a mist of the liquid directly into Rowan's nostril. He quickly pulls it away and steps back to allow Rowan a bit of space.

Rowan's face scrunches up at the feeling of a foreign liquid in his nose, but that only lasts for a moment. His sinuses are instantly filled with the tickle that has been building up this entire time. He clumsily lifts the tissues to his face but he doesn't even get them there before he's exploding into a wet, desperate sneeze.

"Haa'tISHhuhh!! Ha-ahh-! 'tISShhUH!!" The force of the sneezes has him jerking forward into the soft tissues. A shaky whimper of relief bubbles out of him.

"Bless you," Daniel supplies, knowing full well that Rowan is nowhere near done.

"I-ihhHH!! Hiih'tISCHHuh!! Ha'TSCHHh'tISHH'TSCHHuhh!!" Rowan can't drag in a single productive breath. Every inhale sends him into another fit of wildly desperate sneezing. "Hih'tishHh'tiSHhh'tSSCHHH! HaahH'tisHHUUHH! Ih'tSHUH! Hih'tshUH! Haa-ahhHH-!! HahHH'TSHUUh!"

Daniel stands a comfortable few feet away from Rowan and watches him dissolve into a helpless, desperate sneezing fit. After a moment of just watching, he reaches to take a few more tissues. He steps forward and gently takes Rowan's hands, swapping out the wet, used tissues with the dry, clean ones. He guides Rowan's hand back to his face, then disposes of the soiled tissues into the waste bin.

"Bless you," Daniel says again, his voice soft as he watches Rowan's attempts to soothe himself.

Rowan stutters through an attempt to speak, ultimately interrupting himself once again. "ThahhH- hih! Thahh'ank y-yo-ouhhH'tISCHHH! Ihhtshh'tiSHhuh! S-Sorhhuu'tiSHhhUH!" He gives up on it and instead buries his lower face completely into the tissues and gives himself over to the reaction. "IhhH'TIShhuHH! Haa'tshUH! Hihh'TSHhh'TISHHhh'TISCHHhuuhh!"

"Wow. Bless you," Daniel muses, a smile tugging the corners of his lips up. "You're a mess without your antihistamines, aren't you?"

Rowan cracks his eyes open to look at Daniel. He tries to shoot him a glare, but all he succeeds in doing is looking water eyed and miserable. He can't keep them open for long, either, because he starts sneezing again.

"Okay, okay," Daniel relents. He hands Rowan another bunch of fresh tissues, swapping them out for the used ones again and discarding them in the bin. "This has been really valuable information. I almost want to do a longer test to see if I can run the compound through its course. Another time, though."

"And… h-hh… hopefully a… Hihh'tSCHhuhH! Proper warning next time," Rowan requests.

"I can arrange that." Daniel smiles at him again before turning to pack up the cart.

#sneeze kink #snz #snzfucker #sneezeblr #snz kink #snzfic #sneezefic #oc fic #sync writes

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archivist-crow · 6 months ago

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On this day:

VOYNICH MANUSCRIPT: MOST MYSTERIOUS MANUSCRIPT IN THE WORLD

On August 19, 1666, the rector of Prague University sent a letter and a manuscript to one of his former students, the Jesuit scholar Athanasius Kircher. The manuscript had lain forgotten in the monastery library in Frascati, Italy, for 250 years. It was obtained by Wilfred Voynich in 1912 and went on to be dubbed "the Most Mysterious Manuscript in the World."

Christened the Voynich, the six-by-nine-inch parchment codex appears to be a straightforward book. It is, however, over two hundred pages written in a code or unknown language that has never been deciphered. The text is elaborately illustrated with colored drawings of unknown plants and the sun, moon, and stars. Depictions of tiny naked women also frolic over the pages.

First appearing in history in 1586, the book was purchased for a then-outrageous sum of 600 ducats by the Holy Roman emperor, Rudolf II of Bohemia. One of the most eccentric European monarchs of the era, Rudolf collected dwarfs, had a regiment of giants in his army, and entertained all manner of magicians and alchemists. It has been suggested that the Voynich manuscript is the work of Roger Bacon, a famous English monk and scientist, and that it made its way to Prague via John Dee, a famous occultist of the time.

From dating of the vellum, pigments, calligraphy, and drawings, the manuscript is judged to be from the late thirteenth century. It has been labeled as everything from an illustrated herbal, to an alchemical treatise written in code to protect the contents, to an elaborate hoax. Its contents are roughly thought to be divided into sections of astronomy/astrology, biology, cosmology, pharmaceuticals, and recipes. After Voynich's widow died, the manuscript was sold to a book dealer and then donated to Yale University.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

#on this day #august #voynich manuscript #books #codices

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sunsbleeding · 3 months ago

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The love of your life?

You enable me when it’s fun for you, (you wanna see angels as much as I do, you said it yourself). Don’t you remember the nights in LA, the world you convinced me we created. You hurt me, betrayed me, just like my last best friend, which is where the dagger has buried itself the deepest. I feel it between my lungs when I try and fall asleep, breathing doesn’t come easy when you are newly clean and kicked like a mutt… I know you used HER words on purpose, manipulation runs through your blood, more than oxygen and platelets. Contact a nurse.

When we are alone in a world we made up, two minds existing as a single cell organism; all neon lights and hand plucked music; laughter big enough to fill the whole sky with constellations… even if they are a bit confusing to decipher… You’re telling me that was all a hoax? I delete the pictures of us, I remove myself from the playlist (your taste is pedestrian at best anyways, other than the few songs the whole world knows are good. Who doesn’t like frank ocean, Lorde, and phoebe Bridgers. Do you even know another The Mountain Goats song???).

I refuse to play pretend anymore.

When I make a mistake you take me down a peg just because you can, when you remember you’re dealing with a problem not a person, then you treat me like yesterdays garbage; rotten putrid, you don’t even know where it came from (or pretend you don’t) in order to save face in front of girls you barely know. I’m glad you got your happily ever after, with the person you told me you were only staying with to get your birthday gifts, the girl who made you a cake that you immediately told me was ugly and not instagram worthy? and all I got was a hole shaped like a girl who I thought was every beautiful thing this stupid world had to offer. But I know girls like that, and they look nothing like you, they have a beauty that holds you like a mother’s arms.

The thing is, there are good people, you’re just not one of them, you want a free score because I have the money, so go ahead take my pharmaceuticals even though you have a fucking prescription and laugh at me when I fall.

Get an education, make something of yourself, do something with your miserable life, books about wizards are only gonna get you so far, and at least now I don’t have to pretend like that’s not embarrassing …

Real love comes, and I’m starting to get a taste for it, let me wash myself of this era, this liar “people pleaser” nonsense. I have room for friends with one face, Thomas, Joey, Bo, glo, joy, Morgan, and all the people I still get to meet. You have a lot of growing to do, but may we never pretend to share the same heart beat again, I pray for the next person that gets caught in your dirty fingers, god, I hope they find the sun.

#mine #text #rant/freeverse #for E #for evil #spilled thoughts #confessional poetry #very personal I’m sorry

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tacticiandrafts · 6 months ago

Text

THE CRUCIFIXION ; Nikolai Gogol, Fyodor Dostoevsky x fem!Reader

Part one / 5.2k words

SYNOPSIS . . . Your plans to lay low as a fugitive in the magical capital of Athlyne are spoiled upon meeting Nikolai, an eccentric conman. Interested in your powers, he introduces you to Fyodor, his charming and mysterious associate. You’ve stepped into his trap before you know it.

CW/TAGS . . . Dark fantasy setting, mentions of drug dependency and a corrupt government, reader is an anxious mess

P.S. ! HELLOOO EVERYNYAN! this is part one of a series (out of ~6 or 7, tentatively). i’m experiencing nikolai fever so i’m excited to continue letting him consume my mind :)

also posted on ao3 @ tactician!

As a light breeze drifted through the window and fanned your hot neck, your eyes fluttered shut. You let the pestle slip from your hand momentarily as you leaned against the counter, shivering as the sweat cooled. From behind you, Dr. Yosano chuckled.

“Letting the heat get to you?”

“Yeah, sorry. This is the last one, though.”

She peered over your shoulder and nodded approvingly as you finished crushing a mixture of ginkgo root and dried centipede. “Looks good.” Counting the bottles neatly tucked away on the shelf above you, she let out a low whistle. “You’re really on top of things today. I thought we’d be behind on orders.”

You grinned, dragging a forearm across your damp hairline. “I’ve got an errand to run, so I thought I might take my leave a bit early.”

She nodded approvingly. “That’s fine with me. Thanks for the hard work.”

You spent a few more minutes helping her box up the orders you had just made and finally straightened your aching back with a groan. A strong arm snaked around your shoulders and you shivered as Dr. Yosano smirked, a dark glint in her eye. “Are you sore? Why don’t you let me take a look, hm?”

A shiver traveled down your spine, and you doubted it had anything to do with the remnants of magical seeds you’d just been working with. You flailed a bit as you slipped from her tightening grip, bounding toward the door to pick up the satchel and parasol you’d thrown on the hook earlier that morning. “No thanks, I should get going. I’ll see you for dinner!” Her dramatic sigh drifted out behind you as the door swung open and closed, the humidity fully enveloping you.

The afternoon sun hung high, occasionally eclipsed by passing clouds. The summer air was thick as the pulp of a blood orange; you cowered under the parasol as you made your way down the street. Even the shade that canopied the area surrounding the apothecary could do little to relieve your discomfort as a damp film coated your skin.

Auguste Apothecary, the pride and joy of your boss, Akiko Yosano, was nestled by the side of a towering zelkova elm. The massive size of the tree made the building appear dwarfish and shoddy, but its regular customers hardly minded its outward appearance. Though the elite had their own pharmaceutical facilities closer to the palace and Auguste had a bit of a shady reputation, it was located smack dab in the middle of the largest residential district in the capital of Athlyne, so it had likely never experienced a shortage of customers from the day of its opening.

Dr. Yosano’s pool of patrons wasn’t huge by any means, but no one would dare visit another apothecary after walking into hers. Her knowledge of natural medicine was unmatched and her ingredients, supplied by a talented farming mage, were of the highest quality. Though, you probably would have stayed by her side even if she turned out to be an incompetent fraud. She was sharp and incredibly capable, this was true, but you thought that her kindness and discretion were her finest qualities by far. For that reason, you expected that no one was more loyal to her than you were.

You had run away from your hometown, located in a distant territory of Athlyne, at age fourteen. Fleeing to an adjacent province and finding work as an apothecary’s assistant in exchange for food and shelter, you lived with a constant knot of anxiety twisting in your stomach, wondering how many days of peace you had left until your family found you. That was, until the Meursault Post arrived on the shop’s doorstep, containing an advertisement for a position at one of the capital’s finest apothecaries with the promise of shelter and a decent salary. Athlyne’s capital was densely populated and located hundreds of miles away from your home—it was your best shot at a halfway normal life. Adrenaline running all the way to your toes, you traveled for two weeks on about half the rations you really needed for such a trip and eventually found yourself collapsed in Auguste’s entryway. In your starved and fearful state, you’d begged Dr. Yosano to take you in, listing every personal merit you could think of, and all she’d done was shrug. Sure, she said nonchalantly, come here and show me what you know. As it turned out, no one else had shown up regarding the position (she was a teenager, only a few years older than you, and everyone else had simply laughed in her face) so she would have hired you no matter what sort of impression you made. Regardless, you could feel simple appreciation and sympathetic care in her every action. After all, she never asked any questions. She had no interest in your origins, nor did she pry when she found you sprawled under the elm tree in the middle of the night, under eyes dark and knees bouncing. She helped you set up your living quarters in one of the cabins behind the building, helped you make dinner every night, and wordlessly prepared a steaming cup of jasmine tea each time you were hit with a bout of insomnia.

Hitching a ride on the back of a supply cart headed toward the lower market, you thought you might pick up a batch of sweets or a bottle of wine for her.

Your thoughts trailed off as the cart began to head downhill, passing through the open gates into the underground sector of the capital. The air became cooler the further in you went, and you let out a little sight of relief. The streets there were sprawling, narrow, and winding. It was easy to get lost and even easier to find yourself trapped for hours searching for the exit. Though it may have felt a bit claustrophobic, the lower market was far livelier and less sterile than the markets above ground. It was rare to find Count Bram’s police force wandering around there, so the atmosphere was energetic and relaxed, with a variety of talented performers and community-oriented business owners. On top of that, the usually tight regulations on magical powers and objects were far more lenient, so there were certain things you could only see or purchase there.

Dr. Yosano never spoke of it, so you didn’t dare ask, but rumor had it that the lower market was the territory of her former teacher and the previous owner of Auguste Apothecary. Little was known of the shadowy Dr. Mori, but stories often circulated of the scandal that drove him underground. It was said that the apothecary was burned to the ground by the military after numerous reports of malpractice leading to death. It was revealed that he was an unregistered mage, but his imbued medications were so powerful that Count Bram allowed him to run free in the lower market provided that he offered his services to the palace. Left in the ashes of a terrible disgrace, a still teen-aged Dr. Yosano received funding from an anonymous benefactor and rebuilt the apothecary herself. Now, she barely broached the topic of Dr. Mori, but she was outspoken in her disdain for the medications he produced.

Incidentally, these medications were the reason for your errand. If you followed certain whispers, you’d be able to find one of Dr. Mori’s subordinates selling suppressants, pills that blocked your magical ability. You felt guilty for keeping this from Dr. Yosano, but it couldn’t be helped. At the moment, suppressants were your lifeline. Though the apothecary’s ingredients were nothing to sneeze at, you hadn’t yet succeeded in making your own solution with anything close to the same efficacy. Dr. Mori’s methods to make such a medication remained a mystery.

Jumping off the cart, you weaved through the crowd. Cheers erupted as a man, likely a former member of the traveling Fitzgerald Circus, juggled fiery tennis balls with his bare hands. Going further downhill and turning onto several more backstreets, your eyes roved over the various shops, snoozing animals, and hollering people before arriving at the front of a small and unassuming tavern. Squeezing through the door, you passed through the low-lit hallway and ducked around the corner past the bar to find the back room. You swore under your breath as you approached the door. Low stock. Be back Monday. Sorry :). Reading the words, a deep frown crossed your face. You had run out days ago and hadn’t had the time to make the trip until today.

Cursing Dr. Mori’s subordinate until the end of time (count your days, Ichiyou Higuchi!), you turned back, ignoring the old bartender’s piercing, monocled stare. You would’ve stopped to play a game or two of chess with him as you usually did, but you were too absorbed in your current dilemma to give him much other than an apologetic smile and a wave. This situation was a first, but you guessed that you only had a few days before your power began coming back to you.

Suppressants were a double-edged sword. They helped unregistered mages live normal lives without having to serve in Count Bram’s court, police force, or military by erasing their abilities without a trace. Even if a tip sent the police knocking at your door, they’d find it impossible to tell whether you possessed abnormal powers or not. But dependency on suppressants was a lifelong struggle. There were no unwanted side effects, but they rendered users financially dependent on Dr. Mori’s underground trade forever. If you stopped taking them, your powers would return, for a short time more powerful and difficult to control than they had ever been. Of course Dr. Yosano didn’t approve: they were a bandaid of a solution to a larger problem that would only benefit one man in the end.

Mages were few and far between in Athlyne and its territories, but they were plentiful in the capital’s lower market due to Dr. Mori’s services. Whole families were killed serving in the military generations before you were born. Now, during Bram’s rule, mages were either from one of two families serving directly under the Count or they were the product of a mutation, the first of their kind in their family. Most members of the latter group did everything in their power to avoid being drafted, and that usually meant selling their livelihoods to afford a lasting supply of suppressants. The state of the nation at the hands of powerful figures was unforgivable, and Dr. Mori’s greed only worsened the struggles of the common people. But given your own circumstances, coexisting with your magic was unthinkable. Ridding yourself of that curse was the entire reason you started anew in the first place. So, like many others, you found yourself in an impossible dilemma.

In your restlessness, you must have made a wrong turn. When you finally broke out of your own head and took a look around, the surrounding streets were unfamiliar. You let out a slow and heavy sigh. Perhaps you’d wander and shop for a while before asking for directions.

At that moment, a hand slipped into your own. Your arm was lifted above your head with a flourish, and before you could react, you were spun around to face the man who’d grabbed you.

“Hello, my lost-looking lady!”

You blinked at him, trying to swallow down your instinctual panic. You didn’t expect to be left alone in your wandering knowing that the capital’s conmen were notoriously bothersome, but abruptly grabbing a stranger was like asking for a fist to the nose. …Gosh, though, your annoyance stuttered as your gaze traveled over his face. His radiant skin, mischievous smile, and glowing eyes almost distracted you from the scar running across his eye and the calluses littering the heel of his palm. Even these attributes were attractive, cutting through his forcibly high tone and boyish features. He was tall, with a long braid thrown over his broad shoulder… You huffed in an attempt to shoo these thoughts out of your head. As you stared up at him, numerous passersby peeked at the bizarre scene before turning their heads down and briskly walking away. It would be best to yank your hand back and continue on as though nothing had happened, much the same as everyone else.

“May I ask what you’re doing touching me?” And yet, you did the opposite. You couldn’t be blamed. He was very handsome.

“Allow me to explain. I couldn’t resist seeing a surprised look on a lovely face like yours! You see, I can tell you’re in need of excitement!”

“Ah, twenty words or less, please. I’m trying to decide if I should punch you or hear you out, you see.”

“Oh! I like you already! I have fifteen left now, right? Wait, no, I messed up! I’m running out!” He squealed as he let you go, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. You frowned, trying to hide the amusement beginning to mask your annoyance. Instead of responding, you placed a hand on your hip and raised a brow at him. The man dropped out of the cutesy pose he had been holding and took off his hat, bringing it to his chest in a polite gesture. His voice lowering, though still not without a teasing lilt, he began to explain. “My name is Nikolai and I’m a fortune teller!” He threw his hat up and gave you a spin, catching it as he faced you again. This time, he inched closer, eyes narrowing. “I sensed quite a turbulent energy as you passed by just now. In fact, I can tell how special you are! You can see your own destiny, can’t you? How exciting! Would you spare a moment for a reading?”

You shivered, tensing. Those words, a bit too close to the truth, felt far too pointed. And that look in his eyes—did he know you? Though this was undoubtedly a part of his routine, you couldn’t help the way his words triggered your deeply rooted paranoia. Perhaps he recognized you—but he couldn’t, you were so far from home, and the photos would be outdated by now…You were falling right into such an easily avoidable trap. Even so, with the threat of your magic looming over you, your judgment became impossible to trust. Dread pulled at your shoulders and fingertips, the thought of this man knowing something chilling your blood. You’d have to indulge him, just to be sure. Even if you were only being paranoid, your life was on the line here.

(There was no need to mention the small part of your mind that was bored and frustrated and very much wanted to hang out with a funny and attractive man, so long as you kept a tight hold on your wallet.)

“A reading…?” You tilted your head, coy.

“Yes, your fortune! My shop is just down the road, so what do you say? Will you place your future in my trusty hands?” His words were laced with so much mirth and mischief that you wondered if he was even taking himself seriously.

Hesitantly, you shrugged. “Fine. My plans for today have fallen through. Lead the way.”

Anyone who took such a tone with him was probably not likely to agree to follow him in the end. You could tell from his genuine look of surprise at your words, which quickly morphed into even greater mirth than before.

An infectious giggle rang through the air. He wasted no time invading your personal space again, hooking an arm around your elbow and starting to skip. You would have tripped and slammed your face into the ground if not for his surprising strength as he pulled you along. If you were anyone else, your suspicion might have eased up as you processed how ridiculous the two of you definitely looked, frolicking through the crowds like a couple of hearty drunk men.

He didn’t take you very far, making only a few turns (hopping all the way) before leading you down a slightly quieter street. There, you found yourself pushing through the door of what looked like a small library or bookstore. Clouds of dust puffed out as you moved through the space, ducking your head to squeeze past eerily low rafters toward a sitting room in the back. This was obviously not his shop (an old man greeted you when you walked in), and he probably rented this back room out for his hustles. Still, it looked surprisingly cozy, with an old armchair positioned near the entrance and a small walnut coffee table between two stools in the back. Nikolai had finally let go to allow you to navigate there without encountering any hazards, bewildering you a bit as he bounded through with almost impossible grace given his height. You took the chance to look around, wondering if you felt impressed or put off by his design choices. The creaky wooden boards were muted by numerous rugs scattered across the floor, an eclectic collection of oil lamps bathed the room in a low but warm yellow light, and a violently red porcelain tea set glittered on the table. Taking it all in, you sat down, playing with your hands for a moment as you watched Nikolai follow behind you.

A grey cat with barely-there stripes glanced up at him, squinting sleepily on the armchair. He patted its head as he passed, chirping in feline fashion as he met its eyes. The cat simply flopped to the side, curling its paws as its soft, fat stomach spilled over the cushion beneath it. He almost mirrored it in the way he plopped himself on the stool across from you, grinning.

Sweat began to gather at your temples. He continued staring at you without saying anything. The attention flustered you, so you averted your gaze to his hands. They were long and slender, and they had felt gentle, rough and warm in your hand—make up your mind! Are you scared or attracted to him?! “So…shall we?”

Nikolai nodded, gesturing widely to the cat. “Don’t mind my assistant, oka~y? She won’t spill your secrets, so don’t worry about a thing!”

“Yeah, sure,” you snorted. You were starting to regret everything from the moment you woke up that morning as you stared at the lounging cat, thinking you really needed to work on your impulse control, so you decided to turn your attention toward Nikolai as he shuffled a set of cards. You hadn’t seen him pull them out.

Now that you were sitting right in front of him, your eyes moved absently over him a few times.

He wore a long white tunic with ornate black embroidery traveling past the collar and circling the buttons down the front. His white pants were similarly intricate, the patterns disappearing where the wide legs were tucked neatly into his boots and the waist was fastened to his hips by a silky black sash. Strings of pearly beads and brightly colored tassels adorned him from head to toe: they hung from his neck, draped across his black fur cap, and swayed across his pants. The maximalist patterning and embellishing of his clothes wasn’t unusual for an entertainer, especially one who operated in the lower market. Showmanship was probably what paid the bills, after all. Still, there was something more to him that you couldn’t place hidden beneath the flashy gestures and showy words. Perhaps if anyone else wore those clothes, so fit for a clown, they’d be easier to avoid altogether. But Nikolai seemed scarily calculating for the second-rate, theatrical scammer he presented himself to be. Though he disguised it well, you still couldn’t shake off the feeling that he’d approached you for a reason. His words and his gaze were just too pointed. The thought startled you, and you averted your eyes again for fear of him noticing how blatantly you were checking him out. If he noticed, he made no indication if it, immersed in his own show.

“Ah! I see!” He gasped loudly, pulling a single card out from the stack and scrutinizing it before nodding dramatically. He held the card between his index and middle finger, shutting his eyes as though he was performing some sort of ritual. Then, he spun it around and let go of it, letting it flutter down in front of you.

A stranger in the capital using cards to tell the future was utterly laughable to you. Only the scattered descendants of the Chekhov family had the innate gift of foresight. Even if these cards themselves were magical, they had to have been imbued by a Royal Sorcerer of the Camus family, and artifacts made by a Camus were just about as hard to come by as the throne itself. Nikolai was obviously not a Chekhov, and he couldn’t possibly afford an artifact if he was performing cons in the lower market.

Nevertheless, the image that stared back at you froze your pulse.

You recognized The Lovers from your own handling of cards nearly a decade ago. This particular rendition featured two birds circling each other over an abyssal, grey sea. They were seagulls, and their coloring was a striking match to the one on the Chekhov family crest: an image you were intimately familiar with.

“Oh my!” Nikolai let out a high-pitched giggle. A horrible heat rose to your neck. “Now, for a quiz! Do you know what this card is telling us?” You opened your mouth, mind racing for an excuse, for a lie, or some other explanation. You couldn’t come up with anything, nor could you bring yourself to get up and run. Though, he barely gave you time to think about it because he didn’t wait for your answer. “We were destined to meet today, darling! This could mean only one thing.”

Your heart began to pound so frantically that you almost missed his next words.

“You and I are soulmates!” He threw himself forward to look even closer at you, his mouth curling into a scandalized grin.

“Um, what?” You couldn’t mask your confusion. Your head was spinning, the shock from what you expected him to say had rendered you dumb. To make matters worse, that most certainly was not what the card meant, and somehow his shoddy grasp of tarot was so funny to you that you shook with the effort it took to force yourself to stay serious.

“As you can see, this card here called out to me. The Lovers! The name says it all.” Though you should have played along the same way you had done this entire time, you forgot to react. He continued on, waving his hands in excitement. “We’re destined to be together! Yay!”

After a moment, you shook your head in disbelief, heaving out the breath you had been holding in. “Are you messing with me right now? You don’t even know what the cards mean.”

Even the offense he feigned held a trace of barely concealed humor. “Surely not! My assistant can sense it too!” You turned your gaze to the cat, who had rolled over to face away from Nikolai and his loud voice.

He was ridiculous. You suppressed a smile.

“You are messing with me. This is the worst scam ever. Even though I walked into it.” You started to stand, pouting facetiously.

His hands quickly found yours and he stared at you with an exaggerated, puppy-like sadness.

“My love!” The sadness quickly dissipated as he winked cheekily. “My services aren’t free, silly.”

The moment abruptly ruined, you recoiled. “What? …You’re serious?” He stuck his tongue out, sliding you a piece of paper (where did that come from?) across the table. You glared down at the beautifully inked, absolutely preposterous bill. A drawing of Nikolai’s face mocked you from beside the numbers. “What’s the point of this? I think you know I’ve never seen this much money in my life.” And I really thought we were flirting just now, even though I still kind of feel as though you might be plotting my downfall.

He nodded, snatching the piece of paper and crumpling it up. “Co~rrect!” He stood, pointing at you. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the conundrum! You’re in debt because of a scam, but you’re broke as a joke! Wait! Oops, forget I said that! Oh no, what should we do?!”

Your horror, amusement, and bashfulness having now faded slightly, your head was clear enough to observe him. He had a habit of rambling on like he was telling one long inside joke, pretending to get worked up while speaking fast enough to prevent you from getting a word in unless he wanted you to say something. His behavior was beginning to confirm your suspicions—you were convinced now that your original hunch was accurate. He wasn’t at all as dense as he made himself out to be, and he wasn’t just a scammer.

Still, you couldn’t understand him at all. Nikolai was putting on such an obvious show, one you’d seen many times in your curiosity surrounding the self-proclaimed fortune tellers of the lower market. But nothing about him was adding up. Why did he seek you out? How could his reading have exposed you so thoroughly, even though he had no knowledge of the cards’ true meanings? And if he approached you because he knew who you were, if he was trying to reel you in and sell you off to your family, what was the point of fooling around so obtusely, of making a scene outside? In the capital, your family name was synonymous with dirty money. He’d have more trouble on his hands than it was worth if he attracted too much attention.

All of that being said, he had drawn you in with alarming skill. You were curious. You wanted to run. You wanted more. Your head spun. Should you be running?

Only one thing was clear. He’d spent this time trying to confuse you because he wanted something. What could that be, though, if not the Chekhov family’s ransom money?

“A date!” Nikolai announced his wish before you had even a moment to ponder it.

Once again, he made you feel slow. The realization made you laugh. “A date with me?”

“A date with you!” He grabbed your hand and spun you around again, this time pulling a single red rose seemingly from thin air. He slipped it behind your ear with a ghostly soft touch and tapped your nose lightly before taking a step back.

“All of this was a ploy to…ask me out?” It wasn’t, but the joke relaxed you. You wished you could be naive, that you could trust that it was. He offered a knowing smile in return.

“Bin~go! You pass with flying colors!”

You laughed again, loudly, from deep in your stomach. “Great. You can have your date, so I’ll get going now, alright? Quit harassing me.” He took a step back, watching you from a distance now.

The smile that bloomed on his face was small enough to bewilder you again, to quiet your laughter. His eyes lost their mischievous shine as they softened, the clownish pitch disappearing from his voice when he spoke again. It was as if he was speaking to you for the first time. “Sure. Think of this as the start of another game. I’d like it if you entertained me just once more. I have a favor to ask of you, when we meet again.”

His genuine gaze was heart-stopping. It filled every inch of the distance he’d just put between the two of you. Dr. Yosano had taught you to be careful of the unpredictability of strangers in the capital, but your answer came easily.

“Alright. You can find me at Auguste Apothecary when you’re ready. I’ll pay you back. Promise.”

He said nothing, but his eyes narrowed again with his usual jovial pretense as he held the door open and watched you go.

Continuing on your way as though nothing had happened and your heart wasn’t seizing inside your chest, you found yourself buying a few bottles of wine in a stupor.

Nikolai was nothing if not confusing. How could a man you’d just met touch at your deepest anxieties with just a few cryptic words, sending your heart plummeting to your stomach, then eclipse every inch of fear simply by amusing you with a teasing look and a sharp laugh?

The confusion followed you all the way out of the cool underground air, through the oppressive summer humidity, and to the familiar silhouette of Auguste.

“Did you travel all that way just to get me some wine? Seriously?”

Dr. Yosano’s familiar voice unfurled your tangled thoughts. You turned to smile at her, embarrassed. “Not exactly. This was the only errand I was able to get done, though.”

She returned your smile with a bemused one of her own. “Sounds like things didn’t go your way today.” She grabbed two glasses and took your hand, wrapping your fingers around the stem of one. “There’s always tomorrow, though. Wanna drink to that?”

You huffed, silently judging her heavy-handed pour as she filled them both. “Sure. To a luckier tomorrow.”

As you took a sip, all the air left your lungs and the force of it nearly bowled you over. Everything around you seemed to disappear, your senses swept away in a vacuum. The image was clearer than any glimpse of the future you’d seen before taking suppressants: your hands, dripping red. Your nails, caked with dirt and blood. Nikolai, his expression obscured as he soaked in the shadows at the furthest corner of the room. A man you’d never met before sat in front of you, smirking. His black hair framed his pale, sullen face like a marble arch, cold to the touch. When he spoke, his words were quiet and soft. They hit you like thorns. You shook your head, angry, scared, and tearful. “It’s because I trust that both of us will be saved,” you retorted, and his smirk twisted.

When the vision ended, it was like a sheet being ripped from over your head. The back of Dr. Yosano’s hand was cooling your forehead and one of the glasses was shattered on the floor, staining everything red. Your fingers, your nails, both of your feet, her wool socks.

You leaned into her touch and thought about how to breathe again. You blinked away everything you had just seen, focusing only on the image of Nikolai, of his face, unreadable.

You were prepared this time. You repeated this like a mantra in your head, thinking of nothing else as the other woman helped you into bed, laying a cold towel over your head.

You can find me at Auguste Apothecary when you’re ready.

You kept blinking, but the shadows never left, never revealed his eyes.

Even as you recalled all the times you, yourself, weren’t ready, each time you failed at your duties, you kept repeating it. You were prepared. The vision faded, and the words shifted in your mind as you succumbed to sleep.

I’ll find you there soon. Are you ready?

The voice was soft. You bled when you touched it. The sound sent rats scurrying away, fleeing. Everything was cold, like black marble.

By the next evening, you remembered nothing of your dream and could only recall bits and pieces of the vision. Again, you cursed Ichiyou Higuchi, who had really done nothing wrong except for being absent when you needed her. Finally feeling the weight of a bag of suppressants in your hand, you felt you could face anything.

All you needed to do was wait for him to show up.

#nikolai x reader #nikolai gogol #bsd nikolai #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #fyodor x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd fanfic

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