#THEY ARE INTERTWINED SO MUCH MORE THAN I PREVIOUSLY BELIEVED

[sam-drakes-stupid-aviators]

Thinking about how they finished their mom's work in uc4. There's no more work for them to continue on in her name, because she had no more work written. They finally closed that book.

Cassandra Morgan is gone, and is now just a memory. It's been moved from the box of memories Nate can't bring himself to remember, to the wardrobe with all of the other closed adventures.

The only thing keft of Cassandra Morgan is the sons she left. Who have closed that booked and are now able to move on.

[ghostboneswrites2]

A Mess - Volume 2

Part 1

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Summary: Your early days in Alexandria with Daryl.

Warnings: injury, profanity, smut

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

        Alexandria was a hard place to get used to, and it was even harder to fit in. Not even a week in and punches had been thrown, lives had been lost, things previously swept under the rug coming to light.

       While you were thankful for the walls and the luxuries within, there was nothing you heard more dear to your heart than the peaceful nights you’d spent with Daryl since your arrival. 

        Once your group was split into two big houses, Daryl was able to lay claim to the basement in one of them, and of course that meant you’d stay there too. With your relationship in full blossom and no longer under wraps, there was no reason not to share a room.

        This particular night was one of the best so far. You’d spent most of the night fucking like rabbits, especially with access to hot running water. With bathed bodies, the possibilities and positions were endless. Nothing held you back from devouring each other like rabid beasts. 

        By the third round, though, you’d both become quite tired, yet still too wound up to sleep. So, you’d just lay there under the covers and chat. 

        “I still can’t believe Merle was your brother.” You said. “You two are so different.”

        “Yeah, well, we didn’t used to be. Used to be just as hot headed as him.” He recalled as his fingers wandered mindlessly through your hair. It was dark in your little basement now, with only the light of the moon casting through the small sliver of a window near the ceiling. 

        You propped your head up on your hand, fondly admiring your love. He fascinated you. He was always so multifaceted. 

        “Yeah. I could see it.” You smirked. He shot you a playful glare, not that you could see it so well in the dark. 

        Nights like those were hard to come by, and somehow always ended sooner than you’d like.

        He yawned and slapped a heavy hand over his face, running it down the length of his chin. 

        “Bout time we got some sleep.” He sighed. With a pout and a groan, you rolled over on your side and got comfortable. He did the same, facing the opposite direction of you, only touching by your intertwined feet at the foot of the bed. 

        Things just worked this way for a while. Until, of course, shit hit the fan, which it always seemed to do. 

        When the Wolves attacked, a lot of lives were lost within the community. Had it not been for you and Carol, it probably would have been a lot more. Despite your knack for surviving shitty situations, you didn’t escape this one unscathed. One of the Wolves you took to bat hadn’t gone down so easily. By the time it was all over, when Daryl found you after the chaos had died down, you had a machete lodged through your arm. It went through clean enough, just barely missing anything too important. You did lose a lot of blood, though, and your arm was out of commission for over a week.

         After you were all bandaged up at the infirmary, Daryl hovered over you like a cloud. Opening doors, fixing plates, tying shoes. There wasn’t a single thing he’d let you do on your own. 

        While it was sweet and chivalrous, it got old kind of fast. You hated being debilitated, and you hated being treated as such even more. 

        You figured at least a shower could be done alone and independently. You snuck off to the bathroom one afternoon and shut the door behind you, wriggling out of your clothes while the water heated up and steamed the room nicely. You took a deep breath and stepped in the hot stream, vowing to release all your frustrations as you bathed. You only had a little while longer to heal, and surely you could manage being babies for just a while longer before you snapped.

        While you were trying to find your zen and enjoy some much needed solitude, Daryl had crept in the bathroom to check in and offer help. He shoved the curtain to the side. You jumped and cursed at him; “Daryl, what the fuck?”

         “Shouldn’t be showerin’. Can’t get your bandage wet.” He said simply as he shut off the water. The absence of heat made you shiver. You crossed your working arm over your chest and clenched your jaw.

        “Daryl. I’m capable of bathing.” You seethed. He ignored your wrathful glare and switched the flow to the faucet before he plugged the drain and motioned for you to sit down. “No.” You pouted. 

        “C’mon. I’ll leave ya alone after the water fills.” He told you. Reluctantly you relented and sat down, back against the far end of the tub. 

        He sat on the side of the tub, hunched over, waiting for the water to fill so he could leave, as promised. For a while you just stared at him angrily. Why couldn’t he let you do anything on your own? He had never been so protective before. Sure, when the situation called for it, but now? It didn’t seem like such a threat to take a shower. All these things frustrated you, yet, a faint smile still rigged at the corner of your lips. 

        Here was a man who had a job, and surely better things to do, yet, every second of free time he had, he dedicated to making sure you were safe and comfortable and taken care of. Had suburban life changed him so much, so fast?

        “Wha’s that look for?” He finally asked, noticing your little smile.

        “Nothin���.” You shrugged innocently. He turned to you and glared.

        “Spit it out.” He demanded.

        “It’s just.. You’re so sweet sometimes. Even when it’s annoying.” You teased. 

        He turned the water off as it covered your body and stood up, staring down at you. His eyes wandered over your bare skin from head to toe.

        “Whatever. Jus’ don’t want ya gettin’ an infection or hurtin’ yourself any worse.” 

        “I can take care of myself, Daryl.” You sighed, shutting your eyes and sinking further into the warm bath while your injured arm remained above the water.

        “I know.” He relented. “But that don’t mean ya can’t be taken care of sometimes.”

        You opened your eyes again to find him still visually roaming over every dip and curve of your naked body. You smirked. 

        “Like what ya see?” You taunted in a sultry tone. He ran his tongue over his teeth.

        “Don’t get no ideas. Don’t wanna hurt ya.” He said, trying to shut you down before you got him going. It was too late, though, as your free hand had already begun to trail over your breasts and down between your thighs. He watched you for a bit as you teased yourself, his mouth just slightly agape. He often found himself wondering how he bagged such a fine damsel. 

        As you traced a finger up and down your slit, he sighed and gave in. He crouched down beside you and dunked his hand in the water.

        “Need some help?” He offered softly. You grinned and chewed on your bottom lip, pulling your hand back up to your breasts to make room for him.

         He wasted no time. His hand found your mound and teased little trails up and down our slit just to watch the way you absentmindedly squirmed for his touch. He always felt a little nervous or self conscious when things started to get heated between you two, but somehow your body language always brought him back down to earth. Your movements always reminded him how badly you wanted him.

        He slipped one finger inside you first, curving it and massaging while his thumb rubbed over your clit. You allowed tiny sounds to escape you, trying to be conscious of the others in the home who might be around to hear you.

        When the second finger joined the first, you gasped. Your hips moved around rhythmically as they reacted to the pace at which he massaged your sensitive walls. 

        “Still wanna take care o’ yourself?” He whispered. “Cause I can stop.”

        “No.” You whined. “Please.” 

        He smirked. Truth be told, your neediness was a much welcome contradiction to your irritation with him since you’d hurt your arm.

        “But I thought ya—“

         He went to keep teasing you but you cut him off again.

         “No. No. I don’t. I want this.” You rambled breathlessly as he built you up more and more. It was like there was a coil in your lower half, winding and winding up until it was so tight you couldn’t breath. 

        He could tell you were getting close so he kept his movements steady. 

        “Sshhh..” He cooed as your sounds got a little louder. You slapped your free hand over your mouth to muffle your voice as you began to teeter over the edge. Voices could be heard outside the bathroom door as the other dwellers of the house came upstairs and got ready for bed. He could just barely make out someone asking who was in the bathroom taking so long. “Y’almost done?” He whispered. You nodded quickly, hoping he’d take you all the way before someone came knocking. 

        Right on cue, your eyes practically bulged out of your head as you sucked in a sharp breath. Tremors quacked through you as you let out a shaky moan into your hand. The coil had snapped, and you hadn’t cum that hard in a while. 

        When your high has simmered back down, he gave you a moment to collect yourself before he was helping you up and drying you down. 

        “Must’ve needed that.” He smirked. “That attitude o’ yours was gettin’ kinda old.”

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Masterlist // Taglist

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

[dead-dolphins]

We need to talk about the changes on Mr. Senator.

Friends, you know how much I cherish this AU to the point of being meticulous with the plot (as I am with any fic, really). However, I need to discuss the changes I intend to make to Mr. Senator from the “Things You Need to Know About Mr. Senator AU” that I wrote previously.

But before I begin, let me share what I aim to capture with this fic. Ideally, I should demonstrate things by actually writing rather than explain my reasons, but I feel it’s necessary to clarify so you can grasp the essence of what this fic is about.

Mr. Senator is a fic where I want to portray a Mikasa who is deeply in love with a man she has admired from afar. This man, however, is significantly older and a politician, making her feel insignificant and afraid to approach him for fear of appearing foolish. This changes when she hears a rumour that he plans to marry for electoral gain, needing a wife to secure more votes. Mikasa can not bear the idea of him belonging to anyone else. The pain of seeing him with another would be unbearable, a wound too deep to heal. Driven by this fear and her overwhelming love, she resolves to do whatever it takes to make him notice her, even if it means trapping him. What I essentially envision is a shy yet determined Mikasa. Though she may seem naïve, she is ready to step into the light, determined to make Eren see her as a brave woman and a potential wife. Her complex feelings of love, admiration, fear, and determination intertwine with the recklessness of youth and passionate infatuation. Her youthful impulsiveness propels her forward, making her bold in ways she never imagined. I dare to say that it's a lot of passion for someone so young YET this passion is not just a fleeting crush but a deep-seated need to be seen, to be valued by the man she loves.

So, with that being said, here are some changes (I will not say them all, lol).

First and foremost, to dispel any doubt, I’ve decided that this fic will be told solely from one point of view, and that will, of course, be Mikasa’s. She is the heart of this story, and although you might be interested in Eren’s perspective, I believe Mikasa’s lens will provide the clearest understanding.

With Mikasa’s point of view as the central focus, certain elements, such as Eren being of low-born status, will be adjusted. Instead, I’ll portray him as a wealthy man. This change facilitates their interactions mean to their social class. However, he will remain an Ackerman protégé, and his wealth will not alter this aspect. How he will do that? Keep reading.

Previously, I mentioned that Mikasa has younger brothers, but now they will be younger sisters. So, Mikasa is an older sister of a family full of girls. This shift will impact her psyche, offering rich narrative potential that I can't fully detail at this moment (but the keyword for this is: daddy's issues or something of the sort).

Eren has an ex-girlfriend from their social circle who will be displeased to see the senator she once knew taking an interest in a little girl. Her resentment will play a role in the unfolding drama.

And yes, you read that correctly—senator! In the earlier sneak peek, Eren was merely a candidate, but now he is firmly established as a senator seeking re-election. His ambition stretches further, for he harbours aspirations of one day becoming PRESIDENT.

In this iteration, Mikasa's father is absent, and instead, the family is under the care of her uncle, none other than Kenny Ackerman. This dynamic is one I haven’t fully explored in my previous writings, so I felt it was time to delve into it. Consequently, Uncle Kenny will be a prominent figure in Mikasa’s life, leading to numerous clashes with Mikasa’s mother.

Speaking of Mikasa’s mother, she is a formidable woman, ahead of her time. However, Kenny often outmanoeuvres her at every turn. To survive in this challenging environment, Mikasa’s mother focuses on empowering her daughter, making Mikasa a key player in their family’s struggles (you shall see it later!)

Lastly, Mikasa will be twenty years old in this story, rather than eighteen. This decision ties directly into the dynamic I want to explore between Kenny, Mikasa and Mikasa's mother. In their society, women were expected to marry quickly, but Mikasa defied this norm, which will be a significant element in the narrative. The full implications of this choice will unfold as the story progresses.

Additionally, Eren will be 32 years old!

That’s all for now, folks! I’m thrilled to bring this fic to life, like, for real! It’s shaping up to be a long, single shot (unless I separate it) and I’m diving deep into research to make it unlike anything I’ve written before.

¡Estén atentos para algo realmente INCREÍBLE!! ! :D

[beenbaanbuun]

I have some thoughts and would like to share them. I’m out with some friends trying different flavors of bacardi and my mind is racing with thoughts apologies ik this is gonna be a mess

<<<<<<<<<<<<< min gi. >>>>>>>>> ✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰

he will be the main topic for my thoughts tonight. It’s just something about that man that makes me 🫠

thought # 1 to kick this off………. I just can’t get behind everyone who pants him as some overly subby man. 😗sorry not sorry, like have we seen this man? Now I don’t think he’s a hard dom by any means but, I just can’t picture this man a hard sub. I think he’d be a switch tbh bc you cannot tell me that this man won’t manhandle you and fuck the breaks off of you listening to some metal or r&b (depends on the day) 🙆🏽~~

& he’s literally a LEO man. LEOOOOO!!!…….L-E-O!! cmon now!!

I also feel like he’d want you in his lap all the time, & constantly pulling you onto it.

there is no other seat when you have his lap. 🤷

+ in a fan call a atiny asked him what inanimate object would he wanna be and he said a chair so they can rest comfortably 😭😩so you cannot tell me he wouldn’t!!

~~buttt I don’t necessarily fully disagree that he’s subby but not to such a degree.. you get what I’m saying? I just think people perceive him this way because of his dynamic with yunho. but🤷

OMGGG my favorite quality about him~~~ he is sooo loyal!!!! ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ like I 100% believe he wants to intertwine his soul with someone. he wants to be his partner everything because his partner will definitely without a doubt be his everything!!! once he finds his one it’s them and him FOREVAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!! he would give you the entire world if he could

I also can see him showing off his partner 25/8

and he’s so straightforward so I’m sure he will always make his intentions known. he will set the record straight and let the world know he is off the market. he is a taken man!! I mean you could give him two options and if you’re not one of the options he’ll make you one. 😩 his loyalty is unmatched and unwavering. Absolute complete devotion.

Omggg jealousy and possessiveness …

such a jealous man.

but he’s a softie so I don’t think intentionally making him jealous (by like let’s say flirting with another) would be a good thing I think it would make him have some doubt and feel down.. but he literally wants you all to himself. he wants ALL your attention, ALL your love, time etc As I previously said he wants to be your everything your number 1. your number one priority. he literally wants you to treat him better than anyone else. (definitely not saying he’s some crazy type and wants you not to talk to anyone besides him. just wants to be your priority. 😅

I kinda feel like he’s a thighs and ass man.…..

& he’s such a flirt as well like omg😩

I also kinda feel like he's superrr into praise lovesssss when you praise him and lovessss to praise you. Especially during sez “fuck feels so good Mingi…..” or “you fuck me so good/well” I can imagine would have him spiraling and will need you to cum for him asap and he'll get you there asap too

(I also also feel likes he’s a wild card so it’s hard to really say much but I have SOOOO much to say …😭)

Now Giving or receiving

also certified eater, firm believer he throughly enjoys eating tf out of you. will literally get off to just that. could do it for hours on end. Feel like he’d MUCHH rather go down on you than the other way around.

Aftercare I feel like it’ll consist of holding you to his chest or some type of position where you’re skin to skin and you’re rubbing your fingers through his hair

I have sooooooo many more in depth very thought out long thoughts but I don’t want to over do it and I just felt like sharing a piece of my thoughts tonight because this isn’t even the tip of them. even if it’s not all together 😅 I do prefer to be organized with my thoughts but Ima mess rn and a little tipsy so if you'd indulge me another day I’d love to come back and share more of my in depth hard thoughts with you but more put together when Im not intoxicated but Im really thinking about it so badly rn I can’t let go is my sub and dom thoughts I have so much to say but I suddenly also cannot hold my eyes open longer anymore so it’s about time I head home thank you for your time I love your work so much and yeah

IM GOING INSANE WTFFFFFF

okay so you are SO RIGHT about the manhandling. like what is the point of being so big if you’re not going to use it?? i’m not even talking just in bed though - we will got onto that later though - because he will manhandle you 24/7. the main thought that comes to mind is him placing his hands on your waist whenever he needs to scoot past you. like he doesn’t even say ‘excuse me’ or anything because why would he when he can just move you himself?? and you can’t tell me this man doesn’t just love picking you up and taking you places. who gives a fuck if you’re busy doing something? if this man wants cuddles then there is nothing stopping him from just scooping you up in his arms and taking you with him!!!

and the lap thing is >>>>>> you could be sat in an empty room and this man will be dragging you onto his lap even though every single other seat is free. and if you manage to escape his grasp and sit somewhere that isn’t his lap?? you best be prepared to deal with him sulking for literally HOURS!!!!! it’s cute tho so…

and as for manhandling you in bed, boy oh BOY!!! okay, so we both know this man loves giving head. this mf will literally d r a g you onto his face and pin you to it with his arms wrapped around your thighs and he will keep you there until he’s finished. you could be crying from the overstimulation, but unless you say the safeword, he won’t let up until he’s had enough. and then when he is finished, he’s flipping you over and fucking into you whilst pinning you to the mattress.

and to tie into the possessiveness thing, this man would fucking LOVE giving you hickeys. marking up your neck so prettily so everyone can see that you’re his. if it keeps other men at bay then it’s doing its job perfectly!! it means they know that you’re his…

also on the topic of both hickeys and his oral fixation that he 100% has, he definitely loves painting your thighs purple with his mouth… anyway!

youre so right about the praise thing too. no matter whether he’s domming or subbing, he will absolutely love to hear you tell him just how good he’s doing. it’s absolutely his motivation to keep going, not to mention it stops any insecurity he may be feeling and helps him understand exactly what you like.

literally immaculate thoughts!!!! i will be thinking about mingi for the foreseeable future…

[xoxoavenger]

Out Of The Woods

pairing: Derek Hale x Fem!Reader

summary: When you started crying, baby, I did too But when the sun came up, I was looking at you

word count: 2536

warnings: car crash, hospital visit, major character injury

1989 masterlist main masterlist

"So," Y/N's laying on Derek's couch, which is so much better than the one he had in the loft he had before he had moved away. "How long are you staying?" She had just helped him unpack his new house, and he was laying on the other side of the couch, their legs intertwined in the middle. She pretended that this was normal, but everyone already knew that Derek and Y/N had never been normal.

"For good." He had moved back because Cora didn't need him anymore and practically forced him back to Beacon Hills when more people kept leaving. Except the one girl that didn't know what was good for her; she's the reason Cora was so adamant and the reason Derek even agreed.

"At least this is better than your loft." That very girl tells him, bringing up her drink to her lips and smiling.

"Yeah," He gives a dry chuckle, and she just sighs.

"You didn't bring any pictures." She whispers looking around the small townhouse. He had brought few decorations, but the lack of pictures made it feel like a hotel room.

"I don't really have any." He tells her, taking a drink of his beer.

"That's so depressing." She rolls her eyes, sitting up. He frowns, which is just his usual face, honestly. What confuses her is when he stands, walking around. She stands as well, about to ask what he's looking for when he picks something up and walks back to her, holding it up with a small smile.

It's a camera.

"What are you doing?" She asks, heart filling with an unnamed emotion as he held the polaroid camera out, facing them.

"Decorating." He tells her, then closes his eyes and smiles. She's caught off guard when the flash goes off, and she instantly groans as she imagines how awful it's gonna look.

"Take another one!" She grabs his bicep and pulls, but he just shakes his head and holds the developing picture above his head so she can't grab it.

"I like this one." He tells her simply, but she just shakes her head as she reaches for it.

"You can't even see it!" She cries, reaching again but to no avail.

"Neither can you!" He tells her with a laugh, one that makes her momentarily forget what she had been fighting about. When she lets go of him, he brings the photo down. It's light contrast, barely developed, but when she looks at it, she actually thinks it's cute. She doesn't look completely insane like she had previously thought. Instead, she's halfway smiling as her turning blurs her body a little bit, creating an effect she likes.

"That's actually really nice." She tells him, and he just smiles.

"If only I had a frame." He tells her, moving to prop it on an end table near the hallway.

~

"I can't believe this is what it takes for everyone to get back together." Y/N mutters as she follows Derek through the trees behind his house. He doesn't say anything in return, which is fine because she's now breathing heavy from running for so long and so fast.

"Hold on," He stops running so quickly that when she tries to slow down she slides in the dirt. She pops up slowly and quietly, waiting for him to tell her what was going on. "They're in front of us." He whispers, looking up. This is a new threat they're fighting, some kind of vampire and witch pack that confuses the shit out of Stiles, even if he refuses to admit it.

"Where do we go?" Y/N asks, the racing of her heart now due to her being terrified. It's beating so fast and so violently it hurts, and she almost throws up until Derek grabs her hand.

"We can't outrun them." Even with Derek's super human abilities, the only way he'd be able to make it out himself would be if he chose his other form, which would leave Y/N behind. She can't run nearly as fast, or for as long.

"We should split up." She tells him. The look she gets as he snaps his head toward her makes her feel sick once more.

"Absolutely not." He grabs her wrist and pulls her along, dodging trees and branches. "We need a car."

She trips a couple times, and Derek catches her all but once. The last time she trips, they're close to a road, but the roots are still thick. As she goes down, her hand slips from Derek's grasp. A low branch cuts her neck, deeper than a scratch but not deep enough to bee too much of a problem. The problem comes when she falls and is unable to catch herself, her free hand twisting underneath her as the hand that Derek had been grabbing falls after her face hits the ground.

She's jarred for a second, her head feeling fuzzy. It comes to a point a couple seconds later when the world comes back into focus and the pain centers on her temple, right where she hit the hard root.

"Shit," Derek is freaking out now, because as if their natural scent and crashing through the woods wasn't enough, the fresh blood that's been spilled from not only the scratch but also now her head is sure to send a beacon of their location.

He pulls her up, having to drag her along as she had the wind knocked out of her. He feels bad, but he knows they're barely surviving by the skin of their teeth. He wishes he could call someone to help, but they had left in such a rush that neither of them grabbed their phones before everyone had split off in pairs.

He makes it to the street, then skirts around the trees to make it back to his house. Half the cars that had been on the street were gone, and he can't help but be thankful that he had left the Camaro in Beacon Hills and brought it back to his house. It'd go much faster than his SUV. Luckily, by the time they make it over, Y/N can run and the pack is still in the woods.

"Camaro." He tells her. They sprint ahead.

~

"Oh my God." Y/N's sneaking through Derek's stuff under the guise of unpacking, and while he knows what she's doing he's decided to let it happen because he doesn't have that much anyway.

"What'd you find?" He turns and asks her, and then he sees what she's holding up.

"Who'd you get this for?" She whispers, heart breaking only slightly. It seems Derek may have come back to Beacon Hills for a woman.

The necklace she has in her hand is beautiful, one that must've been picked for someone special and well as cost a fortune. She loves it, and she can't bear to look at it because it's just so beautiful and thoughtful.

"Uh," Derek isn't quite sure what to say. He had been planning on giving it to her eventually, but not this soon. He wasn't quite sure how to give it to her yet. "You."

"What?" She looks up at him, eyes wide and a smile playing on her lips. "But this, this," She isn't sure what to say, so Derek moves around her to take it, putting it around her neck.

"Do you like it?" He's nervous in a way he's never been before, but the look on her face and beating of her heart tells him everything he needs to know.

A couple minutes later they're out in the living room, deciding what to watch, when she jumps up.

"Why do we have to watch something?" She asks, smiling.

"What are we supposed to do instead?" Derek questions, looking at her quizzically.

"Dancing." She smirks, taking her phone out and playing some random song. He lets her pull him up but stays frowning.

"There's no room to dance." He tells her, and she just sighs. She drops his hand and pushes the coffee table to the side. "Still not enough."

"How much room do you need?" She laughs loudly, and he joins in softly. The song is still playing, so he grabs her hand and brings her close.

They come together slowly, both his arms going around her back. She puts on hand on his shoulder and the other over his heart, which makes his heart race. He moves one hand to cover her's, and she lets her head rest on his chest.

The two comfortably sway, both completely enthralled in the moment with soaring hearts and heads in the clouds.

~

"The door won't open!" She whisper-yells, terrified of the pack that has to be closing in. She pulls hard, barely noticing the tears running down her cheeks.

"Hold on," Derek is patting his pockets, but they both know that what he's looking for isn't there.

The keys are in the house.

They race to the front door, Derek breaking the handle in favor of getting in quickly. He grabs the keys from the bowl by the front door, thanking God that he's kept a neat house, and the two run out without bothering to shut the door; the knob doesn't work anyway.

When she gets back to the Camaro, the doors are already unlocked. She throws herself inside, barely locking the doors when she sees the red eyes from the woods.

"Oh God," She mutters, frozen in shock. "Derek, drive!" She shouts, shaking. Derek starts the Camaro and backs out of the driveway, scraping the bottom of the car without a care. The sharp gasp she gives when the creature begins to run from the trees startles Derek, but he doesn't show it.

"How many are there?" He asks, looking behind them for a moment as he accelerates down the street. It's late, too late for anyone to be out. When the pack had invaded in the first place, they had been getting ready to sleep anyway, their friends staying the night. The McCall pack had planned a small reunion, everyone coming back for a long weekend, and of course the monster pack had decided that night to attack.

"At least two," She mutters as she looks out to see more and more monsters coming at them from the shadows in the woods. "Oh my God, there's more." She can't even breathe now, and Derek looks back at the road for a split second to make sure he won't hit anything before swiveling his head once more.

"It's fine." He mutters, stepping on the gas. It's why he insisted on the Camaro, for a quick getaway. He keeps his eyes on the road as he accelerates quickly, and she keeps her eyes on the quickly gaining vampires. Just as Derek twists to see how close they are, Y/N turns to see the problem.

"Derek!" She screams, clutching the door.

~

When she wakes, she feels ill. She goes to grab her water bottle, but when she doesn't feel her bedside table she opens her eyes.

This is not her room.

Her head begins to pound, focused in a line that goes from her forehead down her face, even her lip is burning. She brings a hand up, realizing she can only see out of one eye, and touches bandages where the pain is concentrated.

"Hey," Scott mutters, and she turns to see him. He's on her bad side, which she realizes is due to the fact that it's bandaged over.

"What," She whispers, not able to talk later.

"There was an accident."

"Derek!" She screams, clutching the door. She's pressed back against her seat, not watching as Derek swivels to see the couple of vampires in the road, his eyes widening.

"Shit!" He yells, pressing the brake as hard as he possibly can. For a moment, everything stops, and she feels almost like she's flying.

She becomes acutely aware of the fact that she's not wearing a seatbelt.

"What happened?" She asks, struggling to sit up. In her struggle, she realizes that her arm is in a cast. Scott helps her, and she groans a bit. She's sore everywhere, although no where is near as bad as her face is.

"The Multus Pack attacked two nights ago." Her eyebrows raise at 'two nights,' however she realizes that moving the right side of her face is the worst idea in the history of mankind, so she refrains from wincing. "We all split up, and you ended up with Derek in the Camaro."

"Where is he?" She had thought that if she was ever in this situation, Derek might be the one to be waiting for her. Clearly she was wrong.

"He's been too afraid to come to the hospital." Scott mutters, clearly upset over this. "We already cleaned the glass from his cuts, and he's fine. We tried telling him that you'd want to see him, but he won't listen."

She's silent as gravity fails her, sending her through the windshield before she can put her arm up to stop it. Her arm ends up underneath her body as she skids across the hood. She then falls to the ground, luckily not on her head. Although it seems her head has already taken the brunt of the damage, having broken the windshield and caused a piece of glass to slice open a gnarly cut across the front of her face.

When she's on the ground, all she can think is that this can't be real. She doesn't feel much pain, just a lot of throbbing. Warm liquid is coating her face rapidly, contrasting to the cool of the rest of her body.

"Y/N!"

"I'd like to go back to sleep." She's lying, but she turns anyway, away from Scott.

"Sure, yeah. I'll leave." He sounds slightly sad, but she can't bring herself to care.

Derek wasn't here. He clearly doesn't care.

~

She wakes up as the sun rises, which is fine. She barely slept the prior night anyway, and she still has at least a day left in this hellhole. She had been given twenty stitches down her face, matching the gnarly bruise on her temple and the scab on her neck from the branch. She had scrapes and bruises all around her body, and she couldn't stand to look at herself.

She hears a shuffling to her right and jumps, turning to see Derek.

They stare at each other in silence, both with wide eyes and ruffled hair. Neither speaks, or even tries to speak, just breathing together.

"Derek," She whispers, and the tears start. Not just hers, also his. She reaches over despite the pain and grabs ahold of him, pulling him up and hugging him close.

"I'm so sorry." He tells her, afraid of holding on too tight. She is not as scared, holding him so tight that her hands are gripping his shirt.

"It's not your fault." She tells him, but it's clear he doesn't believe her. He is shaking with tears and emotion, and she's not much better.

"I have to go." He tells her, and as much as it pains her, she lets him.

Because the next day, when the sun rises and she turns in bed, Derek is there.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @mcueveryday

[nrdmssgs]

Spiraling 2

Masterlist Part 1

Very mild angst, this time with happy ending Pairing: Ghost x you TW: swearing, mentions of military operations, mild mentions of torturing (no detailed descriptions) Summary: You confess him and try to spare him of your feelings right away. But it is not needed.

"The problem is dealt with. I'll be staying here for a little longer. Staying frosty."

The only way, your message could ring more false is if you end it with an emoticon. But Ghost doesn't notice it, he never does. Ghost doesn't even answer on your message. And you know - It's for the best. This way, in a complete silence, it's so much easier to still love him, meeting no rejection.

You've tried so many times to end this for good: stop thinking about him, imagining, how would he react to something, you've just witnessed, stop worrying about him to the point of not being able to sleep or eat properly. Your last attempt was desperate and thoughtless: you came clean before him and dragged yourself as far as it was possible, hoping, that time could help you heal.

At first, you really felt better: new tasks, unfamiliar faces, a foreign country - all this filled the emptiness that you had previously guarded, like the apple of your eye, because only in this void Ghost was only yours. But in a pair of months you caught yourself making a photo of a sunset, as it was so mesmerizing, you thought, he would love it. And you understood: you didn't make any progress. The void was still there. Filling it was harder than filling a glass without a bottom. That's when you sent that fake message, bargaining for some more time.

When you finally came back - it took you all your strength to look calm. And in seemed, that Ghost believed you. You tried to grow a distance between you two. You believed, it would work as a shield from pain. It never did.

You both keep your masks on - only yours is not that obvious. Nobody can see, but your life now fits between short breaths.

Inhale: Ghost is standing outside, leaning against the wall of the barracks, you pass by.

Inhale: you and him are alone in the armory for a few minutes before someone else enters.

Inhale: Sunbeam touches his eyelashes for a second until he looks away.

In between these breaths you fit entire missions, sleepless nights at work, exhausting workouts. Your days are gradually intertwined into one endless thread.

But one day this thread stretches and trembles like a string. You two are alone, surrounded by enemies. Your hideout will be uncovered sooner or later - it's only a matter of time. You can't break through the enemy blockade from the inside: you've used up almost all your ammo. You frantically gut your magazines, trying to get more ammo for Ghost as he covers your trembling hands with his. He obviously got, what were you planing.

"No, we either make it out of here together, or not make it at all." His voice is stern, tone - peremptory.

You raise eyes on him, barely containing your rage. Bloody fool. I'm trying to bargain here for at least your life...

He puts a bunch of plastic clamps into your hand. "Tie me up. Bring `em Ghost and that might buy us time."

"Might?!" You were furious. For the first time in your life, you didn't believe your commander as he asked you to pay the highest price - his safety for a mere possibility of living till the moment the reinforcement reaches your destination. "No! No-no, we are not doing it, no..."

He cuts off your sporadic mumbling, cupping your cheeks and guiding your face towards him. Given, that Ghost barely touched not only you, but anyone - this gesture of his startles you. He wants, needs you to do it. "Look at me, soldier!" His fingers squeeze your face lightly. "Look at me and think of every time I failed you, every bit of pain I brought you. Then take a bloody clamp and tie me up. Now they'll probably beat me, maybe they get more creative, but if you happen to see or hear any of it - I want you to think only about problems I caused you. Is that clear?"

Your lips are quivering: maybe it's his rough voice, that pains you, maybe it's your helplessness in this situation, maybe it's his plan. But you do as he asks. The last thing, you want to do is to risk his life. But you were always such a good colleague, perfect squadmate. Maybe, it's time to play this part one more time, if it makes him happy.

You take a last look at him, before stepping out of your hideaway: a perfect bait, a true beast of man, restrained and humbly quiet under your gaze. You hate to see him so, deep inside you are screaming, begging for his mercy, pleading him to run. He takes a step closer and whispers one word in attempt to cheer you up.

"Showtime."

You feel as if you were thrown into ice water. With each next step, your arms and legs become numb. You do not remember how you led Ghost directly into the enemies' lair, how you yourself knocked him to the ground in front of them. "This dirtbag wouldn't see a lie even if it was written all over his fucking face." You wish, you'd forgotten those words leaving your lips, immediately, but you don't.

But the worst part is what follows: they beat him in front of you, they get creative, you witness everything. But his eyes never leave yours. And both masks: yours and his, stay on. The only thing, that helps you to endure through this torture is a sight of his hands, that were tied so badly, he can escape any minute now.

Showtime. This is so 'not Ghost', so out of character, he must just have heard it somewhere... Every time this word pops up in your mind, a lump rolls up in your throat. But you don't show it.

Beating, mockery, Ghosts barely audible hissing - everything is interrupted in an instant, when a suspicious crunch is heard in the thickets outside the window. "I did not send anyone to reconnaissance," says one of your captors. You look back at him and hold your breath. If your plan is revealed now, you and Ghost are as good as dead. You don't dare to look at the window and let others know, you wait for the attack.

Dead silence is interrupted by a terrible crack, with which Ghost rips loosened clamps and throws aside the chair to which he was tied. You do not have time to turn in his direction when he knocks you down at full speed, and throws you to the ground.

"Give me one reason to not strangle you right here, you scum," he growls into your face.

Dull, drawing pain flows from your skull along the spine to all the limbs. You are exhausted and lost. You look into his dark furious eyes and don't even understand, what is going on. But your mask cracks and slowly falls apart as pain, sorrow and insults leave your lips. You can't even control it, you spill everything: how you hate growing the emptiness inside you for someone, who never needed it, how tired are you of fighting yourself, how useless you feel, when you spend days resisting every your single urge.

By the time your tirade dries up, you've already forgotten how it started. You both are surrounded by deafening noises, and you can hardly shout it over.

“... I can’t deal with this problem. No matter how far I go from you, no matter how I bury myself in work, my problem catches up with me time after time! I can't do it, I can't!"

An explosion hoots muffledly somewhere deep in the building and Ghost instinctively covers your head with his hands. And only at that moment, you begin to realize what happened. He did not even think to kill you - on the contrary, he protected you, played for time and distracted your enemies from the reinforcements that arrived to help you. By knocking you to the floor, he only covered you from random shots.

At first, pure delight floods your mind. This is why Ghost is on another level: he controls the situation to the very end. But then you notice something: his eyes changed. There is no more cold distance in his gaze. Maybe you hit your head well, but you can swear, you see something under his mask - not the skull one, but his familiar demeanor. There is dismay, even panic there. The surrounding noise gradually subsides. Ghost looks around, and then his eyes meet yours again.

"I'm sorry." He says so quietly, you are not sure, you didn't imagine it.

On the way back, you feel his hand somewhere around constantly. Comforting, reassuring, guiding.

It's only in medbay where you lose his touch, as your mind drifts to sleep.

When you wake up - it's still dark outside. You blindly fumble your hand across the bedside table, hoping to stumble upon a glass of water. But you grope for something unusual - an envelope. Inside is a small sheet of thick paper with two phrases. With incredible difficulty, you find the angle at which the dim moonlight breaking through your window illuminates the leaf.

Familiar handwriting.

"It is not a problem. And never was."

[lou-struck]

Hot Tub and Heavy

Kotaro Bokuto x reader

25 Days of Ficmas Day 1

WC:1.1k

~ The two of you are spending the last night at your mountaintop resort in the comfort and privacy of your villa’s Hot Tub. 

Warnings: A bit suggestive but nothing too bad, lots of affection, touching, and kissing, alcohol use mentioned.

“I can’t believe we are doing this.” you giggle, securing your grip on your boyfriend’s calloused hand as he drags you across the stone balcony of the private mountaintop Villa that has been your home for the last few days. Your other hand holds the fluffy white towel against your swimsuit-clad body. 

“It’s gonna be great.” he laughs as a sparse flurry of snowflakes begins to fall from the darkened sky around you, landing on your bare shoulders as you run. You may be chilly, but the Villa’s private hot tub is steaming and ready to warm the two of you up in its bubbling waters. 

You’ve had a bit to drink tonight and thought it would be fun to spend your last night of vacation in the hot tub to watch the snowfall. He steps into the water first and holds out a strong arm for you to use as you step in. “Here, I don’t want you to slip.”

“Thank you,” you beam, soul, touched by his consideration as you toss your towel under one of the little tables to keep it protected from the elements and allow your chilly feet to enter the warm water. The two drastically different temperatures your body is experiencing is quite a strange sensation. 

Your lower half stings a bit as it grows accustomed to the dubbing water, while your previously freezing upper half is heated by the hot tub’s steam but is still cold to the touch. 

“You sigh in relaxation as you settle in and allow the jets to soothe your sore muscles from the last few days on the slopes. “This feels amazing, you hum, lolling your head to the side to rest on his muscular frame. 

“No kidding, this is what the doctor ordered.” he sighs before looking at you with puppy dog eyes. “What if we just stayed here forever?”

“I wish we could, Kou.” you hum, intertwining your fingers with his much larger ones. 

“Why can’t we?” he laughs, wiggling his thick gray eyebrows in a way he thinks is seductive. But it’s just adorable.

“We’d go broke. You laugh, knowing that this trip was a gift from the owner of his professional volleyball team and not something either of you could afford year-round. “Besides, any day with you feels like a vacation.”

“So true,” he laughs boisterously. “But I sure am glad I got to take you with me,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze. You turn your head to look at his face, and you can’t tell if the blush on his cheeks is from the cold air, warm water, or the three cups of boozy cocoa he had downed inside.

A blissful smile grows on your face as you squeeze it back. “Me too Kou, it’s been a perfect trip.”

“Better than perfect,” he says before bursting out laughing at a joke he hasn’t even told yet. “Could you imagine what it would’ve been like if I had to bring along Tsum Tsum instead of you?”

You laugh along with him, imagining the two large men awkwardly sharing the Villia’s lone kingsized bed. Kotaro Bokuto has always been a cuddler, so even if they started the night on opposite sides, your boyfriend would eventually make his way across the mattress in his sleep and curl up to the poor setter. “Honestly, I would be a bit jealous if Miya was your little spoon on this trip instead of me.”

This sends him into a fit of uncontrollable laughter as he processes your little quip. “There’s a reason why no one wants to share a bed with me on away trips.” 

“Their loss.” you tease, moving in close to him. The steam and snow creates an almost magical curtain around the two of you as your gaze drops from his golden gaze to his tempting lips. 

He smiles playfully as he leans in closer to you and, with the suave directness of a high schooler on a movie date, asks. “Wanna make out?”

Putting aside the great delivery of his request, you are more than happy to oblige. 

You lean forward, shifting your weight through the water until you are practically chest to chest. You take his lips greedily, tasting the hints of peppermint creme liquor on his lips. His strong arms hold you steady as he lifts you onto his lap to deepen the kiss.

You don’t register the brief pause in the snowfall as he steals the air from your lungs. But the time you pull away, you look at his pink cheeks and smile. But before you can go back under, you notice his hair.

His two-toned hair is frosted over from the unique conditions, and his strands are striking out wildly, encased in a layer of ice and snow. You pull back a bit to take a better look at his now-frosty tips.

“Wait, babe. Why are you smiling like that?” he asks. “Do I have something on my face?”

You laugh. “Kou, look at your hair, it’s wild.” 

He looks a bit confused until he spots his reflection in the dark window across from the hot tub. His face lights up in amusement as he feels his frozen strands crunch under the pressure from his hands. “Woah, check me out. I’m like an ice guy or something.”

“The cutest icy guy.” you giggle, wiggling off his lap, trying to peer around his broad frame to catch a glimpse of your own reflection. Your hair looks almost as wild as his, not a single strand in place. You pose and show off the wildstyle with goofy confidence. “So, do you like my new look?” 

“You’re so cute,” he gushes gently, toying with some heavy strands on top of your head. 

You can tell he wants to try and play with his hair some more, so you wiggle your way off his lap and sink back into the warm water so he can dunk his hair under again, eager to see how his unruly hair is restyled by nature’s cold wind.

“Woah, check me out now.” he gawks, watching as his hair begins to freeze in an upright position, overly dramatic yet very similar to the look he used to have in high school. “My hair looks crazy. Could you imagine what it would be like if my hair looked like this all the time?”

Once again, Kotaro Bokuto is completely missing the irony of his words. It’s one of the many things you love about him. 

Your smile is full of warmth as you play along.” Yes, that would be something.”

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[4getfulimaginator2022]

Fic Rec: Whatever May Come by @wildfire-1980

Canon Divergence AU, sequel to When Ice and Fire Collide. His indifference was nothing more than a bear’s subterfuge. A barrier to keep his heart in its frigid state of hibernation and nowhere near the heat of the dragon’s flame that had burned him previously before.

Author appreciation time: So excited to dive into this sequel headfirst! Our favorite couple is estranged. Jorah believes Daenerys toyed with his feelings and lied to him, while poor Daenerys has no idea what is going on, as much in love with him as ever. What will happen when their paths cross again? CHAOS. In the meantime, the observations of everyone around them make for tense dramatic irony. Canonlore is strong here, adding to the suspense and our anticipation! I can't wait to see how the story threads continue to intertwine. (Read on AO3) ❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

[dongfuck]

[ 23.47 ] — cry

“i swear i’ll only make you cry.”

his hands ran through your hair as a sorrowful smile broke through his lips. ‘one last time’ he’d said. you weren’t sure what he’d meant when he’d said it before but now, now that you both were in each other’s arms, taking in the way the moonlight beautifully lit up the other’s features making them look even more prominent than they already were, you knew exactly what he meant. it was the last time you’d be holding each other like this. the last time you’d see each other as lovers. you couldn’t help the tear that rolled down your cheek when you saw the memories you’d shared together in the reflection of his glistening eyes. you weren’t sobbing. you couldn’t. but when he took his thumb and used it to wipe the tear off of your bare face, there was no hiding how much you wanted this to last. how much you wanted him to stay with you forever. at times like this you think to yourself, why? why are you doing this? why are you letting him go if you still love him? do you still love him? your questions went unanswered and you wondered if he was the one who could answer them. if he had the same thoughts you did. “you don’t love me, y/n.” he said reassuringly with a soothing tone. but you weren’t one to believe. shaking your head side to side, the tears welling in your eyes started blurring your vision and you felt the need to wipe it off but you were completely numb. every effort you made to move or talk went to no avail and you were getting tired of constantly trying so you just ended up giving in. “hyuck…” you mouthed and although no sound could be heard, you felt like he could hear you clearly. he hummed softly in return with soft eyes as he caressed your face gently. “i don’t want this.” you finally managed to let out with the tiniest voice possible. you could see how he was slightly taken aback by this but it was quickly concealed when he replied with, “i’m sorry…” his gaze was then drifted to the sheets below you and his hand dropped from your face. “if we keep doing this… i’ll only make you cry even more. and i don’t want that.” you noticed how shaky his voice had gotten compared to previously but before you could even think of doing anything, he continued, “you don’t deserve someone like me. you gave me everything. more than i’ve ever needed but i still hurt you. and i’m sorry. but i can’t do this anymore.” his hands that were on the sheets found yours before he intertwined them tightly. “i wish that i’d been a better person. a better boyfriend. but it’s too late now isn’t it?” he chuckled expressionlessly and you wanted to hit him in the head so hard. just then, another tear fell from your eye and reached your chin where it dripped to your laced fingers. he raised his head before searching for stars in your eyes as he muttered the words he was hesitant of, “i’ll come back, okay?” he couldn’t be sure if he was actually going to but he knew those words were the only thing that would help you get over this. get over him. sniffling, you hoped what he’d said was true before you shakily told him, “i’ll wait for you.”.

yeeah i cried also plsss read this while playing cry by cas (if you already read it just read it again i promise you it hits different)

[shrekgogurt]

Well folks. I’m on my substitute teaching grind again this week! Scheduled each day up in hopes of getting some good writing done. I did on Monday! And then proceeded to finally start reading @ninemagicks Game/Set/Match yesterday and did that every bell so uhhhhhh. Today………..well ummmmm…..yeah today I worked on chapter graphics because I’m in big procrastination mode. I want to keep riding this wave of engagement (that sounds corporate gross) but I’m also very much in my head about delivering. I should probably channel this energy into writing the chapter since such pressure is Baz’s literal arc but uhhhhhhhh why do that when I could Simon avoid. I love being mentally well!

One might say I need to find my own bravado. (more under the cut)

lol the chapter title for 13 is bravado by lorde

ok anyway

“Work In Progress Wednesday” right? That means I can talk about the progress of every part of the process? Huh? Yeah? Are you gonna stop me? TRY! TRY TO STOP ME!

Aggression aside, let’s get into it.

As previously stated on Sunday, we find ourselves at intermission. But that’s just the theatrical way of slicing up the story. The fun thing about 24 chapters (I got rid of my originally planned intermission chapter because I didn’t want to write it anymore) is that math really loves the number 24. It’s scrumptious. Yummily divisible. Ergo, IKABIKAM also has/is/will be deliciously divided. Afterall, I do keep saying I’m cooking on it.

Now, to put @alexalexinii on blast (sorry for perceiving you), they wrote in the tags of a Chapter 12 reblog: #made me realise that this fic had proper arcs? And I grinned. I cackled. I rubbed my grubby little hands together at the top of my tower as I’ve been doing this whole time because oh ARCS???????? YOU WANT ARCS???????????? I’VE GOT ARCS LYING IN WAIT LIKE YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE. (I love overselling myself.)

Allow me to let you in on some of the building blocks thus far.

Chapters 1, 2, 3: a complicated reunion which is shaky but ultimately sets up

Chapters 4, 5, 6: developing the friendship which is a crucial foundation for

Chapters 7, 8, 9: the gay (Baz’s increasingly more external “hi i’m gay”, Simon’s internal “oh wait me too”) which then explodes into

Chapters 10, 11, 12: all that political parent stuff that’s been hinted at in passing which is BIG relevant and incredibly intertwined in this tangled up mess that leads into the work of….

You get it. They’re mini trilogies. Don’t ask me about dividing the chapters into groups of four because I didn’t have that in mind while writing. I like threes better. Always have. Absolute banger of a prime number.

If you for some reason want to read more about the structure, I write a little more about it in this wipsday from when I was procrastinating 9.

Now, @cutestkilla keeps telling me I’m at the downward slope now but honestly delivering on what I’ve set up scares the shit out of me WAY more than the grunt work. I’m uhhhhh yeah. This is why I’m chronically unable to finish projects but by GOD I will finish this one. I swear by it.

So here are three sentences. You get to guess from who and when.

Loving him comes as naturally as breathing. It’s intuitive when I’m not thinking. Or rather, when I’m not panicking.

If you want to follow along with all the songs I’m hyperfixating on as inspiration I’ve been sharing them over on the “shrogurt” instagram. There’s nothing I love more than talking way too much about this damn fic. Thanks for reading!

And thank you for the tags today: @nausikaaa @facewithoutheart @hushed-chorus @artsyunderstudy @prettygoododds @emeryhall

Now tagging: @brilla-brilla-estrellita @captain-aralias @dani-vc @ebbpettier @excalisbury @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @hagnoart @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @imagineacoolusername @ivelovedhimthroughworse @j-nipper-95 @larkral @letraspal @martsonmars @messofthejess @moodandmist @mooncello @nightimedreamersworld @onepintobean @palimpsessed @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @theearlgreymage @theimpossibledemon @thewholelemon @valeffelees @whogaveyoupermission @youarenevertooold @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[pastanest]

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @iamburdened - thanks so much!! ♡

Daryl Dixon x gender neutral!reader

Dating Daryl Dixon Would Include

- we been knew Daryl Dixon is a massive fucking virgin (listen aint nobody sayin he isnt capable of 👀 certain things 👀 but he gotta build up to it)

- so it’s no surprise that it takes him a WHILE. to do everything. ask you out, first hand hold, first kiss, everything

- but that honestly just makes everything all the more cute

- first time he reaches for your hand it’s on a run after you had a close call with a walker, Daryl had a moment of realisation, thinking he could’ve lost you just then, and how he could lose you any second. so you feel shaking fingers brush against yours as you walk beside him, you look to him and he isnt looking at you, he’s too nervous

- you intertwine your fingers with his and omg his heart SINGS the boy could CRY

- after that, Daryl progressed to kissing your hand. sometimes it’d be while he was driving and holding your hand, he’d just bring it to his lips as nonchalantly as he could manage. sometimes it was while the two of you were on watch standing beside each other, and then sometimes you were cuddling in bed and he’d get the sudden urge to kiss your hand

- cuddling was another thing. repeat after me: Daryl Dixon is a bitch for cuddles and that is on god

- cuddling felt more natural than any other method of affection, especially because cuddling often happened in bed, in the dark, so you couldnt see if he was blushing or not

- Daryl loved every aspect of you, the way you talked, the way you carried yourself, how good of a fighter you were, the way you smiled at him, how protective you were of him, and how much you loved him

- you also reminded him to shower in the sweetest ways possible, and you always made sure he got 3 meals a day when possible. you genuinely cared for him, he’d never had that before

- one of the many wonderful things about you was that you made your love for him so obvious

- you’d run up to him and very dramatically jump up and kiss his cheek, or straight up jump on him in front of everyone

- you’d beam at him every time you saw him, waving enthusiastically if he was far away, blowing kisses at him from a distance

- Daryl would never ever admit it, but every time you blow a kiss, he very discretely catches it and brings it to his chest in a closed fist. it’s a little ritual between you two

- he had never been so openly loved by anyone in his entire life. you loved him so wholeheartedly, so selflessly, so unconditionally. sometimes he struggled to believe you were real

- Daryl often finds himself watching you in awe, no matter what you‘re doing he is so completely mesmerised by you. sometimes Rick has to wave a hand in front of Daryl’s face to get him to stop staring at you

- obviously everyone else is fully aware of how smitten Daryl is with you, they sometimes tease him about it playfully, but most of the time they simply watch on with kind smiles

- Daryl is naturally protective of you, anytime you’ve been in danger he has been willing to sacrifice himself for you

- you’ve had to talk to him about that a few times and remind him that as sweet as that is, you would very much like him to prioritise his own life, because you love him very much

- kissing. his. forehead. y’know how when he’s emotional and he goes to hug someone he drops his head and buries his face in their shoulder? sometimes he hugs you like that for no particular reason at all, simply out of love, and you cradle him, then lift his head just enough to kiss his forehead

- even though you’re most likely shorter than him so he has to crouch down a lil, it’s still real cute

- it’s fair to say that whenever Daryl catches another guy flirting with you, or you tell him about some guy hitting on you and making you uncomfortable, Daryl goes full pacing-back-and-forth-in-a-semi-circle-with-a-silent-glare-ready-to-sWING-but-you-never-know-when

- he is truly adorable though. whenever he goes on a run without you (which is pretty rare, but sometimes you have things to do that keep you at home) he’ll bring you something. if he cant find you something in particular, he’ll settle for as many pretty flowers as he can possibly find

- sometimes he ends up having to stuff the flowers in his pockets because the group runs into some walkers or something, and he then has to present you a crumpled mess of flowers with a slightly embarrassed half-smile

- but every single time without fail, you light upat whatever he’s given you, and lean forward to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him passionately

- you keep every gift he’s ever given you, obviously. the flowers eventually wither and die, but you’ve got an impressive collection of dried flowers in a box beneath your bunk

- as for other gifts, he usually gives you useful things. he’s given you a bucket hat, sunglasses, a scarf, gloves, and any knives he finds

- but sometimes Daryl gives you the most random things ever, like this tiny ornament of an elephant, or a single plastic barbie doll shoe. he always says “saw this and thought of you” and sometimes you really do wonder how

- but whatever happens, ending everyday cuddled up together, whether it be in bed or under the stars, Daryl knows that he could not be happier, even in the zombie apocalypse

[rowdyhughesy]

In the moonlight - Q.Hughes

“ Love me now and love me well. It's your love I crave to know. Before I stand here buried in this unforgiving snow. Love me good, oh love me please. But I'm pleased to know you at all. “

- how to go to confession, Sabrina carpenter

Y/F/N = your full name

Instagram edit

Meeting Quinn was the day everything fell into place. The stars aligned and the world felt as if it stopped spinning. Everything paused.

He wasn’t the guy that catches everyone’s attention when he walks into a room, he isn’t the loudest in a group full of people.

He’s calm, collected and doesn’t go out of his way to meet new people. To put it simply he’s reserved.

But to you he was all of the things nobody else thought he was. His voice was the only one that you could hear when in a conversation with others, his presence the one you could feel from a mile away. Quinn was the addiction you never wanted to get clean from.

Whispering fears, hopes and dreams in the dark of your apartment bedroom hidden in the darkness consuming it’s four walls in the middle of the night. Limbs intertwined and shared kisses under the covers.

You can see the moon from behind the curtains drawn across your window, Quinn cuddled up against your side. Soft breaths fanning your neck from his parted lips. Long eyelashes brushing the top of his cheeks as he blinks in his sleeping state. You try to not stir him awake but the need to run your fingertips along his skin is what gets you. Carefully turning on your side so that you’re face to face with your sleeping boyfriend you lift your hand. The tip of your ring finger brush the bridge of his nose, following its curve before reaching his Cupid’s bow where it continues its path over his lips.

They’re plump albeit a little chapped from sleeping with his mouth open, a faint shade of pink. What startles you is when suddenly his lips kiss the tip of your finger. You freeze as Quinn blinks slowly before opening his eyes, a tired smile forming as he grabs your hand with the one he previously had around your waist. Intertwining your fingers he lets them rest on the pillow between your heads. “I’m sorry Quinny I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Your voice is low as if you’re still afraid of waking him up even if he’s already awake. “It’s fine baby. Why were you touching my face?”

Feeling your face heat up you try to avoid eye contact but Quinn softly moves your head back so that you’re looking at him. “I just wanted to touch you. It’s weird I know but I couldn’t resist.” A soft chuckle tumbles out of Quinn’s lips but not to mock you but because he can’t believe how adorable you are and why you decided that you wanted him. “You can touch me anytime you want.” Giving you a wink he presses a kiss to your forehead.

His comment enticing a laugh out of you. It’s moment like these you love him even more. When you get to see the charming funny guy that’s stored away for only those closest to him. Quinn sits up on his side so that he’s leaning on one of his arms, reaching forward he runs his free hand through your hair. “I’ve been thinking about something.” Peaking your interest you sit up so that you’re leaning toward him. “You’ve got me curious, do tell Mr Hughes.” Smiling Quinn reaches back opening one of the drawers of the nightstand.

He pulls out a white velvet box making your eyes go wide as saucers. “Quintin Jerome Hughes.” Stammering over your words Quinn just smiles back at you. He doesn’t look confident, more shy than anything else but he does not let that stop him as he opens the square shaped box.

It’s simple, a thin silver band with an oval shaped diamond in the middle and two small ones on each side of it. The light peeking in from outside catches it making it look even brighter and you feel the tears that are already running down your cheeks.

“Y/F/N, From the first time you kissed me after our third date on the stairs outside your apartment I knew I wanted you forever. I love how you don’t understand much about hockey but you’re always happy to hear about how practice went or go to my games. How even if it’s the middle of the night you’ll still stay up just to watch them on tv if I’m on a roadie. I love how you accepted this lifestyle without any hesitation, how you fit in with my family since you first met them. Most of all I love you. How you choose to love me back. Everyday I get to love you is a win in my book and I want to do that forever so will you marry me?”

Tears streaming down both of your cheeks you can’t even speak from the emotion coursing in your body. Settling for just grasping his cheeks in your palms and placing your lips against his for now. Pouring all the love you’re feeling into the kiss and you know that Quinn understands what you’re trying to say without you having to utter the words.

Both having to catch your breath you pull away but not far. Resting your foreheads against each other, Quinn has a large smile on his face when you get eye contact. “I love you so much Quinn. I’ll marry you in a heartbeat, yes. Yes I will marry you.” Slotting your lips together with his again after Quinn slides the ring onto your finger. It’s an unfamiliar feeling but it’s one you will happily live with forever if it means you get to marry Quinn Hughes.

[sam-glade]

Happy STS! Today I have a riddle: what comes first? The title or the story? 🤭 To expand, I'd love to hear the creation order of one (or several) of your stories. Did you think of characters first? Plot? World? What was the final piece?

Happy STS, Tori💜

That's a very good question🤔

I think it's usually the story, but more specifically a key element of a concept of it, which in my mind starts acting as a shorthand for 'that WIP', and more often than not evolves into the title. But even before that, the very first thing I come up with are a few locations that I really want to explore, so I start coming up with events that will take me to all the intriguing nooks and crannies. Since 4 out of 5 of my novel-sized projects are set in the same world, it's more about exploring an aspect of it than the world as a whole. For Days of Dusk, that's the countryside, then the city where the Army's Command is located, then the manors and palaces of the aristocracy.

As for particular stories, here's the list:

Gifts of Fate (DoD book 1) - the sequel to it was written first, and included mentions of the backstory, which was supposed to be a typical YA fantasy, but as I kept including more details, it grew more unique, until it didn't fit in the background, and stole the spotlight. So, the world and the characters were already very much developed. The title was the very last thing - I had the manuscript ready for beta readers, and only then I started brainstorming the title.

The Prince's Shadow (DoD book 2) - this story has lived in my head for 12+ years, so the beginnings are a bit fuzzy in my memory. The key thing is that it was previously titled Aftermath, because it was about the consequences of being a hero. I can't tell anymore what came first; it feels like the title and the concept were so intertwined. However, after I've written out the prequel (Gifts of Fate), I realised that the concept no longer works, so it was back to the drawing board with respect to the title.

Prodigal Children (DoD book 3) - I've written it a year or two after the first complete draft of Aftermath, as a continuation, still riding the momentum of the previous instalment, and I remember the title being there from the very beginning, and almost shoehorning the story to fit it. It also started as two independent short stories that were left as very rough drafts; the first of which became the first act (after some expanding), and the second the climax. Initially, the stories were meant to take place 50 or so years apart (bear in mind nigh-immortality in this setting), but as I started stitching them together, it became clear that if these two events are about a year apart, it puts so much delightful pressure on the characters.

The Truth Teller - it started with the concept of someone who's nigh-omniscient and simultaneously unable to lie, as in, the metaphysics won't let her say something objectively false, so the title followed very quickly. And of course to get the protagonist in trouble, I came up with the dystopian setting (DoD setting a few millennia later). The government would very much like to have access to a power like this, while the protag would go quite far to resist. I admit, this came up around the time I read Mistborn for the first time.

The Fulcrum - oh boy. That was definitely inspired by the Vivec city in The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind. I had this image of a city inhabited by a cult that believes itself to be the centre of the universe and is obsessed with order and control, not to upset the balance of the world, while in reality it's just one of the many larger than life locations. I also visited Korea around that time, and went to all the museums, which indirectly sparked my interest in pre-Medieval cultures. Then I wanted to write a travelogue to organise all of this worldbuilding. So, setting first, then probably the title - the holy city is called Lornai, which translates to 'fulcrum' or 'pivot', and in my mind I started using 'Lornai' and 'fulcrum' interchangeably to think of this setting/story. The story came later.

[aita-blorbos]

( canon character, but with my own personal take on said character's lore!! :D )

AITA for getting upset over a book and ending a hang out session early?

Hello. I am still rather new to social media, but one of my roommates has encouraged me to take this matter here so I may get unbiased opinions on it. For the record, I am genderless and present as such, so refer to me however you'd like. I am also technically thousands of years old, but physically I am only in my 40's or so.

Also, I have the feeling this post will be long, so my sincerest apologies in advance for that, but I believe the exposition is important for context.

This starts long, long ago. I was a knight back in my heyday, and a highly revered one at that. The people I was sworn to protect respected me greatly. I was involved in numerous battles, of which I prevailed in all of them. Of course, these fights were more for show than true battles.

And then, a horrible war broke out. Back then, the worlds of technology and magic were not as intertwined as they seem to be nowadays. A few rouge scientists stole trade secrets from the magicians, causing said war. I was firmly on the magicians' side, as they were my people. I simply couldn't abandon them in a time of need.

I fought countless battles, my men and I claiming victory in each one. I was regarded as a hero by the magicians.

Or, so I thought. One day, during yet another fight, I was sealed away in a crystal by some of my comrades. Looking back, I'm sure they were traitors.

I was stuck in that crystal for eons. The war was never resolved, from what I can gather. Most participants were simply... gone. As if they had never existed. The only time I was let out of the crystal, I was made to battle once more, this time with a knight of the current generation, MK. (Male, no idea how old he is. Around my physical age, I'd say? A little younger?)

MK won the battle, and I found myself in the vast darkness of space. Thankfully, I was rescued by one of my current roommates, M.(much like I, they have no preference in how they are referred to. 19 and a half. they made me specify.) M assisted me in getting to their home planet to heal, thank the stars, and I've since then made the planet my personal home.

Fast forward to now. I've made a few friends. M, as previously mentioned, is one of them, as well as a witch, G.(Non-binary, 32.) Both have since become my roommates. It's a long story. I've also properly made amends with MK. While we are not friends, we do occasionally hang out with one another.

One of these hang out sessions was at a local library. MK and I are both fans of literature, and we often accompany one another when we take trips to the library. That day's book selection from MK included a history book, specifically pertaining to stories about my time. I was admittedly a bit confused, as I was sitting right there, but I didn't see an issue with it as MK isn't one for conversation, at least with me.

Eventually, I let my curiosity get the better of me, and asked MK if I could see the book for a bit. He obliged, and I got to reading. And let me tell you, those stories made me out to be some kind of brute. The "greatest warrior in the galaxy" part was true, yes, but the rest of it was a complete fabrication! They made me sound like some kind of cold-blooded killer or something! It made it look as if the war had been one-sided. It was annoying, to put it lightly.

When I vented about this to MK, he stated that sometimes, history is simply wrong, and it is up to us to correct it. Of course, I agree with the sentiment, but this frustrated me more, so I left early. When I later brought it up to M and G, they had the same mindset.

I have since apologized to MK for my behavior during our day out. He has accepted my apology, but I still feel a bit bad for getting upset with him for something that is not even his fault.

So, am I the asshole here?

[neptoons1998]

Black Pearls

Previously

Summary: Okoye might like her break from the training center after all. Okoye and Attuma have a conversation. Attuma thinks Rhinos are whales.

A/N: Here you go!

Okoye could believe her eyes he was real. Her child's brain didn’t make him up, in order to process her parents' death. The once boy grew Okoye still had a couple of inches on him. His once short hair was slowly growing out reaching to his chin.

“Okoye,” Attuma’s voice was still light and airy as he looked at her. Attuma couldn’t believe his eyes his sun had come back to him. 

“So you did know how to say my name right,” Okoye joked. Attuma could only give her a slight chuckle, even though he didn’t know her language he could tell she said something funny. 

“What are you doing here?” Okoye asked moving forward with the conversation. Attuma looked at her once more as he tilted his head. Maybe I should try saying it in a different language, Okoye thought as she started to speak in French, Spanish, and Latin; with a quickness. Still, Attuma could only look at her. Okoye had one more trick in her sleeve if he didn't speak it then the young warrior would go back to the drawing board. Once her lips repeated the question again, Attuma was shocked, “You speak my language?”

Okoye gave a shy smile, “Somewhat, I’m still learning, so go easy on me.”

Attuma wasn’t sure what to say next. He was beyond grateful that he could finally understand her now, “I always came back here waiting for you.”

“You waited for me?” Okoye repeated. Attuma nodded as walked into the shallow side of the water his hair sticking to his body, “I won’t lie to you I felt foolish when you didn’t show up, but I continued coming here to the cove.”

Okoye as if she was put under a spell scooted herself closer to him, “I agree that was foolish someone could’ve hurt you.”

“A risk that I didn’t mind,” Attuma said as he continued to look at her. Attuma looked down at her wrist he placed his damp hand around, “You still have this?”

Okoye gave a small shrug as she look down at him, “You made it for me.”

Okoye didn’t want to go into detail about how this small bracelet gave the girl some peace during her grieving process of losing her family and being taken care of by her cold and distant uncle. That would be unfair to dump that on him. Attuma smiled at her. The only other person who like his jewelry-making was his mother, “I’ll make more you.” Attuma tried to undo the knot ties to Okoye’s wrist. Okoye quickly shook her head,” No, I like this one.”

“Really?” Attuma questioned. He knew he could do a much better job now, he gained more skills in jewelry making. Okoye nodded,” It’s perfect.”

Attuma nodded along with her not taking his hand around her wrist. Okoye looked at the entrance she could tell that the sun was about to set. She needs to hurry to the cottage,”I have to go.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” Attuma asked her as her hands were still intertwined with his. Okoye tried not to think too much about the young teen holding her hand, It’s probably a culture thing, she thought. Okoye would be lying that she didn't enjoy the thought of sitting on the ground enjoying the company. 

Okoye should enjoy the time she had with a close childhood friend before she goes back to the training center, plus it is way better than staying in the empty cottage or keeping up her appearance if she decides to go to the golden city. 

“Yes,” Okoye said before slipping away to go back to her uncle’s house. During any downtime, she would sneak off to see Attuma. In the grand scheme wasn’t that hard Okoye just lied to her uncle that she would be staying late in order to hone her skills, she could be the next great general if she was just lazing about. 

“What’s a Rhino?” Attuma asked as he continued to watch her. The pair were in the cove as Okoye gave Attuma a mango he could try. That’s one of her favorite thing about having him here. She didn’t have to play the overly stoic trainee, she could be herself before the accident. Okoye thought for a moment as she dipped her toes in the water, “They are big and they horn on their nose.”

“Like a whale?”

Okoye fluttered at the thought her favorite animal compares to a floating blubber, “Rhinos are more amazing than some whales. They are strong, yet gentle creatures.”

“They sound like a whale to me” Attuma recalled. “You should show me what they look like one day.” Okoye smiled at him, “Maybe.”

[hyper-fixates]

thank you so much for reading and taking the time to write such a sweet, kind reblog 😭 it was so fun to see your thoughts and reactions! <3

i’ll gladly answer your question about whether reader eventually sees logan’s past or not :)

to preface: when i was outlining everything, i initially had planned for reader to accept his energy on the 4th night after the panic attack to hopefully build on their emotional connection and have them “bond” more, but i quickly realized that it seemed way too out of place considering the implications of what just happened. it didn’t make sense to have them want to see logan’s past/trauma at that moment when i previously revealed the “catch” to their mutation:

“The person’s memories and past stay with you after you see them. It’s become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone else’s. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then it’s part of you. Forever.”

i couldn’t create/find a motivation to justify reader doing that after having them express how badly utilizing their mutation has traumatized them. it didn’t seem right or “ethical” to make reader (want to) suffer more and have logan be “okay” with it for the sake of…what, exactly? shock value? trauma bonding? it didn’t sit right with me and seemed lazy 😅

i couldn’t figure it out, especially when i had logan express how he didn’t want them to see anything during the 3rd night anyway, so i scrapped it along with any thoughts of having them see his past in the fic.

however, to answer your questions (i talk too much), i’m comfortable in saying that logan would never let reader use their powers on him, and reader would be okay with that. i don’t think he would ever forgive himself for letting them—someone he loves and cares for—technically inherit his trauma and memories when he himself has a hell of a time dealing with them. he doesn’t see the need for it.

of course, reader will always be curious about what they’d see if they did get a chance to look, but logan verbally sharing bits and pieces over time is enough to scratch that itch for them. they know it would do more harm than good, and it took them a long time to accept that fact when they’ve been able to just look in on anyone and anything wherever, whenever.

i think it would never really be discussed again after that 3rd night when logan says reader doesn’t “need to see that shit”. it’s more of a “silent” agreement that was made after everything (“everything” = whole fic lmao) that there will never be the possibility or discussion again of them seeing his past through the use of their mutation. logan will share the parts he wants to, when he wants, and not leave it all up to a limitless power that hurts his partner.

although i am the author and the “almighty force” over this fic, i still want readers to make whatever conclusions they want about their relationship (and how it progresses with the presence of an invasive mutation!). ambiguity is a truly beautiful thing when it comes to logan, i believe. so, i will always encourage readers to headcanon their little hearts away with whatever i write! :)

hopefully that was informative enough (but definitely way too rambly) and fills in some gaps for you <3 i really appreciate how much you cared for this story! i could probably talk about these absolute idiots and this fic forever…

Time After Time

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 15.2k never let me near him again

Tags/warnings: age-gap due to logan’s mutation (reader’s age not specified), mutant!reader, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, explicit language, dry humping, storm cameos, fluff, domesticity, the claws come out when he’s close (👁️👁️), detailed descriptions & scenes of nightmares/trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, one (1) ass smack, alcohol consumption, vomiting, biting/marking, angst, soft!logan, creampie, groping/touching, use of “baby” once, aftercare, yearning (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: 4 times you end up in Logan’s bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.

Notes: this falls somewhere in between “which could mean nothing” and “we can fix each other” 🫡 (written with a mix of X1 & X2 logan!)

Your heart, despite always being alive and beating, sometimes wakes up before you.

You can feel it before your eyes even have a chance to open. It jolts your sleep-ridden body and collapses your lungs without giving your brain a chance to fight against it. Muscles and limbs feel lifeless and detached from your body, shaking from the sleep that your heart knows wasn’t completely dreamless.

You kick the blankets off of yourself and sit up in a panic, trying to regain some control of your sudden erratic breaths while bringing a lethargic hand to your heaving chest in hopes to ground yourself. It never works.

Maybe your ribs are shrinking and squeezing your lungs, making you delirious from the lack of oxygen, but you know that’s not the case. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed and broken into a million tiny pieces.

No part of your body feels real, yet you keep your hand on your chest as firmly as you can, trying to focus on controlling the pounding of your heart that’s working so hard with each beat that it hurts. 

“Fuck. Fuck,” you choke out, feeling the tears finally breach and roll down your cheeks as your nervous system catches up to what’s happening.

 Panic. It’s all panic.

You can’t do anything but sit there and let the tears hit the freshly-washed fitted sheet on your bed. So you let it happen. Nothing can stop it.

Trauma is such a fickle thing. One moment you’re fine, and then the next, your heart is screaming at you and forcing your body to process something at 4 a.m. on a random Friday when all you wanted was some goddamn sleep.

There is no choice. Your mind doesn’t give you one.

The tremors subside slowly after a few minutes, giving you the feeling back to your arms and legs, albeit minimal.

You slide to sit at the edge of your bed, resting an elbow on your thigh and setting your chin into your palm with a defeated, yet shaky, huff. 

You look to your window and see that the sun hasn’t even started to rise yet. You’ll be up for the rest of the foreseeable morning, but there’s not much to do so early besides wander aimlessly and think…then think some more. 

You’re confident the professor isn’t even awake at this hour, which says enough about your state. You would typically go visit Storm for some comfort, but she’s been gone fuck-knows-where with Hank and Scott until Sunday at the latest. Thanks, Charles.

A questionable, and probably manic, decision comes to mind. One that’s only two doors down, one over from Storm.

Your impulsive feet make up your mind for you. The cold hardwood floor shocking you further into consciousness as if your heart didn’t do a good enough job.

You tiptoe a couple steps down the hall, forcing yourself to turn and face the large wooden door when you reach it. You just stand there staring at it, unknocking, analyzing the wood grains, suddenly very interested in what type of wood it is and what stain was used to—

“Uh. Are you okay?”

You refocus your eyes onto the man now standing in front of you in the doorway, adorning a barely-zipped school hoodie and black sweats.

“Huh?” You blink a few times, disoriented.

Logan quirks a brow, looking you up and down cautiously. “Are you okay?” He asks again, offering a look of concern—or maybe confusion—that you haven’t seen often. A look that’s never needed to be directed towards you.

You come back to yourself. “But—I…didn’t knock,” you respond, looking equally as confused as him as you point to the door. 

He leans against the edge of the door, face softening. “I could smell you before you passed Storm’s room,” he clarifies, a hint of reluctance in his tone. Oh. 

You feel like a child who has just gained awareness, all too conscious of your situation.

“You’re…awake?” Is all you manage despite probably needing to say much more than that to explain just why exactly you’re standing outside Logan’s room at 4 a.m.

“So are you,” he counters with a curious look. “So let me ask again. Are you okay?” He locks his eyes on yours, probably in hopes to understand why the fuck you’re outside his room at 4 a.m.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” you say, and it’s the truth. 

You should probably be embarrassed. You show up at Logan’s door unannounced, dressed in a flimsy shirt and matching sweats—thanks, Charles—that can’t fully hide the remaining quivers throughout your body.

Logan pulls his lips together at your admission. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure you out.

“Can’t sleep?” He questions, but he knows he’s right.

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you’re making it Logan’s problem, though. Sure, he happens to be awake, but maybe this is all too personal to push on the guy who’s seemingly all pride and no solicitude most of the time.

It’s not that he’s not a good, nice guy, but you don’t know how you would define your relationship, or lack of.

You know each other well enough from existing in the same space over the past couple months, being part of the same “team”, but it’s nothing to call a close friendship like you and Storm. He’s a bit of a rare species in the mansion, not really lingering around.

He cocks his head in a half shrug, the soft points in his hair broken by sleep shake gently with the movement.

“I don’t think I can help you,” he says wearily. “I’m no better. Clearly.” He gestures between you, drawing attention to the fact that you’re both awake. The helpless cannot help the helpless.

“Oh—no, I’m not looking for help. I think I’m beyond that at this point,” you laugh but stop yourself short when Logan doesn’t follow. Tough crowd.

“I, uh, don’t actually know what I’m looking for,” you offer.

You knit your brows together in thought, still wondering why the fuck you’re here. Comfort? Entertainment? Some other unknown third thing?

“I’m not really used to Storm being gone for so long,” you admit. “I just feel…all over the place, I guess.”

Logan considers your vulnerability for a beat, eyes flicking to yours. “I can hear you sometimes,” he says, a knowing—almost sympathetic—look on his face. “We have the same problem.”

You go cold, any expression you had on your face sliding away. You wish the floor could swallow you right now. You know things have been getting worse recently, but you didn’t think anyone could hear that fact. Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise from someone who could smell you from down the hallway.

He steps back, pulling his door open further. An invitation.

You don’t move right away. Could this be a false awakening? You’re not sure what you expected when you came to his door, but you also didn’t expect him to open it without you knocking, so you have to suspend disbelief for now. You figured he’d offer a few words of advice and dismiss you, or maybe even tell you to fuck off, but he opened his door wider for you. But you didn’t exactly think any of it through in the first place anyway.

You force your feet to carry you into Logan’s room. It’s not much different from yours; scarce belongings, minimal decor, a small work desk, brown curtains that are drawn back, and a bed. 

“Were you, uh…sleeping before I came?” You sit on the unmade bed, nothing noticeably different from it compared to yours.

He shuts the door quietly, moving to the small desk across the room and filing some scattered papers together neatly.

“Trying to,” he says, keeping his gaze on the desk.

Fucking duh. “Sorry if I disturbed you,” you wince to yourself. 

You see him briefly shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I had to get up anyway.” His voice is still gravelly from sleep.

It feels like you’re invading his space. But he invited you in. How many others have had the opportunity to be in here? Probably too many. There’s nothing to make this special.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” you sigh, flopping back on his bed defeated. Simply overwhelmed with the uncontrollable repercussions of your mutation.

“Try to sleep. If you want,” he offers, moving to the edge of the bed. “It’s easier said than done, but I have to meet with Charles in an hour.” It’s gruff, but he’s sincere.  

Maybe the professor is awake after all.

You roll your head to the side to look at him. Was he really offering for you to stay in his bed?

“Oh, wow…uh, sure.” It comes off as more of a question, but he quirks his brows in acknowledgment, turning back to the desk and collecting a handful of other miscellaneous papers.

“I have to head downstairs and take care of some things. Stay as long as you need,” he says, zipping his sweater the rest of the way up. Thank God in heaven.

A shy “thanks” is all you manage as you situate yourself on the bed.

Is this fucking weird? You could name a handful of others in the mansion right this second that would kill without hesitation to be where you are. They’d probably kill you specifically to get it. It’s not much of a secret that Logan is the subject of almost all students’ desires. He knows it, too. 

“See you later,” he adds, his lips forming the slightest hint of a caring smile as he sees himself out. You throw one back before the door clicks shut.

Should you be offended that he didn’t stay? That he left so quickly? No, no, he can’t. He couldn’t. Charles is expecting him. The timing is just horrid. But now you’re just…alone…in Logan’s room, expected to sleep because of a random act of kindness in his heart.

Lying in his bed instead of yours is an odd sensation. The sheets and mattress are exactly the same, the pillows are just as fluffy, yet it feels unalike. 

You flop your head on his pillow, tugging the blankets up to your chin. Your fingers graze something by your hip as you settle in, making you push the blanket back down. Leaning over, you see three puncture marks in the mattress, fraying the bedsheet material into feather-soft strands around the deep holes.

Your eyes widen, remembering his words before he invited you in: “We have the same problem.”

Part of your heart fractures for the second time today. Your eyes cross over to the other side of you, seeing a matching set of holes just below the pillow. It’s suddenly easy to understand why no one besides him has been seen coming and going from this room in a while. One day, things just seemed to change. 

Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you.

Even the Wolverine isn’t an exception. 

━━━━ ● ━━━━

The gold liquid is gone from the glass as quickly as it was poured.

Your throat clenches and protests the swallow as you try to suppress the urge to gag. You gently set the shot glass back on the counter, watching Storm chase with a piece of lime that does nothing to help the puckered face she makes from the tequila. 

“No more, no more. I can’t.” Your arms anchor you to the counter to stop yourself from swaying too much.

Storm nods, still fighting off the sourness with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. You giggle at her when she quickly screws the cap back on the bottle, sliding it out of reach.

“You’re a bad influence,” she scolds as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“No—I’m under the influence,” you counter, a playful smile on your lips. “There’s a difference. You still have your own free will.”

Storm rolls her eyes so hard you only see the whites of them. “We have training tomorrow,” she slurs. “Charles will not be happy if we show up half-conscious.” She rounds the counter to you, grabbing your shoulders for stability, and you do the same.

“He’ll be lucky if we show up at all,” you mumble. 

The dim kitchen lighting embraces the two of you, the rest of the mansion blanketed in darkness with everyone fast asleep—like you both should be.

You close your eyes with a roll of your neck, more giggles falling through your lips as you clumsily grab onto Storm and rock and sway together for a moment, the alcohol quickly catching up to your motor skills. It feels like you’re spinning through time and space, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking euphoric. At this rate, neither of you will be able to make it back to your rooms.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You lose a bit of your balance as you try to find the resonant voice, eyes shooting open. Storm unintentionally startles and stumbles away from you, white hair also jumping from the excitement.

You grab onto the counter again, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t do that,” you growl through your teeth, a hand on your chest as you try to calm yourself.

“Don’t do what? Come to the shared kitchen to grab a drink?” Logan huffs a laugh, an amused smile creeps to his lips as he takes in your drunk and shaken state from the entryway.

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this place?” He mumbles to himself.

“And with that, I’m done for the night,” Storm chuckles, fixing her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her eyes lock intensely on yours, index finger firmly poking the middle of your chest to make her point for you to show up to training very clear.

“See you, Logan,” she dismisses, stumbling as she passes him.

Logan shakes his head, still smiling. He steps to the fridge, opening the double doors and plucking a bottle of soda from the bottom shelf. No alcohol is readily available in the communal fridge because, after all, you’re all in a school full of kids, so Storm had to get creative; Scott will be missing a rather large bottle from the now not-so-secret stash in his room.

As the alcohol continues to settle in you, you feel more and more lightheaded as it brings you to a new level of euphoria again. You only know this because watching Logan pop the cap of his drink with mindless ease feels a little more exciting than it would be if you were sober. But you’re not sober, and that’s the problem.

“Not gonna follow Storm?” He asks, taking a generous sip from the bottle as he casually places his free hand on the counter to lean on across from you.

A tight smile forms, mostly to yourself. “I don’t think I can make it down the hall,” you laugh in embarrassment. Maybe that last shot was one too many, and it’s not even fully done working its magic yet.

Logan raises a brow. “Want some help?” There’s no judgement in his tone like you expect. Then again, you don’t know what the fuck to expect from him.

Your already half-closed eyes, blurry and unfocused, meet his hazel ones in interest. Another favour?

It’s been two weeks since he let you sleep off the nightmares in his bed. Two weeks since you learned he’s burdened with them, too. You traced the holes in the mattress over and over before you eventually fell asleep, wondering what—or who—could have hurt him so badly. He plays it off cool; you wouldn’t suspect anything from talking to him. The same could probably be said about you.

“I didn’t know wolverine’s were chivalrous,” you tease.

The yellow hue of the lights dance over the quaffed points in his hair, making them appear sharper than usual. You would never admit it, especially to him, but you adore them. They give him an absurd amount of character that you’d expect a guy like him to not care about. 

You’re not exactly complaining about the fitting grey tank-top he has on either.

“Not overly,” he plays along, taking another mouthful of the fizzy drink. “I like to think I’m special,” he says quieter.

“Maybe you are,” you say as you try and straighten yourself to see if you can stand unassisted.

The world tilts as you stand to your full height, eyes rolling into your head from the wave of dizziness. “Wow, okay,” you say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the spinning. How many shots did you have again?

A warm hand presses between your shoulders. “Woah, nice and easy. Nice and easy.” Logan appears by your side to steady you, other hand grabbing your elbow to pull you straight. You wobble in his grip, letting him guide your useless, alcohol-ridden body.

His hand on your back rubs a few small, comforting circles as you work to regain your bearings. He watches your expressions intently, looking for the right moment to get you moving back to your room safe and sound.

Your arm crosses over your body out of instinct to grab the hand he has on your elbow for extra support.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He seems to ask you that a lot.

You lean into him, your shoulder to his chest, and you can feel the blackout creeping up on you like humidity from a thunderstorm—it’s usually too late to do anything once you notice it. 

“I drank a lot,” you laugh deeply, rolling your head onto his shoulder to look up at him.

He looks so much more delicate under the ambient lights—his usual defined features have shifted and melted him into someone that doesn’t look like they should be a feared animal out in the world.

Logan all but cradles you, that same look of concern crossing his features from the night you went to his door. The only difference is that you’ve had a generous amount of tequila—and are currently being kept alert by the hot touch of his hands. That’s new.

“Can you walk?” He holds your squinty eye contact, probably searching for any signs of a coherent thought behind the blissful expression on your face. “Or will I have to carry you?” He muses, a hint of a smile crosses his lips as his hand moves up to gently rub over your shoulders. 

Drunk you likes the sound of anything relating to Logan keeping his hands on you right now. You wonder what sober you would think.

“I’m not gonna tell you no, but it feels like I’m floating in a bubble that won’t stop spinning,” you hum as you let the sensation consume your senses. “I might fly away.” You dip your head back off of his shoulder in amusement as you laugh again. 

“Yeah, you’re fucked up,” he mumbles lovingly. Just like anyone else who’s concerned for your well-being would. 

“Hey, kitty cat—I’m perfectly buzzed,” you emphasize the teasing nickname, narrowing your eyes at him sternly as you bring your gaze back to his in defence.

“‘Kitty cat’? Really?” He snorts. “I think you’re past your bedtime by three drinks,” he remarks back with equal levity.

“Then take me to bed if you’re so concerned,” you sigh dramatically, going limp in his arms to make your point. 

Truthfully, you’re probably past your bedtime by five shots. But he doesn’t need to know that. You just know that you can’t control your limbs like you were able to ten minutes ago.

“Maybe I will.” You don’t see it, but he does his quick little eye roll that you’ve seen pointed towards Scott too many times. 

He slides the hand on your elbow down to the backs of your knees, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest as you fall into the arm that was rubbing your back. 

Oh, so it’s gonna be like that. 

An excited—or maybe shocked—noise escapes your mouth as he adjusts you in his arms. You extend your right arm up and over his shoulder to hug his neck and keep yourself stable.

The trip to your room isn’t one that should take long, but each sway from Logan’s steps goes straight to your stomach in waves of queasiness. It feels like forever before you feel him bend awkwardly to turn your doorknob.

You’re fighting to keep yourself conscious the entire time, not wanting to regret missing the feeling of being in his arms.

The room is only lit by the silver moonlight creeping through the window. It’s hard to distinguish anything through your bleary eyes besides Logan’s look of determination to get you in your bed.

He leans down, shuffling you out of his arms and onto the mattress as swiftly as possible. The care of it all pokes at your heart. 

He silently goes around each corner of the bed adjusting the blankets. It may be dark, but the moonlight highlights the peaks of his shoulders as he moves. Your eyes might be involuntarily half-shut, but that doesn’t stop you from staring.

You’re now probably no better than every other mutant in this school.

“Logan,” you start before you can fully process the foolish thing you’re about to say next.

He rounds the bed back to the side you’re huddled on, looking down on you. “Yeah?” The subtle jingle of his dog tag pierces the quiet that’s lingering in the room.

You part your lips to speak but the words die in your throat. They’re replaced by a flood of saliva that has you sitting up at a speed that shouldn’t be possible for someone as intoxicated as you. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling your stomach churning and finally rejecting the tequila. 

You suddenly feel very awake.

“Hey, hey.” Logan squats down in front of you with his already permanently-furrowed brows pinched closer together than you’ve ever seen before, a hand coming to your shoulder in concern. “What—”

“Bathroom,” you mumble through your palm, eyes rolling shut at the nausea. 

He doesn’t say another word. He pulls you to your feet by your arms, walking behind you fiercely with his hands gripping your shoulders to guide you to the small bathroom across the room.  

You push the door open, falling to your knees in the darkness over the toilet as the mistakes from the night expel themselves from your body through rounds of coughing and gagging. He lingers in the doorway, keeping an eye on you but still giving you privacy.

“Fuck,” you cough, resting your warm forehead on your hand as you slump against the toilet. That definitely sobered you up fast.

Exhaustion hits you like a truck. “Logan…” you croak from your crumpled position on the tile floor. 

He steps in, bending down again to reach your height. You can barely make out the shadow of him in the fading moonlight.

“Just…help me back to bed,” you groan, reaching for his arm as you use the toilet seat to push yourself the rest of the way up. You stumble against him as you try to make it back through the doorway.

He guides you to the bed the same way he did to the bathroom—steering you from behind.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says as you settle back into bed, head hitting the pillow with a quiet thud. “Even though you did this to yourself.”

“Fuck off,” you groan.

You close your eyes, hearing his footsteps fade back toward the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a couple seconds before he’s next to you again, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Drink. All of it,” he says firmly, holding the cup out to you.

You sit back up slowly, no doubt lethargic, an unimpressed look on your face that earns you a raised brow that tells you there’s no room to object.

You finish the cup in four mouthfuls, handing it back to him. “Thanks.”

You fall back onto the pillow, no longer feeling like you’re travelling through space and time.

The clothes you’re in are close enough to pyjamas. There’s no sense in undressing in front of Logan, especially with what you were about to say to him before you were rudely interrupted by the consequences of your own actions.

He returns the cup to the bathroom and you pull the blanket over your waist as you hopefully settle in for the rest of the night. You owe him big time for this. The thought of just how exactly you’ll manage that fills you with anxiety.

You turn on your side, fingers sliding over the mattress with the movement. They graze familiar strands of feather-soft fabric by the pillow.

This is Logan’s room. Are you just that drunk that you couldn’t tell the difference when he brought you in? Or are your rooms just that similar to each other?

You dip a finger in one of the three holes, hearing the bathroom door click shut as Logan makes his way back. 

“Why am I in your bed?” You see him rustling through some drawers of clothing by the small desk, but he stops when you finish your question.

“You can’t take care of yourself tonight,” he says. “You’re too drunk.” He pulls the grey tank-top off, stuffing it in one of the drawers and shutting it.

You sit up at that, head still foggy and tipsy, watching him move to the foot of the bed across from you. You try to focus your eyes on anything but his bare chest and the dark hair that adorns it and trails down past the waistband of his sweats. His hair is somehow even more wild from mindlessly pulling the tank-top over his head.

“Ah. I was gonna ask you to stay anyway,” you reveal, almost whispering the bold confession.

You were planning to ask before the tequila decided to make another appearance, but maybe doing it this way isn’t so bad either. He did all the heavy-lifting.

A modest, tight-lipped smile graces his lips. “I think you still have some tequila to sleep off.”

Whether or not you still have some shots in your system, what you feel and want right now is real. It’s not influenced by anything besides some mild andronitis created by the fact that you share a common struggle.

“Is it…safe? To share a bed?” The most coherent thought you’ve had all night makes him stiffen from your sudden nervous tone. Your body could easily replace the mattress and become a new home for the deep punctures. 

Your eyelids have been fighting against being pulled shut by alcohol-induced drowsiness, yet your eyes are wider than they’ve been all night in this moment.

You’re sat right in the middle of the bed and Logan comes around to the right, sitting on the edge of the mattress to come down to your level.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me.” His eyes are imploring and apologetic all at once. He understands the prospect of even having you here in the first place.

You nod, sliding over to the left to give him more room. 

Logan wouldn’t put you in harms way, you reason with yourself. He wouldn’t risk potentially killing someone, especially a fellow mutant, if he wasn’t absolutely sure of his mental state. But you also don’t really know his demons.

You roll onto your right side, tugging the blanket up to your chin in comfort. “Why haven’t you been given a new mattress?” You ask as he turns to face you in the same position, his half of the blanket resting at his hip.

The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.

“Forgot to ask,” he says quietly, running his right hand through his hair to push the shorter strands off his forehead.

From his tone you can decipher that he actually means “can’t be bothered.” It’s a devastating thing to imagine just how many he goes through, anyway. He probably doesn’t see the point in replacing something that will inevitably have the same fate as the others.

There has to be less than an arms length between you two. It’s a surreal situation to be in considering what you thought you knew about him. A recluse. Standoffish. Maybe it’s all a fluke and the alcohol is severely fucking with your perception of what’s actually happening.

“Thanks for everything,” you whisper as if someone else will overhear.

“Get some sleep,” he insists, rolling onto his back. You do the same.

You stare at the blank ceiling for a while, noticing the exact moment Logan falls asleep; his breathing grows slow and his body runs even hotter than before. 

You think about how he could wake at any moment, claws accidentally sliding right through your stomach from a nightmare or two. You imagine all the others that have been in your position—if they felt scared, if they even knew. 

He asked you to trust him, and that should be enough. 

There is a body full of secrets and hurt sleeping undisturbed next to you with the ability to withstand and regenerate from any physical injury, yet there’s something that hasn’t allowed the same to be done for his mind. 

━━━━

The bright amber sun hits your closed eyes through the window, making you roll your head away onto the other side of the cool pillow.

You want more sleep. Your head feels like a bag of bricks and your body feels like it got beat with them.

You stretch a leg out, gently grazing something solid with your foot. Your eyes shoot open, the night coming back to you as you drift into consciousness. Logan. 

You shoot up, bouncing a little from the momentum.

Logan startles next to you, clearly interrupted from a deep sleep. “What the fuck…” he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, not seeming interested in making a move to sit up with you.

“What time is it?” Your eyes bounce around the room looking for a clock.

He grunts, reaching for a watch on the nightstand. “Seven-forty.”

You needed to be in the Danger Room for 7 o’clock.

“Fuck!” You rip the blanket off, almost tripping as you run to the bathroom.

Logan also wants to roll back over and go back to sleep, but he knows he won’t be able to. He doesn’t work like that. So he just lays there, listening to you swear and make a mess of his bathroom as the clattering of fuck-knows-what fills the room. 

The surprise of how well he slept makes him feel uneasy. Although it definitely wasn’t eight hours, it was uninterrupted. He doesn’t want to credit that to you, though. He wants to believe that he’s getting better overall, and maybe he is, so he can’t offer you any flattery in his mind.

Another distant “fuck” escapes the bathroom, pulling him out of his thoughts. You exit a few minutes later, as refreshed and presentable as you could get yourself, and the sight of Logan still in bed makes something in you ache for another moment of feeling him care and tend to you. Maybe that’s your hangover talking.

“Thanks again. I’ll see you around,” you say hurriedly, offering an apologetic smile as you turn the doorknob to leave.

“Good luck with Charles.” It’s a genuine advisory. Fuck. You’ll be so incredibly lucky if he doesn’t give you more than a stern lecture in front of everyone.

You take a deep breath in and slip out of Logan’s room. There’s not a single cut, mark, or scratch on you, just like he promised.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“I was told it’ll take a day to fix,” Storm explains with a shrug. “You’ll have to find somewhere or someone to room with until tomorrow. Jean already offered to have me stay with her.” A contrite look passes over her face.

You stand outside your rooms, staring in at the remnants of the mess caused by two terrakinetic kids fucking around in the courtyard when they weren’t supposed to be. They somehow managed to throw, or launch, sizeable tree branches right through each of your windows. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, but the Danger Room exists for a reason—to avoid mishaps like this. 

Shards of glass and fragments of wood splatter your floors. The branches are hanging half-way out both of your windows, caught on the window sills and bobbing in the evening summer wind. The kids are extremely fortunate that neither of you were in your rooms when it happened.

“It’s fine. It’s just one night,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You don’t love how quickly your mind picks out who to go to. It’s already nearing 11 p.m., so you have to work fast. 

Storm squeezes your shoulder in comfort. “The living room is always free,” she suggests with a remorseful smile.

But you don’t want the living room. Stiff couches mixed with students clamouring and passing by at the crack of dawn isn’t exactly a recipe for a good nights rest. As if you usually get one, anyway.

“Not a fucking chance,” you laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you say again, dismissing her worries. You wish her goodnight when she steps by you to head towards Jean’s room at the very end of the hall.

You glare at the mess in your room, not daring to step in. The amount of shattered glass everywhere makes the floor look like a body of water from the reflections of the pale moonlight bouncing and refracting off of the jagged shards.

“Fuck,” you spit through your teeth, solely to yourself.

Not even a full week after Logan saw you at your worst, you’re going to go back and ask for the left side of his bed. Shameless.

You don’t have much of a choice; you’re not comfortable having it be anyone else. It’s only because Logan saw you at your worst that you feel he’s the most logical choice. Already having shared a bed with him this week may also have some weight in your decision.  

You take the few self-assured steps to his room, once again standing in front of his door. This time you feel more confident in approaching the Wolverine in his den.

You knock three times, the piercing sound echoing through the hall.

“You start to miss me or what?” A bare chest enters your view. You note the dog tag hanging from his neck again before you find his unyielding gaze full of ambiguity, wondering why you’re here. Again.

You blink at him slowly in hilarity. “Ha, funny. Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask flatly, not thrilled with the situation, but not completely displeased with being here now. “My window—”

“I know what happened,” he interrupts. “Figured you’d go for the couch in the living room.” He looks at you more pointedly with teasing suspicion. 

“I think you know no one would ever willingly choose to sleep out there,” you reason, running a hand over your face in both shame and defeat.

He makes a face that tells you “touché” and you smirk in satisfaction. “If you don’t mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise I’m not trying to make this a habit,” you sigh. Spending the night in Logan’s bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently. 

“I don’t think it would be a bad habit,” he argues. Oh. “C’mon.” He gives a jerk of his head to allow you in, his tufts of his hair bristling with the quick movement.

“Thanks,” you squeak. He wants you here? 

He shuts the door behind you, following you to the bed that’s clearly already had him in it. The blanket rests in waves on the mattress that remind you of just how human Logan is despite his reputation and image.

“Do you have an early morning?” You ask, slipping under the blanket.

“No. Charles was feeling nice for once,” he raises his tone sarcastically to rag on Charles’ judgement, which has clearly been a much needed one before now.

“Not an early bird?” You roll onto your right side like last time, facing him as he settles on his back with a deep breath. The bed sinks in again where he lays, your body wanting to give in to the laws of gravity and fall into him.

“Fuck no,” he laughs lightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. It’s self-deprecating, but it’s still a genuine laugh. The condescension from it lingers in the air, all directed at himself in a way that tells you he’s thinking about how inconceivably fucked up he is.

The last time he had a decent sleep was when you were drunk in his bed a few days ago.

“People like us don’t usually get the pleasure of a full eight hours,” he notes, sliding his gaze to yours for a fraction of a second.

He props an arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest and idly twisting the dog tag between his fingers. You watch the thin piece of steel slide and flip easily, the chain tinkling with every movement.

People like us.

“You mean mutants,” you state. You see his jaw tense in what little light there is from the half-moon tonight.

You see his brows pull together. “Yeah.” He has a point.

You think about the mutants you know, how they all have some horrific story about their gifts or family, or both. How they either were shamed by society or experimented on like rats. 

The scenarios are endless. If you can think of it, some mutant has probably lived it.

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You and Logan are not isolated or special cases, but you’ve already shared a moment of vulnerability with him when you came to his door all those weeks ago seeking solace for the same thing he fights with: the inescapable ability of remembering.

You pull the blanket tighter against you. “I don’t think you’ll hurt me.” 

He turns his head to you, confusion written on his face. “What?” He stops toying with the dog tag.

“Your claws. I trust you.” You didn’t feel like you were in immediate danger that first night, but you want to reassure him anyway. Or maybe you’re reassuring yourself. 

He hasn’t had to say a single word for you to know his nightmares trigger something instinctive and combative that’s been hardwired into his DNA. In this case, it’s his claws needing to find a home in his mattresses, where another body could potentially lay one night. Like yours is right now.

You noticed the lack of holes in this mattress when you first got to the bed. Maybe you mentioning them last time was enough for him to finally request a new one.

Logan knows he shouldn’t make promises he doesn’t know he’ll be able to keep, but he wants to keep you here tonight, so he improvises. He abandons the dog tag between his fingers completely, turning onto his side and reaching to find your hand under the blanket. You meet him halfway, sliding your fingers between his as your palms lay flat on the bed.

A smile tugs at your lips for a moment. He watches your interlinked fingers, observing the size difference, wondering if he really just did that—and why. 

You assume it’s his way of saying “thank you” for your trust when you probably shouldn’t be putting that much into him.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, pulling your fingers out from his just enough to caress the divets between his knuckles that conceal the claws.

He knows what you’re asking. “Every time.” He softly pushes his fingers back into yours, squeezing a little. 

There’s a deadly stillness in the room despite his window being cracked. You both know you’re one in the same in a way, and that’s a connection that Logan hasn’t let himself experience. Not everyone likes looking in a mirror.

To be truly seen by someone, wholly, without judgement or fear, is what he deserves. 

“What are you?” He asks, rubbing his index finger back and forth along the top of your hand. “Telekinetic? Psychic?” His curious voice grows quiet, hazel eyes fascinated with you and your lack of a physical mutation, at least nothing that he can see.

It never occurred to you that he didn’t know your mutation, or that you’ve never told him. It was never needed, but it seems unfair that you know about his when he wasn’t the one who told you.

“Ha, close.” Your eyes twinkle as you notice how intently he’s listening. “Psychometric,” you correct, watching his forehead crease.

“Sounds like math,” he quips, readjusting his head on the pillow. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he’s putting off.

You laugh quietly. “No, it’s extrasensory perception. It lets me see the history of any object or person I touch, but only if I accept the energy,” you explain.

You watch his eyes narrow and you know what he’s thinking, so you quickly interject as he begins to pull his hand out from yours. “I need to touch a pulse point to be able to see anything,” you reassure, feeling his fingers slide back against yours. “The heart remembers everything,” you clarify.

The catch? The person’s memories and past stay with you after you see them. It’s become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone else’s. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then it’s part of you. Forever.

“I haven’t looked. I promise.” 

“Good. You don’t need to see that shit,” he huffs, eyes wandering over your face. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he’s a little startled for the first time in a while.

“I’m sure I’ve seen it all,” you state. It’s probably not far off from the truth. Your gift came when you were all too young, and plenty of time has passed since then for you to rack up this amount of damage from near-strangers and their lives.

“No, you haven’t.” A sure expression passes over him, shaking his head as best as he can against the pillow. 

“Then I’ll count myself lucky,” you say softly. You have no idea what Logan has experienced, but his demeanor makes you want to stay curious. Not everything needs to be known, and you’re definitely not entitled to it.

A faint smile appears on his lips, then it’s gone just as quick. “Get some sleep,” he rasps. He turns onto his back and his hand abandons yours. 

It’s a complete repeat of last time.

Something twinges in your heart, and you don’t like it. What exactly had you expected from Logan? He’s just doing you a courtesy by letting you stay here for the night. Nothing more. And that’s what you should expect: nothing.

The hum of crickets outside eventually lulls you into a dead sleep. It’s heavy and deep, not a single muscle twitching in your body. Logan breathes steadily next to you, a hand on his chest as the occasional snore fills the air.

From above you two might look like you’re transient, only here in this moment for a short time. And, realistically, you are. 

━━━━

Logan was no where to be seen by the time you woke up, and you made quick work to get out of his room. It always feel wrong to be in someone’s space when they aren’t there.

Just like Storm said, the windows in your rooms were fixed the next day. It looks as though nothing even happened.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble to yourself as you step back into your room.

If you ever have to spend another night in Logan’s bed, you might as well wear a shirt that says “yes, we’re fucking!”, even if it isn’t true. You could deny it all you want, but it won’t stop what students would say. Nothing gets past them, even if it’s behind a closed door.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“Are you fucking Logan?”

You almost swallow your tongue. “Sorry?” Your brows shoot up in surprise, eyes round in disbelief.

“Are you guys sleeping together?” Storm casually asks as she flicks through the T.V. channels, glancing over to you from her spot on the couch.

You’re sat comfortably in an arm chair, suddenly no longer caring what channel she decides on. “Why would you think that?” Technically you were sleeping together, but not like that. It may never happen again, no matter how badly you want it to.

“Things travel fast around here,” she deflects with a cheeky smile. “And, you know, Logan is…Logan.” She shrugs.

You don’t even know what to say to that. Is there a right or wrong answer?

“It wasn’t like that,” you grumble. “He was doing me a favour. As a friend.” It hasn’t even been a full day since he let you stay with him while pieces of your window laid on your floor, and people are already convinced you’re fucking. 

You haven’t even managed a chaste kiss, despite how much as you want to, never mind his dick being balls deep in you.

“Right.” She emphasizes the word, not convinced. Or just pushing your buttons because she can. 

You roll your eyes. “If anything was happening, you’d be the first to know,” you point out. 

She looks back over to you. “I know,” she says with another, more sincere, smile. “You two would be cute, though.” 

You give her some side-eye, not quite sure if you disagree entirely with that statement. Whatever happens, happens. Logan is not something you can control or influence. He does what—and who—he wants, when he wants. 

━━━━

A bolt of lightening strikes you. You gasp, then release a choked cry, eyes flying open as you claw at your chest in terror.

Your throat tightens and you break out in a cold sweat as you sit up. The soft blanket around you feels constricting. Sporadic and short breaths make you heave as your body registers the horrors in your subconscious. 

There was never any lighting. That’s just what the pain feels like.

The muscles in your shoulders and neck tense from your panicked state as your heart struggles to keep a normal rhythm. You yank the blanket off, feeling weak from fear and the onset of tremors. Your whole body gives up on itself as you sob through broken exhales. Your legs have gone cold, lungs shrinking inch by inch with every passing minute. 

You crawl to the edge of your bed, wanting to just get out and leave—the blanket. The bed. The room. Most of all, you want to escape your own mind.

You sink onto the floor when a foot touches the ground, and you realize walking isn’t in the cards right now. You’re shaking too badly to be able to physically move. All your strength is gone, robbed by your memories.

Balmy tears paint your face in determination, making sure no part of you is left untouched by this spell.

You screw your eyes shut, tears still slipping out with ease anyway. Leaning your back against the bed-frame, you curl into yourself and wrap your arms around your knees on the chilled hardwood.

You try to focus on your breathing to at least slow your heart down to a pace that doesn’t hurt.

Wounded cries rip their way out of you, interrupting the breaths you try to steady. A hand touches your arm and you yelp like an injured dog, flailing at the contact as your arms swing out from around your knees in shock.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s me.” Strong hands quickly wrap around each of your wrists to stop your arms from thrashing.

You try to focus your eyes, blurred and stinging from tears, on the person kneeling closely in front of you.

“L-Logan…” you whisper, balling your fists to try and expel the shakes.

He looks like someone who shouldn’t be able to be concerned about another person, yet the look on his face scares you. Brows pinched together in worry, eyes frantic, lips parted from heavy breaths. All because of you.

“It’s just me,” he hushes your cries. His thumbs stroke the undersides of your wrists tenderly, no doubt feeling your racing pulse. 

You feel disoriented. “Wh…how…” 

“I heard you,” he explains, watching you process everything. He drops your wrists when some recognition passes over your face.

“What do you need?” He follows your gaze as it wanders around the room, trying to keep you from spiralling further.

You look at him for a moment. He’s got his white tank-top on, the black sweats, and an intense need to help you written all over him. Fresh tears burn your cheeks as you come back into reality.

“I want it to fucking stop,” you weep, head falling into your hands in shame.

You don’t want him to see you like this, even though it’s a commonality between you two. It’s too intimate. You’d take him seeing you blackout drunk everyday of the year over this.

Then you do remember that it has stopped. Each time in Logan’s bed. There was silence. Peace. For the whole night. For both of you.

“Tell me what you need,” he says firmly, angling his head down to keep your eyes on him, desperately wanting an answer.

“You.” You suck in an agonizing breath to try and collect yourself.

He doesn’t flinch like you expect him to. If anything, his eyes become more pensive, clearly considering something. Then he shakes his head in wariness.

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. The only sound echoing in the room is your wobbly breathes, your body jerking with each one as you enter the aftermath and begin to go slack.

An arm slides behind your back, his hand grabbing ahold of your side while he pulls your legs over his other arm, picking you up off the floor.

He cradles you against him just like he did when you were drunk, carrying you out of your room.

He left your door open when he came in, and you hope no students heard or saw anything. He tilts to grab the doorknob, shutting it without a sound.

You wipe and rub at your eyes as Logan takes a few steps down the hall, quickly getting to where he needs to go when you feel him lean for his doorknob.

You’re sure a few rogue, leftover tears fall onto his shirt before he manages to sit on his bed lightly, you still curled tightly in his arms. 

His hand pushes on your back for you to sit upright on his lap. “Face me,” he encourages, holding onto your sides as you twist around, bending your legs to slide over his thighs and straddle him loosely. 

You look down at him, he looks up at you, feeling the quivers in your body dissipate as you melt further into his lap. A fondness crosses over both of your tired faces. He rests his arms over your thighs, warm hands linking behind your back as you do the same around his neck. 

It’s nothing provocative or seductive. All you can feel is the care and concern rolling off of him in suffocating waves. He wants you to feel safe, and if that means overrunning your senses with his presence, then that’s what he’ll do.

“Got anything to say?” He murmurs, the fallen strands of hair around the edges of his forehead bristle with each move of his head. The rest of his hair fails to fully resemble the cat-like ears he had earlier in the day. 

What does he want to hear? 

You let your head hang a little, your nose almost brushing his. “I have nothing to say,” you assert, fidgeting with the chain of his dog tag at the nape of his neck. 

You don’t necessarily feel embarrassed about him seeing you in such a helpless state, but you don’t want to simply unload your shit on him. So, in turn, you have nothing to say.

“Bullshit.” He almost rolls his eyes. There’s no real threat of him forcing you to say anything behind it. He won’t pry, but he doesn’t believe you.

An offended look overcomes your face, and you almost pull away. You don’t want to feel the humiliation of elaborating on just why exactly you said you needed him in this moment out of everything else. 

“I just…” You roll your lips together in thought, measuring the words you could say but won’t. “Want to sleep. Here,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna go back.” You deflate in his arms, voice wobbly. 

It’s already who-knows what time, and you need to pacify your wired nervous system; Logan simply holding you has already helped with that more than you want to admit.

His mouth quirks up briefly at that. “What happened to not wanting to make that a habit?” His eyes soften as his arms retract from around your sides, letting you slip easily onto his bed from his lap in a moment of calm, or relief.

Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.

“Special circumstances,” you reason, already pulling the blanket over you while he keeps his place at the edge of the bed, observing you with amusement.

“Seems like you get into those a lot,” he notes, pushing himself off the mattress.

He steps around to the other side—his designated spot—and slips the tank-top off, letting it drop to the floor. You’re not trying to be a freak, but you watch the whole thing.

The flex of his arms and shoulders are out of your mind as fast as they entered as you watch him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and pull them downright in front of you, not even turning around or to the side to try and conceal himself.

Your eyes widen, then you reel in your thoughts before they get lost at sea. No one who is sane fucking sleeps in sweatpants. Duh.

But didn’t he the last two times? It’s hard for you to remember, but you’d certainly recall if you were face-to-face with the outline of his di—

“It’s rude to stare, y’know.” Logan pulls his lips together, interrupting your thoughts. You try to not eyeball the bulge too hard, but it basically looked at you first. 

The snug briefs do little to hide anything. They hide nothing, actually.

You almost scoff, but the playfulness in his tone tells you he couldn’t give a shit. He probably likes it anyway. From what you know, he definitely does.

“Oh, yeah, like you’ve ever cared about modesty,” you throw back, averting your gaze to the ceiling anyway.

It’s not that he runs around the mansion naked, but he definitely isn’t shy about what he looks like or against showing some skin. You’ve seen and heard enough over the past few months.

You hear a stifled chuckle as he joins you under the blanket without a retort. He knows you’re right. He’s just glad you’re a little lively and alert.

“Will you be okay for the rest of the night?” He brings both hands behind his head on the pillow, propping himself up a little.

“I should be fine,” you say confidently. “The challenge will be getting back to sleep.” You laugh in exasperation. 

It’s always hard to calm down and get back to a place of tranquility after everything has settled with your mind. You’re pumped full of adrenaline and there’s not much that can curb something that persistent flowing through your body.

You haven’t found anything to help with it. Yet. 

“There’s not many people that’ll understand what you go through,” he starts, voice rough with fatigue. “But I do.”

You look to him, sliding an arm under your pillow as you turn on your side. “How do you…help it.” You’re not sure if you phrased that right. It feels crude to reduce something so complex to the likes of a common cold that has an array of over-the-counter solutions. 

“You don’t. It just has to run its course.” He looks to you, wanting to see your reaction. 

It wasn’t meant to be hurtful or insensitive, but he’s not going to lie to you and say that things can only get better and that the worst is over. Especially for mutants, that’s not always true.

Although you don’t know what Logan lives with every day and sleeps with every night, you do know that his capacity for empathy is still intact. Here you are in his bed after all, seeing and indulging in a side of him that many never will. 

You sigh lightly. “We’re quite the pair.” 

A comfortable half-smirk slips over his lips. “I think we’re just fucked up insomniacs,” he suggests with a breathy exhale that’s close enough to a laugh.

You wish you could slide a thumb over the pulse in his wrist and see what’s haunting him, just to understand what happened to the Wolverine, but you’ve learned that doing so usually isn’t worth the price you’ll pay after. If what’s in his head is horrific enough to cause him to go through a couple mattresses a month, then it won’t do you any good either.

“I sleep pretty good with you,” you offer, seeing how he raises a brow in doubt almost instantly.

He sleeps well with you, too. It kind of rattled him when he noticed a pattern of uninterrupted nights and you being by his side. Not a single mattress ruined on those nights.

“Try not to knee me in the stomach tonight,” he deflects with ease. He takes his hands out from behind his head, sliding his left arm under the pillow as he turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Facing you.

You mentally smack yourself. Multiple times. You didn’t think you drifted that much when you slept. 

“No promises,” you mutter. You catch a small shake of his head before you let yourself join him in unconsciousness as you mirror each others lonely bodies.

━━━━

Your eyes ache—to open, to move, to touch. Enough crying will do that to you.Your eyelids are heavy, but there’s something else weighing down on you. 

A tired groan crawls from your throat as you try to place yourself for a moment. The morning sun is just beginning to shine too brightly for your liking, and you squish your face deeper into the pillow.

You’re still tipsy with sleep, lying flat on your stomach, but there’s something dense and hot resting over your back. 

You prop yourself up on your forearms, giving yourself a minute to wake up. You twist your hips around to sit yourself up, feeling the thing on your back slide down to your waist. 

The blanket pools around your hips, and you feel a hand reflexively squeeze over the meat of your hip in disapproval of your moving. Something in you clenches at the sensation of something invading the area with ease. A spot reserved for intimacy.

Your head quirks to your right, seeing Logan on his stomach with his right arm thrown over your midsection. 

You blink in surprise, staring at his sleeping body. His hair is sticking up every which way, his head half-off the pillow, his side of the blanket not even covering the curve of his ass anymore. It’s endearing to see the Wolverine in such a normal, human state.

But if someone were to walk in, it would look like you two spent the whole night fucking. A lot. That wakes you up a little more.

You peek over at the nightstand behind him and see the time blinking on his watch. It’s already 8 a.m. 

You rest a hand over his shoulder to gently guide his arm off of you, but you stop yourself. Instead, you lightly trace your fingers down his shoulders and upper back a couple times, occasionally scratching softly over the ridges of muscle.

A shiver quickly rolls through his upper body, but your touch doesn’t fully wake him. He knows it’s just you.

It’s the least you can do for him as a thanks for recovering your broken body from the floor of your room and bringing you here when he didn’t necessarily have to.

It almost feels like instinct to offer comforting gestures to him. There’s something inside you that just pulls to him. You want to be the one that can give him comfort and help him put himself back together. 

You want to be the only one.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

There’s a shadow that’s been following you around the mansion. 

As soon as you stepped out of Logan’s room that morning a few days ago, it started. 

This shadow likes to be nosy about what you’re doing. This shadow likes to be in your space. This shadow wants to be in your space. And he is.

No one has seen Logan out around the mansion this much, including you, and that’s how you noticed he’s basically been attached to your hip ever since he decided your back was a comfortable armrest. 

He’s always just there, like a stray cat begging for food or affection. There to entertain you, banter with you, indulge you, in any way he can, including now as you trail back inside the mansion well behind Storm from an evening walkabout in the garden.

“No smoking in the courtyard,” you sing as you pass him carelessly, not even offering a glance to him in interest. 

You like playing this game. Whatever it is. Constantly poking and prodding at each other to see what you can do to get the other to break in some way, no matter how slight. 

Your heart flutters and flips every time; maybe from the thrill of it all, maybe from the arousal you get from the tension. You hope he feels everything, too.

He turns his head to watch you cross into the entryway. “Blow me,” he throws back playfully through a thick puff of smoke, leaning against the brick wall with a cigar pinched between two fingers.

You suppress a chuckle, keeping your unwavering pace. “Yeah, you wish!” You yell over your shoulder. You know he hears you. He wouldn’t let himself miss it.

Logan smirks and shakes his head in amusement, always impressed with your quick rebuttals that occasionally tent his jeans. He takes one last drag out of spite before following your footsteps inside. 

You have become, by definition, friends…in a way. Even if you sorely cross the line into other territory more often than not. Sexual innuendos and friendly flirting can only go on for so long before the underlying intentions and meaning reflects real desires. 

It’s evolved into more than just borrowing his bed a couple times or helping each other out. It’s surpassed the fear of whatever habit you were afraid of forming from doing so. It’s become a dependency to get that adrenaline high from simply riling each other up.

You have an assumption that if you were to end up in Logan’s bed again, somehow, there will be a point of no return that you’ll be faced with. There aren’t many more excuses that can be used for explaining to yourselves why you’re together in bed before you have to recognize the truth.

That platonic line is being stretched too thin, and you’re not sure how much farther it can go.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“How’ve you been sleeping?”

“Fine. You?”

“Could be better.” Logan hides his smirk, but you can hear it in his voice.

You narrow your eyes skeptically as he fishes around in the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.

“How so?” You ask. Your legs swing leisurely as you sit upon the chilled countertop on his left, idly waiting for Storm to show up and go with you to training.

A smug, tight-lipped grin flashes across his face, a green apple rolling around in his palms before he puts it back. “You could be there,” he provokes, his eyes bright.

It’s your turn to raise a brow at him, but you can’t stop your smile. “Oh?”

He turns to you, tenderly grabbing the tops of your thighs and parting them slightly to stand between your legs.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he knows it rouses you in all the right ways. But, neither of you will do anything about it. Not even a brief kiss.

“Come on,” he goads, planting his hands down next to your hips, bringing himself in closer as he bears his weight on his arms. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” He sways his head side to side to emphasize his point.

Fuck. That’s good. 

That may be exactly what you did for him, but it’s now a figure of speech for something else entirely. It’s almost impossible to argue against either way, as if you want to. This is what you’ve been patiently waiting for. 

You put your hands over his as you lean back a little to put some distance between you. “How sweet,” you hum.

His eyes flick from yours to your lips one too many times before you continue. “You start to miss me?” You tease as you lean forward again, echoing what he said to you the night your window got smashed in.

“Smart-ass,” he mutters as you laugh quietly. The tips of your noses barely graze each other as he steps in closer again. You’re almost at the same height like this. 

“Save me the left side,” you advise, bringing your hands to his shoulders as you fondle his white t-shirt between your fingers. You’re so close, and he’s already so warm against you just like this.

“Always do.”

━━━━

You want to rip your heart out of your chest from how hard it’s pounding against your ribs. It’s almost throwing you forward with each heavy beat.

Three resounding knocks fill the hallway as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for Logan to open the door.

It feels like you’re doing something bad. Something parents would warn their kids against. Something greatly envied.

Everything inside you feels on fire. Your thoughts, desires, anxiety, all jumbling together into one distorted state of mind and body.

“Ah, welcome back.” His sarcastic tone makes your face go hot. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy, unstyled hair. 

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Knock it off.” You gently shove at his bare chest. Misbehaviour already. But are you really surprised?

Logan grabs your wrist, delicately guiding you into his room. “You enjoy it,” he says lowly, quickly shutting the door as soon as you’re in. 

“Maybe,” you hum in response, pulling away from his grasp and seeking out your side of the bed. Logan follows closely behind, giving your ass a light smack in encouragement before he cuts away to his side while you jolt in shock, a stunned look on your face as you whip your head around to him across the bed.

“Oh, really?” You scoff. He’s biting back a smile, not moving until he knows what you’ll do next. He’s never gone that far before.

“I’m sorry, that was rude—how can I make it up to you?” He almost chokes on a laugh, pulling his dog tag back and forth along the chain while he considers you.

This Logan is very different from the one you were met with the first night he let you in his space. This one is attentive and exuberant, yet he hasn’t given you much up until this point right now. You’ve gotten way too comfortable with him without even doing anything to you. 

In this moment, he isn’t the brooding, animalistic Wolverine many see him as. He’s just Logan—for you. 

You watch him carefully, easing yourself onto the bed. “Get in the fucking bed,” you slap his side of the mattress with a thump of your palm. “And do what you promised earlier,” you stare pointedly at him.

He owes you that “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” favour he decided to pull out to get you here. 

“Mm, alright, alright,” he surrenders, a look of amusement still on his face as he kneels onto the bed. “I thought of a pretty good idea for it,” he says softly, crawling to sit next to you on top of the blanket as the bed-frame creaks with the added weight.

Your shoulders almost brush against each other. You shift, turning your body fully toward him. “Oh? Wh—woah!”

You squeal when his strong hands latch onto your sides, lifting you just enough to pull you over his legs to plant you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard, pulling on your thighs so you straddle him tightly. 

He looks devilish when you catch his gaze again, and you know what’s coming. What’s been coming. Your hands find their places on his shoulders, warm and taut, as his hands hold your hips. 

The bond between you will culminate tonight. It will be wrapped in a blanket and trapped between two alike souls that lie heart-to-heart in the dead of night. It will be perpetual.

The heat of him between your legs makes you restless. It’s just you, him, and the darkness in the quiet room you’ve become too familiar with.

“Logan…” you trail off bashfully when you feel something firm through his sweats poke against your cunt. It clearly doesn’t take much to excite him.

“Hm?” He takes you in for a split second, hands running from your hips up to your chest leisurely with a sharp inhale, not yet completely bothered by the fact that you have a shirt on. 

You suck in a shaky breath when your hips accidentally shift over his bulge from his hands pushing and pulling over you.

“What’s the idea?” Your voice wavers.

You know what it is. He knows that. You just want to hear him say it and fill the silence.

“Something I’ve wanted for a while,” he murmurs, eyes hyper-focused on you. 

Your fingers dance their way to the sides of his neck, brushing along the supple skin while you feel muscles and tendons flex with every slight movement. You subtly press the pad of your index finger against the pulse point right under his jaw, just to ground yourself and truly feel that Logan is there in front of you. 

His pulse is steady but hard, much like yours, and the prickle of energy festering against the finger almost makes it go numb from not accepting it into your body. 

“Show me, then.” You smile sweetly, leaning in closer while you tilt his head up with the hand under his jaw, your finger slipping from his pulse and caressing over the dense, coarse hair along his cheek.

Your noses bump while your lips part in anticipation. His eyes flutter as he falls into you and frantically claims your mouth in an unbreakable kiss.

The first kiss. Nothing could tear him from you in this moment.

Your hands cradle his cheeks, keeping him from pulling off too far. His hands scratch and paw at your back, trying to find a way to somehow get you closer against him.

It’s all a little messy, your lips mostly just mashing together without any rhyme or reason, but neither of you care. You only care about how electrifying it feels to finally have Logan and feel how perfectly connected you are together after all these nights. You go together like a key and its lock.

“Logan,” you pant when his mouth releases yours for a fraction of a breath. The seconds between kisses dwindle the more you take from each other.

Your thighs tense as he pulls half an inch away just to reconnect more crazed as his lips lock over your bottom one aimlessly. Something deep inside you trembles and aches.

He grunts, accidentally sucking the tip of your tongue briefly before slotting his lips back over yours in an apology. “Hold on,” he mumbles in a rush against your parted lips. He knows what you’re asking—or trying to ask. He snakes an arm up along your spine and wraps the other around your waist.

Then the world is tilting.

He drops you on your back on the bed from his lap, hovering over you as he distracts you with harsh but pleasing kisses and wet bites along your neck, settling his hips heavily between your thighs. You squirm and feel how bolts of arousal are making your cunt pulse involuntarily. 

Logan groans. “Fuck—I can smell it. I smell you.” He slowly grinds his hips into yours almost reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut, and you tip your chin up to press a chaste kiss to his slick lips. 

“Taste…if you want to,” you propose, lightly scratching up and down his shoulders and arms, only enough to leave faint red lines for a couple seconds.

Logan’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head before he gives it a small shake, a conflicted look overtaking his face. “Of course I fucking want to, but—fuck—next time. I promise.” He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep kiss that has you nearly shaking when he sucks on your bottom lip. 

“Let’s just take things easy,” he says roughly, bearing his weight on his left arm while he tries to get your sleep shorts and underwear off.

A promise of a next time makes your brain go fuzzy like static.

“I’ll hold you to it, then,” you resolve, lifting your hips as much as you can for him to lean back and pull away to wrestle your clothes the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them just as quickly.

“I hope you will,” he breathes through a small laugh as he shuffles on his knees. He doesn’t want to completely overwhelm you and scare you off, he just wants to enjoy you in a simple way that won’t entirely ruin you for tomorrow.

He doesn’t know what you can or cannot handle, but he’s going to find out.

The fresh air in the room brushes cooly against your wet cunt. It’s a nice contrast to how fiery your whole body feels, but Logan feels even warmer than you somehow. Maybe wolverine’s just run hot.

His sweats have ridden down his hips from his desperate grinding against you, and the dangerous cut of his v-line grows more and more narrow as the waistband teases the reveal of what’s underneath.

You watch him—palming his dick once as your knees sway side-to-side in waiting. His thumbs hook under the stretchy fabric, working what remains of his clothes down his sturdy thighs.

“It’s rude to stare.” He pops a brow, a smug, arrogant grin quirking his lips.

You push yourself to sit up, considerably shorter than him in this position as he stands on his knees, and walk two fingers up his toned stomach to his chest, avoiding the hard cock between you. 

He looks at you with curiosity until your hand grabs his dog tag in a fist, pulling it towards you. “Then stop showing me your dick,” you say as he leans in to your pulling a little to not have the chain break away.

You knew the night Logan dropped his pants in front of you and let you eye-up his bulge would come back to haunt you. But it’s alluring. Big. Curves a little to the left, barely noticeable. A respectable amount of hair decorates the space between his bellybutton and the base of his cock.

He gives in to the tension on the chain, falling back to the mattress with you and trapping you between his arms as his cock rests heavy on your clit.

“How about I find somewhere to put it?” His smile pushes a whole new wave of arousal from you.

“It would be a damn shame if you didn’t,” you say against his mouth, giving your hips a roll just to tease him before hugging his waist tightly with your knees.

“Good.” He gives you a strong kiss with a small grunt, running his hands over your sides under your shirt. The movement pushes it up, up, up, until you have no choice but to stretch your arms out above you and let him slide it off between more thoughtless kisses, leaving you entirely bare.

He lets you breathe for a moment, dipping his head to bite and suck marks along your collarbones messily. You squeeze around his hips harder, trying to get him to give you something other than his scratchy cheeks rubbing against your skin and the chilled steel of the dog tag dragging over your chest.

The tip of his cock falls and catches over your clit when he moves lower, licking and sucking over your chest like a starved animal finding food for the first time in a week. You gasp from the mixed sensations.

“C’mon, kitty cat, you can do all this while inside m-me,” you say breathily, fingers digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from trembling too much. 

Logan bites over a nipple before pulling himself back up to look at you. “Is that a promise?” He says lowly, that stupid smirk gracing his face again.

“Try it and find out,” you demand, enjoying the sting of the deeper bites blooming on your torso.

He purses his lips, shifting his weight back onto his knees to grab ahold of his cock to angle and guide it in.

“Hm, guess no lube is needed,” he muses when he gets a look at your cunt, sparing you a glance through his lashes.

You roll your eyes shut when your whole body lights up red-hot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Logan,” you slap a hand over your eyes as you grimace. You don’t want to be that aware of your naked self right now.

He suppresses whatever expression was about to cross his face when his cock notches itself between your soaked folds, teasing your hole with the blunt tip. His brows pinch together and you forget the embarrassment from his crude remark.

But he leaves his cock like that, on the precipice of sliding the rest of the way in with a snap of his hips. Instead, he carefully uncurls his upper body to crawl his way back up to you while holding his hips deathly still.

“Alright, stay with me,” he whispers against your neck when you moan, pressing a tender kiss to your rabid pulse in reassurance. 

“O-okay,” you sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots while the other squeezes around his arm as best as it can. You’re not even really sure what he’s saying.  

He kisses up your cheek and over to your lips again. You try to keep up with his quick mouth, licking and sucking whatever part you can get ahold of, but you’ve become lost in the feeling of him all over you. 

He’s in your mouth, on your chest, against your stomach, nudging your cunt. Everywhere.

He slips his tongue over yours, securing your lips together at the same time he pushes his cock in halfway. Now you understand what he was saying. 

The lightheadedness from being filled, even just a bit, almost makes you lose yourself. The stretch makes your stomach drop, your legs shake, and your mouth fall open with a whine. 

“A-ah—fuck. Fuck, Logan,” you whimper, fisting his hair with both hands to stop yourself from falling apart.

He groans, either at the grip you have on his hair or how good your cunt feels already, and runs a hand up your left thigh in comfort as you squeeze around his hips tighter to draw him in. 

“Just a bit more,” he soothes, trying to resist the urge to slide into you in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to just let his hips fall into yours and fill your cunt.

Another heated kiss, another few inches. He works his cock into you the rest of the way with ease. You guess the lube thing wasn’t really a joke. His hungry, needy kisses may have also helped with that.

You choke on your gasps, not wanting to get too loud, and Logan does the same. He tries to muffle both of your moans with his mouth, attempting to form complete kisses, but it just turns into you panting against each other as he finally bottoms out, hitting his end. 

Your legs relax around his waist as he deftly rocks his hips in small thrusts to get you familiar with his size, his small grunts filling the air each time you swallow him whole.

You let out a deep breath, dropping your hands back to his tense shoulders. He lines your jaw with soft kisses, fisting the blanket in his hands beside your head.

“Fuck. Already feels too good,” he moans, pressing into you harder and unintentionally rubbing himself over your tender clit.

You smile, squirming while he works down your neck again. “Best of luck,” you huff, amused at the fact that he might not last as long as he wants to.

He brings his face back to yours, a completely blissful expression controlling his features, but there’s still some mischief in his hazel eyes. “Oh? Yeah?”

You hold each other’s gaze, both equally dazed and overwhelmed, and he draws his hips back and pushes into your wet cunt with a complete, strong thrust. The sound of his pelvis hitting against the backs of your thighs makes him laugh in pleasure and satisfaction when you instantly roll your eyes and head back.

Your cunt quivers, gripping him tight, and then it’s Logan’s turn to lose composure. He drops his head to your chest, managing a few deep breaths as he slowly pulls out halfway just to push right back into you, over and over. 

It’s a pace that isn’t quite pure, mindless fucking, but it’s also not somewhere near earnest love-making. It’s something that feels specifically curated for you. Something that feels measured and sincere. 

The strength of his thighs hitting against yours pushes you up the mattress a few inches, and you don’t know whether to gasp or moan. He reaches somewhere deep inside you, and you know he can feel that, too.

A helpless groan slips through Logan’s lips. “Where have you fucking been, huh?” He muses through shaky breaths, the determined plunge of his cock hitting something that makes your muscles tense throughout your body. 

Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, keeping him close. “Two doors down,” you giggle, understanding that’s not quite what he was asking.

“Fucking smart-ass,” he grumbles, silencing any further rebuttals with a wet kiss. You don’t think you could manage much more of a conversation even if you wanted to.

The silence is quickly filled with obscene sounds that only seem to leave you wetter and Logan throbbing. You can hear your bodies connecting through your gasping for air and his choked moans, and you can feel the mess you’re making all over him. It’s smeared along the inside of your thighs from how deep he’s been hitting. The squelching only seems to make him fuck into you harder.

Something inside you starts to grow tight and wind up in your core, making you repeatedly clench around him while his cock strokes all the right spots inside you as he makes sure he’s fucking himself in to the base. He doesn’t deprive you of anything. 

He drops his head to your neck, wedging his face in to latch onto the spot right where your neck starts to slope into your shoulder. The dense muscle there gives him something to basically chew on, sinking his teeth in as deep as he can without drawing blood.

“H-hah, Logan,” you whine, tilting your head into the side of his and squirming from the pleasant sting.

You feel his arm move beside you, then you hear the sound of tearing fabric as he gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips, followed by a deep groan against your skin.

You can barely form any thoughts, but you can guess what just happened. If he pulled his hand back, three long, slim holes would probably be where his knuckles are right now.

“Fu-uck, Logan, you just got t-this mattress,” you laugh a little, your words choppy from how hard he’s driving into you now.

He draws back from your neck, seeing your half-lidded eyes trying to focus on him. “Can’t always control it,” he reasons, giving you two short, fleeting kisses as you hear his claws retract from the innocent mattress. 

You see the double-edged sword. You can guess that that’s the same explanation he would probably use for the nightmares. It can go either way, and now you’ve seen both sides.

“It’s okay,” you say in a hushed tone. You cradle his face, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Keep going…keep going,” you coax, face scrunching from your nearing orgasm.

You can feel it in your toes, your stomach, your shoulders—you’re tightening up everywhere, and he can undoubtedly feel it in your cunt as you pulse around him. It grips him just right for a couple seconds before relaxing completely and leaving him to chase for more.

“Keep squeezing me like that and you’ll get whatever you want,” he offers, fighting to maintain his steady pace for both your sakes.

You almost whine, knowing whatever your body does is beyond your control at this point.

“Just—inside.” You can’t even string together a full sentence anymore, but the urgency and stress on the last word makes Logan’s ears perk up.

He presses a soft kiss to your clammy forehead in acknowledgment, the muscles in his arms straining and flexing as he grabs ahold of his own orgasm after a particularly inviting flutter of your walls.

You’re both walking the line, teetering on the edge of utter euphoria, and you know nothing will be the same after. You don’t want it to be. You hope it isn’t.

He reaches an arm back, sliding his hand up your thigh again and slotting it behind the bend in your knee. He pushes forward—only slightly—bringing your leg closer to your stomach to stretch you open for him.

His cock brushes over something new. Something that makes you bite your tongue. The angle lets him fit perfectly against you, not hindered by the flesh of your thigh stopping his hips.

You want to cry from how good it all feels. You want to be suspended in this feeling forever. You want Logan to—

“Focus, baby. Focus on me,” he coos, bringing you back to reality. He holds the side of your head with his other hand affectionately. “Come on…come on, I know you’re almost there,” he encourages with a quick kiss that goes straight to your stomach.

The burn in your thigh from the stretch can’t overpower the sparks of your orgasm, and Logan just fanned the flames with a few little words.

You come with a broken sob, convulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, submitting to his own orgasm only seconds after with deep, shaky breaths as he empties himself inside your cunt.

He doesn’t pull out or pull away. He relaxes on top of you, sweaty and sticky with cum, and he places the barest whisper of a kiss on your chin, your parted lips, your nose, and then your forehead. 

Your ears ring from your orgasm, eyes still slightly out of focus. Your body trembles from your muscles finally releasing the tension they’ve been caught up in. 

You desperately suck in air, trying to calm your pounding heart, and you just lie there and let Logan walk your body through a cool-down. Soft kisses. Soft touches. Soft looks. Between sweat, cum, and whatever else.

He rocks a little on his knees, weak from his release, and carefully pulls out of you with a huff as he caresses your stomach and thighs appreciatively to wind you down. You get a good look at him. Not a scratch. His hair tells a story, though—one where he’s completely possessed by bliss. 

You probably look like you survived an animal attack.

“Are we even?” Logan says through a kiss against your stomach.

A mindless laugh crawls from your throat, caught up in the feeling of his hands rubbing circles over your hips. “I think I still owe you,” you argue, resting your hands over his as they travel smoothly up your side.

You’ll find a way to make everything up to him. Including the sex. The scale is now tipping to his side too much. All the nights spent in his bed, what he’s done for you, what you’ve done for each other, may just be immeasurable, but that won’t stop you from finding a way to get him back for it all. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he mumbles, snaking back up your body and pressing himself against you. Face-to-face. Chest-to-chest. 

You mindfully run your hands over the sides of his head, trying to tame his hair and style it back to how it was earlier in the night. It doesn’t work. He enjoys it anyway.

“Do I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?” You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window.

Logan blinks. “You can stay every night.” 

A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries.  

You—maybe foolishly—trust him. You trust that he won’t accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but you’ve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck.

Healing isn’t linear, and you can’t expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point. 

You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you.

Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. “Can I have the left side?” Rhetorical, again.

Logan chuckles against your mouth. “Always.”