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dogwithbird · 1 month ago

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Dirty Work

When you need a bit of lovin' 'Cause your man is out of town That's the time you get me runnin' And you know I'll be around

Your husband should've known better than to leave you all alone in that big house with Joel Miller.

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no outbreak contractor!Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings/Tags: no outbreak au, author rambles, infidelity, smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), joel miller is a man of few words and multiple orgasms

(this has been sitting in my drafts for over a year and i finally got the motivation to finish it, it's a bit of a re-imagination of the first fic I wrote because I <3 kitchen sex)

Read below or on AO3 ->

It was wrong. You were married. You’d said “I do.” In sickness and in health. ‘Til death and all of that. You had moved across the country for him; left your friends and family behind. You quit your job for him. You cooked for him. You cleaned for him. You were talking about trying for a baby, even. He loved you, and you loved him.

But your husband was gone on business trips increasingly frequently. You saw a smudge of red lipstick — not your shade — on the collar of his shirt when you did his laundry. He’d moved you to Texas, where you knew no one, and left you all alone in a big house that he insisted on making even bigger. Maybe he expected you to look elsewhere, too.

The house he bought had only been built a couple of years ago, the one that you’d described to your oldest friend as a temple to bland opulence. Naturally, your husband thought it needed to be updated. Expanded upon. A new detached garage and a complete kitchen renovation were good places to start, he supposed. He told you the kitchen renovation would be your “little project,” the garage his, and made sure to tell the contractors there was no budget before he set off for his second business trip that month.

Your husband showed affection by letting you spend as much money as you could and occasionally with increasingly passionless sex. The former was more satisfying, and so you told the contractors you wanted the most expensive Carrara marble countertops they could track down.

Miller Contracting came highly recommended to your husband by your new neighbor Mrs. Collins, who said they were a "pure joy to have around.” You understood why: the brothers were very handsome. The older one caught your eye especially. He introduced himself as Joel, wiping grime onto his pants before offering his hand and a preemptive apology for the mess. Sometimes you had a hard time pulling your gaze from his broad shoulders. A single curl at the nape of his neck would entrance you. More than once, you found yourself staring at the tool belt slung low around his hips—a hammer pushing the hem of his shirt up just enough to expose his tanned torso. He was completely oblivious to how hot and bothered his mere presence made you, which somehow made you want him even more. It wasn’t normal how many times a week you found yourself with your hand down your pants thinking of Joel. It couldn’t be normal that you fantasized it was Joel, not your husband, sleeping next to you on the rare occasion your husband was home.

You needed a distraction from temptation. You tried to make a life for yourself in Austin. Or, if not a life, at least keep yourself occupied and out of the house. Tennis and shopping and massages could only fill so much of the void. You busied yourself with various boards and societies and leagues at your husband’s request: it was a good way to make connections, he said, to make friends before you start having kids.

In the beginning, your interactions with Joel were brief and practical. Joel would ask about fixture placements or clarify blueprints the architect had drawn up, and you’d find yourself too focused on the veins in his forearms to respond right away. Once, when Tommy was running late, he asked you to hold a two-by-four steady while he cut it, and you stood shoulder to shoulder, the sharp scent of sawdust and his skin overwhelming your senses. You felt the vibration of the saw through the board and wondered what it would feel like to touch him, just for a moment. When he looked up, your eyes met for a fraction too long. Neither of you said anything.

Joel stayed late one evening, finishing the countertop installation long after Tommy had gone home for the day. You offered him a celebratory drink and he accepted to your surprise, leaning against the island with you. The silence between you stretched, not awkward but thick. When he set the glass of your husband’s whisky down, his fingers brushed yours. You didn’t move away. He looked at you for a long moment, then back at the glass.

“She’s gorgeous, Joel,” you murmured, drawing your fingers along the length of the new marble countertop. The slab was cold and smooth beneath your palm, a coolness at odds with the heat rising up the back of your neck. It was your favorite slab out of the four you’d vetted with Joel, the one you’d insisted upon even when he warned you about its endless tendency to stain, how every glass of red wine or ring of coffee would etch a memory into it forever. Still, you wanted it, and so, there it was: a swirl of creamy white, mottled and streaked, luminous under the new pendant lights. You slid your hand across the veiny surface all the way to the edge and back again.

The rest of the house felt hollow, half-lit by the lingering sunset, but here the air was thick and warm with spice and plaster dust and the faintest trace of sandalwood—Joel’s deodorant, you’d realized, after catching a whiff of it more than once on his discarded shop towels. The kitchen was only lit by a work lamp on the floor behind you, casting your shadows onto the new, bare wall in front of you.

Joel glanced up from his glass at you, a smirk spreading across his face, “mhm,” he nodded in agreement, “real beauty.”

You raised your glass, whisky trembling among an oversized ice cube, and with a gleeful bravado you declared, “To the most beautiful countertop this side of the Mississippi.” Joel suppressed an amused snort but dutifully picked up his own glass and held it toward yours. His hands were broad and nicked in places with old scars; the juxtaposition of a laborer’s calluses wrapped around a delicate tumbler made your pulse quicken. As the glasses met with a restrained clink, the sound sparked in the stillness like the strike of a match.

The whisky scorched a path down your throat, igniting a heat in your chest that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with the man sitting six inches from you. The discrepancy between the polite, measured conversation and the animal yearning in the air made you giddy, almost lightheaded. You felt like a teenager who’d never been kissed, pulse racing.

Joel’s voice startled you, the low register of it vibrating through your chest. “Is your husband gonna mind that I’m here this late?” he asked, and the words fell into the heavy air like an ice cube shattering on tile. You could tell he regretted them as soon as they were out—his jaw flexed, a faint flush blooming along his cheekbones. The question itself was so at odds with the moment you’d both let yourselves slip into. You’d half expected him to lean in, to close the last gap between your faces, but instead he’d summoned your husband back into the room.

You searched Joel’s face, trying to decide if he cared about the answer or was simply fishing for a reason to excuse himself before something happened. Maybe he was only being gentlemanly. Maybe it was a test, and you’d already failed by not mentioning your husband first. Maybe you’d misread the entire situation and made a fool out of yourself.

“Not like he’s here to know,” you said, and it came out much sharper than intended. You cringed in the next instant, hating the way the bitterness in your voice had hung a hard, ugly edge on the air. You hadn’t meant it as confession, or even as a complaint. You didn’t elaborate, didn’t ask Joel to consider the last time he’d seen him there, though you hoped he thought about it.

You tried to remember what rules governed these sorts of situations. Was fidelity measured in minutes, in miles, in the number of times your husband remembered to call you before bed? Was loyalty a question of what you did, or what you wanted to do? Every woman in your family had opinions on this—your sisters, your aunts, your own mother. You’d heard them compare marriages by the way their men failed them: the ones who drank, the ones who gambled, the ones who left red marks and bruises.

You understood that every marriage was an accumulation of secret grievances, some profound and some petty, most never spoken aloud. Your mother’s plight was familiar: the husband and father who spent all day in the garage with an AM radio and a case of Bud Light, the one who started out promising all the right things but, by their fifteenth anniversary, didn’t even pretend to believe in anniversaries at all. Your Aunt Lisa’s husband once spent the mortgage payment on poker. Aunt Carla’s husband crashed a car into a neighbor’s fence and blamed it on an allergy pill. And the women, for all their complaints, hung on. You watched as they grew used to disappointment and pain.

Your husband didn’t yell or drink or gamble. He wasn’t cruel, not really. Instead, he was just … gone. When he finally returned home from a trip, he was tired, and when he wasn’t tired, he was distracted. He bought you nice things and urged you to spend freely to fill the void. His unprovable infidelities seemed inconsequential comparatively.

You’d never allowed yourself to say it, certainly not to anyone who really knew you, and especially not to him. You told yourself it wasn’t so bad. You told yourself that you didn’t deserve to complain, not when other women had it so much worse. The truth was that you wanted to be seen, and touched, and loved, in a way that didn’t feel perfunctory or purely transactional.

You wondered: if you had children, would this be the version of marriage they’d inherit? Would your daughters one day sit in their own kitchens with their own friends and think back on their mother with sadness and a twinge of pity? Would your sons learn to vanish as a means of survival? Maybe this was just how it was, and always would be.

You did not tell Joel about your birthday last year, when your husband hadn’t called from New York: you celebrated by ordering takeout and eating it, cross-legged, on the living room carpet with the TV on mute in fear of missing the phone ring. You did not tell him about the feeling that had crept up on you that night: something like grief, but also like relief, as if you’d finally been granted permission to admit that you were completely alone. You did not tell him about the time you’d found your husband’s text messages to an assortment of women with unfamiliar names, or the way you’d convinced yourself it didn’t matter, since he’d never admit to it and you didn’t care to bring up. You didn’t tell him how you sometimes lay awake for hours, the ceiling fan spinning its blades like a roulette wheel and tried to imagine a version of your life where you didn’t have to wait for someone to finally come home to you.

The unspoken truth was this: you had already left your husband. You’d just never had a witness to it before.

Could Joel see all of this in your face? Was he quietly adding up your loneliness and cataloguing it alongside all the other minor tragedies he encountered on the job. Maybe he’d heard it all before. Maybe every house he worked in was just a different flavor of the same sadness. Bored housewife after bored housewife, looking for an outlet.

You didn’t owe Joel the whole story — couldn’t have given it if you tried — so instead you watched the way he took your answer, slow and considerate, his hands fitting around the glass as if he might squeeze it into something new.

You became hyper-aware of everything: how close you and Joel were standing, how neatly his boots aligned with your bare feet on the hardwood, how the light from the work lamp painted you both in muddled relief against the still-blank wall. He smelled faintly of sweat and something comfortable—laundry, warm skin. It made your stomach clench.

You reached for your glass again, but Joel gently took it from you and set it on the counter. He didn’t break eye contact. He didn’t lean in, not exactly, but his presence tilted towards you, shifting the gravity in the room. You saw the subtle tremor in his hand as he placed your drink down.

“Tell me to leave,” he whispered, as if he was afraid the house might overhear.

You didn’t.

Couldn’t.

You stared at each other through the silence, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw your distinct shadows cast on the wall by the work lamp become one.

His mouth was on yours before you had a chance to breathe. Hot, rough, desperate.

He broke the kiss only to lift you—strong hands gripping beneath your thighs, setting you on your new countertop like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your knees parted instinctively, heart thundering, pulse thrumming so loud it filled your ears.

His hands slipped under your dress. Callused fingers dragging up your thighs slowly, reverently, igniting sparks under your skin. And then he paused, his hand stalling along your wet slit.

His eyes met yours, dark and burning. And then he crouched down, nudging your legs over his shoulders as he dove between them.

You made a sound — breathy, shaky, resembling his name — but he was already there. Already sinking to his knees, already kissing up the soft, trembling inside of your thigh. His mouth was hot and open, each press of his lips reverent and greedy, his stubble rasping your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. When his teeth scraped gently, teasing, you flinched. You didn’t care if he left a mark. You wanted him to. Something to find in the mirror tomorrow, a secret bruise that would confirm that this was not just a dream.

The first swipe of his tongue through your folds made your hips jerk like you’d touched something electric, your spine bowing as your fingers slammed down onto the countertop behind you with a loud, ungraceful thud. A breath left you like a punch. “Fuck,” you gasped, eyes fluttering.

Your husband had never just… dove in like that. Never knelt between your legs like he couldn’t wait, like it was an instinct, like he’d die if he didn’t taste you. The few times he’d gone down on you had been cautious, transactional—bookended by negotiations and implied debts. You’d had to convince him. And afterward, you’d had to fake your moans so he’d think he was doing a good job. Bastard.

But Joel—he groaned like he meant it, like he’d been starving for this. That sound vibrated into you, low and raw, and then he latched onto your clit, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur. Your knees nearly buckled. You barely kept yourself upright with one hand gripping the counter, the other tangled in his hair, fisting it tight. He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he leaned in harder, letting you use him for balance while his mouth ruined you.

You came fast. So fast it shocked you, ripped the breath from your lungs. One second you were gasping, the next you were gone, unraveling with a strangled cry. The orgasm crashed over you like a wave that didn’t wait for permission, hot and dizzying, legs trembling around his shoulders as your stomach seized and fluttered and let go. Your head tipped back against the cabinet behind you, jaw slack, fingers still clutching his hair.

When the white faded from your vision, Joel was still there, slow and deliberate now, licking you through the aftershocks, as if easing you back down. As if soothing the very nerves he’d just lit on fire.

You breathed out his name then and finally loosened your grip, letting your hand fall to his shoulder. Your legs were still shaking. You weren’t sure they’d hold you.

Somehow, you found the strength to lift them, one then the other, back down to the floor. It wasn’t graceful. You slid off the counter, your thighs sticky and weak, bracing yourself as your feet hit the ground. Joel looked up at you, lips wet, pupils blown wide.

Joel stood, chest heaving, face slick with you, eyes dark and dazed, and kissed you again. You tasted yourself on his tongue and the whole thing felt perverted and wrong — and you didn’t care.

He pulled back just enough to speak, a string of his spit clinging between you.

“You come like that for your husband, darlin’?”

You shook your head, breath still catching. God, you’d never come like that for anyone.

Joel’s lips curved, slow and smug, but there was something else in it too, something awed. Like he was proud of what he’d done to you. Like he wanted to do it again just to prove it wasn’t a fluke.

“Thought so,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek, then dragging it down your jaw, tracing the edge of your lips. “You had that … look.”

Before you could interrogate him – what fucking look? – he kissed you again. You pulled him closer, feeling the hard press of him through his jeans.

He shifted against you, so slightly, but the friction made you gasp. You thought you couldn’t handle anymore but the weight and heat of him gave you a second wind. He kissed you deeper, his hands sliding up your sides, your dress somehow still on.

Your hand slid down to feel him, fingers fiddling with his belt in a poor attempt to get his pants off.

You wrapped your hand around him and felt his cock twitch in anticipation of your next movement. You stroked him once, maybe twice, your thumb teasing along the head, slick with precome.

“Shit,” Joel hissed, jaw tightening. His hips jerked forward into your fist.

But then he grabbed your wrist, fingers curling around it tight, pulling your hand away like he was barely holding on. “Don’t — fuck, darlin’, don’t.”

You looked up at him, breathless, eyes wide, scared you’d crossed a line.

“I’ll come in your fuckin’ hand if you keep that up,” he growled, voice thick with warning — raw, half-wrecked, smirk spreading across his face. “An’ I’m not done with you yet.”

You hopped back up on the counter in excited anticipation.

“Uh uh,” he tutted, pulling you off the counter.

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

Joel’s brow furrowed, mouth still red and wet from where he'd had you moments ago.

“The marble,” he said, nodding toward the countertop. “Ain’t fuckin’ you on it. You’re soaked, darlin’, and I warned you that a speck of dust could stain this thing.”

You almost laughed before he lifted you with one arm, the head of his cock still pressed against you, and shifted down to the floor in one practiced movement. He sat back against the kitchen island, legs spread, pulling you into his lap. You were both completely naked by now, clothes stripped at some point.

Joel’s cock slapped up against your belly and you reached for it, blindly greedy, wrapping your hand around the thickness, feeling the pulse of heat radiating upward into your palm. You glanced down at the length of it, envisioning how much it would fill you up. His skin was burning, lined with veins that throbbed under your touch; his whole body was wound tight, muscles bunched and trembling from holding back.

You tilted your hips up and guided the head to your entrance, stroking it through your slick, and then with a slow, deliberate motion, you pressed down. The stretch was immediate, stinging, and so, so good. You gasped and let your head fall back, the sudden fullness threatening to buckle your knees even though you were already straddling him on the kitchen floor. Joel gripped your hips in both rough hands and held you steady, but didn’t force you. He let you take him at your own pace, patient but obviously desperate, his teeth bared against a groan as you settled into his lap.

“Fuck. Yeah. That’s it, sweetheart,” he growled, voice low and tight, watching you through narrowed, dark eyes. “Sit right there on my cock.” It sounded like an offering.

You rocked your hips, tentative at first, and the movement made both of you moan at the same time. You braced yourself backwards on Joel’s legs until he leaned forward, hands still bracketing your waist, catching one of your breasts in his mouth and circling your nipple with his tongue.

You shifted your hands to his shoulders, gripping tight, using the strength of his body to steady yourself. Then you lifted and dropped your hips, finding your rhythm as heat coiled deep in your belly.

Joel groaned against your breast, then lifted his head, mouth dragging open and wet along your jaw, up to your ear. His hands left your hips to tangle in your hair, guiding your mouth to his, breath mingling, sweat slick between you.

“This what you need?” he rasped, voice muffled against your jaw.

You could only nod, words lost to the pleasure, your body answering for you as you rolled your hips again and again, chasing the edge he kept dragging you toward.

You kept riding him, slower now but deeper, each thrust sending sparks up your spine. The kitchen floor had vanished beneath you: there was only the heat, the slide, the stretch of him filling you again and again.

But your thighs were shaking harder now, the burn setting in - weak and quivering with every lift of your hips. Your rhythm faltered, a soft whimper slipping from your mouth as your legs began to give out beneath you.

Joel felt you tremble.

“I’ve got ya,” he growled, and suddenly his grip on your waist turned commanding, solid.

Before you could even brace yourself, he thrust up into you — hard, deep, relentless.

You cried out, the air knocked from your lungs, and clung to his shoulders as he took over.

His hands guided you, slamming you down onto his cock as he drove up to meet you. The new angle hit something inside you. Your moans turned ragged, your fingers clawing into flesh.

“Fuck, Joel –” you gasped.

“Yeah?” he grunted, fucking up into you harder now, his breath hot and broken against your neck. “Needed this, didn’t’ya darlin’?”

You nodded wildly, terrified he might stop. Your body was coming apart, unraveling under him. The slap of your bodies echoed off the tile and cabinets, the slick, desperate rhythm of it building and building and building.

He was unrelenting now, chasing the edge with single-minded focus, sweat slicking his skin, his thigh muscles tensing beneath you with every upward drive. You clung to him, helpless against the force of it, your mouth parted in a soundless cry as your orgasm crested fast and vicious.

It slammed into you like a wave breaking against rock. You jerked in his lap, spine arching, every muscle seizing. Part of you tried to escape, the stimulation too much, but Joel held you tight in his arms. A strangled sob left your throat as your vision whited out. You clenched down around him, and Joel groaned.

“Jesus—fuck—” he hissed through gritted teeth, his hands bruising your hips now, holding you down as he drove up once, twice more before burying himself to the hilt with a growl and spilling into you.

Neither of you moved, your forehead pressed against the sweat-dampened skin of his neck.

“You alright?” he asked, voice rough and low against your hair.

You could barely hear, heartbeat pounding in your eardrums as the room finally stopped spinning. You gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. Joel shifted, lifting a hand to cup the back of your head.

“Didn’t mean to take over like that,” he murmured, suddenly bashful. “You just — uh, you started fallin’ apart on me.”

You exhaled a shaky breath. A beat passed, then another, before you managed a weak, breathless laugh—hoarse and low.

“You think I’m complaining?”

His chest rumbled beneath you with a muted chuckle, but he didn’t let you go. Didn’t pull out. Didn’t move except to hold you tighter, like letting go might undo the whole moment.

And maybe it would.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #joel tlou #pedro pascal #also I know nothing about contracting/construction sorry!

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millers-angel · 2 months ago

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jealous!joel miller who takes you to his job because you kept asking nonstop, with those pleasing sweet eyes that made it so damn hard for him to say no, even if he knew that was the right answer because of course... he worked with men, and he knew them.

but you were always so interested, always wanting to know more—about everything about him, the machines he worked with, why he always came home so dirty and sweaty—not as a bad way, you just wanted to know more.

you’d begged so sweetly, that you wanted to see where did he work, that you wanted him to teach you everything... and he couldn't resist. not to you. and god, how could he not give in to that? no one had ever cared like that. not about his work. not about him.

so he brought you.

and you walked around with that same bright look in your eyes that joel loved, asking questions, tilting your head as you watched the machines or things you didn't have a clue how it worked, not having an idea of how sweet you looked doing it. how your dress lifted just a little when you leaned down to touch something and made every man on site stop and stare.

joel saw it. all of it.

and he hated it.

he stayed close—hand on your back, arm around your waist, lips brushing your ear when he had to explain something. he didn’t let you out of his reach, didn’t let their eyes go unanswered. every time one of them looked at you for too long, he touched you a little more on purpose. a hand on your hip, a kiss to your cheek that made you giggle, a low voice in your ear just to make sure they knew.

you, sweet and clueless, kept smiling, kept asking questions like nothing was happening.

but joel knew. and so did they.

you were his.

you were completely amused.

you hadn’t expected a construction site to feel this... like home, but they were after all, cause it was where joel worked and the same smell and everything. joel’s world. the one you’d only heard about in tired conversations when he got home.

and now, you were in it.

you asked a hundred questions genuenly interested, touching things gently. joel answered most with patiently, a word or two, but he never stopped touching you—guiding you by the waist, brushing your hair back from your face, pressing warm fingers to the small of your back.

eventually, he led you toward a row of trailers where you assume workers take rest or something.

“so this is my office,” he muttered, thumb rubbing circles into your hip as he opened the door. "go inside, angel."

you stepped up.

your dress lifted enough to make him tense behind you. his hand came down fast, firm, shielding you as he cursed low under his breath. he closed the door quickly and locked it.

you looked around. it was messy, sure—papers scattered, tools tossed on the small table, a few dishes stacked in a corner. but it smelled like him. and there were signs of you here too. the little lunch containers you always packed for him. a folded napkin with your handwriting. a tiny bottle of that soap you said he should use because it 'smelled like lavender.'

you smiled and started picking things up.

joel frowned. “what’re you doin’, sweetheart?”

“just wanna make this more comfortable,” you said, already stacking papers.

he sighed, shook his head, and crossed the small room in two steps.

his hands landed on your waist again. “leave it,” he said softly. “wanna show you something.”

you nodded, and he led you to his desk.

he sat down, leaned back, and patted his thigh.

you didn’t hesitate—just smiled and sat, with your arm draped around his shoulders. he opened a folder, pulling out pictures, sketches, and blueprints. talked about past builds, materials, mistakes they’d learned from. about work in general.

but one picture got your attention.

it was him—working, holding a heavy thing, sweat darkened the fabric of his clothes.

“you look so... strong,” you murmured, hand brushing over the edge of the picture.

joel chuckled but before he could say anything, you turned to him, and kissed him—just a sweet little kiss.

but it made him stop for a second once you pulled back. because you looked at him like he hung the damn moon.

but before he could say anything, your eyes shifted—something else catching your attention. right there, beside the monitor, there was a frame of you. one he must’ve printed without telling you. you were smiling, in one of your—and his favorite dresses.

your heart fluttered.

“i like that you keep your girl on your desk,” you said playfully. “so everyone knows you’re taken.”

joel let out a low laugh, hand rubbing up and down your thigh. “ain’t like any of the crew’s tried to flirt with me, darlin’.”

you shrugged. “still. you’re mine.”

you leaned in, gave him another kiss—longer this time. slower.

his hand paused on your leg, fingers pressing in just a little.

when you pulled back, you noticed the way his jaw had gone tight, how his eyes had narrowed slightly as he watched you like he was trying to figure something out.

“they’ve seen you,” he muttered, voice rough now. low. “not me.”

you laughed softly. “that’s not true.”

he didn’t laugh with you.

instead, both of his hands moved to your hips, gripping firm, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his and your dress rode up just a little more across your thighs, barely showing your panty. his eyes searched yours, voice dropping even lower.

“you’re really that sweet, huh?” he asked. “don’t even notice what you do to people?”

your lips parted, surprised by the heat in his tone, the way his thumbs stroked slow over your hipbones like he was trying not to lose control.

“mhm?” he pressed, tilting his head. “don’t notice how they look at you out there? don’t know what you do to me sittin’ in my lap like this?”

you felt your breath catch. his grip, his voice, the air between you—thick now with something warm, lustful.

but still, you smiled. “just wanted to see the machines,” you whispered.

joel groaned under his breath, and pulled you closer. "yeah?" you nodded.

he lifted your dress, now fully to your waist, letting him see what you were hiding from him. letting him see what he owned. he spreaded your legs just enough to see a damp spot in your crotch.

"oh, poor thing," he growled.

"i couldn't help it, joel, i—i promised that i would but—"

his hand came closer to your panty, moving it aside to touch the slick flesh of your pussy. his fingertips trailed all the way to your clit, slowly, torturing you.

you hissed once he started drwing cirles on your nib, all swollen, glistening with your own fluids. "so sweet you don’t even realize all these men outside were lookin’ at you like they’d eat you alive if i let ‘em.”

you felt something growing pushing your thigh. "you're all mine." he rasped against your ear, making all your body shiver.

"yours,"

"what do i have to do for all those men to understand you're mine, hm? should we go out and fuck in front of them?"

you licked your lips, as if thinking about it.

"should i leave you leaking cum and walk out like nothing happened? should i get you pregnant right now? hm?" his lips found their way to your collar as his fingers found its way inside your cunt.

and that's when he lost it.

he did exactly what he said.

you left the trailer walking out with slick flesh with cum. messy hair, smudged make up and probably now, pregnant too.

🔨⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡🐇

#millersangel writes ♡#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel smut #smut #jealous!joel

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takenbypeter · 2 months ago

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Delivery For Bob

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

Word Count: 1163

“Okay, so maybe if we come in from this side. Then John can go around from the other angle.” Yelena suggested to the other shoulder length haired man.

Her and Bucky were in the Watchtower currently working on a strategy for an upcoming mission. The others were scattered about elsewhere doing their own things, while Bob? He was keeping himself busy by reading a new book on his usual chair nearby.

“I mean that could work but I really think Ava would be best here. Then we can use her there,” Bucky’s metal arm reached across, landing on the screen.

“Yeah I guess that makes sense. But I think Ava would be best here, no?” She pointed to another area and just as the blonde’s finger was about to touch the device the elevator door glided open.

The pair's eyes left the blueprint and turned all their attention to…well you. There you stood in the elevator doorway peeking at the two with your eyebrows furrowed.

“I have a food delivery here,” you held a shake in one hand and then a bag in the other.

“Who is this? Who authorized this person to come up here?” Yelena asked, turning behind her and that’s when Bob, who wasn’t paying attention before, suddenly scrambled out of his position, practically tumbling towards your direction. “That’s for me! That’s mine!” He came to a stop right in front of you, straightening up a bit as he did.

Wearing a little smile and tilting his head to the side, he breathed out, “hi.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the man you’ve seen multiple times over the last few weeks. “Hi,” you replied, and when it looked like he wasn’t going to reach for his food you held it out in front of you, “order for Bob,” you said. A surprised “oh,” left his mouth and his gaze shifted to the meal, almost as if he just remembered why you were there in the first place. Using his full upper body, he bent at the hips, reaching out to grab his items. “Oh wait right there, I’ll get your tip.”

You stood there patiently as he ran off. Feeling a bit awkward you glanced to the side at the other two who were still looking at you. Upon making eye contact you pressed your lips together and offered them a courteous smile, which Yelena reciprocated, her own smile seeming a bit more enthusiastic.

Bob returned quickly handing you a few rolled up bills. You glanced down, “this is too much, are you sure?”

He shrugged, the smile never leaving his face. “You always get my order right and here on time and you’re always so nice.” Yelena smirked at Bucky who just raised his brows before she turned back around to continue viewing the odd pairing.

“Well that’s part of the job, but thank you,” you let out a single chuckle as you started heading back towards the elevator.

“You do it really well,” he confirmed, after you pushed the button and the door began to slide shut.

“Goodbye Bob,” you send him one last look, as the doors completely shut, leaving Bob swaying side to side with an awed expression on his face.

With a little content sigh he started spinning back around but met Yelena’s smirking expression halfway through the action.

Catching sight of her and then Bucky, the brunette cleared his throat and wiped the grin off before heading back to his chair.

Yelena took a few steps towards him, expression unchanging.

“Yelena?” She raised up her hand waving off Bucky who just shook his head and let out an annoyed grunt.

“Bob. Who was that?”

“Delivery,” he answered, glancing up at Yelena from his chair.

“Right. No I got that but who was that?”

“Food delivery girl.”

Yelena remained quiet, her face being the only thing prompting him to continue. “She’s just been coming by lately whenever I order food.”

“You have been ordering a lot lately. Is she why?”

Bob lifts his head a bit shutting his eyes as he shook his head a few times before then tilting his head and shrugging.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’d have a crush.”

“Crush. Who has crush? Lena you have crush?”

The blonde rolled her eyes at the man who suddenly appeared from another doorway. “No, not me Alexei. Bob.”

Alexei’s jaw dropped a bit before a wide smile erupted, “Bob! You need help with lady? I can help you! You are sensitive guy and the ladies love that, but something you need is confidence. Next time you see pretty lady, walk up and say, ‘I’m Sentry,’ show some of your moves then say, ‘let me take you out!’”

“Who’s he taking out?” Came John Walker, entering the room. He was battered and dirty having just arrived from a mission.

“No one.”

“The food delivery app lady!” Alexei answered for the brunette.

“Can we stop talking about this please,” Bob asked, his voice a bit small.

“Aww Bobby old boy has a crush, my teeth are getting cavities from just thinking about it.” Bob shot Walker a look before Walker added, “what’s she look like? She pretty?”

“Ooh yes! Show me the pretty lady,” Alexei shouted.

“I don’t have a picture of her and if I did that would be weird!”

“Eh not so weird, next time just snap a quick pic, take one second,” Alexei suggested before turning to Bucky who had his back to the group, “Bucky! You see her. What you think?”

Bucky sighed, eyes finally leaving the upcoming mission plans alone, “I think…we should let Bob do this however he wants.”

“Thank you!” Bob shouts glad someone is staying out of this.

“I want to see pretty lady.”

“Well you can’t Alexei, cause she’s gone. Now please Yelena can we get back to this.”

Yelena raises her hands in defense and starts to walk back to the screen but as she does so, a ding can be heard garnering everyone's attention as the elevator doors slide open again.

Out stepped you as you cautiously looked around at the faces you’ve only seen in the news before. Typically whenever you delivered a meal it was just Bob there, (that was until this afternoon of course).

“Sorry, I have a delivery for Ava Starr.”

Ava suddenly stepped out from the side, where she’s been for who knows how long reaching out with a mannerly smile on her lips. “That’s me. Thank you and keep the tip.”

You thank her before taking one last glance around the room eventually locking eyes with Bob, who you offer a small grin to before fully turning around and leaving.

The room stayed silent as the elevator closed and it started to descend.

Alexei broke the still gushing, “oh Bob, she is beautiful lady.”

Bob just groaned in response, throwing his head back against the chair, knowing he’d never hear the end of this.

Part 2 Here

#marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction #thunderbolts fanfiction #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts imagine #thunderbolts fanfic #bob reynolds fanfiction #bob reynolds fanfic #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds imagine #Robert Reynolds x reader

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esstxys · 1 month ago

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𝓛 𝓔 𝓔 𝓕 𝓔 𝓛 𝓘 𝓧 - cockwarming.

warnings: cockwarming (obviously..), sub!felix, dom!reader, orgasm denial, implied fem reader, whiny nd needy felix.

summary: my thoughts on how subby felix would act while he’s getting cockwarmed.

• for starters, i saw someone say felix is the blueprint for a perfect sub and i wholeheartedly agree. this boy is so so good for you all the damn time.

• in-fact he’d been such a good boy recently that you couldn’t resist rewarding him.

• for his little treat you decided to tie his arms to the headboard and treat his dick to a leisurely deepthroating.

• bad idea though, because poor lixie was so lost in the pleasure that he forgot to ask permission to cum, and now he is here, being punished with a

long cockwarming.

• lix needed to be reminded who was in control.

• “you’ve been so good lately lixie… too good. I think you’re forgetting who decides when you’re allowed to feel pleasure.”

• and soon enough hes deep inside you, flushed and trembling, barely holding himself together as you feel each and every hot breath on your neck

• you haven’t moved an inch. not once since you sank down on him and quietly told him to stay still.

• now, his panting fills the quiet room, knuckles white as he grips the edge of the bed, trying to steady himself.

• you remain soft and serene, your hand moving slowly and tenderly through his delicate hair as if you’re trying to ease his restless mind.

• “breathe, baby,” you whisper gently, your voice low and soothing, “you’re doing so well for me.”

• his cock twitches inside you, desperate and soaked, throbbing with need but utterly helpless against your control.

• he gasps sharply, voice breaking. “please… I need to-”

• “i know,” you murmur, pressing your lips softly against his cheek in a quiet promise, “but you’re not going to.”

• a breathy whine escapes him at your words.

• “you were impatient earlier, remember?” you remind him softly, your hips shifting just slightly, barely enough to make him cry out in response.

• he was so fucking sensitive.

• “you rushed me, didn’t wait for my time… now, you’re going to show me exactly how good you are for me.”

• his head falls heavily against your shoulder, his body trembling as he struggles to handle the ache flooding through his lower abdomen.

• “it hurts,” he breathes, voice trembling. “i-i cant..” was he starting to cry?

• “you can lixie,” you say gently, “you can do it for me.”

• your fingers slide to the underside of his neck, gently lifting his head until his eyes meet yours

• “eyes on me, baby,” you command softly

• his wet lashes flutter, eyes glossy with need, as you lean in and kiss him, slow and soft.

• you look at his pouty lips and the way he bites them after you release from the kiss. his tear stained cheeks flush a rosy pink once he realizes your staring at him.

• you plant a kiss on one or his freckles to calm him down. still, you make no move. no shifting, no release.

• he closes his eyes tightly as you feel him squirm under you, trying to get any friction he possibly can.

• “you want to cum, lixie?” you ask quietly.

• he nods frantically, so eager and so completely open, broken in the most beautiful way.

• “then be still,” you whisper, voice low and full of control. “show me how good you are for me.”

• he chokes out a moan, nodding, tears beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming sensation once again

• “good boy lix,” you whisper tenderly. “so so good for me.”

• and still, you do not move not one inch.

• you keep him inside you, aching, denied, and wholly owned,

• exactly where he’s meant to be.

enjoy :p

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enimsiyobeht · 13 days ago

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how down bad is nct dream?

No one, no one, is more down bad than Jeno. He waits at the door. Fucks himself on your fingers in the kitchen. Gets hard when you put his collar on. Whines in his sleep from how much he misses you.

You find him curled up on the bed, shirtless, plugged, and clutching your pillow. “I know you’re tired,” he whispers, rolling onto his back, legs open. “But I’ve been thinking about your cock all day. Just… use me. Please.” You don’t say a word—you just unzip and slide in, and he lets out a moan like you gave him life.

He’s the blueprint for good boys. And he lives to be yours. (recently made something like this).

Mark pretends he's normal. He acts like he has a good head on his shoulders, gets shy when you flirt in public, and tries to keep things “respectful.” But behind closed doors? He’s crazy for you. Begging under the breath, cockwarming you in your sleep, please fill me up before your meeting kind of crazy.

You wake up to him already grinding down on your cock, face red, hands pressed to your chest. “Sorry—couldn’t wait,” he gasps, trembling. “I needed it. Just wanted to feel full—wanna cum with you inside me, please—” You grip his hips and whisper, “How long have you been doing this?” Mark bites his lip. “...Since 3AM.”

He’s lowkey the most emotionally cock-drunk of them all. Will literally cry if you tease him too long. Keeps a plug in when you’re away. Cums untouched just from hearing your voice when you're rough. (recently made something like this).

Haechan’s not just down bad—he’s deranged. Overstim. Overcum. “Put a baby in me” type shit.

He’s sprawled on your chest, your cum dripping out of him, eyes glazed. “You think I’m gonna let anyone else have you?” he slurs. “You better fuck me again before I go insane.” You stroke his back. “You can’t even move.” He smirks through his haze. “Didn’t say you couldn’t do all the work, Daddy.”

He wants you feral. Because he already is.

Jaemin wants it all the time. At home, at work, in public bathrooms. He’s so addicted to you that he’s gotten good at making it look innocent—when it’s anything but.

“We’re watching a movie,” you whisper. “Exactly,” Jaemin smirks, already pushing your sweatpants down. “Which means you can stay inside me the whole time and no one will know.” He bounces slow in your lap, completely unbothered, cock untouched and already dripping. “Just keep your arm around me and moan into my neck.”

He thinks sex is an act of love. And he loves you a lot.

Jisung acts all nervous, flustered even when you so much as graze his thigh—but the second your cock’s inside him? He's gone. Blown-out eyes. Clingy arms. Whimpering, “Don’t stop” on repeat.

“You’re so deep…” he mumbles, voice high and breathy. “Why does it feel better every time?” You don’t answer—you just keep going, letting his legs tremble around you while he clutches your shirt and cries out your name like a chant. He’s still hard even after he cums. Always is. “Just—please… a little more. I can take it.”

He’s shy, but he's got zero self-preservation around you.

Chenle acts cocky—teases you constantly, taunts you with how “unbothered” he is—but when you call his bluff, he melts.

“Bet you’d cry if I didn’t touch you for a week,” you said one day. Chenle laughed—right up until you actually did it. Now he’s straddling your lap in nothing but a sweatshirt, grinding against your thigh and whining, “Okay, okay—I missed you, alright? Please fuck me, I’ll be good…”

He talks back, but deep down? He needs it so bad.

Renjun pretends he's composed, always rolling his eyes at your flirting like you're annoying—but the second you're alone, he folds.

You’d barely closed the bedroom door before Renjun was on his knees. “This doesn’t mean I like you,” he muttered, unzipping your pants with shaky fingers. You smiled as he took you into his mouth anyway—eager, messy, drooling already. “Sure,” you chuckled, stroking his hair. “But why are you gagging on my cock like it’s the only thing keeping you alive, then?”

He's not the most openly down bad—but his body doesn’t lie.

sooooo simply ranked (because technically this was ranked from the most to the least):

🥇 Jeno.

🥈 Mark.

🥉 Haechan.

Jaemin.

Jisung.

Chenle.

Renjun.

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aspenmissing · 5 months ago

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Heyyy, I just wanted to say that I really enjoy your writing!!! Also, I would love to see the way you write the arcane characters x chubby reader if it's possible? (Sorry if you have already done something like this) 💗

ʙᴜɪʟᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴡᴏʀꜱʜɪᴘ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 4183 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴇʟꜰ-ᴄᴏɴꜱᴄɪᴏᴜꜱ, ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴏɴᴇꜱᴇʟꜰ, ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴꜱᴜʟᴛ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ), ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ/ɴᴜᴅɪᴛʏ (ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴏɴᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ! ɪ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ʙᴜꜰꜰ, ʟᴇᴀɴ ᴍᴇɴ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴄʜᴜʙʙʏ ꜱ/ᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. <3 <3

JAYCE

Jayce had always been drawn to beauty. The sleekness of Hextech, the gleam of polished metal, the refined architecture of Piltover. But none of it, none of it, compared to you.

You, with your curves that seemed sculpted by the gods themselves, draped in fabric that hugged every soft dip and roll of your body. You had never been one to hide, never been one to shrink yourself down to fit into someone else’s mould. You knew exactly who you were, and you owned it.

And Jayce? Jayce adored it.

He watched from across the room as you adjusted your corset, pushing up your ample chest with a satisfied smirk. The deep burgundy fabric accentuated every inch of you, cinched at the waist, only to flare out around your full hips. You turned slightly, catching him staring in the mirror, and let out a teasing hum.

"Like what you see, Talis?"

Jayce set down the schematics he was pretending to study and leaned against his desk, arms crossed, but his eyes never left you. "You know I do. How could I not when you look like that?"

You sauntered over, hips swaying, reveling in the way his gaze darkened, how he practically devoured you without laying a single hand on you yet. Stopping in front of him, you placed a hand on his chest and tilted your chin up, an eyebrow raised.

"You should say it, you know," you teased. "A man of your intellect should be able to articulate what he wants."

Jayce let out a breathy chuckle, his hands finally finding your waist, his fingers pressing into the plush softness there. He had always been strong, always been powerful, but when it came to you? He was completely at your mercy.

"I want you," he murmured, pulling you flush against him. "I love all of you."

You grinned, satisfied, running your hands up his broad shoulders. "Damn right you do."

Jayce kissed you then, slow and deep, pouring every ounce of devotion into the press of his lips against yours. His hands roamed greedily, tracing every curve, every soft plane, revelling in the warmth of you beneath his fingertips. He didn’t just love you—he worshipped you.

His lips moved from yours, trailing down your jawline, along the sensitive skin of your neck, drawing a soft sigh from you. "You drive me insane, you know that?" he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and teasing.

You laughed, fingers tangling in his dark hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. "I know. That’s half the fun."

His grip on your waist tightened as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on his desk amidst scattered blueprints and tools. His hands slid along your thighs, his thumbs brushing teasingly over the tops of your stockings. "And what about you?" he asked, his voice husky. "Do you know what you do to me?"

Your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer. "Oh, I have an idea," you purred. "But I’d love a demonstration."

Jayce let out a deep, satisfied chuckle before capturing your lips again, his hands roaming, exploring, savouring every inch of you. He wanted to make sure you felt just how much he adored you, how much he needed you. Every curve, every soft plane—everything about you drove him to the brink of madness.

And he had no intention of stopping.

VIKTOR

The hum of Piltover’s night buzzed softly beyond the lab’s windows, but inside, all was still. The only illumination came from the dim glow of Hextech crystals, their soft light casting a golden hue over Viktor’s form as he lounged on the small couch in his lab. He looked comfortable—one arm stretched over the back, the other resting against his chest, his ever-present cane propped against the side of the couch. His golden eyes gleamed with warmth as they traced over you, standing hesitantly by his side.

“Come,” he murmured, patting his chest invitingly. “Lay with me, moje láska.” (My Love)

Your heart clenched at the tenderness in his voice, but the moment you considered it, a flicker of hesitation crept in. You weren’t small, and Viktor—Viktor was delicate in ways you didn’t like to dwell on. His body bore the weight of his work, of years of overexertion and the creeping grasp of his illness. You didn’t want to risk making it worse.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you admitted, arms crossing over your stomach instinctively. “I’m—”

“Soft?” Viktor finished for you, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Warm? Everything I could possibly want pressing into me?” He tilted his head, watching you with an expression you knew well—the one that told you he was about to be stubborn.

You scoffed, but your pulse quickened when he suddenly reached for you, strong fingers curling around your wrist. Before you could protest, he pulled, not with force, but with conviction, guiding you until you were straddling his lap. His hands settled at your hips, grounding you.

You froze. “Viktor—”

“Shh,” he soothed, slipping a hand up your back, pressing you down against him. “You will not break me, my love. I want you here.”

Your breath caught as his warmth seeped into you, his body firm beneath you despite his slender frame. His heartbeat thrummed steadily under your ear, and for a moment, all the worries melted away. His fingers traced absentminded patterns over your back, slow and tender, as if memorizing every curve of you.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with sleepiness and something deeper—something reverent. "I have dreamed of this. Of you, against me, without restraint."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I just—sometimes I worry that I’m too much.”

Viktor huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “můj drahý, if you are too much, then let me be crushed beneath your love. It is the only weight I wish to bear.” (My Dear)

His words wrapped around your heart like silk, warm and unyielding. You let yourself exhale, sinking further into his embrace. Viktor hummed in approval, his hands smoothing over your back as though reassuring himself that you were finally giving in.

“See?” he whispered. “Not so bad, is it?”

You nuzzled into his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against the junction of his neck and collarbone. “You’re warm,” you admitted.

Viktor chuckled, the sound deep and content. “I should hope so. You are quite the blanket.”

You groaned against his skin, giving his side a playful squeeze, and he laughed again—a real, genuine laugh, the kind that made your chest ache with love.

For a long moment, you simply lay there, tangled together. Viktor’s breathing was steady, a slow rise and fall beneath you, his hand trailing idly over your back. You felt the occasional twitch in his leg, the remnants of strain from a long day, but he never complained. If anything, he held you tighter, as though afraid you might slip away.

“You should rest,” you murmured after a while, shifting just enough to brush your fingers through his hair. It was soft, tousled from hours spent hunched over his workbench, and the urge to card through it further was impossible to resist.

Viktor hummed, tipping his head slightly into your touch. “I will. But only if you stay right here.”

Your lips curved into a small smile. “I think I can manage that.”

He smirked, but there was something softer beneath it. “Good,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Because I do not plan to let you go.”

His voice had that low, certain weight to it, the kind that made your breath catch.

Viktor was many things—brilliant, stubborn, a man forever chasing the next great discovery—but above all, he was yours. And no matter how many doubts clouded your mind, no matter how often you worried about being too much, he always pulled you back to him.

Always.

You shifted slightly, just enough to press a lingering kiss to his jaw before settling against him once more. His arms wrapped around you with ease, and as the glow of the Hextech crystals flickered gently in the dim light, you felt it.

The quiet gravity of him. Of this. Of home.

JAYVIK

The door creaked open as Viktor and Jayce stepped into their shared room, voices low as they discussed the day’s work. The scent of metal and oil clung to them, remnants of long hours in the lab. They hadn’t expected to find Y/N standing before the full-length mirror, clad only in her underwear, fingers pinching harshly at the soft skin of her stomach.

Viktor stopped mid-step, his cane pressing into the floor. Jayce’s brows furrowed, his expression softening as he took in the scene. Y/N didn’t seem to notice them yet, lost in her own harsh assessment, a scowl pulling at her lips. The dim light cast shadows on her frame, accentuating every dip and curve she scrutinized so cruelly.

“What are you doing, darling?” Viktor’s voice was gentle but firm, enough to break her from her trance.

Y/N startled, arms moving instinctively to cover herself. “I—nothing. It’s nothing.”

Jayce sighed, stepping closer, his large hands reaching for hers. “That doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, guiding her arms away with deliberate care. He traced his fingers over the soft pouch of her stomach, his touch warm and grounding. “You know, this?” He pressed a kiss just above her navel. “This is where your body keeps you safe, keeps you healthy.”

Viktor moved to her side, his cane resting against the dresser as he cupped her cheek. “Did you know that this,” he murmured, his fingers skimming over the plush skin at her waist, “is a sign of warmth? Your body holds onto softness because it knows you deserve it.” He leaned in, lips brushing over the side of her stomach, reverent and slow.

Jayce’s fingers traced down her thighs, his lips following suit. “And these?” He murmured against the soft flesh. “These are strength. They carry you, support you, and they are beautiful.” He pressed a kiss against the plush skin, appreciating the warmth beneath his lips. “Soft, strong, and perfect.”

Viktor’s hands ghosted over her upper arms, his thumb rubbing circles over them. “These arms have held us, comforted us,” he said softly. “How could you think anything less of them?” He kissed her shoulder, letting his lips linger before whispering, “They are a gift.”

Jayce chuckled, tilting her chin up so he could brush his lips against the underside. “And this,” he murmured, pressing another kiss, “is just another part of you to love. It’s soft, and every time I see it, I think of how beautiful you are.”

Viktor’s lips curled into a soft smile as he kissed along her collarbone, then lower. His fingers traced the plush swell of her breasts, admiration shining in his eyes. “And these,” he breathed, voice laced with affection, “are perfect. They make the best pillows.” His lips brushed over them gently, reverently. “Soft, warm, and made to be cherished.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her earlier self-criticism wavering in the face of their tenderness. “I just…” she exhaled shakily. “I don’t always feel good about it.”

Jayce hummed, kneeling before her, his hands splaying over her hips. “Then let us remind you.” He pressed another kiss, this time to the inside of her thigh, his touch radiating nothing but admiration.

Viktor’s lips curled into a soft smile as he kissed along her shoulder. “We see every part of you, and we adore it. Every curve, every mark—” he kissed the soft skin of her upper arm, “—every inch of you is worthy of love.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, overwhelmed by the weight of their affection. Her self-doubt still lingered, but in this moment, with their hands and lips mapping her body with care, it was easier to believe that maybe—just maybe—they were right.

VANDER

The Last Drop had quieted for the night, its usual hum of raucous voices and the clink of glass replaced by the low crackling of the hearth. Vander leaned against the bar, his watchful gaze softening as he took in the sight before him.

There you were, curled up on the worn-out couch near the fire, with Vi and Powder nestled against you, their small forms tucked against your warmth. Mylo lay sprawled across your lap, his head resting on your plush thigh, while Claggor had somehow claimed a spot by your hip, one arm slung across your waist like a lifeline.

He huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. They adored you—each of them, drawn to your kindness, your warmth, your presence.

Hell, how could they not?

You were the heart of this ragtag family, and Vander knew, deep in his bones, he was the luckiest bastard alive to have you.

"Think ya got enough room there, love?" he teased, approaching with that familiar smirk playing at his lips.

Your sleepy eyes met his, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "Mmm, there's always room for you," you murmured, voice thick with drowsiness.

His heart damn near melted.

Crouching beside you, he reached out, his large, calloused hand running over the curve of your hip, giving it a firm, appreciative squeeze.

"That so?" he murmured, voice low, eyes glinting with something more.

Vi stirred, grumbling against your shoulder. "Ugh, get a room, you two…"

You laughed softly, fingers threading through Powder’s messy blue hair. "Shhh, just sleep, sweetheart."

Vander only grinned. "Girl’s got a point, though." His hand trailed lower, fingers ghosting over your thigh before he realized—his damn spot was taken.

Mylo, the little brat, was already sprawled across your lap, his head buried against the plush of your thigh like he had every right in the world to it.

Vander let out a deep sigh, shaking his head with a smirk as he lowered himself to the floor beside you. "Guess I’m gettin’ bumped to second place now, huh?"

You hummed, amused. "You saying you'd fight a kid for my thigh?"

His rough chuckle rumbled through his chest as he leaned in, resting his head just beside your other thigh, where your warmth radiated like a comforting embrace. "Depends. Think I got a chance?"

You carded your fingers through his thick hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Vander sighed, completely boneless beneath your touch, his hand slipping up to squeeze at your hip, thumb tracing lazy circles against the soft flesh.

"Dunno how ya do it," he muttered, voice thick with something deep, something reverent. "Holdin’ all of us together like this."

You smiled, tilting your head down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "Because I love you. All of you."

His grip on your hip tightened, just for a moment. "Yeah, love?" His voice was husky, filled with something raw. "Lucky me, then."

And with that, sleep claimed him, wrapped in your warmth, in your love, in the family you’d built together.

Morning came with the usual chaos—Vi trying to fight Mylo over breakfast, Powder accidentally knocking over a mug, Claggor just trying to keep the peace.

You were at the stove, flipping eggs onto plates, the rich scent of a hearty meal filling the room. A pot simmered nearby, steam curling up in lazy wisps. With a sigh, you crouched down to grab a skillet from the lower cabinet, shifting aside a few mismatched lids in the process.

And then—smack.

A sharp but playful sting echoed through the kitchen. You jolted, head nearly knocking against the counter as you whipped around with a glare. Vander stood there, utterly unapologetic, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Vander," you hissed, eyes narrowing.

"Morning, love," he rumbled, entirely too amused.

Your glare wavered when he leaned in, his calloused hands settling at your waist, fingers kneading into the plush curves with slow, familiar ease. His breath brushed your ear, warm and teasing. "Couldn't resist," he murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple.

You huffed, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck. "You're impossible."

"Ya love it."

Before you could retort, Powder piped up from the table, "Y/N! Vi’s stealing Mylo’s toast again!"

You sighed, slipping out of Vander’s grasp as you turned back to the chaos of breakfast. "Vi, knock it off!"

Vander chuckled, watching you go with a look of pure devotion before finally joining the kids at the table—like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed.

Yeah. This was home.

SILCO

The Last Drop hummed with low chatter, the heavy bass of the music pulsing through the floor like a heartbeat. Smoke curled in lazy tendrils above the tables, the air thick with liquor and sin. But in your secluded corner—reserved only for you and Silco—the world felt quieter.

Silco’s hand rested possessively on your thigh, the leather of his glove warm against your skin. He was always touching you, always anchoring you to him in some way. A silent declaration. A warning.

You lifted your glass to your lips, savoring the burn of the whiskey. Across from you, Silco swirled his drink, his mismatched eyes half-lidded as he watched you. It was a rare thing, moments like this, where the chaos of Zaun could not touch you.

Then the peace shattered.

A drunken fool stumbled toward your table, glass sloshing in his grip. His eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, zeroed in on you.

“Didn’t know Silco had a thing for—” The man hiccuped, then laughed, his gaze dragging over your form. “—soft women.”

Your jaw tightened, irritation prickling beneath your skin. Before you could react, Silco’s fingers twitched against your thigh. The shift was minuscule, but you knew what it meant.

Danger.

Silco leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose. “Do finish that sentence.” His voice was soft, almost inviting, but the undertone was razor-sharp.

The drunkard blinked, suddenly aware of the weight of his own words. “I—I just meant—”

Silco moved before the man could stumble out an excuse. His grip left your thigh, and in a blink, he had the fool by the collar, dragging him closer with deceptive ease.

“Tell me,” Silco murmured, his lips ghosting the man’s ear, “do you have a death wish, or are you simply too stupid to recognize one?”

The man stammered, sweat beading at his temple. “I—I didn’t—”

“You did,” Silco interrupted. His free hand—knife-sharp fingers wrapped in leather—came up to press against the drunk’s throat. Not hard. Not yet. Just enough to make the man’s breath hitch. “And now, you will pay for it.”

A sound like a whimper escaped the man’s lips. The Last Drop wasn’t silent, but the patrons nearby had stopped pretending not to watch. Everyone knew how this would end.

You exhaled slowly, setting your glass down with a quiet clink.

“Silco.” Your voice was calm, but it held weight.

His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he sighed through his nose. His irritation was palpable. But he listened.

With a shove, he sent the man sprawling to the floor. “Crawl away,” he sneered. “Before I change my mind.”

The drunk scrambled backward, his face pale, and scuttled into the crowd.

Silco exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders before turning back to you. He settled into his seat as if nothing had happened, his hand finding your thigh again, gripping it a little firmer this time.

You traced the rim of your glass, watching the whiskey catch the dim light before turning your gaze back to him. “You let him off easy.”

Silco hummed, swirling his drink before taking a slow sip. “Because you asked me to.”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the sharpness of his features, the tension still lingering in the line of his shoulders.

Then you leaned forward, resting your elbow on the table as you smirked. “He’s nothing but a drunken fool, love,” you murmured, voice warm with amusement. “Not worth the clean-up.”

Silco’s gaze flicked to you, that keen intelligence behind his mismatched eyes sharpening. He turned his glass slightly between his fingers, considering your words.

You continued, tone softer now. “A man like that… he doesn’t deserve the energy it would take to dispose of him. He’ll wake up tomorrow reeking of piss and regret, and he won’t even remember why.” You tilted your head, your smirk growing. “Now, that’s a fate worse than death, don’t you think?”

Silco chuckled, low and indulgent, his fingers tightening on your thigh. “You’re far too merciful.”

You arched a brow. “No, I just know the best way to make a man suffer.”

Silco let out a quiet hum of approval, his grip lingering as his thumb brushed absentmindedly over your skin. The warmth of his touch, the silent claim, was intoxicating.

He glanced at you, and for a moment, his expression softened, the hard edge of him melting just enough. “No one,” he murmured, voice like velvet, “speaks to you that way and walks away unscathed.”

Your fingers brushed against his jaw, tilting his face toward you. “I know.”

And when his lips curled into that knowing smirk, you knew—no matter how dangerous the world was, with Silco, you would always be safe.

CLAGGOR (AU)

The dim glow of Zaun’s flickering streetlights barely reached the small hideout where you and Claggor had tucked yourselves away for the night. The world outside was alive with the hum of machinery, the distant rumble of pipes, and the occasional shouts from a gang fight somewhere in the underbelly of the city. But none of it mattered. Not when Claggor had you wrapped up in his arms, his big hands roaming over your soft curves like he was memorizing every inch of you.

You lay sprawled on the bed, tucked against his broad chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The sheets were thin, but Claggor’s body was warm, his grip firm but gentle as he held you close. His scent—gunpowder, metal, and something faintly sweet—wrapped around you like a comfort you never wanted to leave.

“Damn, I love this,” he murmured against your hair, voice thick with contentment. His fingers trailed lazy circles over your stomach, kneading the soft flesh like he couldn’t get enough. “Love how soft you are.”

Your cheeks burned at the way he said it—gruff, reverent, like it was a secret only for him to cherish.

“You say that every time we cuddle.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s true every time,” he rumbled, a lazy grin spreading across his face. He dipped his head to press a lingering kiss to your temple, the heat of his lips lingering as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His arms tightened around you, his fingers wandering over the dips and curves of your body, mapping them out with slow, appreciative touches.

There was something about the way he touched you—like he was fascinated, obsessed with how perfectly you fit into him. His hands never stayed in one place for long, tracing along your waist, dipping lower just to squeeze at your plush thighs before drifting back up. His fingertips skimmed the underside of your belly, then up to your sides, his palms pressing into every soft part of you as if reassuring himself you were really there.

“I swear you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, trying to suppress a smile as he gave your hip a playful squeeze.

Claggor chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through your entire body. “Maybe,” he admitted, shifting slightly so he could press his forehead against yours, “but I got the best spot in Zaun right here. Ain’t nothing better than holding my girl.”

Your heart clenched at the pure adoration in his voice. He meant it. No hesitation, no second-guessing—just Claggor and his unwavering love.

You sighed, melting further into him, and let yourself relax. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. His hands didn’t stop exploring, sliding up your back, fingertips ghosting over your spine before traveling down to squeeze at the plushness of your hips. His thumbs stroked along your skin absentmindedly, as if every inch of you was something to be adored.

Outside, the city rumbled on—pipes hissing, gears grinding, neon signs buzzing faintly in the distance. But inside this little hideout, it was just the two of you. His warmth, his touch, his whispered words grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, lips brushing against your cheek, voice hushed like he was afraid saying it too loud might shatter the moment.

You buried your face against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of oil and iron, of home.

“Always.”

And with the steady heartbeat of the only person who ever made you feel truly safe, you drifted off to sleep in his arms.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader #claggor x reader #claggor x you #Au!Claggor

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areyouwell · 11 months ago

Text

Sciophobia

Noun: An extreme fear of shadows. An adult or child with Sciophobia may experience extreme stress and anxiety in everyday life due to the nature of light and shadow.

Ch.2

Ch.1 <---

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: the most DISGUSTING, tooth-achingly sweet fluff, like candyfloss-style shit. i vomited twice writing it and once again proofreading it. they make pasta together for TWO THOUSAND WORDS so if that ain't yer thing im sorry the good stuff will start soon. and by that i mean body horror. i threw up writing that for a completely different reason...

Word count: 11k (strap in and strap on folks)

A/N: as mentioned in the warnings, this is almost pure fluff. sure there's MC rage so strong my timbers were shivered but other than that it's mostly fluff. i want you guys to know, i am setting us all up for failure, because this WILL get sad. but it'll get hot first, then downright filthy, the a little disgusting before it gets sad, we got a while to go so booties ch.2 LFG

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit

“Maybe just try… concentrating harder?”

It took all of your willpower not to cross the few steps it would take to punch Scott’s lights out. Why the Professor assigned him to help with your training, you’d never know. Sure, it wasn’t like you were constantly at each other’s throats like he and Logan seemed to be, but you never exactly saw eye to eye either. Scott was too… neat, for you. He liked rules too much, always following what his head told him he should do, rather than following his heart or gut. It was infuriating on missions, and you’d had plenty of arguments about the correct course of action before he became the de facto leader whether you liked it or not.

That was shortly before you went away, so you didn’t really have much time to experience the dictatorship of Scott Summers, and now you were back, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to.

“Ya know what Scott? I’d never thought of doing that, thanks!” you bit sarcastically, sweat beading along your brow. You’d been at this for well over an hour now, hour two fast approaching with no progress. You’d successfully shadow-walked, though Cyclops noted your hesitation to do so. But could he blame you? The idea of shadow-walking and then suddenly not having the strength to pull yourself back together, or whatever it was you did, was quite frankly, terrifying.

Scott sighed, placing a hand on his hip and running the other through his hair. “Alright, take ten, I’ll talk to the Professor.” He said, already making his way towards the iron doors. You let loose a frustrated breath, bracing your hands across the back of your neck. This was hopeless. Utterly hopeless. What’s worse, is that there was no proof you could actually do those things. No proof that was the Professor was saying was fucking true.

You were glad the back wall was cast in shadow as you stormed across the floor, sending your fist careening into the metalwork, instantly regretting your outburst when the crack of your split knuckles rang out louder than the punch itself. Clamping your lips between your teeth to stop yourself from crying out, you let yourself breathe through the pain, savouring it just slightly. It was good. Pain was good. It reminded you how you weren’t just a pile of shadows wandering aimlessly through the air yet. You doubted you could feel a broken hand if you didn’t have a hand to feel with.

Turning your back to the wall, you slid down to the floor, head buried between your knees with your arms casing you in, throbbing hand gripping your opposite shoulder tightly. You wouldn’t cry. You would. Not. Cry. That wasn’t you. You don’t cry. Since when did you cry?

This was how Logan found you. He’d been stuck in a meeting with Xavier and Storm all morning, going over the blueprints of the latest rescue mission the team would embark on. Though in all honesty, he was barely listening, his thoughts disobediently drifting back to you. The memory of your smile, the teasing lilt in your voice, the way your arms felt wrapped around his neck, the scent of your hair invading his heightened nose. He wondered how you were getting on with Scott, and he pitied the fact you were having to do this with Scott. That was until the man of the hour walked through the doors, disrupting the meeting and finally releasing him back into the world.

It’s no wonder his feet led him straight to you, you’d been on his mind that much. So to see you like this, curled up against the opposite wall, your hand an angry red, it tugged at his heart.

You didn’t seem to notice him as he crossed the room, only looking up when he kicked the gym mat with his foot. There was that smile again. The one that didn’t reach your eyes and only serve to fool people who were fucking idiots into thinking you were okay.

The last person you expected to see walk through those doors was Logan. Last you’d heard, he was stuck in a meeting with Charles and Ororo. Scott was initially furious he’d been asked to help develop your mutation instead of intent ‘crucial strategy meetings’ so he called them, but he soon lightened up when you not-so-subtly reminded him it’s because Charles thought he was the best option to help you.

You sighed heavily, bracing your good hand on your knee as you rose to your feet. For Logan to see you in such a sorry state wasn’t high on your list of priorities. You were pretty sure it wasn’t on that list at all.

“Not goin’ well?” he asked softly, and you had to grit your teeth to stop yourself from tearing up. You watched his eyes flicker from your face to your hand, thick brows pinching in concern. You followed his line of sight, not that you needed to, you could fucking feel your knuckles pulsing fire up your arm.

“Uh, no, not really. I’d love to say I did this punching Scott, but he left before I could, so I took it out on the wall instead.” You half smiled, and Logan found himself blowing out a huff of laughter. Even in this state, in this mindset, you could still find humour.

Sinking your hand into the shadows across the wall behind you, you felt the familiar tingle of, what you now know was your body breaking apart, before the slight itch of pulling it back together as you dragged it back out, good as new.

Logan thought for a moment, hazel eyes flicking from you to the shadows behind you. “Have you tried–”

“If you’re about to say ‘concentrating harder’ I might have to hurt you.” You interrupted, much to his amusement.

“I’m assumin’ that’s what Scott said?”

“Word for fucking word,” you said with a slight lopsided smile. Now that one reached your eyes.

Logan took a few steps forward, now borderline pinning you against the wall. If it wasn’t for his hearing, he would have missed the way your breath hitched slightly, the slight shudder in your exhale. He chalked it down to your apprehension toward your situation. He had to. Giving himself hope like that just led to a shit load of hurt.

“What I was goin’ to say, was have ya tried from in there?” he raised a brow, his eyes looking past you and at the wall behind, and you had to take a minute to remember what you were talking about, his proximity all but throwing all and any thought out the window. It was achingly familiar to yesterday in the kitchen.

“You might be onto something…” you breathed when you remembered how to form words. Now you were thinking about it, he could be right. Why on earth were you trying to call the shadows to you, when you could drag them out with you? However, the idea of once again disappearing into shadow didn’t fill you with the same sense of freedom it once did.

And Logan could see it. The hesitation, apprehension. You’d told him you were scared last night, but this was the first time he’d seen it. “I’ll be right here, yeah?” Fuck the way you looked at him shattered his heart. You wanted to be brave, you wanted to have the same sense of wonder you always did when it came to your mutation. He looked at the clench of your jaw, the flare of your nostrils as you nodded.

“Alright… don’t go anywhere.” you half-joked, sliding your hands down the cool wall behind you, feeling your skin tingle at the mere idea of disappearing into the darkness.

“Where would I go? You’re right here.” Logan responded, placing his index finger on the centre of your forehead and pushing ever so slightly. It gave you enough courage to fall back into the darkness, feeling the release of those threads holding your corporeal body together.

Logan wasn’t really sure why he said that and he hoped to fuck you were too nervous about this whole thing to actually register what he’d said. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he watched you fold into the shadow, taking a few steps back and looking at his watch. Any longer than three minutes and he’ll start to think this was a really bad idea. Though, he probably should have told you that before you disappeared.

Fuck.

It was always a strange sensation. Your consciousness was still intact, but the rest of your body had disappeared, scattered into a million different pieces. Probably billions. You couldn’t see, but you didn’t need to. You could sense. Sense the layout of the room. Sense where the shadows begin and where they end. Everything became nothing, and it was freedom. Quieting your thoughts, you concentrated. Concentrated on pulling. It was the same itching sensation you felt when leaving the shadows, except you tried to ground yourself.

Ground yourself in a place that had literally no ground.

This was fucking impossible.

You felt yourself slipping, the shadows around you not knowing what it was you were asking. Did the shadows have consciousness too? You didn’t know. Who fucking knew? And you didn’t fucking care. You tried to concentrate again, pulling against those threads you used to bring yourself from one place to the other toward you.

And only succeeding in moving again. Walking. This was no fucking different to what you’ve always done. Just moving from one point to the next. You’d already fucking mastered that.

But at least one good thing had come from this. You weren’t afraid anymore.

You were fucking angry.

Your consciousness writhed like a ball of angry vipers, pulling at all and any threads you could sense around you, flicking from one place to another with no rhyme or reason, no direction.

If you could scream, you would have done. If you could lash out, you would have done. Rage rippled through your senses, those threads around you thrashing and flailing. Useless. Fucking useless. Maybe this was the fate you deserved. Disappearing into nothing, being nothing. Maybe you did deserve it.

But you wouldn’t fucking accept it. Not yet.

This is “–fucking POINTLESS!” you roared, stepping from the shadow, your body itching all over, buzzing with adrenaline, your back almost burning. Your eyes took time to adjust to the light again, but you were too furious to register anything. “What’s the fucking point? Nothing works! I can’t pull them toward me, I can’t pull them with me, this is fucking stupid!” you continued your tirade, almost feeling the physical weight of your failure heavy upon your shoulders. “I can’t fucking do it, so why bother trying? It’s been a day and I’m already sick of this shit!” you heaved, breath searing your newly formed lungs, sending shockwaves of fire through your shoulder blades. You couldn’t remember a time when you’d been this angry. “If this stupid fucking mutation doesn’t kill me I’ll do it myself I swear to fucking god and what the FUCK are you smiling at Logan?!” You bellowed, your eyes finally registering what they were seeing.

Logan had probably the world’s most gorgeous smile, and you wished you weren’t too pissed off to appreciate it. But before he had time to answer, Scott and Charles entered the room, Scott dropped a mug of what looked like freshly brewed coffee straight onto the floor, the shattering of the ceramic lingering in the air as the room fell deadly silent.

“What?” you asked, now slightly fearful as the three men peered at you, each with a different expression. Scott seemed utterly horrified, his jaw slack and agape. Charles looked almost smug, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. And Logan?

Logan just grinned at you, arms folded across his chest. “You did it,” he whispered, nodding to what you thought was the wall behind you. Your eyes lingered on his as you turned your head, finally looking at what everyone else in the room seemed to be seeing.

Honestly, you were fucking shocked you didn’t notice. At least now the burning in your shoulder blades had an explanation.

Two broad, rippling wings of pure shadow spread wide from your back, the darkness almost pulsing along with your rapid heartbeat. It felt good, and you noted the lack of pressure about your body. Those threads that seemed constantly under strain had loosened, seemingly constantly fed by the shadows at your back.

You slowly pulled at the strings, watching the wings move and shift with your intentions. Your fury dissolved as you watched in complete awe, along with the three others in the room. They folded close to your back and you felt the buzzing of energy against your leg, before you extended them again to their full size, tips grazing either side of the room.

“Wh… H-how?” Scott managed to stutter, taking a cautious step forward. You looked from your shadows to Cyclops.

“It, uh, it was Logan’s idea. Pull them out with me rather than trying to pull them towards me…” you were still reeling, slowly extending your fingers before trying to move the rest of your body. You didn’t know how much concentration it was taking to keep them intact, and you were a little afraid of letting them slip. Your breath came heavy as if you’d run around the estate at least four times.

Logan looked back at Scott, unable to help his ‘fuck you’ brow raise. And to his satisfaction, Scott clicked his tongue in irritation. He turned back to you when he heard your slight laugh, clearly having noticed the silent exchange between them.

“How did you even know about this?” Scott asked accusingly.

“She told me.” Logan retorted as if it was the most obvious response on the planet. Scott just stood there in shock.

“She… she told you? She told you. As in, the one over there?” Cyclops pointed at you and you flipped him off in return.

“Yeah? Who else would we be talkin’ ‘bout?”

“It’s just, she doesn’t tend to… do that,”

“She is right fucking here!” you held your arms up, gesturing to yourself in a way that thankfully returned the boys’ attention back to the situation at hand.

“Yeah well, this is all well and good,” Scott continued, crouching now to pick up the larger pieces of the shattered mug, “but how do you release them?” he finished.

He had a point. You couldn’t wander around the school with two giant wings stuck to your back, as much as you wanted to. How would you get through the doorways? Xavier wheeled forward until he was next to Logan, his face now much more serious.

“Carefully. Release it too quickly and the threads could go with them,”

“Wouldn’t that just mean she would be back in the shadow?” Logan asked, slight concern lacing his baritone voice. There was a catch here, and every single one of you knew it.

“Ordinarily yes, however, she cannot disappear into her own shadow. If she releases those threads anywhere other than back to its original form, there’s a risk of her disappearing with it and getting stuck,” He explained, to nobody’s understanding. You knew you couldn’t disappear into your own shadow, you’d tried before and your body simply wouldn’t let you.

“So wait… I can pull the shadow with me but have to return it to where it was, essentially?” you asked, slowly so that your question could be understood, even by yourself. Charles nodded, and you took a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself.

Logan couldn’t help but feel partly to blame for this. He’d encouraged you to take this step, to try alternate methods of developing your mutation, and now he had, you were stuck like this until you felt sure you could release it carefully. Shit.

‘She made it this far because of you. We have a chance at changing her fate because of you, Logan. You cannot regret that.’ It was always jarring when the Professor found his way into his head, and it wasn’t the least bit soothing. What did ease him a little, however, was your slight reassuring smile, renewed with confidence.

You could see he was battling with guilt, terrified that he may have endangered you. But you could do this. You’d already managed to achieve something you never thought you could today, what’s one more miracle?

“Hooookay, let’s try this… carefully, right?” it was a rhetorical question because honestly? You were a little scared, and stalling seemed to give you time to collect your thoughts and calm your slightly stuttering heart.

“Carefully,” Charles instructed, and you nodded once before taking another deep breath. Holding it for a few moments, you tightened the threads you hoped to fuck were holding you together, keeping them in place before blowing out the breath, releasing your connection to the wings behind your back. You felt them bleed down your shoulders, shivering slightly as the shadows snaked down your legs and back against the wall behind you, returning to their original state.

You’d closed your eyes at some point, honestly, you couldn’t remember when. You were scared to open them, scared to see if you’d fucked anything up, if parts of your body were just completely shadow, or whether you had accidentally grown multiple limbs or something. You knew your mind was running away from you, but you couldn’t help it, as ridiculous as it felt.

Logan smiled slightly to himself as he watched the shadows wash away and return to the wall, and that inward smile broadened when he noticed you weren’t moving, eyes clenched shut, your hands balled into fists, your shoulders tensed and hunched. He stepped forward and up to you, gently bracing his hands on either side of your neck, thumbs angling your jaw up a little. Your soft gasp didn’t escape his ears.

“Y’alright?” He asked, eyes searching your face before finding your own gaze, your lids having fluttered open. You visibly relaxed, one hand that was previously balled into a tight fist now gently sliding up his wrist, resting atop his forearm. Your touch was electric, fingertips sending shivers down his spine.

“Fine, I think,” you responded, gliding your nails through the hair on his arm. It was an absent response to his touch. You wanted to be closer to him, to bury your head in the crook of his neck and breathe in his pinewood scent. His breath was a mix of mint and tobacco, and you wondered if his lips had a permanent hint of whiskey if you were to taste them, having been told by a grumbling Jean that was who the hidden, half-empty bottle in the cupboard belonged to.

You instantly mourned the loss of his touch when he stepped back, though you were grateful he did. You’d been dangerously close to kissing him, and whilst you still wanted to, perhaps not without an audience of Charles and Scott.

“How are you feeling?” You blinked when the Professor addressed you directly, having forgotten what living in reality was like for a few moments. Nodding along with an answer you hadn’t voiced yet, you grinned along with a deep, contorting rumble of your stomach.

“Apparently, starving.” A chuckle escaped your lips and you braced a hand against your stomach in an attempt to soothe away the uncomfortable feeling of hunger.

“I think that’s enough for today. Logan, could you take this one to the kitchen? Make sure she’s fed.” There was a knowing look in Professor Xavier’s eye that Logan wasn’t sure he liked. Sure, he may have just lovingly held your face whilst bringing you back from the brink of terror, but that didn’t mean there was anything going on between the two of you. You met yesterday!

“Sure.” he shrugged, trying his damnest to sound nonchalant about it. You stretched your arms up above your head, popping your elbows slightly as you followed Logan from the room, feeling a thousand times lighter than you did when you entered two hours ago. Honestly, you couldn’t believe you’d succeeded.

The doors closed behind you with a soft swish, and you paused to appreciate the man walking ahead of you. You’d known each other for less than twenty-four hours, and yet you’d tear the fabric of the universe apart to ensure his safety. You knew almost nothing about him, and yet you felt the strangest pull towards him, a yearning to be around him, to be near him. It was infuriating, but so fucking exciting at the same time. Could this maybe be something? Did he feel this weird connection too? Or was it just your delusions working overtime? Honestly, hard to say.

“Take a picture, it’d last longer.”

You snapped from your daze to notice he’d turned back to you, realising you weren’t following him. Flashing him a broad smile, refusing to feel any kind of embarrassment that he’d caught you practically staring at him, you jogged a little to catch up, effortlessly falling into step beside him.

“Wanted to thank you,” you looked up at him through the corner of your eye, catching his own gaze.

“What for?”

“Everything. Logan, I’ve known you for less than a full day and you’ve already helped me more than people I’ve known practically my whole life. The Professor excluded. So yeah, thanks.” You shrugged, hitting the button on the lift to take you both back up to the ground floor. The doors closed and you leaned against the back wall, crossing one ankle over the other.

“You need better friends if you’re thankin’ me for anythin’. Wouldn’t anyone else do the same?” he asked, mirroring your stance against the adjacent wall, folding his arms across his chest. You snorted a laugh, and he found himself smiling at you.

“Yeah, friends would, but like I said, we haven’t even known each other a full twenty-four hours yet.”

Logan cocked a brow, his smile morphing back to a small smirk. “Well pardon me, princess, I thought we were friends.”

You rolled your eyes, and Logan had a horrendous feeling he’d misread the entire situation between you. “I mean like, lifelong friends, asshole. People I’ve known ever since I can remember. Not people I met yesterday,” you finished, gently kicking his foot with your own. Logan straightened up as the lift slowed to reach the ground floor, softly flicking your forehead in response to your kick, causing you to bat his hand away.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? You made an impact,” he shrugged, and you grinned.

“Oh yeah?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, bub. I’m just sayin’ you show up after not existin’ and immediately cause trouble.” he watched your expression shift from mischievous to a sheepish pout, unable to beat the trouble-maker allegations. He sighed slightly. “But hey, maybe I like trouble.” The doors opened for the both of you to leave, Logan being the first to make his exit. Though, you stayed behind for a beat.

“Or maybe trouble just likes you,” you retorted with that same lopsided smile he’d come to admire so much, before pushing back against the wall to join him.

“Yeah well, ‘m’not mad about it either way,” he mumbled, and you thought better about teasing him for it. You imagined this was about as close as he was gonna get to voicing genuine care for you, so you let it drop, simply humming a thoughtful smile in response.

You don’t know why you were expecting the kitchen to have a few people in it, since classes were currently going on. Maybe it was due to the fact you hadn’t exactly settled back into the life of a teacher yet. Not that you were a teacher anymore, the man currently rifling through the snacks cupboard had seen to that. You found, with no small degree of surprise, that you missed it. You missed teaching combat and strategy, you missed taking the kids through training drills and exercise routines. You missed helping them hone their mutations, with Jean’s help, or Ororo’s help. Sure, the worry of them getting hurt always used to play on your mind, but now you were back, you realised that the worry was worth the fulfilment.

Taking a seat at the table, you propped your chin up on the heel of your palm, watching as Logan crouched to one of the cupboards below the counter. You didn’t pretend like you weren’t enjoying the view. He really did look fantastic for one hundred and thirty. In peak physical condition.

“I’d say take a picture again but I’d really rather you didn’t,” you were too focused shamelessly staring at his ass you hadn’t noticed he was peering at you over his shoulder with a not-so-subtle smirk. You flashed one right back.

You were coming to like that phrase. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” you retorted, wiggling your brows up and down. Logan snorted a laugh.

“You flirt with everyone like this?”

You shook your head, moving to rest your chin on top of your now interlaced fingers. “Nah, only with the ones over ninety. I have a thing for older men,” you winked and he rolled his eyes.

“Stop,” but judging from his expression, Logan was finding this just as amusing as you were. But as much as you wanted to continue, your curiosity got the better of you.

“What’re you looking for?” you asked, standing from your seat at the table and skirting around the wood to sit on the edge closer to him, peering down over his shoulder.

“There used to be a packet of insta-noodles in here somewhere but I think one of the kids got to it first,” he explained, and you gasped dramatically, to the point where he actually looked a little concerned over his shoulder. “What?”

“Insta-noodles? My brother in Christ, please tell me you were not about to give me instant fucking noodles?” you felt something in you die at the thought, and something else died at his affirming nod.

“Yeah, what's wrong with that?” he asked, genuinely perplexed by your reaction. It was just noodles for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t like he’d just offered to kick a baby. He blinked at your barked laugh of disbelief, watching as you hopped off the table and shooed him aside.

“Step back fossil–”

“Hey!”

“and let me do this. We’re going to actually have food. Like, real food. Take a seat or watch and learn.” You shot him a look over your shoulder, before gathering whatever ingredients you needed. Logan dragged one of the chairs back from the table, taking a seat to watch whatever it was you were about to make.

You started by dicing an onion, a pan with oil already heating up on the gas stove, and it took all of three minutes for Logan to be impressed by your knife skills. You almost wielded the thing like a dagger, flipping it this way and that, before scooping half the pile of onion and dropping it into a plastic bowl. The other half you scraped into the pan, and Logan couldn’t help but savour the sound of the sizzle and the smell of food. Suddenly, he too was starving.

You crossed to the fridge, rummaging around the bottom shelf before pulling out a tub of minced beef, and a packet of mushrooms. Closing the door with your hip, you lay the ingredients out on the counter, pulling open the cupboard above your head to retrieve a box of breadcrumbs and a carton of eggs. Though he saw you pause briefly, turning your head back to him.

“You’re not vegetarian or vegan, right? Probably should have asked yesterday,” your question made him laugh, and you tilted your head to the side. “What?”

“Do I look vegan to you?”

You stuck your tongue in your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. No, no he didn’t. But at the same time, you’d made a similar mistake in the past. And it still haunts you to this day.

“Just answer the question, Lo’” you grit, placing a hand on your hip. Logan blinked, trying his best to get past the nickname you’d just given him. Usually, nicknames were his thing, having about a million different ones for a million different circumstances. He barely managed to shake his head, earning himself a smile of gratitude from you, before you turned back to your task at hand and he could settle himself with his brow pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

You crouched again, rifling through the cupboard with cans. Pushing a stack of soup to the side, you froze solid, your eyes blowing wide as your hand shook at what you saw. Another mug, though someone had gone to great lengths to hide this one. Your fingertips grazed the faded image, a photograph of a younger-looking you and a girl with fair features, her braids tied back at the top of her head. Her smile was brilliant. Dazzling. It took you a moment to will your blurring vision away, before inhaling deeply and bringing out the chopped tomatoes you’d been looking for, setting it to the side. Taking a moment to push her from your mind whilst stirring the slowly browning onions, you then cross to fill the kettle, flicking the switch to start boiling. Logan blew out a breath, having recovered from his heart stuttering and finally went back to watching you cook.

It was calming, almost hypnotic, the way you moved about the kitchen. Folding the onions in with the beef mince, breadcrumbs and two eggs. Only, it just occurred to him he had no fucking clue what you were making. Standing from his seat, he moved over to lean his shoulder against the fridge door, now having a clear line of sight to watch what you were doing.

“What’re you making?” he asked, smiling slightly as you startled. He didn’t mean to scare you, he just honestly didn’t realise how deep into the process you were.

“Meatball Marinara,” you answered, your fingers incorporating the ingredients in the bowl until you were left with a sticky, meaty lump you could form balls out of.

“From scratch?” he asked, eyes slightly wide. You’d spoken at length about your cooking last night, and how you’d learned, and it wasn’t that he didn’t believe you, it was more that he didn’t quite realise how impressive it was until he was here, watching you.

He swore, your smile could start and end wars.

“It’s pretty quick and easy, to be honest,” you explained, eyes never leaving your task despite feeling his own trained on you. You grabbed the salt from the spice rack, twisting the grinder a few times until you felt it was right. That was what a lot of cooking was for you. Just feeling. When you felt something was done, you’d take it from the oven. When you felt something needed a little more seasoning, you’d sprinkle some paprika in for an extra kick. Nothing was ever done by the book.

It’s mainly why you didn’t exactly get on with Scott.

“Huh…” Logan responded, watching how you’d started to take small portions of the beef and roll it into little balls, placing them onto a separate plate.

“Could you give the onions a quick stir? ‘ve got meat hands,” you wiggled your slightly shining fingers in his face, and he jerked back, much to your amusement. Logan fought the urge to flick your forehead again, settling on ignoring your evil little laugh and instead focussing on his critical mission of stirring onions.

“D’ya cook like this when you were away?” he asked, finding an insane amount of domestic comfort in cooking with you. He saw you shake your head out of his peripheral vision.

“Nah, didn’t have time, plus I was moving around a lot. Usually, it was quicker and easier things than this,”

“Like insta-noodles?”

You could fucking hear his smirk, and you managed to stop yourself from cracking an egg over his head. “No. Never insta-noodles. Ever.”

You’d finished making little meatballs and had started splitting apart a bulb of garlic, crushing the cloves beneath your knife before peeling off the skin and dicing them before dropping them into the pan he was still stirring. His eyes closed involuntarily as you leaned across him, once again your scent hitting him like a freight train, only this time your shampoo had blended with the sweet, slightly musky smell of your sweat. It was enough to drive him fucking feral.

“Keep stirring that, or it’ll stick to the bottom and burn,” you instructed absently, halfway through chopping up a few mushrooms before leaning across him again to drop them into the pan as well. Logan held the spoon like it was his lifeline, knuckles draining white as you moved around him to retrieve another pan.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded, and you snorted another laugh. He really had to pull himself together.

You poured the boiled water from the kettle into the new pan, lighting the burner and setting it on a high heat, bringing the water roiling before grinding salt for what Logan felt was far too long. He wondered vaguely if you had high sodium levels, or how your blood pressure was. You waited again for the water to come back to a boil, before placing a sizeable amount of spaghetti into the pan, putting slight pressure on the tips so the ends would soften and bend faster in the water.

Placing the lid over the pan, you went to check your watch. Your watch that you weren’t wearing. Fucking goddamnit. You looked around for a clock, before noticing Logan’s wrist.

Logan’s soul nearly left his body at the way you grabbed his hand, twisting his wrist to make a note of the time. You weren’t exactly rough, but it was assertive enough for him to think twice about the kinds of things he was into…

Wait, what the fuck was he talking about?

“You could’ve just asked the time,” he muttered, tugging his wrist back almost possesively.

“Hm?” you blinked. In truth, you’d been utterly lost in how good this felt. How right it felt to just do average, mundane tasks with him. “Oh, right, yeah, sorry. Could you tell me when ten minutes have passed?” you asked, almost instantly busying yourself again by carefully dropping the meatballs into the pan he was stirring. “Gotta brown off the meat first…” you instructed softly, almost absently. But he listened, slowing his movements. Your resulting smile was radiant. “Hey, you’re a natural!”

Logan raised a brow. “I’m stirring a pan, bub. Not exactly gourmet style.” You laughed, gently hitting his bicep with the back of your hand, only to stop in your tracks, shaking your knuckles out.

“Ow! I thought you said your bones were made of adamantium,” you exclaimed, rubbing over the back of your hand with your other palm. In truth, it didn’t really hurt, but you just wanted to make a point because nobody has the right to be this built. It was insane.

Logan bit his tongue to stop from smiling, his eyes sliding from that pan to you. “Just the result of a good workout regime,” he shrugged as if it were nothing special. In reality, he knew he looked good. He put a lot of work into his physique, and whilst his mutation did help with that, it was still nice to be complimented on it once in a while.

“Huh… you don’t say,” you responded, cracking open the can of tomatoes once the meatballs had browned to your satisfaction. The metal sizzled slightly as you poured in the sauce, setting the can to the side and retrieving a few basil leaves from the window box on the opposite side of the room. Logan hadn’t noticed it before, remarkably, and though having no experience with plants in recent history, something told him he wouldn’t have too much trouble identifying what they were.

It was a weird feeling. Remembering something he didn’t actually remember. Though it had been the story of his life for the last few years.

You dropped the leaves into the sauce, leaving him to stir the pot whilst you brought out two sets of plates and cutlery and set them on the counter, angling your head so you could catch sight of the time from the watch on his wrist. He would have just told you if he didn’t think you were deriving some kind of joy from attempting to read his watch sideways.

Removing the lid from the pan, you scooped up a single piece of spaghetti, blowing away the steam before dropping it into your hand when you thought it was cool enough. You shot him a quick look Logan could only describe as pure mischief, before throwing the spaghetti against the backsplash of the stove. He watched as the pasta hit the wall with a sick squelch, before sliding down the tiles.

He looked back at you, and you almost instantly burst into fits of laughter. “The fuck was that for?” he asked, his brows furrowed in perplexion.

You managed to recover from laughing, though hiccuped through a few giggles. “You can tell whether spaghetti’s done by throwing it at the wall. If it sticks, it’s raw, if it slides, it’s done,” you exclaimed, tilting your head to get another look at the time, noting that those ten minutes were up.

“Really?”

“Nah, that’s an old wive’s tale. Honestly, it’s just kinda fun to pelt spaghetti at a wall and call it ‘cooking’.” You sent him a wink, and Logan shook his head in fond disbelief. He felt like he’d seen so many sides to you in the last twenty-four hours alone. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he wanted to see more. He wanted to see how many sides to you there were, and whether he would like them all as much as he liked the ones he’s already seen. Your fury included.

“Your ten minutes it up, by the way,” he reminded you, and though he had a feeling you already knew, you nodded in thanks anyway, removing the boiling pan from the stove and flicking off the burner, the blue gas flames retreated to nothing. Skirting around him to the sink, you tipped out the water, using the lid of the pan to stop the rest of the spaghetti from falling with it. You shook the pan slightly, shaking out any pieces that had stuck together, before setting about separating the contents into two portions, one slightly bigger than the other.

“How’s it looking?” you asked, leaning back to take a look at the sauce. If Logan had to grit his teeth after smelling your scent one more time his jaw would fucking snap. You really weren’t making this easy on him, were you? Part of him wondered if you were doing it deliberately, but there was no way of you knowing about his heightened senses. Unless you’d asked around, which, with everything you’ve had going on since you got back, he sincerely doubted.

“Looks good to me, but I’m not the expert here,” he handed you the spoon, stepping to the side for you to take over. Your fingers brushed his as you took it, and he tried his fucking best to ignore the slight buzz you’d left.

Lifting the spoon to your lips, you sampled what you’d been slaving over for the last twenty minutes, smiling slightly as the sweet, tarty flavours burst on your tongue. It was a new sensation for Logan to wish he was a spoon, but here he was.

“Perfect!” you beamed, dipping the spoon back in the sauce and turning to him, your palm cupped beneath the wood to prevent anything from spilling onto the floor. “Wanna try it?”

Logan shrugged, stepping forward and allowing you to bring the spoon to his lips. Your eyes never left his, the tips of your fingers grazing the coarse stubble beneath his chin, but you didn’t move away. He struggled to focus on anything other than how close you were to him, the feeling of your fingers on his jaw, your breath fanning the lower half of his face. Your hopeful eyes waiting eagerly for his verdict, searching his expression for any kind of clue. And he was suddenly afraid of what you’d find there.

Stepping back, he pretended like he was savouring what you’d fed him, and whilst it was fucking delicious, it didn’t compare to how he imagined your lips tasting. Or anything else, for that matter.

“‘S’really good,” he managed, and you immediately looked as if you weren’t waiting with bated breath for his approval.

“Isn’t it? Fuck I’m good,” your laugh was more akin to an evil mastermind than someone who’d just made meatballs, but Logan would be hard-pressed to find another time in his life when he felt this at peace with the world. At least, not in the life he could remember. “Sit, I’ll bring it over,” you instructed, removing a larger, metal spoon from the drawer, which he took off you the moment he could.

“Pretty sure it’s supposed to be the other way ‘round, bub. You cooked,” he glanced pointedly to the seat you’d just gestured to. But clearly, you were, amongst many other things, incredibly stubborn.

“Not sure how you worked that one out, you cooked too,” you folded your arms across your chest, setting your jaw.

“Yeah, barely. Sit your ass down,” he pointed to the chair with the spoon in his hand, but you still refused, now leaning against the counter as if you could get any further away from the table. Logan sighed heavily, placing the spoon down again. “Didn’t wanna have to do this…” he muttered, and you didn’t have the chance to ask what he meant by this before his arms were around your waist and you were lifted effortlessly off the ground.

All breath fled from your lungs. Your hands instantly fell to his shoulders, nails clinging on for dear life as he carried you to that godforsaken chair. His grip around your body tightened as you attempted to wriggle free from his arms, laughing breathlessly, exhilaration coursing through your body. Only, the moment he tried to set you down, you did a complete 180 and wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist.

“Let go,” his words were muffled against your neck as he bent almost double, and you leaned back until you were practically hovering above the chair.

“Seemed like a good idea a minute ago, huh?” You arched a cocky brow and were met with an expression mirroring your own.

“So you gonna cling to me forever? That your genius plan?”

“If that's what it takes,”

“Let go,” the way he said your name almost had you falling to the floor, your muscles suddenly growing weak. But you stayed strong, out of nothing but principal at this point. He wasn’t even holding you anymore, you were clinging on through sheer willpower alone. For the sake of being stubborn.

“You made this bed, now lie in it,” you responded haughtily, refusing to look into his irritated façade.

“That doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” he growled, and you fucking melted. That wasn’t fucking fair, and judging by the steadily growing smirk, he knew it. His hands gripped both your calves, successfully peeling you from his waist whilst you were distracted. You had no choice but to let your legs fall to the floor, catching yourself on the chair behind you, much to his triumphant grin.

“You cheated!” you gaped, sitting cross-legged on the seat. Logan barely looked over his shoulder as he started spooning the sauce onto the two piles of pasta. All that over fucking spaghetti. And you didn’t even regret it a little.

“How’d I cheat?” he asked, though you were aware he knew full well how. And you were right. He did know. Of course he knew. He’d used that specific voice countless times before. Usually under very different circumstances. He just wanted to hear you say it. Hear you say how it affected you.

But, true to form, you were stubborn.

“You’re stronger than I am,” you sighed, glaring heated daggers into the back of his head. You wanted to be petty, to stand up and take the spoon from him again, but in all honesty, you don’t think you’d survive another round of ‘sit on the fucking chair’.

Logan looked at you over his shoulder, his eyes swirling with knowing, and you stuck your tongue in your cheek and looked away, not giving him any satisfaction of confirming what he was thinking. You’d been so caught up in avoiding eye contact, that you almost jumped when he set the plate down in front of you, setting his own at the opposite place. At least he’d had the sense to realise the large portion was for him. Credit where credit was due, you guessed.

A comfortable silence blanketed the kitchen as he took a seat, two glasses of water in his hands, and you smiled a thank you. If you had your brother to thank for anything, it was teaching you how to cook. Well, it was many more things than that, but at this moment, it was cooking lessons. He didn’t want you going into the world with the culinary skills of a carrot. His words, not yours.

You had a feeling Logan was a hard man to impress, so listening to his small grunt of appreciation was music to your ears. “Told ya I was a good chef,” you beamed after swallowing a mouthful and taking a large sip of water.

Logan nodded in agreement. It wasn’t like he could disagree, the proof was right there, in front of him, in his fucking mouth for fuck’s sake. And the peace pesto from last night. Though he was glad his metabolism was fast. Pasta two days in a row can’t be good for anyone. “Never said you weren’t,” your expression fell from pride to scowling in seconds, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’re a fantastic chef.”

Your eyes narrowed as you searched for any hint of dishonesty, but you came up short. Though he said it as if to placate you, something told you he really meant it. You were just playing around, in all honesty, teasing in order to forget what just happened between you, and you’d gotten so much more than you bargained for.

Much like the other night, you both fell into comfortable, mundane conversation, finding refuge in how fucking normal everything felt right now. You laughed and smiled as if the threat of disappearing into nothing didn’t constantly hang above your head, and he teased and joked as if the weight of his forgotten life didn’t constantly burden his shoulders. You could get used to this. Dangerously used to this.

Logan was completely enamoured by you, once again finding himself encapsulated by the way you talk, from moments where you get really into whatever story you’re telling, to quieter moments when you let the conversation settle. If he was to die tomorrow, unlikely but worth entertaining from time to time, it was moments like these he was sure would flash through his mind.

“What about you? I’ve talked your ear off about my life but you never talk about yours. Though, I guess there’s a lot to talk about,” you mused thoughtfully, twisting your fork through your spaghetti, or whatever was left of it. Logan grunted, shifting in his seat to lean against the back of the chair.

“It’s not a happy story,” he admitted quietly, buying himself some time by taking a long glass of water. Your gentle eyes found his, a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

“I’m not looking for a fairytale. Just who you are,” you fought the urge to reach across the table and slip your hand into his. Though you didn’t want to push him to divulge anything, you just didn’t wanna feel like the whole conversation was one-sided. Sure, he would chime in with a few anecdotes but mainly it was just asking you questions.

If he was being honest with himself, Logan wasn’t sure he wanted to tell you anything about his past. He knew you wouldn’t judge, clearly having seen a fair amount of bullshit yourself, and the fact that it simply wasn’t who you were. No, his problem lay with the fact that he didn’t want to dampen your spirit with his sob story of a past. How he only remembers through thrashing nightmares, waking up soaked in sweat, heart racing. You didn’t need to know any of that.

“Alright… I–” he began before quite literally being saved by the bell. Logan looked at his watch, brows raising at how easily time had once again run away with the two of you. You blinked, looking around as if you could find the bell and ask it personally why it was going off so early before the echoing of ongoing conversation shattered the domestic delusion you’d both managed to trick yourselves into feeling.

“Another time,” you stood from the table, leaning over to grab his plate, but he swatted your hand away and instead took your own.

“Never learn, do ya?” he asked with a slight smile, and you rolled your eyes. With a heavy, defeated sigh, you conceded, simply allowing him to take your plate to the sink. Stretching your arms high above your head, you popped your stiff shoulders, turning your head as two students you knew well entered the kitchen.

“You made meatballs?! No fair, I wanted some!” Jubilee whined, her books still clasped against her chest. Artie stuck out his forked tongue, much like a snake would taste the air around it before his curious face morphed into a frown. It seemed he too wouldn’t have minded meatballs.

Logan looked over his shoulder at the two newcomers, his eyes darting between you and them, your guilt written all over your face.

“I’ll make them for you again sometime soon. We could have one of those big dinners we used to do, remember those?” you asked, your eyes alight with hope. Logan had heard of those. Apparently, you used to cook for the whole mansion, and the students would drag tables and chairs from all different rooms and have a huge feast together. Of course, he didn’t believe a word anybody said about it, since he was convinced you were a figment of everyone’s collective imagination, but now he knew you very much did exist, he could envision you dancing around the kitchen for hours on end, preparing dish after dish.

Jubilee’s face lit up at the suggestion, her hand hitting Artie’s arm excitedly. “Seriously? You mean that? We’ve missed doing that so much. Nobody cooks the way you do!” She bounced on her toes, before whirling and darting from the room, most likely to tell the rest of her friends. Artie lingered for a few seconds, clearly not knowing whether he wanted to stay or to race after Jubilee, before he too turned on his heel and ran after her. You chuckled softly, running a hand through your hair.

“What’ve I gotten myself into…?” you muttered, startling slightly as a hand rested on your shoulder. You looked up at Logan, unable to accurately decipher his expression. All you knew was that it was soft. Softer than you’d seen in the last day or so.

“Were y’always this good with em? The kids?” he asked, and you huffed a laugh. You wished you could say yes, absolutely, you’d always been naturally gifted at looking after children. But that wasn’t the truth.

“Fuck no. Used to hate kids, to be honest with you. Thought they were annoying as fuck when I first started,” you admitted slightly sheepishly. “But, they grew on me. Still not a fan of like, other kids, but any who come to this school? Love ‘em.”

“Makes me wonder why they sent you ‘round America and not someone more suited.” his eyes glinted with mischief and you lightly elbowed his ribs.

“I can be incredibly persuasive.”

“That so?”

“Mmmhm,” you nodded emphatically, stepping out of his range and immediately missing the warmth of his palm on your shoulder. You hadn’t even noticed he’d left it there until you moved away and hopped onto the table, your feet dangling slightly. He didn’t take his eyes off you, scanning your face as though he was considering you. You cocked a brow. “What?”

“Teach with me.”

You blinked. Well, you weren’t expecting that. “Come again?”

“Teach with me,” he repeated as confidently as he’d said it the first time. You scoffed a laugh.

“What? Why?”

Logan shrugged. “You’re better with the kids than I am, and it would give you a good opportunity to develop your mutation in a combat setting.” And I get to spend more time with you.

You hesitated. “I– I don’t know, Logan. It’s… I don’t think it’s a good idea,” While you wanted nothing more than yet another excuse to be around him, you didn’t know if getting back into teaching was the right thing for you at the moment. Yeah, you missed it. Fuck, you missed it more than you thought you would, but you really meant it when you said you weren’t cut out for it. If only you weren’t the only person who thought so.

“One class.” he bargained. “Help me with one class tomorrow and decide from there.”

You pursed your lips, and Logan could almost hear your internal debate. “You’re not gonna let it go til I do it, are you?”

“Probably not,” he smirked, knowing he’d just got you to agree. Your resulting sigh confirmed it.

“Fine. One class. No more than that.” In all honesty, you would have agreed just to see his resulting smile.

“We’ll see about that bub, class starts at one tomorrow.”

You nodded once, nerves suddenly bubbling in your gut. You were going to teach again, after being out the game for the last two years. Fucking hell you wanted to throw up. But you took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. Maybe this was a good thing. A blessing in disguise. Sure, it had been a while, but maybe Logan was right. Maybe your mutation would only develop under times of stress. You were incredibly stressed today, and look what happened.

“Alright, I’ll talk to Charles and Scott, see what they say,”

Logan huffed, clearly irate with the idea. “Don’t give a shit what Scott says. He couldn’t help you after almost two hours. I was there for two minutes and you made progress,” he huffed, and you couldn’t help but laugh slightly. Was he… was he jealous? No, that wasn’t possible. What would he have to be jealous about?

“Alright tough guy, rein it in. The way you helped out earlier, it wouldn’t surprise me if Charles is telling him you should be taking over my training,” you hadn’t even thought about it before you said it, but now it was out your mouth, you realised it was entirely plausible. Especially since anyone with eyes or ears could see how much better you got on with Logan than you did Scott. Logan suggested one approach and it worked like a charm.

“Ya think so?” Fuck was the hope in his voice as obvious to you as it was to him? The idea of helping you with your mutation, whilst slightly terrifying, excited him. He couldn’t help but think that would be a learning experience for both of you.

“Yeah, why not? Like you said, Scott couldn’t help after two hours,” you shrugged, hopping off the table. “Anyway, I’m in dire need of a shower and comfier clothing, so I’ll see you in a bit.” Logan almost cried at the thought of you no longer smelling like you do now, and he had half the mind to tell you to forget the shower, you smelt that fucking good. But he also didn’t want the reputation of the weird-smell guy, so instead of trapping you in his arms and begging you not to, he simply nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, see you later.” He grumbled, trying not to be obviously annoyed by the fact the time you’d spent together was coming to an end. You shot him a confused look, before disappearing out the door and up the stairs to your room. Logan stayed for a few more minutes, his eyes closed as he finally let himself get lost in your scent. He wanted you. Fuck he’d only known you for a day and he wanted you. How the hell was he supposed to just behave normally now you were back living here? It simply wasn’t possible.

He groaned, running a hand down the side of his face. On the one hand, he really wanted to spend more time with you. He was actively looking forward to spending time with you. But on the other, he didn’t know how much longer he could behave himself. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this ‘friendly’ banter with you without it crossing the line. Had it already crossed the line?

Jesus Christ, he didn’t even know. He couldn’t help thinking this was likely about to get extremely messy if he didn’t get his shit together. But, at the same time…

He always liked a little mess.

Freshly showered, moisturised and pampered, you lay face up on your bed, your room feeling more like a forest than anything else. The steam from your shower still rolling out from your bathroom, and the more tropical plants you kept seemed to be absolutely thriving. You were thrilled, you really were, but you couldn’t take your mind off the day you’d just had. Not that it was over, it was only five in the afternoon, but so much had happened in the last day it was hard to wrap your head around.

You’d been replaced as a professor, your bedroom stolen, and you’d been informed that the mutation you thought you knew so well wasn’t actually what you thought it was at all, and that it could very well end you in seconds. You’d thrown a fit, broken your hand, dragged shadows toward you and constructed them into a pair of fucking awesome wings, and cooked with a man you’d known all of two minutes.

And the strangest fucking part was that you couldn’t get him off your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was honestly getting a little irritating, seeing his face every time you close your eyes, hearing his laugh when your room got a little too silent. Feeling the ghostly touches of his arms around your waist, his hands on your neck. His breath against your ear.

You flapped your arms down on your bed in defiance. You would not lie in bed thinking about him all evening. You refused. And luckily, due to an unexpected visit, you didn’t have to.

“He likes you, ya know,”

You screamed, whipping your head back to your door where you saw Kitty strolling in, completely unphased by your reaction. Grabbing one of your pillows, you threw it at her approaching form, watching as it soared straight through her body. Your jaw flapped, completely speechless. “I– Wh– Kitty! You can’t just waltz in here unannounced! Scared me shitless!” you exclaimed, running a stressed hand through your hair.

“Why? I always used to. Been gone that long, huh?” she asked, plopping down on the end of your bed and crossing her legs.

“Yeah… guess I have,” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for your accommodation to be broken into. The moment rumour got out there was a mutant staying a few streets over the road, you had to move. Sometimes you hadn’t been quick enough and had spent the rest of the evening frantically scrubbing blood from beneath your fingernails, before making a quick exit.

Those were the times on your travels nobody needed to know about. Those were the times you’d keep to yourself.

You jumped again as your door burst open, a frantic Logan looking you up and down before his eyes darted around the room. “You alright? I heard screaming,” he panted, slightly breathless from clearly having sprinted up the stairs.

Your heart grew five sizes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Kitty scared the shit out of me, ‘s’all,” you shrugged, too focused on him to notice the woman of the hour beaming wildly, looking between the two of you.

His shoulders sagged, the man visibly relaxing, his eyes lingering on yours. “Okay…”

“Okay…” you repeated, unable to tame your disobedient smile as he almost awkwardly nodded his head.

“Right. I’ll uh, yeah. Leave ya to it,” he clicked his tongue, sending you one last glance to make sure you were really okay, before closing the door.

You sighed, shaking your head fondly, chuckling quietly to yourself.

“Oh. My. God. You like him too!”

Looking up with unnatural speed, you scoffed, waving your hand dismissively. “The fuck are you talking about?” you asked a little too defensively.

“I’m talking about you and Logan. He clearly likes you, and now I can see that you like him too! Oh, this is so fucking cute, just wait until I tell Marie, she’ll go fucking crazy!” Kitty clapped her hands excitedly, and you had to catch one of her wrists in order to stop her.

“What are you on about? Logan doesn’t like me, we’re just friends,” oh, was it supposed to hurt that much to say it? But, in all honesty, you don’t think you were ready to confront whatever it was you felt for this man. For now, you were pretty content to bask in not knowing, and being kind of excited about it.

“Mhm? Friends don’t eye fuck in the kitchen.”

You choked. Her tone was so matter-of-fact that if you weren’t actually looking at her, you wouldn’t have believed you were talking to Shadowcat herself, Kitty Pryde. “Kitty! Christ, what happened to you? And we weren’t eye fucking. I was hungry and refused to cook insta-noodles, so we actually made a meal.” You explained.

“For almost four hours? Meatballs take twenty minutes, twenty-five at a push,”

“We lost track of time!”

“I repeat, for four hours?” she asked again, folding her arms and raising one of her thin brows. You pursed your lips to stop yourself from saying anything else incriminating. “Though as much,”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t need to, it’s written over your lovestruck face.” She poked her finger toward your nose, and all you could think about was the way Logan flicked your forehead beforehand or the way Logan gave you that little push back in the training room. Or the way Logan–

Christ on a fucking boat when would it end?

“I’m not lovestruck,” you mumbled, dragging your knees up to your chest. You debated telling Kitty about your predicament with your mutation, for the sole reason of explaining why you and Logan were spending so much time together recently, but you didn’t think you could bear the look on her face. The only ones who knew, to your understanding, were Scott, as the leader of the team, Jean, as the leading scientist, Charles for obvious reasons, and Logan because you told him. You didn’t really want another person to know your problems, especially not Kitty.

You couldn’t bear to see her face when you told her you weren’t a phaser anymore. The mere thought broke your heart. You had matching mugs and everything. You couldn’t do that to her. Let alone sharing the idea that your mutation could simply not allow you to return back to the corporeal world one day, and you’d be stuck as nothing but wondering consciousness in the shadows for, effectively, all eternity. That was a little too morbid to talk about even with Logan.

“He’s just… helping me get back into the swing of things. I haven’t been a teacher for a long time, Kit, and since he took my position, he’s offered to help me–”

“Get back into teaching! Oh my god, he has, hasn’t he? That’s so exciting! I thought you didn’t want to get back into it?” She asked, untucking her legs and swinging them around so she was now lying comfortably on your bed, her head propped up on her elbow.

“Well, we’re not getting ahead of ourselves, but yeah, that’s the idea. Gonna help him with his class tomorrow…” you trailed off, your heart beginning to accelerate at the thought of teaching your first class in two years. “So yeah, that’s why we’ve been spending so much time together. It’s nothing serious, promise! Plus, since most of the new students are kids I found, he’s pretty much the only person I don’t know here.” You flopped back down onto your bed, angling your head so you could still see her.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, a moment to let the conversation settle and for your heart to slow a little, before Kitty spoke up again. “He was really excited to meet you,” she offered quietly, and your brows raised subconsciously. “Everytime someone started talking about you, he’d tune in. He was subtle, but Marie noticed it first, and she told me to look out for it. He was looking forward to meeting you for the best part of a year.”

You took a deep breath. That couldn’t possibly be true. “You’re good at seeing things that aren’t there, Kit. I love you for it, but sometimes things really aren’t that deep,” you explained softly, trying your hardest not to smile at the image of Logan only tuning into the conversation if it was about you. It was definitely a stretch of the imagination, but it was a pleasant one.

“Yeah yeah, you watch. I’ll be keeping an eye on your totally platonic relationship with Professor Howlett but mark my words, you’ll be together by the end of the month,” Kitty smacked your calf to emphasise her point, and you shook your leg threateningly, laughing at the notion.

“I cannot wait to see you eat your words. I’m sure they’ll taste of falsehoods and regret.” You flashed her a toothy grin, and she stuck her tongue out in retaliation. You’d missed moments like these. In all honesty, you hadn’t realised how lonely the last two years had been. Hadn’t realised how starved of friendship you’d been until you found yourself talking and laughing amongst friends again. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed this place until you came home again, to both the old friends, and the new.

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #x men logan #x men x reader #x men wolverine #james logan howlett #logan smut #wolverine smut

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ifqtalstories · 11 months ago

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𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 - 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Warnings: degradation, choking, slapping, bondage, spanking, rough s3x, etc.

A/N: This is my first smut story in a very long time, I'm not used to writing stories but I hope you enjoy this! Also reader is an adult and doesn't have a gender since I made this for all genders! MINORS DNI OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!

William had always been interested in one specific employee and that was you. He was not someone who openly showed his feelings, so he kept any emotions he may have had to himself. Little did William know, you had been hiding a crush on him for quite some time. As William began to pay closer attention to you, he eventually uncovered the hidden affection you held towards him

After Fredbear's Family Diner had closed for the day, William sat in his office sorting through paperwork and designing blueprints of 4 new animatronics - Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, and Foxy. As he worked, the ticking of the clock only added to his stress levels. He took a drag from his cigarette, relishing in the burning sensation in his throat before releasing a cloud of smoke into the room. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Assuming it was his best friend and business partner Henry Emily, William remained seated and didn't bother to answer the door. "What now, come in and don't waste my fucking time." He said gruffly. The door creaked open, but William didn't bother glancing up until he heard a voice that wasn't Henry's. William glanced up and saw his favorite employee, a small smile formed on his face. "Ah, it's you. Close the door behind you and have a seat."

For nearly 15 minutes, you and William sat across from each other, engaged in conversation. Without any warning, he suddenly stood up and walked around the desk, towering over you. With a firm grip, he grasped your chin before forcefully pressing his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. You initially stiffened but soon melted into the embrace, letting out a soft moan as you held onto his shoulders tightly. William groaned in response and lifted you up, pressing you against the wall as the kissing became more intense. After several minutes, you both finally parted with heavy breaths. A thin string of saliva connected both your mouths, and he leaned his forehead with yours in an attempt to calm down. With desire still evident in his eyes, William held you against the wall, not wanting to let go just yet.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to do this to you when I first hired you here... fuck you drive me wild, doll...~" William growled, his voice dripping with a mixture of desire and satisfaction. He began planting kisses and bites on your exposed neck, relishing in the sounds of your moans. With a sudden move, William picked you up and threw you onto his desk, scattering everything that was on it to the floor. He ripped open your uniform top, buttons flying everywhere and exposing your chest. His hands explored your body, tracing every curve and dip before he leaned down and peppered kisses along your stomach, stopping just short of the waistband. With a firm hold, he tugged your pants and underwear down, leaving you completely vulnerable and exposed in front of him.

"You're such a naughty slut, you know that doll? Driving me fucking insane with your stares and the swaying of your hips... you knew what you were doing, didn't you you little tease? You knew you were riling me up, making it impossible to keep my fucking hands to myself..." William let out a low, growl before deciding to remove his clothing. As he undressed, his erect cock sprang free, hard and ready "This is how hard you made me, bloody hell I feel like I could drill a hole in the wall from how fucking hard I am..." He grabbed his tie and tied your wrists together with it.

He wanted to take his time, so he applied some lube onto his fingers before preparing you. He inserted his fingers at a steady pace, eliciting moans and gasps from you. "P-please sir... I need you, please..~" You moaned in pleasure as a smirk appeared on William's face. He pulled his fingers out before grabbing some lube and coating his cock. He positioned himself at your entrance, ready to continue the intimate encounter.

"You ready, bunny?~" Before proceeding, he wanted to confirm your readiness. You nodded and gave the signal for William to continue. With a grin, he slowly entered you, letting out a low groan of satisfaction. "Mmh fuck, you're so tight... relax and breathe for me, yeah?~" He whispered before pushing himself deeper until he was fully inside you. William held still for a few moments, allowing you to adjust to his size. Once you seemed comfortable, he began moving slowly, giving you time to get used to him as the initial pain turned into pleasure for you, "Ah, please sir... faster..~" You begged. William's eyes darkened with desire as he picked up the pace, eliciting more gasps, whimpers, and moans from you. Luckily, everyone including Henry went home after closing time and William was grateful for the privacy with his favorite employee.

Several minutes had gone by, and William was panting heavily as he aggressively ravished you on his desk. The desk shook with each thrust. Your moans and cries only fueled his desire. "Yeah that's it darling, scream for me." A low growl escaped from his lips as he gripped your throat, restricting your airflow but not enough to render you unconscious. He maintained a steady gaze into your eyes, his silver orbs locked onto your own.

"Keep your eyes on me, bunny... You want that raise, don't you?" He whispered huskily in your ear before nibbling on your earlobe. The sight of his cock going in and out of you was driving him wild; his control slipping with each movement. "Fuck it... I'm not holding back anymore. You're going to take my cock as hard as I want to give it to you, do you understand?" He slapped you across the face, eliciting a yelp from you. He knew you enjoyed the mix of pleasure and pain he was giving you. "I knew from day one that you wanted my cock deep inside you. Such a fucking whore." He aimed for your sweet spot inside you, causing you to scream in ecstasy and see stars. With a wicked grin, William repeatedly hit that spot over and over again. "There it is, slut...I found it..." He maintained his unrelenting pace as you moaned and squirmed like a slut beneath him.

William let out a growl and gave you a sharp smack on the ass, panting heavily as the tightness around his cock intensified. He could feel himself nearing the edge, sweat dripping down his body and his breathing becoming more ragged. With each thrust, he got closer to reaching climax, sensing that you were also close. William looked down at you, enjoying your expression, "P-please.. Mr. A-Afton... I need to c-cum, p-please... I c-can't hold it in anymore.. please.." You begged as you had tears in your eyes from the intense mix of pain and pleasure. William growled in response. "Not yet, love. Hold it until I say so. I'm almost there," he rasped, his thrusts became harder and faster, driving you and himself closer to the edge. Finally he reached his peak with a loud groan. "Now," he commanded, giving you permission to cum.

At the perfect moment, you let out a scream and reached your peak as your body trembled with intense pleasure. Meanwhile, William continued his forceful thrusts until he slammed in one last time and released with a loud roar, filling you with his seed. He grunted and continued to move until his high faded, then stopped completely and breathed heavily in exhaustion.

"Holy fucking shit.." He said breathlessly, he stayed inside you for a few minutes until he calmed down his breathing and pulled out slowly, observing his essence drip out of you with a small laugh. He untied your wrists, letting them free, "Mmmm you did very well, rabbit. You definitely deserve that raise... and a promotion as well. You'll be my personal assistant from now on, especially outside of work.." He smirked before he tucked his softened cock back in his pants and fixed his appearance and clothing before he gave a soft kiss to your forehead. He gently pulled you onto his lap, both of you relaxing after the intense session you both had.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf smut #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton x you #william afton smut #boss x employee #william afton x female reader #william afton x male reader #william afton x y/n

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kayawolfhorse · 7 months ago

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Towards the Sun | Read on AO3

My part of @thedoomedpie and I’s Solstice Social collab, hosted by @hermitadaymay! Check out Pie’s lovely piece here <3

—☾—

The sky is an endless swath of bright blue above Pearl’s head, and the birds chirp their early song from the bough of every tree around her. At her hip, her almost empty mailbag rustles with every step. She adjusts the brim of her hat against the morning sun and strides towards her next stop.

Tango answers the door in a robe with pools at his feet with a mug of steaming coffee and eyes that brighten when he catches sight of Pearl. “Pearlie! Got my morning mail?”

“I sure do!” Pearl says, and hands him the couple of envelopes with his name scrawled across their fronts. “How’s your weekend off been treating you?”

“It’s been weird,” Tango chuckles. “Nice! But weird. Case in point, when’s the last time I had my mail delivered?”

“Hah, yeah, it was weird seeing it in the office,” Pearl says, and leans against the porch balustrade. “It’s good to see you getting some rest, though! You needed it.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Tango says with a slight, goofy bow. “You’re due for some time off, too. Relax! You deserve it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Pearl smiles. “For today though, I’ve got errands to run!”

“Festival organizing, is it? Wouldn’t expect you to be anywhere else,” Tango teases. “Can’t wait!”

“I was just about to ask if I’d be seeing you there!” Pearl says. “There are a few things to be done beforehand, but it’s all coming together beautifully.”

“Wouldn’t miss it! I—” Tango’s interrupted by a rapid series of familiar, high-pitched beeps.

Pearl spots him first. “Hi there little buddy!” She crouches down to meet Grumbot at face-level. “What’s up?”

Grumbot whirs, and the foliage that cascades down the side of his boxy head shakes slightly as a piece of paper slides from the output slot on his torso. He pulls it loose with one doodle-speckled arm and holds it up to Pearl, who takes it and scans it over.

“Mumbo needs help, does he?” she asks. Grumbot extends his hand in what Pearl recognizes to be as close to a thumbs-up as he can get with his lack of fingers, and the motion is equally as endearing as when Mumbo himself flashes one in awkward acknowledgment.

“With the lights?” Tango reads over Pearl’s shoulder. “I can go over and give him a hand.”

“No worries; I’m overseeing the lights, anyway. Besides,” Pearl says, giving Tango a playful poke, “one of us is supposed to be resting.”

“Alright, alright,” Tango concedes. “I’ll get you to take a break one of these days, mark my words.”

“Consider them marked,” Pearl says, and rises to her feet. “Bye, Tango!”

As Pearl turns to follow Grumbot, Tango says, voice fading behind them, “Say hi to Mumbo for me!”

“Will do!” Pearl calls over her shoulder.

—☾—

“You’d really think that hovering lights would be more willing to, you know, hover,” Mumbo says.

Sunlight pours from high-cut windows above the row of cabinets and catches against the glass of the unlit heaps of lanterns scattered around the workshop in various stages of assembly. Redstone wires are piled in the free space left between the lights, and spare circuits weigh down the edges of sprawling blueprints across the benches that line the wall.

Pearl pulls up a stool at Mumbo’s side, where he’s hunched over the central table, turning a bulb between his hands. His suit jacket has been abandoned on a nearby table, and his dress sleeves are shoved back to his elbows. “They’ll get there, I’m sure of it,” she says. “Have you got any clue why they aren’t working?”

“That’s the thing—I have none at all! None!” Mumbo says. He presses a hand to his temple. “There’s nothing obviously wrong with them, they just won’t work.”

“Is it all of them?” Pearl asks, pulling the bulb’s sleek white casing closer to inspect.

“All of them, yep,” Mumbo confirms. “They’re completely unresponsive.”

“Odd.” Flipping the casing upside-down, Pearl slides a nail along the cover until it pops open. The compacted redstone as its core is a beauty, and she takes a moment to admire it. “Grumbot, could you hand me that screwdriver?

Grumbot’s rapid cacophony of dings sounds near-anxious in pitch. Pearl frowns—he’s never been anything but utterly at home in Mumbo’s workshop.

Nonetheless, Grumbot retrieves the screwdriver and holds it out to Pearl from as far away as he can stay. As soon as Pearl takes it and thanks him, he races off to the other side of the room once more, sitting in a sunbeam in the clearest corner of the shop.

“That’s weird,” Mumbo says. “That behavior’s weird, right? He never does that.”

“It is,” Pearl agrees.

“I’ll go ask him,” Mumbo says, and rises from his seat.

Glancing back down, Pearl focuses on the redstone before her, taking it apart piece-by-piece and laying it upon the table. The craftsmanship is perfect; each mechanism primed, every wire lovingly crossed, devoid of misplaced or faulty fires. There’s no reason for it not to work. It doesn’t make sense.

Mumbo’s stool scrapes against the wooden floor as he pulls it back and drops heavily onto it. His brow is knitted and his mustache is ruffled in puzzled confusion.

“What did Grumbot say?” Pearl prompts.

With a slight shake of his head, Mumbo says, “Couldn’t get an answer out of him. He just kept repeating that the redstone was bad.”

Pearl rubs a wire between her fingers. She’s having trouble thinking of a solution, her mind sparking like flint and steel that refuses to take. Her head pangs in a dull ache just in general, honestly—did she have any water before heading out?

Redstone, much like just about anything else, wears out eventually, and brings with it a habit of corroding its surroundings if left to rot for too long (she and Mumbo had learned this the hard way, what with their shared hobby of flipping old tech), but the lanterns’ redstone shows no sign of attrition.

“We could… replace it?” Pearl hedges.

Mumbo looks as uncertain as she feels. “This shouldn’t be all that old,” he says, “I got a new shulker-worth of it a few months ago; it’s been sitting in a chest since.”

“Might as well give it a shot, right?” Pearl says. “We’ve got nothing else to go off of.”

“I guess so.”

Their efforts are to no avail; the lantern remains decidedly dark and firmly grounded.

“It was working yesterday afternoon,” Mumbo says, passing a hand across his face, “I don’t get how it’s just stopped now.”

Pearl scratches at the back of her neck and tilts her head—a poor choice; the movement sends the dizziness behind her eyes spiraling, and she takes a moment to breathe through it. For all that she loves a good puzzle, frustration bubbles at the back of her throat. The redstone should be fine; Mumbo’s worked on it for weeks and his design is meticulous. Of course it’d be now, mere hours before the festival, that a bug would rear its ugly head.

“How complicated would it be to switch it over to solar?” Pearl asks. Whatever’s wrong with the redstone, they can figure out later. She has a schedule to keep, and it cannot be eaten up by stubborn lights.

“Not terribly difficult,” Mumbo says, “but I don’t actually have any panels small enough for them on me, and they won’t last as long, and they’re supposed to be on at night.”

“If you can get panels in the next hour and charge them while you assemble, they’ll have a few hours’ worth of juice in them, which is all we need,” Pearl says. “Redstone’s not giving. We need the lanterns faster than we can fix whatever’s wrong with them.”

“Okay,” Mumbo says. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for the help.”

“Sorry I couldn’t do more,” Pearl says sincerely. “I’ll get those panels to you, how’s that?”

“Oh, that’d be wonderful, actually,” Mumbo says. “Thanks, Pearl!”

Pearl’s about to respond when her communicator buzzes in her pocket. Pulling it out, she reads: there’s been a situation.

Sighing, she says to Mumbo, “Change of plans; looks like I’m needed elsewhere, unfortunately.” For what exactly, she’s not sure. Leave it to Grian to provide no further specifications.

“That’s okay!” Mumbo says. “All good, no worries. I’ll get it handled.”

“You’re just the man for the job, mate,” Pearl says, patting him on the shoulder before adjusting her bag’s strap. “Call Etho if you need an extra set of hands—Tango’s supposed to be resting.”

“Ah, I did hear about that, yep,” Mumbo says. “You’ve got it! Good luck with the preparations!”

Pearl flashes a salute before stepping outside. Before the door can fully close behind her, Grumbot zips through it and wraps an arm around her leg.

“You want to come with?” Pearl asks.

Grumbot gives a furious nod and a wiggle of his mustache.

“I’m heading for the labs, you know,” Pearl says.

Grumbot’s aversion towards them is as stalwart as the rise and set of the sun; he refuses to step foot on the grounds. Though Pearl expects him to back out, Grumbot nods his head again.

“Alright,” Pearl says skeptically. “Maybe between you and I, we can drag Grian out for some fresh air, aye?”

—☾—

Mumbo’s workshop is closer to the fields than it is the center square, and though the walk is lovely, the spring day pleasantly balmy, Pearl keeps her pace at a fast clip. The excited bustle of festival preparations amidst the mundanities of everyday life streams past her as she stops by the post office to drop off her mailbag and marches towards the laboratory at the heart of Solaris.

The streets narrow and quiet down as she and Grumbot continue on past rows of shops closed for the day and markets whose early hours have long passed. A light breeze plays with the ends of Pearl’s hair and Grumbot hums something Pearl recognizes to be one of her own silly little tunes; after a beat she joins in. Despite the mission at hand, it’s all rather peaceful—a tranquility that is completely shattered by the swarm of bees that seems to materialize directly in front of them, swiftly followed by a familiar dash of pink and blue.

“Lizzie!” Pearl calls out. “What’re you up to, mate?”

With a bouquet of overflowing flowers in one hand and a net in the other, Lizzie turns to Pearl. “The bees!” she exclaims, slightly out of breath.

“What about them?” Pearl asks, tilting her head. “They’re allowed to roam, aren’t they?”

“Joel broke their hive by mistake whilst trying to move them,” Lizzie explains. Her fuzzy wings flutter behind her. “We’re trying to get them back into a new one before they take off for somewhere else entirely. And they don’t want to blumming listen!”

“I can’t imagine bees are known for their listening skills,” Pearl agrees. “Are you trying to lure them back home?” Lizzie’s flower shop is nearby, but her and Joel’s house is a few blocks away.

“Joel’s getting the new hive now,” Lizzie says. “I’m just rounding them up for when he gets here with it.”

“Grumbot here and I can help!” Pearl offers. She can’t just leave Lizzie with all of this. She prays that it won’t take terribly long. “Isn’t that right?”

Grumbot makes a sound that approximates agreement. There’s already a bee perched upon one of his flowers.

“Great!” Lizzie says. She halves her bundle of flowers and passes them to Pearl. “Here, take these. Try to get them to stay around the shop. I’ll head down Main.”

“You’ve got it!” Pearl says. Lizzie flashes a relieved smile and runs off.

Left to her own devices, Pearl’s immediately struck by how difficult of a task it is to get the bees to remain anywhere specific.

Petunias tangle with ivy down the side of nearly every building down the street, and nasturtiums sprout around each lamp out front. Sculpted topiaries, colorful flower beds, and communal gardens fill every bit of space not occupied by paths.

Pearl has always taken pride in the lush beauty of their little town, and so close to the festival, it’s dialed up to a hundred: flower wreaths and garlands are hung by the bushel. The bees—several hundred of them, by the looks of it—seem determined to visit every last petal.

“Here, buzzy buzzy bees,” Pearl coaxes, holding out a fistful of lilacs to the group in front of the bakery. Somewhere behind her, Grumbot imitates the bees in a whirring hum. “C’mon, that’s it…”

After Pearl leads her first group to the flower shop and watches as they cluster contently on the stand of bouquets by the door, she stations Grumbot next to it to gently discourage anyone from wandering too far. He waves his bundle of flowers invitingly to any bee that leaves the stand, beeping to alert Pearl if one slips past him.

Pearl oscillates between grabbing the furthest bees’ attention and slowly luring them closer to the shop. Though most of them hover within reach, a few have drifted further up into rooftop gardens or flower boxes beneath second story windows, and Pearl resolves to locate a ladder as soon as she can. The emptiness of the path is a relief—Pearl can’t imagine the difficulty passerby would add to bee-wrangling.

By the time Joel arrives, fresh hive in hand, Pearl’s gotten most of the bees in the same general area, darting across the flower shop’s front, perched upon her own bunch of flowers, or flying lazy circles around her face.

“It should be all set up now,” Joel says, setting the hive carefully down on one of the nearby tables. Two bees fly right in, and after a moment, several dozen under the storefront window leave their bouquets to follow. “And hi, Pearl. Thanks for the hand.” Pearl waves.

Lizzie reppears with a mini-swarm of the most adventurous of stragglers, and her bees hover cautiously around the hive for a moment until joining the ones inside. “Thank goodness,” she says. “Do you have Queenie?”

“She’s in there, yep,” Joel says proudly. “There’s also the couple of frames I managed to save.”

“Nice!” Pearl says, and gently shakes her bundle of flowers over the open top to encourage her bees loose.

“We’ll just have to get them close enough that they go in,” Joel says. “They’re smart enough; they’ll follow their queen.”

Grumbot appears at Joel’s hip with clasped hands and several murmuring beeps. His extended arms just barely reach the top of the hive, and when he opens his hands, a single bee flies out and into the hive below. Pearl laughs softly and Lizzie grins; even Joel can’t help but look charmed.

“Thank you, Grumbot,” Lizzie says with all the seriousness of ceremony. Grumbot wiggles his mustache, pleased.

Between the four of them and the ladder Joel runs back home to retrieve, they gather up the last of the bees and give the street one final sweep before sliding the hive’s cover on. Joel hefts it up with a grunt, and says his goodbyes before disappearing around the block.

“Thanks for the help, guys!” Lizzie says. “I was real worried there; it’s a good thing you came along.”

“Of course!” Pearl says. “I couldn’t just leave a gal hanging, now could I?”

Lizzie’s expression turns contemplative, and she mutters something that Pearl can’t quite catch before saying, “Oh! Have you picked out your flowers yet? For your crown?”

Her flower crown! Pearl lightly smacks the heel of her hand against her brow. “I’d totally forgotten, to be honest. I’ve been so busy with everything else, it’d just slipped my mind.”

“Well, come by the shop anytime today, and they’re on the house,” Lizzie says. “As payment.”

Though no payment is needed, it’s useless to argue; Lizzie’s made-up mind is a firm thing, and besides—Pearl really does need a crown. “Thank you so much, Lizzie!”

“It’s the least I could do,” Lizzie says with a grin. “See you later?”

“You betcha.” Pearl winks.

Continuing down the freshly bee-less street, Pearl spares the clock on its end a glance and makes a mental note to swing by the flower shop once the plaza’s fully set up. Early afternoon has already managed to sink its unerring roots into the day, and there’s still so much left on Pearl’s checklist. Total perfection may not be the name of the game, but she’s determined to land as close to it as possible.

She’s so occupied with running through the list in her head—meet with Scar and Bdubs, consolidate decorations, run home and change, eat at some point, that’s probably important—that she nearly runs straight into Gem and Impulse.

Gem halts the wagon behind her before it can crash into Pearl. “Hey, Pearl!” she says. Impulse waves from his spot further back.

Pearl shakes herself free from her ruminations. “Hiya, guys!” Grumbot beeps in greeting.

“Whatcha you up to?” Gem asks. She loosely crosses her arms and leans against the wooden paneling of the wagon, and it jostles gently against her weight. Its underside casts soft golden light upon the cobbled street it hovers above.

“Heading to the labs,” Pearl answers. “You two are catering, I’d assume?”

“Not quite yet,” Gem says, “but we will be in an hour. For now, we’re just helping move stuff around.”

“Fantastic,” Pearl says. “Quick question, is your wagon working as normal?”

Gem and Impulse turn to it in unison.

“Chugging along as always,” Impulse says, and raises his eyebrow with a faint, confused smirk. “Why, what’s up?”

“Just checking,” Pearl says. She sounds a little frazzled to her own ears, to be honest. If Mumbo’s redstone problem was town-wide, she’d certainly know about it by now—she’s not sure what she was expecting, really.

“O-oookay,” Gem says, squinting. “You’ve got leaves in your hair, by the way.”

“How did that—? Ah, oh well. My accessories.” Pearl waves a vague hand. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve really got to get going. Bye!”

“You’re being so suspicious!” Gem exclaims, laughing slightly.

“All part of my charm!” Pearl says. She starts to walk away before sharply changing her mind; turning back, she asks, “Actually, can Grumbot hang out with you two?” At Grumbot’s protest, she reminds him, “The labs.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gem says, and smiles at Grumbot. “This does not make you any less weird, though.”

“Does anything?” Pearl leans down to give Grumbot’s head a pat, and after returning the gesture to her arm, he plods off to Impulse. “See you all later!”

Gem snorts. Impulse’s directions and Grumbot’s responding beeps fade behind Pearl as she thrusts ahead.

—☾—

The polished floors of the laboratory's foyer catch and reflect the daylight from where it filters through the glass dome high above Pearl’s head. Carefully maintained potted yucca and pitcher pods frame either side of the reception desk, bringing with them splashes of life in the otherwise still space.

She’s been here often enough to remember the crack in one of the mud bricks above the maintenance closet, and the receptionist’s nod is familiar as they wave Pearl through. Sweeping past the main doors, she raps against the second door to the left in a cursory knock before pushing it open.

It takes her eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden dimness. When her vision clears, she regards the mess around her—just as disorganized as she’d last seen it, despite Grian’s promise to declutter—with a long-suffering sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, I had other things to do,” Grian comes around one of the tables saying. His coat is, for once, fully buttoned, however rumpled it is, though his red sweater peeks out at the collar.

“I can’t believe you,” Pearl says. “We talk about this every ti—”

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” Grian interrupts. He has the good grace to look apologetic when Pearl glares. “Listen, I brought you here for a reason.”

“Coulda used it upfront, really,” Pearl mutters. Grian shrugs.

“There was a minor sculk—not even a flare; it’s not big enough to be a flare—incident this morning, at Vintage Beef’s,” Grian says. “Before it opened. Beef had noticed a small spread following his pre-hour duties.”

Pearl can’t quite stop the small gasp that escapes her, and her heartbeat picks up in her ears. “Is anyone hurt?” Infected, she doesn’t say.

“No.” Grian shakes his head. “It was fresh enough that Beef didn’t suffer more than a nasty headache, and he avoided contact.”

“That’s good,” Pearl says, a little distantly. There have been instances of sculk sightings within town before, but they usually crop up on the outskirts, closer to the ruins; the butcher’s is so central. “Has the sculk been fully cleared?”

“That’s the thing—we’ve been developing this, this new agent, and it worked like a charm. It kills the sculk without aggravating it; all that’s needed afterwards is some good ol’ elbow grease. Pearl,” he says incredulously, “it didn’t spread.”

“Really? Gri, that’s amazing!” Pearl exclaims. “What about the surfaces it was on? How did they fare?”

Grian pulls a face and tilts his outstretched palm. “It was in the press, really messed up the redstone. Had to be replaced. The wall behind it is being replaced, just to be safe,” he says. “But, I nabbed a piece before they could stop me.”

“You and rules never have gotten along,” Pearl agrees. “Did you test it?”

“Of course I did.” Grian grins. “There was the tiniest sliver of residue, but it’s completely inactive after being sprayed. A few minor tweaks to a formula and bam, it’ll be as if it was never there in the first place.”

“Wow,” Pearl says, at a loss for anything else. As a child, she’d had a game, a simple manner of gathering points before the bad guy caught up. It’d been found on a scavenge, and cleaned up the best they could, but sculk remnants clung to the wiring—a fact discovered hours later. Pearl had been bedridden for weeks.

The scavenges eventually tapered to an end, after the town had grown enough to completely sustain itself. Years later, Pearl had rebuilt the game with Mumbo, and it’s sat in her bedroom since.

Wait. “You said the sculk affected the redstone?” Pearl asks.

“Yeah, the press wasn’t working, which is what led Beef to prying it open and finding the sculk,” Grian says. “It was an old machine; sculk likes the static of old redstone.”

Dread rekindles anew in Pearl’s gut. Each detail that fell askanse in the moment feels all too clear now. “I don’t think,” she says slowly, “that Beef’s case is the only bit of sculk in town.”

Grian’s gaze steels. “Explain.”

Pearl goes over her time with Mumbo earlier, describing the deadbeat redstone, her own nausea, and Grumbot’s apprehension. “I suggested switching to solar, for the time being,” she finishes. “Haven’t heard from him since.”

Grian’s taken to pacing while she talks. Pearl absently gathers papers scattered on the table into a neat stack.

Abruptly, Grian stops. He pulls out his communicator. “We need to get him out of there, now,” he says. “We’re lucky that the lanterns aren’t connected to the grid—the sculk shouldn’t spread as easily, but Mumbo’s gotta get away from it.”

“What can I do?” Pearl asks. With one final, decisive tap, she sets the papers aside. She feels steadier with a task in hand.

“Change your clothes, for one thing,” Grian says. “If you’re contaminated…”

“I’m not,” Pearl says quickly. “I shouldn’t be. It didn’t touch my clothing. My symptoms faded in fresh air.”

“Okay. Then just, keep on at the festival.”

Pearl smiles something wry. “I’m keeping my ‘sole townie with super secret information’ status, now am I?”

“You’re Pearl; it hardly counts.” Grian waves a hand, but meets her eyes in understanding. “Just for tonight, you are. There’ll be an announcement tomorrow morning. It’ll be good to keep spirits high.”

“Okay,” Pearl says. “You’ll be alright?”

“Nothing new with me.” He shrugs. “No breakthroughs, but I’m still here, that counts for something.”

Pearl knows of his frustration. Years spent researching sculk, only for the city he was studying in to collapse in a full-blown flare. Grian had stumbled half-alive into town.

He should’ve died from the infection. He’s the only known survivor. It creeps along his edges, unyielding, aching, preying on a body that refuses to give out.

She’s glad he’s here.

Laying a light hand on his clothed arm, she asks, “Any chance I’ll be seeing you at the festival?”

Grian hesitates. “I’ll try,” he decides after a moment. “It’d be a real shame to pass up on free dessert, anyway.”

“I’ll save you a cupcake,” Pearl says. Her mouth pinches at the corners.

“I knew I could count on you.”

—☾—

The fireworks show is as dazzling as Cub had promised it would be. Circles of gold and showers of blue burst to life high above the plaza and cast sparkling reflections down upon the copper railings. The crowd, adorned with enough flowers in their crowns and chains to be mistaken for a field of them, claps and cheers in jubilant appreciation.

Mumbo’s lanterns float gently through the air, beacons of warm, softly flickering light. There aren’t as many as there were in the workshop—reduced from contamination or lack of time, Pearl doesn’t know. Mumbo’s own absence, however much she expected it, is an anxious ache in her chest. He isn’t the only one missing.

After the fireworks, the music stirs up a jaunty tune, and the centermost ring fills with movement: heels clatter against the cobbled brick as dancers spin between partners and link arms with a new one before being cast back.

Pearl doesn’t join so much as she is roped into the fray, and despite herself, she stomps to the beat and laughs at the joke Ren makes before flinging himself towards False.

Finding Gem is a manner of trading arms and conversation until they’re drawn together. Gem looks lovely with her sprigs of lilacs tucked behind her ears and woven throughout her antlers, and her silver bracelets are a pretty contrast against Pearl’s own gold. The purple of Gem’s long, sweeping skirt brings out the white of her wide grin.

“I love the sunflowers,” she says as they whirl. “They suit you.”

“Not looking too bad yourself!” Pearl says with a grin of her own.

“Skizz helped me with the antlers,” Gem says, gesturing to her head. “He got there eventually, but it was a rough start.”

It’s easy to lose herself in banter with Gem. They swap stories of loose bees and fishing mishaps and debate which of their friends would attempt to arm wrestle one of the harvest bots. They hang onto each other for several songs and part with a shared giggle.

When the soles of Pearl’s flats feel practically worn through, she takes to wandering through the fringes, ducking beneath the pergola for a drink that she quickly abandons to help someone with their unraveling flower crown. She scans the gathering as she deftly reweaves the delicate stems; her search comes up empty. Handing the finished crown back, she sticks around for a few moments longer before plunging back in.

She mingles and she dances and she resolutely ignores any feelings that ooze from the darkest parts of her brain like the stuff of world-ending apocalypses.

They’re here, aren’t they? From the rubble they created a safe haven, survival stalwart enough to warrant a celebration in its name. The strung lights are bright and the flowers are in full bloom; the air is fresh in Pearl’s lungs and she’s certain that any one of the pastries laid out would be delicious if she could will her stomach to accept it.

Time has dilated to something beyond Pearl’s open-handed grasp. Exhaustion tugs at her core. Zedaph is describing his most recent contraption to her, and only half of it is really computing.

She doesn’t notice Tango until he’s right next to her, two cupcakes in hand. His robe has been forsaken for a dashing waistcoat combination, and his bright hair is artfully tousled. He hands one cupcake to Pearl and the other to Zedaph, engaging Zed in an animated conversation that effectively drives them both away from Pearl.

Tango tosses a wink over his shoulder and mouths, ‘break.’ Pearl sighs with a slight shake of her head, and flashes a grateful smile back.

The crowd has thinned, and congregated mostly towards the center of the plaza, leaving many of the benches that curve around its edges empty. Pearl takes a seat on the side of the terrace that best overlooks the town below and rubs a sore spot out of her calf.

Away from the main lights, the stars shine brilliantly overhead, and the moon’s nearly-full glow settles silver upon the expanse of colorful roofs and overflowing greenery in front of her. Amidst the gentle hum of the night and melody of the Festival of Life, Pearl traces the watercolor silhouettes that make up her home.

—☾—

In the last dregs of celebration, when the band is replaced by jukeboxes, after most have retired to bed, Grian appears by Pearl’s bench, sliding into the spot next to her. Wordlessly, she hands him the cupcake from Tango. Through the weariness that weighs down his frame, he grins.

There’s plenty of discussion to make. Pearl’s sure there will be a never-ending stream of it tomorrow.

Pearl soaks in the quiet company and takes a moment to breathe. After a moment, Grian releases a long exhale of his own. Side by side, they sit in silence.

#this was such a fun event to take part of and i adore the au we ended up with #hermitcraft #pearlescentmoon #tangotek #mumbo jumbo #ldshadowlady #geminitay #grian #sky duo #my writing #solsticesocial #hermitfic

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