#WHILE CHILLING ON A BENCH AND GRINNING CASUALLY

[shiorimia]

No longer baby, now evil

[d1stalker]

Origin [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Two people, one shared past, and decades apart.

Warnings: fem!reader, angst, fluff, longing, things get bad before they get better! WC: 14k - MASTERLIST

A/N: there are plot points that are inspired by Logan's origin story (thank u marvelwiki), but they are so non-canon compliant its funny so don't call me out tyyy 😙

----

Before he was known as Logan, or as Wolverine, he was James. 

Your James. 

—

It’s quiet in the Howlett estate, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone has long retired for the night. But while the rest of the mansion sleeps, you remain wide awake. Dressed in your nightgown and nestled under the blankets, you glance at the small, brass pocketwatch resting on your bedside table. The hands read 10:22 PM. Any minute now, you think to yourself. 

Then, like clockwork, you hear it—a faint knock on your door. Three slow, deliberate taps, followed by two quick ones. The secret signal never fails to make you smile. You spring from the bed, feet softly padding across the floor as you hurry to the door. You open it as quietly as possible, your grin widening the moment you see who’s waiting on the other side.

James.

He stands there, dark tousled hair and that familiar mischievous smile that always manages to light up the dim hallway. You’ve known him your entire life, growing up together under the roof of the Howlett estate. Your parents, both loyal servants to the Howlett family, were fortunate enough to be granted permission raise you alongside their son.

From the moment you could walk, you and James were inseparable, sharing countless adventures in the woods, running across the estate’s gardens, and whispering secrets to one another under moonlit skies.

"About time," you whisper, teasing him with a playful glint in your eyes. "You really know how to keep a lady waiting, don’t you?"

A soft snort escapes his lips as he grabs your hand, pulling you gently into the hallway. "My deepest apologies, M’lady," he replies with mock formality, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I had to... attend to urgent business in the necessary."

You snicker, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Ah, I see. Was it a fulfilling experience, sir Howlett?"

He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, though you catch the small smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t respond, but his silence confirms everything. It was.

The rest of the trip is quiet, the two of you moving stealthily through the darkened corridors, careful not to disturb anyone or draw unwanted attention. After all, your mother would certainly disapprove of such late-night rendezvous. It is improper, she would say.

But what choice did you have? The day offered no time for moments like this. You were busy training to take over as the next chief maid, learning the endless routines of the household, while James spent his time with his family or other highborn friends. It was only after hours, when the mansion finally settled, that the two of you could steal away for these secret meetings.

Finally, you reach the gardens. The crisp night air greets you as you slip away from any prying eyes. There’s a familiar sense of peace here, among the fragrant flowers and the towering trees that shield you from the world. James leads you to your usual spot, a stone bench tucked beneath the shadow of the hedges. Wordlessly, he slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before taking a dramatic bow.

"To keep you warm, M’lady," he says softly.

"Hush, James," you laugh, finding his antics endearing. 

You’re grateful, especially as the cool night air nips at your exposed skin. The nightgown, while comfortable, offers little protection against the chill. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself, then pat the empty spot next to you, gesturing to him to sit, to which he does.

“How was your day?" you prompt.

James sighs, leaning back on the bench, his hand casually resting behind you as he stares up at the sky. "Same old, same old," he starts, a familiar twinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know how it is. Dinners with my parents, listenin’ to old men talk about businesses I'll never care about, trying not to fall asleep while they drone on about investments or land expansions. It’s all so posh."

You stifle a giggle, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Posh? You sound like you're living the dream."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "If by 'dream,' you mean sitting there pretending to care while wonderin’ how quickly I can escape to see you, then yeah, it's an absolute dream," he quips sarcastically.

Sniggering, you bring your hand up to your forehead, acting distressed. "Oh, how tragic. The poor Lord James Howlett, trapped in a world of lavish dinners and fancy wine. Whatever will you do?"

"Mock me all you want, but it’s unbearable," he groans, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I hate it. All the stuffy clothes, the fake smiles, the way everyone acts like they're better than everyone else." He pauses for a moment, then glances sideways at you. "You're the only real thing here."

The sincerity in his words makes your heart flutter, and you’re suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Looking away, you try to play it off. "Well, if that’s the case, I guess I should charge you for my company," you tease coyly.

He lets out a huff of amusement, shaking his head. "I'll pay whatever price you want.”

There's a pause as you both sit in comfortable silence. Just then, a soft breeze sweeps through the garden, catching the edges of your nightgown and fanning it up slightly. Before you can even react, he swiftly moves his jacket from your shoulders to your lap, covering your legs. His hand lingers, making sure you're covered before he hastily wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close against him.

The warmth from his body contrasts with the cool air, and you can't help but laugh softly at his sudden behaviour. "Wow, you really are a gentleman, James."

He tenses slightly, his grip on your shoulder loosening as he looks away, clearly flustered. "I—I just didn’t want you to get cold," he mumbles, his usual confidence faltering.

You smile at how shy he suddenly seems, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Thank you. It’s sweet."

For a brief second, he says nothing, but you can feel the way his heartbeat picks up just a little. Then, almost too quietly, he mutters, "I’d do anythin’ for you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you tilt your head to look up at him. But you can’t respond, because he clears his throat, looking down at you with a small, sheepish smile. "What about you? Any exciting adventures in the life of a future chief maid?"

Grinning, you recognize his attempt to shift the conversation, and decide to let it go for now. "Oh, you know, the usual. A thrilling day of dusting, folding linens, and trying not to spill tea on your mother’s favourite rug."

He chuckles, pulling you a little closer. "Sounds way more exciting than my day."

You hum in acknowledgement, letting the moment linger. Neither of you speak for a bit, just relishing being in each other’s presence. 

"So, do tell," you say after a while, breaking the silence, "if you could get away from all the fancy dinners and boring conversations, what would you do?"

He smiles slightly, his gaze still fixed on the star-filled sky. "I’d leave. Go far away from here, maybe somewhere quiet. Live in the countryside, where no one cares about wealth or titles." His eyes drop to meet yours. "Maybe you’d come with me."

You laugh gently. "And who would take care of your family if we both ran off?"

Shrugging, his expression grows more serious. "They don’t need me. They need someone who’ll do what they want—someone to follow in their footsteps. That’s never been me."

There’s a weight in his words, and you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You’re about to respond, to tell him you understand more than he realizes, when—

BANG.

Your body stiffens instantly, heart beginning to pound in your chest as you straighten up, eyes wide.

"What the hell was that?" James asks sharply. He turns to you, his face mirroring the confusion and unease you're feeling.

Shaking your head, you swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. "It sounded like a gunshot."

The two of you stare at each other for a beat, then, right when you’re going to speak again, you hear it—his mother’s scream. It’s high-pitched, panicked, and it sends a jolt of fear through you both.

"Help!" she shrieks from inside the mansion. "James, help!"

Without a word, you bolt to your feet, the peaceful night forgotten as you rush back inside. Your heart is racing as your bare feet fly across the grass, nightgown fluttering behind you. James is ahead of you, moving fast, his expression shifting from confusion to pure fear.

As you reach the back entrance, your mind races with possibilities, none of them good. You burst through the door into the hallway, your breathing laboured from the sudden sprint. Something is terribly wrong.

"Mother!" He calls, his voice sharp with panic as he leads the way toward the main staircase. You follow close behind, anxiety coiling tight in your chest.

Once you get to the bottom of the stairs, you hear footsteps—heavy, hurried—and then you see her. Mrs. Howlett, wide-eyed and pale, comes hurrying down from the upper floor, clutching the banister for support. Her hands are trembling.

"James!" she cries. "Your father—he’s been shot!"

The boy beside you freezes, face going white. "What?" he breathes, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"He—he was in his study, and I—I heard the gunfire. I—I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who—" Her voice breaks, and tears stream down her face as she struggles to speak. "We need to get help!"

He doesn’t waste another second, taking off up the stairs, his long strides making quick work of the distance. You trail after him. How could this happen? Who could’ve done this?

When you reach the second floor, you see the study door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the dark hallway. James' hand wavers over the doorknob for only a moment before pushing the it open wide.

Inside, the scene is worse than you imagined.

There, slumped over his desk, is Mr. Howlett. His once pristine office now looks chaotic—papers scattered, a window broken, and blood, so much blood. A crimson stain is spreading across his shirt.

"Father," James chokes out, rushing to his side, his hands shaking as he reaches for him.

You stand paralyzed for a moment, the sight rendering you speechless, but then the adrenaline kicks in, and you move further into the room. Your mind is screaming at you to do something, anything, but all you can do is watch as James desperately tries to wake his father, calling his name again and again.

Trying to make sense of the horrific scene, your attention is dragged away by the sound of footsteps shuffling behind you. Thomas Logan, the groundskeeper, stumbles in, his movements clumsy, his face twisted with drunkenness. His bloodshot eyes are manic, and in his trembling hand, he’s clutching a gun—the same one that must have been used to end Mr. Howlett’s life.

"Thomas!" Mrs. Howlett yelps. "What are you doing?"

James turns sharply, still kneeling beside his father’s body, his expression hardening immediately. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas lets out a low, slurred laugh, staggering further into the room. His eyes flick between you, James, and Mrs. Howlett, but his focus remains hazy. "I’ve had enough of this, enough of all of it," he mutters, waving the gun in the air. "Your precious mother thought she could keep the truth from you. But it’s time you knew the truth, boy."

"What truth?" The younger man demands harshly.

Swaying on his feet, he points the gun directly at James, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "I’m not just the groundskeeper, you idiot," he snarls venomously, "I’m your damn father."

It’s as if the room has been put on pause. You feel the air leave your lungs, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you just heard. Glancing at your friend, you see the disbelief wash over his features, his eyes widening with shock, denial.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head, backing away slightly. "You're lying. You’re drunk."

But the older man just laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. "You think John Howlett was your father? That man never wanted you! He raised you because he had to, not because you were his. You’re mine, boy. My flesh and blood,” he jerks his head in the direction of Mrs. Howlett. “Go ahead, ask your mama."

You hear Mrs. Howlett begin to blubber in the background at the accusation, but your attention is solely on the boy in front of you.

Betrayal is written all over his face.

His breath quickens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You want to reach out to him, concern puling you forward, but then he lets out a scream—a sound so full of pain that you stop in your tracks.

"James!" you cry, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes squeeze shut, and his body convulses, as though something inside him is tearing him apart from the inside out.

The sickening sound of skin breaking fills your ears, and bone claws shoot out from his knuckles. They gleam in the dim light of the room, sharp and lethal. The sight of them is nauseating, but you’re unable to look away as James blinks, gazing down at his hands, dumbfounded.

"What—" he rasps, his chest heaving. "What’s happening to me?"

“What the hell is this?” Thomas sneers in disgust.  He stumbles, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Figures... Of course my son’s a freak.”

“You were always a fuck-up,” he continues in his drunken rage. “Useless, soft... a disappointment from the start. Just like your mother. Look at you now, boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” James snarls through gritted teeth, rage building inside him. His eyes flash dangerously. It’s as if something inside him has snapped, some deep, instinctual part of him that has been lying dormant, waiting for this very moment.

“You’re right. You’re no son of mine. Just a goddamn mistake. Should’ve left you in the dirt with your—"

Before he can finish, a roar rips from James’s throat. So raw, so animalistic, you get goosebumps. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, and then, with terrifying speed, he lunges.

In an instant, his claws sink deep into Thomas’s chest with a thunk. The force of the blow sends the older man crashing back, disbelief and agony seizing his face as blood sprays across the room, spattering the walls and floor. His body thrashes, his hands weakly grasping at his son’s wrists, but there’s no strength left in him. 

A gurgling gasp bubbles from his throat, and then it's over. He collapses to the ground, lifeless, as James stands over him, claws retreating back into his skin. 

"James!" Mrs. Howlett screams, her voice piercing. "What have you done?!"

You don’t know how to react. You can’t process it, can’t breathe. All you know is that you need to get out of here—get James out of here, away from this nightmare before it consumes him. Without thinking, you rush to his side, grabbing his bloodied hand.

"We have to go!" you say urgently.

His eyes dart to you, frantic and unfocused but he doesn’t resist as you pull him toward the door. His mother's cries echo behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back.

You run—both of you—through the hallways, out the back door, and into the dark of night. The wind whips around you, stinging your face, but you don’t stop. You run until your legs burn, until you’ve entered the surrounding forest, and the Howlett estate is nothing but a distant shadow behind you. 

All the while, James’s hand stays locked in yours.

Branches scratch everywhere, at your arms, your face, and the underbrush tugs at your clothes as if trying to hold you back, but you push on. Only after the first light of dawn begins to creep in, does the exhaustion hit. Bodies aching and bruised, the two of you collapse beside a small stream. 

You’re on your back, catching you breath, when you tilt to your head to look over at your friend. He’s sitting down, with his hands out in front of him, leering at them. He struggles for air, his breaths coming in short, panicked bursts, and his clothes are torn, stained with blood—his father’s blood, Thomas’ blood. 

His claws are long retracted, but the scars of where they came out of his skin are there, fresh. 

"James," you whisper, but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, you crawl over to his side, pain flaring with each movement. When you reach him, you sit on your knees, looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze. You repeat his name, more firmly this time.

He finally looks at you, but he’s broken. His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, almost inaudible, "What did I do?"

Your heart aches for him. Reaching out, you gently take one of his bloodied hands in yours, and as soon as your skin touches his, he flinches, pulling back slightly. "I killed him." he whispers, more to himself than anything. “I—I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!"

"Hey, listen to me," you say. "You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known this would happen."

"I killed him," he repeats. "I killed Thomas. I—" He glances down at his hands, at the scars along his knuckles, and his expression crumples completely. “He was my father.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix this, but you know you have to try, so you wrap your arms around him. At first, he stiffens, but then he collapses to the ground, pulling you down with him. You land on top, your chest pressed against his as the weight of your bodies crashes into the soft earth. He squeezes you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his face buried in your shoulder as his breath comes in short, broken sobs.

"I didn’t mean to do it," he repeats, the words muffled against your skin. "Something just changed inside me. What am I? What am I turning into?"

“Hush," you whisper, moving one of your hands to brush his hair. "Look at me. Just breathe, okay? You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together, I promise."

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. It’s overwhelming, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you let him hold you as tightly as he needs, your fingers gently stroking the back of his head, trying to console him in any way you can.

"I’m a monster," he whimpers. "What if I hurt you, too?"

"You won’t," you affirm, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper. "You’re not a monster. This… this thing that happened, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you."

Beneath you, his body shakes, overcome by emotion he holds onto you. Your forehead is pressed to against his, your breath mingling with his while you continue to whisper reassurances, telling him over and over that it’s going to be okay, that he’s not alone.

Minutes pass, maybe longer—you lose track of time as you lie there together. Gradually, his cries begin to quiet, his breathing slowing as the storm inside him starts to subside. His grip on you loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go fully, still cradling you in his arms.

Shifting, you raise your head to look at him. His eyes are red, his face pale, but he’s calmer. You start to pull yourself off of him, but as you're standing up, he grasps your hand again, and he looks at you with a tired, grateful expression, squeezing it gently as if to say everything he can’t put into words yet.

Then, you continue. Hand in hand, you move deeper into the forest. And finally, after a few more hours, you notice something in the distance. Through the trees, there are rooftops, small and clustered together, their chimneys trailing thin lines of smoke into the evening sky.

“A town,” you whisper, the first word you’ve spoken in hours.

He follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of the small mining town nestled in the valley.

In it, the people’s faces are etched with lines of hard labour and even harder lives, but still, you know you’ll be safe there. 

—

Initially, it’s difficult—this new life you and James have carved out is a far cry from the comforts of the Howlett estate. The town you’ve settled in is rough and unpolished. You both share a modest shack on the outskirts, a place that feels foreign and strange, but over time, it starts to become home.

He finds work in the mines almost immediately. The foreman takes one look at him, his broad shoulders and strong arms, and practically shoves a shovel in his hand without asking any questions. The job is tough, but it suits him. 

Every evening, he comes back to you covered in soot and dirt, his hands rough and calloused, his face lined with exhaustion. You can see the toll the work takes on him, how his body aches, but there’s something else too—a measure of peace that wasn’t there before. It’s as if he’s found a way to silence the chaos inside him, at least for a little while.

It’s not long before everyone in town begins to call him Logan, a name he offers with indifference when asked.

A new identity. 

Logan is a man who works hard, who keeps to himself, who doesn’t ask for anything more than a paycheck at the end of the week. 

Logan is a man who doesn’t need anyone, who can survive on his own. 

To you, he’s still James. 

In the quiet moments, when it’s just the two of you, he lets down the walls, lets you see through the façade. And when you whisper his name—James—he closes his eyes as if that one word alone soothes something deep in his soul.

After weeks of watching him silently carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, you offer him a rag to wipe his face as he sits down at the small table you’ve cobbled together from scraps. He takes it without a word, rubbing at the grime on his skin.

“You don’t have to do this forever, you know,” you say softly, leaning against the table as he tosses the rag aside. "There’s more to life than breaking your back underground."

He glances at you. "It’s all I’m good for now."

"You’re good for more than that," you reply walking up to him, reaching for his hand. He lets you take it, like he always does. "You can’t let what happened define you."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gives your hand a small squeeze, his eyes drifting to the floor as he mumbles, "What’s inside me… it’s different. You don’t know what it’s like."

You don’t argue. How could you?

The changes in him, the way his strength has grown, how his senses have sharpened, it all impacts him. He can hear things no one else can, smell the rain long before it falls, and even in complete darkness, he sees as clearly as if it were day. His powers are evolving, changing him.

But you know, deep down, that the man sitting in front of you is your friend—your James—no matter what he’s become.

You’ve seen him wrestle with the fear of what he might turn into, the fear of losing control, but you also see the man who leans into your touch, who lets you bandage his hands after long days in the mines, who presses his forehead to yours when the nights grow too heavy with silence.

And as your time together in the town goes by, there is a shift.

It starts with small things—a lingering glance, a brush of your fingers as you pass each other in the kitchen, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Then, it moves to bigger gestures. When you’d pack him his lunch fo the day, you slip in a small piece of parchment with a heart hastily drawn on it, or at night time, instead of falling asleep backs turned toward each other, awkwardly trying to ignore whatever tension is brewing, you fall asleep in his arms, and wake up the same way.

It gets to a point where you can neither of you can deny it. 

You’ve fallen in love.

—

It’s late, and you’re sitting by the fire outside the small cabin, waiting for him to return from one of his now-frequent disappearances into the woods. You used to worry about where he went, afraid he was distancing himself from you, so one night you followed him. What you found took your breath away—him, sitting out on a ledge, with some wild animals surrounding him. There was something in him that they must have recognized, a mutual respect that seemed to transcend anything human.

Since then, you’ve let him go without asking questions, trusting that those nights in the woods bring him the peace he can’t find anywhere else. But tonight, when he returns, he’s different. He doesn’t just brush past you to head inside. Instead, he sits beside you by the fire.

You turn to him, about to ask if everything’s alright, but the words catch in your throat when his hand cups your jaw. His grip is gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to break the moment, but in his eyes, you find a longing, a yearning, that mirrors your own. 

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements. Your heart stutters, and when he pulls you closer, you let him. His lips meet yours, careful at first, but as you kiss him back, you feel the stress drain from his body. 

The kiss deepens, slow, tender, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

The next few years are a kind of peaceful bliss you never expected. With each passing day, you and Logan seem to fall deeper into each other, the bond you share growing stronger, more intimate, like you’ve finally found the rhythm of the life you were always meant to have together.

Mornings are your favourite. He always wakes up first, moving quietly so as not to wake you, and he’s gotten into the habit of making you breakfast. You always sneak out of bed and snake your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back as he grumbles about you not getting enough sleep. “You’re always up too early,” he’d say. 

“I like being up with you,” you’d mumble in response, and he’ll turn around, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his eyes soft and full of that quiet, steady love he’s never really put into words. And then he’d kiss you like he has all the time in the world, even if he has to head over to the mines. 

On your days off from your job at the pub, you’ll spend hours together, finding little ways to enjoy the simplicity of your life. He will sometimes take you out to the woods behind the house, where you’d walk the trails together. He points out the different wildlife, the plants you don’t recognize, and you tease him about being a mountain man. He’d smirk, giving you that low, raspy chuckle that never fails to make your heart seize in your chest, and tug you closer to his side.

In the evenings, oftentimes, you sit together while you knit, something that started as a hobby but quickly became one of your preferred pastimes. He always pretends to be uninterested, but he’ll watch you anyway. “You’re getting good at that,” he’d say gruffly. 

“Want me to make you a sweater?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he’d grumble, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased at the idea.

The town itself becomes part of your life together, too. You’ve made friends with the locals, joining a small knitting club. If he has time, Logan drops by the pub on your shifts just to check in, sitting at the bar with a beer and watching you work. When your gazes connect very now and then, he gives you that look—the one that says he’s proud of you, that he’s content.

“We’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs one night, holding you close. 

“Yeah,” you agree softly, kissing his cheek. “We really do.”

But, all good things must come to an end. 

The mining town, though small and isolated, isn’t immune to the tensions that fester beneath the surface. Harsh conditions, grueling work, and the endless grind wear people down, turning frustration into anger, and anger into violence. Fights break out often, especially in the saloon after a long day when men try to drown their sorrows in whiskey. You both have learned to keep your distance from such skirmishes, knowing nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

Still, one night, as you return home from your evening shift at the pub, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a brawl breaking out in the middle of the street. Shouts reverberate through the cold air, followed by the crash of breaking glass. Your heart races as you recognize the deep, guttural growl cutting through the noise—a sound you know all too well.

On impulse, you rush toward the commotion, dread pooling in your stomach. You know this won’t end well. Not here. Not for him.

When you reach the scene, your worst fears are confirmed. He stands in the centre of the chaos, fists clenched at his sides. Two men circle him, their faces twisted with drunken aggression, goading him. The small crowd that’s gathered seems almost entertained, too caught up in the spectacle to understand the true danger festering.

“James!” you shout, trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

One of the men—a burly miner you’ve seen around town a few times, always looking for trouble—lunges forward, his fist swinging. The punch connects with your man’s jaw, hard enough to stagger him back, but instead of falling, you see something shift in Logan’s expression. His eyes darken, his jaw tightens. Then, his claws slowly begin sliding out of his knuckles.

The crowd gasps, and the laughter dies immediately.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls, his voice low and full of warning. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep control, but you can see the fire burning behind his eyes. He’s on the edge, teetering dangerously close to losing himself.

But the miner, too drunk and furious to notice or care, spits on the ground. “Freak!” he slurs, venom lacing every word. “You think you scare me?”

He charges at Logan again, fists swinging recklessly. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you scream for him to stop. But it’s too late. Logan tries to pull back, to stop what’s about to happen, but the man is too close, too fast.

Everything slows down, the world moving in fractured seconds. Claws slice through the air, meeting flesh with a sickening thud. The miner gasps, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles, clutching at his chest where the claws have sunk deep. Blood blooms around his hands, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

And suddenly, you’re thrust back into the past. You see James as he was all those years ago, his claws dripping with blood after killing Thomas. The memory crashes into you—the look of fear on his face, the horror in his eyes, the way he stumbled back, realizing what he’d done.

Just like now.

Logan’s eyes go wide, his expression mirroring that same devastation. He steps back, staring at the miner who crumples to the ground, gasping for breath. What follows is a deafening silence, the air thick with shock and disbelief. The townspeople that had been so eager for a show now stand frozen, eyes wide, faces pale.

The man gasps one last breath, then goes still.

Logan stares at the body at his feet, his claws still extended, still dripping with the man’s blood. His chest heaves, his breath shallow, and he mutters under his breath, barely audible, "Oh god… Not again."

You rush to his side, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Come on, let’s go home."

He doesn’t move. He’s locked in place, staring at the man he’s just killed. His hands tremble, the claws still out, and you can see the raw pain in his eyes as the reality of what’s just happened sinks in.

"I didn’t mean to," he whispers again, his voice cracking. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…"

—

That night, while you're sleeping, Logan makes his decision.

And when you wake up the next day, the space beside you is cold.

The shack feels too quiet, too still. 

All you can do is stare at the empty spot in your bed. You tell yourself that maybe he’s outside, chopping wood or he’s already left for work. But deep down, you know. 

Throwing on your boots, you don’t bother to change out of your nightclothes, and rush outside. His name is the first thing out of your mouth, sharp and desperate. "James! Logan!" Your voice barrels through the small yard, bouncing off the trees and fading into the cool morning air. 

There’s no answer.

Panic grips you as you search the familiar places—around the shack, the small trail he likes to take into the woods, by the creek where he often spends time when he needs to clear his head. There’s no sign of him.

No footprints, no lingering scent. Nothing.

The townspeople stare as you move through the streets. They know what happened. They saw the claws, the blood. And now, they see you—a reminder of the violence that tore through their quiet lives. But you don’t care about their judgment right now. You’re too focused looking for him, too frantic to worry about the whispers that follow in your wake.

"Have you seen him?" you ask one of the miners who had once shared a drink with him, but he shakes his head and pulls away from you, muttering something under his breath. Everybody keeps their distance, their faces closed off, avoiding your gaze. 

By the time the sun climbs higher in the sky, the truth settles in your chest like a heavy stone. He left. You wander the streets a little longer, until exhaustion finally forces you back to the shack.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note. The man who you shared your life with, who you fell in love with, is gone—and he isn’t coming back.

In the days that follow, everything changes. The people who once greeted you with a nod or a smile now avert their eyes when you walk by. They speak in hushed tones, voices thick with suspicion and disdain. 

Nobody cares that you had nothing to do with what happened in the street that night. To them, you’re guilty by association.

It starts slowly, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. Saying thinks like: you knew what Logan was all along, that you hid his secret, allowed him to kill their men. Their anger turns to you, and before long, you become the pariah—cut off, unwelcome, the person responsible for the death of one of their own.

The day they decide to exile you is gray and heavy, the sky thick with the promise of rain. No one has the decency to say it to your face. Instead, you wake to a note slipped under your door, the word leave scrawled across it in angry, uneven letters.

You pack what little belongings you have—a few clothes, some keepsakes from the life you left behind at the Howlett estate—and sling a small bag over your shoulder. Then, you walk away without looking back.

Stretching out before you is a desolate, abandoned looking road. Your legs ache with every step, your feet blistering inside your boots, but you don’t stop. The memories of Logan, the town, the life you tried to build together swirl in your mind.

The sound of a a horse whinnying pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see a carriage approaching. The coachman—a man with kind eyes and a weathered face—slows as he pulls alongside you. His voice soft and cautious as he asks, "Need a ride?"

Nodding, you’re too exhausted to respond with words, and climb into the passenger seat. He doesn’t ask many questions, sensing perhaps that you’re a soul in need of silence more than conversation. He drives in quiet companionship, the horses' feet against the dirt the only sound breaking the stillness.

He takes you to the nearest town, dropping you off with a quiet wish for better days ahead. You thank him and give him a few coins. You’re standing on the edge of a new beginning, unsure of where to go next but knowing, with painful certainty, that the past is behind you now.

—

In this new place, you slowly begin to rebuild what you’ve lost. It isn’t easy—there are nights when the loneliness threatens to swallow you whole and days when the weight of losing your best friend feels too much to bear. Still, you find work at a small shop, rent a modest room in the quieter part of town, and painstakingly, you carve out a new existence. 

Though no matter how hard you try to move forward, he’s always there. A shadow, lingering in the corners of your mind. You can’t forget him—the way he looked at you with those intense, searching eyes, the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, the way he left without a word. Your entire childhood, your early adulthood, revolved around him. He was the best part of your life. Every moment spent with him was cherished, imprinted in your memory like a brand you can’t erase.

Nights are the hardest. When the world is quiet, and it’s just you and your thoughts, that’s when the ache becomes unbearable. Each night, your mind drifts back to him. You tell yourself it wasn’t his fault—he must have believed he was protecting you by leaving. 

Maybe he thought you would hate him for killing another man with his claws, for unleashing the violence he tried so hard to contain. Maybe he thought you could never forgive him.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize: if he truly believed that, then he didn’t know you at all.

And that hurts. A lot.

You start to feel like him in some ways, burdened by secrets and anger with nowhere to go. More often than not, you slip out of the town in your nightgown and into the nearby forest, hoping the solitude will offer some kind of peace. It doesn’t, not really, but it’s better than suffocating in your room, choking on memories of what was and what could have been.

—

A year passes since the night he left, and you find yourself standing among the trees once again, lost in thought. It’s not fair—none of it is. You lost everything, and for what? Because you loved him? Because you could look past his mutation?

All of the emotions you’ve done a decent job at managing bubble to the surface, a torrent of grief and rage with nowhere to go. Mindlessly, you draw back your fist and slam it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The impact shoots a sharp pain through your arm, but it’s fleeting, drowned out by the rush of anger. You pull back to punch the tree again, harder this time, desperate for some kind of release.

But the tree doesn’t just splinter. It explodes. 

The force of your punch obliterates the trunk, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. You stagger back, staring at the destruction, stunned. What was just a tall, beautiful arbor is now reduced to nothing but rubble, the strength of your blow far beyond anything a normal person could achieve.

Your breath hitches when it dawns on you. You’re standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the evidence of your newfound power. You aren’t just grieving the loss of Logan anymore; you’re discovering that you are, just like him, a mutant.

Except, unlike him, you’re alone.

He’s not here to hold you, to help you make sense of what’s happening. He’s not here to run away with you like you once ran away with him. You have no one to share this terrifying revelation with. You have only yourself.

Looking down at your trembling hands, the faint ache in your knuckles nothing compared to the pain in your chest. It’s as if your heart is breaking all over again.

If you had known—if you had discovered this power when he was still with you—would things have been different? Would he have taken you with him? Would you still be together?

You can’t stop the questions, can’t silence the what-ifs that plague you.

Finally, the dam breaks, and you cry.

Pressing your fists against your eyes, you try to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use. The grief crashes over you in waves as the life you tried to build together all plays out in your mind like some twisted, unending loop.

—

The days bleed into one another.

Each is marked by the slow, steady march of time. You continue to live, to survive, but the discovery of your mutant powers changes everything, setting you on a path you had never imagined.

You learn that you can channel energy through your body, whether that be your emotions, or external, and then amplify it for your own gain. It’s a power that protects you, that makes you feel invincible, but the more you use it, the more distant you become from the life you once knew. 

And then there’s the other side of your mutation—the ability to heal others by absorbing their injuries. 

The first time you did it, it was an accident. 

You were closing up shop, and as you walked along the cobblestone roads, you saw a man lying face down. Instinctively, you quickened your pace, and crouched down beside him. Was he drunk? Dead? Gently, almost hesitantly, you reached out, placing your hand on his back with the faint hope that he was simply unconscious. Your intention was simple—just to check if he was breathing, to see if he would stir at your touch.

But the moment your fingers brushed his coat, a violent surge of pain exploded in your mind, like a thunderclap within your skull. The agony was so sudden, so sharp, that it nearly knocked you off your feet. 

It was more than pain—it was as though the man’s suffering had become yours, pulling you into his darkness. Your vision blurred, and for an instant, you could feel it. Blood. Hot and sticky, trickling down your forehead in a slow, steady stream. You raised a trembling hand to wipe it away, expecting to feel the warmth of it on your fingertips.

But there was nothing. No blood. No wound.

Just the phantom sensation of pain that wasn’t your own.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. You blinked, gasping for air, trying to steady yourself. When you looked down at the man again, he was stirring, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, as if waking from a long sleep. He looked up at you, confused but grateful, oblivious to the power you had just unleashed.

It feels like a curse, the pain of others transferring to you in ways that leave you gasping for breath. But over time, you learn to control it, to take on only as much as you can handle, and to let the rest fade away.

You never stay too long in one place. Town after town, you move, always careful to keep your powers hidden. The people you encounter are kind enough, but you never allow yourself to get close. You can’t afford to—not when the memory of him still haunts you, his absence a constant ache in your heart. 

What if they leave you too?

Every now and then, there are some nights of passion with a stranger, but you never find another lover, never allow yourself to even consider it. 

As the years slip by, and you move through life like a ghost, always on the fringes, never fully there. In the beginning, you don’t notice it—time is something you stopped paying attention to long ago. But then, one day, nearly ten years after he left, you catch sight of yourself in a mirror.

Your reflection stares back at you, unchanged, unmarked by the years that have passed. It’s as if time has forgotten you, leaving you suspended in a state of perpetual youth. This knowledge—that you could live indefinitely—fills you with a sense of purpose you haven’t felt in years.

So, when the First World War breaks out, you volunteer as a nurse, determined to use your abilities to save as many lives as you can. The troops who come to you are broken, their bodies ravaged by the horrors of war. You take their pain into yourself, healing them with a touch, until there is nothing left but faint scars—a reminder of what they have survived.

It’s during the Second World War that you first hear the rumours. Injured men speak in hushed tones of a man they saw—a soldier who seemed invincible, fighting with a ferocity that borders on the inhuman. They talk of claws—long, sharp claws that can cut through anything, and a healing ability that allows him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else.

Could it be him? Could he still be out there, after all these years?

You dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. It can’t be. He would be dead by now, just like everyone else from your past. 

He is gone, and you are alone—that’s the truth you’ve come to accept.

—

Somewhere along the way, you meet Charles Xavier. You don’t know how, but he knows you. He knows you’re a mutant—how you helped in the war. And he wants you to join his team.

You’ve spent so long on your own, relying on your powers to survive, that the idea of joining a team feels foreign, almost impossible. But there’s something in his eyes, something in the way he speaks of his vision for the future, that resonates with you. This isn’t just about survival—it’s about making a difference, about using your powers to protect those who can’t protect themselves. 

And, perhaps, it’s also about finding closure.

Maybe you can help mutants who struggle with their identity, like he did. Maybe this time, you can stop them from running away from themselves, the way you wish you could have stopped him.

So you agree.

And when you arrive at the mansion, you’re introduced to the others who will become your teammates—Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Ororo Munroe.

The early days are challenging. Learning to work as a team, to trust one another, isn’t easy, especially for you, after so many years of solitude. But a camaraderie that develops between all of you, and it feels right. You’re no longer just a group of shunned mutants—you’re a family, united by a common goal.

—

This mission is supposed to be simple—investigate a remote facility rumoured to have ties to illegal mutant experimentation. Charles had briefed the team before sending you out, warning that there might be danger but nothing you couldn’t handle as a group. You’ve faced threats before, so when you arrive at the facility, it’s with the usual caution but no real alarm.

The structure looks forsaken at first glance, the exterior covered in years of grime, windows cracked and dark. But as you all approach, something feels wrong. There’s an energy in the air, a hum of activity beneath the surface. You can sense it, and by the looks of the others, they feel it too.

“We should be careful,” Scott mutters lowly as his hand hovers near his visor.

Jean furrows her brows. “I’m sensing...something. There are people here. This place isn’t empty”

Your stomach twists, and once the team cautiously makes its way deeper into the facility, you start to hear it—the muffled sounds of machinery, the low hum of voices, and then...a scream.

You freeze.

You’ve heard that scream before, in the dead of night, in memories you’ve tried to bury.

James.

Without thinking, you push forward, your body moving on instinct as you race toward the source of the sound. The others call after you, but their voices fade into the background as panic claws at your chest.

The scream grows louder, more desperate, until you burst into a large chamber. And there, in the center of the room, suspended in a tank of bubbling liquid, he is.

His body is thrashing against the restraints that bind him, wires and tubes connected to his skin. Machines whir around him, injecting something into his body—something molten, silvery. 

A team of scientists in lab coats and armed guards surround the tank, all of them focused on the cruel procedure unfolding before your eyes.

You can barely breathe. The sight of him, after all these years—being tortured like this is too much. Pain and rage surge through you, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re moving again.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you scream.

The guards whirl toward you, but you’re already on them. The first one goes down with a single blow, your fist connecting with his chest and sending him flying into the wall. You barely register his body crumpling to the floor before you move on to the next. 

Behind you, Jean and Scott rush in, their powers flashing as they help subdue the remaining guards, but your focus is on the man in the tank, whose eyes are squeezed shut in pain, body convulsing. You can’t think straight—you can only feel the overwhelming need to make this stop, to save him before the experiment finishes. 

But it’s too late.

In a roar of destruction, he breaks free from the tank, glass and metal exploding outward in every direction. His eyes are wild, erratic, his mind lost to the pain and the transformation—he’s a force of nature now. A whirlwind of violence and fury.

You try to reach him, but Jean steps forward, her eyes glowing as she raises a hand. “I’m sorry,” she strains. Her telekinetic force slams into him, knocking him off his feet, and his body crumples to the ground, unconscious, the rage finally quieted.

Standing there, panting, your hands are shaking as you stare at his still form. You’re overwhelmed—by the sight of him after so many years, by the pain of seeing him like this, by the fear that you might lose him before you even got him back.

Scott places a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle. “We need to get him out of here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and together, the team lifts Logan’s unconscious body and carries him out of the facility. The entire time, you keep your eyes on him, terrified that if you look away for even a second, he’ll disappear. When you finally make it back to the jet, Jean lays him on a stretcher, her powers keeping him sedated for the trip back to the X-Mansion. You sit beside him, your hand hovering just above his, too afraid to touch, too afraid to hope.

The jet lifts off, and your mind races with a thousand questions. 

How did he end up here? Why did they do this to him? 

But above all, one thought consumes you: He’s alive.

After all these years, after all the heartache and loss, Logan—James—is still here.

—

He remains unconscious for three days, his body healing from the horrific procedure he endured. You barely leave his side, watching over him as if your presence alone could somehow anchor him back to himself. His breathing is steady, but his face—it’s both exactly the same and entirely foreign to you. He looks like the man you’ve known and loved, but it’s what is on the inside that worries you.

You swallow hard, your gaze tracing the familiar lines on his skin. Where are you, James? you think. Are you still in there?

Jean had done a body scan soon after you brought him back to the mansion, and the results confirmed your worst fears: they’ve bound adamantium to his bones and buried his personality underneath the most powerful brainwashing you’ve ever heard of.

It’s devastating. Whatever relief you’d felt—if any at all—at finding him alive is now eclipsed by the crushing reality of what he’s become.

The day he is scheduled to wake, Charles calls a meeting. The team gathers in the briefing room, and you sit quietly in your chair, replaying everything that led up to this moment.

Following a seemingly endless stretch of silence from you, Charles clears his throat. “If you’re ready, perhaps you could tell us more about your history with him. It might help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

A deep breath fills your lungs as your hands clutch the table’s edge tightly. Talking about him, about everything you’ve been through together, feels like peeling at old wounds that never really healed. But you know it’s necessary. If anyone is going to help him, they need to know the truth.

“I met Logan—James, as I used to call him—over a hundred years ago, when I was very young” you begin, and you can see the surprise ripple through the room at the admission of your age. “We grew up together. My parents were servants at the Howlett estate, and I spent most of my childhood by his side. He was my best friend… and eventually, he became so much more.” Your voice cracks, and you pause for a moment, collecting yourself.

“After a tragedy involving his family, we ran away together. We lived in a small mining town for years, trying to find some semblance of a life, but things fell apart. He left, and I—I spent years trying to forget him, but I never could. He was—is—everything to me."

Jean leans forward. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you,” she says softly. “But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that when he wakes up… he may not be the man you remember, and not just because of how much time passed.”

You look up at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Charles before continuing. “The brainwashing they used on him wasn’t just designed to make him forget. It was meant to strip away his sense of self entirely. His mind was… broken down, piece by piece. What you saw back at the facility—his rage, his lack of control—that’s what’s left of him right now.”

Hank speaks next. “We’ll do everything we can to help him, but Jean’s right. You need to be ready for the possibility that he won’t recognize you. He might not even recognize himself.”

Nodding slowly, your heart sinks further and further with each word. 

“We have tools, ways to work through the brainwashing,” he continues, “but it will take time. And patience.”

“Time,” you echo quietly. “I’ve already waited so long.”

Ororo reaches across the table, her hand hovering near yours. “I know this is overwhelming. But you don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help.”

“I need to see him,” you whisper, your voice firmer than before. “When he wakes up, I need to be there.”

Charles nods gently. “Of course.”

—

When he finally stirs, it’s not a gentle awakening. His whole body jerks, his head whipping around in wild confusion. His breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, and his eyes dart frantically across the room, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, and just as his eyes finally land on you, he freezes.

And for a long moment, neither of you speak.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you wait with a bated breath for some flicker of recognition in his eyes, some sign that he remembers you—that he knows you.

But it never comes.

Instead, his gaze narrows, studying you. “Where the hell am I?” he grunts. “And who are you?”

It hurts more than you expected. You knew this might happen—Jean and Charles had warned you—and you thought you had prepared yourself, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. 

He doesn’t remember you. 

“Just take it easy,” you manage to say softly. “You’ve been through a lot, James.”

His eyes flicker with confusion as he shifts in the bed, wincing at the movement. "James?" he questions.

You quickly correct yourself. "Logan."

His hand instinctively goes to his chest, fingers brushing against his side as if testing for wounds that aren’t there anymore. “What is this place?” he asks again. 

“You’re at the X-Mansion,” you explain. “You were... rescued. We brought you here to heal.”

“Rescued.” he repeats dryly. “From what?”

You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. How do you explain everything—the horrors of Weapon X, the brutal experiments, the torture that nearly destroyed him? You can’t even bring yourself to speak the full truth, not yet. 

“You were taken,” you say carefully. “By people who wanted to use you for something terrible. But we got to you before they could. You’re safe now.”

Logan lets out a short, bitter laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Safe,” he mutters, his voice low and sarcastic. “Right.” He rubs a hand across his face.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing somethin’?” he mutters, his irritation growing. “Like... like there’s something important I should remember.”

Swallowing hard, your heart twists at his words. He is missing something. But you won’t tell him that now. He’s already grappling with so much, and the last thing he needs is the weight of your shared past thrust upon him before he’s ready.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. “It’s... normal to feel confused right now.”

Frowning, he runs a hand through his hair. “Like I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I know it’s hard to understand,” you say softly. “But it’ll get better. You’ll remember in time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if he’s searching for answers that aren’t there. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes returning to yours. “Alright. Who are you, really?” he asks. “Why do I feel like I should know you?”

Because we grew up together. 

Because we were everything to each other. 

Because you were the one person I never stopped loving. 

“Just focus on resting,” you say, forcing a soft smile. 

He studies you briefly, as if trying to figure out whether or not to trust you. Then finally, he nods, thought you can tell he’s still wary “Yeah... okay.”

The awkward silence returns. 

“I should go,” you murmur, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet room. “You need rest.”

He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t ask you to stay. He just watches as you turn toward the door, and leave.

Your chest tightens painfully as you walk out of the room, the familiar ache of loss settling in once more. It’s worse this time, though—worse because he’s alive, and yet, in every way that matters, he’s gone.

You leave the room in a daze, your mind swirling with a storm of emotions. Your feet carry you down the hall, and before you realize what’s happening, you find yourself in the washroom. 

The moment the door clicks shut, your stomach lurches. You barely make it a toilet before you’re retching. Tears sting your eyes, and you brace yourself against the cold porcelain, gasping for breath as your body shakes with sobs.

Standing up and flushing, you walk over to the sink, and press your forehead against the mirror. How did it come to this? You found him, after all these years, but the person in that bed isn’t the Logan—it isn’t the James—you once knew. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to pull yourself together. It's not the time to breakdown, you think, and after splashing some water on your face, you turn toward the exit.

Pushing open the door, you’re met with the familiar gaze of Ororo. She stands in the hallway, her white hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes filled with something that feels like both understanding and pity.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard, not expecting to see anyone, least of all her.

“I saw you come in here,” she whispers empathetically, “but thought you might need a moment.”

You pause, trying to blink away the redness in your eyes, trying to pretend you’re stronger than you feel. But she sees through it. She always has.

“I’m fine,” you say, the words slipping out automatically.

Stepping closer, her gaze softens as she studies your face. “No,” she disagrees, “you’re not.”

The vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep at bay rushes forward again, threatening to swallow you whole. You open your mouth to argue, to brush it off, but the moment you meet her eyes, the words die in your throat. The pity, the compassion—it’s too much.

Silently, she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. It’s a small gesture, but it feels grounding.

“I saw him,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “He doesn’t remember me.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry.” 

—

The next few days are a blur. You keep yourself busy—too busy—hoping that constant movement will keep the gnawing ache at bay. If you let yourself stop, if you let yourself think about what’s happened, the hurt would consume you, so you don’t stop.

Most of your time is spent in your room or the garden, taking refuge in the places where you can hide from everything, everyone.

Sometimes, you train, pushing your body past its limits in a desperate attempt to silence your thoughts. Every hit you land, every punch you throw, never feels like enough.

It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Easier to avoid him, to pretend he never came back into your life. Because the alternative—watching him live here, knowing he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t understand what you once shared—that’s too painful.

You’d rather pretend he’s still a memory than face the reality that the man you love is here, but not really.

When you walk through the mansion, you see him from afar. You can’t help but notice how he’s begun to soften around the others, how the confused man who woke up in that bed is slowly adjusting to life at the mansion. He has daily appointments with Charles, who you imagine is sifting through his mind, doing his very best to retrieve something, anything.

While there is still a distance in his eyes, still a guarded edge to him, but you can see the small shifts—the way he listens when someone speaks, the faintest hint of a smile when Hank tries to crack a joke.

And sometimes, your eyes meet.

From across the room, you’ll catch him watching you. In those moments, your heart skips a beat, wondering if there’s a reason why he’s zeroed in on you specifically, but then he looks away, and it passes. You never approach him, never ask him how he’s feeling or if he’s starting to remember anything. You’re too afraid of the answer.

One night, you sit in the garden, letting the soft breeze play with your hair, eyes closed. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyelids flutter, and as you turn, your heart jolts upon seeing Logan standing at above you. And momentarily, it’s like you’re teenagers again—sneaking out at night into the gardens to talk. 

“Sure,” you nod, gently patting the space beside you, as you always did. 

He steps closer and sits down, though not without leaving a small space between the two of you. “I’ve been seeing you around,” he says after a beat.. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze focused on the flowers in front of him. “But... you’ve been avoidin’ me, haven’t you?”

A small laugh escapes you, bitter and self-deprecating. “You noticed, huh?”

“Yeah, not much gets past me. Even that one guy’s attempts at being a leader.”

Despite yourself, you snort. “Scott?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s too easy. Guy looks like a human stoplight with those stupid glasses.”

You bite back a snicker, feeling like a teenager again. The banter, the lighthearted teasing—it makes it seem like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left of the man you knew.

He turns his head slightly, his expression growing more serious. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure it out,” he says, quieter now. “Why it feels like something’s missing. Every time I see you... I know you’re related to it.”

Shifting a little to look at him, you take in the way his facial hair is a little bit more kempt, how he still has his hair tufts. You miss him, and he’s right here with you. 

“I... thought it would be easier,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “For both of us. If I kept my distance. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Frowning, his brows furrow as he processes your words. “Add to it? How?”

“Because you don’t remember me,” you say softly. “And I didn’t want to be a reminder of something you can’t recall.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, “you’re right. I don’t remember everything,” he says slowly, “but I know there’s something about you.”

You nod, your throat tight, but you don’t push him. You know it’s only a matter of time before the pieces fall into place. “You’ll remember,” you whisper. “I know it.”

He grunts. “I don’t want you to keep your distance.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.” The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you, fills you with joy.

—

For the next few weeks, it becomes a quiet routine—the nightly conversations in the garden. It’s like slipping into an old rhythm, the two of you always finding a way to gravitate toward each other once the sun goes down. You talk about small things, but it's never too heavy. Sometimes he teases you, and you tease him back, exchanging sarcastic quips. Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

You’ve started training together too, spending more and more time together each day. It’s almost as if there’s a magnet between you that not even time could weaken.

This night, you’re in the gym together on the sparring mat. It’s the usual scenario playing out—dodging, blocking, throwing punches. He’s fast and strong. And it means a lot to see you see him finally embrace his mutant powers and use them, rather than try to hide and run. 

You’re both breathing hard, the exertion pushing your bodies to their limits. You land a solid kick to his side, and he grunts, stepping back for a moment. Without warning, his claws extend, and your gaze locks in on them.

Of course you know about the adamantium, but seeing it like this, so up close, it’s different. 

“What?” Logan asks, noticing your sudden stillness. His brow furrows, and he glances down at his claws, as if he’s only just realizing they’re out. “What are you staring at?”

“Does it hurt?” you question, clearing your throat. “When they come out?”

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking between you and his claws. “Everytime” he sighs. “But not as much as the old ones.”

Your eyes snap up from his claws to meet his. “... What?” you ask. The old ones?

“They were bone,” he continues, “Hurt like a bitch.”

Your heart starts pounding in your chest. Could this be it? Could he be remembering?

Stepping closer, your voice trembles slightly as you push for more. “What else do you remember?”

His eyes widen, and then he blinks, his stare glazing over for a second, like he’s trying to chase down a memory that’s just out of reach.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits with a bit of frustration. His claws retract, his hand flexing unconsciously as he stares at the empty space where the blades once were. “It’s all bits and pieces. I get these flashes, but nothing sticks. Charles said... he said the barriers in my mind are comin’ down, but it’s slow. Like finding a damn needle in a haystack.”

But the fact that he remembers even a sliver, is enough to fill you with hope.

—

This continues, the small fragments of memories coming back to him. They come unexpectedly, at random times in the day. It’s never anything big, never the full flood of memories you’re hoping for, but each time it happens, it feels like another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

You suggest a walk one afternoon. The mansion has felt a little too closed in lately, and you think maybe the fresh air might help clear his mind. Together, you wander along a little pathway that connects the mansion to a nearby river, the sound of the water in the distance a soothing backdrop as you walk side by side. He’s quiet, more so than usual, and as you glance at him, you notice his expression has grown distant.

“Logan?” you ask softly, nudging his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. His brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle, his thoughts distant, swirling. “I remember…” he starts, his voice quiet, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

Your fingers begin to twitch at your side. Every time he remembers something, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if he’ll fall into the past, if this will be the moment he remembers it all.

“A cabin,” he says finally, his voice rough but certain. “There was a shack. In a small town. I used to stay there.”

You nod, urging him to continue, anticipated building within your chest. “Go on.”

“It was small. Cold most of the time. But I don’t think I cared.” He lets a chuckle. “I liked it. Felt... peaceful.”

You can’t help but smile a little at the memories he’s bringing up. His steps falter, and he stops in the middle of the path, turning to look at you. “Mining,” he mutters, as if the word itself is triggering something. “I remember mining.”

“That’s good,” you say. ‘I’m happy for you.”

—

The memories keep coming.

You’re in the mansion, passing through one of the long hallways together on your way to eat, when he suddenly stops, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. You turn, concern flooding through you. “Are you okay? What is it?”

He frowns, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to force something into focus. “There was a girl.”

“A girl?” you repeat, not wanting to push him but unable to stop the question from spilling out.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “In a big house—like a mansion, I think. We'd play together. She was... she was always following me around. Always gettin’ into trouble.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Do you remember her name?” 

Shaking his head, you can see the frustration etched onto his face. “No. But she must have been important, I can feel it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try to hold yourself together. It was me, you want to say. That little girl was me.

“It’s okay,” you say instead, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You’ll remember. You’re already so close.”

He looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—answers, reassurance. Once a few seconds pass, he sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” he grumbles lowly. “With me.”

“Because I know you,” you whisper back. 

To have a chance at another lifetime with him, you’d put up with anything. 

—

He’s busy with Jean and Charles this morning, the duo having started to work together last week, trying to finally break down the wall stopping Logan from recovering his memories. With nothing else to occupy you, you’ve retreated to the mansion’s library, seeking solace in the endless rows of books. The familiar smell of paper and ink is comforting, and for a while, you manage to lose yourself in the words on the page. 

You’re curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, a book resting in your lap, when your ears pick up the sound of heavy footsteps—fast, purposeful, ringing out through the mansion’s quiet halls.

Concern rises in your chest. Those footsteps aren’t casual; someone is rushing, and you’ve been around long enough to know that in here, that usually means something’s wrong.

Setting the book down on the small table beside you, you stand and head toward the entrance of the library. The sound grows louder, the footsteps coming closer, and just as you reach the doorway, you collide with a solid wall of muscle.

"Ho—holy sh—" you gasp, stumbling back, startled. Your hands fly to steady yourself, and you look up, wide-eyed, to see Logan standing there. "Logan, you scared m—"

“James.”

You still. 

"What?" you whisper, your mind racing as you stare at him. His face is different—not just the usual irritated-by-himself expression he’s been wearing lately, but something else. There’s a certainty in his eyes, relief and maybe even—

“My name is James,” he repeats. “I was born in Alberta. We grew up together. I... I killed my father.” His voice falters slightly at that, but he pushes through, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “You were the little girl in the mansion. You’ve always been there. And I—” His eyes brim with emotion. “I love you.”

The words slam into you, leaving you breathless. You can feel the blood drain from your face, your heart jumping so hard it feels like it might burst. “You... you remember?” You’re barely able to get the words out.

Logan—James—stares at you. “I remember everything.”

A sob escapes your throat, and you throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the floodgates open. His arms come around you immediately, holding you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so damn sorry. I should have never left. I should have gone back to find you.”

You shake your head, tears soaking into his shirt. “It doesn’t matter,” your voice breaks. “None of that matters anymore. We’re together now. That’s all I care about.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling. There’s so much love—so much everything—in his eyes, your knees nearly buckle. All you do is hold on to him, as tightly as you can, afraid that if you let go, this moment will slip away.

But it won’t, because he’s really here, he remembers, and he still loves you.

For what feels like hours, you stand there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, you take a small step back, unwrapping your arms and instead grabbing his hands, squeezing them. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He squeezes your hands back in return. “Yeah, we do.”

—

You sniffle, wiping away the last of your tears as you lie in bed with him, pressed so close it feels like you’re trying to merge into one person. His warmth surrounds you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hands drawing small circles. It’s like all the years apart never happened, like you’re finally back where you’re meant to be.

“So, what made it all come back to you?” you ask softly, your voice a bit hoarsefrom all the crying you’ve done in the last hour.

James takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. “I guess having two strong telepaths diggin’ around in your mind will do the trick,” he responds. “Shit was brutal, but... worth it.”

Tilting his head down, he presses a small kiss to your temple. If even possible, you nestle yourself further into his hold. 

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whisper. “All those years... I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same for me. Thought I lost you too,” James murmurs, his hand running gently up and down your back. “After I left the cabin, I tried to forget. Tried to convince myself you were better off without me, but...” He trails off. “I was wrong—a coward. I shouldn’t have been runnin’ away. Especially from you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “What did you do all those years? Where did you go?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “I wandered. For a long time, I didn’t stay in one place. Fought when I had to, drank when I couldn’t forget. Got into a lot of trouble.” He grimaces slightly. 

You frown. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where people like me aren’t supposed to be walking free,” he remarks bitterly. “I gave into the monster I thought I was.”

His words sink in, and you can feel the toll those years took on him, the way they left him scarred, not just physically, but emotionally. “It must have been so hard,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Living like that, without... anyone.”

Leaning into your touch, “Yeah,” he admits. “It was. But... I didn’t know how to live any other way. Not after everything that happened.”

There’s a long pause, the two of you lying there, bodies tangled together as you both process the weight of what’s been lost and what’s been found. Then, he kisses the inside of your hand, looking at you with a faint, curious smile.

“What about you?” he asks softly, tugging you closer. “When did you... ya know, find out you were a mutant?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really talked about that part of your life to anyone, at least not in detail. 

“I didn’t know for about a year,” you begin. “After you left, I was... lost. And then one day... I punched a tree.”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “A tree?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the memory. “Yeah. I was angry—angry at everything. And when I punched it... the damn thing exploded.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing your words. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “Exploded, huh? Guess that’s one way to find out you’re not normal.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly subtle.”

His smile fades slightly. “What did you do after that?”

Taking a deep breath, you let the memories of those early days as a mutant flood back. “I tried to keep it hidden for a while. Didn’t really know what to do with it. But then... the wars started.”

Eyes narrowing, his expression changes instantly. “The wars?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, the First and Second. I volunteered as a nurse. I figured if I could use my powers to help people, then maybe I could make up for everything I lost. I moved station to station, healing soldiers. I couldn’t save everyone, but I tried.”

He’s momentarily quiet, gaze never leaving yours, even as he processes what you’re telling him. Then, slowly, his features shift into disbelief.

“You were on the frontlines?” His voice low, almost incredulous. He reaches out to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. 

“Yeah. I wanted to make a difference.”

Letting out a sharp breath, James sits up slightly in bed as he stares at you. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “I fought in those wars, too. In the trenches.”

You’re speechless, and the realization washes over you slowly. The whisperings you’d heard from the troops, the rumours you’d chalked up to be nothing more than drunken tales, suddenly come flooding back. A man who couldn’t be killed, who healed from every injury, who fought with claws that could tear through anything.

It was him.

It was always him.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “So it was true…all those rumours about the man who couldn’t die... that was you.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Guess it was.”

All those years, all those battles... and you were both there, so close, yet so far apart. 

“We were so close,” you say, moving forward in to give him a kiss. “And we didn’t even know it.”

He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening. Then, when you pull away, he sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s all so different now,” he begins gruffly. “You’re not the little maid in training anymore, runnin’ around that mansion, worried about getting caught”

You smile faintly at the memories of your younger selves, the girl you used to be, and the boy who was so much more to you than just a young lord. 

“And you’re not sir James Howlett or whatever—Lord—anymore” you tease. “You’ve come a long way from the boy who used to sulk in the garden because he had to attend another dinner party.”

He lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a huff and a laugh “Yeah,” he agrees. “That feels like a lifetime ago. And in a way, I guess it was.”

While neither of you are the same people you once were, in this moment, you can feel that connection—the one that has always been there.

“I’ve thought about you every day,” he speaks up again. “All those years.”

“James…”

“I love you,” he confesses. “And I’ve loved you my whole life. Before we ran away, after I left, even after I thought you were gone... I couldn’t forget. Didn’t want to.” He sucks in a harsh breath, grabbing your hand once more. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. We could’ve figured it out together, but I was so... so damn scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d only hurt you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes again. “You did what you thought was right,” you whisper, intertwining your fingers. “You were scared, and so was I.”

“I wish I could take it all back,” he says, regret bleeding into his tone. “I wish I could’ve been there for you... We could’ve had so many more years together.”

“We have time now,” you say softly, assuring him. “We have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but rather he edges forward, brushing his lips softly against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs before closing the gap completely, kissing you passionately.

You smile against his lips, because while he may be known as logan, or Wolverine, he’s still James.

Your James. 

----

A/N: I'm going to have to either write some crazy smut or excessive fluff now because this took it out of me LOL also I hope none of you got confused with the name switching! Thank you so much for reading <3

[koiiiji]

Please anything with Owen Knight if you can.

favourite

tw ; no, just fluff and Owen having new crush

please no spam likes, ageless/empty blogs DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU!!

you weren't exactly sure how you ended up in this situation — pedaling like your life depended on it, wind whipping through your hair as you struggled to keep up with Owen Knight. the Golden Boy, the prodigy rider of his team, and the guy who was somehow charming, confident, and totally oblivious all at once.

“c’mon, you got this! just a little faster!” Owen’s voice rang out ahead of you, his laugh floating back as he turned his head, giving you a wide grin.

“you’re killing me!” you shouted, nearly out of breath. “i swear, i didn’t sign up for Tour de France training!”

Owen slowed down just enough to roll beside you, his striking blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “you did say you wanted to go riding, didn’t you? this is how we roll!”

you shot him a half-hearted glare. “by ‘riding,’ i meant a chill ride around the park. you know, like normal people?”

Owen laughed, his face bright and carefree. “yeah, but i’m not exactly ‘normal people,’ am i?”

you groaned, shaking your head. it was impossible to stay annoyed at him when he was like this — cheerful, fun, and genuinely trying to make you enjoy the ride, even if he was way too fast for your pace.

after a few more minutes of struggling to keep up with him, Owen suddenly skidded to a halt in front of a small convenience store. you stopped beside him, panting like you’d just run a marathon.

“break time!” he announced proudly, hopping off his bike and parking it. “i’m getting ice cream. you in?”

you barely managed to catch your breath as you nodded. “you better be getting me some after that death sprint.”

he winked. “of course. what flavor?”

few minutes later, you were both sitting on a bench outside the store, munching on ice cream cones. cool sweetness was the perfect reward after the unexpected workout. Owen leaned back, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he casually licked his cone, looking way too relaxed for someone who had just cycled with unbelivable speed.

“y’know,” he said, glancing over at you with a smirk, “you did better than i thought. for a rookie.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, playfully nudging his shoulder. “oh, thanks. that’s exactly what i wanted to hear.”

he laughed, bumping you back gently. “i’m serious! you’re getting stronger.”

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “yeah, well, maybe i’ll be able to beat you one day.”

“oh, absolutely,” he replied, his tone suddenly serious. “i’m sure you’ll totally leave me in the dust. i’ll be crying on the side of the road, defeated.”

you burst out laughing at the mental image of Owen, the superstar rider, dramatically sobbing while you zoomed past him on a bike. he grinned at you, clearly proud of making you laugh. “but, until that day, i’ll keep being your personal coach. gotta push you to greatness, right?”

you raised an eyebrow. “oh, is that what this is? personal coaching?”

he gave you a playful wink. “of course. can’t have my favorite riding partner getting too comfortable.”

your heart skipped a beat at the casual mention of being his favorite. Owen had this way of saying things so effortlessly, not realizing the impact it had on you. before you could overthink it, though, he suddenly stood up, stretching his arms above his head.

“alright, coach says break’s over. ready for round two?”

you groaned dramatically, but stood up to follow him. “why do i feel like i’m going to regret this?”

Owen flashed you a dazzling smile, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “because you probably will. but hey, at least you’ve got me, right?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin. “yeah, yeah. let’s go before i change my mind.”

as you both hopped back on your bikes, and you couldn’t help but think that maybe being his ‘favorite’ wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

MASTERLIST

[dungeon-strugglers]

✨New item!✨ Misty Shiv  Weapon (dagger), rare (requires attunement) 

A chilling mist wafts from the blade of this dagger. The misty shiv has 3 charges, and regains all expended charges daily at dawn. As a bonus action you can expend one charge to cast the misty step spell from the dagger. Upon reappearing, the next attack you make with this dagger before the end of the turn deals an extra 1d6 cold damage on a hit. 

The duchess sat on the plush leather bench seat of her carriage, her head resting against the window as she lazily watched the countryside roll by. The duke had long since given up any attempt at conversation when he realized she would rather sit quietly than make small talk. He contented himself with a platter of fine pastries while they rode in silence.

Outside, the sky had grown overcast and a thick fog began obscuring the farm houses, fields and hedges, until it muddied into a hazy blur. The duchess yawned, and in the moment when her eyes were almost shut, she noticed something in the fog. A man, running full speed, directly towards her. She snapped out of her daze, fully alert, but the man had vanished.

“Are you alright my lady?” 

“Yes, I- I thought I saw someone-” 

A shout rang out suddenly, and the carriage jerked to a halt. The duchess craned her neck to see what was happening. Confusion had broken out among the retinue. She turned to say “I can’t see anythi-”, but froze in mid sentence.

Sitting in front of her was a man who had not been in the carriage but one second earlier, grinning coldly as she stared in shock. He slowly held a finger to his lips, in a silencing gesture. The duchess had no choice but to sit still, paralyzed with fear. The man casually removed a handkerchief from his front pocket and began cleaning the knife in his hand. Thick crimson blood came away to reveal a gleaming steel blade. He smiled, flicked the dagger through the air, and vanished.

The duchess’ screaming eventually alerted her retinue to the duke’s body, slumped over his pastry tray, and the assassination that had just occurred beneath their noses. - 🖌🎨 Like our work? Consider supporting us on Patreon and gain access to the hi-resolution art for over 180 magic items, item cards and card packs, beautiful creature art and stat blocks, and setting pdfs with narrative hooks and unique lore!🧙‍♂️

📜 Credit. Art and design by us: the Dungeon Strugglers. Please credit us if you repost elsewhere.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Earpiece Patch

Characters: Clint Barton, Kate Bishop, Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Clint and Kate seek you out for some tech assistance after a mission gone wrong.

Kate looked at the broken hearing aid that Clint was holding tightly and felt a little bad about the whole incident. Wanting to make it up to her hero, she perked up and bumped his shoulder. He looked at her.

“I know someone who can get that fixed.” She told him momentarily forgetting that he couldn’t hear her clearly.

Clint squinted at her, trying to read her lips but the young girl spoke too fast so he shook his head and spoke over her.

“I didn’t understand a word you said.” He said and then lifted the earpiece. “I know someone who can fix this.”

Kate shrugged and continued to follow his lead.

They ended up at a fancy house completely decked out with holiday decorations much to Kate’s excitement when she saw the glass panelled door.

“Whoa, who lives here? They’ve got nice taste.” Kate complimented as she walked up the small stairs to the front porch. “Very exquisite-hey!”

To her surprise, the bow in her hand was quickly taken away by Clint who tossed it, and his own bow, into the hedges and out of sight.

“What was that for?”

“We’re here for a casual visit. So no bows.” Clint explained, guessing that she had just asked a question from the way she frowned. He pressed the doorbell and waited as the lights flashed blue. The duo waited for a silent minute, Kate rocking on her heels.

“Maybe no one’s home?” She considered but it fell on partially-deaf ears.

Just as she was about to tap Clint on the shoulder and repeat herself, the lock clicked from inside and the door swung open revealing another Avenger that Kate was obsessed with.

Y/n - dubbed ‘the most badass Avenger’ by Kate - was holding a box of Hulk-green baubles under one arm while tinsel was hanging around their neck, a few loose flecks making it to their forehead.

When you saw the pair, you mouth turned upward into a grin.

“Hi, what an unexpected surprise!” You said and set the baubles on the ground. Crossing the threshold, you wrapped your arms around Clint first and then stepped over to Kate to repeat the motion. The young archer may have received a face full of gold tinsel but the hug was so warm, Kate almost didn’t want to let go until Clint cleared his throat.

Kate released her hold and stepped back completely elated to be meeting another hero. She was going to keep her cool. She was going to be very chill and relaxed and…

“I love you.” She blurt out.

Clint’s hearing may have been difficult but he knew what those words sounded like no matter how unclear. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

“God.”

Kate quickly tried to explain her outburst. “I mean, I love you as an Avenger! Not that I don’t love you as a person because I do but you’re so badass when you’re fighting bad guys you should do it more. Not like I want bad guys constantly attacking you or anything. I’m just going to stop… talking… now.”

You found Kate to be incredibly sweet and adoring. You had experience with fans who were very vocal about you being an Avenger. Reassuring the young woman that she hadn’t said anything offensive, you stepped to the side.

“Come in, I had gingerbread in the oven. Could use a hand with decorating since Scott rushed out to get some extra supplies.”

“Scott as in Scott Lang? The Antman?” Kate repeated.

You chuckled, sending her a wink. “The very same.”

Clint walked in with Kate eagerly following behind. It was everything she had imagined your home to look and feel. They entered the large kitchen area and took some seats at the island bench where all the decorating tools were sitting ready. You headed to the oven to retrieve the gingerbread cookies instantly filling the air with a warm gingery aroma. You carefully brought them back to the bench and took off the oven mitts, opening your palm towards Clint.

“Let’s see it.” You said.

Chuckling, Clint tilted his head and glanced over to Kate who shrugged. You smirked and tapped a hand on the bench top, illuminating the surface in a similar light to the doorbell. You skimmed your fingers hand across the surface and sent a video to the pair showing them footage of themselves at the doorstep hastily tossing their bows and weapons into the bushes.

“…ah.” Clint nodded.

Kate cleared her throat, “To be 100% transparent, he caught me off guard.”

You smirked at the young girl. “Welcome to ‘Avenger-ing’.” You then quirked a brow to your long-time friend and watched him reach into his pocket to pull out his hearing aid. He handed it over and you assessed the damage by holding it up to the light.

“Looks like someone stepped on it.” You guessed and brought it back down. Stepping back, you looked at the cabinets and opened the second last one to reveal a box. Lifting it, you set it on the bench and started to rummage through the contents for the right pliers and tools.

“I can fix this in no time.” You confirmed, your words being subtitled on the bench top. “In the meantime, you could pay me back by helping to frost these.”

Kate grinned excitably and looked to her hero on the side as if for permission. Clint picked up a cookie and shrugged.

“It’s Christmas, why not.”

Masterlist here

[simiansmoke]

Slow Burn- DKxMario - 🐒🔧

There were plenty of activities DK enjoyed publicly: racing, bench pressing coconut trees, doing that armpit fart thing around Dad, and kicking Mario's ass. As boisterously insufferable the Kong was at times, he occasionally needed some decompression. Mostly to recharge his insufferable battery points.

Having broken through a thick layer of jungle after he had traversed out of Kong city, DK squinted at the sun in the clearing as it greeted him on his way out of the dark cover of tropical foliage. The sight that awaited him made him grin, and after flattening himself low to the ground, he tore across the field of yellow, red, and orange petals all thrumming with their internal heat.

All of the fire-flowers he disturbed lost their flames like dandelion seeds and proceeded to float away, save for the wisps DK landed on when he stopped abruptly to fall over in a pile of the warm plants. Once the wave of their floating flames passed by, he was left sunken into the remaining stems and flameless petals with a fur coat colored more cherry-mahogany than chestnut, and the tips of his fur tinged snow white.

From up on a brick sky block that sat minding its own business defying gravity, Mario had also been at ease with winding down from a day of platforming practice with the princess. Imagine his surprise when he saw the lovely plot of fire-flowers spread almost as far as the eye could see from the aerial training ground in the tropics.

Hearing the commotion below of plants being demolished like a dog loose in a garden with a bone to bury, Mario rolled over on his sunbathing perch and lowered his sunglasses to observe the scene below. Just DK being unwittingly destructive as usual. Understandable.

Once the Kong had come to a stop to lay in the field, Mario couldn't help but snort at the sight of the big guy (big HEADED mostly) co-existing somewhat peacefully with petals of all things. "You ah...come here often?" The casual remark came with a casual wave.

DK had since closed his eyes to zone out for a bit and get comfy. Too bad he kept hearing something that sounded like an Italian menace. "Sheesh, I feel bad for whatever poor, stupid animal out there that has a voice like Mario's-"

"Hey, now. That'sa fuckin' rude. You know I'm up here, right?"

A sigh escaped DK as he painstakingly opened an eye to scan the sky for Mario's block. "Wish I didn't. I'm trying to chill, dude. And you're the last person that's gonna do that for me."

"...you're in a field of literal fire flowers, DK. I doubt there's any chill down there."

"No, no there's not. Because I have zero chill for you, and you're inconveniently here so - thanks for that."

Eyes rolling, Mario lifted a hand as if to figure out the weight of the simian's unspoken request. "...you want me to leave...?"

"Nah." Positioning his arms behind his head as a cushion, DK took to examining the various platform objects in the sky like a cloud-watcher might. "Stay up there where I don't have to see you."

The glove was the last thing DK would see of the menace for a while, and it was wrapped into a fist with the middle finger extended. A silent remark.

DK chuckled at the sight before settling in for his nap.

Once he had rested his eyes enough to not be in such a pissy mood, DK lurched up after discovering a trail of saliva hanging off his chin that was threatening a trembling fire-flower. With a stretch and a back arch and a shake, he looked up to see if there were any signs of Mario still being up there. "Hey, Mushroom Breath! You still up there?" When no response came, DK cracked his knuckles. "Huhuhu...guess you don't mind if I cheeeeck."

And with that, he fired several beams of fire towards the block above him, heating the bottom of it until it glowed red.

"Mmmhm...whatsa smellin' so good? Mama's cookin'..." Mario mumbled, still blissfully napping. That was until the block started cooking him a little. Once he noticed that unfortunate fact, he was still halfway asleep and twisting around to try and find a nice cold spot on his bed of choice. By the time he woke up, released an Italian-tinted yelp and rolled himself off the block, Mario saw the ground just moments before he hit it-...

...well, his hat hit it. Wide eyed, he spun slowly to observe the upside-down world he woke up to. Yeah, it definitely was not like that before he had nodded off.

"Gettin' too much sun up there, dude? You're lookin' cooked." DK grinned, holding Mario by the foot and dangling him over the ground from a catch well-made. "Wanna cool off? I know this place in town. Serves some decent banana beer." Mostly, he just wanted one himself. He also wouldn't have hated it if Mario came along and got into a barfight for him to watch, so...there was that.

"...suuure? Wait a minute, did you just-"

"Alrightlet'sgo!" He didn't give Mario enough time to put two and two together about the plumber's mysterious tumble.

It didn't take long to arrive at the tiki-style shack; DK didn't want the journey through the monster filled jungle to take long, so he opted to sling a still dazed Mario over his back so he could gallop with all his frontal strength. Doing so also made a fun game of trying to knock Mario off and threatening him with a "if you fall off, I'm not coming back to get you!"

"Whatsa this place?" Mario wondered, glad to have his feet back on the ground (well, wooden planks) after that still half-asleep rodeo. The shack had a sign attached to its reeds with the word Mangoes Go Home painted on it. The g was backwards though.

DK wasted no time in barging in past the beads hanging on strings in the doorway, but he emerged a second later with the aquamarine nodules resting on his shoulders and spilling around him, an inquisitive smile on his face. "You comin'?"

They found their way inside the dimly-lit shack. Ocean-colored lights lit the space and gave it an underwater feel. Now this was a place one could "chill".

Mario followed closely behind DK, not sure where they were headed until the Kong chose a seat at the bar on the far end. There was actually already a glass of piss colored foam on the table in front of DK. Must have been a regular...regular and royally treated.

"One more down here!" DK waved to the bartender, a Kong with too many tattoos of eels on his calves. When the glass slid down, Mario reached out with a fumble to stop it from smashing against the wall, but DK's large goalie of a hand made it come to a stop and he nudged it forward with a snort at his company's lack of finesse when it came to grabbing fresh pours.

"Careful now. You're still all out of sorts from all that sun exposure." DK teased, eagerly knocking back the drink in front of him. Banana beer was just that...wheaty and sweet, and the perfect ending to a day spent slouching any responsibilities.

Mario observed the Kong with a hint of distaste and curiosity, he turned his attention to the perspiring glass in his glove. It wasn't...an ugly tint? Well, the lighting around the bar helped out too. Made it seem like he was sipping the bluest of sea water. Foam soaked the plumber's mustache as he sighed. "...ok. I think I need to come here instead of the mushroom juice bar with Toad." Sorry, Toad. No hard feelings.

"Hah! They suckered you into going there? I'd feel sorry for you, but uh..." DK mused while dipping his tongue in and out of his drink, partaking slowly.

"Yeahyeah. You love when I'm suffering. Tell me something I don't already know."

"OK, well...you're a loser, for one thing..."

Twilight shifted to night time as the two mused back and forth, enjoying one cold banana beer after the other.

As the night progressed (as well as the pints), the stiff conversations between them more than 'just relaxed'. Let's just define 'relaxed' as melt into a pile of goo and then mix together in a incoherent manner. There's a word for that. It's "messy".

"Oh MAN." DK sniggered while swaying a little too far from his seat into Mario's, threatening to knock the pint-sized plumber off his perch mid-sip.

"Ah-aha, whatsa mattuh with you?" With a new fresh stain of banana beer on his collar from the sudden slam of his unusual drinking buddy's flank, Mario decided he had enough liquid courage to butt the simian back in his place even though the bar had mostly emptied and it wasn't like he couldn't have just moved over to the empty seat beside him.

"No like...for REAL." There were words to this admission, but DK seemed to love taking his time finding them at the pace of a snail. At "real", he slammed his hand down on the stretch of table between them and almost caused the stain on Mario's collar to become a drenched shirt. "REAL-LY, REAL-LY, REAL talk, bro." Ignoring how the plumber busied himself with positioning his glass away from the table antics, DK leaned in with a brightness to his gaze that beguiled his current intent to make a mess. "You. Piss me off...SO BAD." Without a hint of venom thanks to the flavor of wheat and banana hops, DK's words linger briefly before he leans over to dip his tongue into Mario's drink.

"Hey-hey-hey!" Once the pink appendage penetrated the fresh beer foam, Mario jerked slightly and half-heartedly swatted the behemoth back with his gloves meeting Kong snout. "That'sa MY foam." With a slurred grumble, Mario slides his companion the side-eye around his flushed cheeks. Beer sweats and a tropical climate...what a combination. "If you don'ta cut that out, I'll remember when you'ah thirsty and send you to dip that into the latrine."

"Aww, you're no ffffun." DK laughed, elbowing Mario's shoulder...or at least what he thought was his shoulder because Kong were a lot taller than Mario was. Instead the shoulder struck the plumber's hat and knocked it off somewhere. "Oh man, though...my FACE."

"Yeaha we know. It'sa ugly." There's foam in his mustache after he finishes a swig. The banana beer... it's pretty good like DK said.

"-nooo...Prick." The Kong cackles, finding some humor in the burn despite also wanting to slap Mario off his chair at the same time, DK spins slightly in his and reaches up to press his knuckles against his own cheek. "My face is so HOT. Yes, literally and figuratively."

Mario glanced over to inspect the Kong's cheeks as they circled by. Indeed, they were fairly red. Almost as red as his get-up. "...congratulations?"

"For REAL..." DK stopped suddenly mid-spin to lean in uncomfortably close to the plumber's face and tilt his head to bare his cheek. "Feel."

"Uhm." With a hair of curiosity buried somewhere in his mustache, Mario entertained his company by placing a hand on the soft peach fuzz that made up the lawn of DK's cheek.

"Huhuhu, you're so stupid, dude." Fingers curled around the plumber's wrist, guiding it up to both their gazes. "You're wearing gloves, idiot." Apparently that was the funniest thing since K. Rool got hit by a go kart, because the Kong has to catch his breath between snorts. "Here." Trying again, DK squeezes the wrist he'd seized and leans in again to press the heat of his face against Mario's. Cheek to cheek, he butts his head forward to roll around and singe all sides of his company's face.

"DK--ah!" With the Kong's softer portion of face fussing over his, Mario wondered if the heat being shared with him had gotten a little warmer than when it had arrived.

"Oh yeah, if you think that's hot..." He grinned crookedly, scratching the hair of his eyebrow against Mario's for a moment. "I had the fireflower salad and now I can't feel my mouth." As if to demenstrate the fact, DK rolls his face forward again to maybe singe Mario on the nose with his lips. Instead, they lock with his bar buddy's mouth and smolder for a quiet moment.

Blue eyes widened and Mario reached up to slap a gloved hand onto the side of the Kong's other cheek to try and shove some space between those actually very spicy lips and his. "Bu-..urns!"

That was all DK need to start playing a game of keeping his jalapeno seed flavored lips in the vicinity of Mario's. The fight began.

With a powerful dash and shove, Mario had slammed the Kong back off of their seating and into a nearby wall decorated with banana peels (courtesy of the Kong owned establishment). "Mm-mmh!" He protested, fingers curling into the wrists of his opponent that also grappled him.

In turn, DK shoved back with a lot more momentum, keeping their lips raging together, he slammed Mario up onto the bar, knocking several bottles of jungle flower liquor helter skelter and smashed to pieces on the floor. Feeling the wet hair of Mario's beer drenched mustache, DK lazily licks to claim his share and doesn't mind when his tongue breeches the Italian-laced parting between Mario's lips, sliding along his front teeth once.

At this point the Kong's lips had begun to cool, but it didn't quite stop Mario from slashing at DK's cheeks as he had with his cat claws. Declawed, his batts went unnoticed as DK broke briefly for air and hovered over his rival's face, a small section of spittle nested in the corner of his mouth like the mirror image of one of his exposed canines. "Hah...had enough?"

It was the smug, half-inebriated taunt that convinced Mario it was much better to deny DK the satisfaction of defeating him in some way. Though defeat might have been a wiser option, given the random assortment of ethanol seeping into his shirt and DK still rocking the cherry-mahogany coat of a fire Kong. "-aha...you callin' that a'spicy?" Maybe the drinks Mario had already partaken in were a balm against insufferability, because he settled in the vapors rising around him in favor of grabbing hold of the red tie dangling above him. Spilled liquor perfumed the humid air with hints of coconut flower and deep grove vine nectar. Heady, Mario yanked the big lug's head closer and patronizingly patted his cheek. "...like a bell pepper." And as if to prove his assessment of the heat spectrum, he presented the Kong's mouth with a petty peck.

The glint of 'oh yea?' was still distinguishable in DK's half glassy gaze, but he was sure that point came across wordlessly anyway when he stubbornly rocked back into the princess-peck with the power and the gaul of an ocean wave eager to dunk a show-off in front of his girl.

Bell pepper, huh? Clearly hadn't given him the full taste of fire Kong. When he felt his tie tug him further forward, DK found little elsewhere to go. Even shoving one of Mario's legs hanging off the bar so that he could settle in with his midriff against the counter-top didn't seem like the distance demanded by the tightening noose. When he thought he might have found more room, his tongue grazed teeth again. So, he did what only a smash monkey could do and with a great hand twisted into the front of his company's shirt, quickly lifted Mario about maybe an inch or two off the table before slamming him back down.

"Pah!?" The protest is met the same thievous tongue that had stolen Mario's beer foam.

Sure that he would impart some real heat to Mario's poor tastebuds, DK enjoyed torturing the warm pocket. His larger canines clacked against Mario's with each roll of his head. A swarm of jungle hornets buzzed around in his chest and grew more and more agitated when Mario found some hair on his head to curl his fingers around and show off a grip strength that could end in a bald spot with any sudden moves.

A sound from within the pinned plumber vibrates along and passes into DK's lips. It's the soft vibration that convinced DK the spice on his lips had finally worn off, and with that realization, he retracted his tongue, but not after answering the unintelligible sound with one of his own to the back of Mario's throat.

A few deep breaths seemed to bring the Kong back to a slightly sobering setting. "I-...uh." Now faced with a newly reddened one that might need another cooling off battle, DK only stumbled back when Mario reached out to lay his glove flat against the simian's pulse. "J-just..." Noting the ravaged scene of broken bottles and overturned chairs, DK glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was actually around before he galloped for the door. "Tell them it's on my tab! All the fucked up shit too!"

Sitting up slowly, Mario watched as DK clambered out into the night, his lips pulsing with the spice of whatever spicy ass food the Kong had used as lip balm. "Mama mia."

[imaginedreamwrite]

ari can easily bench press and squat reader and it is super hot

“You are absolutely not going to bench press me.” You cross your arms over your chest as Ari’s stare becomes playful and he grins wolfishly. “I mean it, Ari. Absolutely not.”

It has been enough for him to make you sit on his back while he did push ups yesterday morning but now he wanted to continue. He had the idea that he could train without equipment, and use you for his sessions. It had been boredom that started it when you were both working late, Ari waiting for files to be sent from a future partners office, and he made you wait with him.

“Get over, princess.” His grin widened and he rest his hands upon his hips, his broad and toned chest bared before you. “Don’t make me manhandle you, you know I will.”

You turned away from him, looking out the wall to wall windows that gave a flawless and impeccable view of the Swiss alps. Ari and his necessity to travel for meetings, had scheduled a series of events in Sweden, as opposed to hosting them in the US.

Because it had absolutely nothing to do with you having Sweden on a travel bucket list, and everything to do with him choosing a country at random.

“Ari we have a meeting—“

“In two hours,” he positioned himself on the bench he ordered to the room, resting on a thick training mat on the floor, waiting for you, “now get over here.”

“Come on, Ari. Can’t you go to the gym? It’s a state of the art training facility in the hotel-” despite your protest you had shuffled foward on your bare feet until the tip of your toes touched the edge of the mat.

Ari was taunting you with his appearance. He had to be bare chested because he was “too warm” despite the snow and chilled air outside, and he had to wear grey sweats because “it’s casual this morning”. It was a tantalizing image, of his firm pectorals and abdomen, his strong thighs and the trail of hair that led below the waistband…

“Baby, don’t make me ask again.” His tone of voice had shifted, and his eyes had become a tint darker. “Get over here.”

You approached him, standing nearby and swallowing a shriek when he had grabbed you. He had arranged you into the position he wanted and barely gave you a moments notice before he lifted you above his head. You kept still, your legs crossed at the ankles and your arms crossed over your chest.

You were held above his head, solidly, while he pressed you with unique strength. You could feel his smirk beneath you, and as he had gone through the motions of using you as his bench press weight, you had retained your inability to breathe properly.

“Good girl,” his voice was heady and thick, his Bostonian accent sending a shiver down your spine, “you just let me focus and I’ll give you a reward when I’m done.”

[wolferals]

MANCHESTER

Matty Healy x fem! reader

Warnings: none, pure fluff❤️

y/n's pov:

My casual 4pm stroll went as always, a big comfortable jacket, a pair of headphones playing some nostalgic songs and the chill autumn breeze messing up my hair.

This time, I walked to the east side. Manchester was pretty in fall. Especially the east, the pretty houses by the coast and the crazy amount of coffee shops.

It smelled like salt with a hint of smoke as I turned into a neighborhood right by the coast.

I liked that smell, it made me remember how much I loved my new home.

A few minutes past strolling around, I noticed a bench, surrounded by trees, right by the river. Immediately I walked up to it and made myself comfortable before I picked a new song to listen to.

I looked around, taking in the scenery, enjoying the view, smelling the autumn air and having the time of m life as chase atlantic was playing in my head.

Then, I noticed a man to my left, sitting by a coffee house on the doorstep. He was wearing a long coat and sunglasses and seemed to be busy with his phone while smoking a cigarette.

First, I wondered why he was sitting there all alone instead of being inside or actually finding a decent spot to sit at.

Then he looked up and noticed me staring.

It took him a few seconds but then he waved.

I was confused to why he waved at me. But then he got up. Putting out his cigarette, he made his way towards me. I got a bit nervous but sat up right and took my headphones off.

„Hey!" He exclaimed and took his sunglasses off.

Matty, i realized and got up.

„Oh my god hey!" I threw myself onto his neck and he hugged me back quickly.

„I can't believe you're here. You alright y/n?"

I let go of him and we both sat down.

„I'm great! I actually moved here about a month ago. I got sick of everything, needed a change. And i loved it here last time."

Matty smiled at me and replied:"Thats great! So how you liking Manchester?"

-„I love it, it's beautiful. Best choice I've ever made. I thought you were on tour tho."

Matty nodded and kept his eyes on me. „We were; we finished last week. It's good to be back."

I looked around us and realized how truly great all of this was. And it felt nice to see Matty again. It's been about 14 months since last time. We'd met through mutual friends and got along perfectly but had quickly realized that we'd be better off as friends. Not only due to the 10 year age gap but also due to his busy lifestyle and the fact that I'd lived across seas.

„You look incredible." He complimented me and I started to smile. „Thank you! I think the city is really good for me. But hey you too! I like the new look."

Pointing at his long black coat he chuckled.

„Thanks! I felt like it was long needed. I'm fucking old now."

We both laughed at that statement.

„Do you want to grab some coffee?" He spoke up, pointing at a building across the street.

„Yeah that'd be nice."

We made our way towards the coffee shop and ordered our usuals. „You still don't like black coffee huh?" He grinned as he watched me poor sugar and milk in my coffee.

„Nope it's still gross." He took a provocative sip of his cup and smiled. „Delicious."

-„You're gross." I laughed and pushed the door open to step back outside.

„So tell me, how have you actually been?" He nudged me into the side and I looked at him briefly.

„Good. I didn't lie before. I've been really good. Uni is still going good. I got to make a switch to this exchange program and my plan is to finish my bachelors or even my masters over here. Everything is good then, except the fact that I don't know a lot of people here yet."

-„That sounds amazing, I'm so happy for you! How come you didn't reach out? You knew I was around."

He sent me this look. The puppy eyes as I'd liked to call it.

„I-uh." I started but eventually finished:"I actually didn't think you would care much to see me again. After that conversation on the roof last year."

I remembered that night vividly.

Matty and I had been slightly drunk, talking about god and the universe when he'd suddenly complained about why I was so young and how come god didn't create me years sooner.

I'd always known that there was tension between Matty and me but I also knew that nothing could happen because he was older and I was young and naiv. Probably would've jumped a cliff for him.

„Yeah I know, so sorry for the shit I said. Probably had too much wine. But I'm so glad I ran into you!"

He smiled his smile. The Matty smile.

So simple yet so sweet and enticing.

[just-a-draco-girly]

The Secret - Chapter Eleven

A chilling breeze hits me as I step through the door into the Transfiguration courtyard, causing my robes to flap wildly and my hair to look as if it's dancing in the air. I squeal when my skirt is blown up slightly, firmly holding it down. This catches the attention of the blonde sat on one of the stone benches nearby. He stands and steadily makes his way to my location, looming over me like one of those big muggle buildings. I believe they call them 'skyscrapers'.

"Wonderful evening, is it not?" Draco speaks, smirking in only the way he can. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, and his emerald and silver striped tie hangs loosely around his neck. Hands casually placed in his trouser pockets and platinum locks gently tussled. I'd be lying to myself if I said that he wasn't attractive. He was the definition of a hot mess. Blood warmed my cheeks as I felt myself blushing.

"It's just a bit windy" I reply, another gust of wind blowing past us, whilst I continue to hold the material of my skirt in place. Damn weather. A low chuckle escapes Draco's lips. His grey eyes sparkling as they watch me in amusement. "What?" I ask, shooting him an angry glare in the process.

"You're adorable" He laughs, now smiling widely down at me. This causes a pout to form on my lips. I honestly don't get how holding down my skirt and giving him death glares constitutes as adorable by any standards.

"I don't get how almost being up-skirted by the wind is adorable" I pout, earning another chuckle from the blonde.

"I love you" And my pout drops instantly, just by hearing those words tumble so effortlessly from his mouth. A small smile spreads across my lips. He takes another step towards me, taking my face into both of his soft, warm hands and tilting my chin so that my eyes are locked with his. "Oh, you don't know how long I've been in love with you..." His voice now a gentle whisper and his forehead is pressed to mine.

"I love you too" I respond, instinctively. His face is overtaken by a huge grin, and I can't help but giggle slightly at how cute he looks at this moment. And then I remember Charlie's words about defining what Draco and I are to each other. So I take my chance and ask: "Draco, what are we?". He freezes as he was just about to lean in and kiss me. The question takes him off guard, which is to be expected. He blinks rapidly and pulls away slightly, gazing off into the distance for a moment. His Adam's apple shifts in his neck as he swallows nervously, preparing himself for whatever he's going to say.

"I don't know. I'd just assumed that we were dating" He mumbles and removes his hands from my face, scratching the back of his neck as he always does when he's anxious/uncomfortable. His eyes are dropped to the floor, studying the green blades of grass contrasted with the start of white winter's frost. "Um..." He goes to speak, but freezes, still looking at the floor. Silence surrounds us, but not awkward silence. It's a more peaceful, comfortable silence. One that you experience when you've been best friends with a person for for almost 15 years, and know them inside and out.

Eventually, he lifts his head after a while of thinking and staring at the ground. and begins to speak. His eyes locked with my brown orbs. "Do you, er.. wanna be my girlfriend... Toria?" Draco stutters, biting his lip and anticipating my answer. His hands take my hands in his. Grey eyes anxiously watch me as I blink rapidly, trying to compute what had just left his lips. I smile slightly, laughing quietly at the whole situation.

"Yes, of course" I answer, causing him to let out a long sigh before a grin erupts on to his face. Suddenly, he takes me into his arms and holds me tightly against him. Taken aback, I rest the side of my face on his chest and wrap my arms around his torso. I hold onto him with all the strength I can muster in fear of this being only a vivid daydream and in five seconds I'll snap back to reality where Draco and I are forever doomed to be just friends.

I pull back slightly to look up at his face only to have his lips crash down onto mine, causing me to stumble backwards. My fingers grip the fabric of his cloak, as my lips fervently kiss his. My eyes flutter closed. Our lips slowly move together and his hold on my waist tightens, pulling my body flush against his. The kiss quickly becomes heated, as Draco pushes me up against one of the stone columns and pins my hands above my head. He pulls away from my lips, before attacking my neck with a myriad of roughly placed kisses. A quiescent moan leaves my lips. And then, the bubble is burst when the sound of nearing voices greets my ears.

"D-draco... St-stop" I hurriedly whisper, causing him to pull away quickly and look at me in confusion. Before he goes to speak, I hold a finger to his lips and gesture for him to listen. His eyes widen instantly when he hears the voices that must be from the other side of the courtyard. I watch as Professor Moody and Professor Snape walk along the other side of the Courtyard and into the door leading to the Entrance hall.  Luckily, due to the darkness of the area that we're stood in they don't notice Draco and I. Once the door shuts behind them, I let out a quiet giggle.

"I don't want to witness anymore of your Tom foolery, Mr Malfoy and Miss Diggory" I speak, mimicking Professor Moody's voice.   Draco drops his head into my shoulder and chuckles uncontrollably. His hands rest on my waist, as he laughs into my probably tangled hair.

"Oh, I love you" He speaks, nuzzling his face further in my hair and gently kissing my neck.

"I know".

Other Chapters

[sageywritings]

Down in the Second Period

Number 21 of the Devils, 5 minutes for fighting

Chapter 11 of my RWBY oc fic Flames of Change. Check out the pinned post for the full chapter list if you need to start from the beginning, and hope you wingers and web scrollers enjoy!

Auburn Vulpes belongs to me

Team JASR belong to @gruntnuker-rwby

Rin Aozora belongs to @solar-moon-byul

Shadow Stalvinge belongs to @shdwsprtn11

Riley sat in her locker with head down, focusing on twirling a puck between her fingers. The passing by of teammates discussing gameplans hardly fazed her. It was second intermission in front of a packed house tonight, even though a sizable chunk of the crowd were just looking for a brief escape from Vacuo's desert heat. Regardless, it made it all the more frustrating for the goaltender that with 20 minutes left to play her team was facing a 3-1 deficit. The offense was struggling to find a consistent rhythm, so she kicked herself a little harder for giving up a pair of goals she thought she should've easily had covered. But she'd never allow herself to be pulled out of the game. They'd have to rip her away from her position kicking and screaming.

“Hey goaltender.” The voice coming from the doorway that followed a knock Riley was too zoned in to hear brought her eyes upward for the first time in minutes. Sienna stood there, ears down a little. Her usual grin was present, but a bit more muted with a soft tenderness that replaced her loud brashness. Riley smiled back in turn, but it was fleeting.

“Hey she can't be in here! Team personnel only! We don't need distractions!” one of the team's defensemen Aurora growled at the fox-tailed punk. Sienna scowled and stuck out her tongue. Making sure to stare at Aurora the whole time she willfully ignored her, Sienna stepped inside and sat right next to Riley. The heat naturally radiating from Sienna made Riley want to curl up next to her like under the covers on the rare cold night, but she fought the urge.

“God is she always such a bitch?” Sienna asked, semi-hushed.

“She just wants us all to stay focused,” Riley answered in defense before finishing her thought in a mumble. “She and I both know I really need it right now.” Sienna frowned. She knew better than anyone how chill Riley was under pressure. Ice in the veins, especially when it was game time. But she could tell today was different. Riley was bothered, but she couldn’t figure out why. One of Sienna’s hands came to rest on Riley’s thigh, rubbing gentle circles on it.

“Hey, chin up. 3-1 is the worst lead in hockey, right? You got this. And if you don’t, then I’ll just fight the other goalie. If he tries to chirp you, I’ll just get him with a pipe wrench to the kneecap.” The casual madness brought a more long-lasting smile to Riley’s face, which in turn broadened Sienna’s own smile. It did way more to help than vague platitudes of optimism ever could. Just Sienna being Sienna. What could make her happier? She wrapped an arm around Riley’s shoulders for a supportive side hug, and Riley nodded with renewed determination. “Whatever happens, Riley, you know we’re in it together.”

“Hey, sorry we’re late.”

Riley sat on a bench with head down, focusing on twirling a puck between her fingers. The passing by of teammates discussing gameplans hardly fazed her. It was just past dusk, but she could still feel herself being pelted by Vacuo’s desert heat. She paid it as much mind as she did with Auburn and Rin’s arrival. In fact, despite everyone’s wear, the only one who seemed to mind was the approaching husky faunus, slick with sweat after the run there with her jacket tied around her waist. Auburn waved a hand toward Riley’s face after her apology drew no reaction, but again the redhead sat silent. Jade filled the uncomfortable void from behind her.

“Glad you made it.” Amber accompanied her with a soft wave hello. While not as low as Riley, it was obvious neither of them were in top spirits either. They probably spent the past day racked with emotion, and none of them good. But it also appeared to make the three of them equally determined. Auburn gave a nod before turning to face a building across the street.

“This is the place?” she said. The building she eyed was a small and unassuming brick fixture. Nothing about it from the outside screamed it was run by the so-called “force of revolution” White Fang. Though that was probably by design. But, Auburn's dad was sure it was the place, and she knew better than to doubt him. “So what's the plan? We just head in there and bust some asses till someone gives us something useful?” Her right fist met her left palm as she went on.

“Is everything just a bar fight to you? Not only are you gonna ruin an actual soup kitchen, but you're also gonna throw us in a situation where we don't know what to expect,” Riley finally spoke, doing very little to conceal her irritation. Jade placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her, even though she was just as displeased with Auburn's “plan”.

“Hasn't stopped us before,” Auburn mumbled under her breath with a shrug. Riley shook her head before looking up and meeting the green eyes of her team leader.

“What's the plan?” she asked her. Jade recoiled her hand back in surprise. She was always surprised when they asked her, like it was still a shock she was an actual team leader. Despite internally wondering if she should ask someone else, her team always looked to her and trusted her to lead nevertheless. 

“The White Fang have these kitchens all over Remnant. It was an initiative the Belladonnas pushed for during the previous regime. I remember there being one in Vale where I grew up. While it was primarily for faunus, they'd give a human a free meal too if they looked down on their luck enough.” She rubbed down the back of her neck until her fingers curled around the ends of her hair. Amber reached a hand out to her, but quickly drew it back when she continued. “Now I doubt they'd be so tolerant. Only a faunus is gonna be our ticket inside.”

“Problem with that,” Rin interjected. “Auburn and I just fought with some Fang guys. What if we get recognized?”

“Not to mention everyone on these streets is gonna know my face by now. It'd look suspect if I just strolled in asking for food,” Auburn added. She was right. With how notorious the leader of the Leash was, no Fang mask could hide her from the dusty, maze-like streets of her hometown. Before Jade’s brainstorming could go far though, someone crashing into her from behind nearly took her off her feet. A scaled reptilian faunus trucked through her before turning back with a scowl like it was her fault. While he was in normal street clothing, the hoodie marked with the red claw marks of the White Fang insignia made it clear who he was with. No mask required.

“Ugh move it stupid human! I’m already late enough!” he said nastily, only slowing down just enough to scold Jade. Auburn’s crimson eyes flared with the trademark rage that usually came before a quick and decisive combination of punches. But before she could pick her fight, Jade acted first. Her face didn’t express anger; it expressed the light bulb above her head going off. In a flash, she drew her weapon: two bladed pistols bound together by chain. She wrapped the chain around the mouthy faunus’ throat, effectively clotheslining him onto the dirt below. Jade followed up with a blow to the temple to render him unconscious, all before the other four girls could even question what she was thinking.

“Help me with this,” Jade said, strained as she began to try and drag the man’s body into a more secluded alleyway. Riley was first to snap out of the stupor and spring up to help her. Rin looked around in hopes they weren’t attracting too much unwanted attention. Not that most Vacuoan citizens cared enough to rat them out to someone that was supposed to stop them. Meanwhile, Auburn was just jealous Jade stole her KO. Once out of sight, Jade fished around through his hoodie pocket and found the missing piece to his ensemble - his Fang mask. The man probably wished he was wearing it. At least it’d cover the nasty bruise under one of his shut eyes. Jade held up the mask to her friends. “I think we just found our ticket inside. The girls then understood. Handing it over to Amber, she then started pulling the hoodie off of him with Riley’s assistance, all while Rin and Auburn stood guard.

“We’ll make sure to keep an eye on you while you’re in there,” she told Rin.

“Wait what? Me?? Why am I the one going in there? You’re the one always showing off how well you know Vacuo,” Rin said, flabbergasted.

“Yeah that’s the problem. Like I said, this whole kingdom is gonna recognize me, and they know I’m not gonna go anywhere near a Fang establishment. Besides you’ve been here long enough. You got this.” But before she could offer any more objection, Riley threw the hoodie at the husky girl. In her mind, they had already wasted enough time. She unfurled it so the Fang emblem across the chest was glaring back at her. Even as just a disguise, it felt… wrong. It felt like something she was grateful Shiina and Hikari weren’t here to see. But, she dismissed those thoughts and put it on, covering up the chain L logo of the Leash  on her tank top. She grimaced slightly at that awful heat. How could the others be so used to this weather they can wear leather jackets or hockey jerseys? Then, Amber outstretched a gloved hand and gave her the mask. It was nothing more than a monotone standard grunt mask, but now it was outfitted with a radio piece Amber had retrieved from her backpack.

“Damn, you did that really fast. You must be a tech wiz. I gotta call you next time I’m having computer problems,” Rin said with a soft smile. Her cadence was rocked with nerves she was trying to play off. If anything, the compliment and attempt at humor was to ease her own tension more than anything. But it backfired when all it drew was a shy nod from Amber. Again, Rin couldn’t figure out this girl’s deal.

“Let's go,” Riley said to get them back on track. Rin slid the mask on and tried to readjust her vision through only the tiny slits it provided. With one last pat on the back from Auburn - one Rin didn't see coming - she unsteadily made her way down the alley toward the back entrance of the kitchen. After struggling to find the handle, she let herself inside. Hopefully there would be an actual Fang agent back here where she could get some answers from. So long as she didn't fall on her face in front of them. Outside, Amber tapped her scroll a few times and synced up to the radio she gave Rin.

“Hey Snowdog, ya got me?” Auburn asked into the phone.

“How the hell do they see out of these things?!” Rin came back in a vexed whisper. All she could do was carefully stagger down the hallway toward a faint commotion. It grew louder and louder until upon opening the next door, then the noise blasted her in the face. A cacophony of shuffling plates and volunteers barking for what food needs to be made next. Rin scanned around, overwhelmed without the slightest clue of where to go or who to go to. That was until a panther faunus that was doing most of the directing pointed Rin out.

“You're late!” she said. It took Rin too long of a pause to register she was talking to her not to be awkward. She was just praying she wasn't in trouble after ten seconds of being there.

“Um y-yeah, sorry. Got caught up in a… sandstorm.”

“Doesn't matter, you're here now, we're down on workers and need you serving. And ditch the mask while you're inside,” the panther replied, practically pushing Rin along. Between not listening to her excuse and being allowed to stuff the mask away into her pocket, Rin was at least a little relieved. She was brought behind the counter, behind several different serving options. Spaghetti and meat sauce, chicken noodle soup, bread rolls, a plate of brownies for dessert. She didn't have long to get situated, however, before her first patron greeted her with a soft “how do you do, sweetie?” She was a short, elderly badger faunus whose white hair and face weathered with wrinkles told she had been through hard times. But, her smile was a genuineness Rin had hardly seen before. She reminded Rin of a grandparent who always looked forward to sharing stories of an exciting long time ago to the grandkids. Rin smiled back before filling her outstretched bowl with soup.

“Thank you so much, my dear. I don't know what I would do without you guys’ efforts here,” she said.

“Hey. It's like I always say. Us faunus gotta stick together,” Rin said. It was something she had said plenty of times in her life, but they lacked her usual gung-ho vigor. It just didn't feel right. It didn't make sense. To be wearing this hoodie, to have this mask, and see not shock or horror or outrage, but gratitude. And as she served more people, that continued. Endless gratitude. Full hearts to go along with full bellies. People giving thanks amidst endless swearing that “the scumbag rich in that floating city would never do this” and that’s what it makes it special. Rin couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride, no matter how sick or twisted it could be when viewed under certain lights. She was doing something right, but for the wrong team. Eventually, the dinner rush died down and that same panther dismissed Rin and the other workers so they could get plates of their own. While scanning for a place to sit, a ram-horned woman in the same hoodie Rin was in tapped her on the shoulder. She had been working next to Rin all night, but it was the first time she spoke to her.

“You seem lost. Come sit with me and a couple friends.” Rin nodded and followed the girl, whose striking blue curls made her easy to spot. They ended up next to a pair of faunus clad in Fang garb of their own. There was a girl with panda ears chatting away with a silver-haired man with a goat tail, along with a couple patrons that blew in from the street next to them.

“Ooooooh I haven’t seen you before. You must be new,” the panda faunus leered at Rin, who barely had the chance to set her tray down.

“Um yeah. I just signed up a week or two ago now,” Rin said, trying to play natural.

“We’ve been getting a lot of new faces around here lately,” the goat faunus said. “Seems like the recent publicity spike is inspiring the next generation. That Ospreay raid was a hit.” Rin fidgeted in her chair a little. The thought of people being “inspired” by such headlines wasn’t one that sat easy with her. At least it took the focus off of her, and meant she could dodge questions for at least a few more moments. She knew she was here for info, and now was her chance.

“What did you all think about that raid?” When no one immediately responded, Rin’s ears shot straight up. Did she mess up already? “I-I mean, you’re right it’s what got me to join. Seeing the Fang do that, that was just something else, man.” The Fang trio exchanged glances before each of them had a smirk grow on their faces until the point of laughter. It sounded triumphant, well-pleased, much more so than the shaky chuckle Rin mustered up to join in.

“Those capitalist bastards finally, finally got a taste of what they deserve,” the goat said, reclining away from his almost empty food tray.

“So many faunus have suffered just in the name of making their bottom line a few pennies bigger,” the ram spoke next, her tone carrying a more solemn weight to it. “So many lives destroyed, condemned to the lowest rungs of the ladder.

“A friend of mine worked in one of Ospreay’s factories as a kid, like age 9 or 10. She lost both her parents in an explosion there, and it caused her to get dust particles infused in her eye. She’s blind in that eye now. Know what the supervisors told her? Get back to work, you’re wasting company time.” Rin couldn’t find anything to say. Nothing she could say could make it any less appalling. Nothing could justify it, not to her, and even heartbreakingly less so for the four girls listening from outside. They all sat in uncomfortable silence. Jade pulled her hood over her head. Amber looked like she wanted to plug her ears. But no one was it feeling it worse than Auburn. The empire her team leader was set to inherit, the one he spent most of their time at Beacon flaunting. It was no secret this is what it was built on. It led to many fights between herself and Dash, shouting matches their neighbors JASR could attest to. But despite Dash’s seemingly endless shtick of playing the victim, despite all the yelling at his stubborn brick head, she kept coming back to that phone conversation at Amity. Him standing up to his father for her.

“Personally, I think they shoulda killed Tone’s brats already. I don’t get this whole ransom play. The only way they’ll understand us is through fear. Eye for an eye,” the goat said resentfully. Auburn stared at Amber’s scroll like she was ready to smash it. She marched forward, ready to vent into it loud enough for everyone to hear through Rin’s earpiece. But thinking quickly, Jade clasped a hand over her mouth.

“So they’re still alive. Alright,” said Rin. Auburn pulled Jade off of her and, after a staredown, her shoulders relaxed. She was happy to hear they were alive. Jade was happy Auburn kept her mouth shut. The next few minutes passed uneventfully, just casual back and forth among friends that Rin couldn't add anything of substance to. She was too deep into reflection of what they said about Atlas’ cruelty anyways, right up until they began rising from their chairs. It was nearing closing time, and most of the cleanup was done.

“So new girl. If you don't have any plans, you're welcome to come with us. We're heading to the Estates to watch the Underground fights tonight,” the ram offered. Rin froze as she stalled in search for an answer from the whispering voices secretly in her ear.

“What's that?” Amber said.

“A fight club that goes on at the Sunshine Estates every week. Bounced around in ownership a bit recently but still always a reliable show. Or a way to make cash, if you can win,” Auburn said. None of them needed to question how she knew all this.

“I don't know, guys. Maybe we should call her back. The longer she's there the more likely she gets figured out,” Jade stated.

“No! She's hardly learned anything yet! We need to see if we can get any lead on Sienna,” Riley retorted in defiance to her leader.

“Uh hey. You in or what?” the ram asked again.

“Uhhhhhh yeahhhh. Yeah I'm in.” After a moment of just stammering, Rin took it upon herself to make the judgment call. She wasn't too worried about being caught. But she couldn't shake a sneaking suspicion in the back of her mind Jade had a point. Despite that, the crew was on their way to the Estates, excitedly led by the panda faunus. Rin brought up the rear. Meanwhile, Amber and the others were being confronted by the soft but growing hum of static.

“Guys, this radio isn't built for long distances. I didn't expect her to be moving,” Amber said. Auburn motioned for them all to follow as she assuredly started leading her own trek. They followed behind the Fang pack by about a block, keeping their distance but still close enough to see Rin lagging behind. She was trying to find an opportunity to radio back to them, but there was no way to do it inconspicuously.

“We need more. Get anything you can, please,” Riley pressed despite the husky's attempts at contact. Her ears lowered, though they snapped back up when the ram girl slowed up to wait for her. She wrapped an arm around her to bring her forward, questioning what was on her mind.

“Sorry, I just… can’t get what you guys said at dinner out of my head. All the crap about the Ospreays. I gotta know, since that’s why I’m here, how do I get missions like that?”

“Pay your dues, work your way up, and show undying devotion, and trust me you’ll get noticed,” the ram smiled at Rin’s eagerness. “Besides that, I really don’t know specifics. The big missions like that are kept completely under wraps. Those probably never leave Mistral HQ. But I did hear a rumor that the person who led that mission is from Vacuo. Granted, I also head they were picked because they knew an Ospreay, but still means there’s hope for you.” Riley deflated, to the point where she almost slowed to a stop. Jade had to make sure she kept walking. Her mind raced too much to focus on keeping her legs moving.

“Could that be… Sienna? No, there’s no way. The Sienna I know wouldn’t do that. She might not have liked Dash, but… No, it has to be someone else.” Jade swallowed hard, while Amber kept herself glued to the screen. It unfortunately lined up with what Auburn had told them. Even more unfortunately, they never had the chance to share that news with Riley. Even if they wanted to, after last night, how could they tell her that? A short jaunt later, they arrived at the former gated community the Sunshine Estates. Inside the small checkpoint building at the entrance was a lone guard, the last one of his kind appointed by Vacuo public officials to keep loiterers and trespassers out. Those same officials, however, had very little power to stop his pockets from getting fatter from all the bribes he was accepting. The truth was every crew in the city had him under their payroll, and that included the White Fang. They passed by, only receiving a downward head nod for their troubles. Then, it was the girls’ turn, with Auburn still leading. The man stood up from his post and directly in the middle of the path inside.

“Auburn,” he spoke directly with a gravelly voice. Auburn smirked, her tail swishing. She seemed entertained more than anything by his attempt at intimidation. His size difference to the average person would have most thinking twice. But Auburn wasn’t most.

“Heya, Blaze. Glad to see the new owners kept you around. How’s the bank account looking these days?” The guard gave a small nod in acknowledgement that business was good, but he didn’t budge. “Look, I already got a date here to see the fights, but if you wanted to join, you just had to ask.” She pointed to Riley on her right at the word “date”, drawing an eye roll from the hockey star turned huntress.

“You know the drill. No weapons,” he said firmly. Riley stepped forward, almost instinctively squaring up to push her way through. She was already tired of wasting time they didn’t have. Auburn’s hand meeting her chest stopped her. “Hm. I see why you picked her as a date.”

“What can I say, she has a thing for abrasive fox faunus. So, this ‘no weapons’ thing. You told the same thing to your Fang buddies up there?” The man kept his ground and gave no answer. Auburn did the same. No one moved a muscle, apart from slight trembling from Amber. Leaning over slightly, she could see the submachine gun he always kept stashed under the desk of his office. With a sigh, she yielded and withdrew a stack of lien from her jacket, the same lien she had won from pool earlier in the day. This finally granted them access to join the growing audience.

Between two of the buildings led them to a packed courtyard. It once housed a playground and blacktop basketball court in view from plenty of rooms from their balconies to watch their children as they played. But today, it held a makeshift ring encased by a sea of rowdier growing spectators, and those same balconies served as viewing platforms for tonight’s main event. A lot of them of the ones watching from above were doing so behind White Fang masks, here to support one of their own. Auburn stretched to her tippy toes to look over the heads in the crowd, first spotting a wolverine clawed faunus in a specialized Fang mask of his own. In the other corner sat a familiar eagle faunus; Shadow was staring bullet holes into his opponent. Auburn figured he needed to make up for his losses. She found no sign of Rin though. Meanwhile, Amber had ducked away under a balcony along a graffiti coated wall.

“It’s too loud, I can hardly hear!” she shouted to the rest of her party. As if on cue, the problem got worse as chants of “Kick his ass!” broke out after ring introductions ended and the fight got under way.

“I lost her. Anybody know where she is?” Auburn said. Riley, using her height to her advantage, tapped her and pointed to the other side of the crowd, . They saw Rin, too busy taking in her first experience to do any investigating. She watched as Shadow ate a punch to the cheek before firing back a retaliatory shot. After a moment of playing with settings, Amber got the audio to come in a bit clearer, though it was still a struggle to put the noise aside.

“There's so many people! Are these fights always this packed?” Rin said.

“No, it seems like every crew in Vacuo is here tonight,” the ram said back before hollering in response to a vicious looking left jab from the dark-haired eagle faunus.

“What do we think of these other crews? Are they cool or?” Rin asked again.

“Depends on if they're smart enough to realize the White Fang is out of their league and stay out of our way,” the goat faunus said from behind them. “Some are, but then you get the few that wanna play big shot. Like the Leash.” Rin went rigid. She tugged on the bottom of her hoodie a little, just to make sure the Leash shirt underneath stayed hidden. “I swear the chick that runs them is dumb as hell. Likes to think she runs this city. She beat the shit out of me cause I was wearing Fang colors in her daddy's little bar. I'd love to kick that bitch's ass back to that excuse of a huntsman school she went to.” He had hardly finished what he was saying before Auburn started pushing her way through the crowd. Her blood was scalding hot. Amber tried to call out to her, but she either couldn’t hear or didn’t want to hear. All she saw was red.

“Auburn! Uhm guys?!” Jade and Riley, who had their backs to them to watch the fight, both spun around and instantly noticed the missing fox. Riley cursed loudly and started trying to chase her down. But it was in vain with how much of a head start Auburn got. The goat faunus felt a tap on the back. He turned around. Directly into a teeth rattling uppercut from Auburn that sent him flying into the rest of the Fang, Rin included. It also had the side effect of grabbing the attention of the section of people around them. And the attention of some of the Fang-affiliated onlookers above.

“You lookin’ for me? You wanna talk shit? Well here I am,” Auburn yelled.

“Auburn?!” Rin said impulsively before catching herself. Her tail tucked between her legs. Oh shit…

“Where the hell did you come from?!” the goat said, holding his jaw on unsteady footing. “How did you- wait, you know her??” He, the ram, and the panda, who were all squaring up ro defend themselves, all turned around to face Rin. Rin backed up protectively until her back bumped into someone else in the crowd. Rin shot a look for Auburn’s way hoping she had some kind of a plan of attack. No escaping now. The Fang member looking down from behind her had no intention of letting get that far as he drew his rifle and aimed down sights at the back if Auburn’s head. Jade and Riley saw this too. Jade drew her pistols, but had no clear shot. So instead, Riley took a puck from her pocket that was glowing red in the center. Pulling out her stick, she lined up her shot like it was a goal before tossing it to herself and smacking it at the bottom of the balcony. If the iconic sound of stick meeting puck didn’t alert everyone, the resulting explosion destroying the balcony sure did. Everyone turned around and collectively gasped.

“Thats the plan. Fuck it, bar fight!” Auburn called to Rin. Confusion reigned for a moment before panic set in. Some blitzed for the exits. Others began fighting amongst themselves. It was a full brawl, with Auburn at the center of it. The panda girl growled and brought out a collapsable bamboo styled bo staff, pointing it right at Rin’s throat. Rin flicked her wrists, snapping her arm blades out as she stood side by side with her Leash sister. The goat angrily charged Auburn with a few sloppy haymakers. She easily dodged and shoved him into another brawler, who turned around and decked the haphazard goat back toward Auburn. Drawing her new chain, she wrapped it around his wrist and used that momentum against him by kicking him away in the back.

The ram faunus paired off with Rin, unable to put her visibly distraught feelings into any words when she clashed with Rin’s blades. So she instead made her emotions clear with a hard headbutt to Rin, causing her to stumble back to. Back to a pole that once held a basketball hoop, Rin’s eyes widened before barely sidestepping a punch aimed at her nose. The ram’s knuckles met unforgiving steel, allowing Rin to kick her aside for the moment. Two more onrushing Fang members armed with swords were coming at her next, so she decided it was time to try out her upgrade. Her blades detached into two boomerangs. She threw them at the two assailants, with the left one sweeping one guy’s legs, while the right one initially missed only to nail the other guy in the back of the head on its return course. Rin caught them and they locked back onto her arms.

“Ditched the crossbow?” Auburn called out.

“I wanted to leave the sniping to… someone else,” she said. The panda faunus came at them with a war cry but Riley intercepted her, hooking the blade of her scythe on her staff. Auburn could feel the frost from the cold shoulder and supplementing unfriendly glare. Auburn wrinkled her nose a little, before a kick to the gut put her on her back. The wolverine faunus that was once one half of the show’s main event had climbed out of the ring to aid his Fang brethren. He had been trying to keep one eye on his opponent, but Shadow had mysteriously disappeared, faded from his peripheral vision into a dark corner. However, as the wolverine tried to stand over Auburn, Shadow materialized from the unlit shade along the building and cinched in a tight sleeper hold. As Auburn dusted herself off and got to her feet, the two exchanged a nod before she left Shadow to collect his winnings. Meanwhile, Jade was trying to keep the marksmen up top busy by firing pot shots at them. But, she saw two more on the ground charging toward Amber.

“Amber! Agh!” She groaned as a bullet struck her in the shoulder, her aura flickering green around her body, absorbing most of the blow. Amber froze in the middle of scrambling to pull something out of her bag. Right as the two goons got close, she brandished a handful of knives between her fingers. She yelped and chucked them at the attackers, but they all missed. They laughed in Amber’s face before one of them backhanded her, dropping her to her hands and knees. They taunted over her, until she raised a gloved hand that began to glow with orange circuitry-like webbing, and the knives retracted back to her, striking the goons in the back like hail.

The ram honed in on Rin again, but this time Auburn stepped in. Suddenly her chain split in two, each half locking onto a metal bracer on her fists. One hand wrapped its chain around the ram’s horn. She widened her stance and held serve, so Auburn used it as leverage to propel herself to her, nailing her with a superman-esque punch. The goat and the panda, now reunited, tried to coordinate a combined attack that would isolate Auburn. Riley knelt down, though, and activated her semblance. With a wave of her hand, the ground they ran on suddenly became a 20 foot long sheet of ice. As they slipped in place, concentrating all their effort in just staying upright, Riley deployed skates from her boots. With no grip, neither of them stood a chance. Slash after slash, she dashed back and forth like it was a practice drill, unleashing more punishment with every swing of her scythe. With both down for the count, Riley skated over to the goat. She towered over him with a terrifying glare.

“I’m done with games tonight. If you don’t recognize the name Sienna Umberon then you better point me to someone who does,” she bellowed. The pained goat faunus tried to a menacing scowl, but it fell flat. He tried to frantically move away, but the ice just kept him slipping in place.

“Wh-who?” was all he could croak out in genuine bewilderment. Riley lifted her skate so the blade was lined up right between his widened eyes. His thrashing intensified, but he still couldn’t get away. Auburn and Rin looked equally shocked.

“Hey whoa!”

“Riley!”

SLAM! She brought the skate down. After a moment of expecting to see the heavenly glow of the pearly gates, the goat opened his eyes to see her foot a mere few inches from his left ear. Riley turned and glared again at Auburn specifically, before a swift kick to the side of the head knocked the White Fang member out cold. She knelt down and started rummaging through his pockets, drawing confused glances from the rest of her team looking on. After grabbing his phone, she walked away and past Auburn. Again, the shoulder made Atlas feel like the desert.

“Did you really think I was gonna kill him?” she said icily. When Amber approached, she handed her the phone so she could store it away in her backpack. “Now let’s go. We need to get out of here.” The sirens they could hear advancing only served to prove Riley more correct. All the girls broke into a full sprint. Out the courtyard, out the Estates, past the armed guard who was too busy preparing for his own police troubles to care about them. Using Auburn’s extensive knowledge of the city’s layout, they kept to the back streets, making sure to steer clear of any main roads. Their pace did not waver all the way to a hideout Auburn knew would be empty and secure enough to lay low for a bit. They barely made it in the door before the toll of the run caught up with them. Amber was bent over, huffing heavily. Jade was still holding her shoulder where she got shot. Rin stripped off the hoodie and threw it at the wall in disgust before laying on the ground.

“Well. Coulda gone worse,” Auburn said, still somewhat chipper. Riley, still using her stick to steady herself as she caught her breath, slowly, frightening slowly, brought her eyes up so Auburn couldn’t deny the seething frozen fury in them. Auburn’s head tilted slightly.

“That’s all you have to say? ‘Coulda gone worse?’ Tonight was a disaster! We didn’t even learn anything about Sienna yet!” Riley said with an unnerving amount of rising anger.

“Eh we weren’t getting anything else from those foot soldiers anyways.”

“So that just means blow our cover? All you wanted to do since the night started was pick a fight. You were itching to do it, and it’s the only reason you thought tonight went ok. Cause you got what you wanted!”

“That’s not true!” Auburn fired back, showing her teeth. “I learned my team leader is still alive, and probably in Mistral.”

“A massive continent half the world away. Good job, Auburn, you sure found him.”

“What the fuck is your deal? We got what we could tonight.” By this point, the two had inched closer and closer so they were in each other’s faces. Jade tried to squeeze between them with her shoulder, focusing on keeping Riley back. But Auburn wanted none of it. “Nah Jade if she wants to keep acting stupid then let her find out what happens.”

“You really think I’m supposed to be calm about this? I haven’t seen the woman I love in months. I didn’t even know if she was alive! Now that I know she is, why should I stop? You just think I have to always be the calm one because I’m not as ‘chaotic’ as her.”

“Well you weren’t dumb enough to join the White Fang so.” Riley immediately slammed Auburn with a right hook to the chin. It was fueled by rage-driven instinct, one she had broken out a few times before when she was prepared to visit the penalty box. Jade jumped in further, as did Rin, who sprung up and hooked Auburn’s arms to prevent her from fighting back. She was too stunned to do so yet, but Rin knew it was coming.

“Why aren’t you more worried about her?! You two were best friends at Beacon! You were closer to her than you were to Dash, but now he’s your only concern? I heard all the arguments you two had at school, but now you’re all buddy-buddy with him? He’s been missing for weeks, but now you decided you’re motivated enough to do something about it?”

“We fought together. He stood up for me. And he didn’t abandon us!” Auburn’s voice was a nasty growl, as she still held her bottom jaw.

“He finally got you to believe his victim playing routine?”

“You saying he deserves this?!”

“No!” Riley snapped before pausing. She came down a little, the adrenaline subsiding momentarily with a deep breath. “I’m not. But don’t act like he’s our only priority.”

“Like you’re not doing it with Sienna? Sorry I have more sympathy for the kidnapping victim than the woman who carried it out herself!” She shook her head and looked away in refusal. She thought Auburn was just trying to provoke her more. Half her mind wanted to shove Jade aside and hit her again for saying such a thing. “I heard it straight from Sienna’s mouth. Just ask Jade and Amber.”

“Enough!” Jade screamed, her voice rippling. The argument finally ground to a halt, at least for the present second. She sighed. “Okay look, we’re all tired, and we’re all missing people. Why don’t we just rest so cooler heads can prevail tomorrow.”

“You’re right. But Auburn’s right too,” Rin spoke up.. “That’s not an excuse to let our emotions get the best of us. Like you said, we’re all missing people.”

“Amber’s been missing Sol for all this time, you don’t see her fuckin’ going on a rampage about it!” Auburn said.

“That hasn’t stopped me from trying though.” Amber’s voice was still soft, and her body language was reserved. Her eyes were cast downward. “Every day I work to get comms fixed again just so I can see his face. It’s selfish, but I’m doing it cause I miss him. I love him…” She was desperately trying not to cry at this point. “He made me feel like I didn’t need to be so shy at the world. But so does JASR. Sienna is a big part of that. She thought she could face anything, so when I was with her I thought I could too.”

“When I came to Beacon,” Jade stepped in to alleviate some of the pressure off of Amber’s shoulders, “all I had was my weapon and the clothes on my back. I didn’t know anyone, so when I got picked to lead a team, and that team put their confidence in me, I swore to give them my everything. Cause they were all I had.” She stopped as if to correct herself. “My friends are all I have. And that does include Dash. I stood up for him, I thought there was good deep down in him, and I still do. I want them both back.”

“See though, you can have these feeling and not be a cheap shotting bitch about it,” Auburn reiterated, never breaking eye contact with Riley.

“There you go just assuming I’m always the chill one. You realize I was always by her side right? I loved her fun mischief because it made Sienna Sienna. I never stopped her,” Riley said, calmer than before, but not by much.

“If you did maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation right now!” The silence that followed Auburn was as deafening as a grenade. They could hear a pin drop. Everyone in the room turned to Riley, but she met none of them. Her head fell downward, her face now hidden to Auburn under her jewel-toned hair. Her fists were clenched to the point where her knuckles changed colors.

“So it’s my fault…”

“Riley you know I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just-”. Riley didn’t think she deserved the luxury of being heard out. She had decided whatever Vacuo police presence was outside was more favorable than being here any longer. She stormed out the door without another word. Amber looked back just enough to see the crestfallen tears on her cheeks before she rushed after her teammate. Lastly, Jade’s eyes pierced the fox faunus harder than bullets from her pistols before making her exit. Rin turned to Auburn. She wanted to ask Auburn if they should go after them. She wanted to hug Auburn or pat her back or tell her to lie down. But she knew Auburn wouldn’t accept any of the above. So, she stood there, statuesque, left alone to wonder where their friend group from Beacon, the same one that thought they could take on the world and all the grimm in it, fell apart so badly.

[madefate]

From his periphery, Blitz watches Stolas fluff up a little bit, and he has to hide his grin. Something warm flares in his chest - he'd meant it; it's easy to fuck up and then say fuck it and just bail. But despite the pressure and the world being kind of a shit place, Stolas always seems to be trying. He always has a soft word and a gentle hug for Octavia, and that - that goes a long fucking way.

Blitz does snort a little when Stolas waves off the thought of paying like it's a matter of course. Well - good. Good ! That's, uh - huh. That's kind of a weird feeling that Blitz opts to ignore in favor of a broader laugh when Stolas fumbles entirely with the phone. Honestly, he hadn't meant to shove it that hard - call it a reflex, to dodge the questions that set off signal flares in his nervous system, warning of danger.

He thinks he's off the hook from whatever Stolas had been about to say, busying himself grabbing things from the closet - then flash of magic catches his eye, the dancing lights cascading around the entire living room. Blitz freezes, arms full of extra blankets and their extra pillow, half turned in time to watch Stolas summon actual mattresses like it's nothing - oh, right. To him, it probably is.

Blitz is - not embarrassed. He's not ashamed. - Right ? His tail flickers hesitantly behind him, and he's quiet for a long breath - then immediately lapses into an easy smile and kicks the closet door closed behind him with practiced, feigned indifference. ❝ Well, if I'd known you came with turn down service, I'd have invited you over a while ago, ❞ he jokes, sauntering over to casually drop the linens on the mattress top, looking just past Stolas' gaze.

Don't overreact, he tells himself, forcing that shitty, defensive habit down - the one that wants to rear up, spitting in defense of a pallet on the floor because it's more comfortable than hard wood or park benches - but Blitz knows it's just a way to create distance. A way to deny the fact that Stolas is right, this is more comfortable and it is helping. And if he wants to fuck, this'll be a lot easier on Blitz's back - probably Stolas' too. So chill the fuck out !

He crawls back on the pushed away sofa, tilting his head as he watches in fascination as Stolas scrolls through the menu properly - and the noises he makes. Is he even aware of them ? It's - cute.

❝ Do you expect me to say no to free dessert ? There's a better place to get from - lemme know when you're done and I'll show you. - What, uh, what kind of stuff do you even like eating, anyway ? ❞

stolas preens a bit at the acknowledgement that he's a good dad. he's grown far too used to his wife calling him every bad thing in the book -- the bad dad insults always hits him hardest , especially when he knows he's been so preoccupied lately. it's nice to be praised by someone who actually knows him. knows whats in his heart.

he simply waves a limp wrist at the idea of paying ----- he has the money , why not spend it on someone else ? especially someone like blitzø , who brings so much to his life. so he just keeps looking around while blitzø goes about his ordering , not giving any input one way or the other. HE TRUSTS HIS JUDGEMENT &* TASTES !

phone is pushed into his face , causing a flutter of feathers to puff out at his neck as he scrambles to grab the device. ❛   blitz ----- ! i can ---- ❜ he starts to object , but the other is up &* about already. he blinks wide eyes , glancing at the phone , then over at the imp. he doesn't say anything as he waves a hand , causing the objects taking up space in the living room to be enveloped in a blue , starry mist. the furniture shifts out of the way , then two mattresses appear , stacked atop each other for the height. nothing particularly fancy or regal , but cozy -- &* bare. ❛   we can use your pillows &* blankets. this just seems more comfortable than a palette on the floor. ❜

he smiles to himself , pleased with his contribution , then looks back to the phone. a few excited little bird noises slip him as he picks what he would like to try --- which is a lot , considering he hasn't eaten from here before. ❛   we should spring for dessert as well ! i am craving something sweet. ❜

[soulwillower]

semi-charming •  bill denbrough

(bill denbrough x reader smut)

requested:  Do you have any bill denbrough x reader’s that you have finished that can be posted? I really love your work I re read it like everyday lol :)    +      AKANSHAKAKMA U SHOULD POST THE BILL DENBROUGH HATE SMUT AHHHH     +     don’t be shy post the b.d hate smut 😀🔫🥰🌝

i haven’t posted a fic in well over several months but i hope u guys like it :) im here and around still so send me something if u wanna chat <3 i also have re opened my requests lkajsdlkaj

also - i gained a lot of new followers while i was gone and im sure some ppl want to be removed from my taglist SO: i am gonna start a new taglist!!! pls send me a message and let me know if you want to be on it bc after this post im starting fresh  !!!!!!!!!

warnings: drinking, mentions of weed, dorm living, almost-strangers hooking up, smut, choking (light), light spitting, a tiny bit of dirty talk, switch!bill, its kinda fluffy smut tbh, enemies-to-lovers but its so lowkey, kinda cute guys, neighbor-ish au, 

(losers + reader are 19+.)

4.1k words

♡

the first time it happened, you wrote it off as unintentional. 

it's happened to everyone: you're joking around with your roommate, or reaching over to grab your laptop, and you fall off your bed to the floor. you knock over your lamp or someone knocks over the handle that was sitting half-empty on the mini-fridge. the tile on the ground of the dorm rooms are hard and cold and don't do much to quiet the noise of anything, so you get that. 

but whatever the hell was going on in the room above you was not that. it was three in the morning, and your head was spinning in that sickening way that only happens when you take too many drinks in a short time and find your way to bed for a few hours before being startled awake. 

a loud thump made you jump in your bed, heart racing as you woke in surprise. 

it was around twenty more loud thuds from your ceiling (in a span of barely two minutes) that you gathered the energy to slide out of your bed, sliding on your dorm slides and throwing on a shirt to cover your near naked body before storming into the hallway to climb the most challenging single story of stairs in your life, right to your upstairs neighbors' door. 

your hand was banging on the door for a mere five seconds before the door swung open and a terribly confusing sight fell onto your eyes. 

three boys who you've only ever seen in passing before in your dorm, all shirtless and heaving breaths. the one who answered the door, possibly bill or mike (judging by the stupid name tags on their door), has bright eyes and dark auburn hair that reflects in the dim light of the hall, backlit by the neon purple from inside the room. his sweaty bare abdomen made your eyes twitch as you glared at him, suddenly more irritated because he's kind of really hot and stupid and annoying, and you needed to sleep.

"hi.” he said casually, and you could tell he wasn’t entirely sober, either. 

“so what is your fucking problem?" you said in lieu of a greeting, half-asleep and pissed beyond belief (also still drunk). the boy who answered the door raised his brows, head turning with a brow raised, as if to ask his buddies 'are they for real?' before turning back with a large, cocky smile, "pardon you? we already turned down the music." 

you blinked, knowing you must have seemed so rude and looked insane but it was a weeknight and you had class in the morning, "wh- what, no- i'm not here about music. it's like three, you're slamming on the floor and i can hear it like i'm in a fucking tornado in my room below you so you need to knock it off." 

then the other boy, further back with foggy glasses, started laughing. the other one laughed too, rubbing his neck sheepishly, still breathing heavy. "what the hell are you guys even doing in there?" you added, running a hand through your hair in exasperation. 

"they were trying to bench press me. but then bill decided to start doing squat jumps onto his bed." the boy with glasses explained as he rubbed his chest, still concealed by the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the stupid LED neon lights that every single person in the dorms had lining their rooms. that explained the thudding. 

"why." you'd deadpanned. you were too tired for this, but you'd wanted them to understand that it was keeping people up. "richie got us kicked out of Pike for stealing their doorknobs and pledge class photos." the third boy says, elbowing the boy, richie. "we felt like working out, but then richie said we couldnt press him, so..." he trails off at the look you give. 

"you want my workout routine or something?" richie asks you. you sharply inhale and bill smiles, "well, if that's all, we'll be going. i've got one more rep to get in." 

your eyes widened, jaw dropping at his words. he'd laughed, then, and your eyes couldn't stop as you stared at his sculpted abs flex in the light. god damn it. 

"chill out, neighbor. sorry to wake you from your beauty sleep." he said as he noticed your look, and you wanted to fucking hit him. 

you rolled your eyes, picking up on his facetious tone. "whatever. just knock it off. thanks," you'd griped, sarcastically smiling at them before trudging away towards the stairwell. and you'd caught it when bill muttered, "is now a bad time to assemble my ikea desk with my drill?" 

you'd run into bill once again a few days after when you'd gone to use the bathroom on the floor above you where your friend lived, washing out the bowl you'd used for lunch. a 'shh!' had made your brows furrow as you'd walked in, not paying attention as you'd heard a shower stop and a girl laugh from the other side of the bathrooms. 

but a deep voice grunting 'ow, fuck' made you freeze and then feel hot, wondering what kind of luck you have to be in the bathroom when some people were hooking up in the shower. but you're reminded that you had the worst luck when you go to leave the bathroom and two figures round the corner, hair soaking wet and hoods pulled over their heads. making eye contact with him, he must've seen how flustered and irritated you were, because he cracked a grin, "good to see you again, neighbor. you sleeping well these days?" 

that was only a few days ago. you'd seen him in passing at a party at one of the frats, but had avoided any interaction with him after you saw him and his friend with the glasses snickering to themselves after sneaking looks to you. god, you didn't want to face them again - they were so mocking, so cocky.... so rude, and they made you feel like you were being insane just for wanting to have peaceful sleep. bill was not your favorite person. 

but as bad as the first two experiences were, the third time you had the misfortune of interacting with bill, it was the worst. 

your roommate was out for the weekend, and you'd found yourself stuck with your leg and ankle pinned between your heavy file cabinet under your bed and your bedframe, unable to scoot it over on your own to free your leg. 

you were planning on relaxing tonight, after being stood up from a booty call hook up. you’re mad, frustrated, horny, and close to tears now that you’ve gotten yourself stuck pinned to your bed.

it’s nearly one in the morning, and nobody’s in the hall. 

but then, bill walked past your open door as you struggled, and desperately you called, "hey!" 

his double-take into your room, his head poking in, would have been charming if the face was anybody but him. 

"what?" he asks, suddenly noticing it’s you. his voice is not charming and calm as you've seen him be with other peers, but in your stubborn mind, you convince yourself it’s fine; you don’t like him, either. 

"i'm stuck, can you help?" you say despite your thoughts. 

he sighs, dropping his backpack next to your bed and then tugging to try and move the cabinet. 

"how did you do this?" he mutters as he pulls as hard as he can to pull it, but your shoe is too wedged diagonally against the floor, cabinet and frame. you sigh, "thought i could nudge it to the side with my toes, i dropped my dab through the crack." 

he chuckles, trying to instead shove it backwards instead; to no avail. "smart girl." he says sarcastically, and you roll your eyes, trying to help him shove it. "what was the point of you keeping me up all fucking night if you aren't strong enough to move this shit?" you say, exasperated because it's starting to dig into your calf. 

he stops, rolling his eyes at you. "has anyone ever told you that you can be a bit rude?" he asks, moving closer to you to try and push it away. you look down at him from where you stand, elbows on your mattress. "no. you're just a dick. fight fire with fire, or whatever." you mutter, face feeling hot. 

you can't stop staring at his shoulders, his arms - they're so hot, the veins popping out of his hands and forearms, the smell of his aftershave wafting into your nose from where he kneels next to you. 

he just hums. "i'm going to try to push your leg forward and then push the cabinet away." he states, and you nod, just wanted this nightmare to be over. you're still terribly embarrassed and the proximity to such a hot and confusingly irritating boy is making you lose your grip. 

it takes a lot in you to not jolt when his warm hand wraps around your bare leg and starts to pull you, his strong hold on you making you tingle. "what's your name?" he asks, and you almost laugh as his grip on your thigh tightens, the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your skin making you hot. this is insane.  "y/n." you struggle out, throat feeling dry - there's no reason his hand needs to be so high up on your leg, but some part of you really wants it. "it says that on my door." you say breathlessly. 

whatever he was going to reply with is cut off as he tries to readjust his grip on you and the cabinet, but his hand slides up and grazes the skin near the apex of your thigh, coaxing a sharp gasp to fall from your mouth. 

he turns red, looking up at you, "god, sorry." he mutters, and you bite your lip, unable to look away. 

you kind of forget to say anything, stuck staring at him, heart thumping as wetness pools between your legs just from this boy's touch. god, you've got to get laid. 

his arm is wrapped around the onside of your leg, thumb reaching higher on your thigh than his other fingers, and for a moment you hesitate before deciding to go for it: you drop your hand hand to his hair, pulling lightly as you 'steady yourself,' smirking as you feel his shaky breath against your thigh. 

you don't even care about getting unstuck now, all you can think about is being fucked into the mattress by this asshole boy from the fourth floor. you’re not sure where this feeling came from. 

when he finally pushes the cabinet away, causing you to stumble to catch your ground. he helps you get the cart and then push the cabinet back, awkward small talk making you want to die. "why were you down here anyways?" you ask, rubbing your leg. "mike kicked me out to be with a girl and all my friends are out for tonight." he sighs, rubbing his neck. "i have to do homework tonight, just going to find somewhere quiet to get it done." 

"that's surprisingly responsible." you say, looking at him wearily. he gives you an annoyed look, "what's that supposed to mean?" you roll your eyes, "you don't seem particularly academically motivated." you state, unsure if you're coming across as flirtatious or just a dick. he gives you a look as he moves to grab his things from next to your bed. "you seem more pleasure motivated." 

you catch your mistake immediately - and he does, too, smirking. you stutter to fix it, "don't be gross." you defend weakly. 

he's biting his lip and something rumbles in your chest, flames in your abdomen. it's hard to gauge if you don't like him or if you do. maybe you're just horny.

"i thought you were cute, you know, until you showed up at three in the morning to chew me out." he mutters, eyebrows raised, "i get that that was annoying, but it was a saturday. everyone was drunk, i don't get why you are still being a bitch." his face drops when he says that, as if he didn't mean to say it at all, but he doesn't take it back. you shrug, not too offended. he kind of has a point, "i don't get why you have to make everything so much harder than it has to be. doesn't matter how hot you are,  i don't have to like you, you know." you say, crossing your arms with a smirk. 

"believe me, i'd rather you not like me." he says, smile on his face troubling. you look at him, trying to gauge why you're feeling so flustered, why you want to jump his bones right now no matter how annoying he is. "then why haven't you left yet?" you challenge. you figure if you're reading his actions wrong, this gives him an out. 

"because i kind of want to fuck you now." he says boldly. you just smirk, walking towards where he sits on your desk chair, lowering yourself to straddle him. he looks up at you, eyes large and mischievous as he pulls you down on him all the way, your hips grinding lightly. "i think you want to fuck me always." you whisper, lips hovering above his, teasing. you're eating up all his attention, soaking it up and savoring the way he watches you. 

you boldly snake your hand down between the two of you, lips still refusing to touch his, your hand starting to tease his clothed cock as it hardens under your palm. you stroke him as you lean, almost kissing him before pulling away. he glares at you. 

then you move your hips, the tension in your room killing you. he lets out a half-moan, causing you to buck your hips again, relishing in the pleasure it gives you. he leans forward, trying to catch your lips, but your hand catches his chest, your lips just centimeters from his own.  "fuck you, y/n." he says, fed up with your teasing as his hands squeeze your ass, moving to the bottom of your thighs and then rising with surprising ease, holding you against him and making your heart thump in shock. he takes four long strides towards your bed, tossing you on it. you grin, expecting for him to climb onto you, but instead he's walking towards your door, making your heart quicken. is he leaving? 

he slams your door shut, though, and it makes you smirk as he clicks the lock. you're on your back, the sight of him upside down making you bite your lip, eyes nearly even with the bulge in his sweatpants. 

he walks up to you, and you eye him as he bends forward, hand catching your chin, holding your head forward with a strength you didn't expect. "look at me." he says suddenly. you blink, feeling hot as you stare into his eyes. 

"don't tease me." he says, and you swallow, heart racing in excitement. "okay." you croak, and it seems to satisfy him because he tilts your neck from here he holds your neck and chin, kissing you soundly on your lips. you feel on fire at his touch, squirming as you slip your hands into his hair - it's making you so needy that he's holding you, almost trapped on the mattress, kissing him upside down. 

he pulls away and you flip around, allowing for him to climb onto the bed, barely enough time before you pull him in for another kiss, this one heated and desperate. 

he bites marks on your neck as your hands palm him, pushing your own thighs together in need. slowly, you push him down against your mattress and sling a leg over his hip, moving to straddle him. his hands find your hips easily, looking at you like you're the only thing ever worth looking at; your breath leaves your lungs and you steady yourself, the reality of how fucking beautiful bill is hitting you at once. 

you pull his shirt off, yours coming off, leaving you in just your shorts and underwear. he palms your tits, pinching your nipple as you grind down against his cock, whimpering at the feeling of his pants against your clothed clit. "if only you'd come up to my room like this." he says, and you snap your eyes to his, seeing the teasing grin but glaring at him. "maybe you would've been nicer to me if you knew how good i'd make you feel." he whispers as you resume your hip's movement, "shut up, bill." you hiss. he laughs, his thumb making contact with your clit takes you by surprise and you jump a bit, moaning quietly as your eyes close in pleasure. 

"take these off." he mutters into your mouth as you bite his bottom lip. you take off your shorts, quickly resuming your spot straddling him, his lips trailing from your breasts to your throat and then your mouth again, grinding against him in need. he toys with your slit over your panties before he pulls them slowly to the side, spreading your juices on his long fingers, humming as he brings his fingers to his lips, watching you as he licks his fingers. you nearly moan, impatient enough that you kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips faintly; "do you want me?" you whisper against his lips.

"i wish i didn't," he says, "but yes. do you want to do this?" 

you're breathless, beside yourself with need, "yes." you say quickly, tugging his sweats off and tossing them to the floor. "fuck you, by the way." you spit, flipping him off. he grins and it's fucking beautiful, his smirk, his red cheeks, heaving chest. budding hickeys bloom over his neck and chest as he catches your hand, tugging you forward over him, whispering, "you're about to." 

you roll your eyes, ignoring the butterflies in your chest, hand falling over his as he pumps himself. your thumb swipes over his tip, spreading his precum before opening the condom he'd pulled out of his pocket (you don't even want to know why he brought one with him to study) and roll it onto his cock. 

and then you’re pushing aside your panties and stabilizing yourself on bill’s chest. you line yourself up on him and look to him for one last confirmation. he nods, “quick fucking around, babe.” he says, but his voice sounds desperate and his cheeks are flushed and you let out a strangled moan as you sink onto him, the nickname making your stomach flutter. you have to stay and give yourself time to adjust to his size, his moans swallowed by your own mouth as your tongue swipes his. his hands roam your body, squeezing your hips, your ass, your breasts and then rising to cup your neck and back. 

“shit, bill.” you whimper as you slowly start to move up and down. his eyes fall shut in pleasure and his head tilts back, exposing the entire expanse of his throat for you to claim, his hands falling to your hips. your eyes watch his thin necklace shine in the faint light from your lamp and he's filling you up perfectly. 

he looks like fucking heaven.

you kiss his neck lightly as you pick up the pace, bouncing on him steadily as his fingers grip the sides of your thighs.

“fuck, y/n.” he whispers, staring at you with his lips caught between his teeth. the feeling of him stretching inside you and hitting the perfect spot has your legs shaking already, breathing heavily. he’s soon surging up, kissing you deeply as groans fall from his lips, his arms rising to your waist to hold you as you move.

"you're much better when you're not talking." you mutter as you fuck yourself on him, moving your hips as you bounce. he rolls his eyes, "i'd fuck you every day if it meant you wouldn't come ruin my fun every night." he quips back, eyes challenging. and your hand rises to squeeze around his throat, at first as a joke, but then he smiles brightly, a smirk that stirs something in you and you squeeze ever so slightly, the feeling of his pulse making you moan. 

his smirk sends butterflies through your stomach, pleasure swirling in your core. but then his own hand rises to your own throat, squeezing lightly.

you moan, unable to keep it together. "you think two can't play this game, y/n? it's like you don't know me." he tuts, seemingly pleased as you're flushing, gasping as your legs stutter, his hips moving up to meet yours, strokes hitting you deep. “i don’t,” you whisper, and he hums. 

your legs stutter after one particularly satisfying thrust and he grabs your hips, lifting slightly and biting his lip as he starts to thrust up into you. “oh, my god,” you moan as he hits your g spot and he curses under his breath.

your hand comes up to rest on the wall behind him as you meet each other half way, hitting a spot deep inside you that has you moaning his name loud enough for anyone to hear. you hope to god your next door neighbors are out. 

he presses his lips to yours and you know its to get you to stop being so loud - it makes your toes curl in pleasure. then his thumb snakes its way to your lips, his grin widening when your lips immediately part and suck on the finger, humming around it as your hand rests on his neck, the other over his abs as you bounce. 

"so pretty like this, y/n." he leans up, then, sitting up more and changing the angle, making you gasp with a moan as his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to his face with the hand on your face. he pulls his thumb from your mouth with a light pop, your legs barely riding him at your proximity, instead steady on his hips, his cock warm and stretching you. "do you think you'd look pretty under me?" he asks. you swallow, moving your hips again and sliding on his cock, movements making you stare at him, pleasure building. 

"i think you would." he whispers, hand still on your neck. you whimper a bit, sliding off of him, allowing him to climb over you, kissing you soundly before pulling you to the edge of your bed, legs hanging off as he stands in front of you. lifting one leg, he kisses your knee and holds it up as he teases your slit with his cock before sliding into you again, causing you to let out a loud moan, his own melding with yours. 

your eyes roll back at the new angle, legs shaking as his fingers dig into your thigh. “wanna see your f-face when i make you cum.“ he mutters, hand rising to thumb your lip, dragging your bottom lip down.

 "you think you're gonna make me cum?" you bite, knowing no man you've been with has been able to. 

you watch as his eyes admire the half-lids of your eyes, the blissed, fucked-out look on your face. your chest is littered in blossoming hickes, varying from pink to dark red and slightly purple already. 

he says nothing in response to you, but pulls your leg further open, spitting down onto your cunt, making you moan lightly, the action being terribly sexy. his thumb finds your clit and starts to rub perfectly in counteraction to his thrusts, his lips finding your nipple. 

you gasp in pleasure, panting as you start to wonder if he really is going to make you cum. then his thumb rubs circles on your clit and as he presses lightly, you can’t hold off any longer. “fuck,” you hiss as you hit your peak, your orgasm making your legs shake. you can’t help it, gasping and bucking your hips as you clench against his cock in bliss, your orgasm causing you to tug his hair in ecstasy. “so pretty.” he mutters against your neck, pressing kisses to it as you’re moaning and arching your back. "so good, cumming for me." he says cockily. you're panting as you whisper, "shut up," his hips still pounding into yours. 

“god, you're such a sweet talker.” he mutters sarcastically as you look at him desperately, his eyes fall shut in bliss, a deep groan leaving his lips, you can tell he's close. 

"and you're such a gentleman." you jest back, pulling him closer by his shoulders, eyes shutting in bliss. he hums, strokes getting sloppier, "i let you cum first, didn't i?" he counters. 

you huff a laugh, something in your heart twinging in affection. you kiss him so you don't say something stupid, moving your hips with his. a few strokes and he's pulling you closer to him by your back, whimpering into your mouth, “y/n, fuck.” beautiful moans fall from his cherry colored lips as he cums, and you just stare at him in awe, surprised by how hot it is as he says your name. he rides his high and then falls off of you, onto the mattress between you and the wall. 

"hey," he says after a few moments of you both catching your breaths, your hands overlapping on your stomach but not nearly holding hands. it makes you feel warm in a weird way. excited, nervous. 

"what?" you ask, turning to stare into his eyes. he smirks, "you think we woke up the downstairs neighbors?" he whispers, eyes alight with tease. 

you shove him, smothering him with a pillow while he laughs, pulling you onto him. 

tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier  @sft-core @clownsloveyou  @moon-shine-baby  @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @groovybimbo @deepestofwaters @unfortu-nate-ly @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie  @decafcoffeew

[starlitangels]

A Skyside Morning

A fantastic Anon request for Vincent and Lovely during their little Skyside vacation! 1.6k words

—

I’d gotten very used to waking up sore in the year-and-a-half Vincent and I had been together. This morning was no exception. We didn’t play super rough but we both had a tendency to get carried away.

I peeled open my tired eyes to see Vincent sleeping peacefully beside me, glossy black curls pooled on his pillow.

Actually, my pillow, given he was sleeping barely a few inches from my face.

I pulled back just a little to get a better look at him—and heaved a sigh. We’d gotten sloppy. There were a few drops of my blood on the pillowcase. The bite hadn’t fully healed. Usually Vincent slipped healing magic into his bites as he withdrew his fangs from my neck, but this one hadn’t had enough magic in it, apparently.

I swore quietly under my breath.

Vincent inhaled deeply as he came back to consciousness. “Good morning, little one,” he said quietly, voice husky from sleep. His morning voice was always cute.

“Morning, lover boy,” I said with a lazy grin.

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Always, when you’re here.” He snuggled closer to me—and paused as he caught sight of my blood on the pillowcase. He swore under his breath too. “Guess we got carried away.”

I nodded. “Hang on. Let me try something. There’s a Freelancer in one of my Energetic classes who’s magic-born. Been teaching me little... quality-of-life tricks,” I said. Closing my eyes, I focused on my magic. It was... hard to separate the lightning from everything else. The lightning was all I knew, when it came to magic. I’d tried other branches of magic, but nothing came easy apart from lightning.

Prying the storm in my blood away from the rest of my magic was hard, but I managed to release a scouring spell that lifted the blood out of the pillowcase.

Vincent was smiling, broad and with that dopey, lovesick look on his face, when I opened my eyes. “You’re more incredible every day, baby,” he said softly. He reached out a hand and brushed the backs of his soft, pale fingers down my cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Vincent,” I replied.

Of course, my stomach decided to kill the mood at that moment by rumbling loudly.

Vincent smiled. “Shall we go get some breakfast?”

“Sure.” I tried to shrug it off, play it cool, but his cute little giggling was impossible not to join in with.

He swung himself out of bed lithely, throwing off the covers from both of us just to be a twerp and expose me to the cold. Then laugh as I yelped and huddled against the chill winter morning air.

Laughing, he scooped me up against his bare chest. “C’mere, baby,” he said. Heat clung to his skin and I huddled close to him in an attempt to absorb it. Vincent laughed and buried his nose in my shoulder as he carried me out of the master suite. “You’re so cute.”

“It’s cold,” I muttered, “don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” he protested. Half-heartedly. He started humming a jaunty tune as he strolled casually to the kitchen with me in his arms like I was light as a bundle of grapes.

When we reached the kitchen, he set me down on the kitchen island’s white marble countertop.

“Alright. What should we make?” he asked, pecking a kiss to my cheek.

—

I sat on a dining chair, knees curled up to my chest, pulled up next to Vincent at the piano bench, listening to him play. There was something beautiful but amusing between the contrast of the finely-polished black grand piano—and Vincent sitting at its keys with no shirt and a pair of plaid fleece pajama bottoms. Sun glinting gently off his pale skin.

I listened with my eyes closed for a while. Vincent was a talented pianist. Apparently his mom was a piano teacher when he was growing up and forced him to learn. He’d told me he’d hated it and resisted for years. But after he’d turned it had become a form of solace for him, and he’d dived headfirst back into playing. He’d re-taught himself everything his mom had pushed him to learn and developed his own skill from there.

His music seemed to spin around me, blocking out the rest of the world, until it was just me and him and the piano.

When he finished the piece he was playing, he let the last chord sustain for quite a while before lifting his foot off the pedal.

He released a long sigh and opened his eyes. The silver of his irises flashed in the sunlight. He gave me a smile, the barest points of his fangs peeking out just a little longer than usual. “How was that?” he asked.

“Beautiful. As always,” I replied.

He smiled. “Thank you, baby,” he said. The corners of my mouth lifted without me even trying. God, he made me so happy. 

“Anything else you wanna do this morning, Vin?”

He glanced around Skyside. “Well. I told you that I wanted to show you how much I love you in every room in this house.”

“Hide-and-seek?” I asked, sitting up.

Vincent laughed. “You do remember I’m a vampire, right? I can hear your heartbeat from halfway across the city. I know yours better than anyone else’s. Plus, you have one of the strongest Electro Energetic signatures in the entire country.”

I pouted. “That’s cheating.”

He kept laughing. “Fine, fine. I will try to play hide-and-seek without any of my abilities.”

I beamed. “Great! Onetwothree not it!” I bolted from my chair and ran off.

Vincent could have caught up to me in half a second, but instead I heard him laugh from somewhere behind me and start counting. “I’m giving you to a hundred!” he called after he reached five.

Once he was at fifteen, I stopped running and started sneaking. The house was quite solidly built, and the stairs didn’t even creak as I crept up them.

There were several rooms upstairs. All with at least queen-size beds, some with king, with two guest rooms to a bathroom. I worked my way past all those to a fancy sunroom—solarium, whatever—outfitted with sofas and armchairs. And bookcases. Several bookcases. Most of which were full of gorgeous first-edition classics that I wouldn’t trust myself to touch.

I smirked and tugged on one of the shelves gently. It didn’t give. Closing my eyes, I pushed a bit of power out of my veins and into the electric rail the bookcase was on.

It slid quietly to the side, revealing a small office-like room. I slipped inside and closed the bookcase behind me. The nice thing about my magic was I could understand the layouts of houses quickly by feeling the power in the lines without even trying. I’d felt this office the second we’d passed through the sunroom on the brief, quick tour Vincent had given me last night. Even though we’d both been... distracted.

And, sure, William designed the place so Vincent probably knew this cubby was here, but I hoped it wouldn’t be the first place he’d look.

“...ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one-hundred!” Vincent called. “Ready or not, here I come!”

I tucked myself behind the desk and grinned.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I mean, I know the house is big... but is it that big? I thought after I’d been sitting on the floor behind the desk for three minutes. I kept my magic to myself. It didn’t feel fair to ask him not to track me with his powers and then use mine to track him—even if I was the one hiding and he was the one seeking.

I kept one hand over my mouth, trying to keep my breathing as silent as possible. Vincent could hear me from my old apartment all the way to his house, so vampire hearing was incredibly acute. He’d be able to hear me.

“Boo.”

I shrieked so loud that Vincent recoiled and hit the far wall. The lights in the whole house flickered on before shorting out and turning off.

Vincent laughed, gathering me to his chest. “Ohhh lovely—you’re so cute,” he said, still laughing.

I pouted again. “You’re mean,” I said.

“Whaaat?” Vincent teased. “How am I mean?”

“Sneaking up on your partner—the love of your life, need I remind you—to scare them—is mean, Vincent.” The fact that I was smiling definitely gave away the fact that my pouting was for show, and it made him laugh. “How’d you even sneak up on me, anyway? I should have felt that bookcase’s rails power up.”

Vincent smirked. “It only needs power if a human tries to push it. If a vampire does, it glides right out of the way.” He winked at me. “Little trick Will put in place. The bookcase is too heavy for humans.”

“Rude,” I muttered.

Vincent held me tighter—and in the blink of an eye, I was back on the piano bench. “Your turn,” he whispered, kissing my forehead. “Close your eyes, lovely.”

“Looking away from that handsome face should be a crime,” I said, giving him a smirk. I took a deep breath. “But,” I continued with a sigh, “I understand the reasoning.”

Vincent grinned. “You’re cute,” he said.

I dramatically covered my eyes with one hand. “One... two... three... I’m giving you to twenty, lover boy. Four... five... six...”

Zip!

[kimnjss]

just perfect || jjk

⤑  series: cherry pickers

⤑ pairing: gamer(fuckboi)!jungkook x video vixen(virgin)!reader

⤑ genre: barely any angst... smut!!

⤑ rating: explicit

⤑ word count: 7.1K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: cursing, slight dirty talk, mentions of blue balls, oral sex (f. receiving), multiple orgasms,  (mutual) masturbation, grinding/dry humping, quiet voyeurism/exhibitionism, overstimulation, handjob, fingering, jungkook is a lot whiner than you’d think, nipple play, spitting, penetrative sex, yn being a quiet dom, riding... yoongi nd hobi run in a museum.

⤑ A/N: this is out a lot later than i wanted ., but a bitch got sad nd didn’t feel like writing :/ - we good now tho . thank you for being so patient w meee .i hope you guys like this one lowkey a big one so let me know what you think x 

MAY 16TH, 2020 | 15:56

From the moment the two of you stepped onto the shooting set, it was pretty obvious to Jungkook that you were a big deal around here. He was used to putting you on a pedestal and treating you like a princess, but the fact that the other models, the majority of the staff, and the photographer treated you the same way was a bit mind-blowing for him.

Before you're even shedding your jacket, a short woman dressed in all black is rushing over with a robe in one hand and your swimsuit in the other. Ushering you in the direction of where to get changed, all while placing a chilled sparkling water in your hand. Complete with a straw. He follows behind, only half listening as the concept is explained in great detail to you. Following you to the gigantic dressing room, just for you.

A large couch is pressed against one wall, facing a dramatic vanity with an equally dramatic cushion bench. Jungkook is plopping down onto the large couch as you're lowering yourself onto the bench, hair being pinned back by two stylists who are quick to start on your makeup.

Simple chatter flows between the three of you and Jungkook finds himself admiring you with an unwavering smile on his face. You're so pretty. Always so pretty and sweet too. He likes the way you speak to the ladies as if they're old friends, laughing along with them with the prettiest smile on your lips. He's sure he could sit here and watch you forever.

Positive of it when the ladies are finishing with a final brush of your neatly straightened hair. They're waving goodbye as you stand, shimmying out of the tight jeans that you had arrived in. Carelessly tossing them onto the couch beside him before reaching for the hem of your shirt. Getting undressed right in front of his greedy eyes, he's not even ashamed for the way he leans forward on his knees to get a better look.

Forcing a gasp down when you reach back, flicking the clasp of your bra loose. It takes everything in him not to reach forward and take hold of one of your heavy breasts while wrapping his lips around the other. The sounds you made that first time still imprinted in his head. You sounded so pretty underneath him.

“What do you think? Should we get something to eat after this or...?” You speak so casually as if you're not putting on an unexpected right in front of your sexually frustrated boyfriend.

Sexually frustrated might be a stretch, honestly. The two of you found ways to enjoy each other without actually doing the do... but there were times where he hoped, silently of course, that you'd just say fuck it. Sober minded as him to fuck you because he'd deliver no doubt. He'd be more than happy to do it. “Yeah, I could eat.”

He sounds distracted and he is. Rightfully so, because you've just discarded the tiny pair of panties to pull on an equally small bikini bottom. Giving him a pretty good look at your ass and the way it jiggled with each tug of fabric.

“Great. I'll get us something. You're not going to be bored, right?” Arm wrapped around your chest to shield your breasts from him, you toss the bikini top around in your other hand, attempting to untangle the stringy garment.

Jungkook can't even focus enough to answer you properly. He's more concerned with the growing bulge between his legs and whether or not you can tell how turned on he is right now. You do notice, but it's way much more fun to see the uncomfortable shift of his hips, the hesitant tug at the end of his shirt, and the dust of pink in his cheeks than indulging him right now.

Taking your time to secure the bikini top on to your body, you don't pull your gaze from him. And you love the tiny pout that appears on his face once your tits are disappearing from his view. You make a big show of leaning over to reach for the robe you strategically set behind him, chest in his face.

He's letting out a laugh, hands reaching out to find your waist. They're cool against your warm skin, paired with the smile you can easily feel your body heating up. He's looking at you through hooded eyes, almost as if he could devour you at any moment. “You're messing with me, huh?” Gently tugging you onto his lap, hands sliding down the sides of your body and onto your bare thighs.

You're used to being seated on his lap. It's your favorite place to be, honestly. But, with the lack of layers between the two of you, there's nothing to shield you from the very prominent bulge pushing against his pants. Pressed firmly against your core, just one calculated shift of your hips and he'd be nudging against your clit.

And with that shit-eating grin on his face, it's obvious he knows it. Definitely not one to give up control so easily, you're the first one to shift. Eyes fluttering from the drag of his length against your slit, having to force back a moan as your hands tangle themselves in his soft hair. Shooting a well-practiced look of innocence in his direction, you let a soft smile push on to your features.

“Of course not. Why would I mess with you?” He's rolling his eyes instantly, sitting up to press his forehead against yours. Lips stretched into a teasing smile, hands secured tight on your thighs. Easily using his grip to hold your body against his. “Are you sure about that?”

His voice is so deep and unbelievably sensual, you have to physically stop yourself from ripping his pants off and riding him in this dressing room. With a giggle and a shrug, you're hopping off of his lap. Leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips, “Guess you'll never know,” You say, turning to the perfectly timed knock at the door, calling you on to set.

Jungkook is letting out a huff, used to the blue-ball feeling at this point. He doesn't say anything as he stands from his spot, following you out of the room and on to set where they want you. Watching quietly as you're told to pose. Not being able to tear his eyes from you and how good you look in that way too small bikini.

He has always been a huge fan of your confidence. Loved the way you were always so sure of yourself. Loved how you walked, how you talked, how you acted as the entire world belonged to you. It would if he had any say in it. That had to be the first thing he found himself attracted to when he first spoke to you. How confident you were even just speaking to some stranger online.

Conversations seemed to flow with you because you never second-guessed yourself, you never hesitated. You were you all of the time and he loved that. He felt like he didn't have to guess anymore, although it took some time to figure you out, now that he knew you he felt like he actually knew you. He loved that.

The way that he got to know you, the pace that you set for your own reasons really forced him to take his time with you. Not like it was a bad thing. It wasn't bad at all. Because he wasn't in such a rush to kiss you, feel you, fuck you. He was able to enjoy the experience of knowing you. Learning you. Falling in love with you.

All before sleeping with you. 

Literal chills run down his spine when your gaze meets his. Laid flat on your back with the photographer over you, finger snapping pictures insistently. You've got this real sexy look in your eyes, gaze trained on his. Shooting a kiss in his direction and he feels his cheeks darken at the act.

Unsure when exactly he became so easy, but here he was an absolute blushing mess all because his pretty girlfriend decided to blow him a kiss. 

He finds himself sitting at the edge of the seat. Waited with bated breath for the moment you'll look at him again, granting him any ounce of attention to make his heart flutter. And instantly perking up when you're allowed a break. Grinning wide when you're making your way over to him, your long robe draped over your shoulders.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Taking your rightful place on his lap without a second of hesitation. Fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck and forehead leaning down to bump against his.

Jungkook allows his fingers to creep beneath your robe, landing directly on your ass. Gently using his grip to pull you closer to him. “You look really good,” He's hard again and it's all your fault. Desperate for some type of attention, he can't help the way his hips lift toward you.

You ignore the movement. “Thank you.” Nails scraping against his scalp gently, knowing how much he likes when you have your fingers in his hair. “I saw the way you were looking at me. Kinda makes me wonder what we'd do if we didn't have an audience,” Words barely above a whisper, but he's hearing you loud and clear.

Every syllable going straight to his cock. He can't even think of what to say, mind reeling of all the possible things the two of you could be doing if you were alone. He wanted to taste you. Has been craving it since the first time he had you upon his face. And fuck, you always looked so good with his cock in your mouth. Jungkook loved to see how determined you were to swallow him down.

Or he could fuck you... on one of these plush circle sofas. Stretch you out and make you whine for him. Tell him how good he's making you feel. For the first time. Have you call out his name while you cum, squirming underneath him.

“You're thinking about it, aren't you?” Voice so sweet by his ear, lips grazing over the shell of it. He's on the verge of losing it while you're just enjoying yourself teasing him. Dark eyes find yours, clouded with lust and a type of need that you've never seen before. Without a word, he's nodding his head, teeth cutting into his lower lip.

A grin pushes onto your features, hand reaching up to push the hair in front of his face back. “Should we go straight home after this, then?” The pounding of your heart only picks up, knowing exactly what you're about to hint at. Yet, you've never been more sure of anything in your life.

You wanted Jungkook. You've always wanted him, but no more than ever. In ways that you never really cared to explore before him and now it's like if you don't do something about it, you'd surely explode. You wanted him to be your first. No need for the dramatics or specialties, it was simple.

Jungkook was the one you wanted to fuck for the first time. “I can't stop thinking about how good it'll feel to feel you... you know?” Brow raised with your hand between your legs, resting flat against the no doubt painful bulge in his pants. His eyes are all but popping out of his head. “Do you want to?”

He knows what you mean. The look in your eye giving way to the fact that you're speaking more than what you've been doing all along. You wanted to do more and you were sure of it. You're not nervous or hesitant, so sure of yourself like you've always been. You wouldn't have said anything if you weren't. 

“Y-yeah. I want to.” 

MAY 16TH, 2020 | 17:03

Jimin was never a fan of museums. Not once did he think 'Oh, let's go check out this old painting that a bunch of dudes hung on a wall!'. He didn't care for them and didn't understand the hype at all. Would never be caught dead in one... unless his friend's relationship was at stake and an annoying boy with a pretty smile was dragging him into some elaborate ploy to get them together.

Only in that situation would Jimin pull out his beret and tweed jacket and drive the whole hour to the aging building. Hoseok in the front seat, chatting the entire way about how excited he was to check this place out but couldn't because of... circumstances.

He really said it like that, as if the two of them weren't more than aware of what the 'circumstances' were. That was the thing about Hobi, he liked to act like nothing was happening when literally everything was happening right in front of him. Brushed the entire argument off with Yoongi as if it was some fever dream and acted confused whenever someone asked him about it.

So wrapped up in not being seen as weak for caring, he just chose not to care. No matter how many times his friends assured them they didn't care what he did with his romantic lives... because it was literally not their business... he still kept up with the act. Which was why Jimin couldn't be so sure this plan would work.

Who's to say Hoseok wouldn't just act like he's bumping into a stranger and then turn the other way? That would do way more harm than good, hurting Yoongi way more than he needed right now. Especially since this was the first time he's gone out other than the studio in days.

Despite his worries, Jimin still goes along with the plan. Taehyung seemed sure of it, which had to mean that he knew something that he didn't. It would be fine. There was no way they could be put in a worse situation than they are now. Right?

The moment the two of them are entering the building, Hoseok is taking off in the direction of a piece he's excited to see. Jimin spends the entire time following close behind him, secretly texting Taehyung for the proper time that they can 'accidentally' cross paths. It had to be as natural as possible to keep from the two of them knowing that they've been set up.

A squinted glance across the room followed by the most believable 'Hey, isn't that...' and then absentmindedly leaving them alone so they can work out the problems that they have. It was a good plan. It was going to work. He just had to continue repeating it for it to be true, everything was going to go over just fine. Just perfect.

An hour... or six, according to Jimin pass before the long-awaited text is lighting up his phone. A one-worded message letting Jimin know where to head next. His newfound enthusiasm earns an eye raise from Hoseok, but nevertheless, he allows himself to be pulled in the direction of the next exhibit.

They're just halfway there before Jimin is stopping in his tracks, letting out a slightly forced gasp as his eyes widen. “Oh! Isn't that Taehyung... and Yoongi over there?” Hoseok's head snaps in the direction his friend is pointing, heart rate skyrocketing at the mere mention of the man's name.

Across the way, Taehyung is seen doing the exact same thing. Complete with a dramatic hand over his mouth and even wider eyes. Yoongi is not buying it, standing frozen with this scowl on his face as Hoseok and Jimin make their way over to where they're standing.

Oddly, Hobi doesn't seem reluctant to approach him. This was stupid, the avoiding each other, not talking when clearly they had a lot to talk about. While this would be his preferred method to handle things, he hated it when it came to Yoongi. All he wanted was to be close to him again and if that meant looking weak in front of his friends then so be it. He missed him.

He's prepared to say all of that, lay it all out for him, and try to work on mending things so they could get back to where they left off. The closer he gets though, the tighter Yoongi's throat gets. It feels like he's swallowed cotton balls and the sensation makes his eyes water. Heart pounding in his chest, getting louder with each step taken in his direction.

Until it's all too much to handle. Too scared to hear what Hoseok might have to say. Yoongi was out of line, he was the one in the wrong so there's no telling how upset Hoseok might be with him. He couldn't handle that. So, once he's close enough to speak Yoongi is taking off in the other direction. Running away and leaving the three men to stand there confused.

“Yoongi, wait!” Hoseok is calling after him, legs moving without giving him much of a say. Chasing after him like he should've done that night. Instead of walking away, he should've stayed. Made sure that he was okay, tried to make things better. He had been too negligent in their relationship, ignored a lot of the things that bothered him. And this was where they ended up.

He had no intention of doing that now.

Hoseok chases him until his feet ache and then a few feet after that. Catching him outside just a few blocks away from the museum. He can't help the laugh that falls from his lips when Yoongi is stopping to catch his breath, taking careful steps in his direction. “Yoongi, please stop running. I just want to talk to you.”

Too tired to keep up with the chase even if he wanted to, Yoongi is standing. This awful sad look on his face that he tries to mask with a frown, arms crossed over his chest. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Stubborn was fine. Hobi had no problem with dealing with stubbornness. At least he was talking to him. And in this case, he didn't need him to say anything. “That's okay. I have a lot to say to you. Starting with, I'm sorry.” He's moving closer to him, carefully. Not wanting to overstep and set him running again.

“I should've been more considerate of your feelings, Yoongi. You told me you didn't want to keep us a secret and I didn't listen. I'm sorry for making you feel like I wasn't proud of being with you because I am. I love being with you. I just... I didn't think it was that big of a deal? And I didn't want everyone in our business, but I was selfish and should've paid more attention to you.”

He's had a lot of time to think of what he has done and how he could make things better between the both of them. Had practiced his apology a dozen times in the mirror and then a dozen more. The real problem was working up the courage to take the first step. So seeing him here, whether or not it was a real coincidence, there was no better timing than now.

Somewhere within his apology, Yoongi seems to soften. Arms dropping to his side as he listens to what is being said to him. This whole thing, the base of their fight really could've been resolved easily. There's no doubt about that. But when pride and egos get invoked everything becomes a huge mess. But seeing Hoseok in an almost vulnerable state was new, it was nice in a weird way.

But Hobi wasn't the only one in the wrong. Yoongi knew that. “I'm sorry too...I shouldn't have tried to make you jealous. I knew how you felt and I ignored that because it wasn't what I wanted. I could've been more considerate too, it wasn't just you.” A huge smile is breaking on to Hoseok's face, taking the last few steps to close the space between them. He's landing a large hand on the side of Yoongi's neck, thumb stroking against his skin.

“Can we get back together? I don't like not being with you.” His lower lip is jutting out in the cutest little pout, Yoongi can't help but smile at him. Eyes rolling playfully as he nods his head, accepting the eager kiss that's placed on his lips.

Strong arms wrapping around his body and pulling him close. Kissing him in the middle of the street, for everyone to see.

MAY 16TH, 2020 | 21:11

Jungkook kisses you hungrily, hands roaming around your body with purpose. That being, getting you undressed as quickly as possible. You're giving him the same treatment, teeth and tongue clashing as you fumble with the buckle of his belt. Barely entering his house before his mouth was pressed against yours, not parting for more than a second since then.

He's lifting your body onto his with ease, carrying you up the stairs and into the bedroom. The shirt that he had been wearing was left in the doorway along with your jeans and jacket. Setting you down on the bed, he takes a moment to admire you. Lipstick smudged and eyes sparkling. Your hair fanned around your head against the pillow. The rise and fall of your chest, the longer he looks at you the harder it gets to believe that you're his.

Leaning down, his face finds the crook of your neck. Hands spread your legs apart so he's able to fit between them nicely. Sucking a trail of wet kisses down the length of your neck, he's so hard pressed against you. Harder than you've ever felt him before and you're sure it comes with the anticipation of what's to come.

His fingers are tangled in your hair holding your head steady as he leaves marks against your neck. He's being cautious, careful despite his desires. Not wanting to push you too far or do too much too soon, but all you wanted was him. And you didn't want to go slow. Had done more than enough pussyfooting to last you a lifetime, you just wanted him now.

Plain and simple.

Hands work to unfasten the button on his jeans, tugging them down with motion straying far from being fluid. He laughs at your struggle, pulling back into a kneel. His large hand coming down to replace yours, watching you through a hooded gaze while dragging them down the rest of the way. It had been pretty obvious how hard he was through the fabric of his jeans, but even more so through the thin layering of briefs.

Jungkook was big, that much you already knew. Impressive even when soft and you've never seen him this hard before. Was it all going to fit inside of you? Had trouble taking just two fingers of his and he was much thicker than that. The thought of trying, though, having him stretch you out has a familiar warmth pooling between your legs. A determination settling in your chest. You wanted to be able to take him. Need to.

He's reaching for the hem of your shirt, mumbling something out about fairness. And with a quick lift, your shirt is being tossed somewhere behind him. Large hands cup your breasts, body moving to settle back between your legs. Thumb experimentally rubbing against your nipple through the thin lace and it's not enough.

It seems he has the ability to read your mind with the quickness of the way he reaches behind you, fingering at the clasps of your bra. Moving it out of the way until your breasts are resting freely on your chest. The soft moan that falls from his lips has your walls clenching around nothing. An even louder moan emitting from the back of your throat as his lips wrap around the hardened bud.

“Jungkook,” You gasp. Teeth sinking into your skin while his fingers work the other side into a peak. 

He has been embarrassingly hard this entire day and the sweet moans that leave your glossed lips do nothing but add to that. Absentmindedly his hips rut against yours, thick cock brushing against your wet core, covered by the flimsy material of his panties. It almost hurt how bad he wanted you. Mind reeling with different ways he could take you, but he was so anxious about fucking it up he seemed to be playing it safe.

And you could tell. Even the usually frantic thrusts of his hips were calculated, just barely missing your clit and not nearly as hard as normal. His mouth is releasing from around your nipple to leave a trail of wet kisses down your body, tongue painting wet streaks against your skin. But you're stopping him before he can fit his head between your legs.

“Wait. I-I want to feel you... I want to make you feel good first,” Just as much as this was something big for you, you wanted it to be the same for him. It was not only your first time ever, it was also his first time with you. It should be fun for him too, right?

His eyes are widening as if you just suggested something as bizarre as nude bungee jumping, but the sound of your giggle has his body relaxing almost instantly. He watches as you sit up, arms wrapped around his neck. Kissing him fervently, hands knotting in the soft curls of his hair.

Warm tongue parting his lips, coaxing him into a kiss that can only be described as sloppy. Teeth grazing against his lower lip while your hand palms him through his briefs, his lips fall from yours to let out a low groan. Head dropping to watch the way your hand moves against him. “Fuck,” He sighs out almost in disbelief. 

Soft curses fall from his lips as your grip tightens around him, more pressure applied to the movements of your palm. He's moving his hips along with your hand, eyes fluttering and head bowed. Trying so hard to watch the way your fingers squeeze around him, but it's too hard to concentrate on anything but how good you were making him feel.

“You're so big, Kookie. What do you want me to do?” Voice laced with seduction, it's hot enough to make his cock twitch. If you kept on like that, it won't be long before he's blowing his load. Before even taking his boxers off, how embarrassing. 

He doesn't need to think, because he knows what he wants. Has thought about it on more than one occasion and wanted to try his chances tonight. “I... touch yourself. I want to see you touch yourself,” There's obvious strain in his voice, trying to create a coherent sentence through breathy moans.

His request catches you off guard, so sure that he'd ask you to suck him off or something that would be beneficial to him. But you don't protest, the thought of him watching you do something supposedly private egging you on. It was hot, him wanting to watch you. And it was no secret how inclined you were to giving Jungkook exactly what he wanted.

You're laying on your back once again, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your panties. Making a big show of taking them off, loving the way his eyes follow the material down your legs before he's dragging his gaze up to your bare pussy. Glistening with arousal all pink and pretty.

“Like this?” Middle finger tapping against your clit, body tensing at the contact. Jungkook kneels beside you, breath caught in his throat. Not daring to look away as your finger lightly moves over your clit. “Harder,” He whines, realizing you're teasing him with how gentle you're being.

Giggling softly, you apply more pressure, rubbing perfect figure eights into the little bundle of nerves. His lower lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowed and eyes focused. He looks so hot, gently stroking himself. Cautious in his movements so he's not pushing himself too far too soon.

He watches with bated breath as your hand slips lower between your legs, finger teasing your entrance with your eyes trained on his. Your jaw falls slack as soon as the digit pushes past your walls, eyes fluttering as a soft whimper of his name leaves your lips. “Holy shit.” He groans, picking up the pace of his hand as you do the same.

Not sure if it's the fact that he's watching you or the sight of him getting himself off to the sight of you, but you're speeding toward the edge quicker than you expect. Finger curling up into yourself, just barely grazing the rough patch of skin deep within. The heel of your palm nudging against your clit with a timed accuracy. Back arching as your whines grow louder.

“Fuck. Are you gonna cum?” Wildly in tune with your body, you can't even think to deny it. “Touch me,” You plead and he doesn't need to be told twice. Springing forward and landing his fingers on your clit, rolling it around underneath his touch. Your free hand lifts to wrap around his length, wrists twisting rhythmically. You feel the stutter of his fingers from the effects of your touch. 

All at once, the pressure built in your belly is snapping. Walls clenching around your fingers as your legs shake, eyes blurring as your orgasm washes over you. Jungkook's fingers are quick to replace yours the moment you're pulling out. Pushing deep inside of you and teasing your gspot. Just barely come down and you're already being thrust into a second orgasm, hands flying to grip his forearms.

“Jungkook, fuck. Please, please...” No idea what you're begging for, but the last thing you want is for this feeling to stop. He watches the way your hips move, fucking yourself on his fingers while your arousal leaks out your tight hole. Fists gripping the sheets as you squirm.

He doesn't pull back until your body is relaxing against the mattress, chest heaving up and down as you try to catch your breath. His fingers are wet with your juices, shining in the dull light of the bedroom. Quick to push them past his lips, moaning at the sweet taste of you coating his tongue.

Through hooded eyes, you watch the way his tongue moves between his fingers. Lapping up every last drop of you. As if he had just finished a five-course meal.

“You taste so good, baby.” He's mumbling out, a shy smile pushing onto his lips realizing that you've been watching him. Lowering himself between your legs, wet fingers pushing your hair out of your face. “Are you good to continue?” He smells like you and tastes like you when you lean up to kiss him.

You'd be crazy to say no, knowing how badly he wanted you. How badly you wanted him. The quick nod of your head is all he needs to cover your lips with his one last time, before lowering his body until his face is just inches from your throbbing clit. “Could spend all day down here,” He laughs out, soft lips pressing a wet kiss against your clit.

He doesn't need you to walk you through it, has paid you enough attention to know what you like. Diving it without an ounce of hesitance, tongue lapping against your wet hole. The tip of his nose pressed firmly against your clit, bumping against it so deliciously it has to be on purpose. He's got a tight grip on your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide for him.

Whiny moans vibrate against your pussy as he sucks your folds into his mouth, hand reaching for your clit. Pressing against it more deliberately, rolling it between his fingers as he works his tongue into your tight whole. Moving like a man starved, his groans are just as loud as your moans. Fingers gripping his hair to keep his head in place, hips lifting to meet the swirls of his tongue.

So wrapped in how good he's making you feel, you almost miss the steady rut of his hips. Shamelessly grinding his throbbing cock against the bedsheets. As if he's buried deep inside of you. With his tongue flat against your clit, he's pushing two fingers past your walls. Curling them deep inside of you. And you're seeing stars, back arching off the bed as a loud cry of his name falls from your lips.

Your entire body is on fire, legs shaking while your arousal flows out of you. His fingers continue to move at a steady pace, tongue flicking slowly against your clit until your loud moans are turning into desperate whines. Lips, chin, and nose shiny with your arousal, and all he does is smile. This big toothy grin that makes your heart flutter.

Just about delirious from coming three times in a row... and he hasn't even fucked you yet. God, you wanted him to fuck you. And you could tell he was holding back from doing just that, precum leaking from the tip of his cock staining the sheets. He wanted you too. But he was stalling.

His fingers move between your legs again, teasing your slit as he leans his head back down between your legs. Ready to make you cum with his mouth again. Your cunt throbs with overstimulation, positive that you wouldn't be able to take much more and you wanted to feel him before you were out for the count.

“F-fuck me, Jungkook. Please, I'm ready.” Fingers at his bangs, pushing them back so you can get a good look at his face. The way his movements stutter to a stop, eyes widening just slightly.

But he nods, kneeling back on his knees. Raking his own fingers through his hair, desperately trying to calm the nervous tick in his heart. You were so perfect. Laying beneath him, ready for him to fuck you. And there was nothing else he wanted to do, but he couldn't help but feel a bit of anxiety over it.

It was your first time after all. What if he fucked it up? Ruined it for you and then every single time you thought back to this moment you were filled with nothing but distaste. He just wanted to be perfect for you. And with the way you were looking at him, he felt like he could be. Felt like you thought he might be.

That was something, right?

“O-okay. Uhm...let me get a condom,” Clearing his throat awkwardly, he's cursing himself a million times for not sounding as confident as he should. With a huff, he's leaning over to reach for the bedside table, fishing through the drawer until his fingers are meeting the tiny foil packet.

He puts it on away from you, not wanting you to see him fumble with it due to the nervous shake of his fingers. Once it's secure in place he's moving back between your legs, nearly choking at the sultry look on your face. Long legs wrapping around his hips to pull him closer.

And he feels like he can't breathe.

With his chest pressed against yours, you can feel the hammer of his heart almost perfectly. That paired with the flushed look on your face is enough to make you pull back, getting a better look at his face. “Are you alright? Your heart's beating so fast.”

“Yeah, I'm just nervous. Fuck and I don't even know why...” He's laughing at himself with a shake of his head. It was you. He shouldn't be nervous around you. Always felt so comfortable, so sure when he was with you.

But this was big. This was your first time and he felt like he had to be different for some reason. Better? Yet, little did he know he was exactly the way that you wanted. Just being himself. “Do you want to stop?”

He's shaking his head quickly, eyes widening as he reaches back to tighten your legs around his waist. “No! No. I want to feel you... you look so good,” The last part of his sentence comes out as a whine, his hips lifting to meet yours. The action alone pulling a soft moan from your lips. Almost knocking your train of thought from your head.

“If you're nervous...”

Jungkook is quick to cut you off with a kiss, fingers moving between your legs. Middle finger tapping against your clit before he's drawing circles over it. “Shh, shh... I'm fine.” His words are murmured against your lips, tongue jutting out to swipe over your lower lip. And with the insistent push of his cock against your thigh, you're convinced.

“Okay.” He's smiling, leaning back to take hold of himself. Large palm wrapping around his length, lining himself up with your slick entrance. Breathing out heavily before he's lifting his gaze to meet yours. “You ready?”

Legs spreading in response, you're quick to nod your head. Hands braced on either side of his torso, body laid flat on the mattress. “Mhm.”

Extremely cautious with the way he pushes past your walls, allowing you to feel every inch of him as you stretch for him. It's foreign and a little uncomfortable, he's taking his time, being careful not to hurt you. Stopping halfway to give you a chance to catch your breath, thumb rubbing circles against your clit as an attempt to soothe you.

It brings a bit of the pleasure back, but your eyes remained squeezed shut, blunt nails pressed into his skin. With his head bowed, he's allowing a glob of saliva fall from his lips and onto your pussy, treating it like a lube as he pushes the last few inches inside of you.

You can tell he's holding back, cheeks burned red, and brows furrowed. He's got a tight grip on the sheets above your head, the thick vein at the side of his neck throbbing. Slowly, he's dragging his hips back, pushing back in roughly.

“Fuck, Jungkook.” You gasp, surprised by the pleasure that mixes with the painful stretch. He repeats the action a few more times until he's feeling you loosen around him. But you're still squeezing him so tight. “You're so fucking tight, baby.” He whines, desperate to go faster, harder. Be greedy. 

He's pulling back until his mushroom head is catching against your hole, pushing forward with a loud whine. “I'm gonna cum. Fuck, you feel so good.” You're opening up nicely for him now, his cock slipping past your walls with ease and it's too good to bare. For both of you.

Much different from your fingers or his. And you're not ready for it to end yet. “Not yet.” You groan, fingers holding his hips steady you lift up to take control of the pace. Moving a lot slower, giving him the chance to collect himself. “Hold it, Kookie. Be good for me,”

Your words flip something deep inside him, turning on the compliance inside of him. He wanted to be good for you. Of course, he did, he always did. But hearing you say it just made him desire it more. But at the same time, he was right there. It would be hard to hold back, no matter how much he wanted to.

“I-I can't... Yn, baby.” Soft whines hit the shell of your ear, the grip he holds on your hips tightening, trying to get you to move faster. His face buried in the crook of your neck, sucking sloppy kisses into your skin. All while rutting against you urgently, clutching on to every bit of self-control he has not to finish until your say so.

And you can't help but enjoy it. Having him come apart for you like this. Fingers moving quickly over your clit, whining each time your walls clench around him. It's not long before the pressure is building in your stomach once again, your moans growing high pitched as his frantic thrusts become stuttered.

His head lifts, lips covering yours. His breathy moans dying on your tongue, growing as he feels the beginning effects of you cumming around him. With the flutter of your walls and the shake of your legs around him, he can't hold back anymore. “I'm...” He tries to warn you but is a second too late, already feeling the condom expanding inside of you.

Pretty moans fall from his lips as he cums, fingers continuing their movement between your legs through it all. He cums long and loudly, untimed thrusts hitting against your hips. Your fingers toy with his hair until he's calming down, placing soft kisses against the inches of skin you can reach.

He finishes with a curse, arms giving out and body collapsing onto yours. He's breathing heavily against you, vision blurry and sweat sticking your skin together. But you have no desire to move, enjoying the hammer of his heart against your chest. It matches yours.

It takes him a few moments to come to his senses, pulling out slowly when he does. You feel every inch of him on the way out, a soft moan following. He's quiet with discarded the used condom, cheeks flaming red paired with a dopey smile on his lips.

“What?” You laugh after the third time catching him staring, looking away with blushed cheeks. A soft chuckle falls from his lips, shoulders shrugging as he reaches for you. Gently tugging you into his embrace. “Nothing. I just... liked that?” His cheeks darken, eyes lifting to inspect the ceiling.

Insane how he quickly he could turn into this cute guy afraid of eye contact just seconds after begging you to let him cum. “Me too.” The tips of his fingers mindlessly trace the indents his abs make on his stomach. “It was perfect,” A large smile splits your lips, nodding your head at your own words.

Perfect was the best way to describe it. And it had everything to do with the fact that it was with him, save for anything else that occurred. It was perfect because it was Jungkook. Your head bobs in another affirmative nod, hand lifting to touch his cheek, turning his head down to you.

Kissing him sweetly for a moment, waking the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. A welcome feeling that comes each and every time his lips are on you. As if it were the first time. Everything felt like the first time when it was with Jungkook. “Yeah,” The grin grows on your lips, arms wrapping around his body and head finding his shoulder.

There's not a single thing you'd change about him. About you. About the two of you together. It was exactly what you wanted. 

“Just perfect,”

— known for your body and surrounded by rumors about your sex life… rumors that he doesn’t think to doubt. until he’s meeting you… forced to realize there’s much more to you then the thonged shorts and lacy costumes.

⤪ masterlist ⤨

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A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. if u want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! + if you’ve asked to be on my permanent taglist, you do not need to ask to be added to this one !!

[gojology]

Jealousy. (1/3)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | im a sucker for jealous teenage gojo and thats all u have to know

𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Teen! Gojo Satoru x Gender Neutral Reader

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 1236

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | Light Cursing. ALL CHARACTERS HERE ARE AGED DOWN FROM PRESENT ANIME/MANGA INTO WHEN THEY WERE TEENAGERS. 

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | Gojo hates whenever you spend time with Geto. Unfortunately, you do that more than half the time. He can’t put a finger on it, but he has a feeling of dread whenever he sees Geto with you, and silently wishes it’s him. Shoko tries helping.   Gojo’s eyes glared at you and Geto, he was grateful his eyes were concealed behind his dark shades. A beautiful warm orangey-yellow coated you two both, Gojo noted how golden hour suited you so well, but for once paid no mind to Geto. Both of you were sweating incredibly hard, but didn’t seem to mind the sticky skin and the clothing.

  You were profusely giggling, and every time you caught your breath, Geto would tickle you again and you’d burst into a fit of giggles, and the cycle would repeat.

   Your cans of Pepsi sat untouched, not even the caps were opened.   Grumbling, Gojo took another swig out of his second energy drink. Still looking at the both of you through his glasses. He sat down on a bench, hunched over. Even though he hated the very sight of you hanging out and being so friendly with each other, he didn’t want to leave.

    Was it fear of Geto kissing you without Gojo’s vision cast upon you two?

 “Stalking (Y/N) and Geto again?” a familiar serious voice grumbled, Gojo’s head swung around before he realized Shoko was sitting down on the bench next to him. She crossed her leg, Shoko’s shoulder length hair ruffled a bit in the weak breeze as she shifted her gaze towards him.

   Gojo blinked, cursing himself for being so obvious in his stalking endeavors. It would be too useless to even argue, trying to tell Shoko that he wasn’t even looking at them, and rather very interested at a random bench that just so happened to be next to the pair was comparable to just straight up admitting that you had a crush on (Y/N).

 “This is my first time even lookin at the two, fuck are you talking about, saying again?” Gojo placed a hand on his chest, leaning backwards a little. Grinning a little while taking another generous swig of his energy drink. “Free entertainment, I’d rather look at them then some fucking birds flying by.”

 “Mmm. Yeah okay.” Shoko nodded sarcastically, and then burst into a fit of giggles.

 “What?”

 “Holy shit, Satoru.” Shoko was now holding her stomach. Wiping the corners of her eyes. It had been a while since he had seen Shoko laugh like that, she was always doom and gloom all the time. Gojo couldn’t quite put a finger on why she was laughing, though.

 “I’m not that stupid, Satoru.” laughing again, opening her drink loudly, then taking a short sip of her canned coffee. I’m pretty sure I see you looking at (Y/N) more then I see you gloating to some dumb schoolgirls in public.”  

 “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

 “You get defensive when you’re lying.” Shoko stuck her pinky out, her eyes bore into his. Gulping down the rest of her drink. She crushed it with a singular hand, examining the wrinkles and folds in the now compressed and beyond repair tin.

 “I do not! You’re accusing me of some weird ass shit, you know.” Gojo spat out, an unfamiliar feeling bubbling inside of him. He had never felt this before. Playing with the hem of his pocket a little, he reached for his emergency candy that he always had in his back pocket, he hated awkward situations like this. He stared down at Shoko, heart beating quickly for some unbeknownst reason.

 He played a little with the wrapper in his pocket, while Shoko leaned her back on the bench, looking at the sky. She crossed her arms, setting the crushed can on the splintered wood bench, blowing on a stray hair on her face. “Whatever, Satoru.” she grinned, replying a little later. She stood up, casually throwing the can into the nearby trashcan. She shoved her hands into her pockets, walking down the gravel path.

 As her figure grew farther and farther into the distance, Gojo sighed, realizing that he had completely forgotten about you and Geto.

 He turned his head over his shoulder, this time not as obviously. You and Geto were still giggling with each other, like a stupid couple. Your Pepsi cans still sat untouched, water dripping down the both of them. It was like the two of you forgot Gojo or Shoko were ever there.

 He spat at the ground, guzzling down the remaining energy drink. Crushing the can, just like Shoko had done but with way more aggression, Gojo angrily threw it into the trashcan, grinding his teeth. ‧₊˚✩彡.   “AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” You screamed, arms up in the air, hair blowing in the wind. Geto was chasing after you around the grass field, Gojo’s legs splayed out, entranced by the two of you running around in circles.   “I’M GONNA FUCKING GET YOU, (Y/N)!” Geto grabbed at the air, running at you. You squealed loudly, running even faster.   Gojo mindlessly took a bite out of a sandwich, spitting out a tomato. He was sitting on a picnic blanket under the shade of an incredibly large tree, enjoying the cool against his sweaty, hot skin. Yet, not once considering taking his glasses off even though the sun wasn’t even in his way.    He was wearing a more casual t-shirt and a pair of shorts, compared to his usual Jujutsu Tech uniform. He enjoyed the casual wear, and felt like a normal teen for once, doing normal teen things.   “Gross.”   Shoko tilted her head, her legs also splayed out. She was also looking at you and Geto running around, yelping turned into giggling as Geto finally tagged you.   “The tomato or the lovebirds?”   “Both.” Gojo snickered, looking down. The familiar, negative feeling expanded inside of him again. It always occurred when he saw you and Geto having fun.   “Mmmm.” Shoko looked down on the picnic blanket, it had been custom decorated by the group. It was a group celebration after the crew had defeated all of the curses in a certain small village. Gojo had drawn an incredibly large stick figure, with his iconic pair of black circular sunglasses and his hair. A tiny person stood next to him, with a smiley face. A heart between the two.   He had also drawn multiple penises, and a pair of incredibly circular breasts, but that was besides the point. Shoko speculated that Gojo probably had a crush on (Y/N). If he didn’t, Shoko figured he just wanted (Y/N) in his bed, one or another.   It didn’t take a lot to figure Gojo out. Shoko wondered how stupid (Y/N) could be, not noticing Gojo’s crush when he obliviously stared at them like an absolute buffoon.   On the other side, Geto and (Y/N) decided to collaborate together, Geto had drawn (Y/N), and (Y/N) had drawn Geto.     Both of them were hideous.     “Ugly, right?” Gojo scoffed, looking down at the drawings. Silently wishing that he was in Geto’s place.    “How’d you know I was staring at the drawings?” Shoko shot back, a triumphant, cocky smirk on her face.     Gojo whistled, leaning on the tree trunk. His head resting on his hands, which he had propped up to rest his head against.     “Strong people just know these things.”     Gojo furiously dug into the ice box, yanking out a chilled, sugary pink lemonade. He held it to his forehead and sighed in relief.     Shoko turned over, now looking at Gojo’s ear. She narrowed her eyes.    “Satoru, have you ever considered that you have a crush on (Y/N)?”    

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage (Mycroft Holmes x Reader) Part 4

A/N- Hoping this one has come out a bit happier than the last instalment! I’m trying my best to not write Mycroft too out of character and focusing on how much more emotion he had displayed in season 4.. I have a few more chapters planned out so far and I am hoping to, at the very least, update weekly! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and, please, don’t forget to leave a comment letting me know what you think! Kind words or constructive criticism are always welcomed and inspire me to write more! Thank you!

Word Count: 4416

"Did you fancy doing anything else today? Well, this evening I suppose suits better." You asked Mycroft, clearing up the plates from dinner. Dinner here being a term used loosely- after the emotional turmoil only a few hours ago at the revelation of both yesterday's events and your inner attractions, neither of you particularly felt like cooking, or eating for that matter, and settled on a sandwich just to provide some energy.

The energy of the room had felt different now, now that everything was in the open, now that the pair of you had finally broken that barrier to move further in your relationship. It was nice, calming. The pair of you weren't children, the confirmation of shared attraction didn't mean you immediately jumped each other, or feel the need to be constantly touching in some aspect or another- but the mere idea of knowing that the attraction between you was mutual, and that you wanted to act upon that was more than enough for now. It felt incredible.

"Mmm, what did you have in mind?" He hummed back, standing from the small table in the kitchen to help you with the washing up- not that you weren't fully capable of doing so yourself, it just felt nice acting a little domestic- electing to wash the dishes himself and leaving you to dry them and put them back in the cupboard. You shrugged, closing the cupboard's door and leaning against the counter.

"St James' is just round the corner isn't it? We could go for a walk? The weather is oddly nice for September." You suggested, grinning as you watched Mycroft look down at his current attire of jogging bottoms and a band t-shirt. You didn't need the power of a Holmes to know what that face meant. "Compromise. You don't have to wear the joggers in public, but you also cannot wear a suit, I swore against it."

"If you're suggesting for me to leave my home in my undergarments you've completely lost your mind." You looked at Mycroft and allowed his brain to think a little more. "Oh bugger you can't mean-"

"You and I both know you have a pair of jeans in your wardrobe Myc. Joggers or Jeans, the choice is yours." Mycroft opened and closed his mouth multiple times before rolling his eyes and muttering something under his breath that sounded Latin. "Oi at least have the decency to do it in French so I have a chance of understanding what you say when you swear at me." You quipped, jokingly throwing two fingers up at him as he gave in and sulked up the stairs.

"Tu seras la mort de moi." His voice was still quiet, but loud enough for you to understand him.

"Et pourtant tu serais perdu sans moi." You shouted back, teasing a little. Mycroft didn't answer but smiled to himself as he walked into his bedroom, agreeing with you completely but too high in his pride to admit it. Downstairs, you rummaged through the other bags from Anthea, feeling thankful as you saw that she had equally bought you some hoodies too, pulling on a maroon one before grabbing and sliding on your boots. A few minutes later you heard Mycroft's voice from upstairs, muffled completely excluding the 'goodbye' that sounded as he left the bedroom and made his way down the stairs. "Planning my arrest were you? Should I be expected to enter the park to MI6 agents dragging me into a car and shipping me off somewhere for forcing the British government into denim?" You turned around and saw him in his change of attire, whistling approvingly at the sight of him in the dark grey pair of jeans you had bought him a few years ago- 'because you cannot walk into a pub wearing anything purchased on Savile Row, Mycroft'- and the navy blue blazer he had chosen to match with them; the small evidence of The Who's logo peeking out slightly between the lapels. It was seldom Mycroft wore such casual clothing, but feeling welcomed by your reaction certainly made him more comfortable. Maybe at some point you'd tell him it's because those jeans make his bum look incredible. Mycroft's cheeks flushed and he shook his head, ignoring the noise of encouragement you had made.

"MI5, actually, but do not be too alarmed- I've insisted they only use force if absolutely necessary." He teased, hoisting his scarf from the coat rack by the front door and expertly wrapping it around his neck. You jabbed him lightly in the arm, knowing he was joking but equally wanting to make sure the phone call wasn't from Sherlock already pestering him about something or another. "It's fine, truly. Nothing to cause government upset.. only public." You went to question what he meant but was instead caught off guard by him eyeing you up. "Are you really going out.. in that?" Mycroft gestured to your clothing and for a brief moment you felt a little insecure, frowning slightly at him. He caught on immediately and apologised. "No- I mean.. You will likely get cold, will you not? A hooded sweatshirt isn't the warmest item of clothing I can offer you." You grinned at his concern and just passed him his beloved umbrella (it wasn't raining, but that didn't make a difference) before opening the front door.

"Myc I have pulled bodies out of the River Thames wearing nothing more than a pencil skirt and a blouse, I will be fine." You grabbed his hand and tugged him outside, shutting the door behind him. He wanted to argue back but he knew any attempt would be futile- you both knew that you could be more stubborn than Mycroft and so he didn't wish to cause harm on what could be a splendid evening. You took your normal position beside Mycroft, your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, while his rested in his pocket, the other holding onto his umbrella handle. The chill of London's air brushed the back of your neck, leading you to pull the hood of your jumper over your head before continuing your walk, not allowing Mycroft to have the pleasure of knowing he was right. but also not missing the smirk that tugged at his lips as he noticed- of course he bloody did.

The short walk to the park was in a comfortable silence. Mycroft found himself thinking over today's events, how even he couldn't have predicted that this would be how it would end. He was certain you would have left earlier, he'd even prepared himself for the chances of a punch to his nose in anger, and so never in his right mind did he expect you to stay, let alone embrace him while he cried, forgive him for the unforgivable, to... kiss him. He felt childish thinking back on it, but he kept replaying that moment over in his mind. It wasn't a proper kiss, it was barely there at all, and yet, if Mycroft thought hard enough he could still feel the light pressure of your lips on his, and it left him eager for more.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Your voice distracted him as you walked down the final street before the park. He blinked, looking down at you, at your joint arms and offering a smile.

"Just that I didn't expect today to happen the way that events turned out." You opened your mouth to make a comment about how Mycroft knew everything but he cut you off. "I deduce, I cannot predict the future, Y/N."

"But you can mind read?" He raised his other hand, one finger to his mouth in a 'shhh' motion and you grinned.

"Penny for yours?" You hummed in response as you looked at yourself in the reflection of a car window and pouted, rounding the corner to walk through the park's gates.

"I look like an egg." Mycroft let out a rare laugh, caught off guard by your answer. "That you do, my dear. But a rather beautiful egg." It was your turn to flush now. Getting any form of compliment from Mycroft Holmes was a rarity, and when they did come to surface they were usually on one's intellectual skills, or the times where you'd go out to a fancy restaurant and he would claim 'your dress' was beautiful, but never you directly. Your lack of response made Mycroft nervous and he spoke again. "Apologies, upon reflection that was a very backhanded compliment." You squeezed his arm and nudged yourself in closer, welcoming in the warmth his body was emitting.

"No no, I am incredibly flattered to be deemed a beautiful egg." You laughed. "It would make a lovely epitaph don't you thi-." He tensed. "Yeah, sorry, bit soon." You continued your walk for a little further before something clicked in your mind and you stopped in your tracks. Mycroft stumbled a little at the sudden cease in movement and shot you a confused glare. "Myc.. There's nobody else here."

"Excellent observation, Y/N. I now understand why you're so well respected down the Yard."

"Git. I meant.. we're in one of the most tourist centred parts of London, in the early evening, and there's nobody here." Mycroft raised his nose a little in the air, a movement witnessed by anybody else that would be mistaken for smugness, or being pretentious. But on Mycroft you knew it meant he felt a little embarrassed, raising his head ever so higher so you couldn't see the dusting of red on his cheeks. "The phone call... Mycroft bloody Holmes did you abuse your power as a government official to rent out the entirety of St James' park so that nobody would have to see you in your jeans?" He avoided your gaze and you began to laugh, removing your hand from his arm as you wiped a tear that spilled down your cheek out of amusement before tugging him over to a bench that was a few feet away.

"Should I not have?" His tone was light, relaxed knowing that you weren't mad with him and that you found the situation entertaining.

"It's not that.. It's just that nobody else WOULD." You rubbed your numbing fingers together and tucked them inside the sleeve of your hoodie. "You. Are an extraordinary man, Mr Holmes. You never cease to amaze me." He smiled softly, tentatively reaching over to take your half sleeve covered hand into his own pale one.

"And you, are freezing." He commented. You dismissed his assessment and instead focused on the view in front of you, the slight appearance of the London Eye poking above some trees from across the Thames.

"After living here for so long, sometimes I forget how beautiful London truly is." You spoke, shuffling the rest of your hand from your sleeve to lace your fingers between his. He hummed in agreement as he watched on. "And you stole this view from thousands of visitors this evening for the sake of your own dignity and so we could be alone. What do you have? People guarding every entrance? A few loitering around somewhere to make sure there were no stragglers? Christ are they armed? It just so.. so.." Mycroft felt himself become uncomfortable.

"I can be a very selfish person Y/N, you know that."

"I was going to say sexy but now I feel as though I'm not being as sympathetic to the tourists as you were expecting me to be." Mycroft tensed again and you leant to rest your head on his shoulder. "You should probably try to get used to that. I've been waiting a fairly long time to actively be allowed to say things like that to you and it not sound really weird, so I'm making up for lost time."

"How long?" His voice was quiet, likely his mind recovering from you, for the second time that day, calling him such a thing. It wasn't that he didn't like it, he was extremely flattered, but he just found it very hard to believe that you truly thought that way about him; that anyone could. You thought for a moment, childishly using your fingers to count.

"How long since I realised I had a thing for you? As of today it's been 5 years, 3 months and 17 days.. or, in less creepy terms to not make it seem like I've been counting, 2 weeks before I broke up with Thomas. It didn't feel fair to keep dragging him along, especially when I started to look forward to meeting you for dinner much more than I did meeting him for our weekly date night. He's a lovely guy and deserved more than that. I tried for those couple of weeks to get over it but I couldn't." Mycroft stayed silent but you could practically hear his brain whirring. "How long did I wish that you somehow felt the same way about me? Probably 5 minutes after the last thought." You laughed, feeling ridiculous for sounding like a school girl with a crush. "What about you? Pining after me for long or just spontaneously after I kissed you?" You joked, trying to make the whole ordeal feel a little less embarrassing. Mycroft shifted in his seat, laying his focus in the warmth that he could feel spreading to your hand that he held in his. He wasn't the type for large exclamations of emotion, or really speaking about the way he feels at all. But, upon hearing your revelation, he bit the bullet and spoke.

"I have never been the kind of man to experience typical human emotion. Until yourself and Gregory came along, I hadn't even the experience of having acquaintances, let alone.. friends." His eyes stayed forward, watching as the London Eye rotated slowly and focusing on its movements. "Approximately 6 months prior to the time you have mentioned, I began to realise that the way I felt towards you was far different to the way I felt about Gregory, and not the same way I feel towards Sherlock. I pressed the thought into the back of my mind for the better part of a year, before Sherlock told me that you were 'obviously' experiencing some kind of affection towards me, which I told him was preposterous, but from then the thought of you in that aspect felt welcoming. I had never expected in my life to have those kinds of emotions for anybody, let alone have them reciprocated, but I still chose to ignore them. I chose to keep you as my friend rather than risk losing you at all.. Then Eurus happened. Seeing you on that.. screen. Knowing what they could do.. Knowing I could lose you anyway.. it flicked something inside of my brain that made me regret not talking to you about it sooner. I was trying to work out the right way to bring it up, but then you did it for me." The side of his mouth flicked up into a small smile and disappeared, the embarrassment of talking so much on emotion taking over.

"You still look cute when you're embarrassed." You commented, not wanting to elaborate on his wordings more. It meant everything to you that he had even said that much, so you weren't going to push him further out of his comfort zone by pestering on. "Though as much as I'd love to look at your little flustered cheeks in this moonlight, I have to admit that you were right and I am bloody freezing, can we go back?" You took your hand back from his briefly to rub against your other one, a feeble attempt to bring warmth back into your fingertips. Though warmth soon enveloped round your neck as you felt Mycroft begin to wrap his cashmere scarf around you, folding and wrapping it expertly until you felt comfortably warm, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of his cologne that loitered in the fabric.

"I'm always right." He grinned smugly, standing from the bench and offering his elbow out to you once more. You nudged it away, missing the disappointed look on Mycroft's face, before instead grabbing his hand, lacing your fingers between his and tucking them into his pocket for warmth, your other arm folding over your body to hold his arm.

"I'll prove you wrong on that at some point, mark my words." You beamed, starting the walk back to Queen Anne's Gate and relishing in the warmth of the taller man beside you. Mycroft couldn't hide the small smile that appeared on his face from your action, choosing himself to push closer and close the gap between you even more. He swiftly pulled his phone from his pocket, leaving his umbrella dangling from his wrist, as he made a quick call to Anthea.

"I suppose we better let the tourists have their park back.. at least for now." He spoke, more to you than to Anthea but nonetheless she relayed the message to security who began to pack up and reopen the gates to the public. It had barely been a minute before they had all left, all except the PA in question who watched on fondly upon seeing the pair of you leaving, fighting the urge to text the man that it was about damn time.

***

The walk back was incredibly quick and you soon found yourselves walking back through the front door, discarding layers of warmer clothing, Mycroft opting to put the sweats back on in place of his jeans.

"I'm thinking we have a cuppa and then head to bed? I'm knackered." You proposed, flicking the kettle on and settling back to rest on the edge of the kitchen counter. Mycroft hummed in agreement, reaching to grab the necessities. You quickly kicked off from the counter and wandered back into the front room, pulling Mycroft in tow. "Seems as good a time as any to have some music on, Greg made me this mixtape a few weeks ago. He said it's some classics I already love, and a bunch that I'm going to, so it sounds pretty promising." From behind you Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "If you're about to chastise me for calling a CD a mixtape, don't waste your breath. Mix-CD just sounds horrendous." He stayed silent, inwardly amused at the fact you hadn't even seen his face and yet knew exactly what he was going to say, and you called him the 'mind-reader'. The Kinks began to play quietly through the speakers, 'Have a Cuppa Tea' fittingly being the first song to play on shuffle. Usually you despised any type of mixtape, or 'best of' albums, claiming rather strongly that they defeated the point of artists bringing out the original albums, ruining the story behind each one. But when it came to Greg you trusted him completely with music taste and had never been disappointed thus far. The click of the kettle in the kitchen sounded, making you walk into the other room and prepare your drinks- you hadn't bothered asking Mycroft the way he had it, you had that burnt to memory years ago. Perching back onto the sofa besides Mycroft, you handed him the beverage and sighed in content.

"You missed the Sex Pistols. Forgive me if I cannot hear you for the next 20 minutes, I have a feeling that my ears have bled." He teased, taking a sip of his tea and settling it on the table beside him. Before you had a chance to answer, another Kinks song began to sound in the room, the slower rythm of Waterloo Sunset.

"You're going to pay for saying those things, you know I love the Sex Pistols." You pouted, moving your own tea to the coffee table. "I think, Mr Holmes, you need to dance with me in ways of apology." You grinned, standing up and holding your hand out to him. "It's a rare slower song from Lestrade's musical repertoire so I'm not expecting you to start headbanging or anything.."

"Do people slow dance to Rock music normally?" He asked, smiling.

"No they don't.. but when have you ever been a man who follows the rules of normality?" He took your hand at that, standing himself up and leading you to an emptier part of the room, tea forgotten. You softly placed your hands on his shoulders and rested your head on his chest, his reaching round to settle on the small of your back as you began to sway together slowly, the only sound that could be heard was the music and Mycroft's erratic heartbeat that he was sure meant he was going to have a heart attack. "See, this is nice." He hummed in agreement, the vibrations of his deep voice reaching his chest and vibrating against your cheek. "We could have done this years ago.." You commented, thinking on all the lost time you had with Mycroft, all of the years you had listened to music together and could have danced, holding each other as close as you were now.

"We'd have struggled being as Gregory only gave you this CD a few weeks ago.." You laughed and swatted his shoulder.

"You know what I mean.. oh the power of cowardice and fear." You closed your eyes, holding onto this moment as though you had never wanted it to end. Alas, the song began to come to a close, and yet neither of you made an attempt to move. The instrumental introduction to your favourite Clash song began to play and you grinned. "Now this is a song. I'm surprised Greg put it on here, I'd have thought he'd be sick of it by now with the amount of times I play it at work." As the vocals began you felt Mycroft stiffen in your arms, the fingers on the hands on your back began to dig into your skin slightly, not painful, but protective and his heartbeat picked up pace even more.

"Could we skip this one? Please?" His tone of voice was different this time, not the calm, relaxed voice that he had earlier, nor the playful one he had only moments ago. He sounded.. unsettled.

"You're joking right? Mycroft this relationship will have a rocky start if you force me to turn of The Clash at all, let alone bloody 'Death or Glory.'" He tensed again hearing the song's title.

"Please.. it's the one.." Your brain began to piece together his words and you lifted your head from its position on his chest, looking up and seeing the pained expression on his face. Of course, out of every song in the world, this was the one you were listening to when Mycroft said he saw you on the screen, inches away from death. You closed your eyes and sighed.

"I'm not letting this happen. I'm okay, I'm here, alive. This is my happy song, and I have so many wonderful memories from it." It wasn't a lie. The sound held memories of countless car rides with Greg, it was the song that played when you had the phone call about your promotion at work. It had even been playing when your sister phoned up to let you know that she was pregnant with your niece. Both times. It was a bloody good song. "I understand why you don't like it, but you just need to associate it with something better, give it a new memory." You moved your arms from his shoulders to wrap around his neck, shifting one hand to place onto his cheek as you reached yourself up on your tiptoes to become closer to his height.

You caught his focus, making his eyes land on your own rather than being dazed as his mind went back to you dancing on that screen. You leaned yourself in closer, just enough for your lips to ghost over his own, before closing the gap. Unlike the last peck you had given him, this was a far more passionate kiss, giving him the emotion you had kept pent up for the last five years. His grip on your back softened, one hand reaching to your upper back to push you closer to him, his lips moving against yours beautifully. His body began to relax, the tension in his shoulders disappeared as he leant himself forward, easing you back flat on your feet. Had you have not known any better, you would have never guessed that Mycroft had never kissed somebody before; he was just a bloody quick learner. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip softly, grinning as he let out a quiet moan. The need for air soon took over and you allowed yourself to separate, not moving any further than leaving your foreheads touching. "There. Now when we hear it, that's what you need to think of instead. Christ knows I will be." You laughed, your hands guiding themselves from his neck slowly down his chest and pushing him back slightly. "I'm going to go shower, so meet me upstairs? I know I promised more Hardy but I would really like to go to sleep if it's all the same to you." Mycroft only nodded, feeling you peck his lips once more before disappearing out of the room. The song had finished by now, having been replaced by who Mycroft believed were The Rolling Stones, but he wasn't really listening.

He stood still in his spot, mind replaying over the moment as he smiled fondly to himself. He could hear the shower running upstairs along with your voice, muffled but clear enough to understand that you were still singing along to the last song. Placing his fingers against his lips, Mycroft tried to imitate the pressure you had placed on them moments ago, thinking about how your lips felt against his, properly this time, not just the two second thing on the sofa this morning. His chest felt warm, stomach flipping and in a rare moment Mycroft felt genuinely happy. In all his life up to this moment, caring had never been an advantage, had always led to him getting hurt. But maybe, just maybe, you were right about how you were going to prove him wrong one day. And he hoped to whatever sentient being that may or not be watching over him that you were going to prove him wrong about that.