#always open to more asks even if it might take me a while to get to them!

[ozzgin]

How would the yokai harem react to you talking about a manipulative ex? content: gender neutral reader x various demons

Murasaki will silently listen to your rant with the same flat expression he always wears. Or was that a grimace you just spotted? Upon further inspection, he does seem more annoyed than usual. “At least you had the brain to walk away, I suppose,” he says with a huff. It doesn’t surprise him much, in all honesty; humans aren’t exactly known for their awareness, and you’re a particularly naïve one. He places a hand on your head and gives you a swift ruffle. Christ, you’re hopeless. Thankfully you won’t have to deal with that anymore, not under his watch. Had this happened in his presence, the offender would’ve been sliced in half.

Kiritsubo is very vocal throughout your retelling. They did what?! He’s so upset on your behalf, cheeks flushed and puffed up with indignance. After clarifying some details to him, you discover that the yokai is rather...oblivious himself. Good Lord, he would’ve fallen for it even harder. He pats his sword and declares he won’t ever allow it to happen again. You can’t help but chuckle at his confidence. Indeed, you might have to help him a little in recognizing the danger. You appreciate his good intentions, nonetheless.

Suma approaches your story with a very positive outlook, which is very much like him. With a laugh, he pats your back and praises you. “It’s a hard lesson, but a lesson still. Humans and demons are difficult creatures, eh? You can’t always read them, nor can you tell their intentions. To be aware of this and continue living with an open heart means you’re brave, not gullible.” That’s just the way things are. We get hurt and we learn from it. He’s proud of you for being here despite everything. “That’s not to say you have to deal with it alone,” he adds with a cheeky smile. “Let me know about it next time it happens, alright?”

Yuugiri is very unbothered, nodding along with a smile. Oh, you recognize that grin. A cold shiver runs down your spine as you realize your mistake. The serpent yokai is exceptionally vengeful, especially when it comes to you. Your ex-partner has now become a target for unknown terrors. Somewhere, sometime in the future, they will suffer. Yuugiri will make sure of it. No one messes with his precious little human and comes out unscathed. Oh, to think they took advantage of your innocence! Of course you’re easily manipulated, but it’s a gift that must be appreciated, not abused. He should be the only one with the privilege of...influencing you every now and then.

Sakaki scribbles in his sketchbook while listening to your rant. Truth be told, you’re not expecting much from him. He’ll probably tell you that it is indeed in the nature of most humans to be this devious, and misery is inescapable. Suffering is but an eternal part of life, from which only Death can free us. Gosh, you’ve been hanging out way too much with this gloom-ridden artist. You finally glance over his shoulder and notice the intricate pentagram. “It’s a curse,” he says with a flat smile. “I just need to find the guy, and then...heh. It’s not the poetic kind of agony, that’s for sure.” You’re his only source of happiness and hope, after all. There’s no way in Hell he’d ever allow anyone to interfere with it.

Sekiya is very similar to Kiritsubo in his reaction. His face begins to twist through a range of emotions. You know him so well, at this point, that you can already guess the stages of grief crossing his mind: he’d never treat you that way, and if someone else was to dare, he’d...he’d deal with them, right? Could a weakling like him even manage? Come, now, he’s still a yokai several ranks above the regular demons. Can he prove it to you, however? You stop his thoughts before they go any further, taking his hand in yours. “You’ll take care of me, right,” you ask. His eyes widen and his chest involuntarily swells up with pride. “Of course,” he barks loudly. Oh, to think you’d put your faith in him like that! He’s drunk with delight.

[luveax]

Mrs.Officer

~~~~~

One Shot | Terry Richmond x Fem!Reader | Smut 18+

Yeah, doin' a buck in the latest drop I got stopped by a lady cop, haha She got me thinking I can date a cop, haha Cause her uniform fit her so tight She read me my rights She put me in her car, she cut off all the lights She said I have the right, to remain silent Now I got her hollering, sounding like a siren

Description: As a joke you fake arrest your husband Terry and things get just a tad bit heated.

Warnings: Fuckin tbh, just two folks fuckin :/

~~~~~

This day honestly couldn’t get any more boring. You’ve been at work since 6am and now it’s 8pm. You were supposed to BEEN off but your shitty coworkers don’t know how to come to work and that’s your problem because…oh okay.

The sun was long gone, no lights, no sign of life, no nothing. The world just seemed at peace when the night hit. You’re job of course had you patrolling the one street in town that nobody drives in after 7pm but of course, anything for the safety of the citizens. At this point you just wanted to get home lay with your husband and sleep. The thought of laying in your bed after the day sounded heavenly.

-

Once 9pm hit it was nearly impossible to keep your eyes open. You could feel yourself fading in and out. You reached over and cracked a redbull open before downing it and one go. You had to stay up. You picked up your phone and looked for the music app pushing shuffle on your rap along playlist.

The introduction to ‘Mrs.Officer’ by Lil Wayne started playing and you grinned. This was your jam. It was ironic and you loved the connection you could make to your life. It was a good song to get out of your sleep deprived funk.

Yeah, doin' a buck in the latest drop I got stopped by a lady cop

You started bobbing your head and drumming your fingers on the wheel to this beat. Finally getting some type of entertainment on this boring night. But of course as always something had to ruin your mood. A car speeding by coming out of no where. With a sigh you flipped your lights and sirens on and pulled behind the driver.

Looking closer you realized you didn't need to run the plates, you knew the car. Goddamn Terry, you shook your head at the reckless behavior your husband was showing but then you realized you could have little fun with this. Might as well not lose the only entertainment you have for the night. Right??

She got me thinking I could date a cop

You put the car in park and walked to the driver side window; Terry's eyes widen when he realized his wife just pulled him over. You adjusted your glasses lower for some added drama and lowered your voice.

"Evening sir" you said in a comically low tone. "Do you know how fast speeding just now?"

Sensing the playful energy radiating off of you he smirked leaning forward. "Um definitely the legal speed limit."

You scoff at his audacity. "Uh huh license and regulation please."

Cuz her uniform fit her so tight

He laughs while handing the items over. "You're not gonna arrest me are you love?" He asked while chuckling while looking you up and down in your uniform; he always loved how you look in it.

You ignored him and proceeded to make a look or recognition at his ID picture. You dramatically grabbed your radio. "Dispatch I have eyes on the suspect. I repeat I have eyes on the suspect."

She read me my rights

"Sir you're gonna have to come with me" you stated while taking out your handcuffs.

He laughed playing along. "Alright alright, I'm coming" He steps out the car and puts his hands up. You cuffed him and began to walk to your cop car. Jokily shoving him to walk faster.

She put me in the car, She cut off all the lights.

You lead him to the cruiser and put him in the backseat. After making sure he was comfortable you went up front to turn off the lights leaving you in semi darkness but you caught snippet of the song playing on loop. And lets just say; well you got a few ideas on how to pass the time.

She said I have the right, to remain silent.

You went back to the back door and opened it getting in the backseat with a still handcuffed Terry. "You have the right to remain silent and blah blah blah." You trailed off as you embraced him in a slow kiss. Terry attempting to deepen it but failing. Sensing your change in energy he turnt to pleading.

"Come on mamas uncuff me so I can at least have a chance." You pretended to think. "Hmmmm I don't think so." you playfully responded.

Now I got her hollering sounding like a siren Talking' bout (wee-oh wee-oh wee)

His lips pound yours again and you responded in a steady rhythm. Both your tongues darting out attempting to deepen the kiss. Without breaking the kiss you palmed him through his jeans, Terry released a low moan causing you to pull back and smirk at him. He gulped at how bold you were being and sorta regretted not trying to convince you harder to take the cuffs off. You were going to be the death of him. It would be a pretty death. He couldn't help but to take in your beauty. Even in times like this he liked to sit and appreciate what life gave to him.

"You are truly out our this universe my love." he confessed. You loved how reassuring your husband was in times like this it made it all the while better. It was sweet and romantic but y'all didn't have time for slow. So you'd have to do with sweet sensual fuckin.

With one hand you gripped and rubbed the tent and with the other you caressed the sides of his face and neck. There was no time to take off anything that wasn't necessary. What y'all were doing was risky and it had to be done quick. But that doesn't mean you couldn't enjoy yourself the entire time.

You reached down and unbuttoned his pants. He lifted his hips while you pulled it and his boxers down in one go before reach for your own pants and pulling it down and moving your panties to the side. There was time to fully take anything off. Knowing you were already wet you hurried with taking his dick in your hand and guiding it to your pussy.

You rubbed his dick on your clit before slowly entering his tip. You pressed a kiss to his lips and took him in in one go.

"Fuck" You both cursed and gasped. You started fucking yourself on him fasting and faster. You grabbed his jaw forcing him to look up at you. Watching him fall apart purely through his eyes. You quickly peck his lips before reach behind him and undoing his cuffs.

He sprung into action grabbing your hips and slamming you back down on his length repeatedly. The next so much deeper than the previous.

"Fuck Terry, fuckin' me so good right now." You placed both of your hands on each side of his head and kissed him.

"Damn right, look at you creamin on this dick. Marking it as yours." He mumbled into your ear. You can feel his heavy breathing on the side of your face but it only turns you on further knowing you can get your man breathless like this.

Other than that the sound of skin smacking is the only sound that reaches your ears. You wrapped your arms around him when you felt yourself getting close. Sensing it his grip on your hips tighter and his thrust gets faster. You're sure you're gonna have a bruised pussy and body, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

With a cry both you you both climaxed together. Both shuddering at the intensity of it.

After we got done, I said..

After a moment of silence Terry broke it with a joke."Baby what's your number?" You snorted and responded "911".

[archivegyu]

masterlist

Where It Always Led

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

posting early cuz it’s my birthday 😔🤓

Two weeks later

The early morning light cast long shadows across the road as Seungcheol slowed the car to a stop in front of the entrance. The airport was just beginning to wake up, travelers trickling in with their suitcases and sleepy expressions. He shifted the car into park but kept the engine running.

"So," he said, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet car. "This is it."

She nodded, her fingers toying with the strap of her seatbelt. "This is it."

The oversized duffel bag in the backseat looked too small to hold six months of her life, but she'd always been practical that way. Minimal. Careful. Unlike him, who'd nearly lost sleep for a week preparing for this moment and still didn't feel ready.

They'd been walking on eggshells around each other since that night two weeks ago. Since the text message that had hung in the air between them, acknowledged but never discussed. Every morning since, he'd wake up thinking today would be the day they'd talk about it. Every night, he'd go to bed knowing another opportunity had slipped away.

If you asked me to stay, I would.

You know why.

Those words had replayed in his mind constantly. But instead of giving him courage, they'd paralyzed him. Because what if he'd misunderstood? What if she meant something else entirely?

And so day after day, they'd circled each other in their apartment, polite and careful and desperately normal. She worked on her project. He practiced for the comeback. They ate dinner together. Walked Kkuma. Watched movies with careful space between them on the couch.

And all the while, Barcelona loomed closer.

"I have something for you" he said suddenly, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small velvet box, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Just... something small."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Cheol, you didn't have to—"

"I wanted to" he said quickly.

She took the box, her fingers brushing his in the process, and he felt that familiar spark even now, even here. When she lifted the lid and saw the compass pendant inside, her breath caught.

"It's beautiful" she whispered.

"I thought, you know, since you're going somewhere new..." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know it's cheesy."

"No," she said, looking up at him with those eyes that always saw right through him. "It's perfect."

Without warning, she unclasped her seatbelt and leaned across the center console, wrapping her arms around his neck. Seungcheol froze for a heartbeat before his arms came up to hold her close. He allowed himself to breathe her in, knowing this might be the last time for months.

"I'm going to miss you" she murmured against his neck.

His arms tightened around her. "I'll be right here when you get back."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes searching his. "Promise?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice. Then, before he could overthink it, he leaned forward and pressed a soft, brief kiss to her forehead; the kind of gesture that could be friendly, could be more, could be anything they wanted it to be.

"Text me when you land" he said as she pulled away.

She nodded, clutching the compass pendant in her hand. "Take care of Kkuma for me."

"Always."

A security guard tapped on the window, pointing to the "no waiting" sign above them. They were out of time.

"I should go" she said, reaching for the door handle.

"Yeah" he agreed, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. "You should."

She opened the door and stepped out, retrieving her bag from the backseat. Seungcheol watched in the rearview mirror as she slung it over her shoulder, the weight of it momentarily throwing her off balance.

Ask her to stay. Just ask her.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Not here, not like this. Not as a last-desperate attempt to keep her from an opportunity she deserved.

She appeared at his window, motioning for him to roll it down. When he did, she leaned in one last time.

"Goodbye, Cheol."

"It's not goodbye," he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand briefly. "It's just see you later."

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "See you later, then."

And then she was walking away, each step taking her further from him, disappearing into the sliding doors of the terminal. Seungcheol watched until he couldn't see her anymore, feeling like a part of him had gone with her.

Ask me to stay, her last glance had seemed to say. Just ask.

But he hadn't. And now she was gone.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Three months later

Seungcheol's alarm blared at 5 AM, pulling him roughly from sleep. He reached out blindly, fumbling for his phone on the nightstand to silence it. As he sat up, rubbing his eyes, Kkuma stirred at the foot of his bed, giving him a look that clearly communicated her displeasure at the early hour.

"I know, I know," he mumbled. "Too early."

Kkuma responded with a dramatic stretch and yawn that somehow managed to take up three times her actual size on the bed.

"Drama queen," he muttered fondly.

But he had his reasons for the early wake-up. Stumbling out of bed, he made his way to the kitchen, putting on coffee before opening his laptop. 5 AM in Seoul meant 10 PM in Barcelona. Her time. Their time.

Three months of this routine, and it still didn't feel normal. Nothing about the apartment felt normal without her. It was too quiet, too orderly, missing all the little traces of her that had made it feel like home; her half-empty coffee mugs, her textbooks spread across the table, her slippers by the couch.

Kkuma padded into the kitchen after him, her nails clicking on the hardwood floor. She sat by her empty food bowl and stared at him expectantly.

"That's not why we're up early and you know it," Seungcheol told her, but he filled her bowl anyway. "You're getting spoiled."

Kkuma gave what could only be described as a smug little wag of her tail before diving into her breakfast.

The video call connected with a soft chime, and her face filled his screen. She was in her small Barcelona apartment, the city lights twinkling through the window behind her.

"Hey," she said, her smile warm even through the pixelated connection. "You look tired."

"Good morning to you too," he replied with a soft laugh. "How was your day?"

She launched into stories about her classes, about the famous architect she was studying under, about the old buildings and new techniques and the way everything was different but fascinating. Seungcheol listened, coffee forgotten in his hands, watching how her eyes lit up when she talked about her work.

Midway through her story about a field trip to Sagrada Familia, a blur of white fur suddenly jumped onto Seungcheol's lap and thrust her face directly at the camera.

"Oh my god, Kkuma!" she squealed from the other side of the world. "Hi baby! Are you being good for Cheol?"

Kkuma's tail wagged frantically at the sound of her voice, and she pawed at the screen as if trying to reach through it.

"She misses you," Seungcheol said, trying to angle the laptop so Kkuma wouldn't disconnect the call with her enthusiastic sniffing. "Though right now she's mostly trying to figure out where your voice is coming from."

"Kkuma-yah, I miss you too!" she cooed. "Are you taking good care of our Cheollie? Is he feeding you enough treats?"

"She gets plenty of treats," Seungcheol defended himself, even as Kkuma gave a pitiful whine that suggested otherwise. "Don't listen to her, she's manipulating you."

"My baby would never," she gasped in mock offense. "Look at that face. That's the face of honesty."

On cue, Kkuma tilted her head and gave her most innocent look directly into the camera.

"See? Angelic."

"This angel stole an entire chicken breast off the counter yesterday," Seungcheol said dryly. "Then had the audacity to hide under your bed where I couldn't reach her."

She laughed, the sound warming him even from thousands of miles away. "She knows exactly where her safe zones are. Smart girl."

Kkuma, apparently satisfied with her video appearance, jumped down and trotted away, mission accomplished.

"She sits by your door sometimes," Seungcheol said after a moment. "Waiting for you to come out."

"Just Kkuma?" she asked, her voice lighter than the weight of the question.

Seungcheol hesitated. Three months of these calls, and they'd never once mentioned that text exchange. Never once addressed what had hung between them the day she left. It was easier this way, safer. But lately, he'd been wondering if safer was worth it.

"No," he admitted quietly. "Not just Kkuma."

She bit her lip, glancing away briefly before meeting his eyes again. "I miss you too. More than I thought I would."

His heart stuttered in his chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, that nervous habit again. "It's strange. I'm having the time of my life here, but sometimes I'll see something, or eat something, or just... experience something, and my first thought is always that I wish you were here to see it too."

Seungcheol swallowed hard, recognizing the opening for what it was. A chance. Maybe not perfect timing, but when had they ever had that?

"About what you texted," he began, his voice low. "The night before you left for Barcelona. When you said..."

"If you asked me to stay, I would," she finished for him.

"Yeah." He took a breath. "Did you mean it?"

She didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Why?"

The same question he'd asked three months ago. He watched as she closed her eyes briefly, gathering courage or thoughts or both.

"Because you're home to me" she said finally, simply. "Not the apartment. You."

The words hung between them, clear and honest even across thousands of miles and a slightly laggy internet connection. Seungcheol felt something loosen in his chest, a tension he'd been carrying for so long he'd forgotten what it was like to breathe without it.

"I should have asked," he said softly. "Not because I wanted to hold you back, but because I wanted you to know that's where I wanted you. With me."

"Why didn't you?"

He ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. "I was scared. That maybe I was reading too much into everything. That maybe what we had was just... comfortable. That maybe you deserved better than someone who could never have a normal life."

She smiled, a little sad around the edges. "You've always done that. Made decisions for both of us because you thought it was what was best for me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she said. "Just... stop doing it. I know what I want, Cheol. I've known for a long time."

His heart was hammering now, the sound of it almost drowning out the early morning quiet of the apartment. "And what is it that you want?"

"You" she said simply. "Us. Whatever that looks like."

The admission hung between them, an ocean and six time zones and three months apart, but somehow closer than they'd ever been in the years of living under the same roof.

"I love you" he said, the words finally breaking free after years of being trapped behind his ribs. "I've loved you for so long I don't remember what it was like before."

Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but her smile was bright enough to rival the Barcelona lights behind her. "I love you too. I always have."

A sudden crash from somewhere off-camera made Seungcheol jump. "What was that?"

"Hold on," she said, disappearing from view for a moment. When she returned, she was laughing. "My roommate's cat knocked over a plant. For a second there, I thought it was Kkuma. I'm so used to her chaos."

"Speaking of chaos" Seungcheol said, angling the camera to show behind him where Kkuma had returned and was now delicately placing one of his shoes in her bed. "Your dog has a new habit."

"Is she... stealing your shoes?"

"Only the left ones," he said with exasperated fondness. "She takes them to her bed, sleeps with them for exactly one night, then puts them back by the door. Almost like she's borrowing them."

Her laugh echoed through his speakers. "That's the cutest thing I've ever heard."

"Less cute when I can't find my shoes in the morning," he grumbled, but couldn't keep the smile off his face. "I think she smells you on them or something."

"Aww, Kkuma-yah," she cooed at the screen. "Are you missing me that much?"

Kkuma's ears perked up at her name, and she trotted back over to the laptop, shoe forgotten.

"Three more months," Seungcheol said, reaching down to scratch behind Kkuma's ears. "Then you'll be home."

"Three more months," she agreed. "And then we start for real."

Kkuma gave a little bark, as if adding her approval to the plan.

"I have to go to bed," she said reluctantly. "Early class tomorrow."

"I know," he nodded. "Sleep well."

She hesitated, then touched her fingers to her lips before pressing them to the camera. A virtual kiss.

"Goodnight" he whispered, even as the call disconnected.

The apartment was quiet again, but it didn't feel as empty as before. Seungcheol reached for his phone, opening his messages to send her one more thing before she slept.

[5:43 AM] You: I should have asked you to stay. But now I'm asking you to come home to me when you're ready. I'll be waiting.

He set his phone down, looked at Kkuma who was now curled contentedly with his shoe, and headed to the shower to start his day, feeling lighter than he had in years. The timing had never been theirs. But maybe, just maybe, the future could be.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Three months later

Seungcheol hummed to himself as he arranged the welcome home banner across their living room. Tomorrow was the day! After six long months, she'd finally be coming home. He'd taken the day off from practice, cleaned the apartment (twice), and bought enough flowers to make their home look like a botanical garden.

"What do you think, Kkuma?" he asked, stepping back to examine his handiwork. "Too much?"

Kkuma, who was busy arranging her toys in a perfect circle in the middle of the living room floor, her own version of welcome home preparations, didn't look up.

"Yeah, you're right," he nodded as if she'd spoken. "Could use more lights."

His phone rang, and he smiled when he saw Jeonghan's name on the screen.

"Hey, what's up?" he answered, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued stringing fairy lights around the room.

"Just checking if you're home," Jeonghan replied, voice slightly raised over what sounded like airport announcements in the background.

"Yeah, why? Need something? I'm kind of busy getting ready for tomorrow."

There was a strange pause, then Jeonghan's voice lowered conspiratorially. "So you're definitely at the apartment right now? Wearing actual clothes and not just your boxers?"

Seungcheol frowned. "Yes, I'm wearing clothes. What's going on?"

"Good. Stay there. I'm bringing you something."

"Can it wait? I still have to pick up the cake and—"

"Trust me," Jeonghan cut him off. "You're going to want this delivery."

Before Seungcheol could press further, Jeonghan had hung up. He stared at the phone for a moment, then shrugged and went back to his preparations. Jeonghan was always cryptic; it was part of his charm. Whatever he was bringing could wait.

Forty minutes later, just as Seungcheol was putting the finishing touches on the dining table setting, a key turned in the lock. He looked up, surprised. Jeonghan had a spare key for emergencies, but he usually knocked first.

The door swung open, but it wasn't Jeonghan who stepped through.

It was her.

She stood in the doorway, a tired smile on her face, hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing an oversized hoodie and leggings like she'd been traveling for hours, which, Seungcheol realized with a shock, she had. Behind her, Jeonghan gave him a wink over her shoulder before disappearing back down the hall.

For a moment, Seungcheol couldn't move, couldn't speak, could barely breathe. She wasn't supposed to be here. Not until tomorrow. His brain struggled to catch up with what his eyes were seeing.

"Surprise?" she said softly, dropping her bag to the floor.

Kkuma, who had been sleeping under the coffee table, suddenly perked up. She lifted her head, sniffed the air, and then exploded into motion, racing toward the door with a series of yips and cries that sounded almost like sobs.

"KKUMA!" she cried, dropping to her knees just in time for the tiny dog to launch herself into her arms, wiggling and whining with such enthusiasm it looked like she might vibrate out of her own fur. "Oh my god, I missed you so much!"

Kkuma's entire body was wagging, not just her tail, as she frantically licked every inch of face she could reach, crying in what could only be described as pure joy.

Seungcheol watched, still frozen in place, as the woman he loved laughed and cried at the same time, burying her face in Kkuma's fur. The shock was wearing off slowly, replaced by a rising tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.

"You're early" he managed to say, his voice sounding strangled even to his own ears.

She looked up at him, still cuddling a hysterical Kkuma. "I finished my final project two days ahead of schedule. Called Jeonghan to see if he could pick me up and surprise you." Her smile turned uncertain. "Are you... happy to see me?"

That broke the spell. Seungcheol crossed the distance between them in three long strides and dropped to his knees beside her, not caring that he was crushing some of the rose petals he'd scattered by the entrance.

"Happy doesn't begin to cover it" he said, voice rough with emotion.

And then, finally, after years of waiting for the right moment, after months of loving her from a distance, after a lifetime of almost and not yet and maybe someday, Seungcheol leaned forward and kissed her.

It was soft at first, a gentle press of lips that asked a question. But then her hands, still holding Kkuma—came up to cradle his face, and the kiss deepened into an answer.

yes, this, finally, us.

When they broke apart, they were both breathless. Kkuma, squished happily between them, gave Seungcheol's chin a congratulatory lick.

"I'm home" she whispered against his lips.

"You're home" he agreed, pressing his forehead against hers. "A day early."

"I couldn't wait another day" she admitted. Then, noticing the decorations for the first time, her eyes widened. "Oh my god, did you do all this for me?"

Seungcheol felt his ears turn red. "I wanted it to be perfect for you tomorrow. I had a whole plan."

She looked around at the banner, the flowers, the fairy lights, and the perfectly set table, then back at him with shining eyes. "It is perfect. You're perfect."

Kkuma barked in agreement, then suddenly wriggled free of her arms and dashed to the bedroom. They exchanged puzzled looks, but a moment later, she returned, proudly carrying something in her mouth.

"Is that..." She squinted. "Is that my slipper?"

Seungcheol burst out laughing as Kkuma trotted up to her and gently placed the slipper at her feet, then looked up expectantly, tail wagging.

"She's been hiding your slippers under the bed for weeks," he explained. "I think she's been collecting them for your return."

"You saved my slippers for me?" she cooed to Kkuma, who responded by darting away again, presumably to retrieve the other one. "That's the sweetest thing ever."

"That dog loves you more than anything," Seungcheol said softly.

She looked up at him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Just the dog?"

He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, her nervous habit that he'd somehow adopted as his own. "Not just the dog."

After a welcome home dinner with the takeout Seungcheol had originally planned for the next day, they found themselves on the couch in their apartment. Her head rested on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her waist, their fingers intertwined in a tangle of belonging. Kkuma had settled half on her lap and half on Seungcheol's.

A bridge between them, just as she'd always been.

"I've been thinking," she said, tracing patterns on his palm.

"Hmm?" Seungcheol turned his head to press a kiss to her hair, still not quite believing he was allowed to do that now.

"Remember what you said once? About timing never being our thing?"

He nodded, the memory clear despite the months that had passed. "The night before you decided on Barcelona."

"Yeah." She shifted to look up at him. "I think maybe we were wrong about that."

"How so?"

"Maybe our timing has always been exactly what it needed to be" she said thoughtfully. "Maybe we needed all those years to grow into the people who could do this right. Maybe we needed the distance to find the words."

Seungcheol considered this, thinking back over all the moments that had led them here; from childhood friends to roommates to this new, precious thing they were building together.

"Maybe," he agreed, squeezing her hand. "Or maybe we were just too scared to see what was right in front of us."

She laughed softly. "That too."

Kkuma gave a little grumble as if adding her two cents to the conversation, then repositioned herself to sprawl dramatically across both their laps, belly up, paws in the air.

"I think someone's demanding attention" she giggled, obligingly rubbing Kkuma's exposed belly.

"She's been insufferable since you left," Seungcheol said fondly. "Did I tell you about the time she hid my car keys because I was leaving for practice?"

"No!"

"Buried them in her toy basket. Like she thought if I couldn't leave, you couldn't either."

She leaned down to kiss Kkuma's nose. "My smart, devious little protector."

The three of them sat there in the quiet apartment, bathed in the soft glow of the fairy lights Seungcheol had hung earlier, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt completely at peace.

No countdown to goodbye. No words left unsaid. No fear of what might break if they crossed the line they'd been toeing for years.

Just this. Just them. Finally.

"I love you" he said, because he could now, because the words no longer felt too big for his chest. "I think I've loved you from the beginning."

She smiled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "Some things are invisible until you're ready to see them. But they're always there, waiting."

Kkuma gave a contented sigh between them, as if to say it was about time they figured it all out.

Outside, the city hummed its familiar night song. Inside, in the space they'd built together, time finally seemed to be on their side.

[prettycalla]

|| take you there ||

Pairing: Eddie/Reader

Summary: You've had a rough day. Eddie has a wild idea that just might help you blow off some steam.

Word count: 1.3k

Tags and warnings: A bit of reckless driving/speeding (written as safely as possible - but please mind yourself if this is a trigger!), fluff, established relationship, Eddie is a sweetheart, no use of Y/N.

Masterlist || Join the taglist!

Today has not been a good day. From start to finish, everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

You'd love nothing more than to just crawl into bed and scream into your pillows, but you promised you'd meet Eddie, so here you are, storming up and down his tiny bedroom to try and get the pent-up energy out of you.

You'd tried to keep it to yourself, but it's Eddie, you can never keep anything to yourself around him. Just being with him makes you want to spill everything, even when he hasn't said or done anything.

He's sitting on the end of his bed, watching you pace back and forth as you rant.

“It’s just-"

You let a strangled noise of frustration, balling your hands into fists.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try and calm you down or make you stop. He knows that you need to let it out.

He knows what it’s like to be stifled. He never wants you to feel that way around him.

Only when you start to slow down does he move, fishing his keys out of his jacket pocket.

“You wanna go for a drive?” he asks.

You stop in your tracks, turning your attention to him.

"I don’t wanna be around anyone else right now,” you tell him.

Eddie shakes his head.

“Just you and me,” he assures you. “Promise.”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you think about it, before finally nodding.

“Okay,” you say in a small voice. “Let’s go.”

Eddie gives you a warm smile, holding his hand out to you. You tentatively take it, letting him lead you out of the trailer. The van’s parked in its usual spot nearby. Ever the gentleman, Eddie opens the door for you with his usual little bow.

You stare off blankly through the window as he makes his way to the driver’s side, having his usual fight with the rusty door before he starts the van up.

“Radio’s all yours,” he says with a little gesture towards it.

The radio’s only ever fully delegated to you when you’re really upset. You shake your head.

“‘M not in the mood,” you mumble, plucking absentmindedly at the edge of your sweater sleeve.

Eddie doesn't push any further, keeping his focus on the road as he drives.

You’ve always appreciated that he doesn’t make you talk when you don’t want to. At the start of your relationship, it would bother him, and he eventually confessed to you that he was worried you were mad at him when you were quiet like that. You’d gently reassured him that if you were mad at him, he’d be the first person to know, and he knows that now. He trusts that when you’re quiet, it’s because you need it.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you’re not paying attention to where he’s taking you, or how long you’ve been driving for. It's a while before you arrive at...wherever this is. The van lurches gently to a stop.

“We’re here,” Eddie says, and you finally come out of your own head to look out the window.

“Here” is a long dirt road in the middle of nowhere. The nearest house must be at least ten minutes away by car, and the street lights are practically non-existent.

“Are you planning to kill me?” you ask with a weak smile.

Eddie laughs, not calming your nerves in the slightest, and shakes his head.

“No murder, I promise,” he replies, making a theatrical crossing motion over his heart.

“So…what, then?” you ask, squinting out into the gloom again. “What’s out here?”

“Nothing,” Eddie replies simply. “That’s the point.”

Before you can question him further, he digs one of his tapes out of the glove compartment and pushes it into the cassette slot on the stereo.

You jolt as heavy guitars blast through the van’s speakers. You make a move to turn it down when Eddie stops you.

“Trust me, okay?” he shouts over the music, starting up the engine again and driving down the road.

The van starts picking up speed, faster and faster as it goes. You’re starting to feel nervous - God, maybe Eddie is planning on killing you - when he starts winding the window down. He leans out as far as he can without letting go of the steering wheel, and lets out an ear-splitting scream.

You just stare at him. Eddie is weird, you are more than well aware of this fact, but somehow you still find yourself surprised by the shit he does.

He pulls his head back in and starts slowing the van down, pushing his windswept hair out of his face as he catches his breath. He turns to you with the biggest smile on his face, his cheeks red from screaming.

“What the hell?” you ask with an awkward laugh, turning the music back down.

He’s still grinning at you, eyes wild and full of life. You have to admit, he’s gorgeous like this - even if he is completely nuts sometimes.

“C’mon, it’s your turn,” he says, turning the van in the opposite direction again.

You shake your head vehemently.

“No, no way,” you tell him.

Eddie just looks at you as the van starts to speed up again.

“Eddie-" you start, but he interrupts you.

“You gotta get this shit outta your system,” he says, fiddling with the stereo volume to turn it all the way up again.

You look at him, then at the window winder.

He’s right, and you know he’s right.

With a little breath, you wind the window down, leaning out as far as you can. The air is freezing against your skin, the wind pulling your hair back from your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out the loudest scream you can manage, until your jaw and throat and lungs ache. You can faintly hear Eddie cheering from behind you.

You practically collapse against your seat afterwards, pushing your messy hair out of your face.

"Holy shit," you whisper hoarsely, a wide smile spreading across your face.

Eddie makes a circular motion with his finger - you wanna go again? - and you nod enthusiastically. He turns the van around and heads up the dark road again, picking up speed. You hang your head out of the window again, and yell and scream until you can’t help the adrenaline-fuelled laughter that bursts from you.

Eddie pulls the van to a stop as you slump back into your seat.

"How are you feeling now?" he asks gently, turning the radio down.

You're breathless, your face stings, your throat hurts-

You feel amazing.

"Better?" he prompts with a smile.

"Better," you reply with a nod.

He reaches over to take your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingers.

"Good," he says softly. "I hate seeing you upset like that. You don't deserve it."

You shrug. "That's just life sometimes, Eddie."

"Yeah, well, fuck that," he grumbles. "You still don't deserve it."

His eyes are so warm and sincere, and it's hard not to see how much he cares for you. You gently squeeze his hand.

"Thank you," you say softly.

"For what?" he asks with a little frown.

You know Eddie too well by now. He's not fishing for compliments or praise. He genuinely doesn't understand why you're thanking him. He loves making you happy. Why should you thank him for that?

"For taking such good care of me," you tell him anyway, because he deserves to know.

He smiles then, that big, dopey smile you love so much.

"Anytime, sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. "You ready to head back?"

You nod. "Yeah, I think I am. Do you think maybe you could drive the speed limit now?" you ask, teasing.

Eddie just laughs, turning the stereo back up.

Taglist 💖: @glassbxttless @punkrockmlchael @iitsmandii

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

[luvyeni]

TWO DUMB VIRGINS ๑. ( 박지성 )

PART SIX. stomach bug? well no …

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ──── you wanted to lose it . he was tired of being made fun by his friends. both of you thinking he’d pull out fast enough… but what can you expect from two stupid virgins ? …

( 対 ) park jisung + fem. reader genre young parent au , smau · contains! mentions of sex. pregnancy talk. crude language. jokes among friends mature content

“maybe it’s something you ate.” yuna walked around the small clinic office. “wait the only thing you’ve eaten this past 16 hours is my soup.. oh my god did i make you even more sick?” she said. “i doubt it was your soup , i promise you it’s probably just a stomach bug , they’ll give me some medicine and tell me to take a nap and then i’ll be fine.”

“you better i’ve covered your shift 3 times already; your regular clients are annoying, yes lauren i know what three inches are im sure you do to given the man you’re with.” the door opened just as you were covering her mouth to keep her from saying thing else inappropriate. “im sorry she normally isn’t like this.” the doctor flagged you both off with a chuckled. “don’t worry about it , it’s better to laugh while you’re sick than to be all mopy, it’s good to be around friends.”

“see told you.” yuna said in a condescending tone. “you need me , i’m literally healing you.” you rolled your eyes. “more like getting on my nerves.” you mumbled. “doctor is she okay?” you slapped the girls leg. “yuna let her talk.” you said. “and i already told you it’s probably a stomach bug.” turning to the doctor. “right?”

“no.” your already nervous smile dropped. “huh?” you said , a nervous chuckle. “what is it then?” you questioned you and yuna both looking at each other then back at the doctor. “well according to the report , miss yn it seems like you’re at least three weeks pregnant.” surely she didn’t say that — no of course not. “hu-huh.” you nervously chuckled. “no , that’s not possible.” yuna stood in the corner, shocked. “no.”

“well are you sexually active?” the doctor asked, you don’t think she wanted an answer but you and yuna were both in shock that she answered. “well answer her.” yuna said. “well it was my first time — and did you use a condom?” clearly not and you’re looking at the consequences of that right now. “yn are you serious?” yuna said. “this might be a lot to handle right now , so i’m gonna send you home with some anti nausea medicine that should help a bit but whenever you decide on what you want you should schedule an appointment with the obgyn.” the doctor stood from her seat. “i’ll give you a few minutes to gather your thoughts before you drive home.”

she left you both in the room; and it was like you could hear a pin drop. “yn how could you not wear a condom?” yuna said. “that’s like sex 101.” it felt like a dream — no a sick april fools joke , instead it wasn’t april 1st. “i need to go home.”

and with that you two headed him, stopping only to get the medicine. the ride home was silent , not even the radio was playing as you tried to make sense of this; what the fuck was this? you stared out the window. how were you gonna explain this to anybody? your mom; sure she’d be happy, she always wanted to be a grandmother… but surely not like this. how the hell were you gonna tell jisung; you don’t even have his number, you’d have to ask chenle; which meant you were gonna have to tell chenle. “oh no.” you said , yuna turned to you , hands on the wheel. “are you gonna puke? please don’t.” she said. “no.”

“chenle.” you said. “what about him? oh shit you do have to tell him.” she said. “no , i can’t.” you said. “well regardless of what happens, i think you should.” she said. “unless there’s a reason you cant.” she asked after seeing your face. “theres a reason you can’t tell him?” you sighed. “the guy who chenle brought to the cafe the other day.” you said. “what about him ; i’m pretty sure he’s one of his friends?” the words fell from her mouth; then a bit of silence , before a gasp. “no.” she said. “how did you manage that?”

“i didn’t know , i never asked who his friends were , i didn’t even ask him what school he went to.” you said. “how could i be so fucking stupid?” you said. “this literally can’t be happening right now.” you said. “i’m so fucked.” you said. “let’s just get you home , we’ll figure it out then — i think i just need to be al— i’m not leaving you alone like this , absolutely not , so either we sit in this car in front of your complex or we go to your apartment and figure it out.”

you two make it to the apartment and up to your floor. “we don’t have to talk about it right now , but i won’t let you be alone.” she said as you unlocked the door. “thank you.” you said softly pushing the door open , noticing the extra pair of shoes. “finally we’ve been waiting.” you heard yunjins voice. “what did the doctor say?” chenle emerged from the bathroom. “let’s not talk about that right now.” yuna tried to stop the conversation , but your poor friends couldn’t read the room.

and it was like chenle asking that question made you realize your reality. “i’m gonna be sick.” you ran back to the bathroom , emptying your stomach. “whoa a stomach bug did that.” chenle said , only for you to let out a sob. “yn.” yunjin ran back to the room. “what’s wrong?” chenle turned to yuna , the only other person who had answers. “well it wasn’t a stomach bug.” she said. “what!.” yunjin ran back to the living room. “did she just say she was pregnant?” your sobbing body , hunched over in the bathroom. “yuna? is she really pregnant?”

you dragged your body off the floor and into your room , dropping down on the bed , not even bothering to take your clothes off , just rolling up in the blanket. “but that’s insane she just lost her virginity.” chenle said as they followed you back into the room. “yn.” he knocked on the door. “can we come in?” they heard you hum; pushing the door open. “you okay?” yunjin said. “what do you think?” you mumbled. “you got a point.” she said , sitting on the edge of the bed.

“can we just not talk about it right now.” you said. “i just want to sleep for the rest of the day.” chenle patted your back. “we can put these questions on the back burner until tomorrow or maybe even the next day.” he said. “but we aren’t leaving you right now , not in this state we’d be terrible friends.” he climbed into the bed next to you. “yeah , but let’s not hold off this conversation too long i have questions.” yunjin said. “yunjin.” yuna said , already laying down next to you. “what?” she said.

“i’m just curious , this shit sounds like a plot to a tv show , of course i have questions.”

( 🏷️ ). @starsungwrld @neverbeurs @chocolate-scoups @delinalovesriize @cupid-ville @maiyhw @cosmicwintr @nctislifue @httpsxnox @hyunjinslongasslegs @andyyjw @kookssecret @ithinkulikeme @meowmeowhoon @jae-n0 @413ktz @httpjiprk @antifrggile @ourshin @itskpopular @smiles4hyuck @jaeminnnanaaa17 @bbyinni @sillypaperspyeagle-blog @n0hyuck @catdonut657 @markleesleftpinky @clean-soap @janjoonty @veilstqr @mikeeel @cigsaftersuh @kittykyuuu @akirawhore

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 PREV. TDV. NEXT. .ᐟ

©️LUVYENI

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ just keep breathin

chapter summary: There's a new member of the team that takes a special liking to Rogue. The Avengers come back to the mansion for some help.

word count: 23k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: alright, so i felt like this was dragging a bit so this covers around 3 years of time. there are more than just the avengers that we're gonna see - maybe a certain cajun man...👀

(also, wow. longest chapter in some time!)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, slight angst, one smut scene, unprotected piv, overstimulation, creampie, the avengers, mentions of brainwashing, mentions of ww2, alludes to hydra, protective!logan

series masterlist - chapter 12 → chapter 14

You rubbed Rogue’s back as she cried—well, it was more like sobbing—into your shoulder. She had been holed up in her room for the past month, barely coming out for food and water.

It was actually Logan who made the first move, almost breaking down her door to ask “why the hell she hasn’t left this damn room.”

Turns out, when Bobby had left for UCLA, he called it quits with Rogue. The rest you weren’t able to understand due to her heavy sobbing and slurred words.

Logan had briefly come in to check on the two of you and Rogue had thrown a flower vase at him, to which he cleaned up while grumbling about how he was “lettin’ it slide this one time.”

You ran your hand over Rogue’s hair, still quietly and soothingly shushing her. Her sobs came in waves, hiccups breaking up the cries that had wracked her body for the past hour. You didn’t say much, letting her grief spill out in whatever form it needed.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you whispered softly. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you will be.”

Rogue sniffled, lifting her head just enough to look at you through puffy, tear-filled eyes. “I gave him… everything, Y/N,” she choked out. “And he just—he just left.”

Your heart ached for her. “I know,” you murmured, reaching for a tissue from the bedside table and handing it to her. “But that’s not on you. It’s on him. He didn’t deserve everything you gave if he couldn’t appreciate it.”

Rogue dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, her hands trembling. “It’s not fair,” she muttered, her voice cracking. “I thought he loved me.”

You hesitated, unsure if there was anything you could say to ease her pain. “Sometimes people don’t know how to hold onto something good,” you finally said. “That doesn’t mean it’s your fault. You deserve someone who loves all of you—who knows how to stay.”

Rogue didn’t respond, but the faintest nod told you she’d heard you. She leaned into your shoulder again, her sobs quieter now, as though exhaustion was starting to take over.

The sound of the door creaking open made you glance up. Logan poked his head in, his brows drawn together in concern. “She doin’ okay?” he asked, his voice gruff but quieter than usual.

“She’s getting there,” you replied softly, your hand still stroking Rogue’s hair. “Might take some time.”

Logan stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He crouched down next to you, his eyes scanning Rogue’s face. “You eat anything today, kid?”

Rogue groaned, her face still pressed into your shoulder. “Don’t wanna eat.”

Logan huffed. “Tough. You’re gonna eat somethin’. Even if it’s just soup.”

Rogue lifted her head slightly, glaring at him through swollen eyes. “You gonna force-feed me, old man?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Logan shot back, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You bit back a small smile, recognizing the warmth beneath Logan’s gruffness. “Maybe some tea and toast?” you suggested gently. “Something easy.”

Rogue sniffled again but didn’t argue. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice hoarse. “Tea and toast.”

Logan gave a satisfied nod and stood up. “I’ll make it,” he said, glancing at you. “You stay with her.”

You nodded, watching as he left the room. Rogue exhaled heavily, her body sagging against yours. “He doesn’t give up, does he?” she mumbled.

“No,” you said with a small smile. “And neither do I.”

---

Later that evening, after you’d finally coaxed Rogue into eating and she’d fallen into a fitful sleep, you found Logan in the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in hand, his gaze distant as he stared out the window.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you said softly as you approached.

Logan glanced over his shoulder, his expression softening when he saw you. “Didn’t mind,” he replied. “She needed it.”

You leaned against the counter next to him, crossing your arms. “She’s lucky to have you, you know.”

Logan snorted, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re the one who got her to come outta that room,” he said. “Not me.”

You shrugged, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “Still. You care. More than you let on.”

Logan turned his eyes back to the window, his jaw working slightly as though he was chewing over your words. After a beat, he spoke, his voice softer than you expected. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta.”

You tilted your head, studying him. Despite his gruff exterior and the biting humor he wielded like armor, moments like this reminded you just how deeply he felt. It wasn’t something he ever said outright, but it came through in his actions—in the way he’d throw himself headfirst into protecting the people he cared about, even when they didn’t ask for it.

"You okay?" Logan asked suddenly, cutting through your thoughts. His sharp gaze flicked to you, the concern in his tone catching you off guard.

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in focus. “Me?”

“Yeah, you," Logan said, leaning an elbow on the counter. "You’ve been sittin’ with Rogue all day, takin’ on her mess. That kinda thing can weigh on you. So… you okay?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. Leave it to Logan to sneak in concern like he was trying not to let it show. You leaned back against the counter, crossing your arms as you considered his question. “Honestly? I could go for a beer. Or two.”

Logan’s lip twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through his usual stoicism. “That right?”

“Yup.” You nodded, pushing off the counter to grab a glass from the cabinet. “In fact, I think I’ve earned it.”

“Sit down,” Logan said, stopping you with a hand on your arm. “I’ll grab it.”

You raised an eyebrow, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you let him guide you to a seat at the small kitchen table, watching as he pulled two beers from the fridge and popped the tops off with practiced ease. He slid one across to you before settling in the chair opposite, his posture relaxed but his eyes still quietly observant.

You took a sip, letting the cool, bitter taste settle on your tongue. “Thanks,” you said after a moment. “For this. For helping with Rogue. For… all of it.”

Logan shrugged, taking a long pull from his bottle. “Ain’t nothin’. That’s what we do, right? Look out for each other.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to stick around,” you pointed out. “You could’ve walked away when she threw that vase at you.”

His mouth quirked into a wry smile. “Wouldn’t be the first thing someone’s thrown at me. Won’t be the last.” He took a sip, “though I didn’t know that she had a mean throwin’ arm. Had a bruise on my chest from that damn vase.”

You let out a giggle, “that lasted a few seconds. That doesn’t count.”

Logan smirked, leaning back in his chair and tipping the bottle of beer toward you. “A second’s all it takes for somethin’ to leave a mark, darlin’.”

You rolled your eyes, a warm smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so dramatic. It was a vase, not a grenade.”

“She’s got a helluva arm, though,” Logan said, shaking his head. “Remind me not to piss her off again. Next time, she might aim for my head.”

You laughed softly, the sound easing the tension that had been building all day. The quiet clinking of bottles and the hum of the refrigerator filled the comfortable silence between you two. Logan’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you could feel his steady gaze.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Nothin’,” he said with a small shrug. “Just thinkin’... You’re good with her. Better than me.”

You gave him a look. “That’s not true. You got her to eat, didn’t you? And cleaned up after the vase incident. That counts for something.”

Logan grunted, but his lips twitched in a small, almost shy smile. “Yeah, well… you’re the one who sat there all day, lettin’ her cry it out. That takes patience.”

“It takes love,” you corrected softly.

Logan’s expression softened, his rough edges smoothing out for just a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an undertone of admiration.

You took another sip of your beer, the bitter liquid grounding you. “She’s been through a lot. It’s not fair.”

“No, it ain’t,” Logan agreed, his tone grim. “But she’s tougher than she thinks. She’ll pull through.”

You nodded, tracing the edge of the bottle with your thumb. “Yeah, she will. She just needs time. And us.”

---

The shrill alarm of Logan’s clock woke him up as he swatted his hand at it, turning it off. As he blinked he noticed the time was 8:56, meaning he missed his first class and the start of his second one. And he never even had an alarm set for this time either.

He didn’t get to think about it any further as you opened the bedroom door, carrying a large tray in what he could only describe as a cute, rugged outfit. His clothes on you were a tad too big, and it looked like you had flour on your cheek.

"Good morning," you said with a smile as you walked to Logan’s side of the bed, balancing a large tray in your hands. The sight of you in his oversized flannel shirt and sweatpants brought a rare softness to his face. There was flour smudged on your cheek, and your hair was a bit messy, as though you’d been hard at work for hours.

Logan sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” he rumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. His gaze flicked to the tray, noting the steaming cup of coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice, and what looked like cinnamon rolls drizzled with icing. “What’s all this?”

“I thought you deserved to sleep in for once,” you replied, setting the tray down on the nightstand. “Scott owed me a favor, so he’s covering your classes today. Jean’s taking mine. I even changed your alarm.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing at the clock. “That explains it. Thought I was losin’ my mind when I saw the time.”

You smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Nope, just me meddling with your routine. Happy anniversary, by the way.”

Logan’s lips curled into a small smile, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Like I’d forget. Ten years, darlin’. Not bad.”

“Not bad at all,” you agreed, leaning in to kiss his cheek before gesturing toward the tray. “I made cinnamon rolls. Thought we’d start the day with something sweet.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed playfully. “I thought you were makin’ bread last night. Found you in the kitchen elbow-deep in dough.”

You grinned, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. “You don’t know the difference between bread dough and cinnamon roll dough, do you?”

Logan gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Nope. Just know it smelled good.”

“Well, now you get to taste it.” You handed him a plate, watching as he picked up one of the warm, gooey rolls and took a bite. His expression softened immediately, the faintest hum of approval rumbling in his chest.

“Damn, these are good,” he said around a mouthful, licking a bit of icing off his thumb. “You’ve been holdin’ out on me. Could’ve had these ten years ago.”

You lYou laughed, grabbing your own plate. “Ten years ago, I didn’t know how to bake this.”

Logan’s smirk softened into something more affectionate. “Guess we’ve both come a long way, huh?”

You nodded, savoring the sweetness of the cinnamon roll and the moment. The past decade had been filled with highs and lows, struggles and triumphs, but through it all, you’d built something solid, something worth celebrating.

After a quiet moment of eating, Logan reached out, his rough hand covering yours. “Thanks for this,” he said, his tone gruff but heartfelt. “For all of it.”

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Thanks for sticking with me. Even when I was a complete mess.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darlin’,” Logan said, squeezing your hand. “We’ve been through the wringer, sure. But I wouldn’t trade a damn thing. Not a single second.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned in to kiss him, the tray of food momentarily forgotten. When you pulled back, Logan’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing away a bit of flour you hadn’t realized was still there.

“Gotta say, though,” Logan added with a smirk, “you wear my clothes better than I do.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Don’t get used to it. I’ve got my own wardrobe, you know.”

“Yeah, but this? This looks damn good on you.” His voice dropped slightly, and the intensity in his gaze sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Flatterer,” you teased, swiping a bit of icing from his plate and dabbing it on his nose. Logan blinked, momentarily surprised, before a grin spread across his face.

“Oh, you’re askin’ for it now,” he growled playfully, setting his plate aside.

What followed was a mix of laughter, teasing, and icing being smeared in places it definitely wasn’t supposed to go. It was messy, chaotic, and utterly perfect—just like the ten years you’d shared together.

---

You and Logan were walking down the hallway, Rogue in between the two of you, as the three of you made your way to the kitchen since Rogue wanted to bake cookies with you.

As you passed the main entrance, Charles' familiar voice called out. “Logan, Y/N, Rogue, could you come here for a moment?”

The three of you paused mid-step, exchanging glances. You adjusted your glasses, slightly wary. Logan’s hand instinctively found the small of your back—a reassuring gesture more than anything else.

Approaching the entryway, you found Charles sitting in his wheelchair, flanked by Scott and Jean. Standing slightly apart from them was a man you hadn’t seen before: tall and lean with tousled brown hair falling into his sharp, mischievous eyes. A hint of charm radiated from his smirk, making you immediately wary.

“Meet Remy LeBeau,” Charles said, gesturing toward the stranger. “He’ll be staying with us for a while.”

Remy inclined his head, his voice dripping with a southern drawl. “Call me Gambit. Pleasure to meet y’all.”

Your eyes briefly flicked to Logan, who was already narrowing his eyes at the new arrival. Rogue, on the other hand, seemed intrigued, stepping forward with a curious smile. “What brings you here, Gambit?”

“Ah, now that’s a long story, cher,” Remy replied smoothly, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long before shifting to Charles. “Let’s just say I got tangled up in a little trouble. Your professor here said y’all might have a place for me to lay low—earn my keep in the meantime.”

Logan crossed his arms, his stance as solid and unyielding as a mountain. “And what exactly do you bring to the table?”

Remy chuckled, unfazed by Logan’s gruff demeanor. “Cards, good aim, and a little flair for the dramatic. Don’t worry, mon ami—I’ll pull my weight.”

Jean cut in, her calm voice keeping the exchange from escalating. “Logan, let’s give him a chance. We’ve all been newcomers at some point.”

You placed a gentle hand on Logan’s arm, silently coaxing him to ease up. “It’s nice to meet you,” you said softly, offering a polite smile.

“Enchanté,” Remy replied with a wink that earned him a warning growl from Logan.

Rogue, however, was clearly fascinated. “So you’re from Louisiana?”

“Born and raised in Nawlins,” Remy said with a dramatic flourish. “And you, cher? Got a hint of Southern charm yourself.”

Rogue blushed lightly but kept her tone composed. “Mississippi.”

Logan’s attention stayed glued to Remy, his instincts screaming to watch this guy like a hawk. “Hope you’re not plannin’ to cause any trouble.”

Remy’s smirk widened, giving Logan an exaggerated bow. “Not a bit, mon ami. I’m a peaceful guy, believe it or not.”

Scott’s tone was firm as he addressed the room. “Let’s give him space to settle in. There’s a room down the hall by ours, Gambit. I’ll show you where it is.”

As Scott led Remy away, Logan muttered under his breath, “This oughta be fun.”

Charles’s voice pulled your attention back. “I trust you’ll help him adjust, Y/N. A steady presence like yours should be beneficial.”

You nodded hesitantly, adjusting your glasses again. “Of course, Professor.”

Rogue grinned, nudging your arm. “And maybe we can talk him into helping with cookies.”

Logan groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “If I find flour on the floor again, don’t think I’m cleanin’ it up this time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, nudging him back gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the kitchen survives.”

Rogue grabbed your hand eagerly. “Come on, let’s get started!”

As she dragged you toward the kitchen, Logan trailed behind, his protective gaze lingering briefly in the direction Gambit had disappeared.

Something told him this guy would stir things up—but if anyone dared cause trouble, Logan would handle it. Always had, always would.

---

Jean was standing in the foyer when her eyes lit up at the sight of you and Logan walking toward her.

“Aww,” she cooed, grinning mischievously as her gaze bounced between the two of you. “Don’t you two just look adorable?”

Jean gestured dramatically at your matching black pullovers. While you had styled yours with a knee-length skirt and cozy tights, Logan wore his sweater with his usual jeans, the casual look somehow making his rugged demeanor even more pronounced.

“I know, right?” you teased, nudging Jean with your elbow. “Getting him to agree to this was a battle. You should’ve seen him at the store—grumbling like I’d asked him to wear a frilly dress.”

Jean laughed, leaning in conspiratorially. “I can totally imagine that. So what finally convinced him?”

You smirked, lowering your voice like you were sharing the mansion’s greatest secret. “I told him we could skip the couples’ yoga next week with Ororo if he’d wear it.”

Logan’s groan cut through your laughter. “You two realize I’m standing right here, right?”

“Barely,” Jean quipped with a dramatic flip of her hair, earning a chuckle from you. “It’s okay, Logan, matching sweaters are just a sign of love. Besides, you look cute!”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly as he muttered under his breath, “not cute.”

You and Jean waved him off, entirely ignoring his protests as you started giggling again. He crossed his arms, staring at the two of you like you were a particularly troublesome duo. “You two are gonna give me an aneurysm, I swear.”

You shrugged innocently, giving him a playful look. “If you can survive the end of the world, Logan, you can survive a little sweater bonding.”

Jean raised a finger. “Exactly. Consider this a heroic act of love.”

---

Your morning classes had gone smoothly, leaving you a bit of downtime before your afternoon session. You were tidying up your desk when the door opened, and you turned to see Logan leaning against the doorway, a familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“Thought I’d stop by,” he said, casually walking in. “Figured you could use some company.”

Smiling, you gestured to the chair near your desk. “Always happy to see you.”

Logan’s eyes scanned the room, pausing when he noticed your black sweater draped across a table behind you.

“Wait a sec.” His tone was amused but slightly accusing. “Where’s your sweater?”

You blinked, glancing down at your blouse. “Oh, I took it off. It got warm while I was setting up for the lab.”

Logan raised an eyebrow and walked over to the table. Picking up the sweater, he turned toward you, holding it out like it was a major offense.

“Warm, huh?” he said, moving closer. “You make me wear this thing all day, and then you just ditch yours?”

You rolled your eyes, a warmness rising to your cheeks. “Logan, it’s not that serious—”

Before you could finish, Logan set the sweater over your head with surprising gentleness. His hands worked methodically, pulling it down over your torso while making sure the fabric didn’t snag on your glasses. Once it was on, he stepped back, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Better,” he declared, reaching forward to adjust your glasses, which had shifted during his efforts.

You stared up at him, a mix of exasperation and amusement swirling in your expression. “Happy now?”

“Very,” Logan replied, his hands lingering just a moment longer before dropping back to his sides. “We match again. That was the whole point, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he teased, his grin softening into something more tender.

The moment lingered between the two of you, comfortable and quiet, until the sound of approaching students broke the spell. Logan tilted his head toward the door.

“I’ll get outta your hair,” he said, stepping back. “But if I hear anyone makin’ fun of the sweaters, just say the word.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “You’re such a knight in flannel armor.”

Logan’s smile lingered as he turned to leave. “Always, darlin’. Always.”

---

Ever since Bobby broke up with Rogue and went away to college at UCLA 3 months ago, she was either attached to you or Jean.

Even now, during movie night, Logan sat on one side of the couch and Rogue on the other. You were nestled against Logan's side, his arm casually draped behind you, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder—a quiet but grounding touch. Rogue, however, sat a bit stiffly, holding a pillow tightly in her lap as the rest of the room settled in with popcorn and snacks.

The rest of the group was either on the floor in bean bag chairs or seated on the other couches in the room.

“You sure this was the right movie choice?” Logan muttered to you, jerking his chin toward the screen. A horror movie was starting, one Jean had picked.

You You smirked, adjusting your glasses and whispering back, “Well, someone vetoed my sci-fi idea.”

“Damn straight.” He took a swig from the beer in his hand, the bottle clinking against the armrest.

As the opening scene played out, the common room door opened, and in sauntered Remy. He carried a bag of candy in one hand and his ever-present deck of cards in the other. His easy smirk was in full effect as his eyes scanned the room, settling on Rogue.

"Don’t mind me, chère," he said casually as he strolled toward her. Without waiting for an invitation, he plopped down next to Rogue, setting the candy between them. “Got room for one more?”

Rogue glanced up, startled but not displeased. “Oh, um… sure. Movie just started.”

Logan’s gaze snapped to Remy, and you could feel him tense beside you. “Fantastic,” Logan muttered under his breath, loud enough for only you to hear.

“Logan,” you whispered, nudging his side. “Play nice.”

His only response was a low grunt, though he didn’t look away from Remy, who was now leaning slightly toward Rogue, cracking some joke that made her laugh softly.

“Candy?” Rogue offered, holding out the open bag.

Remy took one with a flourish, tipping an invisible hat. “Merci, chère. Always knew you had good taste.”

“God, he’s insufferable,” Logan muttered, cracking open another beer. You couldn’t suppress a laugh at his tone, which only made him scowl playfully at you. “What’re you laughin’ at?”

“You,” you replied, grinning up at him. “You’re acting like a dad watching his daughter date for the first time.”

“‘Cause that guy’s a walking headache,” Logan said, waving the beer bottle in Remy’s direction. “If he tries anything—”

“He won’t,” you cut him off gently, resting your hand on his arm. “Rogue’s an adult. Let her enjoy herself a little.”

Logan huffed but didn’t argue, though you noticed his protective glare lingered on Remy for the next several minutes.

As the movie unfolded, Rogue and Remy seemed to fall into an easy rhythm of side comments and laughter. You could tell Rogue was enjoying herself—maybe more than she had in weeks.

Eventually, Logan leaned in closer, his lips near your ear. “You’re good with this?” he asked quietly, his tone softer now.

You glanced over at Rogue, her posture finally relaxed for the first time in days. “She’s been so down lately,” you murmured back. “If he makes her smile, I’m okay with it. For now.”

Logan’s jaw tightened for a moment, but he nodded, relenting. “Just say the word if you need me to step in.”

“I will,” you promised, reaching for his hand and giving it a light squeeze.

---

After the movie ended, most of the group dispersed. Jean and Scott headed upstairs, and the others began drifting off in pairs or small groups.

Rogue lingered, though, still sitting on the couch with Remy. They were deep in conversation about something, their voices too low to catch from where you and Logan stood by the door.

“You ready for bed?” you asked, stifling a yawn as you stretched.

“Yeah,” Logan said, though his gaze flicked toward Rogue and Remy one last time. “You sure she’s okay?”

“She’s fine,” you assured him, resting a hand on his arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

Logan let you tug him toward the hallway, but not without a muttered, “Still keepin’ an eye on that guy.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you headed to your room. “Of course you are. That’s why I love you.”

“You’re damn right it is.”

The door to your room clicked shut behind you, and for the first time that night, Logan seemed to truly relax, the tension easing from his shoulders.

---

You woke up with a gasp, your chest heaving as you propped yourself up on your elbows. The remnants of your dream lingered, vivid and disjointed. Your pulse thudded in your ears as you tried to piece together the fleeting fragments, but they slipped through your fingers like water.

Beside you, Logan stirred, muttering something under his breath before blinking awake. His brow furrowed as he turned toward you, voice low and rough with sleep. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Another nightmare?”

You shook your head, still catching your breath. “No... not exactly.” You leaned back against the pillows, running a hand over your face. “It was... strange. Like a dream, but it didn’t feel like one.”

Logan shifted to face you fully, his gaze steady and grounding. “Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitated, struggling to put the jumbled images into words. “It was bits and pieces. I was in Japan... I think? There was a funeral, and you were there too. But then it turned into chaos—fighting, running... and there was this man with a sword, and someone... someone said you were mortal.” Your voice trailed off as you frowned, trying to make sense of it.

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, his expression unreadable. “Mortal?” he repeated, his voice laced with a flicker of unease.

You nodded, looking at him. “It didn’t make sense. None of it did. It was like seeing flashes of a movie I didn’t understand.”

Logan reached over, his hand warm and steady as it found yours. “You’ve had these dreams before, right? The ones that feel... different?”

“Yeah,” you admitted softly. Your powers had always been tied to time and possibilities, and sometimes that meant glimpses of what could be—a future, a path untaken. But this dream was unlike any you’d had before. It felt almost more complete, even without the full story.

Logan squeezed your hand gently. “Whatever it was, it’s just a dream for now. Don’t overthink it.” His voice softened, pulling you back to the present. “Come here.”

You leaned into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you as he held you close. His warmth and steady heartbeat began to calm the storm in your mind. “You always know how to bring me back,” you murmured against his chest.

“That’s my job, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice a soft rumble. “Now, get some sleep. We’ll deal with whatever this is if it comes up again.”

You nodded, allowing his presence to ground you. Slowly, your breathing evened out, and the tension in your body eased.

Logan brushed a kiss against your temple. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, and as sleep began to pull you under, you believed him.

---

You took the lid off of a candle called ‘Snickerdoodle’ to quickly smell it. It wasn’t one you loved so you put it back down.

Logan had said he was ‘going to be right back. Imma go get somethin’ real quick,’ and had been gone for around 10 minutes.

You grabbed another candle, this one called ‘Mango Delight’ to give it a smell. As you held it up to your nose, someone called out your name. You looked behind you to see Rachel Uplet, a girl you knew from college. Of course, you weren’t close to her, you didn’t really have any friends during your time at Stanford, just acquaintances.

She walked over to you, holding a Gucci purse, “it’s been so long! How’ve you been?”

You turned at the sound of Rachel’s voice, the smell of the mango candle lingering in the air. “Oh, hey, Rachel,” you said, offering a polite smile. “It’s been a while. I’ve been good—busy with work, mostly. How about you?”

Rachel’s perfectly polished smile didn’t falter as she stepped closer, her Gucci purse swinging slightly with the movement. “Busy, of course. You know how it is—social obligations, charity events. And my husband insists we redecorate our entire house every other year. It’s exhausting,” she said with a chuckle that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her gaze drifted to your left hand, and her eyebrows lifted slightly when she noticed your ring.

“Oh!” she said, tilting her head. “I didn’t realize you were married. That’s... lovely.” There was an undertone to her words you couldn’t quite place, somewhere between genuine and condescending. “I remember in college you went on that date with, what was his name... Parker? Or Preston? One of those polished legacy boys. I always figured that was your type—y’know, academia chic.”

You adjusted your glasses, letting out a short laugh. “Logan’s not exactly... academia chic,” you said, glancing down at your ring and smiling softly at the thought of him.

Rachel’s eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity, and before she could ask anything else, you saw Logan approaching. He held a medium-sized shopping bag in his hand, his expression unreadable but somehow effortlessly commanding.

“Hey,” he said gruffly, his eyes moving between you and Rachel. “This where you wandered off to?”

Rachel’s eyebrows shot up as she took him in—his rugged demeanor, weathered jacket, and distinct confidence contrasting sharply with the polished, business-suit men she likely spent most of her time around. Her smile shifted slightly. “And this must be... Logan?”

“That’s me,” Logan replied, his voice even. He offered a small, polite nod in her direction before shifting his focus entirely to you. “Found somethin’ for you,” he added, pulling the item from the bag with a little too much nonchalance.

Your heart practically stopped as you realized what he was holding. “Logan, wait!” you said quickly, your cheeks warming as you grabbed his arm before the delicate lace of the lingerie dress could be fully revealed. You could only imagine the look on Rachel’s face at the sight of it.

Logan smirked, clearly amused. “What? Thought you’d like it,” he said, his tone deliberately casual.

You shot him a look, your voice low. “Not in front of company.”

Rachel was visibly struggling to hide her surprise—or amusement, or both—as she looked between the two of you. “Wow,” she said, managing to keep her tone light. “You’ve certainly gone for someone... unexpected, Y/N. I always thought your type was more like mine.” She gestured vaguely as a man in a tailored navy suit approached, holding a sleek black leather briefcase. “Speaking of which, here’s James.”

“Hey, babe,” James said, leaning in to give Rachel a quick kiss on the cheek before turning his attention to you. He offered a polite smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“This is Y/N,” Rachel said, gesturing to you before turning back to Logan with an almost exaggerated level of casualness. “And Logan.”

James extended a hand toward Logan, who shook it firmly. There was a slight flicker of discomfort on James’s face, likely from Logan’s stronger-than-necessary grip. “Nice to meet you,” James said, his tone even.

“Likewise,” Logan replied simply, his piercing gaze holding steady.

“Well,” Rachel said after a brief pause, the energy between the group tipping toward awkward. “It was great catching up, Y/N. You’ll have to tell me more about... everything sometime.” Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward the bag Logan still held. “And, Logan, it’s been a... pleasure.”

“Sure,” you replied, offering her a polite nod. “Take care, Rachel.”

As she and James walked away, Logan waited until they were out of earshot before speaking, his smirk returning. “Your friend seems nice.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned against him slightly. “She’s not my friend. Just... someone I went to school with.”

“Figured.” Logan glanced at the bag in his hand. “So... you don’t like this?”

You laughed, reaching up to press a kiss to Logan’s cheek. “You’re impossible. Let’s just get out of here before she comes back.” You turned to place the candle back on the rack, glancing at him over your shoulder with a sly smile. “And maybe I’ll wear it for you tonight.”

Logan’s smirk widened, and as the two of you began walking toward the store’s exit, you felt his hand playfully swat your ass. You startled slightly, eyes darting around to see if anyone noticed, but Logan didn’t seem to care about that in the slightest.

“You better keep that promise, sweetheart,” he said lowly, his voice carrying just enough gruffness to make your face heat. He casually hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer as you walked.

“You’re such a menace,” you muttered, nudging him with your elbow. “You really couldn’t wait until we were in the car?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

---

There was a knock at the front door of the mansion, which was highly unusual. You and Logan looked at each other, you were only at this part of the mansion because you just had a meeting with Charles.

Logan walked ahead, gently pushing you behind him as he opened the door to come face to face with a woman who had bright red hair.

“Who are you?” Logan growled. You finally peeked around Logan’s frame to look at the woman. She looked like one of the women in your nightmare some weeks ago.

“I’ve been looking for you. To give you this.” She grabbed the sword from her back, holding it out to Logan, “my employer wanted you to have it.”

“Who?”

“Master Yashida.” The woman said as you felt Logan tense up beneath your hands. “He said it belongs to you; that he’s paying all his debts. Master Yashida is dying, and he wants to say thank you for saving his life all those years ago. He knows you are a busy man, but he wants to say goodbye in person.”

Logan’s body went rigid at the mention of ‘Master Yashida,’ his jaw tightening as if the words themselves carried a weight he didn’t want to bear. You felt the tension ripple through him, his muscles tensing beneath your hands where they rested lightly on his back.

“Yashida,” Logan muttered, his voice low and almost inaudible. It wasn’t a name he said often, and hearing it now carried layers of something unspoken.

“Yes,” Yukio confirmed, holding the sword out further. “He wishes to repay you before it’s too late.”

“Repay me? He doesn’t owe me a damn thing,” Logan said, his voice gruff, but there was a flicker of something—an old memory, perhaps—dancing behind his hardened gaze.

As the weight of the exchange sank in, something in your chest twisted uncomfortably. The woman, with her red hair and confident stance, wasn’t just here for small talk. Her presence set off an alarm inside you, and you couldn’t shake the familiarity of her appearance. Your nightmares. This was her.

You swallowed hard, gripping Logan’s arm as you whispered, “Logan, can I talk to you for a second? Privately?”

Logan glanced down at you, his furrowed brow softening slightly as he took in the seriousness in your expression. “Yeah, sure.” He turned back to Yukio, jerking his chin toward the door. “Wait here.”

She nodded once, standing statue-still as Logan stepped back inside, closing the door just enough to leave the two of you alone in the hallway. His attention was fixed entirely on you now, his posture shifting slightly into something more relaxed but still alert. “What’s goin’ on, darlin’?” he asked, his voice gentler.

You hesitated, gathering your thoughts and trying to find the best way to explain what you knew. “Logan,” you started, your voice trembling slightly, “do you remember when I told you about that nightmare I had? The one with flashes of... Japan?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he nodded. “I remember.”

“Well, I know I said it was just... bits and pieces of a story, but…” You let out a shaky breath. “It wasn’t just a random dream. I think it was a warning. I’m sure of it now. She was in it. And it wasn’t... good.” You paused, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “Logan, something bad will happen if you go with her. Please. Don’t go.”

Logan studied your face for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You sure about this?” he asked finally. There was no skepticism in his tone, only concern—his protective instincts kicking in.

You nodded, gripping his arm a little tighter. “You know how sometimes you tell me not to go on missions because they’re too dangerous? Because you don’t want me to get hurt?” Your voice softened, cracking just slightly. “I’m telling you the same thing now. I’m begging you. She’s part of my nightmare.”

Logan’s expression shifted, his resolve firming as he reached up to gently cup the side of your face, his calloused thumb brushing against your cheek. “Alright, darlin’,” he said quietly. “If you’re this sure, then I ain’t goin’.”

Relief washed over you like a wave, and you leaned into his touch. “Thank you.”

He pulled away after a moment, stepping back toward the door. He opened it and faced Yukio, his demeanor as unyielding as ever. “I’m not goin’ to Japan,” he said bluntly. “Tell Yashida thanks for the sword and for tryin’ to clear his conscience, but no.”

Yukio’s confident stance faltered just slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Master Yashida said—”

“I don’t care what he said,” Logan interrupted firmly. “It’s not happenin’. That’s my answer.”

Yukio hesitated, her grip on the sword tightening as though debating whether to press further. Ultimately, she nodded. “Very well. I’ll deliver the message.” With that, she turned and walked away, the sword still in hand.

Logan closed the door behind her, locking it before turning back to you. His hand found the small of your back as he gently pulled you closer. “There. You don’t need to worry ‘bout it anymore.”

You looked up at him, the intensity of his gaze making your chest ache with gratitude and love. “You didn’t have to listen to me, but you did. Thank you.”

Logan gave a small smirk, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Trust me, sweetheart. You’re worth listenin’ to.”

---

You and Jean were enjoying the first Monday of summer break, which meant Jean also coerced you to having a mimosa at 11 in the morning.

Rogue walked into the kitchen, wringing her hands. “Uh, I kinda need to talk to y’all.”

Jean gestured with her glass for her to sit down, “what’s going on?”

Rogue sat down at the kitchen table with a hesitant sigh, her hands twisting nervously. You and Jean exchanged a quick glance, sensing her discomfort, and set your mimosas down.

“What’s going on, Rogue?” you asked softly, leaning forward to give her your full attention.

She hesitated, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s about Bobby,” she said finally, her accent faint but still present in moments of vulnerability. “I was talkin’ to him last night, and he told me somethin’... well, unexpected.” She took a deep breath, then rushed the words out before she could lose her nerve. “He said he’s gay—and he’s got a boyfriend.”

Jean blinked in surprise but recovered quickly, giving Rogue a warm, understanding smile. “Wow,” Jean said gently. “That’s a big thing for him to share. How are you feeling about it?”

Rogue bit her lip, her shoulders sagging. “I don’t even know. I mean, it’s not like I’m mad or anything—it’s his life—but it’s... it’s kinda weird, y’know? Like, all this time, I thought I did somethin’ wrong, but now I’m thinkin’ he just didn’t want me at all. Maybe not even anyone like me.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed by her emotion.

You felt a pang of sympathy for her, remembering how painful breakups could be, let alone finding out something like this months later. “Rogue,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “it’s not about you. It sounds like Bobby’s been figuring out who he is, and that doesn’t mean you weren’t important to him. Sometimes people just... discover things about themselves later.”

“Y/N’s right,” Jean chimed in, her tone reassuring. “And trust me, you’re not the first person to go through something like this. Back in college, Scott and I broke up for a little while, and I dated someone else—a guy named Alex.” She paused to take a sip of her mimosa, her expression turning almost nostalgic. “We were seeing each other for about three months, and then one day, out of the blue, he told me he was gay.”

Rogue’s eyes widened slightly. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Jean confirmed with a small laugh. “It was a little shocking, and yeah, I was upset at first, but it wasn’t about me. He was figuring things out, just like Bobby is.”

“That must’ve sucked, though,” Rogue muttered, her hands still fidgeting.

Jean shrugged. “It wasn’t great in the moment, but looking back, I’m glad he was honest. It helped both of us move on, and he’s really happy now. And I got back together with Scott eventually, so it all worked out.”

Rogue nodded slowly, processing Jean’s story. “I guess... I guess it just feels like everyone else knows where they’re goin’ in life, and I’m still tryin’ to figure out how to live with all this.” She gestured vaguely to herself, the mention of her powers unspoken but understood.

You reached out to gently squeeze her hand. “You’re not alone in that, Rogue. Everyone’s figuring things out in their own way—even Bobby. It doesn’t happen all at once.”

Jean smiled warmly, raising her glass. “And hey, you’ve got us. Summer break’s here, so that means plenty of mimosas and bad TV marathons to distract us, right?”

Rogue let out a small laugh, a genuine one this time, and you felt a sense of relief at seeing her relax a bit. “I appreciate y’all. Seriously. Thanks for not makin’ this awkward.”

Jean clinked her glass against yours. “We’re your friends. Awkward is part of the deal.”

You nodded, chuckling as you raised your glass as well. “And we’re not bad at giving advice, either. Sometimes.”

Rogue smirked. “Sometimes.”

For the first time in weeks, you could see her shoulders loosening, the weight of Bobby’s revelation slowly starting to lift. As you all sipped your drinks, the summer sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the kitchen—a small but welcome reminder that brighter days lay ahead.

---

You grumbled, trying to wiggle out of Logan’s hold. The heat of the summer night clung to your skin like a stubborn second layer, and Logan’s warm, solid frame wasn’t helping. You planted your hands against his chest, pushing lightly.

“Logan,” you muttered, voice muffled against the pillow. “You’re like a furnace. Let me go.”

Logan let out a low, amused growl, his grip tightening just enough to keep you close. “Stop squirmin’, darlin’,” he rumbled. “You’re fine.”

You huffed, craning your neck to glare up at him. “I’m not fine. I’m sweating. Are you seriously not hot?”

“Course not.” He shrugged lazily, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You forget—I run hot all the time. This is nothin’.”

You groaned, flopping back against the mattress dramatically. “I can’t do this. I need to cool off. Can’t we turn the AC up or something?”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Or we could head to the pool,” he suggested, his voice casual but laced with a teasing undertone. “Cool water, starry night... might even get you to relax.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the suggestion. “The pool?” you repeated. “At—what is it—midnight?”

“Why not?” Logan leaned closer, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Unless you’d rather keep fightin’ me all night.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the heat was unbearable, and the idea of a refreshing swim was too tempting. “Fine,” you relented, pushing the blanket off. “But I’m blaming you if I freeze the second I get out.”

“Deal,” he said, already climbing out of bed with his usual ease as you slipped on your glasses.

The two of you padded quietly through the mansion, careful not to wake anyone. When you reached the pool area, though, you stopped short, suddenly realizing the flaw in this impromptu plan.

“Logan,” you said slowly, crossing your arms. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”

He turned to you, an eyebrow quirking as he gave you a once-over. “So?”

“So?” you repeated, incredulous. “What am I supposed to do? Swim in my pajamas?”

Logan shrugged, that infuriating smirk back on his face. “Or,” he drawled, “we could just skinny dip.”

Your face heated instantly, and you sputtered, taking a step back. “Are you serious? Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” He stepped closer, his voice low and teasing. “Ain’t like it’s somethin’ I haven’t seen before, sweetheart.”

You gaped at him, your brain scrambling for a coherent argument. “That’s—that’s not the point!”

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm, and you hated how it made your stomach flip. “C’mon, Y/N,” he said softly, his expression shifting into something more genuine. “Ain’t nobody around. Just you and me. What’s the harm?”

You hesitated, his words disarming you more than you’d like to admit. The idea was embarrassing, sure, but there was also something freeing about it. And, if you were honest with yourself, you trusted Logan completely.

“…Fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “But if you laugh, I’m never speaking to you again.”

Logan’s grin widened, but he wisely held back any smart remarks. Instead, he simply turned away, giving you the chance to undress at your own pace.

“You’re stalling,” he called over his shoulder, the teasing edge returning to his voice.

“I am not!” you shot back, quickly shedding your clothes and slipping into the water before your nerves could catch up with you. The cool water enveloped you immediately, and you let out a soft sigh of relief. “Oh my god, this feels amazing.”

Logan followed suit, slipping into the pool with far less hesitation. He moved toward you, the moonlight catching on his wet skin, and you found yourself momentarily distracted.

“Told ya,” he said, his voice softer now. “Better than sweatin’ it out, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Okay, fine. You were right. Happy?”

“Always,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours in a way that made your heart skip.

The water rippled around you as he closed the distance, his hands finding your waist beneath the surface. You leaned into him instinctively, the cool water and his steady warmth balancing each other out.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the gentle lapping of the water. Then Logan leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice so low it sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, your shyness creeping back, but you couldn’t look away from him. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he whispered, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was as gentle as it was overwhelming. The rest of the world faded, leaving just the two of you under the stars.

---

Logan had looked in 2 storage closets already to find the right lightbulb you had to replace in your lab. He closed the door and walked to another one and opened it with a bit of frustration.

It only rose. “What the fuck?”

Logan stood in the hallway, staring at the scene before him with a mix of disbelief and frustration. Rogue, her cheeks flaming, shoved Remy into a shelf, creating a loud clang as a box of spare cables toppled to the floor.

“Logan!” Rogue exclaimed, her voice a mixture of embarrassment and panic. “It’s not—this isn’t—”

“What the hell is goin’ on here?” Logan growled, crossing his arms. His piercing gaze shifted between the two younger mutants, lingering on Remy with particular suspicion.

Remy straightened his jacket, attempting to maintain his composure despite the tight quarters. “Cher,” he began smoothly, though the slight flush in his face betrayed him, “it’s nothin’, really. We was just talkin’.”

“In a storage closet?” Logan shot back, his voice dripping with disbelief. He jabbed a finger in Remy’s direction. “You’ve been here less than a year, Gumbo, and you’re already causin’ trouble? Not a good look.”

“Logan—” Rogue tried again, but he cut her off with a sharp look.

“You,” he said, fixing her with a stern glare, “oughta know better. You think this is what we’re about here? Sneakin’ around like a couple of kids?”

Before Rogue could stammer out a response, you rounded the corner, clipboard in hand, your lab coat swishing lightly as you walked. “Logan, what’s taking so long?” you asked, adjusting your glasses. “It’s just a lightbulb—how hard can it be to—”

You trailed off as your gaze landed on the open closet. Rogue’s bright red face, Remy’s slightly rumpled appearance, and Logan’s looming figure all painted a very clear picture. Your brows lifted in realization, and you pressed your lips together to stifle a laugh.

“Ah,” you said simply, glancing at Logan. “Now I see why you’re delayed.”

Logan huffed, his frustration still evident, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying a hint of amusement. “Ain’t funny, darlin’,” he muttered, though his tone softened slightly in your presence.

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to peer into the closet. “You’re right. This is a very serious misuse of storage space,” you deadpanned, turning your attention to Rogue and Remy. “You two know this isn’t exactly subtle, right? Half the mansion probably heard that shelf crash.”

Rogue groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Y/N, please don’t make this worse.”

“I’m not,” you replied, your voice gentle but firm. “But maybe next time, pick a better spot—or better yet, don’t sneak around at all.”

“Listen to her,” Logan added, his tone gruff but less harsh now. “You’re both adults. Start actin’ like it.”

Remy, ever the charmer, offered a small, sheepish grin. “Noted, mon ami. Won’t happen again.”

Logan narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced, but stepped back, allowing them to leave the closet. As they hurried down the hall, Rogue mumbled a quick “thanks” under her breath, while Remy gave a casual wave, as if this were all perfectly normal.

Once they were out of earshot, you turned to Logan, crossing your arms with a knowing smile. “You’re enjoying this a little more than you’re letting on.”

He snorted, running a hand through his hair. “Ain’t enjoyin’ nothin’. Just wonderin’ what kinda circus we’re runnin’ here.”

“Come on,” you teased, nudging his side lightly. “You’re not fooling me. You like having someone to lecture every now and then.”

Logan smirked, leaning closer to you. “Maybe. But you’re the one who keeps me from goin’ too far.”

“Glad to be of service,” you quipped, handing him the clipboard as you tilted your head. “Though, don’t you think that was a bit narcissistic? I mean, remember that time Charles found us in a storage closet? I mean—I’m actually pretty sure this is the exact one too.”

Logan stared at you, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he smirked, shaking his head. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t ya?”

“Why not?” you replied with a sly grin, leaning casually against the doorframe. “It’s not like it was my idea to—what was it again? ‘Test the structural integrity of a closet shelf,’ or so you told Charles.”

He let out a low chuckle, his shoulders relaxing as the memory washed over him. “Yeah, and he wasn’t buyin’ that for a second. Probably why he called it ‘an inappropriate misuse of shared spaces.’” His voice deepened mockingly, imitating Charles with an exaggerated seriousness that made you laugh.

“Poor Charles,” you teased, adjusting your glasses. “The things he’s had to put up with because of us.”

Logan tilted his head, his gaze softening as it settled on you. “Worth it,” he said simply.

You felt your cheeks warm under his attention but rolled your eyes to deflect. “Still, you might want to cut Rogue and Remy some slack. I mean, they didn’t even get a chance to—”

“Don’t,” Logan interrupted, holding up a hand. “Don’t finish that thought. They don’t get slack. They get rules.”

“And what about us back then?” you shot back playfully. “Where were the rules for us?”

Logan shrugged, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Rules didn’t apply to us. We were... special circumstances.”

“Oh, of course,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone. “That sounds fair and not at all like a double standard.”

He stepped closer, crowding your space in that way that always made your heart race. “Darlin’, if memory serves, you didn’t mind breakin’ a few rules yourself.”

You tilted your head, lips quirking as you met his gaze. “Fair point,” you admitted. “But you’re still gonna have to let this go, Logan. Rogue’s an adult. You can’t intimidate every guy she shows interest in.”

Logan’s brows furrowed slightly, his jaw tightening. “Not about intimidatin’—it’s about makin’ sure she’s treated right. Don’t trust Gumbo as far as I can throw him.”

“And yet, you let him stay,” you reminded him gently. “You trust him enough for that.”

He huffed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s different.”

“Not really,” you countered with a smile. “You just don’t like how much he reminds you of... well, you.”

Logan opened his mouth to argue but froze, narrowing his eyes at you instead. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re treadin’ dangerous ground.”

You laughed, brushing past him into the storage closet. “Oh, please. You’re an old softie under all that gruff exterior, and you know it.” Your fingers skimmed over the shelves until you found the lightbulb you needed. Holding it up triumphantly, you turned back to him. “See? Mission accomplished. No drama required.”

Logan grunted but didn’t argue as he took the bulb from you, his hand brushing yours briefly. “Let’s get this done,” he said, his voice softer now. “Before someone else decides to make a scene in another damn closet.”

---

2015

“Uh, don’t you think I should… you know, learn to ride a bike first?” You asked Logan.

“You know how to ride a bike,” Logan said, his brows furrowed. When you didn’t answer, his head turned slowly, eyes narrowing at your silence. “...Right?”

You hesitated, feeling heat rise to your face as you avoided his gaze. “Well... technically? No. Not really.” You adjusted your glasses nervously and crossed your arms like a makeshift shield.

Logan’s face softened slightly, though his confusion lingered. “You’re tellin’ me you never learned to ride a bike?”

You shrugged, feeling the familiar prick of shyness creeping in. “My grandma didn’t have much money, and bikes weren’t exactly a priority. It’s not like I could just borrow someone else’s either—believe me, I tried. Let’s just say it didn’t go well.”

Logan leaned back against his motorcycle, arms crossing over his chest as he studied you. His teasing smirk melted into something gentler. “Alright,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter but still firm. “That explains bikes, but why the hell didn’t you mention it when I said I’d teach you to ride this?”

You glanced at the hulking metal machine beside him. “Because I didn’t think it mattered! I mean, how hard can it be? It’s got an engine. And wheels. That’s basically the same thing, right?”

Logan’s laugh was low and gravelly, and the sound made your cheeks flush further. “Darlin’, it ain’t the same thing at all. You’re gonna need balance, coordination—”

“Which I have!” you cut in, bristling at his tone. “I teach physics, Logan. I know how it works.”

He arched a brow. “Sure, you can explain the mechanics, but can you actually do it?”

You glared at him, then sighed in defeat, rubbing the back of your neck. “Okay, fine. Maybe not. But I can learn.”

Logan shook his head, his smirk returning. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He pushed off the bike and gestured for you to come closer. “Alright, let’s start small. I’ll teach you the basics first.”

You hesitated, your nervousness bubbling up again. “You’re not gonna let me fall, right?”

His expression softened as he stepped closer, resting his hands on your shoulders. “I got you,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “Ain’t gonna let you fall, I promise.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Logan spent the next few minutes walking you through the basics—how to balance, how to hold the handlebars, and how to use the clutch and throttle. He was patient, surprisingly so, and his gruff encouragement kept your nerves at bay.

“Alright,” he said finally, stepping back slightly but keeping a hand on the seat. “We’re gonna try movin’. Just a little. I’ll walk beside you.”

Your grip tightened on the handlebars as you glanced at him nervously. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” he said, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Trust me, sweetheart. You’re doin’ fine.”

With a deep breath, you followed his instructions, easing the clutch and gently twisting the throttle. The motorcycle lurched slightly, and you yelped, but Logan steadied you instantly.

“Easy,” he said, his voice calm. “You’re okay. Just like that.”

You tried again, and this time, the bike moved forward smoothly. Logan stayed beside you, his hand steady on the seat as you slowly made your way across the driveway. The grin that spread across your face was impossible to contain.

“See?” he said, his own smile widening. “Told ya you could do it.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you as you kept the bike moving. “This is kind of amazing,” you admitted, glancing at him. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing it.”

Logan chuckled, his hand still firm on the seat. “Told ya. You’re tougher than you think, darlin’.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt a surge of confidence. Maybe this was just the first step, but it was a step nonetheless—and with Logan by your side, you knew you could take as many as you needed.

---

“—according to eyewitnesses, Sokovia appears to be flying. The Avengers are on the scene, fighting what appears to be a…”

“First SHIELD falls apart, now there’s a damn robot flyin’ around?” Logan muttered. Almost everyone in the mansion was in the common room, watching the news.

“Technically, it’s an android,” you corrected, adjusting your glasses as you leaned against the back of the couch. Your voice was calm but carried the faintest note of amusement at the scene playing out on the TV screen.

Logan glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “Sure, let’s call the murderin’ metal monster what it prefers. That’s the priority here.” He crossed his arms, his gruff tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jean, sitting nearby, let out a small chuckle. “Well, he’s not wrong. Ultron’s not exactly top of my list for respectful terminology.”

You smiled faintly and shrugged. “Fair, but if I’m going to critique somethin’, I might as well use the right terms. It’s a professional hazard.”

Logan snorted, shaking his head. “Professional hazard, huh? Remind me again how bein’ a physics teacher leads to defendin’ killer robots.”

“Androids,” you corrected again, your lips twitching into a teasing smile. “And it’s not defending; it’s just precision. You know, the thing you constantly roll your eyes at when I explain why your motorcycle’s not defying the laws of physics.”

He leaned closer, his smirk widening. “That’s ‘cause I prefer ridin’ it to overthinkin’ it, darlin’.”

“Is that so?” you shot back, tilting your head up at him. “Maybe that’s why you haven’t managed to fix the gearshift properly.”

Scott, perched on the arm of another chair, let out a low whistle. “She got you there, Logan.”

Logan rolled his eyes but didn’t respond, instead throwing a glance at the screen where the Avengers fought tirelessly against Ultron’s forces. The destruction was massive, and the gravity of it wasn’t lost on anyone in the room.

“We’re not goin’, right?” Rogue asked quietly, her arms wrapped around her knees as she sat on the floor. She glanced between you, Logan, and Jean, her brows furrowed with uncertainty.

“No,” Jean said firmly. “This isn’t our fight. The Avengers have it handled, or at least they’ll try. Charles made that clear.”

Logan grunted in agreement. “They can handle their own mess. Last thing we need is to wade into it and make things worse.”

Rogue nodded slowly, though her expression remained troubled. “Still feels weird, just watchin’.”

“It’s not weird,” you said softly, your gaze still fixed on the screen. “It’s strategic. If we jump in every time something goes wrong, we spread ourselves too thin. We’ve got enough on our plate without throwing Sokovia into the mix.”

Rogue’s eyes flicked to you, then Logan, before she gave a hesitant nod. “Yeah, I guess.”

The room fell into a thoughtful silence, save for the muffled sounds of the battle being broadcast. Logan turned his attention back to you, studying your profile as your focus remained on the news.

---

"Aw, man. Can’t believe Jubilee of all people got Boardwalk," Rogue playfully complained, throwing her hands up as Jubilee beamed triumphantly from her spot at the coffee table.

"What can I say?" Jubilee grinned, holding up her brightly colored stack of Monopoly money. "Luck’s got my back tonight."

"Luck?" Remy raised an eyebrow, his Cajun drawl teasing. "Pretty sure you’re just distractin’ everyone with that flashy jacket of yours."

Jubilee gasped in mock offense, clutching her chest. "Excuse me, Gambit. This jacket is iconic."

"Iconic or not," Kitty piped up, carefully counting her cash, "you’re gonna have to deal with the wrath of everyone else when we land on that property."

"Speak for yourself," Jean said with a smirk, nudging Scott. "Scott’s too busy trying to stay out of jail to care."

Scott glared playfully at her. "I’m not trying to stay out of jail. I’m strategically avoiding taxes."

"Strategic avoidance," Logan muttered, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "That’s one way to put it, Slim."

"Don’t even start, Logan," Scott shot back, though his tone was more amused than annoyed. "You’ve been sitting on Baltic and Mediterranean this whole game like they’re gold mines."

"Least I’m not spendin’ every turn beggin’ for a loan," Logan countered, giving Scott a pointed look.

You smiled faintly, adjusting your glasses as you picked up the dice. “Can we all agree that the real villain of Monopoly is whoever came up with income tax?”

"Yes!" Rogue said emphatically, leaning back against Remy’s legs where she was seated on the floor. "Every time I get ahead, bam—back to square one."

"Maybe if you invested more wisely," Remy teased, running a hand through her hair. "But don’t worry, chère, I’ll cover your bail next time you land in jail."

Rogue rolled her eyes but smiled, leaning her head back against him. "You’re all heart, Remy."

As the dice clattered across the board, Jubilee groaned. "Oh, come on, Y/N, that’s doubles! Again?"

"Looks like she’s on a roll," Logan said, his tone laced with amusement as he watched you move your piece. "Better watch out, Jubilee. That Boardwalk might not be safe for long."

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Careful, Logan. You sound suspiciously supportive. People might think we’re teaming up."

He chuckled low, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Wouldn’t wanna give anyone the wrong idea, sweetheart."

Jean nudged you gently with her elbow. "Watch him. He’s always got a plan brewing."

"You say that like I don’t already know," you replied, your voice light but tinged with warmth. Your fingers brushed against Logan’s as you passed him the dice, and for a brief moment, his gaze lingered on you before shifting back to the board.

The game continued, filled with lighthearted banter and occasional protests—mostly from Scott whenever Jubilee made a trade that seemed less than fair. As the hours wore on, the pile of snacks in the center of the table dwindled, and the room settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Logan leaned toward you as Rogue argued with Kitty over a contested property trade. His voice was low, just for you. "Y’know, you play it quiet, but you’ve been hustlin’ this whole game."

You shrugged, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. "Maybe I’ve just got a good poker face."

"Poker, huh?" His lips quirked into a smirk. "Remind me to never let you deal me in."

"Deal’s a two-way street," you shot back, glancing at him with a teasing smile. "Think you can keep up?"

"Always," he replied, his tone gruff but soft in a way only you would notice. His hand brushed against yours briefly before he reached for his drink, and though the moment was fleeting, the warmth lingered.

The dice passed to Rogue, and the focus shifted back to the game. You caught Jean’s knowing smile from across the table, and though she said nothing, the glint in her eyes spoke volumes. You felt a flicker of heat rise to your cheeks but quickly focused back on the board, your heart a little lighter than it had been all day.

---

Logan’s birthday was never a huge affair. He didn’t enjoy parties or people making a big deal about it. Which is why it usually just involved a cake and candles, but no happy birthday song.

You had already gifted him a new pair of boots which you knew he desperately needed but never went out to get new ones.

Your other gift was a bit different. About 3 years ago when you made your affection binder, you had also made your sex binder. And while that particular binder had never been put to good use, you figured there was no better day than today.

With your hands on your hips, you looked up at Logan, your shy demeanor softened by a teasing smile as you held the binder out. “You can only pick one thing from that.”

Logan raised a brow, crossing his arms as he took the binder. “One thing, huh? Not really how I remember binders workin’, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your glasses. “Just read it, Logan.”

He chuckled, sitting down at the edge of the bed as he flipped it open. The binder was heavier than it looked, and as he started skimming the first few pages, his lips twitched with amusement. “You put tabs in this thing? Like, organized it with sections?”

“Yes.” Your tone was a mix of embarrassment and defensiveness. “It’s efficient.”

“Efficient, huh? Color-coded too.” He smirked, glancing up at you.

“Just keep reading,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

Logan’s grin widened, but he didn’t tease further. He flipped through each section, his sharp eyes picking up every meticulous detail. There were notes written in your neat handwriting, concise explanations next to bullet points, and even small diagrams for clarity.

“This part’s highlighted,” he observed, gesturing to one page. “Somethin’ you were hopin’ I’d notice, darlin’?”

“It’s just… suggestions,” you stammered, trying not to fidget as you leaned against the dresser.

“Hm.” He skimmed further, his fingers brushing the tabs as he took in the various ideas, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. Logan paused at one section labeled Sensation Play. He tapped his finger against a specific note before glancing up at you.

And that’s how you ended up face down, ass up in bed and 3—4?—orgasms in.

The sheets were a mess, tangled and damp with sweat as you clawed at them, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. Logan’s grip on your hips was bruising, his calloused hands grounding you as he drove into you from behind with relentless precision. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your overstimulated body, your moans muffled against the mattress as your fingers curled tightly around the fabric.

“Jesus, darlin’,” Logan growled, his voice rough and dripping with satisfaction. He leaned over you, his chest grazing your back as his teeth caught your earlobe. “Don’t you dare tap out on me now.”

You tried to respond, but all that came out was a choked whimper, your body betraying you as another orgasm tore through you like a lightning strike.

“Look at you,” he rumbled, his lips brushing the back of your neck as he straightened, his hands sliding up your back to press between your shoulder blades. The new angle had you crying out, and he grinned wickedly. “Such a good girl. Taking everythin’ I give you, huh?”

Your answer was a broken gasp, your mind too foggy to form words. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending singing as Logan pushed you beyond your limits.

“Too much?” he asked, though his pace didn’t falter. The smirk in his tone was impossible to miss.

“Y-yes,” you managed to stammer, though it was quickly followed by a breathless, “No. Don’t stop.”

Logan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. “That’s what I thought. You can handle it, sweetheart. You always do.”

He shifted slightly, one hand leaving your hip to slide around your waist. His fingers found your clit with unerring accuracy, and the sharp jolt of sensation had you keening into the mattress.

“Logan!” you cried, your voice cracking as your body arched against him. He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips like that.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. “Perfect for me. Always have been.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, your emotions as raw as your body. Logan’s words always hit differently, carrying a weight that went beyond the moment. You clung to them as he pushed you over the edge again, your body convulsing around him as you cried out his name.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan’s movements stilled, his hands grounding you as his warmth enveloped your trembling form. He shifted, sliding out of you slowly, and the sudden emptiness made you whimper softly. His voice was a low, gravelly murmur. “Turn over, darlin’.”

Your legs felt like jelly, but you obeyed, rolling onto your back. The cool sheets felt foreign against your overheated skin, and you blinked up at him, your vision hazy from exhaustion and lingering pleasure. Logan’s expression was unreadable for a moment, his sharp eyes tracing over every inch of you—the flush of your cheeks, the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath, and the glimmer of tears that clung to your lashes underneath your fogged-up glasses.

He leaned down, his hands bracketing your head as he kissed you. It was softer this time, almost tender, but there was still that unrelenting hunger beneath it. When he pulled back, his voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Ain’t done with you yet.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, Logan’s hands slid beneath your thighs. He pulled you closer, aligning your hips as he settled between your legs. The intimacy of the position made your heart stutter, your cheeks burning hotter as he pinned you with that intense gaze.

“Logan…” you started, but the words caught in your throat when he thrust into you again, slow and deliberate. A shudder wracked your body, your head tipping back as a gasp slipped past your lips.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice dark with satisfaction. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out. It was instinct, a habit born from years of living in the mansion, where privacy was a luxury and thin walls carried whispers. Logan noticed immediately, his brow furrowing as his thrusts deepened.

“No, none of that,” he growled. One hand slipped up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lips. “Don’t hold back on me.”

“Logan, I—” Another sharp thrust stole your words, your gasp turning into a soft, broken moan. He grinned wickedly at the sound, his eyes glinting with triumph.

“There it is,” he rumbled, his thumb pressing lightly against your lip before he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re gonna give me more than that, darlin’. Gonna make sure the whole damn mansion knows who’s makin’ you feel this good.”

A whimper escaped you, and he chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand slid up your side, his calloused palm rough against your sensitive skin. When he reached your breast, his thumb brushed over your nipple, drawing another gasp from you. Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle as your body arched into his touch.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice trembling. It wasn’t loud, not yet, but it was enough to spur him on. He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes.

“That’s better,” he praised, his tone laced with smug satisfaction. “But you can do better than that, can’t you?”

You shook your head, biting down on another moan. “I can’t… they’ll hear—”

Logan’s hand left your breast, sliding up to capture both of your wrists and pin them above your head. His grip was firm but not painful, his strength effortlessly restraining you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “Let ‘em hear.”

The commanding tone sent a jolt of arousal straight through you, and you couldn’t stop the moan that spilled out this time. It was louder than before, raw and unrestrained, and the sound made Logan’s breath hitch. He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he drove into you harder.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he muttered against your skin, his voice rough and strained. “Knew you had it in you.”

You felt yourself unraveling again, the pleasure building to an unbearable crescendo as Logan continued to push you further. Tears slipped down your cheeks, the overwhelming sensation too much to contain.

Logan pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression softening as he saw the tears. He slowed his movements, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured, “You’re so damn beautiful, Y/N. Never get tired of seein’ you like this.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and you surged up, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. He returned it with equal fervor, his hands releasing your wrists to cradle your face instead. The connection felt deeper this way, as if the years of longing and heartbreak were pouring into every touch, every kiss, every whispered word.

When you finally came undone again, it was with his name on your lips, your voice unrestrained as you fell apart in his arms. Logan followed moments later, his groan rumbling through his chest as he buried himself deep inside you one last time. The weight of him against you, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, was the only thing anchoring you to reality as the aftershocks rolled through your body.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your ragged breaths the only sound in the room. Logan pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his thumb brushing away the tears that still clung to your cheeks.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice thick with concern despite the obvious satisfaction etched into his features.

You nodded, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his shoulder. “Yeah. Just… give me a minute.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of damp hair away from your face. “Take all the time you need, darlin’. Not goin’ anywhere.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you reached up to adjust your glasses, which had been knocked askew at some point. “That’s an understatement,” you teased, your voice still shaky. “Pretty sure I’m not going anywhere either. My legs don’t work anymore.”

Logan’s grin widened, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, the gesture achingly sweet. “Good. Means I did my job right.”

---

“Where ya goin’ dressed up like that?” Logan asked, leaning casually against the doorframe, his sharp eyes catching Rogue as she descended the staircase in a sleek black dress and a pair of matching heels.

Rogue paused, one hand gripping the bannister as she gave Logan a sheepish look. “Nowhere special,” she said lightly, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off her dress.

Logan snorted, his arms crossing over his chest. “Yeah, ‘cause ya always wear heels to ‘nowhere special.’ Try again, kid.”

Rogue rolled her eyes, exasperation flickering across her face as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “It’s not a big deal, Logan. I’m just goin’ out with Remy.”

Logan’s brows knit together, and his gaze narrowed slightly. “Out where?”

“Dinner,” Rogue replied, her tone clipped as she adjusted one of her gloves. “We’ve been datin’ for a year, you know. It ain’t news.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna ask,” Logan muttered, straightening up. “What time’ll you be back?”

“Don’t wait up,” she said with a cheeky grin, grabbing her coat off the nearby rack.

“Rogue,” Logan growled, his voice dropping to that familiar gruff tone that usually got everyone’s attention.

With a sigh, Rogue stopped at the front door, one gloved hand on the knob. “Logan, I get that you’re protective, but I’m not a kid. Remy’s a good guy. You trust him, don’t you?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t immediately answer. Instead, his eyes darted to the ceiling as if considering. Finally, he let out a resigned grunt. “He’s a smooth-talking Cajun who cheats at cards.”

“Not all cards,” a voice drawled, and Remy appeared in the doorway, his usual smirk firmly in place. “Just the ones where the stakes matter.” He winked at Rogue before shooting Logan a friendly nod. “Don’ worry, mon ami. I’ll have her back safe and sound.”

Rogue smiled at Logan, a softness in her eyes. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

Logan muttered something under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Go. But you let me know if somethin’—”

“I will,” Rogue interrupted, her tone warm but firm. She pushed up on her toes, planting a light kiss on Logan’s cheek. “Thanks, Logan.”

As the pair disappeared out the door, Logan shook his head, muttering, “Damn Cajun.”

You stepped into the room, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “You know, for someone who acts all grumpy and aloof, you’re pretty much a softie.”

Logan turned, his gaze landing on you as he huffed. “I’m not a softie.”

“You let her date Remy, didn’t you?” You adjusted your glasses, tilting your head at him. “If that’s not soft, I don’t know what is.”

He crossed the space between you and stood close enough that you had to look up slightly to meet his gaze. “Let’s get somethin’ straight. I’m not lettin’ anything happen. I’m just pickin’ my battles.”

“Mhm,” you murmured, your smile growing. “And the battle you didn’t pick tonight was keeping Rogue home.”

“Watch it,” he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “How’d you get so good at teasin’ me, huh?”

“Years of practice,” you quipped, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

He chuckled, his hand brushing briefly against yours before he stepped past you. “C’mon, let’s find somethin’ to eat. I ain’t sittin’ here all night worryin’ about the Cajun’s drivin’.”

---

The team walked into the dimly lit warehouse, their boots echoing against the concrete floor. The space was eerily quiet, illuminated only by the faint orange light of a single overhead lamp swaying slightly in the still air.

“Pretty cozy,” Logan muttered, his voice low as his eyes scanned the empty space. His senses were on high alert, his every instinct telling him something wasn’t right.

“This is the last known location of the shipments,” Scott said, frowning as he checked a map on his tablet. “There should be something here.”

“Should be,” you repeated, adjusting your glasses as you stepped further inside. “But looks can be deceiving.”

Jean’s voice chimed in softly behind you. “Spread out. Look for anything—papers, labels, anything out of the ordinary.”

The group split up, scattering throughout the open floor. Logan stayed close to you, his steps quiet but purposeful. His eyes shifted toward every shadow, a habit borne from years of battle and survival.

“I don’t like it,” he muttered, his gruff tone breaking the silence between you.

You glanced at him, your brow furrowed. “What? The empty warehouse or the general sense of impending doom?”

“Take your pick, darlin’,” he replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A small laugh escaped your lips, easing some of the tension. “I’d go with the second option. The lack of dust in here makes me think it hasn’t been abandoned long.”

Logan grunted in agreement, his attention pulled to a series of file cabinets along the far wall. “Might be somethin’ in here.” He tugged the drawer open with little effort, the lock snapping under his grip.

You crouched next to him, peering into the contents. Folders upon folders sat neatly inside, but most of them were unmarked, filled with papers in languages that seemed out of place. “Nothing that screams ‘illegal operation,’ but…” You reached for a document that stood out—a glossy pamphlet bearing the word Transigen.

“Transigen?” you muttered aloud, showing it to Logan. “Ring any bells?”

Logan stared at it, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Nah, but I don’t like it. Feels off.”

“Agreed,” you said, flipping through the rest of the papers. There wasn’t much else of note—no names, no dates, no clear locations.

Jean and Scott joined you a few moments later, carrying a sparse collection of other documents. “What’d you find?” Jean asked.

You handed her the pamphlet. “Not much. Just this. None of us have heard of Transigen before.”

Scott frowned as he skimmed the cover. “Could be nothing, or it could be their way of staying off the radar.”

“We take it back to Charles,” Jean said, tucking the pamphlet under her arm. “See what he can find out.”

---

“Logan, I don’t think anyone nowadays needs to know how to drive stick shift,” you said, gripping the wheel of the ancient car in the mansion’s garage. It reeked of age—leather seats cracking under your weight and the faint scent of old gasoline hanging in the air. You adjusted your glasses nervously as you glanced at Logan.

“Says the one who stalled it three times just tryin’ to back it out,” he shot back, leaning back in the passenger seat, his arms crossed. His smirk was laced with amusement, his hazel eyes gleaming.

“Okay, that was not my fault. Who decided reverse should be up and to the left? It’s… counterintuitive,” you grumbled, your voice soft but laced with frustration.

Logan chuckled, the deep sound filling the space. “Darlin’, that’s the point. Makes sure not just anyone can mess with it.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” you quipped, biting your lip as you shifted into first gear. The engine gave an ominous growl, and you glanced at Logan for reassurance. He didn’t say a word, just raised an eyebrow.

With a deep breath, you eased your foot off the clutch and onto the gas. The car lurched forward, sputtering but somehow staying alive. “See?” you said triumphantly. “I’ve got this.”

“For now,” Logan replied, though there was no malice in his tone. He gestured for you to keep driving. “Get outta the garage, then we’ll see.”

Carefully navigating the narrow space, you maneuvered the car out onto the long drive leading away from the mansion. The sunlight filtered through the surrounding trees, casting dappled shadows over the pavement. Your confidence grew with each foot traveled.

“So why the sudden need to teach me how to drive stick?” you asked after a moment, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead.

“’Cause,” Logan said simply, shrugging. “You never know when it might come in handy.”

“That’s vague,” you replied, glancing at him. His expression gave nothing away, though the smallest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

“It’s a skill,” he said after a pause. “Besides, keeps you sharp.”

You rolled your eyes. “You say that about everything, though. Like chopping wood. Who chops wood in 2015?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I didn’t enjoy the blisters,” you countered, though there was a warmth in your voice.

The car gave a sudden jerk, cutting the banter short. You let out a startled noise, gripping the wheel tighter. Logan reached over, steadying it without hesitation. “Relax,” he said, his voice calm. “You’re just ridin’ the clutch. Give it more gas.”

“I’m trying,” you said through gritted teeth, your frustration showing. But you followed his instructions, and the car smoothed out again.

“There,” he said approvingly. “Told you you’d get the hang of it.”

“You’re awfully encouraging,” you said dryly, though a small smile played on your lips.

“Don’t get used to it,” Logan replied with a wink, his voice carrying that familiar gravelly tone that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or being serious.

You shook your head with a small laugh, the car jolting slightly as you shifted gears. “I think you just like watching me suffer.”

“Nah,” Logan said, leaning back in his seat with a smirk. “If I wanted that, I’d let you figure this thing out on your own. But I’m too nice for that.”

“Oh, sure. Logan Howlett, the king of kindness,” you teased, glancing at him before quickly returning your focus to the road.

“Don’t forget it,” he shot back, his smirk widening.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the hum of the car filling the air. Outside, the trees blurred together in shades of green and brown, the sunlight cutting through the branches and casting fleeting patterns across the dashboard.

“Y’know,” Logan started after a while, breaking the quiet, “you’re doin’ better than I expected.”

“Oh, great. High praise from the guy who’s been driving since the 1800s,” you said, adjusting your glasses with one hand while keeping the other on the wheel.

Logan chuckled, the sound warm and low. “Ain’t my fault I’ve had a lot of practice.” He glanced at you, his hazel eyes softening. “Still. You’re doin’ good, darlin’. You’ve always been a quick learner.”

Your grip on the steering wheel relaxed a little at his words. “Thanks. I think.”

He nodded toward the road ahead. “Keep goin’ straight, then we’ll loop back to the garage. Shouldn’t push this old heap too much on her first run.”

“First run? Logan, this car looks like it’s survived two wars,” you said with a grin, earning a laugh from him.

“Probably has,” he admitted.

The drive back to the garage went smoother, and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride as you pulled the car into its original spot without stalling. Turning off the ignition, you leaned back in the seat with a satisfied sigh.

“See? Told you I could do it,” you said, glancing at Logan.

He gave a small nod, his lips quirking up into a faint smile. “Guess I owe you that one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What? No sarcastic comment? No snarky remark?”

“Not today,” he said, his tone softer now.

Something in the way he looked at you made your breath catch—there was a weight in his gaze, like he was seeing more than just the present moment. He’d been like this sometimes, staring at you as if he was trying to memorize every detail, every little thing about you.

“What?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan shook his head, the moment passing as quickly as it came. “Nothin’. Let’s head inside. You’ve earned yourself a break.”

You climbed out of the car, still feeling the lingering warmth of his gaze as the two of you walked back toward the mansion.

---

Logan walked into your lab, his heavy footsteps echoing against the sterile tiles as he eyed the setup on your table. Various gadgets and pieces of equipment blinked and whirred, wires snaking between them like a miniature city of technology. He stopped just short of the table, crossing his arms as he gave you a skeptical look.

“Alright, why’d ya call me in here?” he asked, the gruffness in his voice softened slightly by curiosity.

You adjusted your glasses, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Because you, Logan, need to learn something new. Consider it payback for all those hours spent stalling cars in the driveway.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Pretty sure drivin’ a stick’s more useful than whatever this is.”

You ignored the jab, your fingers deftly adjusting a small control panel. “Maybe. But when you thought Hank’s laser pointer was going to burn your skin, I realized you might need a crash course in modern tech.”

Logan scowled. “It was brighter than it needed to be.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you picked up a small handheld device. “This,” you said, holding it up like a prized artifact, “is a low-intensity laser emitter. Completely harmless—unless you point it at someone’s eye for a really long time. But we’re not doing that.”

He narrowed his eyes at the device, taking a small step back. “Still don’t see why I gotta know about it.”

“Because,” you said patiently, “in our line of work, it’s good to understand what we’re dealing with. Plus, if you’re going to make fun of me for not knowing how to drive stick, I get to make fun of you for thinking this little thing is gonna cook you alive.”

Logan huffed but didn’t argue, watching as you adjusted a few dials and pointed the emitter at a piece of metal on the table. You pressed a button, and a thin red beam shot out, cutting a small groove into the surface.

“See?” you said, gesturing to the clean line. “It’s just concentrated energy. Controlled and precise.”

Logan tilted his head, leaning in slightly to inspect the mark. “Huh. Not bad.”

“Not bad?” you repeated, feigning offense. “This is incredible, Logan. It’s a tool, a weapon, even a way to—”

“Save the sales pitch, sweetheart,” he interrupted, a smirk forming on his lips. “You’re already more excited about this than anyone else’ll ever be.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “Fine. But now it’s your turn.”

Logan straightened, his expression immediately shifting to one of suspicion. “What d’ya mean, ‘my turn’?”

“I mean,” you said, holding out the device, “you’re going to use it.”

He stared at it like you’d handed him a live grenade. “I’m good.”

“Oh no,” you said firmly, stepping closer and pressing the emitter into his hand. “You’re not getting out of this. I had to learn how to keep an ancient car alive; you can learn how to use a laser.”

Logan sighed, his grip on the device awkward. “You’re relentless, y’know that?”

“Comes with the territory,” you replied with a grin, stepping back. “Now, aim it at the metal—carefully—and press the button. That’s it.”

Logan hesitated, glancing at you for reassurance. When you nodded, he turned his attention to the table, holding the emitter with surprising precision. He pressed the button, and the red beam sprang to life, tracing an uneven line across the surface.

“Not bad for a first try,” you said encouragingly.

“Doesn’t feel like much,” Logan muttered, though there was a glimmer of interest in his eyes as he turned off the beam.

“Because it’s not,” you said. “This is just a demonstration. Real lasers are a lot more powerful. They can cut through steel or even—”

“Okay, okay,” Logan interrupted, holding up a hand. “I get it. Lasers are fancy. You happy now?”

“Very,” you replied, your smile softening. “You’re a natural.”

He snorted, setting the device back on the table. “Don’t push it.”

---

2016

“Maybe we could rewatch The Force Awakens. You know Jones likes that movie.” Jean suggested.

You shook your head, “I don’t disagree with that kid much, but on that I do. That movie is not better than the other six ones!”

“Well, maybe not but—”

Loud, insistent knocking cut Jean off as the two of you looked at the main door. You both looked at each other, then the door, before slowly walking towards it.

You gave Jean a nod before quickly opening the door, revealing Peter standing outside, disheveled. His usually neat hair stuck up in all directions, his face was pale, and his clothes—though clean—were wrinkled as if he’d been wearing them for hours. His backpack hung off one shoulder, sagging with weight.

“Peter?” you said, startled. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

His wide brown eyes darted between you and Jean, and he opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, visibly struggling to find the words. “I—I didn’t know where else to go,” he finally blurted, his voice trembling. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Jean said gently, stepping aside to let him in. You quickly closed the door behind him, your brow furrowed with concern.

Peter shuffled inside, dropping his bag by the entryway with a soft thud. He looked around, his gaze lingering on the familiar halls of the mansion, but there was none of the boyish excitement you remembered from his visits years ago.

“Pete,” you said softly, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “What’s going on? Is it your aunt? Is she okay?”

He shook his head quickly. “Aunt May’s fine. It’s not that. It’s—” He paused, swallowing hard. “It’s me.”

Jean stepped closer, her expression kind but cautious. “Did something happen? You can tell us, Peter.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he let out a shaky breath and looked directly at you. “I think… something’s wrong with me.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Jean before returning your focus to him. “What do you mean, ‘wrong’? Are you hurt?” You reached out instinctively, but he took a small step back, shaking his head.

“No, I’m not hurt. It’s just…” He hesitated again, clearly wrestling with how to explain. “Weird stuff’s been happening. Like, really weird. And I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Start from the beginning,” Jean urged, her tone calm and reassuring. “What kind of weird stuff?”

Peter hesitated, his face contorting as he tried to find the words. Finally, he held up his hands, palms out. “It’s hard to explain, but… I’m different now. Stronger. Faster. And—”

“Slow down,” you said gently, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “What happened, Peter? When did this start?”

“A few days ago,” he said quickly. “I was on a field trip, and this… spider bit me. It hurt, but I didn’t think much of it. Then the next day, I woke up and—” He took a shaky breath. “I could climb walls. And my hands stick to stuff. And I broke my desk without even trying.”

Your mind raced, piecing together the details. “A spider? Did anyone else on the trip get bitten?”

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Just me. I—I Googled it, and nothing normal explains what’s happening. I thought I was going crazy until—” He stopped short, looking down at his hands again.

“Until what?” Jean prompted, her voice soft.

“Until I almost hurt someone,” Peter admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Some guy at school tried to mess with me, and I… I didn’t mean to, but I shoved him. He flew halfway across the cafeteria.” His shoulders slumped, and he looked up at you with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

You exchanged another glance with Jean, whose expression had shifted to one of understanding. She nodded slightly, silently agreeing with what you were already thinking. Whatever was happening to Peter, it wasn’t just some random coincidence—it was something bigger.

“Okay,” you said softly, squeezing his arm reassuringly. “You did the right thing coming here. We’ll figure this out together.”

Peter’s lip quivered, but he managed a small nod. “You mean it?”

“Of course,” Jean said, her voice steady and calm. “You’re part of our family, Peter. You always have been. Whatever this is, we’ll help you. But first, how about we get you to the medbay? I can run some tests, and we can figure out what’s going on, yeah?”

Peter hesitated for a moment, his shoulders still tense. “Okay,” he said quietly, glancing between you and Jean. “But… what if it’s bad? Like, really bad?”

You stepped closer, offering him a reassuring smile. “Then we’ll deal with it. Together. You’re not alone in this, Pete.”

Jean placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Y/N’s right. Let’s take this one step at a time. You’ve already done the hardest part by coming here.”

Peter nodded slowly, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Thanks,” he murmured.

The three of you began heading down the hall toward the medbay. The mansion was quiet, the late hour leaving most of the residents either in their rooms or scattered in common areas. Peter’s footsteps were hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should really be there, but you made sure to keep close, walking just beside him.

“You’ve grown a lot since the last time you visited,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “I think you’re taller than me now.”

Peter managed a small smile. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

Jean chimed in, her tone light. “Taller, but definitely still the same kid who tried to sneak cookies out of the kitchen when Logan wasn’t looking.”

That earned a faint laugh from Peter. “He caught me every time. His hearing’s, like, too good.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a tough one to fool. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

As you reached the medbay, Jean gestured for Peter to take a seat on one of the examination tables. “Okay, just sit tight for a second,” she said, moving to grab some equipment. “I’m going to start with a simple scan, see if there’s anything unusual we can pick up.”

Peter fidgeted nervously on the table, his hands gripping the edge. You perched on a nearby stool, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be fine,” you said. “Jean’s the best at this stuff.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, but his voice was still uncertain. “I just… I don’t know what to expect. What if this isn’t something you guys can fix?”

Jean glanced over from where she was setting up the scanner. “Peter, this isn’t about fixing you. You’re not broken. Whatever’s happening, it’s a part of you now. We’re just going to figure out how it works so you can control it.”

Peter nodded, but his unease was still clear. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” you said firmly. “You came here because you care about doing the right thing. That already says a lot.”

Jean activated the scanner, and a soft hum filled the room. She positioned it around Peter, carefully monitoring the readouts on a nearby screen. “This might feel a little weird,” she warned. “Just hold still for a minute.”

Peter froze in place, his wide eyes darting nervously between the scanner and the screen. You leaned forward slightly, watching as Jean studied the results.

After a few minutes, she let out a soft hum of interest. “Well, this is definitely unique,” she said, turning the screen toward you.

“What is it?” Peter asked anxiously.

Jean smiled reassuringly. “Your DNA’s been altered, but not in a way that’s harmful. It looks like the spider that bit you carried some kind of genetic mutation. It passed that mutation on to you.”

“So… what does that mean?” Peter asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It means your powers aren’t random,” Jean explained. “They’re a result of the mutation. Your strength, your speed, your ability to climb walls—all of it comes from the changes in your DNA.”

Peter stared at her, processing the information. “So I’m… like a mutant now?”

Jean hesitated, then nodded. “In a way, yes. But this doesn’t define who you are, Peter. It’s just a part of you.”

Peter let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You placed a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re going to help you figure this out, Pete. You’re not in this alone.”

He looked at you, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Thanks. I mean it.”

Jean smiled, her tone warm. “That’s what family’s for.”

As the three of you continued to talk, a familiar, gruff voice cut through the quiet. “What’s all this about a family reunion?”

You turned to see Logan leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed and a curious expression on his face. Peter’s eyes widened, and he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Logan,” you said with a small smile. “Perfect timing.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “What’d the kid do?”

“Nothing,” Jean said quickly, shooting him a look. “He’s just… going through some changes. And he could use some guidance.”

Logan’s gaze shifted to Peter, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah? Well, stick around, kid. You’ll learn a thing or two here.”

Peter nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. For the first time since he’d arrived, he looked like he might actually believe that everything was going to be okay.

---

A few months later, Ororo and Charles were walking out of his office, talking about the small lead they had on Transigen, which was only that they seemed to be stationed in Mexico City.

But then there was loud knocking on the front door, causing both their heads to turn towards the door. Ororo looked down at Charles as the older man focused on who was outside.

“Ah, I don’t suppose you could fetch me Scott and Jean?”

---

Jean opened her eyes, her hands hovering over the sides of Bucky’s head. “Well, I’m not saying it’s impossible… I’ve just never tried to undo someone’s… conditioning.”

Her voice was calm, but there was a note of uncertainty, one that didn’t go unnoticed by the others in the room. Bucky remained seated, his jaw tight, hands gripping the edges of his chair so hard that the metal creaked under the pressure. Steve stepped closer, his expression a mix of concern and resolve.

“Jean,” Steve said, his voice low, “if there’s anyone who can do this, it’s you.”

Jean glanced at him, offering a faint smile. “I appreciate the confidence, Steve, but this isn’t just about skill. What was done to him… it’s layers upon layers of trauma. I can try to help him regain control, but there’s a risk.”

“What kind of risk?” Wanda asked, standing near Sam, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Jean hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “If I push too hard or go too deep too quickly, I could make it worse. His mind is like a minefield. One wrong step, and I could trigger something—memories, programming—that we don’t want activated.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Jean, his voice gruff but steady. “Do it.”

“Bucky,” Steve started, but Bucky held up a hand, cutting him off.

“I’ve lived like this for too long,” he said, his tone firm. “If there’s even a chance she can help, I’ll take it.”

Jean exchanged a look with Scott, who stood by the door, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. “It’s his call,” Scott said simply. “But Jean, don’t push yourself too hard, either.”

She nodded again, her fingers tapping lightly against her palm before turning toward Charles. “Professor, can I talk to you real quick?”

Charles gave a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgment, his wheelchair moving forward as Jean followed him out of the office and into the hallway. The rest of the group lingered near the open door, their hushed voices echoing faintly in the quiet mansion.

Jean’s face was tight with tension as they walked. “Professor, I’ve done this kind of thing before—helping someone unravel memories—but nothing like this. The level of conditioning… it’s terrifying. I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m not sure how deep I can go without risking it all.”

Charles stopped, his gaze steady and calm as he looked up at her. “Jean, you’ve always had an extraordinary gift—not just your abilities, but your compassion. That compassion is what will guide you here. Take it slowly. Listen to him, and listen to your instincts. You are capable of far more than you give yourself credit for.”

Jean hesitated, glancing down at her hands. “I just… I don’t want to fail him. Or the team.”

“You won’t,” Charles reassured her. “This isn’t just about skill; it’s about trust. He trusts you. Let that be your foundation.”

She gave him a small smile, her tension easing just slightly. “Thank you, Professor.”

Meanwhile, back in the office, Steve and Bucky had moved closer to the open door. Their conversation stalled as their attention shifted toward the sound of laughter echoing from down the hall. Logan’s gruff voice mixed with the playful chatter of students, and they saw you in the distance, wrangling a group of younger kids who were clearly full of energy.

One of the children, not paying attention, accidentally walked straight into your leg. You stumbled slightly, wincing and reaching for the wall to steady yourself. Before you could catch your balance, Logan was there, his hand firm on your arm. “You alright, darlin’?” he asked, his tone gruff but warm.

You waved him off with a sheepish laugh. “I’m fine, Logan. It’s just the bruise acting up again.”

He didn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re pushing it. Come on, let me take ‘em to class.”

“Logan, I’m not made of glass—” you started, but he cut you off by scooping you up with ease, earning gasps and giggles from the students. “Logan!”

“Relax,” he muttered, carrying you down the hall as you continued to protest. “You’ll thank me later.”

Bucky froze, his brows furrowing as he watched the interaction. His voice was low and uncertain. “It’s her. She’s alive—”

“No,” Steve interrupted sharply, his expression unreadable. “I’m not sure that’s her.”

Bucky’s gaze lingered in the direction where Logan had disappeared with you, his jaw tightening. “It’s her, Steve. I know it.”

Before the conversation could continue, Jean reentered the room, her expression resolute. “Alright,” she said, looking directly at Bucky. “Let’s get started.”

---

Jean walked into the kitchen, her fingers kneading her temples, exhaustion clear on her face. You glanced up from the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove, the aroma filling the cozy kitchen. “Rough day?” you asked softly, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose with your wrist to avoid staining them with sauce.

“You could say that,” Jean replied, offering a tired smile. She leaned against the counter, stealing a quick glance at Logan, who was seated at the kitchen island, newspaper in hand. He acknowledged her with a brief grunt but didn’t look up.

“Dinner’ll be ready in ten,” you added, stirring the pot, a little smile tugging at your lips. “And you’re welcome to join if you want.”

Jean’s smile widened slightly. “You’re a lifesaver. I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast.”

Logan snorted, flipping a page of his newspaper. “You’re pushin’ yourself too hard, Red.”

“Says the king of overdoing it,” Jean shot back, though her tone lacked heat. She turned her attention back to you. “Can I help with anything? Set the table?”

“I’ve got it,” you assured her. “Just sit down. You look like you’ve been through it.”

Jean gave you a grateful look and slid into the seat next to Logan, resting her chin in her hand. “Thanks. You know, for everything.”

Before you could respond, footsteps echoed in the hallway, growing louder until Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Wanda appeared in the doorway. They hesitated at the threshold, clearly picking up on the low-key energy in the room. Steve’s gaze immediately found Logan, and the two men exchanged a silent nod—acknowledgment between old soldiers who had fought on the same side a lifetime ago.

“Smells good in here,” Sam commented, breaking the quiet.

“It is good,” Logan said, not looking up from his paper. “And it’s spoken for.”

“Logan!” you scolded gently, though your face warmed in amusement. You turned to the Avengers. “Sorry about him. There’s not much left, but if you’re starving—”

“They’re not stayin’,” Logan interrupted, finally lowering the newspaper and fixing the group with his usual no-nonsense glare. “Go find your own dinner. This one’s off-duty.”

Sam raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, we get it. Sheesh.” But he was smiling as he turned and nudged Wanda to follow him. The others trailed after, though Steve lingered for a second longer, his sharp blue eyes flicking between Logan and you before giving a brief nod and stepping out.

The quiet returned, but not before you caught Jean hiding a laugh behind her hand. “He doesn’t do sharing, huh?” she teased.

Logan leaned back, his hands behind his head, smirking. “What’s mine is mine.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, instead grabbing three plates from the cabinet. “Jean, do you want wine with dinner?”

“Definitely. Do you have red?” she asked as she watched you pour the sauce over the pasta and sprinkle Parmesan on top.

“Got a bottle open already,” you said, reaching for it.

Logan grunted as if annoyed but didn’t complain when you set a plate in front of him. “You don’t spoil me like this,” he muttered, picking up his fork.

“You don’t deserve it,” you teased lightly, flashing him a smile that made his usual scowl soften.

Jean glanced between the two of you with an amused but warm expression. “You two are really something, you know that?”

You chuckled, carrying your plate to the table and sitting beside Logan. “Yeah, something stubborn.”

Logan snorted into his plate, but his hand found your knee under the table, a subtle gesture that made your heart do a little flip. For all his roughness, there were these little moments that reminded you just how much he cared.

Dinner passed with quiet chatter and comfortable silences. Jean eventually excused herself with a full stomach and a little less tension in her shoulders. When she was gone, Logan leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on you as you started cleaning up.

“Need help?” he asked.

“Not with the kitchen,” you said with a small smile, your voice teasing. “But you can check the bruise on my leg if you’re feeling generous.”

He arched a brow, his lips twitching into a rare grin. “Always generous for you, sweetheart.”

---

“Alright, think ya can drive around the driveway on your own?” Logan asked, holding the motorcycle upright with you seated on it.

“Uh… mayb—”

“’Course you can, sweetheart,” Logan said, his gruff voice laced with an unusual softness as he steadied the motorcycle. His hands remained on the handlebars for a second longer before he stepped back, giving you space to get your bearings. “Just remember, easy on the throttle. Don’t get cocky.”

“Noted,” you replied with a small smile, gripping the handlebars tightly. You adjusted your glasses on your nose with a quick nudge from your shoulder and slowly eased the bike forward.

Logan took a few steps back, watching closely as you started your first lap around the driveway. He crossed his arms, his stance protective yet relaxed. “She’s got it,” he murmured, though his voice carried an edge of tension he couldn’t quite mask.

Nearby, Ororo stood with Jean, arms folded as she watched you maneuver the bike. “You’ve been teaching her how to ride for months now,” Ororo commented lightly, arching a brow at Logan. “She’s not going to crash, you know.”

“She better not,” Logan muttered, his eyes narrowing. “Or she’ll be hearin’ about it from me.”

Jean smirked. “And here I thought you were all about positive reinforcement, Logan.”

He shot her a sideways glare, but his focus never wavered from you. “I’ll reinforce plenty when she parks that thing without scratchin’ it.”

You completed the first lap with minimal wobbling, and a surge of pride flashed across your face as you passed by Logan. He gave you a subtle nod of approval before turning toward the other two women. “Not bad for a beginner.”

Jean chuckled. “Coming from you, that’s practically a glowing review.”

As you started another lap, Logan stayed close for a moment, then drifted over to where Ororo and Jean stood. “She’s pickin’ this up faster than I thought she would.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re such a great teacher,” Jean teased, earning herself another grunt from Logan.

Midway through the second lap, you felt a strange sensation wash over you—a ripple in time, a distortion that pulled you away from the present. The world around you blurred as your vision tunneled, and you found yourself somewhere else entirely.

A sterile, white building loomed around you. The air was heavy, the kind of suffocating stillness that hinted at danger. A little girl, no older than five, crouched behind a counter. Her wide, frightened eyes were locked on a man advancing toward her. Without warning, she leapt forward, two metal claws extending from her tiny fists. The claws pierced the man’s chest with terrifying precision.

The scene shifted violently, and you were suddenly thrust back into the present. The driveway came back into focus, and panic clawed at you as you realized the motorcycle had veered off course. Your hands trembled as you fumbled for control, but the bike swerved sharply.

“Bucky!” someone shouted.

Before you could process what was happening, strong hands gripped the handlebars, forcing the motorcycle to a halt. The momentum caused you to tumble off the seat, hitting the ground with a jarring thud. Pain bloomed across your side as the air was knocked from your lungs.

“Y/N!” Logan’s voice was sharp and urgent as he was instantly at your side, dropping to one knee. Jean and Ororo followed closely behind, their faces etched with worry. Logan’s hands hovered over you, searching for any obvious injuries. “Are you alright? What the hell happened?”

You blinked up at him, your vision swimming for a moment before settling. “I—I’m fine. Just lost focus for a second.”

“That wasn’t just ‘losing focus,’” Logan growled, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You scared the hell outta me.”

Jean knelt on your other side, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Y/N, did you have a vision?”

You hesitated, your breathing still unsteady. “Yeah. It—it wasn’t clear, but there was a girl… She had claws, like Logan’s. She was protecting herself. It felt… real.”

The three exchanged tense glances. Ororo spoke first. “Do you think it’s something that might happen? Or was it one of those could-be futures?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But it felt important.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he turned to Jean. “Help her up. I’m takin’ her inside.”

“I’m fine, Logan,” you protested, but he wasn’t listening. His arms slid under you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

Jean rose to her feet, brushing off her hands. “We should tell Charles about this. If it’s tied to—”

“First, we’re dealin’ with her bruise,” Logan interrupted, carrying you toward the mansion. His tone left no room for argument. “Charles can wait.”

---

Jean sat in front of Bucky for another session to try and undo his conditioning. Steve stood nearby, leaning against the wall.

As Jean’s hands hovered over the sides of his head, Bucky spoke up. “Is she okay?”

She let out a hum, “who?”

“Y/N.”

Jean opened her eyes and grabbed a pen to jot something down on her clipboard. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just a few scratches. Could’ve been worse if you didn’t stop the bike.”

Bucky sat back slightly, his jaw tightening. “Guess I was in the right place at the right time.”

“Lucky for her,” Jean said with a small smile, her tone light but genuine. She glanced at him, noting the tension in his posture. “You okay? You seem… distracted.”

Bucky hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I just… She looks familiar. Like someone I used to know.”

Jean tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Someone from before?”

“Maybe,” Bucky admitted, his voice quieter now. “It’s hard to pin down. But when I saw her earlier, it was like…” He trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“Like a memory trying to surface?” Jean offered gently.

Bucky nodded, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Jean looked thoughtful for a moment before writing another note. “It could be worth exploring, but let’s take it one step at a time. For now, let’s get back to where we left off, alright?”

He gave her a tight nod, sitting up straighter. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

---

Meanwhile, Logan stood in the doorway of your shared bedroom, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. You sat on the edge of the bed, carefully rolling up the leg of your jeans to inspect the fresh bruise forming on your calf.

“You’re lucky that’s all you got,” Logan said, his voice gruff but tinged with concern. He stepped into the room and crouched in front of you, gently taking your leg in his hands to get a closer look.

“It’s not that bad,” you said, though your wince betrayed you.

Logan shot you a look, his thumb brushing lightly over the unbruised skin just above the mark. “Not that bad, huh?” he said, his voice gruff as his gaze stayed locked on the forming bruise. “You’ve got a knack for understatement, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, though a faint smile tugged at your lips. “It’s just a bruise, Logan. I’m fine.”

“You’re always sayin’ you’re fine,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over the edges of the mark. “And every time, it’s somethin’ worse than you let on.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, and you glanced down at your hands. “It’s not like I planned for this to happen,” you said softly. “I just… zoned out for a second.”

Logan let out a quiet sigh, his hand dropping to rest on his knee. “I know. That vision shook you up.” He looked up at you, his intense gaze softening. “You don’t gotta act like you’ve got it all under control. Not with me.”

“I’m not acting like anything,” you replied, meeting his eyes. “I just… I don’t know what to do with what I saw. It’s like these pieces of something bigger, but none of it fits together yet.”

Logan was quiet for a moment, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll figure it out,” he said firmly. “Together.”

The sound of voices down the hall interrupted the moment, and Logan’s jaw tightened. “Figures,” he muttered, standing and stepping toward the door. “Bet it’s Stark, loudmouthin’ again.”

You stifled a laugh as you pushed your glasses up your nose. “You do realize Tony thrives on getting under your skin, right?”

“Yeah, well, he’s got another thing comin’ if he tries it today.” Logan glanced back at you. “Stay put. I’m not done talkin’ to you yet.”

“Is that an order, Wolverine?” you teased, earning a low growl as he left the room.

---

You walked into Jean’s lab with a box of new beakers that the two of you had ordered. You had already taken your share and now you were coming by to give her hers.

“Hey, Jean.” You said, as you pushed the door open with your elbow, “got those beakers.”

“Okay! Can you set them down on the table and come help me real quick?”

You placed the box down and walked over to Jean, where she was patching up a few cuts and scratches Bucky had. You looked over at her, a silent question in you gaze.

She opened a roll of gauze. “Apparently, your husband went a little rough on him and Steve,” Jean said with a hint of exasperation as she dabbed antiseptic onto a particularly nasty cut on Bucky’s forearm.

You blinked, surprised. “What? Why?”

“Something about training getting too ‘intense.’” Jean shot you a pointed look, then gave Bucky a sympathetic smile. “Logan doesn’t exactly know the meaning of ‘dial it down.’”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, though he winced slightly when Jean pressed the gauze to his arm. “It’s fine. He was testing us.”

“Testing you?” you echoed, raising a brow as you perched on the edge of the counter. “You’re the Winter Soldier, and Steve’s Captain America. What could he possibly be testing?”

Bucky glanced at you briefly before looking away, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “Maybe he just wanted to see if I could keep up.”

“Or maybe he just likes knocking you and Steve around,” Jean quipped as she secured the gauze with medical tape. “Okay, that should hold for now. Don’t take it off for at least a day.”

Bucky flexed his arm, testing the bandage. “Thanks, doc.”

Jean snorted. “I’m not a doctor. I just patch people up when your husband forgets to stop swinging.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’ll talk to him.”

Bucky shrugged, the ghost of a grin on his face. “Don’t worry about it. I can handle him.”

Jean raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t comment. Instead, she turned back to you. “Thanks for the beakers, by the way. Can you grab a few more from the box and put them on the top shelf? I’d do it myself, but someone—” she shot Bucky a look “—got blood on my gloves.”

You smirked as you hopped off the counter. “Sure thing.”

As you worked, Bucky watched you carefully. His brows furrowed slightly, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. Jean noticed the look but kept quiet, her curiosity simmering beneath the surface.

Finally, Bucky broke the silence. “You’re a teacher here, right?”

“Physics,” you said over your shoulder, placing the last beaker on the shelf. “And I help Jean out sometimes when she’s swamped.”

His jaw tightened slightly, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “You… uh, ever think about doing anything else? Something outside the mansion?”

The question caught you off guard, and you turned to look at him. “Not really. Why?”

Bucky hesitated, his expression guarded. “Just wondering.”

Jean glanced between the two of you, clearly picking up on the tension. “Okay, what’s going on here? Did something happen?”

You shook your head, brushing off the odd exchange. “No, it’s nothing. Probably just the aftereffects of Logan’s ‘training.’” You glanced at Bucky, your tone softening. “Seriously, though, if he gave you or Steve a hard time, let me know. He can be a bit… much.”

Bucky gave you a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Y/N. But I think we’re good.”

Jean crossed her arms, watching as Bucky stood and rolled his shoulder experimentally. “You know, for a guy who’s been through hell, you’ve got an impressive pain tolerance.”

Bucky shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Comes with the territory.”

You exchanged a glance with Jean, and she gave you a subtle nod, her way of telling you to let it go—for now. But as Bucky left the lab, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his questions than he let on.

---

“What do you think ‘bout this one?” you asked, turning around slowly to show off your outfit: a black blazer over a beige turtleneck, paired with black flared trousers. The gold buckle on your belt added just enough polish to the look.

Logan, seated on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed, let out a low grunt. His expression didn’t give much away, but the way his eyes lingered told you he was paying attention.

“You look good, darlin’,” he finally said, his voice gruff but warm. “Classy. Not too flashy.”

You adjusted the blazer slightly and glanced at the mirror, pursing your lips. “Not too flashy, huh? Are you sure that’s what Rogue had in mind for a double date?”

Logan let out a snort, leaning back slightly. “Rogue knows better than to drag me anywhere that’s too flashy. ‘Sides, you look fine no matter what you wear.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed at the compliment. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to deal with Remy for longer than you have to.”

Logan’s jaw tightened at the mention of him. “You’re not wrong.”

You turned back to him with a soft laugh. “Logan, you’ve had over a year to warm up to him. Rogue’s crazy about him. Can’t you at least try?”

“I am tryin’,” Logan shot back, his tone defensive. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be goin’ on this damn double date.”

“Fair enough.” You grabbed your purse from the dresser and glanced at him over your glasses. “But maybe don’t scare him off tonight? Rogue would never forgive you.”

Logan grumbled something under his breath as he stood, adjusting the leather jacket he’d shrugged on. “No promises.”

---

The restaurant Rogue picked was cozy, with soft lighting and a jazz trio playing in the corner. You and Logan arrived first, Logan’s grumbling already earning him a teasing nudge from you as the two of you were shown to your table.

“Relax,” you said, setting your purse down and adjusting your blazer. “It’s just dinner.”

“With Gumbo,” Logan muttered, pulling out your chair before settling into his own. “This better be good.”

Before you could reply, Rogue and Remy appeared, the younger woman beaming as she tugged Remy toward the table. “Hey, y’all!” Rogue greeted, her Southern accent thick as ever. She gave Logan a quick hug before turning to you. “You look amazing, Y/N! Doesn’t she, Remy?”

“Oui, belle comme toujours,” Remy said smoothly, his eyes flicking over you with a charming smile. He offered you a slight bow before glancing at Logan. “Logan. Lookin’... sturdy as ever.”

Logan grunted in response, his lips twitching slightly in what could almost be mistaken for a smirk.

The four of you settled into an easy rhythm as dinner was served, the conversation bouncing between Rogue and Remy’s latest antics and Logan’s dry quips. You chimed in when the teasing got too much, gently steering the conversation back to lighter topics.

As the evening wore on, you noticed Logan’s stance soften, just a little. He even shared a rare chuckle when Remy recounted a particularly wild story from his time in Louisiana.

By the time dessert arrived, the tension at the table had mostly dissolved.

---

Later that night, as the two of you walked back to the car, you glanced up at Logan with a small smile. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

He huffed but didn’t argue, his hand finding the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side. “Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek before slipping into the car. “Thanks for trying, Logan. It means a lot to Rogue.”

He didn’t respond right away, but as he started the car, you caught the faintest hint of a smile. “Yeah, well. Don’t make a habit of it, sweetheart.”

---

You got on your tiptoes, holding onto the boxing ring’s ropes to steady yourself as you pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s lips. “I’ll make you that smoothie.”

“You better not put any grass in it this time!” Logan called after you, his voice laced with mock irritation as you headed toward the kitchen.

“You mean spinach?” you teased, glancing over your shoulder with a smirk.

“Same damn thing!”

You laughed, leaving him shaking his head as you disappeared through the doorway.

Logan turned back toward the center of the ring, adjusting the wraps on his hands when Steve, who’d been leaning casually against the wall, straightened up.

“Mind if I go a round or two with you?” Steve asked, his tone friendly but direct.

Logan raised an eyebrow, eyeing him for a moment before giving a curt nod. “Your funeral, Cap.”

Steve climbed into the ring with an easy grin, rolling his shoulders as he stepped up. “Just a friendly sparring match, Logan.”

“Sure,” Logan muttered, his tone noncommittal as he sized up the taller man.

The first few exchanges were straightforward—calculated jabs and dodges, neither man pushing too hard. Steve broke the silence after a few moments. “So, how long have you and Y/N been together?”

Logan’s movements didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened. “Long enough.”

Steve nodded, his punches measured as he pressed on. “She seems like a good fit for you. Never pegged her to be a physicist, though.”

Logan’s stance stiffened, his punches coming in faster, heavier. “What’s that s’pposed to mean?”

Steve backpedaled, his hands raised defensively. “Nothing bad. Just… when I met her—”

Before Steve could finish, Logan swept forward, catching him off guard with a hard shove that sent him sprawling onto the mat. Logan crouched over him, claws unsheathed and glinting under the overhead light.

“Keep talkin’,” Logan growled, his voice dangerously low.

Steve blinked, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! I didn’t mean any offense.” He paused, catching his breath. “It’s just… Bucky and I knew someone who looked just like her. Back before the war. She grew up with us in Brooklyn.”

Logan didn’t move, his eyes narrowing as Steve continued.

“When Bucky went off to fight, so did she,” Steve explained, his voice softer now. “Not as a soldier, but as a nurse. And later, when I joined the Howling Commandos, she was assigned to us for a while. She wanted to do more, though, so she volunteered to go to Italy.”

Logan finally backed off, retracting his claws and giving Steve room to sit up. His expression was guarded, unreadable, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable.

Steve studied him, tilting his head slightly. “You’re not surprised.”

Logan grunted, stepping out of the ring. “She didn’t grow up in Brooklyn,” he said flatly. “Didn’t serve with you either.”

Steve frowned, wiping at the sweat on his brow. “She didn’t tell you?”

“She wouldn’t remember,” Logan said gruffly, grabbing his towel from the corner.

Steve’s brows knitted together in confusion, but Logan didn’t give him a chance to ask more. Without another word, he headed for the kitchen, leaving Steve alone in the ring.

---

You were stirring a smoothie when Logan walked in, his expression tight. He leaned against the counter, watching you silently for a moment.

“Did Steve ask you anything weird?” he asked finally, his voice low.

You glanced at him curiously, setting the blender cup down. “Weird? No, why?”

Logan shook his head, his jaw tightening. “No reason.”

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could press further, Logan stepped closer, brushing a hand along your arm. “You alright?”

“I’m fine, Logan,” you said softly, offering a reassuring smile. “You sure you’re okay?”

He gave a slight nod, though his eyes lingered on you as if searching for something. “Yeah, darlin’. Just… tired.”

You reached up to adjust his hair, smoothing it back gently. He leaned into your hand until you pulled back, “he… told you something, didn’t he? Did he know me—”

Logan looked you in the eye, “would it matter?”

You blinked, mulling it over. Would it matter? It’s not like you could remember any of it. If Logan hadn’t told you about your past lives, you wouldn’t have known they’d even existed. “I… guess not,” you said, meeting his eyes.

Logan exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing as he stepped closer. His rough hands reached out, gently cupping your face. “See?” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “None of that matters anymore. What matters to me is that you’re here right now.”

The warmth in his eyes left no room for doubt, and a soft smile tugged at your lips. “That’s what matters to me, too.”

He bent down slightly, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, grounding you both in the moment. It was tender, as though he was reassuring himself that you were real—that this life, your life together, was solid and unbreakable despite the strange fragments of the past.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, and you couldn’t help but grin at his soft expression. “Feel better now?” you teased.

His lips curved into a rare smile, almost playful. “I’ll let you know after I’ve had some of that smoothie.”

You laughed, stepping out of his hold to grab the blender. As you poured the thick green liquid into a glass, Logan leaned against the counter, watching you with a curious, almost wistful expression. “Y’know,” he said after a moment, “Steve knows how to dig stuff up from the past, but he doesn’t get what it’s like to carry it all with you.”

You handed him the smoothie, your brow furrowing slightly. “He means well,” you offered, trying to smooth over the lingering tension.

“Doesn’t matter,” Logan replied with a shrug, taking a reluctant sip and grimacing. “What the hell did you put in this?”

“Spinach, just like always,” you said with an exaggerated sweetness.

“Just like always, huh?” Logan chuckled, setting the glass down on the counter with a soft thud. He took a slow, deliberate step toward you, his eyes glinting with a mischievous edge. Instinctively, you backed away, your eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Logan,” you warned, holding up your hands as he closed the distance between you. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it, darlin’.” His grin widened, the deep timbre of his voice laced with playfulness. “Guess you’ll have to learn what happens when you keep sneakin’ grass into my smoothies.”

“It’s spinach!” you exclaimed, laughter bubbling up despite your attempts to stay serious. You took another step back, but your retreat was cut short when your back hit the edge of the counter. “Logan, I swear—”

Before you could finish, his arms were around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weighed nothing. You let out a surprised yelp as he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly, his low chuckle rumbling in your ears.

“Guess you’re gettin’ punished now,” Logan teased, carrying you toward the bedroom like a man on a mission. You squirmed in his grip, your hands pressing against his back.

“Logan! Put me down!” you cried, half-laughing, half-protesting.

“Not until you promise no more spinach,” he said, his tone mock-stern.

“Never!” you shot back, trying to sound defiant but failing as you burst into laughter.

Logan shook his head with a grin and gave your thigh a light pat. “Stubborn as ever.”

this takes place over 2014, 2015, and 2016!

and for anyone wondering about the connection with reader, bucky, and steve, my idea is that before reader and logan met in italy, she was a nurse for the howling commandos. but before that, she was friends with steve and bucky before the war in brooklyn. so when bucky was shipped out, reader signed up to be a nurse.

then when steve became captain america, and was going around putting on shows, you wanted to do more and you decided to get shipped off. i had this idea when i first thought about including the avengers, then i thought "wait, wouldn't it be weird for someone else to recognize you, not just logan?" because yes, logan has been around for some time, but he's not the only one.

anyways, next chapter is going to be super exciting! (might have a little something to do with transigen👀)

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi Lumine, hope your Wednesday's going well! My boy (greyhound) has been at the vet today for dental check-up (all clear!) and came back as high as a kite - I swear he is so out of it he forgot how to lay on his bed, just stood on top staring through me and the walls into space! If you feel like it, I'd love to see a similar situation with either Alec or Magnus on strong painkillers and the other bemused/amused by their reactions. SfW please.

omg your poor baby!!! I bet he gets hit pretty hard with how slender greyhounds are!! I love that even like that, they're kind of the same when the drugs finally hit.

Nightshade is built like a tank so we have to dose him extra and every time he just looks sadder the more he slips under like 'why would you give me MORE drugs? thinking is hard enough already!!! baba noooooooo.' he also gets the munchies. and while he can put himself in his crate when he's drugged he doesn't know how to get through the open door or he'll cry if his toy is too far away or i'm too far away. he's very pawthetic.

Magnus took a magic replenishing potion btw. he doesn't normally 'indulge' because it's more potent than drinking but he trusts Alec enough to let down his guard. he's not just trusting Alec to take care of him, he's also trusting his instincts and magic not to hurt Alec.

i hope you enjoy! the story about your baby was lovely and this prompt was a lot of fun!

<3 lumine

tw character on medication

-

subtle secrets of the heart

Despite Magnus’ lust for decadence, he never indulges himself to where he ends up like this.

That’s all Alec can really think of as he watches Magnus turn limp and languid and his golden, luminous eyes threaten to swallow Alec whole.

It’s understandable really.

Magnus being intoxicated — on a very specific potion because his alcohol tolerance is too high for even fae wine to work — is clearly dangerous.

Because Magnus hasn’t even asked for anything yet and Alec is dying to give him whatever he wants.

And also keep as close to him as possible because while Magnus is always warm, he’s molten like this and his body is a beacon to Alec’s senses.

It makes it all the more frustrating that right now, Alec can’t enjoy it because he is currently just trying to get Magnus to stop snapping things away.

Mainly because Alec isn’t sure that Magnus will remember where he sends anything while he’s like this and Alec really doesn’t want to have to explain to Idris that his primary and personal tablet was sent to the Bermuda Triangle.

“Please, Magnus—” he catches Magnus’ hand and kisses the blue sparks that have just started to form. “Nothing needs to be put away, just let it be a mess. For tonight?”

It takes a moment for Magnus to focus on him — he’s been currently getting rid of everything he looks at that he doesn’t like, which is apparently everything but the chair he’s flopped in and Alec.

And Alec breathes out a sigh of relief as his work bag is blessedly left alone.

Going to the roof doesn’t seem ideal with Magnus like this — too much wild energy and complicated magic and things that Magnus might dislike in this mood.

So to the bedroom it is.

That has the least objectionable amount of things in it, considering every little thing has been handpicked by Magnus or Alec or both.

“My strong, sturdy shadowhunter.” Magnus purrs out the words so strongly that Alec can barely understand him and he’s a little worried that Magnus is going to need some healing tea the next day.

“Yes Magnus, your shadowhunter.” Is all he really manages to get out because carrying Magnus is always lovely but it’s even more distracting with Magnus groping his muscles and ass and nuzzling as close as possible.

Alec might drop him if this keeps up.

Something that is too horrific to truly consider and Alec braces himself better and speeds up.

He is not dropping Magnus just because his husband is a little handsy at the moment.

That would be possibly the most embarrassing thing Alec could ever do and worse, Magnus probably wouldn’t even hold it against him.

Magnus takes care of Alec when he’s drunk, sleep-deprived, fucked-stupid and a plethora or other things and he hasn’t dropped him even once.

True, Magnus has magic but Alec is a shadowhunter so he feels like that isn’t probably the excuse he’d like it to be.

Pain blooms on his neck and as delightful as it is, he also almost knocks Magnus into the doorframe and it takes a moment of maneuvering before he has his deadweight, warlock of a husband and his very frisky magic into their room.

Alec is going to kindly request that Magnus never take this kind of potion again without them both properly preparing and being set up for this.  He knows he’s being dramatic, but the last thing Alec wants is Magnus to wake up sore and with bruises and then Alec having to explain that it’s not what he’s thinking. And that it’s because Alec couldn’t get Magnus from the living room to the bedroom safely... not because they fucked happily and merrily from the living room. 

Which they’ve done.

Multiple times.

With less injuries and bruises than are currently being stacked against him.

Considering all the times Magnus has whisked Alec away from battlefields and political landmines and family disputes and just general unpleasantness, Alec thinks he’s personally failed since he’s having trouble simply conquering two hallways and an open concept loft.

Magnus fingers cling to Alec’s skin as he wrestles him onto the bed — because Magnus like this is pliable only to a degree.

He lets Alec carry him and move him but the moment Alec tries to step away or even look away from Magnus, he’s being pulled back.

By magic that sparks and sweaty fingers that drag on his skin and catch on his clothes and eyes that sear through him to the bone.

“Let me get the lights.” Alec murmurs, because Magnus can’t be comfortable with the sun shining through the windows or the chandelier still lit up.

It’s a mistake to let Magnus know what is taking Alec’s attention because suddenly the room is dark.

Alec can no longer see even the shadows as everything is consumed by an abyssal darkness — everything but the twin rings of Magnus golden cat eyes.

Giving it up for a lost cause, Alec does his best to get into the bed without digging a knee into Magnus’ ribs or elbowing his face.  It works despite the fact that Magnus is fighting dirty and then Alec can finally curl up next to his husband and be the pillow Magnus wants him to be.

Magnus climbs atop him, ear to Alec’s heart and fingers possessive on Alec’s hip.

“You’re very adorable like this.” Alec murmurs quietly, fingers running through hair soft as silk, the magic that normally kept it coif melting under his touch. “But I already miss your voice.”

Magnus purrs at him, something deep and rumbling and it soothes the small ache of loneliness that Alec’s been feeling since Magnus took the potion.

[xoln04f1xo]

Fluff

Pairings: OP81 x Reader

WARNINGS: Mental health struggles, depression, anxiety

WC: 3.5k

Divider Credit: @enchanthings-a

You didn’t mean for it to get this bad again.

It wasn’t like there was some grand trigger, a breaking point you could point to and say, “This is when everything fell apart.” It was more like the slow accumulation of dust - too subtle to notice until one day you couldn’t breathe.

Your days blurred. Mornings felt like cliffs, steep and cold and impossible to climb. Food lost its taste. Messages sat unanswered. And every time someone asked “Are you okay?” you smiled a little too quickly and said, “Yeah, just tired.”

But Oscar knew.

He always knew.

He didn’t press. He never did. That was one of the things you loved most about him - he didn’t try to fix you, didn’t come armed with platitudes or solutions. He just stayed.

The first time he noticed the shift, he brought home your favorite snack without comment. The second time, he quietly canceled a dinner you didn’t have the energy for. And the third, he simply pulled you into his arms while you stood in the hallway trying not to cry over absolutely nothing.

Today, though, you hadn’t even gotten out of bed.

You lay cocooned under the duvet, eyes open but distant, watching dust motes float through a beam of morning light. You heard him padding around the flat - muttering something about breakfast and weather apps - but none of it felt real. You felt like you were underwater, watching life happen above the surface.

Then the door creaked open.

“Hey, love,” Oscar said gently, stepping in. His voice was soft, like he was trying not to startle you. “You didn’t get up.”

You wanted to respond. Wanted to say something funny, or at least convincing. But your throat felt like it had been closed off with string, tight and impossible to loosen.

Instead, you blinked once.

Oscar crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “I made toast,” he said. “With honey. Thought you might want a little bite.”

You didn’t move.

He didn’t take it personally. He never did.

After a moment, he leaned over and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want me to stay here for a bit?”

You nodded - just barely.

That was all he needed.

Oscar slipped under the blanket beside you, kicking off his socks and curling toward your still form like gravity was pulling closer. His body was warm against yours, a stark contrast to the chill under your skin.

Neither of you spoke.

There was no pressure. No questions like "What's wrong?" or "When did it start again?" Just his arm sliding gently across your waist, his forehead resting against your temple, and the occasional light-feather kiss to your hair.

You felt your chest start to ache - not in a painful way at all, but in that fragile, full way that comes with being truly seen.

"I know it's hard," he whispered eventually, his breath tickling your skin. "And I know it probably feels like everything's slipping away again. But i'm here. Even if you don't want to talk. Even if all you want to do is lie here."

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat, finally managing a whisper. "I'm sorry."

Oscar pulled back just enough to look at you, his brow furrowing. "No. No don't be sorry."

Tears welled up before you could stop them, thick and hot and frustrating. "I just... I don't know why it's like this again... I was doing fine... and now i'm not... and i feel so..." You cut yourself off, words crumbling into nothing.

"Hey," he said softly, wiping away the tear from your cheek with his thumb. "Listen to me. You don't have to explain it. Your brain's having a hard time, that's all. It doesn't make you weak, or broken, or any less incredible."

Silence fell again, but it was softer now - less suffocating. You turned slightly, pressing your face into his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. It felt safe here, grounded. You didn't have to perform. You didn't have to pretend. You could just be.

Eventually, he ran a hand slowly down your back. “I was thinking… maybe later we could go for a little walk. Just to the park and back. No pressure if you’re not up for it, but the air might feel nice. What do you think?”

You didn’t answer right away, but the idea of leaving your bed didn’t feel as impossible with Oscar beside you. It was like he carried a little bit of light, enough to scatter the darkest corners.

“Maybe,” you whispered.

“That’s all I need,” he said with a smile in his voice. “A maybe is good.”

He stayed there with you until your breathing evened out, until your muscles stopped trembling. His arms didn’t waver. His voice, when he spoke, was a gentle thread anchoring you back to the world.

“I love you,” he whispered eventually. “On your good days, your bad days, and all the blurry ones in between.”

You didn’t say it back right away.

Not because you didn’t feel it - but because the words would’ve made you cry again. Because it was too much, in the best way. Because you were still learning to believe that kind of love could be yours.

But you tightened your fingers around his shirt and held on.

And that, Oscar knew, was enough.

It took a few hours. More than a few, honestly.

Oscar didn’t say anything when you didn’t move after lunch. He just left a glass of water by the nightstand and tiptoed around the flat, cleaning up quietly, like someone keeping the house warm for a friend going through a storm.

You stayed wrapped in the blankets, your limbs heavy, the dull ache of exhaustion pressing down on every bone. But his presence helped. It always did.

Around 4 PM, the light outside turned golden, spilling through the windows like something out of a dream. You watched it for a long time. It made you feel small, and somehow, that was a comfort - like the world was big enough to hold this heaviness, even if you couldn’t.

Eventually, you pulled yourself up to sit, your legs dangling over the edge of the bed.

Oscar peeked into the room the second he heard movement. “Hey, sleepy.”

You gave him a small, tired smile - your first one in days. “I think I’m ready… for the park.”

His expression didn’t change into something too bright or relieved. He just smiled back, like he knew exactly how much strength that simple sentence took.

“Okay. No rush,” he said, and then disappeared for a second to grab your hoodie - the big one with the worn cuffs that smelled faintly like him and comfort. “But let’s bundle you up. It’s kind of chilly out there.”

You took it wordlessly, slipping your arms into it, and let him help pull the zipper halfway up.

“I packed snacks,” he added, like it was some great adventure. “And a flask of hot chocolate. Because I know you secretly like it more than tea.”

You huffed a soft laugh, the first real sound out of you all day. “That’s not a secret.”

“Well, now it’s a confirmed preference. Very official.”

He kissed the top of your head, grabbed a blanket to throw over his arm, and the two of you headed out into the soft hush of late afternoon.

The park wasn’t far - just a ten-minute walk through the quiet back streets near your place. The air was crisp but not biting, the kind of weather that made your cheeks cold but your heart a little warm. Trees rustled softly, birds chirped like they had no idea the world could feel so heavy.

Oscar kept his hand in yours the whole way.

He didn’t try to make conversation. Didn’t force you to talk or explain. Instead, he swung your joined hands gently back and forth like you were kids on a playground. Like joy didn’t have to be big or loud - sometimes, it could be found in the way someone held on.

You found a quiet bench tucked under a tree, not far from a little pond where ducks drifted lazily across the surface. Oscar spread the blanket across the wood before you sat down, always thinking of the little things.

“Sit, sit,” he said, motioning you over. “This bench is now officially a cuddle zone.”

You snorted, more air than sound, but it felt like a laugh, and he lit up at that.

The two of you sat close, your shoulder pressed against his, his arm wrapping around your back like it was made to hold you.

For a while, there was nothing but silence - and for once, it wasn’t heavy. It felt like breathing room.

Oscar poured you a cup of hot chocolate from the flask, careful not to spill any as he handed it over. You took a sip, the warmth curling through your fingers, the sweetness resting on your tongue like a reminder that small comforts still mattered.

“Look,” he murmured, nodding toward the pond.

A little family of ducks - a mum and three ducklings - wobbled across the grass, tripping over each other, fluffy and chaotic.

“They’re so dramatic,” you said softly, watching as one of them nearly face-planted into a clump of wet leaves.

Oscar grinned. “Peak performers. That one’s definitely the Max Verstappen of ducklings. No chill.”

You let out a real laugh this time, surprised at the sound of it. It echoed a little too loud in your chest, like your heart wasn’t used to the rhythm.

Oscar looked down at you, eyes crinkling in that way that always made you feel like maybe everything really was going to be okay.

“You know,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “you don’t have to pretend to be okay around me. Ever. But I love seeing you smile.”

Your throat tightened again, but not with pain this time. With gratitude. With love.

“I’m scared it’s going to get bad again,” you admitted.

Oscar didn’t flinch.

“It might,” he said honestly. “But we’ll get through it. Just like we’re getting through this.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, letting your body rest against his, letting yourself believe him.

“Even when I’m a mess?” you asked.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Especially then. You're not a burden. You’re my favourite person. Mess and all.”

You sat there until the sun dipped lower in the sky, turning the clouds pink and gold. The ducks wandered off, the wind picked up a little, and the chill started to creep back in. But you stayed warm.

Because Oscar held you like he meant it.

Because his love wasn’t the kind that faded when things got dark.

Because here, in a quiet park with your fingers wrapped around a warm cup and your heart wrapped in his steady hands, you felt - if not okay - then at least safe.

And for the first time in a long while, that felt like enough.

By the time the two of you got home, dusk had slipped into evening, painting the sky with soft shadows and fading lavender. The air was cooler now, and Oscar tugged you a little closer as you walked, the blanket still draped over one arm, the empty flask tucked into the crook of the other.

You felt… not fixed. Not healed. But lighter. Like you’d exhaled for the first time in weeks.

And all it took was one afternoon. One hoodie. One Oscar.

He kicked the door open with a gentle nudge of his foot, letting you step inside first.

“I vote for pajamas and couch nest,” he declared the moment he locked the door behind you.

You turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. “Couch nest?”

Oscar grinned like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Blankets. Pillows. Snacks. Possibly a terrible movie. Optional foot massage.”

That pulled another small smile out of you, your cheeks aching from the unfamiliar motion. “You just made that up.”

“I absolutely did not. I take couch nesting very seriously. You’re talking to an expert.”

You laughed softly, and Oscar leaned down to kiss your cheek before heading to the living room, already grabbing cushions off the chairs.

You changed slowly into pyjamas - thick socks, his oversized hoodie again, soft cotton bottoms - and by the time you padded out of the bedroom, the couch had been transformed. Pillows lined every side. Three blankets were layered on top. A string of fairy lights you didn’t even realize he’d put up twinkled gently around the curtain rail.

“You are ridiculous,” you murmured, staring at the cozy chaos.

Oscar popped up from where he was adjusting the last corner of a blanket. “I know,” he said proudly. “But I’m your ridiculous.”

That made something flutter in your chest.

You climbed onto the couch, letting him pull you into the nest like you were precious cargo. His arm found its place around you instantly, and you tucked your head into the crook of his shoulder, your legs draped across his lap. He rubbed soft circles into your calf without even thinking about it.

The movie he put on was some low-stakes animated thing - talking animals, goofy humour, predictable plot. But it didn’t matter. You weren’t really watching it. You were watching him in the glow of the screen, his eyes soft and warm every time he glanced at you, like you were the most important thing in his world.

And maybe you were.

After a while, your eyes started to droop. You blinked slow and heavy, head tipping forward.

Oscar noticed immediately.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing your hair back gently. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Just tired. But like… the good kind.”

He smiled, then leaned down to press a long, slow kiss to your forehead. “That’s good.”

You curled closer, burying yourself into his side, fingers toying absently with the hem of his shirt. “I’m scared it won’t last,” you admitted quietly.

He didn’t rush to reassure you. Didn’t drown you in forced optimism. He just squeezed you a little tighter.

“It doesn’t have to last forever,” he said gently. “Just long enough to get to the next good moment. And I’ll be here for all of them. The hard ones, too.”

You nodded, eyes prickling again - not from pain this time, but from something softer. Gratitude. Safety. Love.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a grand speech or a moment from a movie. It was real. Quiet. Steady.

Oscar Piastri didn’t love you in loud declarations or over-the-top gestures.

He loved you in the way he folded your hoodie and left it on your pillow. In the snacks you didn’t ask for but always appeared. In the way he waited for you to come back to yourself, and never once tried to rush the process.

And now, he loved you in silence - his hand rubbing slow circles into your back, his chest rising and falling in time with yours, his body curled around you like a shield against the world.

Your voice was barely more than a whisper when you said it, but it didn’t need to be louder.

“I love you, Oz.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he tilted your chin up gently, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand, and kissed you - not deep or passionate, just a soft press of lips that said me too in a thousand quiet ways.

“I love you,” he whispered back. “Always. And I’ve got you. Okay?”

You nodded, the words catching in your throat.

And in the glow of fairy lights and the low hum of cartoon voices, you closed your eyes. Your body relaxed, breath deepening, your chest finally settling into something that felt like peace.

The next day might be hard. The one after that, too.

But for now, wrapped in warmth and his love, with your head on his chest and your heart slowly stitching itself back together - you let go.

Because you were home. And you were safe.

Oscar's POV

Click here for more!

[valentine-cafe]

Eden and Howl, I love your works and I finally am confident to send a request LOL

(Dom m! reader)

How would some characters be when they’re topped? (This could be anyone, I don’t mind because all of them are so FINE) How they’re seen as powerful, only for them to act like a damsel in distress when they’re in bed with reader!

I’m not picky and take your time!!

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : dessert platter !! . . . multi ⊹ dom m. reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔​​​​​​​﹕multi verses ꮽ  pasquale agresta moretti 781, alessio agresta arias 9948e, liàng lisse 9948e

 ����𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕multi

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... how some of the powerful characters react to being topped and dommed. ⊹ cw ٬٬ smut . bratty pasquale mention . so much cum . riding alessio 9948e in your lap . clit rubbing .  begging

𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪Pasquale 781⠀﹕Well he's not the token switch for nothing. While Pasquale might run his mouth and flash you taunting grins, all that fades the second you have him spread opened and fucked raw. How his drawled voice turns pathetic and high-pitched with every merciless snap against his ass. Dark nails dig down your back, his lips fall open, ruby eyes crossed. But does he ever shut up? Of course not. If anything, you pound fucked-out rambles out of him every time you change angle or reach for his pebbled nipples. "There - there fuck please - right there, fuck - fucking me so goooddd fuck baby," with creased brows and fangs on full display.

Bratty? You find a way to always fuck it out of him. Don't expect him to apologise. He'll do that in the form of arching his back so perfectly and holding his legs wide open for you. The most you'll get from him are whimpers of 'please' — if even. Even while you're ploughing into the sheets or bending him over his car hood, he always finds some way to be bratty. Even if it means drooling all over while he does it.

No matter, gives you more of an excuse to keep going.

𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪Alessio 9948e⠀﹕Sharp tongues and harsh glares turn into heart-eyes and a mouth eager for your cum. All it takes is a good finger-fucking over his desk scattered in spell books to bend Alessio back into the cockdrunk whore you know and love. Sarcasm is all you hear from him, coupled with that dry voice, it makes up most of his personality — but oh, how expressive you make him when you're balls deep and bending him over whatever piece of furniture you could muster.

You realise how small he is each and every time. While he is tall, his frail body fits so perfectly in your hands. You're surprised each and every time that he can actually take you. What a needy little hole you have for yourself. Smudged mascara, running eyeliner, drool all over his piercings - what more could you ask for?

"I-I'm sorry - 'm sorry - sorry amor - please-!" It's a complete 180. Hadn't he just been rolling his eyes at you? Now they're looped back while he rides your cock. Well, more like he's bounced like a ragdoll. With your hands tight on his ass while his back induces such a perfect arch. His poor dick weeps all over you. He's always been so sensitive. You can't help but enjoy being mean to him.

𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪Lisse 9948e⠀﹕At first glance, Lisse might look like the one who dons the strap — but no one has any idea of the cockdrunk whore she becomes when under you. Or on you. She's so tiny it's easy to manhandle her into whatever position you're in the mood for. She never fights you on it too. While she caries herself in the opposite, she's biting her lip and smiling the second you hoist her up and toss her over the sofa in her office.

Oh how she begs. How that bratty attitude melts the second your dick's stretching her out. Pretty nails dig at your shoulders and down your back with every feral thrust against her sweetspot. She's never been one to hide her voice for you. Even if all she can muster is fucked-out rambles and slurred whines while you hook her legs around your waist and fuck her as she clings to you so dearly. "P-Please - please baby - please gege - I'm gonna cum - " honorifics spill from her pink lips so needily. She might try to rub at her clit a little, but it's only to put a show on for you.

Her favourite is when you're caging her into whatever surface you prefer. With her legs over your shoulders and her cunt spilling and straining round your dick. When she can hang her head back and sob in her needy pleas for your cum. Your girlfriend has always been insatiable. Especially when you're crushing her into you and wrecking her poor pussy — reminding her where that pretty little attitude gets her.

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[thistlecatfics]

HP Characters in Therapy Masterpost

An incredibly subjective ask series where I theorize what therapy with different characters would be like (as a predominantly EMDR, parts-work and psychodynamically oriented therapist)

Regulus Black

Ted Tonks

Fleur Delacour

Draco Malfoy (8th year)

Tom Riddle

Albus Dumbledore

Barty Crouch Jr.

Peter Pettigrew

Severus Snape

Remus Lupin interwar

Sirius Black Hogwarts years

James Potter

Bellatrix Black

Bellatrix and Rodolphus in couple's therapy

Narcissa Black

Andromeda Black

Petunia Evans

Lyall Lupin

Hermione Granger postwar

Hermione in school

Hermione Granger & resistance in therapy

Neville Longbottom

Luna Lovegood

Cho Chang

Harry Potter postwar

Nymphadora Tonks in HBP

Ron Weasley

Percy Weasley

George Weasley

Ginny Weasley

Canon Therapy in the Wizarding World

[luvsupa]

LET’S KEEP IT PROFESSIONAL. . .?

𝜗𝜚 summary: where jjk men want you at the wrong place and wrong time… feat. gojo, geto, choso, nanami (seperate).

tags: fem!reader, pwp,smut, (p in v), ōral sex (f! receiving), lactation kink .. (gojo), gojos a king and he’s OBESSED w you, public sex, car sex, riding, sub men (ish), dirty talk, praise, hair pulling, getting caught, mentions of pregnancy (nanami), slight bimbo reader x choso, ummm dunno what else to add … mdni

w.c: 5,3k

a/n: THANK YOU GUYS SOSOS MUCH FOR 2K AND 2.1K!! IM SO THANKFUL FOR ALL OF YOUUUUUU^^^ HERES A 2K SPECIAL FOR YOU GUYSS MWAAA <33

+ there might be errors errrrr….

GOJO SATORU

“gojo-sama,” the family in front of you scolds, trying to get his full attention. the royal family has come to your estate to propose a business alliance—a union with the well-known gojo clan.

gojo has you seated prettily on his lap on his golden cushioned throne, in full view of the royal family and advisors. halfway through the meeting, he loses interest, he has little concern for these meetings—all he truly wants is to be with you and your newborn daughter.

it was nearly impossible for him to focus, your scent envelops him, clouding his thoughts, leaving only you in his mind. his lower lip quivers as you shift against his hardening cock. he struggles to maintain composure but can’t resist trailing soft kisses along your neck. one large hand caresses your once pregnant belly while you fight to keep your gaze steady in front of the royal family.

your eyes flutter, heart racing as you realize he cannot possibly be doing this now. below, the murmurs of the guests fade away as his heated kisses press against your skin. he hums deeply, almost moaning with each kiss, savouring the softness of your body. his glossed lips leave marks along your neck, gleaming in the natural light, a clear display of his desire.

“ngh—’toru. . .continue. . . later,” you whisper, struggling to suppress a moan as gojo’s other hand kneads your plump breasts through the kimono. the soreness from weeks wroth of nursing makes each touch electric. the king below stares, while the guards exchange knowing glances, accustomed to gojo’s actions.

“gojo-sama, we ask that you—”

“hahh, look at that—you’re leaking,” gojo murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he watches your milk seep through the thin fabric of your kimono, a damp spot growing with each teasing stroke of his fingers over your sensitive nipple. your head falls back onto his shoulder, eyes closing in embarrassment ,unable to face the audience.

shamelessly, gojo’s hand on your tummy snakes lower between your shaky thighs. he smiles knowingly as you’re bare underneath, warmth radiating from you. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s made you this wet, you blame it on hormonal imbalances.

gojo’s slender fingers part your swollen folds, sending shudders through your body with his icy touch as he rubs gentle circles on your nub. you moan, not caring how loud you are, overwhelmed by his fingers toying with your nipples and clit—all while numerous pairs of eyes remain glued to both of you.

“what’s gotcha’ this drenched, baby? have i not satisfied you enough?” gojo spills out nonsense, even though he satisfies you too much. he spoils you rotten, always going above and beyond—no matter when or where.

“tell me what i need to do, precious,” he begs as his fingers slide into your slick cunt. you both gasp, his long fingers sucked in tightly by your needy walls. your eyes flutter open to see your breasts leaking uncontrollably as he pinches and twists your poor nipples.

your hips buck wildly, greedily taking in more of his thick fingers as your walls cling tightly to him, massaging your sweet spot with every curl and press. you sob, breaths coming in ragged gasps, eyes glossy as you glance at the guests through blurred vision. each breath is a shaky exhale, mingling with soft whimpers as gojo’s cock throbs, pulsating with each of your desperate thrusts—it aches painfully with need. his fingers work relentlessly, coaxing more cries from your lips. your chest heaves with every breath, the sound of your panting filling the room. 

“gojo-sama, take your wife out of here! she’s a clear disruption—” the king shouts, but falters as gojo’s icy gaze locks onto his, sending a chilling wave through him. fear creeps into the king’s eyes, and he immediately regrets his words.

in the blink of an eye, gojo places you gently onto the cushioned throne, your eyes fluttering in confusion as you look up to see him towering over you. before you can speak, he drops to his knees, his face inches from your drooling cunt.

he bunches up your kimono to your waist for better access, exposing your slickness that glimmersunder the harsh lights. just as gojo is about to devour you like a starved man, he hears footsteps retreating from the room.

without turning his head, his voice booms with unsettling authority, filling the space with an ominous weight. 

“the first person who leaves will be beheaded.”

fear grips the room as every footstep halts. the tense silence makes it clear, all eyes are now fixed on you two, trapped in the suffocating stillness that follows.

and now, here gojo is, his tongue buried deep inside your stretchy walls, his frosty hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed a rosy pink. he lost himself the moment his lips met your pussy, consumed by an imhumane hunger.

your cunt is loud, the lewd sloshes echoing through the royalty room, disturbing the royal family's ears. your pussy spasms as his head shakes like a madman, his killer tongue curling and thrusting as deeply as he can reach. each movement sends shockwaves through you, and he revels in the chaos he's creating.

both of his hands are messily playing with your drenched breasts, which are on full display. he pinches and squeezes your nipples with need, adding to the overwhelming sensations. you're a moaning mess, the dual stimulation too much to bear—a toe curling experience that leaves you breathless.

gojo drinks and slurps loudly on your sloppy pussy, each sound a explicit reminder to his appetite. your pussy is like a drug to him, he's high off you and can't get enough. he needs more of you—your taste, your scent—or he'll surely go mad.

the room is filled with the symphony of your combined sounds, your moans, his greedy slurps, and the wet noises of your body responding to him. it's a lewd display that leaves no doubt about the depths of his obsession and your mutual surrender to this intoxicating moment.

“hahh, i n-need it, my lady,” gojo whimpers, his droopy eyes locked onto your messy breasts, glistening with milk. his mouth waters, a desperate hunger igniting within him as he rises from his knees, his lips and chin still slick from your leaky cunt. confusion flickers across your face until his warm mouth finally envelops your nipple, his tongue swirling around it with an insatiable eagerness, drawing forth your sweet fluids.

his eyes flutter closed at the new taste flooding his senses—so sweet, candied, and intoxicating that it sends a jolt of pleasure straight to his throbbing cock, which leaks eagerly against the fabric of his traditional attire. the sensation is overwhelming that he can’t get enough. 

“oh f-fuck, ‘toru…” you moan, your voice trembling as waves of pleasure wash over you. the sensitivity of your nipple sends shivers down your spine, and you arch your back off the cushioned throne instinctively, pushing more of yourself into his mouth. 

“mhm… so good,” he groans against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your body. he sucks harder, pulling on your swollen nipple as if it's the only thing keeping him alive. the sounds of slurping and moaning fill the air—each noise a raw desire consuming both of you.

you cry out again, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you. you gasp, lost in a haze of pleasure as gojo's mouth works its magic. every flick of his tongue and gentle tug sends you spiralling deeper into ecstasy. the royal family stares up in horror at your lewd actions, they tremble in fear at what gojo would do to them if they said one peep.

but gojo is completely lost in this moment, high on the taste of you. “i can’t stop… i need more,” he moans breathlessly between pulls as your milk coats his plush lips, his own arousal pushing him closer to the edge. each time he pulls away to catch his breath, he’s met with the sight of your flushed cheeks and blissed-out expression—fuelling his desire even further.

gojo has found his new addiction in you, and it’s a craving that will never be satisfied. as he continues to devour your milk with fervour , both of you moan like crazy, caught in an endless cycle of pleasure that only seems to intensify with each passing moment.

he’ll never stop at this rate.

GETO SUGURU

your ears perk up as you hear your coworkers squeak in excitement upon spotting geto suguru, the renowned artist, stepping into the luxurious store where you work. this high-end boutique, filled with fashionable handbags and stunning clothing, is where geto loves to shop—not just for the exquisite pieces, but because you’re always here.

fiddling with the clothing rack, you catch a glimpse of geto through your peripheral vision, flanked by his bodyguards as female employees swarm around him. little do they know—and little does the media suspect—that you and geto share a secret relationship. he often begs you to quit your job, promising to provide for you completely. as tempting as that offer is, you've built a family at work that you cherish deeply.

“hmmm, i was actually looking for this piece in particular,” you hear him say from behind you. his large hand engulfs yours as he selects the coat you were just touching. you stifle a giggle; this is nowhere near his usual style. he always does this to strike up casual conversations in public.

“would you get the fitting room ready for me, mrs. geto?” he rasps, whispering the last part just for your ears. your eyes widen in shock, hoping no one overheard. you nod, noticing your coworkers scoff at how clearly geto has a favorite.

you already know what he wants with that slick fitting room signal—he misses you and wants to fuck you.

that's why he has you bent over prettily for him in the vip fitting room, your hands pressed against the full-length mirror now smudged with your fingerprints. your work pants are discarded somewhere across the room as you watch him tease you mercilessly, rubbing his cockhead along your puffy folds. your pussy aches, desperate for more.

“i missed you, pretty,” he murmurs softly, and you nearly crumble when he slaps his chubby tip against your clit. the wet taps send jolts through your entire body, making your pussy clench around nothing.

“m-missed you too, sugu,” you whimper, voice trembling with need. he swats your ass, drawing a moan from your lips as you lean into the mirror. fog clouds the reflection as he continues to spank your sore skin, each slap a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless.

“‘m not talkin’ to you,” he scolds as you whine, wiggling your hips back to feel more, a chuckle rumbling from him. “since you wanna ignore my texts... she would never ignore me.” his voice drops as his leaky tip pushes its way into your cunt, your walls stretching to accommodate every inch, almost burning. geto hisses at the way your velvety walls flutter around him, and you feel yourself growing blissfully dumb. the store's background music rings in your ears, a reminder that you're still on the job.

geto watches you slowly lose yourself through the mirror, pulling your hips firmly against his as he slams his cock deep into your walls, making you sob aloud. he pounds mercilessly into your sopping pussy, each stroke deeper than before, his flushed tip kissing your cervix with every thrust. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the fitting room, mingling with your moans and creating a sweet melody of raw desire.

“fuckkk—pussy so good,” he pants as you clamp down at the praise, a grin spreading across his face as he sees your eyes shut tightly, moaning out pathetic pleas. your pussy sobs uncontrollably, nearly louder than the soft music playing through the speakers.

“mmm, she’s very talkative today,” he rasps wickedly, his hand snaking down to vigorously rub your achy clit, the cool metal of his silver rings grazing your sensitive skin. you cry out from the dual stimulation, overwhelmed by the sensation.

“y-you came here to just speak to my pussy more than m-me,” you manage to say, a hint of attitude slipping through as he pauses, taken aback by your words. his thrusts come to an abrupt halt, and you whine at the sudden stop.

“awh baby. are you upset? wanna show me how mad you are?” he teases with a fake pout, watching as your frustration builds. “poor thing, all worked up and nowhere to go.”

he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “maybe if you hadn’t ignored my texts, i’d be a little nicer,” he taunts, giving your clit a sharp pinch that makes you gasp. “but now? i think i’ll take my time.”

his words send a shiver down your spine as he resumes his relentless pace, each thrust deliberate and punishing. “come on, show me how mad you are,” he urges mockingly, his voice dripping with amusement.

those were his last words before you took control, riding him like your life depended on it. he's whimpering beneath you,struggling to hold back his moans as your pussy works him over, each movement a killer. you're pouncing on him on the adjacent couch from the mirror, your hips rolling at a relentless pace as his large hands knead the flesh of your ass. he swears he's under some kind of hypnosis, his eyes glued to your breasts as they bounce wildly in front of his wide, purple eyes.

your pussy squelches louder and louder with each thrust, a symphony of wet sounds that’s music to his ears—he even thinks he might have to incorporate it into his next song.

“how’re you feeling, pretty boy?” you purr, and a moan slips past his lips at the praise. his eyes flutter slightly as you ride him faster, your walls sucking him in with a steady rhythm.

“hahhh, d-don’t think i won’t get back at you,” he whines, but there's no mistaking the submission in his voice. you grin down at him, taking in the sight of his long locks sticking to his forehead, strands of hair messily splayed across his face. he's completely undone beneath you, humming with pleasure as you continue your relentless pace.

his once-commanding presence is softened by the way he succumbs to your movements, each roll of your hips drawing out more whimpers and gasps. 

“mr. geto, we found a few pieces that you might like!” 

you stop in your tracks, eyes widening in panic as you hear your manager’s voice on the other side of the door. geto lazily smiles, clearly enjoying the fear that flashes across your face. without warning, he lifts you up from the couch, his strong arms wrapping around you as he strides closer to the door. your heart races as he slams you against the wall beside the door, and you stare up at him, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you.

“hmm? please tell me more about it, im dying to know more,” he lies smoothly, his voice low and teasing as he wraps your legs around his waist. his cock is still buried deep inside you, and he begins to thrust slowly, deliberately. you bite your lip hard, desperately trying to stifle any sounds as you’re mere inches away from your oblivious manager who rambles on about clothing pieces.

each thrust sends shockwaves through your body, and you struggle to keep quiet as he fucks you roughly. it almost feels like he’s punishing you, yet the thrill of being caught only heightens your arousal. but fuckk, the way you look at him—eyes wide with fear and desire—makes him want to abandon all caution. he wants everyone to see how much you belong to him.

“you like that, baby? you like getting fucked in front of your manager?” he whispers with a wicked grin, his voice dripping with mischief. you gasp as his dick throbs inside your sloppy cunt, your arousal leaking profusely and staining the expensive flooring beneath you. 

your managers voice suddenly drops as she realize something is off, her excitement turns to horror as she begin to piece together what’s happening just behind the door.

“yeaa, I bet you do, doll,” geto taunts, his eyes dark with lust. 

“just show her how much of a slut you are.”

CHOSO KAMO

“what do you mean there’s no room?” you exclaimed, eyes widening as you looked into the back seat and saw it completely filled. not even a single inch was available for you. of course, two of the tallest guys—choso and riko—were manspreading like it was their job, leaving your poor friends, mina and sajé, squished together.

“well… we thought the car would fit all of us,” choso’s friend, the driver, said as he glanced back, confirming that there was zero room possible. you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration; you’d already pitched in money for this road trip.

“you can sit on my lap if you’re comfortable,” choso chimed in, his voice smooth and inviting. your eyes nearly twinkle at his kindness, and everyone in the car exchanged side-eyes—half surprised and half amused by the suggestion. 

your low heels clacked against the cement as you hurried over to choso’s side of the car, excitement bubbling inside you. when you opened the door, you nearly choked on your saliva at how incredibly good he looked, manspreading in the back seat. his black baggy ripped jeans hugged his long legs perfectly, paired with those monstrous black boots that made him look even taller. your eyes trailed up to his chest—damn, that black compression shirt clung to him in all the right places.

he’s the true definition of an emo hottie!

his lap looked so inviting as you climbed into the cramped SUV. you settled snugly on his lap, feeling his large arm snake around your waist for extra protection. but oh gosh, your cunt was tingling like crazy—your clothed pussy was directly on top of his bulge, and it sent a rush of heat through you.

after nearly hours of driving, everyone in the car is dozing off to slumber—everyone except you, choso, the driver, and the person in the passenger seat. the car jolts suddenly, waking everyone up, but what’s even worse is that you’re practically bouncing on choso’s lap!

“ehh, sorry! the roads are pretty bad here,” the driver says as the car hits a series of small bumps that quickly escalate to larger ones. choso’s arm around your waist tightens, holding you down more firmly against him. you suppress a moan as you feel the outline of his growing cock beneath you—hell, you can even feel it throbbing uncontrollably.

you shut your eyes tightly, nibbling on your plush lips as you try to hold back any sounds. it would be beyond embarrassing if you let out a noise now. but with each bump in the road, the friction between your bodies sends electric shocks through you, igniting a fire deep within.

“f-fuck… need more,” he whispers lowly, just for your ears. your heart stops at his words. did you hear him wrong? but the way he’s holding you down makes it clear that you heard him just fine.

the tension in the air is thick—almost suffocating—as desire hangs between you like a heavy fog. every jolt of the car pushes you closer to him, and you can’t help but grind down slightly, feeling his hardness beneath you. it’s so pathetic how the both of you are grinding hard on each other, holding in whimpers and moans as you feel your panties fully drenched. choso’s breath hitches, and his grip on your waist tightens even more as he bucks his hips up desperately to feel more.

your nails scrape against the driver’s seat in front of you, and you swear you’re about to rip through the fabric. it’s embarrassing how turned on both you and choso are—especially with all your friends in the car!

“pull over here, let’s get some drinks,” riko groggily says, and the car sharply turns right into the parking lot of the convenience store. both of your movements come to an abrupt halt as the atmosphere shifts; everyone becomes hyper-aware of the situation.

“y’all coming in?” riko asks as he opens his door, and you feel your heart race. you and choso exchange a quick glance, knowing exactly what’s at stake. “no thanks, we’ll just stay here,” you manage to say, forcing a casual tone despite the heat pooling in your belly.

you don’t waste a minute as you reposition yourself facing choso, your knees sinking into the plush seat beneath you providing just enough comfort. his hair is messily tousled, strands falling across his face, and those puppy eyes of his are filled with a desperate need that makes your heart race.

without hesitation, choso quickly unbuckles his jeans, pulling out his achy cock from its confines. he lets out a soft moan as the cool breeze grazes his thick shaft, and your eyes widen at how incredibly hot he looks—his rosy tip leaking with anticipation.

“you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. he’s already intoxicated by you, and all you’ve done is grind against each other!. the heat between you is noticeable , and you can feel your own need building as you pull your panties to the side.

“g-gosh, choso,” you gasp as his thick tip slips inside you, your walls inviting him completely. choso throws his head back against the headrest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he drives his hips up with fervor, filling you entirely.

“i’m sorry, pretty— we don’t have much time,” he breathes, his voice strained and shaky, each word punctuated by heavy breaths. his hips move with a desperate urgency, thrusting into you with a rhythm all their own. the sound of your bodies meeting is so loud it drowns out the hum of the engine. 

you roll your hips, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. your breaths mingle in the confined space, quickening with each thrust. a moan escapes your lips as his bulbous tip expertly finds your g-spot with each powerful thrust, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. choso’s breath hitches as he loses himself in the moment, the air thick with tension and desire.

the car shakes with each thrust, the windows slightly fogging up as you both fuck each other with desperateness and need.

“‘s fuckin’ big, cho,” you stammer out, your melodic moans music to his ears. his cock vigorously throbs within your slick walls, and the two of you are growing dumb off each other, lost in a haze of pleasure.

with each thrust met, your cunt begins to spasm around him, clenching tightly as waves of pleasure wash over you. the sensation is overwhelming; it feels like your body is begging for release. the car creaks under the intensity of your movements, the air thick with heat and urgency. 

as you both get lost in the moment, choso leans in closer, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. it starts softly, but quickly escalates into something primal and messy. his hands grip your face as if he’s afraid to let go, and you can feel his raw passion pouring into every touch.

your mouths move together with urgent need, tongues tangling in a wild dance that feels intoxicating and electric. he tastes like pure desire—sweet and addictive—as he kisses you deeper. each press of his lips sends shivers racing down your spine, igniting a fire within you that mirrors the rhythm of his thrusts.

the kiss grows sloppier; breaths become heavy and desperate as you both lose yourselves in each other. saliva mixes as you moan into his mouth, the sounds echoing in the confined space of the car. choso pulls away just enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze dark with lust and hunger.

“you’re driving me insane,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire before he crashes his lips back onto yours. the urgency intensifies, each kiss more fervent than the last, as if he’s trying to claim every part of you. 

with a sudden burst of playful dominance he snakes his hands down to your ass, he slaps your flesh hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure through you, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he watches your reaction.

“yeaaa you like that shit, huh? i bet you-��

his words are cut short when you hear the doors attempt to open. you glance at riko, who’s struggling to unlock the door. before you can react, the driver unlocks it, and riko comes flying into the back seat beside you and choso.

your walls clamp down around his thick cock as he groans lowly, the thought of getting caught sending a thrill through you. you bury your face into his neck, inhaling his husky cologne.

“what the hell are y’all doing?” riko asks, glancing at your awkward position on choso’s lap, head hidden in his neck.

“she’s sleeping,” choso replies quietly, raising a finger to his lips to signal silence. everyone nods, but you can feel choso smirking as you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood.

as the car starts moving again, your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets when it begins to shake. the bumpy road makes you bounce on his cock, and you instinctively grind down, feeling him tense beneath you. his eyes flutter as he watches your hips move, knowing exactly how to make him crumble.

“cut the shit, you two- we already know you aren’t sleeping,” nobara says, pointing at the dashcam that’s connected to one of their phones.

they heard everything,

fuck.

NANAMI KENTO

“let’s just fuck it out mama, we can’t be separated.”  

“you’re ridiculous,” you scoff, sitting cross-legged in the divorce attorney's office once the door shut closed.

“we need a moment to speak alone,” nanami had asked your attorney as he left, but he was nowhere near wanting to talk and you knew that the moment the two of you were alone.

“ridiculous? this isn’t even the worst place we’ve fucked,” he taunts, rising from his chair and leaning against the desk, his hazel eyes scanning your figure—something he could never get enough of.

“sign the papers,” you say through gritted teeth, but he smirks, clearly not listening as he admires how beautiful you look in the skin tight dress.

“sign- fuckkk,” you cry out as you’re now bent over your attorneys desk, your black dress hiked up to your waist as nanami ruthlessly pounds his cock into your sore pussy as your walls welcomes him back with a warm and slimey snug. within a split second you’ve become a sobbing cock-drunk mess, your tears staining the important documents that are now scrunched up from being smothered underneath your breast.

nanamis thick fingers grip your sides as he rams his cock deep into you, this speed almost too much for you that you feel as if he’s deep in your guts. he desk shakes beneath you, pens and papers tumbling to the floor, but in this moment, nothing else matters. all that exists is the connection between you, a powerful force that consumes your thoughts and senses.

your knees buckle as he lifts you up, steadying you to keep your balance. “c’mon wifey, what about our future kids? you reallyyy want me to sign it?” he teases, his voice playful yet charged with intensity. you find yourself crying out incoherent sentences, lost in the overwhelming sensation of how good he feels.

“s-sign it,” you shudder as his thrusts intensify, you can hear the animalistic growl he lets out once he felt you squeeze tighter. feeling the tension between you as he pulls you closer. his large hand grips your hair, pulling you closer to his chest as you back arches up from the messy desk. your pussy squeaks out broken sobs as he rams his cock sooo deep that you see a small bulge forming in your lower tummy.

“what’s our lawyer going to think, huh? I spent a lotta money for his services,” he rasps, his thrusts growing deeper and more meaningful, as if to prove that you cannot leave him.

“k-kennn, fuckk,” you moan as he tugs harder on your hair, your body trembling as tears spill down your cheeks. he doesn’t care where you are- all that matters is the pleasure coursing through you. a devilish grin spreads across his face, knowing exactly how to push your buttons and drive you wild.

“i know, sweetheart—I know. just let it allll go,” he sings, encouraging you as he coaxed you toward your intense orgasm. soft “oohs” and “ahhs” escape your glossy lips as warmth pools in your belly, your slick walls tightening around him, practically suffocating his throbbing cock.

“hgnn—gonna milk me dry, baby,” nanami stutters, feeling his balls tighten painfully as his breaths become sloppy and jagged. he snakes his hand from your hair to your throat, possessively gripping you just tight enough to spark thrill without pain, amplifying the waves of pleasure that crash over you and drawing your intense orgasm closer with every pulse.

you bite your lower lip hard as you both come undone in perfect sync, a skill nanami has mastered. your walls flutter around him as his hot release fills you, feeling his thick seed plunge deep within your womb. your vision blurs and your ears ring; it’s so messy that your mixed juices cling between your thighs, sticky and gooey.

your mind is so dizzy that you don’t even notice when he gently places you on the desk, your back crumpling the papers beneath you as your legs are pressed against your chest. your permanent anklet dangles and glimmers in the natural light, the diamond ‘K.N.’ charm a constant reminder that he will always be with you, no matter what.

your eyes lazily flutter open to find nanami kissing your inner thighs, your legs still trembling from your previous orgasm. his lips graze your swollen folds, causing your body to jolt in response. nanami's eyes glimmer with amusement as he watches globs of your mixed essence drip down onto the papers creating a small pool on the wooden desk.

“mmm, you sure came a lot for someone who wants a divorce,” he taunts, bringing his cool wedding band back to your throbbing core, globs of cum coating the once-gold ring in a sticky white layer. you gasp at the metallic sensation as he rubs the ring against your swollen clit, toying with you while you sob incoherent sentences. your eyes dart to the door, where you catch a glimpse of shadows peeking through the window. panic rises in your throat as you try desperately to signal to nanami that there are people watching.

but oh he knows,

he knows very well that the entire floor heard the scandalous things you two were doing, and he wants everyone to know.

without warning, nanami plunges his warm tongue into your sopping core, savouring every drop of your arousal as he hums against you. the vibrations sends shivers through your body, and you can feel him revealing in the taste, his tongue exploring every inch with a deliberate slowness that drives you wild. he laps up your juices eagerly, occasionally grazing your sensitive nub with his teeth, teasingly biting it just enough to send waves of pleasure coursing through you. it feels as if he’s determined to make you scream for everyone to hear.

the loud slurping fills the room, making you cringe at how messy and indulgent he is, yet your body craves him more with each passing moment. you feel yourself teetering on the edge, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you, when suddenly, just as you're about to beg for more, the door swings open. several flustered lawyers stand in the doorway, their eyes wide with shock.

“u-uhm, mr. and mrs. nanami, the p-police are outside…”

[humanjarvis]

the world when you're with me

synopsis: you seek out sylus for comfort after realizing you were wrong about him.

tags: comfort, fluff, implied avoidant!reader learns to trust sylus, implied avoidant!reader clings to sylus, sylus takes care of reader from afar, sylus has mephisto and the twins follow reader but wbk pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mostly mc word count: 802

a/n: is this the peak of literature? no. did i need to write it after the day i had? yes. did i need to post it today? no, because i’m trying to stagger my posts more, but here we are. anyway 4k caleb pwp coming tomorrow 

For the first few weeks after you’d infiltrated the N109 Zone, you’d avoided Sylus Qin like the plague. 

After being scared out of your wits by the first version of him you'd met—the cold, unavailable criminal mastermind who’d forced you to shoot him within 5 minutes of knowing one other—you were unashamedly wary of working with him again. 

But Sylus’s intel was unrivaled. More and more often, you found yourself visiting the N109 Zone to meet with him, eventually not even bothering to book a place to stay. There was always a guest room at the Onychinus base prepped for your arrival.

As you spent more time with Sylus, he’d noticeably changed his approach to interacting with you. Rather than forcing you to resonate with him, he’d explained to you how his Evol worked, letting you aim his hands at some training dummies to test it out yourself. Instead of unceremoniously shutting you out when he was tired, he’d drag his robe-and-slippers-clad self to sit beside you on the sofa, answering your cautious questions by practically giving away all his secrets. 

His shift in attitude hadn't stopped there. Sylus had clearly been using that endearingly incorrigible crow to keep tabs on you, but for the strangest reasons. 

Whenever you had a bad day at work, some building-wide maintenance emergency would magically appear, forcing your team to cease operations for the rest of the day. He’d text you a couple hours after your early dismissal, saying he was in the city and inviting you on an evening joyride to clear your head.  

The day after you’d lugged a case of water up the stairs to your apartment, having to pause a couple times to catch your breath, you came home to see your fridge mysteriously stocked with groceries. The only traces left behind were the masked twin figures you spotted scurrying away from your window. 

When a new phone showed up at your doorstep one day—you never even told him you’d shattered your screen, you thought—you’d decided that Sylus wasn’t as bad as you’d once assumed. Not anywhere near as bad, in fact. He was thoughtful, generous, and helped you without taking credit or forcing you to ask for it. You’d never had that before.

Which is why, somehow, you find yourself standing in the doorway of his armory, studying him silently as he polishes an antique-looking gun.

When he notices you, Sylus looks up, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. “Something wrong, kitten?” he drawls, subtly checking your body for injuries. 

Mind numb from your absolutely dreadful day, you stay silent while Sylus looks at you expectantly, his hands forgetting their earlier task. 

But for the next minute, you remain hovering in the doorway. You expect him to get annoyed—you almost want him to, so you have an excuse to go back to relying only on yourself—but all you see on Sylus’s face is patience.

When you start shuffling toward him, that patience mixes with a glimmer of anticipation that he visibly tries to suppress. You need him to be calm right now—an anchor, he thinks. If he loses his composure, if he startles you with his excitement at your approach, you might bolt at any moment. 

Sometime during his inner struggle, you reach him. Meekly, you stand before his chair, briefly opening your mouth before closing it. 

“What is it, sweetie?” he asks softly. “Tell me, and we can figure it out together. I’ll personally track down whoever seems to have stolen your words from you.”

At his offer, you break, collapsing into his lap. His large, warm hands immediately encircle your waist, and you bury your face into his neck, inhaling his leather and spice cologne. 

“Aw,” he coos in his baritone voice, rocking you slowly in his embrace. When he lifts your head an inch, you resist, letting out a soft whine. Gently, he guides your head back to his chest, his quickening heartbeat thumping in your ears and grounding you in the the moment. 

After several moments of silence, your deep, shuddering breaths the only interruptions, Sylus murmurs into your ear. “When I noticed you never ask for help, I was worried the world may not be treating as well as it should. You must be very tired, hmm?” he asks, rubbing his chin against your hair. 

Tightening your arms around him, you sit there for a while, his steady breaths seeming to mend a decades-long rift in your heart.

The next time Sylus tries to lift your head, you let him. He pulls your face from his neck so he can look into your eyes, hoping his gaze conveys his sincerity, before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. 

“You don’t need the world when you’re with me,” he promises. “I’ll treat you better than it ever could.”

[catchastarorten]

—Sleep well.

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho x fem!reader

Summary: Gi-hun suggested that the group took turns staying on watch in case the other players attacked, him and Jung-bae stayed up while you and the others napped, Dae-ho took his place beside you to rest with you.

Content: fluff, cuddling(?), you head-butting him in your sleep lol, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not really proofread, sorry!

Word count: 808

You were tucked into the corner with your group—Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Young-il, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee. Trust was a rare thing in the games, but the six of you managed to stick together, watching each other’s backs through the brutal rounds.

The weight of exhaustion clung to you, but Gi-hun’s paranoia kept your eyes open longer than you would have liked. He wasn’t wrong, though. The fear was palpable.

Your group pulled a couple of mattresses off of the bunks, arranging them as best as possible. One was dragged and laid flat against the wall, the others shoved under bunk frames for some semblance of protection.

“Is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there.” Jung-bae asked, sliding a mattress to Gi-hun, who shoved it under a bunk frame.

“Once the lights go out, somebody might attack us.” Gi-hun said, his eyes focused and his voice steady. “The prize money still goes up if we kill each other. It’s a part of the game they designed.”

You exchanged a look with Dae-ho, who sat cross-legged beside you, holding onto some blankets and pillows. He had been your shadow ever since Red light, Green light. Always sticking close, insisting on protecting you in this place after seeing the way you froze during the first game—when he told you to stay behind him closely so you could use him as a human shield.

“We need to take turns keeping watch after the lights go out.” Gi-hun muttered, sitting down at the foot of the bunk beds, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “I’ll take the first watch.”

The lights flickered out not long after, leaving the only source being the giant piggy-bank hung on the ceiling that was glowing dimly.

It was after a while when Jung-bae rolled out lazily from under a bunk and plopped down beside Gi-hun, the two of them speaking in hushed voices.

You laid down on one of the mattresses, wrapping the thin blanket around yourself. Dae-ho settled beside you not long after, and though you weren’t expecting it, his hand brushed against yours as he shifted to get comfortable, and you were sure you saw his face flush before he hid it, which barely worked, to be honest.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbled, his voice low and soothing. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll fight them off if they try to come over here.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache in the best way. Dae-ho had a knack for looking out for you since you met him in the games, even in the little ways—giving you his portion of food, stepping in when someone got too close. You hadn’t known him long, but there was this easy warmth between the two of you.

Within minutes, you were sound asleep.

Dae-ho’s soft snores filled the small space you both shared. Exhaustion had gotten the better of him, just like it did to you. His arm had draped protectively over your side in his sleep, his presence a cocoon of safety.

Gi-hun and Jung-bae sat near the bunks, their attention now drawn to the sound of soft snoring. Both sets of eyes landed on you and Dae-ho, curled up together on the mattress.

“They’re out like a light,” Jung-bae remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You know, seeing them like that... it reminds me of when we went on strike. We were occupying the factory, and management told us to come out. They said anyone who came out voluntarily would be let off the hook and receive more severance pay.”

Gi-hun stared into the distance, as if recalling what happened.

“You were sleeping beside me and you were talking in your sleep. ‘Mom, I’m hungry, give me some food.’” Jung-bae made an exaggerated crying face, and Gi-hun gave him a glare as Jung-bae nudged him with his elbow, smirking.

Their voices echoed, and soon enough, soft laughs filled the quietness.

Jung-bae chuckled again, louder this time. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The noise had reached you, and you stirred slightly. Dae-ho, still asleep, curled closer to you instinctively, his arm tightening around your side. His movement caused your head to shift slightly, and without warning, you head-butted him in your half-asleep state of grogginess.

Dae-ho furrowed his brows, a soft noise escaping his lips as he shifted again, burying his face into the crook of his arm. You tugged the blanket over your shoulders, muttering something incoherent before nestling deeper into the mattress, falling right back asleep.

Jung-bae stifled another laugh, his shoulders shaking with the effort. Gi-hun gave him a glare, but a faint smile was already tugging at the corners of his mouth too.

“They’re like kids,” Jung-bae whispered, his tone fond.

“Let them sleep. They’ll need it.” Gi-hun shook his head and sighed softly.

[chuluoyi]

𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍'𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

as dawn breaks, a new chapter begins. now husband and wife in the truest sense, both of you embark on the path of happiness together. yet, bittersweet loose ends remain still. will they eventually stay in the past for good, or cast a permanent shadow over your lives?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy & sex, mentions of complications related to pregnancy, brief description of childbirth (c-section), hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here)

note: part 2 to nocturne of twilight. my god, i honestly didn't expect it'd turn out into another 8k fic but here we go :')

Lately, Zayne has come to realize just how much joy you bring to home when you’re happy.

Your smile and giggles simply light up the place.

And moreover, you get happy at the simplest of things—head pats, his snowmen... Even when he responds with jabs just to get a rise out of you, there's always a part of his heart that softens.

Today began just like one of those joyful days. He dropped you off at the Hunter Association base before heading to the hospital, and later, he planned to pick you up and perhaps stop for macarons on the way home—

Or so he thought, until...

"Hello, Dr. Zayne! Sorry for startling you. Can you come to my office? Your wife just collapsed and she is brought here."

. . .

Zayne raced to Dr. Munson's office on the third floor, panic gradually overtook his every step. His mind whirled with all the possible reasons you might end up at—

Ob-gyn office. Wait, what?

The realization struck him just as he flung open the door to his colleague’s office.

"Ah, the man of the hour has arrived!" Dr. Munson greeted him with an ear-to-ear grin.

Zayne gave a quick nod but bypassed him to head straight to the bed where you were.

You looked pale and sluggish, your eyes squeezed shut. He immediately took your hand in his, interlacing your fingers, and you opened your eyes in surprise to see him there.

"Zayne..." you murmured, giving his hand a gentle squeeze and offering a faint smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice filled with concern as he gently touched your cool cheek.

"A bit dizzy..."

Seeing you so meek made something inside him lurch. Just this morning, you had been full of life, pouting and playfully teasing him, and now you looked so exhausted.

"Well, maybe you already know this, Dr. Zayne, but still, congratulations!" Dr. Munson clapped his hands merrily. "Your wife is pregnant!"

Pregnant. Zayne stood frozen for a moment. In truth, while the very thought flitted in his mind from the moment he walked in, it didn't make it less surprising all the same. "I see..."

Then he turned to look at you, and to his surprise, you looked away, a shy smile played at your lips, as if you were trying to make yourself as small as possible.

A child. You were with child. His child.

"How far along?"

"Almost ten weeks, give or take. Well, aren't you the one who knows the most?"

"Is she alright? Anything I need to watch out for?"

"Ooh! How sweet!" Dr. Munson laughed crisply. "The cool-headed Dr. Zayne is worrying about his wife! The nurses are going to have a field day when they know this~"

Zayne shot him a look, but didn’t miss a beat as he retorted, "Of course I am."

You looked up at him silently, your heart fluttering at his earnest response. Zayne had always been resilient, but now he seemed more dashing than usual as he fired questions after questions at Dr. Munson about you and the baby.

Baby... both of you were going to become parents. It still felt surreal, but with Zayne’s warm grip on your hand, it began to feel real. You were almost giddy.

But then, it struck you— the baby was around ten weeks.

Then it meant the day of the conception was that night.

. . .

“Here, hold onto me.”

Zayne opened the door to his car and supported you as you carefully stepped out. You were still unsteady on your feet, so he returned you back home to rest rather than heading back to the Hunter Association’s base.

“Have you been feeling unwell these past few days?” he wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you made your way inside. “Usually, the symptoms have been noticeable for a while.”

“Hmmm,” you pursed your lips, feigning coyness. “I... don’t think so?”

Zayne quirked an eyebrow, sending you a withering stare as he realized your ruse. “So you have.”

“Hehe...” you flashed him a sheepish grin, causing him to shake his head in exasperation and pinch your cheek. “Ow!” you squeaked, quickly bringing your hand to your face.

Zayne stifled a smile, then gently guided you to the sofa. He crouched down in front of you, meeting your gaze as he took both of your hands in his.

"You need to tell me these things from now on, alright?" he said, and his steadfast gaze made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

"We..." you started, steeling yourself, "are going to have a baby," you gulped, feeling heat spreading to your cheeks.

He was unfazed. "Mm, we are."

You shifted uneasily, avoiding his gaze. "Are you... happy?"

Your voice wavered at the end, and your hand felt clammy. Suddenly, your stomach too twisted with nausea. Who would've thought that you would conceive a baby from a night that he called a mistake?

However, Zayne tilted his head, seemingly taken aback. "I am."

"Huh?"

"I am happy," he repeated, blinking back at you. "Are you?"

You gaped, caught off guard by his candid response—but then again, when had your husband ever been anything but straightforward?

"But you don’t seem happy!" you accused, pursing your lips. "You’ve been frowning the whole way home."

He shot you a flat look, his expression unchanged. "This is just my face."

You continued to pout, and Zayne sighed. His frown softened as he gently cupped your face, making you look up at him.

"You silly girl, what husband won't be thrilled when they hear that his wife is expecting?" he caressed your face, before poking it. "I'm just worried about you, you still look pale."

"You..." your eyes found his uneasily, at a loss of words. "But this baby is…" Your gaze dropped, anxiety swelling. "From… the night of—"

Your response stunned him, and you didn't dare to look him in the eye. It was still something that gnawed at you inside, because what if—

What if he thought this baby is a mistake?

In that moment, understanding dawned on him. His ashen eyes widened in surprise. You braced yourself for his reaction, but then—

His hand rested on your head, patting you gently. "You carrying our baby..." he faltered, gazed fixed on your averted eyes and then lips. His voice came almost in a whisper:

"This... is the best thing that has happened to me."

Thump! Your heart soared, warmth flooding through you in that very instant as you met his gaze. On the contrary, Zayne felt a crushing weight seeing the tears shining in your eyes. How deeply had he hurt you before that you’d doubt his feelings?

"I promised you that I’ll treasure you better," he said, pulling strands of your hair behind your ears. "This time, let me prove it to you."

Somehow you felt like crying at the sheer sincerity in his words. "You... like the baby?"

A gentle smile touched his lips as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. "I do. Truly."

"I... am so happy too," you finally choked up, the first tear slipping down your cheek. You quickly brushed it away, feeling a bit silly for tearing up. "I... have always wanted us to be a family..."

Zayne pulled you into his arms, letting out an exasperated but fond sigh. "A certain someone really does like to cry... And now with a baby on the way, am I going to lose my mind worrying about both of you?"

"Hmph," you wrinkled your nose. "A certain dad-to-be better work on his skills to express himself better, then."

"I'm going to focus my energy on more important things, such as thinking of all ways I should do to keep you from getting into trouble."

"...? I don't get into trouble!"

"You stumble even on empty air, I've seen it myself."

Two years ago, you had envisioned your happily ever after with him, and then you weren't sure if you would get it at all. And now, as you walked towards a new beginning together, you were wholly certain.

At least, that was what you thought.

The days following the reveal of your pregnancy were filled with bliss.

Only that, sometimes... you ask for tall order—

"Zayne... I want that plushie..."

"We have tried it three times already. That machine is rigged."

"B-but! Look, that couple won some!"

Some weeks later, the two of you were at an arcade, and your eyes were literally shining as soon as you saw the Happy Snowman plushie in the claw machine.

And ever since, you had been tugging at his sleeve and dragging him to catch it for you... only to no avail so far.

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. "With the way you’re acting, no one would believe you’re about to become a mom."

"Isn't that the whole point?" you fired back, puckering your lips, before mustering your best puppy eyes and bringing your hands together. "Please? Baby wants it so much."

He knew you were using the baby card just to get your way, but you looked so adorable doing it that it often worked—evident from how he lined up once more for the long queue at the claw machine.

"This is the last time," he decided, giving you a flat stare when you two reached your turn. "If we lose, we're buying the one in the souvenir shop."

"Teehee~" you giggled in delight. You'd get your plushie either way. Zayne was always listening to you even with his grumbles, and it made you inwardly kick your feet in joy.

Despite being cross, Zayne was better at this than you. He almost snagged some plushies several times, and this time, he skillfully maneuvered the claw, pressing the button with precision—

“Oh!” Your eyes sparkled as the claw secured your prized Happy Snowman. “Zayne! Just a little more!”

"Yeah, yeah..."

Just like that, the claw released the snowman into the hole. As soon Zayne handed it to you, you practically squealed. "Ahh! Finally I got you!"

You were so full of childlike excitement, even though you were just months away from bringing a child into the world yourself. Zayne watched you silently, and despite himself, a soft smile tugged at his lips.

"Do you want more?" he asked. "We still have three chances left."

"Yes!" You beamed at him. "I want the penguin and crow!"

Apparently, he was weak to your wishes. He then took the machine again, and maybe luck blessed him this time because soon enough, he got you two of them right after the chances ran out.

“Hehe! We’re bringing them home!” You patted each plushie with delight, your giggles drawing the attention of nearby kids.

"Mom, look! That uncle gets many plushies!"

Zayne felt his eyes twitch. Uncle...?

You tried and utterly failed to hold back your laugh.

And you heard another couple bickering nearby as they threw glances at you and your husband—

"I want that crow plushie..." the woman lamented, despondently eyeing the claw machine and the three plushies Zayne had managed to win for you.

Her boyfriend, a scary-looking tall man with red eyes and rider garbs, turned to her with a snort. "Why would you even need that ugly crow for? We have crow at home."

"...Mephisto doesn't count! You're just saying that because your luck and skill are trash!"

"Tch. I can open a whole arcade just so you can tear those plushies into shreds, sweetie... just so you know, there’s a price when dealing with a devil, hmm?"

Opening an arcade only to satisfy his girlfriend's wants? You thought in a passing. Crazy.

. . .

And then your emotions are practically a whirlwind of roller coaster...

“You’re mean!” you sniffled, pointing a righteous finger at your husband and the kitty cards on the table. “You always reduce my kitties whenever you get the chance!”

Zayne exhaled, trying to explain himself. “I just make do with the cards I’m dealt with.”

“But you’re trying to take out my cats all the time!”

“That’s the gameplay. If I let you win, you’d say I’m underestimating you.”

“So, are you saying I’m bad at this?” You looked at the cards with heartbreak etched on your face, your lips quivering. “Am I?”

Uh-oh, he knew what it was. You were a stone throw away from bursting into tears and one wrong word could set you off altogether.

“No, you’re not bad...” he began, carefully choosing his words. “The kitties... they’re just not cooperating with you, that’s all.”

“So, they’re cooperating with you,” you pouted, cross. “Is that what you’re trying to say?!”

Sigh... this is going to take a while...

But ultimately... you’re also incredibly precious.

“I’m going to make an amigurumi for our baby,” you announced, smiling brightly as you settled between his legs with a crochet kit and a snowman pattern in hand. “I just know they’ll like it.”

“You know how to crochet?” Zayne asked, resting his chin on your shoulder and slipping an arm around your waist, gently touching your growing bump.

“Hmph!” You tilted your chin up with a smirk, turning to face him. “Of course, I can!”

“Oh…?”

“It’s a little side hobby,” you explained with a giggle. “I can’t resist having and making cute things~”

Zayne thought he’d laugh, but instead, it was a wave of bittersweetness that washed over him. Because apparently, even after being married to you for two years, there were some things about you he didn’t know.

He was fond of you. He knew you liked a fair amount of sweets, what your favorite food and color were, and that you couldn't sleep without turning off the lights. But then he realized...

"Does it have to be a snowman?" he asked, his eyes fixed on how skillfully you handled the hooks.

"Mm-hmm! It does."

"Why do you like it so much anyway?"

"Ah..." Your movements paused slightly, and you suddenly looked down, a hint of sheepishness in your expression. "Well..."

This way, you looked adorable somehow. Zayne squeezed you gently. "Hmm?"

"You might not remember it... but the first time we met..." you felt heat creeping up to your face but pressed on nonetheless. "I asked you to demonstrate your Evol and you showed me by creating a snowman out of thin air."

Right at that moment, Zayne could've sworn that his heart skipped a beat. That meeting... how many years ago was it? Five? Six?

He could barely remember it until you mentioned it, and yet you held that memory dear.

"Maybe it sounds stupid to you," you puffed out your cheeks. "But I think you’re similar to a snowman. You look cold on the outside, but you bring happiness to so many people. You save lives…"

The way you described him so highly made him flutter inside. Suddenly he felt soft. Soft for you. You were utterly precious, genuine and all this time, he hadn't even truly realized it.

"And to me, you..." you gulped, suddenly self-conscious. "You are... warm, just like the sun..."

The sincerity in your words touched him so deeply that it left him speechless. You had loved him and it was evident in all your actions.

Now the question is, has he done the same for you?

You brightened his life just by being yourself. Most of the time cheery, sometimes snarky, and often times decidedly spoiled... all those sides of you—

He adores them all. And he knows he'll treasure you until the end of time. And now, he's going to show you that.

Before he realized it, he had planted a kiss on the nape of your neck, and you sucked in a breath as you dropped the crochet hooks. "Zayne...?"

And then his lips pressed harder, trailing kisses along your neck, while his hands slipped inside your pajama top, caressing your skin ever so gently. The unexpected touch made you unwittingly moan.

"Can you... finish crocheting another day?" he breathed in your ear, cupping your breasts tenderly, and you almost jolted. "I'll be gentle, I promise."

It felt as if your face had caught fire, your whole body flushing with sudden excitement. Your heart raced wildly at his husky voice, and the very thought that your husband desired you was deeply thrilling.

"But you..." your voice hitched, trying not focus on his fingers. "...are never gentle."

Zayne blinked at you in surprise. "Am... I? That's not true."

"Should I jog your memory?" You pursed your lips. "One time, you threw me on the bed—"

"Well—"

"And that time you had me on all fours—"

"That's—"

"And the night we conceived this baby too—"

"Right. Alright." Zayne’s cheeks flushed with warmth as he released his grip on your mounds. "You might have a point, but this time, I assure you…"

He turned you to face him, and before you could even react, he leaned in close, his breath tickling your collarbone as he whispered:

"I will take good care of you tonight."

He made good on his promise.

This time, his hands moved with a gentleness that took your breath away. Zayne started with peppering your skin in soft, lingering kisses—starting at your jaw, then trailing down your neck, collarbone, and chest.

And when his lips finally reached the slightly visible but firm swell of your belly, he paused, pressing a kiss there that seemed to hold all the love he had for your baby.

The sight pulled at your heartstrings. The very fact that Zayne cherished this little life growing inside you filled you with a happiness so profound, it nearly overwhelmed you.

And soon...

"Ahh... aah!" you writhed, arching your back, your lower body laid bare as his tongue lapped eagerly at your folds. It was, by far, the most erotic thing your husband had done to you— he usually didn’t spend this much time for your pleasure.

But as always, he was not much of a talker during sex. Only dangerous gleam in his eyes as he glanced up from between your trembling thighs that let you know he had no plans of stopping anytime soon.

"Ngh!" You gasped when the tight ball of nerves inside you finally burst, mewling helplessly as you yanked on his hair, and he ate you out even more greedily in response. You had always known it, but moments like this made it undeniable—

Zayne turns completely into a different man while bedding you. Who would have guessed that the stoic, straight-laced head of cardiac surgery could be reduced to a man consumed by lust at the sight of his wife's body?

. . .

He had always liked having you on top. This time, Zayne made sure to prepare you exceptionally well before easing himself inside you, yet, just like every other time, you still felt impossibly tight around him.

“Ah, ah... I-I’m—!” you whimpered tearfully, your walls clenching around his girth, face overtaken by sheer pleasure. “’s full...”

It didn't take him long to bust, really. With a beautiful wife sitting on top of him, eliciting sounds like that... how could he resist?

But maybe he pushed you too hard. Lust won against all his senses as he relentlessly slammed his hips against yours, and he distinctly felt the moment you stifled a scream and came hard around him.

"Are you... alright?" Zayne asked in a groan as he reached his orgasm, his release flooding inside your womb in a rush as you clung into him tightly, shuddering and spasming.

You nodded and collapsed against him, savoring the feeling of how filled up you were. In return, he cradled you close as he slowly pulled out of you. "I-I... am..."

You curled into him, and he pressed a tender kiss on your head. In that moment, you truly felt that there were only two of you in this vast world.

Gently, he lifted you—one arm supporting your legs, the other around your back—and carried you to the bathroom to clean you up.

. . .

“Drink.” Zayne held the cool glass of water to your lips, and you obediently took a sip, your gaze lingering on the gap in his bathrobe where his chest peeked out.

He was so, so considerate. He carefully handled you as he washed your body and wrapped you in the bathrobe earlier, soothing you each time you let out a whine.

It was the most comforting aftercare you had experienced. After making sure you weren’t parched, he tucked you under the comforters, joining you soon after and pulling you close.

“Are you comfortable now?” he asked quietly, straightening your hair.

“Mm-hmm.” You snuggled closer with a smile, tracing a finger along his chest.

Somehow the way he cared for you now made you remember how your relationship was back then. He didn’t dote on you this much, he was good to you but you knew deep in your hearts that he wasn’t really there. But now…

He is yours. In every sense.

“You’re tickling me,” Zayne tutted gruffly, catching your hand and pressing it to his chest.

“So? What will you do?” you teased with a playful grin. “Will you eat me up again?”

“…” His narrowed eyes made you giggle, and you pressed yourself even closer, relishing the afterglow.

You had promised yourself not to bring it up again, but feeling vulnerable in this moment, you couldn’t help but whisper:

“You… have changed,” you muttered under your breath. “Thank you… for thinking of me.”

You couldn’t see his expression, but his arms tightened around you suddenly. Warmth spread through you, feeling as though he were shielding you from the world itself.

Weeks passed by, and soon enough, you reached the middle of your second trimester.

“We’re going to find out the gender today!” you excitedly noted in the passenger’s seat. Zayne glanced at you with a smile, silently looking forward to it too.

He was relieved that your first trimester had passed smoothly, with only a few bouts of sickness. Now, before he knew it, you were already halfway through the journey.

“If it’s a girl, I hope she won’t be a troublemaker like her mom,” he slyly retorted.

You shot him a glare. “And if it’s a boy, I’ll make sure he doesn’t spend all his time studying and turn into a robot like you.”

The journey to fatherhood still didn’t feel entirely real to him with your chirpy self, but as your belly swelled and rounded with each passing week, he began to realize that the day was quickly approaching.

It made him feel warm, and he wished he could show it to you better just how much happiness you brought to him now.

You rummaged through your bag and exclaimed, "Oh, I forgot the appointment card!"

Zayne sighed, turning the steering wheel with a small shake of his head. "See? The little mom can be so scatterbrained at times."

You slouched in your seat, crestfallen. "Sorry..."

"It’s alright," he gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he noticed your expression drop. "I’ll get it. Where did you leave it?"

"In the first drawer of my vanity desk, I think…"

After arriving back at home, Zayne headed straight to your shared bedroom and searched through your drawers. The first drawer only had your perfumes, so he moved on to the second drawer, which apparently only had more makeup supplies.

And so, he pulled the third drawer, and there were a stack of envelopes there. Curious, he pulled one out, thinking it was the card he was looking for—

—but then, suddenly, he was in a state of shock. Never would have he expected to find what he had on his hand then.

For a moment, everything around him seemed to blur, his entire world reduced to those three stark words on the page. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing, a heavy weight settling in his stomach as the realization hit him.

Petition of Divorce — and your signature... was there.

Something seemed a bit off about Zayne, you noticed later that day.

You were really looking forward to finding out the baby's gender, and you thought he was too. He stood by your side all the while, holding your hand as the ultrasound probe pressed against your skin and you waited with bated breath for Dr. Munson to announce—

“Well, it’s a girl!” he declared with a wide grin. “Whoa, Dr. Zayne is going to be a girl dad, huh?”

“Oh my…” Your eyes sparkled with joy at the news. You were fine with either, but you knew Zayne had secretly been hoping for a girl, and you turned to him with pure elation. However...

“That’s… good.” His response was brief, and although he was smiling, something felt off. You had been observing him for too long not to notice—you knew when your husband was distracted.

What is he thinking? Despite yourself, you began to worry.

“Zayne?” you asked later, holding his arm as you both exited Dr. Munson’s office. “Are you thinking about work?”

He turned to you almost immediately. “No.”

“Then why are you frowning?” you asked innocently, trying to lighten the mood by touching his face. He swiftly caught your hand.

“This is a public place,” he said in a strained voice, causing you to stiffen at his tone. “I’ll take you home first.”

Something was not right. Now you were convinced and it started to bother you.

“Actually… I need to go to the Hunter Association's base first to finish my deskwork,” you said.

His brows furrowed even deeper. “Can’t you just submit your leave?”

“Ah... I’m on half-day leave today. I need to wrap up as much as I can before I go on maternity leave later.”

“Next time,” he snapped, his gray eyes locked on you, “Whenever you have appointments, take a full-day leave. You’re in no condition to be working, especially as you get further along.”

"Zayne, are you... upset with me?" you fired the question then, because it seemed like he really did, and suddenly you felt a bit sick at the very thought.

He was certainly not expecting you to ask that, and for a moment, Zayne froze, before he exhaled and his frown softened a bit.

“…no,” he finally said, his tone gentler. “I just don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”

But ever since that day, you knew something had happened to him that he suddenly he became a little distant towards you.

. . .

Zayne hadn’t meant to snap at you. If anything, knowing you were carrying a baby girl filled him with unbridled happiness.

But still, there was still a part of him that wanted to demand answers from you—that part of him that was deeply hurt by what he discovered.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t take it too hard. No matter how much he reflected on it, he knew he hadn’t been the husband you deserved. He knew his faults and understood how much he had hurt you. From the very beginning, you deserved someone who would see only you and no one else—and he hadn't been that person before.

Even with that understanding, he was left with an unresolved hollowness. You had doubted him enough that you were ready to file for a divorce once. It didn't mean that the same thing wouldn't happen in the future.

Does he have it in him to make you happy? He had promised you he would. While he wasn't the most affectionate, he tried his best, and he intended to keep trying.

But now, after learning this, he found that not only you, but even he too was able to doubt himself.

"Zayne...?"

You peeked your head inside his study one night, several weeks later, a hand resting on your bump. You really didn't want to bother him when he just arrived, but you figured you had to tell him.

For the past week, you’d been throwing up, and it didn’t feel right. He had been at a symposium in another city since the start of the week, and you tried to wait it out. But today, you almost blacked out, and now you were genuinely afraid.

"Y/N?" he turned to you just as he laid his briefcase and the moment he saw you, he frowned at how pale you looked.

Zayne immediately stalked towards you and pulled you closer, feeling your neck to check your body temperature. His eyes widened in realization. "You have a fever."

"I-I... feel lightheaded today," you sputtered, clutching his arm. "And... I’ve been vomiting too..."

"I'll get you checked in at Akso," he decided, grabbing the car keys and led you out of the room by the shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me in your calls?"

Very lame excuse, but you tried to defend yourself nonetheless. "It wasn't this severe before—"

"You should have told me." His response was curt, but his fury was evident. You almost shrank at his tone, but Zayne didn't reprimand you further as he helped you into the passenger seat.

The drive was tense and uncomfortable, making you feel even worse. The silence only amplified your anxiety, and it didn't help that you had noticed how distant he was lately.

"I'm sorry—" you blurted but then suddenly, you sucked in a breath, wincing and fisting your dress when you felt the start of a cramp just below your ribs. "Ahh..."

Zayne’s panic surged at your pained gasp. He gripped your hand reassuringly, all trace of anger vanishing instantly. "We’ll arrive soon. I promise you’ll be alright."

At that moment, despite all fears you had—for your baby, of his sudden shift of behavior—you held back your sob and squeezed his hand in return.

. . .

You would be staying at the hospital until all the test results came in.

Zayne sat on the chair beside you, gaze fixed on you as you lay connected to an IV drip in the private room. Though he tried to mask it, he was still shaken. He knew better than anyone that fever and cramps at more than 20 weeks often signaled something was wrong with either the mother or the baby.

The thought of ailments beyond his control affecting either of you made his chest tighten. He loosened his tie and let out a sigh, trying to ease the constriction. "How do you feel now?"

You looked at him, managing a smile as you replied, "I’m fine now."

Seeing you bedridden like this was something he hadn’t realized he dreaded until that moment, and yet, there you were, smiling. You... smiled.

He couldn’t understand why the sight he usually adored suddenly stirred this swirling anger in him.

Your answer seemed to hit a nerve in him as his expression darkened, and anxiety struck you again, twisting something in your gut. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before..."

His lack of response only deepened your unease. "Before today, I didn’t feel faint at all, so I think it’s just something I ate."

He still didn't deign you with any answer. Zayne’s apparent disregard for your words frustrated you, bringing you close to tears. "Say something..." you urged, feeling the tears burn behind your eyes. "I know you're upset, but now I'm scared too."

You really wanted him to comfort you. You knew the Zayne from several weeks ago would do just that, but now you had a feeling that the man before you now wasn't that same man any longer.

"We’ll see when the results are ready," he said then, facing you with a stoic, matter-of-fact tone, as if he were delivering a diagnosis to a patient rather than speaking to his wife. "Don’t fret too much. Have some rest."

Is that... all he has to say to you? A part of your heart withered at his detached response, the tears frozen in your eyes. What happened to him?

You were about to confront him for an answer when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered.

"Hello? Yes, it's Zayne. Who is this?" he questioned flatly, eyes narrowed into a dissatisfied frown, before suddenly his expression lit up with understanding when the person on the other line introduced themselves.

You could hear the faint sound of a man's voice from his phone. And when Zayne addressed him, a sudden chill spread throughout your body.

"Caleb? It's... been a while."

You felt cold. Caleb. You never really knew him but you had certainly seen him. Once at a funeral, and once at your wedding. He too is Zayne's childhood friend, and more than that, he is the brother of—

Why? Why did all emotional suffering you had to go through, somehow or another, always come down to a dead woman who was once your husband's lover?

When he ended this call, you didn't even pretend to be considerate anymore. "What does he want from you?"

Zayne looked taken aback by your sudden hostility but answered calmly, "He’s in Linkon now and asked if we could meet."

"Must you really see him?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I don’t like it," you spat, venom clear in your voice, turning to him. "I don’t like it at all when you have to be involved with people related to her!"

Finally, you said it. You had never made it clear before, but this time, you felt like you were entitled enough to. You were having his daughter, and if he was still entangled in an illusion of his past girlfriend with you, then—

Zayne responded to your outburst with a suppressed sigh, visibly keeping his frustration in check. "He is an old friend, Y/N. You're too emotional right now that you jump into conclusions and stress yourself out."

He was right, your emotions were spiraling, but right now you were too heartbroken to care for it.

"Do you know what I fear the most?" you asked, tears shining in your eyes. At last, you voiced the dark, unspoken curse that had haunted you since the very beginning of it all:

"I’m afraid that one day, you’ll wake up and realize that either me or our baby is a mistake."

Zayne barely got any rest that night.

In the end, faced with your tears, he didn't respond because he didn't want to prolong the argument. More strain for you could put both you and the baby at risk.

Later, he told himself. No matter how much he berated himself for not noticing the signs of your illness sooner, or wanted show you that you and his unborn child meant everything to him now— later. He wouldn't risk you, and it would be better if you talk later with cooler heads.

Little did he know, that "later" would never come.

Numerous missed phone calls from the nurses station after he stepped out of the operating room sealed your fate. And when Greyson burst into his office, out of breath and panic-stricken, it was like being doused in scalding water.

"Dr. Zayne! Miss Y/N! Sh-she has just been rushed to ER for severe bleeding!"

Just like that, his world crashed and shattered beyond return.

. . .

"Dr. Zayne, I'm not sure how I should break this news to you... As a medical professional, you already know how serious this condition is..."

Everything was his greatest nightmare realized. Dr. Munson’s diagnosis struck him with a searing force, paralyzing him on the spot.

"Your wife has preeclampsia."

The nurses said you had been screaming and bleeding heavily. He too had seen it himself—the blood splattered across the pristine floor when he arrived, just moments after you were rushed to the emergency room—and the sight made a chill run through his spine in horror.

"She just experienced a partial placental abruption because of it. This causes bleeding in the mother, and also increases the risk of premature labor."

Dr. Munson’s explanation was crystal clear, yet it sent Zayne into a daze. It felt as if his chest had been ripped open, leaving him hollow as he stared numbly at your figure, peacefully asleep after the emergency treatment you had been put through.

Zayne clasped your hand in his, feeling the invincible knife lodged in his heart twist painfully.

You aren't supposed to be this cold. He gently griped your hand, his face contorted with agony. How terrified must you have been? How much did it hurt? Despite trying to push the memories away, seeing you like this brought back the nightmare from three years ago.

Only that this time, it was you. And not just you, but his unborn child as well. Both of you... there was a chance that both of you wouldn't survive.

The sheer thought made him stagger, because no, if it was the devil’s way to punish him, then it was beyond cruel. He had failed you once already, and he knew what happiness was by being with you, and to lose all of that in one blow—

"Zayne! Can you make me one more snowman?" you pleaded, your eyes sparkling as you pointed to the little gap between snowmen already perched on the window. "Just one more! It’ll make the line perfect!"

"I’m afraid that one day, you’ll wake up and realize that either me or our baby is a mistake."

It was so, so painful. His chest constricted at the contrasting memories and it took everything he had not to give in to his spiraling fears.

With everything I have, I love you. None of it mattered anymore. The divorce papers, whether he could make you happy— what was important was that It was unthinkable to lose you now. He would trade his life if it meant sparing you, because the pain of losing you would destroy him.

You had always loved that little thing he made on a whim. He opened your palm and shaped the ice through his manipulation, placing the palm-sized snowman in your grasp, hoping it would protect you throughout the night.

You remembered the excruciating pain, the primal dread of losing your baby, and the horrifying sight of crimson streaming endlessly between your legs, also how you screamed for anyone for help.

When you regained consciousness, the scent of fresh linen and alcohol was the first thing that greeted you. Dawn had already arrived, but the sky outside remained dark.

Your right palm felt cold, and that’s when you realized you were holding something. At the same time, you noticed the weight in your other hand—

Zayne. Your husband slept on the edge of your bed in such an uncomfortable position while holding your hand, his brows taut into a frown, only with a coat to cover himself.

He is here. You quietly watched him, and despite everything, you realized once again how much you loved him—even more that he was here for you.

Snowman… you stared at the little toy in your other hand, and overwhelming warmth washed over you at the thought of him creating it for you just before he slept.

The baby… what did you go through? Is she fine? You really couldn’t shake the feeling that something grave had happened to you.

You had to know. You pulled your left hand out of his grasp and caressed his face. He has to shave soon, you noted, feeling the stubble that had started to grow there. Still, you couldn't help but marvel at how handsome he was.

Your gentle touch soon caused his eyes to flutter open, and Zayne jerked awake, instinctively catching your hand. "You're awake..." he rasped, his voice rough with exhaustion.

He looked at you as if he was in disbelief, and immediately rose and squeezed your hand. You looked up to him, feebly asking, "What... happened to me?"

His face fell right that moment but you pressed on, "Tell me. I have to know..."

Zayne's reluctance was obvious, but the plea in your voice made him waver. Finally, he sighed and sat down on the edge of your bed.

"The test results have come back," he began, his voice adopting the clinical tone you recognized from when he spoke to his patients. "Your blood pressure is abnormally high, and there was protein found in your urine sample... These are signs of a condition called preeclampsia."

Shock marred your features in that moment, because you had heard what it was and what it meant for your baby.

"The only cure for preeclampsia is delivery. And at the same time the placenta has detached from the wall of your womb. This way, our baby—"

You had watched Zayne deliver devastating diagnoses to his patients before, and he was always steadfast. But this time, even his voice wavered.

His gray eyes seemed to glisten under the light as they held your gaze. "She's being deprived of oxygen and nutrients because the placenta can no longer supply them. You may also experience heavier bleeding, more cramps, and fetal distress. The best course of action now is to deliver the baby as soon as possible."

It felt like receiving death sentence. No matter how you looked at it, the conclusion was the same. "B-but..." you stammered, your whole body trembling, shaken by the enormity of it all. "S-she's just... barely twenty-six weeks..."

The way devastation bled in your voice pierced him. Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his arms, letting out a long, drawn-out breath as he held you close.

"I'm here," he assured, trying to console you. "You don't have to be scared. We'll monitor you closely until it's possible for you to give birth to the baby in around thirty weeks. I'll make sure of that."

The first of your sobs began. "...i-is it me?" you clutched at his coat mournfully. "Did I… p-put the baby into distress somehow— that it causes the placenta to fall away?"

"No," he firmly shushed you. "It's a condition that can flare up anytime. Don't blame yourself for it."

Still, how could you not? More than yourself, you feared for your unborn child. You sobbed harder, and Zayne held you even as his coat had started to dampen from your tears.

Your predicament broke his heart too, but at the same time, he found the perfect moment to finally show you the entirety of his heart.

"You told me you were afraid I'd come to see both of you as a mistake," he murmured, gently running his hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe you. "But how can our daughter be a mistake when—" his voice caught, choking on the words, "—when I've loved her so much already?"

The strain in his voice made you look up, and you were taken aback by the intensity of his gray eyes that bored into you.

“Both of you... are so precious to me.” Zayne locked his eyes with yours, sincerely meaning everything he said as he cradled the side of your face. “The thought that anything might happen to either of you... is unbearable.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice hoarse, “What if… you continue to bleed and it leads to seizures? What if— you and the baby won’t make it? These are so unbearable for me.”

His words went straight into you, and for a moment, your tears receded as they sank in.

"I can’t give you my past." His voice tinged with melancholy, the expression on his face was torn. "But I promise you, at least in this lifetime..."

He gazed at you with the unwavering look you had fallen in love with, the same gaze you once admired from afar, long ago.

And then, his next declaration took your breath away and made your heart soar like never before. A wave of love surged within you, almost overwhelming you—

"Right this moment and my future—it's for you. For both of you, always."

From that moment on, you knew you would trust him completely. From that moment on, you finally let go of your doubts, knowing that you had nothing to fear with him by your side.

Zayne was by your side whenever he was able to.

You were on bedrest at the hospital ever since, but he always stayed the night here to accompany you, barely going back to home for a change of clothes.

"You’re really making a snowman..." he remarked, observing your fingers and the crochet hooks he’d brought from home so you could keep yourself entertained. "I think you need to add a bit more fluff there..."

Your face brightened with a grin as you cut the yarn. "Don’t worry, I’ll make it extra round."

The weeks in the hospital dragged on, but they also gave you more time to work on your amigurumi. When you finished putting the final touches on it, you proudly presented it to Zayne—the snowman with a blue shawl and black hat, two little round eyes, and a beaming line of smile. "Ta-da! Look, it’s even cuter than the ones you made!"

A happy you was always the sight he loved to see above all. "Yeah..."

"Do you think she'll love it?" you suddenly asked, poking the snowman doll you just made, feeling warm at the thought that your cherished baby will soon play with it too.

You looked so endearing that Zayne felt an overwhelming urge to pull you closer. “She will,” he chuckled, giving you a reassuring pat on the head. “Didn’t you say before she will?”

And soon, you reached the thirtieth-week mark. The time had come to finally deliver your baby.

. . .

"I can't feel anything..." Your voice came out as a soft whine while you lay on the operating table, your lower body numb and obscured by the surgical curtain shielding you from view.

Zayne, standing beside you in a mask and headcap, grasped your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours. "If you could feel it, you’d be screaming."

The C-section was the only way to ensure both you and your daughter would survive. It felt surreal to know they were basically cutting you open, yet you were unable to feel anything.

"Will... she come out healthy?" you asked your husband hesitantly, worried about your soon-to-be born baby. "I'm worried..."

Zayne glanced at you and gave your hand a light squeeze. "Don’t worry too much. You should be more concerned about yourself. Think of all the food you want to have when you get home, and I’ll get it for you."

You shot him a glare. "You make me sound like a foodie."

"You are a foodie."

Despite the ongoing surgery, Zayne’s lighthearted jabs were his way of easing your anxiety. Even though they irked you, you appreciated his attempts to lift your spirits.

And soon—

You heard a feeble cry, though quickly drowned out by the cheers of the surgical team beyond the curtain. You gasped and turned to Zayne, who was fixated on the tiny baby in Dr. Munson's hands.

He didn't even blink. It was almost as if he was spellbound by the sight. Nothing mattered because his daughter was here. Really here.

"Zayne…" your voice then broke the spell. He turned to you, who weakly smiled at him with tears in your eyes.

For the first time in your life, you saw tears of happiness glistening in his eyes as he stared at you— the woman who had just given him a daughter to love and dote on.

He immediately leaned in to press a kiss on your forehead. Your heart felt so full, even though he wasn’t able to fully express it in words. In that moment, you could feel his profound love for you and the new life you would embark on together.

"She is so small..."

You pressed yourself as close as you could to the see-through glass of the neonatal unit, straining to get a glimpse of your baby daughter. Though you weren't well enough to walk three days after the surgery, you insisted on Zayne wheeling you over in a wheelchair just so you could have a peek.

"She’ll grow big soon," Zayne said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder when he noticed your sadness. "She’ll stay there for a few more weeks, and then we can bring her home."

However, your expression twisted into a worried frown as you watched the gentle rise and fall of your baby’s tiny chest inside the incubator. Even when he had reassured you that it was by all means just an unfortunate condition, you couldn't help feeling that it was your fault somehow that she ended up there.

She had his tufts of black hair, but you weren’t able to get close enough to remember her face clearly. The fact that you hadn’t held her in your arms yet made your heart ache.

"Mommy is sorry that she can't carry you to full-term..." you croaked out, lips wobbling, a hand tracing the glass separating you from your new baby, and Zayne inhaled sharply at the sight.

It hadn’t been easy, but you had made it through. Both of you had. And to him, that was more than enough. So, you needed to hear it too.

He crouched down in front of you, catching your attention instantly. You tilted your head as his hands rested gently on your shoulders.

“Thank you for delivering our daughter safely,” he said with the softest of smiles, ever so genuine just as you were in all times of the two of you together.

Your eyes widened a bit at his sudden gratitude, and when he took both of your hands together in his, gazed at you with such earnestness in his clear ash-grey eyes, and traced his thumbs over your knuckles, your heart skipped a beat.

“And most of all, thank you... for being safe too.”

Those words brought immense warmth to you, and the prettiest of smile lit up your face then at the way he looked at you as if you were his most prized treasure. Just like that, once again, he cast all your fears and doubts aside.

And deep down, you knew that with him by your side, everything was going to be alright.

taglist

@sillyfreakfanparty @rjreins @enterrandomusername @castellandiangelo @admirablefangirl @luna4mnoon @prettytemis @onliafaze @aviesnapkindoodles @jinniebby2 @mnemeosyne @elliesndg @haichii @pearlymel @kissingtruth @mccutelittlesheep @certainduckanchor @itsbabyabby @thdcre @aerithsthingss

[nebulaeternal]

「 ✦ Play by Play - Pt.1 ✦ 」

―⭑❥.ᐟ GENRE/WARNING: f!xm, porn w/little plot, guided masturbation, edging, teasing, size kink, overstimulation, dirty talk, pussy play, vulgar Caleb, absolute brainrot.

―⭑❥.ᐟ SUMMARY: Caleb had returned from Skyhaven, eager to see your face as always. Trying to sneak up on you, he finds a more pleasant surprise waiting to welcome him home.

―⭑❥.ᐟ WORD COUNT: 1.9K

―⭑❥.ᐟ A/N: Here's some more of my brainrot writing, this might be a little more accurate now that I have a better idea of his character. This is a multi-part fic, I'm not sure how many parts but its likely it'll be 2. Hope you all like it, let me know what you think! Enjoy! (Did wanna add once more that if you wanna join my taglist, to make sure your settings allow me to tag you and that your username is correct.)

―⭑❥.ᐟ LINKS: AO3 Ver. , Twitter, Taglist Sign-up

―⭑❥.ᐟ TAGLIST: @noone-png, @kicupo, @rafayelsplush, @imissnanami

Your legs were clenched tightly, the man before you held a gaze so hot it burned holes through your body. What were you doing before? You had been in your room, trying desperately to get off for the last hour, frustration etched in your movements and moans as you rubbed your clit, a groan of irritation leaving your lips as yet, another orgasm slipped through your fingers, literally. 

Unbeknownst to you, Caleb had come back from Skyhaven to visit you like always. He walked through the door quietly, hoping to catch you by surprise. Gently, he shut the door behind him and carefully set down his things, looking eagerly for you till he heard the sighs and moans that came from behind your door. He knew he shouldn’t be listening in but he couldn’t help it, you sounded heavenly. “Caleb~“

His heart thumped hard in his chest, did you know he was there? “Right there-“ the sighs spilled from your lips as he listened to you. Caleb crept closer, realizing now that your door was cracked just barely, giving him a good enough view of you.

The sight he saw before him made his body burn, his skin prick with sweat, and his pants unbearably tight. There you were, draped in one of his many shirts, not an uncommon occurrence for you, but seeing your legs spread and your hand on your cunt, it made something inside him stir. 

He stayed there for a while, debating whether to stay or walk away. Unable to let himself indulge in such a guilty pleasure he began to slink away, that is until he heard your frustrated groan followed by a whine.

Sneaking back to the door, he watched you throw your head back in defeat. A pout of frustration wore on your lips, the same pout he loved so much and couldn’t resist. Without even thinking he pushed your door open.

Startled, you gasped and scrambled under your sheets. Your face burned hot as you tried to compose yourself. “Caleb-“

“Ah ah.” He said, catching you somewhat off guard. He was so serious…Taking the chair from the middle of your room, he pulled it up beside your bed and took a seat.

Your eyes flicker down at his crotch to see the strain in his pants, before quickly looking back at his face, hoping he didn’t notice the shift in gaze. “What are you-“

“I know now. You can’t hide it anymore, there’s no need to.” When he said those words your heart dropped to your ass, beating fast as you stared at him almost in horror “Caleb I’m so fucking sor-“

“Open.” He commanded. You couldn’t quite read him and you stared at him bewildered. “Your legs, open your legs.” He said more gently now. “Wha-“ His fingers graze your legs through the blanket.

“You want me right? Want my help?” Gnawing your lip, you nod slowly but surely. “Good, then spread those legs, princess.” Your face burned hot as his words reached your ears.

Doing as he asked, you peeled the blanket away and exposed your bare lower half to him. He inhaled sharply through his nose and scooted closer, the vein in his neck straining.

He leaned in, his scent infiltrating your nostrils, almost instantly short-circuiting your brain. “Sit back for me and show me how you do it, yeah?” Shyly you nodded, positioning yourself to be right in front of him.

You wanted to desperately start up again, feeling your core begin to leak once more but you were almost scared stiff. “Relax, close your eyes, and listen to my voice.” You nodded, to which he was pleased. “Good girl…now play with your clit.”

Trying your best to calm down, your fingers crept lower, eyelids fluttering shut. A strangled moan left your lips when you reached your clit. You heard a shaky breath from Caleb, which only managed to spur you on further.

His eyes were trained on your face, flicking between the bliss you exuded and the way you worked yourself. His voice was husky and breathless, “Keep going just like that..” Caleb watched intently, savoring the whines that slipped past your lips. 

Seeing how slick your entrance had become, he wanted more. “Slide your fingers inside.” He rasped out, breath growing heavy. He watched your two middle fingers slip into your cunt, stretching the flesh around it. It took absolute restraint for him to stay seated, seeing the way your chest heaved, the moans that spilled from your lips, and the shallow thrusting of your fingers. All while draped in his shirt that was way too big for you.

As you continued, a creamy white ring started to form around your fingers, the noises lewd made your ears burn. “Caleb~ Please.” you whined out, not quite sure what it was you were begging for, but he knew.

Your moans only got louder, your fear and worry long forgotten as you sank into the pleasure. Slumping back onto your elbows, you instinctively spread your legs wider, seeking more. As you neared your peak, your movements became urgent, your moans more desperate–until his next command cut through your haze “Now stop.” What? Your body betrayed you, obeying him almost instantly. Though you didn’t stop entirely, your pace did slow down, a whine of frustration escaping your lips as your pleading eyes met his.

As much as he wanted to bend at your whim, and give you what you wanted, he didn’t. He had other plans for you. Leaning back into his chair, legs spread wide, he silently shook his head. “But why?” You whimpered, fingers still moving at a torturously slow pace.

“I told you to stop, princess. Why are you still moving them, hm?” you flashed him another pleading look to which he exhaled deeply. “Alright—go on.” With his permission now granted, you eagerly resumed your previous activities, slumping back into your elbows as the world around you faded into nothing but the intense sensations he had so carefully put together.

Lost in the indulgence, you barely noticed the faint rustling and shifting sounds nearby. Every ounce of focus was consumed by your approaching climax, your sole objective now was to reach it.

Then there it was, a moan that didn’t belong to you, a very strangled, guttural moan. You paused your movements, sitting up to look at him, only to find him palming himself through his pants. His gaze was lidded, staring at you through the fringe of his hair.

You stared at him almost in awe, forgetting your pleasure for a moment. Then he got up, his body moving almost completely beyond his control. Quickly he closed the distance, pushing you flat against the bed. Leaning down he whispers in your ear, “Don’t stop now, you’ve been doing so good.” 

Before your mind could process his words, you felt his fingers rest atop yours, aiding to push them deeper into your pussy, causing you to shut your eyes and moan loudly. Your eyes fluttered open when you heard him chuckle softly.

He continued to guide your fingers, his larger hand almost completely covering yours as you stared deep into his irises, purple and sparkling with mischief. You felt his finger start to intrude your entrance, sliding in right next to yours, causing you to gasp out.

“Caleb—oh fuck.” You tossed your head back into the sheets, absolutely blissed out. He studied your face closely, watching every change in your expression as he fingered you. Suddenly he stopped. Your head whipped up as you pouted but before you could protest, he hoisted you up and sat you in his lap, your back resting against his chest.

One of his arms hooked under your knee, bending your leg, while the other snaked over your waist and rested on your hip, forcing your thighs apart. You hadn’t realized the scene before you, till you saw the glint of his necklace chain in the mirror in front of you.

That’s right, the mirror that you look into every single day, making sure you were stylish before heading out, was now reflecting something far more obscene. Your cunt was on full display for him to see and his hand was only snaking closer to your clit.

Unable to deal with the embarrassment it brought upon you, you whipped your head away, trying to hide your face in his arm as best as possible. “Eyes up, baby girl.” 

“I-I can’t-“ you whined, almost pleading to let you off. Attempting to bury your face further, your body shifts slightly. He pinches your clit lightly, causing you to gasp out and arch your back.

“Yes, you can. Now eyes up.” He instructed soft and low into your ear. You managed to look up, finding his face nestled in the crook of your neck, peeking out over your shoulder as he slipped his fingers inside you.

“Oh my god—“ you sighed out, body tensing in his hold as he worked you slowly. Caleb watched you through the reflection of the mirror, loving how you squirmed and whined for him. The grip on his forearm was rough, nails digging crescents into his skin. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You practically sobbed out after being denied an orgasm for so long.

Your other arm managed to find its way to his hair, gripping him tightly and pulling him even closer to your neck, moaning shamelessly as his teeth sank into the flesh of your neck.

He chuckled darkly, quite amused with your desperation as your hips bucked up to meet his fingers. Your pussy was a leaking mess, fluids and juices flowing down onto the bulge of his pants—that sat right below your cunt.

He continued to tease you, bringing you too close to your high and refusing to let you fall. A tortuous tug of war ensued with your body. Tears of frustration streamed down your face as you babbled and begged him. and as much as he loved the sound of your pleading whines, he couldn't help but give in to your pleas, he wanted to have fun too after all. 

Slowly, he slipped his fingers out of you, squelching in the process. Gently pushing you onto your feet, he spun you both and dragged you onto the mattress. He slowly removed his shirt, exposing the expanse of muscle that lay beneath the fabric.

Your face grew hot with each inch of skin exposed, eyes trailing down to the ‘V’  that dips right under his beltline. You were staring so hard you didn’t even realize his shirt was fully taken off till his hands reached for his belt buckle, slowly unclasping it.

“Like what you see?” He teased, watching the way your eyes followed his movements, how you subconsciously gnawed on your lip, absolutely mesmerized. You’re not quite sure how, but you were suddenly possessed with the courage to walk up and touch him, but you did and something inside him snapped.

Caleb laid you down eagerly, sprawling you out on the mattress, admiring the view below him—you wearing his shirt, looking up at him flushed and desperate.

“Such a perfect mess for me.” He murmured, running a hand along your thigh, and pulling your hips flush against his crotch— loving the way you gasped and jolted at merely his touch. “You’re so sensitive, Princess~” he teased, emphasizing the nickname that had your knees weak.

Unconsciously you clench your legs, which elicited a reaction from him. He leaned down, dog tags clinking before resting on your neck as he whispered into your ear. “You love being called princess, don’t you? Princess.”

「 ✦ Pt.2 ✦ 」

[seungcheorry]

types of kissers on svt.

seungcheol: tongue kisser

this dude is slipping his tongue into your mouth the moment he has the chance. don't get me wrong, if he can't kiss you properly he will set for pecks, even just soft kisses using those plump lips - but if we're talking actually kissing, then he wants to taste you and have you sighing. one hand on your hips, the other one on the back of your head.

jeonghan: smooth kisser

jeonghan is sooo smooth when it comes to kissing. you might not even notice him sliding his tongue into your mouth - either because he's also caressing your arm or sliding his hands to your waist -, but once you do and you sigh, jeonghan makes sure to smile against your lips as he leads the kiss in his own way (because you better believe he's doing this his way).

joshua: the smiler

he's happy to be there, kissing you. he's happy to be able to feel you on his lips, taste lingering on it for hours afterwards, hands moving all around your body. he's so happy that, when he's out of breath, joshua takes his time to smile on your lips, to show you how his serotonin levels are way up now (even though sometimes his eyes are saying "i'm gonna ruin you").

junhui: free kisser

his kisses are always gentle, as if he's waiting for you to show him how you want it. will gladly move his lips, put some tongue into you and even some teeth, but you gotta start it. he just loves kissing so much, it doesn't really matter how it goes to him so you have a free card to ask for whatever you want.

soonyoung: nasty kisser

let me get this straight: the nastier, sloppier and wetter, the better. soonyoung likes to hear you kissing him, the sounds your lips make, the sound his tongue caressing yours make. he isn't scared to get saliva all over his chin, so don't even bother stopping him - he's only stopping when neither you or him can breath.

wonwoo: slow kisser

it's not even planned, it's just default by now - he somehow always grab your face with both his hands, holding you in place as his lips open yours to welcome his shy tongue. it's slow most of the times, it's a bit clumsy - when he doesn't take his glasses off -, but it's so full of love. most likely to whisper a 'come here' before kissing you.

jihoon: the intense kisser

this motherfucker treats every kiss as if you're about to disappear. a hand on your face, the other one roaming your body, as he expects you to do the same. grabs your hair and pulls your closer, let's you take control over the kiss and how much movement you want, but keeping you close it's his job. groans and moans against your mouth, especially if you use your tongue on him.

dokyeom: the toucher

can't kiss without touching you. "oh, but it's just a peck on the lips-" yeah, and he's gonna grab you by the neck while you do it. romantic, slow kiss in the middle of his kitchen? his arms are circling your body. make out session on your couch? his hands are grabbing your thighs and/or hips. a shy kiss in the middle of the street? his hands are holding yours. for real, there's no kissing without touching with dk, ever.

mingyu: the teaser (who likes being teased)

mingyu loves to tease in anyway he can, especially if he's trying to build up something more. expect his hand around your neck, his teeth softly biting and pulling your lips, long and happy sighs against your mouth, his tongue sliding on your own - there's many, many tricks he likes to use it. please, match his freak and he will melt in your hands too (pull his hair!!).

minghao: romantic kisser

minghao believes there's only so many things that can be as romantic as kissing, so he likes to put emotion into it. there is less tongue and more lips, he stops in the middle of it to look at you and brush your hair, peck your lips and your chin. he takes his time, it's really sweet - but it can also turn you both on.

seungkwan: shy kisser

he likes kissing, don't get me wrong - but full kisses, with tongue, sounds, hair grabbing and stuff are only reserved for the bedroom. outside of it, seungkwan's kisses are shy, there's always a faint tone of red adorning his cheeks as he pecks your lips for a few seconds. might even whine if he tries to pull away but you grab his neck and make him stay there. it's cute.

vernon: soft kisser

he's slow and gentle. vernon always starts with his hand on your face, cupping your cheek as he savory the kiss. it's his way to convey all his love for you on it. might rest his hands on your hips if he's feeling like letting you control the kiss or sliding them from your face to your neck if he feels like controlling.

chan: the smirker

this motherfucker knows what he's doing when he holds your face, pulling you towards him and giving you a peck before actually kissing you, his lips controlling yours and stopping to smirk against your mouth when you try to pull him closer. he's a menace AND a good kisser, i'm sorry.

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