#and i can't hardly sleep because of the pain

[threepandas]

Counting Down: 3 [<-Prev][]

My eyes were getting worse. There was nothing the healers could really do. Because, ultimately? There was nothing actually wrong, with my eyes. They were working exactly as nature intended. Exactly as my genetics designed. It was just... badly designed. Poorly suited, unfortunate perhaps, ill optimized in every way, for my environment.

If I had been living alone? Or in a sparsely populated, low growth environment? Subterraneanly? Well, THEN my eyes would have been perfect. Perhaps a bit on the over sensitive side, but otherwise perfect. I would have been a Sage. Elevated to Pathfinder, for my ability to safely lead my tribe through the dark.

But here? On Coruscant? Amongst the constant flow of billions? It is AGONY. A disability of the worst sort. Like two ice picks, slamming light and information into my brain. At the rate I am developing...

At... At the rate I am developing?

I may eventually be as good as BLIND. Be forced to wear a glorifed blindfold. And... and when THAT, inevitably fails? As it WILL fail? There have been... been somber, serious, terrifying talks? On if I wish to first try removing myself to a remote Temple for seclusion (and risk the lack of medical care that comes with it.) or if? O-or if?

Medically, it would be better to just... replace my eyes.

T-They can't even guarantee? That it would work. There are species that see through the Force. My problem may BE that I am somehow one of them and simply not physically built for it. That I developed the needed mutation. I... I could lose my eyes for NOTHING.

Yet...?

The headaches. The LIGHT. I can not take missions anymore. Can not even help in the Crèches. Their unfiltered, unshielded Force presences? Are like staring into search lights. I can not even help with Initiate classes, having grown too fucking sensitive! How will I EVER find a Padawan?!

I... I wanted one. Someone to guide and teach. Someone to watch grow.

Maybe that grief, (that I might never have one, that I KNOW he can do better,) is what makes me so short with Qui-gon. Obi-Wan is a youngling, damn it! Not a crutch for you mental health! Something which? Of course leads me to chasing Yan's Padawan down. REPEATEDLY. (Stop running! Boy! I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME, QUI-GON! You better STOP RUNNING!! Listen to your Aunty while she SCOLDS YOU!) Because SOMEONE needs to beat that into the stubborn, heart sick, fool's head!

Why not me? I'm stuck on medical leave! Possibly FOREVER.

(Have a treat, Obi-Wan. You're too skinny.)

It's not productive. I KNOW it's not productive. The harder I push, the more Qui-gon digs his heels in. Yan's old Padawan was many things, but weak willed? Even in the depth of his grief? Hardly one of them. The whole LINEAGE was stubbornness made manifest. Literal STONES we more agreeable and subject to change.

I just wished Padawan Kenobi wasn't the one paying for it.

So, I helped. Without judgment. No harrasing him about his weight or his injuries, no demands he explain this or that. Just... there, if he's ready. If he trusts me. Bacta and pain relief, a safe place to sleep, someone to guide a peaceful meditation. And of course, Food. Ration bars by the basket. Take and hoard as many as you need. Here, both rich and mild foods to choose from.

Hugs and safety, I could do that. Be that. Put my emotions aside, for the sake of a child. Did his mere presence hurt? Yes. A LOT. But I would sooner die then let him know that. Bright and beautiful as his soul was, young and growing as he is? There is no pain, that is merely the confusion of crude matter. I am FINE. This... is FINE.

(Dispite the drugs, the meditation, it still HURTS.)

Neither Yan or Sifo like it. In fact, Yan is? Both in turns, heart sick and furious. His old Padawan entirely too good at dodging him. Dispite Yan being on the HIGH COUNCIL. Dispite BOTH Yan and Sifo, being on the High Council. It's genuinely impressive. Alarming, yes, that he uses such skill to avoid any attempts at therapy... but, well....

I've SEEN what the Mind Healers here consider a job "well done", with Sifo. Their definition of "help". So... granted, I understand completely. But he could just as easily take his Padawan on a "healing retreat"! Sneak away to get ACTUAL help from one of the other Sects! Illum perhaps? The Whills?

He KNOWS I'm right. It's why he's avoiding me.

(The little SHIT.)

Breathing in filtered, earth rich air, I tried to breathe out my stress. The Thousand Gardens do not just extend upwards. They went down as well. And they will continue to go upwards if ever another Temple is built upon the current one. Just like the last gardens, in which I sit, the light requiring plants that can be moved will be brought upwards. Those that can't? Get solar lamp systems.

Tiny biodomes, here in the dark. We do not kill our ancient trees, after all. Our plant and gardens. They are precious heirlooms. Living, breathing, friends. And besides? In the places they abandon, for the light up above? NEW gardens can be made! Subterranean ones. Glowing lichen and mushrooms, cave shrubs and parasitic low light trees.

It is peaceful, down here. Glowing plant life and distant lamps, like so many stars in the dark. The sound of running water and quite murmurs of the few who prefer such low light meditations. There are more then a few knights napping, having found gardens that speak to them. Their various light sensitive visual organs, finally having found relief.

Somewhere above me, Sifo is pacing. Erratic. Another vision of death and despair, of clones marching upon us all. It is getting to him. Like the slow eroding of a cliff face. Death by a thousand cuts. Over and over and OVER. Despair. Won't you do something? DESPAIR. Don't you CARE? DESPAIR. I can offer the power to FIX things. Don't you want it? Don't you WANT it~??

The Dark Side is a cruel and insidious thing. A riptide. An undertow, which drags you out to sea, then drowns you. It offers sweetness, safety, freedom. Only to deliver oblivion and pain. Power without control, it corrodes you. Destroys all that you were. Giving voice to your worst impulses, silencing your better nature.

You become a mockery of yourself.

I... I am scared for him. For Yan. I can see the outline of their ends, beginning to line up before them. They are pulling away. Growing frustrated. Their discussions with me are growing less philosophical difference with the Order, and more... dangerously immoral. Heretical. Nothing actionable, of course, but... I wouldn't expect their to be.

Both are High Councilors. They, of all people, know how to toe the line.

What do I DO? I ask the Force. Meditation after meditation, seeking guidance. How can I help them? And yet... I get no reply. No insight. Only nudges towards Obi-Wan. Towards teaching and compassion. Slipping him lessons on how to help slaves cope with the trauma. Philosophical debates on the doctrine of attachments. And, of course? Showing him my completely personal project, that HE will in no way someday need, of creating lesson plans for my hypothetical future Padawn.

How VERY thoughtful of him! To help me get some of those data pads! To help me research and revise my plans. He'll make a great mentor one day~ Amused? Me? No, no, dear. I was just thinking of a funny joke. Have ever given thought to Form Three?

Also! Never trust the Senate intelligence, dear. They are full of shit and couldn't spot a slaver if the sale was happening right in front of them. Do your own research whenever possible and NEVER rush in. NEVER.

(Yan refused to rush the assignment. Was in the Process of contacting the Armorer of Little Keldab for information. A Team was sent behind his back. On the word of the Senate alone. They almost completely DIED and the rightful Ruler of the Mandalorian people? Enslaved. Force knows where. Are you HAPPY now? Was rushing WORTH it? Your "regrets" mean NOTHING to the dead.)

It's building. I can feel it. The darkness is growing, my friends drifting farther and farther from the light. All, while? I am stuck. Disabled by my eyes. By the pain my so call "blessing" gives me.

Giving up on another useless meditation, I rise. Head for the lifts. The hallways down here are... quite. The old temple towers a peace place. Filled with the ancient echos of long dead Masters. There are room down here. Apartments. They are unassigned, yes, but no one truely cares if they are used. Granted, I would have to dust them myself.

I consider it. The light, (or really, the lack there off) is much more comfortable down here. The quite, less stressful. If Sifo didn't have such traumatic associations with darkness? I would honestly suggest moving down here with me. It might do us both some good.

As the lift rises, I tap the side of my lenses. Momentarily blinding myself in preparation for the increasing light. Soon enough, vision returns. The cacophonous press of noise. Oh dear, it's mid-meal. I should have waited. No wonder it's so loud and bright. Gritting my teeth, I keep my expression calm and pleasant. My shoulders relaxed.

It is not the younglings fault, that it hurts to be near them. They should NOT have to carry that guilt nor knowledge. I walk calmly but swiftly. This is fine. This Is Fine. Ow, ow, ow, OW, OW! This Is Fine!

Relief. I get passed them. The healers are right. Damn it. It really IS not just my eyes that are growing more sensitive. I... I so badly wanted them to be wrong. But as days go by? As weeks pass? Everything has slowly gotten... gotten so LOUD. Sharp and shrill, grating and rumbling, barks and squeals. Just? Just ALL of it. Too much.

Loud.

At the rate i'm going? I'm going to end up in a Force damned helmet like some sort of Mandalorian! And... and yes, I know there is no shame in that. That each race has their own specific needs. That it is humanist to think certain traits are somehow BETTER then others. I just... just feel like I am slowly losing myself. My freedom.

I am scared.

My body feels like it's betraying me.

Somewhere, near the High Council's chambers, I can feel Yan seething. How long has it been? Since the three of us coexisted in simple peace? Before Sifo's accident? Their appointments to the Council? Or was it as recent as Xanatos and the disaster of his Fall? How... How long have I been a pillar? For the mental and spiritual strength of others?

It's grinding me to dust. I'm so tired. Just... just want to rest. For just a moment. Without the fear, that my moments weakness? Will condemn a good man. Will irreversibly harm, a growing child. I.. Force, I am so tired.

Sifo is waiting for me, in my apartments. My plan for a moments rest? A fleeting, impossible, dream. He is pacing, pacing, pacing. Lines of tension and darting eyes. Hands clenching and unclenching. Running through his already ruined hairdo, again and again. It was easy to see what someone might think him mad. He certainly looked it.

"I saw them again. Bastards! I don't-! What am I doing wrong?!" He gasped the second he laid eyes on me. Already ranting before the door even closed. "I vow not to step foot on Kamino? They still appear. Avoid Mandalorians? Still! They exsist! But, oh! What if I plan Temple defenses? Surely THEN, right?! No! They somehow get passed them! Is it me? Am I the problem!?"

"TELL ME!"

He spun, eyes wide and manic, arms spread. As though inviting a blow. Inviting his own destruction. Hair falling from his careful hairdo in mad whisps, clothes disheveled, hands faintly trembling... he did not look well. Looked near tears. Teetering on the edge of something ugly.

How long could he hold out? I wondered.

I didn't have a comforting answer for him. No sweet and gentle words. But I could offer a hug. A hand to hold, as he faced down the dark. Sometimes... sometimes there WAS no right answer, Sifo. Sometimes the pieces were all on the board yet. Or the very act of try to stop Fate, made it so. I don't know. Can't know. Neither of us can.

But I can be there WITH you, until the end. And we can do our best.

Have you eaten yet? Had any tea? When was the last time you slept? Terrible things do not become easier to bear, if you burn yourself up, trying to face them. You have to take care of yourself too. I stepped forward, into that desperate stance, and pulled him into my arms.

"You believe me. You BELIEVE me. It's just inevitabe, too you, isnt it? That's what your trying not to say, isn't it? That you've run out of options. " Sifo's arms wrapped around me in a desperate grip. Like a drowning man holding onto the only life raft at sea.

"You're just afraid. Don't want me to break myself, destroy myself, chasing something that can't happen. Because we're Jedi, and you know we have to try. Try and try and TRY! Until it destroys us. Destroys everything. Hoping against all hope that they'll just... just LISTEN! But they WON'T, will they? They won't listen. It's inevitable. A cleansing. Purging of the old, to give rise to something new. The will of the Force itself."

Cleansing? Purging?! Alarm bells started to ring in my head. Nothing good came of talks of "cleansings" or "purgings" of ANYTHING.. NOTHING. I opened my mouth to refute him. Never got the chance. Yan's Force presence slammed into ours. The equivalent of crashing open doors and stomping feet.

Startled and alarmed, I turned just in time to see him sweep into my apartment like a raging, high society, storm cloud. The expression on his face could peel paint.

"Apparently," he snarled, barely holding together. "my Grand-Padawan has SUPPOSEDLY left the Order! Despite showing no prior interest in doing so, sending no missives to friends or fellow Creche-mates, and? Of course? Let us not forget? SUPPOSEDLY doing so? For some TART in the midst of an ACTIVE WARZONE!"

Horrified, I felt the blood drain from my face. No. NO! I thought I had more TIME! Please! Dear FORCE! Tell me, Qui-gon did not LEAVE his Padawan on-!

"Oh yes! CLEARLY, this is but a childish desire to wet his-!" Yan visibly struggled to beat back the surge of incoherent WRATH and fear. The disappointment. They HORROR at a child, in such unimaginable danger. "The Council won't even HEAR that there could be anything amiss! Won't even CHECK. A supposed WASTE of RESOURCES, when already we are stretched too thin! A CHILD, potentially ABANDONED in a WARZONE! And they-!? THEY-!?"

My mind races as I pull away from Sifo's grip to face Yan. The Order won't authorize use of their ships to go check. But... But? Are we not Jedi? We serve the Force. Our mission is to PROTECT. Minimize suffering, bring Light to the universe. Take a sabbatical! NOW! In fact? We ALL will. It will be GOOD for me, to be away from Coruscant's crowded population.

Call your Family, Yan. We need a Serranian Ship. Ask if we can borrow the Senator's, since it's on planet. We aren't slaves. They can't stop us, if we simple decide to GO. Punish us? Perhaps. But not STOP us.

An almost roguish grin settles poorly, under the near manic glint in Yan's eyes. Too expressive. Too unhinged. He has never been anything but composed, he values it too highly. Sifo's answering grin is just as manic. Just as... slightly wrong. Too much. Fitting both too practiced and ill fitting on their faces.

Like they are feeding off each others madness... some part of me hisses in concern. A feedback loop, we aren't strong enough to stop.

I try to ignore it. Focus on the now. There is a child in danger. It's... it's fine. Probably. All I have to do, is keep them away from the Sith! They... they won't Fall. They WON'T.

R-Right?

Yet... watching them plan our trip? Calling in favors and gleefully plotting. Casually threatening. Feeding of each others energy, as they do. I... I am not so certain. Once again, that moment of dissonance strikes true. Like looking around and realizing I am an actor on the stage of a Tragedy, ready line after line, as we march onward to the inevitable End.

Attachments are going to condemn you. Seems to whisper the Force. Like chains that choke and squeeze.

I know, I whisper back. But I am foolish and still want to save them.

Please let me try.

Please.

Let me TRY.

[goddessofroyalty]

hello! the fanart of Viktor with a baby you reblogged this week got me right in the soft feels u.u would you consider revisiting the Work/Life Balance 'verse? (random ideas: pregnant Viktor dealing with a minor illness (very minor, not a complication, no real threat to his health and no threat whatsoever to the baby, but Jayce is still fussing over them)? how a newborn affects Viktor's already hectic work/sleep schedule? either Viktor can't or chooses not to nurse and good papa Jayce does his part with formula and bottles?)

Kind of combined the second two parts of this into what I’ve written but more leaning on good papa Jayce helping feed their baby. Maybe I’ll figure out a quick 4th scene (to even out the POV’s) that focuses a bit more on Viktor’s messy sleeping schedule. Have also made a note of the first prompt as well to do separately.

I’ve given up and am naming this kid Naph as well. Why? Because it’s a nice easy name for me to kidnap and gods knows Arcane played fast and loose with League lore anyway. Also I like it and it has become the default in my brain if nothing else fills the space. It can be easily subbed out if I decide on something different later.

Warnings: past-mpreg, omegaverse (I refer to the baby as pup that’s literally it), some mention of after-birth pains (nothing major just a bit tender)

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Viktor wakes to the sound of a baby crying.

“I’ve got him, don’t get up,” Jayce says as the sleep fades from Viktor’s brain and he remembers that it is their baby that is crying not just some random abstract one. Their baby that Viktor had given birth to days prior and had finally been allowed back home that day. The doctors happy with both their progress.

The bed shifts as Jayce gets up to go to their child. Viktor pushes himself up on his arms to sit up more as he does. Wincing as his weight settles on where he’s still tender from the birth.

“I told you not to get up,” Jayce says holding their son in his arms as he looks back at Viktor. It is a good image and one Viktor could get used to seeing. Will get used to seeing, as surreal as that feels.

“And I have not gotten out of bed.” Nor will he be. Not when he has a perfectly good and willing Jayce to get things for him while he still heals from the birth. To make up for you having done all the work to this point Jayce had said and Viktor had nothing to gain from fighting him on it. “What’s the time?”

“2AM. And you can go back to sleep,” Jayce says. “He just needs a bottle.”

“I’m awake now.” Viktor had never been able to go back to sleep once he woke. There always something he’d rather be spending the time doing than tossing and turning. “I can hold him while you heat up the bottle.”

“The doctors said you need rest,” Jayce says despite it being clear he needs both hands to keep their son settled which would leave none free to prepare a bottle as well.

“I am resting!” Despite how much he misses it he still hasn’t returned to the lab since he was put on bedrest in the final trimester. Working on formulas and schematics from bed can hardly be considered work. It’s just keeping his mind occupied. “Let me hold him.”

Jayce clearly wants to argue but he relents when Viktor raises an eyebrow. Carefully handing their son over and only taking his hands away once the baby is very secure and settled.

Viktor would almost be offended at the lack of trust but he all-too-well understands the impulse. It turns out newborns are tiny and so delicate. It is almost terrifying to think about all the different ways they could accidently hurt him. It is scary to even have him in Viktor’s arms but also nerve-wracking when he is not within easy reach.

“I’ll be right back,” Jayce promises, only taking his eyes off them when he physically leaves the room.

Viktor once again examines his son while he waits. He had hoped their child would have taken a little more after both of them rather than looking mostly like Viktor but it is still impressive to think mere days ago Naph was still growing inside him and now the boy is alive and experiencing the world, frowning up at Viktor as his tongue peaks out between tiny lips, followed by a small cry of impatience.

“Not much longer,” Viktor promises. If his milk had come in the wait wouldn’t have to be this long. But it is useful to know that Jayce can look after their son entirely on his own if needed.

Naph is still far too young to actually understand what Viktor is saying. Another louder cry being made as Jayce hurries back into the room.

“No, no, don’t cry, I got it,” Jayce rambles, sliding into bed beside Viktor, warm bottle in hand. He pauses when Viktor holds their child back out to him. “Uh-“

“You said you were feeding him, no?” Viktor has no problems with doing it as well but Jayce likes to feel useful. And Viktor likes to watch him with their son.

“Right, of course,” Jayce recovers quickly. Carefully taking their son back into his arms, offering him the bottle. It only takes two passes of the teat for the tiny mouth to open to let it pass.

“He is hungry,” Jayce says as their son makes quick work of the bottle.

“I suppose it was a big day for him.” For Viktor and Jayce they came home but all their son knew until the day before was the hospital.

“It was,” Jayce agrees, shifting slightly to allow Viktor to lean in closer and push the fabric from their son’s onesie down from where it had crept up to his mouth. “But we can all rest for now.”

Viktor gives a hum of agreement despite how he already itches to get back to the lab.

-------------------

Jayce wakes to find himself alone in the bed.

It isn’t that unusual. Neither he nor Viktor can be said to have a normal sleeping schedule even before their pup was born. But Jayce still never likes it when he reaches out for his partner only to find cold bedsheets.

He pulls himself out of bed and shuffles to the main living area. There’s no point trying to get back to sleep anyway and he might as well check on Naph to make sure he hasn’t woken in the night.

Viktor had apparently had the same thought whenever he had gotten up. He stands in front of the blackboard they had set up so they can make any changes to their equations even when not in the lab, a piece of chalk balanced in the fingers of the hand resting on his cane as the other holds their son steady where he is swaddled against Viktor’s chest. A slight bounce with every move clearly to keep the pup settled.

“I put coffee on,” Viktor says, not even turning around to acknowledge Jayce. Not that Jayce wants him to – he’s perfectly happy just watching his partner and their child together.

“Thanks.” There’s an almost empty baby bottle next to the coffeepot. It’s cold to the touch so Jayce rinses it out in the sink and puts it to the side to be sanitized with the others. He makes Viktor a cup of coffee as well as his own. “Couldn’t get him to go back to sleep?”

“He doesn’t want to be put down,” Viktor says, looking away from their life’s work to their son. “Clingy. Like his father.”

Jayce can hardly blame his son for that – he wants to cling to Viktor too at times.

“I can take him if you need to write,” Jayce says as he brings Viktor’s coffee over to him. Tapping his partner on the arm with it before placing it down on the table they keep next to the blackboard almost exclusively for coffee. He picks up the old empty one and takes it back to the sink.

“It is fine,” Viktor says with a small shake of his head, his eyes flitting back to the blackboard. “I have nothing new to add to it anyway.”

Jayce would suggest Viktor go back to bed then but he knows his partner would have as much a chance of going back to sleep as he would.

Instead he joins Viktor at the blackboard. Close enough that Viktor can shuffle over and lean against him while they both try and figures out how the equations fit together and wait for the morning sun.

------------------

“Jayce!” Viktor calls because he is in the middle of wiring up the controls for the latest iteration of Hexgates and their son is crying. Jayce is just doing some paperwork, necessary, yes, but nowhere near as dangerous to be walked away from in the middle of.

“Huh?” Jayce asks as he sticks his head into the room before realizing why he was called. “Right. On it.”

“Up we go,” Jayce says as he picks their son up from the cot they keep in the lab for him to sleep in while they work. Out of the corner of his eye Viktor watches his partner hold their son high to sniff at his backside. “Nope. Must be hungry.”

Viktor returns his attention back fully to his work as Jayce carries their son into the kitchenette of the lab to heat up a bottle for him. He’s still at it when he two return, their son still in Jayce’s arms as he comes to watch over Viktor’s shoulder.

“How are you going?”

“Nearly finished.” The wiring had nearly taken him all day but it should be worth it.

“And then we can test it?” Jayce asks despite the fact he should already know the answer.

“Yes. They should lead to a less, uh, jolty experience when the jump is made.”

Jayce doesn’t respond, but Viktor can hear him pace around the lab no doubt bouncing their child in his arms as he does to keep the boy settled and not distracting Viktor’s work.

Viktor doesn’t alert his partner to the fact once he finishes. Instead watching the two of them for the minute it takes Jayce to notice himself. He had been told by many how lucky he was to have Jayce as the father of his child and, really, he cannot argue it.

[wow-she-talks]

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[grimandghoulish]

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[satoruxx]

ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER.

✧ PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader (hinted) | 5k words

✧ SUMMARY: ghost!reader, major character death, jjk manga spoilers, so much angst bc you literally die lmao, longing, mutual pining, suppressed feelings, everyone sucks at love, some fluff, banter, might be slightly suggestive, lots of hinted feelings (read: suguru), arguments, overall this is painful so read if you enjoy angst !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: this idea randomly came to me before i went to bed a few days ago and in the spirit of halloween, i figured why not? i live off of angst and need to share the pain with everyone lmao oops. this is late for halloween tho my bad !!

i. 2007

satoru brings one more flower than he did the day before. morning glories again, of course, but an extra one. he had added one more to the the bunch every day since the day you died. the first day, he brought three, wrapped with a cheap blue ribbon that he found in his desk drawer. it was hardly a respectable bouquet, but those three flowers were the ones he'd grown for you, so it only seemed fitting.

he didn't care much for gardening. but one day you asked shoko what her favorite flowers were so you could give her some on valentine's day. she asked you what yours were so she could return the favor.

satoru never forgot morning glories after that day.

he's not even sure if morning glories are appropriate to bring to a grave, but he knows you'd like them.

you would tell him it didn't matter anyway.

ii. 2007

(suguru did not cry when you died. satoru watched, intently, because there was nothing in the universe that his six eyes couldn't catch. he waited for it, even a sliver of emotion that would betray suguru's bleeding heart, but he gave nothing. he just stood in front of the stone that marked the end of your life with a deep stare. something had settled there in his eyes, cold and resolute.

a few months before you died, you had told satoru that there was something wrong with suguru. you said that he'd been distant, somewhere far away, and you worried for him. you always did, so open with your affection for him.

"don't want him to get lost." you had hummed, your shoulder brushing against satoru's as you raise the mango ice pop he brought you to your mouth. satoru watches your lips out of the corner of his eyes, his stomach flipping eagerly even as he keeps his face impassive.

"he said it was just the summer heat," he answers, ignoring the sweet mango juice dripping down his knuckles. "should be nothing."

you don't look all that convinced, turning your head to look up at him with meaningful glance. "you sure?"

he stares at you for a lengthy second, cerulean eyes darting over your facial features, before he reaches up and knocks his knuckle against your forehead. "yeah. he'll be fine." he assures, and your shoulders relax as you continue to eat the ice pop.

you were right about it all. four days after you die, suguru massacres an entire village.)

iii. 2008

satoru shifts in his bed, grunting quietly he begins to stretch his stiff joints. his eyes crack open, still heavy with sleep as he waits for his dark ceiling to come into focus. except it doesn't, because all he can see are a pair of very familiar looking eyes. unsaturated, but still so obviously the color he once knew. his own eyes snap open, all traces of sleep gone as he finally makes out someone who looks exactly like you, perched on his stomach with a confused and slightly panicked expression.

he shoots up, and you pull back a little. it looks like you're on his lap, and yet he can't feel you on him at all. he gulps.

"hey toru." you say quietly, and his stomach drops. the same eyes, the same voice. gods above.

"you're dead," he says simply, trying not to betray the way his pulse is jumping at even the smallest glimpse of you again. "you're not real."

"i'm dead," you confirm, nodding your head as you look down at your translucent palms. "but i'm here somehow."

he sucks in a breath, reaching out a hand as if to touch you. the disappointment he feels when it passes through your form is sickening.

you smile shakily, shrugging your shoulders as you attempt to make light of the situation.

"guess i couldn't stay away."

he stares at you for minutes without saying a word and you stare back, equally silent.

iv. 2007

(nanami had carried your body back, his teeth gritted as his blonde hair fell over his eyes. satoru never brought it up, but he knew that nanami remained bothered by it for the rest of his life. your death was bad timing, especially after they had just lost haibara a few weeks prior.

nanami had no reason to blame himself though. if anything, it was satoru's fault you were gone.

shoko had called him from the infirmary, her voice hard and pinched as she spat out three words: "get down here."

when satoru saw your body, he didn't say a word. just took a few long strides until he was at the table where nanami had placed you down. your eyes were shut, face resting in a way that seemed so unnatural. he opened his mouth to ask shoko something, but felt like he was choking on air, so he stopped himself.

then he grabbed your limp fingers, squeezed them gently. they were still a little warm, but not as warm as you usually run. shoko didn't say anything, just stood there with her hands clenched, short brown hair falling over her dark eyes.

satoru remained there for the next thirty minutes, waiting for you to sit up and laugh at the prank you were no doubt pulling. as if your blood wasn't still dripping all over the table.

shoko was the one who finally pulled a sheet over your body with shaking hands. she didn't look satoru in the eye, and didn't spare a glance when suguru burst into the room ten minutes later.)

v. 2008

it takes satoru a while to get used to the fact that you're not physically there. he has to bite his tongue when he moves to bump your shoulder or flick your forehead only to find that his skin goes right through yours. you always give him that same little rueful smile, and he sighs to himself.

he doesn't make an effort to figure out why you're there. he figures it's similar to how jujutsu users can come back as curses due to strong feelings. when he thinks about it though, guilt lodges itself into his throat, because the first thought he had when he heard you were entering death's door was no, don't you dare die.

every day he wonders if he's the one who cursed you to stay.

you act like it doesn't matter, hovering around him as he busies himself in his empty room. at first you're quiet, as though you've forgotten how to speak to him in your incorporeal form. but then you start asking him questions, and it's one question that satoru dreads to answer that you finally bring up.

"where's suguru?"

he's not stupid. he knows there's more you think of suguru than you've ever revealed. of course you'd want to know. but that doesn't mean he wants to be the one to tell you. you had died with nothing but a good impression of geto suguru. you'd probably died with your feelings for him still intact too.

it'd be selfish of satoru to ruin that.

"nothing, don't worry about it," he dismisses, voice clipped as he busies himself with preparing dinner. he knows that won't deter you.

you huff, moving to hover in his line of sight. you cross your arms as you glare at him seriously, and satoru hates how nostalgic your expression makes him feel. he tongues his cheek before sighing.

"he's gone." satoru answers simply. he tries to keep his tone even but it comes out bitter and strained. he can hear your quiet gasp, and feels your form move closer to him. if you were alive, he'd be able to feel your breath on his skin now.

"what do you mean, gone?"

satoru sighs again, turning to look at you completely. he hated everything about this. "he left school. went crazy. killed a bunch of people, including his parents."

he would've laughed at the comical way your jaw dropped if you didn't look so hurt. you sputter over your words as he picks up his bowl and moves to the table, trailing after him and demanding more information.

he doesn't hesitate to share, because he's always hated keeping secrets from you. you had this uncanny ability to see straight through him, and it never failed to make him feel unsettled. so he tells you everything that happened in the few weeks after you died. suguru leaving, their confrontation in shinjuku, his plans for non-sorcerers. he leaves nothing unsaid.

when he's done, he finally looks at you, trying to gauge your reaction. but you're just staring at his food with a bitter expression, brows pinched and lips pursed. satoru says your name once.

you glance at him, and it's too quick for him to look for any accusation in it. doesn't matter though, because he's ready to own up to his mistakes.

"you were right back then. about suguru." satoru admits quietly, turning to his food. he doesn't want to look at you anymore, because he's scared you'll show him how disappointed you are with him.

you don't say anything in response. but you sit down at the small dining table and watch him eat with soft eyes, one bite at a time. satoru doesn't admit it, but the whole time he imagines that you're gently rubbing his shoulder, and he thinks he hasn't missed you more than in that moment.

vi. 2007

(it was satoru's fault you died. if he hadn't been so selfish, you'd still be next to him, shoulder brushing his as the two of you walked through the streets of tokyo.

you had knocked on his door that morning before you had left for your last mission, rocking on your heels. he opened it groggily, still half asleep.

"you going on a mission?" satoru had yawned, drowsy eyes trailing over your uniform. you nod with a grin.

"mhm, with nanami. there are two separate areas with curses though, so we'll split up when we get there. should be simple enough." you shrug, toying with the collar of your uniform jacket.

satoru decides to be annoying. "then why are you here disturbing my sleep? get out." he groans dramatically, peering at you with narrowed eyes. you smack his arm, scoffing. you've stopped questioning why he keeps his infinity down for you do those things to him.

"i was gonna ask if you wanted to come with," you hiss, crossing your arms defensively. "but i'm taking it back, asshole."

he grins. "what? can't stay away?"

you roll your eyes, shaking your head with a sarcastic laugh. "don't flatter yourself."

satoru pauses for a second. "i was gonna go back to sleep." he admits, feeling a little guilty. he had just come back from a mission the night before, and he doesn't feel like leaving again. he doesn't know how to say that to you though.

but you see right through him, like you always do.

"you've been going on missions a lot lately," you smile earnestly, patting his shoulder. "no wonder you're tired."

"'m the strongest, i don't get tired." he protests, crossing his arms with a scoff. you roll your eyes again, sticking your tongue out at him as you heft your weapon over your shoulder.

"keep it up and you're seriously gonna fry your brain or something," you say with a shake of your head, eyes betraying your concern for him. he notices it, and tries to smother down the way it makes his stomach flip. "i'll be fine. you can come on my next mission with me."

fair enough, he thinks. he hadn't gone on missions with you or suguru in a while. he should remember to ask yaga to let him go on your next one. just the two of you. you and him. maybe he'd buy you a mango ice pop on the way back.

"fine." he acquiesces easily, not even thinking to protest. he'll see you later anyway, so he'll talk to you more when you get back.

you smirk a little, motioning to his bedhead, before gently kicking his shin. "go back to sleep then, stupid."

he rolls his eyes, reaching up to knock his knuckle against your forehead like he always does. "whatever. bring me some sweets on your way back, yeah?"

the laugh you give him as he shuts the door is the last thing he ever hears from you.

he should've gone with you.)

vii. 2012

satoru hates the way you're looking at him right now.

it was a stupid little mistake. he had gone to see little megumi and tsumiki earlier that afternoon, and as usual, you had tagged along with him. you'd watched him raise up the two kids over the last few years, never failing to tease about his newly acquired fatherhood, or how much he seemed to care about them despite his efforts to hide it. he didn't ever think to say that you'd helped him raise them up too. even in your incorporeal form you'd always been around to tell him what meals he could prep or to remind him that megumi liked black forest cake for his birthdays.

he'd gotten so used to you being around and he slipped up once. that afternoon when he had walked megumi home from school, teasing and poking fun at the kid, he'd made a stupid joke. megumi had rolled his eyes and told him to shut up.

and then without thinking, satoru had turned to you as you hovered next to him and groaned your name out dramatically before whining, "this kid is so mean to me!"

your eyes widened immediately, and if you were alive he'd probably see the color drain from your face. his stomach had sank and he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, even when megumi glanced at him with a raised brow.

"who are you talking to?" he asked, and satoru gulped, shaking his head as he broke eye contact with you to look down at the kid.

"nobody." he had answered.

he tries to ignore the meaningful stare you pin him with for the rest of the afternoon, hoping that you'll just forget about it. but as soon as satoru has left the kids and he's back in his own room, you're on him. he busies himself with making a cup of hot chocolate, even though he feels sick to his stomach.

"satoru you have to figure out how to get rid of me!" you plead, eyes so sad it makes his stomach churn. "i'm gonna drive you insane!"

"i'm fine!" he snaps back, shaking his head as he takes a sip from his mug, the warmth distracting him from whatever it was you were trying to remind him of. he places it down on the table in front of him and crosses his arms defensively. "it was a stupid mistake. won't happen again."

you shimmer in and out of focus, manifesting in front of him with a glare, though your eyes are still the same. wounded and hurt. "it wasn't and you know it! you can't keep living like this. i've been haunting you for years, toru!"

"well who asked you to go ahead and die?!" he yells without thinking, and it's like he sees your hurt bubble forth in slow motion.

"i went and died because i made a stupid mistake on a mission! quit blaming yourself, you dumbass!" you shout, voice raised higher than he's ever heard it.

satoru's mug shatters against the wall.

the two of you immediately turn to look at the mess with wide eyes, before slowly turning to each other to ensure that it really did happen.

"how'd you do that?" satoru asks quietly, his voice strained as he takes a few long strides towards you. you look down at your hand, the same one that you had lifted to swipe at his mug during your fit of rage. you look back up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. satoru's head is pounding, some kind of sick hope stirring within him. "you had to have touched it."

"i don't…" you trail off, voice filled with awe and a bit of fear. satoru reaches up a hand, ignoring the tremble in it, and moves to touch your face. he will never admit to the amount of times he begs in his head, please please please.

his hand goes straight though your skin, and your eyes soften. satoru lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, hiding his disappointment as he takes a step back and turns away.

viii. 2006

(satoru thinks gardening is ridiculous. plants are so fragile, needing to be constantly monitored and cared for like children. he can't understand why anyone would choose to garden as a hobby when there were less stressful things to do in spare time.

even the process was time consuming, he realizes as he scoops out piles of dirt into the small pots he had set out on his windowsill.

he thinks back to the silly little grin you had on your face as you answered shoko's question.

"morning glory," you had said, leaning against her shoulder. "i like the way they open in the morning and close at night."

shoko hummed, staring at the sky even as satoru quietly eavesdropped. "you got a favorite color?"

"the blue ones," you answered. "they're the prettiest."

your voice echoes in his head as he places the seeds into the soil, and he sighs heavily. why he was doing this for you was beyond him.

the thought makes him annoyed, and he huffs in frustration the entire time he plants them. gardening had to be the stupidest hobby ever.

and yet when three blue morning glories bloom against his windowsill, he can't hold back his grin.)

ix. 2017

satoru's grateful that you don't watch him kill suguru.

he tells you to go, and you give suguru a long stare, face pinched and sour even though your translucent eyes are shining. it's a shame suguru can't see you though, because satoru thinks you look so pretty. suguru would've been lucky to have you be the last thing he ever saw.

you turn away and disappear without a word, and after one last exchange, satoru finishes the job.

it's only after he watches rika's final goodbye to yuta does he realize the extent of what a goodbye even means. he'd said one to suguru, and yet he can't help but miss him as he walks back home. he wonders if suguru wouldn't have had to die if you were still around.

satoru had never gotten a goodbye with you though. you're somehow still with him, but he misses you so much. it puts an ugly feeling in his gut, twisted and dark. it weighs down on his shoulders as he finally opens the door to his room, heavy and overwhelming as he sees you sitting on his bed, face vacant.

he says your name, and you don't move. he takes a seat next to you, and something about your sad expression makes him so unbelievably angry.

"quit being sad about it," he finally spits out, the truthful extent of his feelings coming out. "it's not like you're even alive that you'd be able to see him."

you scoff as you give him a sidelong glare. "what's that supposed to mean? one of my closest friends just died and you expect me not to be upset about it?"

"at least he'll find a way to you!" satoru hisses, clenching his fists so hard that his nails leave crescents in his skin. "you two can have fun together for all of eternity."

there's a tense silence that follows as he grits his teeth, turning away from you. he's so disgusted right now. with suguru, with you, with himself.

"i'm all by myself." satoru mutters bitterly, the words so foreign on his tongue as the truth hits him.

god he misses you so much.

he suddenly feels a sharp thwack on the back of his head and he's turning around with wide eyes.

"don't you dare forget about shoko!" you hiss, tears in your eyes as you glare at him, hand raised. "i'll never forgive you!"

his throat goes dry, because the smack you just gave him was the first time you'd touched him since the day you died. there's a storm in his throat that threatens to break free, but he tries to keep it lodged in his throat. even with your teary eyes, he thinks you look just as pretty as you did with life flowing through you.

he misses suguru. he knows you do too, because there are translucent tears dripping down your cheeks and he has never ached to touch you more. but he can't because you're dead.

you remain in front of him all night, barely saying a word in between your sniffles. he doesn't say anything either, just watching you.

he doesn't know what there is to say. the only thing he ever wishes he got to say to you was goodbye. but you're here, in front of him, so a goodbye seems pointless.

when the sun comes up, you wish him a merry christmas, and he swears you never left him.

satoru says it back to you. you smile sadly.

he misses you so much.

x. 2007

(satoru had cleaned out your dorm room three days after you died.

he didn't really understand why he was doing it so early. shoko had frowned when he told her that he planned to pack away your things, frowned in a way that made her look like she disagreed.

well even if she did disagree, it didn't stop her from sitting in your desk chair, chewing on her nail quietly as she watched satoru fold your clothes. he didn't even understand why he was doing this.

maybe it was because every time he walked past your empty dorm room he felt sick to his stomach. there was a twisting feeling in his gut when he realized that you'd never curl up in that bed again. never sit by the window with a grin watching him and suguru bicker as they threw playing cards on the floor. he figured the faster he got rid of your remnants, the quicker the feeling would go away.

that's what he's hoping anyway. but when he picks up your jujutsu uniform he feels something claw at his throat, and he unconsciously digs his fingers into the fabric. he hears a sigh from behind him and then shoko is at his side, wordlessly easing the cloth from his hand. she lays it on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles before folding it carefully. when she places it into the box, satoru thinks her hands shake a bit.

there's a bitter expression on shoko's face that he's never seen before, and it makes his stomach twist.

they work on your room for the next few hours, until the sun has disappeared behind the horizon and the cool evening breeze bullies its way into your old space. neither of them say anything, save for the occasional nostalgic hum as they remember something that you did or they're reminded of the story behind one of the trinkets in your room. otherwise it's silent, and for a second satoru feels like he can hear your laugh.

it isn't until night has completely fallen that they are interrupted.

"what are you doing?"

satoru turns around just as shoko looks up, both of them finding suguru standing in the doorway. he hadn't taken a step in yet, eyes still trailing over the emptiness of your old room from behind an uncrossed line.

"cleaning." satoru answers, his voice oddly clipped.

"it wasn't messy…" suguru mutters back, his lips slanting in such an unusual way. there was an uncharacteristically determined look in his eyes, as though there was something in him that was struggling to burst forth. satoru didn't understand what it was.

"never said it was." satoru replies noncommittally. he hears shoko inhale deeply, shifting in your old chair as she watches the two of them stare at each other. there's a tense silence as he notices suguru frown.

satoru can't remember the last time he even had a full conversation with suguru. he remembers seeing you leave for your last mission, and he wants to kick himself for not asking earlier to be sent on group missions with the two of you.

even now, he doesn't really know what to say to suguru. all he can do is tighten his fingers around the edge of the box with your stuff neatly packed in, and watch his best friend sigh.

suguru wets his lips, eyes darting over your desk. there's an odd expression on his face, and his brows pinch as he notices something. then suguru reaches out to pick up an old polaroid, and satoru knows exactly which one it is. your arms slung around suguru's shoulders, smile so wide your cheeks probably hurt. suguru's expression was uncharacteristically gentle.

satoru remembers it so well, because he's the one who took the picture.

suguru looks at the polaroid without a word, rubbing the corner between his thumb and forefinger, and his expression suddenly mirrors the gentleness in the picture. his eyes remain stormy, deep and unsettling as he reaches conclusions that satoru will never understand.

the three of them stay quiet for a few minutes, even though satoru has so many questions that he can't figure out how to phrase. shoko toys with a cigarette between her lips, leaving it unlit because you've always hated the smell of smoke. suguru just stands there, silently eyeing your unfiltered smile through the lens of a camera.

satoru wonders if suguru's trying to say goodbye to you. he doesn't ask, and suguru doesn't say.

only after something had clicked in suguru's eyes, did satoru realize something was over. he couldn't help but feel like he had just buried you in that cardboard box with all your things, and he swallows hard.

then suguru clenches his fists, veins flexing as he looks around your room, almost like he was committing it to memory. satoru didn't understand why; it's not like suguru couldn't come see your room anytime he wanted.

then he turns away, hand lingering on the doorframe heavily, without another word.

just as suguru walks away, satoru thinks he hears your voice whispering in his ear.

"don't want him to get lost."

xi. 2018

something is wrong. something happened. something is wrong.

satoru knows he needs to wake up. but he's so tired, so exhausted from carrying on all by himself. he suddenly remembers the taste of frozen mango, sweet and chilled, and he wants to keep thinking about it for the rest of eternity.

but something is wong. he needs to wake up.

the minute satoru forces his eyes open, he can ignore the taste of blood in his mouth because you're there.

you're kneeling at his side, sunlight shining behind your head in a way that makes you look almost angelic. he'd believe it if you said you were an angel, because you've been dead for so long now.

you'd been a ghost for so many years, hovering around him and getting him through everything that had come his way. isn't that what guardian angels were supposed to do, guiding humans through their own trials? isn't that what you were doing to him since the day you died and came back to him?

you'd been a ghost. you'd been his angel. you'd been haunting him.

you'll always haunt him.

you seem to know it too, because the expression on your face is understanding, soft and yet so sad.

for what seems like the millionth time in his life, satoru aches to touch you.

he tries to move his hand but finds that he can't. synapses misfire. he can't feel his body anymore.

he wants to touch you. gods above, he wants to touch you so badly. please just this one last wish.

your translucent forms shimmers in the sunlight, and satoru can't tell if he's hallucinating or not because you suddenly seem to become fully physical. the particles of your form solidify, slowly filling with more color until you don't look quite so dilute. the saturation of your eye color comes back, and satoru can't look away because he's never seen a ghost so pretty before.

his breath hitches as you gently cup his cheek in your palm, warm and gentle. the melancholic look on your face makes his eyes sting.

"it's good to see you." he says with a weak smile, ignoring the metallic taste on his tongue. his breath is short, mind racing because your skin is on his again. finally, after so many years. you're so soft, just like he remembers.

"you weren't supposed to join me this quick." you sigh, eyes shining as you smile down at him ruefully. your thumb brushes over his bottom lip, and satoru's cerulean eyes flutter.

no. no more waiting. he'd missed you too much. he doesn't have it in him to stay away from you anymore. he'd done it long enough. your fingers tremble against his skin and he almost laughs.

no more haunting.

there's a resolute part of him that knows you'll be the first thing he sees when he gets to wake up again. he decides that, when he does, he'll get you a mango ice pop and plant some morning glories with you.

his eyes fall shut with a sigh.

"guess i couldn't stay away."

[sexxyasia]

side to side [nicholas chavez x !fem!reader]

about: nicholas finds himself becoming infatuated with the girl he's been training and helping workout after months of hanging out and exercising together and decides to act on his feelings and thoughts.

warnings: p in v, language, oral sex (male receiving), public sex, rough sex, degrading, face fucking, use of daddy, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of porn, nicholas having an extremely high sperm count, kinda bdsm (he's hurting her on purpose and making sure shes in pain) anal fingering, peeping tom type behavior, mentions of self pleasuring, size kink, praise kink and y/n can be any race/ethnicity (theres nothing in this story that ties her down to one thing)

(btw this is loosely inspired by side to side by ariana grande)

"do you think you could handle a few more inches?" nicholas asked as you squatted down.

"uhh yeah maybe like 3-4 but i don't know." you replied bending you knees a few more inches as you worked your thigh muscles.

"oh your doing so well y/n, you hardly even need me at this point" he chuckled quietly to you, you turned your head slightly to look back at him seeing his perfectly white smile and his gaze set on your legs.

a slight groan left your lips on your last rep causing your eyes to shut and nicholas' hands to fly to your hips to help support you, slowly his hands pushed you up.

"slower y/n... slower. you don't wanna hurt yourself in a warm up now do you?" embarrassed you smiled and looked away "oh my gosh i'm fine!" you looked up at him and said.

"you know what... you should work your core today. because it seems like every time we get together all you end up doing is glutes and i'm stuck begging you to work something else!" he remarked in a friendly tone

you nodded and followed him as he walked over to the weights rack. "today i want you to start off with a 20." you rolled your eyes in annoyance "i wanna do something easier." he smiled and handed you a 20 instead of your usual 10.

you sat on the mats that'd been set out and put your knees up. you began doing your usual set of russian twists. slightly moaning between each twist as you feel your ab muscles tighten and burn.

in a hushed tone you heard him let out a light laugh, you looked up at him as he laughed and asked him what was so funny.

"you just kinda sound like someone i used to be obsessed with" he said with a smile.

you moaned a little as you twisted slightly faster. "who? tell me" your face twisting and eyes shutting tightly.

"some pornstar i used to watch and i- nevermind it's kind of embarrassing to talk about." he awkwardly stated as he fiddled with some cleaner and a rag.

your face dropped in confusion. "not what i expected but okay..." you said. he chuckled and looked away.

in all the time he's been your personal trainer he's never gotten so... personal. you felt as if you should say something so that he didn't feel so awkward and embarrassed about it all.

"well when i get bored or can't sleep i use my vibrator... its pink."

he looked down at you and smiled before quickly clearing his throat and looking back away from you.

he obviously didn't feel anymore comfortable after you shared that. you could tell from the way he slightly held his breath anytime you made that moaning sound again.

a noticeable silence filled the space between you as you finished up your set placed the weights on the ground and stood up. he handed you the cleaner and rag to wipe off your weights. "heh, thanks, i was just gonna ask... but you... gave it to me... first" you awkwardly replied in a hushed tone.

he sighed loudly before stating "you know, you should just do glutes again today... right?" nicholas chuckled in an embarrassed fashion. "oh of course," you smiled "that's much easier than core for me." you agreed.

༄𓇼🪩𓇼༄𓇼🪩𓇼༄

after you finished your workout you were completely parched and famished, which you made clear to nicholas throughout the entire day. you toweled off and picked up your weights which you took the weights rack after toweling off.

once you'd finished you walked back to the locker room and showered. since no one else was in the locked room you had no issues being fully nude out in the open. then the door swung open, your hand flew to your towel to cover up your breasts and you backed into a corner trying to hide from whoever just came in. until they spoke you had no idea who it was.

loud footsteps inched closer and closer to your hiding spot before finally, "uhh y/n you left your water bottle on the leg press i thought i'd- whoa where are your clothes?" he said once he'd seen you.

"holy shit nicholas, what if this whole room was filled with naked ladies!" you annoyingly remarked to him. "then i guess i'd have a much harder time keeping my eyes on just you... right?" he giggled back. "and besides, it's 10pm on a saturday. no ones fucking here except teenage boys in pajamas and lonely old men going through a mid life crisis."

you rolled your eyes in response. "i've worked with people here for years. you think i don't understand how this shit works... c'mon baby."

"i thought i'd give it back because you're so thirsty. but it appears theres nothing in here anymore. right?" you shook your head and snatched the bottle out of his hands.

nicholas turned his back and walked toward the bench across from you. once he sat he began to stare at the parts of your body the towel hadn't covered, which was pretty much everywhere since you'd done such a shoddy job covering as much as you needed to, due to the unusual positioning of the towel on your tits. "stop staring freak..." you whispered to yourself while staring back at him.

"i can't help it you're just so fucking sexy... sorry if that was out of line. but what i want to say is 10 times worse." he whispered while getting up and inching closer to you. "then say it, i can handle it... i'm a big girl." you snarkily replied while looking up at him.

by the time he'd started his next sentence he'd been towering over you and lightly stroking your arm. "i've jerked off to the thought of this moment more times than i've ever watched that internet bitch and wished it was you." your breath hitched and heart beat quickened at his sexually vulgar words.

you began backing up until your back hit the wall. "we're in a gym for fucks sake." he chuckled

"what... you scared to get caught, bitch?" he whispered. his intense eyes stared at yours, it felt like a knife to the heart. his piercing gaze left you feeling extremely horny. a feeling you'd never felt for nicholas... ever!

"no i'm not scared... it's just not the right place." you said trying to push further into the wall, practically praying a hole opened up and swallowed you.

"so then you must be a virgin... a really horny virgin. you ever play with your pussy and think of me?" he said while raising his hand up and over your head so

"no" you quickly replied.

"well that's okay, because by tomorrow you're gonna want to." he whispered in your ear.

he ripped the towel you closely held to your chest and threw it behind him onto the ground. your breasts lightly jumped with his quick movement. and your erect nipples stuck up into the air as the cool air hit them.

he brought his thick long pointer finger up to your temple and slowly rubbed it.

the water droplets on your forehead dripped down onto the floor as he lightly stroked your face. "how about this. you suck my cock until i cum in your mouth. then i make you cum so hard you can't feel your legs."

you slowly nodded, his hand traveled from your cheek to the back of your head. he slowly scratched the back of your head as he pushed you down onto your knees. his gray sweatpants were beginning to bulge out of place with his erection. you stared at his slowly growing member in his pants.

"fuck are you waiting for, go ahead and do it already." you pulled down his waistband and calvin klein underwear in one swift movement, placing it under his balls and watching as his cock bounced out and hit just above his belly button.

slowly you placed your hand on the base of his cock. stroking up and down his shaft, causing him to slowly exhale as your small hand rubbed up and down his length. he smiled as you licked the thick and prominent veins on his dick and practically made out with his pink and leaky tip.

his big hand rubbed the back of your head and pushed you down onto his cock, making you gag with the movement. but shortly he allowed you to slowly suck up and down. you teased him as you lightly sucked and hardly moved, making him groan and whimper.

then his hand came grasping your head as hard as possible before he pushed your head up and down his length at a medium tempo. causing him to groan even louder and grip even harder. his thick cock shoved into your throat at once made you choke and breathe heavy. your spit trickled down your chin and onto the brown tile floor of the locker room.

he pulled his length out from your mouth and placed it on your check, allowing you to feel the throbbing on your skin.

a string of saliva from your mouth to the tip of his cock stayed put as he slapped his cock all over your left cheek, leaving them wet from your saliva and his pre-cum.

you looked at his cock, leaky, red, throbbing, and huge where the only things in your mind at the moment. his once light pink tip was a flashy lighter red and his balls were hardened.

he placed his cock back into your mouth. this time both hands on either side of your head and he slowly began to thrust his cock back and forth into your mouth. your eyes lightly watered as you looked up at him.

he paused for a second before talking. "baby, i need you to take my cock. because i wanna cum so bad. can you do that f'me?" he asked. you fluttered your eyes as a response and he smiled down at you.

he began again. this time he pace quickened and his breathing got faster. his cock slammed into the back of your throat causing you to gag and whimper on it. your hands wandered to his lower back as support. as he fucked your throat harder and harder your choking became louder and louder which only made him hornier.

then he pulled his cock out of your mouth. "you nasty little slut, i wanna cum inside that pussy. not that mouth. get the fuck up on that bench so i can rail you how i want." he whispered to you, causing your pussy to become an even wetter mess than before.

you headed to his instruction and got on the bench, bending over it so that he could get a nice view of your ass. "nick, i don't think a bench is the right place, what if it hurts?" you questioned.

"then you fucking ignore it, you shouldn't be thinking about anything but my cock getting all the cream out of that cunt."

you nodded in response.

he hovered behind you and rubbed your ass. his hands spanked you and his nails dug into your soft skin. he groaned at the sight of you flinching under his heavy touch.

slowly, he placed his finger inside of your tight asshole. he pumped it in and out causing you to gasp at the new sensation and got your pussy even wetter. his long thick finger slightly stretched out your virgin asshole.

as your body left a white ring of cream around the base of his finger he groaned and praised you. "good fucking god baby, just how daddy likes it. nice and creamy... good girl."

he pulled his finger out of you and aligned his cock with your dripping cunt. he quickly slid his length into your pussy causing your eyes to cross and back to arch at the feeling.

"yes daddy, mhm fuck me." his length hit your g-spot perfectly, making you squirm around and groan. the way it curved just right made your legs shake and head spin.

when his cock hit deep inside of you it scratched your cervix and caused you to flinch as he thrusted quickly into you. the grip of your pussy around his cock made him whimper and gasp.

"you are such a bad girl baby, such a bad little slut, such a dirty little whore." his way of degrading you rocketed you closer and closer to your orgasm.

his fingernails gripped into your ass even harder and made you flinch, although he told you to ignore the pain, it was all too much. "nick... fuck that hurts, stop!" his nails slowly pulled out of the supple skin on your backside, leaving you relieved from the pain. then he spanked you.

"shut the fuck up you slut. if you can't take a little pain you can't take daddy's fucking cock... isn't that right? you can't take my cock? is it too big for this little virgin pussy?" he taunted.

"no daddy it's not." you disregarded the fact he continuously referred to you as a virgin, even though you hadn't been for years.

his cock felt like a punch in the cervix with how deep and fast he was going. "mhm daddy yes." you moaned out, even though it'd been causing you pain you couldn't help but moan; it felt so good.

his movements quickened and his hips hit against your causing your ass and his lower stomach to turn red from the friction, your breath hitched and his whimpers and groans grew louder and louder.

"fuck yea, im gonna cum inside of you baby... you want that? you wanna be a little cum slut?" although you wanted to answer you know it was a rhetorical question. no matter your answer he was still planning on ejaculating inside of your glistening, needy, wet, tight cunt.

his fingernails dug deeper causing you to squeal and convulse and you got closer to your long awaited orgasm.

then his cum came out in hot heavy spurts inside of your pussy, all over your back, and on the floors. the feeling of his warm seed filling you up forced you to cum just seconds later. the way your pussy contracted afterward pushed almost all of his hot sticky juices to come gushing out of you like a waterfall.

༄𓇼🪩𓇼༄𓇼🪩𓇼༄

he sat down next to you, out of breath and practically still at his climax as little beads of his semen dripped out of his tip causing him to whimper and sigh as it all came out.

"fuck this happens everytime. i cum so much that when i think im done i still gotta jerk some of it out." he joked, he brought his hand to his now half erect penis and stroked it a few times more before more spurts of cum flew out.

"shit i gotta clean that up..." he chuckled to himself

you smiled and sat down next to him. "that was kinda fun..." you whispered in his ear. "that was really fun." he counteracted. "then maybe we should do it again. but next time at my house." you suggested.

he smiled and nodded.

"well thanks nick, now i'm gonna be walking side to side." you joked to ease the tension that was still there.

"i'm sorry it just felt too good." he responded.

after a light silence you finally added. "well after we clean this up, i guess i'll see you in 3 days."

he chuckled and began cleaning up the mess you two had made.

also i was too lazy to proofread soooo mb :o

[sheryl-lee]

.

hey so i apparently have had a rare idiopathic degenerative joint disease that has been attacking my jaw structure/function since i was a kid. and the only permanent solution for it is upper jaw surgery and a total temporomandibular joint replacement :)))

[v3lary0ns]

When the Light Shines Down

Modern Jacaerys Targaryen x fem!reader

(small snippet? football = soccer fo us american out there)

summary — With a recently broken heart, Jace has convinced himself that loving again is a death sentence. Then his mother hires a new babysitter for his little brothers and, bit by but, the light begins to shine for them.

Jacaerys felt like the world sat on his shoulders—both literally and figuratively—as he jammed his key into the lock of his home and made his way inside. His football bag was heavy as he dumped it in the parlor and kicked off his shoes. His mind was a mess as he shuffled into the house with aching muscles and a possibly bruised rib. He tried to wipe the caked-on grime from his hair as he replayed all the ways today went wrong.

He had tried to keep things from blowing up in his face today by keeping his head down and shutting up. He hardly spoke to anyone—completely abnormal, he was a chatterbox on the best of days—and worked to keep his distance from Sara and her band of hooligans. He had just wanted one day where his breakup hadn’t been brought up. One fucking day, but she had searched him out while he was walking to practice and gotten to him like she always did.

He had a weakness for women who had shitty circumstances. She was his best friend's sister, a child of an affair, and he had found himself in a I can fix her mindset before the month was over. He spent almost two years gripping onto a relationship that was built on foundations of sand. She was jealous, controlling, and so good at crying when she wanted people to feel bad for her. He hated that it took him so long to realize their relationship was unhealthy. He hated that he had fallen in love with her before he realized.

Now he was stuck with the aftermath. An ex who was now desperate to get back together with him, bombarding him when he really didn’t need to be thinking about her words. He was upset with himself for thinking so intently about Sara and her desperation to get back together that he had screwed up in practice. His mind had been so consumed with the way she had gripped onto his shirt and kissed him like the world was ending, and the way he had let her, that he had missed a pass and tripped into the stands. Effectively fucking his ribs up. What sort of captain does that?

Gods, he had groaned, why does this have to be so hard?

Cregan had answered in his brusque bass voice with, Because you fell in love and now she misses someone loving her.

Now he was facing the consequences of thinking too hard during practice with the dull pain in his lung everytime he breathed. He turned as a door in the house opened somewhere, the giggling of his little brother catching his ears as he ran around. “Hey!” came a woman’s laugh, and his brow furrowed, it didn’t sound like his mom. “Come back here silly! You forgot your shirt!”

He made his way into the living room to see Joffrey jumping on the couch in his sleep pants, a wicked grin on his chubby cheeks. “You can’t catch me!” He laughs, bouncing from cushion to cushion. His curls were wet and messy and they dropped water on the cushions—he assumed the other two were asleep based on the fact they weren’t chasing Joff around—as he bounced with each giggle. “You can’t catch me miss!”

“You wanna bet, pipsqueak?” The voice was gentle, yet full of happiness and laughter, mirth covered by the boy's giggles. He couldn’t get a glimpse of you before you jump across the living room and almost tackle the little boy into the couch. Joff nearly screams as he laughs, and Jace watches as you begin to mercilessly tickle his brother. “What were you saying? I can't hear you!”

It was a struggle getting the boy into his fire themed sleep shirt but somehow, he watches as you manage to wrangle the most unruly of his brothers. Giggles and laughter chasing you the entire way as you finally lift him off the couch— seemingly much stronger than you look—and spin him in a circle. Eventually setting the boy down from your whirlwind.

Once Joff regains his balance he finally catches sight of his eldest brother. “Jay!” he yells, moving to dart into the older boy's arms. “I missed you!”

Jace hisses in pain for a moment as Joffrey rams his head straight into the rib he had busted. He slaps a smile onto his face instead and bends down to his brother's height. “Hey Joff, having fun?” There was just a small strain of pain in his voice; his brother was too excited to pick up on it.

“Mhm! We played dragons and had a yummy loaded potato soup for dinner, she had us play a cleaning game and gave us yummy food when we did good, and then she let me help her read Aegon and Viserys to sleep!” He grins, pointing over to you with a happy smile on his face. “She’s the coolest babysitter ever!”

With a grin he messed with Joffrey’s hair before looking up at you. He had expected someone… less? Someone who didn’t have pretty eyes and a gentle smile, hair perfectly framing your pretty face while it was disheveled and messy from hours of playing. Somehow, you wore an average shirt and busted up pants so well that he forgot they probably cost less than his shoes. There was no arrogant set to your face that most people around him seemed to have. Just eyes that gave way to a thousand stars and lips pressed with rose petals.

“Hi… you must be Jace.” You speak softly, and even your voice is gentle as a lover's caress. His throat seemed to close and his mouth dried as he looked up at you. Fucking hell, he thinks. His mind flips at the way your words were lilted and breathy, the way you said his name.

Your name came to his mind easily— he had seen you in the halls on campus, but never so close. He regretted never approaching you when he had the chance, now he was seeing you for the first time. While his heart laid amongst the barren wasteland locked up in his chest. The battlefield of his previous attempt at love left scarred across the insides of his ribs, like a beast clawing its way out. Fuck my life, he groans in his mind. “Yeah,” he chokes in a whisper. “That’s me.”

Your answering smile was radiant, blinding him and his gloomy thoughts for a moment. He was like a meteorite caught in your orbit all too quickly. The lonely expanse of space is suddenly lost on him as you sweep him up with your eyes and warm him with your smile. “Captain of the football team.” You say, the fact rolling off your tongue easily. Your eyes trail down to his side, the exact spot he had hurt himself and Joffrey rammed his head into. It was licking flames of pain up his side. “Poli-sci major?”

His lips lift into a small smile. “Are you stalking me?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, crossing your arms and shaking your head with a smile. “You wish, Targaryen. You’re just hard to miss.”

I WILL CRY IF THIS SUCKS PLEASE DONT BE MEAN !!

[quantum1mmortality]

Im so glad you're writing for Curly bc I'm so obsessed with him rn!! May I suggest (if you haven't done them already) some soft/fluffy post burn hcs? Like finally seing him again after a long drive to the hospital, mentally preparing yourself for what he might look like. Curly being so afraid about how you'd react, and just breaking down when you let out an "oh, Curly :(" and softly place a hand on his cheek, so worried that you might hurt him by accident that it's hardly even a touch at all. Curly leaning his cheek into your palm, having been so scared to see you and now so desperate for your touch.

Life returning to a new normal after a while, prosthetics and PT, skin grafts, so on. Lying in bed with him and being so relived and happy when he gets a spark of mischief like he used to and tries to tickle or play wrestle with you. Him quietly asking questions when the laughter dies down. if you missed his lips, or the blond hair you loved so much that now hardly grew at all. Reassuring him that it didn't matter what he looked like, or what he could and could not do anymore. He's still your curly.

Sorry this turned out so long 😭 I can't get him out of my head!

I LOVE what you wrote 🙏🙏 I'll be going off of these, taking bits and pieces of your hcs and then putting them in here. Overall just gonna be fluffy post crash Curly hcs :)

Of topic, but the way some people in this fandom treat post crash curly makes me nauseous. Finding out that some of you wouldn't treat him like I would makes me wanna cry. Maybe I'm too empathetic or maybe I'm a baby back bitch, either way, I'd care for this man so much. Y'all don't understand how much I love him.

Tw/cw; none!! One curse word but that's literally it (I think)

Not proofread

Extremely sensitive to touch for the first few weeks. I feel as though curly would be in incredible pain, but would try his best to keep your hands touching his cheeks, face, body in general. He'd even go as far as to whimper at how bad it hurt, yet still enduring it because he needed to know you still loved him.

He'd be so happy to see you anytime you were around. Just like pre crash, but it was more special. It got to the point where you would take off work for weeks at a time just to be with him, just so you could see him happy.

After the first two months of agonizing pain, you'd start touching him more. Not sexual, obviously, but just getting more physically affectionate. You'd be able to hug and kiss him goodbye, and hold on to his arm as you talked with him.

Speaking of talking, he wouldn't be able to, so you would talk for him. Basically telling him something, then answering any questions he may or may not have. You've known him long enough, you know how he'd react and question things, so it was practically a no brainer for you.

Now that he doesn't feel as much pain as he used to from your touches, you'd begin sleeping with him. NOT SEXUAL!!! Just cuddling up next to him in the hospital bed, laying your head on his shoulders and kissing him goodnight. Just like how you used to.

Eventually he'd start getting prosthetics, and aside from the physical therapy he's usually getting, you'd bring board games and playing cards so he could learn to use his new hands while still spending time with you.

Curly used to kick your ass in uno and honestly he still does. The trembling in his hands would slowly go away over time, and you were helping him with that much more than his physical therapist was; because at least he wanted to actually be around you.

After months and months, he'd finally be ready to take home. New prosthetics and a bunch of skin graft surgeries later, he's in good condition again. Not perfect in his eyes, but it is in yours.

He wouldn't be able to work, but Pony Express sends him checks as if he was. He gets enough from them, you could quit your job, but you don't want to be dependent on them. So you keep working.

Getting home from work is your favorite part of the day, having Curly be so happy to see you makes everything so worth it.

Your home life goes back to normal with a few exceptions, but nothing too drastic. Curly being in a wheelchair and still not being able to speak, but it's nothing you can't handle. You love him, you're willing to make sacrifices. He'd do the same for you, and you know that.

Bonus content; if you guys were married before the crash, once he got his prosthetic hands, he'd have you help him make a little beaded necklace for his ring to go on; that way he could still wear it :) he'd never take the necklace off once it's done

A/N; I've been pretty busy recently so sorry for the delay on requests; I have a lot of ideas for them though so hopefully they'll be out soon

[astarioffsimpmain]

Astarion Headcanons

Because Astarion consumes nearly every braincell I own, here's some headcanons on how Stari finds comfort in your boobs. 

~

Warnings: Nudity; mentions of trauma; nightmares; unintentional puncture wounds

He loves to use them as his pillows; your bedroll is never your own again after Astarion discovers that you don't mind welcoming him in during the night when he's feeling exceptionally lonely and vulnerable. Not that you mind, what with how he nuzzles his face between your breasts, breathing in your familiar scent and wrapping his arms tightly around your middle. You melt a little inside when the vampire spawn fully relaxes into you after a few deep breaths, and you start running your fingers through his silver curls, always surprised at how downy they are, despite how much they'd been through. A contented shudder goes through his body and he sighs into your skin, his breath the only thing that runs hot about him, sending a shiver through you as well. You can't help but let the corners of your mouth curl upwards and your eyes fall closed at the sensations encircling you. Being entangled in him is just as comforting to you as it is to him, and you know that if you didn't have to arise the next morning in order to continue your journey, you'd be fully satisfied with not knowing where you ended and he began for as long as he allowed. 

He uses them as stress balls (and you cannot convince me otherwise); you've awoken in the middle of the night with a yelp of pain in your chest. There's several seconds of panic before you realize that the source of the pain is Astarion's sharp fingernails digging into your ample breast. He's still asleep, but he's writhing, his brow furrowed and eyes clamped shut. 'Nightmare,' you think to yourself as you gently try to pry his five tiny daggers from your flesh. But he must have felt safety slipping away in his sleep, for his grip only tightened and you had to bite the inside of your mouth as his nails punctured your skin and tiny streams of blood appeared around your areola. "Stari," you mutter, your fingers finding his hair and massaging his scalp gently as you crane your neck down to kiss his damp forehead. The pain is bringing tears to your eyes, but you know trying to toss him off is no good: his grip is like iron on you. So you shush him quietly and tenderly run your warm palms along every bit of skin you can reach, trying to soothe his subconscious horrors from your helpless place beside him. Eventually his hold on you went slack, and you were able to pull his nails from your skin, shuddering in pain as each jagged edge flayed your skin on its way out. 'We're going to have to discuss nail trimmers' you thought humorlessly as you wiped the blood away with your tunic that lay close by. "Mmm, love?" His sleepy voice froze you in your movements, head turning to find him blinking slowly, prying his eyelids open as he returned to consciousness. He reaches for you, hardly even awake enough to know where he is, but still the first thing he wants is you. You can't deny him, so you reach back for him, pulling his face to your bosom and planting kisses in his curls. But he stiffens, and you cringe, realizing that he must have smelled your blood. "Darling, did I-?" He whispers, ghosting his thumb over the clotting nail marks. "You were having a nightmare, my love." You murmur between kisses to the crown of his head, the tips of his ears, his forehead, nose, and cheeks. He tries to pull away, ashamed of hurting you, but you hold him fast, your arms circling his shaking shoulders as you pull him back to you. "I knew what I was signing up for, my darling." You thumb the skin of his shoulders where you hold him and he releases a soft sob into the valley of your breasts. "I hurt you. The one person who's never hurt me." He wails. "My dear heart, I will suffer that and much more to see you smile again. You will never suffer alone again." Gently, you tilt his chin up and wipe the tear streaks from his beautiful face. "I love you," You whisper to him. "I love all of you." Another whimper left his lips and he nodded, burying his head in the crook of your neck and wrapping his arms around you. 'One day,' you thought. 'One day he won't have to hurt like this anymore, and I'll be there to see him smile again.'

Fin

[14thgalerie]

dreamin' of him

• pairing: theodore nott x reader

• now playing: a little death by the neighbourhood / fuck it i love you by lana del rey

• word count: 5.7k

• genre: fluff

— a part of this is inspired by this scenario i saw on tiktok, can't exactly remember it which vid it was. anyways enjoy this little random scenario that i'm pretty sure is horrible because i didn't bother to proofread it again.

You shot right up from your sleep, limbs tangled in the sheets that had been strewn about haphazardly. The room is still as dark as it had been when you fell asleep with only the faint light of the full moon serving as your guiding light.

You drop your head onto your hands that sit on your folded knees, pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes until you can only see white. Ignoring the pain only so that you can be rid of the images that keep flashing in your mind.

It was excruciating, it played like a broken VHS record on your parents’ television back home. Every millisecond, a frame of you in such a vulnerable embrace with–

No. Y/N, stop it.

You were grappling with your sanity, feeling yourself incredulous at how such an idea came to fruition in your mind. Several nights’ on the end of this senseless, out-of-the-world dream that popped out of nowhere. The both of you hardly spoke with one another, for Merlin’s sake.

Throwing your head back, giving up on forcing the images out of your thoughts. Your head was spinning. Slamming your temple against the solid, wooden headboard behind you until you hear a ring resonating through your ears.

How did you let yourself get into this? What happened that you are being haunted— if that’s what you would even call it — by these dreams?

It’s been days of sleepless nights and you are plain tired. He must have cursed you. There was no other reason for this, right? He could be annoying when he wanted to be.

With your back resting on the headboard, you see that your dorm mates haven’t gotten back yet. Still, you remain seated as you wonder where they are, staring at the open window to your right.

“You’re the only one that can do this to me, Y/N…”

You gasp and sit straight, slapping your forehead with your open palm, trying to chase the image away. Throwing a glance at your watch that sits on the bedside table, you see that it’s only an hour and a half before you are supposed to wake up.

Exhaling loudly, you shove the blankets away from your body, feeling a warmth creep up on you. Maybe a good, cold, and long shower will distract you for good.

Grabbing a change of clothes, you head straight for the bathroom in your dorm. Now’s one of the few times you are glad that the dorms at Hogwarts have their own showers. 

Looking at the small, worn mirror above the sink, you chuckle humorlessly at how disheveled your appearance is. Anyone who sees you right now might think that your dreams are last night’s reality.

Stepping under the painful cold water, your body unconsciously jolts at the shock. 

Thinking about it makes your heart race. It gives you jitters, too. The feeling wasn't much to your liking. It was distracting. Not to mention it made you feel so... vulnerable. A shiver ran up your spine. You paused for a breath to calm your heightened nerves.

This has to end soon. You couldn’t stand another night spent thinking of him, of all people.  

“I uh- I need to go.” You cough, clearing your throat, hands shaking slightly as you move to stand up. “I still have this essay for Potions.” 

“What- Hey wait, Y/N!” Harry reaches out, nearly missing your arms. 

“Why are you suddenly running off? It’s not due until next week?” Giving you a worried look. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Harry. I feel extraordinarily perfect, I just- I wanna go back to my room right now.” You sigh, looking up at him. Your body remains tense under his tight grip. “So please let me go.”

Harry tries to not look disappointed, giving a quick glance back at your two other friends who watch you in silence. “Alright then, but if you need anything, you know where to find us.”

Giving him a small nod before pivoting in your heel, you walked straight to the Great Hall's large entryway. You ignored the way your skin burned with the intensity of the searing eyes that had locked onto you since its entry. 

“Why did you leave in such a hurry?” A cool voice asks from behind you. 

You freeze.

“Pardon?” You conjure up a reply, bluntly.

“Ok- what’s got your knickers in a twist?” 

“Nothing!” You reply defensively. Wanting nothing more than to be back within the confines of your dorm room.

“Alright, alright. I got it.” The cool, calm voice waves off an erratic rhythm to your heart. You continue to stare forward along the corridor, paying no mind as he circles around until there is a face attached to the voice. “I was just wondering why you skittered out of the Hall faster than when you were caught by Filch with the Weasley twins.”

Tilting your chin towards your chest, “What do you want, Nott?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, “I was just curious, that is all.”

You scoff at the mockery clear in his tone. “Seriously, what is it? Because if you’re only here to be an annoying twat, I have better places to be.” 

You purposely bump into his shoulder as you make your way past him. Not in the mood to play along with him right now. Not when that stupid smirk of his is reeling images that you have been tirelessly trying to be rid of. Images that are the cause of your cranky attitude in the mornings.

From the corner of your eyes, you see him cock his head slightly to the right. Another thing you hate. He becomes more incessantly annoying when you are visibly annoyed by him.

“Nott.” You warn.

“What?“ He asks, amusement clear in his tone. “Am I not allowed to walk the same grounds that you do now?”

“Walk elsewhere. I am quite sure that you know of other paths from here to wherever you are to go. With your many endeavors, it’ll be stupid if you didn’t.” You murmur the latter under your breath.

“What was that?” He catches up to you, walking leisurely with his long legs. “Didn’t quite hear that last part properly.”

Before you could reply, a shout from the courtyard called both of your attention. A redhead girl from Ravenclaw was waving in your direction. You turn to look at Theodore who has now turned his sight back to you.

“I think she’s waiting for you.” You swiftly walk towards your house tower, making haste before he follows you again.

Unbeknownst to you, his stare remains fixated on you until your figure disappears around the corner. Only then does he wave back at the girl and make a quick return to the Hall where he left his friends mid-conversation. 

 It wasn’t the last that you see of Theodore after, nor was it the last morning when you woke up groggy and irritated at the lack of sleep. It seems that since then, the both of you find yourselves orbiting each other much more often than before.

Not that you found it all disappointing. 

There were times that he was a good companion to have around— forget the hooded eyes that left you conscious every time. When he isn’t being an annoying twat, he knew how to hold a conversation with you; your lack of similarities is a good point as you were able to share things that the other didn’t know of.

But in truth, Theodore searched for you. In the boisterous chatters of students in the corridors, between the towering bookshelves of the library, through the window of the dimly lit Potions classroom where he has a clear view of Hagrid’s hut where you and your friends frequent.

He looks for you in all places, unable to help himself from an attempt to have a glimpse of you.

He did give his best efforts to tuck away his inexplainable attraction to you recently, and he wouldn’t dare admit that there is even a chance that he does. His denial was a fortress but cracks appeared within its walls with each time he talks to you.

“She’s at the Hospital Wing.” Blaise hesitatingly brings up. 

He almost jerks up from his comfortable position on the couch where he and Blaise are observers of their other friend’s drunken endeavors. But he manages to grab a hold of himself before the other notices.

“Why bother telling me?” His forced indifference is not as apathetic as he wished it to be. “I don’t care.”

“Oh shut up, Theo. I have never seen you so utterly fond of another girl like you do with her.” Blaise retracts back to what he was gonna say, “Anyways, I hear she will be a volunteer ahead of the Quidditch match this Sunday.”

He doesn’t reply, letting the words of his friend slip from one ear to another. You were interesting. He was unsure how, in the many years you’ve known one another, that you caught his eye now.

“She’s nice, not unlike some of her friends at Gryffindor.” Blaise continues with his taunting, eager to see a reaction from Theo. “Even managed to convince me to be her partner for Herbology.”

Theo makes a noise in a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. “From the sound of how you speak of her, it’s like you’re the one that has caught butterflies.”

Blaise simply hums, nodding to himself. “Maybe.”

Not another word slips from him again. The silence of his relinquishment makes Theo’s heart skip a nervous beat. Blaise never gives up that easily.  

“Hello there.” A voice makes you look up from your book which you have been drowned in since hours ago. To your surprise, it was Blaise. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask. Curious why he had so suddenly appeared beside you while you were studying. You scour your brain, trying to remember if you had a project with him that ultimately passed by you.

“Go to Hogsmeade with me later.” Blaise blurts out while you gather your books that are scattered along the table. 

“Huh?” You look up at him with wide eyes. You give out a confused laugh. Maybe you didn’t understand him, right? “Did I hear you right? Hogsmeade? The two of us?”

“Well, don’t make it sound like it’s such an atrocious thing.” He makes a sound of mock offense; even making the choice to put a hand above his chest. To which you vehemently shake your head.

“Gosh no! It’s just-“ You trail off. “Why all of a sudden?”

“Nothing at all…” He shrugs, but that look on his face tells you entirely different. The mischievous expression that is ever so slightly slipping through. “Just wanted to hang out with a good friend of mine.”

You look at him with a confused frown, unsure of what he’s doing. “Since when were we good friends? Last I checked we only talked every now and then and it was really only just for projects.”

“Just come with me, will you?” 

“No.” You shake your head to further make your point. “Tell me why first and maybe I’ll consider.”

Blaise sighs, giving up. He had expected that you would not be giving in so easily to his request, after all, you weren’t really that close. But he still thought that it was worth the try, he is tired of Theo acting like he’s better than his emotions. He decides to tell you.

Well… somewhat.

“Alright, lady. I want to make a friend of mine jealous.” You hummed, listening intently. Wondering why he chose you to do it. “Also, because you’re the only person that I genuinely enjoy hanging with from other houses.”

“Will you tell me who’s the friend?” You ask.

“No.” He quickly replies, “But Y/N…I’ll treat you with anything you want at the Three Broomsticks or wherever else. Just please.” He draws out the please, adding hints or really a dump load of sweetness to it to charm you.

You think for a second more before finally giving him a nod. “Ok, but you’ll have to come with me to Honeydukes. Payback for doing whatever it is you’re planning.”

“You can have whatever you want. I’ll wait for you by the Fat Lady.” Blaise tells you before walking off with a huge grin on his face. 

“Y/N?”

And when you turned your head, a surprised Blaize looked at you with a smile, apparently he had just been in mid-conversation with a fellow Slytherin as he hung about the entrance.

He whistled as he wasted no time approaching you, waving a curt goodbye to his previous companion. 

“Remind me why you never wear clothes other than your uniform?” He asks, his eyes unabashedly trailing over you. Though not in a predatory way that leaves you uncomfortable.

“Because it’s a hassle having to think of an outfit when I could just put a uniform on and call it a day.”

He hums, nodding as he thought about it.

“Well you look good in your non-school clothes, you should wear them more often.” He suggests, although he quickly amends it. “Not that I’m saying you don’t look great normally, it’s just nice to see how you would personally choose the clothes you wear. It kind of reflects a lot of your personality more.”

The two of you make no rush as you travel to Hogsmeade along with the other students, chuckling at the eager third-years who are freely roaming around. Engaging in small talk all the way. 

“What’s got you in such a sour mood?” You rolled your eyes at Theo, who has done nothing but glare at Blaise who sits beside you with such harsh blinding venom. “If all you plan to do here is to murder Blaise in a million ways inside your mind, then please do it some other time.”

The man beside you couldn’t help the amused choke that escapes him as he sips his glass of Butterbeer.

Theo finally breaks his lone stare down and shifts his attention to you. “Since when did you two hang about by yourselves?”

“We always have-“ Blaise starts to explain but he is cut off by a kick to his shin that makes his knee jerk up and hit the table. 

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

His eyes remained fixated on you still, a medley of emotions behind them that you couldn’t exactly pinpoint. 

“Well, Y/N? I’m waiting for you here.” He impatiently asks. “Are you two on a date?”

“Theo, if you think that we are, then why did you even come here?” You roll your eyes at whatever antics that the both of them are trying. Not realising that you called him by his nickname, usually reserved for his close friends.

“Well-“ He stammered, unable to explain why exactly did he approach you all of a sudden. “Blaise doesn’t have that good of a reputation with girls and I wanted to make sure he’s not trying anything with you.”

Blaise clears his throat in an attempt to remind his friend that he is still sitting at the table, clearly within earshot of whatever slander he’s being put to.

“I can hardly think of a reason why you would if he does, but we were just having a conversation as friends, Theo.” You finally answer. “Is it that much of a surprise that I tolerate one of you?”

“He wants it to be him.” The man beside you mutters under his breath which you ignore, thinking it is only a jab.

Theo once again kicks Blaise under the table, making the latter swear under his breath.

While the two of them bicker like they are some man-child, you spot Hermione and the rest of your friends coming in through a tiny door and sitting at a table by the staircase. You scoot over until you are out of the seat, glad that you chose to sit at the open end of the table, without making a noise.

You make quick haste to transfer to your friends' table without garnering attention from the two Slytherin boys.

“Hide me.” You drop your heavy body on the seat beside Harry, trying your best to hunch over his relatively short upper body. 

The three instead laugh at your obvious demise, Ron not even trying to hide his amusement with such a burst of boisterous laughter. Unlike you, the three had noticed how Theodore Nott had been seen beside you much more often than necessary. At first, it was nothing that they really paid attention to, but when you told them of your otherwise eventful dreams…they began to have other thoughts.

It was clear that both of you were attracted to one another except for yourselves. And it’s been a hilarious sight to be an audience to but they are beginning to tire of your constant zoning off when the other is in your peripheral.

“What even is with you and Blaise coming to Hogsmeade together?” Ron asks. “I thought you liked Nott.”

You exhaled in exasperation, “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t like him.” Gritting your teeth and clenching your jaw at the blatant teasing. “I am seriously beginning to regret telling you about my dreams.”

You watch as Harry stands to grab drinks for the rest of you guys, trying to explain why you came here. Not forgetting to mention how Theo had suddenly the conversation you’ve been having with Blaise. 

You were shocked to find that the both of you actually shared a lot of the same interests in various aspects; books, music, values, name it all. So despite your previous disinclination to agree with his idea that you would get along well, you thoroughly enjoyed the short time that you spent alone. 

His genuine interest in the many muggle creations that you’ve mentioned has made you all giddy. Telling him of all and everything that he must try, making a mental note to give him some things that you have in your dorm.

On the other end, Blaise shared a few of his interests with you— though it was only very few, given that the wizarding world does not really pay much attention to those kinds of things, especially the purebloods. 

“So just because he bribed you with anything you want from Honeydukes, you agreed? Y/N!” Hermione exclaims, to which you only answer her with wide eyes. 

“What?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows at the bewildered expression on her face. 

“You’ve been to Hogwarts for how many years now and yet you have no idea what going to Hogsmeade with only one person insinuates?”

“Uh- What?”

“That you two are going on a date of course?” She practically scolds you. Maybe you shouldn’t laugh at Ron anymore when she becomes like this. It's no joke that it feels like you could be the stupidest person on the planet.

“We’re only friends, for Merlin’s sake! Well, we became friends today.” You roll your eyes. “It’s not my fault that is what might people think.”

Harry and Ron look at each other with more than amused grins on their faces.

“I think I finally know why Nott was practically making the snow melt under his feet earlier,” Ron remarks. To which you give him a confused look, unsure what he meant.

“What?”

“Well, before we came in here, we saw Nott almost stomp his way to here. I swear that I actually saw steam coming out of his ears.” Ron exaggeratingly shares, taking a sip out of his pint glass. “I thought he was about to burn this place down to ashes with how he looked so mad.”

That explains why he’s being more moody than usual.

“What’s that got to do with Blaise and I?” You finally ask the question that’s been brewing in you since he mentioned it.

But the only response you get is a look of disbelief from all three of them. Each one just about screaming “Are you being serious?” without saying anything.

“Are you truly that dense Y/N?” Harry asks, his hand reaching out to pat you on the shoulder.

You push him off, glaring at him. “No, but seriously what do you mean?”

“Even Harry and Ron, oblivious as they come, recognise that Nott has some kind of interest in you.” Hermione explains, “I don’t even know if he realised it himself but the two of you are oozing love hearts everywhere you go. It’s torture to see how you both ignore it.”

You're left dumbfounded, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment at the mere suggestion. Your thoughts racing as you consider Hermione's words. Theodore Nott, the mysterious and enigmatic Slytherin, having an interest in you? It was a revelation that sent your mind reeling, and you couldn't help but wonder if you had been completely oblivious to his feelings all along.

No. That’s just… wrong. This had to be another one of their pranks again. Ever since you confided in them of your dreams, they’ve been ceaselessly teasing you with Theo. Yeah, this must be it.

You chose to respond in a haughty tone, in an attempt to mask her flustered feelings. “Gosh, if this is what spurs in your minds when I tell you about my struggles at night, then I’d rather just keep them to myself from now on. Find something else to speculate about.” 

Unbeknownst to you, while you were so flustered trying to deny anything and everything they say of you and Theo, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had mentally orchestrated a plan. Harry subtly made a signal to the other two to play along as he saw Theo stand up from his heated conversation with Blaise to approach you four.

With sly smiles quickly masked, they leaned in closer to you and feigned curiosity. 

“Alright then,” Ron begins, “But I heard from Hermione that you had another dream last night. Is it as juicy as last time?” 

Harry chimed in, his eyebrows raised suggestively. “Yes, please spill the details. We’re all ears.”

Caught off guard by their sudden and out-of-place interest.  “I said that I’m never telling you of anything again. And it's not juicy! Please don't ever use that word ever again.” You never wanted to divulge anything related to your rather steamy dreams again to your friends. 

“This is the last time, we promise! And we promise to not annoy you any more with Nott.” Hermione exclaims though you reach out to slap her on her arm at how loudly she said it. Looking around the bustling crowd to see if anyone heard it, confused when you see Blaise sitting with somebody else now, probably some friends from Slytherin, Theo nowhere in sight.

Little did she know that Theo had indeed overheard their conversation and as he was slowly nearing their table, curiosity piqued as he heard his name. He slowed in his steps, waiting to hear more.

Your face turned an even deeper shade of crimson as you think back to last night, a bit different— a whole lot different. The dream had left you truly confused because it was nothing like the otherwise steamy ones you had. It was unsettlingly normal, and it has left you with a sense of unease that left you unable to sleep properly, terrified at what this means.

 You cleared your throat, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "Well, it was just a, you know, like the ones I told you. Nothing too different. I still hate it."

Hermione's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in, feigning innocence. "From the look on your face, it seems to be different. Tell us about it, pretty please."

You hesitated but then began to describe the dream in the most vague and unassuming way possible, but you knew no matter what you said, they would use this to tease you endlessly. "Alright, alright. So, in the dream, I was in the Black Lake, and there was a gentle, warm breeze. I was walking with someone, and it was peaceful. It was like…everything is normal. No war, no problems, no animosity, just us walking like any normal person.”

Harry and Ron exchanged knowing glances, while Hermione continued to prod gently. "And who were you walking with, Y/N?"

Your gaze darted around the table, avoiding eye contact. Not seeing how their eyes slightly shifted behind you. "Well, it was just someone... you know, a dream version of someone I know. Like you don’t know already."

Hermione shook her head, “Yeah but this is different, so it must be somebody else right?”

“Hermione…It’s Theo, who else.” 

"Y/N…" You hear a voice behind you call out in a low tone, with a thread of voice. 

Your eyes widen, filled to the brim with alertness and humiliation. Your mother was right, one day this mouth will get you in trouble— not that it hasn’t been proven countless times before— but now nothing made you want to become more one with the ground than this moment.

You swallow hard and turn around, instantly the mortification in your features becomes tenfold. There it is— the stupid, bloody smirk that is always present on his stupid, pretty face when he has caught you red-handed. 

“Don’t.” You warn.

He leans his entire weight back on the wooden post behind him, staring down at you with a look of satisfaction, unapologetically reveling in your obvious embarrassment.

“Oh, but I must.” He drawls, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Your frustration surges as you fold your arms, attempting to salvage a shred of dignity in this awkward moment. You give him a glare before turning back front facing to the table.

“You are truly insufferable, you know that?”

Without even being able to see it, you already know that his grin widens at your reply. “Guilty, I’m afraid.”

Theo pushed himself off the wooden post and sauntered closer to where you were sitting, making your heart stutter. The playful glint in his eyes brings forth an image that you would rather not see right now.

"But what's the fun in letting you off the hook so easily? It’s not every day that I find out somebody has been kept awake all night because of me."

You could only continue to cast a withering look at him as you shook your head. "You just love tormenting me, don't you?"

He sits down on the seat next to you, ignoring the other occupants who have reserved to remain quiet. Truly enjoying the show that you, unfortunately, are the star of. He inches closer to you until you can almost feel your eyelashes flutter at his breath.

“Only because I quite enjoy how flustered you can be.” He admits softly, and in that moment the playful teasing in his voice gives way to something else.

A different kind of tension. 

Not one that you would like to be a part of.

“Well, that would be the last of it.” 

Theo and your friends are left bewildered when you suddenly stand and disappear among the group of rowdy students.

His eyebrows furrow and his gleaming expression turns into one of confusion and a hint of hurt and disappointment. “What just happened?”

When he finally turns to look at your friends, all they do is share uneasy glances with each other. They were unsure of how to respond to Theo’s question when they could hardly comprehend what had only occurred.

Hermione opens her mouth to say something but closes it once more when the words in her mind are a jumble.

“Astronomy Tower.” He hears someone say. His cerulean blue eyes that somehow turned grey shifted to the bespectacled boy sitting a chair away from him. “Go.” 

“Why did you run off?” You ignore the voice that shatters the silence. The bristles of the wind brush against your clothes. Your head thrumming as the sound of your shoes clicking against the concrete permeates into the air. 

He calls you by your name with a gentleness that sends tingles down your spine. But yet again, you ignore him. Choosing to stare intently at the rust that forms by the railing in front of you, the complex chemical reaction is seemingly more interesting to you now. 

“Y/N please…I don't know what’s going on your mind right now but we need to talk.” He moves to stand next to you, placing his arms on the barrier. “I will say it, no matter if you want to listen or not. We clearly have feelings for each other.”

You want to say that you are surprised that he is being so straightforward right now, but it’s evident that someone had to stop whatever dance the both of you had been playing at for the past month already. 

 “And that’s confirmed by what I heard earlier.” He chuckles in an attempt to lighten up the mood. “Gods, I hate you so much.”

“Your dreams say otherwise.” He continues with his teasing.

“Stop it. As if you’re any better with how you acted with Blaise earlier.” You hit him back. “Blaise is an annoying ass who meddles in my business way more often than necessary. But I guess he did one thing right.”

“What?” You ask, turning your body to lean on the railing, facing him.

“He kept bothering me about you, and I guess he got tired and decided to make a move leading us to this moment.” 

“He can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be." You agree. Silence befalling after.

“Gods, I don’t know what happened but it’s you.” He breathes heavily.  

A laugh escapes your chest, “If somebody came to us two months ago and told us that we’d be acting like this, I would think they’re mental.”

Theo grins at you, making you giggle to see the little fang on the corner of his mouth. He places his hands on your cheeks and cradles your face, making a move to press his forehead to yours as he nears.

The vivid, flashing images of Theo from your dreams doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing. The skin under his touch tingled and it made you itch to reach out with your fingertips, feeling as if you would crumble beneath his hands.

You pull away to stare up at him. The cold that typically veils over his eyes are gone as they reciprocate your stare with an even warmer touch. Every nerve ends in you lighting up with a golden electricity.

Theo opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, and then shut it, apparently struggling to remember how to talk.

So, he decided that actions seem to be your thing anyways, as the two of you are quite horrible at talking.

Carefully, almost as if he’s never done it before, Theo leans forward and presses his lips against yours so gently. All you can think about is him even as you respond to his kiss, melting against the touch. 

He pressed himself into you, attempting to tangle your bodies together. He wants to feel every inch of you against his skin, willing the gods to let you be one. Hell, he wanted to climb into your ribcage and possibly live out the rest of his days inside your heart.

You gasp as his hands creep under your shirt and trail along your lower back, though he doesn’t wander. He takes this as an opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, exploring eagerly.

You tilt forward, answering his devotion with an equal eagerness. In your distraction, your hands slide from their hold on his shirt and travel until your fingertips meet behind his nape.

This goes for a while before a sudden splash from the waters below you makes you jump apart, though still very much physically attached. His arms were still tightly wound around your waist.

“I think that’s a sign we should stop for now.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Laughter met in the air between you—sweet, short, intertwined. Although you would like to have another one of your dreams to come true, you want to take it slow. The idea that he thought of you as you did to him has still not truly sunk into your mind.

Even now as he leans his face slightly towards yours again and begins to leave soft, tender kisses all over your cheek, making butterflies appear in your stomach.

“Gods, I just realised something.” You laugh all of a sudden, making him stand up straight to look at you curiously. “What is it?”

“I just made Ron win a bet for the first time since we all became friends.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he was the first person to tease me about these stupid dreams–”

“Excuse me, I rather think it’s not.” He interrupts playfully raising an eyebrow. “Shush.”

“Anyways,” You continue, “Harry and Hermione initially thought it was nothing and that it probably would stop after a while— obviously not. So Ron set a bet that I’ll end up having feelings for you or we’ll end up together.”

He chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I’m still surprised they didn’t hate the idea. With us being in literal houses that hate each other.”  

“They’re only annoyed at some of you, honestly. The ones that perpetuate the ‘Slytherin’ motto too much.” 

"Plus," he continued, the joking tone in his voice fading a bit, "even if they did have complaints, I would have ignored every single one and still pursued you."

“As if! You stormed to Hogsmeade just to interrupt our ‘date’ and you wouldn’t even admit it. If it weren’t for what our friends did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

“Let me pretend, for goodness’ sake woman!”

His playful exasperation brought a genuine smile to your face, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade as you got lost in the playful banter you're used to with him.

masterlist

[brilium]

❥ K I N K T O B E R 2 0 2 3

Masterlist

➽──────────❥

❥ DAY 9. Aphrodisiac! with Nanami Kento

Summary. Nanami has been dealing with a lot of stress at the office lately, and you decided to buy him a naturalist tea that it supposed to help with the stress relief. It seems to help with stress in a very particular way...

Content Warning. Fem! reader, no use of Y/N, all characters are adults, smut, vaginal sex, overstimulation, oral sex (m. receiving), breeding. No proof read, might edit later.

Word count. 2,203.

MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT !!

You bought a package of natural tea bags for stress relief. Was it suspicious? Not really. You expected them to work? Also no.

Actually, it seemed pretty normal; a simple box with small bags filled with the usual content.

You gave them to Kento when he drank in the morning before going to work. He seemed like usual; tired, with no energy and half asleep.

That was pretty much the reason why you bought them.

The tea was supposed to help him relieve stress relief, that’s why you give it to him before his stressful routine. You didn’t expect to be one of those teas.

“Fuck! S–Stay still dear!” Nanami groans, holding the headboard of the bed with one hand while the other keeps your waist firmly against the mattress as his hips slam aggressively against yours.

You look at your clothes spreader around the floor, you can't even remember when Nanami got you rid of them in the rush of kisses and make out that he put you through.

The lady at the shop gently helped you to look for a tea that would help with the stress that your husband has been having, since you’re a bit worried about his lack of words and how he skips dinner and goes to sleep. You should have suspected of her smile.

It was a damn aphrodisiac.

You cry in the pillow while he keeps thrusting with an animal fiercely, holding the sheets between your fists as his hip bone spanks against your red ass. Nanami groans fill the bedroom with the skin slapping sounds that drive you crazy.

"God— You feel so good today. I couldn't stop thinking at work about you, dear!"

And, that's fucking true, Nanami felt a weird wave of arousal as soon as he landed on his desk. Suddenly remembering how tight that shirt suited you today, he remembered how your nipples poked out softly through the fabric; and that leaded him to remember your bare body, your thighs squeezing at his sides every time he pounded on you and your sweet blush when you announced that you were about to cum—

God, he lied saying that he was sick because he needed to fuck you. It felt like ages since the last time.

When he arrived sooner, you were happy that, maybe, his boss gave him a free day. But as soon as he started kissing you as rubbing his hard erection against your stomach you knew that you’ll be the tired one today.

“P–Please! K–Kento—” You rest your cheek on the pillow to get some air, even if it’s hard to do it with his weight above yours, thrusting hard. “S–Slow down! Fuck!”

Nanami doesn’t seem to listen, actually, he does the opposite, getting a quicker peace that wins a loud scream from you. Your eyes half opened don’t let you focus clearly, although your complaints since you’re used to doing it more gently with him, you love how his tip hits constantly on your cervix like he wants to leave his mark inside you.

When you start whining against the pillow, drooling on it and starting to dig hardly your nails on your palm, you let out a small whimper of pain that startles your husband.

“D–Do you— Shit! Do you want me to stop?”

The thrusts slow down gently until stopping with some shaking from him, he doesn’t sounds like he wants to stop, even his voice shakes in need of more but his delicacy with you stays even though the way he acts right now melts a warm feeling on your chest.

You shake your head with weakness, tightening your core muscles to keep him inside. Nanami lets out a broken moan when you do it, grabbing both sides of your hips firmly and taking a deep breath.

He caresses your back from top to bottom, trying to control his need to keep slamming on you.

“This is because of that damn tea…” He scolds, going inside again more slowly even it’s a higher pain for his body needing to let out all that contained energy. "I can't even feel tiredness."

“I notice it,” You whimper, tasting how sweetly it feels his length entering again, you push your hips back a little for more and Nanami responds by unintentionally digging his nails on your skin. “Fuck— D–Don’t hold back, please...”

Nanami growls in response, he tries his best to go slow for you but even though he slowed down his thrusts, he makes sure to hit every time with enough energy to make your insides clench around his swollen dick.

You start to love this new side of him, letting out his desires to ruin you and take everything he wants. He's a gentleman, and that's perfect, but remembering that that gentleman is turning you into a mess growls a pool on your aching cunt.

When Nanami’s thrusts start to get faster and harder, you start to taste a sweet electric wave around your body as you keep hearing the headboard slamming on the wall.

“K–Kento! I’m… I’m close!” You scream, moaning his name against the sheets and grabbing them between your fists.

Nanami nods behind you, keeping his peace as he starts to feel how the knot on his stomach is about to release. He pulls you closer to him in a harsh movement and starts hitting harder, when you start crying in pleasure is when you feel a whole shiver growing along your body in the high of your orgasm. He keeps moving his hips in a messier way until he moans sharply as you feel a warmth filling your cunt.

You are breathless on the mattress as you feel the cum running down your thighs, thinking that your husband is in the same state but it takes you by surprise when he grabs you by the shoulder to make you lie on your back to look at him towering you in the bed.

He just came, a lot.

And he’s still fucking hard.

“B–But you just came!” You whine, feeling him rubbing his length along your sensitive folds. Making you roll your eyes at the sensation and having to bite your lip to not moan in response. "Kento—"

“P–Please… Fuck, you feel so warm” Nanami moans quietly between his teeths, putting his tip right on your entrance and you feel a cold chill running through your spine. “If you are still tight maybe I’ll cum sooner and the effect of the tea goes away.”

You know that he's inventing all that, you both don't know how long that effect is going to last but you’re not complaining when his tip opens your walls again.

Nanami starts to push and you throw your head back on the pillow with a pained moan, you are still really wet from the previous orgasm, but also damn sensitive. He hasn't even fully entered but yet it already has you breathing hard and biting your lip.

He grabs your thighs to spread them and has a good entrance to you when he starts stroking again, but it doesn't seem to be enough for him. Nanami does the opposite by lifting your calves to put them on his shoulders as he starts to hit again.

This new position lifts your hips a little more and gives him a good angle to hit on your cunt and turn you into a mess of moans, feeling him hitting on the cervix in such a delicious way.

His eyes travel down along your body from your parted lips crying his name; your tits being squeezed between one of your hands, trying to keep them both stimulated; and fuck, the nice view of your cunt squeezing on his fat cock around the white ring of cum around it.

You squirm on the mattress, feeling like a rag doll in the hold of his strong body.

"F–Fuck! Fuck!" You bring one of your hands between your legs to rub your swollen clit to get closer to the second orgasm. Nanami groans at the feeling of your folds hugging him tightly.

Nanami lets go of your thighs on your sides to bend closer to you, but his hips keep slamming on you like he's just started while you already started to feel your body getting sore.

You thought that he leaned closer to kiss you through the thrusts, but he stopped right in front of your breasts to start  sucking on your nipples and let them go with a "Pop!". When his hard thrusts make it hard for him to reach the nipple, he just chooses to suck on the soft skin of your breasts, leaving a dark red mark on there.

His tongue drills on the tip of your sensitive bud, biting it softly between his teeths to make your back arch for more. It's when in one of those movements that your vision goes blurry as your hands fly to his back and start to scratch it with your nails. 

"K–Kento! Yes, yes!" You roll your eyes, feeling his dick strokes on the right spot between your walls "Right there! Yes!" 

Nanami hugs you back to keep you steady as he keeps hitting, feeling your cunt tightening around him. You cry his name repeatedly against his shoulder as he thrusts while you ride the second orgasm.

You spasm under him, trembling and feeling small tears on the border of your eyes as he calms down above you. Even your walls clench around his length at the sound of his hard breathing beside your ear.

"D–Dear… I—"

You interrupt Nanami, pushing him softly to lie on his back beside you. He opens his eyes wide when you use the last remains of your strength to straddle I'm front of his swollen dick, holding the base of it with one hand as you get closer to it.

"Gosh! You gave me two sweet orgasms and you haven't even cum once…" A pout grows in your face, holding his cock to hit it softly on your cheek, loving the way Nanami’s body jumps slightly at the touch.

"Am I that bad in bed?" You continue, passing slowly your tongue flatly from his base to his tip to taste his precum combined with the last of your fluids. "Is that so, Kento? You want me to stop?"

Nanami shakes his head, bringing a hand to your cheek, caressing sweetly as he bites his lip to not scream at the way you tease him with soft licks along his member. 

"No… Don’t stop."

You smirk, licking his tip in circles with your tongue before sliding it between your lips and pull back. You enjoy his cries and pleas until you finally decide to take the most that you can, swallowing with your cheeks as he throws his head back with a growl.

It's been a while since you gave him a blow job, so you forgot how fat his cock felt inside your mouth, struggling to take it all as you jerk the rest with your hand as you lick his tip in circles before taking it all again.

But he squirms so nicely on the bed…

You laugh against his dick, sending vibrations that make him cry softly, you keep going slowly until his hands push you down to take more. You gag around him and he growls pleased, thrusting up to hit the back of your throat, making you cry softly as the sound of his guttural moans fill your ears.

"Yes, yes! You take me so well, dear!" It doesn't take longer until Nanami pulls your head back by tangling his fingers on your hair, leaving a thin thread of drool from his tip to your lip.

You look at Nanami trying to get up on his knees in front of you with your flushed cheeks and fucked out gaze. He pumps along his swollen dick in front of you a few strokes until he throws the thick lines of cum around all your face, falling down along your cheeks, mouth and some drips on your tits.

Nanami groans relieved and fall on his knees in the mattress, looking at you cleaning the rest with your thumb to suck it.

"Don’t do that, let me clean you."

"Why? Is it gross for you?" You ask, genuinely. Stopping to look around for the tissues, but Nanami’s head weight on your lap, his broken breathing hits on your thighs, giving you tickles. 

"No… I'll get hard again if I see you doing it. I still feel some dizziness from that stupid tea."

You giggle, playing with his hair with one hand as you clean the last remains with the back of your hand, waiting for cleaning it properly later.

"Don’t call it stupid! You seem less stressed, actually."

Nanami groans annoyed, slapping softly on your bare thigh.

"Maybe, but I'm stressed on what medical excuse I'll have to create for my work."

"Just tell them that something in the morning hurt your tummy."

Nanami hums in response, about to fall asleep on your thighs and you smirk before leaning closer to his ear.

"Since you’re not going back to work… Do you want another tea?"

[zepskies]

This is more of a Sam and Dean request than a reader and Dean request but what about Sam having a crush on Dean's gf? How would he react to that, I am honestly CRAVING angst and this is the angstiest, is that a word, thing I could think of, I am so sorry if you don't like angst or this makes you uncomfortable!!!

Oh my God. You killed me with this one, hun. 😫😫 I have another SB imagine coming next week, but I thought I'd put out this one for Dean to break it up a bit.

Pairing: Dean W. x Reader, one-sided Sam W. x Reader Word Count: 1,500

Imagine: You are Dean's one exception.

Sam knows it's wrong.

You're smart, with a degree in history that aids them well on hunts.

You're sharp, with a smart mouth that rivals Dean's (and keeps him on his toes).

But you're also kind. You take care of him and Dean with all the feminine grace and care they've never had in their lives.

Sam realizes it when he's up until 3 a.m. in the bunker's War Room. He's sat at the table, researching, eyes bleary, hands cramping from turning pages. And he finds a mug of hot tea sliding next to his idle hand on the table.

You're there with a smile and a hand on his shoulder. "Workin' hard or hardly working?"

Sam clears his throat and nods, chuckles a little. "I'm good." He eyes the mug. "Thanks, though I might need something stronger."

You eye him with gentle reproach. "Nope. Green tea is better for you this late at night. You really should go to sleep, Sam."

Sam tacitly agrees, but only because he can feel the warmth of your hand through his clothing, and it makes his face warmer than the tea. He watches you walk away, notices the curve of your ass in those little shorts. He can imagine your warm hands on his body, caressing him. He can imagine letting his lips graze your skin, exploring you, then devouring you.

And that's when his thoughts stutter to a halt. Sam inwardly cringes.

Despite his sleep-deprived brain, he's reminded that you're traveling down the hall to the room you share with his brother, and for Sam, it's nothing short of torture.

Because he realizes then that he isn't just fond of you. He doesn't love you like an older brother, or even a quasi-brother-in-law. He wants you.

Again, Sam knows it's wrong...but he can't help it. It's one of the saddest cliches in the fucking book. You're his brother's girl, and he wants you for himself.

And it's getting harder to hide it from Dean. They know each other too well -- a result of having no one but each other, but more practically, having lived in such close quarters for so long before they discovered the bunker.

When Sam gets hurt on a hunt, the cut is at a bad angle. He can't quite reach, so you dutifully come around and gently move his hand out of the way to do the stitch yourself. You tsk at him in playful disappointment. "I swear, it's a wonder you and Dean aren't walking patchwork quilts at this point."

Sam chuckles through his nose, wincing when the movement pulls on the stitch. You shoot him a stern look. "Stop moving."

"You're the one making me laugh!" he says, smiling incredulously.

"I don't accept excuses," you retort. "Keep still, please."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam says, his breath hitching for a different reason as he feels your soft hands along his side. He plays it off as pain. "Sorry," you murmur more sincerely. He tells you it's okay. His gaze flicks up, unconsciously finding Dean's face across the room.

He's just finished cleaning a cut on his hand. But he's been watching; Sam can tell. Dean's too perceptive not to notice Sam's discomfort. He probably even knows why. Sam can see a glint of it in Dean's eyes, the stoic front of his face.

"There we go!" you say in satisfaction, and you pat Sam's bare arm. He gives you a wan smile. "Thanks."

"You done, sweetheart?" Dean asks. You get up from your seat by Sam. "What do you need?" you ask.

"You. Come 'ere," he says with a smile, giving you a beckoning finger. "I felt that knot on the back of your head earlier. Think you're slick?"

You huff, but you also smile, in the way you only do for Dean. Sam watches you get up and go to Dean, who touches your cheek, stroking with a thumb first. Then he parts your hair to inspect the back of your head, and you wince a bit. You did fall pretty hard, now that Sam thinks of it. He frowns.

Dean lets out a deep breath. "You've got a nasty bump. You're taking it easy tonight, got it?"

"Yeah? Gonna help me relax?" you whisper. But Sam still hears you, because apparently no one taught you how the hell to whisper.

Dean smirks. "Watch it. I'll think you're flirting with me."

You give him a coy smile as your hand travels up his chest, between the open edges of his plaid shirt, then all the way down, to tease at his belt. "Believe me, when I do, you'll be the first one to know."

Dean's smirk deepens, but his eyes are softer. He closes a hand around yours and brings it to his lips. You lean up and request, wordlessly, for a kiss. Dean obliges you, capturing your lips with a soft kiss.

He eventually breaks from you, only to press his lips to your forehead next, closing his eyes with a sigh. He doesn't like it when you try to hide your injuries from him. You just don't want him to worry so much.

You smile and rest against his chest afterwards. It's clear as day what your heart holds.

It's hard for Sam to watch. His throat constricts, but he takes pains to avert his gaze.

He's so full to the brim with this that he sees no other recourse. He catches Dean alone in the kitchen and tries to make a confession. "Dean, we need to talk."

"Can it wait 'til I'm done?" Dean's plating up some stovetop mac and cheese -- your favorite.

"You're done cooking," Sam points out. Dean looks up at him. "We're doing a little dinner in bed situation. I made her promise to take it easy."

Sam admires the way Dean takes care of you. He really does. But it's also like a small oyster knife twisting in his gut. "Good. I'm glad," is all he says. "Yeah, we can talk later."

"Later" doesn't come for a long time. Weeks, in fact. But every time he tries to broach the problem, Dean finds a way to wiggle out of having the conversation. Always a distraction. A hunt. A fire you almost started in the kitchen. Being "in the middle" of something -- something in the bedroom that you insist needs Dean's immediate attention. Sam gives up for a while after that.

But Winchesters are nothing if not goddamn stubborn. Sam finally catches Dean alone in his room for once. You've gone to the grocery store, leaving the brothers alone in the bunker, but not for long, so Sam needs this chance.

"Dean, can we talk?"

Dean looks up at his brother from where he sits on the edge of his bed. He taps his knee, releases a breath. They both know what this is.

"Are you gonna do more than talk?" Dean asks. It's not what Sam expects. "What?"

"Whatever's on your mind, are you ever gonna do something about it?" Dean asks.

Sam stares back at his brother. He thinks. Hard. He's flipped back and forth for months. If he tells you how he feels, it's over. Things will never be the same between the three of you. It'll confuse you. It might even hurt you. It'll hurt Dean. Sam loves you both, if in very different ways.

So Sam is a bit deflated when he raises his resigned gaze and meets his brother's. "No."

After a moment, Dean nods. "Then we've got nothing to talk about."

But... Sam wants not to want you. Not to love you. Deep, deep down, a large chunk of him feels that he shouldn't have to hide himself. That you have a right to know the depths of what he feels, and what he feels for you.

"I see you're not convinced," Dean says dryly. Sam is silent, until Dean sighs and beckons him over. Sam obliges and sits down next to his older brother, the man he's looked up to (at least metaphorically) his whole life.

"I'd give my life for you. You know that. Right, Sammy?" Dean says. "If I couldn't tear the world apart, I'd lay myself out flat."

Sam sighs. "Dean..." Of fucking course he knows that. Dean already had given his life for him once. Remembering that only adds to Sam's guilt.

Dean meets Sam's gaze directly then. "But this is where I draw the line. She's my line," he says. His face is almost stoic, but his eyes are filled with unyielding fire. "I'm not layin' down on that. Not for you. Not for anyone."

Sam's heart clenches with every kind of pain, but he's also never respected his brother more. He nods. "I get it."

"No, you really fucking don't," Dean says. He's more than serious. "I mean it, Sam. I'll break your damn nose."

After a long moment, Sam nods. He knew Dean loved you. Of course he did. But this is the first time Sam truly understands how deeply. How completely. It's more than jealousy can fathom.

Sam realizes then that he lost, even before he began.

AN: Whew! 😮‍💨 I got way deeper into this than I expected to. Poor Sam. 😭 But I hope this scratched your angsty itch, my dear!

Read the Sequel

Here's the requested sequel to this: Sam crosses the line.

Also, if you want to read the reverse of this (Dean is in love with Sam's girlfriend): Dean gives you an impossible choice.

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[merakiui]

PLEASE. please. if you would be so kind to give us some more stalker ex scara... the first time I saw it it just changed my brain chemistry, and I desperately need more </3

>:D thinking a lot about stalker ex Scara, but you get really drunk and he's the only one left to look after you......

(cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, alcohol/intoxication, toxic ex scara, modern college au, connected to the previous stalker ex scara concept)

Just,,, the fact that he's been so good and sweet ever since he casually slid himself into your friend group and you're not sure if you can trust him, yet here you are being completely, utterly, stupidly vulnerable in front of your very unstable ex. orz

Kuni's not one for parties; in fact, he'd much rather spend his precious time doing quiet, comfortable things with you (cuddling is so much healthier than drinking, after all! <3). Unfortunately, you allow your foolish friends to talk you into attending these brain-rotting parties so you can get drunk off your ass, and he can't let you attend them by yourself because there are too many risks. If you got too comfortable with Venti or Kazuha or even Tighnari while drunk, Kuni would never forgive you. >:( he's worked too hard cultivating this friendly image for himself, and he isn't going to let you or anyone else ruin it.

But right now everyone else is too inebriated to do much of anything, and he hasn't touched the drinks ever since he arrived, instead choosing to anchor himself to some forgotten corner of the room. He sulks and broods in silence, a scowl plastered to his face. He's just barely tolerating it for your sake. It's because he loves you that he's doing any of this. Soon you won't even need any of these troublesome friends. Soon you'll just have him, and he's all you really need. It was like that when you were growing up, after all. Even though, as painful as it is, you don't seem so codependent, so swept up in romance... You're so independent now, no longer the shy, fearful thing from the final few months of your relationship with him. He'd be impressed if he wasn't trying so hard to isolate you from each of your friends. It's a challenge when he's trying to tiptoe around Heizou's sharp, witty perception or Venti's proclivity for knowing everything about everyone despite no one knowing much about him.

But he endures. He's gone years without you; this is nothing.

If you were smarter, you'd know not to trust a word he says. That kind, soft smile he's perfected for this act is not to be believed, especially not when he's using it to assure your friends that he'll bring you home safe and sound. Heizou has his doubts because it's late and you can hardly walk a straight line, but he's tipsy just like the others and it's hard to deliberate like this. Besides, when has Kuni ever let the group down? :)

He takes you back to his dorm instead because Albedo's not home and he has the entire room to himself. While you meander clumsily over to his bed, kicking your shoes off and shucking your jacket in the process, he watches. You have no idea how much he depends on you, how much he admires you, so much so that it surpasses love and lust entirely. Without you, he's nothing. Or that's what he thinks because for the majority of his life he's felt empty and sub-human and so alone. But now you're here, and you can fill those empty spaces in his heart and give him a reason to keep living.

You don't seem particularly fazed when the bed dips under his weight. Rather, you blink sleepily up at him when he leans over you, gingerly reaching to help you out of your sweater. You're too drunk to protest or struggle, and you feel so dizzy every time you open your eyes. It's difficult to remain fully conscious when sleep is tugging at your body, pulling you under. You don't even realize he's fit his mouth on yours until his tongue is pushing past your lips. You manage to place your hands against his chest, intending to push him away, but you're so exhausted and tired. They fall to your sides, useless.

Kuni sits up and smiles at you. He says something about you being dumb and cute... or something about how your friends are fools. You don't really catch all of his obsessive murmurings when your attention is waning. Clothes are torn off; he kisses you a lot. You're not sure if you're reciprocating, but it certainly sounds that way when you're whining beneath him, arching against sodden sheets, your breaths coming in pants and huffs each time he ruts into you.

He doesn't have to worry about anything. Right now, it's just you and him in a corner of the world, locked away from everyone who might try to take you away from him. It's not like you'll remember much come morning. You don't need to anyway. It's better if you're lost and bewildered. That way he'll be able to craft a story to suit his fancy. You'll believe it. You'll have no choice, and Kuni knows how to tell very believable tales.

[adventuringblind]

Mr. Blue Sky

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Max Verstappen

Genre: Fluff

Request: Yes, I loved every second of this. Y'all are welcome to send me your own ideas :)

Summary: After Max gets cheated on, he can't stand being in the house where it happened. Reader and Charles take him in and show him he's still loved.

Warnings: cheating

Notes: No hate to Kelly. I just needed this as a plot point.

Fun fact: my mom calls Valentine’s Day ‘legislative love day’ and will only do any remotely related activities on the 15th because she has a point to prove.

Masterlist

The sound of Charles' phone buzzing at an ungodly hour is what you woke up to. The room is still pitch black, and you can hardly make out Charles in the bed.

He rolls over and pucks up the phone. "It's Max." He states. Voice filled with the sleep from which he was dragged.

He answers the phone, and you curl up into him, hoping to listen in. "Max? Are you-"

You can hear faint mumbling and the occasional choked sob on the other end of the line. "Breathe, Max. I'm going to come get you. Can you stay on the phone with me?" Charles is throwing off the covers and looking for his car keys.

You look at Charles for some sort of answer. To which Charles pulls the phone away from his ear and kisses your head. "Kelly cheated. I'm going to go get him."

You nod your head in understanding. You clamber out of bed and see Charles off to the door.

Your grateful that Monte Carlo is a small city and that it doesn’t take long for him to come back. His body shouldering a drunk Max through the door.

Max is no coherent and reeks of alcohol. His eyes are puffy and his cheeks tear stained. His lips tremble as them mutter words neither of you can understand.

Your heart hearts for him. You and Charles had made an effort to be around the Dutch. You both actively became friends with him and found yourselves in each others company often.

And did you both end up falling for the same pair of blue eyes? Yes.

It was actually Charles who brought it up first. You’d never considered the idea of being with more then one person. Then you got to know Max and you found yourself considering more often then you’d admit.

Neither of you knew if Max would ever be into that and neither of you wanted to ask. The possibility of ruining what is currently a good friendship was not on the to-do list. Plus, he had Kelly and P.

You shake of your thoughts and help Charles get Max into the guest bed. You and him do your best at cleaning him up and making him comfortable despite the fact he is less then cooperative.

When you two are finally back in your own bed, Charles sighs in pained defeat. “She cheated on him while he was out with P.”

You cringe in disgust. “Has it been going on long?”

“Apparently so. About four months.” Charles climbs further into the blankets and pulls you into his chest. “He gave her the apartment. He was out late because he didn’t know where to go.”

“We could offer him a place here for the time being.” You suggest. The slightest hint of a smirk playing on your lips.

“Pretty sure you are just wanting to see more of him.” He chuckles. “But yes, I think it’s a good offer until he figures things out.”

“Don’t lie, you stare at him all the time! You’re going to be the one who outs us.”

“Shush amour. I’m exhausted and I know you are also. Now sleep.”

~

The week brings interesting events. Max does take the offer to move in, though he’s been quiet and reserved since he started staying with you. Max, Charles, and Lando went back to, now Kelly’s apartment, to get his stuff.

He comes back into the house crying. His heart shattered and the apartment a mere reminder of the events that occurred.

Your grateful it’s the off season and Max will hopefully have some time to process before the start of the new season. You and Charles don’t push him and give him space when he needs. Though you also invade when you can see he’s spiraling. Desperate attempts at not letting him go into those dark places are often just you being in the same room as him.

~

By the time Christmas rolls around, he’s doing the slightest bit better. He’s been out of the room more and you haven’t had to force him to eat. He decorates the apartment with you and Charles.

It’s disastrous.

The three of you can’t stop laughing at the mess you’ve made of the decor.

The three of you spend Christmas Eve with Charles’ family. Max hadn’t wanted to go home to his less then festive father and Victoria was away with her in-laws.

You obviously weren’t going to leave him alone and Pascale had been thrilled when he said he’d come to dinner.

You could tell he felt awkward and out of place at first, but everyone did their best to make him feel welcome. Soon he was relaxing, sipping on his drink and engaging in conversation.

~

Christmas and new years had gone by to fast. January had now descended and the cold weather had yet to completely let up.

Originally you thought Max would be out by now. That he’d want his own space as soon as possible. It’s not like he couldn’t afford it. Yet he stayed and you and Charles welcomed him in.

Max was seemed like he was healing. His eyes had regained their light. The one they lost those first days of December. He definitely hadn’t moved one though. You and Charles could still hear the soft sniffles from his room at night.

He may be smiling, but he’s still broken hearted.

The most interesting new additions are the cats. The felines that are Max’s children. He would probably murder for his cats and become the next John Wick. There is something wholesome and sweet about his interactions with his pets.

Charles on the other hand has a bad relationship with animals in general. Small felines included. He like them, they just don’t like him back yet. Max has been letting him feed them until they realize he is nice.

You also have learned that you can share meal prep with Max. You’d banned Charles from it after he tried once and failed miserably. Max isn’t the best in the kitchen, but he helps out and cooks some nights.

~

February. The month of love.

Everything around reminds Max of what happened. How he will not be doing anything special for the holiday. He doesn’t even want to go out of the apartment and you and Charles have to drag him to go get fresh air.

The fateful day comes around and you and Charles have agreed to keep it small.

Corny, sweet, and romantic is Charles definition of a good day and treats you accordingly.

You try to get Max to come eat something but end up just leaving it at the door.

Despite what people may think, Max is romantic at heart. Charles learned this last year when the Monegasque asked him if he was doing anything with Kelly for the holiday.

You and Charles are lounging on the sofa with a movie playing in the background. His arm draped around you and mouth pressing silly kisses along your jaw.

“I can feel your worry radiating from here.” Charles stops his kisses and you roll your eyes at him in response.

“He’s not eaten all day and I’ve heard him crying. Just wish I could help is all.”

Charles hums in your ear. “We could see if he wants a distraction.” He punctuates his sentence with a cheeky smile.

“Charles Perceval Leclerc! You can not seriously be suggesting what I think you are.” You playfully bat his arm. “I highly doubt he would neither want that or like that.”

“How about we ask and then go from there.”

“I think you just want him to fuck you.” This time it’s your turn to give a cheeky smile.

~

This is definitely not how you envisioned asking Max about this would go. His teary eyes haven’t looked away from Charles since the pretty male started talking.

This left you in an odd place of trying to read his reactions and getting absolutely nothing.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to or if you’re not into it. We would completely understand.” Charles laughs but you can tell he’s nervous. His body language betrays him.

Max looks between the two of you like he’s considering something. “You’re telling me you’ve both been crushing on me since last year? And I didn’t notice?”

“You’re very oblivious at times.” You shrug.

“That’s fair but also not the point.” Max stands up out of the bed and starts pacing. “I just don’t understand why me. You two are amazing people and you’re so great together.”

“Y/N has a numbered list of reasons in her phone that we’ve created in case this ever happened.” Charles looks at you expectantly but Your already pulling up the list.

“-please don’t read it I’m already blushing and that will make it worse. Maybe one day but not now.”

All of you freeze at the fact he insinuated a future.

“Does this mean you like us back?” Charles almost purrs. He’s so flirty now but if this goes farther then just a confession tonight he’ll be stuttering and weak in the knees. You know from experience.

Max is the stuttering mess right now however. He’s lost all of his words and is simply gesturing with his hands.

“Breathe Maxy, take your time.” He manages a few and usable to get a grip on his thoughts.

“I’ve to confess something first.” You both look at him expectedly but don’t push him. “The reason Kelly cheated on me is because she’d found a journal of mine. It was a thing my therapist told me to do and so I did. When you two started coming around more, I fell hard. For both of you. I wrote about to hopefully understand myself better and get the thoughts out of my head but they stayed and I hated myself for it. She read it and thought I cheated first so she just did it back.”

He’s in the verge of tears again but you and Charles can only stare I’d utter disbelief. Apparently, both of you are also oblivious.

“Please say something.”

“I think it must be fate.” Again that smirk is tugging at Charles lips.

The air in the room is replaced by a new tension. The kind Charles was originally insinuating before you three started talking.

“So about that proposal then…”

Valentine’s Day definitely couldn’t have ended any better.

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 08. LOSING DOGS

a/n: i can't really explain why i took so long with this chapter. possibly because of how much i don't want this series to end and we're so close. but also it's just been hard to find the inspo as of late. but thanks to a movie day with @soulores where we yearned and screamed and laughed over this man, and well me rewatching the deadpool movies 1 & 2 for wade inspo i managed to finish this. it's been a ride delving into their angst and i hope you enjoy! we're one more chapter away from the ending and from this man's happy ending.

summary: time spent apart gives logan a chance to grieve - to mourn the family he lost. it gives you the opportunity to come to terms with what loving the wolverine means. the consequences that come with the choice of betting on someone like him. after all, he's not a violent dog...he just tends to bite harder than necessary.

word count: 7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, angst, grief, dual pov chapter sorta, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, wade wilson therapist, laura kinney is here to stay everyone, crying, pain, emotional turmoil, ptsd, time.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

You don't sleep anymore.

This wasn't due to a lack of exhaustion—you were always tired—you simply couldn't bear to withstand the dreams longer than necessary. They filled your head with their brutality. Ripped apart your psyche in such a short time frame, only to leave you split open and bleeding for the buzzards and vultures to pick at. You were surprised Wade never commented on how you resembled a walking corpse day after day.

Walking amongst the living as your soul was claimed by the dead.

Nightmares quickly became your waking reality. A piece of what Logan left behind burrowed in your chest, settling further than you could ever reach. But that remained the horrid truth. You didn't want to get rid of it—you couldn't fathom the thought for longer than a few seconds. The remedies given by Wade, Laura, Ness, were all flimsy bandaids that you stripped off when they weren't looking—hoping that the darkness within would eventually consume you whole.

What existed in your mind—in the very depths of your heart—were all you had left of the man who disappeared without a trace.

Staring at the ceiling was easier. Tracing the cracks in the plaster, the worn in marks of people who lived here long before you ever would. You pretended that he lay beside you—his body inches away from reaching for you. In search of a slice of contentment to counteract the yawning grave that threatened to bury him alive. You could play along in this delusion, create a world of your own as your vision blurred.

Maybe if you wished hard enough...it would come true.

Eventually the need for sleep won, dropping shovel after shovel of dirt. Intent on burying you six feet under in a spot that was never meant for you. Memories played on a loop, a reminder of what could never be—a fate that had been mistakenly written in the stars— and you accepted it with a solemn heart that sang a long forgotten song.

One you never should have learned.

A creak echoed in the living room, your door left ajar in case you had to run. But the cadence of her footsteps had grown familiar to your weary ears. The drag of boots across hardwood, a shuffle here and there in her attempt to stay quiet. She hardly left your apartment anymore. Taking a spot on your couch like a guard dog you never asked to keep—a protector who took on the role her father was meant to fill.

Laura often fell asleep on the leather piece of furniture never meant to be utilized as a bed. You peeked your head out once to check if she needed anything, only to find her laying with her body faced closest to the door—a cracked picture frame of a much older version of your Logan placed on the table beside her. Her brows were furrowed, face pinched in fear, and for the first time you understood her relationship to the Wolverine.

She shared much more than his DNA.

She was plagued by his nightmares as well.

Your heart cracked a bit further at the knowledge that she might never have another night of peace in her life. Forever taunted by a past that should have been happy.

Sighing, you turned onto your side, staring at the neon glow of your alarm clock—a polaroid of Logan propped against the lamp. Wade took it months before you got the chance to meet the man who would drastically shift the course of your life. Two days ago you found it on your pillow—a chocolate bar beside it. Wade's attempt at making you smile.

Even if all it managed to do was make you cry.

Broken wet sobs that left your body wracked with shivers, your heart numb to each emotion that might have existed before he walked away. You'd gone over their explanations in your head numerous times. Mulled over each word and soft whisper of why. Yet nothing registered but the emptiness—the hollow ache that spilled over with grief.

No matter how often you patched it back up, he still managed to break his way back in. The reminder of his absence only served to split you down the middle—rendering you incapable of anything but pain.

"I miss him too."

Your body jolted at the soft sound of her voice practically filled to the brim with melancholy. She stood in your doorway, hands limp at her side, and for the first time you saw her as who she really was. A child who lost her father not once, but twice. Wordlessly you dragged the blankets back from his side of the bed, rolling to face her as she clambered onto the mattress still clad in jeans and a t-shirt.

You offered your own pajamas a week ago in the hopes of making her more comfortable. Only for her to reveal she slept in her clothes even at the mansion.

Just in case.

"What was he like? Your father." The topic of the older Logan rarely came up for you, his memory somehow entwined with the man you fell in love with. But Laura knew him best. She'd seen him at his worst, only to watch him become the father he was always meant to be. "You don't have to talk about him if you don't want to."

She sighed, shifting around as if to shed the layer of vulnerability that scratched at her. "Angry."

You smiled. "Always?"

"No," she breathed. This breached onto territory she wasn't used to, memories she never liked to look back on, but for some unknown reason...it made you smile. So she persisted in spite of the discomfort that gnawed at her stomach. "He took care of Charles for a long time before he found me. Or well before I found him. But he had a lot to be angry about."

"I imagine." And you could.

Humans were their own enemy at times, destroying all that was good in the world. After witnessing what Fortuna went through—where her path lay—you understood how people would rather villainize what they didn't understand. Logan faced it each day, the difference of being someone who slipped by unnoticed yet could never truly reveal himself.

A man that carried the grief of all he lost and persisted despite the pain.

"He would have liked you," Laura mumbled, her eyes growing heavy with sleep's desperate call.

"I don't think–"

"You're like Charles." Her eyes slipped shut, body sagging into the mattress, while you were stunned into silence. "That's why."

She fell silent before the words managed to sink deep into your mind—puncturing a spot of love that existed in spite of all this agony. A place that Logan claimed all to himself. Yet as you lay there, tracing the lines of his daughter's face with your eyes, you felt her memory merge with his. Creating a small corner of your world for her to reside in—a home in your heart.

Tucking the blanket around her shoulder, you met sleep's call with a pleased sigh. It gripped you tight, closing its arms around your steady beating heart. Unbeknownst to you as the clock struck two in the morning, a shard of your broken heart wedged itself back into place. Healing over with a jagged scar sewn together by the girl who longed for permanency in a world that offered her the bitter end of a short stick.

The girl who asked for her father and got a mother instead.

Burnt pancake batter filled your senses, burning the insides of your nostrils as you were roused from sleep to the sharp off key singing of Wade in your kitchen. The spot beside you was empty, the sheets cold, and with a ragged sigh you sat up. Rubbing the sleep from your bleary eyes. What slowly became your favorite part of the mornings—waking up beside a man who did everything he could to keep you between warm sheets—suddenly shifted into a horrid dream.

You were alone. Again.

The familiar prick of tears stung your eyes faster than you would have liked. Although that might have been the pancakes.

In sluggish movements, you dragged a flannel over your t-shirt to combat the frozen chill beginning to settle in the New York air. Fall was right around the corner, leaving you with a list of things to do before the apartment was back in working order. The window still sat unfixed—plastic taped over the gaping hole per Wade's instructions—and the radiator gave out after Fortuna's whip went through it.

"Just call me angel of the morning," Wade crooned, flipping another charred piece of bread onto a stack that began to lean four pancakes ago.

Laura watched it warily, her fingers gripped around a can of shitty soda you picked up for her two days ago. Coffee was offered as an alternative to her sugary habits; she offered to steal in case you were low on funds. You figured it was easier to appease than argue.

"Do you even know how to cook?" she muttered, taking another gulp.

"Such a ray of sunshine. It's like Logan is still here with us." Wade poured another glob of chunky batter onto your now ruined cast iron pan. "Tell me does that come from your genetics or is it a fancy power they gave you?"

She snorted, her claws coming free to stab at the pile and drag a pancake to her plate. "Genetics."

"I figured." He slid the syrup her way, the bowl in his other hand nearly tipping the batter onto the floor. "Use a fork, you alley cat. Housewives do not get paid enough to cook a fantastic meal and serve it too."

"You're not getting paid," Laura mumbled through a mouthful of food.

"Exactly." His head glanced towards the stove, eyes narrowed in mock irritation. "We should talk about that huh Feige."

A pancake slipped off the stack, hitting the counter with a heavy thud and you began to wonder if the bread was in fact what he said it was. Ever since you woke up in the mansion, Wade had been your chef morning noon and night. Each meal entirely came with  

Laura squinted at the smoke rapidly rising to the ceiling. "Maybe you should cook them for shorter periods of time."

"Don't question my methods, I'm a pancake champion Oliver." Her face scrunched, disgust flooding across her narrowed gaze. "Oliver and Company? Orange alley cat led and taught by the smooth dog Dodger?" She shook her head. "Greatest take on Oliver Twist to exist?"

"Never heard of it."

He dropped the bowl, jabbing a finger in her face quick enough to startle you where you hid by the doorway. "I hope you're ready to have your life changed Howlett Junior by the voice of Billy Joel taking away all our worries. Right sweet angel?"

Your attempt to meld yourself into the wall proved unsuccessful when Laura turned to smile at you, trepidation rising to the surface in her eyes. They watched you with an air of indecision. After Logan left you became a ticking time bomb—each second passing quicker than either of them expected—and one day when it was least expected...you'd explode.

Every emotion you tried to push down would shove its way to the front, rendering them unavoidable. That's what terrified you the most. It scared them too—you could see it hidden beneath looks of false joy and hopeful glances. They wanted you to heal, to survive this grueling time of solitude.

You simply didn't know if you had it in you to appease their worries.

Peeling away from the doorframe, you moved closer with soft unsure movements. So unlike the person from before who got over the unrelenting fear of being seen, of one day being known. He read you like a book, flipped the pages with enthusiasm and love, and you thought what resided in your own heart was enough to keep him reading. You believed he might put pen to paper and script what lay in the path of your lives spent together.

But he stopped reading weeks ago, shutting the half empty story to save you from the grief that devoured him from the inside out.

He let you remain unfinished. Perhaps that's how you were always meant to be.

"Tell me somewhere in that sexy mind of yours there's a version of Oliver and Company, cause I can't be surrounded by uncultured fiends," Wade rambled, tossing two pancakes onto a clean chipped plate he slid your way.

"I know of it," you replied. The meek echo of your voice sent a wave of shock through your system—so different, so unrecognizable.

You wanted to be known again, to exist in the confines of someone's mind. Wade and Laura offered up theirs on a silver platter—promising not to tarnish the fracture spirit housed in your weary body.

The burnt flavor of bread nearly made you gag, but Wade's smile forced you to swallow with a half hearted grin. "Isn't it a cartoon?"

Wade huffed. "And we’re comic book characters. What else is new?" Chewing happily on his own plate, he drowned his breakfast in a heaping wave of syrup that dripped onto your flour covered counter. "The offer to watch it today is on the table."

You swallowed thickly, nose wrinkled at the bitter flavor that stuck to the back of your throat. "Actually I'm gonna go into work today."

They froze. Unease stirring to life in the small kitchen as they regarded you with the hesitation you'd grown sick of facing. You couldn't be a recluse for the rest of your life, spending days watching movies on your couch with Wade—sharing quiet dinners with Laura at the table that housed a vase full of decaying flowers. Things wouldn't come to a halt because a man exited your life—they couldn't.

Logan left to heal.

It was time you did the same.

"I don't have much sick leave left," you began, the argument ready to leap off the tip of your tongue. "And my shift ends at six, which gives me enough time to pick up some actual dinner."

"Wolverine 2.0 goes with you," Wade replied—the stern lilt of his voice jarring you for a moment.

"Wade–"

"She goes."

There remained no room left to place your well thought out points in, no space for you to budge on his only demand. You supposed this was better than having both of them show up out of the blue. Your boss hardly let you get away with Logan showing up once or twice; two heroes would send them over the edge, eventually leading to your job being terminated.

You sighed, pushing the food around your plate for a second. "I guess she can learn something. Since she's supposed to be in school."

"You know I'm right here," she interjected, shoving the empty dish towards Wade.

"Hush. The adults are talking." He threw a wink your way, eyes glinting with a mischief that dimmed the day Logan left. The sight filled your lungs with air, hope settling at the base of your empty heart. "I'll pack the lunches."

Warmth filled the empty crevices of your body—sparking life into a part of you that had been vacant for weeks. "You don't have to."

"Shush. I've got to take care of my little breadwinner." He pinched your cheek hard enough to send pain flaring down your neck. "Besides I need to live up to my role as wifey or Ness will stop calling me that in bed."

Laura groaned, her eyes shutting to the sight of Wade's brash smile. "Gross."

"Ew," you replied, unable to hide the grin that cracked across your dried lips. "I didn't need to know that."

"Au contraire. If I had to hear you and Logan go at it for hours at a time. Kudos by the way it sounded like he gave phenomenal dick. You get to listen to me yap about my sex life."

Laura sped past you, vanishing into the bathroom and slamming the door shut with her boot. You couldn't blame her reaction. Hearing about her father's life drudged up pain that still existed in the back of her mind. Grief that she'd have to work through. Yet if she was anything like Logan, you'd have to face your own broken trauma in order for her to finally face hers.

"Yap?" you inquired, desperate to move on from the topic of him.

"Yeah. It's what all my fellow Gen Z’ers are saying."

With brows furrowed, you bit back the swell of laughter that bubbled up your throat. "Wade you're older than me by–"

His hand clapped over your mouth, muffling the remainder of your sentence. "Shhhh." A quick glance was thrown to the side. "Last I checked this is the Logan show. Not the Wade show. Well...not yet anyways."

"Hey Wade," you mumbled beneath a scarred palm that gripped your cheeks together. "Thank you."

For the first time all week...Wade gave you a smile that finally reached his eyes. Irises plagued with the same flicker of sadness that weighed heavy in your heart. The feeling of loss within a found family—of things changing faster than you could process. In an instant you were back to square one, struggling to keep your head above water.

Only this time you weren't swimming these dark waters alone. This time Wade and Laura clung to you, dragging what remained to a shore of a different color. A life yet to be explored.

"Anytime angel," he whispered with a kiss to your temple—drawing you close enough to feel his heart beneath the thin t-shirt. An organ that beat for one more person, that carved out space for his small inkling of hope.

For the family made up of two mutants, a blind woman, a sugar bear, the love of his life, and you.

The clatter of keychains echoed past the empty rows of shelves, bouncing off high ceilings decorated with yellowed lights. You caught sight of a small X-Men insignia stitched onto the side of the faded gray backpack. The stitches were frayed, the initials of L. K. H. placed right above it in sloppy angled sharpie, but the sight explained enough. Her entire life was stored within these aged pockets, in a pack held closed by a broken zipper and some faith.

"I like the Deadpool one." You watched her gloved hands toy with it for a moment, eyes glancing down the rows of darkened shelves every few moments.

Even here in the midst of silence and history, she remained on guard.

You wanted to promise a sliver of peace beyond all that she went through—a place where nothing happened except the shuffle of books and moving of boxes. Only to realize that you'd never be able to tell her something so untrue.

She'd never be entirely safe again. That made you want to rip at the world until your hands went bloody and raw. Until there remained a guarantee that she'd be able to sleep at night, that when her father came home things would be different.

"Peter made it." She picked at the black polish on her nails—the bottle swiped off your vanity a week ago in the hopes you wouldn't go looking for it. "Said a member of X-Force should have the marker."

"Didn't...they all die?"

"Yeah. So it's more of a warning I guess?" She grinned, wide and bright and so carefree it tugged sharply at your heart.

You placed another stack on the cart, fiddling with the order. If you kept yourself busy you could stop thinking about him. You could shove each memory and shared moment of bliss to the back of your mind. This was your chance to find a small semblance of normalcy after so much damage, a change in the rapidly shifting path of your life. You used to enjoy shelving pieces of history—find contentment in the familiar pattern of routine.

Now his eyes haunted your mind. His touch was a ghost along the back of your neck. His smile was reflected to you in the face of his daughter—the crinkles around her eyes an exact copy of his.

You were doomed to repeat history, destined to break as Fortuna did with a shattered heart and the hope that one day he might come home and find you. He'd open the apartment door set in place by his calloused hands and find you right where he left you—waiting as time stopped and dust gathered and your heart called for a man lost in time.

"I've got to shelve these," you said, voice thick with unshed tears you swallowed down. "But feel free to pick a book okay?"

She nodded, dragging a small journal out of her pack—a chewed up pen with it. "Wade gave me your lunch."

"I'll come find you in an hour?"

"I'm not going anywhere." The words were said more for your benefit than hers—a way to appease the constant flicker of unease in your mind. Perhaps this is what she lived with her whole life. The pain of yearning for someone to come back to her, to stay.

You'd be that person.

You would stay.

Smiling one last time, you pushed the cart into a row sparse with books—the light clicking on above your head as your footsteps echoed off the wooden floor. Your boss texted you quick instructions before she took the upstairs shift, the piles left behind for you to sort through. It seemed that classes were back in session, each book taken out regarding some form of historical information on New York.

Your eyes caught the titles while you worked. Sliding books into their proper spot and discarding the paper slotted in as a placeholder. It became a mindless task. A job of familiarity that your muscles immediately recognized—your arms moving of their own volition. Giving free reign to your mind that turned over information at a rapid rate.

What happens now? What would life turn into?

Now that you were back in a place that held so much of your soul you found that fitting back into the mold felt wrong. You were a human who got caught up in the affairs of mutants. It had happened before to others like you, it would certainly happen again. Yet you weren't sure you could handle the pain of being tossed into the ring with no means of protection again.

Your heart barely survived the first time.

To do it again would mean signing your name along death's dotted line. Only this time the pact would be sealed with your own blood.

A tilted stack of books slid onto their sides, grabbing hold of your attention quicker than expected. You slammed a hand against them with the hopes of saving yourself from extra work. Only for the one in your other hand to slip, hitting the cart with a thud and shoving it a foot away. Your mind went into overdrive—the noise of metal clanging against the tall shelves reverting into the all too familiar crack of a whip.

You gasped, leaping back as if the pile burned right down to your bone—the books toppling to the ground in rapid succession. A domino effect that would leave you crouching for a good twenty minutes to put everything back in its rightful spot.

"No," you exclaimed, your voice unwavering amidst the anxiety that filled your stomach.

Something ripped at the base of your spine, crackling through your body like a livewire. It pulled at every nerve, every tendon and muscle, until you were positive this was more than an overwhelming amount of stress. Your vision went black, a glare of light flashing behind closed eyelids, as the world went still and time rolled to a deathly halt.

Blue washed off your stiff form in rolling waves, curling around your stretched arms and down to the fingers that nearly curled around a book held in midair. A rush of cold air flooded your lungs, expanding them in your chest with a strength you'd never experienced before. As if the missing piece within your DNA finally settled into place—a spot always meant to hold something else.

A power that flared to life with a burning wave of heat.

It welcomed you like a long lost friend. Burrowed into the broken parts of your chest with a promise to put you back together. Time trickled by as your heart started up again—beating slowly against your ribs. Surging past each part of you that intertwined with this newfound link.

You sucked in another breath, eyes fluttering open with a flash of cerulean to see Laura struggling along the bookcase. Her face screwed up in pain, claws buried in the wooden shelves to drag herself forward. She moved an inch at a time, her cry unable to fill the vacant air as she struggled to rip you from the power that fractured your mind.

Such an inconceivable topic: time. Centuries prickled across your skin, millenniums made a home along each bone that grinded to a stop, decades offered you a life that might have ended at the age of eighty.

Infinity. Immortality. An end that rivaled Death.

Oh...what bliss.

"Yes," you relented. An answer to the question that would never be said aloud.

Another pulse of energy flowed off your shoulders, spilling across empty shelves—rattling the boxes that began to topple to the floor. If you weren't careful you'd bring destruction to a building that became your second home. But the consciousness you relied on was suddenly nowhere to be found.

"Stop!" Laura's voice struck you across the face, punching into your chest with enough blistering pain to wake up your mind to what was happening within you.

Slamming your hands against the shelves that stood on either side of you, the light of blue sputtered out, dying quick enough for you to get a hold of your body. Time fell back into place, the books you nearly dropped crashed to the floor with a loud clatter of thuds, and you collapsed. Your knees hit the floor harshly, pain coursing up your legs. Yet you could barely keep your eyes open.

"Laura," you wheezed, body sagging against the shelf.

She collapsed beside you, gathering your hands into a vice-like hold. "What happened? What the fuck was that?"

"Fortuna..."

"Is she alive? Is she here?" Her head raised, eyes scanning the vacant area for signs of your variant self.

"She–" Your vision swirled with spots of black, your head fuzzy with the prick of power that wanted to consume you. "I–"

"We gotta get you home," she muttered, shifting her strength to lift you to your feet—body braced heavily on her as she walked. "I'm calling a cab. Stay with me okay? Just stay awake."

The distant ring of her phone echoed in the background as she dragged you with her, a familiar muffled voice coming through the small speaker. Wade. You wanted to speak to him. Ask him what just happened. But only one person would hold the answers—only one person would make you feel alive again. You sucked in a shaky breath, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. The image of him—his smile, his love—filling your broken mind.

"I'm taking her home," Laura muttered into the line.

Her voice became a buzz in your ears. Sharp and unrelenting and inescapable. Your vision went dark, mind succumbing to the painful twisting of your gut—the need to be anywhere else overtaking every other thought. Laura called your name, shook your shoulders, but the world faded away before you could reach out and grasp it; your body sinking beneath the depths, drowning in the soothing waves of time.

“How did you sleep?”

“No nightmares.”

“Are you lying to me Howlett?”

“I’m not lying,” he confessed. “I didn’t really dream of anythin’ this time around.”

Your own laughter pricked at your ears. “Don’t tell me. It was because of me.”

“I think it might be bub.” His touch ghosted across your skin—breath a wash of hot air against your skin. “Guess you’re my cure. Been lookin’ for awhile.”

"Logan," you murmured, eyes fluttering open.

His smile lit up the darkness in your chest—eyes crinkled and lips parted in a sigh of love. "Yeah bub?"

"Y-You're here..."

A hand curled around the back of your neck, drawing you in close enough to make the steady beat of your heart flutter. "Where else would I be honey? I woke up with ya."

"But you've been gone." Your brows furrowed, the haze in your thoughts blocking anything other than him. "I was with Laura–"

He stilled. "Laura?"

"She was helping me," you mumbled, attempting to force your eyes to stay open. "At the library."

"You're just dreamin'," he chuckled.

"But I'm not–"

Lips that haunted you in your sleep brushed across the bridge of your nose—his fingers scratching at the base of your scalp with a hum. "You haven't met her yet honey. How could you be with her at the library?"

You wrenched your eyes open, clutching at the covers that lay over your bodies in an iron grip. "Fortuna–"

Logan's body went still, his head rearing back to stare at you in abject horror. "How do you know her name?" he rasped. "I never told you..."

"What are you talking about?" The buzzing filled each sense, each part of your already numb body. "Wait. No. I need more time," you begged, tears rushing to the surface.

His face blurred, your name a distant call on the tip of his tongue as the waves crashed over your body. Dragging you back to a shore meant for you. Darkness swallowed you whole in an instant. Until you could barely catch your breath—the speed of time rushing to a quick stop. Within the hold of darkness, the drifting peace of nothingness, you heard it.

The vibrant sapphire call of a woman you believed to be the enemy.

“Do better than me."

"Love him the way I couldn't.

You gasped, thrashing against the vice hold that wrenched you apart. The voice whispered soothingly in your ear, a warm compression against a heart that longed for more than this unfathomable excruciating ache.

She drew you to your feet, hands clasped around your wrists, and helped you stagger to the ocean's edge. She faced you with a mirrored smile that faded weeks ago—her eyes bright and flickering with peace.

"Do what I couldn't." Thumbs pressed into the base of your wrist. "Protect them. All of them."

A thick sob ripped from your chest—eyes blurry with tears that refused to stop. "How? I-I shouldn't be this."

"It was always meant to be you. Not me."

"W-What?"

"When Death asks for your hand. Take it. She will lead you home." The scathing brightness of sunlight burned your closed eyelids, pushing you towards something familiar. A place you knew would protect you. "Until then. Show them that time was never the enemy. We're simply their companion."

"Fortuna!" you cried, the form of her slowly dissipating back into the realm of darkness not yet meant for you. "I can't do this! I'm not supposed to be this!"

"Tell him I'm sorry."

Hands grasped at your shoulders. The cold press of metal against the bare skin of your arms jolted you awake—lungs expanding with air that felt like home. The floral scent of your laundry soap filled your nose, the warmth of your bed dragged along your body, and the brush of hair on your neck drew you back to the present. Your eyes fluttered open, chest heaving for any amount of air you could draw in.

"Laura?"

She sighed, dropping the hold she had on your shoulders. "You did it again."

"Did it again?"

"Looks like someone got jealous of all these special powers around her," Wade teased from the doorway of your room—a glass of water in his hand.

"What?" you croaked, suddenly aware of how raw your throat was.

He huffed, settling on the side of your bed. "You've got a bad case of the McFlys. Traveling to and fro in the timeline. Don't think the big guy upstairs will like that very much."

"God?"

"Victor."

You choked. "Who?"

"Or maybe it's Loki," he huffed. "I get that show's timeline confused. Anyways up you go. Drink this. Nurse Wade's orders."

With reluctance you downed the glass of water, Laura's watchful gaze burning into your from the chair. They moved with hesitation brimming to the surface of their eyes—a glaze of uncertainty prominent in each shift of their bodies. They were scared. Whether it was due to what you were turning into or what you could become. You couldn't be certain at this time, but the fear still lingered in the air.

Thick and bitter and so unlike the two mutants who'd become your family in the past few weeks.

"What's happening to me?" you whispered, Wade's hand reaching for yours with a placating grin.

"I've got one guess and it's dredging up memories of that fucker Francis, but dormant mutant gene." The panic in your eyes had him reaching for your other hand. "Hey look at me angel okay? I know how to handle this."

You shook your head, that unsettling twist in your gut rising to the surface. "I'm not...No. That's not possible. I would have..." You hiccuped, oxygen becoming harder to reach for as his words began to settle along your skin. "I would have known," you whispered.

"I didn't." He drew you close enough for his nose to brush your forehead. "That little surprise landed in my lap like a bad case of chlamydia. It's rare, but it happens."

"Why me?" you uttered, unable to process anything other than Laura's sharp gaze."

He sighed. "We don't get to pick and choose. Something must have triggered it."

Fortuna's hold on your jaw, the rocks scattered along the dirt digging into your back. It all came back to you. Her final words bleeding with an act of sacrifice—a promise to gift you with the curse she was unable to handle. Do better than her. Protect them better than her. Wield the ebbing and flowing of time better than her.

She awoke a part of you that had yet to come to life. A dormant section of your DNA that might have forever gone unnoticed if her powers hadn't unlocked it. She gave you everything, dropped the burden on your shoulders, because she knew something you didn't at the time.

You had people—a family, a lover—to keep you stable.

You had the one thing she couldn't save.

"It was always meant to be you. Not me."

Laura sat up, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "It's time."

Wade glanced over his shoulder. "We don't know where he is Oliver."

She sneered, digging out the small phone from her vest pocket. "I do. I gave him the keys."

"Call who?" you rasped, barely able to process that you were back home somehow.

Until her eyes met yours and drew you back to the surface with a name that burned right through your heart. "Logan."

The sharp thwack of an axe against wood filled the still air. Mist clung to the area, settling over his shoulders with a wet layer of frigid condensation. He felt it weigh in his hair, sink into his flannel, and send a wave of cold familiarity through his body. A place he never thought could exist in a different universe somehow stood the test of time. The Logan that came before was somehow more like his variant self than expected.

He sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead—the split open skin of his palms healing over before he could get a glimpse of them. The axe remained lodged into a mangled tree stump. Slivers and pieces of all that he chopped scattered in the clearing. He'd have to pick them up eventually, but he chose to stick with the same motion.

A piece of muscle memory he'd grown used to.

The sun began its descent beneath the thicket of trees, nightfall coming once more to a home occupied by a single person. Merely him and the stack of unread books left behind by a man who shared his taste. He yanked the flannel off his body, tossing it to the chair on his small porch, setting another log into place with a breath.

"Fuck," he muttered, cracking his neck slightly.

A mug of cold coffee sat discarded on the small table he constructed two weeks ago. A means to an end. A way to keep his racing mind busy from the pain that echoed like a bad dream in his head. He'd forgone the whiskey bottles stored in the liquor cabinet, opting for the bitter tang of the wine you preferred with your dinner.

The image of your smile kept him awake most nights. The sound of your laughter playing on a loop like a scratched record he clung to. This was his salvation. Your memory, your joy. It kept him going on days where the horrors threatened to drag him beneath the surface of the Earth.

He dug his grave long before he met you. Whether or not he crawled into it relied on one simple fact.

Though he dragged you through hell—became the cause of so much suffering within your life—you still loved him. You were waiting for him to come home.

"Desperado," he hummed, yanking the axe out of the splintered wood. "Why don't you come to your senses."

Discarding the tool to the side, he gathered what wood might be needed for a small fire. It wouldn't have any effect on whether he stayed warm or not, but it would put him at ease after such a grueling task. Tomorrow he'd go back to work at the yard—his measly paycheck enough to keep him fed with meals cooked in solitude.

He tossed them beside his fireplace, wiping the dirt and mud from his hands with the damp flannel. Life shifted the second Laura handed him the keys to this house on the edge of nowhere. Back to a routine he once knew so well. To a life that once offered him the facade of peace. He might have deluded himself into thinking it would happen again—that he'd get the chance to breathe again.

But your memory clung to his soul. You refused to release him from the spell of your love.

Fortuna's memory remained at the back of his mind like a long lost friend—someone who once offered him a future filled to the brim with hope. And then there was you. His honey. His lover till death. You were the reason he kept himself breathing, the reason his heart continued to thrum in his chest.

You were his savior, guiding him through the grief with a warm smile and a kiss of life.

The shrill ring of his phone broke the haze of memories he found himself in. Dropping into the chair beside his bed, he unlaced his boots—yanking the device out of the drawer on his dresser. He rarely needed it anymore. The contact he had with the rest of the world now whittled down to the people he worked with and the cashier at the small market.

With a sigh, he flipped it open in the hopes it was Wade calling to finally bug him about returning. It wouldn't be unusual. Weeks went by sluggishly, dripping like honey from the jar as he attempted to fix the broken parts of his heart.

Leaving without saying goodbye is what hurt the most. His silent kiss pressed to your cold forehead, his lingering gaze that did what he could to burn your features into his mind. He wanted you with him. Here in this small home. He wanted to hear your laughter fill up the empty spaces, the warmth of your love shining in the air with a palpable physicality that stole his breath away.

Logan ached for you.

But you didn't deserve a man riddled with demons. Certainly not the version of himself that left you behind.

Laura's name flashing across the screen set that familiar unease back in his stomach. The terror that something happened again—something brought you pain when he wasn't there to protect you—filled the crevices of his heart. And with a shaky breath, he answered.

"Laura."

She interrupted him before empty pleasantries could rise to the surface. "You need to come home."

He swallowed thickly. "What happened?"

"I can't explain over the phone, but it's bad. She's not gonna cope without you here."

"What the fuck do you mean cope?" he bit out, his eyes flashing to the small framed image of you that sat proudly on his nightstand. "Is she hurt?"

"No."

He sucked in a breath, relief washing over his shoulders. "Is she okay?"

Laura hesitated. "She's...broken." The word struck him with a visceral anger—an emotion that nearly caught him off guard. "She needs you here Dad. Wade and I can only do so much and if I knew she was dormant I could have helped sooner."

Dormant.

He stiffened, fingers tightening around the phone hard enough for it to crack. "What do you mean by dormant?"

Laura sucked in a breath. "She's..." A beat of silence filled his chest with a fear he never knew could exist in this universe. "She's like us, Dad. She's like her."

Like her.

The world shifted on its axis as he sat there listening to Laura's shaky attempts to explain what occurred. How you needed him this time around. His heart rammed an unsteady beat in the confines of his chest. An echo that rang with a crippling hollow promise of loneliness. Only this time it didn't scream for him—it raged for the person he loved.

The person he left behind.

"Send her here," he said. And before his mind could comprehend the words spilling past his lips, he made a vow he failed to keep—a promise he'd fulfill until his final breath. "I'll keep her safe."

note: this is incredibly late than what i originally planned, but life has been chaotic. and to everyone in the us who are struggling, i hope you take care of yourself this week. we got this and i love you.