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snowysosturn · 1 day ago

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Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: MDNI, angst, tension, toxic relationship, arguing

I woke up feeling groggy and disoriented. My eyes flickered open, it took me a minute to realise that I wasn’t in my room. Then it hit me, I was in Matt’s bed.

My heart sank, I sat up quickly, wiping the sleep from my eyes. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, feeling a weird mix of comfort and awkwardness. Why did it feel so nice to be here?

I didn’t ponder on the thought for too long. Pushing myself up, I walked out of Matt’s bedroom. I sauntered into the living area, and there he was, sprawled on the couch, one arm resting lazily over the back of the couch, the other holding his phone. His eyes looked up as soon as he heard me approach.

“How are you feeling now?” he said, his voice low

I stalled for a moment, still caught between the fog of sleep and the awkwardness of the situation. “Better..” I admitted. “Thanks for letting me sleep in your bed.”

He shrugged, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips. “No problem. You needed the rest.”

The atmosphere in the room felt.. odd. Not in a bad way, just unfamiliar. Too nice. The kind of nice that would make you second guess everything. I scratched the back of my neck, trying to shake the feeling.

“I should go grab my sketch pad” I said quickly, breaking the silence. “I need to finish off some designs.”

Matt nodded, his expression unreadable as he watched me.

I gave him a quick side smile before turning and heading up the stairs to my room. I flicked on the lights and my gaze shifted almost immediately to the corner of my room. A white AC cooler now plugged in, keeping the room at a perfect temperature. My eyes then fell to my bed. Sitting on top of the neatly made covers was an eye mask and a pair of earplugs, placed carefully as if someone had intentionally left them there.

I stood there in slight shock. “Did Matt do all this?” I muttered to myself, picking up the eye mask and turning it over in my hands.

Maybe this was Matt waving a white flag. A quiet, small gesture of goodwill to make things easier between us. Maybe it would actually be easy to live here now. It was almost like a weight lifted off my shoulders, cutting through the animosity between us. I should go thank him,

Eye mask still in hand, I turned to make my way back downstairs. But just as I reached the door, the sound of voices carried up the staircase. Chris and Nick were back from their day of meetings.

“I genuinely should be your Director forever” Chris’s voice was loud and triumphant, with a bit of arrogance. “I would make such an impact working at Space Camp!”

Nick laughed, his tone sarcastic. “You took a few photos, Chris. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

I hesitated in the doorway, before walking down the stairs, all four of us now gathered in the living area, but I felt a shift in the atmosphere again. Matt immediately returned to his usual cold demeanor. He shot me an arrogant look. "Look who's finally out of bed"

I raised an eyebrow, questioning why he’d say that, especially since he knew how I was feeling, how he went out of his way, in multiple forms to try fix it. It felt petty.

Chris tilted his head, curious. "Did you sleep all day?"

I shook my head, brushing off Matt’s comment. "No, just a nap. I had a migraine earlier" I explained. "But I’ve nearly finished my sketches for the patches." I added, eager to prove myself.

"Nice!" Chris said with an approving nod. "Can you show me them?"

Nick flopped onto the couch beside Matt, giving me a quick smile. “Of course she nearly has them done, it's like witchcraft how she gets things done so fast.”

I smiled back faintly, trying to settle into the group dynamic, though Matt’s comment still lingered in the back of my mind. It was a reminder that even with small moments of truce, things could snap back to how they were in an instant.

’Yeah let me go grab them” I agree.

Before I can leave, Chris’ phone buzzes, the vibration loud enough to catch both of our attention. The screen lights up with a name: Nate.

Chris grins, already reaching for it. “Hold that thought. Nate’s calling. I gotta answer this first.” Without waiting for a response, he picks up and disappears toward the bathroom for privacy, leaving the rest of us in the room.

I wander upstairs ti grab my sketch pad, not wanting to sit in the awkwardness with Matt. I step over the AC cooler, carefully avoiding the tangle of wires on the floor, and grab the sketch pad from my desk. My hand lingers for a moment over the cover, my mind racing with everything I still need to finish.

By the time I make it back downstairs, Chris has come back from the bathroom, grinning from ear to ear. His energy is even higher than it was before, showing a stark contrast to the tension that’s settled between Matt and I. Again.

“So, Nate’s in.” he says, sliding his phone into his pocket.

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Nate” Chris repeats, his grin widening. “Nick and I called him earlier and convinced him to come to Hawaii with us. He’s flying into LA tomorrow morning since there’s no other available flights, told him he could stay here while we’re in Vegas.”

“Wait, Nate’s coming here?” I ask, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice. He was only someone I met briefly once, but he seemed cool.

“Yup. He’ll crash here until we’re back, then fly with us to Hawaii.” Chris explains, looking proud of himself.

Matt perks up instantly, his face lighting up with a genuine smile, which around me was a rarity. “That’s sick!” he says, leaning forward with sudden enthusiasm. “This is gonna be good.”

I can’t help but notice the shift in Matt’s tone. It’s the kind of warmth and excitement he never seems to have when he’s talking to me. Amazing, really, how he can be so happy with five people in this house but act so cold when it’s just four.

I drop into the chair across from him, clutching my sketch pad a little tighter. The contrast stings more than I want to admit, why is he like this with me? I decide to focus on Chris instead, who’s still riding the high from Nate’s call.

Chris plops back onto the couch, gesturing toward the pad in my hands. “Let me see what you’ve got.”

I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I even have the energy to go through the designs, but I set the sketch pad on the table and flip it open to the latest pages.

Chris leans forward, his expression genuinely interested as he studies the designs. “These are unbelievable” he says after a few moments, nodding in approval. “Exactly the vibe I was thinking. We’ll go over colorways tomorrow, but this is a solid start.”

“Great I was thinking adding letters into the patches too, all we need to decide on a font.” I say, but realistically my thoughts are already elsewhere.

It’s hard not to feel like the outsider in this group sometimes, and Matt’s solely the reason. But then days like today confuse me, I catch myself thinking about the small things Matt has done, the AC, the earplugs, the eye mask, letting me sleep in his bed. Maybe I’m the problem?

I glance over at Matt, who’s back to scrolling on his phone, his expression unreadable. I sit back in my chair, flipping through the pages of my sketch pad while the idea lingers in my mind. I really should thank Matt for what he did, even if he’d probably just shrug it off or make some snide remark. Still, it feels right.

But how do I do it without the awkwardness? Without it becoming another weird, tension filled moment between us? Especially with other people around.

I pull out my phone and open the Uber app, scrolling through nearby stores. Target pops up, and I click on it, searching for something simple, like a Thank You card. I scroll past the overly formal ones and find one that feels more neutral, a plain white card with a gold "Thanks" embossed on the front.

As I add it to my cart, I pause for a moment, debating whether to leave it at that or add something else. A thank you card alone might come across as too formal, like I've not made that much of an effort. My finger hovers over the snack section before I give in and start browsing.

Matt isn’t exactly hard to read when it comes to his tastes. I’ve seen him tear through a bag of jelly worms during one of his late night streams, so I add a pack of those. Then a couple of chocolate bars for good measure. It feels like a decent enough gesture, casual, thoughtful, but not too over board.

I double check the delivery address and confirm the order. The app tells me it’ll be here within the next half hour. Perfect.

I glance across the room at Matt again. He hasn’t looked up from his phone, completely absorbed in whatever he’s scrolling through. Part of me wants to say something now, just to break the silence, but I don’t trust myself not to fumble over the words. This will be easier, quieter, but hopefully meaningful.

Chris, meanwhile, is still flipping through the sketches. “Seriously, you’re killing it with these” he says, his tone casual but genuine.

“Thanks” I reply, though my mind is still focused on the delivery.

About twenty minutes later, my phone buzzes with a notification: Your Target order has arrived. I slip out of the living area as discreetly as I can and head toward the front door.

The small brown bag is waiting at the door. I grab it quickly and head upstairs to my room, where I can put everything together without an audience.

I pull the card out first, grabbing a pen from my desk. I keep the message short:

Thanks for today, and the new bits for my room. I really appreciate it. - Y/n

It feels slightly awkward writing it, but at least it’s honest. I slip the card into its envelope and tuck it into the bag with the snacks.

Now comes the hard part. How do I get this to him without making it weird? After a moment of hesitation, I decide to leave it outside his bedroom door. He’s bound to come across it eventually, and it saves both of us the awkwardness of a face to face.

I wait until the living area clears out, Chris and Nick head to their rooms, and Matt disappears into his. Then, with the bag in hand, I quietly creep toward his door and set it down infront of the door.

Now all I can do is wait, and hope this can smooth out whatever tension is between us.

I head to my room and for once, the air feels bearable, thanks to the cooler Matt got me. I drop onto my bed, sighing into the quiet. I grab my phone, ready to set an alarm for the morning. My thumb hovers over the clock icon when a notification pops up at the top of the screen:

Thanks for ordering! How was your order? Tip Ethan.

I stare at it for a second, my stomach twisting. Ethan. God, that name. It feels like it’s haunting me, popping up when I least expect it.

I push the notification away reflexively, not clicking into the Uber app. I set my alarm and toss my phone onto the nightstand, my chest slightly aching. Why does something so small feel like a punch in the gut?

Shaking my head, I pull the blanket over me, turning onto my side. Tomorrow is a new day, I tell myself. A day to focus on work, on designs, on anything but ghosts from the past.

I close my eyes, hoping to let sleep take control.

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of my alarm blaring on the nightstand. I groan softly, but I force myself up, knowing I can’t afford to hit snooze. I stretch, pull on a hoodie, and head downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet, which I’m grateful for. Matt’s probably still asleep, and Nick doesn’t emerge before 10 if he doesn’t have to.

I make myself some scrambled eggs and toast, moving quickly around the kitchen, aware of the time. Chris and I have a meeting scheduled for 9am to finalize designs, and I’m thankful we get to do it here, at his kitchen table.

Chris walks in just as I’m finishing my coffee. His hair is slightly messy, and he’s wearing a black hoodie and joggers, looking like he just rolled out of bed.

“Morning” he says, voice husky.

“Morning” I reply, offering a small smile.

He gets himself a soda, leans against the counter, and takes a sip. “Ready for this meeting?”

“As ready as I can be for 9am” I say, grabbing my sketch pad and laptop from the chair beside me.

We settle at the kitchen table, Chris leans back in his chair, tapping his pen against the edge of the table as we go over the color options. The table is scattered with swatches, mockups, and half drank liquids.

“So” he says, holding up a navy, white and red combo, “I think this one is clean. It’s classic, but it’s fresh.”

I nod. “Agreed. Navy, white and red always works.”

We scribble down notes on the mockup before moving to the next pairing. Chris points to a pink and red combination I’d suggested earlier. “I actually love this. It’s bold but not obnoxious.”

“Right? It’s kind of unexpected but still wearable” I reply.

We continue debating until we settle on a full lineup: navy, white and red, pink and red, lilac and violet, and an all black option.

“All black is always a hit” Chris says, jotting it down. “This is solid. I think we’ve got something here.”

We sit in silence for a moment, both of us looking over the finalized ideas. It feels good to have something concrete, a sense of accomplishment settling over me.

Before we knew it, everything was finalized and sent off to the manufacturer for samples. I was filled with a sense of relief and excitement.

“Alright” Chris said, pushing his chair back and standing up. “I’d better get going to the airport. Nate’s flight should be landing in an hour.”

As if timed perfect, Nick appeared at the bottom of the stairs, yawning and stretching dramatically. He leaned against the wall, still in his pajamas. “You’re heading to the airport?” he asked, his voice groggy but intrigued.

Chris nodded. “Yeah, to grab Nate.”

Nick’s eyes lit up. “Take me with you! I need breakfast. Please.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “You just woke up, and you want me to detour so you can fill your face?”

Nick clasped his hands together in mock pleading. “Yes! Please!. It’s a win win. You get company driving, and I get tater tots. Come on, you love me.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the exchange. Chris sighed, shaking his head in defeat. “Fine. But we’re not making a whole morning out of it. Quick stop and that’s it.”

Nick grinned triumphantly and darted back upstairs, calling over his shoulder. “Give me five minutes! I’ll be ready!”

Chris glanced at me, a smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s like a child sometimes.”

I laughed. “That’s rich coming from you.”

As Chris grabbed his keys and jacket, he paused. “You good here?”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve got plenty to do” I assured him as he headed out.

A few moments later, I heard Nick bolting back down the stairs, still pulling on his Ugg’s as he followed Chris out the door.

Now that the chaos of work had settled, I decided to take a rare moment for myself. I sank into the L shaped couch, grabbing the remote and began catching up on some shows. For once, it felt like I could truly relax.

Then all of a sudden, I hear this loud, insistent pounding at the front door, completely shattering any calm I created. I froze, unsure of what to do. I didn’t like answering the door in general. Maybe it was just a delivery? But the pounding continued, more urgent this time. Should I get it? I hesitated, glancing at the empty stairs. I mean, I did live here now, sorta. If it was something important and it was missed, it would be on me.

I hopped up from the couch, cursing under my breath about how Matt should really be the one to deal with this. Each step down the stairs felt heavier as the pounding persisted. I reached the door and swung it open.

And there he stood.

Ethan.

Of all people, Ethan.

The world around me started to spin. His face was the last thing I expected to see. He looked rougher around the edges, but unmistakably him. For a moment, neither of us spoke, just staring at each other.

“Hey” he said, his voice steady, but his eyes searching mine.

“What.. are you doing here?” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I needed to see you” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

My instinct was to shut the door, panic and adrenaline coursing through my veins. My mind spun. How did he know I was here? Then it clicked in my brain.

The Uber notification.

He was the driver.

“Wait!” Ethan yelled, shooting his hand out to block the door before it could fully close.

“Ethan, what the fuck? What the fuck are you even doing here?” I hissed, trying to keep my voice low enough not to draw attention.

“Just hear me out” he said, his tone becoming more insistent with every sentence.

“No. Absolutely not. You shouldn't even know where I am.”

His lips pressed together into a thin line, already getting frustrated. “It wasn’t intentional. I seen the name and recognised the address and I just couldn’t leave it so-”

“So you thought randomly showing up was a good idea?” I interrupted, my voice now raising.

Ethan sighed aggressively, leaning against the doorframe, his hand keeping the door open with his firm grip. “I didn’t come here to fight. I just.. I wanted to see you. We didn’t exactly end things on the best terms.”

I let out a pitiful laugh, trying to keep my composure. “And who’s fault is that?”

“Look” he said, his tone softening, “I know I fucked up, but I’ve been thinking about you. About us.”

I shook my head, stepping back trying to make the distance between us known. “Ethan, whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it here. You’ve honestly lost it, showing up here like this. After everything you did? Trashing my apartment, stealing my things, making me homeless. You crossed every line.”

Ethan threw his hands up defensively. “I came here to talk. To explain.”

“Explain?” I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut. “Explain what? How you thought destroying my home was some way of winning me back? You’ve got to be fucking joking. I don’t want to hear it, Ethan. I just want my locket back. That’s it.”

Ethan’s expression darkened, and his voice dripped with venom. “You really are a bitch, you know that?”

His words hit me across the face, but I didn’t flinch. I’d dealt with his manipulation long enough to know how to stand my ground.

“Call me whatever you want. Just give me my locket.” I said firmly, trying to hold back tears longing for my locket.

Ethan smirked, taking a step closer. “I was going to give it to you. I really was. But not now. Not after you acting like this.”

I took a step back, my blood boiling. “Me? Acting like this? You’ve got some nerve, Ethan. Leave.”

He didn’t budge, his presence suffocating the space between us. I repeated myself, louder this time. “Go, Ethan. I’m serious. Leave. Now.”

But Ethan stayed firmly rooted in place, his defiance infuriating and almost threatening. Just as I was about to speak again, a voice came from behind me.

“She’s asked you to leave, kid.”

I turned to see Matt standing a few steps above me, his tone calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. His arms were crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed, but his eyes told a different story.

Ethan’s face scrunched. “This isn’t your business, man.”

“It is when you’re standing at my front door,” Matt replied, his voice low and steady. “She’s told you to leave. I suggest you do before this gets embarrassing for you.”

Ethan’s stance finally cracked, and with a final glare in my direction, he muttered something under his breath before stepping back.

“This isn’t over” Ethan said, pointing at me as he turned to walk away.

“Oh, it is.” Matt laughed after him.

The door clicked shut, and for a moment, silence filled the hallway.

“You okay?” Matt asked, his face softening as he looked at me.

I nodded, though my heart was still thumping. “Yeah.. Thanks for that.”

Matt shrugged. “No problem. Guy’s a fucking loser.”

I displayed a small smile, but the feeling of the encounter lingered. Ethan may have left, but his shadow loomed, reminding me that he wasn’t out of my life just yet.

As we walked up the stairs at the front door, the sound of voices and footsteps echoed from the garage staircase. A second later, Chris, Nick, and Nate appear in the living area, their laughter bouncing off the walls.

Chris stopped mid laugh when he saw us standing there, his gaze flicking between Matt and me. “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone curious.

a/n: protective matt unlocked

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#snowy speaks #fire & desire #snowys sturniolo series #snowys series #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #enemies to lovers

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xetlynn · 1 day ago

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an artists muse- a viktor fic.

thirteen.

[twelve] [the end]

and both of them want the other to stay.

Staring in the mirror as your heart beats against your chest anxiously. Anxious but also hopeful as you wonder about the day ahead of you. Your fingers play with the ends of your black button up shirt that matches the slightly tight slacks that you bought last minute. As you had completely forgotten about the dress code until Ekko said something.

The only pop of brightness being on your face with the glittery gold eyeshadow upon your eyelids. Along with your light pink gloss that was kind of sticky as you pop your lips every now and then. A body comes up next to you and you force a smile, wiping the front of your shirt down. “Ready?” You beam with a false positive tone. Something that’s been so… frequent. Consistent, lately. Maybe you've been like this forever.

No one’s that happy. Well, that’s what everyone says but at some points in your life it was the truth. And nothing but the truth. “Mm, to get made fun of? For sure. But I’m so excited to see your masterpiece you’ve somehow hid from everyone.” Gert nudges you with their shoulder before checking herself out in your mirror.

The door slams open, Powder tripping into the dorm room with sweat dripping down her forehead. “I can’t find my bracelet!” She squeals and you raise a brow. “The one on your wrist?” You cock your head to the side and she glances down at her skin and she closes her eyes. Collapsing to the ground. “I’ve been looking for this thing for thirty minutes.” She grumbles causing you and Gert to laugh loudly.

She stands back up and eyes the two of you suddenly with a straight face. The two of you stiffen. “You guys look hot…” She murmurs, and you giggle, awing at her words. “You are so pretty, Pow!” You exclaim, motioning to her outfit. A white blouse with a black pencil skirt. The dress code was white for guests. Black for the artists. It was a very last minute thing but a very cute concept.

“Ugh, you’re going to make me blush.” Powder waves you away, pretending to be bashful. Gert scrunches her nose with a small chuckle. “We should get heading to the building, I got a text from Mylo saying they’re already there.” She speaks up and the two of you raise a brow at her. Gert rolls her eyes. “Knock it off, you know we’ve been texting a little bit.” She shoves you into Powder.

“Losers! We’re here!” You wave your arm in the air dramatically, feeling the cold breeze hit your face as your legs quickly move beneath you. Carrying you towards the large building with your two friends that all clinged onto one another. Claggor, Mylo and Ekko turn to see you three, hugging themselves as they shiver. “We’re going to be late, [Name]. Let’s go!” Ekko ignores your words and your jaw slacks open. “Why are you only acknowledging me, Gert’s gonna be late as well.” You pout your lips.

“It’s your fault and I know it, let’s go!” He grits his teeth against the cold, grabbing the both of you and hurrying inside. Not without blowing a kiss to his girlfriend in the process. She snickers, now in between her older brothers. Claggor shakes his head. “They still have ten minutes.” He informs the blue-haired girl and she gazes up to him. “I know my boyfriend. Trust me, I know.” She leans into the bigger man. He wraps his arms around his sister.

“C’mon, there’s a guest entrance where we can warm up.” Claggor leads the way, Mylo jogs ahead of them. “What are you doing?” Powder calls after him. “I’m cold! I’m not gonna walk at that slow, turtle pace like you two!” He shouts.

And as they wait in line, buying their tickets as well as flowers for their friends, four bodies make their way over to them. Violet reaches over her little sister, snatching the bouquet of flowers in her hands. Powder’s face drops and she goes to lecture the person who did it but stops as she realizes who it is.

Violet roars into laughter, teasing the girl who’s face turns a bright red. “Oh, you’re so irritating!” Powder takes the bouquet back, gently shoving Vi who goes back to standing beside her girlfriend. “Yeah. yeah. When do we go into the room?” Vi asks, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Five minutes.” Claggor answers.

“Why are you guys here?” Powder questions, her eyebrows furrowed at the four. Do they know people inside? Violet wouldn’t come just for [Name] nor Ekko. As close as they used to be as children they don’t speak much anymore. Either they know other people or they’re here with Viktor. Something only Powder was told about in detail. She knows how close these four are with the man that somehow has [Name] wrapped around his finger.

“Flyers are all around campus. Can’t we appreciate art like our peers around us?” Vi seems defensive with her answer. Caitlyn lets out a breath through her nose. “Right…? Where’s your fifth? The one with the cane?” Powder folds her arms, leaning on one leg. “Our fifth?” And now Vi just seems dumb as she attempts to act oblivious.

“Viktor wasn’t at his dorm, we assumed he’d be here.” Jayce butts into the conversation now. “He isn’t though, now we just decided to stay. See the art and judge everything.” He finishes. Powder still isn’t truly convinced but before she can say anything else Mylo speaks. “You want to see [Name]’s art too? Bitch has been hiding it from us like it’s some top secret. You haven’t heard anything about it, have you?” He quizzes them, pointing at all four of them.

Mel and Caitlyn snicker, shaking their heads ‘no.’ “She’s keeping it a secret?” Jayce asks.

“Yeah, I bet it’s not even that good. Acting all mysterious for no reason.” Mylo grunts, facing away from the group. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, My.” Powder sighs. “The doors are open, we can finally see what it is.” She points to the two people that look like professors standing by the heavy doors.

“Oh, I’m so seeing what’s been taking up her time that’s used to usually bake for me on Friday’s.” Mylo stomps past the professors, quietly muttering for a hello to them. A glare is stuck across his face as he scans the room through all the sculptures for your specific style. But it quickly falls once he sees Gert beside her own art piece talking with Ekko and some other guy… Jealousy beats in his chest, he tries to swallow it down.

He doesn’t even catch himself heading towards them, his heart racing. Someone stands in front of him, the girl he was originally searching for. “Wanna see my sculpture now?” You grin, cheesing ear to ear as you know he’s feeling quite envious right now. And you feel like being an asshole to your close friend. He stands on his tiptoes as he tries to peak over you but you lean your head in the way.

“I asked you a question Mylooo!” You sing, grabbing his hand and dragging him away. His mouth opens to mutter something but nothing comes out. “Yeah, sure.” He says in a distracted tone that was purposely disregarded.

The others were quickly behind the two of you, you notice the group talking behind you so you stop. “Vi? What are you guys doing here!?” You inquire with a smile laced upon your lips. “They say they’re here to appreciate their peers' art.” Powder chimes in with a smart ass tone. Vi gave her a look immediately.

“Yeah, aha… We noticed the flyers and I remembered you did sculpting. Had to come support.” Violet lies and you knew she was but you didn’t comment on it. “Well, I hope you enjoy what you see! Come find me when you see mine! Just remembered I have to go talk to my professor, see ya!” You found yourself growing nervous at the sight of Viktor’s friends. Almost embarrassed. You chirp a swift goodbye, letting go of Mylo and hurriedly walking away from the group.

You wished you had asked them where Viktor was but in the same breath that would’ve been horrible. Doing it in front of everyone. You’d get teased for days by Powder.

The group all look at one another, sort of shrugging your behavior off. All now searching for your sculpture.

You genuinely did have to talk to your professor, that part wasn’t a lie but it was definitely an excuse to get away from the group.

The seven search through each note, waiting until they spot your initials or your name. It was taking too long, anticipation filling their every nerve. Powder got too annoyed and decided to separate from the group, heading to her boyfriend and just leeching onto him. He had already shown her his sculpture.

“Is that her initials?” Mel points to the paper in front of a rather large sculpture, it was almost teasing the others because of what the creation was. It took them this long to spot it as well. It felt like a slap to the face.

Mylo lets out a snort, covering his mouth. “I should’ve guessed.” He admires his friend’s work. Jayce and Vi stand beside one another with knowing smiles. Claggor presses his lips together tightly as Mel and Caitlyn awe and coo at it. Mel picks up the paper that explains the muse. The others hurdled around her as they read it.

“What are you guys reading?” A voice startles them, Mel instantly placing the paper back down on the table. All of them stand in front of the sculpture. Hiding it from him. Do they know why they’re hiding it? Not really. “Oh heyyy Viktor!” Jayce drags out his words, fear adorning his face along with the others that stand on either side of him. “Hi, Jayce.” Viktor eyes him up and down, glancing at the five other figures.

“Oh my gosh, is that Gert’s sculpture, we should go see that guys.” Mylo points to a random area in the room. The others gasp, even though the four do not have a single clue who Gert is. Going along with the shorter boy’s words. “Yeah, we definitely should.” Caitlyn encourages, pushing her girlfriend ahead. All of them scurrying away like blind mice.

Viktor watches them with a scrunched expression, rolling his eyes and looking ahead at what they were hiding. And once his eyes land on it his mouth opens. Eyes dilating at the sight before him.

“Your sculpture seems to be quite popular tonight…” Your professor softly speaks, bowing their head over to your sculpture. You let out a small gasp, your gaze locked on his figure that stood alone in front of what you made. “He seems awfully familiar.” They whisper before stepping away from you.

You lift your shoulders, shimmying them slightly to shake away the anxiety that grew. Carefully walking to him. You can hear everyone’s chatter around you. Every noise echoing off the tall walls of the gymnasium. “Do you… like it?” You heard yourself speak but you don’t actually understand how you’re doing it. His focus doesn’t turn to you. Stuck on what’s in front of him.

“I don’t know if I got your nose quite right. I had to go off memory though so, you get what you get I guess. Did you feel me staring at you in class? Cause that’s like all I did-” Your voice is cut off by a stifled laugh coming from the boy beside you. “What?” You worriedly ask. “Did I weird you out?” You tilt your head and he finally looks over at you.

Smiling, speechless. “You… are something.” He huffs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m your muse?” He changes the subject and you purse out your lips. “I think you always have been.” You answer, going up to your sculpture, touching the copy of Viktor’s face that was partially covered by a crescent moon. All the imperfections of the moon perfectly sculptured. The craters and bumps that showed.

“You and the moon. The way you talked about the moon, putting it into perspective for me. How you can talk about it is how I can talk and feel about you.” You avoid his gaze. Your note that explained your muse was much more simplified to how you actually felt. He knew that too as you seemed to be holding back even now.

“How the moon is lit by the sun, getting to see its imperfections. The sun doesn’t care, doesn’t see it as imperfections. Still shining brightly upon it. The moon has its dark side, something the sun never truly gets to see. No matter how hard it tries. But from earth… you can. If you try hard enough.” You explain, loud enough for Viktor to hear.

“I always thought of you as my sun. I think you might be my Earth though.” You admit to him. “I thought the sun was what motivated the moon. But it’s the Earth, the gravitational pull that keeps it stuck around. Not caring for the brightness or the dark. They need one another. Whether they’d like to admit it or not.” You finally turn to face him. His face was in a softened expression as he limped toward you. Taking your hands. Dropping his cane.

Your eyes widened and you wanted to drop down to get it but he stopped you. It didn’t work though as you swiftly took it. He unexpectedly pulls you to a quiet section of the gym away from others, he forces you to lean the cane onto the wall. You were more worried about it than its owner who needed it.

“That was either the corniest, cheesiest thing anyone has ever said or the most romantic thing said to me.” Viktor teases you and your teeth bare as you make a face, ultimately agreeing with him. “Yeah, it definitely was.” You pick at your bottom lip awkwardly.

“You’re my moon. If we’re talking about this- seriously, I used to think of you as my sun. Perfectly no matter what. I’m filled with imperfections but I never thought the same for you. I still don’t.” He informs you and you grin up at him. “Why’d you stop speaking to me for so long then. I mean I understand, I deserved it no doubt. I just, if you felt that way for me..?” You question him, your hands loosen, nervous that he’s going to want to let go but he grips tighter, his thumb gently wiping back and forth over your knuckles.

“I was scared that the one person I thought could never do anything wrong thought of me the way everyone else did when I was younger. When those messages were sent years ago. My heart sank and I was devastated. I should’ve let you explain but I was blinded by a pain I’ve never felt before.” His voice broke just thinking back to that time of your lives and the guilt still washing over you.

“And I then met you– again, you felt familiar and I enjoyed your company. I enjoyed your presence and everything about it. To find out that you were the person who hurt me so deeply. Who made it so hard for me to trust people again. I needed the time to process it all.” Viktor was sincere with his words. You listened intently.

“During the time I had. I realized that you were willing to fight still. To wait for me. You never stopped thinking about what happened. someone who truly intended to hurt me would never do that. They also wouldn’t sculpt my face by memory.” He reminds you and you let out a small giggle. “I also realized I was utterly, limitlessly and irrevocably in love with you.” Viktor declares.

“Talk about corny.” You raise your brows but you can’t hide the tears that weld in your eyes. He hums. “It was quite corny… but it is the truth.” He quiets and you stare at him. Your eyes travel all around his face. You bit the inside of your cheeks, thinking. Your mind is spiraling on what to say. This is all you’ve ever wanted. This was never what you expected though. Especially tonight.

And as you pick your own confession two arms wrap around the both of you. “You two seem to be friendly again!” Jayce proudly states, squishing the two of you together. “Yeah…” You nod your head. Violet clapped her hands excitedly but Mel and Caitlyn both pinch the bridges of their noses. “You two are idiots.” Caitlyn grumbles.

“What?” Jayce and Violet falter and you smile over at Viktor’s annoyed face. “Let’s go.” Mel grabs her boyfriend by his shirt and he’s still confused, repeatedly asking what until his girlfriend whispers in his ear.

His face drops and his head snaps over to the two who were now walking back to your sculpture. “I’m such a dumbass!” He cries.

The rest of the night, you spend with everyone. Of course looking over to Viktor numerous times throughout the night as each of your friends seemed to have been taking turns pulling you further and further away from him.

You mouthed an apology and that you’ll talk later as you got separated. He shrugged his shoulders, telling you it was alright.

Inside though… it was far from alright. He needed you near him. To finish that conversation from before. Something about it just didn’t feel… done.

Viktor finds himself sitting outside upon a stone bench that the college had recently put in. He leans back, staring up at the sky. The clouds covered the one thing he was hoping to see. His cane rests between his legs. It was cold outside but unlike his friends he had brought a jacket. His nose still felt like ice nonetheless.

You noticed Viktor missing from the group. Excusing yourself from the conversation you were in the middle of you walked to the halls first. Only seeing a couple eating each others faces and three people sitting on the ground.

You then go outside, the doors loudly opening as you push them against the wind. It almost knocked the air out of you as you stepped out.

You wandered for a little bit until you spot him. Sitting alone and staring at the cloudy, dark sky that was still brightly lit by the moon.

“Out here all alone?” You plop down beside him and he looks at you, confused on why you’re out here. “Shouldn’t you be with everyone else?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” You lean your head onto his shoulder, he smiles down at you before looking back up to the sky.

And to his surprise the clouds moved to reveal what he had been wishing to see.

“Mm, it got stuffy in there. Wanted some fresh air.” He mumbles. “Makes sense.”

You closed your eyes, letting this moment sink in. Hearing the sounds of the wind blow against the trees. Viktor’s calm breathing. And your own heartbeat that felt like it was going to explode with giddiness.

You ignored the coldness that was quickly covering around you. Goosebumps erupting throughout your skin.

“I love you too, I hope you know that.” You suddenly say, cutting through the comfortable silence. A smile ghosts his lips. “I know.” He assures you.

THE END! teehee.

taglist:

@policedeer @ang3lz-lov3 @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @confusedgemposts @corpsepies @almostdrowningdown @obittwo @ren-ni @donnie-is-here @urmommt @julia-lestrade @up-l4te-4t-n1ght

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crow2222 · 3 days ago

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omg how was the show?? :D

Absolutely awesome. Shame I only saw it once since I can't see it on the 7th 😓 Guess I'll have to cherish that one time forever!

This ask is the perfect excuse for me to talk about the show 😈 Thank you

Now, time for the little things during the show that I made myself remember (and might've actually forgotten some) Spoilers for the musical below, I guess?

-The notebook being thrown into the water at the start, I. did not know there was water there.

-The lights turning off during fights in general was just spectacular to see, the noise of it shutting off as it did made it all the better.

-Darrel going to Ponyboy first after he's jumped & the rumble. Same as the book but sweet non the less.

-Soda always trying to get Darrel away whenever he's about to argue with Pony.

-Two-bit got a hubcap from the Socs, knew this but still funny to see.

-Ace saying "Yeah I like girls" after Soda says "You'd know huh Ace?" or something along those lines in GGAH. I was shaking when I heard that

-Soda didn't catch the hair grease when it was thrown at him, had another one in his back pocket 😭

-Ponyboy mentioning Sodapop saying Sandy's name in his sleep sometimes, awkward conversation to have..

-Johnny just plopping right into the tire when Dallas came to check on him as his parents fought, and then swatting him away when Dallas tried to go in his house, and the silence that came after. Ouch.

-Loved the dances during Friday at the drive in!

-PONY TRYING TO LOOK COOL BEFORE SITTING NEXT TO CHERRY IN THE DRIVE IN, I wasn't looking at them when they were hyping each other to get up at the start, only caught the last glimpse but then Pony popped up his collar, Johnny copying 😭 and then smoothing down his hair and sitting "all cool" cracked me up. Little losers

-Bob yelling(? forgot) at Cherry to get in the car 😬 Love her for standing her ground but Golly

-I was singing along to Runs in the Family Reprise in my head the entire time, also pretty sure someone gasped behind me when Ponyboy gets slapped

-Vocals in Great expectations, ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

-Socs literally lifting Ponyboy upside down to dunk him in the water?? Jesus

-Darrels no snitch

-No one laughing when Johnny wipes the blood on the switch off on his jeans, I felt like that was laugh worthy..

-Two-bit gettin jumped ☹️

-Loved the stage lighting for the sunrise!!!??

-Okay I knew that Dallas would say Pony looked like Burt Lancaster as well but the entire theatre laughing got me to laugh too

-The shadows of them helping the kids during Hoods Turned Heroes- I did not know that'd happen at all!

-The rumble sequence. Definitely matches up to the hype I've heard about it

-Darrel absolutely in awe while reading the newspaper about them being heroes..

-The Socs passing around a flask, holding it up to the sky before taking a gulp and pouring the rest into the fountain for Bob..

-THE ENTIRE GANG being there when Johnny dies?? I DID know this but damn. Still hurt.

-Pony thinking Dallas was just going to get on the train to run away again.. 🙁

-Darrel putting baloney in the food.. yikes! Yeah he didn't know, still. Damn the small details.

-Cherry volunteering at the hospital, that's how she got Johnny's stuff. I knew she was one to bring it but didn't think about it too hard, but if I did I'd probably be confused as hell

-Ponyboy dropping the letter to smell Johnny’s clothes just. Ripped me apart, because I carry sm memories to smells myself (autism be damned?)

-Darrel SOBBING when Ponyboy came to the table to eat at the very end. I did not expect that at all and felt myself tear up a bit (I didn't cry at all before that). He turned right to my section when he was trying to hide his sobs so I got a clear view of him trying to bottle it back up :(

-Loved the Gold lighting at the very end. Beautiful show overall!! Shame I can't see it again 💔

#the outsiders #the outsiders broadway #the outsiders musical #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #darrel curtis #sodapop curtis #ace the outsiders #cherry valance #dallas winston #johnny cade #two bit mathews #bob sheldon

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fortunxa · 3 hours ago

Text

「 ✦ brewing feelings ✦ 」

Jinx x ballerina!reader / modern AU

─── ballerina masterlist ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ // third position

summary: Your calm was like the stillness of water before it begins to boil, while Jinx’s chaos swirled around her like a whirlwind of heat and flavor. Your love brewed slowly, like leaves unfurling in warm water—an unexpected infusion of something that neither of you could have prepared for. But love doesn’t ask for permission. It brews on its own time, in its own way, and somehow, it always finds its way to the heart—a warmth that lingers long after the last sip.

contents: modern AU, opposites attract, established relationship, smoker!Jinx

author's note: the flow is flowing, so this is what i do instead of studying for a law exam. also, french/french-speaking people please do not come for me for the mild stereotyping in this, i am one of you. all for the story’s purposes my pookies.

Jinx never expected to fall for you. It caught her off guard, sneaking in quietly and subtly, much like the way the morning sun spills its golden light through dust-coated windows, illuminating everything it touches—and perhaps this analogy felt a little too real.

It hadn't happened all at once. Love never did, not really. It grew between you like a vine threading through cracks, tender and persistent, finding places you hadn't known were empty.

The confession revealed itself through a series of subtle admissions at first: how you leaned into her during a walk home, how she started buying pink roses instead of spray paint, how the both of you let yourselves be seen. It was in the way her teasing remarks slowly mixed in with praises and in the way you'd sit beside her on rooftops, watching her paint murals on forgotten walls, your admiring gaze an encouragement in itself.

You even started bringing snacks—carefully wrapped sandwiches or thermoses of tea—because you knew Jinx would forget otherwise. The real kicker, though? Jinx didn't forget; she just hated tea. Something she would never admit to you, of course, because your warmth was better than any beverage’s, and she just couldn't bear to see your beaming smile fade in disappointment.

It was how her pulse quickened when you laughed—that soft, quiet laugh that she felt more than heard. How she found excuses to touch you—fingers brushing during a handoff, an arm slung around your shoulders, a hand catching you when you stumbled. It was in the way you began looking for Jinx in every room, how your heart stuttered when she called you "ballerina" in that raspy voice. It was in the way late-night conversations grew longer, your silences more comfortable.

She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment she realized it, but she remembered the way it settled in her chest—a quiet knowing. And it terrified Jinx because her world was—more often than not—anything but quiet.

For weeks, you lived in that in-between space, balancing the line between friendship and something more. By the time you finally let the word slip, it felt inevitable. The air was still thick with chemicals after a particularly messy graffiti session, and she had just stepped back to admire her latest creation. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and excitement, though as she turned to you for approval, you found something warmer in them, too.

Then, in a moment that felt both spontaneous and fated, she leaned in. The kiss was tentative, a gentle brush of lips that carried the weight of questions unasked. And you answered without hesitation, finally tasting the allure of her cherry chapstick mixed with the warmth of her breath and melting against her like you'd been waiting forever.

Months later, the ballet studio hummed with the soft notes of a piano, the same way it always did. The late afternoon sun filtered through the high windows, painting the room with a hazy gold. Jinx leaned against the wall with her arms crossed as she watched you dance, her gaze holding an intensity that would've made anyone else self-conscious. She wasn't supposed to be here—not during class, anyway—but she had a way of slipping past boundaries as easily as she slipped past locked doors.

And besides, how could she stay away when you looked like this? She just couldn't help herself this time.

You were in the center of the room, surrounded by other dancers. But to her, you might as well have been alone. Every movement was graceful, like you were born to make beauty out of thin air. There was something humbling about it. Jinx had always felt like she was meant for breaking things, for running too fast and hitting walls she didn't see coming. She wasn't a dancer—hell, she didn't even really understand ballet—but she didn't need to. All she needed to understand was you, and she did.

You hadn't noticed her yet, too focused on the lesson unfolding in front of you. She didn't mind. Her usual smirk morphed into something more tender. She'd seen you like this a hundred times, but it still hit her like the first. To anyone else, you might have looked untouchable—perfectly composed, a picture of poise. But Jinx knew better by now. She knew the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, how you stomped your pointe shoe in frustration with a dull clunk—almost like a bunny—when you slipped out of a pirouette, how your voice softened even further when you told her stories about your childhood, and how you leaned on her without hesitation when the world felt too heavy.

And then, as if drawn by instinct, your gaze flickered to the back of the room, and you finally caught sight of her. She saw the exact moment her presence registered; your concentration faltered, your foot slipping slightly on the polished floor, but a small smile broke across your face nonetheless. Without hesitation, you stepped away from the group—a faux pas—ignoring the raised eyebrows of the other dancers as you practically leaped across the floor toward her, your cheeks flushed from exertion.

"What are you doing here?" you whispered, the words slipping out between breaths. Your tone held no real reprimand—more like giddy surprise tinged with a warmth you couldn’t quite suppress.

"Came to see the best ballerina in the city,” Jinx said with a shrug that was far too casual to match the quiet intensity in her eyes. Her hand found its way to your waist with practiced ease, like it belonged there, her fingers curling with familiarity. "You're doing so good. You know that, right?"

"Really...?" you asked, your voice almost shy, betraying a hint of insecurity you usually kept buried under layers of performance. Yet, the tension coiled in your shoulders began to melt at the gentle pressure of her touch.

"Mhm," she hummed, a sound rich in affection and soft. Jinx had never been soft for anyone. Softness, she thought, wasn't hers to give. But she'd try—for you. Her thumb moved in slow circles against the fabric of your pink leotard, her touch so light and reverent it sent a shiver down your spine. She treated you like you were something rare, something fragile—not in a way that suggested you were weak, but in a way that made you feel precious, irreplaceable. Her ballerina. “Dressed so pretty, too."

Her gaze roamed over your frame, lingering on the soft pastel hue of your leotard wrapping around you like second skin and the satin of your pointe shoes. A faint heat bloomed in your chest at her words but before you could reply, a sharp voice cut through the moment, calling out your name.

"Have you forgotten where you are? Return to your position at once!"

Your head snapped to your ballet mistress, her piercing gaze holding all the refined venom only a Frenchwoman like her could muster. Her scolding struck you like a slap, each word perfectly aimed to remind you of your place. "I—I'm sorry, Madame," you stammered, your voice small but tinged with the careful respect she demanded.

"This is not the time for socializing. If you're not focused on your work, you're wasting everyone's time." The woman's harsh gaze then shifted to the blue-haired girl, a frozen mask of disapproval. "And you, mademoiselle, have no business being here. This is a closed lesson. A place for discipline, not distraction."

Jinx’s lips twitched as she watched the woman, clearly amused by the disdain in her voice. She tilted her head, her eyes glimmering with mischief. "Distraction, huh? I prefer to think of myself as a muse." She mimicked the mistress’ harsh accent with exaggerated flair, letting the French syllables roll off her tongue, clearly finding the theatrics in her delivery hilarious. “Muse,” she quietly repeated to herself, drawing it out like a well-rehearsed joke, barely able to stifle a snort.

"Jinx," you whispered, your tone pleading, and that seemed to do the trick.

"Alright, alright." She raised her hands in mock surrender, letting out a dramatic sigh. "I'm leaving."

The other dancers watched in silence, their expressions a mix of curiosity and poorly hidden judgement. Jinx moved toward the door, but as her hand rested on the handle, she hesitated, looking back over her shoulder. You were already returning to your position, your body mechanically slipping into form, but there was hesitation in your steps—an uncertainty in the way you shifted your weight, the slight misalignment of your feet that betrayed your fractured focus.

A pang of guilt twisted in her chest. She hadn't meant to cause trouble—not for you, at least. Watching you dance felt like standing too close to something fragile, something you didn't dare touch for fear of ruining it, but she couldn't regret coming. Still, the weight of her presence had been too much—again—so she shut the door behind her, the soft click echoing in the empty hallway.

It was another half hour until class had finished, the natural gold shining in from the outside replaced once again by the fluorescent light of the studio, buzzing faintly as the dancers began to scatter. You lingered, your chest still rising and falling from the last routine.

"Looks like someone had her mind elsewhere today," one of the girls teased, her voice light but pointed as she adjusted her warm-up sweater.

"Yeah," another chimed in, tying her shoelaces. "Couldn't focus on your turns, huh?"

You flushed, your hands fussing with the ribbons of your pointe shoes. "I was... fine," you protested quietly, though even you could hear the thread of uncertainty in your voice.

"Sure, sure," she continued with a sly smile. "Must be nice to have a fan club. It's kinda cute. Our little daydreamer."

Laughter rippled through the group, playful but sharp, like the sting of cold water. They hadn't meant any harm, not really. The teasing had been light, coated with the kind of sugar that only barely masked the sting beneath it. Still, the words stuck to your skin like burrs.

You hadn't answered them, hadn't tried to defend yourself despite what Jinx had taught you. What could you say? That they were wrong? They weren't. Your focus had faltered when you caught sight of the blue-haired girl—all careless confidence and sharp-edged charm, even from a distance. And how foolish were you to break basic ballet class etiquette, running toward her the way you had?

But that wasn't the point.

The point was how your devotion to your craft suddenly felt fragile in their hands, like something they could joke about and toss aside, how they took your love and tried to turn it into something laughable. And now, sitting alone with only the quiet buzz of the lamp for company, you felt offended in a way you couldn't quite explain.

Finally, you stood, zipping up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. How fucking dare they?

Jinx was leaning back against the brick wall outside the studio, the rough texture pressing into her jacket as she lit another cigarette. She didn't smoke often—only when she was angry, stressed, or waiting for someone. Her thoughts wandered as they always did when she was still for too long.

This wasn't her kind of place—too clean, too ordered. The neat row of bicycles locked up along the fence, the delicate lettering on the studio sign, the muffled strains of classical music seeping through the doors—it all felt a world away from the chaos that usually surrounded her. And yet, she stayed.

She shifted her weight, one hand stuffed in her pocket while the other toyed with the cigarette. She didn't need to be here. She could've been halfway across the city by now, spray painting a rooftop or tuning up one of her gadgets in her cramped apartment. But instead, she waited, her breath fogging in the cold like the steam rising from a hot cup of tea as the minutes dragged on.

It was you. It was always you.

The thought made her smirk, a wry, self-deprecating twist of her lips. She hated routines, and she definitely hadn't meant to fall into this one. But here she was, loitering outside a ballet studio like some stray cat who couldn't figure out where else to go.

The heavy door suddenly creaked open, jolting Jinx from her thoughts. A group of dancers spilled out, laughing and chattering, their voices breaking the stillness of the street. She stepped back into the shadow of the wall, letting the small crowd pass without a word, but the slight scowl on her face spoke volumes by itself.

And then you appeared, your steps dragging just enough to betray your mood, and her features softened.

"There she is," she drawled, almost to herself, her voice warm and smooth. She straightened as she took a final drag, making sure to exhale the smoke away from you and crushing the cigarette under her boot with one swift motion. She reached for her gum, popping a piece into her mouth. She knew you hated it, the bitter sting of tobacco clinging to her tongue, so she made the small effort just for you.

You attempted a smile, but it faltered, not quite reaching your eyes, though the tension in your body eased in her presence, and you greeted her with a soft peck. "You didn't have to wait for me.” Yet you were glad she did. She knew that, too.

"Where else would I be?" Jinx replied, her tone steady, but her gaze lingered on your face with a flicker of suspicion. She noted the dullness in your eyes, the subtle shift that went deeper than just the exhaustion from class. Her brows furrowed ever so slightly, a question forming in her mind as her tongue traced the inside of her cheek. "Those girls being dicks to you again?"

Your smile slowly dropped, slipping away like a mask too heavy to hold. You opened your mouth, instinctively preparing to deny it—not because it wasn’t true, but because you didn’t want to worry her, to trigger the fierce protectiveness you knew so well. Yet the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you exhaled shakily, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the question. When you finally glanced up at her, your eyes—vulnerable and wounded, like those of a kicked puppy—met hers. The sight hit her square in the chest, tightening something deep inside her.

“I think they were just teasing,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would make the hurt more real. You hugged your jacket tighter around yourself, a futile shield against the mockery they left behind. “But… it got to me, I guess. Made me feel like I wasn’t good enough.”

Jinx watched you carefully, her gaze softening as you shrank further into yourself. She hated seeing you like this, folding in under the weight of someone else’s cruelty.

“You know,” she began, her voice steady but edged with quiet fire, “they’re just trying to drag you down so they don’t have to feel so small. That’s all it is. It’s pathetic if you ask me.”

“I know,” you admitted softly, the words almost lost in the space between you. You didn’t sound convinced, but it was clear you didn’t have the energy to argue.

She sighed, taking a step closer. Her hand reached for your wrist, fingers surprisingly warm and firm as they curled gently around it. “C’mere,” she said, her voice low and coaxing, as if speaking to a wounded animal. She pulled you toward her, her touch more comforting than commanding.

And you listened, the weight in your chest loosening slightly more at the simple, familiar gesture. She always knew how to make you feel safe.

“You’re sensitive,” Jinx pointed out softly, her thumb brushing lightly against your wrist, grounding you in the moment. “And that’s not a bad thing, y’know? One of the things I love most about you, actually. You’re real.” Her words carried a calm, steady conviction that made your heart ache in a different way—this time, with gratitude.

She let a beat of silence pass before adding, “And you’re still miles ahead of them. Dont let their shit get to you.”

You sighed, the last of your insecurities slipping away with her words. You stepped closer, letting yourself be pulled into her orbit once more as you leaned your forehead against her shoulder. The movement stilled something restless in her, and her hand instinctively slid to your back, offering the soothing caress of her palm.

“You’re so sweet to me,” you murmured, the words slipping out unbidden, barely louder than a breath.

Jinx cocked her head at you, a spark of mischief lighting up her eyes. She didn’t reply—not right away. Instead, with an almost exaggerated nonchalance, she reached out and grabbed the strap of your bag. Before you could react, she pulled it off your shoulder in one smooth motion and slung it over her own like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Wait, no, you don’t have to—” you protested, your hand darting forward to take it back.

She raised one eyebrow in a way that always stopped you in your tracks. “Not up for debate, princess,” she stated, her voice carrying that cocky, singsong lilt that was so distinctly hers. “You should know that by now.”

This earned her a faint scowl, but the way she adjusted the bag on her shoulder, standing a little taller like she was showing off, made it impossible to stay annoyed. Her grin widened, smug and sharp, as if daring you to argue further.

“Seriously, I can carry it,” you tried again, though your voice lacked conviction because, deep down, you liked it. There was something comforting in the way she carried your bag so effortlessly, like it wasn’t just your belongings but the weight of the day she’d decided to shoulder without being asked. And the way she looked at you, as if she saw straight through the weak protest to the flicker of gratitude you couldn’t quite put into words, made your chest tighten.

“Yeah, sure you can,” she shot back, already turning and walking ahead, easily taking you with her by lacing your fingers together, “but you’re not gonna. So suck it up, buttercup.”

The two of you fell into step, following the familiar route back to your apartment. The evening air was crisp, carrying the faint tang of the city—a mix of concrete, rust, and the distant promise of rain. As you walked, you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, a silent thank you that lingered in the air between you. Jinx didn’t say anything, but the slight flush that crept up her neck didn’t escape your notice.

Normally, she would have been a chatterbox by now, her words tumbling out in an endless stream of stories, jokes, and wild tangents that only she could follow, and you chased after. But tonight, she surprised you. She stayed quiet, not in the uncomfortable way that usually signaled her restlessness, but in a way that felt… calm. Like she didn’t feel the need to fill the space with noise, content to let the quiet speak for itself. It was rare, and you found yourself savoring the unspoken connection between you that settled into the rhythm of your steps.

The streets were quieter now, save for the occasional rattle of a passing train in the distance. Streetlights cast a hazy glow, their golden halos reflected on the slick pavement from an earlier drizzle. You reached an intersection where the streetlight blinked red, and you paused, neither of you letting go. She rocked on her heels, her free hand shoved casually into the pocket of her jacket. Her gaze flickered to the ground, then back to you, strands of her blue hair falling messily into her face. You turned slightly, stealing a glance at her. The faint neon from a nearby sign danced in her eyes, making her grin look almost electric. It was lopsided, unpolished, but real in a way that made your chest tighten in adoration.

Jinx slowed as you approached the familiar building, her steps faltering just enough to take in the worn brass numbers on it. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, her eyes tracing the scuffed edges of the metal as if seeing it for the first time—or maybe for the thousandth, in a different light. Without a word, she fished out your keys, holding them out with a small, almost shy motion.

You accepted them, your fingers brushing hers briefly before you stepped forward and unlocked the door. The sound of the lock clicking open echoed faintly, and you looked back at her, your expression quiet and expectant. The question wasn’t spoken—it didn’t need to be—but she answered it anyway, stepping through the door with you as you tugged on her hand lightly.

Her grip tightened slightly as you led her up the familiar stairs, the soft creak of the old wooden steps the only sound between you. The weight of the day slipped away, left in the cracks of the peeling paint and the worn floorboards below.

The apartment was small but warm, bathed in soft pink and orange hues from the neon sign made by yours truly. The living room was cluttered but comforting—colorful pillows strewn haphazardly on the worn-out sofa, a coffee table stacked with books and magazines, empty mugs, and bits of Jinx’s tinkering projects that she’d forgotten to take home. And in the middle of it all? A vase holding a fresh bouquet of pink roses, the message card still attached.

Both of you kicked off your boots by the door, the dull thud of leather against wood breaking the stillness. She dropped your bag beside the couch before straightening and glancing around the room, taking in every detail like she always did, as if trying to see it through your eyes. You, meanwhile, drifted toward the tiny kitchen, the motion so routine it didn’t require a second thought.

“Still haven’t cleaned up, huh?” she teased lightly, her voice carrying a warmth that made you smile.

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back, poking your head out just enough to send her a playfully pointed look.

Her grin widened as she finally shrugged off her jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch before following behind you, the heels of her shark socks scuffing lightly against the floor.

Your hand reached for the kettle almost automatically. The chipped red enamel on its side glinted faintly in the light as you filled it, the soft clink of it settling on the stove feeling like part of a quiet ritual.

“Tea?” you asked, already pulling open the cabinet to retrieve two cups, their mismatched patterns a part of your routine as much as anything else.

From behind you, Jinx leaned lazily against the doorframe with an almost amused glint in her eyes. A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, carrying a secret only she knew the truth behind.

"Sure."

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moeitsu · 1 day ago

Text

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 28 - I Would Not Cause Her One Regret

Summary: Under the tender care of Wapiti's medicine woman, Kate receives life-changing news that will forever alter the course of her and Arthur's future. In the midst, she uncovers a gift left by Hosea, something that will carry them through the journey ahead.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter /

AN: 12k Words. This is my new favorite chapter, it really felt like it wrote itself at times. (There is smut coming but I'm putting it in its own chapter bc its quite long...)

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw @yallgotkik @sawendel

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Caretaking, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Freedom is an untamed beast, wild and feral, impossible to hold without losing a part of yourself. Some give everything for it, others bleed for it, and many spend their lives chasing its shadow, never knowing it was in their grasp all along.

As they rode deeper into the mountains, the weight of civilization fell away, its rules and customs crumbling like ash in the wind. Out here, the world belongs to no one and everyone all at once. The land answers only to the sky, and the only law is the one written in the marrow of your bones. It doesn’t ask who you are or where you’ve been—it just demands you let go.

Freedom is riding wild over untamed lands with no notion any moment exists beyond the one you are living.

Arthur followed in the shadow of Eagle Flies, the young man’s figure cutting a determined path against the twilight. Kate rested sideways in his lap, her body fragile and fevered, a weight that felt heavier than it should. She shivered against him, her shallow breaths hitching with every bump of the trail. Arthur’s heart clenched with every sign of her pain, a cruel reminder that he’d pushed her too far.

He muttered promises she might not even hear, low reassurances that the journey would be over soon, that she’d be safe and warm again. But those words felt hollow when measured against the fire in her cheeks and the trembling in her frame. All he could do was hold her close, shielding her from the chill and praying the people of Wapiti would welcome them with the same warmth he couldn’t give her.

The trek from Annesburg had been relentless—hours of climbing rugged hills, navigating shadowed valleys, and crossing the jagged spines of Roanoke Ridge. The land felt as hostile as the men who wandered it. Breathing down their necks from places unseen, watching, and waiting.

They’d stumbled upon horrors Arthur prayed Kate wouldn’t remember.

It began with a stench, sickly sweet and cloying, clinging to the air like decay itself. The source revealed itself— human remains strewn across the earth, picked clean, as though the forest itself had rejected the bodies. A band of cannibals had appeared from the trees. Their gaunt faces twisted with a feral hunger as they crept out like pale writhing maggots.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. He silenced them with well-placed shots, each echoing like the rusted throat of a bell through the forest. Not bothering to wait and see who fell; he just kept firing until every movement ceased. And not a flicker of regret crossed his face.

Kate had turned her face into his chest, her fingers clutching weakly at his coat as though she could block out the reality around them. He held her tighter, shielding her from the sight, from the smell, from everything.

From that moment, his resolve hardened. There would be no more stops, no moments of rest, no lingering—not until they reached Wapiti.

The trail was long, but he’d make it shorter, cutting through the heart of the wilderness with single-minded determination. The thought of Kate enduring even a fraction more of this hell lit a fire in him that wouldn’t burn out until they reached safety.

As the earth turned, indifferent to their struggles, dawn unfurled its golden threads across the sky, soft light spilling over the edges of the world. The warmth kissed their weary faces, yet the weight in Arthur’s lap tethered him to the gravity of his purpose. Each breath he took felt borrowed, a quiet prayer carried on the fragile morning air.

Through the trees, thin tendrils of smoke rose from Wapiti, winding skyward like whispers from the land itself. Arthur felt as though he was standing on the edge of time, suspended between heartbeats, daring the wind to bear them the final stretch. Every creak of the saddle and rustle of leaves seemed to echo a silent plea: only a little farther.

Freedom isn’t found; it’s forged. It doesn’t merely cost blood—it demands it, devours it.

It is no gentle gift but a treasure wrested from the clenched fists of an unforgiving world. And as Arthur urged the horse forward, he wondered if they had paid enough, or if freedom would always slip out of reach, like the rising smoke dissipating into the golden sky.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The horse’s hooves crunched softly against the brittle earth as Arthur guided Belle closer to Eagle Flies, the small, weathered expanse of Wapiti rising like a tired sigh from the valley floor. Cradled by towering gray cliffs and ancient pine trees, the reservation felt like the last refuge of a vanishing world—its fragility stark against the sprawl of the wilderness. The morning sun spilled its light like a hesitant blessing, but the shadows it cast were long and pointed, heavy with the weight of memories too sharp to be forgotten.

Smoke curled skyward from tepee tops like prayers, their buffalo-hide walls painted with bold strokes of lineage and defiance. The symbols seemed to pulse with life, stories etched into the skin of survival itself, each one a declaration against time’s relentless erosion.

They stood not as monuments, but as promises that these people, this place, would endure, even as the world threatened to erase them.

The land bore its own wounds, raw and desolate. The soil beneath the settlement was cracked like parched lips, its breath caught in the barren lungs of fields where crops clung to life by sheer will. What should have been lush and thriving felt ghostly, the very earth seeming to groan under the strain of expectation and loss.

Arthur saw it in the sag of the tepees, the defeated gait of a hunter returning empty-handed, and the thin wisps of smoke curling from modest cooking fires. Every detail spoke of a people stretched thin, their resilience a thread pulled taut.

And yet, amid the weariness, life stirred with a quiet insistence. Children darted between the structures like sparks in a dying fire, their laughter piercing the stillness with a wild, fleeting joy. A mother’s soft hum drifted like a lullaby carried on the wind, soothing her swaddled infant against her breast. Friends huddled close around a small fire, their voices low but warm, weaving moments of solace into the fabric of their shared burdens.

Arthur felt the weight of it all settle in his chest, heavy as lead. This place was a battleground of hope and despair, its spirit caught in a delicate dance between resilience and surrender. He wasn’t sure if Wapiti held the answers or the salvation they sought.

But as he took in the quiet persistence of its people, he couldn’t deny that even here, on the edge of collapse, life refused to be extinguished.

A young man, lean and sharp-eyed, emerged from behind one of the larger tepees, his gaze locking onto the approaching group. He called out, his voice edged with relief and suspicion. “Eagle Flies! You live, brother!”

Eagle Flies straightened in his saddle, though the weariness in his body was apparent. “I live, Paytah,” he replied calmy, even as his wounds betrayed his struggle.

Paytah’s sharp gaze shifted to Arthur and Kate. The lines around his mouth deepened as his lips pressed into a thin line. “Why have you brought these outsiders here? Their kind has brought nothing but suffering to our people,” he said, walking alongside them as they entered the heart of the reservation. His voice carried the weight of distrust, each word a stone cast into the quiet tension that rippled in the air.

“It is well, brother. They are friends,” Eagle Flies said firmly, leaving no room for argument. “This man saved my life when the soldiers were ready to take it.”

Paytah’s eyes narrowed as he studied Arthur and Kate. The pale faces, the tired eyes—signs of struggle etched into their features. Though his skepticism remained, the authority in Eagle Flies’ words softened his stance. With a grunt, he stepped forward and offered Eagle Flies an arm, helping him down from the saddle with care.

As Eagle Flies’ feet touched the ground, the murmurs began. Men and women emerged from their tepees, leaving behind their weaving, cooking, and quiet conversations to gather around. Faces painted with years of hardship and resilience bore a mixture of joy at the sight of their chief's son and unease at the presence of the outsiders. The voices grew louder, some calling his name with relief, others muttering words of doubt and disapproval.

Through the growing crowd, a booming voice silenced the whispers like a sudden burst of wind. “My son!”

Chief Rains Fall stepped forward, his long, dark hair swaying with each purposeful stride. His weathered face, etched with the wisdom of a lifetime, twisted with concern as he took in his son’s battered appearance.

“What has happened to you?” he demanded, a rich, steady baritone that carried the gravity of a man used to commanding attention. “Speak now and speak only the truth. What has brought this upon you?”

The crowd parted, creating a wide berth as Rains Fall reached his son. His hands hovered over Eagle Flies as if afraid to touch him and worsen his injuries. The chief’s gaze flickered briefly to Arthur and Kate before returning to his son, his brow furrowing with unspoken questions.

Arthur remained silent, standing firm at Belle’s side, his gaze steady but respectful. Kate, pale and feverish, leaned weakly against him. He tightened his grip on her, feeling the stares of the gathered tribe like the heat of a midday sun, judgment burning in their eyes.

This was not his story to tell, not his place to speak.

Eagle Flies swallowed hard, voice hoarse but steady as he spoke. “Father…I led a group of men to attack a military camp outside of Saint Denis.”

“Saint Denis?” Rains Fall’s thundered, the disbelief and disappointment woven through every syllable. “You told me you were going to the mountains to seek guidance from your spirit! Do you think me a fool, my son? Your lies wound my pride deeply. Where are the others who followed you into this madness?”

Eagle Flies’ shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his father’s condemnation. “Gone,” he admitted. “Their spirits have joined the wind.”

A shadow of sorrow passed over Rains Fall’s face, his disappointment settling like a heavy cloud in his chest. “How many times must I warn you, Eagle Flies? Reckless violence will not free us—it will only hasten our ruin. Do you not see the storm you bring upon us with these careless actions? The blood spilled today will stain your hands forever.” His voice rose through the air like thunder. “Go now! Find the mothers of the men you led to their deaths and tell them what your pride has cost.”

Eagle Flies stiffened, his face flushing with fury despite the bruises that marred it. “What choice did we have, Father?” he retorted, raw with anger and pain. “They treat us like cattle, pen us in as though we are less than human. How long must we endure their humiliation before we fight back?”

“You have done enough!” Rains Fall cut him off, his voice harsh. His hand rose in a dismissive gesture, the finality in it brooking no argument. “Go! Do not make me ask again, Eagle Flies.”

Eagle Flies hesitated, his chest heaving with unspent rage, but the command in his father’s tone left no room for rebellion. With a sharp exhale, he turned and walked away, his steps heavy with resentment and shame. The crowd parted silently to let him pass, their eyes a mix of sympathy and reproach.

Rains Fall watched him go, his expression unreadable, the burden of leadership heavy upon his shoulders. Around him, the murmurs of the tribe swelled like an incoming tide, but he stood resolute, his grief and disappointment hidden behind a mask of fleeting strength.

The crowd lingered as Rains Fall raised a hand, the gesture firm and commanding, though weariness sat heavy on his shoulders. His voice, when it came, was quiet but filled with authority.

“The time for words has passed,” he said, but the deep lines etched in his face spoke of exhaustion and sorrow. His gaze swept over the crowd, ensuring they understood the finality of his command. “Go now. Each to your thoughts. There is nothing more to be said here.”

Arthur stood in silence, his chest tight, unsure of how to respond. The words stuck in his throat, choking him, while Kate shifted against him, seeking comfort and rest. She needed it—desperately. Her breath was shallow, her body fragile. The tension in the air was thick, like dust settling after a stampede, an uneasy silence that hung between them all.

Paytah took hold of Lorena and Belle’s reins, guiding the horses away from the crowd. The heavy, unspoken understanding between the two men—the weight of what had just transpired—lingered. But Rains Fall’s gaze softened as he watched his people leave, the movement of the horses an echo of the quiet dispersing crowd. After a moment, he turned back to Arthur, his posture still tall, but his age and wisdom seemed to press on him, slowing his movements.

He looked Arthur over, his tired eyes searching for something—an understanding, perhaps, or a reason to be at peace with what had just unfolded.

“Arthur Morgan…” Rains Fall began, gentler now, though his tone still carried gravity. He extended a hand toward him, a solemn gesture of gratitude. “I can’t thank you enough. I am sorry for whatever trouble my son has brought upon you. Please, allow me to repay you for the kindness.”

Arthur shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the offer. His gaze dropped briefly before he met Rains Fall’s eyes. “No payment necessary, Chief Rains Fall,” he said, rough from the weight of the day’s events. He let out a short, breathless chuckle. “That boy of yours… he’s got the fire of a feral horse, all wound up ‘nd ready to buck. I just hope he learns to control that temper ‘fore it drags him into somethin’ worse.”

Rains Fall’s eyes darkened, a deep sadness flickering behind them. His chest swelled with the love he felt for his son, but it was also burdened by a father’s fear. “He is my pride and joy, Mr. Morgan.” His voice cracked slightly, the words holding a weight that spoke of both love and helplessness. “But I’m afraid even I cannot save him from himself.”

He paused, his hands clasping together in thought, before reaching for a pouch of coins, holding them out to Arthur. “I have some money,” he said steadily. “Please, take it for saving my boy. It’s the least I can offer.”

Arthur shook his head firmly, his face set in an expression of reluctance. “Keep your money…” His voice softened, looking back down at Kate, who had her eyes closed, leaning into him. “But I could use your help with somethin’ else.”

Rains Fall’s sharp eyes softened as he followed Arthur’s gaze, understanding settling in. His posture straightened, the weariness lifting for a moment as he focused on the matter at hand. “I can see that.” His eyes lingered on Kate, taking in her fragile state. “Your woman… she carries the marks of a long struggle, as if a spirit has been slowly draining her strength.”

Arthur nodded, as the Chief pressed his palm to feel the warmth of her forehead. His eyes clouded with concern. “Eagle Flies mentioned you had some kind of medicine woman?”

“Yes,” Rains Fall answered, his tone shifting to one of reverence, as though speaking of something sacred. “White Dove is a great healer. Her knowledge is vast, her hands gentle.”

Arthur took a deep breath, his hand brushing over his jaw, the strain of worry heavy in his voice. “Kate…she’s,” her name slipped from his lips, full of urgency.

She is more to you than that.

He hesitated for a moment, as if the name did not carry enough meaning, more than he'd intended. His voice became firm as he continued. “My wife… she’s taken ill. Ain’t been sleepin’ right, nor eatin’ much. What little she can keep down just comes back up.”

The title graced his tongue as naturally as the breath in his lungs. The simple word filled him with so much love, an aching need to shield her from pain. An instinct as old as time, deep and undeniable. It wasn’t just a label—it was a truth he hadn’t quite grasped until now. The weight of it settled in his chest, heavy yet right.

As soon as the words left his mouth, a new wave of responsibility crashed over him, and for a fleeting moment, the world around him seemed to shift. His heart clenched, thoughts of everything he and Kate had endured together flooding his mind, all of it weaving into something more than just a bond forged in shared hardship.

A desperate feeling that he couldn’t quite name, something urgent, primal. Paternal.

He looked at her, her fragile form slumped against him, and a new surge of protectiveness swelled within him, instinctive and fierce.

She’s yours to protect, she’s tied to you now.

Though the words felt strange, even foreign. Arthur welcomed this instinct as it coursed through him, unsure of why it hit him so suddenly, but feeling that it was a part of him now, and he couldn’t shake it.

Nothing will take that away from you.

Kate’s voice echoed in his mind, a question that still lingered—Do you want it to change, Arthur?

That longing for change—he realized it was more than just a desire. It had become something real, something solid in his heart. Something fragile and innocent cradled in his calloused hands. The quiet yearning to build something lasting with Kate was no longer just a dream. It was a promise, a reality. And in this moment, it was as if the universe had whispered a secret to him without words, pulling him toward her in a way he couldn’t explain but would never question.

Rains Fall’s expression darkened with concern, his hand instinctively reaching for Kate, as if preparing to move swiftly. “I will bring her to White Dove,” he said firmly. “She will help.”

Arthur nodded gratefully, his shoulders slumping with a mix of relief and exhaustion. He knew there was little more he could do, and the thought of White Dove’s healing touch was a small comfort in the face of Kate’s suffering.

Rains Fall’s eyes flickered to the horizon, and he let out a sigh, the weight of leadership pressing upon him once again. “You have fought long, Arthur Morgan. Rest now. We will see to your wife.”

Arthur didn’t answer right away, his mind racing with what had happened and what might come next. For a long moment, he just stood there, looking at her, struggling to find the words. Finally, he nodded, offering a quiet thanks, though the weight of his feelings was too much to put into words.

He pressed a soft kiss to Kate’s cheek, his hand lingering as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. In a low, steady voice, he whispered promises that she’d be alright, even if he wasn’t sure of the truth in them himself.

With one last look, he watched as Rains Fall gently led her away, toward one of the tepees. His heart tightened, but there was nothing more he could do now

His guilt will not purify him of his sins, as the dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn’t. But there is something in her—something—that will save him.

In the way a seed buried in the earth can one day push through the dirt, seeking light, so too does a new purpose rise within him. It is the promise of a future unknown, full of potential. A chance to grow, to change, and to leave behind his past.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

By the authority vested in me, this sentence shall now be carried out. Arthur Morgan you have been found guilty and will be condemned to death by hanging. Do you have any last words?

Arthur stood at the gallows, his hollow blue eyes locking with hers, a quiet intensity in his gaze. His lips moved in a whisper, the words carrying across the void between them.

‘Keep fighting, my wife. Keep fighting for the both of you’

Kate opened her eyes with a startled gasp, her chest heaving as the last shreds of the nightmare faded with her breath on the wind. The world around her slowly came into focus, her senses overwhelmed by unfamiliar details. She lay on her back, enveloped in warmth, the sensation so foreign after days of chills and exhaustion that it almost alarmed her.

Above her, a patch of sky peeked through a hole in the ceiling of the tepee. The canvas, stretched taut over wooden poles, swayed gently in rhythm with the night’s breeze. Smoke from a central fire curled upward in soft, lazy pillows, escaping into the starlit sky. The stars themselves winked down at her, distant and serene, their light shimmering faintly through the drifting fog.

The pop and crackle of a fire filled her ears, its sound strangely soothing. She turned her head, her cheek brushing against the soft fur of the animal hide beneath her. Her gaze settled on the flames, their golden light commands flickering shadows to dance on the walls. Tentatively, she reached a hand toward the warmth, only to pull back as the sensation of heat kissed her fingertips.

Her body shivered, the fever still clinging to her like an unwelcome guest, but here, she felt safe. She exhaled, her breath shaking, the smoky scent of the fire mixing with something earthy and herbal—medicines, perhaps.

As she shifted beneath the heavy layers of hides draped over her, a new awareness settled in. She was naked, her usual clothing gone, replaced by the comfort of the carefully tanned and supple hides. The rough, sweaty fabric of her work shirt and the denim of her jeans soaked in horse musk were nowhere to be found. Her skin, once sticky and chilled, now felt clean, though her limbs ached with fatigue.

Sitting up slowly, she clutched a fur-lined robe to her chest, its texture soft but slightly coarse against her fingertips. Her gaze landed on the far side of the tepee, where two figures spoke in hushed tones.

“H-hello?” Kate ventured, voice rasping from disuse. The sound startled even herself, carrying a tremor of vulnerability.

Both figures turned toward her, their expressions registering surprise. Kate studied them through the wavering firelight. The older woman’s face was a map of deep lines and weathered wisdom, her dark eyes steady and knowing. Layers of beads hung around her neck, and leather wraps adorned her braids, which fell over her shoulders like rivers of silver and black.

Beside her sat a younger woman, her features strikingly smooth and proud, framed by a fur-lined hood that rested gracefully over her shoulders. Her braids, neatly tucked away, hinted at a careful precision that contrasted with the older woman’s well-worn regality.

Kate clutched the robe tighter, her heart pounding as the silence stretched between them. But in their eyes, she saw no malice—only curiosity and a quiet patience that urged her to breathe.

The elder woman murmured something to the younger, her tone steady and commanding yet kind. The younger woman nodded, stepping toward the entrance. She turned back briefly, offering Kate a warm smile.

“Híhanne wašté,” she said softly, voice lilting with a musical cadence. Then she slipped into the darkness beyond the tepee’s threshold, leaving Kate alone with the elder.

Kate blinked, her fevered mind struggling to process the events. Her gaze followed the elder woman’s deliberate movements as she worked, gathering bundles of dried herbs and binding them with twine. The firelight danced across the weathered planes of her face, illuminating every line and crease—a testament to years of wisdom and service.

The elder woman held the bundle over the fire until the dry leaves crackled and ignited, thin trails of smoke curling upward. She approached Kate with a quiet reverence, waving the fragrant smoke in sweeping arcs over her body. Her lips moved in a prayer, the words flowing in a language Kate didn’t recognize, but their cadence was soothing, like a lullaby carried on the wind.

“W-who are you? Where am I? Where’s my…where’s Arthur?” Kate’s voice wavered, panic rising as her fever-clouded mind spun with unanswered questions.

The woman paused her ritual, her dark eyes flicked to the chain around her neck, carrying the gold rings. Before meeting Kate’s with a calm authority. She placed a warm, weathered hand on Kate’s bare shoulder, its touch grounding. “Hush, now. It is well. Your Arthur is with Chief Rains Fall. You are in Wapiti, among the people. You are safe.” Her words as gentle as the hand that guided Kate back down onto the buffalo hide bed.

Kate hesitated but allowed herself to be eased back. Her muscles were weak, trembling under the weight of her illness. When the woman reached to pull the blankets from her figure, Kate clutched them tightly to her chest, her breath quickening. “Where are my clothes?”

The elder woman made a soft clicking sound with her tongue, a hint of exasperation flashing in her otherwise serene expression. “Bad medicine,” she said firmly. “No clothes are best to let the fever out. Do not trouble yourself with modesty, child. It is my sacred duty to honor the body as I tend to it.”

Kate swallowed, hesitantly loosening her grip on the blankets. Her chest rose and fell in labored breaths as the woman peeled the layers away, exposing her frail form. Kate’s gaze flicked down to herself, and a sigh escaped her lips. Her frame was thinner than she remembered, her skin pale and fragile under the fire’s glow.

“You must be White Dove,” she whispered, breaking the silence.

The medicine woman gave a slight nod, her expression softening as she ran the smoking sage in a deliberate trail down Kate’s abdomen. The warmth of the smoke hovered close to her skin, the scent earthy and cleansing.

“I am,” White Dove replied, low and melodic, carrying the weight of her title and the assurance of her skill. “And you, Kate, are stronger than you believe. Your body knows what it must do. Lie still.”

Kate obeyed, letting her gaze wander the interior of the medicine woman’s lodge. The space was humble, yet rich with years of careful practice. Wooden racks lined the edges of the room, their beams laden with bundles of dried plants and herbs, their colors faded but their purpose unmistakable. The faint, earthy aroma of sage, sweetgrass, and juniper mingled with the smoky air, creating a scent both grounding and otherworldly.

In the center, the small fire crackled softly, its embers glowing beneath a tripod that held a weathered clay pot that Kate had not noticed before. The fire’s glow gently illuminated the hide walls, where faint etchings of symbols seemed to come alive in the fragile light.

Animal hides draped over sturdy wooden beams served as insulation against the outside cold, their textures varying from soft rabbit fur to the coarse leather of bison. Scattered tools and supplies spoke of a life deeply intertwined with the land—bone knives for cutting, stone scrapers for tanning, and hollowed gourds for carrying water.

A low bench made from a flat stone sat near the fire, its surface worn smooth from years of use as both a workspace and an altar for preparation. Kate could see the remnants of the sage White Dove had just prepared.

Nearby, a simple yet meticulous arrangement of feathers, beads, and small carvings hinted at spiritual rituals, each item placed with care as though they held the stories of generations past. The tepee felt alive, not just with the heat of the fire but with the wisdom and traditions that pulsed within its walls.

So much of it reminded Kate of River—his people, his way of life. It all felt so distant, a world left behind in the shadow of time. Yet here it was, as vivid as if she’d never left it. She half expected River himself to step through the tent flaps, his familiar smile breaking through the haze, carrying the scent of fresh pine and the blood of a successful hunt.

As if time were nothing more than a serpent devouring its tail. A cycle with no end, always bringing her back to where she began.

White Dove’s voice broke the spell of memory as she ended her prayer, setting the smoldering sage bundle aside with deliberate care. “Your body tells me many stories,” she murmured, her thin, weathered finger tracing the faint scar on Kate’s side. The mark was old, yet it burned in Kate’s mind with the clarity of its origin—the arrow that had pierced her nearly a decade ago.

The scar that set everything in her fragile world to motion.

“You carry a great strength,” White Dove said softly, her eyes meeting Kate’s with quiet intensity. “It will serve you well for what’s to come.”

With a groan, she rose to her feet, shuffling to her rack of herbs. She crushed some leaves with practiced precision, the aroma rising as she poured steaming water from the clay pot into a small clay cup. Turning, she offered it to Kate. “Drink this.”

Kate sat up slowly, holding the animal hides over her breast so they would not pool at her waist. She took the cup, bringing it to her lips and inhaling its earthy, bitter scent. The first sip burned her tongue, and she quickly set it down on the packed earth to cool.

“Thank you…for all this,” she murmured, glancing at White Dove with hesitant gratitude. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble. I just need to rest, really.”

The older woman scoffed, a short, knowing laugh. “Rest?” She waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll need far more than that.”

Kate frowned, her voice tinged with protest. “It’s just a bit of weak blood. I’ve…had a hard couple of weeks, that’s all.” She picked up the cup again, blowing on the steaming surface before sipping cautiously.

“Weak blood,” White Dove echoed, mimicking Kate’s words with an exaggerated accent and a chuckle. “Is that what the tosi tivo are calling it?”

Kate blinked, the unfamiliar phrase catching her off guard. “I’m sorry—what does that mean?”

“It is Comanche,” her tone patient but amused, “for white people.”

“Comanche?” Kate repeated, tilting her head. The revelation sent a flicker of surprise through her. “I… I didn’t know there were Comanche here. I thought Rains Fall’s people were Lakota.”

The elder woman raised a brow as she swept the stone workbench clear and began grinding fresh herbs into a fragrant paste. “There are many different people here,” she explained. “But we are more than just tribes. We are a family, bound by something stronger than blood. Do you understand?”

Kate nodded slowly, the words resonating with her deeply. River had been like that, drawing in lost souls from all over—those whose tribes had been scattered, those who had nowhere else to go.

“I was saved by one of the Lakota,” Kate admitted quietly, her voice dipping with the weight of memory. “A long time ago. He taught me his language, the way of his people.”

White Dove glanced at her, the lines around her eyes softening. “Then you understand,” she said simply, her voice carrying the wisdom of one who had seen many lives cross her path.

Kate’s gaze dropped to the cup in her hands, the rich, earthy scent of the tea curling into her nostrils as she sipped. “I owe him everything,” she murmured, voice distant. “He found me when I didn’t even know who I was anymore. Gave me purpose when I thought I had none left. I wouldn’t be here today without him.”

White Dove tilted her head, her sharp eyes studying Kate with quiet intensity. “River,” she said after a moment of contemplation, her tone soft and reverent, as though the name itself carried a sacred weight.

Confusion and surprise washed over Kate’s features immediately, “h-how did you…”

“The way you speak of him… I can feel his spirit lingers with you, like a light that never fades.”

Kate swallowed a mouthful of tea, trying to free the lump in her throat that was making it difficult to speak. “Sometimes I feel that too,” she admitted. “It’s like… he still lends me strength when I need it most. But it’s been years. He’s gone.” Her voice faltered, a raw edge of grief cutting through her words.

White Dove approached, the earth beneath her soft footfalls barely whispering. She knelt beside Kate, her hands gentle yet firm as they rested on Kate’s shoulders. “Gone in body, yes,” she said with a grounding force. “But not in spirit. River walks with you, child. He is in the wind that moves the grass, the fire that warms your skin. And here,” she added, placing a hand lightly over Kate’s heart, “he is always here.”

“I miss him so much,” Kate’s eyes welled with tears she hadn’t realized she was holding back, the elder’s words wrapping around her like a balm. She nodded, barely managing a whisper. “I just wish I had the strength back then to save him.”

White Dove’s gaze softened further, her expression both knowing and kind. “And yet he has left you with a gift,” she said, her hand moving from Kate’s heart to lightly press against her abdomen.

Kate’s breath caught, her eyebrows furrowed. “A gift?”

The elder woman’s smile deepened, her voice soft. “A piece of the Great Spirit’s plan, one that River will surely guide.”

Kate’s hand flew instinctively to her stomach, the air catching in her throat. “I…” Her voice faltered, her mind grasping for logic amidst the swirling emotions. “I–I don’t understand. That’s not… no, that’s not possible.”

"You’ve endured so much, child. He sees it, he knows. He has never truly left you. And though you’ve faced countless losses, you now carry something precious—a new life growing within you."

A new life.

The words echoed, reverberating like a bell in the quiet chamber of her thoughts. Her heart pounded as if trying to catch up with the revelation, and the clay cup she had been holding slipped from her fingers, landing softly on the earth below. A rush of emotions surged through her—hope, joy, disbelief, and an undercurrent of fear.

Her mind raced to Arthur, his rough-edged voice filling her memory as she recalled their quiet talks about dreams of the future. Children. A family. She had crushed it then, before those dreams could take root in his heart. Claiming her body incapable of such things, her voice trembling with the conviction of a woman who had been resigned to a cruel fate.

And now?

Oh, God. She was going to have his baby.

Kate’s chest tightened as the enormity of it settled in. She was going to be a mother again, and Arthur Morgan—a man caught between his own war with the world and his heart—was going to be a father again.

“Do not fear it,” White Dove murmured, her hand warm and steady on Kate’s arm. “This child is a sign of strength. Just as you have endured, so will they. River’s spirit watches over you both, guiding you toward what is meant to be.”

Kate met the elder’s eyes, finding a depth of calm that eased the storm within her. “H-how can you be so sure?” she whispered, her voice trembling with doubt. “It’s too early… there are no signs.”

“No signs?” White Dove chuckled softly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “The fever and sickness say otherwise. A mother’s body tells stories long before the mind catches on. And the man who brought you here, his ways are not those of a settled life. But perhaps this news will steady his wild heart.”

Kate’s lips quivered, her exhaustion returning in waves as she slumped back against the hides beneath her. Her hand drifted to her stomach again, resting there as if to ground herself. Memories of a vivid dream, one that had lingered deep in her heart for weeks, re-surfaced. It’s meaning was suddenly clear.

Two heartbeats, one body.

“If only it were that simple,” she murmured, heavy with weariness and hope.

Arthur had made his choices, ones that had led them both to the edge of ruin. She loved him with every fractured piece of her soul, but this—this changed everything. Would the promise of a new life be enough to pull him away from the shadows of his past? Would it finally give him the courage to leave it all behind?

They had barely spoken of the events that had brought them to this point, with Arthur keeping much of their shared losses buried deep. He carried the weight of so many burdens, and though Kate longed to ease his load, the storm of worry and fragile hope in her own heart waged a relentless battle, pulling her in opposing directions.

But this game of tug-o-war on her soul will not stop her child, Arthur Morgan’s child, from growing in her belly.

Kate closed her eyes as warm tears spilled down her cheeks like gentle streams, cradling the fragile hope that had been placed in her hands. Despite the uncertainty that loomed like a shadow in her heart, she could not wait to share the news with Arthur.

“Sleep now, all is well.” White Dove whispered calmly.

In sleep, he sang to her, his voice like a low and steady river, carrying her to places untouched by pain. In dreams, he came to her, his shadow softened by the golden light of a future yet to be written. That voice—gravelly and tender—called to her across the distance, whispering her name like a prayer meant only for her ears.

And as she drifted deeper into slumber, the veil of the present began to lift, revealing a vision of what could be.

A quiet life stretched before her, simple and unshaken. She saw their child, laughter ringing like wind-chimes in the summer breeze, their small hands reaching for the strength and love that only their father could provide.

Arthur held them to his chest, his face softened with peace. With happiness.

The edges of the dream blurred into a warm haze, but its heart remained vivid. A sanctuary where love thrived, untainted by the blood and dust of the paths they had walked. Here, in this fragile hope, she found their burdens were lifted and replaced by the weight of joy.

And so, in dreams, she would find him, not as he was but as he could be—a man reborn by the light of their love, carrying their child toward a future shaped by something greater than fate.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur stood where the streams spilled into the river, where two currents became one. The waters laughed over the stones together, twisted through ravines together, and plunged down the cliffs of Donner Falls as one force. From this height, he could see Bacchus Bridge stretching across the horizon, its iron skeleton stark against the sky. And he could hear the mournful wail of a train whistle cutting through the valley below.

Salmon darted through the clear waters, their pink and green bodies a fleeting blur against the clear expanse of blue. They swam downstream, migrating toward the ocean to grow and mature—a journey long and perilous. For a moment, as the clouds reflected on the tumbling surface, it seemed as though the fish swam through the sky itself, weightless and free.

One fish caught his eye, a lone swimmer defying the current. Against the tide of its kind, it fought to return to the place it was born, battling the relentless push of water. Arthur watched as it struggled, its small body twisting with determination, before finally surrendering to the pull of the current. Drifting downstream with the others, pulled ever closer to the unknown. The inevitable.

Like the salmon, it is the same when a man loves a woman. To love her is to fight the current, a struggle both thrilling and exhausting. But when it takes hold, there is no stopping it—no argument strong enough to resist it. Women, like the streams, could be gentle one moment, soothing a man’s spirit, and the next, they could drag him through white water, testing every ounce of his strength.

“Ready to head back, Mr. Morgan?” Rains Fall’s calm voice broke through Arthur’s thoughts. Turning, he saw the elder already mounted on his horse, waiting patiently to return to Wapiti.

Since arriving at the reservation two days prior, Arthur had buried himself in tasks and chores, anything to repay the kindness shown to him and Kate—and anything to keep his mind from wandering to darker places. Hard work left little room for thoughts of the gang, of Dutch and Hosea, of Kate’s worsening illness. Or his own failings, the ones that had led them all here.

Kate had been battling a relentless fever, resting under White Dove’s gentle care. The healer’s hands tended to her every need, offering what comfort she could. That’s why Arthur and Rains Fall were out here, gathering ginseng, yarrow, and sage for her collection of medicinal herbs. Every small effort felt like a desperate attempt to atone for what he did.

Arthur mounted Belle with practiced ease and gave a nod. “Sure,” he said evenly, adjusting the reins. “Lead the way.”

They rode in silence for a while, the sound of the rushing river beside them filling the spaces between hoofbeats. Arthur let his gaze linger on the landscape, but his thoughts were elsewhere, turning like restless leaves in the wind.

“You’ve been awfully quiet these past few days, my friend,” Rains Fall said at last, voice deep and clear. It was less a question and more an observation.

Arthur tightened his grip on the reins, grateful the elder couldn’t see his face. “Just got a lot on my mind,” he replied flatly, though he regretted the curtness of his tone. There was something in Rains Fall’s calm presence that reminded him of Hosea—the patience, the quiet wisdom.

“Forgive me for prying,” Rains Fall continued, undeterred. “But you strike me as a man at war with himself.”

Arthur sighed, knowing it was pointless to hide from someone as attuned to the human spirit as Rains Fall. “I’m not used to things bein’…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Out of my control, I guess.”

A soft chuckle reached his ears, rich with the weight of years and understanding. “From the moment you are born, you have no control. You can’t choose your parents any more than you can choose your death—unless you’re desperate enough to end it yourself. The only choices you have are to love someone, to be kind, and to make this brutally short stint on earth as worthwhile as you can.”

Arthur’s gaze dropped to Belle’s mane, his voice forlorn. “I reckon it’s far too late for all that.”

Rains Fall’s words struck a chord deep in Arthur’s heart. His whole life felt like a series of choices made for him, never by him. Lyle had stolen his freedoms before he was old enough to even talk, and Dutch had stripped away any illusion of control—not just in the physical sense, but emotionally too. Arthur had never truly recognized himself, never understood who he was beyond Dutch’s right hand, his sword, and his shield.

Who was he behind the savagery? Behind the bloodshed? Behind the beast of a man he’d become?

Arthur couldn’t fathom what it meant to be a person—he’d never been one. His purpose had always been pain, fear, and weaponry. He wasn’t a man; he was a tool, a pet trained to serve.

And yet, he desired violently. He desired an end to it all, a chance to be better, to become the man Kate saw in him. That vision of himself seemed impossibly distant, but it clawed at him nonetheless, leaving scars on his soul. He wasn’t supposed to need like this, wasn’t supposed to crave someone so deeply it hurt. But he did, and it made him sick.

Because wanting something made you weak. It meant you were at the mercy of something else. And Arthur knew all too well how the world had a cruel habit of leaving him empty-handed.

“You’re caught between the man you’re supposed to be and the man you truly are,” Rains Fall said, calm and understanding, as if he had plucked the words straight from Arthur’s thoughts. “Your wife does not strike me as the kind of woman to be unaware of that fact.”

Arthur let out a small chuckle despite himself. How easily this man seemed to read him and Kate, like the pages of an open book. She’d been trying to guide him to a better path since the day they’d met, steadfast and rooted in her devotion.

“She’s far too good for someone like me,” Arthur admitted, heavy with regret. “I worry ‘bout what’s gonna happen to her—to us,” he corrected himself, “after all this is said and done.” His thoughts wandered to the cold, chilling unknown that loomed ahead.

As they approached the gravelly path leading back to Wapiti, the savory scent of roasting meat mingled with the fresh aroma of herbs, carried on the crisp evening air. The familiar smells grounded him for a moment, but the edge in his chest lingered.

Rains Fall reined in his horse at the threshold, turning to Arthur with a quiet smile that held the wisdom of countless years. “Do not borrow grief from the future, Mr. Morgan. To become spring, one must accept the risk of winter. There will be hurt and hardships, but the wildflowers will always bloom after the thaw.”

Arthur held Rains Fall’s gaze, the words settling in his mind like seeds in fertile soil. He nodded slowly, though the ache in his heart remained. Perhaps, there might still be wildflowers waiting for him after all.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate was roused from her sleep by the aching growl of her empty stomach, the pangs of hunger sharpened by the tantalizing aroma of meat roasting over an open fire. The scent was rich and smoky, stirring her senses more effectively than any alarm.

She shifted under the warm weight of the animal hide blankets, bracing for the familiar pull of exhaustion to drag her fevered body back down. But to her surprise, she felt a marked difference—her fever had broken, and the rest had returned a measure of strength to her limbs.

White Dove and her gentle assistant, Halona, had cared for her tirelessly. Day and night, they tended to her every need, reading her body’s cues with practiced intuition. Kate had grown fond of the two women, whose quiet kindness eased her discomfort in more ways than one. Their efforts had made the tepee a sanctuary of warmth and healing.

The news of her pregnancy still lingered fresh in her mind, a secret she clutched close to her heart. She’d asked White Dove and Halona not to share it with Arthur, eager to savor the joy of telling him herself when the moment felt right. The women exchanged knowing smiles and readily agreed, leaving Kate to relish the anticipation of sharing her happiness when her body and spirit were ready.

Carefully, she rose from the bed, the lingering weakness in her muscles reminding her to move slowly. Touching the rings against her breast, she rubbed them between her fingers tracing their tiny halos. She slipped on a long tunic that brushed her knees, the soft fabric comforting against her skin. Over it, she wrapped herself in an antelope robe, its heavy warmth almost swallowing her slender frame. Finally, she pulled on a pair of knee high moccasins, their soft leather cool against her feet.

As she stepped outside, the evening air enveloped her. It was crisp and biting, carrying with it the clean, invigorating scent of pine and earth. The sky above was a masterpiece, streaked with hues of pink and blue that filtered through the tall pines, painting the world in serene beauty.

Kate inhaled deeply, letting the chill air fill her lungs, refreshing her after the days spent confined inside. It cleared her mind and steadied her heart. Despite the gnawing hunger in her stomach, her thoughts weren’t on food.

She needed to find Arthur. She missed him terribly, and her heart raced with anticipation. Her secret warmed her like the robe around her shoulders, and she longed for the moment she could share it with him—alone, just the two of them under the vast expanse of the painted sky. The moon and the stars as their only witness.

Kate made her way toward the central fire, where the tribal members gathered to fill their plates and cut portions of meat from the animal roasting over the flames. The savory scent of the meal mixed with the crackling of the fire, creating an atmosphere of warmth and fellowship. Her eyes scanned the group until they landed on a familiar silhouette outlined by the glow of the flames.

A smile tugged at her lips. There he was. Like herself, he was wrapped in animal skins, blending seamlessly with the people around him. A large sheep hide was draped over his broad shoulders like a cloak, the white fur soft and thick, resembling a ball of cotton drifting through the night air. He wore sturdy moccasins similar to hers, their thick soles a perfect defense against the biting chill of Ambarino.

Her gaze caught on his old gambler's hat, now adorned with a new feather charm, its soft plumage swaying gently in the breeze. It was likely a gift from one of the people or something he had traded for during his endless efforts to repay their kindness. The sight of him like this—fitting in so effortlessly—warmed her heart.

Arthur had a way of slipping into their world as though he’d always belonged, like a lonesome buck searching for his herd and finding a place among them.

Beside him stood Eagle Flies, engaged in what appeared to be a lighthearted conversation with her cowboy. As Kate drew closer, the sound of the young man’s laughter reached her, a warm and genuine sound that made her smile grow wider.

Eagle Flies noticed her first. His keen eyes lit with recognition, and a small smile played across his lips. With a subtle nod, he clasped Arthur’s arm in a gesture of brotherhood, one that spoke volumes about the bond they had formed in their time together. Then, without a word, he turned and departed.

Kate placed a hand on his shoulder, and Arthur turned to her, his features lighting with surprise. Without hesitation, he set his plate of meat on the nearest surface and framed her face in his warm, calloused hands.

"My sweet girl," he murmured, his familiar rough timbre washing over her, making her knees weak with adoration. "What’re you doin’ up? You feelin’ alright?"

His questions came rapid-fire as he checked her face and body for any lingering signs of illness, his thumb brushing gently along her pallid cheek. Which was now turning a shade of pink under his gaze. The tenderness in his touch stood in stark contrast to the hardened exterior he usually wore.

“I feel wonderful,” she assured him, carrying a smile she couldn’t suppress. “Better than I’ve felt in weeks.”

She saw a flicker of guilt pass across his handsome face at her choice of words, a shadow of self-reproach he couldn’t quite hide. “Thank you, Arthur.”

“For what, darlin’?” he asked, his hands moving to her waist, pulling her closer. His piercing blue eyes searched hers, as if trying to unravel the depth of her gratitude.

Kate reached up to stroke his rugged cheek, her thumb gliding along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his beard, thick and overdue for a shave. “For bringing me here, for protecting me. For standing by me while I recovered.”

Arthur smiled, that bashful, boyish smile she loved—the one he reserved for moments like these when her praise left him flustered. “I’d do it all again,” he admitted softly. “Though I hope I won’t have to.”

Pulling her into his chest, he sighed, a sound heavy with relief and affection. “Hated seein’ you in pain like that,” he confessed. “Damn sight nearly broke me.”

Kate pressed her face into his chest, mumbling against the warmth of his shirt, “I’m well, Arthur. More than well.” She inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar mix of smoke, pine, and musk that clung to him.

Arthur reached for his abandoned plate and held it out to her. “Think you can try and eat some?”

Kate nodded, accepting the small portion of meat and vegetables with gratitude. As she took her first bite, Arthur filled another plate for himself, sitting beside her by the fire.

For the first time in days, the world felt steady again.

Together, they joined the others, settling onto overturned logs as the flames flickered and danced, casting dark shadows over the gathering. The warmth of the fire fought against the creeping chill of nightfall, and a comfortable silence lingered as plates emptied and bellies filled. The sun had dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the sky painted in deep blues and blacks. Stars began to wink into existence, their light glittering faintly above the treetops.

As the reservation quieted, a soft melody began to rise from the gathered people. One voice turned into two, then three, until a full chorus swelled, singing in their native tongue. The song carried through the air like a living thing, winding between the fire’s glow and the cold night, weaving a tapestry of history and culture.

It felt like the land itself was joining in, harmonizing with the crackle of the flames and the rustling trees. The occasional howl of a wolf, or cry from an elk joining the orchestra in its own language.

Arthur leaned closer to Kate, his breath warm against her cool cheek as he murmured, “Think you can translate what they’re chanting?”

Kate stifled a chuckle, shaking her head. “It’s not chanting, Arthur—they’re singing. And don’t ever let them hear you call it that.”

A grin tugged at his lips. “Fair enough.”

Kate paused, tilting her head to better catch the song. Closing her eyes, her brow furrowed as she picked through the lyrics, trying to parse the Lakota words amidst the many other languages blending together.

“It’s a song about reclaiming identity,” she finally said softly. “About standing together as a community, returning to nature, and rejecting the way society’s trying to change them.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully, his gaze returning to the fire. He didn’t need to say anything more—his silence held a reverence for the moment, the music wrapping around him as snugly as the sheep-hide cloak draped over his shoulders.

After a moment, Kate began to hum quietly, her voice low and melodic as it slipped seamlessly into their rhythm. She translated the lyrics into English as she sang, her voice soft enough for Arthur’s ears alone. He listened, mesmerized by the emotion in her words, the way they made the distant and unfamiliar feel close and deeply human.

The song, in both languages, seemed to bind them to the world around them—a moment of peace and connection amid the chaos of their lives. For the first time in what felt like forever, Arthur let himself simply be still, soaking in the beauty of the night and the voice of the woman at his side.

I might be more like an animal, than you would have thought at first. Your only conviction was that I would have to choose.

I’ll be running with the animals soon. Always swore by the same remedy, to battle feelings with thought, but lately there’s a change in me. The words don’t really do.

Humans rip open so easily, like paper heads in the rain. I won’t be my own enemy. The skull no longer fools this body.

I’ll be running with the animals soon. Into everlasting now, I’ll unfold mysеlf. Slowly, parts of me.

I’m herе to be more like an animal.

I’m here to fight more like an animal.

I’m here to eat more like an animal.

I’m here to bite more like an animal.

I’m here to move more like an animal.

I’m here to hunt more like an animal.

I’m here to rest more like an animal.

I’m here to play more like an animal.

I’m herе to be more like an animal.

As the singing came to an end, the gathering began to disperse. Hunters, elders, mothers, warriors, and children alike offered their farewells, their voices softer now as they drifted back to the comfort of their lodges. The fire crackled quietly in the stillness, its embers glowing as if reluctant to fade.

Kate and Arthur remained seated on the overturned log, her head resting gently against his broad shoulder. Their fingers intertwined, a silent promise exchanged in the cool night air.

Arthur stared into the flames, his eyes distant and shadowed, lost in thoughts that weighed heavy on his soul. Kate watched him intently, her heart aching for the grief and guilt etched into his face. It was the same expression she had seen during their night in Annesburg, when uncertainty and frustration had driven him to the edge of what any man could bear.

She remembered how she had held him that night, cradling his trembling frame as his soft tears soaked her chest in the silence. She had whispered soothing words until the storm within him subsided, giving way to the steady rhythm of his breathing. But even then, she knew it wasn’t enough. There was still so much he carried, a burden too great for one person alone.

Her free hand glided over her belly, where the first stirrings of life had begun to take root. Over the next nine months, she would be swollen with his child—a little piece of them both, growing steadily within her. The thought of meeting this tiny person, of holding them and nurturing them, filled her with a sense of purpose she hadn’t known she needed.

Kate was certain the news of the baby would ease some of Arthur’s pain, offering him a beacon of hope amid his struggles. She could already imagine the spark it would ignite in him, a reason to fight for something brighter. To become the man she knew he could be—the man their child deserved.

“Ready to turn in, my love?” she asked softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to pull him back to the present.

Arthur turned to meet her gaze, his tired blue eyes searching hers for a moment before he nodded silently. “Which lodge is yours?” she asked, glancing across the rows of tepees glowing softly with firelight.

His voice was low, tinged with exhaustion and a rare vulnerability. “Y’sure you wanna stay with me, darlin’? You can still sleep in White Dove’s tent if you’d rather. I won’t be upset.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, looking at him like he’d suggested something completely absurd. “You kiddin’ me? Quit being silly, old man. I want to stay with you.”

A small, tired grin spread across Arthur’s face as he stood from the log with a quiet sigh, extending his hand to her. Kate rose, slipping her arm around his waist, leaning into the warmth of his embrace.

“Besides,” she added with a soft smile, “I always have the sweetest dreams when I sleep next to you.”

Arthur’s grin widened just a touch, and he pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head before leading her toward his lodge. Together, they walked through the quiet encampment, the stars above a silent witness to their love and the promise of a brighter future.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur’s lodge sat quietly on the edge of the reservation, a modest sanctuary tucked away from the hum of the reservation. Originally used for storing extra furs, dried meat, and other supplies, it had been generously cleared out by the people to provide him with a warm, sheltered space. Though Arthur had offered to set up his own camp, they insisted he stay somewhere better protected from the cold Ambarino winds.

Holding the flap open, Arthur gestured for Kate to duck inside. She stepped through, marveling at how surprisingly inviting the small space was.

In the center, a humble fire glowed softly, its embers casting a flickering warmth that filled the room. Arthur knelt by the ashes, adding a handful of wood chips and buffalo dung. A skill taught to him by the tribe to revive the flames and keep them burning through the night. As the fire grew stronger, Kate let her eyes wander around the lodge.

Against the canvas walls, crates and boxes were neatly arranged, serving both as storage and structural support. Arthur’s cot lay near the fire, piled high with animal hides that promised warmth on even the coldest nights. His saddlebag, folded and topped with rabbit pelts, served as a makeshift pillow. A few hides draped over smaller crates created a reclined space she imagined he used for writing in his journal late at night.

Kate shrugged off her antelope robe and draped it over the crates, adding to the cozy arrangement. Kneeling on the fur-covered bedroll, she slipped off her moccasins and stretched out on her stomach near the fire. The heat from the flames quickly seeped into her skin, chasing away the chill of the night.

Arthur watched her with a small smile, his gaze soft and full of affection. Tossing his sheep-hide cloak into a corner, he tugged off his moccasins and left them by the entrance. Slowly, he slid off his suspenders, setting them aside with care. His gambler’s hat followed, then his leather shirt, revealing the expanse of sandy hair and gentle lines that contoured his torso. Now dressed in only his trousers, he settled beside her, reclining against the fur-covered crates.

Kate waited until he was comfortable before shuffling forward on her stomach, her head coming to rest in his lap. Her cheek pressed against his firm thigh, and she sighed, feeling more at peace than she had in weeks.

For a long moment, they sat in silence, the crackle of the fire the only sound between them. Their eyes met, the unspoken desire swirling in their shared gaze enough to make her heart race. Arthur’s hand found its way to her head, his fingers slipping through her hair. He began to massage her scalp, untangling knots with a care that belied his rugged exterior.

Kate melted under his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she opened them again, unable to look away from his face. Her fingers moved to his chest, tracing the defined lines of muscle with feather-light strokes. She twirled the coarse hair between her fingertips, letting the texture ground her in the moment.

Neither broke their gaze as their hands explored, gentle and reverent. His thumb brushed against her temple while her palm flattened against his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath her touch. Their connection in the firelit room felt electric yet soothing, a sanctuary of their own making, where words were unnecessary, and their love spoke through every touch.

She suddenly sat up, leaning her weight on her wrist as it rested against the warmth of his thigh. Her lips found him with a desperation that felt like they had never stopped searching for him. Arthur responded in kind, his kiss deepening as his hands roamed over her back, feeling the heat of the flames and pulling her closer, if that was even possible.

As he opened his mouth to let out a shuddering sigh, Kate seized the opportunity, her tongue darting against his, earning a ragged, breathy moan, from the depths of his chest. They explored each other’s mouths as if it was the first time, foreign yet familiar. As if they had been apart for years, and by some miracle, fate had reunited them.

Arthur tugged at her arm, pulling her closer, gripping her thigh with the other hand, urging her to straddle his lap. She didn’t hesitate. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a fire in their wake. But before the heat could consume her completely, she stopped him with a question that had been burning inside her for days.

“Arthur?” Her voice was soft, trying to steady the rush of emotions that clouded her thoughts, the bliss in her body making her words feel weightless.

“Hmm?” came his low, breathy reply, muffled against the hollow of her neck.

Her hand gently cupped his face, guiding him to look at her. “Why did you call me that…?” She hesitated, but only briefly. “Back when we arrived at the reservation?” Her mind has replayed his words endlessly since then. My wife.

Arthur furrowed his brow in confusion, before the memory clicked. “My wife?”

Kate nodded, her gaze enduring.

A small, sheepish smile tugged at the corners of his lips, flushed red from her kisses. “Oh... I didn’t think you’d remember that,” he stammered, tinged with a nervous tenderness. “I dunno, guess it just felt... right.”

Her heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words sinking in. “Do you think of me as your wife, Arthur?” The question came out more serious than she had intended, but it had to be asked.

He straightened, his gaze locking with hers, no hesitation this time. “I… Yes. Yes, I do see you as my wife.” His voice was steady now, firm. He meant every word of it.

Kate’s eyes widened, the reflection of the fire flickering in her eyes like molten gold. She didn’t speak for a long moment, the gravity of his words settling in her chest. “You really mean that?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried with it a world of emotion, meant only for him. His heart.

Arthur’s hands found her neck, cupping it gently as he wiped away the tears she hadn’t even realized were there. “I do. You’re mine, Kate. Mine and mine alone. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my days, if you’ll have me.” His voice cracked slightly, the vulnerability of the words choking him. He looked away, his emotions threatening to spill out. “I know this isn’t the life I promised you, honey. But I’ll save up, buy you a pretty ring...” He took her hand and rubbed at the empty space where a ring would sit. “I’ll make you my wife, for real.”

Kate smiled through the rush of emotions that swept over her, and her warmth filled his heart in ways nothing this world ever could. Oh, how he adored her. In that moment he wished he were the wind, so he could kiss every inch of her skin and weave through her hair. To carry her scent with him forever. Through this life, and the next.

Her smile faltered for a brief moment, a shadow crossing her features. “And what about the gang? Everything you fought for, everything you helped them build?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened for a moment, as the weight of his past settled back into his chest. The future he had imagined with her could not exist within the chaos of his reputation, the people he had once called family. A deep sigh escaped him, a cold gust slipping in through the cracks of his thoughts, licking at the flames of the inevitable.

The fish fighting against the current, must let go of the past and turn towards the future.

“I’ll still help ‘em while I can,” he began slowly, “but I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about the future… about you.” His gaze softened, locking onto hers like she was the anchor keeping him grounded. “You’re my future, Kate.” His words were sure, steady. “I gotta put you first. If these last two days taught me anything, it’s that I want you far away from all this.” He stressed the final words with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “And we’ll never look back.”

Kate’s smile returned, but her eyes held a flicker of something more. Reaching around her neck, she slipped a silver chain over her head, two gold rings glinting in the firelight as she held them up. Their glow danced between their faces, the light kissing them with a quiet oath.

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized the rings—worn and well-loved, relics from his father figure’s hands. His eyes softened, and he swallowed back a sob. “Hosea…” His voice cracked, the memories of his father’s wisdom and love choking him.

“Hosea made me promise to give these to you when the moment felt right.” Kate explained, cupping his palm and letting their gentle weight cradle in his hand as she slipped the chain off.

“Always one step ahead... He knew things were changin’, even before it all fell apart.” Arthur admired the rings, recalling memories of Hosea and Bessie’s devotion.

Kate nodded, her smile tinged with sorrow. “He said you’d know what to do… take me far away, and never look back.” She echoed his words, like a vow that hung between them, delicate and sacred.

Arthur sniffed, trying to keep the emotions at bay. “Christ, I’m gonna miss him.”

Kate’s fingers carefully plucked one of the larger rings from his palm, then gently took his left hand in hers. “I am too, Arthur. But… sometimes things change for the better. My whole world changed when I met you.” She slid the ring onto his finger with quiet reverence.

Arthur watched her with a tenderness that made his heart ache. He kissed her knuckles, his lips soft and full of longing. “Reckon you’ve changed me for the better... and yet…” He hesitated, a familiar doubt creeping in. “Yet I keep making a mess of myself.”

With a free hand, she cupped his cheek, guiding his gaze back to her. “Maybe we just need something worth fighting for.”

Arthur’s laugh was breathless, full of love. “My darling Kate, you’re the reason I fight.”

Her eyes locked onto his, fierce and full of determination. “Perhaps a reason… for both of us.”

As he slid the ring over her finger, past the knuckle, it settled against her skin with a commitment that both felt deep in their souls. And then, softly, like a secret whispered just for them, Kate spoke the words that stole the breath from his lungs.

“I’m pregnant, Arthur.”

The words seemed to echo in the air, a divine truth. To speak them aloud felt like releasing a beautiful secret into the world. The weight of her confession hit him like a wave, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at her, his breath catching in his throat. His pulse thundered in his ears.

“You’re…” The words failed him, as his heart leapt in his chest. Everything suddenly clicked—the protectiveness, the need to shield her. “Oh, my girl…” His voice trembled with emotion, and he pulled her into his arms, clutching her close. “How—how is that possible? I thought—”

Kate’s fingers found his lips, silencing him. “I don’t exactly know how, but I know it’s there. I’ve known for some time, but I just couldn’t let myself believe it was true.” Her forehead pressed against his, and new tears, joyful and free, fell down their cheeks. “I knew our love would bloom into something wonderful.”

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only them, and the life they would build together. Arthur cradled her neck gently, pulling her close as they embraced, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. A familiar chill of unease crept into his mind, but he banished it before it could take root. Nothing—not fear, not doubt—would steal this moment of joy from him.

And yet, beneath the elation, a quiet resolve began to form. The countdown had already started ticking in the back of his mind. Nine months—no, likely less. He couldn’t let her bring their child into the world while they were still trapped in the chaos of the gang’s life. The decision came as naturally as breathing: he would do whatever it took to make things right and ensure she had a safe place to welcome their baby into the world.

Despite the timing, despite his failures, despite everything, the news of this child—his child—growing within Kate filled him with a hope he hadn’t felt in years. A new purpose ignited within him, fierce and unshakable.

“Kate…” he murmured, his voice raw with wonder and disbelief. His thumb swept across her cheek, brushing away the tears that glistened like firelit jewels. “You’re carrying our child.” The words felt foreign, surreal, almost more of a question than a statement, as if he needed to hear it again to believe it was real.

Kate’s lips curled into a soft, radiant smile, the same smile that had captivated him from the start. “Yes, Arthur,” she whispered, her voice steady and full of love.

“You’re going to be a father again.”

AN: I had SO much fun writing this chapter, everything from Eagle Flies and Rains Fall to Kate's pregnancy reveal. Ugh I just love them so much and it was so nice to finally get the secret out there. There are a lot of emotions going on between them right now and I want to be able to explore that in more intimacy. This chapter would've been over 20k words if I included the sex scene I initially wrote...but like I said before it will be in its own chapter! This gives me more time to tinker with it, as well as add to it without worrying abt the WC.

Thank you all so much for the support, and for reading this work that has become something so dear to me. I love all of you, and endlessly appreciate all the love and comments and feedback! 💗💗💗

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #ao3 fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x original female character #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x oc #ao3

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vortexbloom · 2 days ago

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Hello there...I just passed around here to say....

DROP ANYTHING WITH YANDERE MAVUIKA, AND MY LIFE IS YOURS.....

pretty please with cherry on top :D

YESSSS 😭, like there still isn’t any Yandere Mavuika Stuff on Tumblr or anywhere at all !!!

𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕄𝕒𝕧𝕦𝕚𝕜𝕒 𝕒𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 (ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤)

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 - 𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 𝕀𝕞𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕥

𝔹𝕠𝕪𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕥 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

Pairing: Yandere Mavuika x Reader

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Warnings: Obsessiveness, Isolation, Possessiveness, Manipulation etc.

English isn’t my first/native language, so there might be misspellings etc.

Also, I don’t own any Characters like Mavuika!

Anyway, have fun reading this :)

Protective to the Extreme

Mavuika‘s natural role as a protector of Natlan balance extends to you. She sees herself as the sole guardian of your safety and happiness, even if it means taking away your freedom.

Possessive Archon

As someone with a powerful presence, Mavuika considers you her divine blessing. She believes that you’re meant for her alone, and any threat to that bond feels like sacrilege.

Gentle yet Terrifying

Around you, Mavuika is soft-spoken and affectionate, but her darker side emerges when someone crosses her boundaries. Her wrath is as inevitable as a natural disaster.

Acts of Service

She goes out of her way to protect and care for you, whether by providing you with rare treasures or shielding you from danger. Every act is a declaration of her devotion.

Words of Affirmation

Mavuika constantly reassures you of her love, though her words carry a possessive edge: "You are mine, my light. No one else deserves to even look at you."

Physical Touch

She loves to keep you close, often placing a protective arm around you or pulling you into an embrace. Her touch is gentle yet firm, as if she’s afraid to let go.

Subtle Manipulation

Mavuika might act polite and graceful, but her words to potential rivals are cutting. She sows fear and doubt, ensuring they keep their distance.

Elimination through Power

If someone persists in challenging her claim, Mavuika uses her power to quietly remove them. Accidents, banishments, or mysterious disappearances are common.

Warnings Disguised as Kindness

She’ll smile sweetly while delivering chilling threats to anyone who gets too close to you: "It would be such a shame if something were to happen to you… wouldn’t it?"

Constant Presence

Mavuika never truly leaves your side. Even when she’s away, she ensures that her influence surrounds you, whether through protective wards or loyal agents.

Lavish Attention

She spoils you with rare and precious items, all while reminding you that no one else could provide for you like she can.

Strict Boundaries

She carefully monitors who you interact with, making excuses to keep you away from anyone she deems unworthy of your attention.

Overreacting to Small Things

If you so much as smile at someone else, Mavuika grows visibly tense. Her jealousy burns quietly but intensely.

"Marking" You as Hers

She gives you jewelry, charms, or other tokens imbued with her energy, making sure everyone knows you belong to her.

Emotional Outbursts

Mavuika‘s jealousy can lead to rare but terrifying outbursts, during which her voice turns cold and her aura becomes suffocating.

Guilt Trips

Mavuika appeals to your emotions, painting herself as someone who only wants the best for you: "Why would you leave me? Everything I do is for your happiness."

Soft Isolation

She slowly cuts you off from others under the guise of protecting you, ensuring that you have no one to turn to but her.

The Last Resort

If you ever try to escape, Maukaika will resort to more drastic measures, confining you in a safe, hidden location where she can keep you close forever.

Separations Anxiety

If you’re away from her for too long, Mavuika becomes erratic, losing her usual grace and resorting to desperate measures to bring you back.

Defiance

If you resist her control, Maukaika is heartbroken but convinced she knows what’s best. She’ll double down on her efforts to isolate and protect you.

Rival Success

Should anyone manage to get closer to you, Mavuika‘s wrath becomes unstoppable. She’ll unleash her full power to ensure no one else can claim what’s hers.

Mavuika‘s love is like a force of nature—beautiful, overwhelming, and devastating. Her desire to protect and cherish you quickly turns into a suffocating obsession, leaving you trapped in her powerful, unyielding embrace.

Have a good day/night/evening/morning/afternoon ☼꥟☽

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b-rainlet · 2 years ago

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I know that it's a little over the top with all the plot twists and everything, but I do love how from S1 on, Melinda's main issue has always been her fear of abandonment and how that's 100% connected to her Dad leaving when she was 9.

#Melinda SEEMS to have a beautiful life #but when you look closer she's RIDDLED with self-esteem issues #she feels worthless and disposable because of her Dad #she has problems being open around people because of constant bullying #and people pushing her away because of the one thing that makes her an 'outcast'#and it's just. a very refreshing take on main characters #like most of the time mc seem to have issues only if they're either directly plot related #or if they're BIG things like losing your wife and son or whatever #meanwhile Melinda is 'still' hung up on her Daddy leaving when she was a kid #which is frequently discussed with her partner - who obv never met her Dad #Her Dad wasn't abusive or anything he just. left #and it is something she will FOREVER carry around with her #like idk if I am making sense #but the fact that something so 'mundane' is being taken seriously and discussed within a show #is just. beautiful #and it's also just very nice to see a character played by Jennifer Love Hewitt #with beautiful dresses and a beautiful relationship #still be a victim of bullying - which is also something she carries around with her!#also the way you could draw the line to neurodivergency with the ghost thing #it's just so GOOD #brain watches stuff #ghost whisperer

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erwinsvow · 5 months ago

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i have this entire fleshed out shy reader lore for i guess a hypothetical universe where shy reader dated jj and/or pope first but eventually they broke up because of the whole season one treasure plotline not even because of a lack of love but mostly just her feeling neglected and alone. right at the end of all of that is when she would meet rafe just when he’s in that season two craziness/spiral and they become so insanely codependent and just around there somewhere when the pogues hate rafe even more they find out he’s dating shy reader and it’s just a whole other layer. so basically obx writers let me into the room.

#there’s so much more though I’m sure no one cares #this is my favorite shy reader plotline that I’ve never elaborated on #there’s so much angst and sadness about shy reader breaking up with pope or jj (I can’t decide which one)#because shy reader always loves with her whole heart and she thinks especially with pope/jj that it’ll last forever #sensitive/broken shy reader meeting spiraling/crazy rafe like it’s a match made in heaven #she takes his possessiveness and toxicity as a sign of love and attention after being neglected (sorry pope/jj..)#he thrives off of being able to fully control someone and actually have power in something for once #OH and then when pope and jj find out it’s just mayhem like so much angst #and in my 🩷💞💕perfect world of Shea🩷💞💕 rafe is locking this girl in #shy reader is carrying around the dead Cameron moms engagement ring like before the third season #ok I’ll shut up now

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cent-scratchnsniff · 4 months ago

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here together

#lobotomy corporation #lobcorp #lobotomy corp spoilers #lobotomy corporation spoilers #abram lobcorp #i didnt know that the song that plays during day 48 ending is called 'here together'.#couldnt hear it well because i typically have my sound low (sensetive to louder sounds) and also the dialog fucked me up #so when i pressed on it to hear it. to actually listen to it. then to see the name and remember what it Looked like #i got teary eyed. sorry.#it happened quite. afew times when finishing this shitty thing #i was thinking of how camren's not quite corpse looked as if it were reaching out to him inside the container #how it looked as if she had wings. abrams words. the line from one story that was--#something like 'we were hoping it was just one big prank and she would hop out fro. around the corner with a smile on her face'#how do you move forward when all you think you cause is pain? when everything else youve done only brought to bring people you love to thei #downfall and demise inside agony and fear as they lay dying. none of that was merciful. none of that was just. they were told to carry on #her dream and he views as if all he had done was to become cruel and wasnt fit and never even began to finish what she started.#it was so striking to me. the language he used. sleeping. alseep. waken. when all the others never sugarcoated it #in lobcorp they always said it straight. 'suicide' 'killed' 'dead'. but he used something far more.. peaceful? kind in wording in a way.#softer. describing death as if it were a merciful thing. an end that suits them and not something to be afraid of. to just... sink. to slee #to be with carmen again. to put everything to an end #the place they built with their hands. to have it just... stop. not in a way of repeating and staying in the moment #but of a permanent end. to 'sleep'. to die. to just.... stop. forever. to see no more. to do no more #to not be able to do Anything for when ever he had done Something it just cause agony. cruel hands partaking in acts he so deeply #regrets. everything is just regret. it sounds nice. to move on. to just move forward. but how can you move forward when all you think you #bring to those you cherished and couldnt leave behind is pain?#ill likely move this somewhere else as well. ive been meaning to talk about abram #the rest as well actually. mostly just the few final days w abel adam and abram since i am STUCK ON DAY 49 #oh dear i uh typed a lot in the tags. oops

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theflowerofthecommonwealth · 2 years ago

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Fallout 4 Companions as Miis

I attempted to transform the companions into Mii characters. I did by best to make sure they all looked different while making sure to stay as true to their original designs as much as possible.

Let me know what you think.

MacCready: I really love his face, the little squiggly smile I gave him is adorable for some reason. Little rat guy, precious.

Piper: The first time I made her she looked too timid and generic. So I made sure to put some more reporters determination in her face during the second try.

Deacon: Smooth spy egg who was the easiest and fastest. If you remove the glasses he looks like One Punch Man lol.

Danse: His mouth would not cooperate with me. It kept moving in the two photos until I made one higher than the other between screenshots.

X6-88: I tried to make him as intimidating as possible, and I think I got it pretty good. Imagine boxing against him in Wii sports or putting him up against the famous Matt.

Curie: I wanted to give her bright eyes filled with optimism and a huge smile cause she’s happy to see you. :)

Cait: Honestly, I really like her hair here I feel like it fits her perfectly. She has a little smirk and a happier look because I’m tired of her being angry all the time. Let the woman have some peace!!!

Preston: I wanted to make him look very friendly but at the same time if I tweaked his mouth and eyebrows he could have a mean face for fighting raiders.

Old Longfellow: All the hair they had felt too young and crisp. He’s a crusty shaggy old man, I tried my best with what I had.

Gage: I am not a Gage person at all, I barely travel with him and he gets killed every playthrough. But I still tried my best cause I know some people like him. He’s wearing orange because it’s a prison uniform.

Jasmine: I made her so smol and squishable! She’s so freaking cute! LOOK AT HER LITTLE FACE!!! I just wanna scoop her up and swing her around but she’ll probably maul me if I do.

#This was fun. But it took forever.#I wasn’t even going to do Gage or Longfellow but I decided to add them in #Mac is probably is my favorite behind Jas. He looks so cute he just needs his hat.#Danse looks like a giant teddy bear #And X6 has the sharpest silver eyes behind those glasses #Ugh. I love this it may be my favorite post. I wanna put them all in my pocket and carry them around!#But I can’t get over Jazzy! She’s such a little baby right here!!#A little sweet kitten! No wonder everyone falls for her cutesy face almost every time.#That’s the face Nick has to look at when she got caught doing something mischievous #fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout #fallout oc #fallout original character #piper wright #paladin danse #fallout 4 companions #porter gage #danse #old longfellow #preston garvey #robert joseph maccready #cait #curie #curie fallout 4 #cait fallout 4 #x6 88 #deacon #deacon fallout 4

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scalpelsister · 27 days ago

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Morrigan :(

#I have......... so many thoughts and feelings about her lore in this game that I think I could write essays on it but #they would also be highly personal bc of how close to home Morrigan hits for me in re abusive mothers #I guess the tldr version or the short version is that I dont hate her being the host of mythal. its deeply tragic obviously but #theres something to be said there about how there truly isnt an undo button on trauma. you will carry at least a part of it with you foreve #and what you decide to do with it- is entirely up to you #I think even the line here that Morrigan has on regret is hard hitting under this frame. Like trauma is not black and white.#abusers are not black and white. hearing that she gave in and became the host of mythal because she heard her mothers own voice #filled with regret about losing Morrigan and never seeing her again. idk its sad!! because it really is like that like.#idk at the end of the day its still your mom and you still love her. idk! idk! I dont want to get too personal here it just makes me. god.#I do have worries and fears that this game uwu-ified flemeth too much. if this is your only frame of reference on their relationship...#idk i worry that it retcons / minimizes the abuse even more so than inquisition did but. in inquisition it was still very clear #especially if Kieran was around! but #idk if it would be if you only played veilguard yanno?#anyways I love you Morrigan Dragonage. I do need you to retire though so nothing bad ever happens to you again sjkfksfhf #dragon age #morrigan dragon age #myriani ingellvar #my post

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d1stalker · 5 months ago

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All of You, All of Me [Logan Howlett]

Summary: In a world of black and white, the only person who could bring colour to your life is the last one who'd want to.

Warnings: au where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate, fem!reader, slow burn, angst, running away from feelings, pining, grovelinggg WC: 14.2k - MASTERLIST - A/N: help i'm sorry i didn't mean for it to get this long, but this fic is my baby

----

You've always cherished the idea of having a soulmate—someone who would love you unconditionally, waiting just for you as you them. The thought of finding that perfect match, the one who complements you in every way, is something you’ve always dreamed of.

But as you get older, the hope you carry seems to dwindle more and more each year. Everyone around you has found their other half, reveling in the newfound ability to see colours in all their glory, and soaking up every moment of shared affection.

Everyone, except for you.

Your world remains a stark, colourless void, as if the universe is deliberately withholding the one thing you desire most.

And to make matters worse, despite not finding your soulmate, you are unequivocally, irrevocably in love with someone who has.

Logan Howlett.

You can’t remember a time where you didn’t feel anything toward him. His rugged, lone-wolf demeanor snuck its way deep into the crevices of your heart, and made itself a home there.

You and him formed an unlikely friendship, formed through the desire to fight back against all the people who’ve wronged mutants. Over the years, you had accepted the fact that while he wasn’t yours, at least you were alone together. Well, until she came.

Jean Grey.

She was strong, charming, and everything you felt you weren’t. It was no wonder her and Logan were meant to be together—the stoic, brooding mutant and his graceful, strong-willed counterpart.

You remember the day it happened so vividly, it’s almost like you were the one who found their life partner. You and him had been walking around the mansion, when Charles had called you into his office to meet someone new. One look at their faces when they made eye contact and you knew you’d lost him.

It pained you to see them all over each other, all the time. Your once-regular walks in the garden became rare, then vanished entirely. On missions, he no longer looked out for you; his attention was consumed by protecting her. And as much as it hurt, you couldn’t deny they seemed perfect for each other—just as soulmates should be. You had no right to feel jealous.

Then, just as quickly as she had entered his life, she left it.

The Pheonix was too strong, ripping her apart from the inside out. The pained scream he let out as not only his heart died, but as the world around him faded back into black and white, was forever ingrained into your memory.

Logan was never the same after that.

—

You trudge down the familiar halls of the mansion, your feet heavy with the weight of the day. It’s been long, filled with training sessions, team meetings, and a lot of paperwork. All you want to do is retreat to your room, lose yourself in a book, or maybe just sleep until the ache in your chest dulls.

As you walk, you hear faint commotion down the hallway—a low murmur of voices and the occasional clatter of something being moved. But you pay it no mind, too lost in your thoughts to care. Another mission, another discussion, another moment where you aren’t needed. It’s all so routine now.

Lost in your reverie, you don’t notice the figure walking toward you until it’s too late. You collide with a solid chest, the impact jolting you back to reality.

“Oh, sorry—” you begin, stepping back, but the words die on your lips as you look up.

It’s Logan.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, shock rippling through your body as you process his presence. And for a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, taking him in—the man who was once your closest friend, the man who was torn apart by grief and loss. His clothes are rumpled, his skin rougher than you remember, like he’s been through hell and back.

You hadn’t seem him in a long time. After the devastation, he stopped talking to everyone. He holed himself up in his room for days at a time, only coming out in the dead of night to eat. Either that, or he was away on a mission–anything to stay distracted.

But now, looking at him, there’s something different off. Something you can’t quite place your finger on. Did he always look like that? Maybe it’s the way the light above is reflecting off of him. Or maybe it’s—oh.

Looking around in surprise, you watch as the usually dark, stoic walls explode into a deep, rich shade. The carpet below you—no longer a mural of grey—radiates colors you can’t name. Your hands, his eyes, his hair-

You want to open your mouth and say something, anything, to the man who has caused your world to shift on its axis, but he’s already turned, walking away from you.

“Give me a fuckin’ break.”

----

Brown. Logan’s hair is brown.

After Logan leaves you paralyzed in the hallway, you run to your room, find the book on colors you had stashed in your bedside table, and throw open the cover. In it is a diagram that displays every known colour and their names. You learn that your favorite pair of pants are maroon, your bedsheets are navy green, and the X-Men suits are bright yellow and blue.

You stare at the page, each word blurring as your mind tries to process the impossible. Logan’s hair is brown. The thought keeps repeating in your head like a mantra, over and over again, until it becomes a steady thrum, drowning out everything else.

Brown.

You sit back on your bed, letting the book slip from your hands, the pages crumpling as it hits the floor.

Why him? Why me? Why now?

You begin to fidget, the adrenaline of the prior moment causing your heart to flail in your chest like crazy. You can’t stay here, you think to yourself. The idea of locked in your room with only your thoughts for company does not sound appealing. You need air, something to ground you, something to clear the haze clouding your head. Without thinking, you jump out of bed and find yourself heading up to the roof, the one place where you can breathe without feeling like the walls of the mansion closing in on you.

The trip up the stairs feels longer than ever before, each step heavy under the weight of your mind. It’s like every thought adds ten pounds. When you open the door, the cool night air hits you like a welcomed slap to the face, and you exhale deeply.

Walking to the edge, you lean against the railing. You’re in a daze - wondering if you made up the entire thing in your head. The only proof that you haven't, and that Logan being your soulmate is real, is the colours that coat the mansion’s grounds. The moonlight bathes everything in what you now know as a soft, silver glow, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking out into the distance.

It doesn’t make sense, and the more you try to wrap your head around it, the more tangled your thoughts become. You don’t want to face the possibility of what it could mean, but you can’t just brush it aside either. It has quite literally changed your entire life.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to quiet your racing mind. But when you open them again, you freeze.

Logan is standing at the other end of the roof, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sky. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and for a split second, you consider turning back, retreating before he sees you. It would be a wise idea - he didn’t want to talk to you then, and he probably doesn’t want to talk to you now. But, it an act that can only be seen as your own body betraying you, you take a step forward.

The sudden movement catches his attention, and his head snaps in your direction, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Why are you here?” he asks accusingly.

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. Seeing him out here was the last thing you had expected, and now that he’s in front of you, you are at a loss of words.

Logan’s eyes narrow, and he pushes off the wall, walking toward you. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I needed air,” you manage to say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just needed to clear my head.”

“Well, find somewhere else to do it,” he snaps, “I don’t want company.”

“Logan, I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, not even bothering to hear you out. “Don’t start. I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

You blink, taken aback, and hurt at his coldness. “What are you talking about?”

He lets out a low, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? God, I… this is all so fucking stupid.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. “I wasn’t—”

“Enough!” he barks, his voice echoing in the night. “I’m not interested, alright? Whatever it is you think is happening between us, it’s not real. It’s just some stupid trick of the universe, and I’m not playing along.”

His words hit you like a physical blow - like you’ve just been shot at right in the heart - and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. “I don’t understand. I didn’t mean for any of this—”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” he snaps at you, “And I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like there’s something here,” he gestures between you two, “when there isn’t. You’re not mine, and I’m sure as hell not yours.”

The finality in his tone leaves you breathless, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. You have nothing to say back, he’s not giving you any slack. The reality of his rejection sinks in with a brutal, crushing weight, you have to put in effort to not stumble over.

After a long moment, you finally collect yourself. Then, “Okay,” you whisper. “I understand.”

Logan’s expression doesn’t soften; if anything, it grows colder, more distant.

“Good. Then stay away from me.”

You nod, eyes filling with tears. You quickly turn your face away, not wanting him to see just how much he’s hurt you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make things worse for you.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge your apology. He just turns away, his back to you, effectively shutting you out.

You stand there for a long moment, watching him walk away for the second time that night. The colours that seemed so vibrant, so full of life just a moment ago, now feel like a cruel reminder of everything you could never have.

—

When you eventually return to your room, all you can do is lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling as your encounter with Logan on the roof replays in your mind on an endless loop, each harsh word he’d thrown at you cutting deeper than the last. It’s causes pain unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, pain that seems to have no end, no respite.

If he doesn’t want you in his life, you’ll accept that. You have to - it’s not like you have a choice. Soulmates are a two-way street.

You can’t force him to feel something he doesn’t, can’t make him see you in a way he clearly never will. And you understand, don’t you? You can’t even imagine how difficult this would be for him. Losing your soulmate, and then the universe saying Fuck You and giving you another?

You’ll never ever forget how wrecked he was when Jean died. How her death shattered him into pieces so small you weren’t–no–you’re still not sure he’ll ever be whole again.

And you—where do you stand in the grand scheme of things? Just as the unfortunate recipient of a bond that neither of you asked for? Are you even allowed to be upset about this?

—

Waking up the next morning, you honestly wish you hadn’t. You knew you weren’t on good terms with Logan after his little rooftop showcase of emotions, but nothing could have prepared you for the way he starts to treat you.

His face is stuck in a perpetual scowl when you’re in his vicinity. He’s leaving every room the moment you enter, refusing to look at you, speak to you, or acknowledge your presence in any way. It’s as if you’ve become invisible, a ghost haunting the same halls you once shared with him. There’s only one thing you two seem to wordlessly agree on: don’t tell anyone.

Each day following becomes a struggle, an unbearable test of your strength as you try to make it through without breaking. You begin to avoid Logan as much as he avoids you, but the mansion is only so big, and there are always moments when you catch sight of him in the distance, his broad shoulders hunched, his brooding face glaring daggers in your direction.

It hurts you every time, an unending torture that leaves you stumbling. Still, you bite your tongue and keep moving, pretending you don’t care.

But you do care. You care more than you want to admit, more than you think is possible. Because despite everything—despite the rejection, the coldness, the anger—you still love him.

And that’s the cruelest twist of all.

So you endure it, day after day, week after week, month after month. Letting it tear you apart piece by piece, because what else can you do? You carry this burden alone, just as you’ve carried your feelings for him all these years. And maybe one day, the pain will fade, the bond will weaken, and you’ll be able to move on.

—

The only person you tell is Charles.

“What’s on your mind, my child?” he asks one day, while you’re sweeping the dust in his office.

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your hands as you focus on cleaning. You know he’s just asking out of courtesy, and that he could easily crawl into your mind and figure it out himself. He probably wouldn’t even need to put in that much effort, given how loud your thoughts are. But still, you don’t yield to his probing.

“Nothing, really,” you mutter, forcing a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Charles watches you carefully, his eyes full of the warmth and compassion he always has, but this time, it makes you feel uncomfortable. Like he can see right through the facade you’re trying so hard to maintain, which you have no doubt, he does.

“I’m here to help, whatever the burden.”

You want to groan. It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose but damn does it feel like he’s trying to guilt you into confessing that you just recently had your heart shattered.

“I know, Professor. But… it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“You forget, I worry about all of you,” he replies gently. “It’s in my nature.”

The chuckle that crawls out your throat is nothing short of bitter. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t mean you have to face it alone.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the emotions at bay. Do you really want to explain to him the insurmountable suffering you’re in, the rejection you faced from the one person who is supposed to be your soulmate? How can you tell him that the bond the universe forged is the very thing tearing you apart?

“It’s just… I don’t know how to make sense of it, Professor,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s so… wrong.”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Wrong how?”

Knowing that you’re teetering into confession territory, you hesitate, needing time to collect your thoughts.

“Logan… he… we… It’s not supposed to be like this, is it?” you eventually get out. Not your best work, but you know he’d get the gist.

Understanding dawns in Charles’s eyes, and you can see the sympathy there, the quiet acceptance of the truth you’re struggling to voice. “The bond you share… it’s more than you expected, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling the tears well up again. “But he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want me.”

The professor sighs softly, and he looks at you like you’re a lost puppy. “Logan has been through so much, more than most could bear. His heart has been wounded in ways that are difficult to heal, and it’s not surprising that he would resist this new connection.”

“So why me?” you ask. “Why bind me to someone who will never love me?”

Leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, he says, “I wish I had an answer for you, my dear. The universe works in mysterious ways, ways that often defy our understanding. But I do know this: the bond you share is there for a reason. Whether it’s meant to bring you closer or to teach you something important… that remains to be seen.”

“It feels like a punishment,” you whisper, the tears finally spilling over. As much as you hate being put on the hot seat, you can admit that it feels good talking to someone about it. “Every day, it hurts more. And he won’t even look at me. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“The heartache you’re feeling is profound, but you must understand that it’s not your fault. Logan’s reaction isn’t a reflection of your worth, but of his own pain and fear.”

He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your own before continuing.

“To love, even when it’s not returned, takes incredible courage. But you must also take care of yourself. Give Logan the space he needs, and in the meantime, allow yourself the grace to heal.”

So you do. In the days that follow your conversation with Charles, you make a promise to yourself—to try, really try, to focus on your own life, to reclaim the parts of yourself that have been overshadowed by the pain of this unrequited love.

The colours are still there, vivid and vibrant, and though they sometimes feel like a bittersweet reminder of what could never be, you find moments where they bring you joy. You marvel at the deep blue of the sky, the rich greens of the trees, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves and paints the world in golden hues. It’s like seeing the world anew, and in those moments, you allow yourself to feel happiness.

Moreover, you busy yourself, volunteering for every assignment that comes your way. The adrenaline, the focus, the purpose—they all help to drown out the pain, even if only temporarily. And when you return from each mission, tired but satisfied, you feel a little more like yourself again.

The mansion, too, becomes less of a prison and more of a home once more. You start spending more time with the others, rejoining them for meals, for training sessions, for movie nights.

You laugh with Rogue, spar with Scott, and even find yourself engaging in playful banter with Remy. It’s not perfect, and there are still moments where you catch yourself faltering, when the weight of everything threatens to pull you under, but those moments are becoming fewer and farther between.

You’re healing, slowly but surely, and with each passing day, you feel a little stronger, a little more in control of your life—of your emotions.

But then there are the times when you cross paths with Logan, and those moments are the hardest.

One evening, after returning from a particularly grueling mission, you find yourself heading toward the kitchen, your mind on the sandwich you plan to make. The place is quiet, most of the team out on various assignments, or finishing up on some work, and you relish the peace as you walk down the corridor.

However, just as you reach the kitchen door and push it open, you find Logan standing there, preparing to exit the room at the exact same moment. Your heart lurches, and you stop dead in your tracks, almost like a deer caught in headlights.

His gaze meets yours, and all you can see is his impassive, stoic expression. He steps back, giving you space to enter, but the tension between you is palpable.

“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping to the side, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Logan doesn’t say anything, barely nodding—if you could even it that— before brushing past you, his shoulder grazing yours. The brief contact sends a jolt through your system, and you have to force yourself to stay still and not physically react.

Once he leaves, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing from the encounter. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him—so long since you’ve seen the deep brown of his hair that you love so much. You hate this.

Why does he have no reaction to at all? Why is it only you who seems to care?

Because you are the only one who does care.

You move into the kitchen, still intent on eating, but it’s a challenge. Your hands are trembling.

—

It all comes to a head one night during dinner. In this rare occasion, both you and Logan are in the same room. You’re supposed to be celebrating Rogue and Gambit’s anniversary, and even though you insisted that they share this special moment together alone, they didn’t take no for an answer.

That’s how you find yourself, sitting at the grand dining table with all your friends, and Logan.

He’s across from you. Just your luck.

He refuses to spare you a single glance, his eyes staying busy the whole night. And while it’s been months and months of this, you have never gotten used to it. Still, you can’t help but sneak a few looks at that chocolate-coloured hair. Brown.

Everything seems to be going smoothly, the food is delicious and the dessert even better, but when Gambit presents Rogue with a giant painting, that’s when you slip up.

“I love how you blended the red with the blue!” You compliment, loving the way he managed to create the perfect contrast between shades. You’re too caught up in staring at the artwork to realize the table as gone deathly quiet, all eyes on you.

Rogue's expression is one of gentle confusion, her head tilted slightly as she tries to make sense of your words. “Darling, I thought you couldn’t see colour?”

In any other situation, you’re sure the team would have laughed at how comically large your eyes got, and how all the blood draining from your face makes you look like a gaping fish, but in this moment, nothing is funny. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, and when you finally muster the courage to glance at him, you see that his all-too familiar glare you’ve been subject to for the last half-year. It makes your heart thud painfully in your chest

“I…” you begin, but you falter. Your mind is going through a thousand thoughts per minute, searching for an excuse you can use to deflect, to pretend it was just a mistake, but the silence is too heavy, too demanding.

Rogue’s confusion deepens, her gaze flickering between you and Logan, who is now staring at you with an expression that’s impossible to read. She starts to say something, but Remy gently places a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly as if to tell her to let you speak.

Logan’s gaze stays locked on you for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he pushes his chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. The sound echoes in the silence, and before you can react, he stands up and walks out of the room, his movements stiff, almost mechanical.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click, and the tension in the room thickens. You feel a rush of embarrassment flood through you, your heart sinking as the reality of what just happened crashes over you.

You lower your head, your eyes stinging with tears that you fight desperately to hold back. But it’s no use. The emotions you’ve been trying to keep buried for so long bubble to the surface, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start to fall.

“I think I need a moment,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling as you stand up from the table. Without waiting for a response, you hastily excuse yourself and head for the door, not before mumbling a quick apology to the couple in which you were there for.

Soon you find yourself outside in the gardens, the nightly breeze hitting your face as you make your way to a secluded bench. You can’t even appreciate the beauty in what you see, because all you feel is the overwhelming sense of failure and sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.

Sitting down heavily on the bench, you bury your face in your hands and let go. The sobs come hard and fast, each one ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. You’re heartbroken and angry and absolutely over it, but at the same time you feel like a massive asshole because who are you to be upset with a man who’s mourning the loss of a soulmate?

It’s not fair.

You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in your grief, but eventually, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, wiping at your eyes, and see Scott walking toward you.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks gently.

You shake your head, unable to find your voice, and Scott sits down beside you on the bench.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, “I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

Scott clicks his tongue in disagreement, his gaze focused on the gardens ahead. “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s clear you’ve been carrying this burden for a long time. It’s no wonder it slipped out tonight.”

“So everyone knows now?” you ask. He nods.

“It wasn’t hard to put two and two together,” he concludes, and you groan, bringing your hands to your face.

“I just… I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to be pitied.”

“Pity isn’t what anyone feels right now,” Scott says softly. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been hurting, and we didn’t see it. That’s on us.”

“It’s not your fault,” you bring your hands down from your face. “I’ve been trying to deal with it on my own. I thought I could handle it, but… clearly I was wrong”

With a serious expression, Scott turns to look at you. “I know what you’re going through, more than you might realize.”

You glance at him, surprised by his words. “You do?”

He nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was in love with Jean, remember? When her and Logan found out they were soulmates… it tore me apart. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to move on, and for a long time, I couldn’t.”

The mention of Jean’s name brings a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but there’s also a strange comfort in knowing that Scott understands your pain. “How did you… how did you get through it?”

He sighs, “It wasn’t easy. It took a long time, and I had to accept it.”

You wipe at your eyes again, sniffling as you try to compose yourself. “I’ve been thinking about leaving for a while. Taking a longer mission, just to get away for a bit. Maybe then I can figure out how to move on.”

He is quiet for a moment, considering your words. “If that’s what you need to do, I understand,” he says, “sometimes, a change of scenery can help. Though I think you should try to talk to Logan again.”

Letting out a bitter laugh, you shake your head. “I don’t know if he’ll even listen to me. He’s made it pretty clear how he feels.”

“He’s hurting too,” He decides, “He’s not handling it well, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You both need closure, and running away won’t give you that.”

“What if it just makes things worse?”

“It might.” Scott places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “But it might also give you both the chance to start healing. You deserve that chance.”

You nod slowly, letting the weight of his words sink in. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Take the time you need,” he says. “We’re all here for you.”

“Thanks, Scott. That means a lot.” You offer him a small, grateful smile.

With a final nod, he turns and walks back toward the mansion, leaving you once again alone in the quiet of the gardens. You take a deep breath, the idea of leaving still tugs at you, but now, there’s also the thought of confronting Logan—of finding some kind of closure, whatever that might mean.

You really don’t want to do it, and you’re pretty sure it’s just going to end the same way it did last time - with him shutting you out. But Scott’s words echo in your mind, reminding you that healing often requires confrontation, not avoidance.

Goddamn it.

You huff as you stand up from where you’re seated. You can’t keep running from this, can’t keep letting him run from this. You need to talk to Logan, to lay everything out on the table, even if it tears you apart in the process.

Your anxiety builds with each step as you approach his room, and you pause outside his door, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he could hear it if he was listening. This is it. There’s no turning back now. With a shaky breath, you finally raise your hand and knock.

There’s a long, agonizing pause, making you strain to hear any movement on the other side. For a second, the silence causes you think he might not answer, that he might just ignore you like he’s done so many times before. But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door. Your heart catches in your throat as it slowly opens, revealing Logan standing there, his expression hard and unreadable.

The moment he realizes it’s you, his eyes darken, and he immediately moves to close the door, shutting you out yet again. However, you’re not letting him get away that easily. Before the door can fully close, you stick your foot out, blocking it with more force than you intended.

“C’mon, Logan,” you press. “You know we need to talk.”

He freezes, his grip on the door tightening until his knuckles turn white. His jaw clenches and unclenches, nostrils flaring. He still doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he can will you away if he tries hard enough. But he doesn’t push the door shut either. The room is thick with suspense, both of you standing there in a silent standoff.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, Logan steps back, opening the door just a smidge wider, barely enough for you to squeeze through. It’s a reluctant invitation, but it’s all you need.

“Fine,” he mutters, his voice rough, edged with irritation. “Talk.”

You step into the room, and he closes the door behind you, lingering close to it, as if he’s ready to bolt at any second. You feel vulnerable and exposed. It’s suddenly hard to gather your thoughts when he’s standing so close, when the heat of his presence and the distance he’s placed between is right in your face.

“Why did you come?” Logan questions. He still refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.

“Because we can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening,” you reply, “We need to talk about what’s going on between us.”

His jaw tightens further, and his teeth grind with barely contained frustration. He finally looks at you, his eyes hard and defensive. “There’s nothing to say,” he says bitterly. “I told you how I feel. I thought that was enough.”

“It’s not enough!” you shoot back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think you can just push me away, pretend like this bond doesn’t exist, and that’s supposed to solve everything? It doesn’t work like that, Logan.”

He flinches slightly at your words, but his keeps his expression hard. “Well what do you want me to say?” he demands, his voice rising. “That I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean to hurt you? Because I am, and I didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t be what you want me to be.”

His words hurt.

“I know you told me how you feel,” you start, “but you’ve never let me tell you how I feel. You’ve never given me the chance to say that it’s been tearing me apart.”

A flash of guilt. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you needed to say it. I already knew.”

“That isn’t fair,” you argue.

“You don’t understand,” he counters, “I lost Jean. I loved her, and when she died, it broke something in me. And now… now I’m supposed to just… move on? With you? It’s not that simple.”

“I never asked you to love me, Logan,” you say, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. “I never pushed for anything more than friendship—it’s not like you gave me the chance! You’ve been shutting me out, ignoring me, making me feel like I’m nothing more than a burden, like I don’t even matter!”

You can see that the pain in your voice hitting him hard, but he doesn’t apologize. Instead, he looks away, his expression conflicted. “I’m trying to protect you,” he mutters, the words sounding hollow even to him

“Protect me?” you echo incredulously. “All you’re doing is make me feel like shit. Like I’m worthless. I can’t even be your friend, to help you through this.”

You pause. “You expect us all to know how you’re feeling, but you can’t even communicate it.”

Logan winces, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, filled with a torment you’ve never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words seem to get caught in his throat. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t be what you want me to be,” he admits, his tone filled with a deep, aching sadness. “I don’t know how to let you in. Without her, I feel like… I can’t let anyone in.”

Your eyes soften a fraction his confession, but there’s also a deep frustration that burns inside you, a frustration born of months of pain and rejection.

“You haven’t even tried,” you say softly with a quiet resignation, “You haven’t even tried to let me in, to see what we could have been, even if it was just as friends.”

What follows is a long, nagging silence. You let it linger, giving Logan the chance he needs to think of something to say. But there’s no answer, no promise that things will change, and then you realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s not going to take that step, too broken to try.

That’s when it really hits you.

Whatever you were fighting for, was a losing battle from the start.

You give up.

This time, it is you who turns your back on him.

“Goodbye, Logan. Take care of yourself.”

You don’t wait for a response. You don’t glance back. You walk out of the room, the door closing softly behind you, and with it, the last remnants of hope you had for something more.

—

You decide to go on the mission.

It’s nothing complicated. Your task is to survey different regions of Europe, ensuring that there are no burgeoning anti-mutant operations threatening the safety of anyone. The primary goal is gathering information, and quiet observation. No violence, Charles told you in the debrief.

The lack of immediate danger doesn’t make leaving any easier, though. This is as much about finding yourself as it is about fulfilling your duty.

Rogue and Kitty are with you during your final preparations, helping you pack the essentials and offering support in their own ways. They don’t ask many questions, probably sensing that this decision was not just made on a whim. And for that, you’re grateful.

“I still think you’re crazy for going solo,” Rogue says with a half-smile as she zips up your bag. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

You manage a small smile in return. “Thanks, Rogue. I just need some time…”

Kitty, who’s been quietly folding clothes and tucking them into your bag, looks up, seriousness clouding her gaze. “We get it. Just promise you’ll keep in touch, okay? And don’t hesitate to call if you need backup.”

“I promise,” you assure.

She hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small device—the X-Men communicator gadget. She holds it out to you, and you reach your hand out.

“Here,” she says softly, pressing the device into your hand. “This is so you can update us on your whereabouts, your status, or any important mission details. Even if you don’t need anything, just… let us know you’re okay, alright?”

You look down at the communicator in your hand, and close your fingers around it, nodding as you meet Kitty’s gaze.

“Alright, I’ll check in regularly. I won’t leave you guys in the dark.”

Rogue finishes the last bit of organization. “You’ve got this,” she says, “And we’ve got your back, even from a distance.” You nod, appreciating their support more than you can express.

It almost feels like a walk of shame—leaving the mansion. Everyone knows why too, and that makes it a thousand times worse. But you won’t let it get to you. With one last look, you get in your car and begin on the windy path to the airport.

—

When you arrive in Europe, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer beauty of the landscape. Each city, each town, has its own unique charm, its own story to tell. The bustling uphill streets of Porto, the serene canals of Venice, the ancient ruins of Athens—they all offer a distraction from the turmoil inside you.

The only good part about this whole mess is that you can see colour, and truly appreciate the sights before you.

You move from one place to the next, blending in with the crowds, quietly observing, gathering information, and sending brief updates to the team through the communicator Kitty gave you. Every message is short, to the point, just enough to let them know you’re safe and on track. You don’t share much beyond the essentials, not wanting to burden them with your personal struggles.

Then, in a small café in Rome, you meet a man named Marco. He’s a traveler like you, exploring Europe with a curiosity that matches your own. He’s warm, easygoing, and before long, the two of you strike up a conversation over coffee.

He is charming in a way that makes you feel at ease, his laughter infectious as he shares stories of his travels. You don’t tell him much about yourself, keeping the details of your mission and your mutant abilities hidden. To him, you’re just another traveler, searching for something—though he doesn’t pry into what that something is.

As the days pass, you and Marco continue to cross paths, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to, someone who doesn’t know about your past, about the things you’re running from. With him, you can be anyone, and for the first time in a long while, you start to feel a little lighter. You find yourself laughing more, the weight on your chest lifting a little each day. You don’t talk about the mission, and you certainly don’t talk about Logan.

One evening, as you’re both sitting on the steps of the Spanish Steps in Rome, watching the sunset, he turns to you with a grin. “So, where are you off to next?”

You hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much, but then you smile. “I’m heading to Florence. There are some places I need to check out.”

His eyes light up. “Florence? I’ve been meaning to re-visit. Mind if I tag along?”

A part of you wants to say no, to keep the distance you’ve carefully maintained, but another part—the part that’s been lonely for so long—nods in agreement. “Sure, why not?”

—

Back at the mansion, things haven’t been as positive. The once lively atmosphere has dimmed, replaced by an uneasy tension that lingers in the halls. The X-Men carry on with their duties, but there’s a noticeable shift—a missing piece that everyone feels but no one talks about. Logan, in particular, has become even more withdrawn, if that’s possible. The man who was once brooding and distant now seems even more so, his mood volatile and unpredictable.

His behavior has become a source of concern for the team. He’s always been rough around the edges, but now, it’s like the slightest thing can set him off. He snaps at everyone, his temper flaring at the smallest provocation. On missions, he’s reckless, throwing himself into danger without a second thought, as if he’s trying to outrun something—or someone.

In many evenings, Logan finds himself in the mansion’s gym, trying to work off the restless energy that’s been plaguing him for months. The room is always empty, save for him, the steady rhythm of his fists pounding against the punching bag being the only sound. Sweat drips down his face, his muscles straining as he channels all his frustration and anger into each punch. Yet, no matter how hard he hits, he can’t seem to shake the thoughts of you that have been haunting him.

This night, door to the gym creaks open, and Logan doesn’t need to look up to know who it is. He can sense the other man’s presence, feel the weight of his gaze as he steps inside. He doesn’t slow his punches, doesn’t acknowledge Scott’s presence, but he knows why he’s here. They’ve had this conversation before—or something like it—but nothing’s changed. Nothing’s gotten better.

Scott watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. He’s been watching Logan spiral for weeks now, but he’s kept his distance, knowing that he’d only be pushed away. But this can’t go on—Logan can’t keep doing this, can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he refuses to confront.

“She wouldn’t want this,” he finally says, voice cutting through the steady thud of Logan’s fists against the bag.

Logan’s movements falter for just a second before he resumes, his jaw tightening. “Who?” he growls, not bothering to turn around. “Her or Jean?”

Scott doesn’t flinch at the harshness in the other man’s tone. He steps closer, his eyes steady on their target as he answers, “Both.”

Finally, Logan stops. His fists still as he leans against the bag, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His shoulders are tense, the weight of Scott’s words pressing down on him like a physical burden. He doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t want to be reminded of what he’s lost—of who he’s lost.

Taking a step closer, Scott’s voice is firm. “Look, I’m not a spiritual person. But I also don’t think the universe messed up with this.”

Clenching, his fists, Logan knows what the other man is getting at, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Doesn’t want to think about what could have been, what he’s been too scared to even consider.

“I know you know how I felt about Jean,” Scott says quietly, knowing he’s breaching a sensitive subject. “Losing her… it killed me too. And if I had been given a chance—a real chance to be with her, to make things right—I would have taken it. No hesitation.”

Logan’s breath hitches at that. The truth is, he’s been running—running from you, from the bond you share, from the possibility of something real.

“I’m not saying you should chase after her,” he continues. “But I am saying that you need to stop running from her. The universe doesn’t just throw things like this at us for no reason. And you know that.”

The weight of Scott’s words settle over Logan like a shroud. He knows the other man is right—deep down, he’s always known. But that doesn’t make it any easier. The fear, the guilt, the pain of losing Jean—it’s all still there, gnawing at him, holding him back.

There’s something else too, something he’s been trying to ignore but can’t any longer: the way he feels about you, the way he’s always felt, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself. One of the first thought’s that ran through his head when his world re-erupted into colour was that, had this happened before Jean, maybe it could have worked. Maybe he could have been what you wanted, felt something real.

Scott takes a step back, giving Logan the space he needs. “Just think about it,” he says softly. “Think about what you really want. And don’t wait until it’s too late to figure it out.”

Logan doesn’t respond, but Scott doesn’t need him to. He’s said what he needed to say, and now it’s up to him to decide what comes next. With a final look, Scott turns and leaves the gym, the door closing softly behind him.

The clawed mutant stands there for a long time, his fists still clenched, his mind racing. He knows he can’t keep doing this—can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he can’t change, something he’s too afraid to confront.

But change is terrifying, especially when it means facing the truth. The truth that maybe, just maybe, the bond he shares with you is something worth fighting for. Something that Jean wouldn’t want him to throw away.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Logan finally lets his fists unclench, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. He doesn’t have all the answers—hell, he barely knows where to start—but he knows one thing for sure: he's can’t run away anymore. Not from this, not from you.

—

You’ve now spent days in Florence, wandering through the Uffizi Gallery, marveling at the works of the Renaissance masters, and evenings enjoying the quiet serenity of the Arno River. With you, Marco. You’ve grown to trust him. He’s never made you uncomfortable, never had any intentions to take advantage of you, and knows all the best restaurants.

But there’s always been a small, nagging doubt that you’ve pushed aside—a feeling that something isn’t quite right. You’ve ignored it, convincing yourself that you’re just being paranoid after everything you’ve been through. After all, he has been nothing but kind, always knowing the right thing to say, always showing up just when you need someone.

It isn’t until the two of you are exploring a quieter part of Florence, that the doubt flares into something more. You’re walking through an old, narrow alleyway, the kind that tourists rarely venture into, when Marco suggests you take a shortcut through a small, unmarked door in the side of a building.

“I found this place the last time I was here,” Marco says, his smile as easy as ever. “It’s a hidden gem, leads right to a beautiful courtyard. You’ll love it.”

You hesitate, something in his tone—or maybe it’s the way his eyes gleam just a little too brightly—sets off alarm bells in your mind. You’ve come to trust him though, haven’t you? You’ve traveled together for weeks, shared countless stories and laughs. Surely, he wouldn’t lead you into danger.

Still, as you step through the door, the darkened space beyond immediately feels wrong. The air is colder, damp, and the walls are lined with strange, unidentifiable equipment. You glance back at Marco, and that’s when you see it—the change in his expression. The warmth is gone, replaced by something cold and calculating.

Before you can react, you feel a sharp prick in your arm. Your vision blurs, and your body goes numb almost instantly. You stumble back, trying to push away, but your legs give out, and you collapse to the floor.

Marco looms over you, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a look of triumph. “Did you really think I didn’t know?” he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re a mutant, and you thought you could hide it from me?”

The world around you spins as the drug takes full effect, but you force your mind to stay focused. “What… why?” you manage to whisper, the betrayal cutting deep.

“Why?” He laughs, the sound harsh and devoid of any warmth. “Because mutants like you are worth a fortune. My clients pay top dollar for… research subjects. And you, my dear, are about to make me very, very rich.”

You try to move, to fight back, but your body refuses to respond. Panic rises in your chest as he kneels beside you, pulling out a small device that looks like a portable scanner. He runs it over you, and it emits a low hum as it registers your vital signs, confirming what he already knows. You’re weak.

“You won’t get away with this,” you say.

“Oh, but I already have,” he replies with cruel satisfaction. “No one knows where you are. And even if they did, it’ll be too late by the time they find you.”

With the last bit of strength you can muster, you reach into your pocket, fingers trembling as you fumble with the X-Men communicator that Kitty gave you. His attention is momentarily distracted as he prepares a syringe filled with a clear liquid, and you seize the opportunity. You manage to pull out the communicator, your fingers barely able to grip it. Then, with a deep breath, you press the SOS button, the screen flashing to life.

You type in the message as quickly as you can, your vision blurring even more as the drug takes hold.

Location: Florence.

Message: Help.

Just as you hit send, Marco notices what you’re doing. His eyes widen in anger, and he grabs your wrist, yanking the communicator out of your hand. “You little—!” he snarls, but it’s too late. The message has already been sent.

His face contorts in rage as he slams the gadget against the ground, smashing it to pieces. He glares down at you, his hand tightening painfully around your wrist. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? But it doesn’t matter. They’ll never get here in time.”

Your strength is nearly gone, the drug pulling you into unconsciousness, but you manage one last defiant look. “You won’t win,” you whisper with the last of your energy.

Marco releases your wrist with a sneer, standing up and looking down at you with contempt again. “We’ll see about that,” he mutters before turning away, leaving you on the cold, hard floor as darkness overtakes you.

You can only hope they—that Logan—will reach you in time.

—

The signal comes through during a meeting. A sudden, loud beep cuts through the room, and everyone freezes, their attention immediately drawn to the source of the sound. To Kitty’s pocket. It’s the X-Men communicator, the one linked to your device.

Logan’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he recognizes the tone. He’s on his feet before anyone else can react, his heart pounding in his chest. “What the hell was that?” he demands, his voice tense with urgency.

Kitty quickly pulls it out of her pocket, her eyes widening as she reads the message that’s flashed across the screen. Her face pales, and she looks up at the others, her voice trembling as she speaks. “It’s from her… Florence… Help.”

There’s a brief pause, maybe a second long in length, and then the room erupts into a flurry of movement.

Chairs scrape against the floor as the team rises to their feet, already preparing for action. But Logan is the first to react, his face a mask of fury and determination. “I’m going,” he growls, already heading for the door.

“Logan, wait!” Scott steps forward, blocking Logan’s path with a firm hand on his chest.

“Get out of my way, Summers,” He snarls, his voice filled with barely controlled rage. “I’m not waiting around while she’s in danger.”

“We can’t just rush in without a plan,” Scott insists, trying to keep his own emotions in check. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Logan shoves the other mutant’s hand away, his eyes blazing with anger. “She sent an SOS, Scott! She needs help, and we’re wasting time standing here talking about it!”

The rest of the team watches the confrontation with anxious eyes, knowing that things could easily escalate. Logan’s been on edge for weeks, and the urgency of the situation—of you— has pushed him to the brink.

“Logan,” Ororo interjects, “We understand how you feel, but we need to think this through. If this is a trap—”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s a trap!” He snaps, his voice rising. “She’s part of our team! We can’t just leave her there!”

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Scott tries to reason, but Logan isn’t having it.

“Then what the hell are you sayin’?” He demands, his frustration boiling over. “Why are we wasting time when we should be getting her out of there?”

There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence, and then it’s Rogue who steps forward, conflicted. “Logan… what if… what if she doesn’t want to see you?”

He freezes, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could. He stares at Rogue, disbelief and anger warring in his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls.

Rogue swallows, her eyes filled with worry. “She left because she needed time, Logan. Because things between you two… they weren’t good. Maybe she—maybe she doesn’t want you to be the one to save her.”

Clenching his hands into fists, his body is taut with tension. “Fuck that!” he roars with a fierce, protective rage. “She’s part of our team! She sent that message to us, to the X-Men, because she needs our help. I don’t care what’s happened between us, I’m not leavin’ her there!”

The room falls silent, the weight of Logan’s words settling over everyone. They know Logan is right—she’s part of the team, and they can’t leave her behind. But they also know that the situation is more complicated than that.

Scott takes a deep breath, his gaze steady as he looks at Logan. “We’re not saying we shouldn’t go after her, Logan. We’re saying that you need to be prepared for whatever we might find when we get there. She might be in a bad place, and she might not be ready to face you.”

“I don’t care,” he says after a brief pause, his voice quieter now, but no less determined. “I’m going to get her out of there. Whether she wants to see me or not, I’m not lettin’ her go through this alone.”

Scott studies Logan for a long moment, then finally nods. “Alright. But we do this together, as a team.”

Logan nods, his jaw set in a grim line. “Fine. Let’s go.”

—

Your eyes snap open, the dim light of the room piercing your vision. You’re in a large, abandoned warehouse. Your head feels heavy, like it’s filled with cotton, and there’s a dull, throbbing pain at the base of your skull. As you try to move, you realize with a jolt of fear that you’re restrained, your arms and legs strapped tightly to a chair. Panic flares in your chest, and you struggle against the bonds, but they don’t budge.

And then you see him—Marco, standing a few feet away, watching you with a smirk that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes gleam with satisfaction, and you realize with horror that you’ve been caught, trapped in whatever twisted game he’s been playing.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he says, voice dripping with mock concern. “I was starting to wonder if I’d given you too much of the sedative. But it seems you’re tougher than I thought.”

You try to respond, but a gag in your mouth muffles your words, turning them into incoherent sounds. You glare at him your eyes burning with fury.

He only chuckles, clearly amused by your resistance. “Oh, don’t bother trying to speak. We wouldn’t want you calling for help, now would we? Though, I must say, I’m impressed you managed to send that little SOS before I caught on. Clever, but ultimately futile.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks you over, his expression turning cold. “You know, I’ve dealt with a lot of mutants in my time, but there’s something special about you. Something… unique.” He reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Too bad your powers won’t do you any good here. The drug I gave you should keep you nice and powerless for the foreseeable future.”

Straining against the bonds, you continue to try to break free, but he drug in your system dulls your abilities, leaving you feeling weak and vulnerable. All you can do is stare at him with hatred as he continues to taunt you.

“Such fire in your eyes,” Marco murmurs, almost to himself. “It’s a shame you’ll never see the light of day again. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure your abilities are put to good use.”

He lets go of your chin, his hand trailing down to your shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Now, let’s see what we can do to make you a little more… compliant.”

Just as he reaches into his coat pocket, presumably for another syringe, a sudden, loud crash echoes through the warehouse. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass fills the air, followed by the unmistakable hum of energy blasts and the heavy thud of boots on the concrete floor.

The X-Men have arrived.

Marco’s eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in anger. He spins around, barking orders at the security guards scattered throughout the warehouse. “Stop them! Don’t let them get near her!”

The guards rush forward, weapons drawn, but they’re no match for your friends. The familiar sounds of battle flood your ears—Rogue’s powerful punches, Scott’s optic blasts, and Storm’s lightning crackling through the air. You struggle against your restraints again, desperate to free yourself, but it’s no use.

Then, you catch a glimpse of Logan. He’s fighting his way toward you, his claws out, slicing through anyone who gets in his way. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, your eyes meet his, and you can see the raw determination in his gaze. He’s coming for you.

But just as he takes a step forward, something changes. He hesitates. You can’t hear what he’s thinking, but you can see the conflict on his face—the way he seems to second-guess himself, the way his steps falter. Your heart sinks as you realize he’s unsure, almost as if he's torn between wanting to save you and fearing that you don’t want him to.

In that split second of hesitation, Rogue swoops in, landing beside you with a determined look on her face. She doesn’t waste any time, using her strength to tear through the restraints that bind you. “We’ve got you, sugah,” she says, her voice steady and reassuring as she pulls the gag from your mouth. “You’re safe now.”

You nod, your throat too dry and your body too weak to speak. Your muscles scream in protest as you try to stand, but she quickly wraps an arm around you, helping you to your feet. You’re shaky, your body still reeling from the effects of the drug, but you’re free. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan still standing there, his eyes locked on you, his expression unreadable. He wanted to save you. He wanted to be the one to pull you out of that nightmare, but something held him back.

Rogue helps you toward the exit as the rest of the team continues to subdue the guards and Marco. You lean heavily on her, your legs barely able to support your weight, but you force yourself to keep moving.

And when everyone else has back in the jet, hugging you and comforting you, you look over to Logan, who sits far away, on the opposite side, refusing to meet your gaze.

—

Returning to the mansion feels like stepping back into a familiar, comforting embrace. You missed the soft, warm bed in your room, the quiet serenity of the gardens, and the comforting presence of your friends. It's been a few days since the whole ordeal in Florence, and the drug has finally worked its way out of your system. Your strength has returned, and physically, you feel like yourself again. The mansion, too, seems unchanged—still the safe haven you’ve always known.

But as the days pass, you begin to notice that while many things have returned to normal, some things have not. You’ve seen most of your friends, their faces lighting up when they see you, their hugs tight and full of relief. There have been quiet conversations and laughter, shared meals in the kitchen, and moments that remind you why this place is home.

Except, there’s one person you haven’t seen. Logan.

His absence is like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. You’ve felt his presence in the mansion—heard his voice in the halls, the sound of his footsteps on the floorboards—but he’s kept his distance. He hasn’t sought you out, hasn’t tried to talk to you, and that stings more than you want to admit.

You’ve tried to stay strong, to remind yourself of the resilience you found during your time away. You’ve reminded yourself over and over that you don’t need anyone else to validate your worth, that you can stand on your own. Yet the longer Logan avoids you, the harder it is to hold on to that strength. The old wounds, the ones you thought had begun to heal, start to ache again, and you can’t help but wonder if anything has really changed at all.

More often than not, you find yourself retreating to the front lawn. The sun is warm on your skin as you lie down in the grass, a book in hand. The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of life inside the mansion create a peaceful background, and for a moment, you manage to lose yourself in the pages of your book.

Still, even here, in the sanctuary of the garden, the thoughts you’ve been trying to push aside keep creeping back in. The memory of Florence, of Logan’s hesitation, lingers like a bitter aftertaste. You replay the moment over and over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why he stopped, why he didn’t come for you.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice the shadow that falls across your page until a deep, familiar voice breaks the silence.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

The voice startles you, and you jerk slightly, looking up to see Logan standing above you. His expression is guarded, as if he’s not sure how you’ll react to his presence. There’s a tautness to his posture, a stiffness that you recognize all too well.

For a moment, you just stare at him, caught off guard by the suddenness of his appearance. He’s as rugged and intimidating as ever, but there’s something different in his eyes—something a tad bit softer. You close your book, sitting up slowly as you meet his gaze. The question that’s been gnawing at you since Florence rises to the surface, and you know you can’t keep it inside any longer.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “In Florence?”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his gaze shifting to the trees in the distance. He doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, thick with unspoken words.

You just watch him, waiting for an explanation, but there’s a part of you that’s already bracing for disappointment. You’ve been here before, waiting for Logan to decide what happens next, to take the lead. And you’re tired of it. You’re tired of being the one left in the dark, of being the one who has to wait for him to be ready.

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him. “I… I hesitated,” he admits huskily, almost in a growl. “I wanted to save you. Hell, I was going to. But then… I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

His confession hangs in the air, and you feel a mix of emotions—surprise, confusion, and sadness. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t realized that his hesitation was rooted in something so painfully human.

“Why wouldn’t I want you to?” you ask softly, searching his face for answers.

Logan finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. “Because of everything that’s happened between us. Because I pushed you away. I hurt you, and I thought… maybe you’d be better off if it wasn’t me.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of his reasoning. “Logan, this can’t keep being about what you think is best,” you begin. “And it’s not about who saves who. It’s about being there when it counts. You were there. You came for me.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, at least not right away. He looks down at the ground, his fists unclenching, his shoulders slumping even further. It’s like he’s carrying the weight of everything he’s done, everything he’s failed to do, and it’s crushing him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to get out. “For everything.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know I’ve messed up,” he continues. “I know I haven’t been there for you like I should’ve. But I’m here now. And if you’ll let me… I want to try to make things right.”

You know you should be happy—this is everything you’ve wanted to hear from him for so long. But it’s also too much, too late. The doubt, the pain, it can’t just disappear with a snap of your fingers.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” you admit.

There’s pain on his face. “I get it,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “I know I’ve got a lot to make up for. And I know it’s not going to happen overnight. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes, if it means I can earn your trust back.”

“I need time. I need time to figure out where I stand, and where you stand with me.”

He nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ground again. “Take all the time you need,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I appreciate that,” With a small nod, you stand up, brushing the grass off your clothes. “I need time,” you repeat, more for your own benefit than his.

“And you’ve got it,” Logan replies. “As much as you need.”

—

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. You focus on yourself, on healing the wounds that were reopened during your conversation with Logan. It feels strange, being the one who needs space, but you know it’s necessary. You find things to take your mind off him: you train more, read more, spend more time with Rogue, Kitty, or Remy. It’s nice.

But Logan… Logan doesn’t give up. He knows you need time, and he respects that. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pressure you to make a decision, but he makes it clear through his actions that he hasn’t forgotten about you, and more importantly, that he isn’t going anywhere.

It starts with the small things—things so subtle that you almost don’t notice at first. You probably wouldn’t have suspected anything if you hadn’t known the kind of person he is. He’s nothing if not persistent. He knows you better than you realize—the rift he created after Jean’s death muddling with your memory—and he uses that knowledge to quietly, almost imperceptibly, work his way back into your life.

In the mornings, you wake up to find your favorite snacks waiting for you in the kitchen, carefully placed where you’d be sure to see them. He never mentions it, never takes credit, but you know it’s him. It’s in the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye as you take a bite, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never makes a big deal out of it—just a quiet, unspoken gesture that says, I’m thinking of you.

Then there are the late-night training sessions. You go down to the Danger Room or the gym, hoping to clear your mind with a bit of solitary exercise, only to find Logan already there. At first, you’re tempted to leave, to find somewhere else to work out, but something in his demeanor stops you. He doesn’t approach you, doesn’t speak unless you initiate it. Instead, he just… exists beside you, his presence steady and reassuring, like a rock in the storm.

It’s in these moments that you begin to see a different side of Logan—one that’s patient, understanding, and perhaps a little unsure of himself. He follows your lead, mirroring your exercises or silently spotting you during weightlifting, always attentive to your needs without ever making you feel pressured or overwhelmed. He’s just there, offering his support in the quietest, most understated way possible.

And then there are the little surprises in your room—small, thoughtful gestures that you can’t help but notice. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing suddenly appears on your nightstand, its pages pristine and waiting for you to dive into. The time-worn leather straps on your gear are suddenly replaced with new ones that fit perfectly, the stitching unmistakably done by Logan’s hand. Even your plants, the ones you’d worried would wither away while you were on a mission, seem to thrive in your absence, the soil freshly watered and the leaves turned toward the sun.

He never asks for thanks, never draws attention to what he’s doing. It’s all done quietly, behind the scenes, as if he’s afraid that if you notice too much, you might push him away. But you do notice. How could you not?

At first, you try to ignore it, telling yourself that these gestures don’t change anything, that they’re just a way for Logan to assuage his guilt. You tell yourself that he’s just doing this because he feels bad, because he wants to make up for the past, not because he actually cares. You’ve built walls around your heart for a reason, and you’re not ready to let them down just because he’s being nice.

But over time, those small gestures begin to chip away at those walls, brick by brick. You start to realize that Logan isn’t just going through the motions—he’s really paying attention, noticing the little things that make you who you are. It isn’t just about the snacks or the books or the plants—it’s about the way he remembers the details of your life, the things that matter to you, the things that make you feel seen and understood.

After a particularly long and stressful day, you return to your room exhausted, and all you want is to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. But when you walk in, you find a small bouquet of wildflowers sitting on your nightstand, the beautiful colors a stark contrast to the dark thoughts that have been swirling in your mind all day. There’s no note, no explanation—there never is—but you know who left them.

You just stand there, staring at the flowers, your heart squeezing in your chest. It’s such a simple gesture, and yet it means so much. You’d forgotten that Logan knew how much you love wildflowers—you’d mentioned it once, years ago. The way they’re resilient, thriving even in the harshest conditions, blooming where others wouldn’t. It’s as if he’s telling you that he sees that strength in you, that he admires it.

And it’s then, in the quiet of your room, surrounded by the small, thoughtful gestures that Logan has left behind, that you realize something. This isn’t just about making up for the past. Logan is showing you, in the only way he knows how, that he wants this. Wants you.

He's finally picked up the pieces of him that fell apart after Jean’s death, and he is willing to pick up the pieces of you that fell apart after his rejection.

So, one evening, months after that fateful conversation on the lawn, you find yourself standing in the common room, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. The mansion is quiet, the rest of the team either out on a mission or asleep. It’s just you and the flickering flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

But when you hear footsteps behind you, heavy and deliberate, you know instantly who it is. Without turning, you can sense his presence, the way he moves with that quiet confidence, the way the air seems to shift when he is near. Logan has always had a way of grounding you, even when you don’t want him to.

He walks up beside you, stopping just short of touching you, his warmth radiating in the small space between your bodies. He doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t ask why you’re here or try to force a conversation. He just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets, waiting patiently, giving you the time you need. It’s something you’ve come to appreciate about him in recent months—his newfound ability to just be, without pushing or demanding more than you’re ready to give.

"I’ve been thinking," you say finally, your voice soft, as you continue to gaze into the flames.

"Yeah?" Logan asks, his tone careful, as if he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.

You turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "You’ve been… different. Doing all these little things… I see them, you know."

Logan’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long time, you see hope there. "I just wanted you to know that I care. That I’m sorry," he says, with so much emotion. “You were never a burden to me.”

You swallow hard. "It’s hard for me, Logan," you admit, "I’ve been hurt before, and I’m scared. Scared that if I let myself love you again, you’ll just… break me."

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "I’d never hurt you again," he says, "I’d rather cut off my own damn hand than hurt you. The past is the past, and you are my future."

That’s enough to make your walls crumble completely. You know, deep down, that Logan is telling the truth. That he’s willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.

And in that moment, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let him.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you let your actions speak for you. You close the distance between you, standing on your toes as you press your lips to his in a gentle, tentative kiss. Logan freezes for a split second, as if he can’t believe this is really happening, but then he kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close, holding you as if he never wants to let go.

The kiss is slow, tender, full of everything that has been building between you for so long. It isn’t just a kiss—it’s a promise, a commitment to try again, to rebuild what has been broken. When you finally pull back, your breath mingling with his, you rest your head on his shoulder. "I’m still scared," you whisper.

"I know," Logan replies, his arms tightening around you. "But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll take this slow, darlin’. Whatever you need."

You nod. "Okay."

Logan smiles then, a real, genuine smile that makes your heart flutter in a way it hasn’t in years. It’s a smile full of relief, of gratitude, of love—a smile that tells you that he understands just how much this moment means, just how much you’re giving him by letting him back into your heart.

—

The time that follows is a slow, steady journey of rebuilding trust. Logan is true to his word—he is patient, understanding, and surprisingly tender in ways you hadn’t expected. The small gestures continue—coffee waiting for you in the morning, a gentle hand on your back during missions, quiet moments of companionship where no words are needed.

You can feel the doubts you’ve been holding onto slowly begin to fade. Each time Logan shows up for you, each time he puts your needs above his own, it chips away at the fear that has kept you guarded for so long. It’s in the way he listens when you talk, truly listens, as if every word you say matters. It’s in the way he looks at you—not with the same fury he once had, but with a steady, enduring affection that speaks of something deeper.

With Jean, he loved her because she was his soulmate, she was who the universe destined him to be with. He loved her because that’s what he thought he had to do.

With you, he has a choice. He doesn’t need to acknowledge the bond, but he chooses to. He chooses to everyday and he’ll never stop. He loves you because he wants to, not because he has to.

One evening, you find yourself sitting on the mansion’s porch watching the sunset. Logan joins you without a word, sitting close enough that your shoulders brush.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he says softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“I’ve just been thinking,” you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. It’s a simple gesture, but one that speaks volumes about how far you’ve come in trusting him again.

“’Bout what?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“About us,” you say, your voice steady. “About how things have changed. How… how good they’ve been.”

Logan’s hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels so natural, so right. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echo, squeezing his hand. “I’m not scared anymore, Logan. Not like I was.”

He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. “You sure?”

You nod, smiling softly. “I’m sure. You’ve shown me that this bond means something to you, that you’re not going to hurt me. And… I want this. I want us.”

Logan’s face lights up with so much love, that it takes your breath away. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad, darlin’. Because I want us too. More than anything.”

—

It isn’t long before the rest of the X-Men begin to notice the change in Logan as well. At first, it’s subtle—small things like the way he looks at you during briefings, or the way he seems to be more patient, more relaxed when you’re around. But over time, it becomes impossible to ignore.

During a training session in the Danger Room, you’re paired with Logan for a simulated mission. The others watch as Logan moves with you in perfect sync, his focus not just on the mission but on you—making sure you’re safe, supporting you when needed, and trusting you completely. It’s a far cry from the Logan they had seen when he was in mourning, where his moves were rash and careless.

After the session, as you and Logan leave the Danger Room, you catch sight of Ororo and Scott exchanging a look, the kind of look that speaks volumes, full of surprise and a touch of amusement.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you approach them.

Ororo smiles warmly, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Nothing, just… noticing how good you two are together.”

Scott nods in agreement, his expression softening as he glances at Logan. “Yeah, it’s… different, finally seeing him like this. In a good way.”

Logan shrugs, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Just that it’s nice to see you happy, Logan,” Ororo says gently. “Really happy.”

Logan looks at you then, his smile growing as he meets your gaze. “Yeah. It is.”

More members of the team begin to notice the change in Logan as time goes on. Rogue, who has always had a soft spot for him, comments on how he seems more at ease, less burdened by the weight of his past. Hank, ever the observer, points out how Logan’s demeanor has shifted—less brooding, more open. Even Charles, who has seen Logan through his darkest times, pulls you aside one day to express his approval.

“I must say,” Charles says, his tone warm and approving, “I haven’t seen Logan like this in a very long time. Whatever you two have managed to sort out, it’s working.”

And it is. Slowly but surely, the wounds that had once held you back have healed. The doubts that had kept you from fully embracing your relationship with Logan have faded, replaced by a deep, abiding love. It isn’t just the little gestures anymore—it’s the way Logan makes you feel seen, heard, and cherished in a way that no one else ever has.

—

“I never thought we’d get here,” you admit one night whilst looking up at the stars.

Logan looks at you, his expression tender. “Neither did I,” he says, his voice full of sincerity. “But I’m damn glad we did.”

You smile, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “I love you, Logan. And I trust you. Completely.”

His grip tightens slightly, as if to hold onto the moment, to hold onto you. “I love you too, darlin’. I never thought I’d feel this way about someone.”

You know what he’s trying to say. So without thinking, you reach up and cup his face, drawing him closer until your lips are just a breath away from his. “Show me,” you whisper, your voice low and filled with desire.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He closes the small gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft at first, almost tentative, as if he’s savoring the feel of you.

You can feel the heat between you building, the kiss growing more fervent as your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, then into his hair. Brown.

His hands slide up your back, one hand tangling in your hair as he angles your head, deepening the kiss further until you’re both breathless.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting against each other’s, you’re both panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes are dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he holds you close.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs. “I never thought I’d get my happy ending, but here you are… and I’m never lettin’ you go.”

You smile, feeling the last remnants of pain melt away, replaced by a certainty that this is where you’re meant to be. “And I’m never leaving,” you whisper back, sealing your words with another kiss that quickly reignites the fire between you.

This kiss is hungrier, more urgent, as if you both need to make up for lost time. Logan’s hands roam your body with a possessiveness that sends shivers down your spine, his touch igniting a fire in your core.

That night, you lose yourself in him, in the way he tastes, in the way he makes love to you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. Because this time, you’re not just in love—you’re in love with a man who loves you back, fully and completely.

And that makes all the difference.

----

a/n: i love you if you made it this far. please check out my new series The Feeling's Mutual

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nezuscribe · 2 months ago

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it's that same summer when you're at the gojo summer estate, the one near the sea. you're still teens, long before gojo became arranged!gojo.

your last encounter with gojo was something you brushed off. but gojo couldn't stop thinking about you. you were this puzzle he didn't know how to figure out. this war map that no matter how long he looked at it, none of his past strategies were making sense.

but the two of you go about your usual routine. he's with his friends, and you stick to yourself.

or at least you tried to.

gojo's mother, the lady of the gojo family, was an earnest and strict woman. everybody knew that she wasn't one for games or jokes. she rarely smiled and rarely, rarely, laughed. you, along with all the other kids, knew to bow extra low whenever greeting her. she seemed to carry more power than her husband, but she didn't seem to find an issue with that.

but for a woman who was so keen on tradition, she seemed to care about you a lot more than the other children.

when she spoke to you, her eyes softened. her voice was gentler, more caring. your sisters especially grew annoyed at this, trying to butter up to her even more, but she seemed to harbor this sort of kindness only towards you.

you didn't question this either. it must be some form of pity, but you appreciated it nonetheless. sometimes you pretended like she was your actual mom, but then you quickly shook that thought away, chiding yourself for thinking something so childish.

this sort of gentleness she had with you turned into her trying to include you in things. some days it would be having tea with you when the other adults were having tea somewhere else, or sometimes she'd plan a little dinner with you where you could get dressed up and act like a lady.

tonight, however, she seemed to think that the best way she could include you was to include you in the group of the other kids, a gentle and guiding hand on your protesting back.

"really, i like the library," you insist, but it couldn't be farther from the truth. you had been inside the library for so many hours that you could blink and those high walls filled with books would be seared into your vision.

"nonsense," she tells you, her blue eyes and white hair looking down at your form as she waves it off, "the kids are outside near the fire. they'd be delighted to have you."

you cringe a little bit, wondering if she was just as daft as her son.

but she had found you near the fireplace, trying to stick its warmth as you hunched over yet another book. she decided that enough was enough, you should be out with the other kids.

so you couldn't say much to the woman who was hosting your family to argue, letting her lead you outside the grand patio and into the overbearing fields that led out to the sea, you soon saw the fire crackling away, the sound of laughter filling your ears.

some of the kids who were facing the two of you nudged the other ones to turn around, looks of confusion on their faces as the noblest lady of the land led a quivering you closer to them.

the usual look of caring she had whenever she was with you melted away, turning to something icy as the two of you neared the group. her hand on your back was still present, but you wished that it could somehow push you deep into the ground where you could hide forever.

her eyes looked over the group until they fell on her son, gojo, and narrowed.

everybody's eyes bounced from you over to her.

"there should be room for one more, yes?" she asks, and all the kids quickly nod, moving over on the logs that they had created into makeshift seats as they scrambled to make space for you.

you wondered what it was like to command such respect from people, what it must be like to have people actually listen to you.

she nudges you forward a little bit and you glance up at her one more time, a sort of useless plea as she encourages you to sit down.

you take a deep breath, offering them all an apologetic smile as you slowly sit on a log, your legs cramming together to make yourself seem as small as possible.

you watched as she walked back through the patio, talking to a maid as she motioned over to your group, saying something you couldn't make out, and you looked back to the other kids, the ones you had barely spoken a couple words to, and wince.

"sorry," you say slowly, your hands fidgeting non-stop in your lap as you laugh awkwardly, wishing you could just drop dead.

you can see your sisters seething in the corner, rolling their eyes as they sneer. the other kids nod at you just as tensely, and you wonder how disrespectful it would be if you just went back inside.

you feel a pair of eyes searing in the side of your face, and you look slightly to your right to see gojo staring at you, his eyes slightly squinting, just as his mother did.

you swallow thickly, picking at your nails as you send him a small smile before looking back down at your lap.

you could still feel him looking at you, but you chose to ignore it.

gojo doesn't really know why his mother liked you so much, but he never truly questioned her. she treated you with a tenderness he never saw her treat anybody (aside from him) with. he sometimes saw the two of you sharing tea with each other, other times hearing her laugh whenever you cracked a joke. something unusual for both of you.

his eyes look at your face, taking in the way you duck your head to seem smaller than you are. your eyes avert any contact, teeth gnawing on your already chewed-up lips. gojo looks at your hands, at the way you pick at your nails. he looks at your dress and sees the way the seams are fraying, the initial shape of the dress looking a little bit unfitting on you. almost as if it wasn't made for you specifically. his eyes narrow in more as he pieces it together. the dress is a hand-me-down from your older sister. not because your family couldn't afford a new dress, of course not, but to remind you of your place.

he feels a sting in his chest.

slowly the conversation with the group goes back to usual, the other kids pretending that you weren't there. gojo could feel the arms of one of the girls latched around his, her body pressing into his side as she tried to get closer to him. he wanted to shove her away, but didn't want to make a scene right now.

one of the girl shifted the talk to the topic of couples, talking about how she saw this husband and wife in town the other day who seemed to actually like each other.

one of your sisters, mei, snorts, shaking her head at the idea.

"us girls either marry an old man or a slightly older one," her eyes look over to you, "there's no in-between."

everybody grimaces at that, her other sister, yume, shoving her shoulder roughly at the crude statement.

"what?" mei scoffs, sitting back up as she nudges her chin to you, "she is."

yume gives her a warning look, one that's clearly saying she's saying too much, but mei doesn't seem to care much. everybody stirs, their heads craning with the thrill of gossip.

gojo looks at you and wants to see what you think about all this, but you're so far in your own world that you don't notice the commotion that seems to be directed at you.

mei calls your name, trying to grab your attention, and your head shoots up, brows furrowed to see who needs you.

"right?" she asks, knowing you don't know the answer.

you look around again, wondering if she was just trying to be funny.

"what?" you ask finally.

"you have to marry someone older, yeah?" mei presses, her eyes gleaming as your confusion melts away into one of embarrassment, looking at yume to see if mei was really serious.

of your two sisters, mei was always the mischievous one, if you could even call her cruelty that.

gojo sits up slightly, his brows scrunching up together a little bit at the mention of this. nobody had heard of any marriage offers, especially this early. you were still underage. who...?

you scratch at your neck, heat rising to your cheeks at the sudden attention on you.

"it was just an offer," you say through clenched teeth, shooting mei a look as she just smiles smugly. she knew she'd never have to deal with this.

"who?" one of the guys asks.

"nobody," you say quickly, waving it off as you rub a hand over your face, wondering if you threw yourself on the fire if that would help.

"naoya!" mei says instantly, your eyes widening as she reveals this very secret thing that even your father was trying to keep hushed away. you feel your stomach drop, eyes stinging in embarrassment as gasps echo around the group.

"isn't he...?" one of the girls tries to do the math, seeing how much older he already is.

"i heard he wants children," another girl adds, giving you a look of attempted sympathy but it just looks like a wince, "like, a lot of children."

you shut your eyes, rubbing at your aching forehead. you look briefly at gojo, only to see him looking incredulously at you. he's the only one who doesn't seem to be talking in a shocked or excited tone.

everybody gets excited about a terrible marriage offer when it's not them who have to offer themselves up.

he's studying you, seeming to be the only one who sees the way your chest is heaving, as if you're struggling to breathe. or the glossy look in your eyes, the way you dart them away so nobody can see. gojo looks over at mei, at the way she looks satisfied for delivering her piece of gossip for the night,

at your expense.

he doesn't know why he feels the way he does, or why he drags the girls arm away from him as he stands up, shrugging his coat over his frame as everybody suddenly looks at him.

but he's only looking at you.

"i forgot to give you your blanket from last week." he says simply, his voice heavy and coarse, as if he hadn't used it in a while, "come with me,"

well, he never said he was good at lying.

but he puts a steady arm on your shoulder, helping you stand up as you shoot him a confused look, letting him lead you away as the silence behind you becomes defeating.

you wipe at your nose, sniffling silently as he leads you through the grassy field.

he glances down at you. this is the second time the two of you have been alone, and the first time he's ever seen you on the verge of tears.

"thank you," you murmur thickly, rubbing at your eyes with your palms as you laugh wetly, "she wasn't supposed to say..." you trail off, looking away from him in embarrassment.

gojo guides you up the porch, behind a long marble pillar where the two of you are away from the other's curious stares.

he's never been good at comforting people, but he's never wanted to more than now.

"she's right, though," you say through a stutter, arms crossing at your chest as if that's what gojo was thinking about, "naoya, he-" you can't finish the sentence, the reality of it too heavy for you.

naoya proposed a month ago. a marriage offer for when you turn of age. he was desperate to find a wife, but not too many women were desperate to make him their husband. but your father needed the alliance, and your father's wife needed you away, so they swiftly agreed to it.

gojo's hand still hasn't left your shoulder, and he gives it a small squeeze.

"i'm sorry about this," you motion to yourself, laughing humorleslsy, "i didn't mean to...gods, i just...i don't want to be his w-wife," you admit quietly, shaking your head as you hide your face in your hands, "i-i don't want to have his children."

gojo feels bile rise to his throat at the thought of that.

he's only seen you twice. why does he care so much about what happens to you?

"somebody else will come along," he says in a whisper, and you look at him through your fingers, dropping them to your side as you blink slowly, rubbing at your cheeks.

"no good man wants to marry me," you tell him quietly, without any trace of pity for yourself, something that was simply the truth, "if not naoya, then another variant of him."

gojo leans down slightly to level with you, his lips pressed into a thin line.

you don't know why he's so close, or why he looks more worried for you than anybody else has. you shrug him off of you, trying to collect yourself as you peer through one of the large windows that look inside the estate.

"you can get rid of that blanket," you mutter, eyes darting from the window to his stunning blue ones, ones that make your knees slightly weak, "i was going to knit a new one anyways."

you bid your farewells, nodding lowly at him as you find your way inside.

gojo watches your back, looking back at the group as he runs a hand through his hair, gripping at his white locks in frustration.

he doesn't know what he's feeling. he doesn't know why he wants naoya suddenly dead. he doesn't know why he's not going to listen to what you just asked him to do, or why he wants to hold onto that blanket.

gojo doesn't know why you suddenly infiltrate his every waking moment, or why he needs to see naoya buried alive just so that you wouldn't have to marry him.

he doesn't know the answer to any of these things. but he doesn't know if he wants to.

#arranged!gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader angst #satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #jjk drabble #gojo drabble

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eddies-ashtray · 4 months ago

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white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island.

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down.

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat.

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes.

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up.

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour.

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.”

The word ‘other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt.

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly.

But the growing tension vanishes the moment a timer dings, shrill and intrusive.

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven.

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop.

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven.

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.”

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass.

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say.

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms.

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest.

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.”

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache.

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended.

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently.

The word lingers in the air between you.

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage.

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?”

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them.

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows.

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.”

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is.

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back.

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze.

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support.

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it.

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity.

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis.

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound.

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild.

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room.

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh.

“Hey!” He barks.

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.”

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat.

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions.

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you?

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man.

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology.

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.”

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly.

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey.

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk.

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over.

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him.

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat.

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs.

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant.

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him.

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin.

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair.

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it.

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin.

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days.

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder.

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger.

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash.

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad.

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter.

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically.

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan.

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over.

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat.

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure.

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over.

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white.

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax.

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh.

“You know…For an old man, that was-”

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin.

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity.

Finally, he finds your eyes.

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh.

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn.

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape.

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs.

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly.

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.”

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly.

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing.

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer.

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now.

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth.

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck.

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin.

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside.

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple.

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand.

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair.

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin.

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate.

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.”

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free.

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’.

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements.

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder.

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves.

“Open.”

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips.

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is.

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut.

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.”

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive.

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat.

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder.

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body.

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect.

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice.

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs.

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind.

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit.

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him.

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly.

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes.

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot.

More. You need more of him.

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair.

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary.

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides.

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him.

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin.

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight.

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse.

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him.

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble.

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it.

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are.

Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you.

He shudders with his release.

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening.

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing.

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close.

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound.

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves.

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs.

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead.

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now.

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too.

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily.

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear.

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed.

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again.

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

3K notes · View notes

sunniques · 3 months ago

Text

— 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 !

➺ PAIRING: choi seungcheol x female reader

➺ GENRE: stepdad au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: your stepdad goes to great lengths to spoil you.

➺ CW/TW: stepcest, infedilty, age gap, daddy kink, breeding kink, somnophilia, cockwarming, masturbation, oral sex (f & m), rimming, face riding, unprotected sex, creampies, squirting, cum eating, riding, shower sex, recording during sex, having sex while on the phone, reader can be carried by cheol

➺ WC: 8k

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read. thank you @wonustars for beta reading this for me <3

Seungcheol is the first to admit that he spoils you rotten. He can’t really be blamed for it since you were a spoiled princess long before he met you. Technically, it’s your mother’s fault for always indulging you every time you asked for something. He knows she only gave in to compensate for not being around as much as she should have, but now it’s a responsibility he’s happily shouldered.

That’s why when you tell him you want to fuck all over the house with no interruptions, he doesn’t hesitate to make that happen. It's not hard despite there being certain obstacles he comes across.

"I don't understand," his wife's voice wobbles just enough for him to realize she's going to push back. "If you're upset with me, what we need is to talk, not give each other space."

"I need time to think, and I can't do that with you here."

"Seungcheol," his wife's voice is tight with repressed emotion. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not leaving my own house—"

"It's my house," he reminds her coldly. "You're hardly ever here, anyway. I know you'd rather be at work than spend time with me or Y/N."

Your mom flinches because his words are like ice, and because they're true. Still, the selfish part of her can't give him what he wants. Not when it feels like this will make her lose him forever.

"But giving you space for the entire weekend—!"

"Don't raise your voice," Seungcheol hisses, eyes dark and dangerous. "I don't want Y/N to hear."

He won't let her ruin your surprise. He wants to see your face when he tells you that you'll have the entire house to yourselves all weekend long.

Seungcheol doesn't feel bad even as his wife swallows thickly.

"Fine," she whispers, "I'll give you the space you want."

"Good. I want you gone before Saturday."

It's still early when you're gently pulled out of your wet dream by an intense pleasure. Through bleary eyes, you can see the sun still hasn't fully risen. You almost think you're still dreaming until you realize that your pussy being hot and wet is very real. Immediately, you recognize the situation and the pleasure clouding your senses.

You let out a needy mewl when you look down to see a head of hair between your thighs. Arousal rips through you when you realize you're completely naked, sleeping shirt and panties discarded beside your equally naked stepdad. Seungcheol groans into your cunt, pulling back a bit to gently suck on your swollen clit. The quiet whine you let out has his cock throbbing.

"Morning, princess."

"Daddy," you moan as you spread your trembling thighs.

"Shh, baby," Seungcheol gently shushes you while still lapping at your dripping cunt. "Your mom's still sleeping. You don't want to wake her up do you?"

More juices drip from your clenching pussy, and for a moment you wish he had crushed some of those sleeping pills in her drink again. But then again, if she slept in and missed her flight you wouldn't be able to have a cum-filled weekend with her husband like you planned. All you can do is hope she leaves for your grandparents' house soon.

"She's not gone yet?" You can't keep the whine out of your sleepy whisper.

"No," Seungcheol sighs in mutual disappointment before dropping his head back down to keep eating you out.

You toss your head back, mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he licks a broad stripe up your slit before sucking on your clit again. He repeats the action before forcing his tongue back into your slick pussy. Your clit pulses with pleasure as Seungcheol slowly eats you out.

"I've been feasting on your little pussy all morning," he hums against you, placing gentle kisses on your soft lips.

"Already got you to cream on my tongue twice."

He sounds so pleased that he got you to cum without waking you. The satisfied smirk on his shiny lips makes you moan and roll your hips into his mouth.

"You like that, sweetheart? Like that your daddy couldn't help himself?" Seungcheol's eyes are dark as he gently nips at your throbbing clit.

You give him a half-hearted nod, mind swimming with pleasure. Seungcheol's tongue smooths over your pussy and runs it up your slit to softly suckle on your clit, getting the sensitive bud messy with his spit. You grind your hips into his mouth eagerly, wanting to put on a show for the dark eyes that are watching you with molten heat.

Seungcheol pulls back, but not without pressing a quick kiss to your throbbing clit. "Roll over for me, baby. I want to try something."

You sluggishly do as he asks, rolling over until you're lying on your stomach. He grabs your thighs and pushes them until you're spread open, glistening cunt on display for him. Your stepdad's groan is guttural and makes you clench around nothing.

"Prettiest fucking view ever," Seungcheol hums to himself, cock throbbing at the erotic sight of you splayed out for him.

Seungcheol's hands grab your ass as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy lips open. He's quick to dive back into your pussy like a starved man. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, back arching as arousal thrums in your belly.

"God, baby. Love eating this pretty pussy." Your stepdad groans into the wet mess he's created, fucking his tongue deeper into your tight hole.

You try to keep your moans quiet as your hips squirm against the wet tongue spearing you open. The way Seungcheol greedily eats your cunt turns you on even more, and just thinking about what he says gets you even wetter. Feeling his strong hands holding you open as he's fucking his tongue into your clenching hole over and over again is sending you closer to the edge.

You tense slightly when you feel the pad of a finger slide over the furl of your asshole. Seungcheol groans into your pussy making you clench and rock down on the bed. He doesn't move his finger, only rubs it softly back and forth over your asshole.

"Want me to eat this hole too, sweetheart?" Seungcheol pulls back with a wet sound, mouth dragging up to bite your ass cheeks. "All you have to do is ask."

You feel hot all over, loving how fucking nasty he is. How he doesn't hesitate to give you anything you want. All you do is hum, and in less than a second he's spreading your ass until your hole is completely bare for him to see. You wiggle your hips to further entice him. Seungcheol growls as he licks a hot, wet stripe from your cunt all the way to your asshole.

"Daddy!" You cry, pussy fluttering at how much you like it. "More!"

"Don't worry, brat. Daddy's gonna lick you clean," Seungcheol says before he spits on your puckered hole. "I'm gonna eat this cute little ass all morning."

You gasp and moan as he licks over your rim with his hot tongue. The sensation makes you squirm and rock your swollen clit into the bed. While you're distracted by his mouth, he slips a couple of fingers into your empty pussy making you squeal and buck your hips. Seungcheol hums and slowly slides his tongue into your ass, spit dripping down onto his fingers that are scissoring you open.

"Fuck, daddy." You choke out, feeling unbelievably turned on as Seungcheol fucks your ass open with his thick tongue.

He fucks his fingers into your pussy until he's rubbing against your g-spot. You whine and bite your pillow to try and stifle the filthy sounds you're letting out. His tongue greedily licks your asshole open, sloppy wet sounds echoing off your bedroom walls making you drip slick down his fingers. It all feels so good that you wouldn't care if your mom were to walk in on you and your stepdad like this.

You're so lost in pleasure that you almost miss the knock on your door.

"Y/N? Are you awake?" Your mom's groggy voice wanders through the door.

Seungcheol groans quietly and buries his tongue past your clenching hole. His tongue fucks deeper into your ass while he fingers your cunt. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as your stepdad starts to eat you out with more vigor than before. His fingers curl into you, massaging that spot that has you mewling into your covers.

Seungcheol briefly pulls away to whisper his filthy desire. "Cream all over my fingers, sweetheart. Show daddy how much you love having his tongue in your ass."

You can't keep your moan quiet when Seungcheol fucks his fingers into your squelching pussy harder. The long digits brush against your spongy spot until your tight pussy is pulsing around his fingers.

"Y/N?" Your mom sounds a bit more awake now.

You grind your hips into Seungcheol as his tongue slowly laps at the rim of your hole over and over again. The sloppy wet noise fills the room, and you wonder if your mom can hear it. Not that you or your stepdad care.

"I-I'm getting up now," luckily, your fucked out voice can easily be mistaken for fatigue.

"I won't be able to make you breakfast before I go. Make sure you eat something before you go to class!"

She's never made you breakfast—not even when you were in grade school. Instead of pondering on why she was trying to act doting, you give her a shaky okay. All you really care about is the teasing kicks her husband is giving your clenching hole.

When her footsteps fade away, his tongue spears you open again. Seungcheol starts to roughly fuck his fingers into your sopping pussy. It all feels so good that you start to bounce back against your stepdad's mouth and fingers, a preening whine high in your throat. Seungcheol lets out a feral growl and pushes his mouth harder against the furl of your asshole to fuck his tongue deeper into your clenching hole.

"I'm gonna cum, daddy," you mewl softly.

Seungcheol hums and keeps eating your ass, his long fingers massaging your velvety walls. You writhe against your bedsheets, the friction allowing the fabric to rub against your clit. Your toes curl as the stimulation pushes you over the edge. With a muffled wail, you cum hard around Seungcheol's fingers. Your wet walls flutter around his fingers as you asshole clenches around his wet tongue.

Your stepdad pulls away once you come down from your high. He groans lowly in his throat before telling you to stay still. A familiar wet sound fills your ears, and when you look over your shoulder you see him jerking off.

"Gonna cum on your holes." Seungcheol groans, fucking his hand harder.

His fat tip bumps against your spread pussy as hot ropes of cum cover your skin. You moan when you feel him drag the head of his leaking cock up to your asshole to cover it with the rest of his seed.

"So fucking pretty," Seungcheol groans.

You lick your lips and blindly reach for your phone. "Want pictures, daddy."

Seungcheol's grin is devious as he takes your phone and does as you ask. He even gets your permission to take a quick video of your soiled holes. Once he's done, he tosses the phone aside and pulls you up to give you a filthy kiss. You moan into his mouth, knowing this is going to be the best weekend of your life.

"Come on, princess," Seungcheol coos adoringly after you pull away. "Let's go shower."

You lick your lips as your stepdad picks you up and carries you over to the master bedroom. It's thrilling for you, especially because you can hear that your mom is still downstairs. Seungcheol shares your uncaring attitude. He's too busy showering you with affectionate kisses to care that his wife might come upstairs and find you two naked.

The air between you is intoxicating, and you almost feel impatient when Seungcheol gently sets you down on the bathroom counter. You make a move to get off and go towards the shower, but your stepdad is quick to stop you. He places a sweet kiss on your lips, eyes shimmering with arousal and affection.

"Stay there and let daddy take care of you, sweetheart," Seungcheol says before going to start the shower.

He waits until the water warms before picking you up again and placing you under the soothing water. You let out a content sigh and lean against him as the humid air surrounds you both. Seungcheol kisses the top of your head before grabbing a clean washcloth and lathering it up with soap.

Seungcheol is gentle as he runs the sudsy cloth along your body. He takes his time, gently cleaning you while murmuring how pretty you are. You can't help but relax under his gentle touch.

"Cheol," you half moan, half sigh as he presses open mouth kisses on your clean skin.

Your thighs squeeze together when he slowly runs the cloth across your tits. He slowly circles your sensitive nipples over and over until you're mewling and arching into his touch. Seungcheol is quick to discard the cloth and goes to grab your soapy tits.

"Fuck," he groans as he pinches and tugs on your hard nipples. "You have the prettiest tits, baby."

Molten heat invades your senses, the praise making you keen. The way your stepdad is so rough with your nipples has your pussy leaking with a different type of wetness running down your thighs. One of his large hands leaves your soft flesh to turn your head so he can give you a heated kiss. His other hand slowly trails down your body until you feel his fingers swiping across your slit then back up to circle your slippery clit.

"Such a sexy little brat," Seungcheol groans fondly before he hooks his chin over your shoulder so he can watch himself play with your pussy. "Always so ready for me."

You cry out in pleasure when his hand comes down to spank your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your knees buckle, but luckily Seungcheol's arm is tightly secured around your waist. He slowly turns you until your back is against the cool tile. Your eyes follow the beads of water that run down his toned body. The water drip off his thick cock, and you feel white hot arousal consume you entirely.

"Daddy," you whine and reach out for his cock.

Seungcheol smirks and kneels down, ignoring your petulant pout, "Daddy's still hungry."

You clench around nothing as he rubs his large hands along your thighs before spreading them open. His grin is devious as he places wet kisses along your inner thighs. You can't contain your moan as his breath ghosts across your throbbing clit.

"Daddy!" You squeal when Seungcheol finally fucks his tongue into your wet cunt.

Your stepdad groans, the vibration stimulating you further as his tongue slides deeper into your pulsing cunt. It's impossible not to watch him as he messily eats you out, licking and suckling on your sensitive bud. His dark eyes are trained on you, loving the fucked out face you're making.

Seungcheol moans when you grind your pussy into his face. He eagerly laps up your juices, licking and tasing every part of you his tongue can reach. The way he places soft kisses between his licks and sucks make your trembling legs feel like they're going to give out. Your eyes roll back as he fucks his tongue deeper into your hole, slurping up every last bit of your arousal.

Seungcheol's cock throbs at the sweet sounds you're letting out. He smirks against your cunt when you arch up and press closer to his pouty lips.

"Gonna cum, daddy."

Seungcheol hums in approval, tongue relentlessly lapping at your clit. "Do it, princess. Cum on daddy's face so he can fill you up."

You cry out loudly and squirt all over his face.

Seungcheol groans in approval and slurps up everything you release. He's smug when fucking you through your orgasm, and he doesn't stop until your legs are shaking. Your stepdad licks his lips and slowly stands, picking you up in the process. He can tell his display of strength turns you on, and it makes his ego inflate.

"Fuck," you mewl when you feel his cock nudge against your pussy.

Seungcheol's gaze is dark as he rubs his throbbing cock along your messy lips. The leaking tip bumps your sensitive clit, making you arch your back and cry out for him. You're so needy and desperate for his dick that he can't make you wait any longer. Seungcheol grabs your ass, squeezing it roughly, before he sinks you down on his aching cock.

"Mmmh, fuck, daddy," your moans come out in a fucked out pants, arms and legs locking around his body.

Seungcheol starts to fuck you slowly, rocking his cock in and out of your pussy at a pace you're not used to from him. Hot water cascades over the both of you, and it makes you feel that much better as your tight walls eagerly suck him in. You feel his cock stretching you out slowly, making you whine into his wet neck.

"Fucking shit, Y/N," your stepdad's groan is guttural. "Tight little pussy feels too good."

It's like you both lose sense of time as Seungcheol slowly splits you open on his cock. The movement of his hips are slow yet deliberate. Every time his pelvis rubs against your clit you see stars. His throbbing tip brushes against the spongy spot inside you, barely kissing your cervix with every precise movement. Molten pleasure consumes you slowly, already making you feel cock drunk.

"Seungcheol?"

Your stepdad's hips stutter at the sound of your mother's voice, but one look at the pout on your face makes him keep going. Especially since you tighten around him at the same time his cock starts to throb and twitch inside you. You two share a filthy smirk, loving the turn of events. It’s so sick and twisted, but both of you are past caring.

"What is it?" Seungcheol calls, slightly annoyed as he starts to bounce you on his cock.

"I– Well..." your mom trails off, sounding completely unsure of herself.

You don't care that it's uncharacteristic of her because Seungcheol starts to press sloppy kisses on your neck. His thrusts have grown rougher, harshly pounding into your squelching pussy. Your eyes roll back as your toes curl. The feeling of your stepdad's veiny cock dragging against your slick walls have you gushing all over him, and the fact that your mom is standing right outside the bathroom door completely unaware only turns you on more.

"I hope giving you the space you want doesn't mean this is the end of our marriage." You can tell she's close to tears as she speaks.

"Cum inside me, daddy," you purr into Seungcheol's ear, wanting nothing more than him to stuff you full.

Seungcheol quietly groans into your neck, feeling your pulsing walls flutter around his cock. His grip on your ass tightens, and he starts to bounce you harder on his aching dick. He hears his wife holding back sobs, but he doesn’t feel bad. Not since he has her daughter’s tight little pussy wrapped around his cock.

"Such a nasty little brat," he hums against your wet skin, hips snapping savagely. "You want me to cream this cute little pussy while your mom is on the other side of that door crying for me?"

You mewl into his ear, pussy clenching around his cock and staining it with more of your cream. Seungcheol grunts, hips moving faster as he fucks into your hole deeper and harder. Your back arches as your cunt spasms around his dick.

"Want it so bad, daddy," you whimper into his ears, nails digging into his back. "Breed this little pussy. Stuff me full and knock me up."

"God damn, baby. You're such a dirty little slut," he whispers against your hot, wet skin. "What would your mom say if she walked in and saw you begging for my cum?"

You whine again, hips rocking into his as his thick cock pistons in and out of your hot cunt.

"What would you tell your wife?" You say through a fucked out giggle. "You'd have to tell her that you're bouncing her daughter on your big cock because you want to put a baby in her."

Seungcheol's deep moan almost drowns out your mother's voice.

"I know you're still mad, so I'll call you when I land. Please take care of Y/N while I'm away."

"Don't worry," Seungcheol growls, loud enough to be heard over the running water. "I'll make sure to take care of her."

You finally wail out in pleasure when you hear the footsteps fade away. Seungcheol savagely rams his cock against your sweet spot over and over until you're cumming hard on his throbbing dick.

"That's it, princess. Make a mess all over daddy's cock. Fuck. I'm gonna fill this cute little pussy all weekend long. Not letting you off my dick until I know you're carrying my child."

Your stepdad spears into your sloppy cunt harder, his leaking tip brushing against your g spot with every thrust. "Fuck, sweetheart. Little pussy feels too good."

With a loud grunt, he pushed his cock as deep as it'll go before thick, hot ropes of cum spurt from his throbbing tip. Seungcheol moans loudly, grinding his cock into your pulsing walls.

You smash your lips onto his, loving the feeling of his cum slowly dripping out of you.

The weekend is coming to an end, and true to his word, your stepdad has not let you off his cock. You've fucked all over the house just like you wanted. In the hot tub out back, then in the pool. On the billiards table and in the laundry room. Even on the kitchen counter and the dining room table. Every surface has been stained with you and Seungcheol's mixed releases. It thrills you because it feels like you're marking the house—your house—in the filthiest way possible.

Seungcheol has been especially doting, giving into every single one of your wishes. He even agreed to record the nasty things you do so you can watch it later on. The videos are mainly taken on your phone, but you have to insist that he take some on his too. After all, he should have some memories of the weekend he planned as well.

This is all so wrong. Seungcheol knows that, but he can't seem to make himself care. Especially when you look so beautiful underneath him, with your puffy nipples covered in his saliva and your fucked out expression of absolute pleasure. Especially when you moan and whimper the single word that makes him go insane every single time it falls from your pretty lips.

"Daddy!"

Fuck. To have his sweet little stepdaughter in such a filthy way is everything to him. His cock is buried so deep inside of you that he's certain he's in your guts. His teeth graze your neck as you cling to him. "Like this, angel? Like when your stepdad fucks you like this?"

A cute whine escapes you, but you can't answer because you're too far gone. Seungcheol thinks that you may be doing it on purpose for the camera, but either way, he loves it.

"Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how good it feels," his whispered voice in your ear makes you shudder.

Your pussy clenches hard around his thick cock, wanting to keep him there forever.

"So fucking good. God, daddy. I'm gonna cum." Again.

You don't know how many times you've cum already, or if you've even stopped cumming. The entire weekend has felt like one prolonged orgasm for you.

You grab his hair and pull his face to yours, looking into his eyes. "Cum with me—cum inside me," you plead, your tongue flicking against his lips.

Seungcheol can't deny you anything. He never has. His hips speed up, his orgasm so close but he needs you to tip over first. The feeling of his stepdaughter creaming and making a mess on his cock is one he'll never get tired of.

"God, you're such a needy little brat," he groans against your lips. Words can't describe how much he loves you. How fucking thankful he is that you love him the same way. "Can't get enough of daddy's cum, hm?"

It only takes a few circles of his thumb on your clit and you're cumming with a loud whine.

"Daddy, please!" Your fingers dig into the skin of his back while you plead with him to fill you up. It's only a few seconds later that you're taking load after load of his thick cum.

"Mm, yes!" You mewl, closing your eyes, savoring the feeling of it.

Seungcheol kisses your lips, not daring to pull out. He doesn't want a single drop to escape.

"You got all of daddy's cum. Is my sweet girl happy now?"

You smile into the kiss as you catch your breath, looking at him adoringly, "Yes, daddy."

Seungcheol licks his lips hungrily and reaches for the phone propped against the nightstand. He points it at your stuffed cunt, groaning when he sees his cum running down the length of his cock and down to his heavy sack. Just as he’s about to end the video, you buck your hips with a needy whine.

“Want more, daddy!”

And so, ever powerless to your desires, Seungcheol positions your phone in the same spot before giving you exactly what you want. He’s not soft like he was earlier—not that you want him to be. You always act like a greedy brat when you want him to be rough with you.

“What a greedy fucking brat!” He punctuates every word with a rough thrust, eyes rolling to the back of his head as your sloppy hole keeps sucking him in.

“Fucking shit. You need it that bad, baby? Need daddy’s cock to stuff you full until you’re dripping in his cum?"

Seungcheol doesn't realize just how badly you do need it. Your hands reach down to squeeze his plump ass, dragging him as far into you as physically possible. “Yes, daddy, yes! Need your cock, need your cum! Need it so fucking bad!”

Your needy moans only drive him to fuck you harder. Seungcheol feels fucking insane. This is undoubtedly the best sex of his life, and he can’t remember ever fucking anyone so passionately. Fuck, you feel so good.

He’s so addicted to your sweet little cunt that he thinks he might go crazy without it. You just have a molten little pussy that’s sucking and wetting his cock so deliciously, dragging his cum right out of his heavy balls, and he’s powerless to it. All he can do is groan and bury his face in your neck as he pulses warm and hot inside you.

“O-oh fuck, baby!” Seungcheol moans against your skin as he spills his thick load inside you. “There you go, princess. Take all of daddy’s cum.”

Your sweet moans sound like heaven, and he has to smash his lips on yours as he fucks his cum deeper into your pussy. “Fuck. Such a tight fucking pussy.”

Seungcheol’s heart nearly bursts when you give him a fucked out smile, eyes full of adoration. “It’s all yours, daddy.”

If there's one thing you've come to learn about your stepdad, it's that he's unexpectedly clingy. Honestly, you love that side of him, which is why you can't say no when he asks you to cockwarm him. You're both sitting on the couch with some movie playing softly in the background. Seungcheol is on a business call while you shop online.

All the pretty things you have in your cart are courtesy of your doting stepdad, and as you go to check out, you feel yourself slowly drifting into a peaceful haze. Seungcheol keeps talking, running a soothing hand up and down your back while periodically placing gentle kisses on your head.

You bask in his warmth and the floaty feeling taking over your consciousness. Seungcheol's cock feels so big and thick inside you that it's all you can think about. The delicious stretch it provides is driving you crazy in the best way, and it only gets worse when he trails his free hand down to squeeze your ass. You mewl into his neck, loving this dreamlike state his cock has you in.

"Feel good, princess?"

His soothing voice is like honey, and it has you sighing against his neck, "So good, daddy."

Seungcheol's smirk is smug, "Yeah?"

You hum with a halfhearted nod, still too lost in the feeling of his cock filling you up.

"Spoiled little brat likes being stretched out on this big cock, huh?"

You whine cutely, pussy clenching down on his thick cock, "Yes, daddy."

"Fuck," Seungcheol grunts, pressing his hips up into you further. "I think it's time to fill this needy cunt."

You roll your hips down with a moan of agreement. It's just like him to give you what you want before you ask for it, "Daddy's the best."

Seungcheol's smirk is unbearably attractive as his hands tighten on your waist. He wastes no time in fucking his cock up into your soaking pussy, making sure to go as deep as possible. You come back to life as his big dick hits your sweet spot immediately. With a loud cry you lift yourself off of his chest to take off the large shirt you're wearing. Your stepdad groans when he sees your pretty tits bouncing in his face, cock twitching inside you.

After several skin slapping thrusts, he slows down to deep rolling grinds. His eyes are dark as he reaches for the buzzing phone he discarded just seconds ago.

"Be quiet for me, baby."

Your eyes drift down to the phone in his hand, smirking when you see it's your mom calling. Seungcheol picks up and put it on speaker, setting the phone aside so he can grab your bouncing tits.

"Hello?"

"Hey, honey." Your mom sounds deflated. "How... How are you?"

"Fine," Seungcheol grunts before he starts to thrust deeply into your dripping cunt while pulling and pinching your pretty nipples. "How's things over there?"

Your eyes roll back as you hear your mom go on about how happy your grandparents were to see her. Molten pleasure licks up your spine as you start to meet Seungcheol's rough thrusts. His mouth drops open as your pussy pulses and clenches around his cock.

"How's Y/N?" Your mom asks, but there's something off about her tone.

Immediately, you can tell she's not really interested in what you were up to. It's a tactic to keep him on the phone longer. Not that you care. You know she's not all that concerned since you're an adult and have your own life. It's why she only texted you once after landing.

"She's fine. We spent some time together earlier—just like I promised you." His voice drips with honey as he watches you fall apart on his cock.

You grin impishly as he drills up into your squelching pussy with his thick, heavy cock. Part of you wonders if she can hear the sound of skin on skin or the lewd squelching coming from your stuffed pussy. The thought turns you on so much that you have to tamper down the moan climbing up your throat. You feel like screaming because of how good you feel, and your stepdad just smirks at you like he isn't making a mess of you.

One of Seungcheol's hands slowly trails down your body to where you're connected. His thumb circles your clit slowly, barely giving you any stimulation. You buck your hips and push yourself harder into his hand, ever the impatient brat. He loves it, and yet he ignores your silent plea. Your stepdad stops teasing your sensitive bud and moves his hand to guide your hips into a rolling grind. The other goes to the fat of your ass, roughly squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.

"Thank you, honey," her tone is love stricken, and you wonder how she could easily fall back into his trap just like that. Part of you finds it funny while the other part of you feels disgusted.

"It means a lot to me that you care for her even when I'm not there."

Seungcheol smirks at you, leaning back to focus on your bouncing tits, "Of course. I have to care for our little princess even when you're not around."

You bite your lip when Seungcheol aggressively thrusts you down on his dick.

"So fucking tight." He hisses through clenched teeth.

"Well I'm grateful, even though I sometimes think she's a little too spoiled."

Both of his large hands are now cupping your ass, helping you bounce on this aching cock. His hungry gaze stares at the way your pretty pussy swallows his cock so perfectly. By now, he's sure your insides are shaped like him, and it just makes him twitch and throb inside you. He's so focused on watching his cock piston in and out of your tight hole that he almost misses his wife's question.

"Honey, are you done thinking now?"

Seungcheol doesn't answer her, instead choosing to spit on your sloppy pussy. You slow your bounces, tight cunt clenches at the action. Your stepdad smirks and does it again. He watches, completely satisfied as you shudder and roll your eyes to the back of your skull.

"No," He admits as you start to bounce on his dick again, "I'm still a little angry."

"Really?" Your mom can't hide her disappointment.

Seungcheol nearly loses it when you start to roll your hips sensually, fucking his cock exactly the way he likes it. Your thighs are starting to stick to his from the amount of wetness between you two. With a smug grin, you lean forward to give him a sloppy kiss.

"Let it all out, daddy," you whisper against his lips, "fill my pussy with your cum."

"Seungcheol?"

That annoying voice makes your stepdad fuck you harder, eager to give you what you both want.

"It's going to take some time. Some things don't just go away overnight."

Your stepdad keeps talking to your mom like you're not grinding your needy cunt on his fat cock. It's just making you more wet, and you can feel your arousal dripping down his balls and onto the nice couch. You have no doubt that it'll leave a stain, but that's the least of your worries right now. It turns you on so much to know that Seungcheol is fucking you while he's talking to his wife. You feel like such a slut, but you can't deny how much you like it.

You've never been so wet, and it makes you want to ride your stepdad harder, maybe even get caught. Your pussy spasms and clenches down on him at that thought, making him flinch and bite his lip.

Seungcheol slaps your ass with both hands and cages you against his chest. You muffle your cry of pleasure in his neck as he savagely starts to thrust into you like you're nothing more than a hole. His leaking cock is hitting inside you so deep and hard that it's not long before you cum all over his big cock.

The room smells of sex as he starts to bounce you on his sensitive cock all over again. Loud squelching and quiet whimpers fill the air as your stepdad helps you ride him. One last, milking compression of your silky pussy has him emptying his balls inside you. Seungcheol groans into your shoulder, hips never stopping.

"Okay. I understand," your mom sounds close to tears.

You don’t care. Instead, you start to move your hips to help her husband fuck his cum deeper into your fertile pussy. Your wetness and his cum seeping between your folds and down his veiny girth turns your skilled movements sloppy.

“Give me more, daddy,” you mewl, batting your eyelashes in that coy way he loves.

Seungcheol raises his body into more of a sitting position and roughly pulls you up and off of his cock. You watch dazedly as his dick drools with the remnants of your orgasm and his cum. You lick your lips at the filthy sight of his wet cock.

“Honey?”

Your mom’s voice sounds distant as her husband positions you over the armrest of the couch. He only hums in response as he slowly slides his fat cock back into your messy pussy. Your mouth drops open at the feeling. Once again he’s stretching you out so good that it has your pussy clenching down on him compulsively.

“Do…” She pauses. “Do you still love me?”

Seungcheol can’t focus on her pathetic words as he slowly starts to fuck your sloppy pussy. He can see the remnants of his cum being pushed out of you as his thrusts start to get rougher. Your warm walls cling to his cock desperately, wanting to milk him for all he’s worth.

“How could you ask me that?” Seungcheol mocks her dejected tone, though she doesn’t notice. “You’re the one that’s never home anymore. I’m starting to wonder if you still love me?”

It’s sick how good he is at gaslighting, but you don’t feel bad. In fact it turns you on. Like really fucking bad. Your pussy tightens around your stepdad’s cock which makes him angle his hips to have you biting down on the armrest to stifle your filthy moans. He fucks into your sweet spot as pleasure whites out any coherent thoughts you have.

“Of course I do!” Your mom sounds shrill and distraught, so much that she can’t hear how good her husband is fucking you. How he’s splitting you open on the nice couch she picked out when they first got married. “How could you think—?”

“Let’s talk about it when you come home,” Seungcheol says through gritted teeth, eyes focused on how your pretty ass is bouncing back on his pelvis. “You’re upset, and this is a conversation we need to have in person.”

The pathetic okay sounds distant, and you vaguely catch her saying I love you to Seungcheol before he abruptly hangs up the phone without saying it back.

“Goddamn,” Seungcheol groans as disregards his phone, “trying to suck me in, sweetheart? Greedy little pussy needs daddy's cock that bad?"

He pounds into your sloppy, squelching hole when you loudly moan and nod. Your juices are dripping everywhere, and he fucking loves it. The swollen tip of his cock hammers against your g-spot until you’re screaming for him. Seungcheol smirks, knowing you were just waiting to let it all out.

"I fucking knew it," He groans with an endeared laugh.

"Don’t worry, princess. Daddy’s gonna cream this sweet fucking pussy. Get you all dirty so I can eat you out."

You whine and claw at the couch, clit rubbing against the rough material and pushing you closer and closer to orgasm. By now your legs are shaking from the sheer pleasure his big cock is giving you.

"Should I make you squirt on my cock, sweetheart? Get the couch all dirty?"

You start to bounce yourself back on his cock eagerly, "Daddy, gonna cum!"

Seungcheol grins and affectionately squeezes your sides before his hand slips down to your clit. He tugs your hips back just a little and lands a hard spank across your swollen bud. You squeal loudly, body trembling at the mean action.

"Daddy!"

"Oh, I know,” His voice drips with lust, "you know daddy can’t help but be a little rough with your little pussy."

Your stepdad smacks you again catching your clit on his wedding ring making you scream as your orgasm rushes over you. Slick drips around his cock as your cunt clamps down on his dick. You whine and move your hips in tandem with his, loving how intense this one is.

"Fuck!" Seungcheol growls, hips pistoning harder into your fluttering walls.

“Such a good girl. My good little brat—fuck!"

Your cunt milks his cock as he fills you with hot sticky cum. His thrusts start to get sloppy as he spills rope after rope into your hot cunt.

"Take it," he hisses, biting down hard on your shoulder causing you to moan, pussy clamping down even harder on his dick.

You’re crying out loudly from how good it feels, hole still gushing slick from his fat cock bullying into your pussy and cumming deep inside you. This load is the biggest he’s ever given you. Somehow he doesn’t stop cumming. It feels like stream after stream of his hot seed paints every inch of your fluttering walls white.

"Gonna eat you out after this," Seungcheol groans in your ear, "need to get my mouth on your messy little pussy."

You whine as he pulls out, cum and slick oozing from your hole to drip all down your thighs and onto the couch. Without moving you, Seungcheol lays on his back and shifts until he's underneath your splayed legs.

"Sit on my face, baby," he guides your hips down, “let your stepdad clean the mess he made.”

With a harsh tug, your cunt presses down on his awaiting mouth. His nose bumps against your clit as his eager tongue licks into your sensitive pussy. You feel him moan against your wetness, wasting to time in lapping up the cum he’s left inside you. The filthy action makes you rock against his soft lips. You grab onto his hair and start riding his face gently since you're still reeling from your previous orgasm.

"Daddy!" You cry out as he fucks his tongue deeper into your hole. "Feels so fucking good! Fuck—mhm."

You trail off with a whine as he sucks on your pussy lips and nips at your clit. He greedily eats all the cum out of your messy cunt. Mewling, you press yourself harder on Seungcheol’s face. He groans gutturally when you settle further onto his mouth. Your stepdad grinds his mouth against your puffy cunt making you whine louder, clit throbbing with arousal. He rubs his nose against the sensitive bundle of nerves making you buck into the feeling.

Arousal gushes out of you as your stepdad continues to eat your pussy, and you don’t realize you’re on the verge of another orgasm until you’re squirting all over his face. Seungcheol groans in satisfaction, lapping up every stream that gushes out of your hot little cunt.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Your back arches in a perfect curve as Seungcheol laps up all of your creamy slick.

Of course, Seungcheol only moans along with you and presses even further into your cunt, practically suffocating himself to taste you more. He’ll never get enough of your addicting taste, and you looked back to see his cock hard and throbbing, leaking with so much precum that it looks painful.

When he finally finishes, you don’t let him get up despite the fact that your legs are too shaky to hold your weight. Seungcheol lays back, curious about your next moves. He moans loudly when you crawl down his sweaty body and take his aching cock into your soft hands.

“My turn to have a taste, daddy.”

You don’t give him a chance to say anything before you push the drippy tip of his cock past your swollen lips. His loud moan makes your cunt pulse. It makes you swirl your tongue around his sensitive head before licking down the rest of his dirty cock. You can taste yourself, and that just turns you on even more.

"Gonna make me cum in your mouth, sweetheart," he groans, watching your lips stretch around his hard cock.

You keep your eyes on him as you sink your hot mouth on his pulsing cock. He’s so big, too big to fit all of him in your mouth. Not that you care. Sucking him off always gets you so wet. Especially because you can tell how much he loves it.

"Fuck. You gonna swallow the rest of daddy’s cum, baby?" Seungcheol grins at you as you moan around his dick.

“You like that? It’s gonna feel so good, baby. Daddy's hot cum pouring down your slutty throat."

You whine, reaching down to your sore cunt to rub your clit. His filthy words always turn you on so much, and he fucking knows it. You can tell by the way he smirks.

"That turn you on, sweetheart?" He chuckles as you slide his cock deeper into your mouth. Seungcheol pulls out a few inches and sinks back down into you making you moan as he fills your throat.

"Play with that cute pussy. I want you to cum all over your fingers while I fuck your mouth."

You continue to moan as you take his cock further down your throat.

"God, baby, I'm about to cum," his hips stutter, "Be a good girl and swallow every last drop for daddy. Milk my cock just how I like."

Your fingers circle and rub your clit faster until you're moaning uncontrollably around his length. Seungcheol’s eyes roll back at the vibrations he feels on his dick. He moans your name, and that’s all it takes to have you cumming, hole clenching down on nothing as slick drips from your pussy.

With a low groan, Seungcheol eases out of your mouth until you can only suckle on the fat head of his dick. Hot sticky ropes of cum fill your mouth and the back of your throat in the next second. Your stepdad grins when you take his cock and slowly sink it further into your mouth. You moan at the feeling of cum dripping down the back of your throat. Eagerly, you swallow and milk his throbbing cock for all it’s worth.

Seungcheol pulls out of your mouth completely but leaves his swollen tip pressed to your lips, “finish cleaning daddy’s cock, sweetheart."

You press a gentle kiss on his sensitive head before giving it a shy kitten lick that drives him crazy. After he’s satisfied, he pulls you off his cock and sits back on the couch before pulling you into his lap.

Seungcheol kisses you, tongue sloppily licking into your mouth. You moan happily, unable to get enough of him.

"You’re so good for me, baby," your stepdad mumbles after he pulls away, "always such a good girl."

After you’re done, Seungcheol carries you to your room. He cleans you up in your bathroom, tenderly cleaning every part of your body before washing himself. Once he’s done, he makes sure to dress you in your favorite sleep shirt before joining you in your bed.

“Daddy,” you hum as he nuzzles his face into your neck, “love you.”

“Me too, princess,” he hums, arms tightening around you.

“Don’t want this to end,” you say sleepily before finally drifting off into a lovely dream.

Seungcheol hums in agreement, staying up longer to contemplate.

Now that he’s had a taste of what it would be like to have you without anyone getting in the way, he knows he won’t be able to go back. And so, in his deeply twisted mind he starts to plot how he’s going to make that happen. Of course, he’ll have to run his plans by you before attempting anything, but he knows you won’t have any objections.

Seungcheol drifts off to sleep, happily dreaming of a life where it’s just you and him.

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