#and it seems to take that more direct approach

[rubiehart]

how are jj and bsf!reader doing after s4’s events…

♪ heavy - the marías ♪

the neurons in jj’s body are practically buzzing with how giddy he is, blonde mop flopping back against the head rest with every bump of the long country road. his lips are fixed in that signature cocky grin that made you fall head over heels for him all those years ago in the sand box days. “you kiddin’ me?” he laughs breathily, the north carolina air whizzing past the semi-crooked open windows. manually wound down ‘cause the twinkie’s an old girl to say the least.

the wind whips through his blonde tresses and he’s happily bobbing in his seat, hands readjusting on the wheel, one on the ten, other on the three, as he fixes his gaze on your form, looking like some kind of hyper-active puppy with you sprawled out in shotgun, back resting against the door as you grin fondly at his antics. he whistles, his adoration of you being completely obvious. “cause seein’ you in that ‘kini.. nearly sent me off my damn feet..”

the change in his approach is noticeable as you pull your head back in from the window to meet his eye, wind no longer roaring in your ears when you smirk almost challengingly, elbows leaned against the rim of the open window, tilting your head to the side questioningly, knowing he could never resist your teasing, you murmur a “yeah?” watching the way he fidgets in his seat as the van rumbles down the empty road.

he noticeably jerks in excitement as your slight show of submission, warm, ring adorned hand moving to rest against your bare thigh, kneading the flesh fondly, eyes never leaving yours as he silently pleads with you. “you’re not kiddin’ right, baby? ‘cuz that’d be real mean, i promise ya.” he speaks slow, in that southern drawl that always made you mentally fold for him, you shrug, faux carelessly as you bump over another pothole, tits jostling in your triangle bikini top.

you dismiss his admission with a soft shake of your head and a flick of his knuckle, cheeky smile on your face as he re-situates himself with two hands on the wheel, a little pissy about the loss of contact. “eyes on the road, jay.” you tease, ironically because you’re sitting horizontally in your seat, and neither of you are wearing seatbelts, he plays along though, tonguing at his bottom lip with a grin. “damn straight baby, gotta get the princess home in one piece, hm?”

the air is thick and heavy, almost swelteringly so outside of the car’s open windows. and if the north carolina sun is beating down fierce on the back of jj’s neck, he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest as your eyes rake all over his form shamelessly, lazy smile on your face as you take in his angular nose and chiselled jaw, carefree smirk and shining eyes.

you reach for the stereo, turning up the volume as your head whips around, vision fixed on the passing private beach, littered with people and laughter. you pass over more bumps and pot holes, which only makes this more torturous on jj as the fat of your tit slowly reveals itself to him at every jostle of the vehicle.

his hands are white knuckled on the wheel, readjusting his grip, one of the twelve, one on the nine. and it’s not from speed. he’s gripping the wheel so hard that when the car jerks once, twice, three times, he’s squeezing his eyes shut momentarily by the end of it, forcing his mouth shut. the cause for the reaction is the sight he’s currently privy to in the corner of his peripheral view. his jaw is slightly agape, eyes wide and lovesick. “god. damn.” he whispers.

your head whips back in his direction, eyebrows furrowing in confusion before you realise what had elicited that reaction from him. you laugh softly, readjusting the thin fabric of your bikini top over your pert nipple, eyes finding his own wide ones. “eyes on the road, jay.” you reprimand once again, teasing evident in your tone.

he swallows, throat dry as the sahara as he attempts to play it off, drumming his fingers against the wheel, nodding along. “eyes on the road. eyes on the road, yeah, yeah, yeah - yeah.” he’s far from convincing as you snicker at him, watchinf the way his eyes are on the road for all of three seconds before they’re dipping back down again. he’s starting to sweat a little and it has nothing to do with the blazing heat outside.

jj’s lips tug into a smirk that’s all too cocky for his current situation as they speed past the marshlands. he won’t admit the heat that’s currently spreading through his body and quickly making its way south, tenting the front of his swim shorts noticeably. “shut up-“ he grumbles, running his hand through his slightly damp hair, gesturing towards you as he continues. “look at you.”

she just laughs, giving herself a dramatic look over in the windshield, pursing her lips and playing with her hair. “guess i am pretty cute, huh?” his hands adjust on the wheel, relaxing again is his seat as he looks you over with a fond smile, heart swelling for the girl of his dreams. it seemed something else was swelling too.

it’s almost like you can see the cogs turning in his head, sniffing in an attempt to seem casual as he speaks, canines glinting in the sun as he eyes you with hooded lids. “what d’ya think ‘bout pullin to the side of the road for a bit? just for a lil’ while.”

“that was weak.” you laugh, but your eyes tell a different story because he’s already flicking on the turn signal and slowing the van a little.

“so is that a yeah?” he says, the van coming to a stop on the side of the road near a clump of bushes, no passing cars, and he’s desperate to be on you.

“as long as you’re gonna be pullin’ somethin’ else to the side.” you snort, nodding with a raised eyebrow, and he’s already scrambling for the door handle with a triumphant ‘woop’. you follow in suit, pulling open the backseat sliding door of the twinkie.

he gets the door open, stumbling out of the driver’s seat and practically tripping onto the backseats. he lands on his butt with a huff. “that was a weak ass line-“ jj can barely get his words out before he’s got a lapful of his girl and soft, eager lips on his own. he kisses you back with equal, if not more, fervour.

she pulls back, a weak string of saliva connecting their kiss swollen lips as she grins, “you love it.” the heat between her legs being sensed by jj as he grabs her hips, grinding her clothed cunt against his bare thigh.

“damn right, i do baby.” he grins, immediately latching his lips onto the skin of her collarbone, sucking fondly, the smell of her filling all his senses as his ringed fingers dig into the flesh of her hips lovingly.

her head lols back, breathy little whimpers leaving her lips as he marks her, fingernails digging into his broad shoulders as she speaks, voice all soft and needy. “roadside quicky, what’dya think?”

he pulls away softly, hands sliding up her stomach and eventually resting on her tits as his eyes find her own glazed over ones. he lets out a low, shaky exhale against the skin, making goosebumps rise along her arms, a hint of a smirk on his kiss swollen lips. “i think you’re a little eager, baby.” he teases, warm hands sliding under the thin material of your bikini top to palm your tits.

“can you blame me?” she says, in attempt to sound teasing but she just sounds utterly desperate as her shameless eyes roam all over his form, that look in her eye he knew all too well as you grind against his harness softly, eyes locked on his.

“no ma’am.” jj grins, giving your hips another encouraging little squeeze as they move in slow, tantalising circles over his lap. “god, no.” he practically growls, head falling back against the leather seat, adams apple bobbing as he swallows.

the feeling your giving him is something he’d kill to keep forever, and the feeling is easily reciprocated by you. and like every other time you’re with jj, the same question is spinning around your mind: why did you hold back from heaven for so long?

no pressure tags: @daintcas @echobx @forstarkey @heybank @inez-winchester-cameron @iheartjjmaybnk @jjsgirly @kraekat29 @livbedum @lustnluv @maybankslover @maybankswhore @maiiuelle @nemesyaaa @nightsteps @outermaybanks @obaex @obxologies @oceandriveab @princessmaybank @poguediaries @redhead1180 @sleepyjuice @stxrslut @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @jjsbaby

[reflingthefox]

When Tango notices it, lying down maybe a dozen blocks away from the Factory's entrance, he jumps so high he hits his head into the upper blocks.

He lands butt flat on the floor, dull ache in more than one part of his body now. Gasps for air; fear slowly receding in his lungs is replaced by disbelief. Tango scrambles back to his feet, whips a torch out of his inventory and steps closer to look.

The snail shell, highlighted by the flickers of fire, is still there.

Unmoving.

Tango chokes down a distressed sound and makes one step closer, looking the shell over. He can clearly see the red-and-black patterning on the shell, the leather accessory that imitates his vest pockets. It's gotta be the same one, from the Life server, or a very good replica.

Is this some sort of a prank? Why now? ...Why him? Tango notices the first wisps of anger settling inside him, his breathing starting to taste like smoke. You don't prank people with something that chased them to death so many times, that's evil and traumatic and -

The shell moves.

Tango screams and attempts to flee, tripping over his tail and falling face first in barely ten steps.

He pushes himself on his back, gasping every tick, and watches as the snail emerges, plopping out a first long, redstone-torch eyestalk, then another. Mind going blank from fear, Tango tries to crawl backwards, make some distance or -

He expects the directed movement, the jump, but the snail doesn't seem to pay attention to him. It stretches out its body, waves its eyes around a bit, and starts making its way towards the Factory wall. Oh - oh, maybe it's gonna eat the walls, Tango's brain supplies. That's kinda - normal? Considering that's what snails do. And what Tango did in that Life game, too.

He lets out a shaky laugh, and tries to reach for the comm. It's unlikely that anyone else is awake and free, it's kinda night o'clock outside, but - what if. His hands are shaking so much he almost drops the comm; Tango steadies them, and types in chat, watching the foul beast crawl all over his wall.

[Tango:] Question to all Lifers: does anyone hve a snail around?

The creature seems to decide vertical surfaces are overrated, and crawls back down, settling on a patch of grass and munching on it. The comm beeps, and Tango jolts with a squeak again, dropping it this time.

[GoodTimeWithScar:] what do you mean a snail

[GoodTimeWithScar:] OH MY GOD A SNAIL

Not to say that someone else's misery makes Tango feel better, but - It does. It honestly does.

Then, the snail makes an eye contact with him.

Tango tries to get moving, scramble away, as it starts moving towards him. Eerily silent, too - no weird vocalizations it had back then, no heralding its approach. Another push of his limbs fails, he freezes, as if paralyzed, terror pounding in his skull, and the murder snail closes the distance.

Nothing bad can happen to him, right, Tango tries to frantically reassure himself. It's Hermitcraft. He just respawns, and everything will be fine. Right?

The snail approaches his outstretched leg - Tango tries to pull it closer to himself, but fails - raises its head, waving it around unsure for a couple seconds, and nuzzles his boot.

Tango stills his breath, waiting for a flash and a yank of respawn.

Nothing happens.

The snail pulls its face over his boot, nipping at the shoelaces and wiggling its eyestalks. Tango forces himself to start moving - after several long unsuccessful attempts, he manages to bend enough to sit up, raise his stiff paralyzed arm, and touch the snail's face.

It contracts on itself, eyestalks retracting into the face, but nothing else happens.

No murder.

Relief washes over him so fast that Tango simply flops on the ground, an approximation of unstuffed plush toy. His heart still pounding in his head, mouth feeling like ashes - he takes a breath, and another, and lets out a long, tired groan, closing his eyes.

He still feels the snail crawling further up his leg, very interested in that part of his pants where he knows the biggest redstone stain sits, - and he can't hold a gaspy, shrieky laughter.

Cute snail. Cute little hungering beast.

That's a change of plans for tomorrow, though - he gotta go murder Grian.

[lush-lavenders]

❀Late Bloomer❀

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: You are late to enter society, but that doesn't mean you don't catch anyone's eye...

Request: Nope

Author’s Note: Sooo I'm really bad about disappearing. But recently I've been binging Bridgerton and been in the mood to write, so here we are!

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: None, just fluff here

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!I don’t own this gif!

Dearest Reader,

It has come to my attention that a Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N), youngest daughter to Baron Arthur (Y/L/N), is making her debut, mid-season. Not only that, but she is almost one and twenty!

While this author cannot see the future, she can certainly predict it (and I do predict it well) - this season will be nothing if not eventful for Baron (Y/L/N) children.

—

As you stepped into the ballroom, the flutter in your stomach threatened to escape from your mouth. 

Lady Whistledown had come out this morning, and your mother was enthralled by the mere mention of your name. This made her fuss over you all day, needing to make your debut even more ‘perfect.’ 

You tried on three different dresses before the right one was picked out. You had five hairstyles tried out before your mother decided on the very first one. You had spent two hours out in search of the perfect matching earrings and necklace.

You were exhausted by the time you had to get ready, and severely tense as you arrived at Lady Danbury’s ball.

Cassandra, your sister-in-law, squeezed your arm softly. “Take a deep breath. This is just a party.”

You quickly took a breath, sighing it out. “That is easy for you to say. You married my brother in your first season after courting for a week.”

Cassie opened her mouth probably to give you more words of encouragement when your brother butted in. “We cannot stand here and talk all night. You need to present yourself to suitors.”

Before you could even think about protesting, Matthew walked ahead of you with Cassie on his arm, leaving you to trail behind.

—

“That there is Miss Buchan, she’s the only child of Earl Buchan.” The dowager Viscountess Bridgerton was discreetly pointing out young ladies to her two eldest sons, whose attentions would rather be anywhere else.

Benedict was scanning the room for someone he could use to politely excuse himself from his mother’s matchmaking. 

It would be an understatement to say he wasn’t interested in marrying yet. He had just recently started at Art School and wanted nothing more than to enjoy his work as a bachelor.

That’s when he spotted Lady Danbury. Normally he avoided the woman, as she could be as scheming as his mother, but she seemed like his only refuge.

“Excuse me, Mother, but I believe I should give my regards to Lady Danbury for the invite.” Benedict bowed to Violet before quickly heading off in the direction of the hostess. 

He thought about turning away last minute, evading all the prying eyes of those who might want to set him up, but something caught his attention - the once-alone lady of the house was now talking with a young lady. One he had yet to see in the sea of lovely debutantes. 

“Mr. Bridgerton!” Lady Danbury’s distinct voice cleared his mind as he approached. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She knew better than anyone that the Bridgerton boys tried to avoid her at these balls.

Benedict bowed, offering a smile. “Lady Danbury, I just wanted to compliment your wonderful party.”

Lady Danbury raised her, knowing that there was an ulterior motive. She glanced at where Violet Bridgerton was standing with her eldest, noticing her eyes were following her second child.

She flashed a scheming smile and turned her attention back to the young lady she was with. “Where are my manners? Miss (Y/N), this is Mr. Benedict Bridgerton. Mr. Bridgerton, may I present to you Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N). This is her first ball, so I expect you to be on your best behavior. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should go talk to your mother.” 

She gave him a little pat on the shoulder, pushing him towards you as she went to Violet.

You lightly curtseyed as Benedict bowed his head to you. As you stood up straight, you froze, staring into the most beautiful blue eyes. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in the man’s features, stunned that someone such as him could be before you.

“Miss (Y/L/N).” He took your gloved hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing the gentlest kiss one could muster.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” you returned, not knowing what else to say. He had captured any words that might formulate within you.

His grasp lingered on your hand, longer than one might consider proper. It was good that the two of you were sequestered to the back of the ball.

At least you had thought you were hidden away.

A hand and sudden voice from behind told you how wrong you were.

“(Y/N), we have been looking for you. We turned around and you had disappeared.” Cassie let go of her husband to take your arm. “Who might you be talking to?” She asked, hiding the joy she felt for her best friend talking to a very eligible bachelor.

Benedict bowed to her and introduced himself before you could do it. “Benedict Bridgerton, at your service.” He joked lightly, and you bit your lip softly as you smiled.

“Bridgerton,” Matthew said as he bowed his head. “I’ve done quite a bit of business with your brother.”

If it wasn’t for Cassie being between you, you would have elbowed your brother right in the ribs for creating such a boring conversation.

Luckily, Cassie was thinking similarly enough to you. “Now now, my love. I’m sure Mr. Bridgerton does not need to hear about his own brother.”

Benedict chuckled, agreeing with her. “Yes, well, as well not needing to hear from him.” He joked, just as a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Well, Brother, maybe I shall take a look at your allowance?” Viscount Bridgerton came up out of the blue.

It seems as though each of your siblings was trying to prevent the two of you from speaking.

And they just kept coming.

Eloise Bridgerton arrived next, in an effort to escape from her mother. “Anthony, Benedict, you really must not leave me alone with Mama.” She sounded sort of breathless as if she had rushed here.

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling parched. “Pardon me…” You muttered to no one in particular. Matthew and the Viscount seemed to be conversing about business, while Eloise tried to convince Benedict to return to their mother for her.

Cassie silently went along with you, still holding your arm.

You were silent as you made your way to the refreshments table, grabbing the first glass in front of you. You tried to appear as ladylike as possible while you practically gulped down the lemonade.

“I am so sorry for our interruption, (Y/N),” Cassie said after you had finished. “I did not realize you were speaking with a Bridgerton.” 

You shook your head, setting the glass down. “It’s alright. We didn’t really start to converse yet.” Not that you had the chance.

She picked up a glass herself and took a sip, her thoughts lingering. “You seemed… quite enamored with him.”

You scoffed, but not in a way to be rude. “Did you even look at him, Cassie? He’s…” You were at a loss for words as your gaze landed back on the Bridgerton in question. His eyes were wandering, ignoring both of your brothers. They wandered and wandered… until they eventually landed.

On you.

Your eyes met for the second time that night, but this time you quickly looked away, cheeks growing hot. 

That wasn’t before you noticed his perk up and began heading in your direction.

“Cassie, he’s coming over here. What do I do?” You ask in a panic. The only men you’ve ever really talked to were your father and brother, and neither counted towards this.

She put both hands on your shoulders, making you look at her. “Just be yourself.”

That’s the best advice you have, you thought to yourself.

You barely had the time to think up a response when Benedict made it to you, bowing his head again in greeting. “Mrs. and Miss (Y/L/N).”

You both courtesy, Cassie standing up before you. “I believe my husband needs me.” She says before snicking off, leaving you two alone.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” you say after a moment, lifting your eyes to take a look at his features. Features that seem to be drilled into your mind from the beginning of the night. “Has my brother bored you so much you seek me out?” You joke in a self-deprecating manner, knowing you aren’t exactly worthy of his attention.

He smiled at your humor but shook his head. “Our brothers together are an apparent force to be reckoned with, but it is not them that brings me here. It’s you.”

Your breath caught in your chest at those last two words.

He actually wanted to be around you. There is nothing you could’ve hoped for more.

He looked around your surroundings before having you take his arm. “It gets so stuffy in here, does it not? Let us get some fresh air.”

“Just the two of us?” You asked with raised eyebrows. You had never been left, unchaperoned; yet the thought of it, with Benedict… it excited you.

He smiled a crooked but sweet smile. “Only if we leave now, while no one’s watching.”

You smile back, looking around as you follow him quickly into the hall before going out a backdoor into the gardens.

In the first few moments you observed him under the moonlight, your whole future played out. Everything centered around him.

[sparkrls]

High School Sweethearts

MASTERLIST

Summary: in which Harry Styles is the rookie on the football team and he's really lost and Adelaide Heathers is the captain of the volleyball team who's just a little too high-strung

Author's Note: Originally an AU of my Mastermind series, available on Wattpad

Word Count: 13.6k

•••

A FOOTBALL WAS KICKED STRAIGHT INTO ADDIE'S STOMACH, KNOCKING THE WIND OUT OF HER.

Addie wheezed, clutching her gut as she tried to recover air, but her lungs seemed to disagree with her intent. As she struggled to breathe, she reminisced on the peacefulness she'd been experiencing only a few minutes earlier.

It'd been just like every Tuesday afternoon. Finish school, head straight to the changing rooms and then to Addie's one true home: the volleyball court.

And now she felt like her lungs were collapsing.

The one and only thing Addie absolutely despised about training were the boy's football team training right beside them. It wasn't a rare event to have a football kicked into the sand, especially whenever the season was beginning and the rookies had yet to pass that learning curve.

But goddamn it, Addie was going to rip Captain Tomlinson a new one after getting hit straight in the gut. She'd been caught completely off-guard, and as she was busy showing the new girl how to properly spike the ball, Addie didn't have the time to dodge.

When air finally made its way into Addie's lungs, Tomlinson appeared right in time, wincing as he watched the other girls crowd around their Captain. She'd been leaning against her knees for balance, but when she caught sight of the blue-eyed football captain, she pushed herself up to storm over to him.

Louis Tomlinson, the captain of the football team. Fluffy brown hair, electric blue eyes and a bright smile. He was the kind of guy you took home to meet your parents, with a class clown personality, but kind enough.

His fatal flaw, in Addie's opinion, was being absolutely infuriating. With no adults around, his charm slipped into a sarcastic, more snarky personality.

If he didn't accidentally injure several of Addie's team with his stupid footballs, she might actually like him.

However, at the moment, Addie was pissed at him.

Addie raised her finger, pointing it at Tomlinson's face as he backed away hastily, stumbling over his own feet as he raised his hands in defense. She'd shouted at him enough times about balls getting kicked into their court for him to learn his lesson and know she was dangerous when angry.

"You moron, Tomlinson!" Addie seethed, as the back of his knees hit the bench, and he couldn't back away anymore. "How hard is it to kick the ball inside your huge field?"

Louis shook his head in protest, eyes wide with fear. He was a good ten centimeters taller than her, and he was still just as terrified of her as the rest of the school. "'S not my fault! We got a new player, and- he- he struggles a lil bit."

"A little bit?" Addie prompted, raising an indignant eyebrow. She gestured towards the field. "He kicked it forward, how the fuck did the ball go in the complete opposite direction?"

"I don't fucking know!" Tomlinson shrugged, looking just as bewildered as she was. "I told you he struggles."

"Struggles is an understatement."

Addie glanced at Louis, who seemed to be awaiting permission to move. She huffed, taking a few slow steps away from him.

"Fine, you're off the hook this time, Tomlinson."

Louis sighed, clearly relieved.

Addie rolled her eyes. "You're lucky it was me who got hit. Any of my girls go down because of you, and you're dead. Got it?"

Louis nodded eagerly. "A'ight, I'll tell Styles to watch it."

"Maybe kick him off the team if he's that incompetent," Addie muttered under her breath, crossing her arms as she watched some other boys on the football team start to approach. "Get your boys away from my court, Tomlinson, before I kick their ass."

"Noted," Louis turned around, clearing his throat before whistling, a sharp and loud sound that rang in the air. "Oi lads, back to the field. Move your arse, Oli." As the jersey-clad boys began heading back, Louis turned around and called, "I won't kick him off, just so you know."

"That's a stupid ass decision, just so you know," Addie shouted back.

Louis shrugged, in a 'what-can-you-do?' manner. "The lad's got potential."

Addie rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "He can shove that potential up his ass."

Addie pronounced 'ass' in a strange way, some unique hybrid between an American and a British accent. After a year or so of studying in England, she'd picked up a few odd habits of pronouncing certain words with an accent. She hadn't made a full transition, so of course her friends picked on her for pronouncing things 'too American' and then 'too British'.

Turning back around, Addie clapped her hands together to catch her girls' attention. "Alright, let's get back to work."

An hour later, Addie treaded back to her car, sand sticking to her thighs where she'd sweat and then later fallen down, ponytail a mess and in the spare change of clothes she carried in her gym bag. Taking a swig of water, she dug her keys out of her pocket.

Glancing around at the parking lot, she couldn't find her car.

Crap.

She always forgot where she parked her car, and so every afternoon, it was the same tedious game of clicking the buttons on her keys until she eventually located her car.

But just as she started clicking the keys, the universe decided it hated Adelaide Heathers. A small drop of rain trickled onto Addie's cheek. And then another. And another.

And within a few moments, the clouds were unleashing torment upon Addie, and she resorted to using her gym bag as a cover while she ran at top speed towards the roof of the basketball court.

When she finally made it to refuge, she collapsed on the ground, sitting and heaving as she watched sheets of rain fall down. The sound echoed through the basketball court. It was built in a strange way, with a roof covering the court and the bleachers, but with one open wall so that the court was semi-open.

Nevertheless, it was good for rainy seasons like these, in case it started raining in the middle of training, the football and the volleyball teams would huddle in the bleachers as they waited for the storm to pass.

Addie's ratty Spiderman shirt was sticking to her skin from the rain that had managed to get her wet. Once she'd caught her breath after the sudden run, she stood and squeezed the water from her shirt.

A shriek ripped from her throat when she turned and found someone else in the court. Her hand flew to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.

"Oh my god, you scared me. Jesus, don't be so quiet," Addie groaned, cheeks flushed with embarassment as she spoke, "You're like a ghost."

The boy looked sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

His hair was a messy array of curls, sticking to his forehead that was dripping with sweat, his nose looked like a bunny's, and his eyes-

Oh god, his eyes.

Addie could've stared at them forever, analyzed every combination needed to unlock that perfect lively green color.

He had the potential to look like a frat boy, but there was something about the nervousness in his smile, and the kindness in his eyes that let you know he wasn't that way. He seemed to be a good person.

And of course he was exactly Addie's type.

"'S alright," Addie waved him off, her mind already racing on all the ways she could get this pretty boy's number, "Who are you?- I mean, I know every single person on the sports team, but I can't recognize you."

He smiled with only one side of his mouth, and the curve of his dimple gleamed like a star. "I'm new. Harry Styles." He offered his hand.

Addie shook it. "Nice to meet you. I'm Adelaide Heathers. Captain of the volleyball team. " Realization then dawned on her. "Shit, you're Styles. You're the guy who hit me in the stomach with that ball!"

The guy with the shittiest kick in the world, Addie thought, but she wasn't nearly rude enough to say it out loud. Or at least to his face.

Harry grimaced. "I'm really sorry about that, by the way."

She liked the slow drawl of his voice. It reeled her in and she couldn't escape even if she wanted to.

And she really didn't want to.

"So you really decided to torment me twice in one day, huh? First a ball in the gut and then scaring the shit out of me," Addie joked, but it seemed Harry took it too seriously.

Harry rushed to say, "I swear I didn't do it on purpose- I mean, you may count the second one on purpose as I didn't announce my presence- but I didn't mean to scare you, I'm really a nice guy- oh shit, I swear I'm not one of those assholes who says they're a nice guy despite obviously not being a nice guy-"

Addie cut him off, "Alright, alright, calm down, Styles." She placed a firm hand on his bicep. "You're alright, I was just kidding around."

Harry sighed in relief. "Okay. That's good."

Addie smiled, endeared by his antics. "So, tell me, Styles-"

"You can call me Harry, by the way," Harry jumped in, cutting her off. She gave him a look. "Just- just so you know."

"Well, Styles, I quite like your last name," Addie smirked, noticing a small smile begin to appear on his lips. She had to admit, it gave her a little power rush to know she flustered him. "Anyways, as I was saying, how come you're here so late?"

Harry said, "Uh, I was waiting for the bus to arrive but it was really late. And then it started to rain. So..."

Addie nodded, humming in approval. She began to take slow, deliberate steps towards the bleachers. She sat down, leaning her elbows against the row behind her and gazing up at the ceiling. Harry followed suit, crossing his arms over his torso.

"What bus do you take?"

"The thirteen."

Addie frowned. "The thirteen made its last stop an hour ago. It passes by at five and that's the last one of the day."

"But-" Harry was aghast. "But training ends at five thirty."

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

Feeling sympathy for the poor boy who looked like a kicked puppy with his eyebrows all scrunched up in worry, Addie asked him, "Where do you live? I'm sure there's another bus that passes by there, or maybe the subway."

"You mean the tube?" Harry prompted, the corner of his lips pulled up into a teasing smile.

Addie scoffed, playfully slapping his arm. "Shut up, you're the only country that calls it that."

"Okay," Harry said, unconvincingly. He was clearly teasing her, and it made her uncomfortable. She was supposed to be the one in control.

Addie took the reins of the conversation, "Alright, so where do you live?"

Harry shook his head. "The thirteen is the only bus that passes near my house, and the tube drops me off too far off. My house is too close for the tube but too far to walk."

"The bus is your only shot, damn," Addie cursed, "Well, I've got a car, and I can give you a ride home if you want."

"Wait, really?" Harry sat up. "You sure?"

"Yeah, why not?" Addie shrugged. "Just let the rain ease up and we can go."

"You're an angel, Heathers. A lifesaver."

Addie bit her lip to suppress her grin. "It's no big deal."

The cutest guy ever just called me an angel, Addie thought, and she knew she must be blushing.

When the rain finally died down, they ran to Addie's car, getting a little lost along the way, but managing to make it semi-dry.

Laughing at their idiocies, Addie turned the car on and pulled out of the school parking lot. Harry made small talk, asking her about her American accent.

"I'm actually from Mexico," Addie said with a small chuckle. Harry raised his eyebrows, and she explained, "Since the US is right there beside Mexico, I learned to speak English with an American accent. Then, a year ago, my mom and I moved here to London, and I started at this school."

After her parents' divorce, everything had crumbled. She'd been holding on by a thread, and that thread was this school, this city and these people. A fresh start where no one knew her as the weird kid, or the geek, or that girl in the pictures in seventh grade.

Sure, she was still top of her class, and people were terrified to be around her because of her reputation for a sharp tongue and a cold stare. But she had friends who could see beyond that mask she wore, she had found volleyball, and she found her place in this world.

Thing were okay here.

Maybe not at home, but at her school. At work, and here in the car with this new kid.

"What about you? You new?"

Harry nodded, drumming his fingers against the car handle. "Yeah, transferred this year, and somehow got into the football team?" He turned to look at her. "Quick question, just how low are the standards? I mean, I got in, so I'm guessing it's less a bar and more like a pit in the ground?"

Addie laughed, grinning despite her promise to keep her cool around him. But there was something about his warmth that made her drop her defenses. "Their standards are pretty high. Tomlinson's a ruthless captain, so watch out for him. But he's got trust in you, says you got potential." She stopped at the red light and turned to look him in the eyes. "Tomlinson's a pain in my ass, but he's also got a good eye for players. If he lets you on his team, it's for good reason."

The light turned green, and Addie started driving again.

"Thanks."

"Just stating the facts. Maybe learn to kick the ball the right way, though."

"Aye, aye, cap'n." Harry saluted her, making her crack up.

Addie faked indignation, "Don't distract me, I'm driving!"

Harry gasped, following along with her joke. "I'm sorry. I'll stop being so hilarious. Oh wait, I'm always hilarious."

"You're an idiot, that's what you are."

Harry smiled.

Mark her words, someday, Harry Styles would be Adelaide Heathers' idiot.

---

"Does it really not bother your parents that you drive me home every day?" Harry commented after three weeks straight of Addie giving him a ride. "I mean, you must get home late, right?"

Every day after training, Addie would pick up the things they'd used, get changed, and make her way to the car. She'd find Harry walking on the street, and honked her horn until he finally gave up and let her drive him home.

After a week, he started helping her pick up after volleyball practice, saying it was the least he could do for all the trouble he put her through. She began letting him. It was just picking up a couple of cones and packing up the net.

Now, she'd gotten used to it, to having him help her while he chattered on about his day. If it were anyone else, she would've stayed in comfortable silence, but he always seemed to pull a conversation out of her. And every time he talked about his day, she listened intently, until he asked a question that forced her to open up a bit.

After picking up, they'd get changed in their separate locker rooms. Somehow, he always took half the time she did and would wait outside the door for her. Always had his curls damp because he'd squeeze water into them to make them curl again after messing them up during practice. And with that puppy-like grin on his lips.

Addie shrugged. "Nah, it's just my mom and me. Dad and sister are back in Mexico, and since my mom works most of the time, she doesn't really notice I'm gone." She chuckled to herself. "Guess being a workaholic just runs in the family."

It wasn't uncommon for parents to be absent because of long work hours. It wasn't like Addie's mom couldn't afford to cut back her hours. Even if her mom only worked part-time, with her salary, they could have a great life.

But, like Addie said, being a workaholic was in their genes. Addie supposed that was the reason she was so focused on school and volleyball and work. She was addicted to being busy. To praise for her achievements and her work ethic. That was how her entire family was wired. That was how she'd been raised.

Harry's eyebrows knitted together in that way they did when he was deep in thought. "Well, if your mom won't mind, why don't you stay tonight for dinner?"

Addie's face slackened in shock. She turned her entire head to look at Harry before remembering she was supposed to be driving. She adjusted her hands on the steering wheel and cleared her throat. "Um... I mean, are you sure? You don't have to.”

Addie didn't want his pity or his fake niceties. She wanted him to truly want her. Maybe want her for more than just a casual dinner with his family. More than just that one friend who drove him home every afternoon.

Harry smiled, placing his hand over Addie's hand. She tightened her clutch on the driving stick as she felt the unfamiliar feeling of someone else's skin on hers. It only took a few moments for her to relax under the comforting warmth of his hand. "I want you there."

Pulling his hand back, Harry sat back, looking straight ahead.

Meanwhile, a million thoughts were whirring through Addie's head as she tried to understand what his hand on hers in this enclosed space meant. What did it mean?

Was Harry feeling the butterflies swarming his stomach the way she was? Or was she alone in her rose-flushed cheeks and thoughts of jumping and falling for someone who might not catch her?

Addie stayed at Harry's for dinner that night. She met his sister, who was studying at a college on the other side of the city, and his parents who were the sweetest people she'd ever met. It was no wonder Harry had turned out so amazing when he'd grown up in this family.

There were no sharp comments, no subtle comments to dig under skin, just teasing banter and sibling loving each other. Harry looked at his sister with such admiration, Addie felt a small pang of jealousy. His parents listened intently as he talked passionately about his day at school.

And when they turned to get to know Addie better, their words were kind and understanding. It started with the simple questions about her parents and their work. And then they asked, "So, why do you like our Harry?"

"Is it a pity thing?" Gemma joked, hiding her smile behind a roll of bread. That was another thing Addie hadn't experienced in years. Carbs at a meal.

When Addie started getting into sports, her mom stopped buying bread, saying "You need to stay in shape. Imagine being captain of the volleyball team and being overweight" (She hadn't even been promoted to captain yet, but her mom assured her that she would get the position one way or another).

Addie was hesitant to grab bread, but it'd been so long and it tasted so good slathered in butter and dipped in the creamy tomato soup.

Snickering, Addie nudged Harry with her shoulder. "I guess he's decent. He did throw a ball at my stomach the first time we met."

Harry's Mom, Anne made a sound of shock. "Harry, you did what!?"

His eyes widened with alarm. "It was an accident! I swear-!"

"Harry, I swear to god, you make such bad first impressions," Anne chided him, shaking her head in bewilderment. "Did you apologize?"

"Yes, Mom."

When dinner was over, they helped clean up and then Harry took her to his room, showing her around his house.

Harry showed her his small collection of CD's, blushing when she teased him for the obscene amount of Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks.

"I have Rumors on vinyl," Addie said as she scanned the CD, noting the small crack at the edge of the plastic case.

Harry's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. It was a gift from my dad." The last gift he gave her before she left for London. They'd sat down in the living room, next to the dozen of packed boxes, put the vinyl on and skipped to 'The Chain'. He'd held her hand and squeezed it, promising he would visit as soon as he could.

It'd been eighteen months and he hadn't visited even once. Calls were rare and short. Texts were a little more frequent, but still scarce.

Addie looked up, setting the CD down back onto its shelf, and wandering around the rest of the room, hands in her pockets. "You should come over sometime. I'll play it."

Harry's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yeah!" He exclaimed. And then he seemed to realize how eager he sounded, and cleared his throat, saying in a more laidback tone, "Yeah. I guess that'd be cool."

Pretending to look at the poster above his bed, Addie tried to hide her stupidly huge grin.

Harry had stars, those glow in the dark stars that every kid wanted in their room. The only lighting in the room was his desk light, so she could see a bit of the glow in the stars. They were randomly placed on the ceiling.

Even if they were real stars, she doubted any of them would shine as bright as Harry’s eyes as he met her gaze. His cheeks flushed a light pink, lips curved in a nervous smile.

Addie’s breath caught in her throat. She could reach out and graze the softness of his lips or the curve of his nose. He looked so soft in the absolute best way possible. Soft like the petal of a rose. Soft like the first stream of sunlight through the window.

The spell of the moment was broken by the door being shoved open. It made a loud sound as it hit the wall.

Both Harry and Addie jumped, startled. Standing in the doorway was Harry's dad, Robin. "Keep the door open at all times, Haz." He glanced between the two teenagers, who looked equally embarrassed despite standing quite far apart. And only being friends. "Have fun."

Once Robin was gone, Harry groaned and dropped his face into his hands. "I'm sorry. My parents are embarrassing."

Shaking her head, Addie laughed. "No, I think your parents are really cool." She smiled softly, sitting down on the gray blanket of Harry's bed. He sat down beside her. "They really care about you. You're lucky to have parents like them."

Harry's gaze softened. "They are pretty great."

Addie would kill to have parents like Harry's. Caring and nurturing, who actually gave a shit about their kids.

Clearing her throat, Addie stood up. "This was great, but I should get back soon. School night and everything."

A pang of disappointment shot through her chest as she remembered she had to go. There was a very stupid part of her that really wanted to stay with Harry forever. A very stupid and foolish part of her. The same part that felt butterflies each time her eyes met his and drove him home every afternoon just to get a few minutes with him.

Addie waved goodbye to Harry's parents, thanking them for dinner as she walked past their room. Harry walked her to her car, where he then hugged her and hesitated before placing a swift kiss to her cheek.

They both tried to play it cool, even though the two were flushed tomato red, and Addie stumbled as she got into her car.

The entire drive home, her cheek tingled where she'd been kissed. And if her fingers wandered over the lingering warmth, and her mind ran with thoughts of where this could lead, well... that was just for her to know.

---

Addie lost the match.

The first match of the season, and they'd been beaten by a landslide. It was absolutely pathetic how they'd barely gotten any scores in. The match was so clearly dominated by the opposing team, it was actually sad. But most of all, it made her realize just how shitty of a captain she was.

She wasn't made for leadership. All she had was her own strength, but she didn't have enough to keep everyone else moving.

When they got to their locker rooms, it was dead silent as they took turns in the showers. No one wanted to speak, afraid it would only make the moment real.

But it was when Lexi started sniffling, and Alice turned to hug her that Addie couldn't take the silence anymore.

"It's okay," Alice murmured to Lexi.

Lexi shook her head. "I'm the one who didn't hit that final ball. It's my fault."

"Lexi," Addie spoke. Everyone turned to look at her. All eyes were on her. This could make or break the moment. "We're a team, alright? One of us lose, all of us lose. And it's okay to fail sometimes, that just means we gotta work harder." She got to her feet, sitting beside Lexi and pulling her into her side. The younger girl clung to Addie, searching for some comfort. "We lost a match, but it's the first one of the season, we're still learning how to work together and that's okay. Now we know what we need to work on, and we'll do better next time."

"I'm sorry," Lexi sniffled. "I tried my best, I swear."

Addie's heart ached as she watched the girl cry. "It's okay. I know."

By the time the locker room emptied, Addie was the only one left. She always made sure to be the last one to leave, just to make sure the rest of her team were okay.

She cried in the shower, totally alone in her sorrows as she only had herself to blame. Maybe the whole team had lost, but she was the leader. Addie was the one who was supposed to steer them to victory, not to this.

This had been Addie's shot to prove herself, and she'd thrown it in the trash and set it on fire.

Addie locked up the locker room, and made her way to the parking lot, digging through her bag for the keys.

She found someone leaning on the hood of her car. Curly hair swept back as he leaned his head back, closing his eyes, breathing in the fall air.

Addie clicked the car keys, and the car made a sound, startling Harry. He jumped, stumbling forward and barely catching himself before he fell face-first onto the asphalt.

She snickered at his reaction, pushing past him to place her gym bag in the backseat of her car. "Hey, Styles."

Harry leaned forward, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He'd made it a tradition to always greet her that way. "Hi, Heathers."

Addie tried not to blush and failed spectacularly. "You looking for a ride?"

"You offering one?"

Addie shrugged, gesturing with her head. "Door's open." Harry got into the car eagerly, already buckling his seatbelt by the time she was barely sitting down.

Addie buckled her seatbelt and placed the keys in the engine-

"How'd the match go?"

Something inside of Addie snapped, and for the second time that day, tears began to spill down her cheeks. She sniffled, trying to wipe the tears away before he could notice, but it was too late.

Harry leaned forward, grasping her face with his hand, gently turning her towards him. "Love, are you okay?"

Addie squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she would stop crying. Harry probably thought she was embarrassing. She couldn't keep it together for even a few minutes. That was certainly embarrassing. All he wanted was a ride home, he certainly didn't need to see her tears.

"Ads? You can talk to me," Harry said, his voice ever so gentle, as if she were so fragile he could break her with just a few words. "Love?"

Addie opened her eyes, allowing him to see the tears swimming, the hurt hidden behind her amber eyes. "We lost. I fucked it up. I fucked it all up."

A strangled sob escaped her throat despite her best attempt to choke it back. Harry shushed her, leaning forward, the brake digging into his gut, but he endured the pain just so he could hug her.

And despite everything that had been ingrained in Addie's mind for so long- that crying was showing weakness, and weakness meant shame, and shame was the worst crime of all-

Addie took his comfort. She clung to it like a lifeline, because she was drowning and Harry was her lifejacket.

This was all she had ever needed all along.

Because even now, when she felt so incredibly low and pathetic, she didn't feel alone. Addie didn't feel alone, instead she felt a hope creeping into her life the way a candlelight slowly lights in a dark room.

"You didn't fuck up," Harry murmured into her ear, holding her tighter. Addie closed her eyes, bathing in the warmth of his touch. "You didn't, okay? You're amazing, and smart and so dedicated and maybe you lost this time- but you're goddamn Adelaide Heathers, and when you fall down, you get back up."

Addie weakly asked, "And if I can't get back up?"

"You will." There was no doubt in Harry's voice as he spoke. "Maybe you'll struggle a little, but you'll get back up. You always do. And you know that I'm always there to help you up."

"I don't feel like getting back up anymore," Addie protested, pulling away from Harry's hug with regret. She was bitter as she cried, "I keep getting kicked down and getting back up and I'm so sick and tired of it, and I just-" Her breath was shaky as she inhaled -"I just want to give up already."

Harry placed a gentle hand on her arm, a soft reassurance that he was there. "You can stay down a little while, but you'll get back up again. That's just how you're wired."

"I don't know if that's true anymore."

"Well, I know it's true," Harry defended, not aggressive but more insistent as he said, "Because I know you. And you trust me, right? So you can trust me when I say that you'll get back up. And even if you don't, then I'll be there anyways."

Addie sniffled, quickly wiping her tears away. "You're a really great person, Haz. Have I told you I'm really glad I have you in my life?"

Harry shook his head with a light chuckle. "No, but it's good to know."

"I mean it," Addie insisted, her voice still thick with tears. "I don't know where I'd be without you. Thanks for kicking that ball into my stomach."

Harry threw his head back laughing. The sound rang through the air like the chiming of bells, making Addie feel like she was on a cloud knowing she'd made Harry laugh. She had made him happy, even if only for a few seconds.

Once Harry's laughter had settled down, he turned his head to look at her. Something clouded his eyes, like a lavender haze falling over them.

His voice dropped an octave as he said, "I really like you, Adelaide Heathers."

"You're not half-bad yourself, Harry Styles," she whispered back, eyes flickering down to his lips.

She wasn't sure if it was her imagination or if Harry was leaning forward just a few inches, about to meet her halfway. And there was a yearning to crash her lips against his and take what she'd wanted all this time.

And then her phone rang.

Their bubble burst just like that, and Addie could recognize the ringtone. She answered, "Yeah?"

"Adelaide," her mom warned her, "You greet people with 'hello' not 'yeah'."

"Sorry, Mom," Addie said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What's up?"

"Why aren't you home yet?"

"I told you I was having dinner at Harry's tonight," Addie said, frowning in confusion. She looked over at Harry, who was looking at her for an explanation. She simply shrugged, as confused as he was.

Mom scoffed. "I didn't say you could go."

"Yeah, you did, Mom," Addie reminded her, "You told me yesterday morning it was fine. I told you I had my match and then after, I was heading to Harry's for dinner."

"You had a match today?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Don't use that tone with me," Mom snapped at her. Yeah, well, you missed my match, so get off your high horse, bitch, Addie thought bitterly. "Did you win?"

"No, we didn't."

"I'm disappointed in you, Addie. I thought you would do better."

Addie was ready to snap. Not only did her mother miss her match, but she had the audacity to then be disappointed in Addie?

Then again, her mom's words hit her like a punch in the gut. Even her mom thought she'd win. How many people had she let down today?

"Look, I'm headed to Harry's, I'll be back before curfew."

"I want you home at nine."

"Mom, it's seven-"

"Nine."

"Fine."

Addie hung up the phone and turned it on silent, knowing her mom would try and call her back just to tell her off. "Can I stay until midnight tonight?"

"I thought your curfew was eleven," Harry said, trying to piece together Addie's interaction with her mother.

"It is."

Harry waited for an explanation until he realized none was coming and nodded. "Stay however long you want to."

Addie got home at one am, by which time her mom was passed out on the couch, a glass of sugar-free lemonade beside her. She walked past her and headed to her room.

And that night, she dreamt of sitting in a car and no stupid phones interrupting a kiss with Harry. She dreamt of holding his hand and kissing him like he belonged to her.

The next morning, Addie was numb to her mom's yelling and didn't even give a shit when she was grounded. Addie realized she didn't really give much of a shit when it came to her mom. Not anymore.

She was fed up.

---

Addie whistled, "Horan! Come over here, you idiot!"

Niall whipped his head around, blue eyes sparkling with glee as he caught sight of the younger girl. "Heathers!" He ran towards her, hugging her tightly as she returned the embrace with matching eagerness. "How have you been, love?"

"I've been good, babe," Addie answered with ease, used to the friendly flirting with Niall. They pulled back from the hug. "What about you? You're the one who disappeared for two months, you dick." She punched him in the arm.

"Okay, first off, ouch. Second, it was actually really good?" Niall answered, slinging his arm around her shoulder and leading her towards the bench on the edge of the field. "I was worried 'cause 's been a while since I've visited my fam, right? But it was nice."

He was wearing his football uniform, and the scratchy fabric of the jersey infuriated Addie, but after last year of near-constant physical contact with Niall, she'd gotten used to it for the most part.

They ended up sitting down on the bench, chatting while Addie slung her legs over Niall's, always maintaining some kind of physical contact. She needed it after he'd gone away for two months to Ireland to be with his family.

Louis arrived fifteen minutes later, looking slightly disgruntled with his hair a mess and the front of his jersey dripping wet and spreading to his shorts. Addie took him in, raising an eyebrow at the water that didn't seem to have spread to the back.

"Niall, aren't you supposed to be warming up?" Louis grumbled, running a hand through his hair as he tried to fix the disheveled mess. "And Heathers, don't you have a training to lead?"

"Don't you know how to drink water?" Addie retorted, looking him up and down.

Louis scoffed. "It was your stupid boyfriend that did this to me. Got distracted looking at this-" He gestured towards their intertwined legs -"And spilled a whole fucking shit bottle of water on me. Grabbed my arm in a fucking vice too. Pretty sure I'mma get bruises from the fucking thing."

Louis' swearing filter was removed whenever he was faced with the smallest of annoyances.

"Boyfriend?" Niall sat up, staring at Addie. "Fifteen minutes talking shit and you didn't mention a boyfriend?" He then turned to look at Louis. "Our little Heather has grown up and gotten a boyfriend at long last?"

Addie flicked Niall in his forehead, where the dark roots were beginning to grow below the bleach blond. "Asshole. Both of you. No, I don't have a boyfriend. Louis' just being a little shit."

Both of the boys looked unconvinced. Louis rolled his eyes. "Sure, he's not your boyfriend. You just look at each other with lovey-dovey eyes, and you drive him home after training every day, and he walks to the other side of the school just to be with you for ten minutes during break. He's not your boyfriend."

Addie groaned. "Goddamn it Tomlinson, he's not my boyfriend and he's not interested in me!" Louis and Addie had had this conversation a million times before. It was infuriating that he kept insisting that Harry was interested in her. This crush was not a mutual thing.

"Have you ever hung out with him outside of school?" Niall asked.

Addie made a sound. "I mean... not really. I just stay for dinner a couple times a week."

"What?" Louis shrieked, this being new information for him. "Why didn't you tell me that part?"

"'S not important."

"You've known each other for two months and you're already having dinner with his family?"

"It's not like that!"

Addie knew it was because Anne knew more about her family situation than Harry. She was always the one who insisted that Addie stay over for dinner and talked to her and cared for her.

In the last five weeks or so, Anne had done more parenting towards Addie than her own mother had done in the last two years.

"You know damn well that boy is head over heels for you," Louis said, making a tsk sound with his tongue. "Mark my words, Adelaide Heathers and Harry Styles are going to date someday."

Driving Harry home that afternoon was a quiet ordeal. They had their routine down to a T, and it seemed neither of them were in a particularly talkative mood.

Addie wasn't sure what was going on with Harry, but she was dealing with the fact that she had a huge crush on him and couldn't get him out of her head despite knowing he wasn't interested either. Plus her grades had been slipping lately and her average had dropped from a perfect 10 to a pretty good 9, but it was sure to result in another fight with her mom. And training had been a disaster, everyone was off their game and tournaments started in two weeks.

Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong that day. Addie didn't want to take it out on Harry, and she didn't need him to know she was struggling and weak. So she stayed quiet, to avoid questions.

But then five minutes passed and Harry asked, "Who was that guy you were with earlier?"

Addie frowned. "Who? The blond guy?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered. Something about his demeanor was off. He was too closed off, filled with unnecessary tension. "Is he your boyfriend?"

Addie laughed. "No, he's not my boyfriend. His name is Niall, and he's a really good friend of mine." She snickered to herself. "I spent all of last year battling rumors that he and I were dating, but we're just friends."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Addie cleared her throat. "Niall's amazing. And we've always had this dynamic of flirting with each other, but he's just a friend. He... he was the first person to ever talk to me when I got here. Without him, I probably never would've talked to anyone. Today was the first time I saw him since summer break, so I was happy to see him."

"He's on the football team," Harry prompted. He was almost reluctant as he admitted, "Seems like a nice guy."

"He is. He really is," Addie answered immediately, quick to praise her friend. "Last year, he was basically my best friend, so I ended up hanging out with the football team a lot. Now that he's back, I'm willing to bet he's going to start dragging me along to a lot of things, so get ready for me to annoy you a lot more."

A weak smile began to appear on Harry's lips. "You could never annoy me."

"Yeah well, you'll get sick of me eventually. Tomlinson hated me the first couple of months, but he was outvoted by everyone else who wanted me to stick around. He eventually tolerated me," Addie chuckled. "He's not a close friend, but we're on good terms now. I think he just hated that no one liked his girlfriend Eleanor but everyone liked me."

"I thought you said you weren't Niall's girlfriend," Harry snapped, his voice brisk and cold.

Addie felt a small pang of annoyance. She was hanging on by a thread and her patience was running thin. "Yeah. I'm not."

"So why would you compare yourself to Louis' girlfriend?"

"Because everyone else did. I wasn't Niall's girlfriend, but I was basically his date." Addie clenched the steering wheel, reminding herself Harry wasn't the one annoying her. She couldn't take her anger out on an innocent.

Harry scowled. "Yeah, right."

"The fuck's your problem, man?" Addie snapped at him, finally having enough. "You're pissed I have a best friend? That's pretty fucking jealous of you, don't you think?"

"No, I just think it's ridiculous how you lead me on for two months and then your boyfriend shows up," Harry seethed, crossing his arms and looking out the window. "Real fucking nice that feels."

"He's not my boyfriend!" Addie exclaimed.

She tried to laugh it off, but it had been so annoying to try and date guys only to have them warded off by her best friend. If her boyfriend felt uncomfortable about her closeness with Niall, she'd set boundaries. But no one wanted fucking communication.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Addie growled in frustration, feeling a bubbling rage underneath her skin, and she needed to get it out. So she pulled into Harry's driveway and snapped at him, "Get the fuck out, you jackass!"

"Gladly, you prick," Harry retorted, grabbing his gym bag and slamming the door.

"Don't slam my fucking door!" Addie shouted, rolling the window down. She was glad Harry's parents wouldn't be home to hear this.

Harry whirled around, voice dripping with venom. "You didn't even pay for the fucking car. Your mommy gave it to you to make up for the fact that she doesn't give two shits about you!"

Ouch.

That one dug deep into her heart.

Because it was true.

"It's better than being an insane jealous asshole like you, who's always so obsessed with me!" Addie yelled. "I bet Tomlinson only put you on the team because he felt sorry for how fucking pathetic you are."

Addie knew that would strike a nerve. Deep down, Harry was an insecure person who was always worried about his worth. And there was a part of Harry that truly thought he didn't deserve his place on the team.

"Yeah? Well, everyone thinks you're a cold, narcissistic bitch who doesn't give a shit about her friends and just nitpicks and criticizes everything she can!" Harry yelled, knowing every word would dig deep into her intrinsic insecurities the same way she had.

"Well, this narcissistic bitch is telling you to get a new fucking ride!" Addie shouted, noticing Harry's blue plastic bottle still in the passenger seat and throwing it through the window, hitting him in the arm.

Addie pulled out of the driveway, vision swimming with tears. She managed to stay in one piece until she got home and hid in her bedroom, collapsing into tears.

Addie cried herself to sleep that night.

---

"Hi, Mrs. Horan," Addie smiled as she opened the door. She tugged her sleeves down, fiddling with them in her palms.

Mrs. Horan smiled back at Addie. "Hi, Addie, honey. Niall's down in the basement with the other boys."

"Thank you," Addie made her way through the hallway and down the stairs of the basement. There was one step near the bottom that was creaky and felt like it might break at any moment, so she usually just skipped the last few steps and jumped down onto the floor.

The sound of her landing alarmed the other boys to her presence. Niall leaned over the back of the couch. "Babe, you're here!"

"Honey, I'm home!" Addie said in a sing-song voice as she approached Niall, hugged him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She then threw herself onto the armchair beside him, kicking her legs over the armrest as she watched the other boys playing FIFA. "God, I forgot how much you suck at FIFA, Tomlinson."

"Shut up," Louis muttered under his breath, sitting on the edge of the couch as he lost miserably to Liam.

"Oof, that's gotta be embarassing," Addie winced in mockery as Louis lost. He looked over to her and gave her a dirty look. In turn, she smiled innocently. And then noticed the raven-haired boy beside Louis. "Hey, Zayn."

Zayn smiled. He had this really warm and kind smile that made you feel like you were at home. "Addie."

Zayn played defense on the football team, while Niall was midfielder and Louis was forward. And then there was the final one of the bunch, Liam, who was the goalkeeper.

Against her will, Addie had learned most of football terminology last year because she'd hung out with these four boys a lot. She'd gone to every match she could, and would never admit it, but actually got invested in the game.

"Hi, Payne," Addie smiled at him. He waved back as he passed the control to Zayn.

Niall caught Addie's attention with the wave of the control. "You want in?"

"Nah, I'm shit at FIFA, you know that," Addie shook her head. "I'll watch." She'd always sucked at video games for the most part, but whenever they played Street Fighter or Mario Kart, she kicked everyone's ass. So, she usually stuck to just watching them play and insulting them as if she wasn't ten times worse than them.

Then, when Louis and Zayn took a smoke break, going upstairs to Niall's room to stick their heads out the windows like dogs so Niall's parents didn't catch them, Addie transferred to the couch, sitting down next to Liam for a change.

Once Liam won his round, he passed the control to Addie, giving her advice and tips on how to be better. She didn't win the round, but it was the closest she'd gotten to being half-decent.

"Not half-bad," Liam mused, giving her a reassuring smile. "You've got potential, Heathers."

"And that potential will remain unfulfilled," Addie insisted, passing Liam the control.

Liam twisted his body around, turning to look at her properly. "Hey, tell me something."

"Something."

Liam nudged her with his shoulder. "What happened between you and Louis? You two used to be like this," he twisted two fingers together, "And now you barely even talk."

Addie sighed, sitting back and crossing her arms. She looked to Niall for help, who shrugged and gave her a look that told her she needed to tell Liam.

"Look, during summer break, there was this one beach trip we took. It was Louis with Eleanor and me with Niall," Addie began to explain. "Eleanor mentioned she wanted a spot on the team. She thought I could help her out, and she thought that just because we were friends, I would give her the spot. I told her we should play a match and then we'll see."

Addie recounted the rest of the afternoon. They'd played the game, and at the end, Addie had been disappointed in Eleanor. She'd refused to give her the spot. Eleanor was furious. She snapped at Addie, calling her an incompetent captain and making unsupported claims that she was doing this just to lord her power over Eleanor.

"My cat plays better than you do," Addie had snapped at Eleanor. Granted, the comment had been unnecessary, but Eleanor was being a dick about the whole situation.

It was then that Louis and Niall appeared, and they both had stepped in to calm the girls down.

Addie had made the offer to give Eleanor personal training once a week, and said, "You can take volleyball lessons all you want this year, but you're not making the team. Get some actual practice in and then we'll talk. But right now, you're incompetent and your play is lousy."

Louis had defended Eleanor. Addie was pissed at both of them, and Niall was stuck in the middle as a mediator.

"Louis took Eleanor's side, said I was out of line with my comments," Addie huffed to Liam. "But she assumed I would give her the spot just because we were friends when she's a shit player! I let her down nicely, told her to work on her game and maybe she'd make the team next year. But then she called me incompetent and a dick."

"She was way out of line," Liam agreed. "If she doesn't make the team, it's because there's a better player who deserved the spot more, and just because you're friends, doesn't entitle her to that spot."

"Exactly!" Addie exclaimed, getting frustrated once again with the situation. "And even now that they've broken up, Louis refuses to apologize. I know I have nothing to apologize for. I stood my ground and I spoke the truth and Eleanor was the one who was out of line."

The door to the basement opened and the thuds of footsteps along the stairs rang through the room. Addie pursed her lips, sitting back on the couch as Liam and Niall began another round.

Louis sat down on the arm of the couch, a few inches from brushing shoulders with Addie. "What'd I miss, lads?"

Addie sat up. "I'm going to get some water."

Liam glanced at her furtively, and then at Louis. Addie shook her head, silently asking him to keep it under wraps.

Addie headed upstairs, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and then going back down.

"-Styles has been off his game lately," Louis said, ranting to Liam whose eyes were stuck to the screen. "He's got potential and he was doing good, but if he keeps going like this, I'm worried I'll have to bench him."

Addie had gone stiff at the mention of Harry's name, reminded of the last two weeks of dead silence and cold shoulders in the hallways of school. Every car ride home from training seemed too short, too silent without the comforting chatter of Harry's slow drawl.

Instead of home cooked dinners with Harry's family, she had to settle for microwaving week-old leftovers alone in her room.

Addie couldn't help it. She needed to know about Harry and most of all, she felt concern for him. Football had become so important for him. He loved it.

"You're going to make Styles a reserve?" Addie prompted, taking a swig of water as she sat down.

Louis made a face and nodded. "I don't wanna. I know he can do it, but he's just- I dunno."

Addie frowned. "I thought things were going well."

"Yeah, but he hasn't been pulling his weight lately. And our first game is next week, I can't have any dead weight. Nothing against him, he's just not been the best player lately."

"I get it," Addie prompted, "No matter the personal relationship you have with a person, you gotta think about the team. I'm captain, I know how this goes." She gave Louis a look. "But I guess it only really counts when it's your team we're talking 'bout, right?"

Louis finally processed what Addie was implying, and his expression switched immediately. "Jesus, Heathers, seriously? Get over yourself."

He stood up, taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch.

That was always the problem with Addie and Louis. Both of them had huge prides and were equally stubborn.

But goddamn it, Addie was sick and tired of all of her friends being stubborn assholes. First Harry, and now Louis?

"Lou," Liam warned, a sharp edge to his voice. He looked like an adorable puppy most of the time, but when it came to his friends, he would do anything to protect him. Which sometimes meant putting on an intimidating facade.

Louis glanced at Liam. "What?"

Liam gave him a look, but Louis simply rolled his eyes.

Niall then stepped in, deciding to change the subject. Somehow he was always the peace negotiator in Addie's life. She should find a way to thank him. "So, Addie, speaking of Harry, have you talked to him?"

"Talked to him?" Zayn echoed, looking confused at what Niall said.

"After their fight," Niall stated, seemingly confused that they didn't know what he was saying.

Addie immediately snapped, "Niall." She didn't need her dirty laundry aired out for everyone to see.

He seemed to realize he was the only one who knew about Addie and Harry's fight. "Oh. Oops?"

Sighing, Addie hid her face in her hands. These boys were the most troublesome people she knew, and she just knew they were going to stick their nose in her business.

Liam asked, "You and Harry had a fight?"

"When?" Zayn asked.

"Who started it?" Liam prompted.

"Okay, stop," Addie threatened them, giving them a sharp glare. She inhaled deeply, and sat up. "'Bout two weeks ago, Harry and I had a bit of an argument-" Zayn paused their game. "Seriously?" He shrugged, and Addie rolled her eyes.

She continued, "I'm not even sure what the fight was about. It started when he made the assumption that Niall was my boyfriend. I explained to him that we were friends, and it was a mistake most people made."

None of them were fazed by this information. They were the ones who had spent most of last year being asked whether Niall and Addie were together, and always were the first ones to deny the rumors that spread.

"I don't know, at some point I made some comment that I guess pissed him off. He said I had been leading him on for weeks only for my boyfriend now to show up, I said he wasn't my boyfriend, he said 'sure' in the most passive fucking aggressive way possible. I told him to get the fuck out of my car, so he did but he slammed the door so I got pissed at him and that's when it really went off the rails."

"What'd you say?" Liam asked, gaze softened with sympathy as he listened to her story.

Addie scratched the back of her neck, looking at the floor. "He said..." her voice was just above a whisper, barely loud enough for them to hear, "He said 'you didn't even pay for the car. Your mom just bought it for you to make up for how shitty she is."

Liam's face dropped as the realization of the statement settled in. All of them had learned the hard way what Addie's mom was like.

"So I told him he was an insecure jealous asshole. And that Tomlinson only gave him the spot because he felt sorry for him," Addie confessed, guilty as sin as she did. "He told me that everyone thought I was- and I quote, 'a cold, narcissistic bitch who doesn't give a shit about her friends and just nitpicks and criticizes everything she can'".

"The fuck?" Louis exclaimed. Addie's eyes looked up from where they'd been stuck to wooden floorboards, to find that Louis' face was filled with outrage. "That little shit didn't say that to you."

Addie's face went cold. "Look, it's not important, alright?"

"Addie, he called you a bitch."

"He said everyone thought I was a bitch."

"Same difference-"

"Don't act as if you're so high and mighty," Addie snapped at Louis, finally sick and tired of him. "Harry's not the only one who's treated me like shit lately."

"That's different," Louis defended, sitting up. On instinct, Addie sat up too, glaring at him even if he was slightly taller than her. Meanwhile, Zayn and Liam watched the two argue with equally shocked faces.

"How is it different?"

"Because you're the one who's too stubborn to admit you were being a jackass!"

"Eleanor was a shit player and you know it!" Addie seethed, taking a step closer to him. Her anger was beginning to bubble over and become something uncontrollable.

Louis argued, "That doesn't mean you could call her a moronic bitch!"

"Wait, you did what?" Liam exclaimed at the same time Zayn said, "You called her what?"

"I only called her a bitch because she deserved it!" Addie shouted back, "She called me a dirty skank, and if you'd given one damn about me, I would've told you that. But you decided to side with your lying, conniving girlfriend who- suprise surprise!- is now your ex." She could feel the tears falling freely down her cheeks. She always cried when she was angry. "I thought you were family! I called you my fucking brother and you didn't even hear my side of the story before deciding I wasn't- before cutting me out of your life."

Embarrassment crawled under Addie's skin as she realized the huge argument she'd just had in front the other three. She sniffled, quickly wiping her tears away.

Addie scrambled to grab her coat and keys, leaving a shocked Louis to simply stare at the space she'd once occupied. Protests came from the other boys, most noticeably Niall, who was beginning to get up, "Addie!"

She ignored them all and ran up the stairs, not even bothering to say goodbye to Mrs. Horan as she rushed to her car. She wiped the tears out of her eyes, and clicked the button to unlock her car-

A pair of firm hands grabbed her, turning her around. Addie yelped, and Louis let his grip go slack. "Did she really call you that?"

Addie shrugged. "Everyone loves to slut-shame, right?"

It was easy to act as if it was no big deal that everyone said that about her. Addie had spent her whole life pretending not to care about other people's opinions. It was second nature at this point.

But Louis saw through that cheap mask. "She shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have sided with her." His voice broke, and just a small piece of fragility broke through, "I called you my sister too."

Addie couldn't help it. She yearned for family, for belonging and love. She'd forgive Louis a million times over because that's what it took.

She hugged him tightly, tears running down her cheeks and onto his denim jacket. She sniffled, "Sorry."

Louis shook his head, burying his face deeper in Addie's black coat, as if he was afraid she might disappear if he let go. "Let it all out, babe."

"I love you, asshole," Addie muttered through choked tears.

Louis sniffled, just slightly as he pulled back and looked her in the eyes. His blue eyes were glassy with tears. "I'm really sorry I was a dick."

Addie sniffled. "It's okay. Family sticks together, right? No matter what."

"No matter what."

---

Addie had bruises all over her knees and elbows, and she was about to pass out from exhaustion. But she put on a brave face for her girls, and led them through the match.

This match would determine whether or not their team made it to State Championships, which meant all the pressure was on Addie.

This was her team, the one she had spent countless weeks, days and hours training. Sleepless nights thinking about strategy and sweaty afternoons training until the sun went down and all her energy was spent- it all boiled down to this moment.

Addie's role as Captain would be put to the test. She couldn't fail.

And yet she didn't feel alone. All she had to do was look over at the bleachers and she'd see the people who had her back. Niall and Louis' cheers stood out from the rest, both from the accents and the volume of the shouts, but Addie could always make out Liam and Zayn's cheers even over the other two. And then there was Oli, a ginger-haired boy who'd been dragged along by Louis. He was kind, and he cheered for Addie even if they hadn't interacted much before.

Addie took a sip of her water and grinned as she gave a thumbs-up to her boys, even with sweat dripping down her spine and the thoughts whirling through her mind.

Her mom hadn't shown up. She never showed up. It'd been so painful every time for Addie last year, but it had been her four boys who had filled that gap left by her mom.

Ever since Zayn caught Addie crying right outside of the locker room as she tried to call her mom, but reached nothing but an answering machine, the four of them had ganged up and decided they would be Addie's supportive family. "You're not getting rid of us anytime soon," Zayn had winked at her that first match they'd shown up.

Addie wiped her sweat away and grabbed her teammates. "Okay, Tara, don't be scared to move through your zone, and Claire, hit the ball a little harder, it was too close to the net, alright?" The girls nodded with a grim look in their face. This was war. Addie clapped her hands. "Let's go."

Despite their best efforts, it came down to the final set. Each team had won two sets, and now it was just a matter of seeing who could get that final set.

Addie grabbed her girls, and told them, "Alice, stop hovering over Tara, and Lexi, when you spike the ball, hit it towards that girl, Grace. She won't see it coming. We've got this. We worked for this. We can do it."

It was excruciating to watch the other team hit the ball back with such ease, while some of Addie's girls were beginning to wear thin because of exhaustion. They kept going, but it was looking bad.

And it was when their captain, Jordan, hit the ball just a little too far out of Addie's reach that she finally panicked. Lexi was the only one who could reach it. But she was always afraid, scared that she would be the one who made the mistake.

But Lexi gave a running start and jumped, hitting that spike at just the right angle for Jordan to slide forward, scraping her body against the sand, with her hand just an inch away from where the ball hit the sand.

It was the boys' loud cheering that snapped Addie out of her daze. Lexi gave her a tight hug, and their team gathered in a circle, catching their breath as they shared grins of success.

They'd won.

Addie had won.

---

Addie's wet hair seeped into the back of her shirt, leaving a dark stain on the jersey, an Eagles shirt, one she'd stolen from Harry. She could still feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins, and the exhilaration of making it to State Championships made it impossible to wipe the grin off her face.

Maybe Addie still had a long way to go to Nationals, but in her first year as Captain and second year on the team, she'd qualified for State. That was a hell of an achievement.

Addie grabbed her gym bag, once again the final one to leave the room. She always made sure her team was all set before getting cleaned up herself. It was second nature by now.

She was supposed to head over to Tara's now, where her team and her friends would be waiting to celebrate, probably with a few packs of Louis' cigarettes and some six-packs of cheap beer. It was the kind of celebration Addie could've never appreciated last year, but it had turned into her own kind of comfort. Her home. Her family.

Addie locked the locker room behind her, making her way past the empty volleyball court and the extensive football field, breathing in the smell of freshly cut grass. They always cut the grass before a football match, and next weekend there would be one. Addie would come and cheer for her boys, no doubt about it.

She dug around for her keys in the pockets and zippers of her bag, finally finding it and clicking it. She turned towards the sound, and found a certain curly-haired boy leaning against the hood.

Addie froze, unsure of how to proceed, but she made her way towards him. His head was ducked, and he seemed to be staring at his hands. Addie shouted, "You better not be asking for a ride!"

Harry's head snapped up, green eyes landing on her. He blinked, scrambling to stand up straight, grabbing something he'd left on the hood and hiding it behind his body. "I'm not!"

Addie let herself stop several feet away from Harry. "So why are you here?"

"To apologize." Harry moved his hands from behind him and outstretched them to reveal a bouquet of red roses.

Addie's lips parted. "Flowers."

"You said roses you were your favorite," Harry explained sheepishly. She nodded slowly, meeting his gaze. She took the flowers from his hands, staring at the flowers. She'd never gotten flowers before. "They're apology flowers. And congratulations flowers. They- They're multipurpose."

Addie cracked a smile. Something about Harry's lighthearted jokes could always make her laugh. And the day had been good. She was happy.

Addie said, "I'm going to Tara's to celebrate our win."

Harry swallowed thickly, nodding somberly. "Right- I'll go then. Sorry."

Addie realized he'd taken it as a rejection and hastily said, "No- I meant, in case you wanna come with? And we can talk on the way, maybe?"

Harry blinked, giving her a once-over before slowly nodding. "Alright."

It was when Addie pulled out of the parking lot that Harry finally spoke.

"I'm really sorry."

"Haz-"

"No, I am," Harry insisted, twisting his body to face her fully. "I swear, I didn't mean anything of what I said, and I wanted to take it back and apologize but I didn't know how but I shouldn't have waited."

Addie cut in, "Harry-"

"You're just so amazing, and I think I like you, so I got jealous and that was wrong of me, I shouldn't have taken it out on you, and I don't think any of those things about you. Everyone's terrified of you, yeah, but they're so impressed by your talent and your intelligence and your kindness-"

"You think you like me?" Addie repeated weakly. She braked at the red light, and slowly turned to face a frozen Harry. "Harry, do you-"

"Yes." Harry looked shocked at his own words. "I don't want that to screw up our friendship, but I'm really in love with you."

A smile spread slowly over Addie's face as she pulled over to the side of the road.

"I can get out now, don't-" Harry started, but she cut him off by grasping the front of his shirt and pulling him toward her. Once he was close, she grasped his face delicately in her palm and gently laid her lips against his.

A gasp came from his lips, and she took the chance to trace the shape of his lips with her tongue. He emitted a soft groan, the sound swallowed by her slow and passionate kiss.

Harry's hands wandered up into her hair and on her waist, while she pulled him closer until she was practically in his lap. And he finally did finish the job, grasping her waist firmly and tugging her towards him until she was straddling his lap.

"That's my shirt, by the way," Harry murmured against her lips when she pulled away, resting her forehead against his.

Addie smiled. She knew everything would be alright. It'd all gone according to plan for the most part. She had a curly-haired, green-eyed boy wrapped around her finger, her heart in his hands and his shirt in her wardrobe. "It's not. It's mine now."

---

"C'mon, Addie, we're going to be late," Liam whined, knocking desperately on the bathroom door.

Addie groaned, fumbling for her lipgloss. "Shut up! You're not making this easier."

"You know Louis hates it when we're late."

"Well, he can shove his complaints up his-" Addie started, only to be cut off by the sound of a car engine rumbling. She yelped, the clattering of her makeup bag falling over and the contents pouring out echoing in her ears. She grabbed her lip liner and lipgloss, pulling the door open. "Shit. They're here."

Liam rolled his eyes, grabbing the makeup from her hands. "Go grab your bag, I'll meet you downstairs."

Addie smiled. "Thanks, babe."

She rushed to her room, grabbing her purse and pulling her heels on, glancing at the mirror in the hallway one last time and then making her way down the stairs, almost tripping halfway down.

Liam caught her before she fell. "Idiot."

"Thanks," Addie smiled nonetheless, giddy with excitement. "You look handsome, by the way. Zayn's going to love that suit."

Liam looked down at his fitted black suit, smiling to himself. "You think so?"

"He's going to die," Addie reassured him with a grin, grabbing her makeup and shoving it in her purse just in time for the bell to ring.

Addie made her way forward, eager to open the door, but Liam caught her wrist, pulling her back and adjusting the back of her dress, where the straps formed an 'X' but often got all tangled up. "Now you're all set."

Addie gave Liam's arm a quick squeeze of gratitude and opened the door. She met his green eyes, the color she'd become so familiar with for the last year. It was the color of the trees that grew, the grass you could smell in spring air, of christmas trees on holidays, of ivy that grew on you until it became a part of you.

Green was Harry's color. And now it was Addie's favorite.

She smiled at him, unable to keep a grin off her face for long around him. "Hi."

"Hey," Harry breathed, looking almost shocked as he took in the sight of her sharp eyeliner, the sweetheart neckline, the ruffles and layers of the skirt and the gloves she wore. "You look... you're beautiful."

There was something in his voice, that vulnerable honesty that always lingered, reminding Addie that he saw her as truly beautiful.

The way he looked at her, she could almost feel the love radiating from him, an affirmation that she was truly that special to him.

Addie smiled, confident in the fact that she was never letting Harry go. She took in the tailored pants, the cut of the blazer and the silk of his shirt. With curls swept back except for a single strand that fell in front of his face, framing his sharp cheekbones and that angled jaw.

The curve of his dimple appeared, and Addie's chest radiated with warmth as she grabbed the loops of his belt and pulled him forward, giving him a firm kiss.

Liam cleared his throat. "We gonna get moving?"

"Your boyfriend's waiting in the car," Harry muttered bitterly at Liam, unappreciative of the interruption.

Addie snickered as Liam pushed past them, practically skipping to the car where Zayn got out to greet him. She turned to Harry, wiping the lipgloss of his lips. "I love you."

Harry's eyes carried so much emotion, every bit of happiness and longing showing in them. He wanted her, he had her, and he was grateful for it. "I love you."

"You and me," Addie whispered, raising her pinky.

He crossed his pinky with hers. "That's my whole world."

A little game they'd made up one day. A way to reassure each other they would always be there, no matter what. It was silly and a little childish, but it was theirs.

The honking of the car was the second interruption to their moment. Harry inhaled sharply, glaring at the two boys he considered brothers waiting in the car.

Addie laughed, grabbing Harry's hand. "C'mon, it's prom, let's have some fun."

Prom was fun. They snuck in flasks of booze and spilled it into their cups of punch, easily sneaking behind teacher's backs.

Harry convinced Addie to dance with him, just for a little while. It turned into a good thirty minutes of them both smiling and enjoying the moment.

They snuck away for a quick make out session under the stairs, and when they returned, it was clear from the mark on Liam's neck that they weren't the only couple who'd snuck away.

Later, Louis snatched Addie's phone away as she was in the middle of taking pictures, and she chased him out of the gym and to the basketball court.

The others weren't far behind, watching with amusement as the two sibling bickered, their last time fighting before Louis went off to college and joined the big leagues.

That realization seemed to hit both Addie and Louis at the same time as she snatched her phone back. And their smiles faded as the facts settled over their chests like a weight.

It was then that Zayn kicked a ball towards Louis. "Show us some moves one last time."

Louis was up for the challenge and ready to distract himself from thoughts of what they might be losing. Addie kicked her heels off and padded onto the cold grass, chasing after Niall, who'd stolen the ball.

Their little group of six, the small clique that had formed and the bond that'd grown between them the last year, was all Addie could think about.

Addie didn't focus on Zayn and Louis leaving, she focused on winning the match, even with Niall's knee that had been acting up since his injury before the end of the season.

It turned into a match filled with trash talk, a few loose elbows and lots of smile and laughter. It was Niall, Addie and Harry versus Louis, Liam and Zayn.

"Pass it!" Addie shouted into the evening air, brisk to her bare arms, gloves discarded long ago as she waved her arm in the air. Harry caught her eye and kicked the ball towards her. A little too hard.

She tried to get it to hit her knee, but instead it flew into her stomach, making her bend over as she wheezed, all the air knocked out of her.

Harry ran towards her, his hand flying to rub her back as a steady stream of apologies spilled from his mouth. Meanwhile, the others snorted with laughter.

"Guess we end the year the way we started it, right?" Louis snickered, clapping Addie in the back. She straightened at the sharp pain, but smiled nonetheless.

"Shut it, Tomlinson."

No one won the match.

When Addie got home that night- or morning, it was three am. The alcohol had left her system hours ago, but the smell of tobacco from Zayn and Louis' smoking lingered on her dress, mixed with Harry's cologne.

Addie would miss these kinds of days when the two boys went off to college. But for now, she simply smiled into her pillow as she remembered the five loyal friends she'd made. And that one green-eyed boy she loved so dearly.

---

Addie cried during her graduation. For a number of reasons.

First, it was her mom's text that she wasn't showing up. No big surprise, but it still hit her hard. Then, it was seeing her friends in those cap and gowns. It meant they were all parting ways. And finally, it was as she got onto the stage for her speech as valedictorian, and looked into the crowd, expecting not to see a familiar face when-

"Let's go, Heathers!" Louis cheered, as Zayn shouted, "That's our girl!"

Addie grinned, reminded of the brothers she had. Her mom wasn't family. Those two were.

Addie told her speech perfectly, barely even glancing at her notes as she spoke about the loss of a stage of her life she'd never get back, strangers from another country who had embraced her with welcoming arms, and the friends she'd made along the way. She spoke of the hardships, and the challenges, but refused to leave out all the happiness and the victories.

She reminded them to take that leap of faith, jump and see where they landed, that the biggest risks came with the biggest wins. And the choice you feared the most would be the one to reap the rewards.

Addie got her diploma and after they tossed the caps in the air, it was almost as if it had been planned the way all four of the freshly-graduated kids sprinted towards Zayn and Louis, the six of them squeezing together for a hug.

That was the last time Addie cried. When she realized she'd found her forever home with this little mismatched family. Their Sacred group of Six.

---

It was at the end of their first year of college that Addie and Harry took their first trip as a couple. Just the two barely legal adults taking a trip to Mexico for the beaches.

Addie didn't tell her family she'd be in town, and instead just relaxed on the beach with Harry. It was when the weekend was coming to a close, and their last night at the resort was spent having a nice dinner.

He paid for dinner and then grasped her hand, leading her back onto the sand of the beach. The night sky was dark, freckled with the whites of stars and the gray hue of the moon.

The water reflected the moon, and a single one of Harry's knees touched the cold sand. His hand clutched a black box, and Addie's heart raced.

Words spilled out of his mouth, promises he would fulfill and letting all the love inside his heart linger in the air for Addie to know.

Six months later, they had a small wedding. A ceremony in Harry's backyard, with white and red roses everywhere and their family.

Addie's parents had been invited. She reckoned they could come as guests, but they wouldn't be allowed to participate in the wedding. Her parents had been bitter about not being a part of the wedding and being reduced to simple guests, so in protest, they didn't show up. It didn't bother Addie nearly as much as she thought it would.

Instead, it was Robin who walked her down the aisle and handed her off. And it was Anne beside her as the maid of honor. The two had done more for Addie in three years than her own parents had done in nineteen.

Addie had learned the hard way that family had nothing to do with blood. But it was a lesson she cherished having learned.

They'd decided to skip a little bit of the tradition and instead had divided the groomsmen/bridesmaids evenly between the two sides.

Liam and Zayn stood behind Harry, with Gemma in between them, while Niall and Louis stood behind Addie, Anne in between the two boys.

Over the last three years, Gemma had become like an older sister to Addie, guiding her through the rough parts of her life, and giving her a strong woman in her life she could turn to.

It was the first time several people had seen Addie cry, but it was only fitting for who they were. She kept a strong, cold face for everyone else, but the second her eyes met Harry's, it all melted away.

Every single wall Addie had ever built to keep herself safe crumbled to the ground with the one person she would always love. Her forever home, Harry.

And Harry cried, of course. He'd always been a shining star, but when he had Addie, he became the sun, fierce and radiating warmth. She was everything he had ever wanted and never known he needed.

Getting through their vows was the hardest part, both of them choking up as they tried to get through their speeches. Harry had had to write his down because every time he tried to speak it from memory, he'd get so distracted by the knowledge that he was marrying Adelaide Heathers, that he'd forget it.

And Addie managed to memorize hers, but faltered halfway through as she sniffled. It was Louis' reassuring squeeze on her shoulder that gave her the strength to finish.

Her speech was beautiful and poetic, and she'd worked tirelessly to make sure it could capture the essence of her adoration for Harry. But words were never enough.

She finished with one last sentence; "I can't wait to have forever with you."

After the ceremony, the two had had to retire to a private room before beginning the reception. Just letting each other process the fact that that was it. They'd just promised each other forever.

"I can't wait to start the rest of our lives," Addie said. "Me and you."

"That's my whole world."

---

Addie was in college for her scholarship to practice professional volleyball. She would later go on to win the Summer Olympics her first season as a player, and would rise through the ranks until eventually becoming Captain.

Harry kept going with football for several years. But after getting a camera for his birthday, soon discovered his passion for photography. He quit the team and began discovering his love for art.

He worked as a freelance photographer for a couple of years, and then worked with a highly-esteemed fashion magazine, worked as a model once with the same magazine before discovering he preferred being behind the lens than in front of it.

Harry then worked as a photographer for an album photoshoot for the highly-recognized Love Band, and then became close friends with members Mitch and Sarah Rowland. It was then that he began venturing into music.

After Addie was injured during her last match before her team could qualify for the Olympics, she was forced to drop out from the rest of the season. She them began to explore writing, and published several compilations of poems and short stories in the six months of break before returning to her team.

Years later, once Addie retired, she would join Harry with his exploration of music and the two would co-write an album. It would be Adelaide Heathers' debut in music and Harry Styles' fifth studio album.

They would spend the next few years exploring art, creating new and bizzare things, and most of all, staying in touch with the family they'd had since they were kids.

This is your reminder that in every world, and in every universe, no matter the circumstances, Addie, Harry, Niall, Liam, Louis and Zayn find their way to each other and become a family.

And in every universe, Adelaide Heathers and Harry Styles fall in love. And despite the twists and turns, it always works out in the end.

[lucius-morningstar]

Step in the right direction.

With time Vaggie does eventually come out of her shell. Sure she was still kind of snippy with most, but with Charlie there was never any hostility towards her. Feelings grow with time and eventually Vaggie comes to terms with her feeling and approaches Charlie with three particular flowers, Charlie playing both coy and playful won't lie, she was more then eager to return those feelings.

The flowers have a variety of meanings. I will go in the order they're seen in. In my eyes these flowers are perfect in how Vaggie views Charlie.

Strelitzia/Bird of Paradise = Freedom, Paradise, Joyfulness and Excitement. ( *Freedom Vaggie finally got to experience without the strict watch of the heavenly mountains gaze, never being able to truly feel joy and put her feelings into her job to avoid being judged harshly. *While this place isn't much of one to her, seeing this place as it's own paradise to be who she wants to be. * The joy and excitement she finds herself feeling just in the mere presence of Charlie) -----

Red Camellias = Passionate and Romantic love. While this is self explanatory , the red Camellias speaks fairly bluntly in how Vaggie is feeling for Charlie, she's been passionate before but this kind of passion was new, it had her feeling warmth and of course love. ------

Yellow Tulips = Happiness, Cheerfulness and Hope. This Tulip while it seems the most plain, I think it speaks the loudest on how Vaggie views Charlie as a whole. In her darkest hour Charlie was everything she needed, the happiness practically dripped off her when she saw Vaggie getting better each day. The cheerfulness she exuded upon taking her out to show her around her pride and the one thing Vaggie hadn't felt in so long was hope. Hope that she could be better then who she was, hope that with time lives for all prides could be better. Vaggie could not see herself anywhere else from here on out.

The art was done by the amazing artist Fallen-Beast. I manage to snag one of the last slots in this YCH. One that may never be opened again.

[hogwartsstudentconfidential]

Dear Students,

Miss me? It's been awhile hasn't it. I've been building up the gossip as well as the announcements, thanks to all of the messages I've received from you all. Suck it Quibbler, bet nobody dms you.

Anywho let's get into our announcements for the week as well as congratulate Gryffindor on their win in quidditch this past weekend, as well as a big good luck to Ravenclaw when they go against Slytherin next week.

Of course in good Hogwarts fashion, Gryffindor will be hosting a celebratory party in the common room this weekend, all are invited so make sure to dress up and let the drama unfold ;).

On another note I have been alerted about a surprise exam professor Sprout is planning on assigning her students so make sure to study, but only after the party of course.

As everyone knows winter season is approaching quickly which means Madame Pomfrey will be packed with sick students. The woman is already stressed enough with you reckless gits so please wash your hands and cover your mouths this year.

Now onto everybody's favorite part of this newspaper, the gossip:

Onto relationships, Congratulations to Pandora Rosier and Lucius Malfoy on their new relationship, the two are very cute together. However, has anyone else noticed the amount of flirting Lucius Malfoy does with other girls? If I were Pandora I’d keep an eye on my man.

Now the amount of messages I've received about Emmeline and Mary being, and I quite “SO gay for each other” is honestly insane. I mean, it's so obvious to everyone but them they're in love. Did you see the way they were whispering and giggling to each other at the firework show? Mary couldn't keep her eyes off the girl.

Now onto James Potter. The star quidditch player and prankster is well known around Hogwarts of course as well as his beautiful girlfriend Hestia. However a little Birdy has told me the loving boyfriend might not be so loyal. A lot of people have been suspecting the boy is in love with another. He disappeared the night of the fireworks to go get “snacks” by himself, refusing company and the only other person missing besides himself was none other than Regulus Black.

I have even received an interesting direct message for Mr Potter I will send out after this of course.

I've also been alerted of a possible tension growing between Marlene and Hestia, my supplier lacked on what type of tension so you take your pick. Do you think it's romantic or are the two girls about to give Hogwarts the best fight of the century? Let me know what you think.

Now back to Pandora, it seems as though she's made an enemy? The girl was recently questioned about a kiss between her and Xenophilus Lovegood. The girl immediately denied the rumor, her own boyfriend standing up for her, but he wasn't the only one. Xenophilus Lovegood also stood up for the girl, I suppose he is her friend but could there be something more? Lucius himself has even spoken of concern for where the girl's heart lies. Could a love triangle be brewing?

Onto some more exciting news, James Potter is handing out invitations for his mother's Christmas ball. This wonderful event is sure to be nothing but magical so if you receive an invite consider yourself lucky.

Oh and Remus Lupin's middle name is John.

Now before I sign out I’d like to say a little something. The Quibbler may be fun for little facts about creatures but it's hardly anything if the spelling is incorrect. Xenophilus Lovegood, it's best if you check your spelling and check it twice.

Thank you for reading this week's copy of Hogwarts Confidential and I will see you all next time. 💋

@emmelineandhervans @wormy-loves-ch33se @james-the-amazing-potter @marls-mckinn0n @andromedashoax @little-king-official @severusprince-snape @the-queen-bellatrix @thehotteststarr @lifeofthe-barty @mary-mcdeal @looneymoonyy @lilyevansoffical @xeno-graphical @pandoras-nox @oxxen--free @cas-not-the-band @flowers-of-narcissus @alicethekindone @malfoy-lu @mystical-magical-me @hjonesworld

[mwolf0epsilon]

Fun Mimic Fact of the Day: Upgrading a mimic in accordance to how you'd update the engine they're mimicking, involves both an engineering and a visual arts aspect.

The workmen at the diesel/steam works need to illustrate what they intend for the mimic to look like (draw on a copy of the original plans, the alterations they intend to make), and then create the parts that would serve as upgrades for the engine, before feeding them to the mimic.

The parts will give them the necessary mass for them to change their appearance, while the illustrations give them direction.

Some mimics are very particular about their appearance, however, and might refuse to change what they look like on principle.

Example 1: Edward readily accepted changes to his original shape as a means to both show his loyalty to the NWR, and to soften his look considerably (this is more obvious in his smaller size, since he sheds his rail-antlers in favour of looking more approachable and friendly, especially to children). Being an older mimic, he seems to understand that a good attitude and good appearances are important when it comes to keeping passengers happy.

Example 2: Gordon has rejected all and any attempts to alter his general shape due to both pride and a traumatic situation involving one of his siblings (he may be loyal to Sir Topham Hatt, but he will not allow anyone to take that much control over his self-image). That said, it's unclear how he feels about his only surviving brother's smoke deflector ears and twin tender pouches (when he gets annoyed, he tugs sharply on the former which is somewhat of a comical sight).

Example 3: Henry had no choice but to accept having his shape changed for health benefits. That said, he becomes exceedingly aggravated by anything that isn't a practical change that'll help him with his work. After the tunnel incident, vanity is a concept that somewhat repulses him and he avoids anything remotely cosmetic.

Example 4: Any attempt to alter James's appearance is met with downright hostility. The last effort made to make him more closely resemble a typical Hughes Class 28 ended with him purposefully spitting-up molten metal all over the workshop floor in clear protest. The only changes he's ever allowed were to help strengthen his faulty knees (which were a result of the wooden break-blocks) and to give him his signature red color.

Example 5: Lord forbid anyone so much as dreams about changing Duck's shape or color. He will scream like the devil himself possessed him (he was this shape and color when he was with the GWR, and that is NEVER going to change).

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c33. Liquid dinner.

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT AT THE END, LOVE YOU!!

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs, EDs and death.

song to listen to when reading this: Like it tends to do, Lizzy McAlpine

abstract: This is a very sad chapter honestly. Close to the end also, don't get your hopes up cause I'm telling you, it's not ending well. I should know, I'm from the literal future. So yeah, messed up things. Jude's a liar man, I've always told ya. She might seem all confident, smart, sexy, funny… whatever...

'I fucking hate you so much'.

She spun in her chair, covering her face with her hands, while Honey giggled from his seat. It was three in the afternoon, the day after her chat with Simon. She was at the listening post, they had lunch together, her, Roman and Honey after working at the code all morning. She had to reveal she had a look at it the night before, they argued for the first ten minutes asking why she got to see it before the others. 'It's because I'm privileged, let it go.' She admitted, a small smirk on her lips. 'No seriously, why didn't we know you had it, how did you get it?' Honey asked. She bit her lip, thinking of what to say to make the matter sound somewhat legal. 'You know the guy with the mask?' She said.

'Yes, unfortunately I have seen him.' Honey.

'Scary dude, what about him?' Roman.

She crossed her arms in front of her. She was wearing a comfy sweater under her very elegant blazer jacket. 'He gave it to me yesterday.' She explained. 'We worked together before, we're friends.' She said. All true, no? They're friends.

Honey mumbled something under his breath. 'That's not fair!' argued Roman, he went on some more saying how unfair it was she could see evidence before them just because she was friends with that scary soldier. They resumed their tasks, trying their best at cracking the code. It took longer than anticipated. They removed all the letters from the paper and examined the back, what would have been at the back of the newspaper page. They moved them around in the large table that once was Roman's desk, trying to make out a message. After lunch, she felt tired, she wanted and deserved a nap. Her contact lenses burned her eyes, plastic wrappers and boxes of Chinese takeout were scattered all over the place. Roman was yawning from his side of the room. That was when Honey figured it out. 'I fucking hate you so much'.

She spun in her chair, covering her face with her hands, while Honey giggled from his seat. She approached his desk. 'I found it I think', he said. 'I divided the letters in diagonal like this…' He drew a line with his finger and parted two sections of the original code. 'And I switched them…' She helped him move the letters, until she started to see it too. Words were starting to form. They found a pattern in the setting of the letters, which resembled the choice of cutting capital letters and lowercase letters. They found some of the words were already in English, some needed translation. They were written in English letters, but were Serbian words. 'Novo…' she mumbled while setting the four letters aside. It meant 'New'. It was Roman who was sent to call Price this time. He ran through the corridors of the base, saying sorry to every person he bumped into while trying to get to Price's office.

Unfortunately for him, he found Ghost first. 'Oi!' He called out, making Roman stop in his tracks and turn around. 'You in a rush?' He asked, taking a few steps in his direction. The young linguist looked up at Ghost, his eyes piercing through his soul through the skull plate mask. He mumbled something about the listening post, which clearly interested Ghost in the conversation. Listening post meant Alba. 'We need Price, we figured it out. The code, you know...' He was able to breathe out while regaining his composure. 'She with you?' The other man asked, before starting to walk towards Price's office. 'What…' Roman struggled to follow Ghost's fast walking pace, 'Oh Jude? Yeah, why?' He was given no answer. They both urged Price to follow them and, once in the listening post room, they found Honey and Alba at the desk, hunched over looking at the characters scattered around.

'It makes total fucking sense!' Alba shouted at the door, before awkwardly covering her mouth with her hands, realising Price and Simon were there. Roman let out a loud laugh, joining his two colleagues, even Honey seemed happy and joyful more than Simon ever saw him. He watched Alba smile at her friends, moving one more letter on the table, writing the message on paper. 'S… T, E and R…' Honey whispered. Once they were done, Price and Ghost were allowed to look at it and read it. Alba's eyes encountered Ghost's. Just for a second. She was happy, she was proud. She was gorgeous, he liked how the blazer jacket fell gently on her hips, he liked the strands of hair that were covering the sides of her cheeks, rosy cheeks. He liked the fuzzy sweater she was wearing, a warm beige sweater. He could touch it, feeling the softness.

The message made, indeed, total fucking sense. It said Novo Groblje, which meant new cemetery, it said 'twenty one, one, two two three', which they supposed meant 21st of January of that year. Novo Groblje was a cemetery complex in Belgrade. She stood by the table while Price and Simon examined their work. She patiently waited for them to read the message and ensure they were satisfied with what they saw. It was Simon's look that gave it away. His eyes, his gaze immediately rose to meet hers, he looked at her with dilated pupils, his kind, chocolate brown eyes. He was amused. Price told them they did a good job and to keep up with the listening post for a few more days, just in case they needed any more information about the trafficking, but other than that, they were done.

She went out that night. She put on a dress for the first time in ages. There weren't many bars open too late, Honey suggested drinks to celebrate, Roman said yes, Gaz overheard and took it as the best opportunity to ask her to go out with them. She said yes, she went home and went on a run with Jinx. She was so happy she could't even manage to sit still. She was ecstatic, she had a drink before going out, she had gin hidden somewhere in her kitchen. She wore a dress, just below the knee, it was cold out. It was tight around the waist but fell gently on her hips. Black lace adorned her ribcage, a pattern that looked like flowers on the skin of her breasts. She curled her hair, she put on earrings that looked like pearly rain drops. She wore heels, and got a cab, she didn't want to drive. She intentionally arrived twenty minutes late, she found Roman and Honey at a table in the corner, they were drinking beer. Kyle and Soap were at the counter speaking to a man she didn't know. Kyle whistled when he saw her walking in. 'Look who finally decided to stop working…' He gave her a quick side hug, which she reciprocated, then said hi to Soap. 'What are you drinking?' She let Kyle buy her a beer, she didn't bother choosing, whatever he was having was fine. She noticed his eyes travelling on her figure as she leaned on the counter, she allowed it. They sat for an hour at the table with her two other colleagues, she dragged the soldiers towards Honey and Roman so they could be all together. The conversation was simple and easy, anecdotes and funny stories. She was hiding a yawn with her hand and debating on going home when Johnny gasped. 'Look who showed up…' He whispered, causing her to turn around in the booth, looking towards the entrance of the bar. At eleven in the evening on a Saturday, Simon Riley made his way inside the bar, a crowded bar even. Black mask, leather jacket and, something she had never seen before on him, sneakers. He looked in their direction, a nod of the head to signal that he saw them. He approached the counter to order a drink. Alba got up a minute after, trying not to make it seem too obvious. She said she was gonna get another beer, she asked the boys to watch her purse.

Her heart started beating at a much quicker pace upon seeing him. Did the others invite him, was he there by himself? Maybe he didn't want to be bothered. Was he there to see his friends? She approached him, walked behind him and stood at his right. He turned towards her, his eyes not even reaching her face, slowly making their way up from her naked calves to her chest. 'I wasn't expecting you to come', she crossed her arms in front of her chest, forcing him to look her in the eyes. 'I can leave if you don't want me here.' He replied, to that she smiled. 'Can I buy you a drink?' She offered, making his heart skip a beat. 'To thank you for stealing classified evidence for me.' She said. He allowed himself to stare at her for a few more seconds before replying. Her hair was wavy, falling gently on her shoulders, her makeup shiny on her eyelids. She had some kind of eyeliner on that made the emerald green colour of her pupils stand out. Her cheeks were warm from the alcohol. 'How many have you had?' He asked. He realised he was flirting without even trying, he felt like he was giving in this kind of sin. She was the sin. He felt like the setting, the bar, the fact they were surrounded by strangers, dressed differently from their day to day… It made him feel like he could speak to her that way. 'Just one!' She sat on the stool behind her, reaching his eye level. 'Do I look drunk?' He smiled and shook his head. While he ordered their drinks, she gave their friend's table a look, finding Soap and Kyle staring. 'You guys celebrating?' She concentrated back on Simon. 'I told you Honey would figure it out.' She replied. He didn't have a balaclava on, he had a black surgical mask and the hat she gifted him for Christmas. He partly took off the mask, letting it hang on his right ear, so that his uncovered side faced the wall. She watched him take a sip of his drink.

'They know you're Alba' He said. She nearly choked on her beer.

'I told them you're Alba… by accident.' He corrected himself, like he needed to get that off his chest. She went pale under the lights of the bar.

'What…'

'I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking and I let it slip. Johnny and Gaz...' He looked at her, suddenly apologetic, like a lost puppy. She swallowed a lump in her throat, her blood rushing to her ears. What a way to ruin the night. 'It's fine.' She managed to mumble.

She was still recovering from that information when he spoke again. 'How are… hum.. how are rehearsals going?' He tried to change the subject to make her forget about his terrible revelation. She looked at him appalled, her eyes wide. 'Uhm… good.' She replied awkwardly. He was terrified his attempt to change the subject didn't work. His expression made her giggle, that awful silence between them made her facade crumble. 'Sorry, I'm gonna have to stop speaking to you, you're terrible at keeping secrets', she commented. He seemed to relax, his shoulders less tense. He was really afraid he'd upset her for a moment.

'That's not true…'

'Ah, you told everyone my one secret...' She was smiling at this point, dimples forming in her cheeks. Her left canine teeth was chipped. He drank some more. 'So… rehearsals?' He asked again. Her chest tightened, he really wanted to know? 'It's been hard, there's this one lift which is pretty intense with my dance partner', she fidgeted with a napkin on the wooden counter… 'But the hard part is Snow Queen really, there are 16 fuettés at the end of my first entrance which I can't seem to get right, cause I jump a lot during that part and I get tired, I don't think my left foot is strong enough for those many turns, you know, 16 fuettés is kind of a lot…' she rambled, maybe talking more to herself than to him at this point. But he was there, and you best believe he was listening. 'And then I can kinda relax in the second entrance, but still I got very embarrassed the other day cause I could only get five or six before getting dizzy…' she seemed to suddenly realise he was there. She covered her mouth with her hand, almost self conscious she might have said too much.

'What is a fuetté….' asked Simon.

She smiled, she giggled. 'Sorry… it's a turn on pointe, you turn and then you open your leg to spin again, and again…'

'16 times?'

'16 times, yes.'

'Sounds like a lot. Can't you do less?'

Her smile grew bigger, she felt giddy talking about her dance routine with him. 'That's the choreography…' He nodded. 'Are you getting deployed to Serbia?' She asked, her tone soft, he almost didn't ear her over the music and the noise of chatter in the bar. He shook his head. He explained they had soldiers there already and him and his task force were getting ready for another mission, they were going to get briefed the day after. 'Maybe they'll call you for this one as well… help us out.'

'You finally admit I was helpful then', her pure, proud, cheeky expression made him smile a bit.

'I never said you didn't help us numerous times.'

'What's the mission?' She asked. He said he didn't know yet. They heard a whistle coming from the table where their colleagues were sitting. It was Kyle urging them to go sit with them.

'I made it pretty obvious I left them there to come talk to you…'

He felt like the people around them disappeared, the noise, the smell of booze. She sat beside him or rather in front of him, her heels propped up on the stool, her lacy dress flowing, she looked like a lily, the flower. It could not be real, he couldn't even remember the last time he felt like that, drawn to someone, wanting to get close, touch her arm, feel her skin against his own. And be touched, and be hugged by her, he wanted her attention, he wanted her to look at him, acknowledge him at all times, he was special to her and he deserved her special treatment. He got chosen, over all the others, she just said it, there it was on paper. He didn't imagine it. 'You wanted to talk to me?' He asked, a breath. She leaned into the counter, she heard him cause she was closer. She nodded. 'Why?' He asked.

She smiled. Without putting on a show, she let her hand travel on the counter, until the tip or her pointy acrylic nail poked his finger, wrapped around the beer glass. 'Is it so strange that I want to?' It's not? Did she see past it? The mask, his appearance, the scars, the trauma, his attitude? Or was he never really Ghost when he was around her? Of course he was, she was just so strong and clever to just… see Simon as well. 'I'm not really…', he tried. He didn't push away her hand, his fingers slowly intertwining with hers. Her hands were cold.

'I don't really do this? I don't know when was the last time I actually… you know…', he didn't need to finish, she nodded. She didn't look pitiful. 'Do you want me to tell you why?' She murmured. He didn't really think she had a reason. When he nodded, she started to speak. She looked down at their hands, her fingers brushing his, not really holding his hand, rather exploring the patterns in his skin, tracing them with her nails. 'I think you're kind. You've always been nice to me, considerate. I can tell you care. You know, after last year and Arash and all…' she stopped to take a deep breath, '...it felt nice to have you.' He felt faint. She wasn't done. 'At Christmas and New Years…I think we're different and there are many things you experienced I can't comprehend and stuff about me that you wouldn't get, but… I don't know, I like spending time with you. And speaking to you.' She looked at him with the end of the sentence. His mouth was dry, he felt a strange ringing in his ear. He debated getting out of there, it all sounded absurd, it sure didn't apply to him. She spoke again. 'Was it too much?' She asked.

He was quick to shake his head, but words were just not coming out of his mouth. She let go of his hand, taking a sip and finishing her half pint. He imitated her. 'I guess…', he began, terrified waiting too long to reply would make her think he didn't somehow feel the same. 'I don't know, would you want to… I…' he stuttered and stopped, like he was checking his surroundings, like he was bracing for impact, '…would you like to go out maybe, to eat…' She had this adorable upside down smile on her face, her eyes glistening. 'Yes, sure.' She said.

He stared at her for a few more seconds, to ensure she wasn't gonna spontaneously combust after saying yes to that date. A date. She looked even more heavenly now, like he saw her under a different light. A date. He heard Gaz's voice behind him, probably coming towards the bar to ruin the moment. There were two women dancing to the music and laughing loudly. He heard the noise fo glass shattering on the floor, as someone dropped his drink. He watched her fix a strand of hair behind her ear, he thought he didn't really care at this point. She was his date.

'Want another beer?'

notes: so so late at night for my standards, apologies if you see any mistakes!! happy chapter, I feel full of love after writing this, too bad I'm gonna start writing the last chapter soon... as I promised hell, hell I will deliver. I feel like now is a good time to announce the follow up series to professional help, THE NIGHT OF THE TARANTULA, which will be posted in the next few months, featuring alba, simon and many others!! can you guess what I will be about?

taglist: @random-fandom-smoothie

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[lizzy019]

can you make a johnny x innocent!reader fic were shes meeting the gang pls 🙈🙈

Istg I thought i had something like this written! Sure, it'll be really short tho lol :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🌿~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The nervousness that tickled your spine was heightening the closer you got to wherever Johnny was taking you.

Sure, you'd heard many great things about his friend group despite them all being crooks and druggies. And even if you didn't like them, you had to be respectful and kind because they were Johnny's friends.

"I think you'll like Pony the most. More your kind, yeah? He doesn't like talkin' too much either." Johnny explained sweetly as he let you link arms with him. It wasn't uncommon in these neighbourhoods for ladies to be used like toys.

You just nodded your head and followed close to him, smiling a little as he fumbles with his lighter. A cigarette in the speeding wind gusts, what a genius your boyfriend could be at times.

"You can light your silly cigarette when we get there. Do you really need it now?" You chuckled, your hand gently squeezing his soft bicep to show that you were just teasing.

Johnny just gave you a playful stink eye, shaking his head but reluctantly putting the cigarette and lighter back into his pockets. It was funny how each pocket of his had a dedicated spot. One pocket for his lighter, one for his cigarettes, one for his pocket knife... more too.

Instantly, you could tell which home was his friends' home. It was rowdy, a whole group of maybe 6 guys just smoking and talking. Was that normal? Some every Saturday activity?

Your steps grew slower and more hesitant as you neared the group of young men talking and laughing. They were harmless to Johnny, you were sure of it if he spoke so highly of them. But they just threw you off. Sure, you were used to Johnny having some weed here and there, but it smelled so strong and you weren't even standing in their little huddled circle.

But you just lightly squeezed Johnny's arm, continuing your walk until you passed the worn down fence gates. Johnny was eager, practically smiling like a goof as he looked at you. He secretly hoped you enjoyed their company like how he did, he wanted you to be a part of all the good things in his life.

And so, you smiled back. A genuine smile that managed to put grace on all of your facial features.

Maybe you could do this!

"Dally!" Johnny hollered in the direction of the gang, and one tall, slender man turned his head at the sound of their name.

A young adult with, no doubt some issues from how he handled himself, approached Johnny and playfully punched his shoulder.

"This yer lady? Didn't know y'had it in ya, buddy." Dally spoke, nodding his head in your direction as his greeting toward you.

You smiled and waved, but the tremble in your hands didn't go unnoticed by Johnny. You weren't fond of the type to do drugs, smoke, drink, whatever along the lines of the stereotypical gang was. And Johnny understood that. It could get a bit out of hand at times, so he understood why you were a bit unsettled.

But instead of pointing it out, he just gently stubbed his cigarette out on the grassy ground and led you to the rest of the gang.

Everything else went smoothly after that. You got along well with everyone, but you secretly liked Two-Bit's sense of humour and how Steve just seemed to get kicked around.

And better yet, Johnny was there watching you smile as the group teased you lightheartedly for dating him. He didn't mind, not when you defended him kindly and made sure your point got across.

Yeah, maybe you were nervous for nothing.

[angeldcgs]

her lingering gazes would've clued most men in to her interest in them— hell, most would've interpreted some other innocuous gesture of friendliness as attraction— but it seemed she would need something more overt in order to hook mr. landry. it was testament to how good of a person he was that he didn't want to take advantage of dubious circumstances— lana had now thrown herself at him twice, and still he seemed intent on resisting her, not because he wasn't interested, but because he was trying to save her from herself, in a way. surely she couldn't possibly want to fuck him for her own self interests, and clearly she was just too damaged to understand how to properly communicate gratitude; her body was all she knew how to use, and it was up to him to show her that she was valued beyond that. some sort of classic male fantasy, one not inherently sexual in nature, but still erotic in a sort of reverse psychology sort of way. regardless of his noble intentions, lana didn't have the patience for the act, and it didn't take long for her to start to grow agitated. he kept teetering back and forth between the temptation to give in and his firm resolve to resist, and each time he went back to attempting to thwart her efforts, she had to clench her jaw to resist letting out a bratty whine. since when was seducing a man this difficult? an overworked, undersexed, unhappily married man, no less. it didn't make sense, but it did make her that much more determined to get him to crack. "you never know, mr. landry... better safe than sorry." god knows how homicidal she'd become if she ever had to go that long without getting fucked, so it wasn't all that far fetched. she'd roll with whatever excuse worked to get some sort of reaction out of him, and it clearly did. if she did happen to remember everything in the morning, speaking so callously about his family wold probably be the only thing that brought her guilt, but she was too far gone off her own fantasy to fully consider the gravity of it all. the only thing on her mind was the feeling of his cock outline beneath her hand, warmth radiating off it through the thin material of his pajama pants, and she suddenly found herself wondering if there were any hourly motels nearby. they were getting back to the more affluent, suburban area of town, but she was pretty sure she knew of a couple back in the direction of the club, unless they'd been shut down or sold since she'd last visited. as spacious as the backseat was for carting a couple of children around to school and soccer practice, it didn't seem nearly roomy enough for all she wanted to do with mr. landry. she let out a genuinely involuntary gasp as the car jerked to the right and she very nearly slid and bumped into the window before she corrected herself. his more forceful approach threw her off, eyes widening at his firm grip on her wrist, stunned into silence if only for a moment. she'd never seen him be so stern, not even with the twins, and it made her slightly dizzy with arousal to feel him exert his strength over her. the heaviness of her lids made her look almost sleepy, until he finished off with a hint of a threat, and she couldn't help but perk up immediately. "oh yeah?" she quirked a brow with a snort as she once again began trying to squirm out of his grasp. "misbehavior, is it? what are you gonna do, you gonna spank me, mr. landry?" for someone so small, lana was surprisingly strong, possessing a stubborn sort of resilience only fueled by alcohol and drugs, and with a considerable amount of struggling, she managed to work one hand free long enough to stick it down his pants, fumbling to circle her hand around his cock before he could stop her. "please? please let me..." far from the sultry minx she'd made herself out to be just moments ago, the neediness in her slightly bloodshot eyes and in her breathy tone was as genuine as ever, just feeling the weight of him in her hand before she went any further.

sully had chalked up to what had happened after the party as one big misunderstanding, something that he couldn't be mad at lana for considering the rest of the events of the night. if anything, he'd felt a wave of pity for her, assuming that she was only trying to come onto him because she thought had to thank him for defending her. if he were a worse man he might've taken advantage of her vulnerability in that moment and let her touch him as she claimed to have wanted to but he was trying not to be that man, especially at the cost of disrespecting lana. it was easy to turn her away then because she gave up so easily, however the same couldn't be said for the version of his nanny that sat in the passengers seat, seemingly desperate to grope at his cock like it was the air she needed to breathe. he was trying to be that noble man, the one who saw how inappropriate the situation was and put a stop to it but he was also too soft to properly put his foot down and say no. with each flickered glance sent in lana's direction, he was met with the sight of her big eyes glimmering with mischief as she giggled at her blatant objectification. not only was it almost too much to hear her using such language, to be the subject of her dirty talk made him hyper-aware of his body in a way he hadn't been for a long time. he opened his mouth to formulate some kind of reply but nothing came, there was nothing he could say that would make any difference to the situation, not when lana was set so in her ways. as much as he wished he was, sully wasn't immune to that sickly sweet lana put on as she cooed fake sympathies about his abstinence, that was until she began to dive head first into the absurd and sully was forced to bark out a laugh. "are you serious? lana that's- you're being ridiculous. i'm fine, i'm not- jesus christ." she was insatiable, for a brief moment he thought he'd finally managed in getting her to keep her hands to herself but like clockwork, another dainty hand reached out and gripped the heavy weight of his cock through his pants once more. parking did sound like a pretty good idea, though not for the reason that lana seemed to be rallying for. the last thing either of them needed was for sully to somehow manage to crash the car on the empty road because he was too flustered by her advances, he only had two hands and she clearly needed them both in order to be held back from groping him like he was a piece of meat there for her pleasure. unable to move her hand away without letting go of her wrist or taking one off the stirring wheel, sully let out a shaky sigh and took a sharp turn to the right, pulling onto the side of the road. the second the car screeched to a stop, he was forced to once again grab at the hand stimulating him and pull her away with a sharp yank, though his grip was harsher than before. if she wouldn't listen to him then he'd have to apply some force, physically restraining her wasn't ideal and made him feel a little crazy but it was the only thing that he thought could work. "listen to me. you need to stop this. all of it, alright? i'm going to take you home and you'll sleep this off and tomorrow we can forget this ever happened but i won't tolerate your misbehaviour any longer. understand?"

[sadsongsandwaltzes]

If MLMs weren’t so predatory and manipulative, there woudlnt be a problem. If the approach was “hey this is our company, but you can be a personal representative and sales person for us and you can work on commission and we’ll provide the products for you since it is our company, not yours” then that’d be awesome.

Because some MLMs do have good products tbh. And you’d have the added bonus of fostering community amongst people having to go to these parties or booths or otherwise hitting up their local sales person for the product.

But as is, I feel so crappy buying even good products from those places because I don’t want to support a corrupt structure and approach that has screwed over so many people :/

[ectonurites]

SUPER DARK TIMES (2017) DIR KEVIN PHILLIPS

[deus-ex-mona]

s. s ave me, meoto…

[bmpmp3]

oc-ref-tober 22: Siren!!! weird doing a ref sheet bio thingy for an oc with not much of a story and like no supporting cast but he’s weirdly developed for an oc with no (developed character) friends LOL

[venomnyx]

HOUSE IN NEBRASKA — Logan "Worst Wolverine" Howlett x Mutant!Reader AO3 version Spotify Playlist

WORD COUNT — 15.4k SUMMARY — Reader gets roped into saving the timeline with ex-best friend Deadpool, coming face-to-face with a variant of Logan that uproots memories she'd long suppressed, only to find that this version of him lost her in his universe, too. TAGS/WARNINGS — she/her pronouns (minimal usage), female anatomy, flashbacks in italics, angst, enemies to lovers, alcoholism, smoking, arguments, canon typical violence, cursing/bad language, Deadpool breaks the fourth wall like twice, canon behaviour worst wolverine, religious trauma, honda odyssey scene self-insert, eventual smut, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty nasty talk (logan has a filthy mouth), mentions of cocaine literally once. smut is marked after last divider if you want to skip plot but i'll kiss you if you don't!

You’re smoking a cigarette on your porch when the snowfall happens. It would be normal, you think, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s dead in the middle of July. A group of nanas, elbow-deep in the community garden soil, glance up to the sky and begin muttering prayers amongst themselves.

You’ve lived in this safe house for a while now, up in the mid-west of the Appalachian mountains, surrounded by thickets of pine and opposite a bubbling creek. You grew up somewhere near here and the locals welcomed you back with open arms and a plateful of hot food when the humans started the culling— when the X-men fell apart.

It has plenty of benefits. The smell of lavender, for one, and your cat, Kevin, loves chasing the pigeons, even if he’s not the most successful hunter. The locally sourced produce means you can avoid the poisoned food they’re distributing in supermarkets.

But, most importantly, the humans can’t find you out here. You’re lucky the gossip of your… genetics, so to speak, doesn’t leave Sunday morning church.

Things have been different, lately. The trees are shedding down to dust, people are disappearing at an exponential rate, and there was a time when you’d be on the front lines helping them. You’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the call — a learned habit — but it’s never coming. Charles is dead. Logan is dead. The X-men are dead.

The snow is warm when it lands on your skin. It feels like rot, and your solitude suddenly feels lonelier and more daunting than ever.

You reach to take a sip of your steaming coffee when you hear movement. A zipping strobe light crosses your vision and you flinch against the intrusion, but you’re not afraid. You’ve surely survived worse.

Stryker worse.

A comical and confused looking figure pops out from an orange portal, scratching the crown of his head over the red and black mask on his face. You sip your coffee as you observe him nonchalantly.

He notices you and approaches with a dainty point of his finger.

“Um, excuse me, ma’am.”

“Well, well well,” you suck on your cigarette with a frown. “Look what the cat dragged in. Got a new suit, Red?”

“What, aren’t you happy to see lil’ old me?”

“You’re on my property,” you say matter-of-factually. You had a shotgun stowed away inside for emergencies, but frankly, you never had to use it. You were enough of a weapon yourself. Consider it insurance, if the corn-syrup they’re poisoning ever finally makes it way to you.

You glance sidelong at the old ladies in their aprons, clutching one another with stern gazes in your direction. The deal was that you didn’t bring trouble their way — but it looks like trouble found you. You narrow your eyes and silently hope that this doesn’t turn messy, as it so usually does where he’s concerned.

He sighs heavily and continues approaching regardless. You analyse his stature and take notes of the weapons on his holsters and back. You reckon you could take him if it came down to it, but he didn’t seem threatening.

You and Wade used to be friends, but after isolating yourself from grief, you don’t necessarily consider yourselves to have a close relationship. More often than not he brought trouble; hence your defensive response.

“Listen, ants in your pants, I’ve done this about a hundred times,” he huffs and places a hand on his hip, waving the device around in his hand. You take another drag of your cigarette and perk your brows before rising to your feet.

“I’ve had my spleen shattered by the Hulk, about eighty stab wounds…”

He rambles on about his collection of injuries and you tilt your head with amusement. Must be another one of his famous mental breakdowns. This might be entertaining, at the very least.

“…You’ve even killed me a few times in different universes!” He claps his hands together. “And frankly, I was just going to let you die here. You’re not even canon, so you won’t be missed, but you appear to be of use to me. So I need you to come with me. Now. Please.”

What on Earth was he talking about? What on Earth was he ever talking about?

You bark a laugh. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, Red and Black.”

“Will it change your mind if I add a cherry on top?” He asks with a dry laugh before nodding enthusiastically. Manically. “You’re coming. Kevin’s life depends on it.”

“What are you talkin’ about? Are you threatenin’ my cat? That’s a new low, Wade.”

“Is it? Is it really? I am certain that I can go unfathomably lower.”

You roll your eyes, half-way through turning your back on him.

“You see this?” He holds out a gloved hand and catches some snowflakes. He rubs them between his fingers and they spark and fizzle before dusting away. “That’s not snow. That’s time death. Our universe is dying, womp womp. Stay here, sure! By all means, but—”

Your cat launches out of the door behind you, chirping and meowing to himself before promptly dashing through the portal and disappearing into the blurry void on the other side.

“Well. Looks like he made his choice.”

He sighs and lets you process. You take the final swig of your coffee and huff a breath.

“You literally have nothing left to lose. Trust me. I know. I’ve seen all kinds of you and, believe me when I say this, even though I love and cherish this version of you, this—” he points two fingers at you and gestures towards you judgmentally. “— isn’t the best look on you, honey.”

You want to dismiss him. You want to turn him away, to tell him to get lost. Grief swallowed your heroism whole, turning it into a barren wasteland of bitter indifference. You used to be bright, full of light, love, and hope.

Fucking hope. It’s the reason Logan left you to help Charles in the first place. You just wanted to settle down and disappear, to live a normal life. You lost an intrinsic part of your being when he died; you remember feeling it before you heard the news. Fucking hope.

Hope, hope, hope. Nana Rose chants on about it when she clasps your hands with her wrinkly ones, dragging you to church in spite of your atheism.

“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts,” she chants, basket of flowers on her hip. “Romans 5:5. You’d do well to do your readin’, tulip.”

You didn’t and don’t ever usually believe a word she says, but you can feel her faith. It’s solid as steel, pouring out of her like blotting light through the gaps in the trees. Undying. And you’ll be damned if you let anything happen to her.

A flicker remains. You imagine what Charles would say to you now, how you’d hang onto his every word and he’d bring out the better of you. You truly do have nothing left to lose, except maybe your cat. Over your dead body.

“Come ooon,” he pokes his fingers together. “Fancy being a hero? One last time?”

You take the final drag before stubbing the cigarette out on your railing. “Alright, Red. I’ll bite.”

“Then suit up.”

Your friendship with Deadpool was a rocky one. There was a time you told him you’d be there for him through everything, and you technically owed him one for saving your life that one time even though your ego insists that, to this day, you could’ve taken the fight. That’s what heightened cellular control of your body is for, right? Accelerated healing? Empathetic abilities? Faster reactions, enhanced strength— you get the point.

Though you didn’t realise that returning the favour meant following him through space, time and alternate dimensions, you were a person who stayed true to their word, and you hated being indebted to someone.

So, here you were, waking up in the middle of a barren wasteland that was seconded as a cocktail soup of abandoned universal relics and heroes ripped from their worlds, accompanying your ex-best friend to restore your timeline.

But, one thing about paying someone back, it doesn’t technically count if they lie to you about the terms and conditions of the agreement. Only a few mere moments after you come to, dazed by the impact and the blaring wobbly heat of the sun, you rise to watch as Deadpool takes six blades of Wolverine to the chest.

You’re still a little dizzy when you stagger to your feet, head throbbing, as you’re trying to process if, yes, that’s exactly what you were witnessing.

“Let’s see you grow your fuckin’ head back!” Wolverine growls.

Deadpool holds his hands up in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! I can fix it! I can fix it!”

The man in yellow hesitates. “Fix what?”

“Whatever it is that you did, whatever made you so bad—” Wade pants, catching his breath. “Those pricks at the TVA, you heard ‘em. They have the power to end my universe, but they also have the power to change yours. We get back there, and we can fix your world! Together. I promise.”

You stumble from around a pile of debris, clutching your side as a rib pops back into place. Wolverine sniffs the air, face blanching as he snaps to look in your direction.

When you first make eye contact with him, it feels as though you’re resurfacing from water after being on the precipice of drowning. Your heart leaps into your throat, adrenaline boils your veins and your lungs burst with relief of breathing.

“Troubles always gonna find you, baby,” Logan murmurs, kissing his way up from the pulse in your throat as he rocks against you. “But so am I.”

You’ve never loved him more, you think, than when he fucks you slow like this. A snowstorm rages outside the cabin, howling full of glass and needles and rattling the window frames. His skin against yours burns a fire within you, warming you to the bone. He sweeps hair away from your face before capturing your mouth in his, swallowing the sounds of your pants, threading his fingers between yours.

You could stay here forever, you think.

Your fingers shake from the whiplash of the memory. You instinctively reach towards him but you catch yourself. This was the husk of him, not your Logan. The realisation feels akin to ripping open a haphazardly sewn wound right down to the fatty yellow flesh, raw and needling and sore.

He’s broader than you remember. Hair a little darker, wrinkles a little deeper. He smells of alcohol and cigars — that much is familiar. That’s him, flesh and adamantium bone, living, breathing. Alive. The physical shell of him prods alive parts of your inner circuitry that you weren’t aware had fallen asleep, like intrinsic nerves untangling within you.

You can sense that he knows you, too, based on his emotional response. His noise is extremely loud, spilling out of the cracks of whatever wall he thought he’d successfully built up. This version of Logan certainly had a lot of secrets.

“You,” he whisper-growls. It’s almost intangible, leaving him like a breath. He pulls his blades promptly from Deadpool’s chest and kicks him backwards.

You’re starting to understand that faith thing that Nana Rose was knocking on about when he strides towards you, large and tall. You certainly weren’t a believer by any means but you’re sure you’d be the picture of unbridled worship for the way you’d fall to your knees for him.

Your empathetic power lurches for him, seeking him out as you used to — like a flower to the sun — but it physically recoils from the aura that it touches. It was all your Logan but not in a familiar way. It’s tainted, dark, and it tastes like copper and screams.

All colour melts from his face and his body shuffles in a way that indicates discomfort; a dry swallow, tense shoulders and flicking eyes that refuse to meet your gaze. He omits feelings of guilt and shame that linger on the tendrils of your empathetic powers where you connect with him.

You try to zone Wade out, squinting as you attempt to navigate through his cobweb of emotions (seriously, this guy’s aura could do with a cleanup) but it’s like wading through black-tar syrup, feelings negated by years of alcohol-abuse and avoidance. Eventually, you feel something that makes your guts twist and your legs shake: a version of romantic attraction and recognition so carnal and raw that you begin to blush, a warmth that creeps its way up from your belly. A breath escapes you like a punch.

“Well. This feels awkward.” Wade glances between you both and places his hands on his hips. “Why do you both look like you’ve seen a ghost? Do I need to call Egon Splegler and tell him to bring his ghost sucky-sucky vacuum? Oh my god—” He slaps his hands to his face and gasps sharply. “Cross-Universal lovers?”

As inappropriately timed and tone-deaf his one-liners could be, you’d never been more appreciative of an icebreaker. You think you could’ve stood there for an hour, frozen in silence, staring at a reanimated corpse, basking in the noise of his emotional frequency like an addict finally getting another hit.

But then the noise stops, swallowed up like a heaving black hole had split and atomised the tension whole with its unforgiving jaws. He closes himself off from you. Connection severed. You reach out and feel a cold nothingness similar to how, on particularly rough nights, you’d try to reach out to him after his passing. You’d clung onto his plaid shirts until the smell and emotional residue wore off of them.

“You with the mouth? To fix things?”

You nod tightly. You don’t think you can find your voice in front of him.

“Let’s just keep moving. And stay out of my head,” Logan grumbles, crossing you with a cold shoulder and mumbling something incoherent under his breath. When he’s made enough distance, you turn to your old friend with a cold glare.

“Ooh, brr. Anybody else feel a chill?”

“Wade.”

He twists towards you comically slow.

“You. Motherfucker.” You begin approaching him. He backs up slowly and holds his hands up.

“I knew if I told you the plan you wouldn’t have gone along with it!”

“Are you insane? You think multiversally grave-robbing my fucking dead ex-boyfriend is going to save our timelines?!” You yell.

“Technically he’s not dead—”

You push him. “He should be! He- he was— he is!”

“Well, this one isn’t!” He pushes back. “And I’m not sorry for finding a loophole in the plan to fry — not just mine, mind you — but both of our timelines! Did you happen to forget that? No multi-dimensional depressed Logan? Alright then! No more Kevin!”

He’s talking about your cat. Anger flares.

“Don’t you dare bring Kevin into this.”

“You forced my hand!” He yells, mouth moving alien-like behind the mask on his face. “Besides, I’m not doing this for me—”

You blink your eyes closed. You might reach the end of your tether if he said her name one more time. You’ve been in his company for approximately an hour, and he’s already drilled a hole into your brain with his incessant yapping about the “love of his life”.

“Wade, you need to move on. She clearly has.”

“I will not move on from the only people I love in this fucked up dimension. This isn’t just for Vanessa.” He shoves a glossy photograph in your face. “This is for you and blind Al and even that shit-head teenager and her pinkie-pie girlfriend! They deserve their timeline!”

“I literally don’t care about any of those people!”

Even yourself?

“Well, I do! I have people I care about! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero? God, all of you X-men are so depressing. Is it the suits they make you wear? Is that it? Can’t breathe in that thing?” He continues poking at you. “Loosen up a little!”

You straighten your posture and the black leather of your suit crackles. You swat his hands away as he continues poking. “Alright! Cut it out!”

“Think of Nana Rose.” He draws a heart with two fingers. “Little old ladies like her deserve a chance, don’t they?”

And even though humans had done nothing but wage war on your kind for simply existing, you still felt obliged to help them. Besides, the thought of other mutants — kid mutants — dying when you hold the chance to save them in the palm of your hand? You were hardly managing as you were now. You’re not sure you’d be able to live with yourself if you kept going like this.

“Alright, alright!” You huff, heart pounding in your chest. You look over at where Wolverine kicks at rocks in the distance. “Fucking hell, Red. Holy fuck.”

You say it again, only this time you scream it into your hands.

“You should’ve warned me.”

“Are we good?”

“Are we go—” You scoff. You kick his ankle, feel the bones shatter and crunch beneath your foot. He lets out a short, high-pitched yelp. “You deserved that.”

“Motherfuckermotherfucker… oh you’re lucky I feel bad about lying to you or I would’ve twisted your milk bags off for that I swear to God.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, walking forward. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”

He limps after you, floppy ankle dragging a line in the sandy dirt. “I’ll be dead before you ever get one of those out of me! And too bad I can’t fucking die!”

The difference between this Logan and your Logan is stark, minus the uncanny resemblance. Your Logan was soft and gentle, but this version is sharper and blade-edged, and your fingers bleed when you try to touch him.

Staring at him feels like throwing up a mirror and analysing yourself, a picture of what happens to a person when they make all of the wrong choices. You’re embarrassed, almost. This isn’t a version of you that you ever want him to know, but at least you can say you’re trying.

Him, on the other hand…

“Are we going to keep up the awkward silence?” You snip, awkwardly adjusting the restraints on your wrist.

You’ve been in Logan’s company for all of an hour, and yet accompanying one another through literal time purgatory didn’t seem to irk any feelings of obligation from his end. He’d been cold-shouldering and ignoring you the entire time, even though you kept catching him staring.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he spits, wriggling uncomfortably against a very unconscious Deadpool. “You got us into this mess.”

You frown, small. You can feel hatred pouring out from him, leaving a sickly bile taste in the back of your throat. You’ve lived through enough hate for being a mutant in your lifetime, enough that you’d become accustomed to tuning it out of your radio channel, so to speak, but something about it coming from the man you loved makes it a little harder to swallow.

You’re quiet when you next speak. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

He shoots you an indistinguishable look and grunts to himself. Such a Libra.

“So, what’s the story here?” Johnny asks with a sly grin. He turns to you with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. “You two know each other?”

You cringe. “Sort of. Last I remember, he wasn’t this much of a prick.”

“Oh, trouble in paradise, huh?” His grin grows. “That’s a shame. Not often we get girls like you in the void.”

“Seriously?” You say with a side-eye.

He shrugs, all blue-spandex biceps and charming smile. “No harm in trying.”

Your breath hitches as Cassandra approaches, wide eyes and tilted head aiming for you purposefully. Logan swiftly angles his body so that he’s standing in front of you and she halts as a delighted, implicating smile stretches across her face. Your chest constricts, tendrils of yearning coiling tighter. It appeared to be muscle memory: his instinctual, protective flinch. Just like your Logan used to, despite how capable he knew you were.

“Now, I’ve always wanted a Wolverine.” Her finger moves along the crowd. “Knew I’d get one eventually. But I never even dreamed of having you.”

Cassandra zips behind you and her slender fingers delve into the crevices and valleys of your brain, lips intimately close to your neck and ear. Wolverine snarls territoriality, but he’s unable to move. The urge to reach for him is overwhelming.

“Do you know that there are so few universes where you exist?” She whispers, caressing your deepest memories. “I even asked the TVA about you, in exchange for keeping the peace. I was disheartened when I found out one of you died. But you’re here! Now, I don’t believe in fate, but this almost feels like it was meant to be.”

You flinch when she uncovers a particularly fond memory, one you hadn’t been aware was so prominently in the forefront.

In the back of his truck, a cigar between his teeth, hands sliding under your shirt. In another world, he would’ve taken the time to do this properly, but living in a school didn’t exactly grant two consenting adults any privacy.

“Waited long enough for this.”

He kisses up from your bare foot to the sensitive skin of your inner knee, lips scorching against your skin.

“Logan…”

“Easy,” he murmurs, leaning away for a moment to remove his plaid overshirt, leaving himself in that white vest you could eat him alive in. “Still wanna take my time with you.”

You’re desperate, he can tell— can probably smell it, too, but you’re far too humiliated to ask him if he can.

Logan wasn’t your first by any means, but with the way you were near trembling for him truly felt like you’d be losing all of your innocence in the back seat. You’re shy and quiet, everything he isn’t. You’re infatuated with him — have been since he burst out of the lab in his grey hoodie — and have daydreamed about what it would be like to have him. You certainly didn’t let him know that right away, and with whatever shred of composure remained around his relentless flirting and teasing remarks, you tried to play hard to get.

Until you couldn’t. Because you weren’t. He had you, and with every fibre of your being, you wanted him to.

She pulls her hands from your brain with a shlick sound, rubbing her fingers together as if relishing in the produce of your memories. She grabs a rag from her pocket and smirks knowingly.

“You’re thinking of that at a time like this?” She laughs all witch-like. “Worry not; your secret’s safe with me, naughty girl.”

Wade lowers his voice and leans towards Logan. “She was thinking of me.”

“I can read between the lines, darling,” she potters on. “This isn’t about a sexual fantasy. Deep down, you just want to be wanted. To be loved.”

She steps back and extends her arms. “After all, you’ll never amount to anything in your world. It’s such a shame that your Logan left you so abruptly. Did he break your heart?” She giggles. “Why suppress your powers in his name? For a level-five mutant, you certainly don’t act like one. You can do that, here. Freely!”

Your worn thin tether creaks with exhaustion like a dilapidated bridge under pressure. There isn’t a singular fibre of your being that desires to be stuck here, but the small, angry teenage voice in your head would love nothing more than to just let go. You’d been containing your powers for as far as you can remember, and they'd always been as irresistible as the promise of Pandora's box.

But you know how that story ends.

You take a moment’s pause. “I have no interest in livin’ in a garbage dump.”

She tilts her head and neatly clasps her hands behind her back. “Do you forget where you come from? I think we both know who lives in a garbage dump.”

“You motherf—”

You’d just managed to escape Cassandra’s lair with Alioth’s foggy storm fangs nipping at your ankles when you ran across the abandoned diner.

You’re ravenous, wrist aching from how you dig at the freezer-burned ice cream. It’s your least favourite flavour but you’ve been running on fumes for the past day or so, so you’ll take what you can get, though you begin to lose your appetite when you remember Johnny, and how Cassandra had zipped the skin from him like popping a blood-filled water balloon.

Something is rumbling beneath your surface. A distinct, constant buzzing, like two atoms slowly building up radioactive energy. You’d asked for none of this, and would certainly give Wade a talking to when the time called for it, but, for now, you’re trying your hardest to make this as easy a process as possible.

Your male counterpart, however, was doing exactly what men generally do. He was making this fucking unbearable.

Logan sits across from you, brooding, fingers gripping the medicinal bottle as if it’s anywhere near appropriate to be drinking. He throws you a particularly lingering glare when he notices you staring, but refuses to maintain eye contact when you look back at him

You toss the tub and spoon across the table with a sharp clatter, your patience collapsing.

“What? Can’t even look at me?” You snap. His eyes look exhausted when they finally meet yours. Wade, being the characteristic little fucker he is, pulls a delighted, shit-stirring grin as he glances between the two of you as if watching a tennis match.

Logan gasps as he finishes taking a drink. “Not much to look at,” he says, wiping the back of his mouth.

The words twist like a fist in your gut. For a moment, you’re rendered too stunned to respond, like he’d tossed a flash-bang toward you. His casual cruelty digs deeper than you care to admit— but you’ve had far too much therapy, too much psychological training, to know he’s deflecting.

But you wouldn’t doubt for a second that there was a more beautiful version of you somewhere.

“What, you comparin’ me to someone?” You ask. You can tell you’ve struck a nerve by the way he goes for another sip. “That it?”

He grimaces.

“Do I make you feel sick? Am I making you feel sick?”

He stares at you hard, but silently. He takes a long swig of the rubbing alcohol and you cringe as his throat bobs. His silence and feigned indifference light a fire of indignation.

“You know, you’re not the only person who’s suffered. Who’s lost people.”

He laughs like what you’re saying is funny. “Yeah, right, bub, you have got no idea what loss is.”

“Oh, you are such a fucking cunt,” you spit, slamming your hands on the table as you rise to your feet. “You know what, Wade? You’re right. I can’t do this. So fuck you and fuck his timeline and fuck every timeline that had anything to do with it! I’m done.”

A wave of uncontrolled psionic energy born from your anger blasts from you upon your final words, slamming them back into their seats and sending the cutlery, nearby debris and weapons flying. The neighbouring windows smash, shattering explosively and sprinkling outside of the diner.

The simmering stops, replaced by a stifling emptiness.

“I wasn’t finished with that!” Wade cries, crouching down to scoop up what remains of the gelatinous spam.

You pause for a moment, glance at your hands, and then grab your jacket in an aggressive fit.

Wade whines your name, halfway through gagging down a forkful of cold spam off of the floor (one of which resonates with a particularly distinct crunch, but you don’t stay to find out whether or not he just truly ate glass), and he doesn’t attempt to get up and follow you as you storm off.

You take a heaving breath of hot desert air when you leave the diner. The sandy breeze tousles your hair, and with the prickly energy of an incoming nervous breakdown, your legs kick and you’re running.

“Stryker got you, too?” Logan asks, eyebrows flicking up.

You don’t look him in the eye when you nod. You cross your arms and slouch a little, caging your heart in. Stryker — the ex-militant with a fetish for experimenting on mutants — had held you captive for several years. He’d brainwashed you into using your empathetic abilities for nefarious purposes, like seducing other mutants, and sometimes important political and militant figures.

“You like me?” He questions, quieter this time.

“No… no, not like you,” you reply. “I don’t have the fancy bones. I heal fast, but I wouldn’t survive that kinda procedure.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t remember everything. Just bits and pieces. Feelings, mostly. Nightmares,” you explain. He nods understandingly. “I’m always on edge.”

“You always seem so calm,” he observes. “Nothing seems to phase you.”

“I have to be. It took a lot of pain and damage to get this level-headed,” you respond quickly. “If I don’t manage my emotions, all the emotions that I receive, touch— it all comes out. Explosively. It has to come out somehow. I could hurt people.”

“Funny. School therapist ‘n’ you’ve got the most issues,” he teases light-heartedly.

“You got no idea, lumberjack.”

You hated killing.

You’re on your knees, arms and hands and chest soaked crimson, sobbing. They’d come out of nowhere, the raiders, and they were hungry for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. All you know is that you felt their need, their desperation, their willingness to do anything to get it.

The flash of harrowing horror someone feels before they die isn’t a unique experience. It simply varies in strength — sometimes it’s a feather-like touch that careens over you, a shuddering realisation that they’re taking their last breath, and sometimes it’s like a crack of lightning. Bloodied hands gripping your biceps with fear in a final attempt to survive. They’d rather cling to you than die alone.

You hate killing. Especially this up close.

You don’t cry for them. You don’t even cry for yourself. It’s a small emotional space where they cry vicariously through you.

You were black-out when it happened, you tell yourself, and suddenly regress to the student you used to be, sobbing on your knees in front of Charles as he tries to teach you serenity and control after an outburst had caused you to kill a nest of birds. He’d done it for Magneto, he said— so he could certainly do it for you.

You should have meditated more.

The sound of a car gurgles somewhere behind you, but you haven’t the energy to look or use your powers to seek out who’s approaching and what their intent is. You’re exhausted enough that whatever they wish to do with you — turn you to processed dog kibble, send you back into the jaws of Cassandra’s lair, kill you — whatever. Just let it happen.

A slamming car door and then the crunching of boots on gravel.

“You’re easy to track.” A pause. “You look pathetic. You done throwing your tantrum?”

Logan. Of course, it’s him.

“Leave me alone, prick.”

“As much as I’d like to, you and the Mouth still have to hold up your end of the bargain,” he quips, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Now get up.”

You glare up at him and his arms unfurl as he notices your tear-streaked face. His expression drops, softens, before it quickly ticks back up into an incredulous, irritated look.

“Are you crying?” He asks with a scoff. He pauses before dragging his hand down his face and rubbing his scruffy jaw. “Jesus Christ. Get up. Get in the car.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ around, Logan. Piss. Off.”

He mumbles a string of incoherent curses and turns on his heel. You think, for a moment and a breath of relief, that he’s truly going to give up on you and leave. He could finish this without you. It’s easier this way.

Instead, a thick bicep wraps around your middle and you’re flung over his shoulder with a yelp.

“Quit your squirmin’.”

“Then put me down!” You yell, thrashing in his grasp. He promptly ignores you, unphased by the jabs you strike at his back. You quickly unsheath the small knife from your jacket sleeve, winding up your arm before you drive it into the muscly pocket by his kidneys.

“Ow! Cheap shot, you little fucker!”

Wade sighs and clutches his hands in front of his chest romantically. “Oh, the newlyweds.”

Logan dumps you into the front seat of the car carelessly, grumbling something as he slams the door shut and applies the child locks. Petty motherfucker.

You rub the sore spot on your tailbone where you landed on a seat buckle funny. You want to bite your tongue but you’re flared up.

“We should switch places. I’m a better driver than you are.”

Logan doesn’t bother looking at you as he starts up the ignition. “Just shut up.”

“You can go on ahead and smoke a cat turd in hell, then.”

“So fuckin’ immature. Grow up.”

“Mom and Dad can you please stop fighting!” Deadpool cries out from the backseats.

You just roll your eyes, resigning into your chair and folding your arms.

At some point along the ride, Wade falls asleep, snoring soundly to himself. You’re silent in the front, drumming a beat on your knees, awkwardly thinking of something to say. You have the impulsive need to fill the silence, even if you were trapped in a crappy car with a man who had made it vehemently clear that he irrevocably hated you.

“So, if they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’ll do?”

Logan rips his eyes towards you. “What did you say?”

“I said when you get back, what’s the first thing—”

“No, no, no— before that.”

You hesitate, wondering if you’d landed yourself in a trap based on the sharpness of his tone and the way that anger crackles off of him like static lightning.

“If… they can fix your world?”

He slams his foot on the brake and you just about catch yourself before your nose goes flying into the dashboard. Wade is thrust out of the front window, smashing through and promptly falling unconscious underneath a tree, neck broken at an awkward angle.

Your eyes widen.

“What do you mean: if?”

“That’s what Wade said—”

“I don’t give a fuck who said what. He promised me he would fix things—”

“Well, I didn’t promise you shit!”

He laughs, low and devoid of humour. “You don’t have a clue if they can fix things, do you?”

Well, no. You’ve been operating on a hunch the entire time and had half come to accept that you might be stuck in the TVA void forever. Who knows how much time has passed elsewhere?

Regardless of the fact you truly had nothing to do with whatever came out of Wade’s mouth, you weren’t about to let Mr. Worst Wolverine shit all over him and his plan to save his friends.

“Is it really that far-fetched? We made an educated wish!”

Something dark flashes across his face. You can feel hate pulsing off of him in dizzying waves, doubling with each passing moment.

“You made… an educated fucking wish?”

“What’s your problem with me, huh? Got a stick up your ass?” You reach for the car door handle, but he snaps up your wrist, holding it high. “You better let go of me right now, old man—”

“Or what, huh? Gonna run away again?” He threatens.

“You geriatric, alcoholic motherfucker. I’ve done nothin’ but try and be civil with you and you treat me like I’m the one who ruined your life! I don’t know what version of me you knew but you need to stop actin’ like I ain’t worthy of being here because of what you did!”

“Listen, I’ll tell you what my problem is with you—” he leans closer, eyes roving over you with a disgusted look on his face. “I mean, you are a ridiculous, emotional, immature crybaby. I have never met a sadder, more attention-seeking, foul-mouthed little bitch in my entire life and that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than two hundred fuckin’ years.”

“And I’ll tell you, that bald chick was right about one thing: you will never amount to anything. You’ll never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with me. I’d say you should’ve died alone but it’s one of God’s best jokes that in this universe you didn’t seem to fuckin’ die, except that ones on the rest of all of us!”

He breathes heavily when his rant finishes. You’re taken aback, jaw slack, eyes warm with the onset of tears born from shock.

“What, you got nothin’ to say, empath?”

You suck in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you flick the emotional switch off in your head.

“I’m going to hurt you now.”

He snorts. “Oh, are you?”

In a swift manoeuvre, you raise your slap him around the face. You knew better than to punch a metal skull, but you still wanted him to sting. His eyes slit, nostrils flaring in challenge.

“That all you got?”

“Not even close,” you snap back, knuckles whitening from the way you curl your fingers into your palm. “You want to play this game, Logan? Fine— but I’m not gonna sit here and keep on provin’ myself to you. I’ve had enough of your Christ-born-again superiority complex. Did you forget that you’re the worst Wolverine?”

“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I’m honest about who I am. Look at you— you’re a fuckin’ joke, pretending to be some hero in a suit made for a dead team,” he barks back, voice rising with each word. “I don’t need your bullshit “wishes”— you should know, I’ve buried people for less.”

“Yeah, because you’re so perfect, ain’t that right?” You yell, voice cracking from the power of your anger. “The almighty Wolverine— the unkillable bastard who can’t seem to hold onto anythin’ good in his life! You’ve had centuries to get your shit together, and look at you—” You look him up and down with disgust. “—still just a bitter, lonely, broken man, takin’ it out on everyone else and a goddamn bottle.”

His eyes narrow, muscles in his jaw twitching as he appears to fight and keep his temper in check, but there’s an obvious crack forming, the dam of his unbridled rage near overflowing.

“You think you know me, huh?” He murmurs, voice a deadly whisper, the calm before the storm. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve been through. You’re nothing but a lost woman playing make-believe and hiding in the shadow of a fuckin’ merc. You’re pathetic.”

Something inside of you breaks. “I’m pathetic? Look at yourself! You’re so goddamn desperate to feel anythin’ that you’ll lash out at everyone around you for some semblance of warmth. There’s a fine line between hate and love, after all! You think you’re so strong because you can heal, because you’ve lived forever? Yeah, right— you’re the weakest, most cowardly man I’ve met in a loong time.”

The blades between his knuckles shoot out with a shink! For a moment, you think that he’s going to attack you. Hell— you even hope that he will, just to diminish some of the unbearable, stifling tension. Instead, the blades retract with a deep breath, and he grabs you forcefully by the collar of your suit, yanking you so close that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

His voice is low and rough, each word dripping with venom. “Go on, keep psychoanalysing me. You wanna talk about cowardice? How about leaving people who need you, just because it’s easier to run? Better yet, how about the fact that you abandoned the X-men to hide away in the mountains, huh?”

Your eyes widen with recognition.

“Yeah… Wade’s got a big mouth. Told me everythin’. You’re no hero. Hell, you’re just a selfish, reckless hillbilly who failed at pretending to be human.”

Your heart palpitates in your chest, each word coiling and slicing like blades in your intestines, but you refuse to let him see how much it hurts. Instead, your lips curl into a cold, bitter smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And you’re just a sad, angry old man who can’t handle the fact that he’s lost everythin’. Go ahead: keep pushing people away! Keep hidin’ behind that anger o’ yours! It’s got you this far, ain’t it?! I’ve treated kids with trauma worth double yours and they were nothin’ but kind and selfless. I won’t let you project your failures onto me. I’m done with this.”

“Yeah, why don’t you walk away!”

The argument reaches a fever pitch, tension sizzling in the air between you. You’re so close, glaring at each other with so much anger, so much resonating heat, that it feels like something’s going to break. And then, suddenly, it does.

Before either of you can think, you close the gap between you, lips crashing against his. It’s not gentle, it’s not soft— the kiss is rough, violent, a clash of lips and fury. His grip on your collar tightens, and for a moment, you’re both frozen, caught in the shock of what’s happening.

But then something more fiery in nature than anger ignites, and he kisses you back just as fiercely, and maybe a little more desperate— like he’s trying to pour out all of his pain and resentment, into this one moment. Your tongues slide against each other and his teeth catch against yours as he groans into your mouth. Your hands thread through his hair, yanking him closer as if trying to hold onto something real and tangible in the chaos of the kiss, reeling from the sudden spinning in your head. It’s angry, raw, filled with all the things you’re not capable of verbalising: grief, love, yearning, reconciliation.

The result of a painful reunion.

The world falls away and all that’s left is the taste of him, the feel of his lips against yours, rough and demanding. You hate him right now— hate him so much that you can’t help but want him. The sheer intensity of it all overwhelms you and makes your fingers shake against the nape of his neck, but you can’t pull away— not now, not when you’ve tasted the wine. You’re too far gone, caught up in the storm of his intoxication, fantasising about ripping that yellow and blue suit off of him and riding him until there’s nothing left for him to regenerate.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the bubble of the moment bursts with the sound of slow clapping coming from outside the car. You jerk back from Logan, breath coming in ragged gasps. Logan is equally as stunned, still tight-gripping your collar as if he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.

You both see Wade sitting up, hands together, eyes wide as saucers as he takes in the scene.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did I just wake up in a telenovela?” His voice is laced with amusement. “I mean, I know you two clearly had some unresolved sexual tension— but this? Oh, this is gold. Please don’t stop on my account, just let me get the camcorder first!”

You’re too stun-locked to respond, lips parting and closing as your brain scrambles to formulate a response as you’re still reeling from what just happened. Logan (for once) seems equally as lost for words, his typical scowl replaced with a look of confusion.

“Shut up, Mouth,” Logan barks, but there’s no real heat behind it. There can’t be, really, not when you’ve both been caught red-handed. He releases your collar at once.

Wade, however, is having none of it. “Oh, no, no, no! You don’t just get to brush this off like it’s nothing! That was a full-on makeout session! I only interrupted because I thought you were about to rip each other’s clothes off.” He sighs wistfully and crosses his legs. “Here I was thinking that you two hated each other— but I guess all that anger was just foreplay, huh?”

Your face burns with a mixture of shame and something else you’re not quite ready to admit. “Wade— cut it out.”

He grins, not deterred in the least. “Oh, but I’m loving this. All that pent-up aggression finally coming to fruition. It’s beautiful, truly.”

Logan shoots him a look that could melt iron, but Wade just simply shrugs, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. Everyone being me.”

“Wade,” you warn through gritted teeth.

“Well, unless you want me to watch (which I am not opposed to, by the way) maybe next time the two of you should get a room,” he tilts his head. “Or, you know, a couples therapist.”

He then turns to address Logan directly.

“And I must’ve missed the AO3 tags because I did not peg you for the enemies-to-lovers type, Mister. Who knew all it took was a bit of hate-kissing to get the sparks flying? Don’t look so ashamed! I’m just jealous I didn’t get to you first.”

He stumbles towards the car and collapses into the back seat. “Next time you wanna bump uglies, just ask for some privacy! You can save me the broken neck!” He gets himself comfortable, man-spreading and laying his hands on both of your shoulders as you stare dead-forwards, unable to look at each other.

“Gosh, you’re both so tense.” He begins massaging. “Look— props to you both for not letting all that angst go to waste. This is a safe space, and there’s no shame in a little hormone-induced—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Logan interrupts, revving the car back to life and shoving his prodding hands away. “Just be quiet back there.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll keep the commentary to myself. But just so you know— got that bad boy playing on repeat, right here.” He says, tapping the side of his head.

You bury your face in your hands. This was going to be a long car ride.

As the car starts moving again, you muster the bravery to risk a glance at Logan. His expression is hard to read but his energy thrums with uncertainty. The boiling hatred seems to have dialled down to a gentle simmer, mostly redirected towards himself rather than you. There’s something else— something that wasn’t there before. You rip your eyes away quickly, mind racing.

For somebody so in tune with emotions and the literal ability to manipulate them if you so desired, you were horrendous at navigating your own. You don’t know what this kiss meant, or if it even meant anything at all.

If there’s anyone you didn’t expect to come across in the void, it’s X-23— Laura. She’s taller, now, with hair down her back, but she’s still got that stern, mean look on her face that intimidated you the first time you met her.

The weak front door squeaks when you open it a crack. A girl, maybe in her small teen years, blinks up at you.

“Can I help you?” You ask, wiping your flour-dusty hands down on the front of your cooking apron.

“Are you—” she says your name.

You attempt to swing the door shut, but she jams it with her boot. You flick your eyes up, glance around for any signs of threats, and then lower your gaze to her. You wrap your cardigan around your mid-section.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. Who the Hell are you, kid, and what do you want?”

“I’m here about Logan,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Logan. A name followed by your own, both of which you hadn’t heard in years.

“He’s not here, kid. He died years ago.”

“I know,” she answers, unwavering. “I was there when it happened. Your name was the last thing he said.”

You’d let her in for a glass of sugary sweet tea that day, but once stories were exchanged you told her not to come back. She respected your wishes— she said she simply wanted to put a name to the face, to get closure, but you’d felt her desperation. Perhaps she was seeking out respite, or family, but you were in no position to be sharing your space with someone who could put another target on your back.

After introductions were made with the others who had been ripped from their timelines (Elektra, Blade and oh my god a Gambit variant with muscles so huge he could pop your head between his biceps) you excused yourself to sit outside. The buzzing emotional energy made your collar feel a little tight around the neck, your head a little fuzzy with noise, so you decided to reignite the small campfire a few yards away from the safe-house and rest there, instead.

You hadn’t realised you were being followed.

“It’s not safe here.”

“It’s not safe anywhere, Logan.”

He looks defeated, raising and clasping his hands behind his head.

“I gotta leave, baby.”

“If you leave, I ain’t lettin’ you back,” you whisper. “You don’t heal the same anymore, Logan, and you promised me—”

“I know what I promised,” he rebuts, but not angrily. You can already see on his face that he’s made his choice. He’s not coming to you to discuss it. “But I owe it to him. To Charles. He gave me everything.”

“So then what did I give you?” You ask. “Not a home, not my love, not everything?” You slam the tea towel down and turn away from him as the tears form. He’s quiet, perhaps processing everything, but you’re too impatient.

“If you’re just gon’ get up and leave, do it now. I won’t beg you to stay, Jimmy.”

“I love you.”

You don’t say it back.

You wake up with a start, damp clinging to your forehead. You immediately sense another presence and glance over to see Logan watching you with a steady gaze. His expression is soft and almost reverent at first, but his facade hardens with a quick tick of his jaw.

“You talk in your sleep.” The bottle in his hand sloshes as he takes a drink. “Nightmare?”

You sigh frustratedly when you realise it’s him. Of course, it’s him — his energy reeks of whiskey and self-loathing. You prop yourself on your elbows, massaging the sore spots on your temples where sleep fog forms.

“I can’t even get some rest without you botherin’ me? You’re leakin’ self-hatred everywhere.”

“Quit hogging the fire then.”

“Fuck you,” you murmur, but it’s without bite.

A moment passes before he fills the silence again. “What are you even doing out here, alone? Trying to get yourself killed? Pretty stupid.”

“Do you know how hard it is to sleep when nobody shuts up?”

His brows knit. “They’re all dead asleep.”

His hand runs up and down your back.

“Can’t settle?” He asks after you sigh.

“No.” You turn so you’re lying on your back, shoulder touching his, staring up at the ceiling. “Everyone is feeling so loud. It’s like a frequency I can’t turn off.”

He hums. “They’re grieving, I s’pose.”

“Even you and you always said you hated the guy.” You shuffle to lie on your side, facing him. You place a hand on his bare chest. “I can feel it, you know.”

“I didn’t hate Scott. Just found him… obnoxiously irritating.”

“Tough guy.” You giggle and stroke his cheek. “You’re turnin’ soft, old man.”

He pulls you flush against him and presses a kiss to your hairline. You lay in verbal silence for a while, soaking up his presence (god, you were so in love), but you’re interrupted when he abruptly sits up and grabs the white vest he discarded somewhere near the bed.

You lean on your elbows. “Where you goin’?”

“Let’s go for a ride.”

���What?”

“You can’t sleep here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

“But Charles said—”

“Screw Charles. You comin’ or what?”

He hadn’t told you he loved you yet, but at that moment you felt it.

And so you do, clinging to his mid-section on his motorcycle, head stuffed into the helmet he affectionately forces you to wear. It’s a warm night in New York, soupy with heat, but the further you get away from the compound with him by your side the more you feel you can breathe.

“’Course, you don’t understand.”

You reach for the small pouch on your hip and retrieve a cigarette. You light it between your lips, taking a seat a few paces away from him, hands still shaking a little with the aftershocks of the night terror.

“Since when did you start smoking?”

You perk a brow. “I’ve always smoked.”

He seems to realise something and simply shakes his head before returning to the vice in his fist.

“Right.”

You stare at him for a long, passing moment, before pulling out your lighter again and offering it towards him. He perks a brow.

“I know you got a cigar in there somewhere,” you say. He pauses, sighs, and then retrieves a thick cigar from one of the pouches on his suit. You lean closer, flick the lighter, and cup your hand to protect it from the breeze, shamelessly glancing at the dancing glow that bathes his face amid the firelight. You feel the urge to kiss him again, and when his eyes flick up to yours, you think for the briefest second that he wants to kiss you, too.

Swallowing, you collapse your lighter and clear your throat. You sit quietly, smoking and drinking in a silence only negated by the distant sound of chittering bugs around you. Once you’re finished with your cigarette, you toss the butt into the fire.

“We’re infiltrating tomorrow morning.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Your lips tighten into a thin line. “We won’t make it without you.”

“Sure you will. I’m not him, you know,” Wolverine grumbles, slugging another shot of alcohol.

You scrutinise him from across the log. You wonder if he feels as pathetic as he looks.

“No— you got that right,” you answer. You pry the liquor from his hands but the grip he releases from the neck of the bottle must have been a mercy on his part because you knew he was extraordinarily stronger than you. “He was much braver than you.”

His eyes flicker from the flames to you as you take a long swig.

“Although probably just as stupid.”

A pause. Crackling and popping firewood fills the silence.

“But, he was a hero. And so are you.”

A beat before he spits a dry laugh, “what gave you that idea?”

You give him a once over and offer a half-smile. “That suit, for starters.”

He looks down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing it and wipes away a stray speck of blood from the bright material that you’re sure you might be responsible for.

“What, you like it?” He grunts.

You can’t help but smile. “Yellow suits you.”

“This is all I had left to remember you— them by,” he says, tone turning more sombre as he reminisces.

You decide it’s not the time to make another jab, so, instead, you play back and forth with the bottle for a while until the alcohol stops stinging your throat.

Something small shatters inside of you when you watch him muster the strength to look into your eyes, and his look a little glassy.

“Did you love him?”

Woof, that needed a healthy drink of courage to answer. When you hold his gaze, there’s a hollowness to his expression— an unasked question. Was there truly a version of him worth loving?

“Yeah.” You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth to cover the crack in your voice. “Yeah, I did.”

He’d insisted he hadn’t wanted you around yet he’d kissed you and now followed you to where you’d been sleeping. That had to count for something, so you extend your arm and gesture the bottle towards him— an olive branch in the form of shitty Jack Daniels. Your fingers touch when he accepts it and the brief glimmer of eye contact you share sends shivery energy zipping between you.

“I loved him,” you repeat, as if convincing yourself. A repeated balm to soothe the pain of letting him leave.

“He’s an idiot for leaving you.”

You bite back a sob-laugh, imagination caught somewhere between wondering who you’d rather beat up more: him, or yourself.

“Maybe I’m an idiot for not followin’ him.” You sniff deeply to push back the incoming sob-induced mess. “Not that he woulda let me.”

He hums resignedly.

Clearing your throat, you tuck your hands between your thighs. Swiftly moving on. “What was I— she like?”

He takes a long drink and sighs thickly when he comes up for air. He looks down at his hands when he talks as if choosing his words thoughtfully and carefully.

“Strong, smart. Stubborn. Far too fuckin’ stubborn.”

You force a smile over the flinch of pain in your chest. “Guess we got that in common.”

You reach up and twist the dog tag around your neck, feeling for the ring you’d slipped around the chain. You were never married legally but were in all the ways that mattered. Your heart aches for the brief moment of domesticity you shared with him. You expect him to be finished, but he once laughs, a smile cracking on his face.

“She loved kids— had a soft spot for the weird ones.” He squints and rubs at the flesh between his knuckles where the blades typically protrude. “Put me in my place. Stood up for what was right.”

His words strike a chord in your heart, playing the familiar tune of yearning and guilt and grief. A swelling sensation rises from your stomach and you’re not sure if you’re going to scream, cry or throw up.

“Were you—?”

“In love with her? What, like you can’t tell?” He interrupts, face hardening. Another drink. “It doesn’t matter. We argued one night and I refused to follow her back to the school, ‘bout the same time the humans went mutant hunting.”

Logan takes a moment to catch himself.

“When I came back, shit-faced from the bar, I realised I’d gotten my version of you murdered, along with the rest of them. Laid up like a fucking log pile. That’s what loving me got you.”

The gruesome imagery sours the liquor in your stomach. You push the nausea down with a hard swallow.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wh—” He jolts back, face pinched. “I got you killed, and you’re fuckin’ sorry?”

“There’s a world where you didn’t make that choice. You know, I’m not proud of who I am, either,” you answer, softly. “After you left and I lost you… I got bitter, stopped pulling my punches.”

“You never liked hurting people.”

“I didn’t.” You take a deep breath, willing away the warmth that pools behind your eyes. You quickly regain composure with a short cough. “Whatever woman you’re comparing me to, I stopped being her a long time ago. Like you told me— I’m no hero.”

He grunts, looking like he regrets saying that now. Checkmate. You’re not what either of you expected or yearned for in one another, but maybe you’re exactly what you both need.

“You know, your accents thicker.”

He says it as if to draw a line of separation, but you take it as an invitation. Your head swims from the alcohol, and against what probably is your better judgement, you inch closer to him until your knees bump against each other.

“That’s what I get for hidin’ in the mountains. Got adopted by a scary old lady and her church friends. I reckon she rubbed off on me. You’d like her, I think,” you tell him fondly. There’s something wistful about it, imagining a life with him. You grieve a life you never had but somehow, in his company, the melancholy loosens its grip.

“Maybe we got lucky,” you add flatly.

He lifts the bottle with a dry laugh. “You have a very funny idea of what lucky means, bub.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. Y’see, they didn’t get lucky. They died, ‘n’ we lost each other,” you explain, glancing up at the stars as if either version of you would ever be in heaven, as if it was as loving enough as a mother’s womb to stretch wide enough to allow space for mutants.

God probably hated you just as much as they did down here.

You lower your head onto his shoulder. “But, we’re still here. Maybe there was always space in my universe for you.”

“You’re drunk,” he observes flatly, but he doesn’t move.

“A little.” You get more comfortable against his tense bicep and close your eyes. “Humour me, why don’t you?”

He sighs, but it’s gentle. “Just for a while.”

“Good, because you’re not very good at keeping your feelings quiet. I know you like this.”

“Keep that to yourself.”

You sigh, eyes remaining closed. “We ain’t gonna talk about it, are we?” You ask, in reference to the kiss.

“Nope.”

A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, vision blurring as if lying underneath a rippling river current. Paradox has just explained the stakes to you — to stop Cassandra, somebody would have to lay down on the wire and make the sacrifice play. This wasn’t a matter of regeneration anymore— it was being ripped apart from the seams, atomised.

It just so happens that your cat, Kevin, has been loving his little journey around the TVA. Cheater.

“You won’t survive it,” is what you say in response to Logan offering himself up for the job. What you really meant was: I don’t think I can survive losing you again.

“I know,” Logan answers. His eyes drip to where you palm at the slow-healing wound on your side, courtesy of the Lady Deadpool variant. You’re winded, running on fumes, and know you’re in no position to start throwing yourself out there as a suicide volunteer. You’d never make the journey, let alone succeed in your venture.

“That’s why it’s gotta be me,” Deadpool interrupts, peeling the mask from his face to address you both. “Neither of you asked for any of this. You were right. I lied. I lied right to both of your faces — just to get you to help me, and you did.”

“You didn’t lie,” Logan replies, throwing you a glance. “You made an educated wish.”

He reaches into his pocket and slaps the bloodied Polaroid of Deadpool’s friends against Wade’s chest. The gesture is a final, silent acknowledgement of why any of you are here in the first place, and everything that’s led to this moment.

“I got nothin’ back in my world,” he explains, the sharp arrow of his words striking a sting straight through your heart. “Let me do this. For you.”

You could see that this meant more to him, that he would only deem himself worthy and die a peaceful death if he could do it knowing he saved at least one variant of you. This is more than just a mission. This is his only chance to redeem himself, and you know you’re in no position to start trying to convince him that you’d have him either way. Fuck redemption.

You’re parallel from one another, standing just outside of touching distance. It was a cruel existence— reaching out and never quite being able to hold on. It’s inevitable, the pull you feel. You’re dictated by his gravity but cursed by the narrative.

Your chest rises and falls with shallow, laboured breaths as you attempt to process what’s happening, what he’s asking you to let him do. The pain in your side ebbs only from the comparative pain of watching another version of the man you love sacrifice himself for you.

His voice is a quiet whisper. “Give me this.”

But I love you. The words are there, hiding behind your clenched teeth, gnawing at the bars like a feral animal caged in the reminder that this isn’t — shouldn’t be — the man that you love.

Something shifts and as you’re running on the delirium of your battery running low, healing resources drained, you decide that you don’t actually care to make the distinction any more.

You’re in no condition to fight; you barely had the energy to argue with him, let alone stop him. But you can’t just let him go.

One wobbly step forward. You poke his chest, mustering whatever energy remains to express your feelings in the only true way you know how. “I…” you stammer, but you suddenly can’t find the words.

His hand reaches up and he splays yours flat against his chest. Faintly, buried deep behind the armoured layer of his suit, you feel the distinct thunk, thunk of his heart. He exhales deeply when your empathetic energy transmission reaches the other side. Your eyes connect, and even through the sharp whites of his mask, you can feel the psionic pulse resonating between you two— strong enough that the wound on your side begins to sew itself together.

“I know,” he whispers.

And you believe that he does.

He nods shortly, releases your hand, and turns on his heel. You collapse against the control centre, eyes needling through the camera footage, desperate to watch the final moments and know that his sacrifice was worth it.

It’s about the same time that Deadpool yanks his mask back on and barrels down the hallway after him.

“Wade!”

You glance back at the party as you creep towards the apartment door to leave. Your consciousness has only recently slipped back into place, having hovered somewhere above your body for the entire time you witnessed your friends atomically ripped apart, only for them to return mere moments later.

You think it might’ve been witnessing Wolverine sweaty and shirtless that was finally the last straw for you. You’re not sure you’ve recovered since.

You thought you were being sneaky about your departure, but a flat hand reaches from out of view, splays and then holds the door closed.

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Logan asks, voice slow and tentative.

“I ain’t runnin’ this time, I promise,” you answer. He rests his arm on the beam above him, making him appear even taller and maybe even more imposing. Your pulse quickens as you look up at him, trying to find the right words, ones that you hope won’t give you away. You nearly squeak. “I um— just—”

He arches a brow, a hint of a micro-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He shifts, getting closer by just a fraction. “Yeah?”

Trying to keep your distance is proving to be immensely hard when he’s gotten himself this deliciously close. His energy tastes of confidence, a stark contrast to the self-loathing only a mere few days prior. It’s magnetic. If you make eye contact now, you’re not sure you’ll be able to control yourself.

The atmosphere crackles with tension, like the static energy right before lightning strikes. His gaze is intense when you look at him, and with the way his eyes glance purposefully down at your parted lips—

Jesus. Pull yourself together.

You gently pull away from him and feel the spell of the moment dissolve. “I just… need time.”

Recognition flashes on his face, as well as a tick of disappointment, but he seems to understand.

A beat, then he taps the door before stepping aside. “Alright. Don’t be a stranger.”

Wade bursts around the corner, arms wide and voice booming. Vanessa hangs off of his arm, white teeth gleaming with mischievous joy.

“Whoa, hey there, lovebirds! What’s going on here— a secret rendezvous? Looking for somewhere to sneak off? Should I cue the romantic music or just give you two some privacy?”

You jump in surprise at his sudden entrance, flinching away from Logan as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Logan’s expression shifts from whatever tender moment was brewing, spell broken, to a mix of exasperation and resignation, jaw tightening.

“Wade,” he grumbles, voice sharp, but you can acknowledge there’s a level of begrudging affection beneath the steely surface. “Timing, as usual, is impeccable.”

“Um, actually, I was just leavin’,” you answer, tugging on your bag.

“WHAT!” Wade exclaims, face dropping. “We haven’t even gotten to our favourite part yet!”

You tick a brow. “Our favourite part?”

“The cocaine part,” he says, matter-of-factually.

“Wade, that was one time,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry. Thank you for inviting me. I just can’t miss my flight.”

Dogpool jumps at your ankles, whimpering and chewing on the hem of your jeans. You give her a gentle scratch on her head, deftly avoiding the lick of her impressive tongue. Wade scoops her up, holding her against his shoulder and kissing her affectionately on her wet nose.

“You, ah, need a ride?” Logan offers.

Your heart stutters at his chivalrous attempt. “Oh, um. That’s okay— I called a cab. So.”

That was a lie. You hadn’t— not yet. You just weren’t sure if you were going to make the right decisions if you were alone in his company for an hour. Probably wouldn’t make it to the airport without fighting or crying or making stupid choices.

He rubs his jaw. “Right.”

“I’ll… see you around?”

“I better!” Wade yells, using two fingers to gesture that he’s keeping his eye on you as Vanessa yanks him around the corner gleefully.

A magnetic tether — or red string, whatever you want to call it — seems to strain when you walk away from Logan. You feel the pull in your chest, a fluttering of electricity, but you swallow the urges and ignore the way they scratch like glass on the way down.

You call an Uber, squeezing your bag tightly for a source of comfort as you crowd yourself into the back seat. You spare one last glance at the apartment and think for a brief moment you see a silhouette of someone watching you from the balcony, but they slip away into the light before you can discern it.

You know, though. Of course, you know.

You expected relief when you arrived home, but, instead, the aching, gnawing black hole in your chest seems to grow exponentially. You go through the motions— feed your cat, tend to the garden, eat the food with no appetite, go to Church.

The fixture of Jesus pinned to the cross gives you pause for the first time. You wonder if he was a mutant.

You weren’t sure how much of this “time” thing you were going to need to heal or make a decision on where you and Logan stood after everything, but only after your second night, sleepless and alone, do you start to doubt that this will be an easy process. You communicate like you know what you’re doing, but you haven’t stopped shaking since he kissed you, like a newborn foal traversing ice.

You want to do things right. You’re not trying to replace any missing pieces or live up to any expectations he might have of you. The girl he knew seemed to be a softer, sweeter (less traumatised) version of you, and you worry that you’d be constantly comparing him to a ghost of himself.

The rain lulls you as it patters on the window by your bed, but sleep doesn’t take you.

You hear thunder, you think, and wonder if the chickens are frightened in their coops. However, the distant grumble continues to grow, reverberating through the floorboards of your rickety cabin. As it creeps closer you discern that it’s not a brewing storm— but the growling engine of a motorcycle.

Awash with a deep sense of knowing, you throw yourself out of bed and knot a silk robe around your middle. The sound of the engine dissipates, replaced only by the hammering rain and the rushing pulse in your ears when you tear your door open.

You see him— all leather jacket slick with rainwater and tight jeans, brows pinched against the onslaught of the weather as he dismounts his bike.

Logan.

When your eyes meet, there’s a palpable shift in the air, and the storm, angry as a howling spirit, mirrors the turbulent emotions within you. You don’t speak, you don’t think, you just act.

Barefoot, dressed in your slip of a robe, you race down the short path and meet him halfway.

“Logan? Logan?” You call out. “What are you doin’ here?!”

“Had to see you,” he calls out between strides, voice nonchalant as if what he’s said was obvious.

You’re closing the distance. “That’s a day’s ride, and the weather—”

Instead of letting you finish, he grasps your face, kissing you suddenly and with a reverence so sincere that your knees feel gelatinous and weak. His thumbs brush away the raindrops— tears? —that drip over your crystallised lashes. His touch is both grounding and electrifying; the warmth of him pressed against you is a stark contrast to the chilling downpour.

Your fingers curl against the front of his jacket, clinging with equal fervour as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored from floating someplace else. The strength of his body crowds over you, arm sliding down to capture you by your waist as you lean into him, syrupy-decadent and entirely reliant on him to keep you upright.

The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding over yours tasting both bittersweet and intoxicating in equal measures, like cigar smoke and peppermint gum. There’s a distinct sharpness of liqour and you wonder if he had a shot (or bottle) of courage before coming here. You breathe deeply against his skin, smelling rainwater, musk and gunpowder; your senses are completely overwhelmed by him and you’re not sure that anything could pull you away.

The red string knots.

When you both eventually take pause, gasping for air as the rain continues to pelt, his eyes lock with yours. He radiates relief, desire, and a raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

“You’re freezin’,” he murmurs, peppering kisses against your lips, your cold nose, and pulling one of your hands to his face to peck along your palm. You feel dizzy in his embrace, drunk on his lips.

“You should come inside,” you whisper, “before the neighbours start askin’ questions.”

He quietly nods, kissing your fingers before following you inside and ducking away from the rain.

Once inside, he shakes the rain from his hair with a flick, eyes immediately roaming around the innards of your respectable (tiny) house, the size of him immediately proportionally shrinking the interior. He absorbs your surroundings, chivalrously pretending like he can’t see every curve of you in that wet material.

You lead him towards the heath, lighting a small fire to help dry you both off. You leave, pottering around to gather some towels for your hair, and arrive back to see he’s peeled off the top layer of his clothes, leaving him half-exposed, his back an impressive marvel of rippling muscle. He glances at you over his shoulder.

You’re lost for words, but can’t just stand there ogling him. “Um, I don’t think I have any spare clothes that’ll… fit…”

When he turns to face you, his rain-slick torso shines in the firelight, skin glistening on the taught muscles of his biceps as he accepts a towel from you. Your words lag, entirely distracted by the realisation of one thing when you glance down at his v-line and dark, coiling hair that creeps down into his jeans: you’re absolutely going to have sex with this man.

You might’ve decided that when you watched the way his jeans clung to him when he dismounted his motorcycle, but that’s beside the point.

“That’s alright,” he answers, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes roving shamelessly over the damp, silky robe that clings to your silhouette effortlessly. “Don’t need ‘em.”

Your mouth dries when he steps closer to you, head angled, lips centimetres apart.

“Logan…” you breathe, tone edging toward a warning.

He presses against you, tilting you back. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop. I’ll get back on that bike and I’ll leave.”

You creep further away, trying to catch your breath. “I—”

The words don’t manifest, simply because you don’t have it in you to lie— to deny yourself of this.

He cages you in against the wall, shrinking you underneath his frame, eyes narrowed and dark as they search for yours through lowered lashes. “Tell me you don’t feel somethin’, and I’ll walk away. You won’t see me again.”

His bare-chested proximity was overwhelming you. You’re acutely aware of every inch of his skin that touches yours, pebbled nipples hard against his warm flesh, stubbled jaw nuzzling against your neck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and hormonal, a ball of puppy fat and unrequited crushes. The space between your thighs positively aches with heat, throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that I feel something.”

He leans back, lips quirked with a flash of disappointment.

You blink up at him. “Let me show you instead.”

He ticks an eyebrow.

You use your empathetic influence to decrease his heartbeat, relaxing him down to the bone. He sighs, nosing against your shoulder, arms flexing as he holds himself up against you.

“Just with a little influence…” you stroke your way up from the slow pulse in his neck to his jaw, capturing him swiftly. You use your mutation to increase his heart rate this time, hiking it up to an excitable level. His cheeks begin to flush, pupils dilated, lips parted with the anticipation of your kiss. His eyes darken with something intrinsically primal and hungry.

“Does it excite you?” You ask, innocently.

He shakes his head all dog-like as if to regain control, canine showing as his lips curl into a wolfish grin.

“You’re not the only one with… tricks. I can do that, too— in other ways,” he says, tone low and suggestive. He lifts a hand, tracing a knuckle over your exposed collarbone, shifting the soft material of your robe just an inch. Your breath hitches.

“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?”

You blush. You hadn’t known that.

You challenge his eye contact, feigning self-control and authority. The stare-down has your pulse spiking, arousal ricocheting down your spine and sitting low and syrupy in your belly.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast, too.”

Oh, Hell. He’s got you melted like butter in a pan.

You rest your head against the wall, breath quickening. “If we do this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Good,” he growls. “I don’t like to stop.”

The teasing back-and-forth game of teetering towards nearly touching finally gets the better of you. You’re weak, as malleable as soft dough, so you invite him against your mouth with a sigh-wine and a tug on the nape of his neck.

He positively devours you, a hand palming at your breast as you kiss desperately and feverishly. The shoulder of your robe slips and you’re half-exposed, the slip barely holding itself together by the loose knot on your waist. He pulls you impossibly closer, the skin of his chest flush against yours as he reaches and digs fingers into the globe of your ass, hips twitching together.

You fumble between your bodies, yanking on his belt buckle and zipper impatiently. He pulls backwards, a wet string of spit snapping between your lips as you separate, helping you with steadier fingers to remove his jeans. With equal passion, he swiftly tugs on the waist-tie of your robe and discards it somewhere on the floor.

When you’re both bare, nude silhouettes sharp and soft in the firelight, he stumbles you over to the plush rug in the centre of the room. He nods to the couch.

“Legs up.”

You obey without hesitation, taking your seat and spreading decadently for him. He kneels below you of you, hips between your ankles, and gazes at you like a hungry, stalking animal. You feel impossibly sexy and dangerous.

He peppers kisses along the bone of your ankle first, foot hiked up onto his shoulder, only breaking eye contact to flutter his eyes closed. He moves along the inner length of your leg, pausing keenly against the sensitive parts— the thin stretch behind your knee, the soft plush of your thigh. He lowers himself, scruff tickling between your legs, and then licks a molten stroke between your folds, parting you with his tongue and burying his face deeper.

You clench around his skull, mindfulness of your heightened mutant abilities long forgotten. You can’t crush metal between your thighs. Or can you?

He groans into you, varying suckling and kissing you on your clit with long strokes on the blade of his tongue to your hole, lapping up the nectar of your arousal, fingers digging bruisingly into your hips. The sting of his grip and the relentless lave of his tongue entice moans from you, fingers raking into his hair for some semblance of reality grounding in your pleasure-lapsed consciousness.

Jesus. With as filthy as his mouth was, you should’ve known he would be this good at eating pussy.

You come quick, orgasm pulsing on his lips. The burn of overstimulation seizes your muscles, writhing against his onslaught, but he shoves your hips down.

“Not done with you yet,” he murmurs possessively, leaning back to wipe his chin. “On all fours.”

You bite your lower lip, suppressing the humiliation of the intimacy (vulgarity) of it. You turn, belly still clenching with the aftershocks, arching with the anticipation, whining moments later when his mouth reconnects with you. His hands palm at your ass, spreading you wider, tongue slipping dangerously close to the tight ring of muscle.

He slides a finger knuckle-deep, miming fucking you in a rhythmic pulse. His other hand massages you, thumb sliding down until you jerk sensitively against his nudging intrusion.

You feel impossibly full and tingly, clenching around the burn of his thumb and the velvet of his finger, second orgasm surging and bubbling over with your face pressed against the couch cushion, lips agape. You’re slick, drip-dropping onto his cupping palm, every nerve in your body burning raw as his wrist works you through the pulses.

You turn over, relishing in the sight of his scruff glistening with the aftermath of your orgasm, his eyes dark with lust— a hellish man, seraphic on his knees for you. Your insides clench at the sight as he quite literally shatters and redefines what worship means to you.

“Tired already?” He hums, massaging your hips.

You perk a challenging brow. “That was just the warm-up, old man.”

“Alright,” he seethes, sucking on his lower lip as he lifts himself up to your level. “Show me what you got then, baby.”

When you kiss, his mouth slides against yours, drenched with the taste of yourself. His cock steels against your belly when you pull him close, tip pearl-smooth with precum when you reach down and grasp him with a hollowed fist. The feel of him, heavy and warm in your grip, fans to life the flames of your briefly quenched arousal, and you hungrily pull him down onto the couch beside you.

Moisture pools on your tongue as you rub him. You spit on your hand before stroking him from the base to tip, lathering him silky with your drool. You tuck your hair behind your ears, narrowing your cheeks as you slide your mouth up and down his length, fisting the inches that remain.

“Christ.” He twitches in your mouth as you gently massage the warm weight of his sac, lewd sounds emanating from where your lips and tongue meet him. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, gripping your hair in a fist at the crown of your head. Your engine purrs with his encouragement, revving with newfound enthusiasm.

You always gave as good as you got, after all, and you’re certainly not one to back away from a challenge.

His head lolls onto the back of the couch, thighs tense beneath you, cock hot and hard on your tongue. He growls when he comes, pulsing strongly in your mouth as you lap up the produce of his orgasm, salty and molten down your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Put those regenerative powers to good use, why don’t you?” You ask, working him through the over-sensitivity with your wrist. His eyes don’t once leave yours, even as they glaze over and flinch from the pleasure burn. There’s a sharp look of challenging determination on his face— a grit of his teeth, the furrow in his brow. He remains hard in your hands and you perk an impressed brow. Not bad for an old man.

There’s a sweet moment of vulnerability when you crawl over him, a brief sobering in the cloud of lust, a clarity of two not-quite strangers and their shared grief and yearning.

You’re not sure where this moment will take you, but the love of somebody scraping together the shards of a shattered heart for a brief time, even as it cuts their hands, holds you with a semblance of human connection so sincere that you’ll carry it with you for a lifetime.

His thighs spread to accommodate you. You hold your fingers against the thick chords in his neck for support as you fumble between your bodies, slotting him against the catch in your cunt before lowering yourself entirely.

You hiss against the intrusion and he steadies you with a hand on your hip.

“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You laugh-moan, laying your palms against the coils of hair on his sweat-shimmering chest.

“I can take it.”

The fire, intended to help dry you off, creates a heated environment that beads sweat on his temple. The only brain cells that remain coherent bounce around on lust in your skull — so you lean forward, lick the salty droplet clean, and sigh-whine as you begin rocking against him.

You fall into sync quickly, a desperate rhythm of desperate bodies. The delicious ache of him inside you is a masochistic thrill, similar to the irresistible press on a day-old bruise. The squelching shlick between your bodies is an animalistic reminder of your flesh and blood as you chase the pleasure, bouncing with vigour.

“Christ— I can feel you…” his jaw clenches with resolve, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. “…dripping all over me. You wanted this bad, huh?”

“Wanted to ride you in that fuckin’ Honda,” you straighten your posture, leaning away from him to hold your breasts, panting words between bated breaths. “Thought it might shut you up.”

His hand snaps up and grabs you roughly by the chin. “Mm… mouthy, aren’t ya?”

You grin. “You got no idea, lumberjack.”

He pulls your face against him, meeting your mouth halfway in a sloppier, fever-driven kiss that shoots arousal to your core like a shot of his favourite whiskey. Something feral stirs within you: a primal, cellular-deep need to connect with him further. Your empathetic power roils off of you like steam on a hot spring, surging into and merging with him until there’s nothing but one feeling, a black hole of unquenchable desire.

You suddenly feel as though you are him: navel-deep, a throbbing muscle with an aching desire to dive further into the serpent-clutch of your cunt, gliding through tingly, honey-silk velvet, blades hanging onto a tether of self-control as they threaten to slide out of your knuckles in ecstasy.

Well. This was certainly new. Add “voodoo sex doll” to your list of mutations.

You gasp, ripping away from the kiss, your powers recoiling back into you at whip-lash speed, dizzying in its ferocity. His eyes meet yours with darkened curiosity.

“Did you—”

“I felt that,” he grunts, tongue darting out to roll over his lips. “It always like that for you? Feelin’ so fuckin’ full?”

You half-laugh blissfully. “Only the good times.”

“I’ll show you a good time, alright.”

He isn’t gentle when he manhandles you, forcing you into an arch as he repositions and aligns himself behind your thighs, one foot planted firmly on the floor, the other bent to accommodate the new angle. He reinserts himself inside of you with ease, hands palming your hips and ass.

You feel him nudging cervix-deep and you reach out, clawing at the couch to hold your jerking body steady against the relentless slap of his hips. There’s no need to tell him faster or harder when you feel the metal plate of his adamantium hips pressing against your ass, pounding and vulgar with the sound of sweat-damp skin-on-skin.

It’s involuntary, the way you pant and cry out, intoxicated by the relentless drag and pull of his cock. He says something to you but you either don’t hear him or have enough conscious space in your sex-drunk fog to process words and respond. He slides a hand down your spine and pulls on your hair until you’re upright, breath hot when it fans against your neck.

“Where’s that mouth gone?”

You lick the drool from your lip, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. “Fuck you.”

The half-lidded up-and-down look he gives you as satisfaction grows slowly on his lips turns your bones to jelly. “There she is,” he growls back, offering a sharp slap of encouragement on your ass as he drops you back onto your front. You involuntarily grip around him, puffy clit throbbing with the almost-but-not-quite-there anticipatory build. “You gonna come for me? Yeah? I can fuckin’ feel it.”

You slide a hand underneath yourself, reaching for the swollen nub with two fingers. You’re overwhelmed with kinetic energy akin to a fizzy champagne bottle— two more shakes until you’re ready to pop.

You hear a Snikt! behind you, accompanied by a throat-caught groan, and then the distinct ripping shred of blades impaling your couch. You finally come, hard, when you feel him throbbing inside of you, followed by the decadent syrupy flood of his orgasm filling you up. He ruts into you one, two three more final times, milking himself dry, before collapsing over your body in a sweaty heap, sparing you the weight of his metal bones with a forearm propped next to you.

Shared fluids drip to the couch when he eventually pulls out of you, blades retreating into his clenched fists. The fluffy innards of the chair spill out beside you, and, while you were in no financial position to afford another, the sight entices a humoured smile from you.

“Sorry,” he says with a wince, helping you sit up when your unreliable legs shake beneath you.

“That’s alright. It’ll make for an interestin’ story,” you retort, fanning yourself with a hand. You both let out a shared laugh, mostly from the relieved delirium of it all. After a beat, you lean into him, massaging a hand across his belly. “So. We really doin’ this?”

His face softens. “If you’ll have me.”

You cup his face and kiss his cheek. “I’d take any version of you I could get.”

divider credits: @/vysleix and @/cafekitsune tag list: @bearwithegg, @uhlunaro, @sseleniaa, @jxssimae, @autumnsymphony

[capricornlevi]

nanami x reader - w.c 3k, marraige of convenience, mentions of societal pressure but everything is consensual!, nsfw, mdni!

without even meeting him, you agreed to marry nanami kento without any expectations of future love, romantic or otherwise.

the pairing is advantageous for the both of you; you get access to the impressive nanami family fortune that has grown substantially now that kento is managing it, while he gets to enjoy a close association with your prestigious family and the subsequent educational opportunities that your children will benefit from. it's sensible and by far the best option you'd been presented with.

you've exchanged letters with him, polite and concise. you can read between the lines and see that he shares a disillusioned view of jujutsu society, but is more than willing to step up for the good of his family.

you weren't coerced by anyone. far from it -- your mother and father had sat you down and asked if you were sure, that they would understand if you wanted to take more time or to choose a different path for yourself altogether.

but you know the rest of society would not be so kind or understanding. marriage between two sorcerers, as antiquated as it seems, is how you survive amongst all of these competitive, power-hungry families.

from what you've read and heard about him, nanami will provide stability. he's progressive in his thinking, and so wont expect anything from you that he wouldn't be willing to do as well. you've learned that he's a teacher at tokyo tech, and has received glowing reviews; he'll be a good father.

and so on this misty thursday morning, you lay eyes on your fiancé for the first time as he slips a ring on your finger and promises to stay by your side forever.

the ceremony is as bare-bones as your reputation will allow. the guest list doesn't hit the triple digits, a huge departure from society norms, but representatives from the major houses sit in floral-clad wooden chairs to watch you repeat the words that the officiant speaks in your direction.

nanami takes your hands in his. they're warm, which is nice. this dress isn't designed for November weather, but it's an heirloom -- and truthfully, you're glad to be wearing it. you'd never given much thought to a wedding, but it makes your mother and grandmother very happy.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't relieved to discover how handsome nanami is. you were previously shown a few polaroids of him -- staff pictures, mostly, but some with the rest of his family -- and had known he wasn't bad-looking, but the pictures weren't clear enough to give you a proper understanding of his looks.

his blond hair is styled neatly, not a hair out of place. he has nice features, strong jawline and cheekbones, and soft eyes, a good combination. you know his gaze can be piercing when he wants it to be, but now, he looks at you gently.

you know you made the right decision.

more vows, a kiss, and you're married.

___

the reception goes mercifully smoothly. the mix of guests -- powerful sorcerer family heads, rich businesspeople, and just a few of your personal friends -- didn't appear to gel too well on paper, but they mostly stick to their own factions. you greet them all until your vocal cords grow tired.

a meal is served on plates so ornate it makes you feel awkward eating off them. you nurse a glass of wine for most of the evening and nanami does the same, politely waving off the servers who approach to refill his glass.

a promising sign that he doesn't feel the need to drown his sorrows. this is a marriage of convenience, yes, but you'd like to be able to get along reasonably well with your spouse.

and, to his credit, he's been making light conversation with you all evening. he doesn't dip into deep or uncomfortable topics like your marriage or future plans, figuring that's best saved for later, but he asks you questions about yourself. by the end of the evening, you feel safe enough to allude to your desire for a future somewhat outside society's norms -- "I've always wanted to travel, honestly. maybe ... spend a few years abroad" -- and, to your pleasant surprise, he doesn't rebuff them. if anything, he seems somewhat pleased.

you have another glass of wine and before you know it, it's the early hours of the morning. you're nowhere near tipsy but feel ready for bed, ready to wipe off this makeup and slip into something more comfortable; thankfully, guests have started to slip out one by one, with only immediate family remaining.

your unpleasant and friendless older cousin makes a joke about you needing to say your goodbyes to 'go please your husband', and nanami's face sours for the first time all evening. your cousin notices and sheepishly takes a drink, mumbling something about it being his time to leave too.

with some final hugs to your respective families, it's time to leave with ...

... with your husband.

in his last letter before the wedding, nanami agreed that your city-centre apartment would be the best place to live in the first few weeks of your marriage, until you find somewhere more permanent that suits you both, and so that's where you go.

you show him around each room, including some storage space where his luggage had been delivered this morning. interspersed with some more small talk, you explain that although it's small, it's well placed for both of you to get to work. he smiles and nods, thanking you with a warmth that doesn't feel forced.

you offer him some tea or whiskey; he says he's fine.

you yawn. he loosens his tie, clearly exhausted himself.

the last room you show him is your bedroom, and it becomes harder and harder not to address the elephant in the room. there's very clearly no second bed, no room for him to stay that wouldn't necessitate a lot of closeness between the two of you.

the silence hangs heavy and loaded, both of you waiting for the other to speak.

well. this is one issue you hadn't covered before the ceremony.

you have no issue with a sexual relationship -- in fact, you're somewhat looking forward to it, having spent the evening admiring the way nanami's shirt hugs his strong arms and chest. but you're not sure if tonight, the first night you've ever met, is the best night to start.

sure, the concept of the wedding night speaks for itself, but it's not as black-and-white in your situation. he might want to spend some time settling in, first. he might not even be that interested in you.

"want me to take the couch?" he asks quietly, with no hint of resentment or offence in his voice. he makes the offer with a sincerity you haven't heard from a man in a long time.

you don't break your silence, but not because you're uncomfortable or anything of the sort -- you're just assessing your options.

"there's nothing i expect from you, just so you know," he continues, and you turn your head to face him, seeing his eyes scan your face for any sign of unease. "the last thing i want is for you to do ... this ... out of obligation or pressure. we have a lifetime to get to know each other, to reach that point -- i want you to be comfortable around me."

your upbringing has made you a sceptic, a pessimist at times, but for some reason, you believe him. maybe it's the look in his eyes, or the fact that he's taken your hand in his own, interlocking your fingers, but there's something about him that sets him aside from normal sorcerers.

he seems real. he seems as though, powers and fortunes and family names aside, he has some substance about him.

"do you want to?" you ask then, voice almost inaudible quiet from a day spent conversing with guests at your wedding.

he doesn't hear you, so he dips his head in your direction; you repeat yourself and wait, hoping you hadn't pressed the issue.

his composure doesn't crack, but something flashes in his eyes as he processes your question. he has such control over the movements of his features, over every expression in his body, except for his eyes, you think.

maybe you just happen to be good at reading him.

he mulls it over for a second, his grip on your hand never slacking.

"i want to," he finally admits. "i've wanted to for a while, truthfully. I've spent a lot of late nights picturing how it would feel to be inside you, to hear what my name sounds like when you say it. but i only want that if you want it too."

you smile without meaning to. "you imagined that from just reading a few letters?"

"yes, and it's a testament to my trust in my new wife that I'm telling you that," he replies, still polite but tinged with amusement.

it feels strange standing at your bedroom doorway, hand in hand with this almost-stranger, imagining what it would be like to indulge in these thoughts you've both been having, spending your first night together tangled up in the sheets and allowing some of the indulgence you've long denied yourself.

duty gets tiring. for a long time, you've been unsure what it feels like to genuinely want something.

now, you're pretty sure it feels something like this. it's organic and unforced, a natural desire that sends heat curling in the pit of your stomach.

wordlessly, you guide nanami into your room, closing the door behind you. there's a hint of a smile on his lips as you ask him for help to untie your wedding dress, the intricate pattern of buttons trailing up your spine proving too technical for your own hands. he's methodical in his work, careful to not damage the delicate clasps.

soon your dress is loose around your hips, your chest covered by the thin slip you wore underneath. you set the garment carefully aside before returning the favour and starting to undo nanami's shirt, avoiding eye contact as your hands expose more and more of his bare chest.

you want to do this, you know that for sure, but that doesn't mean you won't feel a bit of awkwardness at the start. you're not well practiced, having had too busy a life for romantic relationships until now. you hope that instinct will kick in sooner than later, but you've no doubt nanami will help you along the way.

when you finally build up the nerve to glance up at him as he shrugs off the shirt, he's looking at you as though you're the only person he ever wants touching him.

you hear the soft clink of metal and realise he's undoing his belt.

"are you sure?" he asks one more time.

that one question, and the earnestness with which he speaks, erases the last shred of doubt you had. you place your trust in him for the second time today.

you nod and reach across to his belt in the same breath, helping him pull it free from the loops to be tossed by the armchair near your desk.

you move as though controlled by something other than yourself, the decisions coming so naturally it feels as though you've been imagining it for weeks as well.

and maybe you have, you think to yourself, as you confidently guide him back slowly until he's sitting down on the plush armchair, his suit pants still on as you crawl onto his lap, pressing your chest against his. the thin fabric of your slip means you can feel the heat of his body against your skin, nipples hardening as they graze against his muscles.

you've just about balanced yourself, carefully perched on his lap when you feel his hand on the nape of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that has you grinding against his thighs before you can even catch your breath.

you've never been kissed like this. the few kisses you've had before have been with partners who see you as a means to an end, be it for your family name, your reputation, or just for sex. you've never been kissed by someone who seems to get more from your pleasure than from his own.

you now know he meant it when he said he's been picturing this.

you kiss him for as long as you can, and you're not sure if it's for seconds, minutes, hours. you kiss him until there's a heat burning between your thighs you can no longer stand, that you need to have satiated by the visible, prominent bulge in the front of his suit pants.

when you finally break away, lips numb and kiss-slick, nanami's hair is touselled - you don't remember running your hands through them, but you must have at some point - and he reaches up to run his fingers under the straps of your slip, asking with his eyes if he can guide them off your shoulders.

you nod, and your chest is exposed to the cool night air for a split second before nanami's mouth is on one of your nipples, tongue circling the sensitive skin and making you cry out.

one of the words you moan must be his name, because you feel him smile as he turns his attention towards the other nipple, hands now at the small of your back to keep you close to him.

you can't take it much longer. you need to be touched so badly, you didn't even think you were capable of wanting it this much -- and you only want him to do it, now and maybe forever.

maybe he can read your mind or maybe you babbled out the request, but nanami finally takes pity on you, giving your nipple one final lick before resting his shoulders back against the cushion of the armrest and sliding his hands up your thighs, hooking your underwear with his fingers -- you lift your hips up to let him slip them off.

his composure slips further when he finally touches you between your legs, feeling how wet you've gotten for him, seeing how you react when he slips his index finger inside.

your head falls back and you hold a breath, focusing all of your attention on the sensation of him inside you, on the way he curls the digit ever-so-slightly before pulling it out and fucking you with two this time, almost -- almost -- tipping you over the edge.

"such a pretty wife," he mumbles almost under his breath, voice and gaze reverent as he watches you rock yourself against his hand. "my beautiful, perfect wife, aren't you?"

you want to answer him but can't, lungs feeling near-empty as you fumble with the buttons of his pants.

"i will never be able to think of anything else but you, i think," he muses, half-smiling. "you in my lap ... you making those pretty little noises ... i might be a ruined man, you know. and I'm glad of it."

he only stops speaking when you finally get your hand on his clothed cock, his breath catching in his throat as you trace it with your fingers.

you want tonight, the first of many times together, to start with you cumming on your husband's cock.

nanami just watches as you finally pull him out of his underwear, his length thick and hard in your hand as you give it a few messy strokes. it's all the both of you can manage before you need to have it inside you -- you shift your hips to sit on it, nanami's eyes fixed on the site of the head slipping inside.

it's a stretch, as you expected, but one you've been craving since you closed the bedroom door. you take him inch by inch, lowering yourself down as his breath quickens, clearly battling the urge to thrust up inside you.

but he's careful with you, and doesn't want to hurt you. his wife.

you lift yourself up too much and his cock slips out, slapping aginst his stomach and you nearly cry at the sudden emptiness, eager and clumsy as you guide him back inside you.

he kisses you when you sink down next, tongue massaging your own until the feeling of almost-too-full turns to a perfect, satisfying heat in your core.

eventually you're ready to quicken the pace, bouncing on his cock before long, your mind working too fast for you to keep up as you see nanami's cheekbones flush pink, his pupils dark as you ride him until your thighs ache.

you power through the sensation, nanami helping you along by meeting your hips with his, his thumb tracing uneven circles on your puffy clit. he calls you perfect and other beautiful words; you don't say anything besides more, more and, soon after, nearly there, nearly there, please, please, I'm so close --

your entire body lights up with the most wonderful sensation, hitting you like a wave and sweeping you away in its warm glow, with nanami's hands now on your hips, guiding your movements in exactly the way you need it -- not too hard, not too slow, not too fast.

you're still pulsing around him when you feel his body stiffen, his strong thighs tensing as he groans through gritted teeth. he pulls you in for a crushing kiss as he finishes, filling you up and thrusting as deep as he can until oversensitivity takes over.

the afterglow has you a contented and exhausted mess, muscles aching but satisfied in a way you'll spend forever seeking.

reluctantly, you slip off his cock to retake your place on his lap, marvelling at how undone you both have become, a far cry from your perfect wedding appearance.

you look perfect to him, though, you know as much from the kiss he presses to your sweaty forehead and the way his arm wraps around your shoulders.

"we didn't even make it to the bed," you observe, eyebrows raising as you finally return to your own body. "i ... wasn't expecting that."

"we have a lifetime to spend in bed," he replies, a smile in his voice.

and once again, for reasons you still don't understand, you believe him.