#and now after several years of stepping away
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sparrow-and-seed-scrawls · 22 hours ago
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In all his ten years of espionage, Agent Twilight had never once made a mistake this dire.
He prided himself on that unbroken streak. It was why he was W.I.S.E's most decorated agent. Why he never failed a mission.
It was why he was here, now, preparing to board a plane headed for Ostania and one of W.I.S.E's more complicated operations.
Alone.
It made sense; infiltrating the country's largest data center would be difficult with more than one person. Infiltrating the country's largest data center and erasing W.I.S.E's classified information from its mainframe would be impossible with more than one person.
Unfortunately, the only other agent that had even come near to Twilight's level of skill (and the one who would've been sent on this mission, considering how Twilight had been in the middle of another operation when Handler called) was the one who'd ceded that classified information in the first place.
That agent was dead now. Killed by an Ostanian agent only hours after his plot had gone into effect.
Supposedly there had been some sort of double-cross aside from the initial betrayal. An Ostanian agent that hadn't been told of the agent's loyalty and plot. It was a mess, but it took care of the issue of W.I.S.E's rat.
Even so, Twilight had only a small window of time to get to the Ostanian data center and scrub the classified information before Ostanian leaders found it buried in code and letters.
Which made the issue he was currently staring at all the more worse.
His passport was the one of an elderly man, seventy-six, with a thin combover and short, bent frame. A rumpled plaid shirt came to a button at his neck, and thin glasses perched on his tan nose.
The disguise Twilight applied to his person so carefully, however, could not have been more different.
He was in his late-twenties, pale skin, brown eyes. His long hair was pulled back in a tail at the back of his neck. A too-tight tank top showed off toned abs, and a leather jacket gave a hint of modesty atop it. He wore khaki slacks, too, and a pair of white sneakers.
Plain, unsuspecting. And exactly the opposite of what his passport showed.
He stared at himself in the mirror and back at the passport. Mirror. Passport. Mirror--
He slapped the passport closed with a clap.
He would make this work. He would have to make this work.
He arrived at the airport several hours early with a suitcase full of basic amenities in tow. When security checked it, they would see a laptop, a photo of a family, clothes, dress shoes, a bag of toiletries, and a schedule for a work conference placed slightly askew on top.
A family man who traveled for work.
Not a retired man vacationing with his wife.
Twilight joined the line of other travelers with their passports clutched in hand. The line snaked around a corner and ended somewhere he couldn't see.
A long wait, then.
Twilight wasn't unused to waiting. He was a spy. It came with the territory. This was simply another mission.
So, as he waited, he attempted to come up with a story for why his passport looked so different from his in-real-life persona.
The line moved slowly, and by the time he was only a handful of steps away from his turn, he'd come up with exactly two decent covers. 'Decent' being a loose term, as neither were up to his standards.
He straightened his shoulders. Tightened his eyebrows so they sat closer to his eyes. Held the passport with two fingers, almost like a cigarette, as if he had no care in the world. And he stepped forward, to the officer behind the glass.
"Passport and identification," the man said, tapping his fingers on the table with all the attention of a goldfish.
Twilight slid the passport and card across to him.
The man opened it. Skimmed through the pages and stamps and--
paused at the identification photo. Frowned. Glanced between Twilight and the elderly man's photo. Frowned more deeply.
"This is you?" he asked.
Twilight nodded and laughed. Easily. "Hard to believe, huh, what they can do these days."
"Cosmetic surgery made you look fifty years younger?" the officer asked suspiciously.
"And other things. Why I'm comin' back. I still have to get my wrinkles touched up. The wife's waitin' for me."
Ostania was known for their surgery capabilities. It's what helped W.I.S.E make so many of its disguises, using technology from Ostania's surgical professionals. People used it all the time to smooth their faces and remove blemishes. Even cosmetically change their age. It wasn't something Twilight was exactly a supporter of, but it was helping his case now.
The officer hummed. "You were quite... decrepit here."
"Nearly a decade ago. They got me lookin' good now, though, huh? With all their new technology?"
"Sir, do you have any other proof that you have permission to travel to Ostania?"
Crud. Twilight thought he'd been doing fairly well, all things considered. Not well enough, though. Was he losing his touch?
"That's all I got, sir." He offered an apologetic look. "I don't mean to be a bother. I should've brought better pictures. Makin' your shift harder and all."
The man's mask slipped just a touch. "No, no. It's protocol, you understand."
"Wasn't like this when I was younger. We could go and see each other by just walking by. Didn't have the wars, or the bombs. We had ten cent candies and bicycles..." Twilight let his face go soft, his eyes wander. "Weren't so afraid of what would happen to us."
It was a risky thing to say in front of a member of the Secret Police. Twilight, however, had noticed the watch the man wore on his right wrist. It was often hidden under the cuff of his uniform, but when he'd reached for the passport and card, the silver gleam of a 1930s Xollex wristwatch caught Twilight's attention.
The man had also replaced the standard-issued buttons on his uniform with silver buttons circled with raised edging. Buttons only found on vintage uniforms, specifically manufactured in 1931 for Ostanian leadership.
Rare and antique.
The man knew his history. And he responded exactly how Twilight had figured.
His eyes softened even further, and his hold on Twilight's documents loosened. "Ah. Yes. My grandfather was an Ostanian official in the 1930s. An ambassador in Westalis."
"Ah! During the Revolution, then!"
The man grinned. "Yes, exactly!"
"A great time. All kinds of inventions."
The officer slid the documents under the glass, back to Twilight's hand. "It was wonderful speaking with you, sir. Have a good day."
"And you." Twilight said, waving a hand and passing through the checkpoint.
As soon as he was away from he officer, he slipped the identification into his luggage. He wasn't going to risk someone seeing the mismatched passport. He doubted he would get as good a chance to convince the next person that he had simply had 'extensive cosmetic surgery'.
Agent Twilight couldn't afford to make mistakes. He didn't make mistakes.
And no one had to know otherwise.
A spy found out they took the wrong fake identities with a completely different looking photo, gender, and height. When questioned, they decided to double down as a last ditch effort. "How dare you, that was me a decade ago, a lot has changed since then"!
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knnichs · 23 hours ago
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my eternity
young love, loyalty, and admiration. a gentle reminder from your dear friend that he will stick with you, even after you've gotten sick of him.
c. kingdom messenger sethos x royalty gn!reader
t. character(s) are friends with reader but have romantic feelings, mutual pining (ish??), royalty au obviously, friends to something more but less than lovers LOL, reader is the princeps/princess/prince of the vehero kingdom, dehya obviously knows about readers crush on sethos & sethos' crush on reader, fluff, not proofread we die like bamoun, POSSIBLY OOC SETHOS ??? wc: 4.1k WOOHOO
taglist. @thestarswhisper @honeyney @pneumosia @tragedy-of-commons @gl4di0lus @ariadnehelx @azuresaqua @mikashisus @yuomizuu-> join the taglist here!
author notes at the end !
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The sun had already begun to set, but your day was far from finished.
Being the future ruler of the Vehero Kingdom, you had quite the list of responsibilities. It wasn’t as simple as attending your classes on time and doing homework once you got back anymore–despite being homeschooled your whole life. No, you now had to help with managing the events, attending meetings, and political discussions. You have to watch your every step as even the smallest mistake may lead to war.
Now is a time where you truly had to be aware of everything you say. The annual banquet was just around the corner and you had prepared a hefty bit of it. So, safe to say that you have put in a ton of effort just to make this event possible this year. It’s not that your parents didn’t trust anyone to do it for them, or they didn’t have the time to manage it–you were of age now. Maybe it’s time you take part in these events, they said to you.
You’re tired of it, though. Incredibly tired.
In between your duties–you caught glimpses of a familiar dark brown haired fellow come and go in the palace; talking with the maids, laughing while playing cards with the guards, and leaving once more with his bag filled to the brim. Sethos, your kingdom's beloved messenger. 
You remember telling him to deliver the invitation letters in the port's post office after the last group of messengers failed to bring it as they ‘lost’ them (they really just went to the tavern and completely forgot about it.) He’s quite efficient with his work–usually a quick trip to the port would be around 30 minutes by foot, yet he manages to come back 15 minutes earlier. 
Ah, yes. His “secret power,” as he loved to say. Especially when the king, your father, compliments him for his diligent work and asks for his route–he simply shrugged and said “I just move fast.” 
There he is, in the flesh, several doors away from you; your best friend of many years now. He’s come to teach you many things about the palace. Secret doors that lead to underground tunnels, hidden doors in the library… You wonder why he knows all of this. 
You lean on the wall, shoulders shrugged as you crossed your arms and sighed. You couldn’t wait until night came around–changing into your silk robes and lying on the soft mattress while reading a book you liked, or falling asleep immediately.
“Your highness,” Dehya coughed, seeing your prolonged stare at the window. You hadn’t noticed you zoned out already–no wonder your eyes felt heavy. “Is something wrong?”
You shook your head as you faced the girl, greeting her with a small smile. “Nothing in particular, Dehya.” 
She glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of Sethos immediately. And she grins. “Boy problems? Why don’t you go talk to him?” 
For some odd reason, the idea makes you a little excited. After a really long day, a good talk with your… friend, would be pretty rewarding. Sethos is quite an entertaining person–you thought to yourself many times, questioning if he could possibly feel the same way to you.
But again, it probably wouldn’t happen at all. 
“Ah, yes! Let’s go bother someone who is clearly busy. Great idea.” You roll your eyes.
“Come on, your highness. I don’t think he’ll mind,” Dehya takes a few steps closer to you, hand pointed at the window as she looks at you encouragingly. “See? He’s wavin’ at you right now.”
You went to look at the window–watching what was going on. “No, he isn’t.”
“Oh my god–just go approach him!”
“And I’m telling you, I’m doing something.”
“I don’t get paid enough for this,” Dehya puts her arms up in defeat, eyes closed as she looks down at the floor and grinned. “I’ll see you later, your highness.”
She walks away, leaving you alone in the hallway filled with tiles and marbles and old paintings that look almost alive. You stare as she opens the doors and goes to the many living rooms in the palace. A part of you thought that she was right–maybe you should. But you somehow couldn’t get the courage to.
“He’s busy.” You repeat–mostly for yourself.
 “We both don’t have the time.”
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It’s been a hectic day. You’ve walked maybe ten thousand steps today from preparations alone, you wonder how it would be like on the event itself. You’ve talked with the maids, told the band what to play during the dinner, you cleared the menu your parents created as they weren’t appropriate at all for a banquet, so you ended up creating another menu and checked with the chefs if they were possible. There were just so many more that it’s hard to list them all in your head. 
Now, you were fresh out of a hot bath, some chamomile tea on the side of your nightstand. You were laying in your bed, wrapped in the softest blanket, dressed in loose clothing, and you had just finished reading your book. The night was cold, so your balcony was halfway opened to bring some air into your bedroom. The moon is shining on the carpet, it’s comfortable, it’s nice. 
But you can’t sleep. Not at all.
Some thoughts are rushing in your head–and there are no thoughts at all. The blanket is soft, but you feel too hot, and when you take it off you feel cold. Your head sinks into the pillows but it makes you dizzy, your tea was too sweet and now you wonder if you somehow added too much sugar and ended up getting the energy to do things. You’re tired, but not at the same time.
Does that make sense?
On nights where you find yourself restless, your first thought is to go to the gardens. There, you’re alone, only with the moon's gaze and the flowers you tend to when you have the time. Tonight is no different. Once again, you’re looking up at the sea of stars above you to find comfort.
If being an heir to the throne was this stressful, you wonder how much worse it’ll be when you do eventually become their leader.
“In deep thought, your highness?” A familiar voice calls just behind the bushes, to where the swing is. Usually you’re all alone on these nights, but it doesn’t necessarily mean a certain someone joins you from time to time.
“Sethos,” you push a few stray vines from the tree, ducking down from the branches and looking at the white swing. “Apologies… for the silence. I didn’t notice you were here.”
“It’s fine, I didn’t say anything anyway.” He pats down the space beside him, moving a little to make more room. You smile, taking a seat and nodding a thanks to the boy.
Silence wasn’t uncommon when it came to the two of you. He understood your duties drained you socially and physically—which is why he usually fills the silence with his voice. Talking about his day, what he did, or reminiscing a little on memories from the past.
“You’ve been out and about, what brings you here at this hour? I’d be too tired to even make the trip.” His voice had a raspier edge than usual—proof of his exhaustion from the day as well.
You look at the sky again, “I don’t know, actually. I felt too tired to sleep. Quite odd, isn’t it?” 
He laughs, the sound bringing a certain warmth burst in your stomach. 
“I’ve got just the idea then.” The boy stands from the swing and it sways the slightest bit from the sudden movement. He reaches a hand to you, offering to help you up. “Wanna join me, your highness?”
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“Sethos, my friend—I trust you, but… is this okay?” You held the ends of its saddle. With a huff, Sethos successfully brings the two horses you got for your 16th birthday out of the stables. Without alerting anyone at that. 
He blows the flame in the lamp, leaving the room dark as you two head out to the streets. “Yes, yes. It’s fine, completely fine.” 
Although, you're not the least bit assured. If your parents catch you sneaking out late at night–without a small group of guards with you–the scolding would last weeks. All Sethos is doing is taking your hand in his, nodding as a promise. We won't get caught, and you won’t have to suffer through their endless yelling.
The sounds of their hooves tapping against the stone floor echoes throughout the streets. It’s a sound you pay no mind to in the morning–especially during events, where there are more horses to count. But at night, everything just seems to be louder. But you push forward, seeing as your little friend is exceptionally confident that nothing would go wrong. Oh, to see the look on his face when he does get caught sneaking out with the heir of the royal family this late at night–it makes you curious. Would he feel guilty, or would he feel playful and try again another time?
“This way,” He whispers, redirecting the two of you into an alleyway. You know this place, you often head through here when you need to reach the gatehouse quickly. 
Which has you wondering, where is he even taking you?
There are not many places in the kingdom that would require you to pass by this specific alleyway to the gates. Well, there are none at all. The gates have only one use, and it’s to exit and enter the walls of your kingdom with ease–so why is he bringing you there with not one–but two horses?
Is he planning an escape? There is that possibility, the only problem being that he never told you in advance–how were you to get clothes and daily necessities without any mora on hand? You didn’t even fill a single pouch with the coins, like what they do in drama plays when the main character elopes with the love interest!
If that’s the case, then is this some kind of proposal? It’s true that you find Sethos attractive–you liked the way he carried himself in conversations… his smile, the way he urges you to do the most random things. Like, five years ago when he asked you to play in the mud with him after a storm. Who even offers to do that as a pastime? Your clothes would’ve gotten stained with the dirt, but he insisted otherwise. 
So he’s seriously asking you to elope with him, this is just insanity!
“Sethos–wait!” You stop in your tracks, holding your palm up to his face when he turns around. “Is there… something you want to say?” 
He pauses for a moment, blinking in surprise. What, had you finally caught on? Did you figure him out, with the way he’s acting right now? Holding your hand, guiding you through the kingdom–gods, he hoped not.
He laughs, “What are you even talking about? Read too many fantasy books?”
“I just–” 
“No, I’m not trying to kidnap you–or anything of the sort. We’re going out to a spot I know that could help you relax.” Sethos takes a few deep breaths, no doubt trying to calm his heart from exploding at that very moment. He puts your hand to his chest, looking at you with those bright eyes of his. “Trust me. I won’t do anything to harm you, your parents would kill me if I did.” 
That, they would. But you don’t say it outloud. Instead, you gently nod your head and he smiles.
“Aren’t there any guards around?” You ask, hiding behind a crate–you can’t say the same about your companion, on the other hand, and the horse you’re with right now. (Her head is peeking over the tall crates stacked on top of another, but she looks adorable doing it.)
Sethos has his arm raised in front of you. “Well, yes. But look closely.” 
You squint as you do, but you see Cyno–the highest ranking knight–lead the other guards stationed by the gates to a game of TCG. It was just a sight to see, truly, you knew Cyno loved playing the card game–but not this much.
You try to hold back a chuckle but Sethos catches on, nudging you with his elbow, his lips curving. 
“Let’s go, before they come back.” The boy says, holding the lead rope and leading the three of you to the gates. 
“Did you pay Cyno to do this?”
“Maybe.”
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The first thing that greets you outside of the kingdom walls is the familiar blow of the cold night wind, the earth's somewhat comforting dirt smell, and the deafening sounds of crickets around you. Sethos helps you up as you hop on your horse, gesturing for you to follow him into the forest. 
The air only gets colder as you move, racing through the trees as Sethos speeds up. If anyone would pass through the woods now, the first thing they would hear is the laughter you two are letting out. One moment Sethos is in front of you, the second you turn he’s already behind you, preparing to scare you.
You slow down when you realize you were all alone. The trotting of Sethos’ horse can’t be heard, and no matter how loud you shout for him, he wouldn’t pop out of nowhere. You thought this might just be an elaborate set up for another scare he was going to give you, but you’re shocked to see that even after a few moments pass by, he still cannot be found.
Great. It’s the middle of the night, you’re stranded in a forest and you have no clue how to get back to the kingdom, and you have no knight with you. You don’t even know how to use a dagger. This is exactly a plot for an assassination, based on the books you’ve read. 
After some seconds of struggling to get off your horse, you pat her back as a thank you. You’re not sure why you did that, exactly, the gesture just seemed nice. 
Then, the sound of rustling reaches your ears.
It was from behind you–as you turned, you saw nothing but bushes. It was quite dark–so except for the moonlight shining on the field right now, you could barely see anything past the trees. Maybe it was just a rabbit, it always is. So you turn,  paying no mind to the potential danger that could lie beyond it.
Suddenly you’re tackled on the ground, rolling over the patch of grass as someone has their arms around you. You’re tense, trying to break free from their hold–but once you had opened your eyes, you found out it was just Sethos who had, once again, scared the soul out of you.
“What is wrong with you?!” You yell, though playfully–you try to get him off, but he wouldn’t budge. Not at all. In fact, he impossibly hugs you tighter.
The boy doesn’t respond, instead letting go and helping you sit. You try to brush off the grass on your clothes, and once you look up, a yellow-orange glow surrounds the both of you. Fireflies. There are about a handful of them around the field, they look like stars from afar, it’s a mesmerizing sight, really. 
“How do you like it?” Sethos whispered, sitting beside you. 
You smile, “It’s beautiful.”
“I’d hope so. I found out about this place when I was out delivering the letters,” He plucks something from the ground, then reaches for your chin. He gently makes you turn to face him, and you notice the orange glow reflected in his eyes as he does. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, placing a flower right on top. “Is it to your satisfaction, your highness?”
The action makes your heart skip a beat–you almost think that the two of you were having a moment until he ruffled your hair playfully and looked away. You don’t answer the question.
“Dehya told me you saw me this afternoon lazing around near the guardhouse,” He muttered, his voice softly muffled since he kept his hand on his mouth. “I was actually chatting with them. A lot of the guards seem to like you now that you’re running around the castle more often.”
“Really?” 
“They kinda look forward to seeing you now,” He hummed, “I guess the same could be said for me… Except–I was first, of course.”
“Oh, so you only liked me now, is that it?” You reached over and poked his sides teasingly, the boy laughed in response, trying to get your hand out.
“No–no! Of course not! I mean… I’ve always liked you, you know? But in like–not in a weird way.” Sethos looks away once again, but you catch a glimpse of the red dusting his cheeks. The boy was a liar, and you knew that. 
He cleared his throat before speaking up once again, trying to clear up the awkward tension in the air.“A-anyway, how’s the banquet preparation going?”
The banquet was the last thing you wanted to talk about, if you were being honest. You came here to relax–not to talk about this again. You groan when you let yourself fall into the grass, Sethos turns his head from the sudden movement. He laughs,  “Well, not a fan of the topic?”
“Talk about something else. I beg.” 
“Okay then,” He reaches for something in his leather bag, he doesn’t take his hand out yet.  “My friend, Tighnari. Oh, not to talk about it again but, you guys should totally invite him–well, his kingdom, to the banquet.”
You roll your eyes when he mentions the event once more, “I don’t think that’s talking about something else.”
“Anyway,” The boy grinned, trying to continue the topic anyway. “He’s a botanist, so he’s great with flowers. One day, he told me that if you pressed flowers, you could get a pretty good bookmark.”
He gives you said bookmark, smiling. “So, here. White roses in resin, since you like to read.”
Your lips curved as you received the box, sitting back up and muttering a thank you.  A singular flower could be seen in the middle, its petals made to look as if it was still blooming. There were a few scattered branches around, and some leaves on the side for decorative purposes. The translucent resin only added to its beauty, it wasn’t too thick–nor too thin, definitely a bookmark you could use for your reading. You struggled finding random objects to mark the page you were on anyway.
“Thank you, Sethos.” You muttered shyly, “You just know everything, don’t you?”
You still held the bookmark in your hands, admiring the details of the flowers–the placement alone is already something to be amazed about. Everything fits perfectly, right to your preferences. You wondered if the flowers itself represent some sort of meaning–Sethos may not look like it, but he says things with hidden hints most of the time. 
“How did you meet Tighnari?” You asked, glancing over the bookmark once more. “You mentioned he was from another kingdom, I’m wondering how you got to know him.”
He leans back, hands supporting his weight from behind his back. “Pure coincidence,”
“Is that so?” 
“Yeah. Cyno and I got assigned to a mission, we were just going to accompany the King and the Queen for their afternoon tea time.” He continued, “Asked Cyno to come with me and walk around, we were bored to death. He refused and just stayed put. I walked around and saw the guy in their garden fiddling with the plants.”
“He was complaining about the placement. ‘The flowers won’t get any sunlight from here, and it’s way too unaligned!’ ” He imitated, you chuckle at his horrible impersonation. 
You smile, “I’d like to get to know him someday.”
“Oh, you should! His skill is just impressive. Once you’re done chatting, you’re bound to know a thing or two about plants.” He grins.
“You know, you always seem to bring people like that into your life.” You say, “People who are really good at what they do. Tighnari with his plants, Cyno with–whatever he’s doing, and you with your… well, everything.”
Sethos turns to look at you, a look of disbelief and playfulness. “What? My charm? Come on, your highness. I’m honored but–”
“No, I meant more with your ability to just… click,  with anyone. You’re not charming, not one bit.” You reply softly, seeing the way he looks almost sad with what you said–even if you knew he was just acting. 
“Okay, maybe add the charm, too. You do have a way of making people comfortable.” 
The boy chuckles, clearly flattered–but deflects the compliment with a shrug. “It comes natural to me, nothing impressive.”
“If you say so. I think otherwise,” You lay back down, looking at the stars. “But you are lovely to be around.”
Sethos is quiet for a moment, looking down at his hands–pondering your words. He had known you for many years now, but still, moments like this are… uncommon. Very rarely does Sethos open up to you, and the reverse. He thinks it may just be the exhaustion letting you speak freely. At the end of the day, you have a reputation to keep up as royalty.
He tilts his head, giving you that easygoing smile of his–a slight red still visible on his cheeks. “Someone’s gotta look out for you, your highness. I know Cyno or the other guards may just be more capable than I am, but–” 
The boy finds a place beside you, laying on his side and turning to face you. “I have certain things that they don’t have. I’ve certainly known you for longer, I think that’s a plus.”
You can’t help but laugh softly, “I’ll hold you to that. Now you must follow me when I go to the market early in the morning.”
“Don’t I already do that?” 
You hum, “Oh, I guess you do. You’re even more fitting, then.” 
A silence, once again fills the air.
“I have much to do tomorrow,” You mumbled, eyes slowly closing with your fatigue. “Will you have some free time during the afternoon? Let’s eat lunch together,” 
“I doubt it’s appropriate for a messenger to be dining with royalty alone.” He says. 
You yawn, subtly stretching your back before rolling over to lay on your back, where you wouldn’t face him. “Don’t worry. It’ll just be like… friends eating together.”
Friends. The word is unfamiliar in your throat–It’s something more than friends, what you two have. Definitely not lovers, despite the feeling you get in your stomach when you see him look at you in a way anyone else couldn’t. You weren’t just friends either–assuming that the softness in his tone whenever he speaks to you was only reserved for you. 
He nods, saying why not?  You smile in response, falling asleep in the bed of flowers. It’s oddly comforting, actually, and quite cozy. You’ve never slept on the ground before. 
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“Your highness,” Sethos whispers, checking if you were awake. The sun had already started to rise, and the kingdom was starting to get lively once more as he heard the chatter of the guards just a little beyond the forest. He smiles, realizing you indeed have fallen asleep. He’s glad that you somehow found comfort, even if you weren’t at home. 
He reaches to carry you in his arms, gently raising you up–careful not to wake you when you’re sleeping soundly. “Come on, highness. Hold tight.”
When he reaches to call for the horses, he wonders if you’ve ever stopped to think about what he truly feels towards you. It’s the saddest thing ever, that you don’t know his heart is full of you. He adores you more than words could express–yet you don’t have a clue, only because he never had the guts to tell you, not once. 
Sethos walks towards the kingdom, you in his arms, and the lead ropes wrapped around his wrist. The sun shines on your face, and he wonders if you’re bothered by the sudden brightness, especially after spending the night in the woods. 
As much as you hate it–he’s proud that you’re now the person organizing the yearly banquet. He knows how much you dread the event the day it comes, you hate socializing with people you barely knew. But he wishes that maybe you’ll change your mind this time around now that his friends would be coming along. People from the Akademiya, even if you don’t know them, he’ll be the one to introduce you to the people he also treasures.
Being the future ruler of Vehero, you certainly do have a longer list of responsibilities than he does. Although… he hopes that one day, his name wouldn’t be something on an endless list of chores.
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@ knnichs 2023 ﹑ do not repost, republish, translate, feed to ai or modify any of my works. doing so can and will result into me blocking you.
reblogs with comments are INCREDIBLY appreciated! go scream go feral idc i will eat all of them up and run away with a familiarly shaped reblog in my mouth, thank you.
wow this was an eyesore to write. dawg i AM NERVOUS ABOUT THE DIALOGUE THERE ARE SO MANY IM SO SCARED ITS REDUNDANT i hate dialogue i say i hate it. this was so hard to write but i lowkey enjoyed it too (no1 party anthem on loop I WAS SO LOCKED IN) this took so long too .... ong i am GLAD its finally over hell yeah :pray: i MIGHT do a part two (keyword MIGHT) where they finally get together . .. But probably not im too lazy thank you goodnight
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jojo-schmo · 1 year ago
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Did anyone else get roped back into liking fnaf after the movie like that SpongeBob episode where Sandy lassos Patrick back to her and he explodes
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random-thot-generator · 4 months ago
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Ghost decides after one blind date that you're going to be his.
>>>>>
Simon isn't used to dating. A quick hook up in the loo, sure. A drunken one night stand? He's had too many of those to count. But proper courting? Hell, it's been years, maybe a decade, since he's taken a bird out on an actual date.
It's probably going to be a disaster, but he gave Johnny his word he'd go out with his bird's best friend, so he can't back out now. He'll just have to grit his teeth and power through it.
His sour outlook for the evening is forgotten the second he sees you walk in with Johnny's bird. You're no tipsy tart on the pull, like the birds he's used to dealing with. You're a proper lady, dolled up nice for your date with him. It makes his chest feel tight when he gets a good look at your pretty face and nervous little smile.
His usual gruff manner is obviously not going to fly with you, so he quickly tries to recall the mannerisms he's seen his captain use around women. He gets to his feet with Johnny when the two of you reach the table, trying his best to look less intimidating.
Johnny introduces the two of you, and Simon melts inside when he takes your soft little hand in his for the first time. His brain goes fuzzy, dark eyes glazing over, and he's not sure what he says when he greets you, but it earns him a smile.
"It's really nice to meet you, Simon," are the first words you say to him.
Your voice is soft and sweet, and the way you say his name? Oh, he's gonna need to hear more of that, and often.
For the first time in a long time, Simon's worried about what someone thinks of him. He's worried he'll put you off with his harsh manner. So, he minds his words and gentles his tone. He slows his steps to match your pace and tucks your small hand at his elbow to keep you close and safe. He's holding doors and pulling out your chair. He compliments your dress and hair.
And when your heel catches on the sidewalk and you stumble, he doesn't bark a laugh or say something mean, wouldn't bloody dream of it. No, he catches you before you fall, and all that softness in his hands makes something shift in his brain. You're such a fragile little thing, delicate as spun sugar. You need a big nasty mutt like him to protect you, take care of you, and he's more than willing to do the job.
When the date is over, Simon sees you home, and you kiss him on your front stoop. It's not all groping hands and tangling tongues. It's a gentle press of lips, his big hands cradling your face, the sweet intimacy making his eyes flutter shut. He's floating when he finally gets back in his truck and drives himself home.
Instead of going to bed, Simon begins to formulate a plan of strategy. He figures it'll take a few more dates before you invite him into your flat, and several more after that before you invite him into your bed, then eventually into your life. It might take months, even a year or more. That's alright, though. If his years in the military have taught him anything, it's patience.
Simon knows how to play the long game. He'll go at your pace, let you get used to having him around, then make himself indispensable to you. No one will treat you as good, meet your every need and desire the way he will. He won't stop until he is your world, your reason for being. Your everything.
And when enough time has passed, he'll claim you completely as his. He's going to put a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly, then tuck you away safe and sound in one of those cute country cottages he looked up online. You'll be his little missus, and he'll be your tamed beast, keeping his teeth and claws hidden but at the ready.
By the time he arrives at your flat the next evening for your second date, he's already got your engagement ring in his safe at home and the names of your future children picked out.
And when you text him the day after to invite him for dinner, the new name he replaced yours with pops up on his screen.
It says 'Missus Riley', of course.
-
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woovalin · 5 months ago
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i’m in such disbelief right now and beyond disgusted.
i really hope y’all are choosing your morals over kpop; because we do not know these men at all. i will never side with or defend a predator and a criminal, even with little to no proof. even if there is the smallest chance he may be innocent, i will always believe the victim first.
some of you, as fans of the boys for years and him in general, i know you must be feeling disappointed and betrayed. you’re not dumb for previously supporting him, as we couldn’t have possibly known. but now is the time for a reality check and it’s time to wake up and take a step back. this just goes to show that we know absolutely nothing about them.
for sm to just outright put out a statement on their own before any rumors even surfaced and immediately kick him out? this has to be insanely serious and i’m terrified of what he could’ve done. the crazy thing is with everything currently happening in korea with the telegram situation, and korean women constantly being in danger in general because of the men there, i’m not at all surprised that celebrities are being exposed. sm has protected criminals before, and held onto lucas when his scandal came out as well as other artists who have been exposed for similar crimes. i can’t even imagine the severity of the current situation. we’ve seen what happened with the burning sun, and these men are not immune to being misogynistic, vile human beings.
members have already unfollowed him and deleted posts with him in them; his best friend of 17yrs has unfollowed him. the company taking the initiative and him getting kicked out of the group in less than a second before anything even came out, no denying the claims or even trying to defend him. that should be enough to tell you and understand how serious this actually is. i am beyond disgusted with him and this whole situation.
i sincerely hope the victim is doing okay and praying for them to heal and get the justice they deserve. and remember that your love for these celebrities should always be conditional, because we do not know them. it’s their job to put on a show and show you their public persona, but behind closed doors? we don’t know what they’re actually like. we put them on a pedestal and yet we don’t know what they’re really capable of. they are still men after all. i hope the police are taking this seriously. there needs to be consequences and these women need to be protected.
let this be a lesson to all of us. they don’t know us, and we don’t know them, not really, not at all.
ALWAYS choose morals over these strangers you idolize. and as women, we should be standing with the victims.
maybe not all men, but enough of them. and maybe not all men, but somehow always a man. and going forward, i will continue to support nct as a whole with the remaining members. however, keeping the situation in mind, i will be supporting from afar for a little while. if the situation escalates and other members are investigated and new information comes to light about the rest of them either knowing or possibly being involved, it would be best to step away for good. i will do my best to stay updated. but i do hope the rest of the members are doing okay, and hopefully no other members were involved; but this, just shows that they can always surprise us. you never think it’ll be your fave, until it is.
let’s hope this causes a domino effect and more of these people are exposed and charged for the crimes they’re committing.
sending love to anyone who has ever experienced sexual violence or has been targeted and been in a similar situation. it is not your fault and it never was!
love you all and my dms are always open if you need to vent. <3
❗️EDIT: also i wanna add that we need to not praise the rest of the members or any other celebrity for simply unfollowing him on social media. that is the least of anyone’s worries.
we don’t know if they were aware, we don’t know if they knew and were protecting him or turning a blind eye. it could be them trying to save themselves and clear their guilty conscience. maybe they didn’t know and are just as shocked as we are, we don’t know that either.
we blindly trust these people and believe they have good intentions but look at where that can lead to. fans being upset is valid, yes; but remember people with money and power will do whatever it takes to sweep things under the rug and make it go away in order to save face and keep their image and reputation.
follow-up post here.
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plutotheplum · 6 months ago
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The First Fall of Snow
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emperor!zayne x concubine!reader - read part 2!
summary: the emperor isn't interested in his concubines, but an encounter with you is enough to change his mind.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, p in v, oral sex, praise kink, breast play, masturbation, thigh riding, mentions of exhibitionism, virginity loss
wc: 7.7k
a/n: i did imagine long-haired zayne for this (like his master of fate card!) and he just gives off emperor vibes soooo
also on ao3!
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The Emperor was a peculiar man. 
He was not a man who fancied company. When the years for marriage had passed, his royal advisors had grown increasingly anxious. All potential candidates were refused, princesses from far lands given profuse apologies and lavish gifts in hopes of quelling their anger after they had traveled such vast distances, only for the Emperor to turn them away. 
In an effort to try and draw out the Emperor’s romantic and sexual nature, several concubines were gathered. The Emperor had never overseen this, the affair carried out in veiled whispers as his advisors had sought to dispel their desperation by pooling their efforts into securing an heir for the dynasty. 
That was what you were told when you arrived in the palace anyways. It had been a year since you were hand-picked as a concubine, along with a few other girls who had been eager to accept when the opportunity had been provided to them.
You had only met the Emperor a handful of times, when you first been brought to the palace and during private meetings that had been scheduled. He had never touched you or any of the other girls, had never sought after pleasure or secured an heir, much to the chagrin of Imperial staff. Like any other person, you thought it was odd. 
Part of you felt as though you were wasting away in this palace, days spent outside by the pretty gardens and overlooking the fish in the ponds, entertaining stray cats or inside, like you were now.
You stare down at the steaming water in the teapot, watching as the tea leaves stain the water. The blurry reflection of your face looks back up at you and there’s a soft sigh escaping you, wondering what might’ve been if you hadn’t been chosen.
Such thoughts are lost when a short, stout man comes hobbling in. He grabs at your arm, teacup filled with hot tea tipping to the side. You wince when the hot liquid lands against your skin, burning you.
“The Emperor needs tea,” the eunuch hisses, pulling another set of teaware from the shelves as he tugs you closer.
“Why does that involve me?,” you ask, trying to free yourself so you can soothe your irritated skin under cool water.
“You will deliver it to him,” he says, fiddling with your robes and straightening out the fabric to make you look more presentable.
“Have another one of the girls-” you begin to complain, shrinking away when he sends you a glare.
You huff out a breath, making sure the pin in your hair is in place. There’s no time to tend to the burn on your forearm, the reddened skin hidden by the sleeves of your robes as the eunuch passes you the tray. 
Sending him a glare of your own, you don’t stay behind to be chastised. Feet padding against the floor, you pass through the courtyard and hallway. Imperial guards stand outside the Emperor’s quarters and you bow your head, stating your business. 
One of the guards opens the doors and you suck in a sharp breath, gathering your confidence as you step inside the Emperor’s quarters. 
It’s a familiar place. The room is large, scrolls stacked upon shelves tucked against the walls, decorative screens partitioning the entrance to where his bed was placed. You swallow nervously, eyes blinking about. You can’t seem to find the Emperor. Deciding to step forward, you’re pushing your luck, sticking your head outside the open doors at the other end of his quarters. It opens into a private courtyard, greenery pruned to perfection.
There’s a frown pulling at your lips when you can’t see him. Perhaps he had left? Just as you’re about to give up, a man clears his throat. You jolt in place, tea sloshing as you struggle to keep a hold on the tray. Whirling around, you find the Emperor standing there, his arms crossed over his chest. There’s a curse entering your mind, placing the tea tray down on a table nearby before your knees are bending, meeting the floor as you bow in a seated position.
“Please forgive me, your majesty” you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut. 
You would rather not feel the wrath of the Emperor.
“I did not ask for tea,” he says bluntly.
“The- the eunuch insisted,” you supply lamely.
The Emperor only sighs and your eyes are peeking open, head tilting slightly as you try to get a glimpse of his expression. 
“You may stand,” he murmurs, waving his hand. You do as he says, stumbling to your feet, teeth gritting together when the cloth of your robes rubs against the still fresh burn on your forearm.
He takes a seat on a cushioned mat and you’re standing awkwardly, trying to taper down your fidgeting as the pain flares up again.
“Is something the matter?” the Emperor asks when he sees your inability to stand still. 
You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. The Emperor only stares at you, unimpressed. His gaze drags over you and your cheeks are flushing in embarrassment. 
“Sit,” he says suddenly, pointing to the space across from him.
“I-” you begin to refuse, restless to get out of this stifling place and tend to the burn that was currently beginning to sting.
“Sit, or will you refuse an Imperial command?”
To refuse an Imperial command is to forfeit one’s life. It’s why you’re sitting down in a flurry and looking everywhere at everything except him. 
“Arm,” he murmurs, holding his hand out.
You extend your arm towards his hand without question. He hums when he brushes the sleeves away, moving your arm closer to his eyes so he can examine the burn. The Emperor’s lithe fingers prod at the edges of your reddened skin, and a whimper slips out of you, the tender skin sensitive.
He pulls away from you and your eyes are darting towards the doors, wondering whether it would be worth it to make a break for it. The Emperor returns soon after, a small pot in his hand, containing some sort of salve.
“Your majesty, it is beneath you to tend to such a matter,” you remind him, feeling his cool fingers wrap around your arm again.
“Perhaps so, but I happen to take interest in the ailments of the body,” he replies, spreading the salve against your skin.
So the rumors were true then. Many spoke of the Emperor’s affinity for the study of medicine. You had assumed he would’ve taken more interest in other pursuits such as hunting, but it appeared the Emperor valued intellect above all else. 
As the salve soothes your skin, you find your gaze slipping over him. Pale skin, intelligent eyes framed by dark eyelashes, a strong nose and long hair tied back neatly, there was no doubt that the Emperor was a handsome man. 
His eyes flick up to meet yours, his own gaze dipping over you once again. You feel as though you’re being scrutinized, so you’re sitting up straighter, trying to not present yourself as a mess.
“He sent you here to entice me,” the Emperor explains, beginning to wrap your wound using a thin, silken cloth.
“Oh. Is- is it working?” you ask tentatively.
“If you consider making a fool of yourself enticing, then maybe so,” he says, the side of his mouth curling up as amusement flashes through his eyes.
There’s a sharp scoff leaving you, arm tugging free from his grasp. The bandages are tight around your arm and you send him a frown, placing your hands in your lap.
“You take liberties that others do not,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I apologize, your majesty,” you whisper, head hanging low. He was right, you were taking liberties. 
“Zayne,” he says, opening a scroll.
“Your- your majesty?” you reply, confusion flitting across your face.
“Zayne,” he repeats, not bothering to even spare you a glance “you may address me by my name.”
You hold your tongue in return, eyes narrowing as you stare at the Emperor. It must be a trick of some sort, you think, a ploy to make you slip up, and just like the traitors of the Empire, your head would be severed from your neck. 
“You would distrust my own command?” he asks, sensing your hesitation. “I never said such a thing!” you protest, exasperation spreading across your face.
Sitting in place, you pout to yourself, tracing random shapes onto the cushioned mat. Zayne ignores your presence and it has you fidgeting even more, a huff of air leaving you. 
The Emperor only continues to read the scroll in his hands. Pouring out some tea, you decide to indulge yourself. Your face contorts when you taste the now lukewarm liquid. It’s hardly enjoyable. Letting out another deep sigh, your body sags. There’s nothing for you to do here, the Emperor won’t carry a conversation and you only find that you’re making a fool of yourself even more.
“Shall I leave?” you ask him, feeling hopeful that you might be able to escape.
Zayne shakes his head. 
“Stay a little while. It would do good for my advisors to think they have succeeded.”
“Succeeded?” you echo, brows furrowing.
“They expect an heir,” he sighs, setting down the scroll to give you his full attention, “surely you are aware of my… aversion to the entire matter.”
“I cannot say I understand,” you murmur, “you need an heir, and an illegitimate heir is an heir nonetheless.”
“The duty will be fulfilled when I am ready,” he says firmly.
Your head tilts at that, eyes narrowing. When he was ready? There would be no reason for the Emperor to not be ready.
“Other noblemen take pleasure in using women’s bodies,” you mutter, peering over at him, “it is strange that you have not yet touched any one of us.”
“You wish for me to use you?” Zayne asks, raising his brows. 
“N- no! I just meant, it is odd that an Emperor whose rule has granted him anything he may possibly desire chooses not to engage in anything,” the words come out of you in a rush, your cheeks flushing. 
“And have you engaged in anything?” he shoots back, his eyes sharp.
Admitting your own virginity wasn’t on your plan of things to do today. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment, eyes averted to the side. Your silence is answer enough, and Zayne sighs, his fingers rubbing at his temples.
“I did not ask for concubines,” he says quietly, “and so, I do not expect you to serve me in such a fashion.”
“You may leave,” he says after a few moments, standing up with you.
Your head tilts, teeth worrying into your lower lip as he stares down at you.
“It appears you care for me,” he murmurs, his hand lifting to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
Your heart flutters at the unexpected action, eyes widening when he touches you.
“Only for the dynasty,” you breathe out.
Zayne lets out a low laugh at that. He gives you a faint smile and your heart stutters in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man look so ethereal, but such is the favor of the gods.
It’s probably why you’re leaning forward, hands reaching to fix the crumpled collar of his silk robes. He stiffens under your touch and you pretend as though you don’t notice. Your fingers graze his skin and his hand curls around your wrist, stopping your movements.
“I shall expect you here in a week’s time,” he says.
“A week’s time,” you nod, feeling his fingers touch the cloth wrapped around your burn.
The Emperor lowers his head, his fingers gripping your chin gently so he can stare into your eyes more intently. He seems lost in thought as he swipes his thumb over your chin, his head nearing until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. 
It’s almost too much for your racing heart. Your already half-lidded eyes are slipping shut, lips parting as you lean in closer, waiting for him to kiss you. But it never comes and your eyes flutter open to see Zayne staring down at you with a hint of mirth in his eyes. He was making a fool of you yet again. 
To preserve whatever dignity you have left, you’re pulling away, freeing yourself from his suffocating grasp. Bowing in deference, you don’t look back to see his expression, pushing past the doors as you leave his quarters.
Almost immediately, you’re met with the eunuch from earlier.
“Well?” he asks, his cheeks puffed with exertion as he tries to keep up with the pace you’ve set in an attempt to escape questioning.
“Nothing happened,” you reply curtly, looking back to see the short man totter after you.
“Nothing?” he repeats, voice laced with irritation, “not even-“ his voice lowers, mindful of the other staff working in the palace, “he did not even touch you?” 
You shake your head. He doesn’t need to know that the Emperor had indeed touched you; tended to your burn even, that you were hoping the Emperor would hold you close and kiss you, and he most certainly didn’t need to know about your little displays of insolence. 
The eunuch soon loses interest in you, grumbling curses under his breath as you retire to your own chambers shared with the other girls. It’s no secret that many of them have become bored with the Emperor’s apathetic outlook, some turning their charms to try and garner the affections of noblemen at court.
-
It’s raining the day you’re meant to meet the Emperor. 
You step inside his chambers when the guards permit you, your hands clasped in front of you.
“Your majesty” you bend at the waist, bowing.
Zayne hums in response, striding closer to you. His fingers lift your arm, undoing the gauze to uncover your injury. The salve he had applied to your skin had soothed the burn, and it had begun to heal nicely. 
“I told you to address me by my name,” he reminds you, his brows furrowed in concentration as he examines your skin, “must I remind you again, or will phrasing it as an Imperial command suffice?”
Your mouth opens automatically to retort sharply. He looks at you, brows raised. Spending more time in his presence has only vexed you, irritation making you almost forget who you were with. Mouth clamping shut, you send him a tight-lipped smile. 
“Forgive me,” you say begrudgingly, “Zayne.”
“Better,” he murmurs.
You don’t know whether he’s referring to your obedience or the state of your wound. 
“It will scar,” Zayne continues, turning your arm so that he can see your skin in better light.
“Badly?” you ask, a frown tugging at your lips.
“More salve will lessen the effect,” he says, finally letting go of your arm.
You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The Emperor stares at you, his gaze unwavering. It has you wishing that you hadn’t listened to his request at all. The palace physician would have more than likely provided you with the necessary treatment, and yet here you were, being tended to by the Emperor of all people.
“Do you wish for me to repay you?” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.
“Did we not already have this conversation?” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I had assumed-”
“Do not assume anything.”
Zayne’s voice has hardened, the slight softness in his eyes no longer present. You’ve overstepped. He pulls away from you, turning his back to you as he walks towards the open doors of his quarters. Rain wets the inside, the mats on the floor darkening but the Emperor doesn’t seem to care.
Feeling like a scolded child, you trail after him.
“Forgive me,” you whisper, keeping your gaze trained on the floor.
It seems to be all that you’re doing now. Apology after apology after apology. It’s a miracle you haven’t yet been executed for your impertinence. 
He turns to face you, his hand lifting. For a moment you think he’s about to slap you, a grimace settling on your face as you await the stinging punishment. Instead, all you feel is his hand on your head, petting you like you were some sort of unruly cat.
Zayne’s fingers begin to slip and you can feel the soft tips of his fingers graze the side of your face, traveling lower as he traces your jawline. You hold still, eyes wide with anticipation. He doesn’t stop, his fingers dragging down the length of your neck, parting your robes until you feel his fingers swipe across your collarbone. 
“You are stubborn,” he says softly, “steadfast and oddly endearing. Perhaps I should keep you by my side.”
You stare up at him, jaw slackening, baffled. 
“I thought you would appreciate it,” he murmurs, the sharpness in his eyes returning, “just moments ago you were offering yourself to me.”
It’s a struggle to bite back the whimper that so eagerly wants to escape when his fingers drag lower, skimming across the soft skin of the tops of your breasts. His other hand plays with the knot tied at the side, nimble fingers untying the only thing keeping your robes together. The soft fabric slips from your shoulders and you find yourself in front of the Emperor, breasts bared.
He lets out a low hum, both of his hands coming to cup your breasts. Your teeth have been biting into your lip so hard that you can taste the tang of blood on your tongue. Zayne swipes his thumbs over your nipples and you find yourself unable to rip free from his wandering touch. 
“Should you not tell me to stop?” the Emperor asks, his face nearing yours.
There’s no will left in you to answer, a sharp gasp escaping you when he pinches your nipples to punctuate his question. The sensation only adds to the wetness pooling between your thighs.
“Please,” you whimper, the desperation clear in your eyes, “please, Zayne.”
“I may have the favor of the gods, but I cannot foresee your desires,” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing yours, “tell me. What is it you want?”
“Kiss,” you manage out, “kiss me, please.”
The Emperor’s hands haven’t stopped their exploration, squeezing and groping at your breasts. Zayne lowers his head, forehead pressing against yours as you mewl and whimper under the onslaught of his caressing touches. The ache between your thighs has become unbearable with the way he plays with your nipples. He tugs and pinches, thumbs swiping over your areolas to grant you reprieve before rolling your nipples between his fingers again. 
“Wantonness has made you far more polite,” he whispers, lips brushing against yours.
It’s not a kiss, and you’re squirming in frustration with the way the Emperor is stringing you along, driving you to the edge of pleasure and yet refusing to grant you what you desire the most. 
“I- I can be even more polite,” you mumble pathetically, hands curling into his robes.
You chase after his lips, brows furrowing when he draws up to his full height, smiling down at you. Lips jutting out into a pout, you stand on the tips of your toes, trying to tug him back down so you can kiss him. It’s a futile endeavor, the Emperor only manages to evade all of your attempts to draw him into a kiss. 
“I shall look forward to it,” Zayne murmurs, his lips pressing against your forehead gently.
There’s no way to discern what exactly is going through the Emperor’s mind. He no longer continues with his lustful touches, pulling away with a final caress of your breasts as he pulls your loosened robes over your shoulders again. You can only watch with dazed eyes, frozen in place as he helps redo the knot holding your robes together, covering you up properly so that unnecessary slivers of skin aren’t showing anymore. 
“Do you do this with the others?” you ask, eyes finding his.
“Does the thought make you jealous?”
You frown at his retort, sending him a glare, “the Emperor may do as he wishes,” you grumble.
It’s hard to hide the jealousy that underlies your words. You want to be the only person he touches, to be the object of his affections. It’s a selfish desire to want the Emperor to need you only, but you can’t help yourself, envy flaring up inside of you at the thought of him touching another woman the way he touches you. 
“You are the first to elicit such a reaction from me,” Zayne says, his fingers tilting your head so he can stare into your eyes more directly.
Letting out an irritated huff, you feel irked by his subtle way of trying to please you. He doesn’t reply to your display of irritation, nudging his forehead against yours as though trying to convey his affection. 
“Go now,” he whispers, petting your hair again before he’s moving away, turning his back to you as he returns to peer out at the rain that falls outside.
You have half the mind to call him out on his behavior, but the reminder of your position is the stifling reality in which you live in. Despite his gaze elsewhere, you bow to him, turning on your heel to leave.
Thankfully, there are no lurking eunuchs to question your brief stay in the Emperor’s quarters. The palace staff don’t pay you any mind as you return to your chambers, and you explain to the other girls that you feel sick. 
The whimpers that spill from your mouth are muffled by the pillow that you’ve pressed your face into, the fingers of one hand rubbing at your clit and the other hand pinching at your nipples as you try to mimic the way the Emperor had touched you. With the image of Zayne’s face ingrained into your mind, it doesn’t take long, a soft moan escaping into the quiet of your chambers as you come apart on your fingers. 
-
You’re spying on the Emperor. 
The past year had been plenty of time to explore the palace and figure out the little passageways that weren’t well known. Perhaps you were just as bad as his advisors that were intent on prying into Zayne’s private life, but you just couldn’t help yourself. 
It’s why you’re here now, hovering outside his quarters, pretending to take great interest in the portraits that line the halls. Every now and then, your eyes flick over to where the guards stand, trying to discern whether anyone was entering or leaving his chambers. 
You almost feel pathetic for acting in such a way, but he was the only thing you could think about. Visiting the gardens had grown dull, despite the leaves turning into pretty shades of orange and red in the autumn air, thoughts of the Emperor taking root in the crevices of your mind instead. 
“My grandfather,” a deep voice breaks through your thoughts. You don’t have to look to know who it is.
“Handsome,” you mutter, taking a step closer to examine the portrait genuinely this time.
“My guards have complained about a woman hiding in the hallways,” Zayne says, his hand falling onto your shoulder. “I did not realize it was an offense to admire fine art,” you shoot back.
“There are far finer things in this palace,” he murmurs, stepping forward until you’ve been backed up against the wall.
It’s becoming more and more apparent to you that the Emperor must be suffering some sort of illness to the mind. You struggle to come up with a reason as to why his arm curls around your waist, whilst he presses himself closer. 
You try and push at his firm chest, but he doesn’t budge.
“People will see,” you whisper heatedly, eyes darting to the sides despite Zayne being so close that you can hardly see anything but him.
“So let them.”
Zayne reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek. You stiffen under the sudden touch, eyes widening when his thumb brushes over your skin.
“Why are you doing this?” you whisper, frowning.
“Is my mind not allowed to change?” he asks in return, head lowering until his forehead is pressed against yours.
“I am far more concerned that you have lost your mind.”
The Emperor lets out a deep chuckle and you think the air around you both has somehow grown thicker with how lightheaded you’re feeling.
“I assure you, I am still of sound mind.”
His nose brushes against yours, and you rise to meet the challenge, nose nudging against his gently. The heat of his body is intoxicating, his arm tightening around your waist as he exhales. Your eyes flutter shut, anticipating the feeling of his lips against yours.
It’s not to be, not when an Imperial guard insists on interrupting your moment with the Emperor.
“Is this woman bothering you?” the guard asks, his gaze dragging over you with obvious disregard. 
The utter nerve. Eye twitching, you ready yourself to snap back but Zayne’s squeeze to your waist has you staying silent.
“She was feeling ill,” Zayne lies steadily. 
The Emperor’s mask of cool indifference slips over him easily, his lips pulled thin as he speaks to the guard. 
“I shall escort her to the physician,” the guard offers, his hand reaching for you.
Zayne pulls you out of reach before the guard can touch you, tucking you against his side.
“No need,” Zayne says, “I shall take her myself.”
You can almost hear the nervous gulp that the guard takes, his face paling at the Emperor’s stony disposition. Unfortunately, you don’t get long to revel in the satisfaction that spreads through your body when Zayne reprimands the guard. Zayne tugs you along, his hand wrapped around your wrist. It appears the Emperor knows of the passages as well, and a few twists and turns later you find yourself back in the Emperor’s quarters, having bypassed the Imperial guards.
“Did you see his face?” you snicker, looking over at Zayne.
Your smile fades when he doesn’t reply, the grip on your wrist almost painful without how firmly his hand is still holding onto you.
“Zayne? Are you-”
You nearly trip over your own feet when he suddenly pulls you closer. Zayne’s lips are slotting over yours, his large hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you. There’s a small noise of surprise coming from you, eyes widening before they flutter shut, your body lulled into submission with the feverish kisses Zayne gives you.
He groans into your mouth and you cling to his robes, rising up on the tips of your toes to meet his kisses better. The Emperor might’ve been starved with the way he’s kissing you, his lips firm and insistent against yours whilst he holds you in place. 
Zayne pulls away after a while, and you’re completely and utterly dazed, chest heaving as soft pants fill the space between you both.
“Will you have me?” he whispers, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek.
No man has ever spoken such words to you. Your breath catches in your throat, heart clenching uncomfortably in your chest. As the Emperor, he shouldn’t say such a thing. 
“It is beneath you to ask,” you murmur, averting your gaze.
“And yet, I am asking,” Zayne replies, his hands maneuvering your head until you have no choice but to look into his eyes.
Letting out an irritated huff, as though he had somehow inconvenienced you, you lean forward and press a chaste kiss against his lips. You can’t bring yourself to say the words out loud, feeling uncharacteristically shy as you shift on the spot.
“I see.”
Zayne’s surging towards you again, lips crashing onto yours. You whimper, hands scrabbling at his shoulders as you press yourself closer. His arms are wrapping around your waist, keeping you flush against him as he ravages your mouth. His tongue is teasing your lower lip, coaxing it open. You have no choice but to obey, letting out a muffled moan when his tongue slides deeper into your mouth, his hand pulling at the pin holding your hair together. 
You squeak when he picks you up, his lips trailing burning kisses down your neck as he nudges the partition blocking his way to his bed. Zayne undoes the knot holding your robes together before long, your thighs straddling his hips as you sit perched on his lap once he sits down on his bed.
“Have you really never given yourself to anyone?” Zayne asks quietly, his fingers tracing across the soft skin of your shoulders.
You nod, body leaning forward to chase after his touch as his fingers find their way back down to your nipples, rolling the pebbled buds between the pads of his fingers.
“H- have you?” you ask, biting your lip as he presses heated kisses against your collarbone.
He shakes his head, lips drifting lower and lower, until your body twitches as his lips enclose around your nipple. A whimper leaves you, and Zayne grows bolder with his movements, sucking harshly as his tongue swirls around your nipple, flicking the little bud in his mouth.
Your hands have drifted into his hair, pulling free the band that holds his long locks together. His dark hair runs past his shoulders, the strands soft under your touch as you pull at his hair, moaning as he continues his exploration across your chest.
Zayne looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, spit-slick lips dragging across your chest to pepper kisses against your other breast, his mouth enveloping your nipple yet again. He lets out a low groan and you whine, pulling at his robes desperately to pull them off.
“Oh,” you breathe out when he lets you, biting your lip at the sight of his bare chest and abdomen. Your fingers spread across his chest eagerly, mapping out the expanse of his skin. There’s a sly smile spreading across your face when you see his cheeks flush pink as your fingers drag lower, past his navel.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks hoarsely, his head tipping back.
“Should I not?” you whisper, fingers delving lower until you can feel his hardness through his robes.
You rub your hand against the bulge experimentally, eyes lighting up when he lets out a grunt. Face tucking into the crook of his neck, your breasts squished against his chest, you place hungry kisses against his neck, palming at his bulge.
The Emperor tugs at your hair, pulling your head back. You stare up at him, meeting him in the middle when he leans forward, sharing a sloppy kiss. His hands squeeze at your waist and you shift in his lap, letting him undress you completely.
Nervousness flits across your face as he stares at your bare body, hands leaving him to cover yourself up. He grabs your hands before you can, placing a soft kiss to your jaw.
“You are beautiful,” he whispers, lips drifting to kiss the shell of your ear.
A shy smile pulls at your lips and he squeezes your waist again. Your brows furrow when he jostles you, making you straddle his thigh instead.
“I want to watch,” Zayne says, his fingers dimpling into the fat of your thighs.
“Watch?” you echo, head tilting in question.
“I want to watch you come undone,” he clarifies, gripping your hips as he guides you into grinding against his thigh.
A strangled noise leaves you and he pats your hip, satisfied. You’re so aroused that your slick has begun to wet his silken robes, the fabric darkening as you roll your hips, dragging your pussy against his thigh.
“I- I want to watch you too,” you gasp out.
Zayne obliges and you watch as he pulls his cock free. The sight is almost enough to have you coming on his covered thigh. His fingers wrap around his cock and you whine, hips rolling faster. “Is it to your satisfaction?” he murmurs.
You nod rapidly. It is. You’ve never seen one before, but you just know Zayne’s is pretty compared to the others. His cock is thick, flushed prettily at the tip to match the blush on his cheeks and you lick your lips, wondering what it might feel like in your mouth. 
“Another time,” Zayne says, smiling when he sees the expression on your face.
It’s entrancing to watch the way his hand drags up and down his cock, his long fingers wrapped around himself. Globs of pre-cum bead at the tip, wetting his hands and his cock, creating a sinful sound. Unable to help yourself, you tilt your head, tongue lolling out as you let your own spit drip down onto his cock. You hum in delight when his thighs twitch, your eyes peering into his as you drag your cunt against his thigh, clit catching on the fabric of his robes just right. 
“I did not know my concubine was so depraved,” he murmurs, his hand kneading the flesh at your hip roughly.
You give him a dopey smile, eyes slipping back down to watch his hand move around his cock whilst you rock your hips. Head falling against his shoulder, your lips drag across his chest, landing soft kisses against his skin before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, nipping his skin lightly.
Airy sounds fill the air, his quiet moans and your soft whimpers emanating in his quarters. 
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you press yourself closer, guiding his head into another kiss. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth with no hesitation. Zayne’s pulling apart suddenly, his previous desire of watching you come undone on your thigh forgotten as he manhandles your body, making you lay down against his bed.
The Emperor kisses you over and over, and your head is swirling, trying to keep up whilst his fingers have found their way down to your pussy, rubbing your wetness across the sensitive flesh before he finds your clit. All it takes is one firm press of his thumb, your thighs twitching violently as you grasp at the sheets, moaning loudly as you come. He smiles against your lips, granting you one last kiss before he directs his attention elsewhere, his face disappearing between your thighs.
“Z-Zayne!” you squeal, pushing at his head, trying to get him to stop as the overstimulation becomes too much.
The Emperor ignores you in favor of thumbing apart your folds, his eyes trained on your clit.
“Pretty” he whispers, the pads of his fingers stroking over your clit gently, “and so, so swollen.”
It has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and he kisses the inside of your thighs, edging closer to your pussy, letting out a low breath, the air hitting your exposed pussy.
He groans when you tug at his hair, and you writhe, trying to somehow free yourself from the onslaught of his tongue as he laves over your pussy, pressing sloppy kisses against your skin, his lips latching onto your swollen clit. Zayne’s tongue flicks against the sensitive bud, teasing you.
Something between a moan and a scream climbs its way out your throat, the sound ringing in through his chambers as you come again, thighs firmly squeezing his head. Your eyes widen when you realize the guards are still outside the doors, panic flaring through your body as you scramble to sit up.
Zayne’s hand slides over your mouth before you can get anything out, the stern look in his eyes making you go still. The rapping of the guard’s knuckles against the door has you rigid, eyes widening in alarm as he begins to move his tongue yet again. 
You glare at Zayne, tugging at his hair roughly to make it hurt as you attempt to get his mouth off of you. Zayne only gives you a hazy look, looking utterly gone as he presses his face deeper into your cunt. It’s a struggle to keep the noises in, your body shaking as his nose rubs into your clit and his tongue fucks in and out of your aching hole. 
“Your majesty?” An urgent voice calls out from behind the door, and you can hear the faint scuffling noises of the guards’ boots. 
“Someone get this door open!” another voice hisses, the sliding doors rattling soon after.
The Emperor grunts into your cunt, raising up finally. The sight of him is nearly enough to make you come for a third time. Zayne is utterly disheveled, his cheeks pink and the lower half of his face glistening with your slick. 
You watch as he runs his hand through his hair, biting your lip as you let your gaze wander, catching on his cock once again. He looks painfully hard, cum smeared across his skin and drool is pooling in your mouth. Getting onto your knees, you crawl forward eager to envelop it in your mouth.
The tip makes its way into your mouth for a brief moment and you can barely suck when Zayne is yanking you off of his cock, his hand curled into your hair. 
“Everything is fine,” the Emperor snaps, narrowing his eyes when you pout.
“We heard-”
“I said,” Zayne’s voice grows louder, “everything is fine.”
You think he might take out his wrath on you with the way he grips your cheeks roughly, planting another kiss to your lips. He’s manhandling you yet again, pushing at your shoulders to make you lie down as he settles his hips between your thighs.
Zayne’s cum smears against your skin and you whimper when the fat tip of his cock nudges against your clit. He lands a gentler kiss to your cheek, his hand cupping your cheek as you squirm under him, whimpering as he grinds his cock against your cunt.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his face pressing into the crook of your neck as he lets his cock slide up and down against your folds, “my good girl.”
“Yours,” you agree, cheek squishing against the pillow, “all yours.”
“I want to see you like this all the time,” Zayne confesses, his hand grasping his cock to press it firmly against your cunt, coating it with your arousal, “all flustered and needy… perhaps I am losing my sanity.”
You need him inside of you. The emptiness in your pussy has made you all too aware, hips bucking with every drag of his heavy cock.
“More,” you whisper, voice slurring, “Zayne, I want more.”
Zayne draws back slightly and you watch as he squeezes his cock, pre-cum dripping steadily onto your thigh. He reaches for your hand, fingers lacing with yours.
“Ready?” he murmurs.
You nod, swallowing down your nervousness. He presses his cock into your hole and the stretch is uncomfortable, a pained whimper leaving you as Zayne guides his cock into you. 
“A little more,” he coaxes, kissing your forehead to try and distract you from the initial stretch.
He finally pushes his entire cock in, and you feel as though the air has been punched out of your lungs. Zayne fills you up so perfectly, his cock snug inside your cunt, the emptiness from earlier disappearing almost immediately.
It appears you have affected him just as much, his eyes squeezed shut as he pants into the crook of your neck, trying to get used to the wet heat of your cunt. 
“Perfect,” he mutters mindlessly, and you can feel the twitch of his cock from inside of you, “so- so perfect and warm and tight.”
A hazy smile drifts across your face, legs locking tighter around his hips as your pussy clenches around him.
Zayne lets out a ragged gasp, and you know he can feel it. His eyes bore into yours, brows pulled together in annoyance at your little tease.
“Little minx,” he hisses.
It’s you that gasping this time when he draws his hips back, nails clawing at his back as he thrusts into you. His cock is stretching you out, over and over, as he tries to press it in deeper, trying to carve a path from your pussy to your heart.
“Too- too much!” you wail, arms wrapping around his neck to cling onto him.
“Do you want the guards to hear?” Zayne murmurs against your ear, his hips slowing slightly.
Through the haze of it all, your head turns, eyes finding his. The truth is, you wouldn’t exactly be opposed to the idea. Zayne can see the flash of interest in your eyes and he lets out a hoarse laugh, shaking his head.
“I should have taken you sooner,” he mutters, his fingers squeezing at your hips, “kept you close to me from the beginning.”
You preen at the thought, pressing sloppy kisses against his jaw, feeling his cock drag in and out of you.
“Next time, I shall take you on my throne.”
Your movements pause, eyes widening as he whispers those words, his lips brushing across yours.
“Not like that-” you begin to say, cheeks flushing deeper as you imagine him taking you on his throne, his hips rutting into yours like they were now.
“Why not?” he asks, “Shall I command it? Have-” Zayne lets out a shuddering breath “have my entire court watch as my pretty, little concubine loses her mind, drunk on my cock as I claim her atop my throne?”
You moan unabashedly, cunt clenching around him tightly. Zayne grunts, his hips stuttering when at the feeling of your walls tightening before he’s gripping your thigh, his chest flush against yours as he picks up the pace. It’s no secret that the guards must have heard what was happening inside, your loud moans most likely drifting through the wood of the doors. Both you and the Emperor don’t seem to care, lost in the blur of lust that swirls between you both.
“Deeper,” you mumble, pouting up at him, “need- need you closer, Zayne.”
“You are going to be the death of me,” Zayne mutters, dropping his weight on top of you.
You mewl in delight, the feeling of his body against yours deliciously warm. He hikes your thighs up a little higher, hips pressing deeper until you gasp. You can feel his balls pressed snugly against your ass, his cock as deep inside of you as it could go.
“Take it,” he whispers, his hand beginning to stroke your hair as he moves his hips. Short, sharp thrusts that serve to bury his cock into your cunt the way you want, “take it, my love.”
My love. Skin against skin. His hand stroking your hair gently. Girthy cock filling you up perfectly.
The sensations mixed with his affection are too much, pulling at your heart uncomfortably until you let out a sniffle, staring up at him with glassy eyes.
Concern passes through his eyes when he hears you sniffle, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb swipes away a stray tear that beads at the corner of your eye.
“Am I hurting you?” Zayne asks softly.
You shake your head, lips trembling even more at his display of concern. 
“I just like you a lot is all,” you whisper, sniffling quietly.
“I like you too,” Zayne replies in kind, his lips pressing soft kisses against your cheek, “and I take care of what’s mine.”
He leans down, lips pressing against yours in a tender kiss. Your tears wet his cheeks as he keeps you there, kissing you gently whilst his hips roll into you.
“Let go for me, my love” he murmurs, and you’re clenching around him again, feeling his hand sneak its way between your bodies as his thumb rubs against your clit.
You whimper, head pressing back as you arch your back, the sensation of his cock and his fingers driving you further and further to the edge until he latches his mouth onto your breast, catching your nipple between his teeth. He bites down and a broken moan fills the air, body shuddering as you come on his cock.
“Oh fuck,” Zayne grits out when he feels the harsh clench of your cunt around his cock.
You can feel him bury his face into your chest and you reach up weakly, running your fingers through his hair. It’s enough to have him letting out a guttural noise against your chest, his fat cock twitching as his thick cum floods your pussy.
The Emperor lays on top of you, both of your bodies loosened completely. You whimper when he pulls out of you, his cum beginning to leak out from your cunt. Zayne stares at the sight for a moment, entranced, before pulling you closer, letting you press your face into his chest as he kisses your forehead. 
“Everyone will know by now,” you whisper.
“They will,” he agrees, his fingers prying your face away from where it hides.
Zayne peers down into your eyes, a faint smile playing across his lips as he swipes his thumbs against your skin.
“Stay here with me,” he says quietly, “by my side.”
You laugh softly at his proposition.
“I am your concubine,” you murmur, reaching up to curl your hand around his wrist, “nothing more.”
“You will be more,” Zayne insists, his voice hardening,  “I will have you.”
“Your advisors would not allow it!” you protest, eyes turning glassy again.
“Desperation will make them vulnerable to acceptance,” he retorts, his body pressing closer as though to keep you tethered to him, hands tightening around your cheeks.
“I am the Emperor,” he continues, forehead pressing against yours as his eyes bore into yours, “you said it yourself. I may do as I wish, and what I wish for is for you to be by my side.”
You swallow harshly, blinking up at him when you hear the sternness of his voice. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, kissing you desperately.
“Stay with me, my love” he whispers again, stealing kiss after kiss from you.
“Okay,” you relent, sinking into his embrace and returning his kisses just as desperately, “okay.”
The Emperor holds you close to his chest, his arms wrapped around you tightly. The heat of his body has your eyes drooping shut, his lips brushing over your forehead as he whispers sweet promises of his love.
Outside, far away from the warmth of love’s embrace, the first fall of snow has begun to drift from the sky.
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countlessimagines · 6 months ago
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Your World [ Wolverine x Reader ]
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Summary: your Wolverine was your whole world.
A/N: I like writing angsty stuff and this movie provided me with the best possible scenarios <3 hehehe I love wolverine
Warnings: Cussing, mentions of blood
Marvel MASTERLIST Link here
SPOILERS BELOW
-
It wasn’t an ideal love story that brought you back to Logan.
Being a mutant with incredible healing abilities and a broken heart made it so easy for Stryker to capture you. Your Wolverine had been the one to rescue you from the clutches of Stryker and the horrible fate that loomed over your head. All the days of experiments and cold rooms where you’d be injected with who knows what, it all lead to him.
But you always had to remind yourself that Logan had gotten you out, made you a X-Men, but found the brutal truth of how dangerous it was to be loved by you.
You loved deeply and endlessly, like a void waiting for eternity to be loved and to love. Logan was exactly what your heart desired for years.
Someone who could never die, never leave you.
Fighting alongside each other became a beautiful symphony. And God protect anyone who caused you harm, because Logan would only see red and slice them to pieces. It was a miracle none of the X-men had been torn to shreds, but Scott always came close.
The team would always joke about your relationship, saying how could an innocent soul be in love with such a brute like Wolverine.
But Logan knew the only way he could breathe was to be with you, to hold you, to kiss and love you.
He would always find his way to you no matter the circumstance.
Beast was holding you in the infirmary because he wanted to run tests? Logan was there.
Storm and Jean wanted to have a girls night? Logan was sitting outside the room in case anything happened.
Scott was training you in hand to hand combat? Logan was definitely there.
Your world consisted of him and him only.
And maybe that is why it hurt so much when he let your entire team die, because you had not made them your whole world.
You had been away on a mission by yourself when you received the news of their passing. You returned to a bloodied home, no sign of Wolverine to be found.
Life began to blur after what happened. You had to go into hiding, because people blamed you for what happened, too. And there was no one there to stop you from spiraling into a flurry of self hatred.
Hatred for what you had become. A love sick puppy so consumed with Logan only. Maybe if you had been there, maybe if you hadn’t put so much trust in him, maybe if you could have taken the hits for your team.
And the thought that stuck with you the most, if you had been there, screaming for help - would Logan had only saved you and left the rest to die?
Because the love you shared was slowly becoming so obvious to you that it was not pure or natural, but rather so simple it would have made you and Logan public enemy number one.
But you supposed that had already happened, too.
Your mutant abilities were the only thing you had left, so you consumed yourself in underground work. Becoming exactly what the X-men had fought against.
Shedding your uniform, you had to separate yourself from the X-men because people recognized you too easily. It was hard to find any work where people wanted a tainted mutant.
You tried your hardest to not let every moment be consumed by the thought of Logan. He had never reached out to you after the event, despite the grief between you so overwhelmingly strong. He couldn’t face you and love someone who would have stepped through hell and back for him.
He felt as if he didn’t deserve it.
So time continued to pass as the bond between the two of you was severed so deeply that it was suffocating to be apart.
But it wasn’t until Deadpool showed up to your apartment that you were finally addressing your past.
“Leave, now. I’m not hearing any of your bullshit.” You tried to close your door but he stopped it.
“Please, c’mon. I need you! Wolverine needs you!”
You tensed at the mere mention of him. “If he needed me so desperately, it is far too late for him to come back.”
“But you’re his one and only, for fuck’s sake! Every variant I’ve met of him has had a you stalking around like a lap dog. You know how many of you’s have beaten the shit out of me?” He rambled on, and you rolled your eyes.
“I don’t care to understand what you’re saying, so goodbye, Wade!”
Deadpool sighed before kicking the door in and stabbing you through the chest with one of his blades. You stared at him in shock and couldn’t register anything as he flung you over his shoulder into an orange portal.
You landed on a hard ground that pushed the blade out of you. “Wade, you’re a dead man.”
He stepped through the portal and leaned over your body. “Sorry about that, but I can’t die so you’re stuck with not only me, but Wolverine!”
Deadpool giggled and ran off, making sure to rip the blade out of your stomach. You winced but felt your regeneration cells working to stitch you back together.
Slowly sitting up, you spat out blood.
“I tried to tell him not to bring you into this.”
You froze at the voice you fought to forget, willing calm into your fast beating heart.
Sitting up fully only made your legs wobble and your head spin. But you had to look up into the eyes of the man you still loved.
Logan looked different, healthier and happier. It only made you feel sick.
“I’ve been busy.” He said it so casually that it made you want to slap his chest for the lack of greeting. “Wade gave me a second chance. I helped save his world.”
“You haven’t seen me in years and you choose to brag?” You scoffed, removing your shirt to assess the damage Wade had done to your shirt.
Logan sucked in a breath as he took in your battle worn scars. Despite your healing factor, you still kept every scar from every wound you had endured.
He remembered the last time he saw you, you only adorned a few on your chest and stomach.
Now it was littered with them.
“You’ve been busy too, I gather?” Logan said with a hint of sarcasm.
You glared at him. “Why am I here?”
“Wade thought that I needed you.” He admitted it with such ease, like he knew it to be true in his heart.
“And? Do you need me?”
He hesitated before answering. “I’ve always needed you… and I think that’s why I let myself go for so many years. Because I knew that no matter what I did or said to you, you would never forgive me. I would always be the one who let our team die… let you go.”
“Well you’re right, because I never would forgive you. Not after abandoning all of us,” you choked out, the tears beginning to creep into the corners of your eyes. “I loved you fiercely, Logan. All it would have taken was one call during those first few days and I would have been there for you. We could’ve been healing together. But you chose this life of despair for both of us, Logan.”
“I know.” He said, his own eyes watering.
“I despise you.” You said, but your heart was breaking, letting out the true feelings. It was bleeding for him and for him only.
Logan stepped closer and you did not stop him.
“I want nothing to do with you.” You said, your voice cracking.
“I understand.” He said, five feet away from you now.
“I hate you.” You began to weep, the blood in your heart revealing what you wanted truly.
“I don’t blame you.” Logan closed the gap between the two of you, holding you close to his chest. You cried into his shoulder, holding on for dear life. “I’m never leaving you again.”
All you could muster was a small nod, your tears staining his shirt. His own were dripping onto the top of your head.
And in the empty apartment, you and Logan stood, holding onto each other.
Holding your world together.
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yanderenightmare · 6 months ago
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TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omegaverse, subjugation, some type of sexism, bad politics, chemically induced heat? institutionalized reader, doctors, wack rehabilitation program, ish brainwashing
fem reader
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You’d been difficult to tame. Or, he just didn’t have the time to do it properly—too busy at work and too tired when coming home. He’d wanted a sweet Omega, one who did house chores when he was away and had dinner ready for him when he got off.
You’d looked real sweet at the auction—a perfectly beautiful Omega. You weren’t cheap either—everyone had made their bids, but he’d been the one to walk away with the prize in the end. He can’t say he regrets it—he still has a fondness for you even though you’re not what he’d thought he’d purchased.
You just need some behavioral correcting. And so, he put you in an Omega institution.
It had been recommended to him. It’s not so uncommon, he later found out while reading up on the place. Auctioned Omegas tend to end up a little rough around the edges—here, at the institution, they’ll smooth those edges right out.
Sadly, there’s been a rise in unstable Omegas as of late—he reads on their website. It’s a misguided revolution taking place in several auction homes that’s to blame for it—circling modern ideas of liberation, equality, andindependence. It all stems from a place of fear, the website explains in detail—Omegas seek to stand on their own in the world. Cooped up in auction homes, they fear they’ll never see the outside without a mate—and as the years dwindle on and their prospects become slimmer, they start fantasizing about doing it on their own.
He feels sorry for you while reading it. Your attitude makes more sense now, knowing you’ve been fed a bunch of deluded nonsense. He can’t blame you for getting swept up in it—you’re a little younger than him, after all. But the silly idea of a lone Omega isn’t just laughable but dangerous. It was best of him to make sure any such notions were quashed—for your own good—before you end up doing something you might regret. 
And it seemed this place was the place to do it. In fact, many of his fellow Alphas had done the same, and they’d all sung this particular institution’s praises.
Oh, but it’s been hard. You wouldn’t talk to him much or even keep him in good company at home, but still, he misses your presence. The house seems so empty without your little everyday spats to keep him on his toes.
You’ve been away for a whole month now, and he hasn’t even been allowed to visit, not once. It would ruin the process, he was told. But he’s been assured that the caretakers there have been making great progress with you. He should be able to come pick you up as soon as the start of next week.
He remembers having been skeptical about leaving you here as he walks to announce himself at the help desk. The facility is pristine and sterile—very impersonal, just like any other hospital. He wonders if you’ve been scared. After all, it’s most likely your skittish nature that makes you so hostile, joined with misgivings making you confused. It can’t be easy. He hopes the doctors here have helped you sort things out. Maybe you won’t be so frustrated all the time.
He was led to a private room where he could complete some paperwork for your release while waiting for your discharge. He made quick work of it. A door opens, and your doctor comes through, and then, following right behind him, there’s you—his pretty little Omega.
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you quite so subdued—not even when you’d been caged at the auction, there’d still been some fight to your spirit. Now, not so much—taking quiet and careful steps with your head hung, looking at your slipper-clad feet.
You pick your face up when you recognize the scent, and then you look at him like you’ve just seen a ghost. Wide-eyed and lock-jawed—your breathing picks up rapidly, and his name drops from your lips like a pained whimper, followed by a sudden burst of tears and a rush toward him. “You came back—” 
You’re on him before he has the time to blink—pressed against him tightly, skin-to-skin and heart-to-heart, with your face buried in the grove of his neck. Your claws are slightly drawn, but in no effort to hurt him—rather, to cling to him. It’s not any normal hug—not that you’d ever given him one before—but even so, you’re swaddledaround his neck with your legs crossed at his back.
He’s taken aback by the behavior—it isn’t like you at all. He remembers your aversion to his touch, how you’d regard him like a plague, snarling each time he’d get too close. This was beyond new.
But you leave him no opening to comment either, too busy rambling in meek little whispers pressed into his skin, “Thank you, thank you, thank you—I knew you’d come back—knew you hadn’t forgotten about me. I’m sorry I was being difficult, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’ve forgiven me, right? You’ll take me home now, right? Please—”
He’d never been in a position to soothe you before—you’d never wanted it. He doesn’t know what else to do but smooth a hand over your hunched and shuddering back, shushing you like he’d seen mothers do with their sobbing children. You didn’t look much different right now.
“Yeah… we’re going home,” he assures you. 
You hug him a little tighter as a sob wreaks through you.
This isn’t exactly what he prepared himself for. He thought you’d be... well, he doesn’t really know... nicer?Perhaps. Agreeable. Not so violent. But not this—this broken little ball of shivering sniffles holding onto him as if the world was about to end.
He swallows thickly, then looks at your doctor—he doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, he seems utterly unfazed.
It makes him wonder, a little warily, “What have you done with her?”
The doctor seems more than happy to explain—it’s only customary, after all. He’d paid a lot to have you rehabilitated here.
“Each omega requires special treatment suited to them,” the doctor explains. “Yours was particularly unruly.”
You flinch. He feels your claws dig deeper, but they’re too blunt to draw blood and too weak to hurt anyway. But even so, your sentiments are more than clear—you fear this doctor with your entire being.
“We’ve found that in the case of hostile Omegas, the most effective way to correct their behavior is to keep them isolated and let their own instincts remind them of what they need,” the doctor continues. “Of course, we’ve taken protective measures to ensure she wouldn’t harm herself in said isolation and have fed her accordingly at scheduled times every day.” He smiles. “We can assure you she’s been perfectly safe in the pillow room.”
He lifts the silver suitcase he’d been holding, props it up, and pops the lid, revealing a row of ten syringes—a hot pink fluid within.
“This is our recommended medicine.”
You shudder even more, unrelenting in your grip around him—hanging on so tightly as if you fear someone would come and pry you off him at any moment.
“Give one to her if and when she acts up. More instructions come with the case—please read through them carefully.”
He eyes the syringes with furrowed brows, picking one up to inspect it further. They don’t look like anything he’s read about in the brochure or on the website—perhaps a brand new method for treating Omegas? This is a cutting-edge institution, after all.
He can’t guess what they must do to make you cower like that. The spit-spire he left here a month ago wouldn’t cry over a tiny needle.
“What are they?” he asks.
The doctor’s smile stretches. “Nothing dangerous. All natural hormone components.”
He’s not sure what that entails, and so he quirks a brow while laying the syringe back in its designated mold. “And what does that mean?”
The doctor clasps the case shut and hands it over to him while explaining plainly, “They induce heat.” 
He accepts the case before his ears have the chance to draw back at his words. Now that explains your sudden clinginess—why you’re so frigid.
The doctor adds, “Poor thing’s spent quite a few alone in the pillow room, so I’m sure she’ll be grateful to finally be by her mate’s side again.”
He’s speechless.
Spending heat alone, without any relief, is a form nothing short of torture. If he’d known that was what they were doing to you, he wouldn’t have sent you here in the first place. He very nearly chews the doctor out for using such barbaric methods but thinks better of it. If anything were to be done, it would be through a well-worded and filed complaint and a vow to never do business with them ever again.
Though, coming home with you by his side, still clinging to him… he can’t argue with the results. 
So he doesn’t complain. He just enjoys your new and improved wellness and promises never to use those injections on you himself. Yes, they’d forego their expiration date soon enough, dusting away in the back of his closet. He’d never ever put you through something so horrid. That’s his pledge as your mate.
Oh, but then... the honeymoon phase dissolves. And you return to your old habits of teeth and claws.
It’s never-ending barking with you all over again—you want to leave, you want to be alone, you don’t want him to touch you, you blame him for what you went through at the institution, you hate him for it, and you’ll never ever forgive him.
He doesn’t want to—he swears while holding the syringe to your thigh where he’s strapped you down in bed with ropes and knots—he doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t, but you leave him no choice when you act like a wild animal. 
The first time is always the hardest. But he doesn’t leave you alone in a room like they did at the institution—no, he helps you through it. It’s not torture this way. It’s just… well, what can he say? It’s just a little reminder to get you back on your good behavior.
You would rather stay here than get sent back to the pillow room, right?
It’s all too easy the second time around even though it shouldn’t have been. It was only a day of small uproars, nothing all that bad—refusing to greet him at the door, to make dinner, to fix his plate, to wash dishes, to come to bed. He’d allowed you days like that in the past, but this time, he’d felt himself gravitate towards his so-called last resort once again. 
Still, he’d felt a little guilty about it. 
It would be easier to refrain if it didn’t work like a charm.
Now, he goes and finds the briefcase at the drop of a hat. Say something snarky or look at him funny. Give him any opportunity, and he’ll abuse it—even things you don’t even mean to do, like burning the food, shrinking his clothes in the wash, or forgetting to make the bed in the morning. He’s on you with the syringe deep in your flesh before you can even mouth the words “I’m sorry—”
You’re limp and sweat-drenched after a few hours. He spoons you as the spasms continuously ricochet through you—his spent leaking down your thighs. Even after several rounds, the hormones are still brewing up a bad storm within your gut, thundering in your heart as its lightning zips along your limbs. Your head is a rainy cloud—heavy and full yet soft like cotton.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—it was an accident—” you mumble between labored breaths, not entirely sure what error you’d made this time, shivering against his warm chest as he cups your breast in one big hand and your swollen cunt in the other.
“I know, I know it was, baby,” he coos. “But you need to be more mindful—can’t be making so many mistakes all the time.” His lips brush your skin as he purrs, placing small pecks against your cheek and neck. “How can I trust you with my pups if you’re gonna be such a scatterbrain, hm?”
The mention of pups makes something roar more ferociously in your underbelly, and you whimper meekly in return. “I’m sorry—I’ll do better.”
“Good. I’m sure you’ll get there, sweetie.”
The storm within crackles, rumbling with a deepening hunger. Even though you feel battle-worn and ever ready for the sweet escape of sleep, there’s something even needier and heedless that makes your body feel all but set ablaze.
You’ve cum so many times already, but it’s still not enough—it’s never enough. It takes everything in you to make sense of his words—to act civil even when all you want is to jump his bones—make him fuck you until your fever breaks, then allow you rest.
But act in any way out of turn, and he’ll only drag this out. Be sweet, you remind yourself—sugar, syrup, honeycomb—sweet and soft like velvet—no teeth or claws or growling. No matter what, don’t let the animal out of the cage.
“No matter how many lessons it’ll take…” he murmurs. “I’m here to help.”
“Thank you—” you wince while rubbing your thighs together—grinding against his hand in desperation. “Can you… can we—”
He chuckles fondly, feeling you rub your ass back against his crotch wantingly. “Oh? Another round so soon?” 
You bite your lip at his teasing. Far beyond proud to not be begging, “Yes, please—pretty, pretty please—”
The sweet warble in your voice is so pitiful and cute—he can’t help the smile it brings him. “Alright, honey,” he hums while shifting, getting up with a hearty sigh, then leaning over you to give your pleading little pout a kiss. He feeds you his next words with a grin on his face, “Let’s see about that needy pussy of yours.”
He spreads and shimmies himself between your aching thighs, nice and snug against the weeping little thing between them—looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes and a smug smile that makes you feel like the most hopeless little Omega in the world.
He places another kiss upon your forehead—dwarfing your hand in his big one, braiding your fingers together while the other carries his meaty cock, holding it steady up to your fluttering and glossy slit. 
The size never fails to make you squirm as you look down at it—wondering why you crave it so badly when it only serves to make your body twist and scream from the stretch it gives you.
 “Don’t worry, sweetie,” he soothes the tiny cry that cracks from your throat once he starts easing the length inside the snug comforts of your walls. “Your Alpha’s here to make it all better.”
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♡ BNHA – old man Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Kusakabe ♡ HQ – Daichi, Ushijima ♡ AOT – Erwin
♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist
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reasonsforhope · 4 days ago
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"A medical technology company in Australia is aiming for a world-first: it wants to launch a blood test for endometriosis (sometimes called 'endo' for short) within the first half of this year [2025].
In a recent peer-reviewed trial, its novel test proved 99.7 percent accurate at distinguishing severe cases of endometriosis from patients without the disease but with similar symptoms.
Even in the early stages of the disease, when blood markers may be harder to pick out, the test's accuracy remained over 85 percent.
The company behind the patent, Proteomics International, says it is currently adapting the method "for use in a clinical environment," with a target launch date in Australia for the second quarter of this year [2025].
The test is called PromarkerEndo.
"This advancement marks a significant step toward non-invasive, personalized care for a condition that has long been underserved by current medical approaches," managing director of Proteomics International Richard Lipscombe said in a press release from December 30.
Endometriosis is a common inflammatory disease that occurs when tissue similar to the lining of the uterus grows in other parts of the body, forming lesions. The disease can be very painful, and yet the average patient often suffers debilitating symptoms for up to seven years before they are properly diagnosed.
While there are numerous reasons for such a long delay, symptoms of endometriosis are often highly variable, unpredictable, difficult to measure or describe, and dismissed or overlooked by doctors.
Today, the only definitive way to diagnose endometriosis is via keyhole surgery called a laparoscopy, which is expensive, invasive, and carries risks.
Proteomics International is hoping to change that.
In collaboration with researchers at the University of Melbourne and the Royal Women's Hospital, the company compared the bloodwork data from 749 participants of mostly European descent.
Some had endometriosis and others had symptoms that were similar to endo but without the lesions. All participants had a laparoscopy to confirm the presence or absence of the disease.
Sifting through the bloodwork, researchers ran several different algorithms to figure out which proteins in the blood were best at predicting endometriosis of varying stages.
Building on previous research, a panel of 10 proteins showed a "clear association" with endometriosis.
For years now, scientists have investigated possible blood biomarkers of endometriosis to see if they could differentiate between those who have endo and those who do not. Similar to cancerous tumors, endo lesions can establish their own blood supply, and if cervical cancer can be diagnosed via a blood test, it seemed possible that endometriosis could be, too...
Proteomics International claims patents for PromarkerEndo are "pending in all major jurisdictions," starting first in Australia.
It remains to be seen if the company's blood test lives up to the hype and is approved by the Australian Therapeutic Goods Administration (TGA). But that's not outside the realm of possibility.
In November of 2023, some researchers predicted that a "reliable non-invasive biomarker for endometriosis is highly likely in the coming years."
Perhaps this is the year."
-via ScienceAlert, January 9, 2025
--
Note: As someone with endometriosis, let me say that this is a HUGE deal. The condition is incredibly common, incredibly understudied, and incredibly often dismissed. Massive sexism at work here.
I got very lucky and got diagnosed after about 6 months of chronic pain (and extra extra lucky, because my pain went away with medication). But as the article says, the average time to diagnosis is seven years.
Being able to confirm endometriosis diagnoses/rates without invasive surgery will also lead to huge progress in studying/creating treatments for endo.
And fyi: If you have a period that is so painful that you can't stand up, or have to go home from school/work, or vomit, or anything else debilitating (or if any of those things apply if you forget to take pain meds), that is NOT NORMAL, and you should talk to a competent gynecologist asap.
2K notes · View notes
lubdubology · 3 months ago
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When Things Turn Green Again
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SYNOPSIS: Hoping to mend the pain of your broken heart and bury the memory of your failed marriage, you turn towards the woods. A cabin was left in your name and it’s the exact distraction you were looking for. What you didn’t anticipate is meeting a quiet, ruggedly handsome man along the way who helps you heal.
PAIRING: Logan x fem!reader
WC: 11k
WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; mentions of cheating/divorce; emotional trauma; fluff; sexual innuendos; brief mentions of drinking; dirty talk; slight dom!Logan; oral (f receiving); fingering; doggy style; cock warming; sex with feelings; unprotected p in v
A/N: I pictured either Origins!Logan or Wolverine!Logan, but I think you can envision any Logan you’d prefer. And again thanks to @joelsgoldrush for the support through writing this ❤️ I really do love this piece I wrote and I hope you do too. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! And thank you to everyone who has read, commented, liked and reblogged both Soft Edges and Til The Sun Turns Black—I never imagined either of those stories reaching over 1k notes.
The gravel crunches under your tires as you roll down the long driveway. Memories bloom deep in your chest as you near the cabin, of times simpler than this, unburdened by trappings of real life. You spent your formative years out here in the woods with your grandfather. Summers spent learning how to fish on the lake; how to recognize the poisonous berries from the nonpoisonous ones; and making fires, roasting marshmallows long after the sun had gone down. 
Your grandfather had helped build this cabin. He’d always preferred the outdoors and solitude from people—with the obvious exception of your grandmother and mother—and he’d often come here to escape. Especially after he lost them both. 
The cabin comes into view through the trees just starting to unfurl their spring foliage. Patches of snow still dot the landscape but the wet brown of winter is losing to spring’s verdant hues. The structure has seen better days, last having been lived in over ten years ago. 
A stab of regret pierces your chest. The cabin was willed to you when your grandfather died, but this was your first trip up here since the funeral. You planned to, of course, but as the old saying goes, life happened. Now, you’re hoping the old place can give you something to sink your energy into besides thinking about your failed marriage. 
You park the truck and step out, surveying the property. The shrubs and flower beds are overgrown and choked with old growth and weeds. Years worth of leaves rest upon the roof and clog the gutters. The front porch has several loose or missing spindles and you’re almost afraid to step up onto the old boards. Proving yourself right, the wood groans and creaks beneath your feet, certain spots threatening to give way.
“That’s going to be a fun project,” you mutter to yourself.
Opening the front door, you’re met with the damp mustiness of a long closed up space. A layer of dust seems to coat nearly every surface and cobwebs linger in the corners. You’re hoping the repairs needed inside the cabin are more cosmetic than costly.
You open up the old blinds, letting the early morning light filter in the room. It’s not a large space, an open kitchen, living room and dinning area with separate bedroom and attached bathroom. A small set of steps leads up to a loft, which also doubles as a sleeping space or bonus area.
You unload your belongings from the truck, tucking them away inside the bedroom, before opening all the windows to let in the fresh air. Thankfully, the glass and protective screens are in relatively good repair—a few need replacing, but an easy enough job. You feel a sense of purpose flourish within you, something you haven’t felt for months and you wonder if this is just the reprieve you need to find yourself again.
+++
You spend the morning taking inventory of the repairs needed around the cabin to make it immediately livable. Jotting down a list of supplies, you hop in your truck and head into town to hit up the hardware store. 
The owner, George, recognizes you from previous trips with your grandfather when you were younger. He greets you warmly and helps you find everything you need. As you’re checking out, he asks, “Run into Logan yet?”
“Logan?”
He nods his head. “Shares a property line with you. Has a cabin of his own just about a quarter mile north of yours. Asked him to keep his eye out on the place.”
“Oh, well, that was nice of him,” you comment, stuffing your receipt in your purse. 
George shrugs. “Figured it would give him something different to do. Doesn’t interact much with people.”
“Guess I’ll just have to introduce myself then,” you say, lifting your bags up off the checkout counter. 
“Good luck with that,” George responds with a huffed laugh. “He’s not one for small talk.” 
You give George a polite smile and leave the store, bags in hand. But the conversation sparks your curiosity and you find yourself thinking of the man who shares the woods with you. You promised yourself once you were settled, you’d make the short hike towards his place and introduce yourself.
Arriving back at the cabin, you park the truck and hop out, stopping short when you spot a lone figure walking around from the back of your property. You can’t stop the prickle of anxiety that zips up your spine as the figure comes closer, but he doesn’t see you yet, his eyes on the ground as he walks.
You shut the truck door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing off the trees. He looks up then and you suck in a short breath as his rugged features come into view—well trimmed but scruffy beard, wild dark hair and a fit muscular frame you can see even under the flannel of his shirt.
Butterflies flutter in your stomach and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt like this. You can feel a blush creep across your face and you grip the bags in your hands tighter just to feel something other than the hammering of your heart in your chest.
He stops short of where you’re standing and jerks a thumb behind him. “Turned your electrical breaker on,” he says without introduction and you can only stare at him.
“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I, uh—thanks.”
He tilts his head and looks at you and you feel like you’re on fire under his glare. It’s an inquisitive one, like he can’t quite figure out what you’re doing in a place like this and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. And yet, you don’t want him to stop looking at you. 
“Right,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for something. He fishes out a key and holds it in your direction. “This is yours.”
You shift the bags, so you’re holding them all in one hand and reach for the key. Your fingertips brush against his just briefly, but it’s enough to set sparks along your skin and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. As he steps back from you, you blurt out your name and then immediately wish for a swift death at your awkwardness. 
God, this was embarrassing. 
It’s like you’ve never interacted with humans before.
He gives the barest hint of a smile. “Logan.”
“Nice to meet you, Logan,” you say, just so you can taste his name in your mouth.
Logan nods and turns to head down the path that leads away from your cabin and deeper into the woods. You watch him go, his figure fading further into the distance and you can’t help but think, I’m in trouble. 
+++
You spend the rest of the day keeping busy around the cabin—wiping down dusty surfaces, sweeping up cobwebs, replacing broken light bulbs—but your mind never strays far from Logan and the inexplicable pull you have towards him. 
You’ve dated. You were married. You weren’t a stranger to the opposite sex and physical attraction, but this felt like more. Like an unavoidable pull between you and him and you’ve just been spun into his orbit. 
And that attraction terrifies you. 
Over the next few days, you try and shove him from your mind. It helps that you haven’t seen him again, but your eyes inevitably dart towards the path leading away from your cabin as if you’re expecting him to come walking through. 
Then, the idea comes to you late one night as you’re sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames lick higher. No matter how hard you had tried, Logan remained firmly planted in your mind, his roots stubborn and unyielding. 
Your grandfather always said your grandmother’s cooking was always something that warmed his heart. 
But as you walk the small path towards Logan’s property you briefly wonder if you’ve lost your mind. You carry the small pie dish in your hands and as his cabin grows closer you’re actually contemplating turning back and forgetting the whole thing.
Who the hell bakes pies for people any more?
His cabin is smaller than yours, a little more rustic and worn, which seems fitting based on the little you know about him. Several piles of firewood line the roofed porch and at the opposite end, a single chair and table sit in front of the window. With one last shaky inhale, you climb the steps and rap your knuckles against the door. From inside you hear heavy footfalls and then the door opens.
Logan looks down at you and then towards the dish in your hands, an odd expression crossing his handsome features.
“I made you a pie,” you blurt unceremoniously and you instantly wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.
Logan just continues to stare at you and you think you see the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. But maybe not.
“I, uh, my grandfather lived in the cabin next to yours and it’s mine now. I’m fixing it up, because…well, just because and he taught me to pick berries as a kid? So, I did that and I made you this,” you finish in a ramble, flames of embarrassment licking across your skin.
Jesus fucking Christ.
His eyes flick down at the dish in your hands again and you hold it up a bit higher, nudging it closer towards him. As he reaches out to take it, his fingers brush against yours and you again feel electricity tingle down your fingertips. If he notices it too, he says nothing, not that he’s said anything since you showed up on his porch. 
Logan tucks the dish closer to his body and gives you a slight nod. You take that as a good sign and step back to leave. “Okay, cool, cool. Well, um, enjoy. I made sure all he berries were the edible ones so you don’t end up throwing up everywhere.”
At that he actually huffs a chuckle. “Good to know,” he finally says, his voice warm and rich and just a bit gruff.
“Right, well, enjoy!” You turn to leave and can feel his stare against your back and it takes all your remaining functioning brain cells to walk normally.
You spend the next few days trying to forget all about your ill-fated attempt to play neighbor, figuring if he didn’t want to know you before, he definitely didn’t after that. 
You’re coming back from a hike when you spot Logan through the trees walking away from your place, hands tucked deep within his pockets. Your heart quickens in your chest as you walk up to the front door and find the baking dish sitting on the old welcome mat. It’s freshly washed with a folded up piece of paper sitting inside—Thank you.
You’re certain your smile could rival the light from the sun.
+++
It becomes a routine over the next few weeks—you bringing him food and him returning the dish, all without exchanging any words. You’re thankful he’s not much of a talker because you can’t seem to stop making a fool of yourself around him. 
And you don’t know why. 
He’s a handsome man, that anyone can see, but you’ve never been so flustered around a beautiful man before.
There’s something else about Logan you can’t pinpoint that sets your heart fluttering behind your ribs. He seems lonely in the same way you are, and you wonder if he’s out here to lick and heal old wounds just like you. You have an inexplicable want to help him, even if that means sharing your food leftovers with him and trying to chip away at the wall that surrounds him. 
A part of you is hoping he can help break down your walls, too. 
You’re waist deep under the kitchen sink when a knock on the door drags you from fixing the leaking drain. 
“Ah, fuck,” you curse, trying to maneuver out of the space while also not spilling the stagnant water left in the sink trap. As you set the old drain down you call out, “Just a second!”
You wipe your hands against your thighs and swing the door open to find Logan standing there, your glass baking dish from yesterday in his hands. For a second you blink silently at him, unable to think of anything but the fact that you’re wearing grease stained overalls and probably smell like a swamp. 
“Logan, hi,” you finally say, brushing your hair out of your face. 
He gives you a strange look as he hands the dish back to you. You open your mouth to speak when he interrupts you, “Why do you feed me?”
His question hangs in the air and you freeze. Of all the things he could have asked, you weren’t sure why you didn’t expect that one. His voice is a little gruff, but underneath there’s something that makes your heart race. Something vulnerable. 
You swallow and grip the edge of the glass dish. Logan stares at you, his gaze intense, and you feel exposed. Like he’s trying to dissect you with just a look. 
“Oh, well, I don’t know,” you finally admit. “You just…seem like you could use some kindness.”
He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything else. The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, and you can feel your pulse quicken. “I can stop if—if you want.”
“No,” he says, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of tenderness. “No, you don’t have to stop. Just not used to people doin’ things like that for me.”
His admission catches you off guard being the first real piece of personal information he’s shared with you. You’ve gleaned certain things from George—he’s told you about Logan being a mutant and a few pieces of his past—but you know there’s still a world of history hiding behind his loner facade that he keeps hidden. You’re hoping eventually he lets you take a peak inside.
“Everyone deserves kindness, Logan,” you say. 
His gaze flickers, a shadow of something crossing his features that makes your heart ache. He shifts on his feet and stares down at the dish in your hands. “I’m not so sure of that,” he replies. 
“Well, I am.”
Logan’s eyes drag back up to yours and you try to calm the nervous energy that bubbles under your skin as his stare presses into you. He gives you a small nod then before turning to leave. 
He pauses as he hits your driveway and looks back at you, cursing lowly to himself. Scratching at the back of his head, he walks back up the steps and pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket. “I, uh, here,” he says uncertainly as he hands you the small cloth bag. 
You can only stare as you take the bag from him, the gift surprisingly light in your hand, but the gesture heavy with unspoken emotion. Your mind races as you think of what could be inside and your heart hammers loudly in your chest. 
Logan stands there, eyes not quite meeting yours as he waits for you to open it. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo the drawstrings and peer inside, finding a mixture of different seeds. You can’t help but trail your fingers through them, feeling the faint warmth they hold from where they were nestled against Logan’s body. 
“Oh, Logan,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. 
You glance up at him and he’s looking at you, scratching at his beard, the faintest hint of blush staining his cheeks. “They’re wildflowers. Don’t know what kind. But, I dunno. I thought you could use them for your garden.” 
Your chest tightens as you pull the strings close and tuck the bag in your pocket. “I love them, Logan,” you say, offering him a smile. “Thank you.”
For a moment, you see the tension in his shoulders relax just a bit as he exhales. “Just seemed like something you’d appreciate,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. 
Something has shifted between you and you find yourself itching to touch him, but you don’t. Not yet. The thread holding you two together is there, but thin, and you don’t want it to fray. “I really do appreciate it,” you say softly, stepping just the tiniest bit closer. 
Logan nods and his mouth tugs into something that’s not quite a smile, but close. He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. “Okay. Good.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns and jogs down the steps. 
“Guess I’ll see you around then,” you call after him, a smile spreading across your face. 
He glances back over his shoulder. “Yeah. I guess you will.”
And maybe, just maybe, the walls around him are beginning to crumble. 
+++
Sweat beads across your brow as you work, but you pay it no heed. Your attention keeps slipping to Logan as you pry another nail loose from the rotted board. You’ve fallen into an odd relationship with the elusive man whose property line you share, yet you still barely know anything about him.
It’s been a week since he stopped by and gave you those wildflower seeds. A warmth still spreads in your chest when you think about it. And true to his promise, you do see him around, albeit not as much as you’d like. He seems wary, as if his gift opened up a part of himself he wasn’t ready for you to see.
But at least he doesn’t drop off your clean dishes and run anymore. 
As you pry the last nail free, the rotten board comes free and you toss it down onto the grass along with the others. Thankfully, the porch isn’t terribly large and you figure another hour or so to remove the remaining boards before you can start laying down fresh lumber. 
The crunch of gravel pulls you from your work and you look up to find Logan walking down the path, a large leather bag in his hand. You look up at him, wiping the sweat off your brow and lean back onto your heels, trying your best not to stare at his forearms.
“Oh, hey, Logan,” you say, wiping your hands against your jeans as you stand. “What brings you to my side of the woods?”
He actually smiles at you and nods towards the porch. “Need help?”
You hate the little flutter you feel pressing against your ribs. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Well, it’s good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering.”
You blink, caught off guard by his directness. “Oh, well, if you insist,” you say, trying to calm your nerves. “It would be nice to have a second set of hands.”
He sets the leather bag down on the porch with a thud and you catch a glimpse of the tools nestled inside. Logan notices you looking and comments, “I know a few things.” His smirk makes your legs feel like jello. 
“Oh, I bet you know a lot of things,” you blurt, and your eyes widen at the double entendre of your words, heat flushing across your face. 
Logan laughs, a real laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Well, it’s always good to be well educated,” he says with a wink.
Fuck, you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust. 
Shoving down your raging embarrassment, you lay out your plan to fix the porch and Logan gives a small nod. He starts at the opposite end, prying loose the first board with ease. You try not to stare at the way his muscles move and how his skin begins to slick with the first beads of sweat. You work in silence for a while, the only sounds those of the forest around you. 
“So, what actually brought you out here?” Logan finally asks. 
You glance over at him and watch as he tosses another board onto the grass. He looks at you expectantly and you sigh. “I got divorced,” you answer honestly. “And I needed something pour my energy into other than wondering where the fuck I went wrong.”
You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your openness leaving you feeling raw, and instead focus on the board in front of you. Anger begins to simmer in your veins at the thought of the last couple of years and you grab the next plank with just enough force to wedge a splinter deep into your palm. A loud curse falls from your lips as you drop the board. 
You feel Logan next to you and you suck in a deep breath as he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “Lemme see,” he says, pulling you close and you can smell the earthiness of him, like damp soil and campfire smoke. You find yourself staring at him, his proximity intoxicating, as you drink in his long lashes and the slope of his nose. 
He tilts your palm towards himself, his fingers pressing gently yet with firm enough pressure to push the splinter out of your skin. Pulling it out the rest of the way, his eyes flick up to yours. “Somehow I don’t think you’re the one that fucked up, sweetheart.” His voice is warm and you want to melt into him. 
“Well,” you start, clearing your throat, “I certainly wasn’t fucking his mistresses.” 
Something in his eyes darkens and a shiver runs down your spine. “He’s a fool for losin’ you,” he growls, and his words hit you with more force than you’d care to admit. 
His hand still lingers on yours, steady and reassuring and warm and for a moment you think he might lean closer. You desperately want him to. To press his mouth against yours, to feel his breath against your skin, to have his taste against your tongue. But he pulls back, his expression one of thin control, but you can see the storm behind his gaze. 
“A damn fool,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about himself or your ex. 
Logan lets your hand go, turning back towards the porch and you mourn the loss, your skin still tingling from the contact. You swallow hard, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. It’s Logan—quiet, gruff Logan, who never really sticks around for a real conversation and yet here he is, offering help and showing that maybe he’s not entirely as unaffected by you as you thought. 
Your heartbeat drums in your ears as you watch him go back to work, prying up the next board, his muscles flexing beneath his worn shirt. His jaw clenches and there’s a focused determination in his movements and you can’t tell if he’s working out some anger or trying to keep himself in check.
You work in silence for several more minutes, the only sounds being the prying of loose boards and creaking lumber. There’s a tension between you now, more so than there was before, something palpable. 
It’s enough to drive you mad.
“What about you?” you finally ask, your voice somewhat hesitant. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”
Logan glances at you from the corner of his eye and his brow furrows, as if he’s weighing whether or not to answer. “Not much to tell,” he grunts, pulling up another board with more force than necessary.
“Somehow, I doubt that. You don’t just wake up one day alone in the woods with forearms like that.” 
Logan looks over at you and smirks. “Maybe I’m just really good with my hands.” His voice dips low and you can’t help the warmth that pools low in your belly at his words.
You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah, no…yep. I’m starting to figure that out.”
He’s silent for a few moments as he goes back to work and the air between you hums with something charged. “You really want to know?” he asks, his voice rough. “I’ve been around for too long, longer than anyone should. Done things I’m not proud of.” He tosses another plank aside and all you can do it watch him. “I’ve…I’ve hurt people I care about. People I’ve cared about have hurt me. I’m not really sure I belong anywhere, so I just…drift.”
There’s something raw in his voice, something broken and vulnerable, and it catches you off guard. For all his outward strength, there’s man deep down inside who’s lost, and your heart aches for him.
“You belong here,” you say softly. 
He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension shift as the weight of your words settle between you. Another board gets tossed aside. “Yeah, maybe.”
He finally raises his gaze to yours and for a moment the world quiets—the forest, the porch, all of it—as his eyes lock onto yours and his expression softens. You offer him a warm smile and then return back to the porch, hesitant to push him any further. 
You work comfortably together after that. The old boards removed, Logan helps you place and nail down the new ones. Your conversation is limited to the project, but you don’t mind. 
As Logan packs up his tools, you glance over at him. “Thank you.”
A half smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome,” comes his reply as he steps off the porch and heads down the path back towards his cabin. 
“Logan!” you call, lightly jogging after him before he slips out of view. He pauses and turns back towards you. “Can I make you dinner?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you already been doin’ that?”
“No,” you say shaking your head, “I mean, yes, I have, but like a proper dinner? Fresh from kitchen to table. I can come by you, if you’d like.”
Logan studies you for a moment, his gaze intense and you can feel your heart beating against your ribs. He’s silent for so long you wonder if you’ve overstepped and you open your mouth to speak when he says, “Alright. Come by tomorrow, six o’clock.”
You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “Tomorrow it is.”
+++
You’re up before the sun, your nerves a tangle of raw edges. You lay there, staring at the ceiling  and wondering what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into. 
You weren’t expecting to meet someone out here in the woods. You were hoping for tranquility, a distraction to quiet the voice in your head that kept nagging you for how your life veered off course. That maybe if you worked more, did more, loved more you wouldn’t be a thirty year old divorcee. 
Instead, you find a mysterious man who sparks within you a flame you long thought extinguished. A ruggedly handsome man who’s somehow wormed his way into your life and has you wondering if maybe he can’t help mend the pieces of your broken heart. 
Except you don’t know if that same spark is ignited within him and if his gesture of dinner is simple kindness. A response to the kindness you’ve shown him over the last two months or if he’s feeling that same attraction you do. 
God, you hope he does. 
You spend the morning cleaning, trying to pour your nervous energy into something productive other than worrying about what the evening may bring. Driving into town, you agonize over what to make even though he’s been eating what you’ve made without complaint for weeks now. You opt to keep it simple—pasta with homemade meat sauce, a nice loaf of bread and a couple bottles of wine. 
While the sauce is simmering on the stove you get ready. You dress for comfort, a simple pair of leggings and a flowy top that hangs slightly off your shoulders.  You catch your reflection in the mirror and give yourself a silent nod of encouragement. Despite this just being dinner, the night brims with the possibility of maybe something more. 
Once the food is prepared, you carefully pack everything in a large basket and begin the walk to Logan’s cabin. The night is cool, but still holds the warmth of day and the promise of summer to come. You feel your anticipation heighten the closer you get to his place and your stomach drops when you see it appear up ahead. 
It’s just Logan, you remind yourself. 
Stepping up onto his porch, you give a hesitant knock at the door. He greets you almost instantly and you suck in a deep breath. Logan looks good and your heart does a flip as you take him in—well fitting jeans, a clean white shirt underneath a soft red flannel button down, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower. 
“You’re early,” he comments, standing aside to let you in. You catch the slight frown tug at his mouth as he notices the basket. “You coulda cooked here, you know.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t know if you’d want me invading your space,” you reply, following him deeper into the cabin and setting the basket down on the counter. 
Logan turns back towards you, bracing his hands against the counter. “I don’t mind you in my space.”
His words hang in the air between you and you can feel your pulse quicken. You glance up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—steady and unflinching—sends a thrill down your spine. 
You clear your throat, trying to settle the nerves in your chest. “Next time then,” you say lightly, hoping he can’t hear the slight waver in your voice. 
Logan’s lips quirk into a half smile. “Next time,” he agrees. 
He reaches into a cabinet above him, pulling down a couple of plates and glasses, setting a small table in the corner of the small kitchen. You keep yourself busy unpacking the food, arranging the bread, pasta and sauce on the table, working around him as he uncorks the wine and pours both of you a glass. 
Logan joins you then, raising his glass and clinking it gently against yours. He nods in a silent cheers and tips his head back as he drinks, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t suppress the shiver that shoots down your spine.
Setting down his glass, he serves you and then himself, commenting, “This smells amazing.”
“Family recipe,” you reply, taking another sip wine. “Remind me to make it for you when I have fresh tomatoes. It’s even better then.”
“I’ll have to do that,” he says with a smile.
Conversation starts off slow, but not awkward, as you both test the limits of what you’re wiling to share. Logan’s answers are often short, reserved, but what he does reveal helps bring into focus the outline of the man before you. An outline you’re hoping he’ll let you fill in.
“George says you’re a mutant,” you start slowly and you don’t miss the way his posture stiffens, his fork scraping harshly against the plate. 
He goes still and you wonder if you fucked up. Crossed a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross.
Eventually, Logan’s eyes flick up to yours and he lets out a small hum. “He did, did he?”
You nod, chewing. “It doesn’t bother me.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “It bothers most people.”
“I’m not most people,” you reply, your voice soft. 
Something in his face softens then, the furrow of his brow a little less pronounced. A slight smile plays at his lips. “No. No you’re not.”
You feel a warmth bloom in your chest and your face flushes. Taking another bite, you ask, “Can I see?”
Logan studies you for a moment and you can see him deciding whether or not to show you that part of him he’d rather keep hidden. He sets the silverware down and he flexes his fingers before resting his palms back on the table. Then, he unsheathes his claws and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 
You see him flinch at your reaction and he goes to retract his claws and you reach for him. “Don’t,” you say, your fingers hovering just above the blades. 
As he relaxes, you gently rest your fingertips against the metal, finding it surprisingly cool but still holding a faint warmth from his body. His eyes drop to where you’re touching him as you slowly begin to trace each blade with your fingers, following the slight curve down to where they emerge from his skin. You look up at him, finding his gaze fixed on you and you shiver under the intensity. 
“They’re beautiful,” you whisper. You feel him shudder beneath you as he retracts his claws, leaving your fingertips nestled against the skin between his knuckles. 
You pull your hand away from his, mourning the loss of his skin against yours. Logan clears his throat and pulls his hands into his lap, glancing down at them as if they’re foreign, something he’s never taken the time to notice before. He flexes his fingers once more before dragging his gaze back to your face.
“Do they hurt?” you ask quietly.
He shakes his head. “No. Not anymore.”
“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Thank you for showing me.”
Logan studies you for a long moment, searching your face like he’s trying to figure you out. You know he’s probably not used to this, someone seeing him as something other than a mutant, an aberration, someone who should be hidden away. Then, his face softens.
“People don’t usually ask,” he says quietly.
You smile gently, feeling that flame inside you burn just a bit brighter. “I just want to know you.”
He leans back in his chair, his gaze still steady, but more open, as if some of those invisible walls he surrounds himself with have started to come down. If only just enough to let the light shine through. 
An unspoken tension simmers, thickening the air, and you know he can feel it too, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy with promise. You turn your attention back to your plate and for a few moments, neither of you speak.
“So,” you say after a beat, “Do you ever use them as forks?”
Logan huffs out a laugh, the sound surprising you and his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement. “I can’t say that I have,” he replies with a smile.
You grin. “You should give it a try.”
“If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
The rest of dinner passes with easy conversation and you feel your nerves begin to settle, just a bit. Logan seems less guarded too, more at ease than you’ve ever seen him.
You help him clear the table, ignoring his request that you just sit and relax. As you stand next to him, emptying the leftovers into a container, you feel his eyes on you. When you hand him the container, your fingers brush again, but this time he doesn’t immediately pull away. His fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary and your breath catches in your throat.
“Thanks for dinner, he says quietly, voice low. “And for…understanding.”
You nod, feeling that unmistakable pull between you, the tug that’s kept you orbiting closer and closer to him. “Anytime, Logan,” you answer softly. “You don’t have to hide from me.”
There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he’s been burned before and is still figuring out if he can trust what you’re offering him. And you understand his turmoil, trust having shattered your heart into pieces, pieces you’re still trying to pick up and reshape. 
Logan steps a little bit closer then and before you can say anything else, his hand gently reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is simple but intimate and it sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling lowly in your belly.
“C’mon,” he says. “Let me walk you home.”
He grabs your basket before you can protest and you follow him out into the night. There’s a full moon hanging heavy in the sky, illuminating the path in front of you, yet you remain close to Logan. You curse to yourself as you trip over an exposed root and then you feel Logan reach out for you, his fingers wrapping securely around your own. The heat of his palm against yours is almost overwhelming.
Your cabin comes into view and Logan slows, his fingers slipping from your grasp as he sets the basket down on the porch.
“Good night, Logan,” you say softly as you walk up the steps. 
As you turn from him, he reaches for your wrist, his fingers curling and pressing hotly against your skin. Your breath hitches as he climbs the steps to join you on the porch, and your gasps dies in your throat as he tilts your chin up and forces you to meet his gaze. 
“Do I make you nervous?” His voice is low, breath hot and damp against your skin. 
“Yes,” you breathe, somehow inching closer to him, your fingers reaching for the hem of his flannel and twisting into the fabric. 
“Why?” He brushes his nose against yours and you chase after the touch. 
Swallowing hard, you look up at him from under your lashes. You tilt further into him, your mouth hovering just over his. “Because I haven’t felt like this in a very long time and I don’t want it to go away.” Don’t want you to go away. 
Logan nods and whispers, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” And then he presses his mouth to yours. 
It’s soft, barely a hint of skin against skin, but when you whisper, “Please,” against his lips, Logan growls and then he’s everywhere. His kiss claims you, his tongue licking in your mouth and you whimper as his fingers curl along the nape of your neck somehow pulling you impossibly closer. 
You wind your arms around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the short strands at the back of his head. Your entire world is focused down to the feel of his lips on yours and the press of his fingers against your jaw as he pulls you towards his hungry mouth. 
Logan’s grip on you tightens, one hand splayed across your lower back and the other pressed firmly between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him. The heat between you is palpable, each movement of his lips setting you further aflame. You lose track of time, lost in the sensation of his beard scraping against your skin, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.
When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless and his forehead rests against yours, your shared breaths mingling in the space between you. His eyes are dark and intense as they search your face and you feel untethered, Logan being the only thing keeping you grounded.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rough, but surprisingly tender as his thumb traces along the line of your jaw.
You nod, swallowing the lump that’s formed in your throat. You don’t trust yourself to speak.
His lips quirk into a small smile. “Good.” He brushes a stray strand of hair away from your cheek, his hand lingering at the side of your face. He presses one last soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before he steps back and walks down the path back home.
+++
You can’t stop thinking about the kiss—Logan’s lips against yours, the taste of his tongue, the press of his hands against your skin, hot and heavy, yet gentle. 
You want to live in that moment forever. Want to know only his kisses for the rest of your life, for him to be the first person you kiss good morning and the last person you kiss goodnight. For him to kiss you just because he can, because he misses you, because he can’t get the feel of your mouth out of his mind and he needs to feel you again pressing against him. 
You also want to run away, hide yourself from these emotions that are overwhelming you and leaving you feeling raw and exposed and absolutely terrified. You haven’t kissed another man in two years and he broke your heart, leaving nothing but shattered pieces and dust in his wake. Dust that still clings to you despite your best efforts to sweep it up. Those pieces of your heart are still sharp, jagged where they should be smooth. 
You’ve always been trusting, choosing to see the light in others as opposed the darkness. Believing deep down that everyone deserves kindness, deserves a second chance, that one bad deed does not a bad person make. But he stole a part of that from you and you hate him for it. Hate that even now, after all this time, he’s able to worm his way into your brain and make you question the motives of the man who’s made you feel more alive than you have in months. 
Last night you felt unshackled, unbound by the fear that had chained you for so long. You felt as if Logan’s very touch, his presence, had set your soul on fire and instead of fearing the burn, you were ready to embrace the warmth. 
But now, raw contempt begins to simmer in your veins and you need something to pour your frustration into before it threatens to consume you whole. 
Throwing your hair up into a messy bun and throwing on a paint-stained shirt and ripped jeans, you head outside looking for a project to sink fingers into. In the small shed behind the cabin, you find a few gardening supplies—a small shovel, trowel, bow rake—and you drag them out and to the overgrown flower beds.
You don’t even bother with the tools at first, ripping at the dead growth with your bare hands, pulling it from the earth in great clumps and tossing it aside. Your pulse beats loudly in your ears as you move from bed to bed, clawing away the old growth, your breathing growing ragged and your palms staining with dirt.
Grabbing the rake, you dig at the remaining plants, tearing at the roots, destroying the new growth. Tears run hotly down your face, blurring your vision and your throat aches from force of your breathing and screams you’ve been holding back.
From behind you, you hear the sound of your name and you whip around so quickly, the rake goes flying from your hands. You can hear the snikt of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe and the splintering of wood as he deflects the rake flying at him. It clatters to the ground between you as he retracts his claws and looks at you, his brow furrowed in concern.
You wonder, then, exactly what you look like in that moment. Dirt caked on your hands and under your fingernails, cheeks flushed with exertion, hair a halo of disarray. The pure adrenaline you’d been running on wanes and your limbs suddenly feel heavy and you sink to the ground in front of him. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, because you’re afraid of what you’ll see.
Logan approaches you slowly, kneeling down in front of you and gently raising your chin to look up at him. The stark worry etched on his face makes you ache and fresh tears burn in your eyes. You wipe at your eyes, which only serves to smear dirt across your face.
“I’m terrified, Logan,” you whisper, wanting to reach for him, but afraid to touch him. “I terrified of how much I like you.”
“You scare me too,” he confesses softly and your heart breaks.
He leans closer, fingers resting hesitantly against your knees. You reach for him too, grabbing on to the open sides of his jacket and pulling him to you. Logan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push back and instead envelopes you into his arms, your head resting against the solid warmth of his chest. 
Safe in his arms, you cry. Harsh, broken sobs as he rubs your back, the soft caress of his fingers along your spine anchoring you to him as he holds you. He murmurs into your hair that he’s got you, to let it all out, and you do.
Eventually, you calm and sigh, pressing your forehead against his chest, loathe to move just yet. “I’m broken, Logan,” you mumble into his shirt. You look up at him then, the softness and concern on his face making you physically ache. “I still have broken pieces where I should be whole.”
Slowly, tentatively, he brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands. His thumbs brush at the dirt and tears under your eyes and he smoothes the hair away from your forehead. “Maybe some of my pieces fit,” he says, voice low, but steady. 
His words send a flood of emotion through you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Then the gravity of what he’s saying hits you—he’s offering you himself, all his jagged and scarred pieces, the pieces no one else sees.
The pieces he wants you to see.
You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. His sigh is hot against your cheek, but he doesn’t press further. 
“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin and somehow it feels like the most important thing you’ve ever said.
“C’mon,” he says, “Let me help you get this cleaned up.”
You nod, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.  Logan stands, offering you his hand. You take it, your fingers slipping into his and his grip is steady, yet gentle as he helps you up. 
Without a word, Logan grabs the broken rake and begins removing the debris from the beds you laid waste to. You watch him work for a moment before joining in, pulling the weeds from the beds you hadn’t gotten to yet. Every now and then your eyes meet, but you don’t say anything. You don’t feel the need to fill the space with words, his presence beside you speaking volumes more than he could ever say. 
After a while, Logan pauses and looks over at you, wiping the dirt from his hands into his jeans. “You still got those seeds I gave you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Go get ‘em,” he says nodding towards the cabin. “We’ll plant something new.”
You retrieve the small pouch where you’ve kept it safe and come out to find Logan kneeling in the dirt, his fingers making small pockets of earth to house the new flowers. He looks up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You join him on the ground, dropping a few seeds in each well as he moves to create the next one. 
“I’m not very good at this,” Logan starts, covering the last well with dirt, “but I promise I won’t break you. You don’t gotta be scared of me.”
He looks at you then, his hazel eyes meeting yours and you reach for his hand, your thumb brushing across his dirt stained knuckles. 
“No,” you reply with a smile, “I don’t think I do.”
+++
It’s been three days since that moment with Logan in the garden and the air between you has been quiet. Logan hasn’t come by the cabin, but you hadn’t sought him out either. You weren’t avoiding him, exactly. More a need for space, a chance to process the feelings you felt for him, to test if you were truly ready to open yourself up to him.
Your mind never strays far from him, though. An almost constant loop plays in your brain of the way he held you, the way he spoke, the quiet promise he made not to break you. There’s a large part of you that believes him; your heart is screaming at you shed your lingering doubt and trust him, but your rational brain is grasping desperately to the kernel of truth that vows can be broken. 
So you turn to what you do best—pour your energy into other things. The cabin is spotless now, cleaned of disuse and age, turned into a cozy place of retreat, a simple shelter turned into a home. And yet…
You’re sitting on the porch, watching the sun dip lower in the sky, the book you’d been trying to read long forgotten. The forest is peaceful, alive with the sounds of early summer. But as calming as it is, you can’t ignore the ache in your chest—you miss him. More than you thought possible.
Just as you’re about to stand, the sound of boots against gravel catches your attention. You look up and there he is—Logan. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket as he walks up the path. His look is cautious, as if he’s unsure whether or not you’ll accept his presence. 
Your heart skips a beat and you stand, wiping your palms against your jeans as he draws closer. His hazel eyes meet yours and there’s something softer about him, something open.
He stops a few feet away from you, gaze steady. “I wasn’t sure if I should come by.” His voice is still gruff, but quieter than usual. “If you needed space or not.”
“I did, need space. But not from you,” you clarify. You take a hesitant step towards him. “I missed you.”
Logan sighs then, his posture relaxing just slightly. “I wanted so badly to see you. I didn’t know if I should stay away.”
Before you can second guess yourself, you step down from the porch, closing the distance between you. You stand in front of him, noticing the faint lines of tension around his mouth, the way his jaw is clenched as if bracing himself for your rejection. 
“Don’t stay away,” you say softly, “I want you here.”
You reach for him, your fingers brushing against his hands as you pull them from his pockets. Logan doesn’t pull away and the warmth of his skin against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. You feel it then, that familiar pull—the one that’s been there since the beginning, drawing you closer and closer into his orbit, his sun.
You brush your thumbs across his knuckles and look up at him. “You wanna come inside?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll make you something to eat?”
Logan nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
As you lead him inside, something in the air between you shifts, something subtle. But you know one thing for certain—you’re not afraid anymore. Not of this.
+++
The sun has set, the food long gone and as Logan’s hand reaches for the front door, you slip in front of him. His scent overwhelms you, that earthy dampness you’ve come to associate with him flooding your senses. 
“What if you stayed?” you ask, the slight waver in your voice betraying your boldness. 
You watch as his eyes darken and he leans even further into your space. “Do you know what you’re asking, sweetheart?” he replies, eyes searching your face. 
Swallowing, you nod. “I do,” you whisper. 
Then you slide your arms around his waist, pulling him closer as you lean in and kiss the hollow of his throat. You can feel him swallow hard beneath your lips and you smirk into his skin as you drag your mouth higher, over the long column of his neck to nip at the corner of his jaw. 
“Stay,” you murmur in his ear.
Logan turns, his nose brushing against your cheek as he seeks your mouth and you inhale deeply as his lips find yours. His fingers wind themselves into your hair, resting against the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer. You whimper into his mouth when he pulls back, eyes blown black.
“Show me where,” he says, his voice low.
You lead him up the stairs, his hand warm in yours and you barely make it to the top before Logan’s spinning you around, mouth finding yours. His is kiss is demanding, so different from that first one all those nights ago. This is urgent and desperate, like he can’t possibly get you close enough to satisfy the need deep within him. And you feel it too, pouring yourself back equally into the kiss, moaning as his tongue finally slips alongside yours. 
Your fingers fumble along the top of his jeans, pulling his shirt from where it’s tucked and sliding your hands up along the sides of his ribs. He rewards you with a deep groan of his own, nipping slightly at your bottom lip.
“Christ, sweetheart,” he rumbles against your lips, kissing you once, twice, “I’ve been dyin’ to feel your hands on me.”
“Me, too,” you reply, gasping as his hands find the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to brush his fingers hotly along your skin. 
Logan pulls back just enough to look down at your face, his fingers still clutching the fabric of your shirt, but lifting it just a bit higher. His gaze is questioning, asking for silent permission to continue. You nod once and he slowly drags the shirt up, his fingers skimming along your sides, over the swells of your breasts as he pulls the shirt over your head. 
Despite the heat coursing through your veins, you shiver under the intensity of his stare. He kisses you again, inhaling deeply, before moving down, nipping over your chin, your throat, in between your breasts. 
Logan’s hands follow his mouth, running a trail from your shoulders, down long your spine, easily flicking open the clasp of your bra on the way. He glances up at you as he moves to pull the straps aside, dragging them down your arms. 
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, thumbs fanning out across your nipples.
A jolt of pleasure shoots down your spine and pools low in your belly. You feel like you might spontaneously catch on fire and he’s barely touched you. You can’t remember ever feeling like this when a man has touched you, so consumed by want and need.
His fingers trail lower, brushing along the top of your jeans, popping open the button. You grab for his hand, stopping him. You see the concern flicker across his face and you smile. “Your turn,” you say, sliding your palms up his chest and pushing the flannel from his shoulders, his shirt following suit.
You revel in his muscular physique, your fingers tracing along his collarbones, down over the broad planes of his chest, feeling the wiry hair beneath your fingertips. His muscles flutter beneath your touch as you follow the trail of hair lower, down to the vee between his hips. 
Logan’s arousal is evident by the tenting of his jeans, and your eyes locked on his, you dip lower, giving the faintest of caresses over the fabric.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses. “Take your pants off.”
It’s a command, not an ask, and one you’re more than willing to comply with. 
Nervous energy licks at your skin as your fingers tuck into the waistband of your jeans and pull them down. Logan follows your lead, unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans over his hips, kicking them aside. His cock juts out proudly, thick and heavy, nestled in a bed of hair.
Logan’s on you before you can kick away the last leg, hoisting you up under your thighs and forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. His palms are hot against your ass and you can feel his cock trapped between you. 
He moves you both to the bed, setting you down before crawling over you and slotting himself between your thighs. Leaning back on his heels, he stares down at you, skin flushed. He kisses you softly once, before dragging a single finger down the center of your chest, hooking it into the waistband of your panties. 
“What do you like?” he asks lowly, eyes boring into yours.
You stare at him, unable to comprehend his question as he slides his finger back and forth across your skin. Electric sparks of anticipation crawl up your spine and you can feel the rapid flutter of your heart against your ribs. 
“You want me to touch you with my fingers?” His voice is low, so low and you shiver. 
Your mouth has gone dry and you can only nod. 
“You want me to touch you with my mouth?” Logan leans down, skimming his lips across your collarbone, nipping lightly. 
Your fingers stutter across his shoulders and wind themselves into his hair. Logan’s smirk presses into the corner of your jaw. “Want me to touch you with both?”
“Please,” you whine into his neck, breath hot against his skin. 
Logan trails back down your body, kisses peppering over your neck, both breasts, your belly before he presses a kiss to the top of your clothed mound. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and looks up at you, asking for permission. At your nod, he pulls he material down, eyes never leaving yours as he trails his fingers down your legs and tosses the fabric aside.
You’re fully bare, exposed in a way you haven’t been in a long time and your nerves blush across your skin. Instinctively, you try to close your legs, but he stops you, his hot palms curling against your thighs.
“You don’t gotta hide from me,” Logan says, kissing your knee and spreading your legs further apart. “You’re so pretty like this. Flushed and wet and smelling so sweet for me.”
A jolt of desire zips down your spine. Nothing could have prepared you for the filthiness of words that would spill from his mouth. Or how much you’d enjoy hearing them.
“I don’t want to disappoint you,” you murmur.
“That’s not possible.”
“Other men have—“
Your words die in your throat as Logan grips your chin, forcing your gaze up to his face. His expression is soft, but his eyes flash with a glint of something dark. “When I fuck you, I’ll be the only man in your bed, understand?”
The roughness and edge in his voice makes you shiver and heat pools between your thighs. You swallow heavily and nod.
“I want this,” he says, his tone softer. “I want you. Whatever you’ll give me.”
Slowly, you reach for his hand and guide his fingers to where you’re wet and aching for him. At the first brush of his fingertips against your folds, you gasp and your fingers dig deeper into his skin. 
“Relax, sweetheart,” Logan coos. “I’m gonna make you feel good.”
And then he’s touching you, fingers dragging through your arousal before circling around your clit. He caresses you like he knows you and you’re molten beneath him. One finger, then two slip inside you, pressing against that spot that makes you squirm and grip at the sheets beneath you.
“Fuck,” you breathe, “You weren’t lying.” Logan quirks an eyebrow, fingers still curling within you, his rhythm picking up speed. “You are good with your hands.”
His chuckle rumbles through his chest as he continues to move, this thumb working over your clit. Your hips jolt off the bed when Logan replaces his thumb with his tongue, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth. 
He continues to work your cunt, long, flat presses of his tongue against your clit punctuated by the short, sharp thrusts of his fingers. The dual sensation is enough to wind that tension in your core tighter, building you up higher and higher until you feel yourself reaching that inevitable peak.
“Logan, I—I’m so close,” you gasp, fisting your fingers into his hair.
His growl against your cunt is enough to send you over the edge, the vibrations rippling through your body as your orgasm washes over you. Through half lidded eyes, you meet his gaze from between your thighs, his eyes dark with desire and you shiver at the intensity of his stare.
Logan crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on his lips, bright and sour, as he licks into your mouth. 
“Do you trust me?”
Logan’s fingers are still moving against you, wringing out the last of your orgasm and you can only nod. He withdraws his fingers and you whine, but he just smirks and taps your hip. 
“Turn over,” he commands lowly. 
A shudder ripples through you as you willingly comply, rolling onto your stomach as Logan’s palm trails from your hip over the swell of your ass. His fingers kneed into your flesh and you squeak as he curves them over your skin, pulling you up onto your knees, drawing your hips flush with his. The thick feel of his cock presses into your ass and you can’t help but push back, enjoying the strangled moan that falls from his lips. 
“I can’t wait to be nestled deep inside you,” he groans, slotting his cock between your thighs, running the length along your wet cunt. 
You peer over your shoulder and smirk at him. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Logan lines up then and the air punches out of your lungs as he slowly eases himself in to the hilt. He’s deep at this angle and you feel claimed, owned in the best way possible as he begins to move his hips. The drag of his cock against your walls is exquisite and you’re sure you’ve never experienced pleasure quite like this before. 
His fingers dig into the flesh at your hips, grabbing as much as he can to pull you back into him and you push back, meeting him thrust for thrust. His grip is enough to be bruising, teetering that line between pleasure and pain and yet you relish it. 
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Look so good stretched around my cock.”
Pleasure zips along your spine and curls along your limbs, each drag of his cock against you coiling that band in your belly tighter and tighter. Yet, you need more. You need to feel him, feel his arms around you, on you, feel his mouth hot and open against your skin.
“I need to feel you closer,” you whine. “Please, I—”
Logan’s arm slips underneath you, curling just under your breasts and pulling your back flush to his chest. He holds on, fingertips splaying across your ribcage as he fucks up into you, his breath hot and damp against your ear. 
You turn your head just enough to capture his lips, your mouth pressing against his in an open-mouthed kiss. He steals the moan from your throat as his other hand dips to where you’re joined, fingers beginning to circle around your clit. 
Slipping a hand into his hair, you hold him to you, your head falling back onto his shoulder. Logan groans when you rake your nails along his scalp and you do it again. Your mixed groans and the wet noises from where he’s thrusting into you fill the room and time seems to stop. There is nothing but the thick feel of him between your legs, the fervent press of his fingers against your clit and the tight grasp of his hand across your breast. 
A litany of praise falls from his mouth and his words burn through you, setting you aflame from the inside. It’s too early for thoughts of love and forever, but you can feel something real, something undeniable pulling you together, uniting you in a way more than just physical. You’re bound to him. 
Logan’s hand slides up your sternum, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, pulling your focus back to him. The pad of his thumb pulls at your lower lip. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he husks into your ear. “I wanna hear those pretty sounds you make.”
And you do, two more forceful thrusts sending you teetering over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you. Logan doesn’t stop, fucking you through wave after wave, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chases his own release. 
“Let me feel you, Logan,” you pant, your breath coming out in short gasps. “Please.”
With a deep groan into your shoulder he comes, his cock spasming deep within you, painting your womb with his seed. His arm around your hips holds you firmly in place as he uses your body to wring out the last of his pleasure, shallowly thrusting as your walls caress him. When he finally stills, breath hot against your skin, you can feel your combined come slick against your thighs. 
You don’t know how long he holds you like that, back to chest, keeping you in his arms simply because he can. 
Only later, when the sweat begins to cool on your skin and your flesh pebbles, does Logan lay you down, finally slipping from within you. He pulls you close and you rest your head against his chest, the comforting lull of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. 
You lightly trace your fingertips over the crest of his hipbone just to feel him beneath you. His breathing evens out, approaching that blissful edge of sleep when you glance up at him. Logan opens his eyes, gaze meeting yours and he smiles.
“Logan?”
His hum vibrates through his chest.
“I think we’re healing each other.”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he answers, “I think we are.”
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lvrsfilm · 2 months ago
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contrary to popular belief, Simon Riley does not do casual.
Nothing about him is casual. Nothing about his dedication to his work and his team, the bullets he would disperse and receive for them. Nothing about his routine, the way he shines his boots or folds his uniforms every week like clockwork. He is a cut and dry man, or at least he tries to be.
You, on the other hand, are the opposite of him in so many ways that at a glance people would assume you're the kind of person he hates. (He wishes that was the case, it'd make his life simpler). You bounce around base like a lit firecracker, your fuse sizzling quietly even during missions, never burning out. You never seem to tire, even after the particularly hard ones that leave him mute and holed up in his quarters for hours every day after.
You are casual. Coming to his room whenever you feel like it, knocking in a way that lets him know it's you and no one else. Bringing him tea, or bourbon, the occasional meal if you can convince him. He doesn't see how you can think it's casual. Slipping off your boots, leaving them half laced at his door.
Slipping into his bed. Laying next to him in silence, just so he isn't alone. Bandaging any cuts that aren't severe enough to warrant him going to medical. The soft skin of your hands making practiced movements over his scarred skin that only you've seen. He is not a casual man. And you don't seem to have figured that out yet.
No other man on base interested in you would even entertain the thought of pursuing you, for fear of Simon somehow hearing their thoughts and stringing them up by their necks to show the others what happens if they touch what's his. Everyone else can see the way he looks at you, the way he lets you in.
Everyone except you, apparently.
You don't ask why he lets you in, and he doesn't ask why you keep coming back.
He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re the first person to make him feel human in a long time. That every soft knock on his door chips away at the walls he’s built, cement crumbling under your touch, a feeling akin to warm liquid gold seeping through the cracks, running over his scar tissue. Like he's a victim of Midas. Exposing him to something he thought he’d buried years ago. You remind him what it’s like to be vulnerable, to crave something more than routine and mission reports.
And it terrifies him.
Because Simon Riley does not do messy, either.
But you? You’re a storm. Chaotic and unpredictable, rushing into his life like you’ve always belonged there. He doesn’t know what to do with you, how to keep you at arm’s length without losing the warmth you bring into his otherwise cold existence. So he lets you in, over and over, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.
Tonight is no different.
The knock comes—a rhythm so familiar now that it’s practically a lullaby. He already knows it’s you before he opens the door. You’re standing there, as casual as ever in civvies, with that cheeky grin that makes his chest tighten in ways he refuses to name.
“Thought you could use some company,” you say, holding up a thermos of tea like a peace offering.
He steps aside, wordlessly, because what else is he supposed to do? Tell you to leave? Pretend he doesn’t want you here? He’s not that good a liar, not around you.
You slip past him, kicking off your boots, leaving them next to the doorway as always, and make yourself at home like you belong here. Like you belong with him. And maybe you do.
He watches as you set the thermos on his desk and plop onto his bed, laying on your back and stretching like a cat, looking at him expectantly. It’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. An invitation. A promise.
He lays down, careful to leave just enough space between you to keep the illusion of distance. But then you lean into him, shoulder brushing his arm, and the illusion shatters. His resolve crumbles.
“You came straight here when we got back,” you say softly, tilting your head to look at him. “skipped dinner, I saved a plate for you from the mess.”
It’s such a simple statement, but it cuts through him like a blade.
He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. He looks at you like you're a puzzle he can't solve. Like he needs to figure put your angle, figure out why you're treating him so softly. For a second, the air between you feels impossibly fragile, as if even breathing too hard might shatter it.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says, his voice low, almost gruff, like the admission costs him something.
You tilt your head at him, your lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. “Do what?”
He exhales sharply, as though frustrated, though it’s unclear if it’s with you or himself. “This… whatever it is you’re doing. Looking out for me. Bringing me tea. Sitting here. I didn’t ask you to.”
“I know,” you reply simply, your tone disarming in its honesty. “I do it because I want to.”
The words hang in the air between you, unassuming yet weighty, like they’re daring him to refute them. He doesn’t, because he can’t. You've made up your mind. There’s a stubbornness in your voice that he knows too well—one that he’s realized he has no defense against.
“You shouldn’t,” he mutters after a moment, turning his gaze toward the ceiling. “It’s a waste.”
Your smile falters, just slightly, but it doesn’t vanish. “You’re not a waste.”
He flinches at that, so subtly you might have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to him. His fingers twitch on the mattress, his eyebrows furrowing beneath the mask. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t argue, but his silence says enough. You press your lips together, chewing the bottom corner slightly as you debate whether to push further. You decide to anyway, because that’s what you do.
You grin, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and he knows you’re about to say something cheeky. But instead, you surprise him again by reaching over to touch his hand—just a fleeting brush of your fingers, so brief he almost convinces himself it didn’t happen.
He closes his eyes, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t pull away. That’s something, you think.
You turn onto your side, facing him fully now, your fingers brushing against the back of his hand. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch this time, so you let your touch linger—gentle, steady, unassuming.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you add quietly, almost as if it’s a promise.
When he finally opens his eyes again, there’s something raw and unguarded in his gaze, something that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t thank you, doesn’t argue—but the way his fingers curl ever so slightly against yours feels like an answer.
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shadow4-1 · 10 months ago
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I'm just imagining having spent the night with a lover who isn't in the 141, only to wake up the next morning and there's in intervention waiting for you in the rec room.
Like, at first you're just confused. But when Price opens his mouth to ask you about how you slept...you have a bit of a meltdown. Why does it matter? Why is everyone staring at you? What's going on?
Soap grabs the collar of your t-shirt and pulls it down so everyone can get a look at the dark hickies dotting your neck. You slap his hand away, tears in your eyes.
"So all of you can do whatever you want? Sneak bitches on base and fuck around at all the bars we pass through! But I'm not allowed to do anything with someone I actually like?!"
It hurts. It feels like you're being stripped bare in front of them.
Price sighs, his gaze softens. It's obvious he doesn't want to have this conversation but something you've done has given him no choice. Soap just stands a few feet away, chest puffed out, eyeing you with a strange annoyance. You know if you try to leave he'll stop you.
"You are...not in the same position as us." Price tries and winces. He's obviously not putting his thoughts into soft enough words, but he continues. "You are...it is our responsibility to keep you safe."
"Safe? You're trying to keep me safe?" Your voice is raised higher than you've ever raised it at Price. "Safe by what? Fighting off all the guys at the bars? Safe by spreading lies about me to all of the PMCs and the other Task Forces?"
Price just closed his eyes and set his jaw. He had to know about the subterfuge you'd been experiencing for well over a couple years now. Everyone in the room was guilty as charged.
"You're and asset. And you're also a liability." Ghost speaks up, eyes narrowed, stance way too relaxed against the metal folding chair he sits in. "Do you remember what happened to the 7th Division?"
Saliva pools in your mouth, a sudden queasiness filling your stomach. Yeah, of course you remembered. Their beloved medic had been kidnapped by a group of angry drug lords using a mercenary group as their muscle. The 7th Division had gone in guns blazing to get their member back and well...they'd been wiped out. And their star medic they'd sacrificed everything for? She'd been brainwashed and inducted into the very agency that stole her away.
KORTAC
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" You mutter. "Please tell me you're not."
"We can't have you fraternizing with anyone." Price states smoothly. "As our medic, you have a responsibility to us, your team. We can't have you getting caught up in something bigger."
"I understand what you're saying, but can't you see how ridiculous this is?" You try to reason. "I'm human, I have- god this is embarrassing. I h-have wants and...needs, just like you guys."
The silence is loud. You can't meet anyone's gaze. Price steps closer to you, swallowing hard. His next few words are spoken softly, conspiratorially.
"All of your needs will be taken care of. We will never let you suffer by yourself."
Price cocks his head to the men before you both. All of them straighten beneath his gaze. Price places a hand on the small of your back.
"Whatever it takes." He commands them. "I better not hear or see anything. Do I make myself clear?"
A trio of "yessirs" bounce off the white walls. Price just smiles and nods. He pats your back.
"There we go. You'll be fine." He sighs. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to talk to your guest."
Your eyes widen, your throat drops into your stomach.
"Wait!"
"We've got ye, Bonnie. You n' all yer needs."
Six hands are on you from several different angles. Their massive frames block out the fluorescent lights.
"Ah, where are you goin'?" Gaz chuckles, his arm wraps around your belly.
You try to run after Price but the rec room door is slammed shut and locked. You try to push the closest man away, but he just grins down at you.
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bunnis-monsters · 4 months ago
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🕸️Legend of the Drider🕸️
Bunni’s Monstertober Event(Oct1)
Male!Drider x Fem!Reader
Oct2
warnings: light web bondage, breeding, oviposition, possessive behavior, reader is a bit insecure about her body, body worship and praise
summary: You go on a trip, hoping to build your confidence before you go back to college. When you get trapped on a mountain during a storm, you realize a legend about spider people may be real when you encounter a horny one for yourself.
A/N: I don’t know much about college so don’t kill me if things are inaccurate 💗 also don’t expect all of the halloween posts to be this long, some will be short and some on the longer side >< also guess the inspo for this story in the comments…
my ko-fi if you’re feeling generous~
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If you had known how your trip up a nearby mountain would end with you in the clutches of the spider creature you’d only heard of in legends, you would have stayed home that October day.
But you were bored, wanting to find some fun stuff to film and meet a cute stranger while you were at it. That’s why you packed your bag and left for the nearby tourist attractions.
First you walked through a big pumpkin patch, taking pictures with a 50 pound pumpkin. It wasn’t as impressive as some you had seen online, and you knew that wearing a burnt orange sweater while posing next to it would only bring on ridicule.
You weren’t thin, and if someone from your college saw that picture, you were sure they’d compare you to the pumpkin, saying it was your twin.
Well… you had never even really talked to a single in any of your classes. You weren’t the type that liked to socialize. Too many times had you been burned, finding out they were being your friends for a prank or had been talking about your body behind closed doors.
Part of you knew it wasn’t right to judge others before even meeting them. After all, it happened to you more times than you could count… but you were still too shy and insecure to take that first step into making new friends.
That’s why you took a bit of time off of college to try and build up your confidence. It was important to you, learning how to love yourself so you could truly love others.
Ever since you went through puberty you had been aching for someone to love you, to adore you with their entire being…
How would you even be able to believe them if you didn’t love yourself first?
So you laughed at the picture of you next to a pumpkin and placed it into your scrap book before packing it away in your backpack.
You repeated this at several tourist attractions, even finding the courage to speak to a few attractive men and women. It wasn’t as scary as you thought, they didn’t look at you with disgust or say anything mean. They simply spoke with you before giving a smile and going about their day.
‘Maybe there really isn’t anything to be afraid of after all?’
The last stop on your list was the Arachne Mountains, named after a certain legend surrounding the area.
“Huh… spider people have been sighted several times over the year, and there’s a reward for anyone that can catch them on camera…”
You squinted at the pamphlet in your hands, trying to read the small print at the bottom. “What does that say? It’s so small…”
With a shrug, you stuffed the pamphlet into your bag, pulling out the bug spray instead and spraying every bit of bare skin. Mosquitos just loved you, and you didn’t want to be itching the whole bus ride home.
As you walked up the mountain trail, you took many pictures, but mostly of the gorgeous scenery.
A vast forestry landscape spread out beneath you, and the mountain path winded through the forest. As you continued walking, the path worn down by several years of hikers began to become more overgrown and less accessible.
“Huh… doesn’t seem like anyone’s been this far up in a while…”
When you thought about it, the stand with all the pamphlets was abandoned and dusty, the window broken. You just assumed they didn’t have the budget to fix it… but now you were second guessing yourself.
And that’s when a storm hit. Earlier that day you had heard something about a thunderstorm on the radio, but it was supposed to be that night, not now!
“Shit!”
You ran through the rain, slipping on mud and losing your way. The rain was so thick you could barely see in front of you. Tree branches scraped against your sides and caught on your clothes, ripping your sweater and scraping you up.
By the time you were finally able to take shelter in a nearby cave, you were absolutely drenched and covered in scratches and scrapes.
You slid down to the ground, panting and taking off your sweater, now heavy with water. It plopped against the ground, and you reached into your backpack.
“Fuck…”
Your phone had no signal, and you wouldn’t be able to go down the mountain to call anyone until the storm died down.
You yelped, jumping up from your seat and backing away from the entrance to the cave when lightning struck close by.
This sent you further into the cave, nearly tripping on the uneven, rocky ground.
Most would expect a cave out in the middle of nowhere to be cold and damp, and smell of moss and dust. Surprisingly, the further you traveled inside, the more… “cozy” it seemed.
It smelled almost like cinnamon and felt pleasantly warm. This made your shivering die down, your soaked clothes forgotten at the entrance of the cave.
Little did you know, you were slowly being lured in deeper by the inviting warmth and pleasant smell…
The first sign that something was wrong was a skittering that could be heard further into the cave. The hair on your neck stood up, but you tried your best to reason with yourself.
‘It’s probably just some rat or bug…’
But as your phone battery went out and darkness enveloped you without your only source of light, the noise got louder as whatever was making it approached.
You yelped when something brushed against you, and tried to scream, but your mouth was covered and something sunk into your neck…
Darkness.
——————
When you awoke, you felt something warm yet sticky enveloping you, keeping you from freezing while trapping you in place.
You were barely awake when you heard a purr like sound coming from the dark corner of the cave. A man’s face was barely visible within the shadows.
He was handsome, his eyes a dark red and hair a soft blonde, almost platinum color. It seemed he had been the one to trap you there.
“Hello, my dear. You’re finally awake…”
As soon as you were fully conscious, you began to struggle against your bonds, finally looking down to see what was keeping you from breaking free.
“Are those… webs..?”
You felt almost faint, staring down at the whitish, substance wrapped around you. It looked like thick, velvety ropes, but they were so sticky that you knew that they couldn’t be.
“Indeed.”
The man began to move forward, the same skittering sound appearing once more. You looked on in horror as his lower half was revealed.
Below his torso was not a set of legs like a normal, no, it was the abdomen of a spider.
‘The legend… is true?’
You had been captured by one of the spider people of myth…
“You must be scared… you’re just a human girl after all, and I’ve taken you away.”
He reached out, caressing your soft cheek with his hand. “But do not fear, I’m not planning on eating you, little one.”
His hand traveled down your face to your shoulder, his fingers playing with one of your bra straps.
“Far from it…”
Your cheeks heated up as he easily cut through your bra, his eyes on your now bare breasts.
“I’m in need of a mate to carry my eggs… and you’re the only woman that’s traveled to this mountain in ages…”
He breathed against your neck, licking the bite mark he left there earlier. “God, I could hardly hold myself back the moment I saw you. Such a plump, perfect woman, you’ll carry my eggs well…”
You whines as his lower half creates more webs, keeping you suspended in air, but freeing your soft cunt.
Quickly, he tore off your panties as well, growling lowly at the sight of your pretty, fat pussy. “Oh, my little mate, already this wet? Perhaps this was fate, for me to be sent this angel from above…”
He plunged a finger into you, pressing against your gummy walls and stretching you out as one of his spider legs nudged against your sensitive clit, just enough to stimulate you and get you to cum all over his fingers.
“There we go… such a good girl…” he purred into your ear, beginning to stroke his monstrous cock. He drew out several orgasms from you, prepping your virgin hole for him.
Within seconds, you were lowered down, your hips hovering over his as he nudged the head of his cock against you.
“Gods, you’re so soft…”
He kneaded your fat belly and thighs, purring in delight. “You’ll make such a good mother… you’ve got child bearing hips, like you were just meant to carry my eggs…”
Soft nips and nibbles were left on your neck and breasts.
“Every ten years, us driders go out to find a mate that’s suitable for us. I am the last of our kind, so there are no females left for me…”
He smiled, beginning to push in.
“But you… are not just going to be the woman that carries my eggs. You’ll be my mate, and I’ll cherish you.”
It was uncomfortable and painful, the way his cock stretched you out. You gritted your teeth and he cooed, but wouldn’t allow you to close your legs, two of his spider legs kept your thighs apart so he could sink deeper into your fat cunt.
“Shh, shh… it’ll feel good soon, my love…”
And he was right, his cock stretched you in such a delicious way, hitting all the right spots and making you cry out in pleasure.
He mounted you, fucking into your needy cunt as he groaned into your ear. “Gonna take my eggs, okay? My sweet girl, you’ll be such a good mommy won’t you?”
Suddenly you felt something push into you. Was that…
He was cumming, eggs filling up your pussy and settling into your womb. Soon your belly would swell as the eggs grew and developed, but for now, you were tired…
He kissed along your shoulders and neck, nuzzling into. Slowly, he lowered you down from the webs, curling up with you in a dark corner of the cave.
“You’ll be pampered, well taken care of… never again will you worry about a single thing…”
As you began to drift off to sleep, you realized that this creature truly thought you were beautiful… it made you happy.
So you snuggled into him, too full of cum and eggs to really even try escaping. Why would you?
You were loved… you felt truly beautiful for the first time in your life.
“I’ll prepare a cabin soon, there’s plenty of abandoned ones nearby. Wouldn’t want my mate to be uncomfortable.”
The way he nuzzled into you was filled with such love and care. He must have been lonely, being the last of his species.
So you decided to stay… at least for now…
Want a part 2? Send me a kofi and ask for it~
————————
NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat
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More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos
(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)
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People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.
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+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.
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The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ
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Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-
The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.
The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.
He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.
Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.
Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.
The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.
Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.
It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.
He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.
Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.
His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.
She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.
A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.
Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.
He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.
A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.
However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.
With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.
“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.
He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.
He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.
Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.
So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.
“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.
The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.
The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.
Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.
When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.
Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.
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clockwayswrites · 6 months ago
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Birds and wings and hope Part 13
Masterpost
Danny had thought hat if he finished with Frostbite early that he would spend a few days in the zone to catch up with some of the other ghosts. He hadn’t wanted to with the wings. It wasn’t that Danny was ashamed of the wings, not from the fact of having different features, but Frostbite had seemed certain that Danny was in a heavily mutable state right then. The more people that knew Phantom with wings, the more likely they were to stick as they cemented in consciousness and identity.
Or something like that.
Danny had a whole stack of reading tucked away in his chest to go through later.
Just wanting time alone, Danny had given himself somewhere between an hour and a day (time was hard to tell in the zone) to sulk among the sparks and dust that were long dead stars before forced himself to get a grip and go home. He was an adult for, well, him sake he guessed. He could deal with this.
The reading set on the left side of the coffee table with a fresh notebook next to it. It wouldn’t do to mix up this work with his actual work, so Danny was sure to pick out one with a green cover from the stash that he kept on hand of his favorite dot patterned paper notebooks. He’d draw a blob ghost or something on it later. A few color pens and a highlighter joined the little pile, set in a battered and chipped Amity Park tourist trap mug.
Sam had gotten it for Danny as a present due to the so hideous it was funny caricature of Phantom on it.
On the right side of the coffee table went a box of protein bars, electrolyte drinks, suck’em candies, and Danny’s well stocked pill container. He moved the coffee table a little closer to the couch, turned the TV on to a playlist of Mythbuster episodes, and made sure he had his favorite blanket in hand before he transformed back.
And fuck that hurt. Pain shot up Danny’s back, radiating up through his shoulders, and shooting along his Lichtenberg scars so intensely that they burned. Danny collapsed inelegantly onto the couch with a defeated whimper.
Maybe it was the wings? Did having a different set of limbs as a ghost cause transfered muscle aches to his human form? He didn’t even have muscles as a ghost, not really, but the mind was a very powerful thing and not even Frostbite was entirely sure of how exactly the two parts of a halfa effected each other.
After the worst of the pain had dulled slightly, Danny managed to toss back his medication (missing doses while Phantom never did him any good) and pulled the candies close enough that he could use them as a distraction for his senses. Slowly the muscle relaxant worked its magic and Danny became a boneless lump. The episodes of Mythbusters idly distracted him as he just let his thoughts drift over what Frostbite had said.
Frostbite was sure that there had to be a reason— or several— that Danny’s form had shifted into a bird and after retained the wings still. Frostbite felt the first step to this all, if Danny was determined to either control or to get an understanding of where this all was going, was to understand the subconscious or symbolic particulars of the change.
The why Frostbite felt was clear: Danny had been without a haunt for too long now. Yes, he accepted, the pollen may have certain accelerated matters (hence the full bird then and only the wings now), but Frostbite was admit that the change wouldn’t have been occurring at this stage if Phantom had still been the protector of Amity Park.
Phantom had a purpose in Amity Park. Phantom was a protector and guardian. That guardianship extended to a very limited range. Now that Amity Park was many, many years behind him and Danny was living in a place already full of its own protectors, the Phantom part of Danny was left adrift which allowed for this new stage of ghosthood.
Why couldn’t his ghost half just be happy with a nice long nap?
“Fuck you, Phantom,” Danny grumbled as he watched a car be vaporized upon impact on the screen. Idly Danny wondered if he could get an object up to that speed if he flew fast enough.
Several hours and several protein bars later, Danny was managing to sit up enough to start going through some of the reading Frostbite had sent and make notes. Two more episodes and delivered Indian food later, Danny scrawled on the top of a fresh page ‘The Subconscious & Symbolic Particulars of Wings’.
Why on earth and beyond did he have wings?
‘Flying’, Danny wrote first and then as many reasons he could think of why he loved flying from the freedom of it to space to the way that it felt to move through a cloud. ‘Freedom’ branched off into movement and escape and getting to become his own person without the weight of Amity. ‘Gravity’ and ‘Identity’ sprawled into transformation and his death and the million of ways that it had changed everything about his life.
It was hard to think about.
Danny turned the page.
‘Wings’. Wings and feathers. Birds. Pigeons and crows and ducks and robins. And Robins. Biblically accurate angels who created the cosmos. Hope. And always hope.
“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers — ”
Hope and Robins and Bats.
And always hope.
Was Gotham his haunt?
Was he the thing with feathers?
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AN: shhhhh I've been writing as my wind down before sleep. Also special prize for @stoiczee. I promise we'll see more batfam next part. Danny just needed some time to react!
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pellucid-constellations · 6 months ago
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Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell... reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Word count: ~950
Warnings: Nothing yet, maybe just a little angst
a/n: Okay I know this is a drabble but this is definitely getting more parts like I am attached to this storyline now and LOVE that you requested it 🤗
Read part two here
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You leaned against a pillar just outside the school, a twitch creeping up your hands until your fingers spasmed. You shoved them under the bend of your elbows, crossing your arms and biting into your lip. 
She was fine. 
She was more than fine—Velaris was safe. 
Anything would have been safer than facing your father’s wrath back in Autumn, but you had gotten extremely lucky with the timing of your escape. Falling pregnant with your daughter had not been in the cards, especially not after a single night of rebellion, but with Velaris’s doors opening up just days after your healer broke the news, something seemed to be written in the stars. 
But every day was still a gamble; your father could find you at any time. 
The past five years had been a miracle, if you were being honest. 
School was supposed to end two minutes ago. 
Your foot began to shake, popping your knee up and down and making your body vibrate with the anxiety that consumed you. 
You shouldn’t have let her go to school. 
Melanie only had a few friends—neighbor kids whose parents you had vetted extensively—but that had been enough for her to get the idea into her head. You had planned on homeschooling her, or at least waiting until she was a few years older before letting her out into the world. Unfortunately, that had not been Melanie’s plan, and Melanie had so many wonderful plans. As most five-year-olds did. 
Gods, what if—
“First day?” a rumbling voice made you pause your nervous fidgeting. The man spoke again. “If you’re worried, don’t be. The teacher is great. Just forgetful when it comes to time. They are typically a few minutes late every day.” 
You swallowed and turned around despite every voice in your head telling you not to. But those voices in your head were completely and utterly wrong about a multitude of things. Behind you, you found a man—an Illyrian—with wings an ungodly size and shadows swirling down his legs and onto a uniform pool along the ground. And he was gorgeous—unabashedly gorgeous in the most devastating way. 
You looked up from your blatant investigation of him, meeting his eye and stuttering out, “Oh. That’s… that’s good to know. Thank you.” 
If he noticed your stutter, he didn’t make any sign of it. Instead, the man with the wings and the shadows blinked several times, furrowed his brows, and took a step back as if to steady himself. Perhaps, if you weren’t a bundle of unreasonable nervous energy, you would have found his actions strange, but you were. So you simply offered him a superficial, airy laugh and uncrossed your arms. 
“I—” the man began, but he seemed to lose his train of thought, a heat traveling up his cheeks in a way that looked foreign. “I’m Azriel.” 
Oh, wonderful. Introductions. 
You tried your hardest to stay very far away from very many people. It was the best way to keep yourself hidden. You couldn’t avoid the neighbors, and you supposed you couldn’t avoid fae like Melanie’s teacher, but this was different. 
Shit. 
You offered your name, anyway, afraid of appearing too outlandish in an otherwise casual setting. 
It would be fine. 
This was fine. 
Azriel repeated it in a breathless way, but then the school bell rang and something seemed to click in his brain. The small smile that had curled up the corner of his mouth became hard and he shot his eyes quickly one way and then the other, inspecting your surroundings. 
Maybe this wasn’t fine. 
“Are you a new mom in the area?” Azriel asked. 
All of your nerves shifted to guarded unease. “I am,” you offered, not caring if it was almost a lie. 
“The moms here don’t usually do the pick ups alone.” 
“You’re doing a pick up alone, it seems.” 
“I’m picking up my nephew,” Azriel explained, relaxing his posture, making himself smaller, seemingly gauging the building tension. “I didn’t mean to come across—I just asked because the mothers here typically have help. From their mates or partners. From the father.” 
You bit the inside of your cheek, your next words tumbling out before you could catch them. “Well, I’m alone.” 
Double shit. 
Azriel seemed to let out a breath, his shadows whipping around along the ground. 
You braced yourself for further questioning, for the judgments that would surely follow, but then you were attacked from behind by a pair of arms wrapping around your knees. You turned quickly, scooping your daughter into a hug and promptly dismissing any further conversation with the stranger. 
“Hi, Mel,” you smiled, tucking her hair back as you subtly looked her over. “How was school? Did you like it?” 
“I loved it!” she excitedly replied. She rambled on a bit more after that, retelling her day by the minute. 
You felt eyes on you the entire time. A small boy had run and jumped into Azriel’s arms in your peripheral, but even as the boy talked and talked just as Melanie did, you felt the occasional glance your way. And some of Azriel’s shadows had to be reigned in multiple times, the small wisps licking at your ankles. 
The teacher suddenly spoke up and you were eavesdropping, straining your ears to listen in on her greeting towards the Illyrian.
“Oh, Azriel, lovely to see you. We were hoping the High Lady would be picking Nyx up, but this is even better. There is a showcase in a few weeks that—” 
You felt your world freeze. 
High Lady. 
You had been speaking to someone in close relation to the Night Court. You let someone know your name, told them you were alone with a child, and they had direct access to the High Lord and Lady. 
You whisked Melanie into your arms despite her protests and beelined it home. 
Shit. 
part two
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