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d1stalker · 22 days

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This is Ours [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It's your first time back at your grandparents' farm in years, and while many things are the same, one thing is not: they've hired a new farmhand.

Warnings: fem!reader, SMUT, sexual tension, angst, fluff, lots of feelings WC: 18.8k - MASTERLIST

A/N: apologies for dropping another long fic but i literally could not stop writing the juices were flowing. i really hope you enjoy this! i think its my fave so far :)

----

For as long as you can remember, summers were synonymous with your grandparents' farm. It was a tradition, one you held close to your heart. To you, your time there embodied your entire childhood—days spent under the sun, where the air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and the soothing chorus of cicadas filling the long, golden afternoons.

Mornings began early, with you bounding downstairs to join your grandparents for breakfast. The kitchen was always filled with the comforting aroma of fresh coffee and pancakes. Your grandfather would be at the table, engrossed in his newspaper, while your grandmother hummed softly as she cooked, the sound of the morning radio playing faintly in the background. Your days were spent exploring the fields, helping with the chores and horses, or sitting on the porch with your grandmother, listening to stories from her youth.

It couldn’t get any more perfect than that.

But as the years passed, things changed. After you graduated high school, the summer visits became less frequent. University took up more of your time, and you were always busy—first with classes, then with internships, and finally with starting your career. The farm, once the centre of your world, became a place you could only visit if you were lucky, and even then, it was never for long.

You miss it.

This year, however, things were different. You found yourself in between jobs, with the first real break you’d had in what felt like forever. And when the moment the opportunity arose, you knew exactly where you wanted to go.

—

The drive to your grandparents' farm is a journey into the past. The country road, lined with trees that stretched out like old friends, brings back a flood of memories from your childhood: where you’re sitting in the back of your parent’s car vibrating with excitement. You pass the same fields, still as vast and green as you remember, dotted with flowers swaying gently in the breeze, and the old oak tree where you used to swing as a child stands tall, its branches reaching up to the sky as if welcoming you back.

When you finally pull up to the farmhouse, the sight of it fills you with a deep sense of nostalgia. The white paint is more chipped than you remember, the porch sags a little more in the middle, and you can tell that it’s been a while since the grass was last trimmed.

Stepping out of the car, the screen door squeaks open, and there’s your grandmother, standing on the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s smaller than you remember, more fragile, but the smile on her face is the same—warm, welcoming, and full of love. “There’s my girl,” she calls out, rushing down the steps and into the driveway as fast as she can.

“Grandma!” you exclaim, hurrying toward her to wrap her in a hug.

She pulls back to look at you, her eyes twinkling despite the lines of age etched on her face. “You’ve grown even more beautiful, but you look tired. We’ll fix that with some good meals, won’t we?”

You laugh, nodding. “I missed your cooking.”

“And I missed having someone to cook for,” she replies with a chuckle, patting your cheek. “Come inside. Your grandpa’s been counting down the days until you got here.”

You grab your suitcase from your car and follow her into the house, the familiar scents of fresh bread and old wood enveloping you the minute you step inside. It’s just as you remember—cozy, lived-in, filled with the glow of years worth of love and memories. Your grandfather sits at the kitchen table, a pair of reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he reads a book. He looks up as you enter, and the moment he sees you, his face breaks into a wide grin.

“There’s my favourite farmhand,” he jokes, letting out a grunt as he places one hand on the table, slowly pushes out of his chair.

“Grandpa,” you say, meeting him halfway for a hug.

“Got here just in time,” he says with a wink. “Plenty of work to do, you know.”

“I figured,” you reply, playfully nudging him. “I’m ready to get my hands dirty.”

“Good to hear,” he says, leaning back against the table for support. “This old back of mine isn’t what it used to be.”

Your grandmother sets a glass of lemonade in front of you and sits down, her eyes flicking toward the window. “We’ve had to make some changes around here, sweetheart,” she begins gently. “Your grandpa and I… well, we can’t do as much as we used to.”

You hum, listening carefully. Seeing your grandparents grow older is difficult—it's a constant reminder that time is slipping away, and the moments you have together are becoming more precious with each passing day.

“We’ve hired some help,” she continues. “A man named Logan. He’s been a blessing, really, taking care of the heavier work. But he’s… well, he’s not much of a talker.”

“Logan?” you ask, glancing out the window.

That’s when you see him. Tall and broad-shouldered, he is out by the barn, carrying some hay. He’s wearing a worn-down flannel with jeans, and his dark hair is slightly tousled. Even from a distance, you can tell he’s strong—he looks like he knows what he’s doing.

“Yeah, Logan,” your grandfather confirms. “Keeps to himself mostly, but he’s get’s the job done. Don’t mind his gruffness; he’s just not used to people fussing over him.”

“He’s been here since last spring,” your grandmother adds. “We needed the help, and he needed the work. It’s been good for both sides. You should go and introduce yourself after you unpack, dear. Maybe get in some work before we sit for dinner later.”

Nodding, you walk up the stairs in the house and make your way to your room. It looks exactly the same as the last time you saw it. Your old stuffed animals are organized neatly on the shelf above the bed, and the quilt your grandmother made for you, with patches of faded fabric from old dresses and curtains, is spread across the bed the exact same way it’s always been.

The posters on the walls, the little knickknacks on the dresser—everything is a snapshot of your younger self, preserved in this room like a time capsule. It’s comforting, but also a little bittersweet, a reminder of how much time has passed since you had last visited.

After a few moments of reminiscing, you stand up and begin unpacking, carefully placing your clothes in the old wooden dresser. Each drawer creaks as you open it, the sound a part of this room’s charm. You smile as you come across some of the little treasures you left behind—a pressed flower between the pages of an old book, a seashell from a family trip to the coast, and last, a picture of you and your grandparents taken one summer when you were about ten.

You’re standing between them, beaming with a toothy grin, their arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace. The three of you are standing in front of the barn, with the sun setting behind you. You can almost hear your grandmother’s laugh as the camera clicked, your grandfather’s playful grumbling about having to pose for ‘just one more picture.’ The photo captures a moment of pure happiness, a snapshot of a simpler time.

Setting the photo down, you quickly begin to change into your designated farm clothes, and head out to meet the new face around here.

The trek to the barn isn’t very long, just a few minutes away from the main house, and from the outside, you can hear the familiar sounds of work—footsteps crunching on the hay-strewn floor, the creak of wood as something heavy is moved. You pause at the doorway, taking a moment to observe him before stepping inside. He’s focused, his movements efficient as he lifts another bale of hay and stacks it with the others.

You take a deep breath, and step into the barn. “Logan?” you call out softly.

He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but with a slight pause and glance over his shoulder, his eyes, sharp and intense, meet yours, and there’s a moment where you’re not sure what to say. “I’m—”

“I already know who you are,” he grunts, cutting you off.

His abruptness catches you off guard, but you quickly recover, nodding. “Right. I guess that makes sense.”

“If you wanna help, there’s a broom in the back shed,” he continues, going back to his work as if the conversation is already over. “You could sweep up the hay.”

You bristle, a little surprised at how quickly he dismissed you, but you’re determined not to let it rattle you. After all, your grandparents did warn you that he wasn’t much of a talker. “Sure,” you say. “I can do that.”

As you turn to head toward the back shed, you find yourself lightly imitating his gruff tone under your breath, a flicker of irritation running through you. “There’s a broom in the back shed. Yeah, obviously, I know where the broom would be,” you mutter.

In the shed, the broom is in fact, exactly where you expected it to be, and you huff, grabbing it and walking back to the barn. When you return, Logan is still hard at work, stacking the hay, and doesn’t bother to acknowledge you yet again. You set to work sweeping, the rhythmic motion of the broom soon lulling you into a steady state. The barn is quiet, save for the soft shuffling of hay under your broom and the occasional grunt from Logan as he moves the heavy bales.

Time seems to pass slowly, the light outside growing softer as the sun dips lower in the sky. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you barely notice when Logan’s footsteps stop. It’s only when his voice breaks the silence that you’re pulled back to the present.

“Your grandma called for dinner,” he says, causing you to jump a bit at the unexpectedness of his voice in the silence. Before you can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with the broom still in hand. You let out a small sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders. This is going to be a long few months, you think to yourself as you return the broom to its usual place and jog back to the farmhouse.

Inside, the kitchen smells like a warm hearty stew. The table is already set, the familiar blue-and-white checkered tablecloth in place, and your grandparents are seated, chatting quietly as they wait for you and Logan to join them.

You slide into the seat across from your grandmother just as Logan walks over from the sink, two glasses of water in his hands. He places one in front of you with a quick nod, and the other at his own seat, beside yours.

“So,” your grandmother says, her eyes shining with curiosity as she looks between the both of you. “I take it you’ve introduced yourselves to each other?”

You hesitate momentarily, your mind flashing back to your brief encounter in the barn. “Yeah, we have,” you reply, managing a smile, if you can call it that.

Logan doesn’t say anything, his focus on the bowl of stew in front of him. He doesn’t seem interested in joining the conversation, which only adds to the growing sense of awkwardness you feel. You glance at him briefly, wondering if he’s always this closed off or if it’s just his way of dealing with new people.

“Well, that’s good,” your grandmother says, either oblivious to the tension or choosing to ignore it. “Logan’s been a big help around here. We’re so grateful to have him.”

Your grandfather hums in agreement, scooping a spoonful of stew into his mouth before adding, “He’s got a strong work ethic. Doesn’t shy away from the tough jobs, that’s for sure.”

Nodding along, you feel the pressure to say something positive. “That’s great. It’s good to know the farm’s in good hands.” Even thought the words are definitely a bit forced, you mean it.

As the conversation continues, your grandparents shift the focus to you, asking about your job search and what you’ve been up to since you last visited. You give them a brief rundown of the interviews you’ve had, the options you’re considering, and the challenges you’ve faced. You try to keep it light, not wanting to worry them with your uncertainty, but you can’t help but notice the man’s presence beside you, still silent.

At one point, when you’re talking about finding a new apartment, you hear him let out a quiet scoff, and you cast a look over, catching the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. It’s gone almost as quickly as it appears, but it’s enough to make you pause. You want to ask him what that was about, to challenge him on whatever it is he’s thinking, but you bite your tongue. This isn’t the time or place, not in front of your grandparents who are just happy to have everyone around the table.

They continue to chat with you, asking more about your plans and offering their usual words of encouragement. When dinner finally wraps up, your grandmother insists on cleaning up, waving you off when you offer to help. “You’ve had a long day, dear. Why don’t you go relax? Logan can help me with the dishes.”

You smile. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He’s already started collecting the dishes by the time you stand up, but it’s like he refuses to recognize your existence, and that pisses you off.

—

The next morning, you wake before dawn, the world still wrapped in the gentle embrace of night, and for a moment, you lie still, listening to the deep, pulsing of the house—the way the wooden floors creak slightly as they settle, the distant sound of the wind rustling through the trees outside. The comfort of knowing your grandparents are asleep down the hall brings a sense of calm that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Deciding to take advantage of the early hour, you slip out of bed, your feet brushing against the cool floor as you stretch, feeling the muscles in your body slowly wake. You dress quietly, pulling on a soft, worn sweater, and pad downstairs, careful to avoid the spots on the stairs that you know will creak.

You move through the kitchen as if on autopilot, your hands knowing exactly where everything is. You set the coffee to brew, and the rich aroma sills the room.

Reaching for the eggs, you crack a few of them into a bowl, and as you’re whisking, you let your mind wander, thinking about how to spend the day. The soft sizzle of butter in the pan gets your attention and you pour the eggs in, watching as they begin to set around the edges.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, the steam rising from the mug in delicate spirals, and you take a sip, savouring the warmth and flavour hitting your tongue, while your gaze drifts over to the window that faces the back of the farmhouse.

Your grandparents’ own horses, and you recognize some of them from when you were younger. It makes you happy knowing that they’re still being well taken care of. The way the early light touches the land, and the morning dew covers the grass, you can’t help but smile into your mug.

Slowly, you walk a bit closer to the window, eager to take in the view you had been missing all these years, when a figure standing over by the horses catches your eye. It’s Logan, a small surprise given the early hour—you didn’t hear him wake up—but he stands there, leaning casually against the fence, an apple in his hand.

You watch as he holds out the apple to one of the horses, his rough hand moving gently over its neck as it eats. There’s something unexpectedly tender in the way he interacts with the animal, a patience and care that you didn’t expect to see from him, given how he acted yesterday.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another apple, offering it to the second horse, who hungrily accepts it. You continue to stare at the sight outside. This side of him—so different from the unapproachable exterior he’s shown so far—stirs something inside you, a desire to connect with him, to see if there’s more to him than meets the eye.

On impulse, you quickly turn off the stove, grab a second cup of coffee and some toast you’ve just buttered, and without overthinking it, you head outside. The morning air is cool against your skin as you make your way over to Logan.

As you approach, he keeps his attention focused on the horses. You take a moment, then clear your throat lightly, holding out the coffee with a tentative smile. “Thought you might want some breakfast,” you offer, trying to keep your tone light and friendly.

He finally glances at you, his eyes briefly meeting yours. His expression is just as unreadable his had been in the last sixteen hours you’ve known him, and then he grunts, “Already ate,” and turns his attention back to the animals in front of him.

His curt, and honestly rude rebuffals really frustrate you. It’s not like you’re asking him to wipe your ass after you go to the washroom, so you have absolutely no idea why he’s like this.

“Alright,” you mutter, lips pressed together in a thin line, and turn to head back into the kitchen.

Once inside, you set the untouched coffee and toast back on the counter with a sigh. You feel a tad bit awkward. You’re going to be spending the next however-many-months with him, and you would love it if you could at the very least, get along. His rough-around-the-edges personality is not making this enjoyable for you, and you’re sure that he probably just see’s you as an annoying nuisance.

And it’s not like you’re ever going to pull this card on him or anything, but you have been here longer than him, despite the fact that he’s acting like he owns the place. You get it, he’s been here for a for a while, and it’s only been him doing the work, blah blah. But you’ve been helping and doing the work your entire childhood—missing a few years doesn’t take away that fact.

With a heavy sigh, you open a cupboard and pull out a plate, scraping the eggs off the pan and setting them on it. Because your grandparents’ are still asleep, all you can do is eat in silence.

—

You’ve decided that today you are going to trim the grass. There’s always something to do around here, and since the long grass was one of the first things you noticed upon arrival, you think it’s best to just get that chore over with, considering how long you know it will take.

Once you’ve finished cleaning the dishes and pan, you go back upstairs into your room and get changed. Today, you put on a long sleeve, and a small vest over top. Your pants are some hand-me-down working pants from one of your older cousins, and you snatch a baseball cap from your closet for when it begins to get hotter out.

Walking to the back shed, you grab some tools for trimming the lawn. A lawn mower, a string trimmer, and a rake for after everything’s been cut. Moving over to the back section of the lawn, you set the trimmer and rake against the barn and start using the mower. It’s the same one your grandparents have used since you were a child, so it’s a reel lawn mower instead of those newer, more electrical ones you’ve seen around the city.

You can’t really complain about it, so you just begin, the steady repetitive action of moving the tool back and forth being somewhat therapeutic. The smell of freshly cut grass begins to hit your senses, and you truly feel at peace.

As the minutes pass, the sun rises higher, its warmth spreading across the fields. You’re completely absorbed in your work, the rhythm of mowing and the occasional chirp of birds the only sounds around you. You’ve missed this. The sounds of cars honking and early morning city traffic has nothing on the serenity of country life.

You’re just completing the first half when you sense movement nearby. Glancing up, you see Logan walking up to you, having grabbed the trimmer. He doesn’t say anything, just starts up the machine and heads over to the next patch of grass within the area.

There’s a brief moment of eye-contact, like a subtle unspoken recognition to the effort you seem to be putting in. He gives you a small nod, and turns to focus on his task. The two of you work side by side, the hum of the machines, the scent of fresh-cut grass, and the warm sun overhead creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.

When you finally finish, few hours have passed, and you walk back over to the barn and grab a lawn bag and the rake. And because Logan’s machine was electric, he seems to have finished his section as well, so you begin raking up all the stray pieces of grass.

You quick to find out how awkward it is to hold the lawn bag open with one hand while trying to rake with the other—the grass keeps slipping out of the bag, and you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous as you fumble with the task. You scan around, hoping Logan won’t notice, but of course, he’s right there, watching as you flail around.

You feel a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck, but before you can say anything, he steps forward. Like usual it seems, he doesn’t say a word, just holds out his hand as if asking for the rake. You falter briefly, not wanting to seem like you need his help, but at the same time you understand how much more efficient it would be if he joined.

Reluctantly, you hand it over, and he immediately starts working with the same steady efficiency he brought to trimming the grass. With both hands free, you manage the lawn bag more effectively, holding it open as Logan rakes the grass into neat piles.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable; instead, it feels like a natural extension of the morning’s work. The sound of the rake scraping against the ground, the rustle of grass being gathered, and the occasional whinny from a horse nearby.

After the last of the grass is finally raked and bagged, you tie off the lawn bag and glance over at him. He leans the rake against the barn wall and meets your gaze. There’s something in the way he seems to stare at you head on this time, rather than just a quick look, that makes your chest fill with satisfaction.

You nod. “Thanks.”

Logan dips his chin in return, then turns and heads back toward the barn. The heat of the sun really starts to hit you now, and you take a peak at your watch, noticing that it’s already lunch time. Knowing that even if you tried to invite him, he’s probably say no, you just walk back to the farmhouse alone.

—

The next couple of weeks unfold in the same way, moving with an almost predictable rhythm. Each morning, you wake before the sun, quietly slipping out of bed while your grandparent’s are still asleep. As you prepare and eat breakfast, you take your usual place by the kitchen window, watching as Logan interacts with the horses.

Then, as the sun rises higher, you head out to begin your chores around the farm. Sometimes, Logan joins you without a word—his presence now a familiar and abating part of your routine—or sometimes, you find yourself working alone, but even then, you know he’s never far away.

You’ve learned to read his silences, to understand that his gruff demeanor isn’t necessarily unfriendliness, but rather his way of navigating the world. And though he doesn’t speak much, his actions have a way of communicating more than words ever could.

One morning, as you’re finishing up breakfast, your grandparents announce their plans to head into one of the nearby cities for the day. “We need to run some errands and pick up a few things,” your grandmother explains, her hands busy packing a small bag. “But we were thinking it might be nice for the horses to get out and see some different scenery too.”

“They haven’t been to the pond in a while. It’s good for them to stretch their legs and take in some new sights.” Your grandfather chimes in.

You nod, smiling at the thought. The pond is a beautiful spot, a peaceful place where the water runs clear and cool, surrounded by tall trees and soft grass. It’s the perfect place to spend a day with the horses. “That sounds like a great idea. I’ll take them out there for the day.”

Your grandmother’s eyes light up as she hands you a basket. “I packed some food and a blanket for a picnic. There are also a couple of towels in case you want to swim. It’ll be a lovely day for it.”

“Thank you,” you say, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind the preparations. You take the basket and head upstairs to get ready, the idea of spending the day by the pond filling you with excitement. It’s been a long time since you’ve been there last.

In your room, you change into your bathing suit, a simple bikini that you’ve always loved for its comfort and ease. You slip on a loose shirt and shorts over it, then grab a few essentials before heading back downstairs. Your grandparents have already left, so you make your way out to the barn to prepare the horses.

As you start saddling them up, you notice Logan nearby, focused on his usual tasks. His presence has become so customary to you that you hardly think twice before calling out to him. “Hey, Logan,” you say, catching his attention.

“I’m heading to the pond with the horses,” you tell him, nodding toward the saddled horses. “Grandma’s packed some food and a blanket for a picnic. There are even towels if you want to swim. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

He hesitates, his gaze shifting to the horses, then back to you. After a moment, he mutters, “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

The admission takes you by surprise, and you raise an eyebrow. “Really? But you’ve been here for over a year. I just assumed—”

He shakes his head slightly, cutting you off. “I’ve always just walked alongside them. Holdin’ onto the reins is one thing, but I’ve never actually been on top of one.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “That’s okay,” you say gently. “You can still join us. You can walk alongside like you usually do, and tomorrow, if you’re up for it, I’ll teach you how to ride.”

Logan peers at you for a long moment, considering your words. Finally, he nods. “Alright. I’ll come with you.”

“Great,” you reply, your smile widening. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

With that settled, you both finish preparing for the trip. Logan helps you load the picnic basket, blanket, and towels onto one of the horses. You mount your favourite horse, and gently click your heels into its side, starting the trip as he begins walking, horses in tow, beside you.

The journey to the pond is beautiful. The green trees that frame the pathway, the soft buzzing of nature, the sound of the horses’ hooves. You and Logan exchange a few words, but for the most part, it’s silent.

When you reach the pond, the sight is just as picturesque as you remembered. The water sparkles under the sunlight, the tall trees casting dappled shadows across the grassy bank. You untie the horses, giving them plenty of room to graze and explore, before you grab the picnic basket, while he grabs the towels and blankets. Making your way over to the other side of the creek, you find a nice open patch of grass to set up on.

“I’m going for a quick dip,” you say as you go about stepping out of your shorts. Logan, who is sitting down, looks up, but his eyes seem to stop dead in their tracks when they settle on your body. You swear you can physically see his gaze darken as he takes in the sight of you stripping off your shirt. It’s subtle, but a small shiver runs down your spine at the attention nonetheless.

Without waiting for a response, you turn and and head toward the pond. The temperature is perfect: just cool enough to be refreshing without being cold.

You dive in, the reservoir embracing you as a much-needed relief from the heat. Everything feels perfect—the gentle current against your skin, the refreshing sensation of being submerged, and the weightlessness of floating just beneath the surface.

But when you lift your head out of the water, you and Logan immediately lock eyes.

He’s lying back on the blanket, propped up on one elbow, and his focus is squarely on you. The intensity of his stare is like a physical force, pinning you in place. The world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended in time. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel a heat build within you, starting in your chest and traveling down, deeper, and deeper…But then, just as suddenly as it began, he looks away, and if you were any closer, you may have been able to spot the red flush creeping up the back of his neck and to the tip of his ears.

The moment is over, but the enduring feeling of it stays with you as you swim back to the shore. Water drips from your body as you step out, and you reach for one of the towels your grandmother packed. Once you’ve dried off, you walk over to where Logan is sitting and drop down beside him on the blanket.

You are aware of eyes on you again, though this time there’s a hesitation in the way they travel over your form, as if he’s trying to be discreet but can’t quite help himself. You pretend not to notice as you reach for the picnic basket.

“I’m starving,” you say, pulling out the sandwiches your grandmother packed. “Want one?”

He nods, sitting up a little straighter as you hand him a sandwich. After a few bites, curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to break the ice. “So,” you start, glancing over at him, “how did you end up here, working on my grandparents’ farm?”

He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he answers, his eyes focused on the food in his hands. “I was passing through,” he says finally. “Didn’t plan on stayin’. But your grandparents… they’re good people. Needed help, so I stuck around.”

You nod, taking another bite. “They are good people,” you agree, thinking of how much they’ve done for you over the years. “But where were you headed before that? Where are you from?”

Logan pauses for a moment, then looks over at you. “Alberta,” he says. “Grew up there, mostly. Been a lot of places since, but Alberta’s home—or was.”

You smile, finding comfort in the fact that he’s sharing a bit more. “Alberta’s beautiful,” you say, remembering the few times you’d traveled through the province. “Why’d you leave?”

He shrugs, glancing out toward the creek. “Needed a change. Wanted to see what else was out there. Guess I got used to movin’ around, never really settlin’ anywhere.”

You nod thoughtfully, taking in his words. “Must have been hard, never really having a place to call home.”

His gaze meets yours, and there’s a hint of something softer in his eyes. “Yeah,” he admits, his voice quieter. “But your grandparents… they’ve made it easier. This farm… it’s good.”

You smile warmly at him. “I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been a huge help to them. And… well, I’ve liked having you around.”

He glances at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, it’s been alright,” he mutters, a small, imperceptible smirk on his lips. You smile bashfully.

The next couple of hours pass by in a blur. Not much conversation happens, but rather, these weird periods of time where you feel as though your eyes are glued to him, and he you. It’s different—unexpected—and to put it frankly, you feel a bit shy underneath his gaze.

Logan is attractive, anyone with eyes could see that, but it really wasn’t just his face that pulled you in, it was him. The way he would silently help you with chores, his soft moments every morning with the horses, the way he subtly looks over your grandparents’ when he thinks they arent watching. All of it. You want to spend more time with him, learn more about who he is, what he likes… all of it.

Soon enough, you both begin to pack up the picnic supplies, load up the horses, and head back to the farm. The horses seem content, having had a fun day grazing and napping by the pond, and you ride beside him as he walks. Every now and then, you catch him peeking up at you from under his eyelashes, his eyes lingering just a bit longer each time.

You can see your grandparent’s car in the driveway as you near the farm, meaning they’ve also returned from their day in the city. Leading the horses back into the barn, the two of you go through the motions of the familiar routine of unsaddling them, brushing them down, and making sure they’re comfortable for the night.

Once they’re all settled for the night, Logan steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans as he looks at you.

“So ‘bout tomorrow…” He begins, shifting slightly, as if unsure how to phrase what he wants to say. “You really think you can teach me to ride?”

You grin excitedly. “Of course. I’ll come out after I’ve eaten breakfast.”

“Alright then,” he says, pivoting toward the doors, his lips twitching just barely, but enough. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

Your fingers are twitching at your sides as you watch him leave. You wait a few moments, then head out as well, closing and locking up the barn for the night. When you step into the house, you find your grandparents in the living room, their faces lit by the soft glow of a lamp as they relax on the chesterfield.

“How was your day?” your grandmother asks, looking up from her knitting with a bright smile.

“It was nice,” you reply. “The horses loved it, and the pond was as beautiful as ever. We had a picnic, and it was really peaceful.”

Your grandfather, who’s been quietly sipping his tea, sets down his cup and regards you with a knowing look. “And Logan? Did he go with you?”

You nod, feeling a bit of warmth rise to your cheeks at the mention of their helper. “Yeah, he came along. He’s never ridden a horse before, so he just walked with us. But I’m going to teach him tomorrow.”

Your grandparents exchange a look, and your grandmother’s eyes sparkle with amusement and something more tender as she smiles at you. “That’s good, dear. He’s a bit of a mystery, that one, but I can tell he’s got a good heart. Sometimes people just need a little time to open up.”

Chatting with your grandparent’s a bit longer, you listen intently as they fill you in on their activities. You can faintly hear the sound of Logan’s footsteps upstairs as he gets ready for bed. The memory of his gaze on you makes your heart beat a smidge faster.

—

Logan is unsurprisingly already at the barn when you arrive the next morning. He’s leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest.

“Morning,” you greet. “You ready to get started?”

Logan glances at the horses, then back at you. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You lead him over to the horses, choosing one of the gentler ones for him to work with, and begin by showing him how to properly saddle the horse, explaining each step as you go. Logan watches intently, though you can see the slight furrow in his brow as he takes in all the information.

As soon as the horse is all saddled up, you hand him the reins. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Go ahead and mount up.”

He wavers for just a moment, his eyes on the horse as if weighing his options. But then, with a deep breath, he grabs the saddle and swings himself up with ease. He sits stiffly at first, his hands gripping the reins a bit too tightly, but he doesn’t look as uncomfortable as you would have expected. Definitely better than your first attempt.

“You’re doing great,” you reassure him, moving to stand beside the horse. “Just relax. The horse can sense if you’re tense, so try to loosen up a bit.”

He takes another breath, visibly trying to relax his posture. It’s clear that he’s out of his comfort zone, but he’s determined to push through. You walk him through the basics of steering and controlling the horse, keeping your tone calm and encouraging.

After a few minutes, you guide him around the paddock, walking alongside the horse to make sure he feels secure. Logan follows your instructions with serious concentration, his movements becoming more and more natural as he gets used to the rhythm of the horse’s steps.

“You’re doing really well,” you tell him, smiling up at him. “Want to try picking up the pace a little?”

He glances down at you warily at first, but then he nods. “Yeah. Let’s give it a shot.”

You guide him through a gentle trot, staying close enough to offer guidance but giving him enough space to figure things out on his own. The horse picks up speed, and you watch as he adjusts, his body moving in sync with the animal’s movements. There’s a moment when he looks down at you, a spark of surprise in his eyes as he realizes he’s actually getting the hang of it.

As the morning progresses, Logan becomes more comfortable in the saddle, his confidence growing with each passing minute. You spend the next hour practicing different techniques, guiding him through turns, stops, and even a slow canter. He’s a quick learner, and despite the initial awkwardness, you can tell he’s starting to enjoy himself.

Eventually, you lead him back to the paddock, bringing the horse to a stop. He dismounts, still a bit tense but clearly pleased with himself. He hands you the reins, his eyes meeting yours with a look that’s both grateful and slightly sheepish.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” you say with a grin, patting the horse’s neck.

He huffs a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… you’re a good teacher.”

The compliment, simple as it is, makes your heart skip a beat. There’s something about the way he says it, the sincerity in his tone, that makes you feel a warm glow inside. He begins to walk toward the back shed, undoubtedly going to start on his morning chores, but you find yourself wanting to hold onto this moment just a bit longer.

“Logan,” you call out, stopping him in his tracks.

He turns back, his eyes questioning.

“Thanks for this morning. I really enjoyed it.”

Logan studies you for a second, then he gives you a small smile. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

—

The days come and go, blending into one another as your first month at the farm passes by in what feels like the blink of an eye. The sun seems to rise earlier and set later with each passing day, stretching the hours out in a way that makes everything feel both languid and endless, and the heat only intensifies, something you didn’t think was possible.

Despite the longer days and rising temperatures, you and Logan’s daily routines have now intertwined in a way that feels as natural as breathing. The once solitary moments you spent watching him out with the horses have now become something shared. Every morning, without fail, the two of you meet by the barn, where the horses greet you with soft nickers and eager eyes, ready for their daily ride.

He’s improved a lot. He no longer looks uncomfortable or stiff, and he’s able to guide his horse with an ease that surprises even him. You can see the subtle shift in his posture, the way he holds the reins with a sureness that wasn’t there before.

And just like when you work on the farm together, sometimes, the two of you ride in a comfortable silence—the only sounds being the soft snorts of the horses and the creak of leather saddles. But more often than not, you chat about everything and nothing, your conversations easy and unforced.

Logan, who once spoke only in short, clipped sentences, has begun to open up more, sharing bits and pieces of his past, his thoughts, and his observations about life on the farm. You learn that he has a sarcastic, dry sense of humor, one that often catches you off guard and leaves you laughing in spite of yourself. He even joins you for your usual morning breakfast of eggs and toast, something that started only a few days into your new morning ritual.

Yet throughout all of this, there’s a something growing between you and Logan, simmering just beneath the surface.

It manifests in the little moments, the stolen glances, and the accidental touches that don’t really seem to be as accidental as you may think. It’s in the way his eyes follow you when he thinks you’re not looking, how they intensify when you laugh, or how he seems to fixate on your hands as you work, as if he’s memorizing every movement.

You’re not immune to it either. You find yourself hyper-aware of his presence, the way his proximity seems to alter the air around you. In one afternoon, you’re in the barn, and sorting through a pile of hay bales. It’s hard, sweaty work, but the it’s kind that leaves you with a satisfying ache in your muscles by the end of the day. Logan is beside you, lifting the heavy bales with ease, his shirt sticking to his back, outlining the broad expanse of his shoulders. You catch yourself staring, and quickly look away, but not before he flicks his eyes over to yours.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see it in his eyes. It’s like they’re telling you that he knows exactly what you were thinking, where you were staring.

And when you’re both tending to the horses, something happens again. You’re brushing one down, your fingers working through its mane, when Logan comes to stand beside you, so close that you can smell his natural musk.

“Here, let me help,” he says lowly, not waiting for a response as he reaches out, his hand covering yours. You glance up at him, and he’s already looking down at you. You’re acutely aware of the feel of his hand over yours, the callousness of his skin against your own, and the way his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles as if testing the waters.

Another time, while fixing the fence out in the field, you’re both working in tandem, passing tools back and forth. At one point, you reach for a hammer at the same time Logan does, and your fingers brush against his. It’s a fleeting touch, but it feels like a spark in the summer heat, and for a heartbeat, you both freeze, caught in that split second of contact.

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling your hand back, but the apology feels hollow in the face of what you’re actually feeling.

“No problem,” Logan replies, his voice gruffer than usual, as he hands you the tool.

You can feel it. You’re not stupid. You know something is there, and you wonder how much longer you can resist it—how much longer you can pretend that everything is fine. But Logan is a hard man to read, and you’re not sure if what you’re feeling is reciprocated, or if it’s just wishful thinking on your part. So you stay silent, letting the tension simmer, hoping that one day, one of you will have the courage to break it.

—

You’re not the only who see’s it.

“You know,” your grandmother says one afternoon, as you’re helping them with a puzzle. “Logan has really come out of his shell since you’ve been here.”

You blink, and glance over at her. “What do you mean?”

She looks up from the table, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous light. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” she says with a knowing smile. “He’s been here for over a year, and in all that time, we’ve never seen him quite like this. He’s always been polite, of course, but distant. Reserved. But now… well, it’s clear he’s become quite comfortable around you.”

Your grandfather places a piece in the board and nods in agreement. “She’s right, you know. Logan’s always been a bit of a mystery, keeps to himself mostly. But ever since you arrived, he’s been different. More… engaged, I suppose you could say.”

You feel a flush of heat rising to your cheeks, your heart skipping a beat at their words. “I-I don’t know about that,” you stammer, trying to brush it off. “We just… work together a lot. That’s all.”

Chuckling, your grandmother leans forward slightly. “Darling, don’t be modest. It’d be obvious to anyone that there’s something going on between the two of you. He’s practically a different man when he’s around you. Why, just the other day, I caught him actually smiling while you two were out riding. I nearly fainted!”

“You’ve managed to do in weeks what we couldn’t do in a year. Whatever it is, it’s good for him. And for you, too, I’d wager,” your grandfather pipes in, sending you a wink.

Fidgeting with your hands, you feel like a deer caught in headlights, and you’re honestly not sure how to respond. “We’re… friends,” you say, though the words feel inadequate even as you say them.

The woman across from you raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Hmm? Well, maybe so. But it seems to me that there’s potential for something more there, if you’re both willing to see it.”

“I… I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling flustered under their scrutiny. “He’s just… he’s a complicated person.”

“Everyone’s complicated, dear,” your grandfather says gently. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not worth the effort. Oftentimes, the best things in life are the ones that take the most time to understand.”

There’s a moment of silence as their words sink in, the weight of their observations leaving you feeling exposed and uncertain. You hadn’t fully allowed yourself to consider what you felt, let alone what Logan felt. But now, with your grandparents’ teasing remarks, it’s impossible to ignore the possibility that there might be something more between you and Logan than just a budding friendship.

Your grandmother reaches over and gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “Just take it one day at a time, sweetheart. Whatever happens, we’re here for you.”

—

The following week, you find yourself itching for something new—a change in scenery. While the farm has been everything you’ve wanted and more, you think it’d be nice to go on a drive, explore a small laketown you used to go to when you were younger. So, one morning, as you and Logan are unsaddling the horses, you muster the courage to extend an invitation that’s been on your mind for days.

“So…,” you begin, trying to keep your tone casual. “I was thinking… maybe we could take a break from the farm this weekend and go into town. You know, just to get out for a bit, see something different.”

He pauses in his work, his hand stilling on the brush as he peers over at you with a raised eyebrow. “The town?” he repeats, as if the idea is foreign to him.

“Yeah,” you say, turning to face him fully. “I need to pick up a few things, and I thought it might be nice to have some company. We could grab lunch, maybe do some exploring… It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just a change of pace.”

There’s a beat of silence as he considers your offer. His expression is guarded, as always, but you can see the wheels turning in his mind. It’s clear that the idea of leaving the farm, even for a day, is something he hasn’t done in a long time—if ever.

“I don’t know,” he eventually gets out, his tone uncertain. “Busy places are not really my thing.”

You feel a pang of disappointment at his hesitation, but you’re not ready to give up just yet. “I get that,” you say. “But it’s not about how many people are there, really. It’s about taking a break. You’ve been working so hard, and I think you deserve a day to relax. Plus, I could use your help carrying a few things,” you tease, hoping to coax him into agreeing.

Logan’s lips twitch as if he’s suppressing a smile, and for a split second you think he’s going to turn you down. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright,” he says, the word coming out almost reluctantly. “I’ll go.”

You beam, unable to hide your enthusiasm. “We’ll leave early on Saturday, okay?”

“Saturday it is,” he confirms.

—

The rest of the week passes quickly, your anticipation for the trip into town growing with each passing day. You find yourself planning out the day in your head, imagining the places you might visit, the food you might try, and most of all, the chance to see Logan in a different environment—away from the farm and the routine that has defined your relationship so far.

So, when Saturday morning arrives, you’re up before the sun, too excited to sleep in. You dress in your favourite casual clothes—something comfortable but a bit more put-together than your usual farm attire—and head downstairs, where you find your grandparents surprisingly already up and about.

“Off to the city today, are you?” your grandmother asks with a smile as she hands you a thermos of coffee for the road.

“Yep,” you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face. “and I’m dragging Logan along with me.”

Your grandfather chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, that should be interesting. Don’t think he’s much of a city slicker.”

“Be patient with him, dear,” your grandmother adds, laughing. “He’s stepping out of his comfort zone for you.”

“I will,” you promise, taking the coffee and heading out the door.

Logan’s already waiting by the truck, and when you see him, you can’t help but falter in your steps. The shirt he’s wearing clings to his muscular frame in a way that draws your eyes, accentuating the strength that’s always been evident. His hair is slightly disheveled, and there’s an almost shy quality to the way he stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets as if he’s not quite sure what to do with them.

You try to hide the fact that you were just checking him out as you ask, “Ready?”

“‘Course,” he replies, climbing into the passenger seat as you slide behind the wheel.

The highways are empty and the sky is clear. You chat easily about the things you need to pick up, the cute boutiques you want to visit, and even a few memories of the last time you visited the place. Logan listens more than he talks, but you can tell he’s starting to relax, the tightness in his shoulders easing as the distance passes by.

When you finally reach the town, the energy along the streets is a stark contrast to the quiet calm of the farm. The buildings tower above you, and the sidewalks are crowded with people going about their day.

Stepping out of the truck, you glance over at Logan. It’s clear that he’s out of his element, but there’s something cute about the way he takes it all in. “Where to first?” He questions.

“Well,” you say, smiling at him, “I was thinking we could grab some breakfast at this little café I know, then hit a few shops. There’s a bookstore I love that I think you’d like too.”

He nods, his expression softening slightly at the mention of a bookstore. “Lead the way.”

You spend the morning wandering around, exploring the shops, and enjoying a nice breakfast together. At the bookstore, you lose track of time, browsing through the shelves and picking out a few titles that catch your eye. Logan surprises you by finding a book on woodworking, something he’s always been interested in but never had much time for. You can see the way his eyes light up as he flips through the pages, and it makes you smile, happy to see him enjoying something for himself.

After spending a few more hours of exploring, you suggest one last stop before heading back—a lookout point that offers a stunning view of the lake and the surrounding landscape. Logan agrees, and you drive up to the spot, parking the truck and leading him to a bench that overlooks the water.

The view is breathtaking. You both sit in silence for a while, just taking in the scenery, allowing the peacefulness of the moment to wash over you. He is staring out into the water with a thoughtful expression when you decide to interrupt his stupor.

“Logan,” you begin, the gentle breeze from the lake rustling through the trees, “what did you think of me when we first met?”

He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting the question. Then he pauses for a moment, looking back out at the lake, as if gathering his thoughts.

“I thought you were different,” he says slowly, each word carefully chosen. “You didn’t act like you were above the work. You jumped right in, got your hands dirty. Most people wouldn’t do that.”

You smile at the memory, remembering how you started working together the moment you met. After all, you weren’t just a visitor—you were there to help, and you knew your way around the farm. “And now?” you ask, your heart beginning to beat just a little faster.

He remains quiet for a few moments, his focus still on the water. When he finally speaks, he’s timid, almost bashful, as if he’s revealing something he’s kept hidden for a long time.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he admits, his eyes flickering back to yours. “I thought that the first time I saw you, too. It was one of the first things that hit me. But it’s more than that. Now… now I think you’re perfect.”

The sincerity in his words catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. Your mouth parts in surprise, and all you can do is gawk, trying to process the depth of what he’s just said.

Logan shifts slightly, his gaze dropping to his hands as he continues. “I was… cold at first,” he murmurs, “Didn’t know how else to act. You weren’t like anyone I’d ever met. I didn’t know how to handle it. But what really got to me was how you didn’t shy away from that—you didn’t let my attitude push you away. That changed somethin’ in me.”

You want to say something—you should say something—to acknowledge what he just said, bearing in mind that was probably the most amount of words to come out of his mouth in one go, but for some reason, you can’t. The only thought running through your head is that you want to reach out and touch him, to close the small distance between you.

“What about you?” His voice is slightly more tentative now, and he definitely just asked that to fill the silence that you were ungraciously leaving. “What was your first impression of me?”

His question snaps you out of your thoughts, and you gulp, now knowing that your first impression of him was very different to his of you.

“Honestly? I thought you were rude as hell,” you say a bit nervously, watching as his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. “You were so gruff, so serious… I didn’t know what to make of you at first. But then I saw the way you took care of the horses, the way you looked after the farm, and… it didn’t take long for my opinion to change.”

He shifts, clearly caught off guard. You can see the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck as he takes in what you said, and it makes your smile widen.

“And…You’re kind,” you continue. “There’s this gentleness about you that I wasn’t expecting.” You suck in a shaky breath. “I think you’re pretty perfect now too, if I’m being honest.”

The tint on his cheeks only deepens, and he looks away, flustered. It’s a rare sight—seeing him like this—and it makes you swoon.

“I don’t know about that…” He mutters, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I do,” you reply firmly. “You’re more than you think you are, Logan.”

The genuineness in your words makes him look back at you, his eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or confirmation that what you’re saying is real. Slowly, almost unconsciously, you both lean in closer, locked in a stare, your breaths mingling as the space between you shrinks. You can see the way his eyes flicker down to your lips, and you feel the same pull, the undeniable urge to close the distance and see what it would feel like to kiss him overriding all your senses.

Your chest pounds as you inch closer, until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. But just as your lips are about to meet, a loud, piercing scream shatters the moment.

You both jerk back, startled, and whip your heads around to see a kid nearby, his face scrunched up in disgust as he frantically wipes at his shoulder. “Ew! A seagull just pooped on me!”

The kid’s parents rush over, trying to console him as they pull out napkins, and you can’t help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of the interruption. The sound of your laughter is contagious, and soon Logan is chuckling a bit too.

“Well, that’s one way to kill the mood,” he mumbles under is breath.

You’re still laughing, the remnants of your almost-kiss still in the back of your mind, but you know the moment has passed. “Yeah,” you agree, trying to catch your breath. “Guess we should be thankful it wasn’t us.”

Logan grins, warm and wide. “Yeah, maybe we should.”

—

Driving back to the farm, neither of you say a word about what almost transpired at the lookout point, and you’re fine with that. There’s no need to fill the silence with words, no need to dissect the moment or what it could have led to. You don’t want there to be any sort of pressure between you, any expectations. Even if, deep down, all you want is to climb him like a tree, to feel the solid strength of him beneath your hands, and to finally give in to the attraction that’s been building throughout your time together.

Pulling into the driveway and shutting of the engine, you turn to him, and turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. “Thanks for today,” he says sincerely “I… enjoyed it.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. “Me too,” you reply, your voice just as soft. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, his gaze holding yours a hint longer before he turns away, his hand reaching for the door handle. “We should.”

—

A few days later, as everyone sits around the kitchen table after dinner, the evening suddenly takes on a new tone when your grandmother clears her throat and shoots an exchanges a conspiratorial glance at your grandfather.

“We’ve got some news,” she begins, her eyes shining with excitement. “Your grandfather and I have been invited to spend a week at the Summers’ cottage by the lake.”

You smile, genuinely happy for them. The Summers are longtime friends of your grandparents, and the idea of them getting a little vacation away sounds perfect. “That sounds wonderful! You two deserve some time to relax.”

“Well, we thought so too,” your grandfather says. “But that means we’ll be leaving the farm in your capable hands.”

It takes a moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in. You and Logan… alone… for an entire week.

Your heart skips a beat and you glimpse over at Logan, who’s sitting across the table from you, his expression neutral as he listens to your grandparents. But there’s a quick flash of something that suggests he’s as aware of the situation as you are.

A voice brings you back to the moment. “Now, don’t worry,” she says with a reassuring smile. “There’s not much that needs doing, just the usual stuff. And we’ll be back before you know it.”

Your grandfather leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he scans between you and Logan. “We trust you both to keep everything running smoothly,” he says, before he drops his voice to an embarrassingly low tone. “And to keep an eye on each other.”

You can’t help but blush at his not-so-subtle innuendo, and you quickly drop your gaze to your hands, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your cheeks. The thought of spending an entire week alone with Logan is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. The lack of a buffer—your grandparents—means that literally anything could happen.

“Don’t worry,” you finally manage to say. “We’ve got this. You two just enjoy your time away.”

Logan, who has been uncharacteristically quiet during the conversation, finally speaks up. “Yeah,” he agrees, “We’ll take care of everything.”

—

Over the next couple of days, your grandparents pack their bags and make sure everything is in order before they leave. You help them with the small details, ensuring that the house is stocked with food and that all the usual chores are delegated properly.

Finally, the morning of their departure arrives. You stand by the front door, watching as your grandparents load their bags into the car. Your grandmother gives you a warm hug, “Take care, dear,” she says, kissing your cheek before hopping into the passenger’s seat.

Your grandfather shakes Logan’s hand, giving him a firm nod. “Take care of things.”

He hums. “I will. Enjoy yourselves.”

With that, your grandparents climb into the car, and after a final wave, they drive down the long, dusty road that leads away from the farm.

There’s a pause.

Suddenly, you’ve become extremely aware of how close you two are standing.

“So,” you start, hoping to ease a bit of the electricity beginning to spark. “I guess it’s just us now.”

Logan swallows thickly, his adams apple bobbing up and down. “Yeah,” he replies a bit deeper than usual. “Just us.”

“What should we do first?” you ask as casually as possible.

He shrugs slightly, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “Same old, I guess. Can’t let everythin’ fall apart right when they leave..”

“True. Let’s start with that.”

The two of you move into that familiar routine of farm work. Mucking out the stalls, hauling bags of feed from the shed to the barn, tending to the vegetable garden, you do it all. But even though you’re busy with work, there’s an underlying jitter to everything you do, a heightened awareness of each other’s presence that just wasn’t there before. And it’s impossible to ignore. Each time you make eyecontact it feels charged, almost like a promise of what’s to come, and it has your heart racing with exhilaration.

That evening, after the chores are done and the sun has dropped below the horizon, you’re in the kitchen, preparing dinner while Logan finishes up outside. The quiet of the farmhouse feels different without your grandparents there—emptier, yet somehow more intimate. Domestic. You can hear the soft creak of the floorboards as he enters the house, the sound of him washing up in the sink.

And as the evening wears on, you find yourself drawing out cleaning the dishes, not wanting to end the day just yet. Logan stays close, drying the plates and placing them back in the cupboards.

“Long day,” he grunts.

“Yeah,” you agree, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “But it was nice. Peaceful.”

His eyes find yours. “Peaceful,” he echoes, though the word seems to hold a different meaning when he says it.

You both stay there, unmoving, until eventually, he takes a step back, as if sensing that the tension between you needs a moment to cool. “I’ll check on the barn,” he says gruffly. “Make sure everything’s locked up for the night.”

“Okay,” you reply, your voice softer than you intended.

Logan leaves to check on the barn, while he’s gone, your thoughts are a whirlwind of anticipation and nervous energy as you busy yourself with finishing up the remaining utensils.

Finally, unable to stay inside any longer, you decide to step outside, hoping the cool evening air will help clear your mind. You sink down onto the old porch swing, and pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you observe the darkened landscape.

A few minutes later, you hear the soft crunch of gravel underfoot, and you glance over your shoulder to see Logan approaching the porch. He walks up the steps and pauses momentarily as if debating whether to join you. Then, with a soft sigh, he settles down beside you, his shoulder just barely brushing against yours.

It’s now or never, you think. “We have the place to ourselves now,” you state.

He turns his head slightly, giving you a sidelong look, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a small, knowing smirk. “Indeed we do,” he replies.

The simple acknowledgment—and the way he says it—makes your pulse quicken, and you can’t help the small huff of exasperation that escapes your lips. He’s always been so tame, so careful with his words, and while you appreciate the way he’s respected your space, you’re done with tiptoeing around.

“Do I need to spell it out for you, or—” But before you can finish the sentence, Logan moves.

His hand reaches out, rough and warm, to cup the back of your head. Your eyes widen, and your heart thuds in your chest upon realizing what’s about to happen. And with a firm but gentle pull, he closes the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours.

You lose track of your surroundings—the night, the farm, everything—as you give yourself into feel of his lips against yours. It’s intense and claiming, a declaration of everything you’ve both been too afraid to say.

His hand tangles in your hair, holding you close as he deepens the kiss, his other hand coming to rest on your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to ground yourself in the moment, to make sure this is real, that he’s really here, kissing you.

Moving your lips against his with equal fervor, you pour the longing you’ve been feeling all this time into it. The taste of him is intoxicating. It’s something that’s so uniquely him—so uniquely Logan—and you can’t get enough. You’ve imagined this moment in the dead of night, but nothing compares to the reality of it—to the way he kisses you like you’re the only thing that matters.

When you finally pull back, out of breath and a little dazed, Logan’s forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants. His eyes are smoldering and intense and his smirk is gone, replaced by a deep look of yearning.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits huskily. The way his voice has dropped three octaves isn’t missed on you. You can practically feel it vibrate down in your pu—

“You’re not the only one,” You whisper, interrupting your own thoughts. The connection between you has finally been acknowledged, and you feel a huge sense of relief.

He exhales a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, and his hand slips from the back of your head to cup your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I can hold back anymore.”

You lean in, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Then don’t,” you whisper against his mouth.

The spark that has been ignited between you flares up into a full blown fire, and the next kiss quickly becomes more heated. Without breaking it, Logan’s grip on your waist tightens and you let out a soft gasp as he effortlessly lifts you onto his lap. Your legs straddle his hips, and you can feel the beginning of something growing underneath you.

The sensation is dizzying, and you instinctively press yourself closer, your fingers curling into his hair. The swing beneath you creaks softly with the movement, but neither of you pays it any mind, too lost in each other to care.

You shift slightly on his lap, grinding your hips against him, and the movement draws a deep, throaty groan from him. He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, “God, you drive me crazy,” and then he’s on you again.

It’s wild. Hot, and heavy, and utterly consuming. His hands move from your hips to grip your ass, guiding you to move against him. It feels so good, you release a relieved sigh into his mouth, before dropping your head onto his shoulder, too caught up in the pleasure.

The sounds of your moans fill the air as he continues grinding you against him, his own hips bucking up into your core.

Biting your lip, you lift your head slightly, a teasing smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as your eyes dart toward the open door of the farmhouse. “You know,” you begin tilting forward to bite his ear, your voice low and playful, “as much as I’m enjoying being out here, I think we should take this inside.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a sexy smirk. “As you wish,” he murmurs.

As you stand up, your legs a little shaky from what just occured, you peek back at him, and see that he’s already risen to his feet. Stepping closer, you slip your hand into his as you guide him toward the door. But just as you reach the threshold, a thought crosses your mind, and you pause, turning to look up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“We gotta go to your room,” you say, running your hands up and down his arms, feeling them flex underneath your touch.“I don’t think I’m ready to defile my childhood bedroom just yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face as he catches on to what you’re implying. “Oh, is that so?” he asks, his tone filled with mock seriousness. You wink in return. grabbing one of his hands and dragging him inside.

By the time you reach his door, you’re practically vibrating with excitement, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. The room is simple, and the bed, neatly made, sits in the center of the room. You can’t help but laugh at the thought of how different it will look in just a few moments.

You turn to face Logan, but he doesn’t give you time to say anything, his hand reaching out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch that is both tender and possessive. His thumb traces the line of your jaw as he cups your face, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation.

But there’s none. You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life. The need for him, for this, is so overwhelming that it’s taking every ounce of strength in you to keep from throwing yourself onto him.

His lips find yours once more, this time more urgent, more demanding than before. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours. “Are you sure about this?” he asks in between kisses.

“Absolutely,” you mumble breathlessly, your hands sliding up his chest to curl around the back of his neck. The word barely leaves your lips before Logan reacts, a low hum rumbling in his chest as if your answer has unleashed something primal within him.

He kicks the door shut behind him with a force that makes the room tremble slightly, and in the same fluid motion, he pins you against the wall, lips never leaving yours as his body cages you in.

One of his thighs nudges its way between yours, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against the sensitive spot between your legs. The friction is maddening, electric, and it hits just right, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine that rips a moan from your throat.

The sound only spurs Logan on, his own need evident in the way he moves against you. He moves his mouth to your neck, trailing up and down it with hungrily. The feel of his mouth on your skin, the way his teeth graze your pulse point, causes you to arch against him, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support.

You can feel the warmth of his breath as he presses his lips to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, as his hands explore your body. They’re everywhere—one gripping your hip, holding you steady against the wall, the other sliding up your side to brush against the curve of your breast. His fingers find the hem of your shirt, tugging it up, and you lift your arms to help him, the fabric sliding up and over your head before it’s tossed carelessly to the floor.

Bringing his lips back to yours, the kiss is fiery, stealing all the oxygen from your lungs as he pushes you even harder into against the wall, his thigh still working its magic. You can’t help the way your hips rock against him, the need for more—more pressure, more friction, more him.

Logan seems to sense your desperation, moaning when his hand slips down from your breast to the waistband of your jeans. He fumbles with the button for only a moment before he gets it open, his fingers slipping inside to brush against the soft skin of your lower belly. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze tempting and filled with a desire that matches your own.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he mutters, voice thick with want. “No idea why I waited so long.”

You can barely think, let alone form words, but you manage to breathe out, “Don’t need to wait any longer.”

The words seem to be all the encouragement he needs. In one swift motion, he slides your pants and underwear down your legs, his hands careful as he helps you step out of them. You’re left standing before him, bare and vulnerable, but the way he’s staring at you—like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—makes you feel powerful, desired in a way you’ve never felt before.

He pulls you back into him, and this time, you can feel the hardness of his own desire against yours—bare— and it drives you insane. His grip finds you thighs as he lifts you off the ground and carries you the short distance to the bed. He lays you down gently on his bed, and breaks away long enough to strip off his own clothes. The sight of him—strong, muscular, yours—makes your breath catch in your throat.

There’s a moment where he’s standing above you, just staring, his chest rising and falling with the effort to control himself. But then he’s on you again in an instant, his body pressing yours into the mattress, his lips claiming yours and leaving you dizzy.

You lean up into him, your hands sliding up his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin as he moves against you. The need for more builds up to a breaking point, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as he grinds into you, hard and insistent against your core.

“Logan,” you breathe out. “Please.”

His name on your lips seems to break the last of his control, a desperate groan ripping out of him. He begins travelling down your body, taking his time, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path, each kiss leaving a burning trail in its wake. His hands follow the curve of your waist, your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. Your body is practically begging for him, and you know that you’re on the verge of begging too.

Once he makes it down to your thighs, he nudges them apart, giving him better access to you. He nips and bites at them, moaning along with you. And then, with a deep, almost possessive growl, he finally lowers his mouth to you, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You react immediately, a wave of pleasure coming over you, your hands fly into his hair, tugging at the strands as you try to pull him closer.

Logan’s hands tightening their grip on your thighs as he delves deeper. You’re lost in the sensations, the pleasure growing and growing until it’s all you can think about, all you can feel. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending alight with desire, and the only thing that matters is the way he is making you feel, the way he’s driving you toward a release that you know will be earth-shattering.

And then, just as you think you can’t take any more, he pulls back slightly, his lips still hovering over you as he looks up at you, eyes black. “Tell me what you want,” he commands.

You can barely think, let alone form coherent words, but you manage to breathe out, “You. I want–I need you.”

That seems to be wanted he wanted to hear, so with a final kiss to your inner thigh, he moves back up your body, connecting his lips to yours again. You can taste yourself on his tongue as his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you slightly to position himself at your entrance.

The anticipation is almost too much, the need for him so immense that you can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your lips as begins to push, the tip of him just barely inside you, teasing, testing your patience.

“Oh god,” you moan. “I need you. Please.”

And then, finally, Logan gives you what you’ve been wanting since that time at the pond. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside you, filling you up completely.

Everything seems to stop for a moment, the only sound the ragged gasps of breath between you, the only feeling the overwhelming pleasure of being joined together like this, of finally having what you’ve both wanted for so long.

He pauses, lowering his head in the crook of your neck as he lets you adjust to the feeling, his breath hot and heavy against your collarbone. And then he begins to move, slow and steady at first, each thrust driving you closer to the edge, the coil inside you tightening with every stroke. The feel of him inside you, the way he moves against you, is everything you’ve been dreaming of and more, and you can’t help the way your body responds to him, your hips lifting to meet his every movement.

The gentle, deliberate pace soon gives way to something more urgent, more desperate, as the need for release takes over. Each thrust drives you higher, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level, until teetering on the edge.

And then, he sends you over it. The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your entire body shuddering with the intensity of it, your voice lost in the cry of pure ecstasy that escapes your lips. Logan follows you a moment later, his own release crashing into him hard, his body trembling against yours as he buries himself deep inside you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as a loud, deep, groan reverberates in his throat.

Neither of you can move, lost in the aftermath of your shared pleasure, your bodies still entwined, as you come down from the high. He tightens his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple as he tries to catch his breath. And when he does, he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, reaching up to cup his face in your hands, your thumbs gently brushing over the rough stubble on his cheeks. “I’m more than okay,” you whisper back, voice full of emotion. “That was… everything.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Logan’s lips, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his arms still wrapped securely around you. “Yeah, it was,” he agrees.

Eventually, he eases out of you with a tenderness that makes you sigh softly. He walks out into the washroom, and gets a warm towel, wiping you and himself down. After, he settles beside you on the bed, his arm draped over your waist, holding you close. The two of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, until the exhaustion of the day begins to catch up with you, and you feel your eyes growing heavy.

“Get some rest,” you hear, “We’ve got plenty of time… no need to rush.”

You nod sleepily, snuggling closer to him as you let your eyes drift shut, the steady pulse of his heart lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

—

You wake to the feeling of warmth and security, Logan’s breathing against your ear, his arm still clinging possessively over your waist. The events of the previous night come rushing back, and a satisfied smile curves your lips as you snuggle closer to him.

But it isn’t long before that peaceful contentment becomes something more. As you move around, the feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his breath on your neck, and the memory of the passion ignites a familiar heat low in your belly

He stirs beside you, his hand tightening around your waist as if sensing your thoughts. Pulling you closer, his nose nuzzles against your neck, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin there.

His voice is rough with sleep as he murmurs against your skin, “Morning…”

The simple word, spoken in that deep, gravelly tone, is enough to make you ache for him all over again. You turn in his arms, meeting his gaze, and the look in his eyes—dark and hungry—tells you that he feels the same way.

The morning starts in the best way possible, the both of you breathless, spent, and with the knowledge that this isn’t a one-time thing. The connection between you is too strong, too consuming to be satisfied with just one night or even one morning. And as the day stretches out before you, the realization hits that this hunger, this need, will follow you both everywhere you go.

Throughout the week, the two of you are completely insatiable for each other. It’s like the floodgates have opened and have no intention of closing. Every moment you’re together becomes an opportunity.

It starts innocently enough—just a kiss in the barn when you’re supposed to be checking on the horses. But that kiss quickly spirals and before you know it, Logan has you pressed up against the wooden wall, his lips on your neck, his hands roaming your body. The scent of hay and leather mixes with the heady scent of him as he takes you right there, the barn filled with the sound of your moans and the creak of the old wooden beams.

Or when you’re in the back shed, ostensibly looking for some tools to finish up some chores, the moment the door closes behind you, and you both know there’s no point in pretending. Logan’s hands are on you before you can even say a word, lifting you onto the workbench with ease as he claims your lips in a searing kiss.

At the pond too, the tranquil, secluded spot now holds an entirely different kind of allure to what it had before. One afternoon, you find yourselves there again, the cool water calling your name. But as you strip down to swim, the sight of him watching you is enough to make it seem less inviting than the feel of his hands on your skin. You pull him in with you, the rippling water doing nothing to muffle the sounds of your shared pleasure.

By the end of the week, you’re exhausted but in the best possible way, your body and soul both filled with the kind of satisfaction that comes from truly giving in to what you want, to who you are together. And as the sun sets on the final day of your week alone together, you find yourselves back in Logan’s room, the place where it all began.

The bed, once neat and tidy, is now a tangle of sheets and pillows, the evidence of your shared moments of bliss scattered around the room. Logan lies beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair as you rest your head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“This week… it’s been more than I ever expected,” he admits quietly, his fingers brushing gently over your skin. “I don’t want it to end.”

You lift your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his, and you can see the same emotion reflected there—the same desire to hold on to what you’ve found together. “It doesn’t have to,” you reply. “We don’t have to go back to the way things were before.”

Logan’s hand tightens around yours, a small, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips. “No, we don’t,” he concurs.

—

The morning your grandparents arrive, you and Logan are in the kitchen, finishing up lunch. Your grandmother is the first to step through the door, her face lighting up as she sees the two of you. “We’re back!” she announces, her voice cheerful as she sets her bag down by the door.

You rise to greet her, giving her a warm hug. “How was the trip?”

“Oh, it was lovely,” she replies, her eyes twinkling as she pulls back to look at you. “The cottage was just as beautiful as ever. And the Summers send their love.”

Your grandfather enters next, a gleeful smile on his face as he takes in the sight of you and Logan in the kitchen, together. “Everything go smoothly while we were gone?” he asks.

You blush. “Yes, everything was fine.”

Then they do that thing they’ve been doing the whole time you’ve been with them, where they exchange a glance—and share a look that speaks volumes. It’s the kind of look that only comes from years of understanding each other without words, and you can tell they knew exactly what they were doing when they left you and Logan alone for the week.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” your grandmother says with a mischievous smile, her eyes flicking between you two in a way that makes you wonder just how much they’ve guessed.

“Seems like you two managed just fine without us.” Your grandfather says, patting Logan on the shoulder.

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you steal a look at Logan, who meets your eyes with a small smirk. It’s a way to tell you that he’s just as aware as you are of what your grandparents are thinking. But there’s no embarrassment on his face, only a quiet confidence, a certainty that whatever happened between you was exactly what was meant to be.

—

The next month flies by, the routine of everything staying largely the same except for one thing. You and Logan are inseparable, drawn to each other like magnets, and with each passing day, it seems like that attraction only grows stronger.

It’s not just the passion that binds you, though that spark is always there, and most often times doesn’t go ignored. It’s the little moments that fill your days—the way his hand brushes yours as you walk side by side, the way he rests a gentle hand on the small of your back when you’re working together in the barn, or the way his fingers grip your waist as he helps you mount your horse (even though you don’t need it).

The work on the farm continues to get done, but there’s a new layer to everything you do—a sense of shared purpose, of partnership. And even though the days are long and tiring, you find yourself looking forward to each task, knowing that Logan will be there beside you, sharing the load, offering his quiet support and his easy, comforting presence.

As the sun begins to rise one breakfast, you grandfather announces that he needs to run into town to pick up some tools for a repair project. He’s heading out the door, and as he grabs his keys from the hook, he turns to Logan with a nod.

“Logan, why don’t you come along? Could use an extra pair of hands,” he suggests, his tone casual.

Your man agrees without hesitation, always ready to lend a hand. But as he follows your grandfather out the door, he pauses for just a moment, whirling back to look at you, and what you see on his face is insane—there’s a deep yearning, a longing that tugs on your heartstrings. It’s almost as if to say that he wishes he could stay, he doesn’t want to be apart from you, even for the short trip into town.

You have half a mind to join them.

The intensity of that look lingers in the air long after he’s turned away and stepped out the door, and your grandmother doesn’t miss a thing. Once the men are in the truck and begin to drive off the property, she turns to you with a teasing smile, one eyebrow raised in amusment.

“He’s really got it bad for you, doesn’t he?” she says affectionately. “I’ve never seen a man look at a woman the way he looks at you.”

Your heart blooms in your chest. “I guess he does,” you reply, your voice soft, breathless as the weight of your feelings for him wash over you.

Your grandmother chuckles, stepping closer to place her hand on your arm “And you’ve got it bad for him too, I’d say.”

You laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

—

Several weeks later, it’s raining. That should have been the first sign that this day wasn’t going to go to plan. You’re sitting inside, curled up next to Logan on the old chesterfield, his arm wrapped around you as you both enjoy the warmth and quiet of the afternoon.

But then you decide to go through some emails—just a quick check, nothing more, to clear out any lingering notifications. You unlock your phone and start scrolling through your inbox, Logan’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder as you do. Most of the emails are routine—newsletters, updates, the usual clutter—but then you see it, nestled among the others like a tiny, unexpected bombshell.

It’s an email from the company you applied to months ago, the one you almost forgot about in the blissful haze of farm life. The subject line makes your heart skip a beat: Congratulations! Offer of Employment.

Your breath catches, and you sit up a little straighter, your heart pounding in your chest as you open the email. The words leap off the screen: We are pleased to offer you the position, starting in two months.

You stare at the email, a mixture of shock and elation washing over you. This is it—your dream job, the opportunity you’ve been working toward for years. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, the kind of position that could set the course for your entire career. But as the initial wave of excitement begins to ebb, a heavy weight settles in your chest, pulling you back down to earth.

You glance over at Logan, who’s still relaxed beside you. His eyes are closed, his head resting back against the couch. The sight of him, so content, makes your heart ache, because with this job offer comes a harsh reality: accepting it means leaving him, leaving this life you’ve built together, at least for a while. And you don’t know when—or even if—you’ll be back.

Suddenly, his eyes flutter open in response to your shifting, and he looks over at you, concern flickering across his features. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I… I just got an email,” you begin shakily as you turn the screen toward him so he can read it for himself.

He takes the phone from your hand, his eyes scanning the email. You watch his expression carefully, searching for any sign of what he’s feeling. At first, there’s no reaction, just the steady, focused way he reads the words. Yet as he reaches the end, you see it—the subtle tightening of his jaw, the pinching together of his eyebrows.

He hands the phone back to you wordlessly.

Then, “This is what you’ve been waiting for.” His voice is steady, but there’s a sadness there too, a heaviness that you can’t ignore.

You nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah… it is.”

There’s a long stretch of nothing, the sound of the rain outside filling the silence between you. Logan looks away, his gaze fixed on the fire as if trying to find the right words. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, measured. “You have to take it.”

You swallow hard. “But what about us? I don’t know when I’ll be back… or if I’ll even be able to come back.”

Logan’s hand tightens around yours, his grip firm, grounding. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, though you can hear the strain in his voice, the way he’s trying to hold back his own emotions for your sake. “You’ve worked too hard for this to pass it up.”

His words are supportive, encouraging, but you can see the the way he’s starting to close in on himself, as if already bracing himself for your departure. The thought of being apart from him is unbearable.

You lean into his touch, your head resting on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “I don’t want to leave you,” you whisper as the tears finally spill over.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as if trying to convey all the things he can’t bring himself to say. “I don’t want you to leave either,” he admits. “But I’ll be here when you get back. However long it takes.”

And so begins the countdown to your departure. You always knew it was going to come, always knew you were going to have to leave your grandparents again, but you didn’t expect to find the love of your life here, and that makes it so much harder.

—

The remaining two months become a bittersweet blend of cherished moments and a looming sense of inevitability. Each day feels both precious and fleeting, a constant reminder that your time together is running out, and it shapes every decision, every action, every word between you.

In the past, your days had been filled with the rhythm of farm life—early mornings, long hours of work, and evenings spent in each other’s arms, exhausted but content. But now, there’s a conscious effort to carve out time just for you two, time that’s not dictated by chores or routine. You start taking more trips to the pond or into town, something you hadn’t quite as often before.

These dates are different from the intense, passionate moments you’ve shared on the farm—they’re softer, more tender, as if you’re both trying to imprint each other’s presence into your memories. You hold hands as you walk on the streets, your fingers intertwined, and every now and then, Logan will pull you close, pressing a kiss to your temple or your lips, as if he needs to reassure himself that you’re still there with him.

Even the way you make love changes during these months. The hunger and desire that had once defined your physical relationship are still there, of course—Logan’s touch still ignites a fire in you, and the need for each other still burns as hot as ever—but now, there’s a new dimension to your intimacy, a slow, sensual depth that hadn’t been there before.

Your grandparents, upon hearing the news, immediately noticed the change too. While they were so extremely happy for your new job opportunity, they also knew what it meant. They’ve seen the way you and Logan have grown closer, the way your connection has deepened, and there’s a quiet sadness in their eyes whenever they see you together.

It’s not a sadness for themselves, but for the both of you.

They don’t say much, but their understanding is palpable. They seem to give you more grace when it comes to doing work around the farm, trying to volunteer and do as much as they can so you two can spend time alone. No matter how much you refuse, they insist, pushing you two out the door with picnic basket and blankets.

Sitting on the porch one evening after a long day, your grandmother comes out to join you. She sits beside you, Logan’s arm is draped around your shoulders, and for a brief second, the three of you just sit in silence, watching the sunset.

“You know,” your grandmother begins, her voice soft and filled with emotion, “I see the way you two look at each other. It reminds me of your grandfather and me when we were young.”

You smile, leaning into Logan’s side as you listen to her. “You two have always been such an inspiration,” you say, meaning every word.

She chuckles, a wistful sound. “It wasn’t always easy, you know. There were times when we had to be apart, times when I wasn’t sure if we’d make it through. But we did. And looking at you two now… I know you’ll find a way.”

Logan squeezes your shoulder gently.. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, echoing the promise he made when you first told him about the job.

Your grandmother nods, reaching out to pat your knee. “I believe you will. But just know… it’s okay to be sad, to be scared. That’s part of loving someone.”

The words resonate with you, and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

She smiles, a small, sad smile that holds a lifetime of wisdom. “You’ll be alright, my dear. Both of you.”

The days continue to slip by, and as the final weeks approach, your chest constantly feels tight. You try to make yourself feel better by lying in each other’s arms at night, whispering about the future, about the dreams you have, and the plans you’ll make when you’re together again. But still, it’s sad.

—

Your last day creeps up on you like a shadow at dusk—inevitable, inescapable, and suddenly there, looming over everything. You wake up with a rock on your heart, the realization that this is it—your final day on the farm, your last full day with Logan before everything changes.

He is still asleep beside you, holding you close, his face peaceful in the early morning quiet. For a moment, you just watch him, memorizing the lines of his face, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the way his hair falls across his forehead. You want to remember everything, to carry this image of him with you when you leave.

With a soft sigh, you carefully slip out of his embrace, trying not to wake him. You pad quietly to the window, staring out at the familiar landscape that has become so dear to you. The fields, the barn, the trees swaying gently in the breeze—it’s all so beautiful, so full of memories.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the wetness on your cheeks, and you quickly wipe the tears away, not wanting to start the day with sadness. But as you turn back to the bed, you see that Logan is awake, his eyes open and watching you. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes says it all—he knows what today means, and he feels it just as deeply as you do.

Wordlessly, you crawl back into bed, curling up against him, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your voice trembling slightly as you press your face into his chest, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall..

You just lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the day pressing down on you both. Eventually, Logan pulls back slightly, his hand cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “Let’s go to the pond,” he says delicately. “Just you and me.”

You nod, unable to find the words to respond. The pond has always been your special place, a sanctuary where you’ve shared so many intimate moments, where it feels like it all began, and so it’s only right that would spend your last day there, away from everything else, just the two of you.

You decide to walk to the pond. Logan’s hand is warm and solid in yours, and you hold on to it tightly, physically unable to tear yourself from his touch. And when you reach it, a fresh wave of emotion crashes over you.

You and Logan stand at the water’s edge, just staring out into the pond. Then, you turn to him, your eyes filled with tears, and without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close.

The kiss that follows is desperate, full of the need to feel connected, to hold on to each other for as long as you can. It’s not like the slow, sensual lovemaking of the past weeks—this is something desperate. Stumbling back toward the soft grass by the water’s edge, Logan gently lays you down, his hands trembling slightly as he undresses you, tears stinging behind his eyelids. As he moves over you, his body pressing against yours, there’s only this moment.

With his skin against yours, his breath on your neck, your bodies move together. Tears spill from your eyes as you hold him tight, your hands unable to stay still, running over every part of him you can touch, needing to feel him, to anchor yourself. His lips find yours again, and the kiss is deep, full of all the love, all the emotion that neither of you can put into words.

It’s a kiss that says goodbye, that says I love you, that says I’ll wait for you.

After reaching the peak of pleasure, you cling to each other, the tears flowing freely now, a mix of sorrow and love and everything in between.

Logan holds you close, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged, his eyes wet with tears. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ll always love you.”

“I love you too,” you choke out. “More than anything.”

—

Driving away from the farm was probably the hardest thing you've ever had to do in your entire life. Harder than moving away for university, harder than securing your first full-time job, harder than living alone in a city where you knew no one. This was different—this was leaving behind a piece of your heart, a part of your soul that you knew would never be whole until you returned.

Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles white as you try to focus on the road ahead, but it’s impossible to shake the image that’s burned into your mind—the image of Logan and your grandparents standing on the porch as you drove away. The sight of them, standing there side by side, watching you leave, is something that will haunt you for a long time.

Logan, his stoic expression barely masking the pain in his eyes, his hands clenched at his sides as if holding himself back from running after you. Your grandmother, her face a mixture of sadness and pride, eyes glistening with unshed tears. And your grandfather, standing tall and strong, but with a heaviness in his gaze that spoke of understanding, of experience, of knowing just how hard this had to be.

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally break free, streaming down your face as you drive, blurring your vision and making it hard to see the road ahead. You swipe at them angrily, frustrated with yourself for breaking down like this, but it’s no use. The emotions are too strong, too overwhelming, and soon you’re bawling your eyes out, the sound of your own crying filling the car.

You can barely catch your breath, each sob wracking your body with a force that leaves you feeling drained, exhausted, and utterly broken.

—

The time apart is worse than you ever imagined it would be. In the beginning, you and Logan make every effort to stay in touch. The calls and texts are your lifeline, little threads that keep you connected to the farm, to him, to the life you left behind.

At first, you talk every day. his voice a comfort, a reminder that you’re not alone, that he’s still there, waiting for you. He tells you about his days, about how he still rides the horses every morning, just like he used to when you were there.

But as time goes on, the time between each call grows. Your demanding work schedule, and the unreliable service in the countryside, make it harder and harder to find moments when you’re both free to talk. The texts, once long and filled with details about your lives, become shorter, more practical. You try to stay connected, but the distance feels like a growing chasm between you, one that neither of you can quite figure out how to bridge.

Years pass by in a blur. You have no time to spend at the farm, with it being too far away for just a weekend trip, and other commitments seem to always get in the way.

Then, one day, the call comes—the call you’ve dreaded but somehow always knew would happen. It’s your grandmother, her voice trembling as she tells you that your grandfather has passed away.

You take leave from work immediately, making arrangements to drive back to the farm and spend a night. The funeral is simple, attended by a few close friends and neighbours, but the absence of your grandfather is felt deeply by everyone.

And he’s there too—Logan. He’s standing off to the side, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his face etched with grief. When your eyes meet, it’s as if no time has passed at all. You walk over to him, and without a word, he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid to let go.

The few years apart, the pain of the distance, all of it melts away in that embrace. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him that you’ve missed so much, and the tears you thought you had run out of begin to fall.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, everything hitting you at once—the loss of your grandfather, the years you’ve spent apart, the life you could have had together.

He hugs you tighter, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I miss you,” he murmurs thickly. “Every damn day, I miss you.”

You spend the rest of the day together, holding each other, talking, catching up, and remembering your grandfather. Logan tells you about the farm, about how he’s kept things going, but you can hear the weariness in his voice, the toll that time and loneliness have taken on him. It’s clear that the farm hasn’t been the same without you, just as your life hasn’t been the same without him.

Later that evening, after the guests have left and the house has grown quiet, your grandmother pulls you aside. Her eyes are tired, full of sorrow, but there’s a calm acceptance in her expression. “I’ve made a decision,” she says softly, her voice steady. “I’m going to sell the farm.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but before you can protest, she continues. “Not to just anyone,” she adds quickly. “To Logan. He’s been more than just a farmhand, you know that. This place is as much his as it was ours. But… I need to move into permanent care. I can’t manage on my own anymore.”

You nod, understanding but feeling a deep sadness all the same. The farm has been a part of your life for so long, and the thought of it changing hands, even to Logan, feels like another loss. But there’s also a sense of relief, knowing that it will be in good hands, that it will stay in the family, in a way.

That night, you’re tangled in Logan’s arms. Leaving him the next morning is just as hard the second time as it was the first.

—

Five years since that fateful summer have passed, and in that time, your life changes in ways you never expected. You’ve built a successful career, made some amazing friends, travelled the world, but the hustle and bustle of city life has taken its toll. The stress, the strain, the dissatisfaction—it begins to weigh on you more and more.

You make a decision.

You quit your job, find something remote, something that allows you to work from anywhere, as long as you can drive into the city every few weeks to drop off documents. It’s a drastic change, but it’s one you need. You realize that the life you want, the life you’ve been yearning for, isn’t in the city.

It’s back at the farm.

And as you step out of your car, you see him. He’s by the paddock, feeding the horses apples, just like he used to. His back is to you at first, but then he turns, and his eyes meet yours, and time stops.

There’s a lifetime of emotions in that look—love, longing, hope. Most of all, there’s recognition, as if both of you know that this is it, that this is the moment you’ve been waiting for all these years.

So, when you’re finally standing in front of him again, he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he cups your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek the same way it did all those years ago.

----

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comfortless · 5 months

Note

dog hybrid recruit König thots??

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. more loner x loner because it is a treat for me. fem (afab) reader. König is a man just with ears and a tail. vague smut.

He’s the one that was never picked.

So maybe you’re too busy for a puppy hybrid, but maybe you’re a bit too lonely for an empty apartment. You don’t have the space for a big, excitable dog. The cats and bunnies are in high demand, too, there’s no shot of you adopting one of the cute, softer things within your budget. So you settle for a dog. The only dog left at the shelter.

His papers state that he comes from Austria, aged twenty-five and never been put into an actual home before. He’s endured some rigorous military training: scenting, tracking, breaking down thick doors with only a shoulder and an efficient push. A hunter through and through. Then, following his merits: erratic, jumpy, impulsive, and more than a little aggressive.

This dog doesn’t growl, only bites.

The paper sits crumpled in your hands as you eye the dimly lit hallway to your left. Posters of information line the beige walls to either side, some with photos of proud kitties and dogs, hand-in-hand with their companions and cheery phrases printed above in a bright, yellow cursive.

If anything, those are the ones that give you the final push to adopt this unloved, discarded experimental soldier. He’s only been given this one very last chance before… You would rather not think of what comes if you’re to turn away and leave him to rot and wither here. It must have happened a dozen times already: ambitious families looking for a more intriguing addition only to lock eyes with this pitiful thing and shake their heads ‘no’ for him to be put on death row like this.

“He’s scary,” the clerk reminds you once you’re finally led down the hall to the tiny room your new pet— no, friend, must be kept in. It was easy to think of them as something else sometimes. Animal instincts as prevalent as their claws, teeth, and fuzzy little ears. But you didn’t need a pet, there were an abundance of shops for those. You needed a good soul to spill your guts to and maybe pet from time to time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

The poor thing is locked away to fester in what more closely resembles a cell than anything resembling a home. A steel door with a thin, narrow gap in the middle like a peephole keeps him locked in tight. Peering through that narrow gap, you only then seem to realize just what an impulsive decision you’re making.

König is exactly what the clerk said, continues to say next to you as she searches for the correct key on the ring. He’s bigger than any other hybrid you’ve seen before, built narrow at the waist but broad and deadly where it matters most; arms like narrow trees and thighs larger than your head, all muscle and intimidation, even with the cute, perky ears peeking out of the top of his helmet. He was definitely used for guarding and killing, and how a man his stature could even begin to fail that was unknown to you. Not that it was necessary. At most, he may need to shoo a scuttling pest out of the front door and put away a dish or two.

When the door swings open, the clerk offers a hesitant nod before dismissing herself back down the hall, and you’re left stood with a pair of blue eyes locked directly onto you.

König assesses with a tilt of his head and a slow ascent to his feet. He’s clad in layers of black, an empty vest where magazines or grenades must have been in place prior. Hell if you knew. He should have been given a fresh change of clothes after being discharged and sent to this place. A proper bed, too, considering the only furniture in this barren place seemed to be a cot that could never hope to hold him.

If not for the swaying of his tail, you might even find yourself nervous, but he does well to try and look approachable, even greets you with a thickly accented tongue beneath that hood. A simple, “Hallo.”

“I’ve adopted you,” you explain, and it sounds ridiculous. You can’t just adopt a full-grown man. Maybe a puppy or some hybrid child, never a man better suited for a gladiator pit than a home. “I mean that… if you want to come home with me, you can.”

He gives you a huff, a burst of breath that pushes the hood out from his face and a near imperceptible roll of his eyes as a step is taken toward you. It must sound stupid, even to him, but the wiry tail at his back does not cease its wagging. No matter how stern the glimpses of his face seem to look and how alarming his size may be, he’s nothing but an eager pup it seemed.

“Richtig… Then let’s go.”

Life with your big soldier turns out to be remarkably easy.

The first few weeks are dedicated to stoking up some sort of bond and rationing out chores. Simple tasks to see how he adapts, and small rewards in the form of pets along the velvety fur of his ears and scratches beneath his chin. The walks with you seem to be his favorite and tend to be long, but he remains right at your side the entire way. The only barking to be heard comes from nosy passersby that warn you to keep your beast on a leash, but you let him be reasoning that it wouldn’t do you any good at all. Your strength was that of a tiny rabbit’s by comparison.

König is clean enough from his prior military training and does as you ask without complaint. Even things you don’t request, such as your laundry are taken care of before you ever even return from work. He’s overbearing on those evenings, when you’ve been apart and he sates himself drunk on the scent of your perfume still clinging to the collar of an old sweater. Excitable and sweet, though, when he curls at your side while some movie plays on the television screen.

It amazes you how easily he’s shifted from stiff to adoring in a matter of days, but it’s rare to have a moment to yourself now. The hybrid is insistent on pulling you up into his lap when you’re curled on the couch, or rushing behind to hoist you up and pin you between an expanse of chest and the kitchen counter with drooly licks against the side of your neck and cheek. Biting, too. You try your best to bully that out of him, flicking at his ears or shoving against his face, but there’s always a mark left behind.

When a coworker gives you a mischievous grin and asks if there’s a new man in your life at the sight of a purplish bruise against your throat, that is when you decide that a collar may actually be nice. Weave your fingers between leather and skin and give König a sharp tug when he gets too rowdy, maybe that would teach him. Spray bottles and warnings spoken through giggles just aren’t enough.

You find one that you think might fit at a shop specializing in hybrid needs. It’s thick and well-made, a black leather hold to match that big scary demeanor that he tries his best to uphold. The cutesy silver bell attached to it is just a bonus. At least you would hear him coming the next time he insisted on peppering you in kisses with his tail a blur behind him.

He greets you at the door as always, unlocks it for you and pulls it open before you ever even make it to the top of the landing. It’s cute how giddy he seems each day when you return, how he doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to you with his hands at his sides, his own silent request for a hug or some form of affection whilst staring down at you and mumbling a “hallo” like the most awkward gentleman in the entire world.

“I got you a present,” you excitedly tell him instead of blessing him with your usual embrace, lifting up the little gift bag with a smile.

When the collar is retrieved from the bag by a massive hand, König does not mirror your enthusiasm. Any light in the placid blue of his eyes seems to extinguish, smothered and fizzled out to pave way for a look of the purest disdain. He rolls the leather between both palms, only then regarding you with as a heavy sigh stirs up from his chest to whistle past the open mouth beneath the hood.

Maybe he would have preferred something with spikes. Something heavy and intimidating with a tag that read “FUCK YOU” in red, painted letters.

“I don’t wear collars,” he finally says, flatly.

Or maybe a muzzle would have been best…

“You do now, big guy,” you challenge with an airy laugh, slipping past him to cross into your home. Tidy as ever, he’s been working today it seemed. The bulb in the living room has been replaced, a few pieces of furniture rearranged. It all just looks… cozy. More habitable now that someone else lives here too.

König follows you inside with his head lowered and tail pushed between his thighs. The collar rests in one hand, fingers curled over it so tightly it almost seemed he wished the damned thing to dissipate into dust.

“Nein. I won’t wear it.” The door is locked behind him. It’s the first time he’s refused you anything. Even cleaning up around the kitchen wasn’t met with a rejection. It’s odd, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I just thought…” You would want to be mine. Properly. With a nice symbol of it right around his neck, with a sturdy leash to lead him by, with…

Any thought in your head puffs into a plume of smoke back there behind your eyes when you feel two hands grasp at your shoulders, push you back towards the wall to hold you there. Hugging, lifting, cuddling up against, even licking… those things were commonplace. This was foreign and surprisingly rough; there’s no give to his hold, no room to even try to move away as his head lowers to stare you straight in the eyes.

“I killed my last handler.”

“Did you…?”

“Ja.”

That confession should have sent icy dread to the pit of your stomach, should have spurred you to claw and kick and bite. Surely the shelter would have known, could have warned you too. That would have spared you from looking like a terrified little rabbit now, yet a part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. König sort of… belonged here, as if written in some silly reading of the stars.

His ears flatten against his skull, large hands trembling where they hold you in place. The dam begins to crack as his eyes grow glassy, gaze far away in a concoction of pain and contemplation. He stares through you, not at, reliving something you dared not ask for an explanation for. The whys and hows die on your tongue.

And there’s nothing scary about him anymore.

There’s only a wounded soldier here.

A good boy.

Your hands rise to flip up the hood, rest it over the top of his head to cup his jaw in your palms, stroking over his cheeks with both thumbs to soothe and comfort. His unwinding comes immediate, hands slipping down to your lower back to pull you in closer.

You don’t apologize and neither does he. Everything just falls back into a comfortable lull, some fuzzy droning from both sides as you wish one another good night. He walks you to your bedroom door, the very best he can do to prove that he’s not some mutt with froth coming from his jaw. You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from encouraging that he sleep next to you.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?,” you tell him as you lean against the door in preparation to push it closed. “The very best there is.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tail behind him wags at a frantic pace from those words alone.

The following morning is different.

There’s food on the table and coffee already brewing by the time you cross from your room into the kitchen. The air bears the scent of sandalwood and geranium, a forgotten candle sat burning on the countertop. You eat your breakfast of too-sweet pancakes and prep your coffee to go all while the shower runs from somewhere down the hallway.

He usually waits, tells you goodbye before you’re off to work, bites at your neck and asks which will be better: a movie after dinner or some fresh air. Instead, there’s a note attached to the door. Something simple and mischievous, a scribbled, lopsided heart and some phrase in German written with handwriting so sloppy that there was no hope of your still sleep-addled mind translating it.

You chalk it up to him being fully adjusted in this new space, let him go about his business while you go about yours.

It would be a walk tonight.

Arriving home twists what is simply different into the realm of bizarre. No hugging by the door, it sits closed and untouched since you left this morning. You inhale something heavy, trepidation or maybe a bit of yearning there, while you fumble with your key in the lock. A click, a push, and then everything just changes. There’s no crashing and burning, only a very firm and insistent buzzing that rises to your chest, because the sight inside is just…

König.

Your König.

The hood has been discarded and set aside on the polished wood of a nearby table, the little bell collar sits right along his throat. It jingles when his ears perk and his tail begins that gentle sway, swishing with every step that you take into the apartment, rampant and unyielding when the sparkles in your eyes cluster like the tiniest, most insignificant stars.

No apologies, but this was something better.

“Gut?,” he asks you, kneels before you with the cutest stare that you’ve ever seen on a man. Constellations sit there waiting to be mapped, and your giant puppy waits for just a little praise.

You stroke his ears first, then dip your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“The best boy,” you tell him.

“I have a present for you too.”

No protest comes when he herds you out of the door, still in your stiff uniform with your hair a mess. The sun begins its setting out on the horizon, bathing the world in purple and gold. Trees with spring blossoms and wildflowers all abloom tinge the air in something sweet. It’s not your usual trail, and König doesn’t walk at your side this time, only ahead. You watch him fondly as he grazes his fingertips against the blooms hanging from branches just overhead, how he shies away from the curious nesting birds in bushes as to not startle them.

It isn’t the usual trail, but he walks it with confidence. There are no people out so late in the day, and apart from the occasional quip between the both of you, the setting only bears the sound of the chiming of his bell and a few night birds beginning to call. Peace morphs to something greater when the sun tucks itself away and sets the stage for a bright, waning moon. There’s a small clearing, a meadow cut straight through by the dirt path you walk, and only then are you pulled aside.

“Here,” he huffs against your chest when your back meets soft grass and a hazy, spring sky is painted out above you.

Maybe you’re not the best with men, but there have been signs.

So many in abundance that the pitiful squeak that leaves you when his nose finds its way up your skirt is only an embarrassment. König must have found it charming, reaches for both of your hands as he laps at your sex through the thin lace of your panties until your body grows tense and your nails leave little crescents on the backs of his hands.

The words don’t come, they don’t have to when he speaks them for you, little whispers and coos into your hair when any barrier between you is discarded with the descent of a zipper and the sound of tearing lace. There’s an outpouring of thanks in the form of a tiny, fragile, “I missed you.”

The night birds calling washes out each sound that escapes from either of you then, only outdone by the symphony of impact when König loses himself entirely to you. Limbs curling around narrow hips and a broad back, pools of blue so shimmery and pretty they outdo even the moon hanging above locked onto you. He doesn’t look away even as you try to bury your face into the width of his shoulder, only then guides you back down with a gentle hand and a muffled, needywhine.

“Good boy,” comes as a mere peep when he fully sheaths himself and laps at the corner of your mouth as you speak. The praise only causes him to still, pries the words from his panting mouth and reduces them to a series of pleasured, stuttering groans.

“What did the note say?,” you ask him in the silence that comes comfortable once the act is done, nestled into a pair of strong arms with a cheek pressed against an expanse of chest.

“Oh.” König laughs breathily, coming down from the height of both love and need.

“That you found home?,” you ask when he pets at your hair, twirls strands between his fingertips. “Because I think that I may have, too…”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, loosens his grip around your body for a mere second before pulling you in closer, tighter to him, as if letting go would end the world entirely. “Heaven.”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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jnkgrnde · 9 months

Text

— is it a crime?, clarisse la rue, pjo

summary — in which, clarisse still wants you even after you break up. based off of is it a crime by sade.

pairings — clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader (daughter of athena)

authors note — i was listening to this song while i was cleaning n thought it would make a good fic

both you and clarisse were miserable, you were just handling it in different ways.

clarisse had mood swings where one day she wanted to destroy everyone and everything in her path, and the next she isolated herself from everyone.

you sought out the support of your cabin mates, wearing your heart on your sleeve for them to help heal. you consulted with annabeth if you were in the wrong. “maybe i reacted too harsh?” you asked her.

“you acted within reason. we all know how intense she can be, but maybe you should give her one more chance. she’s been miserable without you.” you looked up at her. “should i?” annabeth nodded. “if you can find a way to help her tone it down, you know you and her are good together. it shouldn’t be hard; she visibly relaxes whenever she’s around you.” she laughed.

there was a knock on the cabin door. annabeth stood up before you could, and there was the woman of the hour. “is she there, annabeth?” annabeth crossed her arms, glaring at clarisse a bit. “she is.” “can i come in?” before she moved out of the way, annabeth gave a warning to clarisse. “you may, but if she comes out of here crying-“ “i know, chase. i won’t.” clarisse promised.

you were standing when she walked in and annabeth left. she walked in with a moderate size gash on her forehead and flowers in her hands. “hi.” she greeted nervously.

when was clarisse ever nervous?

“gods, what happened to you?” you instinctively went up to her and cupped her face, inspecting her injury. her cheeks started getting warm at the touch of your hands. “would you believe me if i said i got smacked by a tree branch?” she chuckled. you rolled your eyes with a small smile. “sit down, idiot. i’ll get the med kit.” just hearing your teasing voice brought a smile to her face.

she watched you go the bathroom as she rehearses her apology in her head. her hands were sweaty and she was bouncing her leg up and down. you came out with a red medkit and brought it to your bed, where she was sitting. she watched you take out the essentials and started the process.

for once, she was the one who had trouble keeping eye contact. “‘m sorry.” she mumbled. “what was that?” your voice soft. “i’m sorry. i, um, i- i got you flowers.” she lifted them up gently. you giggled. “thank you, sweet girl.” you took them from her hand and placed them on your nightstand, putting a mental note in your head to get a vase for them later.

she didn’t know what to say.

everything she went over for the past few days evaporated out of her headspace. what she did know, though, was that her hands were itching to hold you some type of way.

“is there a reason why you came all this way, la rue?” she looked at you when you spoke to her. she took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. “i wanted to apologize.” she finally explained. you hummed, letting her know to keep going.

“i should’ve trusted you- i do trust you. you had every reason to lash out at me, and you have good reason to not want to be with me. i just wanted to clear the air and want to end on a go-“ she was cut off when you pressed your lips to hers. her hands fell to your waist automatically, the itch being satisfied.

it was slow, up until she started fighting for more and you got off her. “one chance,” you told her. “you get one more chance. i won’t come easy.” she grinned wide. you still wanted her, and she wanted you too; she needed you. so she was determined to win you back.

“yes ma’am.”

#percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #pjo #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue

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bartxnhood · 2 months

Text

blown away | t.o

tyler owens x fem!reader

based on this request: Is it possible to request a Tyler fic where he and reader are in an established relationship, she knows what his job is like. And they get separated during the big tornado that blows through at the end of the movie. Desperate for a toothrotting soft and angsty reunion.

warnings: depictions of tornado, reader gets a few cuts a scrapes, maybe a swear word or two.

w/c: 823

requests open

not proofread

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

“okay, baby” tyler begins, shutting the back door on the passenger side of his truck. “we’re headin out”

he turns around to face you, his hands resting on your hips. you frown as you drape your arms over his shoulders. “m’gonna miss you” you say. tyler smiles, “i’ll be back, promise” he said, then leaned in to press a soft kiss on your lips. “always come back to you” he says in between the kiss.

“m’gonna go to the farmers market later, call me when yer comin home. kay?” your hands intertwined with the hair on the naps of his neck.

“mhm” he hums, leaning in to kiss you again. his arms snaking around your waist, pulling you closer.

you giggle in between the kisses, his hands squeeze your ass in a playful manner. “ty!” you pull away, face red.

“what? can’t i show a little appreciation?” he teases, raising his eyebrows. you shake your head, “you’re something else.”

“you be safe, kay?” tyler asks, and you nod. “i always am, babe.” you assure with a peck on his cheek.

“don’t keep the crew waitin.”

the small town was bustling with activity as the farmers market was in full swing. the town square was filled with stands selling fresh produce, handcrafted goods, and home-cooked food.

farmers and merchants from neighboring towns had set up stands to sell their goods. the air was filled with the sound of people bartering and chatting with each other.

children squealed and ran around, playing games and sampling treats from the vendors. the small town was a picturesque scene of rural life on a beautiful spring day.

but, it changed in an instant.

the fierce winds howled like an angry beast as the destructive tornado ripped through the town, leaving a path of destruction and chaos in its wake. the twister tore through buildings, uprooted trees, and sent debris flying through the air.

amidst the chaos, you found ducked into the theater as the tornado roared towards the town. the doors slammed shut behind you, cutting you off from the outside world. you looked around, seeing people huddled together, kids crying, and people crying and screaming.

the only light coming from the emergency lights that faintly illuminated the aisles. as the wind howled outside, you could hear the windows of the theater crack and break, and the sound of chairs and other objects being tossed about.

in the distance, you could hear the sound of people calling out names, no doubt other people who had sought shelter in the theater.

the stormed roared like some sort of beast, ripping the foundations from the theater.

it was truly a horrific sight, people were getting swept away from their loved ones. ear piercing screams and wailing accompanied the roaring storm.

you watched the scene unfold, unsure if you’d be walking out of there alive. you peer your head above one of the theater seats and watch as the wall was ripped away, swallowed by the storm.

“oh, mygod..” you breathe and hunker back down and cover your head with your arms. just like tyler had taught you to do.

tyler finally arrived in the midst of a chaotic situation. he knew you were somewhere nearby. despite the chaos and danger all around, his focus was on only one thing: finding you.

he navigated through the debris-filled streets, scanning the surroundings for any sign of you.

the roaring wind and ominous darkness made it difficult to see anything clearly, but he pushed forward, determined to find you.

tyler knew he was too late, the town was almost flattened. trees uprooted, buildings gone, debris littered the streets.

he hopped out of his truck, the crew following behind him to help the people who fell victim to the storm.

“y/n?!” he hollers, watching people slowly emerge from the rubble.

“baby?!”

tyler finally spotted you walking out of what once was the theater. you look around, your face smeared with dirt and clothes torn, shivering slightly as you tried to regain your composure.

you look around the state of the city, hugging yourself and sniffling.

as he made his way towards you, he couldn't help but feel a wave of relief wash over him. you looked up at him as he approached, and hour eyes widened in recognition before you stood up, launching yourself into his arms.

“oh, thank god.” he breaths, wrapping his arms around you. “you okay?” he pulls back to push some hair from your face to examine for any injuries.

“m’fine..” you nod. your eyes begin to water as you look up at him. “there was no warning..”

“i know, i know” he hushes your worries and pulls you back to your chest. “it’s okay, you’re okay now” he runs his fingers through your hair, swaying you two back and forth.

“we’ll get you checked out and then go home, kay?” he suggests and you nod. “mmkay.”

#bartxnhood writes #tyler owens fluff #tyler owens angst #tyler owens fanfic #tyler owens twisters #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens smut #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #javier twisters #kate carter #twisters fanfiction #twisters fanfic #twisters

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lorelune · 6 days

Text

(minors & ageless blogs dni. a piece for @ainescribe for helping me with my theme 💓 cw: predator/prey, hints of dubcon)

"i'll give you a head start."

jing yuan tells you this with a pleasant, easy smile and his hands behind his back. and no context. you cock your head at him from across the little table you share, and take a sip of your cold tea.

"come again, dear?" you knock your ankle against his under the table.

"i'm giving you a five minute head start." jing yuan leans closer and rests his chin his palm. his eyes take on a cat-like glint. "i've already started counting. i'd get going if i were you, sweetling."

you only want more of it.

your chest feels tight all of a sudden.

"jing yuan—"

"i won't be going easy on you." his smile verges on smug as he leans forward. "and i would advise to take full advantage of this time. i think you'll need it."

he leans away from you and tilts his head. it would be cute if you couldn't see the rapidly darkening mischief in his gaze. you jolt up from your little table, clattering your chair on the cobbled walkway. he eyes you up and down like a big cat sizing up its next meal as you step backwards, nearly stumbling.

something in your gut twists, like a hot iron.

you turn on a heel and walk as fast as you can without drawing too much attention to yourself. weaving around the late-night crowds and ducking around street vendors and their burning latterns, your heart pounds. faster and faster.

this had been your idea originally. you just hadn't expected jing yuan to entertain it (though on some level, he entertains all of your ideas.) this desire of yours seemed too risky, too innately... unlike him. at least to you.

this game had been a fantasy. one you'd confessed your interest in a few weeks prior, while luxuriating in a pleasantly steaming bath together. you shared a glass of wine, passed between sips after a slow, tender evening. you'd playfully started a conversation about things to try in the bedroom, and somehow, the Divine Foresight and honey wine managed to wring a few previously unspoken desires out of you.

this is the result, you suppose, as you stumble around a corner, toward jing yuan's estate.

you should've known that jing yuan would spring this fantasy on your unexpectedly. that was part of the allure. the hunt, the chase— you're just prey now, with no time to prepare or plan. the innate helplessness has already stirred something in you, even though jing yuan hasn't done anymore than send you hungry looks and promises.

you're sure five minutes have passed. you're positive that the man is trailing you, even if you can't hear or see him. you don't have the military prowess that he does, you're just a civilian. your footfalls are loud as you break into a run near his estate and its towering walls.

your hands shake as you hold your jade abacus to its lock. the slow 'clunk' of gears opening the gates feels like it goes on forever. your heart is pounding in your ears, like a drum that won't stop. you're out of breath, but force yourself to sprint the moment the door swings open.

you hide in one of his gardens.

jing yuan has many green spaces on his estate. it's situated on a large enough space to allow for a small stream running through the largest garden into the front yard. ponds gurgle nearby, filled with fat, sleepy fish. you wake them as you dash around the greenery and shrubs, uncaring of the dirt that is staining your shoes. the bottom of your outer most garment must be getting torn as it snags on the brush below.

the gate of the estate opens and closes once more, somewhere not far behind you. your heart lurches, your stomach feels cold and hollow and you run.

jing yuan knows his estate better than you, clearly. you don't know where is safe, but in his largest garden, there are large gingko trees and stones that seem okay to hide behind. maybe. you are too anxious, too out of your fucking mind, to use sound logic at this point. you scramble behind a smooth quartz boulder and lay a hand on your chest. panting. tears sting your the corners eyes as you desperately try to catch your breath.

you listen the best you can to see if you can hear him follow you. it's hard to pick up every little sound, breeze shakes the tree branchers into a late-evening song. cicadas chirp to disguise any potential footfalls. it would probably be best to hide somewhere on the edge of the garden. you're in the center of it, not far from the stream. you don't dare peak out from your hiding spot, but you should move— you feel so exposed—

a floorboard creaks nearby. you freeze.

the wind almost stills with the sound. you can't breathe as you strain to hear more. it came from the west, where you know there's an entrance to this garden. you think. probably. your heart pounds so loudly, you can barely hear anything over the roar.

you do another sound, though. the sound of a boot fall, onto stone. there's a path laid with them not far from where you are.

something white-hot, old and feral burst in your chest.

you need to fucking run.

with a burst of energy that makes you feel light-headed, you push off the ground and throw yourself over the rock you were hiding behind, away from the sounds that are surely jing yuan stalking you.

your feet hit the ground and you run. run, run, run—

you swear you can feel more footfalls than just your own, but you can't look behind you. all of your focus is on weaving through the gardens trees and shrubbery, to gain and sort of ground.

you stumble, eventually. it's inevitable that you lose. the game is set up that way.

you trip over your own feet as you near the little stream that cuts the garden and gurgles. your momentum ruins you; you can't right yourself fast enough.

a hand catches the back of your collar and pulls. your breath catches, caught in your throat by the pressure. an arm, his arm, bundle you up at the waist and slams your body into his. your back to his front. the force of it knocks the air out of you.

you still scramble, you can't help it. squirming and kicking, you fight against the unyielding grip he has on you. he's hot against your back, scalding even. the metal bits of his armor and belts dig into your as your struggle fruitlessly.

"what's this?" jing yuan says into your ear, soft and curling. "i thought you would do a little better than this."

you whine. your stomach feels cold.

jing yuan laughs then, rich and low like he always does. but there's a darker edge to it now. you can feel it spread down the back of your neck, your spine, drenching you down to your toes. he squeezes you, and you feel yourself get wet.

(you're fucked.)

"you'll have to try harder next time." jing yuan says. "maybe i did go a little easy on you."

"s-sure you did—"

jing yuan nips your ear. "what was that? i didn't realize prey animals were capable of speech."

you crane your neck, ready to snap at him, but you don't get the chance too.

in a single motion, jing yuan has you thrown over his shoulder. blood rushes too quickly to all of the places it shouldn't be. you feel dizzy with it and whine and sputter with it.

jing yuan doesn't yield, only laughs again, and gives your bottom a few firm (very firm) pats. you gulp.

(lucidly remembering the other details you revealed to jing yuan in the bath that night. all of the filthiest bits of your fantasies. jing yuan hardly had to ply you for them.)

and jing yuan is a strategist. you should have known he would use this new information advantageously against you in such a way.

as you enter his manor, heart still pounding, palms clammy, and feeling like a rabbit in the jaws of a lion, you feel foolish and turned on all once. jing yuan so easily catches you off guard when he chooses. he so easily undoes you, puts you in a place of his choosing and let's you fester there just enough that he can remedy it— either with sweetness or, as he now so adeptly showing you, with something an edge darker.

you gulp, light-headed.

#jing yuan x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x you #lore writes #oh to be a prey animal like reader in the jaws of jing yuan. how i crave.#drabble

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lacollectionneuse1967 · 10 months

Text

remembering you

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: the year is 1916 and you live with your family near the western front in france. after a chance encounter with a wizard soldier during the war, you don't think you'll ever see him again, although you're sure you'll always remember him.

nine years later, you find that the man not only works with you at the ministry, but he also happens to be the annoying auror who keeps accidentally sending interdepartmental memos to your desk. you develop a friendly, albeit anonymous, banter through sending each other notes, but the question remains--does he know who you are? and, if he does, does he remember you?

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: office romance. smut with plot.

warnings: 18+ smut scene. unprotected penetration. oral sex (fem receiving). dirty talk. mdom/femsub. fyi he begs for it.

author's note: i am not an expert on the wizarding world nor am i an expert on wwi / world history! with respect, i do not claim to be. this is a work of fanfiction.

1916, Northern France

How strange it was, being at home when it no longer felt like home.

Your memories from childhood were precious and few, almost unreal. It was uncanny to be back with your father at that small, unchanging farmhouse on the far outskirts of Verdun. Your school waited until the last possible minute to send its students home, as they would have been sending many students home to die.

The perpetual afternoon, summery quiet of the countryside that you were so used to took on a disconcerting edge, an unspoken terror. This was the silence of a stalemate, of a breath being held. Not far from here lay the trenches and, beyond that, the Germans.

The flat, low-slung lines of Meuse were an additional shock to you. You'd spent the last five years of your life in the high, rocky mountains of the Pyrenees, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

The river-run grasslands around you now had a vacant, exposed quality to them, the trees bare of birds, the squat buildings in town possessing the hollowed-out feel of an abandoned amusement park.

Even before the soldiers came you'd felt like a sitting duck.

Your sister's scream was the first noise to break the deadlock silence of the night.

You run from the windowsill without looking back. Smoke smell pricks your nostrils.

Your front door is swinging frenetically on its squealing hinges, left open, gapingly and awfully so. There are three uniformed men in boots, heavy gear, standing in your living room, looking around your small, low-ceilinged house with barely concealed reproach on their faces.

The wooden floors creak weakly underfoot. Through the doorframe you can make out some distant fires burning, you can't see them but you can smell them.

The sharp, whistling sound of war planes tears through the air.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" One of the men says in mangled French. He's redheaded, maybe in his early forties. There's black soot on his face which makes his irises look so light blue they're nearly white. "English. Anyone speak English?"

Your younger sister cowers at the booming cadence of his voice, she doesn't speak English. One of her bare feet takes a step back.

So they're English soldiers at least, but you don't recognize their uniforms. The redheaded one is brandishing a wand. But that can't be...

"[Your sister's name]," your father is too sick to rise from his chair, but he beckons to your sister, feebly, calling her away from the door in French. "Please, darling. It's okay, he's a soldier."

"There are no wizard soldiers," you step forward, placing yourself between the men and your family members. They look to you in plain surprise. Your English is unaccented. "The British and French Ministries of Magic abandoned us, forbade any wizard from involvement in-"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Your gaze shoots to the man who spoke.

He looks young. He has a long face and short-cut, curly brown hair. Handsome but not roguishly, not like a soldier ought to be. Handsome in an upright, gentlemanly way, the kind of face that exudes goodness and inspires trust. He almost seems out of place in his uniform, dressed for combat.

"What do you want?" you ask warily.

The third, sunken-eyed man gawks and lets out an incredulous sneer.

"Ungrateful little-"

"Quiet, it's fine," the brown-haired man says, silencing his comrade before turning to you. "We're here to evacuate all magical families in the area. We've received prophetic intel that invasion is imminent, the battle will begin moments from now and will span months. Hundreds of thousands will die. Pack your family's things."

Your brother lets out a noise of trepidation, turning to your father.

Your father--paler every day, made older by his illness, slumped over in his chair. He could not even make it out to the front garden, nevertheless survive an evacuation. His eyes are twinkling acutely, buried like gems in his wrinkled, ruined face.

"Come on!" Says the redheaded man in frustration. His blackened, ash-covered face is frightening to your siblings, as is his anger.

He pulls the man standing in the back towards him roughly by the shoulder to hiss in his ear.

"I'd understand if it was an estate that had been in their family for centuries, some of the pure-blood families that we…" For a moment his whispers are unintelligible, but you make out the last words well enough. "But this little farm?"

"Little farm?!" You step forward again, bristling. "This is our home. Can't you understand wanting the dignity of dying in your own home?"

The handsome one looks sharply to your father in his chair then. It is like he is seeing him clearly for the first time, you can see it click in his mind.

"Your father is a Muggle..." he says sympathetically.

"And he is sick. He won't survive apparition. Besides," you protest. "The Germans haven't broken the line since the Battle of the Marne."

The other two soldiers are stilled in shock, aghast at the fact of you, a young girl, arguing with them at all.

"Please," you entreat them. "There's been no movement. This is trench warfare, sir. They won't-"

"They will," the redheaded soldier's voice is grave, uncompromising. "Tonight, tomorrow. I don't know when, but the Germans intend to bleed the French white. They will break the line at Verdun. It is certain."

If what they said was true, if there was a prophecy....

Your hope sinks away from you, you feel your palms go limp and bloodless.

For a moment no one speaks. The silence of the night returns from wherever it fled to, creeps and settles around you.

When you find it again, your voice sounds heartless to your ears.

"Take my siblings," you say.

[Your brother's name] shouts in objection, your little sister cries out.

"No! Y/N, you can't-"

"Not another word!" You order. The words burn you to say. "You will go with these men, I won't hear anything about it."

The redheaded man grabs your sister by the forearm swiftly, and the sullen one extends a hand to your brother. They apparate away in a solitary whoosh. You feel the last remnants of your heart tear away and leave with them.

When the last man, the handsome one, steps towards you, you shake your head and retreat, backing up against the wall.

"I'm not going, sir."

You speak firmly, but the man scoffs anyway.

The front door is still erratically swinging on its hinges like a weather vane. Your father's neck has drooped forward, his chin buried in his chest. He falls in and out of sleep like this lately. He grows worse every day.

The lone soldier purses his lips, his eyes gleam testily. You think he might grab you then, and it sends a tingle down your spine.

"I'm a war nurse, you know?" Your hands are trembling suddenly. No one to pretend to be brave for now that your siblings are gone. Your courage takes on a raw, desperate quality. "Or I want to be. I know enough to help."

"Miss," the man speaks sincerely. Unlike his comrades, he really looks at you when he talks, looks you dead in the eyes. It should be unnerving, but it isn't. You can't name what it does to you.

"I vow to take full responsibility for your father's health and safety. Home or not, he won't be better off here. I will personally care for and protect him, I promise you."

You swallow and nod. He's about to grab your hand when you speak again.

"And them?" You say. "The Muggle soldiers? Who protects them? You can take my father, but I will stay."

He makes a noise of gentle surprise.

"Miss, we're here to minimize the global wizarding community's losses. No magical blood needs to be spi-"

"I don't care about all that," your voice is sharper than you intended. It appears to have cut him to the core. 'Magical blood,' he'd said. But you've never been ashamed of being a half-blood. You've never been ashamed of being your father's daughter.

He frowns in contemplation, more to himself than at you.

"You want to stay so badly. Why?"

"I told you, I'm a nurse."

"You're a child."

"I'm sixteen," you bite back.

"Like I said," his rebuttal is delivered with a sly smile. You amuse him, though you're not sure why. "A child. Not even old enough for Muggle conscription."

"I'm no Muggle."

"No, you're... You're something else."

You bite your lip. Your words are braver than your feelings now.

"If what you say is true, the Muggles--the Allied soldiers--will need medical attention. A woman in town has been training me as a nurse. I've been to the front, I can help. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

His eyes don't leave your face, some silent assessment taking place within him. You're already thinking of what else you can say to him, how else to convince him.

"Okay," he says, unflinchingly. "You can stay." He'll turn a blind eye.

Your shoulders slump in relief.

He walks towards your father, who is still sagged over in a worrisome-looking unconsciousness, too deep to be sleep.

'No,' you think. 'Don't go yet.'

Mindlessly, senselessly, you feel a blooming alarm. Some death rattle, some dying burst of life.

"Wait!" You call out to him, stepping away from the wall.

The man turns. "The handsome one," you'd called him in your head, fancifully, maybe even teasingly. Nothing about it seems funny now. It never had to mean anything to you, people being handsome or beautiful. It didn't have to be about you. But this, it feels serious, personal.

You don't know what overcomes you, how you could act so boldly. He'll probably think you deranged, hysterical.

But you can't imagine he'll deny you.

You've seen enough soldiers these last two years of war to know what they want from women and girls, what they all inescapably hunger for.

"Kiss me," you say, and then add, "Please. Please kiss me."

He halts completely. When his brows knit together your heart shutters closed, meekly.

"Why?"

"I..." It's hard to admit, even now, the world burning around you. "I've never been kissed. I want to be kissed, just once, before I die. In case I do..."

You're losing your breath as you speak, your stamina sputters out.

You know how he must see you--naive, insane, maybe even pathetic. You can bear the rejection, but, suddenly, can't bear to face him anymore.

You don't hear his footsteps. His touch is so gentle you barely feel it, are still turning away when you notice his fingertips resting on your wrist.

When you look up at his face it's so unexpectedly close that you gasp. His eyes are blue, a deep and true blue. You were a fool to think him anything like the other soldiers you'd encountered. No, his expression was achingly kind and perceptive. Devastatingly handsome.

He smells like engine smoke and soap and spearmint. He smells like a man. It's intoxicating. It makes you shudder.

You close your eyes tight and hold your breath. There is the smell of fire and the echoes of distant warfare around you, but your entire body drones that out, pauses and prepares for this moment, readies itself to be kissed.

The man rests a hand on the side of your face, that alone is as intimate as any kiss, the warmth of his palm. He hesitates.

His lips on your forehead are not what you expect, but your body thrills anyway when you feel them press there.

But you are sixteen and you want a real kiss.

You don't even care who from. You want just this one selfish, childish thing in a warring world where no one is afforded childhood.

You stare at him in unhappy perplexity when he pulls back.

You might cry, you realize, and the swelling tears in your vision, they stun you.

"Live," he says, softly. Insistently. "You'll live to be kissed."

He turns to leave, but stops midway. Your siblings gone, soon your father too. The Germans invading. Your whole life taken in one fell swoop, one night. The last trace of your girlhood will be the sight of this soldier's back as he walks out the door of your childhood home. This, you know.

The man looks back at your face and asks you a question no soldier has ever bothered to ask you, not when they burst into your home, not even when you were cleaning their wounds and saving their lives at the front.

"What is your name?" he says.

"What's yours?"

"Theseus Scamander," he doesn't miss a beat. He's an open book. "Do you not want to tell me your name?"

"It won't matter soon enough..."

"Do you so badly not want to live?"

"No, I do. I am just no longer afraid of death."

The look in his eyes is so tender and considerate, it's almost painful.

"I don't need a name to remember you," he's smiling again, it's so strange and out of place and, you admit, heartening. "Good luck. Goodbye."

Theseus Scamander leaves with your father in tow, closing the violently fluctuating door, at last, on his way out.

----

1925, London, Nine Years Later

'It can't be,' you think to yourself. 'Improbable.'

It's just too soon. You've hardly sat down at your new desk when you receive the interdepartmental memo. It unfolds from its airplane shape mid-air and sways delicately, falling in a rocking motion until it's flat on your desk.

A memo already?

You have just been moved to the Department of Magical Games and Sports from the Department of Mysteries. The man who sat there before you was moved to a bigger, better office, had been some hunching, Quidditch-loving Old Boy who wore long socks and smelled of moth-eaten cotton. Allegedly his name was Mr. Byrne.

A real success story in his department, or, rather, your host department, as you'd been appointed Interdepartmental Liaison for the Department of Mysteries. A new position. In fact, the only "above ground" position in your department, which was, expectedly, shrouded in mystery and sunken deep within the depths of the British Ministry of Magic.

In truth, you were also here on a mission. There had been rumors of conspiracy, political mutiny. Grindelwald supporters who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. And the top suspect was the Head of the Department you'd been moved to. You'd been instructed to investigate, discern the truth of the rumors.

This would usually be a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they had also been compromised. Or so you'd been told...

Your new position meant that you were to be kept in the dark more often than not, but it also meant having a desk above ground and being around other people. Luxuries.

No more time travel experiments, thought experiments, or, thankfully, demented blood purity experiments that always made your half-blood boil. You could live without all of that.

Still, none of that explained you receiving an interdepartmental memo before you'd even settled in.

You lift it from your desk in annoyance.

You do a double-take at the words, blinking hard at them.

"Holy hell," the memo reads. "When I told you I wanted to investigate some cursed Gobstones I didn't mean I wanted you to send them to my office, fuck's sake. Next after-work pint is on you, my friend."

You scoff.

It must have been misaddressed. The unfortunate writer must not know about Mr. Byrne's relocation.

It's beneath you, and childish, but you can't help but write back.

It's the sort of enchanted parchment that you can just write your responding message on. The ink disappears into the scrap of paper and appears wherever your mystery correspondent may be.

For your own amusement, you try to picture their reaction the best that you can.

"First of all, 'Holy hell'? 'Fuck's sake'? How dare you," you write. "Second of all, I'm not your friend and I most certainly will not be paying for an 'after-hours' pint. If I'm not clocked in, I'll have nothing to do with the Ministry."

It takes him so long to write back you nearly forget about it, have already gotten to unpacking all your silver nibs and ink pots and lining them up in the drawer like little soldiers, just how you like.

"Who is this?" Comes the message.

It's so dry, the response, so worried and perfunctory, that you nearly laugh out loud.

But something about the formality and genuine concern in your mystery messenger's script compels you to reply with mercy.

"Relax. Mr. Byrne's desk has been moved. If you want to write him, he has the big office on level seven with the view of the Atrium now. Lucky bastard. I'm at his old desk. Was just kidding about being offended. You can say 'fuck' and 'hell' all you want to me."

His reply comes quickly this time.

"Oh, good. Fucking hell, I was scared for a moment there."

You smile in bemusement. Who knew anyone at the Ministry could have a sense of humor? You'd thought you were the only one. You can't help but write back eagerly.

"Damn, I should have lied and said I was the Minister for Magic."

"Have mercy. I think I honest to God would have cried."

"So, no after-work pint for me then?"

"Forgive me, where are my manners? Today. The White Horse. Not sure who you are, but pint is on me, sir."

"*Miss!!" You correct. "And I was only joking. I really meant what I said before about not wanting anything to do with the Ministry unless I'm at work and being paid for my time."

"How very patriotic."

There's nothing in his writing to indicate sarcasm, but it practically drips off the page. This person is cheeky, you realize. Sarcastic. And a little annoying.

You like it.

The Department of Magical Games and Sports is a sleepy, uneventful affair compared to the work you'd been engaged in for the Department of Mysteries when you were "below ground." You look around at your colleagues, your dreary officemates. They were relatively sedentary outside of Quidditch season. Sleepy, slow-moving creatures.

As interdepartmental liaison for the Department of Mysteries, a fabricated position, really, you were already bored out of your mind.

Maybe that's why you write back with unfounded enthusiasm.

"Mystery boy: Tell me something about you. Tell me something true."

----

London hadn't been kind to you.

It seemed you had a hard time of everything: finding a flat with your sister as two unmarried, unchaperoned women, making friends outside of work, making sure to look the right way when crossing the street to avoid getting hit by a bus ('They drive on the left side, Y/N. Get it together'). All these things had proved to be excessively difficult. Especially the not-getting-hit-by-a-bus part.

During the war, while you served as an underaged combat nurse on the frontlines, your father died, but your siblings lived.

They told you the soldier from that night, the one who denied you your first kiss, had kept his word. He'd done the best he could to care for your father and, more importantly, he'd stayed with him until the very end.

Your brother was still in France, working with magical aquatic beasts around les Calanques de Cassis, but your sister was here with you. She worked in some Muggle field you didn't quite understand.

Her, your brother, and, now, the mystery man you'd been writing to every day were the only real people in your life. The only people who really talked to and knew you.

Day by day you'd grown closer to the mystery man. What had started out as vaguely funny, sometimes hostile banter had developed into something more. You'd both genuinely warmed to each other.

"Morning, sunshine!"

You were so accustomed to reading his greeting with your morning coffee that you reached for it automatically, as soon as you arrived, hand sweeping wide over the expanse of your desk to pick it up.

"Hope you caught some bad guys today. Or at least got to enforce a law or two. Bye-bye, idiot." You sign at the end of most days. Or some other joking farewell.

It's a constant correspondence between the two of you, scrawled-in between assignments and research. On your desk there is your inbox, your outbox, the stack of parchment (whatever you happen to be working on), and, just to the side of that, the discreet piece of paper you use to correspond with the mystery man.

However, you do try to mitigate the sharing of identifying information. Even when he learns you're an "Unspeakable," or someone working for the Department of Mysteries, it does little to deter him.

"Keep your department's secrets," he writes. "I just want yours."

He volunteers information about himself, his initials ("TS") and even his department (Magical Law Enforcement), in the hopes that you'll reciprocate.

You do, but you offer unimportant, silly facts about yourself. Nothing that will help him identify you, though he's insistent that he'd know you anyway if you ran into each other.

"I'm an Auror. I fought in the war," he reveals one day. "Your turn now."

"Fine: I never learned how to swim. So if you want to kill me you should probably drown me."

"I'm considering it. I'll bring a bottle of water when I finally see you. Why won't you tell me something more about yourself?!"

"What do you want to know? Can't a girl working for the Department of Mysteries be mysterious once in a while?"

"It gets old."

"You're a liar. You love me."

"True on both counts. But one of these days I'm just going to show up at your desk. I know where it is, you know... Mu-ha-ha."

You write back dismissively. "Why show up? So I can berate you in person?"

Your heart pounds stupidly as you watch the message sink away. You don't want to encourage him.

It's been one whole month of your daily exchanging of magical notes.

You know his biggest stressors at work, you know what he finds irritating, what he finds funny. Know his hopes and dreams.

You hate to admit it, but you'd be completely adrift without it, without him. Even when you're back at your flat with your sister you find your hands moving to write whenever something weird or funny happens, just to tell him, instinctually. You find yourself missing him.

It makes you shudder, the thought.

You don't want anything more... You're both comfortable and satisfied with how things are now. It's really only him who jokes about meeting up sometimes. But you? You're afraid meeting him in person would ruin that.

Maybe it's easier to have a close relationship with him across the merciful distance of anonymity.

"Night night." He writes at the end of the day. He seems to get to work earlier than you and leave later, but he's learned to say goodbye right at 6:00pm, when you usually leave.

For some reason, the words don't disappear from the page, even when you write back beneath them. His boyish script stays put.

"'Night night?'" you write back. "Ouch. I'm not a grandmother, I do intend to go out for dinner after work. Why the bedtime message?"

His words fade in and your heart swells.

"I wrote it so you can put it in your pocket and save it for tonight. I get to say goodbye to you, and good morning, but not goodnight. Just trying to cover all my bases."

You smile and tear off the message, putting it in your pocket. On the remaining paper, you cast a spell for the same, lingering text that he'd gifted you.

"Okay. You can save and reuse this message: Goodnight then, T. Sleep well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and tomorrow. And the day after that, too."

----

You're prone to daydreaming, you'll admit to that.

"You live in a world of your own!" your favorite professor at Beauxbatons would say fondly.

"Ditzy girl, that one!" your least favorite professor would scowl within earshot of you.

But it's so easy to slip away, especially when you have something, someone, to dream about.

You watch your feet sweep across the dark green tiled floors of the Atrium, but hardly pay attention to anything else as you make your way to the elevators.

You're chuckling to yourself, remembering something your mystery correspondent wrote yesterday. It was some outrageous story, so ridiculous you wouldn't have believed it if it came from anyone but him, who was honest to a fault.

It was about a disastrous trip he took with his younger brother and involved camping on a storm-logged beach, an angry Graphorn, and frantically singing some maritime folk song they'd been misinformed would calm the beast.

You're still smiling at the floor when you step into the elevator, or, more correctly, step directly into a tall man in a three-piece suit. You crash into him with a crushing momentum.

"Oof!" you redden immediately, try to catch your breath and sputter out an apology at the same time. "I'm so sorry, forgive me!"

But the man is engaged in a conversation with two other men in the elevator, laughing.

He doesn't look over to you, he just stills you with an attractive casualness, steadies your frame with a firm hand on your shoulder. You know you hit him hard, his nonchalance is for your benefit.

"S'alright. Sorry, miss," he says with a half-glance, before turning back to his conversation.

A half-glance is all you need.

The profile of his face in the elevator light. His exact height and the feeling of being next to him. His voice, for Christ's sake!

You go stiff, your face wan.

It was him. Unmistakably. The English soldier from that night at your father's house in France. From the last time you saw your father, the last time you felt like a girl...

You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You feel something like seasickness come over you, you don't dare open your mouth.

"Theseus Scamander," his colleague is joking. "I mean it when I say well done! We should've known our young war hero would make the best Auror in the department!"

"Really, really spectacular job, son!" The other man claps a hand over Theseus's back in agreement. They're both older, sort of brash men, they don't seem to sense Theseus's discomfort at being complimented.

Theseus is grinning bashfully.

"Just doing my job," he delivers with charm, shrugging.

"Nonsense! Tonight, we celebrate. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've actually felt somewhat of a mentor to you, when you first started out-"

"We ought to invite Mr. Byrne out with us!" The third man exclaims with revelatory fervor. "How has the old chap been? Do you still go down to the pub with him, Theseus?"

It is the second, overlapping wave of nausea that really does you in, digs in its claws and drags downwards. You feel your feet physically sink into the floor. You can't bring yourself to move at all, you drone out the rest of what they're saying. It's white noise, the buzz of flies.

Mr. Byrne.

War hero.

Auror.

Initials T.S.

God, how stupid could you be? No, that's not fair.

The chances of seeing him again were slim. The chances of the two of you working together were even slimmer. The chances of him, the soldier from that night, Theseus Scamander, being your mystery correspondent these last weeks.... It should've been impossible.

When the elevator doors ding open at level seven, you step past the men quickly, rudely, afraid they'll turn to say something to you. Even a belated greeting or perfunctory farewell you couldn't bear.

You don't know why you feel so shaken.

'It's not a big deal,' you tell yourself consolingly once at your desk. 'You were sixteen. So what if you asked him to kiss you?'

But deep within your core, in a space beyond words or reason, you know that it was more than that. You weren't embarrassed about a stupid non-kiss. No, you haven't been able to shake that night, to shake him.

You'd connected. Or, rather, he'd seen you. Something about his gaze and his words had cut through the fat of life, of circumstance, and he'd seen you for who you really are.

And he'd promised to remember you.

It's gutting, harrowing almost. Realizing he'd been writing to you all this time, unaware. Some sick joke from the universe with no punchline--because you decided then and there to stop writing to him, immediately.

Theseus realizes long before the end of the day.

After you crumple his unanswered "good morning" memo and push it to the far corner of your desk, another flies in.

"URGENT: Is it just me or is Mr. Byrne particularly dapper today? The magenta top hat I can forgive, even the monocle is pardonable, but the polkadot bowtie? Inexcusable. Unbecoming of the Ministry. Need your thoughts immediately."

You had seen Mr. Byrne's polkadot bowtie today. You still found the magenta top hat more scandalizing. You wanted to laugh, but felt too much like crying to give way to the urge.

Then:

"I'm dying. Dark wizard lead in Suffolk but I can't be bothered. Tell me some funny story about you telling the professors off in school. I'm relying on tales of your genius to boost my morale. The fate of the Aurors Office depends on you alone. T."

It's three hours before the next memo comes flapping around the corner like some wounded bird.

"Have I done something wrong?" Shortly after, "More importantly--Are you alright?"

You don't know why you can't leave them be, why you keep reading them with no intention of responding.

"Scaring me here, mystery girl. Write back and I'll stop harassing you, write anything at all. Even a little drawing or scribble will suffice."

"You're not liaising very well, Liaison... Sorry, that was a joke. Ha-ha. I know the Department of Mysteries isn't expected to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but I'd always hoped you'd still answer to me..."

You throw yourself into your work with rigor.

Even your Department of Magical Games and Sports officemates comment on it, commendably. They don't realize you're just trying to occupy your brain, distract yourself from the sizable pile of memos lying formidably on your desk until you can go home.

The last one comes late in the day: "Really--Are you alright?"

Your heart aches weakly.

But no, you know how persistent and how persistently optimistic the mystery man ('Theseus,' you correct yourself) could be. If you wrote back he'd want an explanation, which he'd inevitably refute, and, besides, you weren't ready to tell him the truth or to face him again.

Your head is a jumbled mess of half-formed truths and complicated emotions.

It's a few minutes before 6:00pm, but you click off your desk lamp anxiously and begin to organize your things.

The nature of your position for the Department of Mysteries required you to lock your work up before you left. It involves two spells and four charmed latches and bolts, and it takes some time. You sit back in your chair with a sigh, waiting for the process to finish. The soft, mechanical whirring and clicking noises are a comfort to you.

The frosted glass door to the office swings open thunderously, with the unnecessary force of someone unfamiliar with the delicate door.

You sit up straight in your chair, startled. A few of the workers behind you even look over in alarm, heads shooting up from their desks.

No. Fucking. Way.

Theseus's chest is heaving softly. He's looking right at you, purposefully.

He actually showed up to your desk like he always joked about doing. You want to feel angry, indignant that he'd betray your trust, but all you feel is a numbing shock.

The sight of his face alone would've been a shock. Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Wavy, dark hair. Handsome as the day he left you.

He seems genuinely rendered speechless. The open part of his lips suggests that he had come with some speech prepared for you when he first burst in, although now he is, evidently, lost.

His eyes keep flitting up and down your form, lingering especially on your lips. It makes you flush. Yes, he gets a good look at your face, and at the small pile of his opened memos shoved to the far corner of your desk.

Whatever he expected to find, expected you to look like, this clearly wasn't it.

"Mr. Scamander!"

Your officemate Ana's voice from behind you makes you jolt again.

She walks over and places a hand on your shoulder tenderly. She seems to be completely unaware of any tension between the two of you, speaking to Theseus with ease.

"I'm sorry to steal Y/N from you, but I have to talk to her about an interdepartmental issue before she leaves. Can't wait!"

You wince at the mention of your name, but you're standing, bag clutched like a shield, and Ana is already whisking you past Theseus and through the frosted glass double doors.

"Y/N..." you hear Theseus echo, dreamily, as you pass, just before the doors close in his face and sever you from him completely.

-----

The next day you see him at a far distance.

You feel less shaken about things after having screamed to your little sister about it all last night. But she'd said something stupid about some "string of fate" that irritated you so much that you'd ultimately resorted to screaming into your pillow.

Regardless, you feel more secure. Less unsettled.

Still, the sight of Theseus's open expression in the Atrium, looking back at you in recognition across the crowds of businessmen and women just as the doors to the elevator you're in close--it's a bit haunting.

You gulp once in the safety of the elevator.

He saw you.

His eyes had drifted up and down your form, unreadably, before settling on your face. You didn't have time to react, and he was too far away besides.

Later, later than usual, a small memo floats onto your desk.

You don't hesitate, reaching for it, but the words aren't what you expect. No "good morning," not even anything referencing what had happened yesterday.

The words are so unexpected that his handwriting is the only indication that it's from him.

"You were so beautiful in that skirt this morning. So fucking beautiful. You look so enchanting in blue."

You flush deeply. So, that was what his look this morning had meant.

The relief comes delayed, second to your shyness at his flattery.

"Oh, thank God," you think.

He'd seen you, twice now, and hadn't recognized you.

He didn't remember. Or maybe he just didn't recognize you, it'd been nine years after all and you were no longer a scrawny, scrappy sixteen-year-old. But it was more likely that he just didn't remember.

You decide his not referencing your awkward encounter yesterday either is another mercy, so you go along pretending nothing happened.

"Are you flirting with me, sir?"

It's a comfort to be writing to him again.

"No," he writes back. Then, "Yes."

You laugh aloud at his candor.

"Y/N, I apologize for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have sprung on you like that, unannounced. Uninvited. I wish I could say I was afraid something had happened to you, but really I was just afraid you had stopped writing me for good. But then I just stood there like an absolute idiot, you probably had no idea who I was."

You huff at that.

"I knew who you were. I'm no Auror but 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' 'war hero,' and 'initials T.S.' aren't exactly subtle hints."

"Hey! I mentioned the war but never called myself 'hero.' I have a strong sense of propriety and I pride myself on it."

"How British..." you write back mockingly, unthinkingly.

"Are you not?"

Fuck. Well, you've already met.

"I live here now, and have for years, but I'm French."

The ink feels seared into the paper, how black your scrawl is, how you can't take it back. You don't know what you want from him. You wish he'd go away. You wish he'd never stop writing.

You wish he'd remember you on his own.

"Hmm..." he writes back.

Your heart is pounding. When he writes again your anxiety dissolves but your heart continues its steady, heavy drum.

"You're beautiful."

Your head is a scattered, overstimulated mess. You can't think straight.

He's still writing. The words fade in one by one.

"Why didn't you tell me you were beautiful? God, I didn't expect it, it took any coherent thought or word right out of me yesterday when you looked up at me with those eyes. And this morning, that skirt. Y/N, you should've warned me."

You laugh at the words on the paper, but your body's reaction to the thought of him writing them, thinking them, thinking of you, is anything but funny.

It feels overly warm in the office suddenly, and you are agitated. You stand and pace around your desk, fanning yourself with your hands.

Your fingers are shaking around the quill when you bend over your desktop to write back.

"Don't be dramatic, you'll live."

You worry you sound cruel so you add.

"And thank you. I don't think anyone has called me beautiful in a very long time."

He writes back: "Any time. And I highly doubt that. Y/N, I'm sure you've been beautiful your whole life. I can tell just by looking at you."

You don't know what possesses you when you write the next words:

"Can I come see you?"

There's a few, atypical beats before he writes back. It's excruciating.

"What, you mean at lunch?"

You look down at the small, oval face of your wristwatch.

Lunch is too far away. The bundle of nerves and anticipation you feel about Theseus, that swarming anxiety, is too unbearable to wait for lunch. You need to get him out of your system now, get him over with, and then you can move on and focus on your work.

"I mean now. In your office." You write back.

'Am I being presumptuous?' The thought makes you furrow your brow and bite your fingernail in worry. But then you remind yourself, 'Beautiful. He called you beautiful.'

It takes so long for him to reply that you almost write again to tell him never mind. But then his words come, like the sweet relief of rain:

"Yes, please. Level two, the very back left office."

You leave at once, smoothing down your skirt and brushing your hair back out of your face.

The anxiety ebbs and peaks at random. On the elevator ride you feel like you're dying. You recollect your confidence while walking to the wooden door of the Aurors Office only to feel another stab of panic as you make your way down the curved hall.

You feel so frazzled and worked up, too distracted to work or even ponder work. But you don't understand why until you push open Theseus's door, not bothering to knock. Until you're alone in the room with him, just the two of you behind closed doors.

He stands quickly upon your entrance, like a soldier.

For a moment the two of you just stare.

'Oh, God,' you realize with mounting dread. 'I am attracted to him. I am like this because I'm attracted to him.'

It feels terrible, awful, that sapping loss of power, that weakness in the knees. You haven't had a crush in your adult life, it's a trampling blow, the realization.

Theseus looks just as handsome as he always has, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the sharp curve of his jaw.

He laughs and it breaks the spell of silence.

"Hello, you," his tone is fond but he still hasn't walked over to you, which is confusing and makes you shuffle aimlessly in place.

"Hi," you say, stupidly.

"Hi is all I get?" he jokes. "You know you've become something like my best friend in the office this last month. Actually, you probably know me better than my entire department."

You laugh bleakly, and you hope it dissipates the electrified energy between the two of you. That live-wire tension.

"I could say the same about you, actually."

He makes a strange, indecipherable expression then. It's both wry and lamenting.

"I don't want anything to change that, Y/N."

You frown.

"Why would anything change that?"

He doesn't answer you, changing the subject and turning his attention to the cup of quills on his desk, fiddling with the feathers.

"I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to seeing you for the first time yesterday. I've never reacted that way to anyone, anyone. When you told me you wanted to come see me here today, I panicked. I almost said no."

That hurts your feelings. "Why?"

He looks up from his desk. Your face burns at the sincerity of his expression.

"Because I knew it'd be harder for me to control myself if we were alone together. Harder to be a good friend and... behave."

He says the last word carefully. If he is calculated, delicate, you are anything but.

"I don't want you to behave," you whisper.

You step up to him, boldly. The tension is unbearable now.

"Y/N," he says warningly, disapprovingly. But the look in his eyes is agony.

"Kiss me," you say. The words come to you from far away, a train at the end of the tunnel, you pull them from that night in Verdun, from nine years ago. You need him just the same as you did then.

Theseus smiles reluctantly. The sideways tilt to his mouth is so captivating, it makes you want it more. God, he's attractive. Even more so now that you know him, are his friend.

"I can't," he says, pitifully.

But the look on his face, the way he's standing steadfastly behind his desk like having it between you will protect him, the way his eyes are flitting from yours down to your lips and back up again and again, that isn't saying no.

"Okay, have it your way. But I won't ask you again," you warn.

You want to admit that this isn't the first time he's denied you. He promised you'd live to be kissed, you've come back to haunt him for it now.

You would not ask him a third time.

Theseus groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. When you laugh he looks up at you disparagingly.

"You think that's funny, do you?"

You do. You find it cute. Maybe you don't realize the extent of his distress.

You reach forward to pinch his cheek, jokingly. He bats your hand away with an unwilling smile.

Then you're falling into him, losing your balance. He grasps both your hands in his to keep you from toppling over, the both of you laughing.

"Get off!" you shout gleefully.

"You get off," he retorts jokingly.

Pushing and pulling and touching, it's something like play-fighting the way you're both falling into and catching each other.

At last, he wrangles you onto his desk, so you're sitting there at the edge.

Your head is spinning. He grabs both your wrists, holding them together in a single, large hand.

"Hands to yourself, Y/N," is his gentle reprimand.

But you know, know from the soft pant of his breathing, the undone look on his face, lips half parted, that you've already won.

He doesn't cave into your will so much as collapse altogether, soundlessly, undetectably.

You don't blink, big, innocuous look in your eyes, staring up at him. Even when you're raised up, sitting on his desk while he stands, he's so tall that you have to look up at him.

"Please," Theseus says, and it's so attractive, his broken whisper. "I'm begging you, Y/N."

He drops down to his knees, one leg at a time with the heavy, hypnotized motions of a man defeated.

You gasp softly when his warm palms grip your kneecaps, rubbing gingerly over the sheer material of your tights, reverently.

A man on his knees, his curly head between your thighs. Your stomach plummets, burning low in desire.

You want him bad. Mind-numbingly bad, your whole body tingling underneath and keening to his touch. But it's too addictively sweet, him begging for it like this. You want to draw it out.

"Hm," you sigh, not responding, but you let your legs fall open under the guidance of his hands.

He moans at the sight. When he speaks again his voice is weak and ruined. Rough and pleading.

"Please, I'll do anything. Let me touch you. You're killing me, please."

It's almost a whine.

You can see that the fabric of his pants is stretched taut across his crotch--he's already hard.

His chest is rising and falling softly. There's a needy, trancelike glint in his eyes. He wants it bad, it's plain on his face. It's different from impatience, it's anguish.

"Kiss me," you say again. It's a demand this time. He gives in without a fight, rising up and capturing your open mouth in his.

It's a deep, languishing kiss. He kisses you like he wants to taste you, like he can't get enough of it. He grips your head by the jaw to kiss you better, deeper. When his tongue presses into your mouth you moan into his.

His hand sweeps blindly across his desk, clearing it with a crash. You jump at the sound but he grabs your face again, turning it back to his roughly.

"No," he murmurs. "C'mere."

And he's kissing you again, humming in approval when you tentatively push back against his tongue with your own.

With effort, you pull back to look at him. His pupils are blown out with desire, the collar of his dress shirt pulled open, revealing a collarbone.

"Theseus," you say, your whole body tingling with warmth. You say his name just to say it.

You're too shy to tell him that this is your first kiss, that you'd waited all this time.

It's startling, how quickly the tables turned. How deftly he took control of the situation once he had your permission to.

His hands pull down your skirt, worshipfully, that blue skirt he loves so much. He sets it aside, you're just in your sheer black tights now.

You understand why he cleared his desk now. You fall back with a moan when he flattens his massive hand across your crotch, spreads his fingers. It covers the entire expanse between your legs easily. It feels so lewd for him to touch you there now, but then he drags his hand up, sliding it over your stomach, the middle of your chest, up your neck.

"You'll let me touch you like this?" he asks.

You nod, quickly.

"Only me?" he inquires, sounding pleased. Maybe amused.

"Yes," you say, nodding again with urgency. "Only you. Nobody else."

"Fuck," he curses. He pulls open your blouse then, and disposes of that as well. You half sit up to help him with your bra. Whereas his movements are devout, seeming to worship every part of you, yours are frantic, crazed.

It's not just that you're in his office, at work, but it's that you want him badly. So very badly. It feels like the only thing that can make it better.

Once you have your bra off he pushes you back on the desk again. Places open-mouth kisses your neck, drags his teeth over the skin there then moves down. You gasp when he puts his mouth on your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue. He pinches your other nipple with his hand, rolling it gently between his rough fingertips.

"Hngh," you can't help but moan, writhe, throw your head back against the wood.

You almost want to cry out in disbelief when his head leaves your chest, sinking lower. He's on his knees again, pulling down your tights. You don't understand.

"Theseus, what-" you start, but you are silenced, the breath stolen from your chest, at the sensation of his mouth on your clit.

The moan that leaves your mouth this time is recklessly loud, carelessly so.

Theseus doesn't seem to mind.

"You taste so fucking good," he pulls back to say, his voice is ragged.

You're shy. The idea of him tasting and licking you, putting his mouth there makes you shy. But the pleasure that rocks through your entire body is too strong to deny. You'd never ask him to stop. You weren't capable of it.

Your hands go to his head, fingers wind through his hair automatically.

"Fuck," you say, involuntarily.

He's sucking your clit so well, you hardly notice when he brings up a hand, finger tracing the line of your wet slit, prodding in and out of your tight hole just barely, just to the knuckle. Kitten-fucking you with it.

He stops sucking to lick you up and down with his tongue, again and again in quick, steady rhythm, flicking the firm tip of it against your clit until you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from crying out. When he sinks his two fingers into your pussy fully, stuffing them in forcefully despite the restrictive tightness, still licking, that's all it takes for your orgasm to overtake you in pulses of unbelievable, unknown pleasure.

He removes his fingers and rises. His plush lips are slick with your arousal. He has a dreamy, dazed look in his eyes. The ravaged, destroyed look on your face seems to do something awful to him.

"Let me fuck you," Theseus says. It makes your stomach flip.

He doesn't ask, didn't say 'do you want to,' or 'can we.' He wants to take it from you.

"Yes," you mutter, spreading your legs again without thinking, head still laid back on his desk. Your orgasm made your limbs feel loose, compliant. Anything he wants. Anything at all.

Even the clinking sound of him undoing his belt buckle makes you swoon with yearning, makes your mouth water. He doesn't bother to take off his pants, just pulls his dick out, still staring into your eyes.

'God. Mercy,' you think. Even in his hand it looks huge. It's pretty.

He smiles crookedly at the widening of your eyes.

"You like my cock, baby?"

"Yes," you whisper. "Please. I want it."

He leans over you to kiss your forehead. You don't have the chance to reminisce, for it to remind you of anything, because then he is pushing into your wet warmth. He slides in so snugly, so smoothly, fits like a glove despite the stretch. The feeling of being so overfull is lewd and perfect.

He presses a hand to your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you there.

You gasp at the applied pressure.

He keeps his hand pressed there as he angles his hips back and then begins to fuck you. He wants to feel it underhand, how he's moving inside of you.

"Fuuuuucckkkk," you're incoherent, you know. But you can't help but swear, your whole body is vibrating with ecstasy as he drives his dick in and out of you.

"You're beautiful," he groans, throwing his head back. His entire world narrows down to this, fucking you, pumping his dick into your tightness and feeling you flutter and flex around him.

"Wait, Theseus I-" your second orgasm takes you by surprise. Your back arches off the desk, it hits you like a train, it's like an out-of-body experience.

"Fuck," He grips the back of your thighs to the point of pain. But you hardly notice that, you only feel his dick grow achingly hard. He pulls out at the last moment, coming into his hand. It spills out and between his fingertips anyway.

He makes a face of sore regret at the mess. You knew how badly he wanted to come inside of you, you could feel it, but you are grateful he didn't.

You have the strangest urge to get up and lick his fingers, but realistically you're too wrecked to move.

It takes a solid two minutes before either of you return to breathing normally and regain your bearings.

'What did we just do?' you think as you put your clothes back on.

You glance over to Theseus, he's fixing his tie in the small mirror next to the closed door of his office.

It was like you were a woman possessed. You can hardly believe your actions. But, strangely, you don't feel guilty or regretful. And your feelings for Theseus are stronger than ever. Consummated. You feel safe with him. Overjoyed, really.

He catches you looking at him in the mirror and turns. The look on his face is one of total contentment.

He comes over to you, runs his fingers through your hair gently. There's nothing but adoration in his eyes as he beholds you.

"I don't know how I'm expected to just sit back down and continue to do work on my desk now, after that. I'm gonna go insane, just knowing you're only a few levels away."

You laugh. It's an airy, light-hearted sound.

"I like you so much," he admits, brazenly, before you can even respond to him.

Your head is still a muddled mess, but this here is easy to admit. He could probably see it on your face anyway. Read you like a book.

"I like you too," you say. "I miss you already. Keep writing to me."

"I promise."

-----

part two here

author's note: what will happen when the truth of their past comes to light?? part two incoming!!! please leave feedback :)

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taglist: @msauthor

#theseus scamander #fantastic beasts #theseus scamander x reader #theseus x reader #theseus smut #fbawtft #hp fanfic

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postazkabansiriussupremacy · 3 months

Text

Surprise. Pt. 2 Post Azkaban!Sirius x Mom!Reader

Estelle meets Snuffles, and Sirius finally gets to meet with you.

Link to Part One Link to Part Three

Tags: @box-of-kinderjoy

After watching his daughter go back inside and you disapperate away, Sirius has a hard time deciding how to feel or what to do next.

He feels selfishly relieved you’re not married to another man, and yet he feels strangely guilty that you never moved on. Were you too busy being a single mother to date anyone? Or did Sirius hurt you so badly that you couldn’t trust anyone else ever again?

He feels excited to have a daughter, but anxious because he isn’t sure what to do with the information now that he has it. He feels guilty that she’s been raised without a father. He feels guilty that her father is widely known as a ‘notorious mass murderer on the run’.

And given Sirius’s reputation, he can’t exactly stroll up to your front door and introduce himself can he?

Sirius wonders if you’d believe him if he explained the situation to you. It seems unlikely as he’s got no proof to verify his innocence, but he has to try doesn’t he?

There’s no telling when (or if) Sirius will ever be a free man, and he’s already missed out on so much valuable time. What’s the worst that could happen if he tries to talk to you?

Well… you could refuse to hear Sirius out, curse him, tell him off for being a shit person, boyfriend, and father, then call on the ministry to come take him away—effectively breaking his heart and damning him to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.

Sirius sighs. He can’t risk speaking to you with no proof. He’s anxious to see you and to meet his daughter, but he’ll be no good to either of you by acting recklessly and getting himself locked up again.

He’ll just have to be patient. As long as he’s alive and out of Azkaban, there will be more opportunities to prove himself and to make up for lost time.

Sirius’s ears perk up as he watches the front door of your home swing open. Estelle skips outside—a book in her hands and a little black cat at her feet—and goes to sit underneath a tree. The cat pounces around the yard chasing birds as Estelle reads.

Sirius wishes he could see the title of the book; he'd love to have even a small glimpse into her personality or interests. He wonders if she's reading for school or fun.

It suddenly occurs to Sirius that Remus must've had Estelle as a student last year. Sirius will have to write Remus to ask if he remembers anything about her.

Sirius briefly considers introducing himself as Snuffles, but he can't see much of an upside to doing that. For one thing, he might scare the living daylights out of Estelle the same way he did to Harry. And he imagines once you get home Estelle will tell you all about the ‘giant, scary, black dog’ she saw today. You’d most certainly recognize the description.

Just as Sirius starts to think it’s time to leave, the little black cat takes notice of him. With wide, unblinking eyes the cat slowly stalks toward his hiding place.

Sirius relaxes himself on the ground, trying to look as friendly and unthreatening as possible. The cat stops a few yards away, staring curiously.

Estelle is quick to notice her cat’s odd behavior, making Sirius’s heart beat a little faster. Maybe he will be meeting his daughter today.

“What’re you looking at, Toasty?” Estelle asks from her spot underneath the tree. The cat—Toasty, Sirius thinks with a smile and small eye roll—meows loudly and walks a little closer to Sirius.

Not wanting to seem too anxious and scare them away, Sirius lays his head down on his paws and waits for the cat to come to him. As Toasty doesn’t give up on his interest in the large black dog, Estelle gets curious as well and starts making her way over.

“What do you see—oh!” She exclaims as she finally spots Sirius. Estelle quickly scoops Toasty up in her arms and eyes Sirius cautiously.

Sirius, trying to show that he’s friendly, lifts his head and starts wagging his tail. Estelle still doesn’t seem convinced, but is forced to drop the cat as he scratches and bites her arms. “Ow! Toast, no!”

As soon as Toast is free, he comes closer to Sirius and starts sniffing his fur. Sirius wonders if Toast—like Crookshanks—can sense that Sirius isn't really just a dog.

Seeing that Sirius probably isn’t going to hurt her cat, Estelle slowly reaches out toward him. Sirius makes a small show of sniffing her hand, and Estelle crouches down to sit in front of him. Gently petting the top of Sirius’s Snuffles’s head, Estelle speaks quietly as if she’s trying not to spook him, “You are absolutely massive! Where’d you come from, hmm?”

Finally getting a closer look at her, Sirius’s heart swells. It may just be his pride talking, but Sirius starts to think Estelle looks more like himself than you.

He wishes he could speak to her, but he honestly isn’t sure what he’d say.

Sirius actually feels a little thankful he doesn’t have to show himself to her yet. He hates that Harry’s first impression of Sirius was to see him disgusting, still in his prisoner robes, and blatantly out of his mind with rage and grief. Sure, the interaction with Harry went as well as it possibly could’ve given the circumstances, but he’d rather his first face-to-face meeting with Estelle go a bit better than that.

“You’re so skinny…” She comments with a pitying tone, eyeing his dirty, matted fur and bones visible through his skin. “Mum should be back from the store anytime now; maybe she'll have something you can eat.”

Sirius sighs as that's his cue to leave. If you come home right now, you’ll without a doubt recognize him, and he doesn’t want to cause any trouble for either of you.

“I don’t know though; could be hours til she’s home.” Estelle shrugs, scratching the side of Sirius’s neck. “She said she was having lunch with Professor Lupin—wouldn’t tell me why though.”

Sirius’s eyes widen and his heart bursts. You’re having lunch with Remus?! He’ll surely tell you everything that’s happened! If Remus corroborates Sirius’s innocence, then you may believe him!

“Woah! What’s got you so excited?” Estelle laughs as Sirius jumps up, barks, and wags his tail. Happy to make her laugh, Sirius also puts on a little show of chasing his tail.

Sirius follows Estelle back to your yard to sit underneath the tree. Estelle gets Sirius a bowl of ice water and some deli meat that may or may not be going bad soon, but Sirius is grateful nonetheless.

Estelle doesn’t talk much afterward; she reads her book (a book on potions, Sirius notes with mild surprise) and occasionally looks up to make sure Toast is still within her sight. Sirius feels an odd sense of pride towards her. He doesn’t know much about her yet, but she seems like a sweet girl.

After an hour or so, Estelle goes back inside (“I’ll be right back, puppy, need the loo!”), and Sirius reluctantly takes his leave while she’s gone. He’s been here much longer than originally intended, and it’s time to go.

Sirius hides himself in a different spot than before and feels guilty when Estelle comes back outside to find him gone. She looks around for fifteen minutes before giving up and going back inside. Her slumped shoulders make Sirius’s heart feel heavy.

He wonders if Estelle’s ever asked about him, and what you’ve told her about him. Does Estelle think her father’s dead, or does she think he doesn’t care about her enough to be in her life?

Sirius sighs. He wants needs Estelle to know that he cares about her. He’s only known of her existence for a mere few hours and he’s already dying to learn everything he can about her.

Who are her friends? What are her hobbies? Interests? Favorite school subject? Favorite foods? What makes her happy? Or angry? Or sad? Does she like sports? Hate them?

He sighs again. The thought of Estelle thinking Sirius doesn’t care about her is heartbreaking.

A quiet crack lets Sirius know you’re home. He makes himself comfortable, deciding to keep an eye on your home until the lights go off and you fall asleep. He isn’t sure why, but it feels right.

He wonders if you believe Remus.

If you believe Sirius is innocent.

Sirius sits and watches the house for several hours. Through the window, he watches the two of you make dinner and sit at the table. After that, he doesn’t see much of anything. Soon enough all the lights are off and Sirius assumes the both of you are safe in bed.

He wonders if Estelle told you about the dog she met today.

Sirius turns back into himself again and stretches his muscles, readying himself to disapparate. He takes one last look at your house and is surprised when he sees the front door open. He stares as you step outside onto your front porch.

You seat yourself on the steps and stare silently at the ground. After a few minutes, you look up and glance around your house and at the dark woods in front of you.

“Sirius?” You ask loudly. “You still there?”

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #post azkaban sirius #post azkaban sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black one shot

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utterlyazriel · 2 months

Text

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: not gonna even acknowledge the time break between chappies... all i'm gonna say happy cassian chappie ! <3! i hope u all enjoy it mwah thank u for reading

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.

CHAPTER NINE :: FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)

Whoosh.

Training staff gripped tightly in your calloused hands, you swing with a muscle memory built over decades, the stick whistling as it cuts through the air with deadly precision. Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard.

You're going through the motions. A simple warm-up, running a drill that you've done enough times you could probably do it in your sleep. The movements are familiar, easy. Routine.

If you close your eyes, you could almost imagine you're still in Exordor.

Except... there's no familiar wind current to perform its melody in the early morning, dancing through the mountainside trees. No frozen chill to the air around you. No crunch of snow beneath your feet to throw your balance. No bound chest to chafe your skin.

No looking over your shoulder in pure panic at every unexpected noise.

Well, not quite that last one. It's a habit you're dedicated to breaking for the sake of your shot nerves — but evidently failing, considering how you straighten up and whip around when the door leading out to the training ring shudders open.

You hold your breath on instinct and clutch the training staff tighter.

Stepping out into the early morning air, the dawn still unbroken, is another Illyrian warrior.

Mother, how many of them were there around here?

You hadn't got to meet anyone else after that encounter on the balcony, almost exactly one week ago. Hadn't exactly wanted to either.

You hadn't even wanted to see Azriel again so soon after the churning, sickening twist of emotions you had barely managed to stumble through after your severe reawakening.

He hadn't come to see you.

You hadn't asked.

Besides Madja, Rhysand was the only new face you had come to know. He had taken to coming by your room a couple times over the week, checking on the progress of your healing, particularly sympathetic on the state of your wings. Revealed his own with a polite flourish.

He was... different than you were expecting. Perhaps you were learning that rumours are not everything — certainly it's clear that there is more to Rhysand than what first appears.

As Highlord, he had to discuss your potential living situations once you were healed enough to leave the infirmary.

I meant what I said. He had said, violet eyes kind as he hovered at the end of your bed. You're no prisoner here. You'll be free to go wherever you wish, even back to Exordor if that's what you decide.

And if I don't? You had whispered, your gaze fixed on the fine sheets of the bed. If I decide that... I have no home there anymore?

Then you'll have a home here. For as long as you would like.

And though it overrode every single instinct you had learned to trust, everything that had kept you alive this long, you chose to take his word for it.

Rhys said no harm would befall you in Velaris and you would be welcome here for as long as wanted.

But... that didn't mean you were exactly looking to make new friends.

Staring the newcomer that enters the balcony with much less grace than that of usual Illyrians, you watch him closely, not quite daring to take a breath.

At a first glance, you had thought it might be Azriel—heart leaping up your throat—but that was quickly washed away. Something in you knew from the hair standing up on the nape of your neck, before you even saw him properly, that this male was utterly unfamiliar to you.

He's taller, you realise. His hair is a longer and he doesn't quite move with the grace of the Shadowsinger — though, perhaps you are just so unused to seeing a male so relaxed. So caught off guard, in fact, that when he turns he gives a little yelp in surprise.

"Fuck!" He says, one of his large hands jumping out and clenching into a fist —his whole body switching to a fighting stance, you realise— before he relaxes again. His fist uncurls into a less threatening open palm.

"I- sorry, just didn't realise anyone else was out here." His fighting stance melts away, open palm still extended. He gives what you think might be a friendly smile.

You don't respond, only gripping the training staff a little tighter. Every hackle is raised, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, and your entire body winding itself up to prepare to fight, if it comes down to it.

The male seems to realise this as his next move is to raise both hands, palms out, the universal signal for surrender. They're large, tanned, and void of the scars you've come to know on Azriel.

However, where there are usually shimmering cobalt blue siphons, this newcomer has dazzling ruby red ones instead. You count each of his. Seven.

Your throat tightens — like all of Illyria, you've heard of this warrior too. The Lord of Bloodshed.

He doesn't exactly look so fearsome at the moment, his expression easy-going, even friendly, from behind his raised hands.

He seems to be waiting for you to make a move or to speak but after a moment, he realises neither are going to happen.

"Rhys said there might be another Illyrian around." He says, taking a tentative step forward, in the direction of the training ring, letting his hands drop to his side. You notice how he tucks his wings in a little more, like he might be trying to be respectable. Polite.

He's watching you closely. "Didn't mention you were a female, though."

Instinct makes you want to sneer in response — the only time Illyrian males bother bring up the differences in sex is to make some nasty comment about the biological weakness of females.

Not born to be warriors. They spit. Fragility is bred into them from the moment they're conceived. Breakable. Less than. A female in the training ring has as much place does as a male does in the kitchen.

But this male... says female in a way you've never quite heard before. As though he's somewhere closer to awe.

"My name is Cassian," The male introduces himself, his tentative steps becoming more of a stroll as he wanders across to the weapons stand. He eyes them halfheartedly, his focus still on you.

He turns lightly, tucking in one of his wings to peer back at you. "And yours is...?"

You still haven't moved, only tracking his movements with a slight shift of your eyes. Part of you wonders if he already knows your name and he's simply being polite.

Cassian nods as though you've spoken, despite the fact you haven't made a sound.

"Okay, not a big talker, I get it." He dips his head in a little nod, giving you an easy smile, then a quick wink. "Promise I don't bite."

No reaction. You’re not entirely sure if that’s a joke or not.

Either way, Cassian turns and focuses on his selection, pulling one of the training staffs off the weapons rack into his strong, sure grip.

Despite Rhysand's promise, your heart begins to rabbit wildly.

You wonder if this is some sickening game of cat and mouse—if he's perhaps going to tire you out before he selects his true weapon. If he wants you to know he can best you, even without a blade at his disposal.

You're a decent fighter—hell, a great one even—but you know better than to expect to come out on top against the Lord of Bloodshed.

You finally force yourself to move; shifting your feet to face him, you sink into a fighting stance, staff poised to face him, prepared to bare your teeth.

Cassian blinks. It takes another moment for him to realise that none of his friendliness is working to thaw your iciness. He quickly sets the training staff back down with a clatter, raising his hands once more.

"Woah," He says, giving a small shake of his head. "Not looking to fight. Unless you and I are in that ring—" He gestures to the training ring behind him. "I will never try to fight you. And... I hope you can say the same for me."

You don't even realise you've released your breath until you deflate a little, relief coming in small, incremental waves.

He doesn't want to fight. There's no proving yourself, at least not today.

Maybe some day in the near future, he'll demand you get in the ring to earn your space here—because that was the first thing you ever learned as an Illyrian warrior. But not today.

Reluctant and relieved all at once, you lower your training staff.

Your hesitance or silence doesn't seem to hinder Cassian. In fact, he smiles at the motion.

He's quite handsome, you note. In that rugged way, not quite so classically handsome as Azriel. The unexpected thought makes you flush. You shake it away with a shiver.

"You have your reasons for your unease I bet," Cassian continues, his hands drifting back to his sides. His wings have begun to spread out a little more, as if relaxing.

"And if you want me to piss off, I certainly will. My goal is not to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. But... well, I do have just one question."

He pauses, as if waiting for something. Permission, you realise faintly, which surprises you enough that you give a rather jerky nod, permitting him to ask his question.

A brilliant smile spreads across Cassian's face. "Did you really stab Azriel with a fork?"

The question takes you by utter surprise, fresh bewilderment rippling across your features. You shift back almost awkwardly, stepping out of your fighting stance. The memory from months ago rises up inside, the first meeting in your lonely shelter.

How did he know that? He could he know that?

"I—" You trip over the words, not entirely sure how to answer the question. You can't quite tell why he's asking—is he assessing you as a threat? Your voice is tentative and guarded as you murmur out, "...yes?"

You don't think it would've mattered how you answered truly, as the moment you confirm it, Cassian roars in laughter, his head thrown back and his hand clutching his belly. He laughs loudly for a moment, shaking his head with a fond smile.

"Holy shit, I thought Rhys was kidding! Cauldron, what I would've given to see that." His hazel eyes glitter brightly, as though he's excited. "Was he surprised? I bet he was. Where did you stab him?"

His easy tone, like he's talking to an old friend, takes you back. You find yourself responding with an unexpected ease. Looking back on it now, it is a little funny.

"He was," You nod, nearly smiling at Cassian's enthusiasm. Your lips twitch and you gesture to your neck, somewhat awkwardly, miming the motion. "In the neck."

Cassian laughs again. "Oh, and I bet he'd deny the whole thing if it ever came up."

You don't know quite what to say to that—Azriel hadn't ever brought it up and you certainly weren't going to remind him of it. You tilt your head to the side a bit, an unknown feeling making itself known in the pit of your stomach. An anxiety of an entirely different kind.

The male before you is not an enemy. He's not an ally either... and you can't understand what he gains from talking to you.

You can't even fathom the idea that he might just want to be your friend.

So, you turn. Tighten your grip and resume the exercise that had been interrupted. Muscles groan as you work through their achiness, slowly becoming warmer as the hot blood pumps around your body.

Despite what Madja had said a week ago on that balcony, today was actually the first morning you were allowed to train.

For the last seven days, the exercise you were restricted to was mere stretches; only enough to ensure each of your wings could extend fully and that your limbs could move without serious cause for concern.

It had driven you stir crazy.

The only time you ever skipped so many days without training was during your cycle—something you had mercifully missed the end of this time around, hidden away in your unconsciousness.

So, at the first opportunity, when you rose from your bed this morning and Madja hadn't given you that pointed stare and instead gave you directions, you had found the training area. Began with old routines, if only for the fact you don't know who you are when you're not training.

Inhaling now, the wood of the training staff creaks beneath your iron grip. You're trying desperately to use it as a tether, to some semblance of normal for yourself. It's difficult when there's so many changes lurking.

The solid stone makes you sturdier than before. There's no snow beneath your feet to sink your boots into, to find your balance on. But your injuries aren't entirely healed either.

The pain is not fresh but it's still hindering enough to be a nuisance. Your left ear still twinges from time to time—sometimes it seems to hum so loudly you can't hear clearly, others it dulls altogether. Neither are particularly pleasant to experience.

Pain, however, you have plenty of experience in. Gritting your teeth and pushing through it is practically standard for the Illyrian way; especially when you know your body. You know how much it can take. You know it's been through worse.

But the pesky problem with your ear keeps you off balance, just enough that it shows in your motions.

You keep stumbling around like a goddamn fledgling with every new attempt, footing clumsy, which makes you burn in humiliation because that's what you learn first. It's impossible not to feel unendingly frustrated as decades of training all get shifted slightly to the left.

It doesn't help either that there's still those holes in the edges of your wings.

Fae healing is incredibly advanced but even so, there is only so much magic can do.

Lacerations can be healed, stabs and slices stitched up with ease — but a hole, torn forcibly in and through the delicate flesh of Illyrian wings? You know that you should be thanking the Mother that they even still work in their complete capacity.

The skin around where the stakes had been forced is puckered and stiff, whitened by the scar tissue and trauma. It had been sickening the first time you had curled them close around you and realised with a faint horror that you could technically see through them — a irregular circular gash preserved in either wing of how you'd been pinned down.

The air passes through them as you shift, causing an uneasy shiver. They don't catch on the wind quite the same as they did before.

You haven't taken to the skies yet. You're torn between your eagerness to fly again, to prove to yourself that they can still, and the sinking fear that that's something new you'll have to relearn as well.

So, instead, you run through the training drill for the nth time, trying to get back in sync with your own body. Trying to push past where it seems to falter and trying and failing to not care that your wavering movements now have an audience.

Watching him subtly out the corner of your eye, Cassian appears to be running drills of his own, a gentle warmup. He stretches his toned arms above his head, the motions limber and easy. Briefly, your mind wanders to Azriel's own morning training —never mind that you did have experience training with him over many mornings — and the most peculiar fluster flows through you.

You bite your cheek and rein in your drifting thoughts, gripping the staff tighter.

Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard. Your left eardrum squeals, jumping abruptly in volume at the motions, and though you manage to contain yourself to a wince, your twist goes off kilter.

Your wings stretch out to counterbalance but they don't catch the wind as well as you're used to. Your feet stumble to realign and all you can think is how fucking easy it would be decimate you in a fight in that second.

Something awful starts to grow in your throat and it takes a full moment to realise its the urge to cry, clawing up your throat.

You inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the stone beneath you, and will them away. You weren't a crier — but then again, never had you ever felt quite so utterly hopeless as you were right now.

You've always had this—always had the fight from within your bones, always had your body, always relied on your dexterity to push you forward.

Shadow covers the stone before you. Your head shoots ups, that same panic you can't shake jolting in your chest.

"Hi." Cassian says, giving a little two-fingered salute. He smiles kindly. "Cassian. We met maybe, uh, 5 minutes ago? Remember that?"

You blink at him, not even noticing how the distraction sends away the urge to cry. Swallowing thickly, you give a tentative nod.

"Fantastic. Great memory." His smile melts into a grin and though it sounds like he's teasing, you don't exactly feel like it you who's being made fun of. "I— I have no doubt you're an excellent fighter, especially considering you managed to land a hit on a warrior such as Azriel."

Cassian seems to hear his words only after he's said them and gives a minuscule frown. "Wait, don't tell him I said that. He'll never let me live it down."

When you don't react in amusement as he was aiming for, Cassian changes his tone again, more serious this time.

"Look, I might not be exactly sure what happened that meant you ended up here. I know it might not seem like a welcome change of pace but— well- and what I mean to say is— I can see your missteps."

The admittance of your failings makes humiliation swell up within you. You avert your eyes. Cassian, aware of his awful blunder, barrels on.

"But I can see you're getting your feet again." He adds, softer than before. "After whatever happened to you and your wings, I can tell you're already doing better than most Illyrians would. I also know that everything is easier with a little support."

Your gaze tugs back to Cassian's face as his sentence ends, the offer within it leaving you momentarily dazed. He wants... to help you?

You open your mouth to say just that—but instead, say, "They... didn't tell you?"

Something foreign yanks on your heartstrings. You can't say you had expected privacy, not when Rhysand was already generously providing you with both medical aid and a place to lay low and recover. You were in no position to ask for more.

Suddenly, you become hyper aware of your wings and their gaping, obvious scars to pair with the thin white lines of the lashes adorned across them. You rein them back self-consciously, keeping them tucked close against your back. There's relief in that simple motion alone.

"It is not their story to tell." Cassian nods, grave and serious. "And, just as important, sharing it is not a requirement to be allow yourself a little support."

You don't have to tell him, if you don't want to.

Before you, an Illyrian male, like so many that you've detested all your miserable life, and he doesn't know a thing about you. He doesn't get to know what happened unless you decide to tell him.

You taste his words, mulling them over in your mind as you try to figure out what he means. In the heart of it, you can't understand what he truly stands to gain from this offer of support.

"What... kind of support?" You question warily.

Unthinkingly, your grip tightens on the training staff once more—a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of baring your vulnerabilities. It had been well-trained out of you. Connections of any kind risked exposure... and well, the one time in your life you had given it a go, it had only been proven true.

"Whatever you wish." Cassian grins, as if pleased you had asked that exact question. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and rattles off his list easily, with a slight shrug of his armoured shoulders. "Friendship? Training? Someone to listen when you need it or to drink your sorrows with? I've had plentiful practice with all."

He sends you another wink, teasing and easy like everything else about him. It's disarming actually, just how different he is from what you had been expecting from only the rumours around Exordor. Lord of Bloodshed. He's so...casual.

After another beat of silence, Cassian clears his throat when it becomes clear you aren't exactly jumping onto any of his initial offers. The caginess you exude is palpable and something ragged in Cassian's chest tears wider at whatever his mind conjures up about what might be lurking your past.

True to his word, Rhys hadn't delved into your story or how you came to end up here at the House of Wind.

All Cassian knew for sure is that Azriel had talked of training with a bastard some months ago and now, you were here. A female warrior from Exordor.

Cassian thinks that Azriel likely would've mentioned it if the bastard he was working with was female—but he hadn't. There's much more to your story, he can tell, and it seems to ripple from the edges of your wary, dangerous form at just a glance. Almost a full picture for him to realise, to see clearly.

But... these things were earned.

If Cassian wanted to be your friend, to know your story, he would do it the honourable and hard way.

He would become someone that you could trust in this new, unfamiliar place and he knew it was possible because what Cassian knew lay within him was reflected in you. The one clear part of the picture.

A warrior who knows themselves best when they're fighting.

"Train with me. Please." Cassian tries once more, ready to relent if it was too much, too soon. "There is a lot we can teach each other, I'm sure."

That seems to catch you by surprise, your brows jumping a fraction up your face. You school the expression away quickly but not before Cassian catches it. He nods.

"What do you say?" Cassian grins again, holding out his hand, palm up. Nonthreatening as can be. "Friends? Allies? Reluctant rooftop sharers? I'll take any happily."

You eye his hand, that still cautious air in your gaze, but Cassian can see as something settles within you. Tentatively, you reach forward and put your hand in his, giving it an awkward, stilted shake.

"I'll take allies for now," You say, somewhat demurely. It's taking a mountain load of trust for you to do so, Cassian knows. He does not take that trust lightly.

Cassian grins. "Allies it is."

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios

@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale

@aomi-recs @letmejustreadthanks @problemfinder @sevikas-whore @doodlebugg16-blog

@meandmysillywriting @justingnoreme @krowiathemythologynerd @hanatsuki-hime @sunny747

@coffeebeforewater @kalulakunundrum @marina468 @moonbirde @yellow-birdy @sheblogs

@shinyghosteclipse @randombibitch @itsjustwinter @emryb @books-all-the-way13

@thatsassyhufflepuff @rem-ie

#this chappie is one big kiss to cassian #i love him and i like to think we would be besties irl #apologies for no azriel in this chappie tho D:#i promise it won't go like this as she meets all of the inner circle #cassian is a Special one like im thinking maybe these guys are gonna be Besties for the Resties so he needs a specific introduction #and also they're so alike!!! they survive best when they're fighting n brawling!!!!! they're gonna like and respect each other so damn much #azriel #azriel fic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel series #cassian #<- yeah he's there #acotar #acotar fanfiction #whom the shadows sing for #wtssf #whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn)#hope u like it!! tell me what u think!#sloane writes

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hard-core-super-star · 9 months

Text

make you mine this season [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x barton!reader

summary: a badly timed snowstorm leaves you unable to make it to the barton farm for christmas. thankfully, a certain archer shows up to keep you company.

warnings: none, i think? just really cheesy, holiday rom-com type of fluff [i say this as if i've watched any holiday rom-com besides happiest season and the holiday 😶]; kate's a dork [wow, what a shock]; idiots in love; past mentions of bishova; bad jokes?; snowstorm; cheesy gifts bc kate can't talk about her feelings

wordcount: 1.5k

a/n: HI, EVERYONE, I'M ALIVE! and it wouldn't be a rubix fic if it WASN'T posted a little late 😅 i hope you all had a fantastic holiday season and that you'll accept this very cheesy Christmas fic <3 [and maybe that last line is very self-indulgent but that's none of your business, if you know you know]

* * * * * * *

You’re no stranger to loneliness but things were bordering on ridiculous. Not only have you spent the past two years ridiculously in love with a certain purple-loving archer, you’re also on the verge of spending Christmas by yourself thanks to the worst-timed snowstorm of all time.

And maybe the first part of your unfortunate situation is your fault but that doesn’t stop the waves of disappointment from crashing into you.

This year was supposed to be different.

That’s what you had told yourself in an effort to convince yourself to tell the young archer about your feelings for her. It was a strategy that almost worked…until a certain blonde decided to accept Kate’s offer for drinks…which turned into a date…which turned into a second date…which turned into the longest four months of your life.

You could never be one to be mad at someone else’s happiness but that didn’t stop you from feeling absolutely defeated every time you saw them together. There was no one to blame except you for the brunette’s lack of knowledge about your feelings and that only made everything worse.

It was impossible to ignore the ache in your chest when your eyes met Kate’s or the heavy jealousy that clouded most of your interactions with her. Maybe if you had been less into your head about the whole thing, you would have realized the way the archer’s smile never seemed to reach her eyes.

Eyes that followed you every time you walked away.

You never noticed the traces of darkness that clung to her usually radiant persona but you were the first person at her side when the break up happened. She offered little to no details besides an awkward joke about the relationship ending almost exactly where it started right at the Rockefeller tree.

It was messed up in a way that made Kate want to make as many jokes about it as possible which resulted in you laughing at things that definitely weren’t funny and were just sad. Not as sad as spending the holidays completely alone and hopelessly in love with your best friend, though.

You were sure the archer was already well on her way to your dad’s farm which leaves you completely unprepared when the door to your apartment swings open to reveal her. She almost drops the key in her hand the second she realizes you’re home.

“What’re you doing here?” You question, doing your best to pretend you don’t see the gift bags she tries to hide behind her back.

You can practically see the wheels turning in her head before she’s finally able to respond. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Clint’s?”

It’s hard not to laugh at the incredulous look on her face. No matter how many times you see it, it’s still as endearing as the first time. Back when she was just your dad’s protege and you hadn’t spent so many of your days learning the ins and outs of her complicated personality.

“Did the incoming snowstorm happen to slip your mind?”

“No, I just thought you’d want to go anyway,” she replies with a small shrug.

“I’d rather not crash, Lila will never let me hear the end of it.”

Your words make her tilt her head to the side, the slightest hint of a pout on her face. “So…what, you’re just going to spend Christmas alone?”

“Yup. Kate, I’m not a kid anymore, nothing will happen if I spend one day by myself.”

“But it’s Christmas!” She exclaims, looking borderline offended that you’re so comfortable spending the holiday alone.

“Is that why you’re breaking into my apartment?” You ask in a foolish attempt to stop yourself from asking her to spend the day with you.

Just because she thought about you long enough to come drop off her, no doubt ridiculously expensive, gifts for you does not mean she wants to spend the holiday with you when she could easily spend it with anyone else.

The pink hue that overtakes her cheeks is a better gift than anything that could be inside the bags in her hand. “Well, uh…maybe…”

She finally gathers enough courage to get rid of the distance between you with a bright, albeit nervous, smile on her face. You half-expect her to launch into some long ramble about why she just couldn’t stop herself from buying an insane amount of gifts for you this year but she doesn’t.

For once in her life, Kate Bishop makes things easy for herself.

“I didn’t think I was going to make it to the farm on time so I was just going to drop these off for you…” She holds out the bag for you and you do your best to calm the rapid beating of your heart as you take it.

“Can I open it right now or will you get embarrassed?”

“Both,” she replies through a chuckle. “I would leave but I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Right, because I’m the one who gets lonely.”

“Shut up.”

It’s both a blessing and a curse to have broken through the archer’s defenses and right now, her cute reactions are beginning to feel like a curse. Although, that might just be your unrequited feelings talking.

A slightly awkward silence settles over both of you while you rifle through the overwhelming amount of purple tissue paper until you find your gift. You’re expecting another expensive necklace, maybe a bracelet this time, but what you’re met with is the most thoughtful gift you’ve ever received…and probably the most thoughtful gift Kate has ever given.

What you end up pulling out of the bag is a leather journal with a beautiful engraving of yours and Kate’s initials. “Kate…is this-”

“Yeah, I, um…I couldn’t find a photo album that I liked so I sort of…made my own.”

You can’t stop yourself from flipping through the first couple of pages, caught somewhere between the euphoria of being given something so beautiful and the disappointment that comes with knowing it all only serves to fuel your love for the archer.

Love you can’t express the way you want to.

Love that’s hidden between the pages of the journal you hold in your hands.

You don’t notice and Kate isn’t really in a hurry to watch you read the series of rambles that make up her overdue confession so she lets the moment fade like she always has. It’s not like you can blame her for wanting to move on to something else, her lack of focus isn’t necessarily a secret, and you let yourself get carried away by her jokes and her stubborn need to make mac and cheese for you.

The archer manages to cook without setting your kitchen on fire and the two of you settle on your couch to watch the first cheesy Christmas movie you find. In all honesty…the movie is awful but the corny jokes make Kate laugh so you can’t find it in yourself to be too grumpy about the shitty writing.

Until the scene in front of you reminds you of the archer and her ex. You’re unable to hold back the jealousy-tinted snarkiness said reminder brings out of you. “I think Yelena watched this movie and then decided to be a dick just like the main character.”

Kate instantly turns toward you, staring at you with wide eyes that barely hide her amusement. “What?”

“What?” You feign confusion to avoid having to repeat yourself.

“You know what,” she replies with an eyeroll. “If I’m the one who got broken up with, why are you the one that’s still upset?”

“Because- wait, why are you not upset?”

Your uno-reverse of a response leaves Kate speechless for a few seconds and you prepare yourself for the series of jokes that will no doubt leave her mouth next.

But Kate’s never been predictable.

“Because…she didn’t break my heart. She didn’t even own it in the first place.”

Her words spark the low flames of hope hidden in the depths of your heart. It feels impossible and if you were a believer, you might even say Santa’s on your side, helping to give you the one thing you’ve wished for more nights than you can count.

And yet you hesitate.

“What are you trying to say?” You ask, your voice so soft it borders on cautious.

“That I’m an idiot,” she replies with that same bright smile that made you fall for her so long ago. “And…I’d really like to kiss you.”

The world seems to slow down to a complete stop at that moment.

You almost don’t even know what to do with yourself. Thankfully, you manage to kick yourself into action before the moment passes.

Kate’s awkwardness seems to disappear into thin air as she leans in toward you, meeting you halfway for the softest, sweetest, kiss you’ve ever had. And maybe nothing about it is perfect but it’s you and her and that’s all that matters for now.

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n3chiro · 2 months

Text

𝒞𝓇𝓊𝑒𝓁 𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝑒𝓇 • 𝒥𝒥𝒦

Synopsis: This is it, the summer you’ve been waiting for, a time of your life with family and friends. And a long-time crush you could only dream of being with, Jeon Jungkook.

Genre: Summer au, romance, fluff, smut, slice of life, teen drama, college boy x high school girl, childhood friends to lovers.

Playlist: 𝗗𝘂𝘀𝗸 𝗧𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗗𝗮𝘄𝗻 - 𝗭𝗮𝘆𝗻, 𝗖𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗚𝗶𝗿𝗹 - 𝗟𝗮𝗻𝗮 𝗗𝗲𝗹 𝗥𝗲𝘆, 𝗪𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀 - 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗲𝗲𝗸𝗲𝗻𝗱, 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝗢𝗳 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗚𝗶𝗿𝗹𝘀 - 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗲𝗲𝗸𝗲𝗻𝗱, 𝗟𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 - 𝗦𝗮𝗺 𝗦𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗵, 𝗔𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗢𝗳 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗸 - 𝗘𝘇𝗶, 𝗦𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 - 𝗖𝗮𝗿𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗵, 𝗛𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 - 𝗬𝗼𝗸𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝗿𝗲, 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀 - 𝗔𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗢𝗳 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗡𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗵.

[word count: 3.1k 🥲]

Warnings: cliffhanger, small age gap, Jungkook is hot, underage drinking, humor, long-time crush, reader had a massive glow up, summer vibes, bad boy jungkook, reader loves to read books, surfing, Jungkook finally notices you, author sometimes misspells a word, coming of age, smoking, boxer jungkook, second hand embarrassments.

Inspired by “The summer I turned pretty.”

⋆｡🌊𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

The sound of your alarm wakes you up out of your sweet dream, you groan, not knowing that today was the first day of summer break. The loud footsteps snaps you out of your sleeping daze the moment you realize who those footsteps belongs to as they grow closer and louder towards your door.

And to behold, it was your mother, now standing over you with two luggages on her side, following with a raised eyebrow.

“I told you not to stay up late, Y/N.” Your mother’s voice wasn’t filled with rage or frustration, just in ‘I told you so.’ But knowing you, your mother was quite unpredictable with her mood swings. Which scared you sometimes.

You groan, putting the pillow over your head as you try to tone out her lecture, once you had your mother started up with a speech, she would never shut up.

“Okay mom, i get it. Could you get out so i can get dressed? I don’t even know why were packing in the first place.” You mutter the last part, but your mother still heard you. A wide smile is plastered across her face as she faces you.

It had to be good if it caused her to smile like a madwoman.

“Today’s the first day of summer break, and we’re heading over to leah’s house in river beach for the summer.” Your mother replied smoothly, though, you could see she was just as excited as you were.

You couldn’t wait to arrive at rivers beach, you wanted to see leah and her son Jungkook. Your long-time crush, you both grew up together, though he always saw you as his annoying little sister.

But that didn’t matter, you were turning sixteen in a couple days. It was time to switch things up, no more making excuses to stay indoors to watch romances and teen dramas while you could be out here experiencing them.

And you were determined to get Jungkook to finally notice you, as a mature woman and not some annoying childhood friend.

Plus you wanted to see your friend mia, it’s been a while since you’ve seen her. And this was the day that you both would be seeing each other face to face, you just know her glow up was insane.

You wouldn’t say so about yourself, in your opinion, nothing really much changed about you. Except that your breasts have gotten bigger and noticeable, but that won’t stop you from having a good time this summer.

You were so excited that you found yourself bouncing in the passenger seat, as your mother blast alessia cara through the speakers, and you jamming to the music.

You watch as the trees and houses pass by in a flash, the windows down on both sides of the car as you stick your arm out, moving them in a wave motion. Ignoring the lopsided smile your mother gives you, chuckling in response you continue to enjoy the music.

Slowly, the familiar sign you’ve been dying to see again pops up into view.

‘Welcome to Rivers Beach.’

You smile widely as your brown innocent eyes watches the sign fly pass you since your mother was driving somewhat fast than she usually does.

“We’re here,” Your mother sings, as she slowly drives through the town, people waving and smiling towards your way. But it’s strange, no one usually greets you first unless you’re with your mother. As you turn to look at her with a slight confused face she shrugs.

You wanted to know why that happened but a familiar large house with a baby blue mailbox comes into view, making you squeal in your seat, your mother mirrors your actions as the car finally comes to a stop.

Quickly unbuckling your seatbelt, you hear your mother laughing at your actions, you were dying to see leah, she was like an aunt to you.

You hear the front door opening, revealing leah and your best friend who decided to surprise you by waiting there for you, mia, she knew leah and her son, she was also like family to them and you. Smiling like an idiot you quickly ran towards leah first, jumping in her arms as she hugs you tightly just as well as you did her.

Your mother is next in line, as she hugs her best friend, the one person who she views as a sister.

You then hug your best friend mia, as she spins you around while still embraced into the hug, you laugh while she lets out a exaggerated sigh. “I swear I thought i was gonna die if we didn’t see each other again.”

“I did too,” You laugh still unable to stop smiling, “But here we are.”

“Yeah, here we are.” Mia holds up her hand, waiting for you to high five her, which you gladly did, smiling like a five year old kid.

“Looks like im not the only one who had a major glow up.” You roll your eyes playfully, slightly pushing her away as you see leah and your mother enter inside the house.

“Come on stop it mia.” You pleaded, she was always dramatic with her compliments, but who’s to say that you didn’t like them?

“Im serious,” Mia began, “You look nothing like you did last year, your literally glowing. You’ve finally bloomed into a young woman, Y/N.” If you were the emotional type, you’d be bawling your eyes out right now.

You couldn’t hide the shyness from her compliment, “Thanks, you look amazing yourself.”

Mia began to laugh, “Let’s head inside, I bet that four hour drive must’ve tired you out.”

With no room to complain, you happily followed her inside the house. You were a bit tired from the drive, but you didn’t want to rest until you’ve at least eaten.

This was going to be the best summer yet.

✧…✧

After what seems like forever, you were finally done unpacking your things, in the room you’d always be in whenever you and your mom would visit leah and her son during the summer. The room was left just how you had it the last time you was over here, your pink and blue aesthetic room filled with plushies, plants and books and makeup from your friend mia.

Some seashells rested peacefully on your drawer, right along with some necklaces and pearls that were gifted by your friend.

You kept hearing soft footsteps passing by your door back and forth, you thought it was either Mia or your mother, so you opened the door when you saw the footsteps abruptly stop in front of your door through the crack.

And to be hold, it was jungkook, talk about glow up. He was beyond handsome and good looking, he was a greek god, standing before you with a dry towel against his long cury wet hair. You hadn’t noticed the lip piercing until he lifted his head up to fully get a glance at you, a simple grey shirt with some basketball shorts still managed to make him look good.

You found yourself gulping as you cleared your throat, it’s been a while since you and jungkook seen each other, you didn’t want to ruin your attempted impression by acting like an idiot or a total weirdo.

“Uh, hi Jungkook.” You say awkwardly, you were definitely not ready to encounter him right at this moment, maybe at the dinner table but this? Definitely a no.

“Hey.” It’s short and simple, but the husky voice of his makes you unable to focus properly, he’s already taller than you, and he’s looking down at you. He knows that you’re surprised by his new appearance, he’s muscular and one of his arms is covered with tattoos. And a lip piercing following with his ears pierced didn’t help.

Jungkook takes the time to eye you up and down, your wearing biker shorts, the usual, with a simple pink tank top. Your now long and wavy hair is down to your shoulders as you look up at him with your plump pink lips and innocent brown eyes.

He admits that you look absolutely nothing like last year, and honestly he would’ve teased you about it for god knows how long, but now, he’s honestly left speechless, though it doesn’t show on his face. Whatever type of glow up you went through sure did question if he really saw you as the annoying little friend you were.

But it doesn’t matter that you look different, so does he, he’s gotten buff, tattos, piercings, and even started smoking. But that’s nothing new, just like he’s been on and off with girls, something his mother had told him to tone it down since you and your mother were going to be around this summer.

“Well, your mom sent me up here to get you, she said it’s time to eat.”

You found yourself only nodding instead of give him an actual response, you both stood there for a few seconds before you slowly closed the door. As you hear his footsteps walk away from your bedroom door, you couldn’t help but let out a squeal.

A picture of you and jungkook hanging on your mirror, there’s multiple pictures of you two being silly, but it was back then, to you Jungkook was more loving and kind, even if he didn’t acknowledge you like he did a few minutes ago.

Your room door suddenly opens, revealing Mia who’s one step away from passing out the moment she sees you putting on your clothes over the bikini she had bought you as an early birthday gift, thankfully you didn’t wear your other swimsuit, the other one looked like you were trying out for the swim team.

“So, your mom agreed with letting you and i go on a late night swim with some friends, you down?” Mia asks with anticipation.

You wanted to stay inside and binge watch some shows and sleep, but you promised yourself that this summer will be different. You will not back to the old you, which is now dead the moment you smile at mia.

“Yeah, im down.”

You and mia head downstairs and eat dinner with your mother and leah, the. You both head back upstairs to get ready.

After a few minutes of Mia picking out her bikini you both were ready than ever to go on a late night swim on the beach, walking as you hold onto your shoes as you let the sand swallow your feet with every step you take.

You and mia could see people already at the beach gathered around a campfire with beers and smoking, some people making out in the public eye and in cars, but that didn’t matter to you, because a certain someone catches your eye. It’s Jungkook, with his arm wrapped around a girl who in your opinion looks way prettier than you- which is understandable.

He’s smiling like how he’d usually smile when he’s with you, you see him talking to three people with the girl clinging to him desperately, your not the jealous type, you just expect defeat because you know jungkook will never feel the same way towards you.

You feel the huge lump in your throat, refusing to stare at the sight before you any longer you snatch a margarita from someone’s hand and chug it down in one go, even though that wasn’t enough to get Jungkook off your mind.

Mia is no longer in sight, she’s already in the water but when she sees you slightly wobbling as you approach the water with a lopsided grin.

“Y/N, come join us!” Mia, along with a few other people yell out your name. It wouldn’t hurt to swim anyways, even though you were drunk just a tiny bit tipsy off whatever that guy who was wearing a cap have gave you.

But you didn’t finish the drink, thank god.

Forgetting that you were still wearing your clothes over your black bikini so that very reason you didn’t wet, you rushed towards the water where everyone else was waiting for you.

Now in the water people began splashing each other as you laugh, the thought of Jungkook completely being erased from your mind.

This is what you needed.

Two hours has passed by and you’re more lively than ever, your completely drunk out of your mind due to a drinking contest, and you don’t seem to care, after all, it’s the summer time and it was time to let loose.

“ARE YOU GUYS HAVING A GOOD TIME?!” You scream out, feeling all the undivided attention on you while you watch everyone’s gaze linger on you.

“YEEEAAHH!” The crowd screamed back, holding their beers and margaritas up in the air, making you smile.

Though you feel a certain pair of eyes on you from afar, as if someone was watching you from afar. You think it’s your friend mia so you shake off the feeling, you began to dance, lost in your own world. Feeling a pair of hands on your waist, you turn around, it’s a male, with nice brown hair. The stranger doesn’t ask for your permission as he continues to dance along with you while holding your waist.

Your to drunk to push the stranger off of you, but you get the feeling in your gut that if you let this continue on it’ll be out of your control.

“Hey…let go of me-..” Before you could even get the rest of your words out the stranger was suddenly yanked back by his collar, revealing Jungkook who had been watching you the moment you gave that drunken yet short speech. The stranger tries to punch Jungkook in the face as an attempt to free himself.

You instantly but barely sober up the moment you see jungkook punching the guy to death, the first day of summer break slightly becomes a mess, this wasn’t how you imagined your first day of summer break. Well, that was another thing to add in your diary.

‘First day of summer gone wrong.’

“Jungkook!” A feminine voice was heard through the crowd, Jungkook had heard it as well but ignored her. To enrage of what he almost had to witness with you.

It was the girl you saw that was clinging onto onto Jungkook earlier.

“Jungkook, please stop.” You instantly stepped in between Jungkook and the stranger, a few gasps was heard the moment the stranger spit out blood, looking up an down at your state he knew you needed to go home. It wasn’t right for you to even be at a party, why were you here in the first place.

“What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home like you usually are?!” Your slightly embarrassed that he said that to you, but you quickly swallow that embarrassment the moment he’s about to scold you.

“Jungkook im not twelve years old anymore, im about to be sixteen. And that’s none if your concern.” You say, folding your arms.

Jungkook only scoffs when you say that, but you were right, your not the same person he once knew that only liked to stay indoors and read books and binge watch shows. You’ve bloomed into a young adult, and now it was time to explore the life of a teenager.

But he chooses not to acknowledge that, “Come on, im taking you home.”

“No,” You quickly reply, “I came here with Mia.”

“And obviously she’s leaving without you, I’ll just give you a ride.” Jungkook points at mia who’s getting inside a vehicle with a boy, you wasn’t mad because you both did arrive at the beach on foot.

“Jungkook wait!” The familiar feminine voice that called out his name earlier was slightly jogging towards the two of you.

“Sofia, what are you still doing here?!” Jungkook quickly looks over at your confused expression before his eyes travel to the approaching woman.

“Sofia?!” You say, looking back at Jungkook and the girl who embraces him in a passionate hug.

There it was, the familiar lump that was stuck in your throat the moment you saw them two together, your aching heart couldn’t take it anymore. Before the girl could turn around to even speak you walk towards Jungkook’s car and open up the door, hoping in the back seat.

You didn’t care if you were acting a bit childish, but you couldn’t help but want some attention from Jungkook yourself.

This summer was supposed to be different, not you being hooked up on Jungkook who’s not even paying you an ounce of attention, this summer is about you. Nothing and no one else.

Your eyes began to grow heavy, you were tired from all that screaming and partying, not even noticing Jungkook—by himself, opening the car door to the driver’s side. “You finished talking to your girlfriend? She seems nice.”

You say, it wasn’t in a sarcastic way or anything. You were just being the supportive side character you guess. Jungkook begins driving as you sigh.

“She’s not my girlfriend, just a friend.”

“And I’m your friend, your childhood best friend at that Jungkook. And if we’re being honest, that hug she gave you earlier did not look like you two are just friends.” You said with all honesty as you sat up, looking at him as his eyes stare ahead at the road, you could see his fists clenching the steering wheel as his knuckles turned white.

“Okay?! What do you want me to say? You’re so—!” You quickly cut Jungkook off.

“So what?! Annoying? All you do is call me annoying, do you even know how much i lo-..”

Before you could even let more of your emotions out you sat back onto the seat, a frustrated sigh leaving your mouth. You never thought you’d be arguing with your crush who’s acting like an asshole right now.

Though eventually he would become aware of your feelings, but by then he’d probably be in love with someone else, someone that isn’t you.

✧…✧

Waking up with a headache wasn’t on today’s agenda, as you try to piece together how you got yourself to bed, a soft knock on your door snapped you out of your trance. “Come in.” Revealing leah, a small smile had decorated her beautiful face as she held up a small gift.

“That’s this?” You chuckled, still taking the gift that leah had got you, “My birthday isn’t here yet.”

“It’s an early gift.” Leah replies smoothly.

You nod, appreciating the small designs that decorates the wrapper of the box with a pink bow on top. You were greatful, leah was just one of the nicest seconds mother figure you’ve ever had, and Jungkook should be grateful for her as well.

As leah disappears behind the door, you let out a deep sigh. The unknown feeling suddenly leaving your chest the moment you think about Jungkook, and what happened last night, you were way out of control.

As you get ready for the day you hear another knock at the door, before you could even give the person to enter the door slowly creaks open, revealing Jungkook.

“Hi..” You say, though you don’t find any courage to look him in the eye.

“Hey.” He says back, still looking at your nervous expression. “Um, i was wondering if…you’d want to go swimming with me at the beach.” You finally look up at him, god, you wish you hadn’t.

He’s now shirtless, his tattooed arm is on full display as well as his abs, and the hem of his calvin klein underwear is visible from underneath his shorts, making you pry your innocent eyes away from him before he notices you staring.

To late, he already saw you..

“Uh, sure. Yes, i would love that.” You said, a small smile emerging on your face as Jungkook chuckled, he found you somewhat cute whenever you did that.

And with that, both of you were on your way to the beach with a towels and swimsuits on and a surfboard Jungkook brought with him.

Yep, looks like this will be the best summer of all. You and Jungkook found yourselves smiling at each other.

A/N: idek what this is lol, but more Jungkook stories are yet to come.

#jungkook x female reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook bts #summer #jungkook smut #beachvibes #summer vibes #jeon jungkook #slow burn #friends to lovers

154 notes · View notes

mommycitas · 4 months

Note

Hi!! would you pls write some negan x fem!reader? i love angst so maybe the prompt “this is gonna hurt but you need to be quiet okay doll?”

A/N; thank you for the req!!! I wasn't really sure what situation you wanted for the prompt so me being me it's gonna be sum smut ToT !! But if that isn't what you wanted,(I'm so so sorry if that's the case btw ToT) feel free to re-req and specify the situation you wanted and any other further details!!

summary; After being found by some of the Saviors, you are brought to Negan where he gives you a offer of a lifetime.

pairing; Negan x Virgin!fem!reader

Pronouns/Name; She/Her , Y/N

Warning; Age gap (reader in early 20s, Negan in early 40s) Swearing and such, Negan being Negan, sexual comments, semi-public sex(inside a storage closet), taking of virginity, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, thoughts of cunnilingus and sex. breeding kink if you squint hard enough. NOT PROOF READ !!

Word count; 1.7k

!! MINORS DISCOURAGED !!

You run through the woods, dodging trees, vines, and bushes. You look over your shoulder to see a large group of zombies chasing you. You lost all your handheld weapons and ran out of ammo for your gun, so you had no choice but to run.

You had been running for what seemed like 30 minutes until you couldn't seem them anymore. You leaned against a tree to try and rest. You grabbed your bad off your shoulder and reached inside to get some water, finding you had nothing but empty bottle you angrily toss all your belongs on the ground.

"Fuck!!" you practically screamed. Hearing a branch snap from the tree behind you, you realized the error of your ways. Standing silently, breathless, you waited for whatever was there to pass. After a minute or two you turn around the tree to see if you can see anything. Before you could even see anything or one, you felt something hard smash against your head and everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly waking up, you open your eyes to darkness. Laying on the cold floor of a broom closet it seems like. "Oh well fuck me." You groan to yourself before steadily trying to stand up. Kicking on the door a few times "Let me out!!" you yell. You go to kick one more time before the door swings open. A man with stringy blonde hair and half his face had a nasty scar on it. "Where am I?" you demand "Be quiet" he groans at you. He backs up and a few men walk over, most of them holding guns and such. "Come with me" he groans yet again. Following him, you see the kind of place you're in. It seems to have been a factory before the old times maybe?

It's full of people and children. You haven't seen anywhere like this in so long. A feeling of euphoria brushes over you when you suddenly walk into the same man you were following. "Watch where you're going, we're here." He opens a door and shoves you in before closing the door again.

You looked around the room shocked at what you were seeing. You couldn't believe something like this existed in a time like this. Doing a little spin to look around you hear someone clearing their throat behind you. A tall man wearing a leather jacket was standing behind you. "Here doll, sit down." He ushered you to the two couches sitting face to face on the side of the room. taking a quick seat, he follows and does the same. "Hi, I'm Negan." you smile at the introduction "I'm Y/N."

"Welcome to the sanctuary!" he had such enthusiasm in his voice, it was nice to hear after months of only having hearing zombie groans. "Sorry, my men were so brute with you. They saw you in the woods and thought you needed help." "So they knocked me out?" he didn't respond to that, only giving you a weird look. "Now. If you want to stay here, you have to work for your place. So I'm gonna break it down for you, in four choices. One: You wind up on the spike and you work for me as a dead man. Two: You get out of that nasty little cell you woke up in, you work for points, but you're gonna wish you were dead. Or three: You work for me, you get yourself a brand new pair of shoes and you live like a king. Or." He paused and examined your facial expressions.

"Number four. You become one of my wives and don't work a day in your life, get whatever you want, and get screwed by me every night!" You just stared at him blankly, not knowing if he was joking or not "Cat got your tongue?" he laughed "One of your wives? Plural?" the thought of that made you feel sick, but you've had it so hard for months, not having to do anything sounded kind of nice. "Hell yeah! You know, you are super hot and I'd love to be pounding into you already." "That's gotta be a joke, right? This whole thing is a joke? All four options?"

He just let out a low belly laugh that sent shivers down your spine. "Let me show you doll." before you knew it he was leading you down a corridor swinging around a baseball bat. The first spot was "door number 1" as he would say. You watched as men in sacks fight with walkers chained to a fence. You look at Negan and shake your head "I'm not one for manual labor." One by one she shows you the next two locations. None of them really resinated with you, like you've said you don't really like doing work. That was until he showed you a room where four beautiful girls wearing cocktail dresses sat, laughed, and drank. When you walked into the room they all gave you a look. Negan explained what being a wife meant and the perks and rules of it was. But you weren't sure what to do or even if you should stay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat in the dark cold room you woke up in. Thinking all the situations over, you thought about Negan. About how good his salt and pepper beard would feel against the inside of your thighs when he's face first in your cunt. While you were a virgin and you've never even tried to touch yourself, you had a good idea of sex and foreplay. You thought about how good Negan would look naked, pounding into you. You felt your pussy throb at the thought.

Before you knew it you were pounding on the door yelling for Negan. After a minute he threw the door open "Jesus doll! Are you dying in here? Lucky I was just passing by." he laughs before being interrupted by you aggressively placing your hands on his chest "Please Negan, I need you, I want to be your wife, take me please." you look up at him and see his eyes are already blown with a lustful fog. "I've been waiting for you to say that since I laid eyes on your tight ass." his lips crash onto yours before you have the chance of even considering changing your mind. He closes the door, the only light coming from the small lantern on the floor he had brought in. He pushes you against the wall making quick work on the button of your cargo shorts, dropping them on the floor, leaving you your underwear.

He rubs you through the material, feeling how wet you already are for him, feeling him smirk against your lips. In one quick motion he tugs off your underwear and rubs your clit. You moan against him before pulling away. "Negan.. umm I'm a virgin." you embarrassingly reveal "Holy shit. Been a while since I plowed a virgin, this should be fun." He plunged one finger into you, gaging your reaction and never removing eye contact. You squeak and your head falls into the crook of his neck, feeling a kind of pleasure you've never known before, quickening his pace you become more slick by the second. He kisses you on the top of the head before continuing "I'm gonna add another finger, ok doll?" you nod in response. Feeling him stretch you out, you let out a cry. He pumps his digits in and out of you while nipping at your ear. Just as you feel that knot in your stomach start to form, he removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth, you whine in protest. But before you can protest more, he grabs your shoulder and turns you around, pressing your face against the harsh cold wall. Using his free hand he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down, grabbing his cock out of his boxers. "This is gonna hurt but you need to be quiet ok doll?" he whispers in your ear while rubbing his tip from your entry to your clit back and forth. He lines his tip up with your opening and slowly pushes himself in about half the way.

The strange change from absolute pleasure to the feeling of your cunt ripping in half made you loudly cry out. "Doll, I told you, you need to be quiet. Anyone that walks by could hear you." he says while covering your mouth with his rough palm. You stare up at him through the glossy coating covering your eyes. He continues pushing himself into you until he's skin to skin. You had never felt such pain yet such pleasure in your life. He soaks inside you for a minute to let you adjust to being so stretched out. You nod to the best of your abilities, letting him know he can continue. At first he starts slowly, rocking his hips gently back and forth in and out of you. After a minute or two of this he removes the grip on your shoulder and replaces it on your hip and starts going harder and faster. Violently crashing into you at a quickening pace making a dull smacking noise. You moan in a muffled tone into his palm. Drool sneaking past his calloused grip flowing down your chin. A minute into this you feel that same knot tighten inside your core. Negan could tell by your mannerisms that you were close and you could tell too. Tears streaming down your face you let out one final loud moan that even muffled would be loud enough for anyone near to hear, you released all over Negans large cock. With your cunt tightening around him, he was teetering over the edge.

With a few more sloppy uncoordinated thrusts you feel his cum all inside you. Ropes of warmth shooting up and inside you. He quickly pulls out and pulls up your underwear, leaving you sitting in his semen. You both adjust yourselves and throw your clothes on before leaving the closet.

You were filled with such a happy euphoria hand in hand with Negan. "Now lets go get your sexy little ass one of those hot ass black dresses."

#negan smith #negan x reader #the walking dead #smut #negan fanfiction #twd negan #twd x reader

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i-cant-sing · 1 year

Note

Fushiguro baby reader staring at the walls of their bedroom/at the door or closet because they sensed 'demons' at that specific place (the demons being random ass kidnappers trying toget reader for some random reason) and just staring

If baby Fushiguro is still with Toji:

Baby Fushiguro is sleeping with her father, Toji, in his bed, and she just suddenly wakes up because she sensed someone was in the house. She crawls out of Toji's arms(who is a light sleeper and knows immeadiately when reader leaves his arms, but thinks nothing of it since she has a habit of doing it often to go roam around the house, maybe go to the kitchen to get herself a cookie or go to her room to find her plushie. He's not concerned).

He is concerned though when reader doesn't return after a few minutes, which then turns into 30 minutes. He gets off the bed, eyes still groggy from sleep as he quietly leaves the room to look for you, only to find you sitting on the floor in front of the back door.

He looks at you, then at the door, then at you. And he signs at you (yes, Toji taught you sign language long before you could actually speak)

'What are you doing here, bub?'

You smile sleepily at him. 'Waiting for my friend.'

'What friend?' He asks, heart sinking.

'The one hiding behind the door. He's brought 3 other guys too, but they're in a van outside. Do you think they brought me presents?' You ask with hope.

And then as Toji looks at the door again, he catches a glimpse of a slight shadow under the door.

Toji looks at you and signs. 'Why don't you go up and get ready with your tea cups? I'll bring them up.' You nod and walk back up the stairs while Toji goes out and obliterates the men who were planning on breaking in and kidnapping the child they'd been spying on and found that lived at the apartment alone often because Toji left for work.

Of course, when Toji returned, he consoled you and put you back to sleep, all while making plans of moving to another safehouse the next day, all while his heart thumps at the fact that you were able to sense that someone was outside your house without any indication, that you weren't just able to sense curses but also humans at your age, it made him uneasy to think that if anyone else were to know about your... powers, they'd make you a target.

If baby Fushiguro is with Naoya/Zenin Clan:

Naoya wakes up to someone screaming, and leaves the room with a groan because he doesn't have the energy to deal with you terrorising yet another servant.

Naoya is only confused as he finds the rest of the Zenin clan outside in the garden, where they're all watching you swing your Hello Kitty katana around at the intruder who was hanging upside down from the tree, his foot held by a tentacle belonging to a curse which apparently you had summoned to hold him from the tree branch while you played a very gory version of "piñata".

"Y/N!" He yelled, startling you. "What are you doing?!"

You explained how you felt someone was outside in the garden, so you went out to see and found the man had "put the head nanny to sleep" (which meant he knocked her out) and said he wanted to play a game with you. He said you could choose any game you liked, if you come outside, so you chose piñata. But since Uncle Naoya had refused to get you a real piñata because "NO CANDY/SUGAR FOR Y/N!", you made him a piñata.

"He said it was okay." You mumbled. Clearly the intruder had underestimated you. "I only got my friend to help me hang him up." By friend, you meant the 14 tentacles monster curse who was currently hiding in the tree. He'll be dealt with by your uncles. Naoya needs to handle the intruder who almost fucking kidnapped you.

"I'll get you the stupid piñata if you if you go to bed right now."Naoya said nodding at Aunty Zenin to lead you back to your room as you beamed and skipped happily.

"As for you..." He turned to the intruder who was traumatised for life. "- You're about to be in a world of pain."

#yandere toji fushiguro #yandere toji #yandere naoya #yandere naoya zenin #yandere zenin clan #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen

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lilbitdepressed27 · 19 days

Text

Alcina Dimitrescu/Fem!Reader

Summary: One where you get bit by a spider after breaking up with your long time girlfriend and only running into her again after saving her daughter years later. Break up between you and Alcina happened when you both were 17 (You got bit by the spider at 17, you save one of Alcina's daughters at the age of 25.) she doesn't know about your powers also the suit in using in this is the armored advanced suit from the play station Spider-Man.

Warnings: angst, violence(only a little), open ending(kinda)

WC: 8.5k

Author’s note: this one has been finished for quite a while now, hope you guys enjoy:) I’m also still working on some requests don’t know when those will be done tho. I missed the tall boob lady

You had been spending most of your time swinging through the city. Helping where you could. Today had been great so far. You had rescued a kitten from a tree. Helped a lovey elderly woman across the busy streets of New York. Assisted the police in a car chase. Helped a little girl with her science project. And you finally got your project approved at your place of work. Which happened to be the Heisenberg Industries. You had interned there while you were in college and it had been something you had fallen in love with. Making things, building things had been something you always loved doing. It's how you build your amazing spider suit.

At the age of 25 you were set. Well mostly set. The job payed great. It was an easy job. Mostly, it didn't interfere with your other job. Even if most times it made you too busy for a social life. You only had a few contacts on your phone. One for work and the other for a great detective named Jill Valentin. She called you only when it was urgent. Or sometimes you called her when you were finished doing some ass kicking. You had made sure your phone could in no way be tracked.

You smiled as you sat at edge of a building, letting you feet dangle as you relaxed. That was until your police scanner, voiced out in your suit.

"Attention units we had reports of a possible kidnapping. Report to Greenwich ave. Victim is a 5 year old girl, red hair wearing a yellow flowered dress, suspects car is a grey sedan."

"That's close by." You jumped off the building, swinging towards the last location. There was way too many grey sedans around the area for you to know which one was the right one.

"Good thing my mask can zero in on muffled noises."

You jumped down on to the busy street. The noises in your mask leading you to an abandoned parking lot. You saw a car and the muffled noises were becoming clearer and clearer by the step.

"I want my mommy." A little girls voice cried. You moved quickly, ripping the trunk door off the car with your Spidergirl strength. At the sight of a little girl tied up your anger spiked. The tears streamed down her face. Breaking your heart in the process.

"Hey it's okay. I got you."

The little red head looked at you with wide eyes. You cut off the rope tying her wrists and ankles together.

"S-Spidey?"

"Yea it's me kiddo. You're safe now. I gotcha." She seemed to relax just a bit but she was still crying. She wrapped her arms around your neck and you picked her up from the car. "No one has called me that before. Maybe that could be your little nickname for me. How does that sound?"

"Rreally?" She hiccuped as she pulled away whipping her tears with a her hand balled up.

"Oh yea of course. It could only a nickname you could call me. What's your name that way I can give you a nickname."

"Daniela! My-My name is Daniela." She finally smiles at you. Her breathing settling just a bit, little hiccups escaping her lips.

"Mm Daniela that's a sweet name. Okay how about Lil D. SpideyDani." At the mention of SpideyDani you saw how her eyes lit up. You chuckled behind your mask as she nodded excitedly. "Okay SpideyDani how about I get you back to your-Oh no the bad men are back. Please don't let them take me." Her little cry of pure fear cut you off her breathing once again picking up.

You turned around to see a group of men coming towards you. Your hold the toddler tightening just a bit.

"Okay SpideyDani, I'm going to put you in the car with my friend spider bot. He'll protect you while I go kick some butt." The spider on your chest detached it self and climbed on top of Daniela. She giggled as you whipped her tears. The spider resting on the toddlers shoulder.

"I'll be right back. He'll keep you safe." With a nod from the toddler. You smiled behind your mask and shut the door.

"Well fellas. I gotta say I'm disappointed. A little girl? Really? Not cool."

There was a total of seven men, five of them with melee weapons and the other two with hand guns.

"Give us the kid Spider freak."

"That little brat will win us a load of money."

"Enough talk." One of the men with a gun raised it but you were faster. Shooting your webs and ripping it out of his hands. You moved quickly, webbing him up to the side of a car. Dodging a pipe that swung towards you. You ripped the the gun out of the hands of the other kidnapper and pulled him forcefully towards you and into a punch. Knocking him out cold.

Two down. Five to go.

Taking down the rest of the kidnappers was a walk in the park. Nothing you couldn't handle. Once everything was done with, you let out a huff and went back to the car. You called it in before actually getting to the car. You wanted this douche bags to pay for the trauma they caused the little girl. You opened the door and Daniela jumped into your arms, the spider going back to your chest.

"Hey it's okay SpideyDani. You're safe now." She held you tighter as you took her out of the car. Your spider bot going back on to the center of your suit.

"I want my mommy."

"I'll take you to your mommy. Hold on tight okay."

You had swung slow and carefully towards the police station where you heard over your police scanner that mother of the Daniela was at. Once you got there you were confused on why there were so many reporters there. There was a small barrier keeping the reporters away from the main entrance to the building. You landed gently in front of the building and made your way in. You didn't get five steps in before you heard Daniela cry out.

"MOMMY!!"

You looked up and felt your heart stop at the sight of the woman in front of you. You watched as the woman tuned around her eyes welling up with tears as she ran towards you. Her eyes that were filled with anger and concern were now filled with relief.

"Daniela!"

You put Daniela down once she started to move in your arms. You watched as the little girl ran to the woman you once called your lover. Although you had tried to burry it. Ignore the heart break this very woman that stood in front of you, had left you in. She had broken up with you, had left you with out a reason, an explanation on why. Nothing. She had just left. Seeing her now, had made all your buried feelings to resurface. She had grown into a beautiful woman, her once long hair was now just above shoulder length. Her beautiful blue eyes still shinned like they did before. Her features were just beautiful as before just mature, older.

"Thank you Spider-Girl. Thank you. Thank you. You brought my little girl back to me."

You were brought out of your thoughts as she addressed you. You cleared your throat. Feeling the lump in your throat that had started to form.

"Of course ma'am. It was the right thing to do."

At the sound of your voice, you watched as she snapped her gaze towards you. Her eyes burned into your eyes. You knew she couldn't see your eyes but it felt like she could. You saw the furrow of her eyebrows as she looked at you. She can't tell it's me right? There's no way.

"Well I'm glad little SpideyDani is safe and sound. Now I must be off." The little girl beamed at you from her mothers arms.

"Bye bye Spidey."

You chuckled as you waved goodbye. But before you could actually leave a hand shot out to you. Grabbing the inside of your elbow. You looked down at the hand and felt your heart break all over again at the sight of a wedding ring.

"I'm sorry ma'am but I really must be off." And like that you left. Hoping to never run into her again. Even if part of you wanted to see her again. It you knew, with this lifestyle it was dangerous.

You couldn't believe it. Alcina was just as beautiful as the last day you saw her. Maybe even more beautiful if that was possible. You hadn't seen or even heard from her in almost eight years and a half. The only thing you knew after the break up (it was more of her just leaving with out a word) was that she had moved away. And that was it. Never to be seen or heard from, up until now. You even tried to call her but your number never got through. Your messages and voicemails left unread and unheard. Going as far as trying to reach her little sister, Donna or her little brother Salvatore. But it was no use.

"Y/n there you are. I just wanted to say that your recent project has made quite a difference already." You beamed at your boss who came into your work station. You shook away the thoughts of your ex lover and directed your attention to your boss. You had known him for almost six years now. Even though you didn't really know much of his personal life he was still like a great mentor for you.

"The stocks are shooting up, which means more money for the company, more money for you and most importantly more money for me. But seriously, great work kid. The city thanks you. Now I have a dinner date with the family. You are free to go for the day. Celebrate kid. You deserve it." Karl patted your back as he smiled down at you. He knew from the moment you stepped foot into his building you'd do great things. And the years you have worked for him, you haven't let him down.

"Thanks sir. I already have more ideas I'd like to show you." You pulled out your notebook but was stopped by his hand.

"I said take the day kid, I'd love to see your ideas but after you get some rest and put that big brain of yours to rest. Now go before you make me late for my dinner. And for the last time it's Karl."

"Okay have fun with your family dinner."

"Doubt it. My sister is coming and I haven't really seen her for quite awhile. Well, I'll see you later kid."

She sat at the dinner table with her daughters, mother, sister, her sister's daughter and her younger brother. They were just now waiting for her older brother. Karl. She had been close with all her siblings except him. Even when she was a child. Karl had spent most of his time with their father. Who lived in Romania. Her parents had divorced when she was young. So she hardly ever saw Karl. Up until recently when she had grown somewhat close to her brother.

But as she sat at the table with her family. Her thoughts drifted to Y/n. Her past lover. The only person she ever loved. Who she still loved. Even after all these years. She had never regretted something more than when she had to leave you. When she had to break your heart in order to keep her own family safe. It was something she regrets. It was something she'll regret to the day she'll die.

But her mind drifted to the hero of New York. She never really thought of her. She knew her daughters loved Spider-Girl. She knew Spider-Girl had been around for quite a while know. But she never really thought about it until now. That voice. She could have recognized it anywhere. But it had been so long. But that voice.

Looking back when the spider first appeared had been around the same time you had started acting strange. You had become more secretive. You always had new bruises and cuts on you. You had always blamed it on your clumsiness. And her being the idiot she was. She had believed you. She had known you for five years before you started dating. She knew how clumsy you were. There was no reason to doubt you. But looking back she should have paid attention more.

Could you be Spider-Girl?

She almost wanted to laugh at how insane it sounded. Cause there was no chance. She was delusional.

"Sorry I'm late, had some business to take care of. Hello girls."

"Hello uncle Karl." Were heard from the four toddlers at the table. The older man smiled and greeted his siblings and mother.

"Uncle Karl I met Spidey!"

Karl looked at his youngest niece and smiled. He still felt anger for what his niece went through. If it weren't for Spider-Girl, he didn't know where Daniela would be right now. The men that had taken her were going to be in jail for a long time. He made sure of it. But so did his sister. Alcina had made sure they never saw light as free men again.

"Oh really. That's awesome kiddo. I heard she's super fast."

"Oh yea uncle Karl super super fast. She was kicking butt while her spider buddy was with me and protecting me." Daniela gushed, her trauma of being kidnapped being over looked by her experience with Spider-Girl. Daniela had told her sisters on how Spider-Girl had taken her swinging and how spider buddy had kept her entertained while you kicked butt.

"I can't believe those-Mother please. Not in front of the children." Alcina cut off her mother. Knowing very well how angry Miranda was when she heard of what happened to Daniela. Her mother took a deep breath to calm herself and nodded.

The waiter showed up to the table and took everyone's order. The four children kept on talking about Spider-Girl. While the adults spoke about Donna's garden center, Salvatore about his job as a doctor, Alcina with her wine business and Karl with his business.

"Oh yeah business was great. A worker of mine has the brain of a genius I swear she's coming up with inventions after inventions. With everything that she comes up with I think I'm gonna have to change the name to hers." He said proudly. He felt like a proud father any time he got the chance to speak of you. In his forty years of living he never met a worker like you. You were more than just a employee to him at this point.

"Oh yes I'm so proud of you and your company Karl. Everyone I'm so proud of everyone." The older woman gushed about her kids. The adults around the tabled smiled at their mother.

Alcina was trying to focus on her little brother Salvatore talk, she really was but her mind kept on drifting to you. She wondered what you were doing now. You were twenty five now. Eight full years without seeing you, hearing your voice. The times you two would cuddle in her bed. After all these years she was still in love with you. Your voice was something that was engraved in her mind and heart.

"Mommy when can I meet Spider-Girl?" Alcina looked towards her middle child and smiled. Her two eldest girls have been wanting to meet Spider-Girl since Daniela had been saved by the hero.

"I don't kn-I actually have someone who works for me that knows Spider-Girl." Karl said gathering the attention of all his nieces. He couldn't help but laugh at the sight of four hopeful and pleading looks.

"Please uncle Karl. Please. Please." The four children pleaded.

"Oh I don't know, your moms have told me that you've been bad girls. Not putting your toys away. Not finishing your homework-WWHAT?!"

Now the five adults laughed at the tiny outraged faces looking at their mothers. "That's not true! Uncle Karl I put all my toys away before we came, right mama." The tiny five year old said. Donna chuckled towards her daughter.

"That's right sweetheart."

"I'll have to ask my friend Y/n if it's okay with Spider-Girl. I hear she's really busy."

At the sound of your name leaving her older brothers lips her head snapped towards him and then her mother. Who was already looking at her.

Miranda had known about you since you and Alcina were kids. She saw how in love her daughter was with you. She saw it in everything her daughter did. The smile Alcina would have every morning, knowing that you would always send her daughter a good morning text. The way her daughter would talk about you. The love her daughters eyes held any time she looked at you.

She had always liked you for her daughter.

But the moment her ex husband came back into the picture was when everything came crashing down. She had tried everything to save her daughter from her own father. But everything had happened too fast.

She saw the happiness leave her daughters eyes the moment she was told the news.

Thankfully, now her daughter was divorced. Getting away from that man after everything. Being able to take her granddaughters away from the crazed man had been such a blessing. From the moment they were taken from their homes and taken back to Romania, they fought tooth and nail. But she had forgotten how powerful her ex husband truly was. So they had to bid their time.

After the birth of Salvatore, she herself had gotten away from her ex husband. Successfully getting away from that man, the moment Karl had turned eighteen she had helped him escape. And when she was fit to travel she divorced her ex husband and never looked back. When her ex husband died it had been a blessing in disguise. That had truly helped them in getting away from Alcina's husband. With her ex husband no longer alive the deal between her ex husband and ex son in law was no more.

Her family was no longer in danger between the two mafia bosses.

"Y/n? As in Y/n Y/ln?" Alcina her voice cracking just bit. Her eyes shinned with hopefulness and eagerness.

Karl looked at his younger sister confused. He had no clue Alcina knew you. He knew you were way too awkward to talk to any attractive lady. And he wasn't blind his sister may have been a brat but she was an attractive woman. There was no way you knew his sister. He's seen how you react around anyone really. If it wasn't about business you'd always keep to yourself. Which is why he'd always be the one to present your work to the public. It was never you.

"Uh yea. I didn't know you knew Y/n. She works for me. A great kid. She has a bright future ahead of her. That's for sure. I'll talk to her girls. I'm sure she can pull some strings but no promises okay."

The girls excitedly giggled with each other.

Alcina was left thinking about you. How she was coming closer to seeing you, after so long she was going to see you again.

"Hey aunt May, hey uncle Ben. Sorry I haven't visited you guys. It's been busy. My project got accepted and it's been doing the city good. I have a few other projects in line. Hopefully they do just as well. Um you're not gonna believe who I saw today." You sat on the grass after setting down the flowers at each grave. Ever since losing your aunt may last year, you had been throwing your self into work. Spider work and your actual paying job.

"I saw Alcina, she's just as gorgeous as the last time I saw her. Even more gorgeous now if that's possible. Is it bad that I want to talk to her? I mean she left me, she's married now. Has a little girl." You felt your eyes fill with tears. The emptiness in your heart grew. Feeling stupid and foolish for thinking that maybe one day Alcina would come back to you.

"She's happy. She's moved on. I think it's about time I do it to. Right? Well I-" At the sound of sirens blaring near by, you knew it was time to work. The city never slept, it was New York after all. You stood up from your position, looking down at the two grave stones. "I know I'll be careful aunt may. I'll be back soon." You put on your mask and went to work.

You were a little sore the following day. Going into work a little later than usual. You had called Karl of course, he understood and said you could come in at any time. So it was a little later than usual when you did arrive at work. Making your way to your lab, but before you could you were stopped.

"Y/n Mr.Heisenberg wants you to go to his office." Karl's assistant spoke from her desk.

"Okay thanks Ethan."

Walking into the office you had not been prepared to see four little girls in the office.

"Oh are you Y/n?!" A little girl with her black hair spoke. You swallowed the lump in your throat. The little girl was a spitting imagine of Alcina. So Alcina has two little girls.

"Uh yes, I am."

"Y/n do you know Spidergirl? My uncle Karl said you do." A girl with dirty blonde hair said as she now stood next to the little girl that looked like Alcina. But then another girl approached, this one you did recognize. Daniela.

"Yes. I've spoken to her a few times." You couldn't help but chuckle at the excitement on the four little girls.

"Can we meet her please, please!"

You couldn't help be startled just a bit at how the four spoke simultaneously. A laugh rang out in the room. You looked away from the four girls to see your boss standing there.

"Sorry Y/n, I may have mentioned that you knew Spidergirl last night, they begged me to bring them in with me today." The only reason he knew you knew Spidergirl was because he had walked into your lab at a late hour only to see you upgrading Spidergirl's suit. It was no wonder Spidergirl's suit and equipment were so unique. It was cause you built them for the hero. He understood why you had to keep it a secret. Spidergirl's enemies would go after you if they knew. And since he cared deeply about you and your safety he kept his mouth shut.

"Well I'm only supposed to call her when it's an emergency." You tried to escape this situation. It's not that you didn't want to, but you didn't really want to be known for being "friends" with Spidergirl.

"Pleaseplease."

But you were always a sucker for her pout. It was even worse now seeing it on three little girls faces. Well turns out Alcina has three girls.

She must be really happy.

"Okay I'll call her, but if she's busy. You girls have to understand okay?"

The girls squealed in excitement as they nodded.

You walked into your bosses office again through the balcony window but this time dressed in your spider suit. You had left to make the "phone call".

"Spidergirl!" The four little girls cheered and ran to you.

"Hi guys!" This time you came prepared with a slight voice changer. Not wanting Karl to recognize your voice. The girls didn't mind as they were too happy to see spider-girl. "Well I can't stay long but my friend said that she wanted to meet some people. And Spidey-Dani, happy to see you again buddy."

The beaming smile on Daniela was the absolute cutest. "I'm super happy to see you to Spidey. This is my sisters Bela and Cassandra, this is my cousin Angie."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Spider-girl."

The girls giggled the smiles never whipping away from their faces. "We know Spider-girl."

You also let out a short laugh, "As much as I would love to stay here and chat with you guys I-" And as if god was hearing you the loud sound of police sirens was heard. "Duty calls. It was nice to meet you."

And like that you were gone.

Working back in your lab was all you needed. It was quiet, the only sound being from what ever you working on and the low sound of the music being heard. It was the great atmosphere that you just always got work done. The sound of the doors being slid open was heard.

"Mr.Heisenberg, I'm not even close to being finished, and this is like the fifth time you've checked up on me. It's not gonna get done any quicker." You didn't even look away from your work. You continued your work on a device that could help with the patients that suffered from a loss of a limb. The device could help them with the pain and make them feel like their missing limb was still there without the pain.

It was still a work in progress.

When you didn't hear anything in return, you knew you weren't in danger. Seeing as your Spidey senses didn't go off. You set your equipment down and turned around. Freezing in your seat at who you saw. A part of you, a small part, the hurt part, hated her. Hated that she moved on so easily. Hated that she threw you away like you were nothing. Like the love you shared was nothing. Yet it wasn't love, was it? Not for her. You had been so sure she wasn't going to try to see you. That she wouldn't want to see the person she left behind all those years ago. But yet here she was, in all her glory.

"The lab is closed. You can't be in here." You finally found your voice. Swallowing the lump and hoping your face held no emotions. You didn't want to see her (yes you did) didn't want to hear about how happy she was with her daughters and husband. You turned back around to face your table.

"Y/n, please. I just want to talk-Well I can't I'm working on the clock. Please leave the same way you came in." You said your voice never wavering. You couldn't allow her back in. Not just because of what she did to you, but also due to what you did on your free time. Being Spidergirl had its sacrifices. Huge sacrifices. You had no friends. No love life....No family left. No one to put in danger. Not after losing Aunt May. You wouldn't allow

Your self to get attached only to lose them.

Aunt May's death was your fault.

"Y/n I know you're hurt, you have every right to be. But if you would just allow me to explain my-Mrs.Dimitrescu, is that still your last name? I'm busy. There's nothing to talk about. Now please. Leave me alone."

Alcina stood there with barely concealed tears as she looked at the back of your head. She didn't know what she was going to expect but it's wasn't this. She was foolish to think that you would hear her out. The hurt in your eyes when they first laid on her. You had not been surprised to see her. Meaning you had already known she was in town.

She wasn't going to give up.

She'd be damned.

After a long day at the lab you finally clocked out. Leaving the building the regular way and not the window. The city was quiet petty crimes, crimes that police could handle. So you had continued your work on your project. Deciding to ignore the little encounter with Alcina. You could ignore it, till it really was the only thing you could think of. Pushing it to the back of your mind.

"Y/n."

So much for pushing it to the back of your mind. You tried to ignore the voice. The voice that still sent shivers down your spine. After all these years. The love you had for her was still there.

"Y/n please. Just give me ten minutes of your time."

"Well I wasn't even worth that much to you. Not a call, text, nothing. So why would I give you ten minutes of my time. I don't want to talk Alcina. Not now. Not ever. You moved on. I moved on. The end. There's nothing to talk about." You were bitter. But you were also doing what needed to be done. She had kids. Children that needed her. Being in your life would only bring danger and pain to her. And you didn't want that.

"Go back to pretending I don't exist. You're good at doing that." With that you walked away. Trying your best to ignore the heart broken look she casted your way. You were doing this for her. To keep her safe.

Alcina had cried a few times. She cried when you both were only thirteen and you had fallen off a tree and broken your arm after returning a baby bird back to its nest. She cried when you first confessed your love to her at the age of fifteen. She cried when you first said I love you. She cried and cried when she was forced out of her home by her father without much as a say. Cried she was forced to leave you with no chance of a goodbye. Cried when she was forced to marry a random man. Cried when she had to bare his children.

Now she was crying for the love she truly lost. You didn't even want to see her. The closed off look in your eyes was hard to miss. She knew she broke your trust. Broke your heart. But you had always been one to give someone at least a chance to explain.

"Mother told me how you know Y/n." Karl saw the heart ache in his sisters eyes when she got home. He always knew his father was greedy selfish bastard. He had left his father's side the moment he turned eighteen. Refusing to ever see that man. The moment he left. He never saw him again. Didn't even bother going to his funeral when the old man died a year ago. He had helped Alcina get out of the marriage she had been forced in. That man had not been a good husband and even worse dad to his nieces. He had done a few things to that man to make him sign the divorce papers and give up his rights as the father to the girls.

He would have never thought that the kid, sweet, shy Y/n had his sister like this.

"What's it to you Karl?" She drank her wine as she looked out her window in her office at home.

"Y/n's closed off Alcina. She keeps everyone at arms length and there's a reason for that." He sat back in his chair. Remembering what happened.

Alcina turned her chair back to Karl. "What do you mean?" The worry clear in her voice.

"A year ago, during those attacks by that crazed doctor. He attacked a F.E.A.S.T center. a center Y/n's aunt was in, so was Y/n. Aunt May didn't make it. Y/n was lucky to have survived. And a few others but Aunt May...She's been alone for the past year. She hardly talks to anyone. Barely talks to me. And she has no friends no living family relatives."

Alcina took everything in. Her heart breaking for you. "Wait, what about her uncle?"

"Oh he was killed in a store robbery, four years ago."

Alcina felt her heart break even more. You were alone. Spent the past almost five years alone. It was no wonder you were so closed off. Everyone left you, given aunt may and uncle Ben weren't by choice. It hadn't been her choice either. But you didn't know that.

She needed to fix this.

You sat on the cold floor, fresh flowers sat in front of the two grave stones. Never had you felt so alone. You missed your uncle and aunt like crazy. Wishing on every star you could have one more moment with them. You wished you could hear your uncle and aunt give you the advice you so desperately needed.

You didn't notice you were crying till you felt the familiar warm arms wrap themselves around your shoulders bringing your back close to her chest. Causing you to cry even more. Everything rushing out. The hold on you grew tighter.

"I'm sorry draga. Words could not express how sorry I am."

Her voice was right by your ear. Soft and gentle words ringing in your ears. Her voice always tended to calm you down. You moved to get out of her hold but you felt her tighten her hold.

"Please don't. Don't go. Not without letting me explain what happened. Please let me explain and then you can go, I won't stop you."

With a sigh, you gave a slight nod. You didn't realize how much you missed being in her arms. Her hugs had always been so warm.

"I was taken from my home by my father. He had forced me and my mother along with my siblings out and took us back to Romania in the same night. If I had a choice I would have stayed. I would have gone to you. He made me leave everything. I wasn't even able to pack a bag. My father forced me to marry this filthy man thing, I had no choice. It took me too long to get out of that situation. It helped that my sorry excuse of a father died of a sudden heart attack last year. Divorced my husband the same day with the help of Karl."

You took everything in. You didn't know much of her father onto that he had separated from mother Miranda when her Donna was a baby. Donna was the youngest out of the four of them.

Finally gathering yourself you pulled away from her embrace, standing up as you also helped her up. You cleared your throat as you looked down at your joined hands. The hand that once had an engagement ring along with a wedding ring was now bare. You couldn't. You can't.

So you let go of her hand. "I'm sorry you had to go through that Alcina. It's terrible. I'm..." You weren't sure what you were supposed to say. You felt horrible for what she went through. You love alcina with all your heart. She was the only woman you ever really loved. But the fear of her being put in danger just by talking to you was enough to put halt to anything. You let out a deep breath.

Hands gently cupped your face making you look into her beautiful blue eyes. Those eyes that looked at you like you were both still seventeen. Making you feel even more guilty. "I still love you Y/n. More than anyone. I've never stopped. You have always been my other half."

You pulled away from her, "I'm sorry. I—I don't love you anymore. I've moved on. This is goodbye." You didn't give her a chance to speak. You turned and walked away. You would rather be alone than to put her in danger.

She has kids to think about.

Being Spider girl could not be harder at times like this. It has been a week since you last spoke to Alcina. Taking the the long awaited vacation time you saved up. With the approval of Karl of course. He had always said you deserved a break. And this time you actually listened.

With no worry about your actual paying job you focused more on being Spidergirl. It was hard. You could wipe the heart break on Alcina's face.

It was the right thing to do.

"All units, prisoners form the raft are on the loose. Reports of Electro, Rhino, Scorpion, Vulture, Martin are on the loose."

With that, you were back to work. Moving quickly towards the raft. You had stopped them before. So doing it now should be a cake walk.

It was in fact not a cake walk. Never did you have to face five of your arch enemies at the same time. Your body hurt. You were bruising in places you couldn't see. Bloodied. Most of your suit was torn. But thankfully your mask was still in tact. You were able to stop rhino. Thankfully. Scorpion and Vulture were a bit more difficult cause they had decided to work together. But with your own powers and smartness you stopped them as well. Electro, you threw his ass in the water and placing a power dampener around his neck, you were the only one that would be able to take it off.

Martin had escaped the moment he had the chance.

"Can you hear me Spidergirl."

The chilling voice of your old friend Otto Octavius. His voice sounding throughout your mask.

"You can hear me. I have something of yours. Why don't you meet me. Meet me where it all began."

Your mind raced, trying to figure out what he could possibly have. The old building where you used to work for a brief time before your internship with Heisenberg. Otto was an old friend. Someone who gave you a shot. But he had been so driven by revenge.

The building was empty, there was no signs of anyone being in the building. When your Spidey senses went off you dodged the mechanical arm that shot your way. You fought fast and hard. But these tentacle arms were faster and stronger. They were clearly upgraded as well.

"Oh now spider, what's wrong? Have you been slacking since the last time I saw you.?" His arms held down your body holding it tightly preventing you from moving.

"Otto, this isn't who yo-Shut up, don't you ever get tired of repeating the same thing every single time. Now look who I have here. Our guest."

One arm moved to turn on the lights, your heart halting at who you saw tied to a chair. Mouth covered with tape. "Let her go! She has nothi-That's where you're wrong."

Alcina didn't know what was going on, why she was here. She had remembered leaving Karl's building feeling dejected. He had informed her that you had taken a temporary vacation. She couldn't just let you go. Not when you were clearly suffering. She could see it your eyes. Your eyes never lied, and you were in clear pain. She'll make it right. But before she could get to her car she had been taken.

Now she was here watching this old man fighting with Spidergirl. The frightening thought that the girl behind that mask was you was pushed back to the front of her mind. Seeing Spidergirl get punched and kicked down. The suit had been torn and ripped when she had arrived.

"She has everything to do with this. Due to the fact that you care about her. Ugh why don't we just show her so she understands."

The mask was torn off Spidergirl. The familiar y/hc hair flowed down her face as Spidergirl tried to hide her face.

"Don't be shy now." Otto grabbed a fist full of hair forcefully pulling your head back. You heard the muffled gasp. You looked into the blue eyes they held so much concern and anger. You weren't sure if that anger was directed at you or Otto.

"Y/n here has tired very hard to keep her identity a secret. Tried hard not to trust the wrong person. What did that cost you last time y/n? Aunt May? How is she?"

You tried hard to escape the arms but they only tightened. Making it hard for you to breathe. Your eyes burned with tears, "oh are you gonna cry? Your friend here hasn't been in the city for a month and her daughter has already been kidnapped. Why you may ask? Well let me answer. You! It's always your fault Y/n. That's why everyone leaves you."

Alcina succeeded in cutting the rope trying her hands together. Mentally thanking Karl for the small knife in her bracelet. She didn't know how to help you, but she needed to make sure you didn't believe the words coming from that psychopath. She saw the bright light behind the man's neck. She could take good guess that, that was what controlled the arms.

With how distracted the ex doctor was, it was a lot easier to sneak up to the doctor.

You tried to not look at Alcina. To not give her away as Otto kept on talking. You tried to keep his attention on you. Including his arms.

"It was your fault Otto. Heisenberg Industries did everything you couldn't do. Save lives. Change lives. You were too...pathetic. Too weak to take the chances you had." One of the arms wrapped around your neck. One arm was still wrapped around your body as his two other arms held him up.

With all his attention on you, it was enough for Alcina to sneak up behind him.

"You dare disrespect me Y/LN!!?" He had become red in face from how angry he was. His arm tighten around your chest. A silent chocked yell of pain. You felt two of your ribs cracking. "After everything you-No!" You fell hard to the ground along with Otto. His four arms also making him useless with the chip not working.

Alcina was quick to punch the old man and living him unconscious. Rushing to you when she heard you groan. "Y/n! You have to stay still." Your face was covered in scratches, blood and already forming bruises. Your suit was torn, parts of your body were just as cut and bruised. She had been forced to watch how Spidergirl had been brutally beaten by those villains. To now know for certain that it was her Y/n. You under that mask...seeing your eyes refusing to look at her, but she could always read you well. Those y/ec eyes that were red from being chocked but also red from holding in tears.

"You have to go." You bit your lip in pain as you moved to stand up. Refusing to look at her. You tried pushing away her hands as you painfully picked up your mask. Putting it back on as it still did its job at keeping your identity a secret.

You thanked the gods above as the cops stormed the building. "Spidergirl, thank you for the help, we got it from here." Not letting Alcina get to you as you were soon leaving alcina in the safety of the police officers. Otto being taken by the swat team.

You were in a great amount of pain. You were in your underwear and sports bra, trying your best to clean your wounds up. But you couldn't. You couldn't reach the wound on your back, you were on floor of your bathroom with a first aid kit open. The supplies scattered on the floor.

Alcina now knew your deepest secret. She hadn't been back for a month and she now knew. You remembered the look on her face when Otto had taken off your mask. The shock, disbelief in her eyes. You had looked away the moment your eyes connected to her blue ones. You had tried so hard to make sure no one knew, Otto was the only one to know and look how that turned out. Otto had become a different person and got lucky in finding out.

You knew (or hoped at least) Alcina wasn't like that. Granted you haven't seen Alcina in years.

A sound coming from outside the bathroom caught your attention. You didn't have the energy to fight off anyone. The sound of heels clicked frantic, like the intruder was looking for something. You groaned as you tried to stand up, arms shaking. But it had been no use. Your arms had become completely jelly.

The door to the bathroom was pushed open.

Alcina had found her own way to find you. It had been easy, it was just her luck that you still lived in your aunt Mays home. The house had been just as the same as she last saw it, just with a few new additions to it. Thankfully you still hid the spare key in the flower pot.

Right after she had given her statement to the police officers she had left straight to you.

The house had its own little differences, but it still brought her the same warmth it did before. Pictures of aunt May and Uncle Ben still hung around the living room. She didn't have time to look at every single new picture that hung the walls. Not when the image of your being badly hurt was still fresh in her mind.

Your room had a bathroom connected to it. And her feet took her directly to the room she spent so many hours in. Finding the torn spider suit on the floor the blood droplets leading to the bathroom. Finding you on the floor of the bathroom, in only your undergarments. Bloody bandages scattered on the floor as first aid kit laid open.

She was quick to get to you. Ignoring your weak attempts to push her away. She had her own experience on bandaging up wounds. Being forced to marry a mafia boss, she had also been forced to help his friends when they were wounded.

Cleaning you up was slow, you had needed stitches on many of the deep cuts. "No, I'll heal. Just takes time." Your voice had sounded raspy, it was the first thing you've said to her since she's got here.

Her hands hovered over the deepest wound of them all the needle only inches away. "Are you current?"

A low groan escaped your lips, "yes, can you just cover it with a bandage." She did as you asked once she was completely finished she moved to help you up. Careful not to touch any of your wounds. She lead you back to your bed, helping you lay down.

"He was wrong, Y/n." She whispered. She knew you wouldn't believe her. But she had to try and she will continue to tell you till you believed her. "Aunt May wouldn't have left you if she was giving the choice. You know that. Same with Uncle Ben."

You felt your eyes fill with tears at the mention of aunt May. "I had the cure, the cure to fix her. But if she had taken it, there would have been more deaths. I was going to give it to her." You squeezed your eyes tight remembering clearly how weak your aunt had gotten. She had gotten weak so fast. "She didn't let me. Refused the cure. I let her die. It was my fault, she-Wouldn't want you to blame yourself. It wasn't your fault Y/n."

Her fingers gently ran through your hair. Something she had always done to help you center yourself. Feeling the moment your shoulders dropped as you silently cried. "I'll keep telling you till you accept it. I'm not leaving your side Y/n, no matter how hard you true to push me away. I'm here to stay."

Fear gripped your heart like never before. The fear of something happening to Alcina or her daughters. The guilt would be too much, it would-"Stop. I can take care of myself. I can hold my own."

She saw the conflict in your eyes. She couldn't imagine how lonely you had been, how you refused to let anyone in. In fear of being held responsible for the harm one might go through. In fear of the guilt growing.

"I'm not leaving your side, that's a promise."

When you woke the next morning, it the ache and soreness in your muscles had doubled before they could lower. It was a pain you were used to. The room was empty but you could faintly hear noises down stairs. The memory of alcina being in your house was pushed to the front of your mind.

Her promise to never leave your side.

Getting up from your bed had been bit of a struggle. Your bathroom had been cleaned the bandages. The blood that once stained the tiles cleaned, the bathroom no longer looking like their had been a small blood bath. You made slow work in freshening up. You felt your body releasing its tension as you showered.

The healing process was always different, after long fights especially a fight with a bad guy with enhanced suits or sometimes powers. Healing always last up to a day. Most of the scratches you had healed but deeper wounds were still there and painful. Bruises were slowly fading.

Stepping out of your bathroom into your room once clothes in loose t shirt and a pair of shorts. To see Alcina coming into the same room with a tray of food.

"Oh you're awake. You should have let me help you." Alcina had gotten up early to cook you some food, you had been deeply asleep. Your wounds had slowly healed. She had been amazed how your smaller not so deep cuts had already healed. The bruises had slowly faded. But the more severe wounds had seemed to take a bit longer.

With Alcina quick to your side, you had let her help you. Leading you down to the kitchen. "You didn't have to stay Alcina. You have bigger responsibilities n—Stop. My mother is taking care of my little girls. I'm where I'm supposed to be."

Alcina had a lot to prove. Prove to you that she wouldn't leave your side. That no matter what happened, her place was to be by your side.

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #re8 alcina #alcina x female reader #resident evil alcina #fem!reader

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