#and the tree was the one i was standing next to when i read about it not anythifn to do with the case

[fortheloveofmunson]

Strictly Business

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,387

Summary: Eddie asks you to meet him at the usual spot, unaware that he has big plans for you.

Warnings: Rape/ Noncon elements. Explicit sexual content. CNC. Forced oral sex, M receiving. Pussy Slapping. Spanking with a belt. Kidnapping. Knife play (no cutting of skin, no blood). Bondage. Mean!Eddie. Vaginal fingering. Unprotected sex. P in V sex. Threat of violence. Threat of bodily harm. Angst with a happy ending.

A/N: This might be one of the darkest things I've written, please read at your own risk. MINORS DNI! Betaed by the wonderful @venivampyr.

Sitting on the rickety picnic bench, muscles braced against the chill of October, you glance around the still tree line, waiting for Eddie to appear. The surrounding woods are eerily quiet, the only sounds present are the creaking of the trees and the chattering of your teeth. 

Eddie had asked you to meet at the usual spot, a warm glint in his beautiful umber eyes. You wondered why he wanted to meet since you had plenty of weed left from the last time you dealt with him. Something warm wiggled in your stomach made you hope he wanted to hang out with you for more personal reasons. Biting back a giddy grin you inspect the wood of the table closely, picking at a splintered edge.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie’s voice calls out from the start of the clearing. You jump slightly, turning toward the sound. Eddie bounds over to the table, leaning his hip against the wood next to you. 

“Hi Eddie,” you sigh dreamily, fiddling with your ring.

He chuckles, looking over you appraisingly. From his vantage point he can see down your shirt where your breasts are pressed against each other perfectly. He bites his lip, feeling his cock twitch in his pants.

“So, why did you ask me to meet you here?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Cuttin’ right to the chase, huh?” He asks, knocking his ring clad knuckles against the distressed table.

Your face heats, wondering if you had been too forward. He plops down on the bench across from you, lacing his long fingers together.

“Well, I want to talk about your payment,” he says, studying you. Your brow furrows in confusion, you’re about to ask what he means when he cuts you off. “Payment from our last deal, sweet cheeks.”

“But-but I thought,” your lungs fill with ice as you recall your and Eddie’s last encounter. He had given you half an ounce free of charge, winking at you and saying, ‘you can thank me later, pretty girl.’

“What you thought I wouldn’t make good on your end of the deal?” Your breath stutters as you stare wide eyed at the man in front of you. A salacious grin splits his handsome face as understanding dawns on him. “Oh, baby. Did you think I wanted to meet you out here to ask you out? Ask you to be my little girlfriend?” Eddie mockes. Hurt stabs through you so sharply it’s impossible to breathe. The sharp chill in the air stings your cheeks as you fight to keep unshed tears from falling.

You look back at the table, swallowing down the sudden urge to vomit. You rummage through your bag, pulling out what little cash you have on you. “This is all I have, I can get you whatever else I owe you tomorrow.” You stand up making your way out of the clearing when Eddie grasps your arm, turning you towards him sharply.

“You’re dumber than I thought. I’ll make this real easy for you, sweetheart. I don’t want your money,” he licks his lips, eyes tracing over your frame. You gasp when he moves lightning fast, his hand reaching out to cup your clothed center. You struggle with him, pushing at his chest, trying in vain to pry his hand away. He laughs at your efforts pulling you into his body, his invading hand pushing under your skirt to rub obscenely against your traitorous pussy. 

Instinct takes over as his hand starts to work its way into your panties. Writhing in his arms until you feel Eddie's grip falter, you take the opportunity to twist away from him, running deeper into the trees past the clearing. Naively hoping to lose him in the foliage, you run full out, serpentining through the brush.

You race through the trees, heart in your throat as you hear Eddie crashing through the forest after you, not daring to look behind you to see how close he is. A scream is at the tip of your tongue as you feel the swelling panic making it hard to coordinate your movements.

Eddie tackles you from behind, forcing the air out of your lungs. You squirm under him, turning to try and kick at him, but he straddles your waist, taking hold of your arms and forcing them down by your sides, using his knees to pin your arms to the ground. Your legs kick uselessly behind him, unable to move his solid weight.

Opening your mouth you try to scream but his hand wraps around your throat, stealing the sound from you. He squeezes just hard enough to make you lightheaded. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to,” he threatens, squeezing harder before letting go, watching you gasp for air.

You’re reeling, wondering how everything went so wrong so fast when Eddie grips the collar of your shirt ripping it down the middle, you whimper, turning your head away as the cold air caresses your bare niples. He blows out a breath, gazing down at your naked chest. “No bra? I knew you were a nasty little slut.” A shriek is torn from your throat as Eddie begins to palm your breasts, tweaking your already pebbled nipples. 

After a few moments his hands retreat and for a fleeting moment you hope this is the end, but you watch with growing horror as he rubs his palm over the tent in his jeans before he unzips his pants, freeing his throbbing erection from its confines. You shake your head in protest, to no avail.  He squeezes your breasts together, slotting his cock between the valley of your unbelievably soft tits. He groans as he starts to pump his hips, the head of his cock pushing against your chin. You squeeze your eyes shut, kicking your legs futilely.  

“Open your mouth,” he grunts. You clench your jaw together, shaking your head. Suddenly he rips away from you, dragging you up to sit on your knees. He grips your face in his hands, eyes blazing. He whips his belt from his belt loops, a sickening crack making you flinch in fear. “Open your fucking mouth before I belt you till you pass out.”

You sob, shaking your head in earnest. The fear of being hit seems worse than anything else Eddie could dole out. “P-please don’ hit me,” you beg, the tears you had tried so hard to contain trailing down your cheeks.

“Open up like a good little whore and I won’t,” Eddie says, guiding the head of his dick toward your mouth with one hand, the other clenched tight in your hair. You whimper, opening your mouth slightly as Eddie takes the opportunity to push into your mouth forcefully. He begins to rut roughly into your mouth, making you gag as he forces more of his length down your throat. Your hands fly to his thighs, feeling the lithe muscle flex under the denim, pushing away on instinct. Eddie grunts disapprovingly, pulling out as quickly as he pushed in. You sputter, heart thumping wildly as you watch him grip the belt in his hand.

Eddie knocks you down on your stomach, straddling you, quickly gathering your hands behind your back. Panic seizes you as you feel his belt brush against your exposed back.

“Don’t hit me, please!” You wail, twisting in his hold as best you can. “I’ll be good, just please don’t hit me,” you sob pathetically into the dead leaves covering the forest floor. 

Eddie doesn’t say a word as he wraps his belt around your wrists, making sure it’s secure. He waits until your sobs turn into soft sniffling before explaining, “This is just insurance. Don’t make me use it for other reasons,” he leans forward, booping you lightly on the nose. He hauls you back onto your knees, stroking his still stiff cock. He raises an expectant eyebrow at you, smiling when you open your mouth on your own accord.

Eddie thrusts back into your mouth, fucking your throat roughly, showing no signs of slowing. Fresh tears slide down your cheeks as you fight against your own gag reflex. You dig your nails into the palm of your hands as black dots burst across your vision. Eddie groans above you, head thrown back in ecstasy. Squeezing your eyes shut you feel your core throb traitorously as you listen to the sinful sounds rumbling in his chest, the lack of oxygen only adding to the wicked arousal growing within you. 

As the need for oxygen becomes paramount, your body starts to fight to stay conscious, and just as you thought you were going to be pulled into unconsciousness Eddie withdraws from your mouth. You cough and sputter gasping lungfuls of precious air, body sagging in relief. 

You watch Eddie put himself away, feeling hope bloom in your chest. Maybe he came to his senses and will let you go. “Please Eddie, I promise I won’t say anything,” your voice is hoarse, grating on your already sore throat. You swallow hard continuing, “I’ll leave and I won’t bother you ever again, I swear I won’t breathe a word-“ you’re cut off by his dark chuckle.

“Aw, still a stupid baby thinking I’m even close to being done with you,” he bends down patting your check condescendingly. “Nu-uh, princess. I just decided I want to make this a private party.”

You shake your head, trying to keep your wits about you. You look around the empty tree line, wondering if someone could be close enough to hear you scream. You gasp when Eddie pulls you to your feet, keeping you steady as feeling rushes back into your legs. Opening your mouth you're about to scream when Eddie pulls a switchblade from his pocket, freeing the blade with a soft ‘snick’. Your breath freezes in your lungs as he presses the knife to your soft belly taking care not to break skin.

Warm tears blur your vision as you stare down at the blade, looking back at Eddie with a feeling of hopelessness. “Now here’s what’s gonna happen, pretty girl,” he starts, hand steady as can be. “I’m going to untie you and let you borrow my jacket to cover up, cause nobody gets to see what’s mine. Then we're gonna walk to my van and we’re gonna go for a little ride. You try to run, you scream for help and I slit that pretty throat. Understand?”

“Why are you doing this?” You whimper, lip trembling uncontrollably.

He seems to think for a moment before saying “maybe I’m tired of spoiled little brats like you getting everything they want. I think it’s high time I get something I’ve wanted for a long time.” Without preamble he unties your wrists, slinging his leather jacket around your shoulders and starts to guide you toward the school parking lot. As suspected, it’s completely empty except for Eddie’s beat up van. A flash of silver gleams in the corner of your eye as Eddie subtly brandishes his weapon of choice letting you know he’ll use it if necessary.

He walks around the back of the van opening up the double doors before turning back to you. “Get in”, he nods toward the back of the van, eyeing you skeptically. You look at the empty back of the van before turning to look out at the empty parking lot. Eddie crowds into your space, moving the blade under your chin. “Get. In. The fucking. Van.” You stifle another sob as you clamber into the space, hugging your knees to your chest.

The drive seems relatively short as you wonder what he has in store for you. You hadn’t realized you’d be so easy to over power, you thought you were tough. You squeeze your eyes shut against the shame, crying into your arms silently. The van rumbles down the road, lulling you with its rhythmic motion. You’re jostled from your position on the floor as the van comes to a halt. 

Eddie turns around in his seat, looking stern, “alright princess, same deal, you're gonna be good and not make a scene, right?” You nod silently, watching him get out, hearing his crunching footsteps coming around the back. He opens the doors, extending his hand to you and you take it as he leads you to his trailer. He opens the front door, gesturing for you to go in. “Welcome to my castle,” he jeers, following close behind you.

Standing in the living room of Eddie’s trailer, you cling to his jacket feeling like your bones might rattle together if you don’t. You take in the space, noticing the run down carpet, dingy couch and cluttered kitchen. The slam of the door makes you jump, hugging yourself tighter. You glance over to him as he leans on the door, arms crossed over his chest. 

Turning away you gaze into the kitchen, suddenly noticing a knife block sitting inconspicuously on the counter. A sudden, idiotic plan flashes in your mind as you drop your gaze to the floor. Studying the muddied tops of your shoes you try not to ruminate on how exactly they had gotten so dirty. Waiting with baited breath you refuse to look back at the knife block, a half-cocked plan filling your stomach with sickly ill-advised bravado. 

Eddie moves in front of you, placing a finger under your chin and lifting your gaze. His eyes flicker to your lips as he leans in. With as much force as you can muster, you shove him away feeling victorious when he stumbles backwards into the couch. You take his moment of surprise and sprint toward the kitchen. Your sole focus is getting to the knife block, you’ll figure out the rest later. Your fingers brush over the handle of the handle of the first knife within reach when Eddie’s body slams into you from behind. 

You scream trying to throw him off but he’s surprisingly strong as he forces you to let go of the knife, wrapping his wiry arms around you. He growls as your thrash, screaming out your frustration. A large hand clamps over your mouth, “shut the fuck up”, he grunts. “You stupid little cunt, and to think I was going to try and make it good for you,” he growls, dragging you away from the kitchen and down the hall. Your legs kick out uselessly as you dissolve into sobs.

Eddie wrestles you onto the bed, procuring a length of rope seemingly out of thin air. He makes quick work to tie your wrists to the headboard. He steps away, out of breath, as he watches you tug and thrash against your new bonds. The snick of his switchblade makes you freeze, panic making your stomach roll dangerously.

Eddie’s chest is heaving, his face flushed from excursion and anger. He glowers at you, twirling the blade between his fingers. “Kitty has claws, I’ll give you that,” his voice is so low, it seems to reverberate against the walls. He lunges at you suddenly, slashing the knife upward. You scream, gritting your teeth in preparation for pain, but it doesn’t  come. You open your eyes, finding Eddie had expertly cut through your skirt without niccing your skin. He pulls the tattered cloth away from your lower half, sighing at the sight of your lace panties.

The cool air skitters across your newly exposed skin, making you shiver. You want to pull your legs up but that’s impossible with Eddie straddling your shins. Eddie drops the knife on the bed next to him, running his hands up your thighs and your stomach, coming back to stroke his fingertips against your panty covered core. His soft ministrations makes your pussy clench in betrayal, you can feel slick starting to gather at your entrance, his finger brushing over your clit through your panties.

“You know, I was thinking maybe I should just fuck this little pussy ‘till you bleed, make sure you leave here limping. But now… Now I’m thinking I want to make you cum so hard and so much that you beg me for more. I can tell you're getting wet, you like having your little pussy played with while you're powerless to stop me.” Shame makes your face heat as you shake your head at him in denial. He chuckles at you darkly, “yeah, I’m going to fuck you better then anyone ever has. You’re gonna be thinking about me at night in your room, playing with this slutty little pussy, cumming from how good I raped you.”

You turn your head away, unable to look at him any longer. You feel him shift, pulling your boots off and pushing your knees up to your chest. Whining and struggling weakly, you try to close your legs, but it's too late. Eddie laughs, rubbing his palm against your core, “I knew you liked this, your panties are soaked!” He picks up the knife once more, “let’s get these off,” he slices through the delicate lace, taking care not to cut you. He pulls the shredded fabric away, throwing it on the floor somewhere. You stare blankly at the window, covered in some kind of tapestry, wondering bleakly if someone could hear you if you scream, or if they’d even care.

Something clinking and thudding softly on the floor pulls you from your thoughts. You gasp at the sight of Eddie standing at the end of the bed, naked as the day he was born. Your eyes are pulled downward to where he strokes his still hard cock. 

Swallowing thickly you try to reason with him again. “Eddie, I’m begging you, please don’t do this,” your voice cracks with your plea. “You don’t want to do this, you’re not a bad guy,” your voice becomes frantic as he crawls on the bed towards you. 

“You don’t know me very well, bunny,” he cuts you off, pushing your knees up to your chest once more. He gazes down at your bare sex. “I’m gonna enjoy this,” he grips the base of his cock with one hand sliding it against your aching core. The sound of your slick cunt makes you cringe as he groans at the feeling. “I fucking knew it, you little slut,” he growls, taking hold of himself to position the head of his cock againt your entrance. The feeling of him pressing into you reignites your panic as you kick at him connecting with something solid.

“Son of a bitch,” he shouts, avoiding your thrashing feet. He jumps off the bed, grabbing something from the floor before he’s on you again, pinning your legs against your chest. You're still struggling, sobbing incoherent pleas, when a brutal slap is delivered to your backside. You squeal, reeling from the pain as another burning smack is delivered on the other side. You watch in horror as Eddie raises his belt again prepared to strike.

“Please, n- AH!” Eddie brings the belt down on your sore bottom three more times, ignoring your sobs and screams for him to stop. 

“I’ve just about fucking had it with you,” he yells over your sniveling, belt griped in his fist. “I’m gonna fuck this little cunt raw, wether you like it or not.” He drops both your legs and the belt as he clambers off the bed once more. You cry, sniffling at the feeling of your burning backside pressed against the sheets. He comes storming back with more rope and wastes no time in tying your legs up and open, effectively splaying you wide for his viewing pleasure.

He fists his cock, staring lewdly at your naked, trussed up body. He climbs between your legs, his thumb rubbing tortuous circles across your clit. Gulping down the knot of anxiety and humiliation caught in your throat, you plead softly, “Eddie, p-please just put a condom on. Please, I’ll do a-anything.”

Eddie looks at you with a blank expression reaching up to clench a hand full of your hair in his fist, pulling your gaze downward so you can see where he’s poised and waiting between your thighs. Without saying a word he pushes his bare cock into you, forcing you to watch as he bottoms out. You let out a sob as Eddie grunts at the feeling of your clenching walls. 

“God damn,” he breathes, flexing his hips experimentally. “You were made to take my cock.” He starts a punishing pace, keeping your head locked in position as you watch his member piston in and out of you.

You hate to admit it but he fills you up perfectly, stretching you just enough and hitting that spot inside you that makes your body erupt in goosebumps. He brings his free hand back to your clit, rubbing perfect circles around it. Watching him play with you so expertly has you hurtling toward your climax, reeling from how good he feels inside you. You bite your lip, hoping to keep the sounds of pleasure from escaping your mouth. 

“C’mon pretty girl, I know you wanna come for me, can feel you clenching around me,” Eddie gasps, fucking you deeper, keeping the delicious rythum on your clit. You clench your eyes shut, shaking your head, humiliated that he could bring you to the edge this quickly. A sharp slap is delivered to your thigh as Eddie grunts, “keep those fucking eyes open, want you to watch as you cum on my dick.” 

His thumb that's been working your twitching button, strokes perfectly over the head of your clit, pushing you over the edge. A defeated sound leaves you as your orgasm washes over you. Throbbing and twitching around Eddie, your muscles lock up, riding the waves of ecstasy. He moves his hand to your pelvis pressing down, forcing you to feel him impossibly deeper. He moans at the feeling of your walls milking him, angling his hips so he hits your g-spot with every stroke. You cry out, tears of overstimulation trailing down your cheeks. His hips are a blur as you stutter and shake your head, useless against the onslaught of sensation.

Feeling your core clench, you press your nails into your palms in a last ditch effort to stay in control. Eddie growls, pulling out of you so suddenly you cry out at the loss. “Little pussy’s gonna make me cum before I’m ready,” he mutters more to himself. He moves to lay on his stomach between your legs, delving his tongue between your folds before you have time to think up a protest. Your back arches off the bed as he swipes his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Eddie sucks and nibbles across your slit, stopping every so often to suck your clit between his plush lips. Unable to keep yourself quiet, you moan shamelessly as you feel your second orgasm building in your belly with blinding ferocity. Eddie pulls away from your core, chuckling at your whimper of protest. “Aw don’t you worry baby, I’ll give you another one,” he says, sitting up on his knees. Unceremoniously he pushes two fingers into your dripping hole, wasting no time as he curls his fingers wickedly inside you. You're lost in the feeling, thighs twitching with your anticipated release when he brings his other palm down, smacking against your ruined pussy. Wailing, you attempt to close your legs only to be stopped by the rope. Eddie brings his palm down again and again as you squirm, screaming, “fucking, stop!”

Eddie pauses, hand hanging in the air. “You want me to stop, baby?” You nod, lip trembling as your cunt throbs around his talented fingers. “Mm, I think you actually like this, I think having your pussy spanked  makes you wet. In fact, I think you’re gonna cum like this,” and to prove his point Eddie resumes placing punishing slaps across your cunt. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s hit you but your core throbs painfully, signaling your impending orgasm. One more well placed smack has your entire body thrashing as you scream out your release.

You barely have time to recover as Eddie plunges back into you, fucking in and out of you so hard, stars dance in your vision. Your eyes are rolled back in your head as the room is filled with the filthy sound of Eddie’s cock pounding your ruined cunt. “Yeah, fuck, gonna cum, keep you here all filled up,” he grunts pushing deeper into you. Too exhausted to comprehend his words you moan, feeling him flex inside you. 

“Holy shit, yes baby, take it!” Eddie groans, moaning as he spills his seed inside of you, pushing into a handful of times, before he sags forward. Eddie pants above you as you wiggle your fingers and toes, brain fuzzy.

After a few moments of stillness, you become aware of Eddie’s hands petting your hair. “You ok sweetheart? Are you ready to come back to me?” You feel Eddie’s palm on your cheek, stroking gently. You sigh leaning into the touch. “I’m gonna go get scissors and untie you, ok?” You nod weakly, letting him know you heard him. Eddie takes special care to cut you from the binds, rubbing gently at the raw skin on your wrists and legs.

“Roll over for me sweetness, I need to get some aloe on your butt,” you groan lightly, tipping over into your stomach. You close your eyes as Eddie gently rubs soothing aloe gel on your burning backside. Eddie lays down next to you, cradling you as best he can with you still on your stomach. “Can you talk to me, baby? Are you feeling ok?”

“M’ok, Eddie,” you mumble into the mattress.

“Are you sure? That was pretty intense. You scared the crap outta me with that stunt in the kitchen.” You giggle weakly, sleep making your eyelids droop. “Was there anything that went too far, anything that you didn’t like?” Worry bleeds into his tone as he strokes your cheek.

“E’rything was perfect, Eddie, really,” you assure, smiling at him. He breathes a sigh of relief, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. Your eyelids slide closed as you cuddle into Eddie’s chest. He gathers you into his arms, whispering praises as you drift off to sleep.

[gigiii1sblog]

IN THE GLOW OF HIS WINDOW 008

Warning: contains sexual content, angst, tension, fluff, dirty talk, unprotected sex.

Chapter Eight: The Heart Wants What It Wants.

Y/N POV: The Next Couple of Days

The days feel slow now.

Not heavy like grief. Not sharp like heartbreak.

Just slow, like I’m relearning how to breathe in a world that doesn’t revolve around waiting for his name to pop up on my phone.

therapy twice a week.

I write more.

Sometimes it’s messy, sometimes it’s good. Most of the time it just exists. And that’s enough for now.

I start sleeping on my back again.

I make tea instead of coffee.

I sit at the river by myself some days, just to feel close to something real.

The therapist says I use poetry to protect myself. That metaphor is my armor.

She’s right.

But lately… I’ve been trying to write without armor.

Sometimes I cry mid-sentence.

Sometimes I laugh when I don’t expect to.

But at least I’m feeling again.

That hollow, aching pit in my chest?

It’s still there. But it’s quieter now.

I stopped checking his window every night.

But I never stopped hoping.

Not in the desperate way I used to.

But in the quiet way a candle still flickers after the wind has passed.

The truth is:

I don’t need him to save me anymore.

But I still want him.

CHRIS POV:

Healing isn’t beautiful.

It’s not peaceful morning walks and green smoothies and playlists called “self-love.”

It’s silence so loud I have to leave the house.

It’s therapy sessions that leave me shaking.

It’s waking up and realizing I didn’t dream about her, and missing her anyway.

But I’m trying.

For the first time in my life, I’m not numbing everything that hurts.

I read. A lot.

Books about trauma. Poetry about love. Journals on mental clarity.

I even bought one of those dumb breathing apps that reminds you to just exist.

It sounds stupid.

But sometimes I forget I’m even here.

Some nights, I sit in the laundry room.

The one where I first saw her laughing in that oversized shirt, folding her clothes like she was in a music video.

I remember the first time I realized I loved her.

And the first time I pretended I didn’t.

I write letters to her. I don’t send them.

I reread every book she ever lent me. I underline the parts I think she would’ve loved.

I’m not perfect now.

But I’m softer.

Less smoke. Less silence.

More present.

The river is in three days.

I don’t know if she’ll come.

But I know this:

If she does… I’ll be ready.

And if she doesn’t—

I’ll still keep becoming the man I promised her I’d be.

Y/N POV: The River

The sun is low, melting into the sky like it’s shy.

I’m sitting on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the river. The water laps gently against the wood beneath me, like it’s breathing.

Like it remembers us.

My heart’s been in my throat since noon.

I wore the sweater he once pulled off me. I don’t know why. Maybe for comfort. Maybe for memory.

I haven’t checked the time in fifteen minutes.

Feels like forever. Feels like hope trying not to embarrass itself.

He said sunset.

And it’s almost gone.

Every car that passed made my pulse spike.

Every footstep in the trees felt like maybe.

But now I’m just still.

Still and aching.

The sky’s turning gold and bruised.

And he’s not here.

I press my palms to the wood, about to stand, my chest tight with that familiar sting—

He’s not coming.

I feel tears in my throat.

I nod to myself like I can convince my heart it’s fine.

Of course he’s not coming.

But then—

I hear it.

Footsteps. Rushed.

Wood creaking.

My name, quietly.

“YN.”

I whip around.

And there he is.

Chris.

Messy hair. Breathing hard like he ran from wherever he was.

Eyes wide. Hoodie slung over one shoulder.

And I don’t think.

I don’t wait.

I run.

Across the dock, heart pounding like a drum against ribs that were tired of holding pain.

I crash into him, arms around his neck, face in his chest, breath caught in a sob I didn’t know I was holding.

He holds me.

God, he holds me tight.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into my hair. “The traffic—my phone died—I swear I was coming the whole time.”

I shake my head, gripping the back of his shirt.

“You came.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me.

“Of course I did.”

And then his hands are on my face, his forehead against mine, and the world goes quiet again.

“I told you I’d be ready.”

“I am.”

We sit on the dock like we did months ago.

Shoes kicked off. Knees almost touching. The river below us carrying the last golden streaks of sunset like secrets.

Neither of us speaks for a while.

But it isn’t awkward.

It’s… full.

Like there’s so much to say, neither of us wants to be the one to break the quiet first.

Chris looks different. Not in the obvious ways.

His hoodie is still oversized. His curls still messy. But his eyes?

They’re steadier. Softer.

Like he’s been learning how to stay.

He glances over at me, the corners of his mouth twitching into something close to a smile.

“You still come here a lot?”

I nod, tucking my knees to my chest.

“When I need to feel like I exist.”

He hums low in his throat. That quiet sound he always makes when he’s listening.

“I think about you here,” he says. “Every time I try to breathe slower.”

My chest tightens.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come?” he asks gently.

I nod before I can stop myself.

“I wanted to believe,” I say, voice barely above the breeze. “But people say a lot of things when they’re breaking.”

Chris leans forward, pulling something from his backpack.

A stack of folded papers. A few dog-eared books.

He sets them in my lap.

“These are yours.”

“Letters I wrote but never sent. Books I read that reminded me of you. Some I underlined. Some I just… wanted you to know I was trying.”

My fingers trail across the spines. The titles make my throat close:

-On Love & Madness

-The Body Keeps the Score

-A Little Book on Letting Go

I unfold one letter.

His handwriting is messy, all lowercase. It smells faintly like smoke and mint.

y/n—

i don’t know how to say sorry in a way that fixes the way you folded into yourself like leaving was your fault.

i want to come back. not just to you. to me. the version of me that wasn’t scared to love you out loud.

i see you everywhere. still.

and it hurts. but i’m glad.

because forgetting you would be worse than any ache.

I cover my mouth.

Chris watches me, careful. Quiet.

“I didn’t write them expecting you’d forgive me,” he says softly.

“I just… needed you to know I never stopped carrying it.”

I look up, blinking back the sting in my eyes.

“You never stopped carrying me,” I whisper.

He exhales slowly.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

And that’s how I know he’s changed.

The old Chris would’ve kissed me because he needed it.

This one asks because he respects it.

I nod.

And when he leans in, his lips brush mine like he’s afraid to ruin the moment. Soft. Careful.

Like a secret passed from one heartbeat to another.

I taste every letter. Every night he missed me.

Every poem he never read out loud.

When we pull back, we’re both smiling, not wide. Not loud.

But real.

Like we’re finally starting again.

⸻

After the dock, neither of us says “let’s go eat.”

It just… happens.

We’re walking back along the road in downtown Boston, hands brushing but not quite holding. The sun’s gone but the sky’s still blushing pink, like it’s not ready to let go of what it witnessed.

Chris stops in front of a little diner.

One of those places with flickering neon signs and foggy windows that smell like syrup and grease and someone’s grandmother’s perfume.

He turns to me.

“You hungry?”

I nod, even though my stomach is still tangled with everything we didn’t say.

“Starving.”

Inside, it’s quiet. Late.

There’s a waitress in pink gum sneakers and a messy bun, who doesn’t blink when we slide into a booth like ghosts coming home.

We both order pancakes.

It’s nighttime. But it feels right.

He adds bacon to his. I ask for extra butter.

We don’t talk much at first.

Just drink water and Pepsi.

Fiddle with napkins.

Steal glances.

Chris finally breaks the silence with something dumb and soft:

“Remember when I used to see you reading out here? In your balcony chair? Legs crossed like you knew something the rest of us didn’t.”

I laugh.

“I didn’t. I was just re-reading the same page over and over because you were smoking shirtless and it was distracting.”

His eyes widen, caught.

“You noticed?”

“You wanted me to.”

We both laugh, awkward and new and light.

“You always looked like you were thinking too much,” I say.

“Like even your silences were heavy.”

“They were,” he admits. “But when I looked at you… they got quieter.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

So I take a bite of pancake instead.

By the time we’re halfway through the meal, our knees are touching under the table.

We don’t move them.

He starts telling me about a book he read.

I tell him about a poem I wrote but never shared.

We don’t talk about the crying, or the night I broke down in his room, or the two months of aching.

We don’t need to.

This is enough.

The sound of forks against plates.

The way he wipes his thumb across the corner of my mouth when syrup touches my lip.

The quiet “you good?” when he sees me zone out.

We’re not perfect.

Not even close.

But for the first time in a long time—

We’re real.

⸻

It’s quiet again

That soft, late-night quiet where the air is thicker, like the world knows not to speak too loud.

The streets are empty.

The diner lights fade behind us.

And Chris is walking next to me, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands in his pockets, looking like he’s trying to memorize the sidewalk.

He hasn’t touched me since the booth.

Not out of distance, but respect.

We walk like we’re carrying something fragile between us.

Something you don’t hold too tight in case it breaks.

And somewhere in the stretch of that silence, I say it.

“When I was sixteen… I almost attempted.”

I don’t look at him.

I just keep walking. Like if I stop, I’ll lose my nerve.

“I was alone. In every way. My dad was working two jobs. My mom… was in her own world. I felt like no one saw me. Like I could disappear, and it would take days for anyone to notice.”

My voice doesn’t shake. That’s the scary part.

“I remember sitting in the bathroom with the door locked. Everyone thought I was taking a long shower. But I wasn’t. I was writing a note. I kept thinking I should apologize, but I didn’t know what for. Just… existing too loudly, I guess. Or maybe too quietly.”

The wind picks up, and Chris slows down beside me.

Still quiet.

Still there.

“I didn’t go through with it,” I say. “I don’t even remember what stopped me. Maybe it was the sound of the washing machine kicking on downstairs. Or maybe I was just too tired.”

I finally glance over at him.

His jaw’s tense. His eyes haven’t moved from mine.

“But sometimes… when it gets really bad, I still go back there. Mentally, I mean. Not the plan. Just the feeling. That weight. Like everything around me is moving and I’m stuck in glue.”

Chris stops walking.

And I do too.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at me with that expression he wears when he’s trying not to fall apart.

“I wish I’d known you then,” he says quietly.

“Why?”

“Because maybe I wouldn’t have known how to fix it. But I’d have sat outside the bathroom door. I’d have knocked. I’d have waited. I’d have heard you.”

I swallow hard.

He takes a step closer.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” he says. “You don’t have to wrap it up neatly.”

“I’m not,” I whisper. “I’m just trying to stay standing.”

He nods.

Then, softly—

He opens his hoodie.

“C’mere.”

And I go.

I step inside the circle of his arms and press my face to his chest. He smells like mint and diner coffee and rain that hasn’t fallen yet.

He doesn’t tell me it’s okay.

He doesn’t try to rewrite it into something less painful.

He just holds me.

Warm and quiet and real.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” he whispers. “So fucking glad.”

And for the first time in a long time—

I believe it.

CHRIS POV:

The night air wraps around us soft and quiet, like it knows not to interrupt.

We’re now on the apartment stairs. Her hand in mine.

The kind of silence that doesn’t beg to be filled, just invites you to speak when you’re ready.

And I am.

Not because it’s easy.

But because she is here.

“Can I tell you something I’ve never said out loud?” I ask.

She looks up. Nods once.

“You can tell me anything.”

I rub my thumb along the edge of her palm, grounding myself. Then I say it.

“When I was fifteen… I thought I was going to be a dad.”

She doesn’t flinch. Just… listens. Eyes wide, still.

“I met her when I was thirteen. She was older. Seventeen when everything happened. I don’t even know if it was love, I think I just wanted to feel wanted.”

I swallow hard.

“She gave me that. At least at first. Made me feel like I was important. Like I mattered to someone for the first time.”

I pause. The words come slower now.

“We were together a lot. Quietly. My parents and brothers didn’t really know. Hers didn’t pay enough attention to ask.”

“She told me she was pregnant a couple months after I turned fifteen. I remember feeling like my body wasn’t mine anymore. Like I stepped into someone else’s life by accident.”

I shake my head, laugh once, no humor in it.

“But I stayed. I went to every appointment. I held her hand when she cried. I picked out names. I even kept a list in my Notes app of baby things I wanted to buy.”

“And when the baby was born…” I stop. My voice catches.

“When he came out, I thought: this is it. This is the start of everything.”

“I held him. I kissed his forehead. I thought he had my nose.”

“But he didn’t.”

I don’t look at Y:N when I say the next part. I just breathe through it.

“A week after he was born… she told me. He wasn’t mine. She had been cheating. The whole time.”

“She only told me because she said I deserved to know. But it felt like being dropped from a rooftop.”

“I loved a kid who was never mine. I made promises I couldn’t keep. I named a baby I had no right to name.”

“And the real dad?” I laugh, short and flat.

“He hates me. Because she told him she wished the baby had been mine instead.”

Silence again.

This time, it stretches.

But it’s not empty. It’s full.

Full of breath. Memory. Pain. Regret.

And something else.

“That’s why you push people away,” YN says quietly. “Because you’ve already had love blow up in your hands.”

I look at her now. She’s not crying. Just watching me.

“Yeah,” I say. “That, and because I’m afraid I’ll break the next thing I hold.”

She shifts closer. Her hand slides up the side of my jaw, thumb brushing the place just under my ear.

“Then don’t hold it like it’s glass,” she whispers. “Hold it like it’s yours.”

And God, I could cry.

Not because I’m sad.

Because I’m safe.

And she’s still looking at me like I’m not too much.

Y/N POV:

We don’t talk about it much after he tells me.

Not because it doesn’t matter.

But because it does.

Some things don’t need to echo to be heard.

Chris squeezes my hand once, and I squeeze it back.

That’s the only answer he needs.

We leave the stairs sometime after midnight.

It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like the world is holding its breath for you.

His apartment is dark when we walk in.

Nick and Matt must be asleep. The hallway smells like cologne and dryer sheets.

Chris’s room is how I remember it, hoodies on the chair, LED lights off, blinds slightly cracked from where I used to peek through my window and watch him smoke.

He tosses his keys on the desk and turns to me.

“You can crash here if you want,” he says, like he’s not hoping I’ll say yes.

I just nod.

“Yeah. I want to.”

He gives me a shirt, soft, oversized, smells like him.

I change in the bathroom while he stays behind. When I come back, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through something on his phone, pretending not to watch me come closer.

I crawl into bed.

He follows.

No tension. No space. Just us.

Our legs brush under the covers.

Our arms find each other in the dark like magnets.

He exhales slowly, eyes on the ceiling.

“You ever feel like… sleep is the only time your mind shuts up?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “But lately, even that’s loud.”

He turns toward me, arm slipping under my neck.

“Then stay loud here,” he says. “I can handle it.”

I feel it then, his fingers tracing circles on the small of my back.

Like a grounding wire. Like he’s stitching me back together without needing to say a word.

There’s no kiss.

No rushing.

Just two bodies, curved toward each other, finally not trying to run from the weight of what’s real.

He falls asleep first.

I hear it in the change of his breath.

But I stay awake a little longer, watching the outline of his face in the soft glow of the window.

And for the first time in what feels like months—

I don’t feel alone in my head.

I don’t feel broken.

I just feel held.

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44 @sturnslux3

@kalel2005 @sarahsturnn

@teheabrams @needchrissturniolobad

@my-world-is-poetry @sturniszn

@slutforchrissturniolo2

@alinagrace11 @beardedbernard

@matthewswifeyy @blindedheartp

@crypticallycruelwarden

@jaybirdie34

@courta13 @chriss-slutt

@chrissturniolobendmeovernow

@norahsturns. @chrattstromboli

@iluvchris @japblogs

[iloveseraphims]

Rumors Can't Fly

Killingham x F!HolyKnightReader

!! Words Count 634 !!

Killingham didn't usually gossip. But when it came to Shamrock, and that gossip was doing to be with you, exceptions were made.

That day, you walked into the library wing after weapons training, found Killingham waiting at the edge of the archives, leaning against the wall, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“I’m surprised you’re among the shelves and not on the battlefield,” you said with a slight laugh.

“Everyone who comes to report,” Killingham said, glancing at you. “ends up here eventually. Some can read, some just come to complain.”

You suppressed a laugh. He always found something to make you laugh. He straightened up from where he was leaning when you approached him and walked together to the corner. You stopped next to that old window by the stone wall that no one ever went to, where even the wind could barely come through.

Killingham leaned back against the stone. “Today Shamrock… told everyone again about the ‘sanctity of lineage.’”

You gave him a knowing grin. He showed his sharp teeth in return. “Everyone acts like it’s the first time they’ve heard it.” You crossed your arms and tilted your head slightly to the side.

If Killingham started a conversation, it was necessary to provoke it. “He slapped a kid the other day because he didn’t recite his family tree." you said, glancing briefly at the view with Killingham.

“It bothers him that we live among those who are unworthy of the presence of the god." Killingham said without rolling his eyes. “He probably gets angry when he looks in the mirror and can’t see his family crest.”

“Or maybe he’s afraid he’ll forget his exist if he doesn’t hear his own voice,” you said excitedly. Killingham could barely hold back a smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. But at that moment… The shadow behind you moved.

“I won’t bother you.” one said, trying to sound polite as a knife. Shamrock. Even the seams of his uniform were more ornate than yours. His hair was flawless. And his eyes were piercing you. Your one and only captain was right in front of you.

Your inner voice was screaming as you looked at Shamrock. “He heard it. He heard everything. It’s a joke.”

Killingham bowed his head as if nothing had happened. "Captain. It's good to see you here."

Your gaze went back and forth between the two of them. You was looking for a sign that he hadn't heard anything.

Shamrock smiled — but it was the last smile people saw on their way to the gallows. “Libraries are very quiet. They’re a rare place where honest conversation can be heard." he said in his noble tone. Even his voice felt like he had slapped you.

A moment of silence. You were about to say something when Killingham cut in. “I could deny everything we just said. But the best part is… even you admit how ridiculous it all is.”

Shamrock paused for a moment. You never knew what was on his mind. Then he turned to you. “I hope you choose your comrades carefully." he said. “Who you stand with is as important as who you share the same enemy with.”

He didn’t say that to heckle Killingham, you both knew it. It was just a warning. And he left. He just stuck a needle in you and left. You couldn’t understand what was happening to you. You turned to Killingham. “We went a little too far.”

Killingham said calmly, without narrowing his eyes. “No. We just spoke the truth a little too loudly.”

You turned to the window together.

And you, even though you knew it was dangerous to stand on the same side as him, realized something for the first time.

It was peaceful to be next to him.

I fell in love with him so badly

[heldbybarnes]

Cherries in Spring

Continuation of "Cherries in Winter" Warnings: none; gentle mentions of past trauma

----------

The cherry tree blossoms late this year.

It’s April when you first notice the pink-white petals beginning to peek open—slow and stubborn, like they’re not quite sure the cold is gone.

You understand the feeling.

Spring always comes like that here. Not a triumphant return, but a careful one. Something earned.

Bucky’s on the porch, knees creaking as he crouches beside the old woodpile. He’s fixing the kindling basket—again. It doesn’t need fixing. You think he just likes having something in his hands.

You step out barefoot, mug of coffee cradled between your palms.

“Tree’s blooming,” you say.

He looks up, squints toward the clearing.

“Huh,” he murmurs, straightening slowly. “Thought it might not this year.”

You walk over and rest your cheek against his shoulder. He still smells like cedar and soap and the lemon oil you use to polish the floors.

“It always does,” you say quietly. “Eventually.”

You’ve been here almost ten years now.

The cabin feels fuller somehow, even though it’s still just the two of you. Fuller with time, with life, with the soft accumulation of love lived quietly.

There’s a drawer in the kitchen full of grocery lists and half-finished crossword puzzles. A sun-warmed quilt draped over the reading chair where Bucky naps sometimes with a book half-open on his chest.

A jar of cherries sits on the shelf—freshly preserved last summer. You only eat them in winter now. It feels like a ritual. A way to remember.

Sometimes, you talk about adding on to the cabin. Expanding the kitchen. Maybe putting in a greenhouse.

But you never do.

You like how it creaks. How it hugs the wind. How it still feels like her.

There’s a new dog now. Sort of.

He showed up three winters ago—half-starved, limping, scared of loud noises. You named him Pockets, because he used to sneak things (gloves, socks, once a whole carrot) into the lining of his blanket.

Bucky said he reminded him of someone. Then muttered something about how he did not sneak carrots.

Pockets sleeps at the foot of your bed now. He barks at deer, ignores squirrels, and refuses to go out in the rain unless Bucky goes first.

They’re attached.

You pretend not to notice how your husband slips him scraps when he thinks you’re not looking.

Bucky still has the nightmares sometimes.

Not often. Not like before. But they come—sudden, sharp, without warning. He never remembers them fully. Just wakes up with clenched fists and a look in his eyes like he’s somewhere else.

You don’t ask him to explain.

You don’t need him to.

You just hold his face in your hands, whisper his name until the storm in him quiets again. Until the cabin becomes a cabin again, and not a prison. Until your body reminds him of this life, this love, this now.

In the morning, he makes the coffee. Just the way you like it.

That’s how he says thank you.

One afternoon in May, he calls you outside.

You’re in the pantry, elbow-deep in flour, planning to make her molasses bread even though it never rises right. You wipe your hands and follow the sound of his voice.

He’s standing under the cherry tree.

It’s in full bloom now—petals falling like snow, drifting over the bench he built all those years ago.

He’s holding something in his hands.

You cross the yard, curiosity rising.

“What’s this?”

He clears his throat. A little awkward. “Just… thought you might like a place to put this.”

He steps aside.

It’s a wooden plaque. Carefully carved. Sanded smooth.

You read it:

“She made this place safe. We made it home.”

Underneath: three names. Margot (your grandmother) James Y/N

Your breath catches.

You look up at him.

“Bucky…”

“It’s not a gravestone or anything,” he says quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “Just… a marker. For what she gave us. For what you gave me.”

You wrap your arms around him.

And you whisper, against his chest:

“I like that it’s not a gravestone.”

The next morning, the bench is dusted with blossoms.

You sit there together, Pockets sprawled at your feet, a jar of cherry jam between you. He passes you a spoon like it’s a peace offering.

“We should get bees,” you say, randomly.

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Think about it,” you continue. “Honey. Pollination. Homemade candles.”

“You just want to name one.”

You grin. “Obviously.”

He smirks, leans in, kisses your cheek.

“Fine,” he says. “But only if I get to name the queen.”

“You already did,” you reply. “It’s me.”

He laughs—really laughs—and the sound echoes through the clearing like birdsong.

You don’t need a big house. Or a town. Or noise.

You need mornings like this.

His laughter. The warmth of his hand over yours. The sweet scent of cherry blossoms in the air.

Healing isn’t loud. It isn’t fast.

It’s in the way Bucky now sleeps with both eyes closed.

It’s in how he talks about the future without flinching.

It’s in the softness of spring after years of winter.

And it’s in the way he still says your name like it means safety.

Like you saved him right back.

[junielovestravis]

“Taste of Wild Things”

Vampire! Natalie Scatorccio x Reader

Warnings: None

You knew there was something off about Natalie Scatorccio. It wasn’t the leather jacket, or the smoky eyes, or even the fact that she always smelled like night air and thunder. It was something deeper—like the silence she wore wasn’t just from pain, but from centuries of hunger.

Still, you kept finding her out by the treeline after practice, where she’d lean against a tree with her arms crossed, like she was guarding something. Like she was something.

“Didn’t know the woods were your thing,” you said one day, backpack slung over one shoulder, standing just a little too close.

Natalie didn’t look at you right away. Her eyes tracked a squirrel darting across a branch, fast. Too fast. “I like the quiet,” she said finally, voice low and rough. “Better than people.”

You smirked. “I’m a person.”

“That’s debatable.”

And yet… she didn’t tell you to leave. Not that day. Not the next. Not any of the times you sat beside her in the grass, reading from dog-eared books or watching the wind move through the trees.

Eventually, you started noticing things.

How her lips were always a little too red.

How she never ate at lunch.

How she flinched from sunlight like it was more than just annoying.

How her eyes—god, her eyes—glowed faint gold when she thought no one was looking.

“Tell me,” you said one night, after you caught her licking blood from her palm after a "fall."

She went still, then slowly wiped her hand on her jeans. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

And she did.

Vampire. Turned in the '80s. Been drifting ever since. No feeding on the team, ever. She swore it, sharp and bitter like it hurt to say.

You should’ve run. You didn’t.

Instead, you sat down on the cold ground, your heart beating too loud. “So that’s why you never let me kiss you,” you said softly.

Natalie looked at you like it broke something in her. “It’s not safe.”

You reached out anyway, brushing your thumb over her cheek. Her skin was cool, not cold. “Then we’ll be careful.”

She stared at you for a long moment, then leaned in. Her lips hovered at your neck, her breath trembling.

“I could hurt you,” she whispered.

“But you won’t.”

Natalie kissed you like she was starving and terrified of breaking you all at once. And when she pulled away, eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight, you smiled and rested your forehead against hers.

“I don’t care what you are,” you said. “You’re still mine.”

Author note - I don’t really like this ngl but thats ok.. i accidentally posted this at first while forgetting to add tags sighs. also spot the mention of my other oneshot “Dog-Eared Pages”

[shigussy]

i keep getting tiktoks of these younger gen z kids referencing a time they did something relating to fandom in public and now they're embarrassed by it and everytime i see one i sit there thinking over all of middle and high school and having genuinely 0 moments that i feel embarrassed by, like i definitely did a lot of shit these kids would be embarrassed by but i think these are all just really fucking funny

also photographic evidence of the kinda kid i was. these are from 2014/15 when i was in 8th grade

-desolation row one shot(still on wattpad gerard way/reader smut)

-twerk it on (mcr crack fanfic no longer on wattpad but i have another fic in my library called twerking in taco bell which definitely ALSO used for my reading log)

-frank iero must die(a serial killer/assassin frerard fic, still on wattpad)

-hair (really vague maybe a phanfic? nowhere in my wattpad library rip)

my binder i used in 7th grade i had a blue one that looked pretty similar to this for 8th grade but idk where it went, also the parts i scribbled out are my full legal name i had written on it. i wrote it normally and then the big spot is where i wrote my name REALLY BIG in elysian code from the vladimir tod books. also the lines are from when i used an exacto knife to cut up some papers and forgot that my binder was underneath

in conclusion yall can now see why im so shameless about talking about shigaraki the way i do

[apatheticsunday]

DPxDC The Guy

AKA "There's a problem, so Jason Todd does the whole 'I know a guy' routine except his guy is Danny Fenton. And Danny literally just stands around and yaps while Jason fixes the problem. The Batfam are like??? Who the hell is this guy??" prompt idea! Lowkey dead on main but can be read as friends! :)

This literally won't leave my brain! I just imagine how hilarious it would be if one of the Batfam had a problem, maybe their bike got messed up while on patrol, and Jason's just like don't worry about it. I know a guy. He calls up some guy named Danny and asks for a favor.

Danny shows up in civvies - just an old NASA hoodie, ripped jeans, and ratty Converse. Dick expects Danny to be a mechanic or something because he's brought a bag of tools, but instead he just deadass starts talking about his day?? And Jason takes the bag, kneels down next to Dick's bike, and works on it while Danny orbits around him yapping nonstop.

Dick's just like?? Why did you even call this guy, he's not even helping???

("Jay, what-," Dick interrupts Danny's rant about his chemistry professor's obsession with Scarecrow, only to be silenced by Jason's murderous glare from beside the motorcycle. Jason nods at Danny to continue and the guy offers a sunny smile before giving a in-depth analysis of why fear toxin is just bad weed. Dick watches from afar as Danny's monologue forces several abrupt, snorting laughs from Jason. It's a sound Dick hasn't heard for years.)

The next time it happens is at the Manor. Jason is helping Alfred cook breakfast in the kitchen; Alfred opens the pantry door and pauses.

"What?" Jason leans around Alfred to peer at the curiously empty glass jar of what was probably flour.

"We seem to have some wayward flour on our hands. How odd, as I restocked it Tuesday." Alfred's tone made it clear he knew exactly who it was (Dick, who's just visited the manor the other day to 'see his siblings', AKA to raid the pantry since he didn't want to go grocery shopping) and there would be consequences.

Jason brushes sugar off his hands and reaches for his phone, almost smiling when he says, "Don't sweat it, Alfie. I know a guy."

Twelve minutes later, Daniel Fenton knocks on the door of Wayne Manor with a bag of flour in hand and coffee from the little cafe near Jason's apartment. Tim and Steph stumble into the kitchen bleary-eyed from late night patrol about two hours later. Only to find Danny sitting at the kitchen island chatting with Alfred and Jason about the English pre-war printing processes. Jason's smile is so wide that his dimples pop against his cheeks. (Tim stares, feeling some sort of... not nostalgia exactly, but something like it. Jason looks younger, grinning wryly at Danny, a streak of flour on his chin. He looks like the old Robin, the one Tim used to take pictures of and quietly idolize. Jason looks... happy.)

It becomes a well-known habit. Sink's broken? Cat stuck in a tree? It gets to a point where the Batfam know that Jason will call Danny for increasingly ridiculous stuff.

Damian: Todd, I require assistance-

Jason: Sure, I know a guy.

Damian: Is it Daniel?

Jason:

Jason: Do you want my help or not, brat?

Except one time it's serious. End-of-the-world, intergalactic crisis, tell-your-kids-you-love-them kind of serious. Jason's hand goes to his phone even as his siblings, his father Batman, and several of the Justice League grimly debate the world's fate. Nightwing notices Jason typing at his phone before the rest do.

"Hood, you can't be serious. You can't involve a civilian in this!"

Jason ignores him and the subsequent outcries of his family, the confusion of Batman and the JL, to press the phone to his ear. This time, however, he doesn't ask for Danny. When the familiar cheeky voice calls out what's cookin', good lookin'? from the phone, Jason's voice is grim when he says, "Phantom, I need a favor."

There's silence. Then, it's almost like an abrupt change in air pressure or the undeniable crush of tectonic plates grinding together. When a green portal pulls apart the fabric of reality, Danny doesn't step out. It's Phantom, High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and Heir to Father Time, clad in regal attire with a crown of white-hot flames nestled into his hair. His steps are sure when he walks past the tense crowd of superheroes.

"You called?" Phantom asks. His unnatural Lazarus-green eyes burn into Jason, but there's a midwestern twang in his voice that's so reminiscent of Danny that Jason can't help a small huffing laugh.

Jason turns back to his family and the JL, gesturing to Danny. His family have already made the connection. Likely because Danny's accent, the subtle similarities between Danny's human appearance and his Realms appearance, and the fact that there's only one person Jason ever calls. Danny turns to the League with a bright smile and introduces himself as, "Danny Phantom, but you can call me Phantom."

(And then they kiss!! Just kidding. But Danny probably saves the world and then they go back to the Manor, much to the confusion of the batfam. The batfam are all like, wtf, Jason?? You didn't tell us the guy you've been hanging out with all the time was the freakin' King of Infinite Realms?? And Jason just shrugs, and is like, well... I guess living with him kinda desensitizes you to all the ghostly shit? That's how the batfam find out Jason and Danny are living together. Are they boyfriends?? Maybe, maybe not. But it seems suspicious that Jason's always calling Danny, seemingly just because he likes being around him, hm? ;))

[maculategiraffe]

I didn't have cell reception at the camp site so I had to take notes. highlight reel:

*

a bird flew into one of the tents and the baby wanted to help chase it out but my dad told him to stand back so he wouldn't scare it. so the baby stood next to the tent flap and said in the softest coaxing voice "it's okay, little bird"

*

my cousin was hiding behind a tree for hide and seek and as the baby searched the campground a tiny child from a nearby campsite happened by, saw my cousin, saw the baby searching, and immediately yelled at the top of her lungs "he is behind this tree!!"

*

I said "is the rain ever going to stop?" and without looking up from his drawing the baby said "yeah. it always does"

*

then later I said "is it still raining?" and the baby barged out of the tent and then started singing at the top of his lungs "raindrops are NOT falling on my head... NO raindrops are falling on my head!"

*

baby: auntie mac, I am chatgpt. ask me a cookie recipe.

me: okay! can you tell me a cookie recipe?

baby, giggling: one book. one chair. one camp site. one fyashlight.

me: one flashlight?

baby: no. one fyashlight. and TWO flashlights.

me: one fyashlight and two flashlights? what is a fyashlight?

baby: I don't know. and another chair. and the MOON.

*

"Baby Dinosaur is very excited to see a waterfall for the first time! I can tell how he is feeling without him even saying anything."

*

my mom: [baby] come look at this!

baby, in anguish: oh no no no no no no no. is it a flower.

*

we forgot his doll when we went to the waterfall and he was really upset so I got out my notebook and said "look! I'll write Baby Anna a letter telling her all about the waterfall, so she won't feel like she missed out!" and he stopped crying and thought about that and finally said reasonably "Baby Anna can't read"

(the letter idea did work though. we read it out loud to her)

*

"well, should we start packing up?" "NO! I am very used to how everything looks right now."

*

(half asleep in the car seat) "mommy, I love you more than anything in the whole world. I love you more than cars and... even more than sticks I love you."

"

next time we're going to go camping in my back yard *⁠\⁠0⁠/⁠*

[d1stalker]

Origin [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Two people, one shared past, and decades apart.

Warnings: fem!reader, angst, fluff, longing, things get bad before they get better! WC: 14k - MASTERLIST

A/N: there are plot points that are inspired by Logan's origin story (thank u marvelwiki), but they are so non-canon compliant its funny so don't call me out tyyy 😙

----

Before he was known as Logan, or as Wolverine, he was James. 

Your James. 

—

It’s quiet in the Howlett estate, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone has long retired for the night. But while the rest of the mansion sleeps, you remain wide awake. Dressed in your nightgown and nestled under the blankets, you glance at the small, brass pocketwatch resting on your bedside table. The hands read 10:22 PM. Any minute now, you think to yourself. 

Then, like clockwork, you hear it—a faint knock on your door. Three slow, deliberate taps, followed by two quick ones. The secret signal never fails to make you smile. You spring from the bed, feet softly padding across the floor as you hurry to the door. You open it as quietly as possible, your grin widening the moment you see who’s waiting on the other side.

James.

He stands there, dark tousled hair and that familiar mischievous smile that always manages to light up the dim hallway. You’ve known him your entire life, growing up together under the roof of the Howlett estate. Your parents, both loyal servants to the Howlett family, were fortunate enough to be granted permission raise you alongside their son.

From the moment you could walk, you and James were inseparable, sharing countless adventures in the woods, running across the estate’s gardens, and whispering secrets to one another under moonlit skies.

"About time," you whisper, teasing him with a playful glint in your eyes. "You really know how to keep a lady waiting, don’t you?"

A soft snort escapes his lips as he grabs your hand, pulling you gently into the hallway. "My deepest apologies, M’lady," he replies with mock formality, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I had to... attend to urgent business in the necessary."

You snicker, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Ah, I see. Was it a fulfilling experience, sir Howlett?"

He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, though you catch the small smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t respond, but his silence confirms everything. It was.

The rest of the trip is quiet, the two of you moving stealthily through the darkened corridors, careful not to disturb anyone or draw unwanted attention. After all, your mother would certainly disapprove of such late-night rendezvous. It is improper, she would say.

But what choice did you have? The day offered no time for moments like this. You were busy training to take over as the next chief maid, learning the endless routines of the household, while James spent his time with his family or other highborn friends. It was only after hours, when the mansion finally settled, that the two of you could steal away for these secret meetings.

Finally, you reach the gardens. The crisp night air greets you as you slip away from any prying eyes. There’s a familiar sense of peace here, among the fragrant flowers and the towering trees that shield you from the world. James leads you to your usual spot, a stone bench tucked beneath the shadow of the hedges. Wordlessly, he slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before taking a dramatic bow.

"To keep you warm, M’lady," he says softly.

"Hush, James," you laugh, finding his antics endearing. 

You’re grateful, especially as the cool night air nips at your exposed skin. The nightgown, while comfortable, offers little protection against the chill. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself, then pat the empty spot next to you, gesturing to him to sit, to which he does.

“How was your day?" you prompt.

James sighs, leaning back on the bench, his hand casually resting behind you as he stares up at the sky. "Same old, same old," he starts, a familiar twinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know how it is. Dinners with my parents, listenin’ to old men talk about businesses I'll never care about, trying not to fall asleep while they drone on about investments or land expansions. It’s all so posh."

You stifle a giggle, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Posh? You sound like you're living the dream."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "If by 'dream,' you mean sitting there pretending to care while wonderin’ how quickly I can escape to see you, then yeah, it's an absolute dream," he quips sarcastically.

Sniggering, you bring your hand up to your forehead, acting distressed. "Oh, how tragic. The poor Lord James Howlett, trapped in a world of lavish dinners and fancy wine. Whatever will you do?"

"Mock me all you want, but it’s unbearable," he groans, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I hate it. All the stuffy clothes, the fake smiles, the way everyone acts like they're better than everyone else." He pauses for a moment, then glances sideways at you. "You're the only real thing here."

The sincerity in his words makes your heart flutter, and you’re suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Looking away, you try to play it off. "Well, if that’s the case, I guess I should charge you for my company," you tease coyly.

He lets out a huff of amusement, shaking his head. "I'll pay whatever price you want.”

There's a pause as you both sit in comfortable silence. Just then, a soft breeze sweeps through the garden, catching the edges of your nightgown and fanning it up slightly. Before you can even react, he swiftly moves his jacket from your shoulders to your lap, covering your legs. His hand lingers, making sure you're covered before he hastily wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close against him.

The warmth from his body contrasts with the cool air, and you can't help but laugh softly at his sudden behaviour. "Wow, you really are a gentleman, James."

He tenses slightly, his grip on your shoulder loosening as he looks away, clearly flustered. "I—I just didn’t want you to get cold," he mumbles, his usual confidence faltering.

You smile at how shy he suddenly seems, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Thank you. It’s sweet."

For a brief second, he says nothing, but you can feel the way his heartbeat picks up just a little. Then, almost too quietly, he mutters, "I’d do anythin’ for you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you tilt your head to look up at him. But you can’t respond, because he clears his throat, looking down at you with a small, sheepish smile. "What about you? Any exciting adventures in the life of a future chief maid?"

Grinning, you recognize his attempt to shift the conversation, and decide to let it go for now. "Oh, you know, the usual. A thrilling day of dusting, folding linens, and trying not to spill tea on your mother’s favourite rug."

He chuckles, pulling you a little closer. "Sounds way more exciting than my day."

You hum in acknowledgement, letting the moment linger. Neither of you speak for a bit, just relishing being in each other’s presence. 

"So, do tell," you say after a while, breaking the silence, "if you could get away from all the fancy dinners and boring conversations, what would you do?"

He smiles slightly, his gaze still fixed on the star-filled sky. "I’d leave. Go far away from here, maybe somewhere quiet. Live in the countryside, where no one cares about wealth or titles." His eyes drop to meet yours. "Maybe you’d come with me."

You laugh gently. "And who would take care of your family if we both ran off?"

Shrugging, his expression grows more serious. "They don’t need me. They need someone who’ll do what they want—someone to follow in their footsteps. That’s never been me."

There’s a weight in his words, and you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You’re about to respond, to tell him you understand more than he realizes, when—

BANG.

Your body stiffens instantly, heart beginning to pound in your chest as you straighten up, eyes wide.

"What the hell was that?" James asks sharply. He turns to you, his face mirroring the confusion and unease you're feeling.

Shaking your head, you swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. "It sounded like a gunshot."

The two of you stare at each other for a beat, then, right when you’re going to speak again, you hear it—his mother’s scream. It’s high-pitched, panicked, and it sends a jolt of fear through you both.

"Help!" she shrieks from inside the mansion. "James, help!"

Without a word, you bolt to your feet, the peaceful night forgotten as you rush back inside. Your heart is racing as your bare feet fly across the grass, nightgown fluttering behind you. James is ahead of you, moving fast, his expression shifting from confusion to pure fear.

As you reach the back entrance, your mind races with possibilities, none of them good. You burst through the door into the hallway, your breathing laboured from the sudden sprint. Something is terribly wrong.

"Mother!" He calls, his voice sharp with panic as he leads the way toward the main staircase. You follow close behind, anxiety coiling tight in your chest.

Once you get to the bottom of the stairs, you hear footsteps—heavy, hurried—and then you see her. Mrs. Howlett, wide-eyed and pale, comes hurrying down from the upper floor, clutching the banister for support. Her hands are trembling.

"James!" she cries. "Your father—he’s been shot!"

The boy beside you freezes, face going white. "What?" he breathes, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"He—he was in his study, and I—I heard the gunfire. I—I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who—" Her voice breaks, and tears stream down her face as she struggles to speak. "We need to get help!"

He doesn’t waste another second, taking off up the stairs, his long strides making quick work of the distance. You trail after him. How could this happen? Who could’ve done this?

When you reach the second floor, you see the study door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the dark hallway. James' hand wavers over the doorknob for only a moment before pushing the it open wide.

Inside, the scene is worse than you imagined.

There, slumped over his desk, is Mr. Howlett. His once pristine office now looks chaotic—papers scattered, a window broken, and blood, so much blood. A crimson stain is spreading across his shirt.

"Father," James chokes out, rushing to his side, his hands shaking as he reaches for him.

You stand paralyzed for a moment, the sight rendering you speechless, but then the adrenaline kicks in, and you move further into the room. Your mind is screaming at you to do something, anything, but all you can do is watch as James desperately tries to wake his father, calling his name again and again.

Trying to make sense of the horrific scene, your attention is dragged away by the sound of footsteps shuffling behind you. Thomas Logan, the groundskeeper, stumbles in, his movements clumsy, his face twisted with drunkenness. His bloodshot eyes are manic, and in his trembling hand, he’s clutching a gun—the same one that must have been used to end Mr. Howlett’s life.

"Thomas!" Mrs. Howlett yelps. "What are you doing?"

James turns sharply, still kneeling beside his father’s body, his expression hardening immediately. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas lets out a low, slurred laugh, staggering further into the room. His eyes flick between you, James, and Mrs. Howlett, but his focus remains hazy. "I’ve had enough of this, enough of all of it," he mutters, waving the gun in the air. "Your precious mother thought she could keep the truth from you. But it’s time you knew the truth, boy."

"What truth?" The younger man demands harshly.

Swaying on his feet, he points the gun directly at James, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "I’m not just the groundskeeper, you idiot," he snarls venomously, "I’m your damn father."

It’s as if the room has been put on pause. You feel the air leave your lungs, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you just heard. Glancing at your friend, you see the disbelief wash over his features, his eyes widening with shock, denial.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head, backing away slightly. "You're lying. You’re drunk."

But the older man just laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. "You think John Howlett was your father? That man never wanted you! He raised you because he had to, not because you were his. You’re mine, boy. My flesh and blood,” he jerks his head in the direction of Mrs. Howlett. “Go ahead, ask your mama."

You hear Mrs. Howlett begin to blubber in the background at the accusation, but your attention is solely on the boy in front of you.

Betrayal is written all over his face.

His breath quickens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You want to reach out to him, concern puling you forward, but then he lets out a scream—a sound so full of pain that you stop in your tracks.

"James!" you cry, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes squeeze shut, and his body convulses, as though something inside him is tearing him apart from the inside out.

The sickening sound of skin breaking fills your ears, and bone claws shoot out from his knuckles. They gleam in the dim light of the room, sharp and lethal. The sight of them is nauseating, but you’re unable to look away as James blinks, gazing down at his hands, dumbfounded.

"What—" he rasps, his chest heaving. "What’s happening to me?"

“What the hell is this?” Thomas sneers in disgust.  He stumbles, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Figures... Of course my son’s a freak.”

“You were always a fuck-up,” he continues in his drunken rage. “Useless, soft... a disappointment from the start. Just like your mother. Look at you now, boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” James snarls through gritted teeth, rage building inside him. His eyes flash dangerously. It’s as if something inside him has snapped, some deep, instinctual part of him that has been lying dormant, waiting for this very moment.

“You’re right. You’re no son of mine. Just a goddamn mistake. Should’ve left you in the dirt with your—"

Before he can finish, a roar rips from James’s throat. So raw, so animalistic, you get goosebumps. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, and then, with terrifying speed, he lunges.

In an instant, his claws sink deep into Thomas’s chest with a thunk. The force of the blow sends the older man crashing back, disbelief and agony seizing his face as blood sprays across the room, spattering the walls and floor. His body thrashes, his hands weakly grasping at his son’s wrists, but there’s no strength left in him. 

A gurgling gasp bubbles from his throat, and then it's over. He collapses to the ground, lifeless, as James stands over him, claws retreating back into his skin. 

"James!" Mrs. Howlett screams, her voice piercing. "What have you done?!"

You don’t know how to react. You can’t process it, can’t breathe. All you know is that you need to get out of here—get James out of here, away from this nightmare before it consumes him. Without thinking, you rush to his side, grabbing his bloodied hand.

"We have to go!" you say urgently.

His eyes dart to you, frantic and unfocused but he doesn’t resist as you pull him toward the door. His mother's cries echo behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back.

You run—both of you—through the hallways, out the back door, and into the dark of night. The wind whips around you, stinging your face, but you don’t stop. You run until your legs burn, until you’ve entered the surrounding forest, and the Howlett estate is nothing but a distant shadow behind you. 

All the while, James’s hand stays locked in yours.

Branches scratch everywhere, at your arms, your face, and the underbrush tugs at your clothes as if trying to hold you back, but you push on. Only after the first light of dawn begins to creep in, does the exhaustion hit. Bodies aching and bruised, the two of you collapse beside a small stream. 

You’re on your back, catching you breath, when you tilt to your head to look over at your friend. He’s sitting down, with his hands out in front of him, leering at them. He struggles for air, his breaths coming in short, panicked bursts, and his clothes are torn, stained with blood—his father’s blood, Thomas’ blood. 

His claws are long retracted, but the scars of where they came out of his skin are there, fresh. 

"James," you whisper, but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, you crawl over to his side, pain flaring with each movement. When you reach him, you sit on your knees, looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze. You repeat his name, more firmly this time.

He finally looks at you, but he’s broken. His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, almost inaudible, "What did I do?"

Your heart aches for him. Reaching out, you gently take one of his bloodied hands in yours, and as soon as your skin touches his, he flinches, pulling back slightly. "I killed him." he whispers, more to himself than anything. “I—I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!"

"Hey, listen to me," you say. "You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known this would happen."

"I killed him," he repeats. "I killed Thomas. I—" He glances down at his hands, at the scars along his knuckles, and his expression crumples completely. “He was my father.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix this, but you know you have to try, so you wrap your arms around him. At first, he stiffens, but then he collapses to the ground, pulling you down with him. You land on top, your chest pressed against his as the weight of your bodies crashes into the soft earth. He squeezes you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his face buried in your shoulder as his breath comes in short, broken sobs.

"I didn’t mean to do it," he repeats, the words muffled against your skin. "Something just changed inside me. What am I? What am I turning into?"

“Hush," you whisper, moving one of your hands to brush his hair. "Look at me. Just breathe, okay? You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together, I promise."

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. It’s overwhelming, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you let him hold you as tightly as he needs, your fingers gently stroking the back of his head, trying to console him in any way you can.

"I’m a monster," he whimpers. "What if I hurt you, too?"

"You won’t," you affirm, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper. "You’re not a monster. This… this thing that happened, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you."

Beneath you, his body shakes, overcome by emotion he holds onto you. Your forehead is pressed to against his, your breath mingling with his while you continue to whisper reassurances, telling him over and over that it’s going to be okay, that he’s not alone.

Minutes pass, maybe longer—you lose track of time as you lie there together. Gradually, his cries begin to quiet, his breathing slowing as the storm inside him starts to subside. His grip on you loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go fully, still cradling you in his arms.

Shifting, you raise your head to look at him. His eyes are red, his face pale, but he’s calmer. You start to pull yourself off of him, but as you're standing up, he grasps your hand again, and he looks at you with a tired, grateful expression, squeezing it gently as if to say everything he can’t put into words yet.

Then, you continue. Hand in hand, you move deeper into the forest. And finally, after a few more hours, you notice something in the distance. Through the trees, there are rooftops, small and clustered together, their chimneys trailing thin lines of smoke into the evening sky.

“A town,” you whisper, the first word you’ve spoken in hours.

He follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of the small mining town nestled in the valley.

In it, the people’s faces are etched with lines of hard labour and even harder lives, but still, you know you’ll be safe there. 

—

Initially, it’s difficult—this new life you and James have carved out is a far cry from the comforts of the Howlett estate. The town you’ve settled in is rough and unpolished. You both share a modest shack on the outskirts, a place that feels foreign and strange, but over time, it starts to become home.

He finds work in the mines almost immediately. The foreman takes one look at him, his broad shoulders and strong arms, and practically shoves a shovel in his hand without asking any questions. The job is tough, but it suits him. 

Every evening, he comes back to you covered in soot and dirt, his hands rough and calloused, his face lined with exhaustion. You can see the toll the work takes on him, how his body aches, but there’s something else too—a measure of peace that wasn’t there before. It’s as if he’s found a way to silence the chaos inside him, at least for a little while.

It’s not long before everyone in town begins to call him Logan, a name he offers with indifference when asked.

A new identity. 

Logan is a man who works hard, who keeps to himself, who doesn’t ask for anything more than a paycheck at the end of the week. 

Logan is a man who doesn’t need anyone, who can survive on his own. 

To you, he’s still James. 

In the quiet moments, when it’s just the two of you, he lets down the walls, lets you see through the façade. And when you whisper his name—James—he closes his eyes as if that one word alone soothes something deep in his soul.

After weeks of watching him silently carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, you offer him a rag to wipe his face as he sits down at the small table you’ve cobbled together from scraps. He takes it without a word, rubbing at the grime on his skin.

“You don’t have to do this forever, you know,” you say softly, leaning against the table as he tosses the rag aside. "There’s more to life than breaking your back underground."

He glances at you. "It’s all I’m good for now."

"You’re good for more than that," you reply walking up to him, reaching for his hand. He lets you take it, like he always does. "You can’t let what happened define you."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gives your hand a small squeeze, his eyes drifting to the floor as he mumbles, "What’s inside me… it’s different. You don’t know what it’s like."

You don’t argue. How could you?

The changes in him, the way his strength has grown, how his senses have sharpened, it all impacts him. He can hear things no one else can, smell the rain long before it falls, and even in complete darkness, he sees as clearly as if it were day. His powers are evolving, changing him.

But you know, deep down, that the man sitting in front of you is your friend—your James—no matter what he’s become.

You’ve seen him wrestle with the fear of what he might turn into, the fear of losing control, but you also see the man who leans into your touch, who lets you bandage his hands after long days in the mines, who presses his forehead to yours when the nights grow too heavy with silence.

And as your time together in the town goes by, there is a shift.

It starts with small things—a lingering glance, a brush of your fingers as you pass each other in the kitchen, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Then, it moves to bigger gestures. When you’d pack him his lunch fo the day, you slip in a small piece of parchment with a heart hastily drawn on it, or at night time, instead of falling asleep backs turned toward each other, awkwardly trying to ignore whatever tension is brewing, you fall asleep in his arms, and wake up the same way.

It gets to a point where you can neither of you can deny it. 

You’ve fallen in love.

—

It’s late, and you’re sitting by the fire outside the small cabin, waiting for him to return from one of his now-frequent disappearances into the woods. You used to worry about where he went, afraid he was distancing himself from you, so one night you followed him. What you found took your breath away—him, sitting out on a ledge, with some wild animals surrounding him. There was something in him that they must have recognized, a mutual respect that seemed to transcend anything human.

Since then, you’ve let him go without asking questions, trusting that those nights in the woods bring him the peace he can’t find anywhere else. But tonight, when he returns, he’s different. He doesn’t just brush past you to head inside. Instead, he sits beside you by the fire.

You turn to him, about to ask if everything’s alright, but the words catch in your throat when his hand cups your jaw. His grip is gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to break the moment, but in his eyes, you find a longing, a yearning, that mirrors your own. 

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements. Your heart stutters, and when he pulls you closer, you let him. His lips meet yours, careful at first, but as you kiss him back, you feel the stress drain from his body. 

The kiss deepens, slow, tender, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

The next few years are a kind of peaceful bliss you never expected. With each passing day, you and Logan seem to fall deeper into each other, the bond you share growing stronger, more intimate, like you’ve finally found the rhythm of the life you were always meant to have together.

Mornings are your favourite. He always wakes up first, moving quietly so as not to wake you, and he’s gotten into the habit of making you breakfast. You always sneak out of bed and snake your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back as he grumbles about you not getting enough sleep. “You’re always up too early,” he’d say. 

“I like being up with you,” you’d mumble in response, and he’ll turn around, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his eyes soft and full of that quiet, steady love he’s never really put into words. And then he’d kiss you like he has all the time in the world, even if he has to head over to the mines. 

On your days off from your job at the pub, you’ll spend hours together, finding little ways to enjoy the simplicity of your life. He will sometimes take you out to the woods behind the house, where you’d walk the trails together. He points out the different wildlife, the plants you don’t recognize, and you tease him about being a mountain man. He’d smirk, giving you that low, raspy chuckle that never fails to make your heart seize in your chest, and tug you closer to his side.

In the evenings, oftentimes, you sit together while you knit, something that started as a hobby but quickly became one of your preferred pastimes. He always pretends to be uninterested, but he’ll watch you anyway. “You’re getting good at that,” he’d say gruffly. 

“Want me to make you a sweater?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he’d grumble, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased at the idea.

The town itself becomes part of your life together, too. You’ve made friends with the locals, joining a small knitting club. If he has time, Logan drops by the pub on your shifts just to check in, sitting at the bar with a beer and watching you work. When your gazes connect very now and then, he gives you that look—the one that says he’s proud of you, that he’s content.

“We’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs one night, holding you close. 

“Yeah,” you agree softly, kissing his cheek. “We really do.”

But, all good things must come to an end. 

The mining town, though small and isolated, isn’t immune to the tensions that fester beneath the surface. Harsh conditions, grueling work, and the endless grind wear people down, turning frustration into anger, and anger into violence. Fights break out often, especially in the saloon after a long day when men try to drown their sorrows in whiskey. You both have learned to keep your distance from such skirmishes, knowing nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

Still, one night, as you return home from your evening shift at the pub, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a brawl breaking out in the middle of the street. Shouts reverberate through the cold air, followed by the crash of breaking glass. Your heart races as you recognize the deep, guttural growl cutting through the noise—a sound you know all too well.

On impulse, you rush toward the commotion, dread pooling in your stomach. You know this won’t end well. Not here. Not for him.

When you reach the scene, your worst fears are confirmed. He stands in the centre of the chaos, fists clenched at his sides. Two men circle him, their faces twisted with drunken aggression, goading him. The small crowd that’s gathered seems almost entertained, too caught up in the spectacle to understand the true danger festering.

“James!” you shout, trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

One of the men—a burly miner you’ve seen around town a few times, always looking for trouble—lunges forward, his fist swinging. The punch connects with your man’s jaw, hard enough to stagger him back, but instead of falling, you see something shift in Logan’s expression. His eyes darken, his jaw tightens. Then, his claws slowly begin sliding out of his knuckles.

The crowd gasps, and the laughter dies immediately.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls, his voice low and full of warning. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep control, but you can see the fire burning behind his eyes. He’s on the edge, teetering dangerously close to losing himself.

But the miner, too drunk and furious to notice or care, spits on the ground. “Freak!” he slurs, venom lacing every word. “You think you scare me?”

He charges at Logan again, fists swinging recklessly. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you scream for him to stop. But it’s too late. Logan tries to pull back, to stop what’s about to happen, but the man is too close, too fast.

Everything slows down, the world moving in fractured seconds. Claws slice through the air, meeting flesh with a sickening thud. The miner gasps, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles, clutching at his chest where the claws have sunk deep. Blood blooms around his hands, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

And suddenly, you’re thrust back into the past. You see James as he was all those years ago, his claws dripping with blood after killing Thomas. The memory crashes into you—the look of fear on his face, the horror in his eyes, the way he stumbled back, realizing what he’d done.

Just like now.

Logan’s eyes go wide, his expression mirroring that same devastation. He steps back, staring at the miner who crumples to the ground, gasping for breath. What follows is a deafening silence, the air thick with shock and disbelief. The townspeople that had been so eager for a show now stand frozen, eyes wide, faces pale.

The man gasps one last breath, then goes still.

Logan stares at the body at his feet, his claws still extended, still dripping with the man’s blood. His chest heaves, his breath shallow, and he mutters under his breath, barely audible, "Oh god… Not again."

You rush to his side, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Come on, let’s go home."

He doesn’t move. He’s locked in place, staring at the man he’s just killed. His hands tremble, the claws still out, and you can see the raw pain in his eyes as the reality of what’s just happened sinks in.

"I didn’t mean to," he whispers again, his voice cracking. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…"

—

That night, while you're sleeping, Logan makes his decision.

And when you wake up the next day, the space beside you is cold.

The shack feels too quiet, too still. 

All you can do is stare at the empty spot in your bed. You tell yourself that maybe he’s outside, chopping wood or he’s already left for work. But deep down, you know. 

Throwing on your boots, you don’t bother to change out of your nightclothes, and rush outside. His name is the first thing out of your mouth, sharp and desperate. "James! Logan!" Your voice barrels through the small yard, bouncing off the trees and fading into the cool morning air. 

There’s no answer.

Panic grips you as you search the familiar places—around the shack, the small trail he likes to take into the woods, by the creek where he often spends time when he needs to clear his head. There’s no sign of him.

No footprints, no lingering scent. Nothing.

The townspeople stare as you move through the streets. They know what happened. They saw the claws, the blood. And now, they see you—a reminder of the violence that tore through their quiet lives. But you don’t care about their judgment right now. You’re too focused looking for him, too frantic to worry about the whispers that follow in your wake.

"Have you seen him?" you ask one of the miners who had once shared a drink with him, but he shakes his head and pulls away from you, muttering something under his breath. Everybody keeps their distance, their faces closed off, avoiding your gaze. 

By the time the sun climbs higher in the sky, the truth settles in your chest like a heavy stone. He left. You wander the streets a little longer, until exhaustion finally forces you back to the shack.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note. The man who you shared your life with, who you fell in love with, is gone—and he isn’t coming back.

In the days that follow, everything changes. The people who once greeted you with a nod or a smile now avert their eyes when you walk by. They speak in hushed tones, voices thick with suspicion and disdain. 

Nobody cares that you had nothing to do with what happened in the street that night. To them, you’re guilty by association.

It starts slowly, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. Saying thinks like: you knew what Logan was all along, that you hid his secret, allowed him to kill their men. Their anger turns to you, and before long, you become the pariah—cut off, unwelcome, the person responsible for the death of one of their own.

The day they decide to exile you is gray and heavy, the sky thick with the promise of rain. No one has the decency to say it to your face. Instead, you wake to a note slipped under your door, the word leave scrawled across it in angry, uneven letters.

You pack what little belongings you have—a few clothes, some keepsakes from the life you left behind at the Howlett estate—and sling a small bag over your shoulder. Then, you walk away without looking back.

Stretching out before you is a desolate, abandoned looking road. Your legs ache with every step, your feet blistering inside your boots, but you don’t stop. The memories of Logan, the town, the life you tried to build together swirl in your mind.

The sound of a a horse whinnying pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see a carriage approaching. The coachman—a man with kind eyes and a weathered face—slows as he pulls alongside you. His voice soft and cautious as he asks, "Need a ride?"

Nodding, you’re too exhausted to respond with words, and climb into the passenger seat. He doesn’t ask many questions, sensing perhaps that you’re a soul in need of silence more than conversation. He drives in quiet companionship, the horses' feet against the dirt the only sound breaking the stillness.

He takes you to the nearest town, dropping you off with a quiet wish for better days ahead. You thank him and give him a few coins. You’re standing on the edge of a new beginning, unsure of where to go next but knowing, with painful certainty, that the past is behind you now.

—

In this new place, you slowly begin to rebuild what you’ve lost. It isn’t easy—there are nights when the loneliness threatens to swallow you whole and days when the weight of losing your best friend feels too much to bear. Still, you find work at a small shop, rent a modest room in the quieter part of town, and painstakingly, you carve out a new existence. 

Though no matter how hard you try to move forward, he’s always there. A shadow, lingering in the corners of your mind. You can’t forget him—the way he looked at you with those intense, searching eyes, the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, the way he left without a word. Your entire childhood, your early adulthood, revolved around him. He was the best part of your life. Every moment spent with him was cherished, imprinted in your memory like a brand you can’t erase.

Nights are the hardest. When the world is quiet, and it’s just you and your thoughts, that’s when the ache becomes unbearable. Each night, your mind drifts back to him. You tell yourself it wasn’t his fault—he must have believed he was protecting you by leaving. 

Maybe he thought you would hate him for killing another man with his claws, for unleashing the violence he tried so hard to contain. Maybe he thought you could never forgive him.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize: if he truly believed that, then he didn’t know you at all.

And that hurts. A lot.

You start to feel like him in some ways, burdened by secrets and anger with nowhere to go. More often than not, you slip out of the town in your nightgown and into the nearby forest, hoping the solitude will offer some kind of peace. It doesn’t, not really, but it’s better than suffocating in your room, choking on memories of what was and what could have been.

—

A year passes since the night he left, and you find yourself standing among the trees once again, lost in thought. It’s not fair—none of it is. You lost everything, and for what? Because you loved him? Because you could look past his mutation?

All of the emotions you’ve done a decent job at managing bubble to the surface, a torrent of grief and rage with nowhere to go. Mindlessly, you draw back your fist and slam it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The impact shoots a sharp pain through your arm, but it’s fleeting, drowned out by the rush of anger. You pull back to punch the tree again, harder this time, desperate for some kind of release.

But the tree doesn’t just splinter. It explodes. 

The force of your punch obliterates the trunk, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. You stagger back, staring at the destruction, stunned. What was just a tall, beautiful arbor is now reduced to nothing but rubble, the strength of your blow far beyond anything a normal person could achieve.

Your breath hitches when it dawns on you. You’re standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the evidence of your newfound power. You aren’t just grieving the loss of Logan anymore; you’re discovering that you are, just like him, a mutant.

Except, unlike him, you’re alone.

He’s not here to hold you, to help you make sense of what’s happening. He’s not here to run away with you like you once ran away with him. You have no one to share this terrifying revelation with. You have only yourself.

Looking down at your trembling hands, the faint ache in your knuckles nothing compared to the pain in your chest. It’s as if your heart is breaking all over again.

If you had known—if you had discovered this power when he was still with you—would things have been different? Would he have taken you with him? Would you still be together?

You can’t stop the questions, can’t silence the what-ifs that plague you.

Finally, the dam breaks, and you cry.

Pressing your fists against your eyes, you try to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use. The grief crashes over you in waves as the life you tried to build together all plays out in your mind like some twisted, unending loop.

—

The days bleed into one another.

Each is marked by the slow, steady march of time. You continue to live, to survive, but the discovery of your mutant powers changes everything, setting you on a path you had never imagined.

You learn that you can channel energy through your body, whether that be your emotions, or external, and then amplify it for your own gain. It’s a power that protects you, that makes you feel invincible, but the more you use it, the more distant you become from the life you once knew. 

And then there’s the other side of your mutation—the ability to heal others by absorbing their injuries. 

The first time you did it, it was an accident. 

You were closing up shop, and as you walked along the cobblestone roads, you saw a man lying face down. Instinctively, you quickened your pace, and crouched down beside him. Was he drunk? Dead? Gently, almost hesitantly, you reached out, placing your hand on his back with the faint hope that he was simply unconscious. Your intention was simple—just to check if he was breathing, to see if he would stir at your touch.

But the moment your fingers brushed his coat, a violent surge of pain exploded in your mind, like a thunderclap within your skull. The agony was so sudden, so sharp, that it nearly knocked you off your feet. 

It was more than pain—it was as though the man’s suffering had become yours, pulling you into his darkness. Your vision blurred, and for an instant, you could feel it. Blood. Hot and sticky, trickling down your forehead in a slow, steady stream. You raised a trembling hand to wipe it away, expecting to feel the warmth of it on your fingertips.

But there was nothing. No blood. No wound.

Just the phantom sensation of pain that wasn’t your own.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. You blinked, gasping for air, trying to steady yourself. When you looked down at the man again, he was stirring, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, as if waking from a long sleep. He looked up at you, confused but grateful, oblivious to the power you had just unleashed.

It feels like a curse, the pain of others transferring to you in ways that leave you gasping for breath. But over time, you learn to control it, to take on only as much as you can handle, and to let the rest fade away.

You never stay too long in one place. Town after town, you move, always careful to keep your powers hidden. The people you encounter are kind enough, but you never allow yourself to get close. You can’t afford to—not when the memory of him still haunts you, his absence a constant ache in your heart. 

What if they leave you too?

Every now and then, there are some nights of passion with a stranger, but you never find another lover, never allow yourself to even consider it. 

As the years slip by, and you move through life like a ghost, always on the fringes, never fully there. In the beginning, you don’t notice it—time is something you stopped paying attention to long ago. But then, one day, nearly ten years after he left, you catch sight of yourself in a mirror.

Your reflection stares back at you, unchanged, unmarked by the years that have passed. It’s as if time has forgotten you, leaving you suspended in a state of perpetual youth. This knowledge—that you could live indefinitely—fills you with a sense of purpose you haven’t felt in years.

So, when the First World War breaks out, you volunteer as a nurse, determined to use your abilities to save as many lives as you can. The troops who come to you are broken, their bodies ravaged by the horrors of war. You take their pain into yourself, healing them with a touch, until there is nothing left but faint scars—a reminder of what they have survived.

It’s during the Second World War that you first hear the rumours. Injured men speak in hushed tones of a man they saw—a soldier who seemed invincible, fighting with a ferocity that borders on the inhuman. They talk of claws—long, sharp claws that can cut through anything, and a healing ability that allows him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else.

Could it be him? Could he still be out there, after all these years?

You dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. It can’t be. He would be dead by now, just like everyone else from your past. 

He is gone, and you are alone—that’s the truth you’ve come to accept.

—

Somewhere along the way, you meet Charles Xavier. You don’t know how, but he knows you. He knows you’re a mutant—how you helped in the war. And he wants you to join his team.

You’ve spent so long on your own, relying on your powers to survive, that the idea of joining a team feels foreign, almost impossible. But there’s something in his eyes, something in the way he speaks of his vision for the future, that resonates with you. This isn’t just about survival—it’s about making a difference, about using your powers to protect those who can’t protect themselves. 

And, perhaps, it’s also about finding closure.

Maybe you can help mutants who struggle with their identity, like he did. Maybe this time, you can stop them from running away from themselves, the way you wish you could have stopped him.

So you agree.

And when you arrive at the mansion, you’re introduced to the others who will become your teammates—Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Ororo Munroe.

The early days are challenging. Learning to work as a team, to trust one another, isn’t easy, especially for you, after so many years of solitude. But a camaraderie that develops between all of you, and it feels right. You’re no longer just a group of shunned mutants—you’re a family, united by a common goal.

—

This mission is supposed to be simple—investigate a remote facility rumoured to have ties to illegal mutant experimentation. Charles had briefed the team before sending you out, warning that there might be danger but nothing you couldn’t handle as a group. You’ve faced threats before, so when you arrive at the facility, it’s with the usual caution but no real alarm.

The structure looks forsaken at first glance, the exterior covered in years of grime, windows cracked and dark. But as you all approach, something feels wrong. There’s an energy in the air, a hum of activity beneath the surface. You can sense it, and by the looks of the others, they feel it too.

“We should be careful,” Scott mutters lowly as his hand hovers near his visor.

Jean furrows her brows. “I’m sensing...something. There are people here. This place isn’t empty”

Your stomach twists, and once the team cautiously makes its way deeper into the facility, you start to hear it—the muffled sounds of machinery, the low hum of voices, and then...a scream.

You freeze.

You’ve heard that scream before, in the dead of night, in memories you’ve tried to bury.

James.

Without thinking, you push forward, your body moving on instinct as you race toward the source of the sound. The others call after you, but their voices fade into the background as panic claws at your chest.

The scream grows louder, more desperate, until you burst into a large chamber. And there, in the center of the room, suspended in a tank of bubbling liquid, he is.

His body is thrashing against the restraints that bind him, wires and tubes connected to his skin. Machines whir around him, injecting something into his body—something molten, silvery. 

A team of scientists in lab coats and armed guards surround the tank, all of them focused on the cruel procedure unfolding before your eyes.

You can barely breathe. The sight of him, after all these years—being tortured like this is too much. Pain and rage surge through you, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re moving again.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you scream.

The guards whirl toward you, but you’re already on them. The first one goes down with a single blow, your fist connecting with his chest and sending him flying into the wall. You barely register his body crumpling to the floor before you move on to the next. 

Behind you, Jean and Scott rush in, their powers flashing as they help subdue the remaining guards, but your focus is on the man in the tank, whose eyes are squeezed shut in pain, body convulsing. You can’t think straight—you can only feel the overwhelming need to make this stop, to save him before the experiment finishes. 

But it’s too late.

In a roar of destruction, he breaks free from the tank, glass and metal exploding outward in every direction. His eyes are wild, erratic, his mind lost to the pain and the transformation—he’s a force of nature now. A whirlwind of violence and fury.

You try to reach him, but Jean steps forward, her eyes glowing as she raises a hand. “I’m sorry,” she strains. Her telekinetic force slams into him, knocking him off his feet, and his body crumples to the ground, unconscious, the rage finally quieted.

Standing there, panting, your hands are shaking as you stare at his still form. You’re overwhelmed—by the sight of him after so many years, by the pain of seeing him like this, by the fear that you might lose him before you even got him back.

Scott places a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle. “We need to get him out of here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and together, the team lifts Logan’s unconscious body and carries him out of the facility. The entire time, you keep your eyes on him, terrified that if you look away for even a second, he’ll disappear. When you finally make it back to the jet, Jean lays him on a stretcher, her powers keeping him sedated for the trip back to the X-Mansion. You sit beside him, your hand hovering just above his, too afraid to touch, too afraid to hope.

The jet lifts off, and your mind races with a thousand questions. 

How did he end up here? Why did they do this to him? 

But above all, one thought consumes you: He’s alive.

After all these years, after all the heartache and loss, Logan—James—is still here.

—

He remains unconscious for three days, his body healing from the horrific procedure he endured. You barely leave his side, watching over him as if your presence alone could somehow anchor him back to himself. His breathing is steady, but his face—it’s both exactly the same and entirely foreign to you. He looks like the man you’ve known and loved, but it’s what is on the inside that worries you.

You swallow hard, your gaze tracing the familiar lines on his skin. Where are you, James? you think. Are you still in there?

Jean had done a body scan soon after you brought him back to the mansion, and the results confirmed your worst fears: they’ve bound adamantium to his bones and buried his personality underneath the most powerful brainwashing you’ve ever heard of.

It’s devastating. Whatever relief you’d felt—if any at all—at finding him alive is now eclipsed by the crushing reality of what he’s become.

The day he is scheduled to wake, Charles calls a meeting. The team gathers in the briefing room, and you sit quietly in your chair, replaying everything that led up to this moment.

Following a seemingly endless stretch of silence from you, Charles clears his throat. “If you’re ready, perhaps you could tell us more about your history with him. It might help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

A deep breath fills your lungs as your hands clutch the table’s edge tightly. Talking about him, about everything you’ve been through together, feels like peeling at old wounds that never really healed. But you know it’s necessary. If anyone is going to help him, they need to know the truth.

“I met Logan—James, as I used to call him—over a hundred years ago, when I was very young” you begin, and you can see the surprise ripple through the room at the admission of your age. “We grew up together. My parents were servants at the Howlett estate, and I spent most of my childhood by his side. He was my best friend… and eventually, he became so much more.” Your voice cracks, and you pause for a moment, collecting yourself.

“After a tragedy involving his family, we ran away together. We lived in a small mining town for years, trying to find some semblance of a life, but things fell apart. He left, and I—I spent years trying to forget him, but I never could. He was—is—everything to me."

Jean leans forward. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you,” she says softly. “But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that when he wakes up… he may not be the man you remember, and not just because of how much time passed.”

You look up at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Charles before continuing. “The brainwashing they used on him wasn’t just designed to make him forget. It was meant to strip away his sense of self entirely. His mind was… broken down, piece by piece. What you saw back at the facility—his rage, his lack of control—that’s what’s left of him right now.”

Hank speaks next. “We’ll do everything we can to help him, but Jean’s right. You need to be ready for the possibility that he won’t recognize you. He might not even recognize himself.”

Nodding slowly, your heart sinks further and further with each word. 

“We have tools, ways to work through the brainwashing,” he continues, “but it will take time. And patience.”

“Time,” you echo quietly. “I’ve already waited so long.”

Ororo reaches across the table, her hand hovering near yours. “I know this is overwhelming. But you don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help.”

“I need to see him,” you whisper, your voice firmer than before. “When he wakes up, I need to be there.”

Charles nods gently. “Of course.”

—

When he finally stirs, it’s not a gentle awakening. His whole body jerks, his head whipping around in wild confusion. His breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, and his eyes dart frantically across the room, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, and just as his eyes finally land on you, he freezes.

And for a long moment, neither of you speak.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you wait with a bated breath for some flicker of recognition in his eyes, some sign that he remembers you—that he knows you.

But it never comes.

Instead, his gaze narrows, studying you. “Where the hell am I?” he grunts. “And who are you?”

It hurts more than you expected. You knew this might happen—Jean and Charles had warned you—and you thought you had prepared yourself, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. 

He doesn’t remember you. 

“Just take it easy,” you manage to say softly. “You’ve been through a lot, James.”

His eyes flicker with confusion as he shifts in the bed, wincing at the movement. "James?" he questions.

You quickly correct yourself. "Logan."

His hand instinctively goes to his chest, fingers brushing against his side as if testing for wounds that aren’t there anymore. “What is this place?” he asks again. 

“You’re at the X-Mansion,” you explain. “You were... rescued. We brought you here to heal.”

“Rescued.” he repeats dryly. “From what?”

You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. How do you explain everything—the horrors of Weapon X, the brutal experiments, the torture that nearly destroyed him? You can’t even bring yourself to speak the full truth, not yet. 

“You were taken,” you say carefully. “By people who wanted to use you for something terrible. But we got to you before they could. You’re safe now.”

Logan lets out a short, bitter laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Safe,” he mutters, his voice low and sarcastic. “Right.” He rubs a hand across his face.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing somethin’?” he mutters, his irritation growing. “Like... like there’s something important I should remember.”

Swallowing hard, your heart twists at his words. He is missing something. But you won’t tell him that now. He’s already grappling with so much, and the last thing he needs is the weight of your shared past thrust upon him before he’s ready.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. “It’s... normal to feel confused right now.”

Frowning, he runs a hand through his hair. “Like I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I know it’s hard to understand,” you say softly. “But it’ll get better. You’ll remember in time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if he’s searching for answers that aren’t there. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes returning to yours. “Alright. Who are you, really?” he asks. “Why do I feel like I should know you?”

Because we grew up together. 

Because we were everything to each other. 

Because you were the one person I never stopped loving. 

“Just focus on resting,” you say, forcing a soft smile. 

He studies you briefly, as if trying to figure out whether or not to trust you. Then finally, he nods, thought you can tell he’s still wary “Yeah... okay.”

The awkward silence returns. 

“I should go,” you murmur, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet room. “You need rest.”

He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t ask you to stay. He just watches as you turn toward the door, and leave.

Your chest tightens painfully as you walk out of the room, the familiar ache of loss settling in once more. It’s worse this time, though—worse because he’s alive, and yet, in every way that matters, he’s gone.

You leave the room in a daze, your mind swirling with a storm of emotions. Your feet carry you down the hall, and before you realize what’s happening, you find yourself in the washroom. 

The moment the door clicks shut, your stomach lurches. You barely make it a toilet before you’re retching. Tears sting your eyes, and you brace yourself against the cold porcelain, gasping for breath as your body shakes with sobs.

Standing up and flushing, you walk over to the sink, and press your forehead against the mirror. How did it come to this? You found him, after all these years, but the person in that bed isn’t the Logan—it isn’t the James—you once knew. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to pull yourself together. It's not the time to breakdown, you think, and after splashing some water on your face, you turn toward the exit.

Pushing open the door, you’re met with the familiar gaze of Ororo. She stands in the hallway, her white hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes filled with something that feels like both understanding and pity.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard, not expecting to see anyone, least of all her.

“I saw you come in here,” she whispers empathetically, “but thought you might need a moment.”

You pause, trying to blink away the redness in your eyes, trying to pretend you’re stronger than you feel. But she sees through it. She always has.

“I’m fine,” you say, the words slipping out automatically.

Stepping closer, her gaze softens as she studies your face. “No,” she disagrees, “you’re not.”

The vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep at bay rushes forward again, threatening to swallow you whole. You open your mouth to argue, to brush it off, but the moment you meet her eyes, the words die in your throat. The pity, the compassion—it’s too much.

Silently, she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. It’s a small gesture, but it feels grounding.

“I saw him,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “He doesn’t remember me.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry.” 

—

The next few days are a blur. You keep yourself busy—too busy—hoping that constant movement will keep the gnawing ache at bay. If you let yourself stop, if you let yourself think about what’s happened, the hurt would consume you, so you don’t stop.

Most of your time is spent in your room or the garden, taking refuge in the places where you can hide from everything, everyone.

Sometimes, you train, pushing your body past its limits in a desperate attempt to silence your thoughts. Every hit you land, every punch you throw, never feels like enough.

It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Easier to avoid him, to pretend he never came back into your life. Because the alternative—watching him live here, knowing he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t understand what you once shared—that’s too painful.

You’d rather pretend he’s still a memory than face the reality that the man you love is here, but not really.

When you walk through the mansion, you see him from afar. You can’t help but notice how he’s begun to soften around the others, how the confused man who woke up in that bed is slowly adjusting to life at the mansion. He has daily appointments with Charles, who you imagine is sifting through his mind, doing his very best to retrieve something, anything.

While there is still a distance in his eyes, still a guarded edge to him, but you can see the small shifts—the way he listens when someone speaks, the faintest hint of a smile when Hank tries to crack a joke.

And sometimes, your eyes meet.

From across the room, you’ll catch him watching you. In those moments, your heart skips a beat, wondering if there’s a reason why he’s zeroed in on you specifically, but then he looks away, and it passes. You never approach him, never ask him how he’s feeling or if he’s starting to remember anything. You’re too afraid of the answer.

One night, you sit in the garden, letting the soft breeze play with your hair, eyes closed. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyelids flutter, and as you turn, your heart jolts upon seeing Logan standing at above you. And momentarily, it’s like you’re teenagers again—sneaking out at night into the gardens to talk. 

“Sure,” you nod, gently patting the space beside you, as you always did. 

He steps closer and sits down, though not without leaving a small space between the two of you. “I’ve been seeing you around,” he says after a beat.. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze focused on the flowers in front of him. “But... you’ve been avoidin’ me, haven’t you?”

A small laugh escapes you, bitter and self-deprecating. “You noticed, huh?”

“Yeah, not much gets past me. Even that one guy’s attempts at being a leader.”

Despite yourself, you snort. “Scott?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s too easy. Guy looks like a human stoplight with those stupid glasses.”

You bite back a snicker, feeling like a teenager again. The banter, the lighthearted teasing—it makes it seem like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left of the man you knew.

He turns his head slightly, his expression growing more serious. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure it out,” he says, quieter now. “Why it feels like something’s missing. Every time I see you... I know you’re related to it.”

Shifting a little to look at him, you take in the way his facial hair is a little bit more kempt, how he still has his hair tufts. You miss him, and he’s right here with you. 

“I... thought it would be easier,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “For both of us. If I kept my distance. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Frowning, his brows furrow as he processes your words. “Add to it? How?”

“Because you don’t remember me,” you say softly. “And I didn’t want to be a reminder of something you can’t recall.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, “you’re right. I don’t remember everything,” he says slowly, “but I know there’s something about you.”

You nod, your throat tight, but you don’t push him. You know it’s only a matter of time before the pieces fall into place. “You’ll remember,” you whisper. “I know it.”

He grunts. “I don’t want you to keep your distance.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.” The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you, fills you with joy.

—

For the next few weeks, it becomes a quiet routine—the nightly conversations in the garden. It’s like slipping into an old rhythm, the two of you always finding a way to gravitate toward each other once the sun goes down. You talk about small things, but it's never too heavy. Sometimes he teases you, and you tease him back, exchanging sarcastic quips. Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

You’ve started training together too, spending more and more time together each day. It’s almost as if there’s a magnet between you that not even time could weaken.

This night, you’re in the gym together on the sparring mat. It’s the usual scenario playing out—dodging, blocking, throwing punches. He’s fast and strong. And it means a lot to see you see him finally embrace his mutant powers and use them, rather than try to hide and run. 

You’re both breathing hard, the exertion pushing your bodies to their limits. You land a solid kick to his side, and he grunts, stepping back for a moment. Without warning, his claws extend, and your gaze locks in on them.

Of course you know about the adamantium, but seeing it like this, so up close, it’s different. 

“What?” Logan asks, noticing your sudden stillness. His brow furrows, and he glances down at his claws, as if he’s only just realizing they’re out. “What are you staring at?”

“Does it hurt?” you question, clearing your throat. “When they come out?”

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking between you and his claws. “Everytime” he sighs. “But not as much as the old ones.”

Your eyes snap up from his claws to meet his. “... What?” you ask. The old ones?

“They were bone,” he continues, “Hurt like a bitch.”

Your heart starts pounding in your chest. Could this be it? Could he be remembering?

Stepping closer, your voice trembles slightly as you push for more. “What else do you remember?”

His eyes widen, and then he blinks, his stare glazing over for a second, like he’s trying to chase down a memory that’s just out of reach.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits with a bit of frustration. His claws retract, his hand flexing unconsciously as he stares at the empty space where the blades once were. “It’s all bits and pieces. I get these flashes, but nothing sticks. Charles said... he said the barriers in my mind are comin’ down, but it’s slow. Like finding a damn needle in a haystack.”

But the fact that he remembers even a sliver, is enough to fill you with hope.

—

This continues, the small fragments of memories coming back to him. They come unexpectedly, at random times in the day. It’s never anything big, never the full flood of memories you’re hoping for, but each time it happens, it feels like another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

You suggest a walk one afternoon. The mansion has felt a little too closed in lately, and you think maybe the fresh air might help clear his mind. Together, you wander along a little pathway that connects the mansion to a nearby river, the sound of the water in the distance a soothing backdrop as you walk side by side. He’s quiet, more so than usual, and as you glance at him, you notice his expression has grown distant.

“Logan?” you ask softly, nudging his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. His brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle, his thoughts distant, swirling. “I remember…” he starts, his voice quiet, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

Your fingers begin to twitch at your side. Every time he remembers something, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if he’ll fall into the past, if this will be the moment he remembers it all.

“A cabin,” he says finally, his voice rough but certain. “There was a shack. In a small town. I used to stay there.”

You nod, urging him to continue, anticipated building within your chest. “Go on.”

“It was small. Cold most of the time. But I don’t think I cared.” He lets a chuckle. “I liked it. Felt... peaceful.”

You can’t help but smile a little at the memories he’s bringing up. His steps falter, and he stops in the middle of the path, turning to look at you. “Mining,” he mutters, as if the word itself is triggering something. “I remember mining.”

“That’s good,” you say. ‘I’m happy for you.”

—

The memories keep coming.

You’re in the mansion, passing through one of the long hallways together on your way to eat, when he suddenly stops, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. You turn, concern flooding through you. “Are you okay? What is it?”

He frowns, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to force something into focus. “There was a girl.”

“A girl?” you repeat, not wanting to push him but unable to stop the question from spilling out.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “In a big house—like a mansion, I think. We'd play together. She was... she was always following me around. Always gettin’ into trouble.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Do you remember her name?” 

Shaking his head, you can see the frustration etched onto his face. “No. But she must have been important, I can feel it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try to hold yourself together. It was me, you want to say. That little girl was me.

“It’s okay,” you say instead, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You’ll remember. You’re already so close.”

He looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—answers, reassurance. Once a few seconds pass, he sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” he grumbles lowly. “With me.”

“Because I know you,” you whisper back. 

To have a chance at another lifetime with him, you’d put up with anything. 

—

He’s busy with Jean and Charles this morning, the duo having started to work together last week, trying to finally break down the wall stopping Logan from recovering his memories. With nothing else to occupy you, you’ve retreated to the mansion’s library, seeking solace in the endless rows of books. The familiar smell of paper and ink is comforting, and for a while, you manage to lose yourself in the words on the page. 

You’re curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, a book resting in your lap, when your ears pick up the sound of heavy footsteps—fast, purposeful, ringing out through the mansion’s quiet halls.

Concern rises in your chest. Those footsteps aren’t casual; someone is rushing, and you’ve been around long enough to know that in here, that usually means something’s wrong.

Setting the book down on the small table beside you, you stand and head toward the entrance of the library. The sound grows louder, the footsteps coming closer, and just as you reach the doorway, you collide with a solid wall of muscle.

"Ho—holy sh—" you gasp, stumbling back, startled. Your hands fly to steady yourself, and you look up, wide-eyed, to see Logan standing there. "Logan, you scared m—"

“James.”

You still. 

"What?" you whisper, your mind racing as you stare at him. His face is different—not just the usual irritated-by-himself expression he’s been wearing lately, but something else. There’s a certainty in his eyes, relief and maybe even—

“My name is James,” he repeats. “I was born in Alberta. We grew up together. I... I killed my father.” His voice falters slightly at that, but he pushes through, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “You were the little girl in the mansion. You’ve always been there. And I—” His eyes brim with emotion. “I love you.”

The words slam into you, leaving you breathless. You can feel the blood drain from your face, your heart jumping so hard it feels like it might burst. “You... you remember?” You’re barely able to get the words out.

Logan—James—stares at you. “I remember everything.”

A sob escapes your throat, and you throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the floodgates open. His arms come around you immediately, holding you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so damn sorry. I should have never left. I should have gone back to find you.”

You shake your head, tears soaking into his shirt. “It doesn’t matter,” your voice breaks. “None of that matters anymore. We’re together now. That’s all I care about.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling. There’s so much love—so much everything—in his eyes, your knees nearly buckle. All you do is hold on to him, as tightly as you can, afraid that if you let go, this moment will slip away.

But it won’t, because he’s really here, he remembers, and he still loves you.

For what feels like hours, you stand there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, you take a small step back, unwrapping your arms and instead grabbing his hands, squeezing them. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He squeezes your hands back in return. “Yeah, we do.”

—

You sniffle, wiping away the last of your tears as you lie in bed with him, pressed so close it feels like you’re trying to merge into one person. His warmth surrounds you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hands drawing small circles. It’s like all the years apart never happened, like you’re finally back where you’re meant to be.

“So, what made it all come back to you?” you ask softly, your voice a bit hoarsefrom all the crying you’ve done in the last hour.

James takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. “I guess having two strong telepaths diggin’ around in your mind will do the trick,” he responds. “Shit was brutal, but... worth it.”

Tilting his head down, he presses a small kiss to your temple. If even possible, you nestle yourself further into his hold. 

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whisper. “All those years... I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same for me. Thought I lost you too,” James murmurs, his hand running gently up and down your back. “After I left the cabin, I tried to forget. Tried to convince myself you were better off without me, but...” He trails off. “I was wrong—a coward. I shouldn’t have been runnin’ away. Especially from you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “What did you do all those years? Where did you go?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “I wandered. For a long time, I didn’t stay in one place. Fought when I had to, drank when I couldn’t forget. Got into a lot of trouble.” He grimaces slightly. 

You frown. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where people like me aren’t supposed to be walking free,” he remarks bitterly. “I gave into the monster I thought I was.”

His words sink in, and you can feel the toll those years took on him, the way they left him scarred, not just physically, but emotionally. “It must have been so hard,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Living like that, without... anyone.”

Leaning into your touch, “Yeah,” he admits. “It was. But... I didn’t know how to live any other way. Not after everything that happened.”

There’s a long pause, the two of you lying there, bodies tangled together as you both process the weight of what’s been lost and what’s been found. Then, he kisses the inside of your hand, looking at you with a faint, curious smile.

“What about you?” he asks softly, tugging you closer. “When did you... ya know, find out you were a mutant?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really talked about that part of your life to anyone, at least not in detail. 

“I didn’t know for about a year,” you begin. “After you left, I was... lost. And then one day... I punched a tree.”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “A tree?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the memory. “Yeah. I was angry—angry at everything. And when I punched it... the damn thing exploded.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing your words. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “Exploded, huh? Guess that’s one way to find out you’re not normal.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly subtle.”

His smile fades slightly. “What did you do after that?”

Taking a deep breath, you let the memories of those early days as a mutant flood back. “I tried to keep it hidden for a while. Didn’t really know what to do with it. But then... the wars started.”

Eyes narrowing, his expression changes instantly. “The wars?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, the First and Second. I volunteered as a nurse. I figured if I could use my powers to help people, then maybe I could make up for everything I lost. I moved station to station, healing soldiers. I couldn’t save everyone, but I tried.”

He’s momentarily quiet, gaze never leaving yours, even as he processes what you’re telling him. Then, slowly, his features shift into disbelief.

“You were on the frontlines?” His voice low, almost incredulous. He reaches out to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. 

“Yeah. I wanted to make a difference.”

Letting out a sharp breath, James sits up slightly in bed as he stares at you. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “I fought in those wars, too. In the trenches.”

You’re speechless, and the realization washes over you slowly. The whisperings you’d heard from the troops, the rumours you’d chalked up to be nothing more than drunken tales, suddenly come flooding back. A man who couldn’t be killed, who healed from every injury, who fought with claws that could tear through anything.

It was him.

It was always him.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “So it was true…all those rumours about the man who couldn’t die... that was you.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Guess it was.”

All those years, all those battles... and you were both there, so close, yet so far apart. 

“We were so close,” you say, moving forward in to give him a kiss. “And we didn’t even know it.”

He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening. Then, when you pull away, he sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s all so different now,” he begins gruffly. “You’re not the little maid in training anymore, runnin’ around that mansion, worried about getting caught”

You smile faintly at the memories of your younger selves, the girl you used to be, and the boy who was so much more to you than just a young lord. 

“And you’re not sir James Howlett or whatever—Lord—anymore” you tease. “You’ve come a long way from the boy who used to sulk in the garden because he had to attend another dinner party.”

He lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a huff and a laugh “Yeah,” he agrees. “That feels like a lifetime ago. And in a way, I guess it was.”

While neither of you are the same people you once were, in this moment, you can feel that connection—the one that has always been there.

“I’ve thought about you every day,” he speaks up again. “All those years.”

“James…”

“I love you,” he confesses. “And I’ve loved you my whole life. Before we ran away, after I left, even after I thought you were gone... I couldn’t forget. Didn’t want to.” He sucks in a harsh breath, grabbing your hand once more. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. We could’ve figured it out together, but I was so... so damn scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d only hurt you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes again. “You did what you thought was right,” you whisper, intertwining your fingers. “You were scared, and so was I.”

“I wish I could take it all back,” he says, regret bleeding into his tone. “I wish I could’ve been there for you... We could’ve had so many more years together.”

“We have time now,” you say softly, assuring him. “We have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but rather he edges forward, brushing his lips softly against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs before closing the gap completely, kissing you passionately.

You smile against his lips, because while he may be known as logan, or Wolverine, he’s still James.

Your James. 

----

A/N: I'm going to have to either write some crazy smut or excessive fluff now because this took it out of me LOL also I hope none of you got confused with the name switching! Thank you so much for reading <3

[moonstruckme]

Hello icon ✨Could we have a poly!wolfstar x reader where she thinks that they are mad at her for something (or they could actually be a bit miffed) and it just a bit of hurt comfort with cuddles and kisses at the end😔🙏🏻

Thank you for requesting <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re being weird. 

The three of you are doing a puzzle, which usually captivates your attention but never Sirius’, which is how he’s so very aware of how little attention you’re actually paying to the puzzle. You keep glancing at Sirius, at Remus, like you’re nervous about something. You’ve been like this all day. It’s in and out, sometimes waning like you’ve forgotten to be anything but normal, but Sirius has a keen gauge for tension. He can sense it every time it ticks back up.

You’re pretending to look for sky pieces, though Sirius suspects you forgot what color the sky in your puzzle was a while ago. He feels like you’re building to something, and it makes his skin itch. Remus is too absorbed in his tree bark pieces to notice—the nerd—so it’s up to Sirius to get it out of you. Luckily, James has always said that Sirius is a master of tact. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

You were halfway to sneaking another glance at him, and you react as though you’ve been struck, jumping a little where you sit on the rug by the coffee table. “What? Nothing.” 

“Well, that was very believable.” Sirius smiles to take some of the bite out of it. “Come on, you have me on the edge of my seat. What’s got you all worked up?” 

“I am not worked up,” you insist, though your expression says otherwise. 

Remus appears confused, but he notices your guilty eyes as well. “What’s happening?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say again. 

“Clearly something,” Sirius counters. 

Your lips press together, corners downturnt. You’re not looking at either of them.

“Hey.” Sirius softens his voice. “What is it? You’re freaking me out, babe.”  

This only seems to distress you further. “I wanted you not to freak out,” you say.

“Sweetheart, about what?” Now Remus sounds worried too, though the look he gives you is more patient than anything Sirius could ever manage. He ducks his head to catch your gaze. 

After a moment of looking at him, your shoulders droop. “Okay.” Your voice has quieted. “Just a second.” 

Sirius’ anxiety ratchets as you stand, going down the hall towards your room. 

“Why does it feel like she’s going to bring us back a school report?” he murmurs to Remus. 

Remus shakes his head, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “No idea.” 

When you return, it is with papers, though Sirius doesn’t at first know what they are. 

“This came this morning,” you say in that same resigned voice, laying them down on the coffee table as you sit back down next to Sirius.

With Sirius and Remus on opposite sides they can’t both read the text at once, and Remus picks them up first. Sirius spots you bringing your hand to your mouth and reaches for it silently, drawing it away before you can start chewing your fingernails. Your nervousness is making him nervous. He pushes his thumb up the lines of your palm. 

“Oh,” Remus hums. 

“Remus,” Sirius says, in a tone that clearly communicates if somebody doesn’t start talking I’m going to throw a wobbly. 

“It’s the gas bill,” says Remus. He’s making his old man face, where he leans away slightly and squints like he needs glasses. Ordinarily Sirius would tease him for it, but he’s not in the mood. “Bit high.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say in a small voice. 

Sirius looks at you. Frowning, your hand still trapped in his. “Why are you sorry?” 

“Is this…” One glance at Remus, and it’s clear Sirius is now the one lagging in understanding. “Is this because you left the oven on?” 

Your expression says enough. 

Oh, well. In fairness, Sirius had thrown a bit of a wobbly over that. 

It was weeks ago. You made cookies just before bed. They were warm, gooey, the perfect precursor to sleep and an excellent excuse, in Sirius’ opinion, to trade chocolate-flavored kisses until all three of you were snoozing on your pillows. It hadn’t been until he and Remus were making breakfast the next morning that Remus smelled the gas. You’d come out of the bedroom, confused, to find them throwing open windows and calling the fire department for advice. Your gas oven had been left on all night. 

You felt awful. Your boyfriends gave you an appropriate amount of shit for it, but it was only thoughtless, not malicious. Your apartment hadn’t blown up. The smell drifted away within a few minutes, and in all honesty Sirius was left feeling a bit bad that what began as you trying to make them all happy had resulted in you being so thoroughly chastised. But it had been let go. 

Until now, evidently. 

“I can pay it,” you offer meekly. “The difference, or all of it.” 

Remus sighs, rubbing his brow. “Dove…” 

“Let me see that.” Sirius reaches with the hand not holding yours. Remus gives it to him. He finds the total quickly. “This isn’t even that high.” 

Okay, it’s a bit high. But genuinely, Sirius was expecting worse. 

“It’s my fault,” you mumble. 

“Baby, is this what you’re all wound up about?” Sirius sets the papers down to gawk at you. “Really? I thought something happened.” 

You’re shrinking, your hand tense in his. “Something did happen.” 

“Yeah, a whole month ago!” 

“Sirius,” Remus murmurs, in a tone Sirius knows to mean you’re not helping. He asks you, “Did you think we would be angry with you?” 

Spiderweb cracks spread through your expression. Your mouth wobbles. 

“Oh, you absolute moron.” Sirius grabs for you with both hands, hauling you into his lap. 

“Pads.”

“You ridiculous, sweet idiot.” He kisses your head. Once, twice, three times. “Why’d you have to go and get all worked up? You got me worked up, silly thing.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say weakly. 

“Alright, that’s enough apologizing,” Remus says gently. Underneath the coffee table, a socked foot bumps into Sirius’ leg before presumably finding yours. Sirius grins. Remus is tactile in the oddest ways sometimes. Like a cat. 

He loves you both so very much. God, you really had him going. He feels liable to squeeze the life out of you. 

He satiates the urge by kissing you all over your face until you look significantly less upset. You look at Sirius with tentative relief, the beginnings of a smile curled up in the corner of your mouth. 

He’s about to ask you again how you could be so stupid, but Remus speaks first. Probably for the best. 

“It really won’t be so much more for each of us once we split it,” he says, looking again at the bill. 

That guilty look is back on your face. Sirius gives you a squeeze in hopes of banishing it. “I can get it,” you say. “It wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t been so…if I hadn’t left the oven on.” 

“You don’t need to punish yourself,” Remus tells you. “It’s all right.” 

You fidget. “I feel like you should probably be angrier with me.” 

“We already have been angry with you,” Sirius points out. “We got over it. Time to move on, babe.” 

“It was a mistake.” Remus’ gaze is steady. Knowing. “It was scary, but it happens. You shouldn’t be angry at yourself for us, lovely.” 

You look to be gnawing the inside of your lip. “Are you sure?” you ask. 

Sirius scoffs. “I can be angry without anyone’s help, thank you.” Then, at your wary look, “But I’m not angry about this.” 

Slowly, the tension Sirius has been sensing seeps out of you. You relax in a way you haven’t all day long. 

Remus notices, too. “Sweetheart,” he sighs, in a soft, fond voice. “Talk to us next time, okay?” 

“I know, sorry.” You give him a sheepish look. “I was going to. I just really thought you’d be upset.” 

“Yeah, well.” Sirius kisses your head, sharing an eye roll with Remus. “Shows what you know.”

[saturnscafe]

͙˚ ༘✶Big Bad Wolf | Werewolf Boyfriend? (Female Reader)

Smut Below

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this. It’s a little longer than I anticipated however I just adore it. I hope you all will enjoy it as well!

-🪐

He was known as the as the asshole of the college. Always picking fights and going after anyone who even dared breathe in his direction. He stood tall, muscular with scars that decorated his face and arms. His wolf ears standing at attention but not listening to anything that was around him. Everyone avoided him like the plague even you. However today had other plans.

You were sprinting down the hall, trying to get away from some asshole who couldn’t take no for an answer. When you ran face first into his broad chest. He was ready to say something to you until he saw the other man that trailed behind you. He grabbed you by the waist moving you to behind him before locking eyes with the other guy.

“Get lost” he said in annoyance. The other guys eyes looked over at you then back at him. Was he really willing to pick this fight?

“Dude Kyzer relax, just- just let me get my girl and we can forget any of this happened” the man said trying to grab for you.

Before you knew it he had the guys arm twisting it. “I said.” He growled. “Get lost”. His grip on his arm tightened nails digging in before pushing him away. The other man admitted defeat walking back with his tail between his legs.

Kyzer looked at you glaring down at your shaken body. “You good?” He asks surprising you even more. You don’t respond though, mind still in flight mode. He placed his hand under your chin lifting it up to look at him “hello? Are you good?” He said sternly.

You quickly nod snapping back to reality “yeah- yeah I’m good, sorry. Uhm- thank you.” You rambled out. You swear you saw a smile creep on his face but it was quickly gone.

He cleared his throat “if he tries anything again uhm?” He said hinting at you to tell him your name.

“Oh, uhm y/n” you said.

“If he tries anything again y/n, you come to me yeah? I’ll put his ass in the ground” he said with a twisted grin before walking off.

What was that? Was he actually nice? Or did you just catch him on a good day? No matter you went about your day. Going home and studying before getting the idea to bake him something to say thank you. Maybe he wasn’t so bad? Maybe this could be a way to get him to open up? But why did you want that? You scratched your brain, shit- did you like him? No, no that’s crazy. You still baked him something treats to take to him, hopefully he liked cookies.

The next day, you found him in his usual spot. Sitting at the tree while he ate his lunch. He looked peaceful as he ate, listing to some music and flipping through a book. You were so nervous to approach him but you did. Tapping him on the shoulder he turned his head quick. Ready to scream at whoever dared to disturb his peace. Until he noticed it was you, he tilted his head a bit like a puppy.

“Sorry for bothering you- I- uhm- made you these. As a thank you” you said sheepishly handing him the small container of cookies. He blinked, processing what you just said. No one’s ever really shown him much kindness. Even for doing something good like he had for you. So to say he was taken aback was an understatement.

“You made these for me?” He asked repeating your words.

You nod smiling at him shyly. “Yeah, if it wasn’t for you I- I don’t know what would have happened” you admit.

He felt his cold heart warm, pounding so loud he thought you could hear it. He looked over your face trying to read you. Fuck were you this cute yesterday? “Thank you” he said taking the container. He opened it right away the smell of the cookies making him sigh happily. “They smell delicious” he said smiling down at them.

He’s smiling? He’s smiling! Your heart skipped a beat seeing his pretty smile. Those sharp pearly whites of his made your body warm. Your face must have been red cause he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re cute” he said. It slipping past his lips before he could even stop himself. The compliment only making your face turn more red.

“I- uhm- thank you” you said feeling like you could puke at any second from the butterflies. “You’re not so bad yourself” you said with a smile.

His face started turning red, before he quickly turned away. “You uhm- you like movies?” He asked feeling stupid at his question. When you nodded his words came out fast “you wanna watch a movie later?” Fuck why’d he say that, his place was a wreck.

“Sure!” You said smiling like a dummy. “I just got a new system, we could watch it at my place?” You said.

“Cool, cool. What’s your number? So uhm- I can get your address” he said trying to play it cool. After exchanging numbers your alarm for your next class goes off making you jump. “I’m guessing no horror movies if you jump that bad from a phone” he teased.

You rolled your eyes “I’m gonna be late, I’ll text you my address. 7 sound alright?” You ask.

“Perfect” he said.

And you were off, sprinting to your next class.

His mind twirled with the thought of you. Fuck what did he get himself into? He doesn’t talk to many people nor has he ever had an actual relationship let alone a date. Sure he’s had his share of hook ups but that’s about as deep as it went. What the hell was he gonna do?

When the time came he stood outside your door taking a deep breath before knocking. When you answered his heart raced, here you were in sweats and a hoodie. How the hell did you look so good? When he walked in the smell of you overflowed him almost making him dizzy. You guided him into the living room where you had a bunch of blankets on your pool out. You were gonna be on a pull out bed. A bed. The two of you. His cock twitched in his pants at the mere thought of it.

“I’m sorry my place is a bit of a mess, but I got the couch all cozy. Oh and I have a bunch of snacks if you’re hungry” you said with a shy smile. He nodded following you to the pull out, when he sat down the scent of you was even stronger. Probably from all the covers you gathered from your bed. “Wanna watch a horror movie?” You asked flickering through the movies on the tv.

“Sounds goo- wait” he said looking at the screen. “You like that show?” He asked seeing a show you were watching earlier. It being one of your favorites.

“Uh yeah! It’s like one of my favorites I’m rewatching it since the new seasons gonna be coming out” you said smiling.

“No way! It’s one of my favorites, I’m super excited for the new season! I even have a poster of it in my room!” He rambled. It was cute seeing him all excited over something he liked. Seeing his cute smile light up.

“Maybe when the new season comes out we can have a watch party? I’ll make us some dinner and we can binge watch it” you said.

“Sounds perfect” he said back. It felt nice being able to talk to someone. To have something in common with you too.

You both decided on a movie, getting all covered up as it started. He was nervous to move closer to you but you were feeling a bit bold so you Scooted closer. Your shoulder touching now bodies close to one another. The scent of you driving him crazy more so now that he could feel your warmth. He moved his arm, to finally wrap around you “uhm- is this ok?” He said softly.

You nodded “aren’t horror movies the best ones to cuddle up too?” You said laying your head on him.

“Is that why you picked it” he said back in a teasing tone.

“Maybe”

“In that case why don’t we lay down in cuddle hmm? I mean we got this whole bed in all” he said with a smirk.

He was surprised that you instantly moved letting him lay behind you so you could both could watch the movie properly. He took his spot behind you wrapping his arms around you, pulling your body as close as he possibly could. His hand rested on your waist holding you tightly. His mind swirled with your scent god how was this happening to him?

A few minutes passed as you focused on the movie. Being painfully aware of the man behind you as he pressed himself against you. You could feel his girth cock pressing against your ass and you couldn’t help yourself. Grinding back against him, he let out a groan barely audible if it weren’t for him being so close. The sound of him turning you on way more than you thought it would. He didn’t stop you though, letting you rut yourself against him. Finally getting some friction.

His hand that was resting on your waist squeezed at every movement. You could hear faint ‘fucks’ coming from him only driving the want higher. The movement of you paired with the sweet smell of your dripping cunt was becoming too much for him. His hands hooked your at your pants “can I take these off?” He said softly.

You nodded letting him rid you of your sweats and your panties. He pushed his pants down after taking yours off. His big cock springing free finally. You could finally feel how big he truly was, fuck did you want him. His hands glided down your body moving your leg over his. His long fingers pressed against your needy nub making you whimper. His face was nuzzled into the crook of your neck as he licked up it.

His fingers lazy played with your clit before roaming further down. He couldn’t believe how wet you were, how wet you were for him. His fingers finally pushed into your dripping core curling ever so nicely. His movements were just as lazy, his thumb pressing against your clit once more. His mouth watered at the smell of you. He needed to taste you, and he needed to do it right now. With no warning he pulled himself from you quickly moving his body down yours.

He dived into your cunt, tongue quickly pushing into your folds. The moan you let out made his cock twitch. It was already leaking like a faucet ready to be buried inside you. “Fuck you taste even better than those cookies you made me” he said. His hands hooked around your legs pulling you closer to him as he ate you out like a starved animal. His tongue pushed deep inside you twirling around your tight walls. Your hands gripped at anything before gripping at his hair. You tugged on it softly making him groan “pull- ah- harder” he said. Of course you listened, tugging on his hair harshly pushing him somehow deeper into your cunt.

He felt like he was in heaven, fuck this must be heaven. Your cunt clenched around his tongue, knowing you were close he moved his hand to toy with your clit yet again. It didn’t take long after that for you to cum. Your body arched off the bed moans getting trapped in your throat only breathes making it past. He lapped up any of your sweet honey that dared to escape. Licking you clean before moving upwards to you. He kissed you messily. His cock head poking at your entrance.

Without any thoughts you moved yourself down letting his thick cock push into you. The stretch wasn’t bad, in fact the slight pain felt good. “Sh-shit” he moaned against your lips.

“Please- move” you whined out bucking your hips into him. His eyes met yours and what a sight to see. Your eyes were glazed over, cheeks flushed red. Fuck did you look so good. He blinked a second before everything sunk in. Your warm walls squeezing him so tightly. He started to move slowly before picking up speed.

His hands moved down pushing your shirt up. You quickly helped taking it off as he took his off too. He was delighted to see you didn’t even have a bra on either. His hands roamed your plush body, pinching at your perky nipples. He was quickly losing himself in you. His movements were becoming faster as his high was reaching near. “God you feel so fucking good, was this your plan all along huh? Get the big bad wolf all alone in your house to fuck you like a wild animal?” He teased.

“You- ah- you started it. You’re the one that was pressing there big dumb cock against me” you retorted.

“Can’t- can’t help it when you smell so good” he said back.

His movements were slowing down a bit making you whine. “Getting tired already? Need- ah need me to ride you?” You said with a grin. You felt his cock twitch at your words oh he definitely liked that idea. He wrapped his arms around you before lying flat on his back. Your legs straddled him the new position making him feel even deeper. His hands laid on your thighs those sharp nails digging into the soft skin.

As much as he wanted to show you how much of a big bad wolf he was he couldn’t help it. You were just too much for him, he was like some puppy dog that you had wrapped around your finger. When you finally got your feet in a proper spot you started moving. Bouncing up and down on his stupidly big cock. His knot forming as if his against your entrance. He watched as your tits bounced with every movement. His long tongue hung out of his mouth drool pooling with it.

“Fuck- just like that- ah” he moaned out. “Gonna let me knot you? Fuck please let me- need- need to breed you- ah- ah” he was such a mess under you. Your legs shook at the sight of him at his words. An orgasm washed over you without warning. Your body felt almost limp as it laid on top of him.

“I’m yours-“ you said in almost a whisper against his chest but he heard it. Oh boy did he hear it loud and clear. His hands gripped at your ass, fucking up into you with force.

“You’re mine? All mine?” He growled. “Good- all mine to- ah fuck- to breed- to claim- mine- mine” he kept repeating. Your hands that laid on his chest stared to dig in it his toned muscle. The slight pain Only driving him to fuck you harder. “Gonna take it all yeah? Gonna take everything I can give you- you’re mine. Mine.” He said.

“Yours. All yours.” You said softly against him. When those words finally left your lips that was it. He pushed up into you with one final thrust, his knot pushing past your entrance. The feeling alone bringing on another strong orgasm as you felt his balls empty inside you. His head that was nuzzled into your neck moved as he sunk his teeth deep into you. The pain the pleasure the everything of the situation had your mind floating. Your body shook harshly as you felt yourself squirting all over his cock and yourselves.

He let out a low growl holding your body tightly to him. He held you against him as you both came down from the intense orgasms. “You did so well” he almost purred into your ear.

A few minutes of silence mixed with heavy breathing filed the air before he spoke once more. “You really meant it right? That you’re all mine?” He asked sheepishly, afraid you’d take it back.

“I meant every word of it.” You said smiling. You kissed his cheek softly holding tightly to him.

You might have only known him as the asshole of the college but now. You were seeing him for who he truly was. He would let everyone believe he was still this big bad wolf that didn’t take anything from anyone. However when it came to you he was just a sweet overgrown puppy that would do anything for you.

[gothicfied]

hi!! i LOVE your writing! i was wondering if you could write something about dae ho meeting reader in the game, maybe she doesnt speak korean? like theres a whole language barrier thing and he sort of becomes her unofficial translator? something cute like that <3 thank you!!!

Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 with a foreign reader

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x foreign!reader (SEASON 2)

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Mentions of gunshots, killing, death (Typical Squid Game stuff), this is set in Season 2, Reader doesn't have a specific ethnicity/race and is just said to be foreign to South Korea, other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (English isn't my first language... how ironic)

A/N: Alright, so this request is literally like 6 months old AND I AM SO SORRY TO THE ANON WHO ASKED THIS😭 this has been sitting here in my drafts, unfinished until now. Season 3 came out today and I obviously had to binge watch the entire thing. I won't spoil anything, but I'd rather take S2!Dae-ho over S3!Dae-ho and I can definitely write more about the former. Anyway, I'm glad you enjoy my writing and I hope this doesn't suck lololol

This place was so bizarre. You didn't speak Korean, or at least not well enough to understand what was really going on. When you came to South Korea to study, you didn't think the living experience would be so expensive and exhausting. Coming here, being put into these uniformly tracksuits and only being talked to by your number gave you an eerie feeling.

If it wasn't already hard understanding what was going on — Because you certainly didn't expect this when the guy in the suit gave you an opportunity to win money — it's definitely going to be hard now: When other people started looking at you funny. Because you're not from there, they recognized it straight away. With your broken Korean, you understood whispers like "Look, a foreigner.." and "What's someone like that doing here?" It made you feel even more left out.

From context clues and certain English words the other players used while talking, you kind of picked up on what this thing is. You play games, if you win you get to go to the next round, if you lose... you're out. And you single handedly got to experience what it meant to 'be out'.

No one told you anything. No pink guards, no other players, no one had the decency to let you in on things. While nervously standing in this big arena, walls painted to look like grass with a baby blue sky and a big doll-like statue standing roughly 20 meters on the other side, you suddenly felt a tap on your shoulder.

You quickly snapped your head back to see a guy with the number 388 printed on his jacket. "It's Red Light, Green Light." He told you, his English sounding better than you had expected. You felt so relieved when finally hearing a familiar language and you expression immediately softened while looking at him. "What?" The man pointed at the statue on the other side. "You know.. the game? You go when it's Green Light, you stop when it's Red Light."

Your eyes followed the direction his finger pointed at and nodded like you understood him. "Thank you." The man smiled at you and patted on your back, saying something back in Korean you could hardly make out.

The language barrier made you miss the whole frenzy monologue the guy with the number 456 had before the game started. When looking around, all you could see is shocked faces, people in distress or the complete opposite: People not taking him seriously. You didn't know what was going on, but as soon as the statue of the girl turned to the tree behind her and a jingle started to play, everyone made a move in her direction. You did too, what else could you do?

Then suddenly— Pang. A gunshot, really loud, echoed through the arena and killed a girl. Frozen in shock, you watched as the other players around her started to freak out and move, getting shot one by one, orchestrating an absolute massacre.

It's a miracle you made it out.

On the way back to the sleeping area, or whatever this was, you felt a familiar tap on your shoulder behind you. "Hey," It's Player 388. "You made it!"

"Yes. Thank you again.. I just. I don't understand, they literally killed these people. I don't understand anything, what is going on here—?" Dae-ho saw the discomfort and fear in your eyes and decided to tell you what Gi-hun had previously yelled at all the participants. The things that went down at the Game were gruesome, but man, he couldn't even imagine trying to survive while not even understanding the language.

"So.. wait, you're telling me that when you get eliminated during one of those Games you get killed? Like they fucking shoot you?" You asked Dae-ho, who had now also introduced himself to you, and he just nodded. "He said that." He pointed in the vague direction of where Gi-hun had retreated once in the sleeping area again. "Dude, no this is so fucked up.. I gotta go! We can't die in here, they can't do this?"

You started to hyperventilate. Die? In this shithole? Oh my god, why did you even say yes to this stupid thing? It should've been suspicious enough that a guy in a suit would play a traditional Korean childhood game and slap you if you lost. But.. you needed the money. Carefully, Dae-ho placed a hand on your shoulder and looked around to see if anyone was listening in on your conversation.

"I will help you." He said with the most calm expression ever. Sure, he was scared himself, scared shitless even. But, seeing a young woman — A foreigner — in such distress.. it reminded him of his sisters. And he always swore up and down that he'd protect them, too.

"They don't," Player 388 pointed around the area, "Speak English well. I will help you, okay? I can tell you things." His Korean accent was quite cute whenever he spoke, which made you calm down a bit more and smile. You, again, expressed your gratitude to him and sniffled a bit. "Is there no way out of this?"

Dae-ho shook his head. Well, he didn't know, but he just assumed there wasn't. He went on to ask you more about yourself in general, why you were here, where you came from. It was nice having a conversation in English after trying to learn and speak Korean for months on end.

"I'm so sorry. Korea made a bad impression on you." You chuckled a bit and shook your head. You knew how to appreciate the country, it's culture and it's people. But this was definitely weird and definitely illegal. Dae-ho was here for you, though. He made you that promise now.

"I will protect you and help you, okay?"

Slowly, you raised your hand and held out your pinky for him to interlink with his. "Pinky promise?" The man looked at your hand and then back up to you with a confused look on his face. "Pinky... promise?" You smiled when you understood that he doesn't quite get what you mean. Or maybe he just hasn't ever heard of the expression before. "Like.. pinky promise, you do this," With your other hand you took his to make the same motion and interlinked your pinkies, "And now you're not allowed to break the promise."

Dae-ho grinned. "Okay, pinky promise."

[nomoredying]

knockout

personal boxing trainer!sevika x actress!reader

tags: modern au, gym flirting, locker room incident™, eventual fingering. a/n: english is not my first language — please correct me if you find any mistakes, ty. sevika might refer to the reader as “stark”, that’s the last name i gave her cuz i don’t like «y/l/n»

you knew you were in trouble the moment you saw her.

when you first accepted the role of a girl who’ve mastered at box you didn’t fully process how hard it would be to achieve something that would let you fake it. reality hit you hard when you met sevika.

to be honest, you just expected a random muscular man who will motivate you with some bullshit and recommend certain protein bars. instead here she was, standing before you — a woman (which is already a win) who looked like she could lift you and your emotional baggage. the last one is much, much heavier.

sevika.

no introduction beyond. she wore a grey tank top, her dark hair pulled back carelessly, skin glowing under the lights. there was a scar running down her cheekbone — thin, old. her arms looked like they could split a tree in half. you tried not to stare.

you failed.

“is it an actress thing — wearing sunglasses indoors?”

you pushed them up into your hair, “something like that,” grinning.

there is only one word that could perfectly sum up your first day — pain.

you’ve done pilates, sure. you jogged occasionally. once played tennis for two months in a fit of motivation. but boxing was something else entirely. the gloves felt like bricks. your stance was off. your breath — gone in the first ten minutes. sevika did not coo or encourage, but she didn’t bark either. she simply watched, gave short corrections and moved your elbows without asking.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

by the end of the third week, you had bruises on your ribs and a new favourite part of your day.

sevika wasn’t talkative. when you tried a little small talk, she shot you a glare. so you decided that you’ll do the talking for both of you. lucky for her you were a true yapper. 

she noticed things.

“you didn’t sleep,”

“you’re holding tension in your shoulders again,” 

“eat before you come next time. you get dizzy,”

yes, maybe she said those things in a way that made you think she did not care about you absolutely, but it meant she was looking. although, isn’t that part of her job? you’re also an overthinker.

but you still tried not to read too much into the way it felt like scoring a goal in a dream when you made sevika laugh – really laugh – because it was so rare.

one afternoon, after another long session, she sat beside you on a bench and handed you a cold bottle of water. you looked at her, flushed and half-dead.

“why are you doing this?” sevika asked with an unreadable face.

you raised an eyebrow. “for the film, which you already know. are you losing memories? did i drive you mad?” 

she rolled her eyes. “you didn’t need to go full method and you’re not exactly a fan.”

you stared at your hands. your knuckles were red. bruised. you smiled faintly.

“i didn’t want to fake it. i’ve faked a lot of things lately.” and then you just had to add a little joke. “and box fans would take me down if my left leg stood in the wrong way.”

sevika studied you for a long beat. then said, quietly:

“you’re better than you think.” 

shit.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you genuinely think you two have gotten along.

sure, when you showed up five minutes late with two coffees in your hand — apparently, sevika likes it sweeter — she would roll her eyes, arms crossed, already holding the gloves.

“stark,” she’d spit like it was a warning.

“i’m here, aren’t i?” you’d grin back.

the warmups were practically muscle memory. punch. block. step. reset. sevika’s hands on her shoulders, her hips, nudging her into form. she didn’t explain much — just said, “feel it. don’t think.”which, for you, was like saying “just stop breathing.”

but you were improving. the hits had weight now. you didn’t flinch every time sevika stepped close. unfortunately, you also had a habit of collapsing flat onto the mat the second they finished sparring.

and sevika hated that.

“you gonna nap every time you hit the floor?”

“yes,” you replied, lying spread-eagle, dramatically dead.

sevika tossed a towel at your face. “get up.”

“no. respect the process.”

“you’ve been lying there for ten minutes.” she was slightly annoyed. though sometimes you think that’s her factory settings.

“feels like three.”

“you’re using the mat as a mattress.”

“and you use sarcasm as a defence mechanism, so what?”

sevika blinked. then smirked, just a little. “smart mouth for someone who throws punches like barista.” 

you gasped. “take that back.”

“i won’t.”

“i’m deeply hurt.”

“good,” sevika said, turning away — but her shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

the teasing came too easy.

you said something dumb, sevika made a face. you stumbled on footwork, sevika groaned theatrically and muttered, “tragic,” 

“do you ever compliment me?” you asked one day, panting, gloves drooping.

“i said you didn’t suck last Friday.”

“that’s not a compliment.”

“think of it as one, then,”

surprisingly, you also managed to have simple, nice conversations. the silences between you two weren’t uncomfortable, but you liked talking to sevika. seems like she tolerated you. at least she answered your questions. well, most of them. for example, now you know that she was punched in the face outside the ring more than once and deserved. 

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

it was raining. you hadn’t expected it to pour — you rarely checked the forecast — and then stepped out of the gym just to sigh, because your car was in the shop so you either need to order a cab or run to the nearest subway.

“you taking a swim?” came sevika’s voice, already unlocking her car.

you squinted. “you drive?” a stupid question.

which is why sevika snorted. “no, i teleport. get in,”

her car was dark and mostly clean, except the mess of a boxing tape, takeout napkins and a lighter jammed in the cupholder. sevika drove with one hand, window down, her other arm draped casually out as she lit a cigarette.

“can you put it out?” you muttered, because you’ve been trying to quit for a while now and the smell didn’t help.

sevika turned her head slowly — and exhaled a lazy stream of smoke directly at you.

“i hate you,” you said flatly, glaring at her.

“no, you don’t,” she successfully ignored you, eyes on the road.

you insisted. “i do,”

“you don’t,” she insisted too.

you turned away, looking out the window, trying to hide your stupid smile. it didn’t take long enough until you looked at her again. at her nose, sharp jawline, focused eyes with dark eyeshadow around them. her hair. is it soft? 

you absolutely need to sketch her profile. and you also need to stop staring at people.

sevika chuckled low in her throat, flicked ash again, and then said, too casually: “you keep lookin’ at me like that, stark, I’m gonna have to pull over and ruin your whole day.”

the car was silent.

you blinked. “excuse me?”

“you heard me.”

you stared straight ahead. your ears were on fire. your hands, suddenly very aware of themselves, clenched around the seatbelt strap. sevika didn’t look at you. she just drove.

“god,” you muttered under her breath, “you are so full of yourself.”

sevika just smiled — cigarette between her lips, like sin incarnate.

when she finally got home after dropping you off at your place and lay down on her soft, beloved bed, sevika closed her eyes, sighing. why did she say that shit? 

she’s not sure. maybe she wanted you to finally quit with the staring. or maybe she just needs to get laid. though your little muttering did amuse her. you’re so easy to tease, how can she help it?

the one other thing she sometimes can’t help too is her curiosity. she didn’t care who you were outside the gym. rich people were always dramatic, and she’d trained worse. but—

she still searched up your name. 

thousands of results. red carpets. interviews. some viral tweets asking you to ruin them, fan edits. threads. apparently, you were a natural ginger and she have been thinking your hair was fake all this time. sevika wasn’t into cinema and yet she found herself scrolling films with you starring in them. 

ended up watching an indie dark psychological thriller about a woman spiralling without realising it. she watched it all in one sitting, beer forgotten beside her. everything around forgotten but you on the screen, acting your heart out. slowly unraveling. stunning, raw.

fucking hell.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

meanwhile, you had nothing. no profile to stalk — you checked that on the first day. no feed to scroll. sevika might as well just have a flip phone. 

they had, however, exchanged numbers. briefly. just in case time of the session will change or anything like that. expectedly, she ignores you most of the time. expectedly, you text her even more.

did you ghost me or do you just text like a 50 y.o retired plumber [you, 18:40]

[sevika, 18:46] You text like a teenager, who spends all their time at home locked in their room

that’s rich coming from someone who sends one word responses like «k» and expects that to count as conversation [you, 18:48]

[sevika, 18:48] K

sometimes, you just need to give up. 

despite her low communication skills, sevika’s been actually quite helpful with some scenes in the script. you enjoy the way the sound of her voice changes when she explains a move your character made or why did she make it.

but one afternoon you regret your enthusiasm.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

it was your last day of training, the film production would start just in a few days. you were nervous and you came early to ask about a scene in the film as if you two hadn’t discussed it dozens of times already. someone at the front waved her toward the back, “sevika’s probably in the coaches’ wing.”

big mistake.

you wandered into a room — plain, clean, quiet. then a door opened. steam rolled out. and there stood sevika.

completely naked. towel around her neck. skin wet. dripping. hair pushed back. entire body on display like some cruel, hyperreal statue.

you did not move.

sevika stared at you like really? “looking for something?”

you made a sound. like a squeak. like a wounded animal. then you spun and fled.

when she finally showed up at the ring with that smug little face of hers, you pointed your index finger at her, preventing anything she was about to say:

“no. no. you’re not allowed to say anything,”

sevika grinned, raising her hands in a surrender. 

that surrender did not last long. you were alone, the gym dark except for the lights above the ring. you were flustered, drinking water like it was your last meal. and still pissed about earlier. still flushed from remembering it. sevika leaned against the ropes, arms crossed, watching you.

“you done acting like you didn’t enjoy the show?” she said, slow and low.

you rolled your eyes. “you’re so funny,” stood up, eyes on the older woman. 

sevika looked at you like she was considering something — and a moment later, like she made a decision. she grabbed you by the jaw, pulling close. your mouths crashed. messy, hot, starved. 

“tell me,” sevika muttered between kisses, voice hoarse, “does that pretty mouth ever shut up, or do I have to stuff it with something?”

“fuck, you’re–“ whatever you wanted to say, it was forgotten the moment she started leaving wet kisses on your neck. 

you didn’t even notice how you found yourself pressed against the nearest wall by sevika. the only thing you could focus were her hands, taking your t-shirt off.

“we have to even the score, don’t you think?” sevika murmured, her fingers making your bra fall on the floor with a little click behind your back. 

you looked intoxicating. or at least that’s what her widened pupils told you.

sevika’s hand squeezed one of your bare breasts, soft gasp escaping your lips and immediately being swallowed by another hungry kiss. she couldn’t get enough. neither could you.

in fact, you wanted more.

“sevika,” you murmured, asking.

she grinned. “if you want me to touch you properly, you gotta ask properly too,” her hand teasingly tugged your sweats’ waistband.

“oh, don’t tease,” a hiss comes out, instead of pleading. “sevika!”

“tch,” sevika slid your sweatpants down. your panties had the same fate. “so demanding and so wet..” you closed your eyes, but she tilted your chin up. “eyes on me. i’ll ask you again — what do you want?”

“you. i want to feel you. i—“ seems like she was as eager as you were, because she immediately found your clit, rubbing it gently.

and then, maybe not so gently, her two fingers slipped into you. slowly, letting you get used to it.

all while her grey eyes stubbornly remained on yours, watching you as she fucks you. 

“beautiful,” sevika kissed you again, her thrusts getting harder and deeper.

“fuck. i can’t, i can’t,” you mumbled and your grip around her neck tightened. 

“do you want me to stop?” she teased, slowing down.

“no. don’t you dare,” your reply came immediately.

“then take it all like a good little girl you are,”

and you did. sevika made sure you did.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you didn’t see each other for months after that. the film was shot in another country so you buried yourself in production — long days, long nights, crying on set, laughing on set. 

“wow, you’re really convincing. have you really never done box before this?” someone would ask, surprised by your thorough preparation for the film which only took three months.

“no, i haven’t,” you’d chuckle back, thinking about dirty hands wrapping your wrists, a low voice saying hit harder.

then came the promo-tour and instead of spending most of your day on set throwing punches, you were busy doing interviews and press.

sevika trained other clients. fucked around a little. even fought in one underground match. but nobody stuck in her head like the ginger actress with the ridiculous smirk and adorable smile. how could you not when your face was everywhere? it wouldn’t be if she didn’t purposely search your name in browser which was her only source of media, but oh well.

you invited her to the premiere. the first thing you did when you got the chance.

[you, 14:16] i got you tickets. if you don’t show up i’ll know it’s because you’re scared of seeing me breathtakingly beautiful on the red carpet

I’ve seen you naked, Stark [sevika, 14:32]

[you, 14:40] not like this you haven’t

[you, 14:42] come

and so she did. 

you found her at the afterparty, smoking. of course.

“you came,” you said, biting back your smile, your eyes greedily taking her in. all of her.

her answer was simple. “well, you asked,” 

“you cut your hair. i like it,” you finally let your lips curl into a wide smile. 

“you were right,” sevika said, surprisingly gentle.

“about what?”

“breathtakingly beautiful,” low and rough.

[hehe-69]

smut Rhett abbott♡ An arranged marriage with Rhett. Reader like Rhett but Rhett doesn't her you. Until one night, everything changes when someone try to flirts with Reader at Rodeo. Thank you!!!

Oh boy…let’s do it.

Summary: To save his family’s ranch, Rhett agrees to marry a girl from a rich family. Unfortunately for you, Rhett has a low opinion of your character, he thinks of you as a spoiled brat who gets everything you want and all you have to do is say please.

But, as time passes, Rhett beings to see you in a different light. And a marriage that was meant to be temporary begins to have the potential to last much longer then expected.

Warnings: Very very small hint of Angst, jealousy from both reader and Rhett, fluff, eventual happy ending, SMUT, porn with plot, porn with feelings, save a horse…ride that cowboy, my first attempt at actual smut so sorry if it’s ass. WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT YOU FILTHY ANIMALS(affectionately)

This is NOT proof read at all…sorry

18+ THIS STORY CONTAINS SUGESTIVE MATERIAL you are responsible for your own media consumption

So sorry if this is not what you envisioned but I hope you enjoy!

——————

Rhett hated the idea from the start. Cecelia had come to you begging you for help, saying that her land was about to be taken from her family by the Tillersons. And they did not have enough money to stop it. Everyone in Wabang knows the Abbott, everyone knows who each member of the family is. But you know that they are good people, that Cece is a saint. The second she came to you, you hung on every single word that came out of her mouth. The marriage was her idea, she said it was the only way your family would agree to send them that much money.

It all made you head spin, you’d do anything to help the Abbotts out…but marrying Rhett, however temporary it may be, was not a decision you were expecting to make. Cece could see how hesitant you were, and she told you she’d let you think it over.

Theres not secret that Rhett Abbott hated your guts, through you never fully understood why, you had an idea. Your family was more than well off, never knowing the struggles that most families like the Abbotts have to endure.

Most people thought they already knew all about you, rich little girl who gets whatever she wants and doesn’t have to work to earn anything. It made your skin crawl, this preconceived notion of your character has lead you to spend most of your life in isolation. Which ended up fueling the people’s beliefs of you being a high and mighty asshole. More than likely, Rhett thought the exact same thing about you. But regardless of what he felt or how low his opinion of you may be, there was always…something, about the cowboy. Most people in town saw him as a dirt bag. A drunk, a brawler, a cowboy who was up to no good.

Over the years, you have become a bit of a watcher, and onlooker. And throughout your time as a watcher, you have seen that Rhett really isn’t anything like that. He’s actually a big softy that just wants to be wanted. You have seen Rhett help random people around town, and old guy who is struggling to load up his haul from the hardware store, his niece Amy who is too tired to keep walking so he gives her a piggyback ride, he’s even helped Joy stuff a Christmas tree that was never going to fit into her vehicle.

You have always had a small crush on the cowboy, gone to all his rodeos, silently and sometimes very loudly cheering him on from the sidelines. When he loses, you want to cheer him up, but then you think about how horrifically awkward that could be.

In the end, you were always going to tell Cece yes.

———

“Absolutely fuckin not!” Rhett stands up straight, once leaning on the counter of his family home’s kitchen, now he’s towering over everyone in the room. “Rhett sit your skinny ass down.” Royal all but hisses at his youngest son. You sit next to Cecilia at the dinner table, trying to not move around too much and draw attention towards yourself as tensions rise. Rhett yanks the chair beside you out from under the table and plops down.

You can feel the heat radiating off of him as you shrink into yourself in an attempt to make yourself impossibly smaller.

“Look I know this is not ideal-“No mom it’s not fucking ideal!” Rhett is practically fuming as he sits back in the chair and crosses his arms, and you don’t blame him for being upset. This is not a situation you would’ve ever wanted to put yourself or anyone else in. But right now it was the only way.

“Rhett, I’m really trying to be calm with you right now.” Cece starts off, as she leans forwards in her chair to level her son with ‘the look’. The one that says ‘keep acting up and I’ll smack the shit out of you’, it’s enough to make him stay quiet. “This isn’t something either of you want, but we need this.” Cecilia says, as the desperation she feels floods her voice. “We need the money Rhett and this is the surest way to get it. We don’t know how long Wane will drag this all out, and court isn’t exactly cheep.”

———

So here you are couple of months later after Rhett and you eloped, not wanting to draw too much attention and definitely not wanting to go all out with a wedding for a marriage that wasn’t meant to last more then a year or two.

Your parents were surprisingly very supportive, your mom was just happy you finally got married…while your dad was upset to have to let you go ‘so soon’. You had sat your parents down and spun them the story you and Cece put together. You told them you and Rhett had been courting in secret for years and recently decided to get married, they were pretty upset that they didn’t get to meet Rhett beforehand, but they warmed up to it.

You and Rhett kept up the appearance of a reserved couple who didn’t like to show off and kept more to themselves. At family gatherings, you and him had to really crank up the charm. Something the two of you rehearsed.

You dad and Royal go along better than you could’ve ever imagined, they were practically bffs after the first cook out. Bonding over the ranch and other shared hobbies. You and Cece had spent some time giggling about it. About 4 months into the fake marriage, you really began to feel more at home and alive then you had in months. The only thing keeping you from slipping away into this fantasy was the tension between you and Rhett.

You barely spoke to one another, Rhett had moved into your small home on your parents land, he slept on the couch for about one month before you practically bullied him into at least sleeping in the spare room. He often woke up early to work out on the ranch and came home late, so you never had any time to speak to him. Eventually, you made sure to wake up early enough to make sure he ate something other than toast before leaving.

The first morning Rhett stumbled into the kitchen half awake with pj pants on, he bearly had a heart attack.

“Oh fuck me!” Rhett shouts out and you spin around fast enough to make you dizzy. “Shit, I’m sorry I-sorry I just wanted to make sure you got breakfast before heading out.” You say in a hurry as Rhett evens out his breathing. “What?” He says with confusion fulling his voice.

“Breakfast…I can’t make whatever you want before you leave.” You say awkwardly, now feeling like an idiot for waking up so early to do this. “Why? It’s not like we’re actually together.” Theres quite a bit of venom in the cowboy’s voice as he speaks.

He’s been like this every day for the past month and a half. Passive aggressive and sometimes just straight up rude. You sigh out in annoyance through your nose, trying to take deep breaths in an attempt to not get too angry with him. “Look, I know you hate my guts…but you don’t have to be such a fucking asshole all of the time.” You hiss out the last part frustration getting the better of you. You turn around to the stove heating up the pan to melt some of the butter.

Planting your hand on the counter you let your head hang as you compose yourself. “I just thought it would be nice to eat breakfast together and at least try to get along instead of being miserable.”

You hear Rhett let out a deep breath, before he walks over to the coffee pot. “You already started a pot?” Rhett mumbles out akwardly. “Yeah…Cecilia mentioned how you liked it and that you drank it pretty much every morning.” You voice is quite as you speak, you don’t look at him, you just watch the butter as it slowly begins to melt.

“Now I really feel like an asshole.” Rhett murmurs out after a while and you can’t help but chuckle, his accent is thicker in the morning making his words run together a bit. You smile at him as you look at his face, his ears are a bit red and he seemed embarrassed of his behavior.

“I’ll blame it on the lack of your morning coffee.” You tease and Rhett looks up at you and smiles, it’s small, but it makes your entire body heat up. You quickly turn back to look at the pan, anything is better then staring doe eyed at the cowboy.

“I’ll take some French toast.” Rhett mumbles after awhile and you smile shaking your head as you move to get the ingredients to dip the bread in. Guess French toast is better than just regular toast in the morning. “Just French toast?” You ask simply as you mix the eggs, milk and vanilla extract in a square Tupperware container to make dipping the bread into the mixture easier.

“…Maybe.” Rhett says after awhile, sipping his coffee and attempting to wake up. “How is it that a bull riding cowboy like you,” you pause to point at him before continuing to speak as you gabbling a piece of bread and dipping it into the mixture before quickly putting it into the pan. “can live off toast alone in the morning?”

“One of the lord’s biggest blessings.” Rhett offers sarcasticly. You snort at him. “That’s a load of horse shit.” Rhett laughs and you and him continue to talk and banter playfully with one another as you cook breakfast.

And thus beings one routine of many to come. You and Rhett eventually become friends, and your crush on the blue eyed cowboy turns devastatingly into something much more and much harder to ignore.

———

This time when you got to rodeos to watch Rhett ride, you sit with his family, and your parents sit with the Abbotts too. Your dad and Royal are chatting it up while your mom and Cece gossip. You’re beginning to dread the day you and Rhett break this up more and more.

It helps that you two don’t kiss, or sleep in the same bad, but you’re starting to actually like this life. Rhett is riding better then ever, getting first place at every rodeo so far. Every time he looks between those bars when he loads up, the bench rooting for him is bigger than ever. Every once in a while he’ll look directly at you and the fucker winks, you’ll glare at him before grinning back.

Life is nice, good even. The more you learn about Rhett, the more you realize why there was always something about him that kept you from really looking at anyone else. You love his family, love how your parents are with his family…you may even love him at this point.

———

“You ready for your ride coming up?” You ask Rhett one morning, as you’re cooking up some eggs and bacon as he makes the toast for you both. Rhett chuckles softly, “As ready as I’ll ever be…I don’t know is ma and pa will be there though. Wane is up their asses lately.” You hum in agreement, it’s been about six months now and court is starting to feel like it’ll never end. “I’m sure they’ll find the time.” You say softly. It means to world to Rhett to have his parents there, he doesn’t have to tell you that for you to know.

You have seen how he always looks up at them through the crack of the metal bars when he gets ontop of that bull. The way his head snaps away from the score board and towards his family, every single time.

Rhett sits and watches are you cook breakfast, he’s leaning against the counter, back facing the cubers with his arms crossed. He seems to be completely relaxed. “Y’know…I thought the worst of you for years.” You laugh bitterly at his confession. “You and this whole damn town cowboy.”

“I was wrong.” That makes you freeze up a bit, and you eye him carefully. “Oh?” You muse suspiciously. “Don’t act so damn surprised that I’d admit to that.” Rhett glares at you, but there’s not bite to it. Not like there used to be.

“You aint anything how I thought you’d be.” You smile at him, before turning back to the food in the pan. “You’re not so bad yourself cowboy.” You admit softly and Rhett chuckle. “I’ll take that as a compliment sweetheart.”

“Eugh never call me that again.” You fake a shiver in fake discomfort, masking the actual shiver that pet name sends through you. Rhett laughs at you and continues to try out nicknames and pet names that make you want to sprint around the house out of sheer adrenaline.

You’re not sure when exactly it started, but you have been falling deeper and deeper into love with Rhett. So deep that you don’t see a way out of it, when this is all over, and the arranged marriage is gone, he’ll become that person who hunts you for the rest of your life.

He will be that what if, what if I tried harder to keep him, what if I just spoke up and told him how I felt, what if we never broke the marriage off, what if I never had to let him go.

Years from now, when you have all but forgotten how to love, you’ll think back to Rhett Abbott and wonder what ever became of your hot blooded cowboy.

———

It’s the last Rodeo, the championship and there is no one else here rooting for Rhett other than you…and Maria.

She’s this beautiful women that Rhett has been in love with since high school, and sure you and Rhett are “married” but she’s still as friendly as ever with him…maybe a bit too friendly. It makes your blood boil.

Tonight you’re the one who tapes Rhett’s wrist and gives him a pep talk. Royal couldn’t make it because him and Cece are still stuck at court with Wane, and Perry is home with a sick Amy. Your parents are with Royal and Cece trying to get Wane to back off.

“Okay…you’ve got this Rhett.” You begin awkwardly and Rhett laughs dryly at you. “Gee thanks coach.” You pinch his skin gentle and the cowboy laughs at you once more.

After a while of tapping his wrist in silence, you finish up and put both of your hands on his wrist. “Your entire life you’ve been living for everyone else but yourself…these past 10 years you have been riding these bulls to make your dad proud.” As you speak you don’t look Rhett in the eyes, instead you roll hus wrist around in your hands, looking over your tapping job. “Tonight…” You sigh and look him right in his baby blues. “Tonight is the night you ride for nobody else but yourself, ride to make yourself proud. Ride because you deserve this win after giving so much of yourself to everything and everyone else around you.” You pat both hus shoulders before holding then tightly and shaking him a bit. “Go get em cowboy.” In a moment of complete confidence…and maybe a bit of jealousy towards Maria, you get on your tippy toes and kiss Rhett on the cheek.

Then you scurry away faster than lightning leaving a very stunned Rhett Abbott in the dust. Mentally cursing yourself for doing that. You go sit in your spot where the Abbotts usually sit.

Once again Rhett looks at you through the bars, but he doesn’t wink, he looks unsure of himself so you give him a small smile and mouth ‘you got this cowboy’. Rhett grins and looks forward.

Unfortunately, the bull not only throws Rhett off its back harder then ever on his first attempt, but Rhett ends up landing on his shoulder in a way that most definitely dislocated the bone from its place in his socket.

You shoot up for your seat and watch him like a hawk as they usher him out of the way from the raging bull. You set off to find a spot where you can talk to him, but the mob of his fellow bull riders block you from getting Rhett’s attention. Cutting your losses you hurry back to the bleachers, but you won’t make it all the way around in time, so you go to the gate instead.

Standing on one of the bars hoping Rhett sees you, but you watch as he looks through the bars like always, but no one is there in the Abbott’s spot. Your so nervous that this is going to mess with his head, till the bull shoots out and Rhett stays on longer then ever.

And he gets first place, he wins the championship. You don’t think you have ever cheered so loudly before in your life. Rhett sees you then, standing on the gate and grinning at him like a madwoman. ‘I told you so.’ You mouth at him and he laughs shaking his head and picking up his dusty cowboy hat.

———

As you’re waiting for Rhett in your usual spot, some random dude starts hitting on you…like hardcore flirting.

“I saw you from across the Rodeo.” You pray to god that he will strike you down with lightning after those words leave the man’s mouth. He’s not Rhett level of handsome, he’s decent looking and most definitely drunk. “Wanted to know if you’d like to get a drink sometime.”

“I’m married sooo…no thank you.” You say awkwardly backing away from the man. “I don’t see a ring.” He reply makes you want to bash your head into the metal fencing. As he comes very close to you, the stench of alcohol burns your nose. “Forgot it at home.” You say simply, wondering why the hell this guy is still talking to you when you won’t even look at him. You attempt to bush him off but he keeps trying to touch you.

Before the guy can lay a finger on you, you feel an arm wrap around your shoulder and lips press against your temple. “Hey sweetheart, sorry I took so long.” Rhett’s voice is sweeter the honey and it’s got underlying anger lacing through it. “Who’s our friend here.” Rhett eyes the man up and down and suddenly this guy is shrinking into himself. “Oh I was just leaving.”

“Oh you were, huh that’s funny cuz I just watched you flirt with my wife even after she told you she was married.” Rhett’s other arm is in a sling but he’s still as intimidating as ever as he stands up straight and towers over the man. “First, I want you to apologize to my wife for being a fucking creep and then I want you to go crawl back into whatever hole you came out of.” The guy instantly rushes out an apology before running off. “I know I don’t bring much to the table…but that guy is probably the biggest asshole you’re ever gonna meet.” Rhett laughs out and you just stare at him puzzled. Till you realize that this random dude was Trevor fucking Tillerson…which made a whole lot more sense.

“Fuck…thanks for doing that Rhett.” Your skin is definitely crawling even more now, you feel unclean and uncomfortable. “Hey.” Rhett pulls you in for a one armed hug. “Aint nobody going to mess with you like that again…not if I can help it.” You pull Rhett in closer, hugging him the best you can when his arm is suck between your bodies in that sling.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” You say after backing away from him, sniffing a bit. “A bath should help with the soreness.” Rhett grins. “If you wanted me naked you could’ve just-“RHETT ABBOTT.” You hiss out cutting him off, as he starts snickering.

“GAHH, give me the keys so I can drive us home butthead.” Rhett continues to laugh but hands the keys over.

———

The drive home is fairly quiet, you can feel Rhett’s eyes on you for a majority of the ride, every time you turn to look back at him he snaps his head towards the window. You snicker after the second time and Rhett mutters grumpily.

Once you park your truck infront of your house, you turn to look at Rhett. This time he doesn’t turn away, he just stares at you, if you didn’t know any better you’d say he’s looking at you like a love sick puppy.

“What?” You ask laugh softly trying to brush off your nerves. “You’re so beautiful.” Your eyes widen in shock, and your face heats up. “Great not only didn’t you fuck up your shoulder but you have a concussion too.” You rush out as you hop out of the truck, you can hear Rhett laughing at you from inside of the cab.

“Wait honey, I’m being serious.” Rhett shouts out after you but he’s still practically wheezing. “Oh fuck off!” You shout back and Rhett jogs up to you. “I am being honest, I swear I don’t know why I keep laughing.” He sounds earnest as he holds your hand. His right hand is still in that brace, his only hand. You frown a bit looking down at the banged up brace, he’s probably used that thing for the last 7 years. “Hey.” Rhett moves his hand to lift your head up, brushing some hair behind your ear.

“Don’t gotta worry about me..kay?” He voice is soft, but soothing with the gruffness of his accent. “I think I’ll always worry about you.” You admit shyly. And Rhett smiles, you realize now that you and him are moving closer. You feel his breath fan across your lips, and just as you brush his against your own…you back away. He follows, and you smile resting your hands on his hips and pulling him closer, tilting your head to the side before kissing him. Rhett goes all in kissing you like you’re the very air that he breaths.

You tentatively run your tongue across his bottom lip and Rhett opens his mouth eagerly before backing you against the wall of your porch. His right hand on your cheek moves into your hair and you make sure to pull him in closest by his belt buckle. You’re reminded of his shoulder as his body presses against yours.

You break the kiss off, smiling at him softly. “Shouldn’t rush into anything cowboy.” You says breathlessly, and a little dumbly you’re heads too foggy for thinking too much about hwat your saying.

Rhett chuckles. “I’m not rushing into anything.” You looks at him, eying him up and down. “We’ll see how you feel after a bath.” You slip always from him to unlock the door. “Yes ma’am.”

———

Once you’re in the house, you start getting things ready for Rhett to take a bit of a bath before showering. His body could use a good soak before a shower. He got thrown around like a rag doll by god knows how many pound bull. He could use a deep clean too.

———

As your getting things ready, Rhett grabs ahold of your hand. “I wanted to…I want to thank you for the pep talk, and for being there to watch me ride.” His face is beat red as he speak, staring down at his socks as he talks. “It meant-it means more to me than you ever know.” Rhett looks up at you shyly, before stepping closer to you. “Even after courts over…would you-I mean-I would like it if you could stay here…with me.”

“Well Rhett…this is my house.” Rhett groans out at your response. “Y’know what I meant.”

“I do, and I would love to. To be honest, I’ve never…I really didn’t want to have to let you go.” You sheepishly murmur. Rhett breaths out in relief, surging forward to kiss you. You smile into it, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him closer. Rhett bends down obediently and cups the side of your face with his right hand. Things start to heat up as you are whisked away by the moment.

It really takes a turn down the road of no return when Rhett all but whines into your open mouth when you tug at his hair. Rhett breaks the kiss to lean his head against your shoulder, a movement that grants you perfect access to his neck. You kiss and lick and even nibble at the exposed skin as your hands begin to travel down his frame.

“Sweetheart.” Rhett breathes out in response to your actions and you can’t help the wistful sigh that slips for your lips. That term of endearment at a moment like this just fuels the liquid heat of desire flowing through your veins. “Hehe, I knew it.” Rhett laughs breathlessly against your shoulder before moving to look you in the eyes. “I knew you liked it when I called you that.” You glare at him as nasty as you can mange. “Shut up.” And Rhett just laughs at you. You can’t help but smile and kiss him as hard as you can, while giving the bulge in his pants a light squeeze. Rhett jumps and grabs ahold of your wrist, and you grin into the kiss backing away far enough to see the expression on his face.

His eyes are screwed shut, brows scrunched and mouth hung open. The sight alone would give an old church woman a heart attack. “You good there cowboy.” Your own voice sounds so foreign, breathless and seductive in a manner that is so unfamiliar to you. “You’re an asshole.” He grumbles out in annoyance.

“Better watch it, you’re the one with only one arm…I can get away with a whole lot more than you.” You tease playfully before palming at Rhett’s growing excitement through his jeans. He’s all but panting now, and he’s left fumbling while you head off towards the bathroom. “Come on cowboy.” You call back to him as you begin to undress on your way to the door. Once you’re inside, reality hits you…you’re wayyyy over yo it head. Whatever confidence you once had flys out the window. This is Rhett fucking Abbott, and you have him all riled up and the poor guy has only one functioning arm.

You try to get ahold of your nerves as you begin to run the water, you only really got your shirt off, now you you’re standing in your jeans and a bra with your hands covering your face.

Just when you think you broke Rhett and he’s not going to follow behind you, you feel his arms wrap around your waist pulling you close as your back is skin to skin with his bare chest. His lips press against your the back of your left shoulder.

“The bath can wait.” Rhett mumbles against your skin, he kisses up toward your neck slowly. And it heats your body up and clams your nerves at the same time. Before you can rip him a new on for taking his arm out of his sling, Rhett speaks up. “I’ll be fine, like you said…you can get away with a lot more than me right now.”

———

You’re not quite sure how, but you and Rhett end up back in your room. Shortly after the water in the bathroom got turned off, Rhett pounced on you.

So here you are, on your back with Rhett ontop off you, kissing down your neck at a painfully slow pace. It’s like he’s on a mission to drive you completely and utterly insane. “Am I takin too long?” Rhett teases out, and laughs as you huff. “How’d ya guess.” You hiss out and Rhett laughs against your collarbone. “Your nose is all scrunched up, you only ever do that when you’re mad.” Rhett’s only good arm is holding up all his weight while his other hand starts trailing down your stomach towards the top of your jeans.

You lost your bra somewhere on the way down the hall, which is much towards your benefit because it’s one less thing Rhett can drag the ever living hell out. “You’re not the only one that’s been payin attention…that’s been watching.” The tension in your body snaps once Rhett nips at the top of your left breast. You suck in a deep breath to avoid making a noise but he can feel how your abdomen tenses at his actions. “Been going to the rodeos for years, you seriously didn’t think I wouldn’t notice you watching me.” Rhett’s voice is hot against your skin, as his kisses travel towards your nipple and then around it. “Rhett.” You attempt to hiss his name out but instead it comes out needy and desperate in a way that makes your face heat up with embarrassment.

“I’ve gotcha…you have not idea what it was like watching that asshole hit on you.” His right hand travels back up as he swipes his thumb across your right nipple. This time you sigh out and hold back a whine as your whole body jolts. “Fuckin Tillerson, always wanting what they can’t have…always wanting what’s not theirs to take.”

“What am I cattle.” You chuckle in an attempt of humor but it’s cut off by you crying out as Rhett flicks hus tongue against your left breast. “No, you’re much more then that…don’t even joke about yourself like that sweetheart.”

“Okay. Okay.” You breathe out harshly and suddenly Rhett is kissing you again. “My shoulders starting to burn.” Rhett grumbles out, and you laugh at him. “That karma for taking so damn long.” He smiles. “Maybe…but I aint done with you yet.”

Rhett sits up straight, sitting on the back of his legs from hus spot between your legs. “Help me take your jeans off?” You breath out before unbuttoning your pants and lift in your hips up in a hurry. Rhett laughs softly at your rushing and gabs both your jeans and underwear, pulling them both off at the same time. “Hey!” You laugh out. “You said just the jeans.” Rhett shrugs. “Less work for me.” He’s got a shit eating grin as he leans down to kiss you, it’s messy and hot and leaves you wanting to keep him there the whole night. But as he kisses across your jaw, and down your neck, anticipation begins to bubble up inside of you. Rhett’s kisses down your body turn into wet open mouthed ones the closer and closer he gets to his destination.

Right about the middle of your stomach is when you feel on of his fingers drag along your wet heat. The sensation leaves you breathless, and your back arches up into his mouth. “For fucks sake.” You hiss out and you can feel Rhett’s laughter against your navel. That finger rubs up and down your entire entrance before making a b-line do your clint. The second he reaches it you gasp out, and one of your hands flys to the back of his head, twisting and tangling into his curly hair.

“Rhett.” This time you can’t help but moan out his name as his finger rubs circles into you. You can feel out your body shakes, you have been wound up for months. Too reserved to go out for hook ups and way to afraid to relieve yourself with Rhett right next door to your room.

Your responsiveness has Rhett doubling down on his efforts to please you. His mouth is at your hip bone by the time his fingers make their way back down to your core. As his sinks in one finger, his mouth latches onto your clint and your gripping onto his hair for dear life now as another cry rips through you. Rhett hums into you and it sends a ripple of pleasure that shoots through your spine.

“Rhett! You-Fuck.” Your head digs into your pillows as you screw your eyes shut, and your back lifts off the bed once more. You can feel the stretch as Rhett adds another finger slowly and carefully as he continues to work your clint. Whatever pain it discomfort that you might’ve felt is dulled but the sensation of his mouth in you.

Rhett continues to work his fingers in and out of you as he abuses your bundle of nerves, and the mixture of both sensations has you climbing higher and higher.

“Rhett…Rhett don’t-don’t stop.” Your head spins and your ears begin to ring as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

“I’m so-Rhett!” Your squeak out as hus fingers finally nail the spot that has you seeing stars. It’s almost too much. “There!” You gasp out and Rhett immediately focuses on that spot, rubbing and pushing into it over and over again, as he sucks and even beings to nibble on your clint. And all the sudden your falling, head thrown backwards and your back arching and mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

When you finally come back to earth, Rhett is whispering into your ear as he works you through your high with his fingers. As your breathing evens out he stops and brings the damn things to his mouth. You watch him clean them off, wide eyed and suddenly more than ready to jump his bones.

“There you are, I was begin to worry about you sweetheart.” Rhett sounds about as breathless and boneless as you do, as if he’s thriving off your experience.

“I’m keeping you.” Is the first thing you manage to say, and Rhett laughs out loud shaking his head. He stop and leans back enough to fully look you over. “I’m all yours.”

In an instant, you manage to pin the cowboy down to the mattress. Attacking him and kisses and nipping at his skin. When you lean back and look down at him, Rhett stares up at you in awe, like you have hung the very moon and the stars in the night sky.

“What are ya up to.” Rhett accuses playfully. “Y’kniw what they say…” you trail off as you lean down to nip playful at his nipples, and you’re very pleased to see that the action has him sucking in a breath. Something you note and tuck away into the archive of you know how about the man below you, saving the information for another night. “Save a horse…” you look up at him through your eyelashes and watch has his blue eyes widen in realization. “Ride a cowboy.”

You watch how he gulps before plopping his head down and groaning out. “You’re gonna kill me.” He exasperates at you laugh at him. “I’m gonna ride you like you ride one of those damn bulls.” You correct him.

Rhett stared at you in complete shock and disbelief. “And here I thought I was the one with the filthy mouth.” You grin as you unbuckle his rodeo belt, the belt buckle pops open with surprising ease. You and him both mange to get him out of the jeans, but you decide to leave the boxer shorts on. A little revenge never hurt no body.

Rhett just looks relieved to get his pants off and he’s quick to lean up and drag you back down for a kiss. You go happily, kissing him with as much desperation and fever as he does you. You give a bit of and experimental roll of your hips, and the sound he makes, Rhett hold onto you in tightly and presses his hips up into yours as you continue to roll them down.

Rhett breaks the kiss and breaths out harshly, you’re not better than him, still sensitive from your first orgasim. “Please tell me you have a condom Rhett.” Rhett gasps out and nods enthusiastically. “Jeans back pocket.”

You are so quick to hop off and get the condom you bearly recover from almost wiping out and eating shit. You can hear Rhett laugh out breathlessly and as you turn around to scold him, condom in hand, you stop dead in your tracks as you take the time to fully appreciate the sight of Rhett Abbott, naked as the day he was born and on your bed.

“You’re…is there anything about you that isn’t so damn beautiful.” You whisper out and the way Rhett flushes has you freaking out internally. “I could ask you the same thing sweetheart.” You smile at him, before climbing back ontop if him. You take your time as you kiss him once more, slow and deep, it makes your head spin and as you back away, he’s chasing after your lips trying to bring you back into a kiss.

You laugh once more, you never thought sex could be so…fun, relaxing, so un-rushed. There it is again, those three words at the tip of your tongue, you swallow them down. You want to have better timing than this when you say that for the first time.

“Ready cowboy?” Rhett laughs at your question and nods. “Yeah…yeah I’m ready.” His first word comes out slightly high pitched and squeaky. You smile and peck his lips before open the condom up, and slipping it onto his length. It’s then that you fully take in just how girthy he really is. Man is 6 feet tall you really should’ve seen this coming. You can’t help but give him a few pumps that has Rhett gasping out and gabbing ahold of your hand.

“Sweetheart…I’m way to wound up for you to be doing that right now.” You grin and get ready to ‘settle up’ (gah I’m so sorry for that)

You pant a both hands on Rhett’s chest as up lift your hips to sink down on him, Rhett’s grip on your thighs tightens as you begin to slowly sink down on him. Lifting your hips up and down to help with the pressure of taking in someone the size of him. Every time you lift your hips downwards to take in just a little bit more of him.

After a while, you give yourself time to adjust after he bottoms out. Both of you are shaking and breathing hard the break is very much needed for the both of you. “You okay up there?” Rhett’s voice makes you crack your eyes open, and god…isn’t he a sight. Cheeks flushed and blue eyes hazy as he lazily blinks up at you. “I should ask you that cowboy, you look worn out and we haven’t even started.” Rhett laughs softly and sits up with his good arm supporting his weight.

His left hand shakes as it reaches up to brush against to face, and you lean into his touch, letting your eyes flutter shut as you bask in the warmth of him. “You’re so beautiful, I don’t know how I could’ve ever missed you in that crowd.” You smile softly and look into his eyes. “You’re everything to me.” You murmur out, it’s ironic, saying I love you is too much, but saying that isn’t???

Rhett smiles, in a way you have never bared witness to before. Is so…warm and tender, leaving you feeling fuzzy. Rhett pulls you in for a kiss, that’s just as warm and tender as his smile. And you begin to roll your hips, and you feel the shuttering breath Rhett lets out through his nose against your cheek. Another roll and you can help but gasp out into the kiss as you and Rhett begin to pant into each other’s open mouths.

Eventually, Rhett ends up on his back once more as you live up to what you said. You roll your hips and alter between that and lifting your hips up before slamming them back down at a brutal angle and pace. Rhett’s moans and whines are what fuels your actions. Who would’ve ever guessed that this cowboy could be so vocal.

Rhett helps the best he can, but with one arm is pretty hard to. You’re as ruthless as can be, gasping out and whining right along with the man below you.

———

By the end of the night, you’re both boneless and worn out. You fall asleep in each others arms, and when you wake up…Rhett is still there, sleeping peacefully and looks so peaceful in the morning light.

He pulls you closer to him, kissing your forehead and mumbling a good morning to you softly. He’s attached to you as you cook breakfast, arms wrapped around your waist and his head on your shoulder, he occasionally kisses your cheek your your neck. From time to time you’ll turn your head to kiss him.

It’s one morning of many more that will share it’s likeness for the years to come.

Fin

——————

Guys…ima need to bath in holy water after this…this is the filthiest thing I have EVER written.

Cut it short at the end cus it’s 1am rn. I HOPE YOU LIKED THIS ANON SO SORRY IF IT DIDN’T LIVE UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS

Thanks for reading

Love ya🫶

[breakmeoff]

goddess of the desert

featuring: bang chan x fem!reader warnings: swearing, SMUT: unprotected p in v, creampie. MDNI, 18+ only* word count: 2.1k (i swear one of these days i'll learn how to write an actual drabble lol) synopsis: you come out to the states to surprise chan with a short three day vacation to a remote airbnb in the secluded beauty of joshua tree. the stunning desert landscape relaxes you both enough to enjoy the great outdoors, and each other. note: this is part of the Larie's Libations 200 Followers Celebration. this was a request by my lovely anon reader🙈, whose selection is listed below. for story telling purposes we're going to pretend this was set in the spring and the weather wasn't blazing hot. thank you for reading!

LARIE'S LIBATIONS - Bourbon Orange Crush [Wine] — Bang Chan [Cranberry Juice] — Vacation [Citrus Rind] — Kinks (creampie)

Masterlist

Orchestrating this little surprise trip for Chan had been difficult.  That man was always in control and strict to his schedules, so when his manager told him not to schedule anything for three days between tour stops in L.A. and Arlington, Chan began asking questions.  And per your explicit instruction, his manager told him nothing.

Finally, when you showed up to the second show in L.A., things started to make sense and he stopped fighting it. The day after the concert, you picked up your rental vehicle and drove the three and a half hours to Joshua Tree where you had rented a secluded airbnb in the desert, just for the two of you.

Admittedly, Chan was awful about taking time for himself and forcing himself to relax.  Once you had assured him you’d get him back to civilization and the tour within three days before the next show in Texas, he finally relented and exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

After arriving at the private home down the long dirt drive, the two of you unpacked your groceries and belongings, and Chan went to take a much needed nap.  You on the other hand had eyed the above ground hot tub just outside with an uninterrupted view of the desert. 

About two hours later, Chan awoke alone sprawled out on the king sized bed, peering out the floor to ceiling windows which faced the back.  He pushed himself up sleepily and yawned, watching you climb out of the hot tub and dry yourself off with a large serape patterned towel.

Lord, he’d never get tired of seeing you in a bikini and unaware of how stunning you were.  

With a tired smile, he shifted to push himself off of the bed and in a standing position when he caught you out of the corner of his eye walking towards the outdoor shower just down the path. It wasn’t just your walking that made him pause - it was the way you removed your string bikini, draping them over the makeshift wooden ‘privacy’ fence along with the towel.

Walking over towards the window, he was transfixed, unable to take his eyes off of the scene - the goddess-like creature, baring it all under the rainfall showerhead, immersed in the beauty of the barren landscape surrounding them.  His cock twitched the longer he watched you, swelling under the confines of his sweatpants.

Slipping on a pair of slides, Chan made his way outside quietly and down the path towards the shower.  His movements were methodical and slow, like a bobcat hunting its prey.  Finally approaching the pathetic excuse for a wall, he reached for your towel just as you turned the faucet off and turned around to see him.  

Jumping in surprise, you laughed, pressing your hand to your chest.  “God, you scared me…” 

“Sorry Baby.”  Holding the towel open for you, he tilted his head towards it, inviting you into the warmth of the fabric.  “You looked like you might need a hand,” he teased suggestively, obviously dragging his eyes up and down your naked body. 

Smirking at him, you took the few extra steps towards him and let him wrap the towel around your damp, nude frame.  “Oh, just being a sweetheart and wanting to help me out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Sure… something like that,” he whispered near your ear, kissing your temple as he wrapped his arms tightly around you, ignoring the way your wet hair was now saturating his shirt.  “Let’s go dry you off on the chaise over there,” Chan said, nodding over towards the teak, cushioned lounge chairs just on the other side of the yard, facing out towards the desert.

The heat of the day had finally dissipated and the sun was starting to sink beyond the horizon, swathing the cacti and wild bushes in dark silhouettes.  Letting Chan lead the way, you walked towards the outdoor furniture and after he seated himself first, he pulled you into his lap, right between his legs and with your back against him.

“Thank you for this,” he whispered against your ear, placing a series of soft kisses against the side of your neck once you were settled against him - arms still wrapped around you and the plush towel protecting you from the elements.  “It’s nice to be somewhere quiet, alone.  With just you.”

Placing your hands on his arms, you began rubbing your palms up and down the expanse of them as you smiled.  “I figured you could use a little break.  And maybe some TLC.”

“TLC huh,” he mused, pulling back a little so he could look down to your face.  

Tipping your head back slightly, you turned to make eye contact with him.  “If you’re lucky.”  

Huffing a laugh, he gently tugged the top of your towel down, pretending as if he was going to expose one of your breasts.  “Bold of you to tease wearing nothing but a flimsy towel…” 

Sitting up straighter, you held onto the towel tighter before you shifted your position, perching yourself fully upon his lap and now facing him.  With your legs straddling either side of him, and your arms draped lazily around his shoulders, you gave your hips a slow roll over the front of his sweatpants.  “Guess I should just stop teasing then…” you mumbled, leaning down to press your soft lips against his, melting against him in a gentle, though heated, open mouthed kiss.

Chan groaned against your lips, one of his hands finding the back of your head, cradling it as he tilted his face to further deepen your liplock as the other met your hip, gripping through the fabric of the towel as he guided your exposed core to the soft cotton of his clothed cock below.

“Careful…” he mumbled against your mouth, “we are outside afterall.  Someone might see.”

You laughed gently, pressing your hips harder against him.  “Who is gonna see us?  The javelina?”  With that, you let the towel fall from your body, exposing yourself fully to him and the elements.

Chris’ hooded eyes raked over your figure once before he cursed lowly under his breath, and snaked a hand between your bodies to brush his fingers against your soaked entrance.  “Fuck… already ready for me, Baby?”

Whimpering softly at his gentle touch, you nodded your head and breathed a reply.  “Always…” 

Dropping your hand to his waist, you lifted yourself high enough to tug his sweatpants and boxers down low enough for his thick, veiny cock to spring free.  Your lithe fingertips gripped the base of him, eliciting a low moan from Chris’ lips as he watched you pump your hand up and down his length a few times.  “I need you…” he murmured, nearly desperately.

Guiding the velvety head of his length towards your entrance, you finally lowered yourself back down onto his lap, savoring the intense sensation of him filling you so entirely.  Both of your lips parted in an exhale once he was bottomed out inside of you, and your hands moved back to his shoulders, giving yourself the leverage to slowly move up and down his hardened arousal.

“Shit…” Chris whispered, watching you maneuver your body above him, a hand gripping one of your breasts as the other fell back to your hip, gripping his digits into your flesh. 

Leaning forward, he wrapped his lips around your pert nipple of your other breast, sucking softly against your heated flesh.  Humming a sigh, you slowly began to increase your motions on top of him, tipping your head back and relishing in the feeling of his mouth against your skin.

Chan flicked the tip of his tongue against your sensitive bud before gently nipping at it and tugging the pebbled flesh between his teeth, causing a low moan to come from you.  Chris squinted his eyes closed as you tightened your walls around him, panting against your skin and digging his fingertips further into the flesh of your hip.

Dropping his hand from your other breast, his lips dotted a line of small kisses against your sternum until they wrapped around your opposite nipple, giving it the same worshipping attention as the other.

“Fuck, babygirl… you feel so fucking good,” he moaned, pressing his face against the curve of your breast as he pulled you tighter against himself.  Your speed started to increase, and switched from an up and down motion to swirling your hips in a figure eight.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, arm wrapped tightly around him as you felt yourself clench around him buried deep inside of you.  “I’m close, so close.”

With both hands tightly gripping your waist, Chan anchored his feet on either side of the chair and slipped down just enough to give himself leverage to start fucking up into you from below.  “Give it to me,” he grunted, fingers digging in tight enough to leave bruises.  “Cum for me, all over me baby…” 

Your breathing was becoming more erratic, and you tipped your head forward, locking your eyes onto his as your moans became louder.  “More Channie, more, please…” you begged, breathily, eyebrows knit together as you felt your body start to tense up in his grasp.

“Take it, take it all,” he growled, slamming his hips up into you, mesmerized by the beauty of your blissful facial expression and the way your tits moved above his face.  “Let go, let go now.”

A silent moan slipped from your lips as the tension inside you finally snapped, and your entire body tightened with your release.  Toes curling, fingers digging into the fabric of his tshirt, and eyes hazily focused on his, Chris stuttered his hips with the feeling of you clench so tightly around him and the visual of you falling apart above him.

“F-fuuuuuuck,” he groaned through gritted teeth, keeping your hips grounded down on top of him as he spilled himself inside of your warmth.  “Can’t… can’t stop…” he growled, pressing his forehead against your chest as spurt after spurt erupted inside of you, his hips sporadically bucking underneath you. 

Finally, both of your bodies stilled and you collapsed against him.  Shifting his hands from your hips, one hand returning to the back of your head and the other splaying fully against your back, he rubbed your skin soothingly as you both tried to calm your heavy breathing.  

With a small laugh, you murmured “I think we made a mess… I can feel it.  Everywhere.”  With a low, appreciative growl, Chan sat up with you still around him and shifted to lay you back against the chaise cushion at the foot of the lounge in front of him.  

Now with you laying back in front of him, he looked down to where your bodies met, a thick, creamy white ring encasing his cock as he pulled out of your pussy.  “Look at that…” he cooed, one hand gripping the base of himself, the tip of him still resting just inside your flushed walls.  “Fuck, look at you… all covered in me.”  

Bringing a hand to your face with a small blush, Chan reached up to pull your hand away with a devilish grin, and with his hand wrapped around your wrist, he brought your fingers down to the mess between you.  “Feel it, look what you made me do baby…” 

Leaning up a little, you glanced down to where he had led your hand, your fingertips now coated in the stickiness that was coming out of you. 

Finally pulling himself out of you completely, he smirked as his own fingers reached down to your pussy and gently pushed some of his seed back into your still twitching inner walls.  “Can’t let any of that go to waste,” he mumbled, still mesmerized by the work of art he’d created between your legs.

Reaching for the towel with a cheeky smile on your face, you took note of the way he looked at you in awe.

Just then, you both froze at the eerie, unmistakable howl of a coyote not too far off in the distance.  Chan lifted his eyes to yours and he paused for a second.  “...maybe we should go inside and clean up,” a look of concern now spreading over his features.

“Might be a good idea,” you agreed, shifting to sit up as he tucked himself back into his pants.  With a renewed sense of urgency, Chan grabbed the towel from you, and quickly swept you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style swiftly into the house as you giggled, relaxed and happy in his protective embrace.

my tags: @angel-writes-here @idkimobsessed @queenofdumbfuckery @mfcherry @downingmorphine @pixie-felix @d3kstar @lveegsoi @ebnabi @nebugalaxy @babystay724 @mmarusa @imagine-all-the-imagines @erisuna @beabidoobee @hanniesbubuwife @bbykaixx @riri53 @jinniesgirl @alx-wyjsr @skzswife @hwangjoanna @stephanieeeyang @minnysproutgriffinteddy @jqtsblyth @magicshuhua @loveesiren @szonyix6277 @seungttttop @moontabi

[pathologicalreid]

cherry trees | S.R.

You find Spencer reading some... interesting poetry.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: breeding kink, unprotected piv sex, mentions of ovulation, pregnancy, fingering, d/s dynamic if you squint, nipple play, mating press, spencer reads erotic poetry, aftercare word count: 3.07k a/n: i have no explanation for myself. the poetry in this is all neruda, if you're interested in it. also this is only one interpretation of that poem but it worked for the plot. i still think im bad at writing smut but i liked this idea so much that i had to.

Peering over at your boyfriend from the kitchen, you filled your glasses with the wine that Rossi had gifted you and returned to Spencer in the living room. His nose was buried in a book, which wasn’t new in the slightest. What piqued your interest was the fact that he had covered the book he was reading. Both the front and back covers had been disguised with brown paper, preventing you from reading the title of the book.

You set his wine glass on his coaster before sitting down next to him, keeping your glass in your hands. “What are you reading?” You asked quietly as you tucked your feet beneath you.

“Poems,” he answered, “be done in a minute.” He adjusted his hands so that he was holding the book with one hand and resting the other hand on your thigh, absentmindedly rubbing your bare skin with the pad of his thumb.

Surprisingly enough, Spencer was a touchy guy for someone who hated germs, but you supposed he trusted you enough. You lived together, you weren’t married, but the two of you never seemed bothered by that fact. “Take your time,” you responded, Spencer reading poetry took about as long as it took you to look through a pamphlet.

He said nothing in response, completely enthralled in the book.

Standing up, you let his hand fall from your thigh, “I’m going to go change,” you said, leaning over and kissing the top of his head, noting the way he hid the pages of the book from your view.

Shedding your work clothes, you changed into pajamas, throwing a sweatshirt over your tank top before returning to the living room.

Spencer had shifted positions on the couch, “Are you alright?” You asked him, hesitantly walking over to him. From the looks of it, he was on the same page he was on when you left.

He didn’t answer, prompting you to narrow your eyes, and reached over and plucked the book from his hands, “Hey!” He said reaching out for the book, but you lifted it just barely out of his reach, and he didn’t seem like he wanted to stand. Instead, he reached out for you, pulling you down onto his lap so that your legs were on either side of his lap.

You felt it before you saw it. Your eyes widened at the feeling of his hard cock pressing into your core, allowing your gaze to flicker up to his book that you were still holding. “Spencer, are you reading smut?” You asked, amusement clear in your voice.

“Technically, they’re called erotic poems,” he answered very matter-of-factly.

Grinning, you opened the book, “Oh, what a gentleman, reading his porn instead of watching it.” Briefly, you looked at the book, “’Of everything I have seen, it’s you I want to go on seeing’-“

Spencer squeezed your waist, “What will it take for you to stop?”

“’Of everything I’ve touched, it’s your flesh I want to go on touching,’” you continued anyway, leaning over his shoulder so you continue reading the book. Spencer took the opportunity to press gentle kisses up the side of your neck before focusing on the soft spot behind your ear, eliciting a soft moan from you.

You were well aware of the effect you were having on your boyfriend, feeling his dick twitch beneath you as you read to him.

Attempting to ignore the fact that Spencer had slipped his hands underneath your sweatshirt, touching your bare skin only at the sliver of skin between your tank top and your shorts. “’I love your orange laughter. I am moved by the sight of you sleeping.’” You read softly.

“Can I have my book back now?” He asked, his voice was an octave lower and his grip on your waist tightened, prompting you to grind your hips into him, “fuck, baby.”

Once Spencer started cursing, you were already past the point of no return. “What in this book got you so hard, huh? What were you thinking about doing to me?” You pulled away slightly and looked at him, his pupils dilated, and lips parted. “’License my roving hands, and let them go before, behind, above, below.’”

Spencer groaned and you knew you had hit your mark, he reached behind his head, trying to grab the book from your hands, but you stood up and backed away from him. “Stop there, baby. Okay?” He pleaded, causing you to flip the page.

“’I will bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses,” You whispered, reading intently from the page. You could see why Spencer was so enamored with the words, you found yourself falling into the same rabbit hole. “Is this about...?” You started, but you couldn’t finish it.

He sighed exasperatedly, “I will do anything for you to forget I was interested in this.” He said, looking at you from the other side of the coffee table.

Intently, you eyed the next line in the poem, I want to do with you what Spring does with the cherry trees. “Is this what you want?” You asked him in earnest, “Do you want to do with me what the Spring does with the cherry trees?” You were breathing heavily as he scrambled to stand up. Walking backward away from him, you lifted the book back up and turned to the next page, “’I have scarcely left you, when you go in me, crystalline, or trembling, or uneasy, wounded by me, or overwhelmed with love, as when your eyes…’” you gasped as the book was swiftly knocked to the ground.

Backed into the wall, your gaze narrowed as Spencer caged you against the wall with one arm on either side of you. “I asked you to stop reading,” he murmured, ducking his head to attach his lips to your neck, following the column of your throat.

“If you wanted to knock me up so badly, all you needed to do was ask,” you spoke to him lowly, a small, throaty noise escaping your lips as his hands moved to creep up your sweatshirt.

Spencer hummed before pulling away from you just enough to pull the extra fabric over your head, placing his lips on yours as soon as he could. Your hands frantically tried to undo his tie, pulling on the silky fabric before tossing it to the floor and starting to work on the buttons of his shirt. “Needy,” he teased as he pulled away slightly to help you with his shirt.

You leaned back up to kiss him once his shirt was off, shuddering as his hand slid down your front, slipping underneath the waistband of your shorts and rubbing you over your panties, “Fuck, Spence.”

Grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself upright, he pushed the fabric of your underwear to the side and circled your entrance with one finger at a tantalizingly slow pace. “You’re so wet,” he whispered, pressing his finger into your wet hole. “If you wanted me to knock you up so badly, you should’ve just asked,” he taunted.

Your walls clenched around his finger; it wasn’t enough – you needed more of him. He was turning this into a battle of wills, and your resolve was fading fast. Spencer tracked your cycle better than you did, but you did know you were ovulating. He knew it too.

“I want to hear you ask,” he said, slowly withdrawing his finger from your cunt before pushing two back in.

A small whimper slipped through your mouth, “Spence, ‘m ovulating,” you breathed, gasping for air as he thrust his fingers into you. You leaned your head forward onto him, landing on his bare chest.

“Why do you think I was reading those poems?” He asked.

Groaning, you muffled your moans in his chest, “You want to breed me? You want to-“ Your voice broke off into a yelp as he firmly pressed his thumb against your clit. “Do what the Spring does to the cherry trees. Fuck me, please. Come in me,” you begged mindlessly, any remaining willpower fading away as your orgasm built.

You whimpered as Spencer withdrew his fingers from your pussy. “Poor baby,” he whispered, “you need to be bred that badly?”

“Yes,” you answered breathlessly, grinning as Spencer crouched down to place his hands on the backs of your thighs, lifting your feet from the ground to move you to your bedroom.

He sat you down gently on the edge of the bed, pulling away from you and tugging your tank top over your head. You took the initiative to shuffle further onto the bed, watching intently as Spencer unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor, leaving him in only his boxers as he clambered onto the bed and hovered over you.

Lifting your head up slightly, you kissed him. It was gentle at first, but lust took over and the two of you grew frantic. Spencer moved his head, leaving big wet kisses down your neck before turning his attention to your breasts. Enveloping your peaked nipple in his mouth, he gently nipped at it with his teeth as his other hand rose to your unattended breast, pinching the small bud with his index finger and thumb.

Your hips inadvertently bucked up, just for them to be pushed back down by Spencer’s as he expertly continues his ministrations on your chest. It took all of your remaining focus to grind up into him, desperate for some kind of friction.

Spencer pulled his mouth from your breast and looked at you, holding your gaze as he tugged at your panties and pulled them off, carefully guiding your legs as he did so. “You’re so wet for me, baby,” he whispered. “You’ve got that little glint in your eye, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

“You have such a dirty mouth,” you tell him, still trying to steady your breathing. You looked down at him, kneeling between your legs, his brown eyes were completely lust-blown. You gasped as your boyfriend returned his fingers to your core, “Please.”

He hummed in response, slipping two fingers into your dripping heat as he watched your every reaction. Then, as if you had forgotten his intentions, he placed a hand on your abdomen and he started thrusting his fingers in and out of you, eliciting a moan from your lips.

Turning your head into the pillows, you reached around for something – anything – to grab as the orgasm you had been chasing all night finally approached. “Babe… come…” You managed to squeak out as your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Come for me, come on my fingers, baby,” he encouraged the climax out of you, and you knew he relished the way your eyes rolled back and your back arched off of the sheets. “Good girl,” he praised you softly, working you through your orgasm, his fingers moving at a slower pace.

Once you caught your breath, you propped yourself up on your elbows, smiling dazedly at him. You reached out and pawed at his boxers, “Off, please.” You said simply, your grin expanding as he maneuvered and removed the last remaining layer.

His pink cock stood at attention before you and you found yourself subconsciously biting your lip at the sight of it. “Tell me what you want,” he spoke lowly, reaching over to the other side of the bed and grabbing a pillow, lifting your hips off of the mattress and placing the pillow beneath them.

Your cheeks flushed, “Want you to fuck me.”

“Is that all?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at you suspiciously as he reached down to your cunt, gathering your slick on his fingers and using it to pump his cock.

Any and all resolve had gone completely out the window as you watched his hand move up and down his length, “Want you to breed me.” You told him earnestly, “Get me pregnant, put a baby in me. I-“ You paused for a moment, meeting his eyes carefully, “I want to have a baby with you, Spencer.”

That seemed to be enough for him as Spencer gently rubbed the tip up and down your slit before gently pushing in. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered to you softly, “like you were made for me.”

Once he had wholly sheathed himself inside of you, he gave you a moment to adjust and you savored the way you throbbed around him. “Move,” you breathed.

Swiftly, he hooked his arms beneath your knees and leaned over you, effectively folding you in half and pressing his cock impossibly deep into your cunt. Slowly, he pulled out halfway before pushing his hips back into yours, finding a rhythm.

“You’re so deep,” you whimpered. It was some inexplicable feeling; you could feel him everywhere. Inhaling sharply when he pulled out almost entirely before snapping them back into you, continuing that quick pace. “Harder,” you murmured, the only confirmation that he had heard you being the fact that he had begun pounding into you.

He let out a moan and you clenched around him in an attempt to encourage him to be vocal, “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” He continued his pace, lifting himself up so that he could run his hand down your body, “You’ll be so pretty pregnant with our baby.” He dropped one of your legs, opening your core ever so slightly more.

Your hips lifted up to meet his as he massaged one of your breasts with his free hand, “Come in me, make me a mommy,” you whispered, getting closer to your own orgasm as well.

Spencer’s hand dropped to your clit, rubbing small circles as he continued ruining your pussy. His rhythm staggered slightly, and his head dropped to the crook of your neck, groaning into your sweaty skin as he spilled his seed into you.

The heat of his cum in you hurtled you toward your second orgasm, bringing your hand to your mouth and biting the knuckle of your index finger as you came. You felt your tunnel spasming around Spencer’s now half-hard cock, unable to control any of it as your vision spun slightly.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked softly, pressing gentle kisses to your neck as he stayed still, effectively keeping his seed inside of you.

You nodded slowly, still trying to catch your breath.

He lifted himself up slightly, “Words, please.” He whispered to you, reaching up and brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Nodding again, you took a deep breath, “I’m good. Forgot to breathe.” Your voice was quiet as you reached your arms around Spencer, the aftershocks of your orgasm making their way through you. Softly, you skimmed your palms over Spencer’s back.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” he said, referring to the inadvertent clenching of his length. “I’ll get hard again.”

You hummed as if that wasn’t the worst thing in the world, rolling your hips up into his and gasping at the friction on your oversensitive heat. “Then let’s better our odds,” you whispered, resting your head back on the pillows and biting your lip as you noticed Spencer growing hard again while still inside you.

He moved slightly inside of you, pressing himself tightly inside of your pussy, “You’re going to be the death of me.” He whispered, “wanting me to pump you full of my cum.”

“Please, Spence,” you whimpered, tears growing in your eyes as he started to fuck you again. “You feel so good in me,” you told him, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his hips.

Spencer’s pace sped up at your encouragement, completely ravishing you, “gonna make you come around my cock again, gonna breed you.”

You had completely faded away to the point where the only noises in the room were the obscene squelching as Spencer pounded into you and small, hitched breaths that escaped your lips.

The third orgasm took you completely by surprise, you hadn’t felt the coil in your abdomen before it took you over and you wrapped your arms around Spencer as he fucked you through it, his pace refusing to cease until his hips stuttered again, his seed painting your insides white.

Your legs dropped from around his hips, falling to the sheets. Gently, Spencer pulled out of you, leaving you whining at both the sensitivity and the empty feeling.

“Are you crying? Did I hurt you?” He asked suddenly, fear filling his voice as he returned from his lust-filled state.

Shaking your head, you swallowed thickly, “Just sensitive. I’m alright, Spence.” You smiled softly at him, a breathy laugh escaping your lips.

He ruffled your hair affectionately, “What are you laughing about, darling?”

“I just understood what the pillow under my hips is functioning for,” you answered. A sort of ramp so that none of his cum spilled out of you – Spencer Reid never did anything halfway. Next to you, he was tugging his shirt back over his head, having already put his boxers back on. “How long do I have to stay like this?”

Spencer hummed before leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, “You’re not trapped there. You can move – as long as you’re feeling okay.” He spoke to you before walking out of the bedroom for just one moment, returning from the kitchen to find you sitting up in bed.

You thanked him as he handed you a glass of water, “I love you,” you whispered, reaching over, and intertwining your fingers.

He smiled at you fondly, “I love you too.”

“I do want it, you know. I know it’s been a while since we talked about a wedding and kids, but I do want that,” you told him candidly. “With you,” you added, for good measure.

Gently, Spencer sat down on the edge of the mattress, “Good,” he whispered, “because there’s a good chance that I just got you pregnant.”

Your cheeks flushed, “and if you didn’t, at least now we know we’ll enjoy ourselves trying.”

“And in the interim, what do you say we take a shower and then watch that movie?” He asked, smoothing your hair back before cupping your cheek with his hand.

Humming, you leaned into his touch, “A bath?” You negotiated, “I’m not sure I can stay standing for a shower.”

Spencer grinned before leaning forward to kiss you, “I’ll go get the water running.”

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