#and to maybe make the face clearer to see

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ death by a thousand cuts

chapter summary: After trying to get pregnant for a year, you and Logan go see a fertility doctor.

word count: 5.8k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this is probably the shortest chapter i've wrote for this series, oops—

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, trying for a baby, talks of pregnancy and fertility, hormones, fluff, slight angst

series masterlist - chapter 4 → chapter 6

After over a year of trying the two of you made the decision to see a fertility doctor.

You sat in the waiting room, your fingers nervously twisting the strap of your bag. Logan sat beside you, his hand resting on your knee, grounding you with his quiet presence. The sterile smell of the clinic mixed with the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead, making the space feel too clinical, too impersonal for something so intimate.

“You okay?” Logan asked softly, his thumb brushing against your knee.

You nodded but didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, just... nervous, I guess.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We’re just figuring out what’s what. No rush, no pressure.”

You glanced at him then, his calm demeanor easing some of the tension in your chest. “I know. It’s just... I don’t know. I feel like we’re opening Pandora’s box or something.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning in closer. “Pandora’s box, huh? Thought you were supposed to be the scientist between us.”

You managed a small smile, your nerves settling just a little. “I am. And scientifically, Pandora’s box didn’t end well.”

“Maybe not, but we’re not dealin’ with myths here. We’re dealin’ with you and me—and we’ve faced worse than a box full of trouble, haven’t we?”

Before you could answer, the nurse called your name. You stood, Logan’s hand brushing your lower back as you followed her into the consultation room.

---

The doctor was kind, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile and a straightforward manner that you appreciated. She went over your medical history, asked a series of questions, and explained what the process would involve.

“We’ll start with some basic tests,” she said, her tone reassuring. “Blood work, ultrasounds, and a sperm analysis for Logan. From there, we’ll have a clearer picture of what’s going on.”

You glanced at Logan, half-expecting him to bristle at the mention of his part in the testing, but he surprised you by nodding without hesitation.

“Whatever we need to do,” he said simply.

The doctor’s smile widened. “That’s a great attitude. And I’ll be here to guide you through every step, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

---

After the appointment, the two of you walked back to Logan’s truck in comfortable silence. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot, and the crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of leaves and woodsmoke.

Logan opened the passenger door for you, waiting until you were settled before climbing in on the driver’s side. As he started the engine, he glanced over at you, his hazel eyes steady and warm.

“You feel better?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so. The doctor was nice. She made it seem... manageable.”

“Good,” Logan said, his hand reaching out to rest on your thigh as he backed out of the parking space. “We’ll take it one step at a time. No point in gettin’ ahead of ourselves.”

You placed your hand over his, squeezing gently. “Thanks for coming with me. I know this isn’t exactly your comfort zone.”

Logan smirked, his eyes flicking to you briefly. “Darlin’, my comfort zone’s about ten feet away from a fight. This? This is easy. ‘Cause it’s for you.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, warmth spreading through your chest. You leaned over to press a quick kiss to his cheek, your glasses bumping his temple in the process.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice soft.

Logan gave you a small smile, his hand tightening on your thigh. “Anytime.”

---

That evening, you found yourself in the kitchen with Jean, who was chopping vegetables for dinner while you leaned against the counter, a mug of tea cradled in your hands.

“How’d it go?” Jean asked, her green eyes flicking to you as she placed the knife down.

“Good, I think,” you said, exhaling slowly. “The doctor was nice. She explained everything really well. It’s just... a lot to think about.”

Jean nodded, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “It’s normal to feel that way. But you’re not alone in this, Y/N. You’ve got Logan, and you’ve got us. Whatever you need, we’re here.”

Her words brought a small smile to your lips, and you reached out to squeeze her hand. “Thanks, Jean. That means a lot.”

“Anytime,” she said, her smile matching yours.

The sound of the front door closing signaled Logan’s return from the garage, and a moment later, he appeared in the kitchen doorway. His gaze immediately found you, and the soft look in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, setting your mug down and crossing the room to meet him. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Logan wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured against your skin.

Jean watched the two of you with a small smile before turning back to her vegetables, giving you the space to share the quiet moment with Logan.

---

“Rogue? What’re you doing? You aren’t my student anymore.”

You adjusted your glasses as you spotted her lingering near the hallway outside the classroom, her gloved hands tucked behind her back. She turned around, wearing a sheepish smile.

“I know, but Bobby said you’re takin’ the kids to the New York Hall of Science,” Rogue said, brushing a strand of her two-toned hair out of her face. “Thought maybe I could tag along?”

“You want to come on a field trip?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rogue shrugged. “Well, it’s better than sittin’ around the mansion all day. And I’ve been wantin’ to see that museum anyway.”

Before you could answer, Kitty’s head popped out from behind Rogue, her grin wide and unapologetic. “We thought it’d be fun! Plus, you could use some extra chaperones, right?”

“Extra chaperones or extra trouble?” you teased, though you couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. Bobby appeared a moment later, looking far less guilty than he should have.

“We’re all adults now,” he said, a little too smugly. “Technically, we’re helping.”

You folded your arms, trying to keep your expression stern. “Technically, you’re supposed to let me know before inviting yourselves.”

“C’mon, Y/N,” Kitty said, clasping her hands dramatically. “We’ll behave, promise!”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. But if you distract the students or cause chaos, I’m leaving you in Queens.”

“Deal,” Rogue said quickly, already grinning.

---

The drive to the museum was lively, to say the least. The younger students buzzed with excitement, while Rogue and Kitty kept up a steady stream of commentary from the back of the bus. You tried to focus on the road, but you couldn’t help glancing in the mirror every so often, smiling at their antics.

When you finally arrived at the New York Hall of Science, the group poured out of the bus, their energy palpable. You gave them a quick rundown of the rules before leading the way inside.

The exhibits were an instant hit. The students scattered to explore interactive displays, their laughter and chatter filling the space. Rogue and Kitty stuck close to you at first, their curiosity about the exhibits almost childlike.

“This is pretty cool,” Kitty admitted, tapping the glass of a display case showcasing early quantum mechanics experiments. “Bet it’s right up your alley.”

You smiled, adjusting your glasses as you read the plaque beside it. “It’s fascinating. Physics helps us understand so much about the universe—and how much we still don’t know.”

Rogue leaned closer, examining the display. “You ever think about where we fit into all that? Mutants, I mean.”

The question caught you off guard, but you answered honestly. “All the time. I think… we’re just another piece of the puzzle. We might not always fit neatly, but we’re part of the picture.”

Rogue nodded thoughtfully, and the three of you fell into a comfortable silence as you continued exploring.

As the day went on, you felt yourself relaxing. For a few hours, the worries that had been weighing on you—doctor’s appointments, tests, and the ache of waiting—faded into the background.

By the time you returned to the mansion that evening, the students were tired but buzzing with excitement, chattering about their favorite exhibits as they spilled out of the bus. Logan was waiting for you by the front steps, his sharp gaze scanning the group until it landed on you.

“How’d it go?” he asked, his voice low as you approached him.

“Good,” you said, smiling. “No one got lost, and no one broke anything. I’d call that a win.”

Logan smirked, his hand finding the small of your back as he guided you inside. “Told ya you’d survive.”

You leaned into his touch, letting out a content sigh. “Yeah, yeah. You were right.”

“Damn straight,” he teased, his smirk softening into something more affectionate as he glanced down at you.

And just like that, the weight of the day disappeared, replaced by the quiet comfort of knowing Logan was by your side.

---

When you started taking Clomid three weeks ago, you thought it would speed things up—help you. Instead, it left you with hot flashes, cramps, and, worst of all, mood swings.

You’d read about the potential side effects, of course. The medical literature had been clear, and you prided yourself on being well-informed. But reading about it and living it were two entirely different things.

The latest mood swing hit you like a freight train when Logan entered the kitchen. He was carrying an empty coffee mug, his usual calm demeanor unbothered by the chaos of breakfast cleanup around him.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted, placing the mug in the sink. “You alright?”

His voice was gentle, concerned, and yet it lit a spark of irritation in you. You didn’t know why, but the question made your chest tighten.

“Do I look alright?” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

Logan blinked, taken aback. His brow furrowed, and his eyes searched your face for a clue about what had just happened. “I, uh, didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t mean anything,” you interrupted, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “But maybe I’m tired of people asking if I’m okay. Maybe I’m not okay, Logan. Is that what you want to hear?”

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy, and as soon as they left your mouth, regret settled in. Logan didn’t deserve this. You knew he didn’t. But the mix of hormones and frustration bubbling inside you didn’t care.

Logan stepped closer, his expression softening. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly, his hands reaching out to rest on your arms. “Talk to me. What’s goin’ on?”

You pulled back slightly, tears pricking at your eyes. “I don’t know! I just... I feel like I’m losing my mind. This stupid Clomid is supposed to help, but all it’s doing is making me feel awful. And I hate snapping at you like this. I hate it.”

Logan’s hands slid down to yours, his grip firm and reassuring. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. You’re dealin’ with a lot, and it’s not easy. But you’re not doin’ this alone, remember? I’m right here.”

You sniffled, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I know. I just... I hate feeling like this. Like I’m not myself.”

Logan tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re still you, Y/N. You’re just dealin’ with somethin’ tough right now. And if you need to yell or cry or whatever, that’s fine. I can take it.”

A small laugh escaped you, even as tears rolled down your cheeks. “You’re too good to me.”

He smirked, his thumbs brushing your skin. “Damn right I am. Now, how about I make you some tea and we sit down for a bit? You don’t gotta push yourself so hard.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Okay. Tea sounds good.”

Logan pressed a kiss to your temple before releasing you to put the kettle on. As he moved around the kitchen, the weight in your chest started to lift. You weren’t in this alone, and no matter how many mood swings or bad days came your way, Logan would be there.

---

Later that night, Logan surprised you with a hot bath. He didn’t say a word about it—just took your hand and led you to the bathroom, where he’d set up candles around the tub and filled it with steaming water and a bit of your favorite lavender bath soak.

You stared at the scene, your chest tightening with emotion. “Logan, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his hands resting on your shoulders as he gently guided you toward the tub. “But I wanted to. Figured you could use a break.”

The warmth in his hazel eyes melted away any lingering guilt, and you leaned up to kiss him softly. “Thank you.”

He smirked, stepping back to let you undress. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me. Take your time.”

As you sank into the hot water, the tension in your body slowly ebbed away. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth soothe you, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

---

When you emerged from the bathroom later, wrapped in one of Logan’s oversized flannels, he was waiting for you on the couch with a mug of tea and a soft blanket. He pulled you down beside him, tucking you under his arm without a word.

“I’m sorry again,” you murmured against his chest.

“Don’t need to apologize,” Logan said, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your shoulder. “Just glad you’re feelin’ a little better.”

You nodded, letting yourself relax into him. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew one thing for certain: Logan would be right there with you, every step of the way.

---

You’re in your bedroom folding laundry, trying to distract yourself from the mild discomfort that’s been following you all day. Logan’s boots catch your attention—the heavy leather pair sitting next to the closet instead of neatly inside it, where you’ve asked him to put them a dozen times. Something snaps.

"Why can't you just put them away, Logan?" you huff, pointing at the offending boots with all the energy of someone starting a revolution.

Logan, stretched out on the bed with a book resting on his chest, blinks at you like you’ve just spoken another language. "Darlin’, they’re not even—”

"Don’t ‘darling’ me!" you cut him off, your voice sharpening. "I’ve been cleaning all afternoon, and you can't even manage the closet! It’s right there!" You gesture toward the closet door like it's miles away instead of two feet.

He sets the book aside, sitting up slowly. “Okay.” His voice is calm, steady. “Lemme fix that.”

You cross your arms, watching as he stands, grabs the boots, and tucks them neatly inside the closet. No argument, no eye-roll, no sass. Just... compliance.

Somehow, it makes you feel worse.

By the time he turns around, your anger’s dissolved into a rush of tears that blindsides you both. Logan freezes, brows pulling together as he steps closer. "Hey, hey, what’s this now?”

You hiccup through a sob, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to snap! I don’t know why I’m crying; it’s so dumb—”

His hands land gently on your shoulders, and he’s looking at you with those warm, steady eyes, like nothing in the world could shake him. “It ain’t dumb,” he says firmly. "You’re just feelin’ stuff. Nothin’ wrong with that."

“I yelled at you over boots,” you whisper, mortified, pressing your hands over your face.

Logan chuckles softly and pulls you against his chest, his voice rumbling against your ear. “Yeah, well, maybe I deserved it. Don’t mean I’ll stop leavin’ ‘em out now and then, though—keepin’ you on your toes.”

You let out a watery laugh, half-hidden in his shirt. “You’re impossible.”

“But I’m yours.” He kisses the top of your head, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Come on. We’ll figure the rest out after we lay down for a bit. Boots’ll be here to argue about tomorrow.”

Still sniffling, you nod and let him guide you to bed, the weight of the day slowly slipping away as his arms wrap around you.

---

You grabbed your toolkit and headed to Jean’s classroom, determined to fix the sagging bookshelf that she’d mentioned Scott was supposed to take care of weeks ago. She’d been busy helping Ororo with a project, so you figured it was the perfect opportunity to step in and help out. You were midway through tightening a screw when Scott appeared in the doorway, his brows lifting slightly in surprise.

“Y/N?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you shot back without looking up. “Fixing this bookshelf that’s been on your to-do list since forever.”

Scott blinked, clearly taken aback. “I was gonna get to it—”

“‘Gonna’ doesn’t cut it, Scott,” you interrupted, your voice rising as you stood up and placed your hands on your hips. “Jean’s been patient, but this thing’s been wobbling like a drunk giraffe for weeks. What if a kid leaned on it and it collapsed? You’ve been too busy polishing the visor or whatever it is you do instead of actually taking care of the basics around here.”

Scott’s mouth opened and closed, his expression cycling rapidly from shock to mild indignation to confusion. “Polishing the—what? I’ve been—”

“Don’t even start,” you cut him off again, waving a screwdriver for emphasis. “This isn’t just about the bookshelf. What about the training room light that’s still flickering? Or the squeaky hinge on the front door? Or—or the fact that the coffee machine still sprays everywhere every time someone tries to make espresso? All things you said you’d take care of!”

Logan had been passing by when he heard the commotion. He stopped just outside the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with amused curiosity.

Scott’s face was a study in restrained emotion—shock, embarrassment, a touch of frustration. “Y/N, I—”

“Don’t!” you snapped, jabbing the screwdriver toward him. “Some of us actually follow through on our responsibilities, Summers. Jean shouldn’t have to remind you a hundred times, and I shouldn’t have to come in here and do your job for you.”

From his perch at the door, Logan chuckled under his breath. Scott shot him a quick glare, but you were too fired up to notice.

“Okay,” Scott said, his tone unusually placating. “You’re right. I’ll take care of it, alright? No need to—”

“To what? Be upset?” you interrupted, throwing your hands up. “You think I want to yell at you about this? I don’t. But someone’s gotta hold you accountable.”

Scott stood there for a moment, clearly unsure how to respond. He nodded stiffly, turned on his heel, and walked toward the door. As he passed Logan, he muttered, “Not a word.”

Logan raised his hands in mock innocence, but the smirk tugging at his lips was impossible to miss. Once Scott was gone, Logan stepped into the room, his smirk blooming into a full grin.

“Well, that was somethin’,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “Didn’t know you had it in you, darlin’.”

You turned to him, still holding the screwdriver, your cheeks flushed. “I—I don’t know what came over me,” you stammered, the fire in your tone extinguished as quickly as it had flared. “I just... snapped.”

Logan stepped closer, taking the screwdriver from your hand and setting it aside. “Snapped is right. Poor Summers looked like he’d been run over.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh God, I probably scared him. I’ve never yelled at anyone like that before.”

Logan chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest. “Well, you got a point about the bookshelf. And the coffee machine.”

“It’s the Clomid,” you mumbled into his shirt. “It’s making me crazy. I can’t believe I just did that.”

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You’re not crazy, sweetheart. Just feelin’ things a little stronger than usual. Summers’ll survive. Might even get his act together after this.”

You let out a weak laugh, peeking up at him through your glasses. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Logan said, his grin softening into something warmer. “And if he doesn’t, well... you’ve got me to back you up.”

You sighed, letting yourself relax against him. “Thanks, Logan.”

"Anytime, darlin’," Logan murmured, holding you close. "But maybe give me a heads-up next time before you tear into someone. I’d like a front-row seat. In fact," he paused as his hands slid under your knees, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, "I think I’d like a demonstration."

You blinked up at him, your cheeks flushing instantly. "Logan—"

"Don’t start," he teased, his grin widening as he kicked the door closed behind him. "You’ve got me all worked up, Y/N. Not every day I see you take charge like that. Hell, I’m half tempted to leave my boots out again just to see what happens."

You squirmed in his arms, though not enough to make him let go. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you married me," he shot back, smirking. "What’s that say about you?"

"That I make questionable decisions," you quipped, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Logan carried you into the bedroom, setting you down on the edge of the bed with a deliberate slowness that made your pulse quicken. He crouched in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees as his gaze met yours, warm and teasing.

"Questionable, huh?" His voice dropped slightly, the rough edge of it curling around the words. "Guess we better make somethin’ about it that’s real certain."

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as his hands slid up your thighs. "Logan..."

He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that started slow and deepened quickly, his hand slipping behind your neck to pull you closer. When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your glasses slightly askew.

"You keep kissin’ me like that, and we’re never going to get anything done," you murmured, your voice softer now.

Logan smirked, reaching up to adjust your glasses with an exaggerated care that made you roll your eyes. "Who says we’re not gettin’ somethin’ done? We got work to do, darlin’."

"Work," you echoed, half-laughing. "That’s one way to put it."

He stood, pulling you to your feet with him, his hands warm and steady against your hips. "You’ve been stressin’ over all this, Y/N. We’re in this together, yeah? You and me. No matter how long it takes."

You nodded, feeling the tension in your chest ease slightly. "I know. I just... I don’t want to let you down."

Logan’s expression softened, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "You could never let me down. Got it?"

"Got it," you whispered, leaning into his touch.

"Good." He grinned then, a wicked glint in his eye as he pulled you closer. "Now, how ‘bout that demonstration?"

Before you could answer, he kissed you again, slower this time, his hands slipping to the small of your back. You melted against him, letting his warmth and steady presence ground you. Whatever came next, you knew you were in this together.

---

Kitty poked her head into your classroom, right now it was in between periods, students trickling in and out of classrooms. “Hey! I wanted to ask you ‘bout that article you recommended…”

You hummed, an ice pack pressed against the back of your neck. “Yeah? What about it?”

Kitty stepped further into the room, her usual bounce tempered by curiosity. “So, I read that article you told me about—the one on quantum superposition and neural networks? It was fascinating, but I got stuck on the part about entanglement thresholds. Like, how do you measure that without collapsing the system?”

You smiled despite the warmth blooming uncomfortably along your collarbone. “Good question. It’s tricky because you’re working with systems that are inherently unstable. The key is minimizing external interference—usually through isolated environments and precise calculations. I could lend you a book that explains it better.”

Kitty nodded enthusiastically. “That’d be awesome! I’m trying to connect it to this idea I had about alternate timelines—like, how they intersect and... hey, are you okay?”

Her sudden shift in tone made you blink. “What?”

“You look kind of flushed,” Kitty said, tilting her head. “And you’ve got an ice pack. Are you sick?”

You waved a hand, brushing off her concern. “I’m fine. Just a hot flash.”

Kitty’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. Ohhh. Is it... you know... related to the Clomid?”

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat even more—not from the hormones this time. “Yeah. Side effects are no joke.”

Kitty frowned sympathetically. “That sucks. Anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you’ve invented air-conditioning I can carry in my pocket,” you joked lightly. “But thanks, Kitty. I appreciate it.”

She smiled, though her eyes were still tinged with concern. “Anytime. And hey, if you need a distraction, I’m always up for more physics talk.”

“Noted,” you said, smiling back. “Now, get out of here before you’re late to your next session.”

Kitty grinned and backed toward the door. “Alright, alright. But seriously—take it easy, Y/N.”

As she left, you leaned back in your chair, letting the ice pack cool your neck. The day felt like it was stretching on forever.

---

Later that afternoon, you were walking down the hallway, carrying a stack of freshly graded papers for your advanced physics students. Logan’s heavy footsteps caught your attention before you saw him, and you weren’t surprised when he appeared at your side, his usual scowl softening the moment he looked at you.

“Here.” He reached out and took the stack of papers from your hands without waiting for permission.

You gave him a small smile. “I can handle it, Logan.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, his tone gruff but affectionate. “Doesn’t mean you gotta.”

Before you could respond, he pulled something from his jacket pocket—a small, folding hand fan. With a flick of his wrist, he opened it and started fanning you as you walked.

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. “Logan. What are you doing?”

“Coolin’ you down,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Where did you even get that?”

“Picked it up from Jubilee,” he said with a smirk. “She’s got a stash of these things. Said they’re ‘aesthetic.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “Logan, I’m fine. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t start,” he interrupted, fanning you with slow, deliberate strokes. “You’re dealin’ with enough. Let me help.”

Further down the hall, Bobby and Rogue were leaning against a locker, their conversation trailing off as they watched the scene unfold.

“Is... is he fanning her?” Bobby asked, his tone equal parts disbelief and amusement.

“Looks like it,” Rogue said, her Southern drawl soft with surprise. “That’s... kinda sweet, actually.”

“Sweet?” Bobby snorted. “It’s Logan. The guy who growls at people for breathing too loud. And now he’s walking around with a fan like he’s auditioning for Pride and Prejudice.”

“Maybe he’s just different with her,” Rogue suggested, her gaze lingering on the way Logan’s expression softened as he looked at you.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“Just... softer,” Rogue said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

---

By the time you reached your classroom, the fan had done its job, and you felt marginally less like you were melting. Logan set the papers on your desk and tucked the fan back into his jacket.

“Thanks,” you said softly, adjusting your glasses as you looked up at him.

Logan shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that told you he was pleased. “Anytime, darlin’.”

As he turned to leave, he paused in the doorway, glancing back at you. “Oh, and don’t forget—peppermints are in my other pocket if you need ‘em. For the nausea.”

You felt your heart swell at the gesture, even as you shook your head in exasperation. “You spoil me, you know that?”

“Damn right I do,” he said with a smirk before disappearing down the hall.

You sighed, a soft smile lingering on your lips as you turned back to your work. Whatever challenges this journey threw your way, Logan’s steady presence made every step feel a little lighter.

---

You didn’t train much, your powers weren’t exactly something you could easily fight with. So while you occasionally participated in the Danger Room sessions you rarely hit the gym.

But in all your research, exercise is supposed to help with your fertility. Which is why you started training with Ororo rather than Logan—after last time that was never happening again.

You adjusted your glasses as you pushed open the heavy door to the gym. The faint clang of metal weights and the low murmur of conversation met your ears. You weren’t here to train, of course—you were looking for Jean, who’d promised to help you reorganize some of the chaos in your physics lab. She’d mentioned something about hitting the gym with Scott earlier, so it was your best bet for tracking her down.

Your plan to slip in and out unnoticed, however, derailed the moment you spotted Logan. He was leaning against the boxing ring ropes, wiping sweat from his brow after what looked like an intense sparring session with Scott, who was already halfway out the door. Logan glanced up, his sharp gaze locking onto you before his lips quirked into that familiar smirk.

“Look who’s wandered into enemy territory,” he teased, straightening up.

“I’m not here for this,” you said quickly, waving your hand at the gym in general. “I’m just looking for Jean.”

Logan grabbed a towel from the corner and draped it over his neck, taking slow steps toward you. “Jean left about ten minutes ago. You missed her.”

Your shoulders slumped. “Of course, she did. That’s my luck today.”

“Well, since you’re here,” he said, his tone shifting, “why don’t you step in the ring with me for a bit?”

You blinked at him, startled. “Logan, we’ve been over this. Last time I ‘trained’ with you, you nearly broke my wrist.”

“That was a love tap, and you know it.” His smirk widened, but his eyes softened in a way that made your heart flip. “Come on. Humor me, darlin’. It’s not every day you wander in here.”

You hesitated, glancing around. “Logan, I’m not exactly dressed for—”

“You don’t need to be dressed for anything fancy. Just step in the ring and show me what you’ve been learning with ‘Ro,” he interrupted, gesturing toward the ropes.

Your head tilted in confusion. “You… know I’ve been training with Ororo?”

He crossed his arms. “Course I do. I ain’t blind, sweetheart. I’ve been lettin’ you do your thing, but I’m curious now. So, get up here and show me.”

There was no talking him out of it—you knew that look all too well. With a sigh, you handed off your things to a nearby bench and climbed into the ring. Logan watched, waiting patiently as you faced him.

“I haven’t been learning much,” you admitted. “Mostly just stuff to keep me… in shape.”

“That so?” He took a step closer. “Guess I’ll be the judge of that. Come at me.”

Your cheeks flushed. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

With a resigned sigh, you brought your hands up, recalling the basic stance Ororo had drilled into you. Logan’s brow quirked approvingly.

“Not bad,” he said. “Now throw a punch.”

You hesitated, then jabbed toward him. He deflected it easily, nodding for you to try again. The first few attempts felt clumsy, but his corrections were patient, guiding you through the motions until you gained a rhythm.

“Alright, not bad at all,” he said after a few minutes. “Now let’s add some flair. Show me somethin’ you’ve picked up from Ororo.”

You inhaled deeply, your nerves threatening to surface. “Okay, but… you asked for this.”

With that, you stepped back slightly, feinted a jab, and then leaped toward him. Your legs hooked around his neck, and with a sudden twist, you executed a move Ororo had shown you in one of your sessions. Logan’s body slammed to the mat, your weight holding him down as your thighs pinned him firmly.

For a long moment, there was silence, save for your panting breaths. Your arms braced against the floor for balance as your legs stayed locked around his neck. Logan’s hands instinctively came up to grip your calves, his calloused palms firm but cautious, as though testing if the moment was real.

“Where the hell did you learn that?” Logan’s voice was hoarse, slightly winded, though his lips curved into an almost feral grin.

“Ororo,” you answered, surprised at your own breathlessness. “She said… it’s a last-resort thing.”

Logan laughed, a rich sound that sent heat to your cheeks. His grip shifted slightly, his thumb brushing your skin in a way that made you hyperaware of the position you were in. “Not bad for someone who claims she doesn’t know much.”

Your cheeks flamed, and your confidence faltered. “I—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Don’t backpedal now,” Logan interrupted, his grin widening. “This is somethin’ else.”

You stared at him, your glasses sliding slightly down your nose, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. His hands remained on your legs, his touch warm and grounding, and it occurred to you just how close you were.

“Uh, should I… let you up now?” you asked awkwardly.

“Probably,” Logan said, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. He made no immediate effort to move, and for a moment longer, the tension thickened.

Finally, you unlocked your legs and scrambled off him, adjusting your glasses with a nervous laugh. Logan got to his feet with his usual grace, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Y’know,” he drawled, “next time, don’t wait so long to show me somethin’ like that. Hell of a way to knock me on my ass.”

You rolled your eyes, your shyness kicking back in full force. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t expect it to happen again.”

“No promises, darlin’,” he said, his tone playful but his eyes watching you with unmistakable fondness.

and that is 2006!

i wanted to give a little clarity about reader's trouble conceiving. i actually briefly hinted to it in with you i'm free. i know there are a lot of women who have trouble conceiving because of various issues.

anyways, i'm not going to specify what 'condition' reader has or why she's having trouble because i want people to be able to insert themselves in her shoes, whether they have something like endometriosis, pcos, something else, or nothing at all!

as someone who has a lot of medical issues myself, one medical problem i have would make me a high-risk pregnancy. though i am not worried in the slightest because i'm 20, never dated, and the thought of children makes my skin crawl.

sorry for the rant, just thought i'd share why i'm writing this the way i am :)

[tommykinard]

Your gif blending skills are *chefs kiss* so, so good! Any tips/tricks you could maybe give for a seamless blending? Thank you! 💕

Thank you for the kind message!! I'd be happy to share how I blend my gifs! I did a basic blending tutorial here that just covers how to put two gifs on top of each other on the same canvas, but I can explain more about how I clean up my blends and make them seamless.

The key components are black brushes, the eraser tool, and layer opacity

So the below gif is what I get when I simply put my two gifs on top of each other and position them the way I want, but I want it to look a bit cleaner.

This is how I have my gifs set up, with the gifs and the colourings within separate folders (b for Buck on the left, and t for Tommy on the right).

And this is what it looks like when I open up one of those folders.

Now when I blend, I add a new layer within each folder on top of all the colouring layers, (the layer blend mode is set to normal), and I do the same thing in the Buck folder

Painting with black brushes

So now I use a big, soft, black brush to paint on this new layer I created. Wherever I paint is the area I hide. Since I'm starting in the Tommy folder, I'm going to paint over the areas from the Tommy gif that cover Buck, so that these areas get hidden.

I want to hide that bright spot on top of Buck's face (which is coming from the tommy gif) so I take a brush that roughly matches the size of the area (the circle that I drew). So in this case I'm using a 300px brush at 0% hardness set to black. And all I do is move my brush to the area I want to cover, and *CLICK ONCE*. I don't drag the brush, I simply move it into position, click once, and let go.

Here you can see the before and after

As you can see, Buck's face is a lot clearer now. And this is what my layers panel looks like.

Let's say I want to hide a little more, and clear up Buck's face even further. I simply create another new layer within the folder (above layer 4 in my screenshot) and again, click once over the desired area with my brush.

This is what it looks like now, but let's say I want to add some of that texture back. I simply go to the layer, and reduce the opacity. I usually play around with anywhere from 20% to 80% opacity.

Now I do the same thing for the Buck gif, but this time I paint over Tommy's face, meaning that I'm hiding the areas of the Buck gif that are covering Tommy's face.

This time I clicked twice with my black brush because I didn't feel that one click hid enough of the gif. Also, if you feel like you brushed over too big of an area, just take your eraser (usually the same size as/slightly smaller than your brush, also at 0% hardness) and CLICK TO ERASE. This is the final blend that I'm happy with.

Final comments

I found that this is the easiest way to blend, because other methods using layer masks sometimes leave you with those transparent pixels to deal with. Just make sure to CLICK with your brush/eraser and NEVER DRAG. This method is also super helpful when you have two "incompatible" gifs, such as when one gif is really bright. By clicking with a big soft brush you can still show the gif behind it while not making it look too disjointed, like I did here:

Here's another tutorial that I find helpful, which goes over using the dark spots in your gifs to help with the blending. Hope this helps!!

[visenyaism]

the riverdale-ism of megalopolis is actually crazyyyy. i admire it because i think an entirely referential film that is like 50% shakespeare's julius caesar 20% atlas shrugged 30% thomas milton is something between a masterpiece and a nightmare. i see why they didn't release it after 9/11

Cesar Catalina used Megalon to make all those golden walkways material they used to make this movie is called Riverdalon. I see the same bones in them let me rant:

Riverdale, if I am going to be pretentious, which I am💖, is motivated by a love for everything about Americana and media in general that is so powerful it sublimates everything into itself and transcends coherence. it cannot ever leave the teen drama box so there is nothing stopping it from playing toys with genre and reference week after week like oh we did Twin Peaks in the first season we’re doing the godfather next week silence of the lambs a little bit extended secret history arc but the B plot is gonna be uncut gems maybe some saving Private Ryan if we have time. All the musical episodes are weird deep cuts. It subsumes so much into itself that the only thing the show ends up being about is itself, the craft of cinema in microcosm in a shitty teen drama. It insists upon itself and its lack of coherence like a sort of capital kaleidescope to the point where it’s clearer than it is actually motivated by a single distinct vision and I think it’s so beautiful.

Megalopolis has the same complete lack of subtlety, completely incoherent dialogue, and kalaidescopic nature that somehow does coalesce into a single vision as Riverdale, but I think the emotion motivating it is not love or reverence for past art or tradition it is trying sooo hard to be future-facing. But it also just kind of has nothing to say while trying to say everything. Much like Riverdale. I think the emotion motivating it is definitely a little bit more hubris and I love hubris, but for a movie that is clearly driven really fundamentally by like hubris and arrogance it’s not weird ENOUGH. It’s juvenile isn’t-this-deep in like every respect but I do appreciate how hard everyone is acting. That’s also very Riverdalian. It also has a women problem. I also love how gold everything is why not. 

[cheollollipop]

Fragments of Us - bar fight. (misc.)

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: angst, fluff, smut (minors fuck off, in the nicest way possible) warning(s): mentions of drinking, seungcheol gets into a fight smh. blood. c*ps.

summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly. word count: 1.6k start date: nov. 20, 2024 end date: -

A/N: heyyy... long time no see... so, I may or may not have been writing more misc. stuff. don't worry though! the next few chapters are complete, my mind has just been coming up with the randomest ideas for this fic and I'm honestly not mad. anywho, here is the famous cheollie bar fight that was talked about in ch. 1

The first punch didn’t hurt.

Seungcheol barely even felt it. The impact was dull, numbed by the alcohol in his system, by the frustration clawing at his chest, by the unbearable weight of everything he had spent the past year trying to ignore.

The second punch, though—that one he felt.

It split his lip and sent the metallic taste of blood spilling over his tongue, but he barely registered it. If anything, it only made his vision clearer, his mind sharper, the pounding in his head aligning with the rhythm of his pulse.

Maybe this was exactly what he needed.

He wasn’t sure how it started. Maybe some guy had looked at him the wrong way. Maybe he had bumped into someone without realizing it. Perhaps he had just been looking for an excuse.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole,” the guy had snapped, shoving him back.

Seungcheol should’ve walked away.

Instead, he laughed—low, humorless, empty. “Or what?”

The guy didn’t hesitate. Fist to his jaw, hard and unrelenting.

Seungcheol staggered back, running his tongue over the blood already pooling in his mouth. His fingers flexed at his sides. His heart pounded in his ears.

He could leave. Right now, he could turn around, step away, let it go.

But that would mean going back to his empty apartment. Back to silence. Back to himself.

And right now, himself was the last person he wanted to be alone with.

So, instead, he swung.

The impact sent the guy stumbling back into a table, knocking over a half-empty glass. Someone cursed. Chairs scraped against the floor. Shouts erupted around them, but all Seungcheol saw was the fire in the guy’s eyes as he lunged forward again.

A fist caught Seungcheol’s ribs. He gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain, grabbing the guy by the collar and slamming him against the bar.

The guy, either too stupid or too drunk to back down, spat blood onto the floor and swung. Seungcheol ducked effortlessly, countering with a sharp right hook to his ribs. A pained grunt escaped his opponent, but Seungcheol wasn’t done. He drove his knee into the guy’s stomach, making him gasp for air before throwing him onto the floor like a dead weight.

“Cheol, stop!” A voice cut through the haze, but he barely registered it.

The guy groaned, trying to push himself up, but Seungcheol grabbed him by the shirt again, yanking him up to land another punch—harder this time. His knuckles ached, but the satisfaction of seeing the guy crumple made it worth it.

Heavy footsteps pounded against the floor. “That’s enough!” A bartender yelled, and before Seungcheol could throw another punch, he felt strong arms pulling him back.

“Let me go!” He snarled, struggling against the grip.

“Calm the fuck down!” Another voice—Joshua’s—hissed in his ear.

The voice barely cut through the haze, but something about it—sharp, desperate—made his grip falter.

“Seungcheol, what the fuck are you doing?!”

His hands were on him now, pulling him back, but the guy wasn’t done. Another punch landed against Seungcheol’s side, and he cursed, instinctively shoving forward again—only for another set of hands to grab his shoulders.

“Enough!”

Mingyu, this time, voice firm, face tight with worry.

“Let me go,” Seungcheol growled, but Joshua tightened his grip.

“No. You’re done.”

The guy he had been fighting wiped blood from his nose, glaring. “Fucking psycho.”

Seungcheol tensed, but Joshua was already dragging him back, voice strained. “Yeah, yeah, he gets it. Just go before we all end up in the back of a police car.”

The sirens in the distance weren’t a threat anymore—they were real.

Seungcheol’s chest heaved, adrenaline still coursing through him, his hands shaking with the need to do something. But as the bartender sputtered into the phone, and Joshua’s grip didn’t waver, reality finally sank in.

This wasn’t just a fight.

This was him unraveling.

And everyone could see it.

Mingyu exhaled sharply. “What the hell, man?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer. What could he say?

That he hadn’t felt alive in months? That the silence in his head was worse than the fights in bars, worse than the blood on his knuckles, worse than waking up next to someone who wasn’t her?

Joshua sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Seungcheol didn’t resist as they pulled him toward the door, past the glares, past the wreckage.

Joshua let out a sharp breath as they stepped into the cold night air. “You need to talk to us, Cheol. This? This isn’t—”

“I don’t want to talk,” Seungcheol muttered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah, no shit.” Joshua scoffed. “You’d rather throw punches at strangers and drink yourself sick than deal with—”

Seungcheol cut him off. “I am dealing with it.”

Joshua shook his head. “No, you’re avoiding it. And you know it.”

Silence stretched between them.

Mingyu’s voice was softer this time. “Cheol… this isn’t you, man.”

But maybe it was now. Maybe this was all that was left of him.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t even sure he cared.

The cold metal of the handcuffs burned against Seungcheol’s wrists.

He barely fought when the officers pulled him away from the bar, shoving him toward the waiting squad car. The adrenaline had faded, leaving only exhaustion and the dull, throbbing pain of bruises forming beneath his skin. Blood from his split lip dripped onto his shirt, the taste of iron lingering in his mouth.

“Got anything on you I need to know about?” The officer’s voice was firm, distant. Seungcheol barely registered it.

“No.” His voice was hoarse, and he wasn’t sure if it was from yelling or the fact that he hadn’t really spoken in days.

The officer patted him down anyway before pushing him into the backseat. The smell of cheap leather and stale sweat filled his nostrils. The door slammed shut.

Outside, Joshua was arguing with another officer. His face was tight with frustration, his hands moving in sharp, frantic gestures. Mingyu stood beside him, running a hand through his hair, looking like he wanted to punch something himself.

Seungcheol leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

—

Holding was cold.

The walls were gray, the bench was hard, and the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making his headache worse. The fight had drained him, leaving only the hollow emptiness he had been trying so damn hard to escape.

He should’ve seen this coming.

Hell, everyone probably saw it coming.

He ran a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers brushed over the forming bruise on his temple. His knuckles were raw, split open in places, but he barely felt it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, dropping his head into his hands.

How did it get to this?

The last year had been nothing but a downward spiral. Drinking too much, sleeping too little, and shutting everyone out. It was easier that way. If he let them in, they’d see the mess he had become, and he couldn’t let that happen.

So, he drowned himself in distractions. In anything that would make him forget. But the memories always crept back in—her voice, her laugh, how she used to look at him like he was her entire world.

And now?

Now she was gone, and he was here.

The sharp sound of a door opening made him look up.

Joshua stepped inside, looking exhausted, frustrated, and worried all at once.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Seungcheol didn’t respond.

Joshua sighed, rubbing his temples. “You know I had to call someone to bail you out, right?”

Seungcheol swallowed, his throat dry. “Who?”

Joshua hesitated.

The door opened again, and Seungcheol’s stomach dropped.

Jihoon stepped inside, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You know,” Jihoon said, voice tight, “when I imagined getting a call about you in the middle of the night, I really hoped it wouldn’t be about this.”

Seungcheol huffed a humorless laugh, looking away. “Guess I never stop disappointing, huh?”

Jihoon’s jaw clenched. “That’s not funny.”

Silence stretched between them. Joshua exhaled sharply.

“You’re lucky they’re letting you off with just a fine,” he muttered. “If that guy had pressed charges, you’d be screwed, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol just stared at the floor. He wasn’t sure he cared.

Jihoon took a step closer. “What the hell are you doing to yourself, man?” His voice was softer now, and his anger was laced with something else—something closer to concern.

Seungcheol didn’t have an answer.

Jihoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Seungcheol stood, his movements slow, his body aching.

As they walked out of the station, the cold night air hit Seungcheol like a slap in the face. It was sobering, but not enough to drown out the weight pressing against his chest. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched, like he could somehow make himself smaller. Jihoon and Joshua flanked him on either side, silent for a while.

Then Joshua spoke.

“You need to talk to us, Cheol.”

Seungcheol swallowed hard, his throat tight.

They wanted him to talk. To open up. To tell them what was going on in his head. But how could he explain the black hole sitting in his chest? How could he put into words the way he had been unraveling, piece by piece, since the moment she walked away?

He clenched his jaw, keeping his gaze fixed on the pavement. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Jihoon let out a sharp breath, frustration clear in his voice. “Bullshit.”

Seungcheol stopped walking.

Jihoon and Joshua turned to face him, both of them watching him carefully.

“You think we don’t see it?” Jihoon asked, his voice quieter now but firm. “You think we don’t know that you’ve been drowning yourself in distractions, in anything that can keep you from actually feeling?”

Seungcheol let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And what do you think talking about it will fix anything?”

“No,” Jihoon admitted. “But at least it’s better than this. Better than you throwing punches in some shitty bar like you don’t care what happens to you.”

Silence.

Seungcheol exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cold air. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him, waiting, hoping for something—anything—that would prove he still had a little bit of himself left.

But all he could do was run a tired hand down his face and mutter, “I just want to go home.”

Joshua and Jihoon exchanged a look, something unspoken passing between them, before Joshua sighed.

“Alright,” he said, voice softer now. “Let’s go home.”

Seungcheol nodded, though the word home felt foreign now. It was like something he wasn’t sure he even had anymore.

[frostedheartwriter]

https://www.tumblr.com/frostedheartwriter/775708986730266624/hey-may-i-ask-for-white-lily-x-reader-fluff-like?source=share

Oh, I thought i typed fluff but I'll be clearer...and if i fail again, im sorry! I would like white lily x reader romantic fluff...and I'll change description to something more...descriptive!

Maybe they have been dating for a while so they decide to have a sleepover and they do some fun wholesome activities together...maybe one of said activities is pillow fighting...and then when it's time to sleep, y/n is just too riled up and hyped on love and playtime to sleep so white lily had to snuggle them and soothe them to sleep?

I think I can do that.

Sorry for the late reply. I fell asleep.

White Lily Cookie x Reader (Romance, fluff)

You and White Lily had been dating for awhile now. You had been her way to keep herself grounded, and she had been your way to see more of Earthbread. You had been making sure that White Lily had been eating enough and she had been making sure that you were resting whenever sick.

Eventually, you both found a place to stay the night. An inn where every Cookie could sleep peacefully. You had asked White Lily if she wanted to get separate rooms but she said;

"Actually, if it's okay with you, I'd like for us to share a room."

You were shocked to say the least, especially since you saw her blushing. You nodded softly and bought a shared room. Upon walking in the room, you saw that there was only one bed. Suddenly, looking at the pillows, your brain suddenly went into what White Lily called 'gremlin mode'.

You grabbed one of the pillows, holding it. White Lily stepped closer, only to suddenly get hit with the pillow. She was stunned for a second and started to tear up. You immediately felt bed and started to apologize. Only for you to suddenly get hit with a pillow. She had made you let down your guard, and now you can hear her giggling.

"Oh... It's on..."

You spoke with a grin as both you and White Lily started to have a pillow fight. It was a lot of fun and White Lily was rather clever whenever she managed to land a hit on you.

Eventually though, you both got tired and layed down on the bed together. You hugged each other close, cuddling and nuzzling each other to no end. And yet, you were full of surprises. You suddenly kissed White Lily on the lips, causing her face to go red as she froze up but slowly melted into the kiss. You soon broke for air, making both you and White Lily pant slightly.

After catching your breath, White Lily pulled you close and suddenly kissed you on the lips. The kiss was deeper, and held a lot more passion this time. This made your face go red as well. After pulling away, you and White Lily nuzzled into each other.

"I never knew you were such a good kisser Y/n."

White Lily spoke with a sleepy look in her eyes.

"You're also a good kisser, my beautiful flower."

You spoke, making White Lily blush again. You both then giggled softly before wishing each other good night; falling asleep in each other's arms. White Lily knew she needed to come up with a nickname for you later. But for now? She was happy to sleep within your arms and holding you so close with her own.

(Sorry if its shorter than expected or not what you wanted. I did my best and I hope you enjoyed it!)

[realjem-art]

thinking about minor redesigns w/ Goliath again... kinda hard to tell what the hell im doing in plain sketch tho </3 gotta do a colored thing soon!

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pages from trying to keep a little sketchbook-scrapbook type thing going for two weeks lol. I gave myself specific rules in hopes they might all end up more cohesive/consistent seeming, but alas, scribbly chaos reigns, it seems

[foldingfittedsheets]

I desperately hope the person who just bought my Eating Out design on an apron knows they’re wearing a dirty joke.

[ceramicbeetle]

Desperately trying to make sense of Alex's motivations in Season Two and you know, I do eventually have to wonder if maybe Alex wasn't actually lying in the majority of those tapes.

Like, we tend to assume that Alex's motivations have been a consistent throughline since the college years, but do we actually know that that's the case? Do we know for sure that Alex was acting in deliberate, calculated ways in 2006; or could it be that he's telling the Truth on those olds tapes when he says he's blacking out and can't remember what's happening to anyone? After all, if we're assuming that Season 2 Alex's motivations are the exact same as his motives in Season 3, then it doesn't make any sense at all that he spend months working with Jay to try to find Amy; Season 3 Alex would have attempted to kill Jay like, on sight just to get things over with as quickly as possible and contain the spread of contamination as best as he could.

But, maybe, if Alex really had been separated from Amy after the events of the 04-04-10 tape, and if he really doesn't know where she is, then maybe that could make things start to make more sense. Maybe he really had been watching Jay's channel, and seeing Jay start going through the same things he went through in college without things devolving into violence and disappearances, and wondered if things maybe could play out differently this time. Maybe he really did send that tape to Jay to ask him for help, maybe he really was just trying to find Amy.

But then, instead of actually being helpful, Jay makes it extremely clear that he's a lot more interested in stalking Alex than he is in finding Amy. Alex asked for help, and instead there's a bunch of masked dudes on Jay's heels that keep attacking him, Jay is breaking into his house, stealing his things, leading the Operator right to him all over again, keeps trying to get other people (namely: Jessica -- if Alex is being honest when he says that his call reassuring her that Amy had been found was an effort to make Sure she stayed away from everything that was happening) involved; and instead of anything getting better, instead of anyone finding Amy, things are just getting worse all over again.

It's not until after the incident at the tunnel that things seem to start rapidly devolving. Rather than a calculated attempt to finally follow through with his need to curb the spread of contamination, this is very clearly an outburst of rage and terror. Alex's "I told you not to follow me" line in conjunction with Jay speculating that Alex didn't know who that guy was, to me, pretty firmly seems to speak to Alex having mistaken that stranger for Jay. From his point of view, Alex knows that Jay and totheark know where he live, have broken in before, he suspects that Jay stole a key to make it easier to get into his house, and he's been followed on the daily for months -- Alex is sitting at the tunnel because he doesn't know where else he can go without being constantly surveilled, hunted, and assaulted. And instead of getting a moment by himself to breathe, Jay followed him out there all over again (it feels like Alex looks directly at the camera in Jay's footage of him from this day; he knew for a fact that Jay was there), and then to make matters worse now 'Jay' won't even keep his distance anymore.

So Alex lashes out. And it's not until afterwards that he looks down and finally recognizes that this wasn't Jay -- it was someone completely innocent. Things have finally reached the low point he was at in college all over again; maybe even worse this time. If Alex doesn't remember attacking anyone in college, but he was at least partially conscious of it this time, then things have reached an entirely new rock bottom, they've reached an absolute point of no return.

He has no idea what happened to Amy, and he's spent months trying to find her with no hint of where she could be; he doesn't know where Jay actually is or what additional trouble he could be causing at this point; he does know that now innocent people are getting caught in the crossfire (in regards to the stranger in the tunnel, and also Jessica now that Jay has her phone number, and the untold number of people Jay got involved when he started posting videos to the Marble Hornets channel); things are spiraling out of control and there's no one left to ask for help. The situation isn't getting better, it's getting worse; things aren't getting easier to handle, they're just getting more out of hand; the negative impact is spreading and who knows how much further it can still go?

So, Alex decides to go scorched earth. He disfigures the body with the rock either to hide evidence or to make sure the guy would actually stay dead and not just get back up to start his own cycle of contamination in a few years. He tries to give Jay one last chance to back off, and Jay instead admits he's been talking to Jessica, acts obstinate and lies about not having Alex's spare key, and then breaks into Alex's house a second time (minimum). If Alex doesn't stop him now, who will? Alex met with Jay planning to kill the others, and then himself, so he could put a stop to this once and for all and keep things from getting any worse than they already were.

Maybe it makes a lot more sense if, rather than being a strangely incomprehensible detour on what should have been a straight path, the events of Season Two were the breaking point that put Alex on that path to begin with.

[deviousdiesel]

.

[featherymainffins]

*potently insane* I should re-read Monster by Naoki Urasawa

[kngrose]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐈'𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃...

imagine a situationship with sevika

WARNINGS: mentions of cheating, drinking, bi! reader but wlw, eventual smut, modern au

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : i have way too many thoughts about this— this will have multiple parts. see part two here. ^^

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t plan for it. But somewhere along the line, something changed. Your relationship had gotten too… comfortable. At first, the changes were subtle; He wasn’t saying anything outlandish, nothing to make you question your relationship.

But there were small instances, ones where he’d forget plans you made, or when he’d linger on his phone a little longer than usual in your company. You told yourself it was nothing; he might just be a little more stressed than usual– maybe there’s something personal he’s going through.

But as time passed, the pattern became clearer. Conversations that used to flow easily were now strained, almost forced, filled with half-hearted responses. He didn't pick up on the little things anymore; your new manicure or your haircut you had gotten to perfectly frame your face, in hopes that he would notice.

He wouldn’t be as passionate anymore, the fire he once held slowly dimming before your eyes. It was disheartening. The spark that once kept your relationship alive is fading, and you're left with a gnawing feeling of emptiness that you can’t quite explain.

And then there was her.

It wasn’t anything too large, the event. Just a kickback amongst some of your shared friends and some extras they’d invited. You’d tagged along with your boyfriend who’d long forgotten about you, chopping it up with a few of the guys on the couch. You felt a sour twinge in your gut as you sat beside him; this is the most enthusiasm he’s shown in weeks.

You’d noticed her in your solitude; shooting you glances across the room. Similar to you, she hadn’t said much of anything, just idly man-spread on the neighboring couch, red cup held loosely in her hand. You’ve never seen her before… you wonder whose friend she is.

You can't help but return the glances– look at her. Her broad shoulders, her thighs, her hands decorated with rings. The piercings that decorate her face. Those eyes, assessing you as she circles the rim of her cup with an index finger, a little smirk forming on her dark lips.

How could you help it– when she’s just radiating with unspoken confidence? It’s captivating, drawing you in like a deer in headlights. There’s a sharpness in her eyes that unsettles you, and yet, something about it excites you. She’s not like anyone you’ve ever seen.

You realized later that she was just waiting. Waiting for your boyfriend to excuse himself so she could move in. It’ll make you wonder later, how much of this she premeditated. It doesn’t take her long to approach you when he leaves, sliding into the spot next to you curtly, smirking as she meets your eyes. She’s beautiful up close.

She’s looking at you with that calculating gaze, making it clear she’s intrigued. She scans your face up and down, “Like your hair… suits you.”

Her voice was deep, commanding, like she had the power to bend the world to her will. You feel your cheeks warm under her gaze, touching your hair softly. “Thank you.” You manage to retort, embarrassingly glancing away. When you shot your eyes back to hers your breath got caught in your chest, her gaze is unwavering. A chuckle rumbles from her throat, “You’re cute.”

But it's not just the look—it’s the way she speaks to you. It’s amazing how easily she manages to fluster you, it’s effortless. Sevika, you learn that her name is, charms you with her dry humor and college stories, entertaining you the entirety of the night.

She tells you about all of the petty fights she’s been in, and all of her run ins with the police. Some of which are so descriptive you have to wonder if she’s being generous with the details. All the while she’s charming you up, placing a hand on your knee, then to your thigh, drawing small circles. You take note of the way she seems to fixate on your hair, constantly moving it from your face or twisting the strands between her fingers.

The flirtation feels different—darker. Her voice rumbles with a kind of quiet power, and when her hand brushes against yours, it lingers just a little too long. You want to pull away, but instead, you stay. The tension builds, and despite your better judgment, a part of you is drawn to it. To her.

You wish you could go back in time and slap yourself. You knew better than to get yourself alone with this girl, this freakishly charismatic, freakishly, randomly attractive girl. But you let her lead you away to a secluded hallway of the house, her excuse being the music was too loud.

And she continued conversing with you, leaning against the wall and swallowing down the rest of the cup. She huffed out something between a scoff and a laugh, “You a nanny or somethin’?” You shot her a confused look in response. She looked down, nodding her head towards the red cup in your hand. “You’re babysitting.” 

“Oh, this…” You mutter, swirling the drink around plainly. “Not much of a drinker.” You notice the roll of her eyes as she pushes herself off the wall and your breath hitches as she closes in on you. She pulls the cup from your hand, raising a large hand to your chin to tilt your head back. You barely manage to sputter, “What are you doing–!” before she orders you to, “Open,” nudging your chin softly.

You lock eyes with her for the umpteenth time, her eyes filled with something different this time around. You hesitantly part your lips, allowing her to pour the rest of the content into your mouth. There’s a soft groan leaving her mouth as she watches some of it spill from the corner of your lips down your chin.

The way her eyes lingered on your lips made your heart race. You were suddenly aware of how close you were, how her scent filled your senses, how her gaze felt like a slow burn.

You don’t say anything, but you can feel the heat between you both, the pull that’s been growing stronger with each passing second. Before you know it, she’s kissing you—rough and urgent, her hands gripping your hips with a hunger that matches the storm brewing inside you. Her kiss is overwhelming, like a fire that consumes you whole. You melt into it, into her, not thinking about the consequences, not thinking about him.

The moment ends just as quickly as it began, but the aftershocks are impossible to ignore. You stand there, breathless, disoriented, and yet, there’s a part of you that doesn’t regret it. It feels raw, real, and alive in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

You pull away from Sevika, your chest tight with confusion and shame. But Sevika just watches you, unfazed. There’s no sympathy in her gaze, in fact, all you could register was a sly smirk on her lips. Sevika moves to stand close to you, her presence overwhelming, wrapping a hand around your throat, "What's holding you back?" she mumbles against your lips.

And in that moment, you realize that nothing is holding you back. You’ve already made your choice without even knowing it.

There’s no turning back now.  

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[aurorawhisperz]

You’re All I Need (r.c.)

contains: swearing, angst, mentions of pregnancy, family drama.

father!rafe x mother!reader

a/n: if this goes well and finds its way into my busy schedule, i’ll turn this into a series! and guess who just hit the two-decade mark.. 🎉🎂

summary: you’re sick, exhausted, and barely holding it together while caring for your daughter, juno, alone. desperate, you call rafe, your ex and her father, for help.

who am i to want you now that you’re leaving?

•

almost a year ago, you and rafe had gotten into a big fight over the summer that left both of you saying things that couldn’t be taken back. by the time he was gone, you thought it was over for good. he stormed off and it felt like the end.

that was the same summer you found out you got knocked up.

when you finally told him about the baby, he swore he wanted to be there, for both of you. but you couldn’t do it. you didn’t his half-assed attempts at playing family. so you told him he could be in the baby’s life, but not yours.

the day your daughter was born, nothing felt real. you named her juno, inspired by a movie you’d watched a hundred times during your pregnancy. you didn’t need rafe there that day. at least, that’s what you told yourself.

and for a while, that worked. until tonight.

the fever is unbearable, heat radiating from your body as you lean against the wall to steady yourself, your legs trembling beneath you.

juno cries loudly, sharp and continuous, her small fists waving in anger from her playpen. juno was only a few months old, but the sounds she made tonight seem louder than anything, or maybe it is the throbbing in your head that is making everything clearer.

you tried to calm her down—rocking her, even her close until your arms felt like they might give out but your fever had drained every ounce of strength out of you.

rafe was in the middle of a business call when his phone rang. he saw your name on the caller ID and immediately sensed that something was off. he excuses himself from the meeting and quickly picks up.

“what’s up?" he asks, his voice filled with concern and curiosity. “do you wanna have juno tonight?”you ask, not entirely aware of what you’re doing. “i don’t don’t know..I’m just..” then you sigh. “she’s been saying ‘dada’ all day and she refuses to eat.”

rafe winced at the loud noise. juno’s cries are clearly heard from the other end. it was clear that you were having a hard time, and he felt concerned for both you and juno.

“yeah, ‘course, i’ll take her.” he replies quickly, then rafe doesn’t waste any time. telling some lame excuse to his clients, gathering his things and completely bailing on the group of people in the meeting room.

the drive to your place felt excruciatingly long, but he kept his foot on the gas, determined to get there as fast as possible. rafe offered you and juno a spot at tanneyhill but since you were too petty towards him at that time, you declined.

He rushes to his car, his mind racing with thoughts about you and Juno. The drive to your place feels excruciatingly long, but he keeps his foot on the gas, determined to get there as fast as possible.

finally, he reaches your home and practically jumps out of the car, making his way to the door and banging on it urgently.

"(name)? it’s me! open up!" he calls out, the sound of juno’s cries echoing in his ears.

when you open the door, rafe’s eyes slightly widen in worry at your appearance. he could see the paleness in your face and the exhaustion in your eyes. he quickly steps inside, his eyes scanning the room for juno.

"are you alright?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "you look absolutely exhausted. what’s going on with you?”

“i’m fine, she’s in my room..” and rafe saw all the tell-tale signs of a fever as he watched you lay down on the couch. he knows you’re not as ‘fine’ as you claim but doesn’t push the issue for now.

a year ago, rafe cameron was chaos incarnate. consumed by his demons, or maybe he was the demon. the outer banks was his kingdom, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, the rafe walking up the stairs to go see your daughter isn’t the same man you walked away from last summer.

decades of being ward cameron’s son don’t just vanish but having a daughter changed rafe in many ways no one thought was possible. he’s more conscious, more quiet, like he’s constantly trying to prove more to himself than to everyone that he was better than the man who raised him.

you’ve seen him with juno, the way he holds her like she’s the only thing that matters in the world.

rafe watches you as you lie down on the couch, he frowns when he sees how weak you look.

he turns and heads straight to the room where juno is crying. he walks over to the crib and leans over, gently scooping up the little girl, holding her close to his chest.

"hey, little one," he coos, his voice soft and soothing. "your dad’s here." juno immediately stops crying as rafe picks her up, her small body calming at the familiarity of his touch and voice. rafe rocks her in his arms, gently shushing her and whispering words of comfort.

"there you go," he murmurs, his fingers gently stroking her soft hair. "no more cries now, i’ve got you."

he walks back to the living room, holding juno close to his chest as he approaches you on the couch.

"hey," rafe says softly, his tone showing concern. "you really don't look well." he moves closer, gently resting a hand on your forehead to feel your temperature. as he suspected, your skin was hot to the touch.

you look up to see him with juno on his hip. “just take care of her for the night.” and your eyes nearly flutter shut.

rafe saw through the way your eyes struggled to stay open. he saw how sick you truly were, but you're trying so hard to hide it.

"damn it," he mutters, his voice tight with worry and frustration. "baby, you’re in no condition to take care of juno on your own right now. you need to rest, and i can't just leave knowing you're not okay."

rafe reluctantly looks down at juno in his arms, her tiny face looking up at him with wide trusting eyes. he then glances back at you, still lying on the couch, weakness written all over your face.

"i will," he replies firmly. "but first, I'm putting you to bed. you need to rest and get better. then I'll take care of the baby."

he heads up and carefully sets juno on the crib for a moment and then walks downstairs, over to the couch, gently scooping you up in his arms.

“put me down..” you whine. "no" rafe replies firmly, his grip on you tightening slightly. "you’re burning up with a damn fever. no condition to be worrying about juno right now." he carries you towards your bedroom, his arms holding you securely against his chest. though you protest, he ignores your weak struggles.

once he reaches your bedroom, he gently lays you down on the bed, making sure you're comfortable and settled. he pulls the covers up over you, tucking you in and smoothing back your hair from your forehead.

looking down at you, he can see how exhausted you really are, the fever taking a toll on your body. but his focus quickly shifts to the crib where juno is starting to cry again, her hunger growing stronger.

rafe watches you for a moment, concerned. the feeling of your skin under his touch tells him how high your fever really is. he glances over at the crib, juno’s cries growing louder.

"stay right here," he instructs you firmly. "i’ll feed our baby, then i’m coming back to check on you."

with a sigh, rafe picks juno up from the crib and brings her to the kitchen. he goes through the motions of preparing a bottle for juno, mixing the formula with warm water and shaking it gently until it's ready. he then sits down next to your bed, leaning back against the headboard while he carefully feeds juno the bottle.

his eyes occasionally flick to you, checking on your condition. even though he's busy feeding the baby, he keeps a watchful eye on you, noticing every shiver and every sign of discomfort in your sick state.

after a few minutes, juno is satisfied, her tiny belly full and content. she starts to drift off in rafe’s arms, her small eyes growing heavy.

he carefully passes the baby back to the crib and turns his attention back to you. he returns to your bedside and sits down, his eyes studying your pale and weary face. the sight of you in this state was devouring him from the inside.

your eyes flutter open. “rafe, take her to your house..” then you turn to the side, your back facing him.

rafe looks down at you, gently taking your hand in his own, it broke his heart a little. the fact that you're asking him to take juno now.

"baby," he murmurs, his voice gentle. "you’re still burning up. i can't just leave with juno while you're like this."

it was always like this with rafe. back then, whenever you didn’t want him to care for you, when you pushed him away, built your walls high, and told him you didn’t need him, he’d force it anyway. he had this annoying way of ignoring your protests, showing up when you least expected it with that hot stubborn determination in his eyes.

if you were sick, he’d be at your door with soup, even if he didn’t know how to make it. if you were upset, he’d sit next to you in silence, waiting until you caved. it didn’t matter how hard you tried to convince him you were fine; rafe never listened. he cared in the only way he knew how to care; recklessly, even when you swore you didn’t want him to. that part of him hasn’t changed at all.

“come on, she’s your only priority at the moment.” you try sending him away. his grip on your hand tightened a little at your words. “don't be fucking ridiculous," he retorts, his voice stern. "juno will be fine with me at my house. but you're not. you’re sick and need rest and care. i’m not just gonna abandon you like this. not happening."

“you don’t have to stay anyway… you’re not my husband or boyfriend or anything. you’re just her dad.”

rafe bites down at your words. he knows he’s nothing more to you than juno’s dad, but hearing you say it so bluntly still stings.

“no, i’m not your husband or boyfriend,” he replies, his tone sharper than intended. “but damn it, i still care about you, even if you don’t want me to.”

before you can respond, a shiver racks your body, your fever making you tremble. rafe notices immediately, his frustration giving way to concern.

“jesus, you’re burning up,” he mutters, leaning closer to place the back of his hand on your forehead. “why didn’t you tell me you were this bad?” he doesn’t wait for an answer. standing up, he moves to the kitchen, returning with a cool cloth. he gently presses it against your forehead, his jaw tight with worry.

“you’re in no condition to be alone right now,” he says firmly. “especially not with a fever this high. you need someone to take care of you, whether you like it or not.”

“take her,” you whisper, your voice weak. “i can take care of myself. you don’t have to do both.”

“damn it, will you just listen to me for once?” rafe snaps, his voice low but laced with irritation. “you’re not fine. you’re barely holding it together, and you want me to just walk away? why are you so goddamn stubborn?”

“i don’t need your help,” you insist, glaring at him weakly. “just watch juno. that’s all.”

rafe exhales sharply, trying to keep his temper in check.

“what’s it gonna take for you to get it through your head that you need support too?” he demands. “i care about both you and juno, you idiot. why can’t you just let me help you when you clearly need it?”

“and why does this concern you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. his eyes narrow at your question, frustration bubbling over again.

“why do you think it concerns me?” he bites out, his voice rough. “you really have to ask that? you think i don’t care about you? you think i only see you as juno’s mom?”

you manage a breathy smirk, too weak to move but pleased nonetheless. “i knew it… son of a bitch.”

“knew what?” he challenges, his tone sharp. “that i actually give a damn about you more than you think? if you know, then why are you still fighting me on this? why are you so damn stubborn about letting me help?”

your smirk stays on your face, though your eyelids are already drooping from exhaustion.

“yeah, i care about you,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “you drive me absolutely fucking insane with how stubborn you are, but i still care. happy now?”

when you don’t respond, too tired to argue anymore, he shakes his head and adjusts the cool cloth on your forehead.

“i’m not leaving,” he says, and there’s no point in arguing. “someone has to take care of you since you clearly can’t be trusted to do it yourself.”

the room feels smaller with him in it, like his presence is closing in on you from all sides. he settles next to you, the mattress dipping slightly, and it’s awkward, too close for comfort, too familiar for what you are now. exes. nothing more.

“you’re gonna get sick,” you mumble, your voice scratchy and weak. “you don’t have to do this.”

“don’t care,” he says, not even looking at you. his voice is calm, steady. “you’re burning up. if i get sick, so what?”

you try to sit up, even though your body feels like it’s made of lead and your head pounds with every slight movement. the fever’s still got you in its grip, but lying there next to rafe feels like too much. too intimate. too close.

but the second you push yourself up, the world tilts. your balance wavers, and before you can steady yourself, your head drops against something solid.

his shoulder.

rafe lets out an annoyed sigh as he watches you struggle to get up, knowing full well that you're too weak to stand on your own.

"damn it, woman," he mutters as you collapse back onto him. "what did I tell you? you’re supposed to be resting, not trying to get up and walk around like a lunatic."

he gently wraps his arm around you, supporting your weakened body against him.

"just stay still and don't move," he whispers. "you’re in no condition to be up and about. you need to rest and recover. you know i’ll take care of you, right? stop trying to do everything on your own."

rafe gently runs his fingers through your hair, his touch light and soothing.

your hand finds its way to rafe’s arm, fingers gripping him weakly, as if holding on to him will keep you steady. rafe freezes at the touch, his gaze dropping to where your hand rests against his skin. it’s a simple gesture, but it feels like everything all at once.

he doesn’t pull away. instead, he shifts slightly, his own hand coming up to gently squeeze yours, his grip warm and steady, like he’s anchoring you.

“you’ll get better,” he murmurs. “just give it time and let yourself rest. let me look after you for once, okay?”

you think about the way things used to be. sneaking off when you had the chance, meeting him at the beach under the cover of darkness. stolen kisses, the kind that made your heart race. rafe was always the one who pushed boundaries, the one who made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t thought possible.

“are you sleeping over?” you ask weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

rafe looks down at you, the question pulling him out of his thoughts. he takes in your pale face, the tired lines around your eyes, and sighs. part of him wants to say no, to avoid whatever this is turning into, but he knows he can’t leave you like this.

“yeah,” he says finally, his tone gentle but firm. “yeah, i’m sleeping here. someone needs to keep an eye on your stubborn ass so you don’t try to do chores at three in the morning.”

you let out a weak laugh, but it fades quickly. “you shouldn’t be here,” you mutter, shaking your head slightly. “it’s—it’s awkward. it’ll just make things weird.”

rafe arches a brow, his lips twitching into something between a smirk and a frown. “why are you acting like something’s gonna happen between us?” he counters, his tone light but laced with something deeper. “it’s fine. stop overthinking it and just… lay down. you’re not gonna win this argument.”

before you can protest, he gently guides you back down, his hand steady at your back. the warmth of his body against yours is impossible to ignore, but you’re too drained to fight it.

then, out of nowhere, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. the gesture is so tender it takes your breath away, but you’re too tired to react.

as your eyelids grow heavier, your mind drifts back to the first time rafe said he loved you. it wasn’t in a quiet, romantic moment, it was in the middle of an argument. his voice had been loud, angry and raw, but it was real. rafe always let things spill out when he couldn’t hold them back anymore.

now, as sleep pulls you under, you hear his voice again, quieter this time.

“i miss you,” he whispers.

you don’t respond. maybe you’re too far gone, maybe you don’t want to. but maybe you miss him too.

[cream1111]

🍎 phone call. . .ᐟᅟ

⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀caleb/mc!reader, 1.6k, incest, somno, dubcon, mutual masturbation, phone sex, pillow humping. @rukii-afterdark , order up! ! part 1

ring ring . . .

you jolt up, eyes popping open before they settle onto your phone, with a groan you pull it closer. squinting  your  sleepy  eyes  at  the  bright  screen, you see the caller's name. caleb. you sigh, it's  1am,  much  later  than  he  usually  calls. you answer and let the phone fall next to your head.

“gege,  why  are  you  calling  so  late?”  you  whine, fighting back a yawn.

“aw,  did  i  wake  you? you sound like you're half asleep”  caleb  sounds teasing but sympathetic, and  slightly  out  of  breath...  maybe  he's  settling  into  bed  himself.

“yeah  a  bit,"  you groan a bit, your annoyed tone remaining playful "but  it's  ok…  what's  up?”  you  ask,  closing  your  eyes,  and  snuggling  back  into  your  bed.  letting  your  phone  rest  on  the  pillow  next  to  your head. 

“it's nothing serious,  i just missed  you,  l⎯”  his  breath  hitches. you  peek  your  eyes  open and  glance  at  your  phone, wondering if the call dropped. you don't have the volume very high, so you're not sure. you  pull  it  closer,  it looks like the call is still going. you press it against your ear.  it's not entirely silent, there's  a  shuffling  sound,  but it's  faint.

“are  you  ok?”  you  murmur,  confused. the shuffling seems to stop, but it's hard to tell under the barely audible droning static his mic is picking up. you let your eyes drift shut again.

“sorry,  yeah,  just,  long  day.”  he  replies  quickly,  his  voice  sounding  more  strained.  “what  about  you?  miss  me?” 

“of  course,  everyday,  you  know  that.” you'd roll your eyes if they weren't already closed. as much as you love talking to caleb, you really are tired. "listen, it's late⎯"

"i know, pipsqueak. i'm sorry for waking you. i just wanted to hear your voice." there's a tinge of urgency to his voice. you would've hurried to hang up if you didn't notice it. it makes you feel a bit guilty. he pauses, you wait to see if he'll say more. "how about this, how about you just go back to sleep but keep me on call. hearing your sleepy breathing always puts me at ease"

is that all?

"you're so cheesy," you tease. then you hum, pretending to think about it. but you're just as bad as he is, you can't ever say no to him. "yeah, fine, but i'm really going to bed, you better not keep talking to me. i won't even answer, i'll just snore"

he let's out a soft chuckle. "that's fine, snore all you like" he replies. "sleep well" he whispers, honey sweet. he's always been so sweet with you.

"goodnight" you mumble, already feeling the drowsiness washing over you. you try to quell the small excitement that caleb even wants to do something so lovey dovey with you. it warms your heart a bit, not that you'd admit it out loud. even though it's not that much of a leap, you've fallen asleep together so many times, something about it feels a little more intimate. that he misses you enough to try and pretend you're both sharing a bed. it makes it easier to pretend he is here, he's home and he's with you, keeping you warm.

your breathing evens out, you almost forget you're on the phone.

. . .

through your sleep you hear something, softly, distant. you focus, waking just a bit. you're alone. but you remember you fell asleep on the phone with caleb. is he talking? something woke you, you're pretty sure. you rouse yourself, focusing, listening.

nothing. it might've been in your dream. though you figure you'll scold him anyways, tell him to keep quiet or you'll mute him. but then you hear it again, clearer now.

"h-hah..."

no way. there's no way, is he⎯

"ah⎯ fuck"

you freeze. a blush heating up your face. you shift closer, turning up the volume as quietly as you can. just to be sure. you hear the sound of something moving, fast, wet. he's...

he's jacking off. it sounds so obvious now. the soft panting, the rhythmic sound of his hand on his well lubricated cock. a heat surrounds you, you feel like you're suffocating at the implication. there's also a gnawing unease, that you're misinterpreting this and there's some reasonable explanation that you are blind to. maybe you're just hearing what you want to hear.

you've always wanted him, more than a sister should. you rationalize it sometimes, you're not siblings, not really. it's not hard to want him, it seems just about every girl at his school would agree with you. but the shame helps you weigh those thoughts down, tuck them away in a deep corner of your mind. your relationship is unconventional, but you're just close, you just love each other, would do anything for each other, there's nothing wrong with it. you've held onto this justification for a long time.

but maybe it's a lot simpler than that.

you're not entirely sure about what's happening, if he's doing what you think he's doing. but… it couldn't hurt to pretend.

your rationalizations fade, you push the shame to the side, and you dip your fingers, along your chest, slowly, savoring the feeling. focusing on the panting, the faint sound of his hand.

your fingers dance along your skin, you're teasing yourself, until you slip them past your pajamas, over your panties. you palm yourself, rubbing, imagining the sweet friction was against him, anywhere — his hand, his thigh, his face. you realize, rather quickly, a wet spot has already formed, and you flush, feeling embarrassed with yourself.

did just the thought of him, the sound of him, do this to you?

when did you become so dirty.

you can't help the soft noise that leaves your lips at your discovery, and you realize suddenly that caleb quiets on the other the line.

you pause as well. holding your breath. for a second you can't hear anything. does he think you're awake? does he think you're doing the same thing? does he want to end the call?

"f-fuck..." he moans out, the sounds from before continue, faster, more enthusiastic. you're not sure what he thinks, but whatever it is, he's keeping it to himself.

the idea of him getting more excited, it lights a fire in you. you rub yourself faster. you try to be quiet, you really do, but you can't help the huffs and sighs that leave your lips. it's not that obvious, you think. but caleb seems to get more eager with every tiny sound you make. it's good incentive.

you can't help but think about the situation, both of you touching yourselves while on the phone, not acknowledging it, leaving room for plausible deniability. the idea that you're reading this wrong sends a shiver down your spine.

“ngh.. please” he whispers, barely there. and you don’t know what he’s begging for but you want to give it to him. you rub harder, then sigh in frustration. it's not enough. you flip, shifting onto your stomach, trying your hardest to stay quiet. you place a pillow between your legs, and waste no time before grinding against it.

you huff, loving the feeling. even if you're misunderstanding this, you like pretending. that it was his warm body heating you up, making you feel good. with your phone placed next to your ear, you imagine he was there, groaning behind you, just out of sight, touching himself for you.

you let out a whimper at the thought, a little louder. his response is immediate, a low groan. to your surprise, he speaks.

"you⎯ mm... you must be having a nice dream, pipsqueak."

you bite your lip and keep still at his words. does he want you to respond? does he really think you're still sleeping? you don't want to acknowledge it. you continue, quieter, a little shy. you don't want the illusion shattered. grinding your hips into the mattress, desperate.

you imagine his body, and it's not hard. you've memorized the feeling of his frame against yours. he's pressing into you, in time with his groans, you move at the same pace, whimpering when you buck back against the empty air. but you pull yourself back into your fantasy, he's there, his soft sounds are for you, only you.

"fuck," he hisses out, seeming to bite back the sound.

it's becoming too much, your mind is getting so cloudy, reason and shame seem like distant concepts. in this moment, it’s just the pleasure between you two, his touch, his kiss, his body, him.

"i'm— i'm gonna-" his whispers spur you over the edge.

you can barely hear his grunts as he releases with you. your mind goes blank. you don't bother with being quiet, couldn't if you wanted to. you rut helplessly, greedily, panting and whimpering all the while. as satisfaction washing over you. he hums, before letting out a satisfied sigh himself, and you smile sleepily into your pillow.

but as your heartbeat slows into a regular rhythm, and your face cools down, you're left with a pit in your stomach. the room feels colder, the call is quiet, the guilt comes rushing back all at once with nothing to keep it at bay. did you two really just do that? were you really that reckless?

what are you going to do in the morning?

"shit, i made a mess." he mumbles, but he doesn't sound too upset about it. in fact he sounds a little smug. you don't reply, but it calms you a bit, brings you comfort. a vague acknowledgement at this new game you two are playing. with all it's plausible deniability. you decide you'll follow his lead.

so when he yawns, you let the sound soothe you, you let sleep surround you. you leave your shame to him. he's always been the source, he can shoulder it for you.

it's only fair anyways, you were just sleeping, and he's the one who called you.

he made the mess, he can decide if he wants to clean it up.

[moonstruckme]

A Winter Wonderland

summary: you marvel at the beauty of your Christmas tree, and your boyfriends marvel at you

poly!marauders x whimsical!reader ♡ 911 words

You could fall asleep here, you think. It’s very lulling, the sound of the fireplace crackling a few feet away, the scent of pine needles, and the view of a forest unlike any other stretching out in front of you. Lights of blue and green and red filter through the thicket, and poking through you can see the edge of a handmade paper star, the fuzzy end of a dog’s tail. Your Christmas tree from below. 

“What are you doing?” Sirius has the half amused tone of when he feels like he’s caught you at something odd and he hasn’t decided whether to rag you or to join you yet. 

“Admiring our decorating,” you reply. “We did a good job.” 

“You’re supposed to look at it from in front of the tree, sweetness.” 

“It looks nice from there, too,” you allow, “but nobody ever appreciates it from down here.” 

There’s a new set of footsteps, a big hand on your knee. “Are the branches not scraping you?” James asks curiously. 

“Only sometimes.” 

You hear a smile in his voice. “It’s worth it, though, eh?”

You hum in affirmation. 

“Well, this I’ve gotta see.” 

James is bigger than you are. You lift the branches for him as he shoots his top half in beside you, but when you let go they come to rest on his chest. He grins at you before looking at anything else. A classic James Potter smile, heartfelt and breathtakingly handsome.

“Hi, angel.” 

“Hi.” You reach for his glasses, carefully readjusting them on his nose. 

“It smells nice in here.” 

“It does,” you agree, pleased to be sharing it. You turn your face upward again. James follows suit. “It looks like another world.” 

“It is very pretty,” he says. Multicolored lights spiraling upward, the odd ornament sticking in through the branches, the tree itself lush and fantastical in dark green. “You’re right, we did a good job decorating.” 

“Don’t you sort of want to live here?” you ask on a sigh.

“You mean here in our sitting room?”

“No, here in the forest.” 

“Ah.” James gives this some thought. “It is nice, but I quite like my life the way it is.” 

You turn to look at him, and he’s already looking at you, glasses reflecting a rainbow of lights and brown eyes warmer than warm behind them. Your insides go soupy. 

“I like it, too,” you say softly. “I wouldn’t want to go if you all couldn’t come with me. Maybe we could move our place there. Or just visit sometimes, like camping.” 

James smiles at you. A dimple appears in his left cheek. “You mean on weekends?”

“Sure.” 

“I’m sure we could make that happen, lovely.” 

“Oi.” Sirius gives your knee a little shake. By the way James looks down, you guess your boyfriend’s doing the same to him. “What are you two whispering about down there?”

“He’s jealous.” James drops his voice into a deeper whisper, louder yet somehow less intelligible, solely to provoke Sirius. “He knows this view is better than in front of the tree.” 

“I don’t know,” you say, smiling at his antics. “I think he’s just worried we’re discussing his Christmas gifts.” 

Another shake to your knee, more insistent this time. “What is going on down there?” 

“Nothing,” James sing-songs. 

“Who’s left a pot of soup on the stove?” asks Remus, voice becoming clearer as he comes into the room.

“Oh, that was me,” you say. “It’s just simmering, don’t worry.” 

“It’s…what the fuck…” 

“I know,” Sirius says emphatically. 

“Dovey, why are you and James’ legs sticking out from under the tree like the Wicked Witch of the East?”

“Why do you assume it was her idea?” asks Sirius, at the same time as James asks, “Who’s the Wicked Witch of the East?” 

“I’m admiring our tree,” you tell Remus placidly.

“It does look really cool from down here,” James advocates for you. “Gives a new perspective on the decorating.” 

Remus makes an amused humming sound. “That’s really nice, but your soup’s nearly boiling over, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, no.” You start to wiggle out from underneath the tree. Sirius’ hands wrap around your ankles, giving you a helpful tug the rest of the way. You grin up at him. “Sorry,” you say to Remus, “I must have set the stove too high.” 

He smiles, reaching for you. “That’s okay.” He takes the ends of your hair between his fingers. “How’d you manage to get your hair wet?” 

“Hm?” You look. “Oh, it must have been in the tree’s water. I didn’t notice.” 

“There’ll be pine needles in it, too, then,” Sirius laughs. 

Remus shakes his head, but he’s looking at you like you’re one of his favorite things in the world. One of his favorite three things, for sure. 

“How about,” he suggests, “I go turn down the heat on your soup, and Sirius helps you get all the tree bits out of your hair?”

“That’s nice of you.” You push up on your toes, kissing Remus’ cheek. “Thanks.” 

Remus presses one to your lips in return, and Sirius takes your hand, leading you to the bathroom. 

“Did you dunk your hair in the water, too, Prongsie?” he asks when James follows. 

“I don’t think so,” says James. “I just want to see if her hair smells like Christmas tree.” 

Sirius hums. You giggle when he makes a show of bringing your hair to his nose, sniffing curiously. “It does, actually.”

[yjhzies]

“Tiptoe and kiss.” — Kim Mingyu

⸝⸝୭ ˚. fluff . one-shot . cute

⋆ pairings : mingyu x gn!reader ⋆ warning : reader is kinda grumpy due to just waking up (inspired by real life y'all 😔) ⋆ wc : 0.4k [✉️] · Mingyu's plan backfiring? A daily routine now. (only if he wasn't so down bad)

⋆ - note : YALL I HAD SO MANY UNFINISHED WRITINGS ITS INSANE. I finished some of them and I'll probably continue posting for a few days before I start a series <3 stay tuned!!

"Gyu?" You peep your head in the kitchen. You had slept in almost the entire afternoon, but when you felt Mingyu's side of the bed cold, you were wide awake.

Mingyu turned at the sound of your voice and smiled. "You're awake? how was your sleep?" He asked as you walked towards him, still trying to adjust to the lighting.

"Pretty good.." You mumble, wrapping your arms around his side and rested your head on his shoulder.

Your blurry vision made Mingyu look more big than he was, and you furrowed your eyebrows trying to get a clear view of your surroundings.

"That's good, I was just about to wake you up. I'm preparing noodles for us." Mingyu says, glancing at you with a soft smile.

You hum and nod in response-something in you too lazy to word out a better response. But you could think of an even better response. You tiptoe to peck his cheek, but couldn't reach him as he didn't lean down.

You weren't short, Mingyu was too tall.

And it was true, your height was just above average but Mingyu? A literal 6'2 man. You'd have to be a giant to almost reach his height.

Maybe he didn't realise-so you try once again, and again, but Mingyu still didn't lean down for you to kiss his cheek. But you could see more clearer to notice the slight smug smile spreading across his face, making you frown.

"Hey, don't ignore me."

"Huh?"

"I said don't ignore me."

"What do you mean, baby? I'm not ignoring you." Mingyu said softly, biting his lower lip to stop the smile tugging at his lips. He turned to you, barely managing to hold back his laugh at the sight of your pout.

"You're doing this on purpose..." You say, rolling your eyes. Despite being a little sleepy, you couldn't shake off the feeling of irritation at how Mingyu decided to tease you instead of wrapping his arms around you and letting you kiss him.

Mingyu finally burst into a fit of laughter, wrapping his arms around your waist and putting his head on your shoulder to stabilize himself.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," He apologized between giggles, tightening his strong arms around you.

That stupid little fang smile of his, making you smile aswell. He leaned down, just like he always did so that you can kiss him all over his face, and closed his eyes.

"Here you go," he waited for your soft lips to press against his skin.

"What?"

Mingyu opens his eyes, looking at you with raised eyebrows. "Hm?"

"What are you doing?" You ask, placing your hands on his chest. It was your turn to tease him now.

Mingyu blinked, and slowly straighted himself. He looked down at your hand and let his lower lip jut out into a pout.

"I'm sorry, baby, I shouldn't have teased you." His voice barely above a whisper, he apologized. And now, you burst into a fit a laughter and gently grab his face to peck his lips.

His pout immediately turned into a grin as his hands find your lower back, and he softly deepens the kiss.