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sheepispink · 1 day ago

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guess who’s back ;)

puppy hybrid! rookie reader x lt ghost, where you're considered a failure by your instructors and of course when one of them falls sick, the responsibility of training you lands on him

aka this is my apology for making so many of you cry.

cw: hurt/comfort, fluff, tf141 at the end :)

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To be a hybrid handler was possibly one of the best qualifications a soldier could have, especially with the new rise in hybrid cross-breeds across the world’s military. Ghost had one, took the course when no one wanted to go near it, and now he was only one of the few fits on base to have one. So naturally, when one of the hybrids’ usual instructors had to take a sick leave, he was pressured to step in. The other hybrids had set schedules for their sessions but since you were from the facilities, you needed extra support; well, actually all your extra academic classes meant you didn't have the regular timetable. That’s where he stepped in, taking over the ill instructor’s sessions and training you privately.

That wasn't the issue though, no, it was your file; it was awful. Angry comments about being stubborn, large red crosses next to exercises and well, your behaviour report wasn’t exactly bright either—you just never seemed to get anything right. There weren't any specific notes as to why you failed, usually just a quick scribble mentioning the many mistakes you made. So, it was safe to say he was dreading having to train you himself. He was used to pre-trained hybrids, or at least ones with their head on their shoulders. In fact, he was surprised you’re even still here, but maybe they just thought they’d dump you on him to deal with for the few weeks.

“Um…. Stay back?” You question, your head tilted to the side and ears perking as you try your best to remember what field signal he just did. He stifles a sigh—another one wrong—but it’d only be worse to give up now, so instead he opts for a different approach. “What signals do you know?”

You were terrified of him, that much was clear, but he felt a little reluctant to give you the same stern treatment as every other rookie. After all, you were bought from the facilities, and before that you would’ve been taken from your family at a relatively young age. That doesn't mean he’ll be lenient though, just a little more patient than most officers around here.

“Well.. Move forward, enemies ahead, don't move, and follow me. I know there’s more but not the signals..” Your ears flatten on your head, expecting some kind of blow, but his eyes just narrow behind the mask, looking back at the training mats in the corner of the room.

The next forty minutes he displays each sign back to you, making you repeat them back to him before ending that exercise. Only then does he gesture you to the training mats, seeing what you know in terms of defence and attack, but even that is weak, your form sloppy and reckless. There’s only ten minutes left of the session, so he seats you again, standing before you as he tests a signal.

“Uh…. Stay close?” He nods, affirming you’re correct and you perk up instantly, watching his signs intently as you continue to give a few more correct answers, only your ears drooping when you get a few more wrong. He corrects you each time, making sure you’re aware before testing you with another. At the end, he passes you a sheet from his bag, the signals printed on it. “Learn these by tomorrow.” And then he’s gone, disappeared out of the room while you’re left alone staring at the paper before you.

The next day you’re in the room early, like you had been yesterday as well; weirdly enough, you were surprisingly punctual, but he didn't have the time to question that. “Alright, ready for your test?”

He’s slightly sceptical when you actually get them all correct, save for a few, since it’s surprising progress with your track record. Plus, your form is improving too, especially when he corrects it as you go along; you manage to remember when he makes you do it again. He can’t even deny he likes the way your tail wags every single time he nods in approval.

So why was your file so bad? If you really were a failure, you would barely be improving but here you are at a steady pace. He supposes that compared to the others you’re probably at least two weeks behind in the exercises. Ideally he’d just catch you up to speed and call it a day. However, his current concern lies on why you haven't improved if you were brought here a month ago. Sure, maybe the future exercises were a lot more difficult than the basic hand signals, but something seems a little… off.

His next session with you is three days from now, so he can't just straight up ask you, especially with your current skittish behaviour regarding him. For now, he’d have to investigate himself. The best source of information is your other class and the easiest way to get that is via some cameras. It’s technically not a violation of privacy, considering there are plenty of cameras around base and the training rooms should have them anyway. The instructor can just consider it a surprise upgrade; if he even notices the change that is.

Ghost watches as you walk in first, settling in the front corner—- perhaps the instructor does give you the extra help you need then? The other hybrids come a few moments later and then the instructor arrives right on time. “Alright, warm-ups.” He orders, and you all get to work, with you trying to copy what the other hybrids do to the best of your ability. They’re a lot stronger than you, that much is obvious, and most are some form of a dog or wolf hybrid as well—considering they’ve been proven to work well in military situations. They stretch their limbs out as you turn around and imitate the same, all of you strangely quiet, but Ghost supposes that’s just maintaining focus. The officer cuts the warm up after a few minutes, beginning his first session in ‘taking advantage’ of blind spots whilst also keeping an eye on your own. He gets one of the soldiers to come upfront and help demonstrate all while you watch, then he gestures towards the targets at the back of the room, offering you all to try it out before you go against each other.

Ghost is almost considering just turning off the cameras at this point, wondering if he should go grab lunch and then rewatch it in his spare time— or maybe he should just ditch this after all, you were just a hybrid anyway.

You’ve gone up now, and he watches, but something’s not right as you get into position. Since you’re not that skilled in fighting just yet, your offensive posture isn’t the greatest and that’s visible to any eye, especially the instructor. He motions to the opposing hybrid to fix his, before walking around and motioning to begin. Of course, you fail, getting toppled over almost instantly if not for Ghost’s work on defensive moves. You’re pushed down against the mat, head turned forcefully against the floor, the hybrid’s hand’s on your throat almost a little too aggressively until a signal is given to stop.

The instructor only scoffs, pulling the other hybrid up and leaving you gasping for air. “I knew you’d fall over like that, your posture was awful.”

This becomes a pattern throughout the rest of the exercises, your wrong choices and how the instructor barely says a word until after the incident. But why? Ghost doesn't understand—if he knew it would happen, why wouldn’t he just at least correct you beforehand?

———

Your eyes flicker toward the others pouncing on a target, watching with intrigue how they position their feet and their arms. “Stop staring, creep!” One of the large hybrid taunts behind you, grabbing you by the neck of your shirt and shoving you back down to the floor.

It’s becoming harder and harder to stay motivated at this point, especially with how much your back is hurting from being overpowered all week. At least the other hybrids didn't laugh this time, though you wonder if that’s really a good thing since it was only due to the fact everyone expects your incompetence now. Like a reused joke, you’re becoming a boring topic. That can only mean you’re closer to being returned to the facility again which is never a good thing. No one wants a used item.

The thought scares you into motivation; you stand, smoothening the ruffled fur of your tail with one hand before stepping up to one of the targets. You have to try; it’s the best thing you can do even if your feet are starting to ache terribly. Swallowing down your anxiety, you try to remember how their stance was. It was going well until you ended up banging your shoulder against the wood rather than pushing it down. You tumble down with a groan, landing right in front of your instructor.

“Do you have two left feet or something? Your balance was completely off the entire time— anyone could see that.” He rolls his eyes up at you, watching as you rub your shoulder in clear pain. Your lips twist into a deep frown, confused to say the least, and you finally look up at him. “Why didn't you correct me beforehand?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t listen anyway; you never do.” He scoffs in response, annoyed that you even tried to talk back, before stepping away to fix another hybrid's posture. You don't know why you even bothered to ask; it would always be the same response. They all saw you fail, and yet they never made an effort to even try to help, like you weren’t even worth spending energy on. From the first day you were marked as the runt, even if you really weren’t in the slightest.

_________

“You’re failing all the exercises.” Ghost drops the file before you, letting you see all the red crosses against each lesson. He reminds himself that this is for a good cause when your face instantly drops, used to his praise for good progress. It was the only thing you looked forward to anymore, having long given up on the dream that you’d prove your instructor wrong by doing an exercise perfectly. It’d never happen. The thing is, he can help you, but you won't catch up anywhere near to the others on your current schedule; he just needs to push you to want more, to need more, and he’ll fulfil that for you.

“I- I'm trying, I promise. I just- it’s not my fault—” You fumble with your words, convinced he’s giving up on you. He can see the bandages littering your hands, the wince when you try to move suddenly.

“It’s not enough.” His voice is stern, yet still he knows it’s the calmest you’d get in this new life you’ve been forced into. You have no choice now but to move forward, and he’d be damned if his own student ended up a failure. “You need to train harder and—”

“I’ll do that! We can start now, actually whenever you want. Please, Ghost— I’ll work as hard as I possibly can!”

Oh.

He thought it’d be harder than that.

You’ve stepped so close he’s almost positive you were going to grab his shirt and beg him for a second. Your tail swishes from side to side too, ears perked high on your head and your hands clasped together. Is he going crazy or did you just give him puppy dog eyes?

“I’m supposed to be convincing you, idiot.”

“Huh?”

“.. Nevermind.” He rolls his eyes up at you and shakes his head; well at least he didn’t have to start pointing out the incentives of working harder to you. Though he doubts you’ll be able to handle his intensive training program; at least you’re trying to start.

“So will you train me then?”

“Yeah, yeah Pup. But I don't think you realise how tough it’s gonna be.” His arms cross firmly over his chest, looking down at you with narrowed eyes. “I want you up early at five am and do warm ups straight after breakfast. None of these bandages either, that’ll ruin your performance. You think you can do that?” He leans in, almost threatening but despite your initial stance towards him, you don't even flinch. “Yes sir!”

You’re just excited that someone’s finally taking a chance on you.

—-

So, for the next week, you get up early every day, wait for him in the gym before beginning your two-hour training session. He has his own priorities during that time so you’re left with “homework”, as he likes to describe it, which is usually a bunch of tactical knowledge you have to learn. Sometimes it’s what to do in certain situations, other times it’s medical knowledge, hell he even made you disassemble and reassemble a gun once. That last one didn't work out too well since you accidentally swept a few screws away with your tail. Oops

It wasn’t for nothing though. You steadily began to improve; just his corrections had you catching up quickly and putting up a fair fight against the rookie he set up to spar with you. In fact, your sessions with the other instructor have been going well, even managing to beat a few hybrids there when you only had hoped to put up enough of a fight. If he was being really honest, you had actually shocked him at how strong you held up the entire week of intense training. You may be seen as a failure to your officer, but to him, you were nothing short of a real soldier.

Finally, it’s Friday, marking the end of all this training that he’s had you doing. It’s almost dinner, though you ate plenty for lunch anyway, and you both stand in the empty room, a few props littering the room. He wanted to have a look at your pouncing technique, since those attacks worked best for a hybrid like you, and your strong teeth do have a good advantage. The methods are a little feral, but hey, you technically are part animal.

“And.. Go!” He signals, and you lunge forward, grabbing at the fake man and digging your teeth through the side of his neck. You rip through the first layer with ease, legs locked around the dummy’s middle and claws sharp into the arms. “That’s it!” He calls it off after he watches, the time slowly ticking towards seven pm. You climb off, and he nods in approval, walking forward to offer you a hand which you take with another tail wag. “Good work. That’s all for this week.” He helps you shrug off the gear, tucking it under his arm as you take a seat at the nearby bench.

There are only a few minutes till dinner, and you’re usually starving by this time so he decides to clear up the equipment today, placing it down into the small storage cupboard and packing it in its respective spots. 7pm. Only took him about seven minutes to clear the room up which has to be a new record by now.

Closing the closet door behind him, he pulls out his phone, ready to lay back for the day. He’s about to open the door when he hears a quiet noise, then another, followed by a soft thud. Confused, he looks back, surprised to find you slumped on the bench as you snore quietly, your arms hanging off the side as your tail hangs limply off the edge. You’re completely knocked out.

“Pup?” His boots echo against the hardwood floor, but you still remain asleep, cheek smushed into the bench as he crouches before you. A small smile creases the edge of his mask, a fond sigh leaving his lips. “Alright, let’s get you to bed.” He scoops you up easily, carrying you through the quieter corridors to your room, and gently settling you to sleep comfortably for the remainder of the night. You deserved it.

——

Your other instructor returned that Monday, and Ghost was removed from his responsibility for you. Whilst he was glad you had improved, he was just relieved to have his old life back, ready to focus on the 141 as it should have always been. “Ghost! I did it! I did it!!” You squeal, running up to him whilst he’s mid-workout, showing him the sheet that confirms your status as a proper soldier now. You’re brimming with joy, and he’s happy for you, one hand ruffling your hair. “Knew you could do it.”

And that was that. You got your job, he completed his temporary work.

That’s what he assumed anyway..

“Ghost? Can you check my form?” He allowed it the first time, leaving his weights to correct you before continuing his workout again.

“Ghost— can you teach me how to play this?” It was a simple game of cards and your first pub outing after a long mission. Besides, the others were busy puking their guts out.

“Hi Ghost! Can I sit here?” Well, Soap and Gaz were on a mission anyway; it’s not like he would be having breakfast with anyone else. Maybe your friends were out of base too?

“Ghost..” Sleepy eyes stare up at him as you lazily stretch beside him, Soap on his right and Gaz on your left. The movie has only just started, and you’re already giving him that expectant look. “Fine, fine.” He clicks the recliner on the side of the couch, lifting his legs to lay flat and allow you to stretch yours too.

“Ghost..” You mumble out again, and he chuckles, the movie not even halfway through, and he’s got you melting into the cushions just from his hands scratching the back of your fluffy ears. They twitch every now and then, reminding him that you’re still awake somehow.

“Pup down.” Soap whispers, and he nods in turn, looking at the bundle of fur laying over him, your thick tail trapping his legs like some sort of weighted blanket. His hand runs through the soft strands, content as the credits roll and your chest rises and falls slowly. Somehow, you had managed to manoeuvre yourself with your face squashed against his legs and your fingers clutching the fabric of his sweatpants, the 141’s symbol engraved in the cold metal hanging around your neck. Of course, they’d all tease you about it tomorrow during your outing down to the beach. That’s how it works, of course; wherever your handler goes, you follow.

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COD MASTERLIST

a/n: thank you all so much for 1000 followers! just a little psa that i probably wont be too active in the next two weeks. tumblr used to be my safe space and i used to be so excited to come on and scroll thru my dash for some good fics but i just feel so empty with it :(. i havent lost my passion for writing dont get me wrong, and i'm still very happy to chat with moots, just the whole aspect of tumblr is so exhausting for me along with other things in my life atm

anyway rant over thanks for reading bye bye

@mortem-writes @pythonmoth

#simon ghost riley x reader #cod hybrid au #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost x you #cod x you #hybrid au #cod fluff

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mashtatosworld · 9 hours ago

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on set

summary: you're a trainee make-up artist for Big Bang, but you're more than that to him

Working with Big Bang was easily the best part of your apprenticeship.

Unlike other artists who wanted layers of product, constant touch-ups, and precise contouring, the guys mostly required light work: a bit of foundation, some powder, a touch of eyeliner if the concept called for it.

It made your job more enjoyable, especially since they treated you like part of the team rather than just another staff member.

It made for a relaxed atmosphere in the makeup trailer, where laughter and teasing were as common as powder brushes and eyeliner pencils.

Seunghyun was the worst at sitting still, always shifting in his chair when you tried to fix his brows, even running away when you brought out the tweezers. While Daesung, ever the considerate one, sat perfectly still and thanked you each time you adjusted something. Youngbae, being the perfectionist he was, always asked to check his reflection halfway through, nodding in approval before letting you continue.

But Jiyong?

Jiyong made your job interesting.

The others mostly kept things professional, but he had a habit of getting under your skin - both figuratively and literally. He was always touching, always leaning, always there.

If he wasn’t stealing your makeup brushes to twirl between his fingers or teasingly drag over your nose while you were moisturising his skin, then he was casually resting his chin on your shoulder while you worked on someone else, peering at your technique like an inquisitive cat.

The worst part?

You didn’t even mind.

You kind of liked it.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

“Is that my sandwich?” you asked, watching as he took another bite of the meal you had left on the table - having stepped away only for a moment to grab your compact mirror.

Jiyong glanced up from his phone, completely unbothered. “You left it unattended. That’s a free-for-all.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That was my lunch.”

He had the audacity to smirk, chewing slowly before holding up the other half. “You can still have the rest.”

"Keep it." You rolled your eyes, being extra forceful as you dabbed his face with powder. But the damn smirk never dropped from his face.

The next day was the same.

You had left your breakfast bar on the make up table and when you returned, it was half-eaten, carefully wrapped back up again like he hadn't taken several bites.

You snatched it from the table with a huff, but before you could start eating, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small container.

“I got you something,” he said, placing it in front of you.

You frowned, eyeing the packaging. “What is it?”

“Kimchi fried rice,” he replied, shrugging. “Figured you’d want something better than a cereal bar anyway. And we can share this.”

Your heart did a dumb little flip at the casual way he said it.

Daesung, who had been watching the exchange, snickered. “You guys act more like a couple than some actual couples I know.”

Jiyong didn’t even blink. “She’s madly in love with me,” he said, shooting you a playful grin.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh yeah, totally.”

Totally.

Because you couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading through your chest as you dug into the food he had brought you.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

After that, you two frequently shared lunches together, eating quietly to one side. Sometimes he was keen to speak, other times, you two ate in comfortable silence.

But these interactions had clearly been noticed by others.

One afternoon, while you were fixing the lipstick of one of the lead models for the music video, she brought it up.

“Hey make up girl,” she said smoothly, her tone edged with something sharp. “You and GDragon seem… close.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, uh… I guess? We work together a lot.”

She hummed, lips pursed as if she wasn’t convinced. Then, without hesitation, she asked, “Can you ask him out for me?”

You nearly choked. “What?”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, giving you a look like it was obvious. “I’ve been wanting to get drinks with him, but he hasn't spoken to me yet. Since you’re close, I need you to set it up.”

You hesitated.

On one hand, you didn’t want to.

You liked Jiyong - more than you probably should.

But on the other hand, she was a well-known model in the industry, and refusing her could put your job at risk. She was demanding. You'd spent most of the week fetching her sparkling water or finding her phone as if you were her personal assistant.

So, against your better judgment, you agreed.

Later, when Jiyong was sitting in a makeup chair waiting for a quick touch-up, you carefully approached him. You took a deep breath, trying to sound casual. “Hey, um, are you busy later?”

He turned his head toward you, intrigued. “Why?”

“There’s this downtown bar,” you said carefully, watching his expression. “And I know someone that would like to go with you.”

Jiyong blinked, then smirked. “You mean you?”

You froze. “What?”

He chuckled, shaking his head like he found your shyness cute. “Why not just say it? Of course I’ll go with you. I had wanted to ask you first, but I guess you beat me to it.”

Your mouth opened, then shut. You were completely stunned. This was not how this was supposed to go.

But before you could correct him, he was already grinning, standing up and lightly pinching your cheek. “Cute. You should’ve just told me earlier, Jagi.”

Jagi?!

From that moment on, everything shifted.

Jiyong treated you like his girlfriend.

He started calling you pet names, saving a seat for you beside him in the van, throwing an arm around you in between takes. At one point, he even pulled you onto his lap when there were no seats left, completely unbothered by the way staff and models alike stared.

And the model? Oh, she was fuming.

She spent the rest of the day on set making your life miserable.

The final straw had been when she 'accidentally' knocked your makeup brushes onto the floor, forcing you to scramble and clean them up before someone slipped on one.

Your mentor had scolded you, sending you away to go clean them with an annoyed tut. By the time the day was winding down, you were exhausted.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were standing at the sink as you washed the brushes with a scowl.

That’s where Jiyong found you.

“Hey,” he called, voice softer than usual. “I was looking for you.”

You didn’t answer right away, focusing on the brushes. He stepped closer, leaning against the counter. “So, about our date tonight - ”

“I might not be able to go,” you interrupted quietly, not meeting his eyes.

Jiyong frowned. “Why not?”

You swallowed, watching the muted colours stain the porcelain sink. “Because I might be fired before I leave today.”

His entire demeanour shifted. “What?”

You exhaled shakily. “She - ” You didn’t need to say her name. You both knew. “She’s been making my life hell all day. I think she’s trying to sabotage me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already complained to my boss. And if she does…”

Jiyong’s jaw tightened. Then he said, voice firm, “If anyone’s going to be fired, it’s her.”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by his seriousness. “Jiyong - ”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted. “Just focus on our date later.”

You put the brushes down and wiped your hands on your jeans. “That’s still happening?”

He gave you a look like you were crazy. “Of course.” Then, softer, “You still want to, right?”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you hadn’t really thought about what this all meant.

But the idea of going on a real date with Jiyong - of being his, even if just for a night - excited you.

He studied you carefully, waiting for your answer.

Finally, you nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his lips. He took a step forward, trapping you against the counter, his hands bracing on either side of you.

“Good,” he murmured. Then, before you could react, he leaned in and kissed you - soft, slow, but with enough confidence to make your knees weak.

When he pulled back, his voice was a whisper against your lips.

“I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

Your mood significantly improved after that.

Nothing could ruin your high.

Especially when, the next morning, you arrived on set to find that the model had been replaced.

And Jiyong?

Well, let’s just say he was more than happy to continue calling you Jagi.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

this will probably be a part of a mini collection 😝

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford

#bigbang #kpop #gdragon #kwon jiyong #mashtatosworld #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader

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thewitchblue · 3 days ago

Text

Dick managed to follow Tim on his way to you and even sneaked into the military base you were stationed at, stalking Tim the whole way until he entered your room.

"Hey, Sergeant."

Tim said with a grin. It started as a joke to call you Sergeant because you are in charge of the relationship and because you hated your current leadership, but as you proved yourself, you actually did become a Sergeant. Tim smiled and braced for the impact he knew was coming his way.

You turned around and tackled him immediately. You'd recognise that voice anywhere, and it's on-sight for you. You wrestled him like every time you reunited with your familiar grin and bright eyes. He let you pin him down again as you laughed.

"Hey yourself, pipsqueak!"

You lightly punched his shoulder and kissed him before helping both on you up. You haven't even gotten out of your military uniform for the day, but you didn't particularly care. You had too much love in your heart.

He eyed your military patches as if they had answers to questions he has never voiced. What does your new patch mean? You seem to only gain more and more patches and medals that he has no idea stand for. He knows he could realistically hack into the government files for answers, but guessing keeps him stimulated when you can't answer his messages.

"Is this the girlfriend, Timmy?"

Dick asked innocently as he landed smoothly off the nearby rooftop. Tim jumped in surprise. What is his brother doing here? How is he here?

"What are you doing here, boot?"

Your voice was stern as you straightened from your relaxed position. You smoothed over your slightly crumpled uniform with a frown. You assumed Dick was just another recruit that isn't in uniform. Why is his hair not within standards? Where is his uniform? What is he doing not in the barracks? What chaos was unleashed to make a boot run away? What damage was caused?

"I'm not—"

"Supposed to be here. Right, Dick?"

Tim said with grit teeth while glaring at the acrobat. He was annoyed, but he really shouldn't be surprised. The real question is why and how did he follow him without Tim ever noticing? Batman trained him to excel in noticing the smallest of details, but Dick left no trace. Tim was irritated.

You eyed the two warily. You're ready to break up the fight that seems to be brewing, but you're already tired of it all. You break up fights all the time, and you know the signs. You warmly said to Tim,

"At ease, soldier."

You placed a hand on Tim's shoulder and lightly squeezed it. He squeezed his hands into fists a few times before relaxing and shooting you an apologetic look. You kissed his cheek in gratitude before turning to Dick. Your gaze hardened immediately. You asked the most obvious question,

"What are you doing here?"

Dick raised his hands in surrender. He was getting a little worried this was going to turn into a fight instead of a lovely first meeting. Maybe he should have waited until you two left the base to meet you.

"I wanted to meet my baby brother's girlfriend!"

You shook your head in disbelief. Couldn't he be normal and ask? Then again, what did you expect from this family? A group of heroes who really need some grief counselling and a good therapist.

"Tim is a big boy and can make big boy decisions. If he's not ready for us to meet, then we're not meeting. Let's go, Tim."

You took Tim's hand in yours and shoved past Dick. Dick was so stunned that he almost let you go. He caught Tim's wrist just before you could leave and played a miniature game of tug-of-war with you.

"Let go!"

You said gruffly. Tim was also trying to save his wrist, but it wasn't looking like Dick was going to give up, and you weren't willing to potentially break his wrist to prove a point. You sighed heavily and let go of Tim.

Dick didn't let go of Tim, however, and promptly fell as Tim's full body slammed into him.

Both boys groaned in pain when they landed hard onto the floor in a heap. You helped Tim up and waited for Dick to recover while saying,

"What do you want to know so I can kick your ass to the curb?"

Dick blinked blankly at you as he stood. He was still dazed but recovering. He hesitated to say anything. You may attack him, and he's not keen to get stabbed by the knife strapped to your side. Sure, he beats people up every night, but this is his brother's girlfriend. He can't just beat you up or restrain you, especially in front of Tim.

"I just wanted to talk and meet with you."

He admitted. He's good at smoothing over tensions, but what worked with you? He knows the people he calms down for the most part. You replied flatly,

"Well, you've met me. It's time for you to go now."

Tim was in agreement, but he was a tad worried about the impression you were leaving on Dick.

"Sergeant, maybe you should ease up?"

Tim said. You turned your eyes back to Tim. Both boys watched in awe as your expression softened with love. You felt yourself physically relax when Tim wrapped an arm around you. Yes, you are a badass soldier, but you are also a woman in love.You decided maybe you shouldn't be a jerk to your boyfriend's brother after all. You don't have to be mean like you would be to a private causing chaos like children.

"What do you want to know?"

You asked Dick, much kinder this time. You don't have to be the hardened leader to him, and Tim helped ease you.

"When did you start dating?"

Dick asked. He needed to know everything about your relationship. You decided that you could handle answering questions about your relationship with Tim. Tim kissed your cheek. Smiling, you replied,

"Three years. I tackled him and he fell in love."

Dick seemed delighted you were reeled in long enough to have a genuine conversation. Relieved at the change in your willingness, he continued speaking with you.

Dick seemed to be doing everything wrong. Tim was trying to guide him through charades, but both of them are terrible at charades. You noticed their little game but chose to ignore it. It was cute that Tim was proving how well he knows you.

The conversation went as pleasantly as it could between a curt military leader and a carefree vigilante. It would have gone better with Jason or even Damian, but Dick? Dick is the exact opposite of the mould you've been made into by your past and present superiors.

A panicked private interrupted the meeting before Dick could start asking more invasive questions. She came charging in and quickly explained,

"Private Kevin set the barracks on fire again, Sergeant!"You frowned and gave your orders. You'll interrogate him later. You knew the troublemaker well. The private ran off to complete orders while Tim slipped his hand in yours, which you squeezed in response. He lightly kissed the top of your head with a smile.

"Happy now, recruit?"

You asked Dick with raised eyebrows. Tim winced. You dislike Dick enough to call him recruit? Not his name, no positive nickname, only callousness.

Well, you used the term recruit to say he's a part of your unit now. He's a new person under your wing. Neither of them had a way to know of this, however, and assumed you were being cold and distant.

"No, ma'am."

He was feeling hurt despite it being a relationship he's in no way a part of. You sighed softly. This meeting was going horribly. You reassured,

"Recruit, I don't hate you. I'm welcoming you into my miniature military family."

Dick still didn't quite understand the significance of calling him a recruit, but he'll happily accept the growing fondness behind your gaze. You are accepting him, and he is excited to accept you.

Tim brought you home when he could, and it went significantly better with everybody else.

Jason was an entirely different story when you finally met. You connected with him immediately. He was rugged like you and fit in perfectly. He was happy to have someone he could be completely relaxed with. He even punched Tim like you punched him and said,

"Keep this one. I like her."

You laughed, and he grinned. Oh, he loved you immediately.

Cass watched you carefully as you talked with Jason. She liked you, too. You weren't hiding or shying away from them. You weren't afraid to call Jason a giant dickhead while laughing or bump into Tim with a cheeky grin, as if to remind him of a past memory you both share. You fit in perfectly. As long as you don't have to be a Sergeant, you were really relaxed and generally pretty happy around Jason and Tim. Dick's ego was still wounded by the immediate openness, but what did he expect when he came onto base illegally and met you prematurely? It's really common sense to not let yourself in like that.

Damian was critical, but he chose to play nice when he saw how easily you spoke with the others. You even learned sign language, and you already knew Morse Code to interact with Cass when Tim mentioned her mostly mutism. You were quite clever. While the morse code has been mostly faded out, it was still beneficial, and you learned it from your buddies in the Navy. Damian seemed to think you were a surprisingly good fit in the chaos of the family.

Bruce was just happy you glued Jason to the family again. Jason will visit more when you have the time to leave base. Bruce will follow Tim to your base later, of course, but for now, he's content with you being in the manor and proving how much you love Tim.

"Did you join the fucking military?"

Jason asked Tim, who blinked blankly at Jason until he noticed what he was holding. Jason was holding your military tags, which Tim's selfishly kept to himself when you "lost" them. Technically, he stole the tags from you, but you can always get a new set. You'll be matching! He did feel a little bad that you got in trouble with leadership when you asked for new ones, but he's sure you'd be fine without the old pair.

"No."

Tim didn't elaborate further. The tags have practically lived on him since he stole them. He only ever takes them off for showers, which is how Jason found them. Jason scoffed,

"Good. You'd be a shit soldier. Why do you have military dog tags?"

Tim tried to take them back, but Jason held them above his head. Your dog tags are air jailed until he gets answers. Jason needed to know.

"Answer or I'll find a place to smelt them down."

Tim knew he was serious by the gleam in Jason's eyes, so he said,

"My girlfriend is in a special forces unit for the marines. She refuses to tell me which unit she's in, but I've narrowed it down."

Jason was too stunned to notice that he dropped your dog tags. Tim snatched them off the floor and put them safely around his neck again and tucked under his shirt where they belonged. He likes to say that you're closer to his heart with your tags under his shirt with the bonus of protecting him from any potential bullets. Even when you are gone, you promise that you will always come back. He's used to your deployment and the limbo you have him in.

"When do I get to meet her?"

Dick said from the doorway. He was passing by and overheard. His little Timmy has a girlfriend? When did that happen?

Tim touches the tags while thinking of what to reveal and what to keep private. He's never been good at respecting privacy, but he has been learning for you. He knows to keep anything you say to him a secret, but what about other things relating to you?

"Whenever she wants. I'm not her keeper."

Tim answered vaguely. He's flying to see you soon, and he doesn't want to be followed. You've been together for three years, but you met kind of awkwardly. You tackled him to the ground and wrestled with him after mistaking him for one of your friends.

Your willpower eventually overcame his reflexes, and he stopped struggling. You had laughed when you pinned him down and ruffled his hair in victory. It was embarrassing to him how quickly he submitted to you. He watched your eyes widen when you noticed he's not your friend. You took in the scene too slowly. You, straddling who you had assumed was your friend with your hands pinning his wrists to both sides of his head, and Tim blushing underneath you. Tim didn't know how to react either, so you both stared at each other before you started awkwardly apologising.

Tim was a mess, but he was an adorable mess. His hair was ruffled, and his clothes were wrinkled, but there were no bruises nor any scrapes. You were always careful to leave no injuries. He was breathless, just staring at you with wide eyes and a shyness that almost made you smile. He was so cute that you wanted to squish him.

You quickly got off of him once you realised how long you've been staring at him. You pulled him up from the ground when he didn't make a move to stand by himself and actually almost fell right back to the ground because his legs refused to work for him. He was understandly stunned.

This is awkward. How do you explain the tradition of you fighting your friend on sight? Your friend does the exact same thing with you. It was excellent training for your deployment to fight each other on sight without any prep. Enemy soldiers aren't going to reveal themselves before attacking, so surprise attacks help keep your reflexes sharp.

"Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

He couldn't get the image of you pinning him down out of his head. Nobody has ever pinned him down so intimately. You were gentle. Your hold would have been easy to break out of if he didn't stop struggling. It was like you only played until one of you got pinned, and then the fight was over.

Tim was still trying to remember how to function. What does he do? What does he say? He's all shaken up. He had to look away from you. He managed to say,

"It's fine."

He tried to sound like it was no big deal, but it sounded strained. He was pretending like the wrestling really took it out of him by fake panting, but you both knew better. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but pat his back and attempted to leave.

Attempted, being the key word. Tim caught your wrist loosely and nervously said,

"I, uh... would you... Can we... Let's... I'm sorry."

He didn't have the words with you looking at him like that. He was nervous. You smiled softly at him, and he forgot how to speak entirely. He could only stare until you took the initiative and asked him to go on a date before you leave for boot camp. He nodded, and that was that. You gave him your number and continued your run like nothing happened.

The date went amazing. It was a bit unconventional as you took him to a paint gun fight after showing him the gun and explaining the rules. You grinned every time he landed a hit and even wiped away the paint that splattered onto him with a fond expression. You opened up about the fear you have about joining the military, but your desire to help. You want to make a difference, however small or large that may be.

You kissed the bruising wounds softly and banaged the bleeding ones before he could even reach for the first aid kit you brought. You helped him up with a wild grin, and he kissed you until the adrenaline ran out. The guns were empty, and you both were messes, but your hearts were full, and Tim can safely say he hates paintballing. You took him to see a movie like a normal person next date.

Jason and Dick watched their brother soften further and further as he went down memory lane. Dick was ecstatic and already plotting to meet you, but Jason was confused why anybody would date Tim. Yeah, he's had his fair share of partners, but he's surprised every time he gets a date, let alone a girlfriend.

You were his mystery girl, and their family loves a good mystery.

603 notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 1 day ago

Text

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ this is me trying

chapter summary: You and Logan try IVF.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: another short chapter!? who am i? (also this gif is 😙🤌)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, angst, talks of fertility and pregnancy, smut, slight sub!logan unprotected piv, creampie, ghost hunting

series masterlist - chapter 7 → chapter 9

“—and we need to… Logan!” You exclaimed, breaking him out of whatever stupor he was in while staring at you.

You were explaining the new calendar you made that coincided with your IVF treatment, meaning no sex some days before retrieval and no sex some time after.

“Yeah, ‘m listening,” Logan repeated, his eyes flickering back to you like a magnet drawn to steel. He leaned lazily against the counter in your lab, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement—or distraction. Probably both.

You narrowed your eyes, tightening your grip on the whiteboard marker. "Then what did I just say?"

“You need to… no sex before, no sex after," he recited slowly, as if carefully testing each word to make sure it wouldn’t backfire.

“And?" You crossed your arms, one hand on your hip, the other holding the marker up like a teacher about to deliver a pop quiz. "Do you know why?"

Logan’s gaze swept over you, taking in the way you’d planted your feet and stuck a pen behind your ear in your 'professor mode.' “Because you’re ovulatin’ or somethin’? Or tryin’ not to? Hell, I don’t know what half this stuff means.”

You sighed, turning back to the giant whiteboard on the wall. It was cluttered with colorful timelines, reminders, and arrows pointing every which way, all carefully laid out for the IVF schedule. In hindsight, your meticulousness might have been a tad over the top, but you weren’t about to admit that now.

“It’s because we want to maximize the egg retrieval,” you explained, your tone firm but not unkind. “No sex three days before stimulation so it doesn’t mess with your—ugh, never mind. Just stick to the rules. I made this board so it’s clear.”

Behind you, Logan huffed, a warm, rumbling sound that made you turn sharply to find him grinning.

"What?" you asked, brow furrowing.

“You’re real cute when you’re like this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at you. "Hands on your hips, pen behind your ear—looks like you’re about to lecture me ‘bout quantum somethin’."

Your cheeks flushed instantly, but you steadied yourself, standing taller. “That’s because you’re not listening,” you fired back. "And I have been over this calendar twice. Maybe I should give you a quiz.”

Logan’s grin widened, his teeth flashing. “You gonna give me detention if I fail?"

Ignoring the heat rising to your face, you tilted your head in mock seriousness. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, clearly enjoying this far more than he should. “Guess we’ll find out if I get somethin’ wrong.”

“Fine.” You capped the marker and tapped it against your hand like a gavel. "What’s the first thing you have to remember?”

Logan straightened slightly, locking eyes with you. “No sex three days before retrieval.”

You nodded, reluctantly impressed. “And after retrieval?”

“No sex for a week.”

“Why?” you pressed, though your voice lost some of its sternness.

“‘Cause it’s somethin’ about keepin’ the process steady—don’t wanna screw up your hormones or somethin’. You didn’t get this doctorate for me to screw it all up.”

You stared at him, unable to mask your surprise.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered, although his smug grin didn’t waver. “Just ‘cause I’m lookin’ at you doesn’t mean I’m not payin’ attention.”

Taking a second to compose yourself, you finally nodded. “Fine, you passed.”

“But what about my detention?” His smirk turned wolfish, leaning just a fraction closer.

You stumbled over your words. “Is this—ugh, is this one of your… you know?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I don’t know, darlin’. What’re you talkin’ about?”

“You know!” you exclaimed, waving the pen for emphasis. “Your… fantasies or whatever it is you call them.”

His grin was practically sinful now. “Well, now it is.”

“Logan!”

“Relax, sweetheart.” His voice softened as he reached out to pluck the marker from your hand, setting it aside on the desk. His other hand slid to your hip, grounding you as he bent just low enough to kiss your forehead. "You’re doin’ great. And we’re gonna get through this—whiteboard rules and all."

You sighed, your tension easing slightly under his touch. “You’d better not fail me on this, Logan.”

“Never,” he said with an almost reverent sincerity, the teasing gleam in his eyes softened by something deeper. "You’re the one thing I’ve always been real good at keepin’ up with."

And damn it if he didn’t mean it.

---

Since today was the last day you could have sex before your retrieval in 4 days, you decided to surprise Logan. Though you weren’t sure if this was going to backfire on you or not, you thought you’d give it a try.

You had put on something that was the most stereotypical ‘teacher like’ outfit, a white button-up blouse, a black pencil skirt, and some small heels, and went through the regular motions of the school day.

Then, once classes were over, Logan came to your classroom instead of your office like you told him to earlier in the day.

Logan pushed the classroom door open, his shoulders broad and his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. His gaze swept over the rows of empty desks before it landed on you. You were sitting at your desk, legs crossed, glasses perched on your nose, and a teasing little smile playing at your lips. The whiteboard still had the day’s lesson scrawled across it, but you weren’t thinking about teaching anymore.

“This where you wanted me?” Logan asked, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You adjusted your glasses, standing up slowly. “Yes, Mr. Howlett. You’re late.”

His eyebrows lifted, the faintest smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t know this was official business.”

“Sit down,” you instructed, gesturing toward your chair behind the desk. “You’ve got some rules to follow if you’re going to avoid detention.”

Logan chuckled under his breath but obeyed, sauntering over and lowering himself into the chair. He sprawled comfortably, his legs spread wide, making it look far too small for him. “Alright, darlin’. What’s next?”

You stepped around the desk, your heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. “First,” you began, fingers going to the buttons of your blouse, “you’re not allowed to touch me. At all.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, his smirk growing into a full grin. “That so?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, undoing the top button of your blouse. His gaze tracked the movement like a predator watching its prey. “You’re here to listen and behave. Understand?”

“Guess I’ll behave,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You let the next few buttons fall open, revealing the delicate lace of your bra beneath. His sharp inhale didn’t go unnoticed, but he kept his hands firmly on the arms of the chair, his knuckles tightening as you slipped the blouse off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Good,” you said softly, stepping closer. “Stay just like that.”

You moved your hands to the zipper of your pencil skirt, tugging it down slowly. The fabric pooled at your feet, leaving you standing there in nothing but your bra, panties, and those heels. Logan’s jaw flexed, and you could see the restraint it was taking for him to stay still.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me,” he muttered, his voice strained.

“I told you, no touching,” you reminded him, leaning down just enough to place your hands on the arms of the chair, your face inches from his. “Think you can handle that?”

Logan’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze locked on yours. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweetheart.”

You straightened up, taking your time to slip onto his lap. His hands twitched against the armrests, but he didn’t move them, his breathing ragged as you settled yourself over him, the heat between your thighs pressing against the denim of his jeans.

“See? You’re doing great,” you teased, trailing your fingers along his jawline. He let out a low growl, but his hands stayed put.

“You’re evil,” he said, his voice thick with want.

“Maybe,” you replied, reaching between your bodies to undo his belt. His hips jerked slightly, but he stayed obedient, watching as you unzipped his jeans and pushed them down just enough to free him. He was already hard, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“Not so evil now, huh?” Logan quipped, but his breath hitched as you slid your panties to the side, positioning yourself over him.

“Remember,” you whispered, lowering yourself slowly. “No touching.”

Logan let out a low curse, his head falling back against the chair as you took him in. His hands clenched the armrests tightly, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the effort of keeping them there.

“Darlin’, you’re killin’ me here,” he rasped, his voice rough and shaky.

You started to move, your hips rolling slowly against his. The friction sent shivers through your body, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. Logan’s eyes were locked on yours, dark and hungry, but his hands didn’t budge.

“You’re so good at this,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to his jaw. He growled low in his throat, his self-control hanging by a thread.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, his hips bucking up into you. “How’m I supposed to just sit here?”

“Discipline,” you teased, your breath warm against his ear. “Isn’t that what detention’s all about?”

Logan let out a breathless laugh, the sound strained and desperate. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much.”

You didn’t answer, your movements quickening as heat coiled low in your stomach. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the room, mingling with your own gasps. You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body taut with tension as he fought the urge to touch you.

“You’re amazing,” you whispered, your voice catching as your rhythm faltered. Logan’s eyes softened briefly, the teasing gleam replaced with something deeper.

“So are you,” he managed, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly you thought they might snap. “But I’m about to lose it here.”

You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Not yet,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly. He groaned into your mouth, his restraint finally breaking as his hands left the armrests and gripped your hips, holding you firmly against him.

“That’s it,” he growled, guiding your movements now, his strength taking over. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he set a brutal pace, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was all heat and desperation.

The classroom faded away, the only thing that mattered was him—the way he filled you, the way he moved, the way he whispered your name like a prayer. And when you finally tumbled over the edge together, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you knew this was worth every moment of waiting.

Breathless and trembling, you rested your forehead against his, your glasses askew. “So much for following the rules,” you muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Logan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Rules are overrated anyway.”

---

“Honey, if you can’t do it, I can. It’s just a little needle.” You said, holding your hand out for the needle, a simple hormone injection that has to be done before the embryo transfer.

Logan stood a few feet away, the needle in his hand looking laughably small against his thick fingers. His jaw was tight, and his brows knitted together in a way that made him look like he was contemplating defusing a bomb instead of giving you a hormone injection.

“I can do it,” he said gruffly, though his eyes darted between the syringe and your exposed stomach like he didn’t quite believe himself.

You softened at his hesitation, lowering your hand. “It’s okay if you’re nervous. I can just—”

“I’m not nervous,” Logan interrupted quickly, his voice firm but not unkind. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite the situation. “Logan, I get stabbed with needles all the time. This is nothing.”

He shot you a look. “Not the same.”

You tilted your head, watching him as his eyes lingered on the syringe. His hands didn’t tremble—Logan was steady, always—but there was a vulnerability in his posture that made your heart ache. This was the same man who had faced armies, wars, and unimaginable pain, yet here he was, worried about causing you the smallest discomfort.

“Logan,” you said softly, reaching for his free hand. He let you take it, his rough palm engulfing yours. “You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you.”

His gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment, he just stared. Then, with a deep breath, he nodded. “Alright, darlin’. Let’s do this.”

You leaned back slightly on the edge of the couch, pulling up your shirt to expose your stomach. Logan crouched down in front of you, the syringe still in his hand. He studied the instructions you’d written out earlier—meticulous as always—before glancing back at you.

“This the spot?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, resting a hand on his shoulder for support. “Right there.”

Logan’s hand hovered over your skin for a moment before he finally pressed the needle in with careful precision. It stung, but not enough to make you flinch. His gaze stayed fixed on the syringe, his focus unshakable as he slowly pushed the medication in.

“All done,” he murmured after a moment, pulling the needle away. He pressed a cotton ball gently against your skin, his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. “That okay?”

“Perfect,” you assured him, your smile warm. “See? Told you it was nothing.”

Logan scoffed lightly as he stood, disposing of the syringe. “Didn’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

You reached for his hand again, pulling him back toward you. He let himself be guided, standing between your knees as you looked up at him. “You did great.”

His lips twitched into a small smile, but his eyes were still searching yours, as if looking for any sign that he might have done something wrong. When he found nothing but sincerity, he finally relaxed.

“You’re a hell of a lot braver than me, you know that?” he said, his voice soft.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I don’t know about that. You’ve done way scarier things.”

“Not like this,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “This is new.”

You leaned into his touch, your hand covering his. “We’re in it together, Logan. Every step.”

He nodded, bending down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Together,” he echoed. “Always.”

For a moment, the weight of the last few years lifted, leaving just the two of you in the quiet. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was enough. And that was all you needed.

---

“I think the mansion is haunted.” Rogue said. “There is no way ya haven’t heard the creakin’ in the night!”

Bobby rolled his eyes, “it’s probably just the AC or someone walking in the hallways.”

Kitty looked over at you as you graded things in your classroom. Though the three of them weren’t technically students anymore and had ‘graduated high school’, they still lived at the mansion because they were X-Men.

“Y/N, do you believe in ghosts?” Kitty asked.

You looked up from your papers, a red pen twirling idly in your fingers, as Kitty’s question hung in the air. The corners of your mouth twitched with curiosity at the way all three of them had their eyes fixed on you—Kitty looking earnest, Rogue mildly skeptical, and Bobby wearing his usual mask of rationality.

“Ghosts?” you echoed, tilting your head. “I don’t know if I’d call them ghosts, exactly.”

“That’s not a no,” Kitty pointed out, leaning forward on her desk as if your opinion held the weight of undeniable truth.

You tapped the pen against your chin thoughtfully. “There’s a theory,” you began, slipping into your natural cadence as a teacher, “about residual energy in spaces where intense events have happened. That energy could, in theory, manifest in ways that we interpret as paranormal.”

Kitty nodded enthusiastically while Rogue crossed her arms, clearly unsure. “What about creakin’ floorboards? That doesn’t sound like ‘residual energy.’”

“Well,” you conceded with a small smile, “this mansion is over a century old, and wood expands and contracts with changes in temperature.”

Bobby smirked. “Told you.”

Kitty huffed. “Yeah, but what about the piano playing by itself? Bobby doesn’t even believe me about that!”

“Probably one of the students pulling a prank,” Bobby retorted with a shrug.

“Or an actual ghost,” Kitty shot back, lifting her chin defiantly.

The sound of Logan clearing his throat from the doorway drew everyone’s attention. “What’re we talkin’ about?” he asked, stepping inside with his usual lazy saunter, his eyes cutting to you instinctively.

“Ghosts,” Rogue said flatly. “Kitty thinks the mansion’s haunted.”

Logan chuckled low in his chest, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “Haunted, huh? Sounds like you kids’ve been watchin’ too many movies.”

“It’s not just movies!” Kitty protested, turning to him. “Y/N agrees there could be something! Residual energy or whatever.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to you, one eyebrow raising in question. You shrugged lightly, “how ‘bout this. We meet here at midnight and go ‘ghost hunting’. I’ll prove that it’s just residual energy so Rogue doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“Ghost hunting, huh?” Logan drawled.

You shrugged lightly, capping your red pen. “Why not? Might as well settle this once and for all so Rogue can sleep without thinking she’ll get haunted.”

“Hey, I never said I was scared!” Rogue interjected quickly, her Southern drawl edging her words. “I just think there’s somethin’ weird goin’ on.”

Kitty grinned, nudging her playfully. “Sure, you’re not scared.”

Bobby leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “This is gonna be a waste of time. But fine, I’ll come. Someone’s gotta keep you all from freaking out over creaky floorboards.”

You pushed your glasses up, a small smirk playing at your lips. “Alright, it’s settled. Midnight. Bring whatever you think you’ll need—flashlights, cameras, whatever—and I’ll bring some equipment from the lab.”

Kitty’s eyes lit up. “Like an EMF detector? And maybe a thermometer?”

“Exactly,” you confirmed. “We’ll keep it scientific, not superstitious.”

Logan snorted softly, pushing off the doorway. “You’ve got this whole thing planned, don’t you?”

“I do,” you said simply, already mentally organizing the tools you’d need. “And you’re coming too.”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t,” Logan replied with a shrug. “Just think it’s funny how serious you’re takin’ this.”

Rogue shot him a look. “You’re not gonna ruin it for us, are ya?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Logan said with a smirk, but his eyes flicked back to you, his expression softening.

---

At exactly midnight, the group gathered in the classroom, flashlights in hand. Kitty and Rogue had brought a handheld camera and an audio recorder, while Bobby carried what looked like an oversized camping flashlight. You walked in with a small case of lab equipment, Logan trailing behind you like your ever-present shadow.

“Alright,” you said, setting the case on your desk and opening it. “We’ve got an EMF detector, a digital thermometer, and a few other tools to measure environmental changes. If there’s anything abnormal, we’ll catch it.”

Kitty practically bounced on her toes. “This is so cool. I feel like we’re in a movie.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning casually against the desk. “Let’s hope it’s not the kind where everyone dies.”

“Logan,” you warned, giving him a pointed look.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just sayin’.”

You divided the equipment among the group, handing the thermometer to Kitty and the EMF detector to Rogue. “We’ll start in the east wing,” you said, adjusting your glasses. “That’s where Kitty said she heard the piano, right?”

Kitty nodded vigorously. “I swear, it was playing by itself.”

Logan’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, letting you take the lead as the group headed down the dimly lit hallway.

---

The east wing was quiet—eerily so. The air felt heavier, the old wood creaking beneath your feet as you moved through the corridor. Kitty had her camera rolling, and Rogue was carefully monitoring the EMF detector, though so far, it hadn’t picked up anything unusual.

“So, what’s this ‘residual energy’ thing you mentioned earlier?” Bobby asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “It’s the idea that strong emotions or events can leave an imprint on a place. It’s not a ghost in the traditional sense, but more like… a recording of something that happened before.”

“Like an echo,” Kitty added, her eyes wide.

“Exactly,” you said with a nod. “It’s one explanation for paranormal activity.”

“Or it’s just people imaginin’ things,” Logan muttered.

“Not helping,” you shot back, though your tone was more amused than annoyed.

The group reached the end of the hallway, where a grand piano sat in the corner of an old parlor. The room was bathed in shadows, the faint moonlight streaming through the large windows.

“This is it,” Kitty whispered, her camera trained on the piano.

Rogue glanced at the EMF detector, which remained stubbornly still. “Nothin’ so far.”

You stepped closer to the piano, pulling the thermometer from your pocket. The temperature was steady, no sudden drops or spikes that might indicate something unusual.

“Well?” Logan asked, his voice low.

“No signs of residual energy,” you said, your tone thoughtful. “But let’s—”

A sudden noise interrupted you—a faint, melodic note from the piano.

Everyone froze.

“What the hell?” Bobby muttered, his flashlight beam darting around the room.

Kitty clutched her camera tightly. “I told you! I told you it plays by itself!”

Logan straightened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped in front of you instinctively. “Alright, what’s goin’ on here?”

You moved closer to the piano, studying it carefully. “It could be the strings,” you murmured, leaning down to inspect the inner workings. “If they’re loose, they might vibrate on their own.”

“Or it’s a ghost,” Kitty said, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.

You glanced at her, adjusting your glasses. “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.”

Another note echoed through the room, this one softer, almost mournful.

Rogue’s grip on the EMF detector tightened. “It’s doin’ it again.”

Logan’s eyes darted around the room, his posture tense. “Alright, fun’s over. Let’s wrap this up before someone gets spooked.”

Kitty frowned. “But we just—”

“Logan’s right,” you said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got enough data to analyze. Let’s head back.”

Reluctantly, the group agreed, though Kitty and Rogue exchanged skeptical looks as you packed up the equipment. Logan stayed close to you, his protective instincts clearly on high alert.

As you walked back down the hallway, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to hear another note. But the mansion remained silent, the mystery of the piano lingering in the air like an unsolved equation.

“Ghosts or not,” Logan murmured as the two of you trailed behind the others, “you’re braver than me for stickin’ your nose in somethin’ like this.”

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing against his. “It’s just science, Logan.”

“Whatever you say, darlin’,” he said, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and affection. “But if that piano starts chasin’ us, I’m not stickin’ around to fight it.”

---

Two weeks after the embryo transfer your pregnancy test came back negative.

You stared at the single line on the stick, your throat tight as the bathroom tile seemed to blur and shift under your feet. The tiny piece of plastic felt unbearably heavy in your hand. You’d tried so hard not to get your hopes up this time, to remind yourself that IVF wasn’t a guarantee. But after years of trying—after Clomid, after IUI, after the miscarriage—it had been nearly impossible not to hope.

Logan’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Sweetheart?” His knock was soft but insistent against the bathroom door. “You alright in there?”

You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. “Yeah,” you managed, though your voice sounded foreign even to your own ears. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

He didn’t push, but you knew he wouldn’t leave either. Logan never did when he thought you needed him.

You took a shaky breath and forced yourself to move. You wrapped the test in some tissue and tossed it into the trash, then splashed cold water on your face. When you opened the door, Logan was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression as steady as it always was—but there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart ache.

He didn’t say anything, just stepped closer and waited. You shook your head slightly, and that was all he needed. His arms were around you in an instant, holding you close as you buried your face in his chest. The tears came then, hot and fast, and he let you cry, his hand moving gently over your back.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “Don’t you dare apologize for this.”

You tried to say something else, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Logan didn’t press, just pulled you back into his arms and held you tighter, as if he could shield you from the weight of the disappointment pressing down on you both.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Logan stayed close, finding small ways to comfort you without making it obvious. He brewed your favorite tea, even though he always grumbled about the smell of chamomile. He didn’t say a word when you spent an hour re-organizing the bookshelf in the living room, one of your favorite ways to distract yourself when you didn’t want to think too hard. And when the two of you finally went to bed that night, he wrapped himself around you like he was trying to hold all the broken pieces together.

---

The next morning, Jean found you in the kitchen, staring blankly into your coffee mug. She didn’t need to ask how it went—your face told her everything she needed to know.

“Oh, Y/N,” she said softly, pulling out the chair next to you. “I’m so sorry.”

You forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her tone gentle but never pitying. It was one of the things you appreciated most about her—she never treated you like you were fragile, even when you felt like you might shatter.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “There’s not much to say. It didn’t work. Again.”

Jean reached across the table and squeezed your hand. “I know how hard this is,” she said. “But you’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling right now. You don’t have to hold it together all the time.”

Her words broke something loose in you, and before you knew it, you were spilling everything—the years of trying, the heartbreak of the miscarriage, the hope you’d tried so hard to suppress this time. Jean listened without interrupting, her hand a steady anchor in yours.

When you finally stopped, she gave your hand one last squeeze. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” she said. “And you’re not alone in this. Logan, me, everyone—we’re here for you.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Anytime,” she said with a small smile. “Now, how about I make us some breakfast? You look like you could use something other than coffee.”

You let her bustle around the kitchen, the simple, familiar act grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

---

That evening, Logan found you in your shared office, your glasses perched on your nose as you stared at a stack of papers you weren’t really grading. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you for a moment before speaking.

“You don’t have to do this, y’know,” he said.

You looked up, frowning slightly. “Do what?”

“Act like everything’s fine,” he said, his voice low but steady. “It’s okay to feel like shit, darlin’. Hell, I feel like shit too.”

His honesty caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Then, with a sigh, you took off your glasses and set them on the desk. “I just don’t know what else to do, Logan,” you admitted. “If I stop moving, I feel like I’ll fall apart.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, crouching in front of your chair so he could look you in the eye. “Then let me catch you,” he said simply.

You blinked, the tears welling up again despite your best efforts. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he said, his hands resting gently on your knees. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll figure it out, one way or another. But right now, you don’t gotta be strong. Just let me be strong enough for the both of us, alright?”

You nodded, your voice too thick with emotion to respond. Logan stood, pulling you into his arms, and for the first time that day, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d get through this. Together.

---

You and Jean had gone to see your fertility doctor, mostly for the two week check up since the embryo transfer.

When Jean drove the two of you back to the mansion, Dr. Harper’s words rang in your head, over and over.

“We can try again, but I’m going to be honest. My medical opinion is that continuing down this path may yield diminishing returns. That’s not to say there’s no hope—we absolutely could continue to try—but I want to make sure we’re balancing hope with your overall well-being. I know you are a person based on facts, and I’m sure you know that once you hit your early 30’s, your fertility starts to slowly decline. Given that you’re already having a hard time… the choice is yours.”

The truth was, you were getting older. Everything Dr. Harper said was true, and you hated that you couldn’t argue with her. If you hadn’t been able to get pregnant at 28, why would anything be different now? You stared out the car window, watching the trees blur together as Jean drove back to the mansion. Her presence was steady, calm, just like always, but you could feel her glancing at you every so often, as though trying to gauge whether you were on the verge of breaking.

“You’re quiet,” Jean said softly, breaking the silence.

You adjusted your glasses, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m just… processing.”

Jean nodded, her hands steady on the wheel. “Take your time.”

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the engine. Then you sighed, resting your forehead against the window. “It’s just—what if it doesn’t happen, Jean? What if this is it? We’ve tried everything.”

Jean pulled into the driveway and put the car in park before turning to face you. “I can’t pretend to know how you’re feeling, Y/N. But you’re not alone in this. Logan loves you, and no matter what happens, that won’t change.”

Her words should have been comforting, and maybe they were, but they didn’t erase the ache in your chest. You gave her a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Jean.”

She reached over, squeezing your hand. “You’re stronger than you think. And no matter what happens, I’m here for you.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the car. The mansion loomed in front of you, its familiar silhouette both a comfort and a reminder of all the life happening inside its walls—life that felt so out of reach for you.

---

The evening was unusually quiet, with the kind of stillness that felt heavy rather than comforting. You sat in your office, papers scattered in front of you, though your focus was anywhere but on them. You twirled your pen absently, watching the slow circles it traced on the desktop.

Logan leaned in the doorway, his usual casual stance—arms crossed, shoulders slightly slouched—but his eyes were sharp, locked on you like he could see through the calm façade you were trying to maintain.

"You’ve been quiet all day, sweetheart," he said, his voice soft but steady. "Somethin’s eating at you."

You hesitated, chewing on your lower lip as you adjusted your glasses. "Logan, I…" You set the pen down, unable to meet his gaze. "I need to talk to you about something. It’s… it’s important."

That got him moving. He crossed the room in a few strides, crouching in front of you like he often did when he wanted your full attention. His hands settled gently on your knees, his thumbs brushing idle circles.

"Whatever it is," he said, his voice low and reassuring, "just tell me. You don’t have to go through it alone."

You took a deep breath, gathering the courage you didn’t feel. "I went to see Dr. Harper today," you began, forcing your eyes to meet his. "She said… she said we could keep trying if we want to, but the odds are getting lower. IVF isn’t working. She was honest with me—she said my chances aren’t great. And I know she’s right, Logan. I feel it every time."

His expression didn’t change, but you could see the flicker of something behind his eyes—hurt, maybe, or frustration. Not at you, but at the situation. He stayed silent, waiting for you to finish.

"I’m tired," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how much more I can take—physically or emotionally. But if you want to keep trying, we can. I… I just needed to tell you how I feel."

Logan was quiet for a moment, his hands still on your knees, grounding you. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "Darlin’, you’ve done more than anyone could ever expect. You’ve put yourself through hell tryin’ to make this work—for us. And if you’re sayin’ you’re ready to stop… then we stop."

Tears welled in your eyes, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "You’re sure?"

He smiled softly, the kind of smile that was rare from him but filled with nothing but love. "I’m sure. What I want more than anything is for you to be okay. You’re all that matters to me—you always have been. Kids or no kids, that ain’t ever gonna change."

You broke then, leaning forward as he wrapped his arms around you. The tears came fast, but they weren’t all from sadness. There was relief, too—a heavy weight lifted from your shoulders after years of carrying it alone.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice breaking.

"I love you too," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "And no matter what, we’ll get through this. Together."

The papers on your desk went forgotten as Logan pulled you closer, holding you in the kind of embrace that told you, without words, that you would always have him—and that was enough.

that is 2009!

i felt like after so many years of trying for a baby, it would get tiring with no progress. and even as a writer, i knew there was only so much i could write about them trying. but of course, we know they have gabby in the future, so don't worry about that!

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett smut #i love you in every time #i love you always and forever

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askqueenmoon · 2 days ago

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A summary of the rest of the story:

This is late, but better late than never I suppose. I've been asked a couple of times over the years to post the rest of the story, but I never knew how to go about writing it up, so here we go Chapter 3

This was the last one I had a proper script for. I guess partially 4? There was a snippet with Twilight and Spike figuring out how to find element bearers but I dunno if it made much sense. The script here is a bit rough and probably needed some refinement, but it gets the point across. The following are the last pages I worked on, two of which were never posted.

[START SCRIPT] He gives a short laugh. “Sorry about that! Nice to meet’cha. Name’s Nox. I hope those restraints aren’t too tight. You might be a prisoner, but there’s no need for you to be uncomfortable here.”

“…” Fluttershy glares at him.

Wow that’s actually a really great impression of my boss… You’re not related to Brass are you?

I guess you’re not the talkative type huh? That's alright, I can do it for you. How’s about we start with a name?

"Says here you’re Fluttershy. Only child of Cloud Cover and Posey who were prominent figures of the Velvet Carnation Movement until their untimely deaths ten years ago during the Ponyville fire, leading to you dropping out of Cloudsdale flight school. Currently you live in a cottage on the outskirts of New Ponyville and run an animal caretaking service.” Fluttershy is shocked, and he’s grinning “Pretty spooky, huh? The crown’s got eyes and ears everywhere… But it looks like few places are escaping us… saaay… the hiding places of your Red Sun friends?”

Fluttershy raises an eyebrow.

“Look, I get it. You don’t trust me or anypony in the castle for that matter, but you’re here on charges of attempted regicide and that means you’re on a fast track to a short rope. But I know you’re just another pony that’s been twisted by the Red Sun. If you work with us-

“I’ll never work for Nightmare Moon!” She blurts out angrily.

“But you’ll follow the Red Sun? Do you even know what kind of things they do? Because they certainly aren’t the heroes some ponies make them out to be.

“All they want is an Equestria where ponies can live in peace-” “Peace?”He places several photos on the table. ”Blood rituals, bombings of public gathering places, foalnapping and ransoming ponies to fund their activities.” Fluttershy's face is concerned. “Remember the wild weather that destroyed the harvest in Tall Tale last fall? Well the Red Sun’s goons stole the relief supplies our Queen sent. They were alright with leaving thousands to starve.

“Even if that were the case, I didn’t want to do what I did, but someone had to stand up to her. She’s nothing more than a big bully and I couldn’t sit around anymore and watch her hurt more innocent ponies. I had to try, and If that means this is my last day on Gaia, then so be it. New Fluttershy isn’t a coward!” “That’s quite noble of you. Ponies that selfless are hard to come by… which is why I don’t want to see you go down for this. Tell me who helped plan the attack and the Crown won’t press charges. I’ll make it so you never stepped hoof in Canterlot. You could go on with your life… Go back to your cottage… back to your pet.” Slides forward picture of angel. [PAGE BREAK] Fluttershy is thinking of Angel and other animals from back home. "I can’t do that. They helped put my life back together. I won’t let you hurt them. “Would they do the same for you though? I mean… they didn’t come for you when you got captured. They don’t care about YOU, they cared about what you could do FOR them.” “What and you care?” “Fluttershy, I just want to give you your life back. The way I see it, a cult took advantage of a young troubled mare and made you do things you'd never think to do otherwise. If the Red Sun was willing to sacrifice someone as kind as you, who else would they be willing to throw away for their selfish goals?” “They’re not like that…” She looks a bit more unsure this time. [PAGE BREAK] All I ask in return for your freedom is a name. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for the ones that care for you and would like to see you again. Take some time to think about it. He gets up and leaves. Fluttershy looks down pensively. [PAGE BREAK]

Nox exits. “That went well! Wanna grab a bite, Sabre? I’m thinking sandwiches-- Something with peanut butter. Crunchy, obviously. Crystal Sabre is there, looking at Nox, exasperated. She points at him accusingly. “I told you that wasn’t going to go anywhere. You should have let me interrogate her. “Look, until Brass gets back, I have to fill in for her, and that means I’m stuck with a mountain of paperwork. I even had to get up for that emergency meeting this morning! Let me have a little fun! Besides, I have a feeling it wasn’t all for nothing. “The Red Sun’s never been this bold before…What do you think changed?” Fluttershy says through the intercom window thingy “I want to talk to Rainbow Dash!” “…Who?”

[END SCRIPT]

In the end, I got too scared of the idea of backlash from one of my OCs being mean to Fluttershy ^^;; I recognize that it may not have been the case, but after how much hate I got for killing off a random guard, younger me got too scared to stick to this script and I flip flopped between redoing it or leaving it. I came to love the characters I had originally made for the sole purpose of filling cabinet roles. I struggled bring myself to make one of them the antagonist in an interaction with someone as beloved as Fluttershy. I ended up putting off the decision long enough that I lost interest in continuing the story though. This script was not the main reason I lost interest in the story, but it was a factor. My original points stand, and I don't regret deciding to let this comic go so I could branch out.

A chunk I wrote with Twilight: Sunset shimmer was a failed magician that was previously in Night's employ Twilight actually would have talked about here in this chunk: [START SCRIPT] “We know the elements are all part of a system. If they’re inactive, the bond is still there, it’s just faint, like how on a map you might not see a road between a town and Canterlot, but there has to be one because duh, all roads lead to Canterlot. We have pieces of the system and if we can isolate that link between the pieces, we could follow the link from one element back to the others. All we need to do is fine tune Rarity’s gem finding spell so instead of the beacon being any old gem, it’s whatever is on the other side of the link. Spike: “Wouldn’t the mages before you already have tried something like that? Twi: “Well the last one, Sunset or something, (Frowny scrunchy face), destroyed all of the notes from previous experiments so we’re pretty much starting from scratch, but even if they did, we have something they didn’t! A working element!” [END SCRIPT]

Night burned through so many young and eager mages trying to get what she wanted. Once they weren't useful, they got dumped.

Rest of it:

The big bad evil was going to be the guard Fenix who is actually a body hopping spirit of an alicorn from the ancient alicorn empire before it got decimated in the Alicorn-Draconequus wars. The alicorns had purged themselves of their "darkness" and went on a crusade to bring greatness and order to the rest of Gaia. The last of the Draconequus sacrificed themselves to break the alicorns into the three/four pony tribes--essentially exterminating both races. One of the newly minted unicorns had been in the Empress's inner council and refused to die quietly like the others. Since then, he's been taking over other unicorns' bodies as a way of living forever because he's scared of death (Unicorns because he wasn't sure if non-unicorns could do the necessary magic to prolong his life). That's why Fenix's personality changed when his buddy died in the flashback told by his cousin (The hopping usually kills original person. The original Fenix is gone, there's just the rogue soul now. The previous body was going to die, so he jumped ship before it did). The changeling comment by his cousin was meant to be a diversion.

The entity in Fenix's body had been around for thousands of years, just living a regular life. Ever since the rise of the two sisters, he attached himself to their leadership, usually hanging around as a soldier/guard of some kind, because he still believes in the Alicorns' right to rule and wants to help with bringing glory to Equestria and serve the greater good--the Alicorns and the ideals they choose to rule by.

Fenix had been fine living as just a guard, even under Nightmare Moon. Witnessing her uncertainty and paranoia--how the country was being divided by Night's poor leadership in recent years (especially after the whole assassin and Quake dying)--he became disillusioned by Night's rule and would go on to lead a rebellion against her by plotting to take the Elements of Harmony for himself, hopping into the body of the Red Sun Rebellion's Leader- Sunset Shimmer, then eventually hopping into Celestia to become Solar Flare/Daybreaker or Evil Celestia or whatever. The Elements of Harmony were actually ancient alicorn weapons of mass destruction. The enchantment that made them had mutated over the millennia, becoming something completely new, but contact with the soul of an alicorn of old would have ignited something. Not exactly a reset, but they would have recognized one of their original users and their original purpose.

Night is actually the darkness (a shade) that had been purged from the Alicorn Empress in the old days. It gained a will of it's own over years and forged a pact with Luna to help her take over the kingdom. She didn't remember who she was, only fragments because she was all the parts of the Empress that were deemed impure/bad. They were fine being partner rulers for a while, but then an offhanded comment led to Ponyville being burned to the ground by zealots in the Queen's name 15 or so years ago --this had been to destroy the Velvet Carnation Movement which had been a peaceful group advocating for democracy instead of monarchies--and they'd been feuding ever since and only recently made up in the comic.

Night would have freed Celestia from the Sun of her own volition to try to appease the population and show that she is a good ruler and stop all the talk of rebellion. She wanted to use her as a political puppet. Celestia would have been on a short leash.

Night would have died at the end of the comic, sacrificing herself to put an end to the old empire once and for all by holding down evil Celestia as they both get blasted by the Friendship Elements beam. The old ways were wrong, it was time to stop clinging onto the past--Celestia and Luna are left to make up and rebuild Equestria.

There was definitely a lot of middle stuff that I never figured out, but I did like the story. It just grew increasingly clear that it wasn't something I could ever finish.

Here are some of the alicorn designs I never got around to showing:

I feels quite nice to finally have it all out there.

#askqueenmoon #announcement #mlp #fim #c3 #archive 2

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rotagnus · 3 days ago

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what this journey is going to teach you---<3

is it just me or has life been super hectic lately? i feel like i am more alone than ever, but at the same time, sometimes you must go on a path without anyone in order to truly reach the growth you've been praying for.

this pac will explain what your struggles are leading to. i promise you, baby, that they haven't been for nothing. keep your head up. as always, if the piles don't speak to you, don't force yourself to feel them. pac readings don't always carry messages for everyone. enjoy, dove 💋

pile 1.

this pile definitely has a tendency to feel a great amount of guilt, and destroy oneself due to it. you guys may have had troubles with imbalance; take that as you may. a lot of you may have grown up in a really strictly religious home, and this may have made you go from one side to another, struggling to find a good middle. this made you mad, and you tore yourself up over it. why couldn't you find a middle? this journey is teaching you how to be balanced. you're looking within yourself, doing shadow work, learning more about faith and spirituality. you are a very smart, clever person--but you've doubted yourself several times, because many people doubted you. want to hear some advice? i'ma say it anyways. the only thing that should matter to you is that you don't doubt yourself, because the universe/God doesn't. you'll be caught when you fall. you may have struggled financially recently, and this journey is meant to teach you a lesson on that. some of you may have to choose between following your heart and following security. you already know the right choice for you in your gut, and i suggest you follow it. good thing is, you guys are at the end of the journey; now, you are presented with several choices, with the 7 of cups. there are so many routes you can go, and it's up to you to decide. don't be dismayed by the amount of paths you can take; once again, your intuition is on point. you know where you're headed.

pile 2.

the first card that fell out is the tower. let me guess, recently, your life completely flipped. you were having a decent life, going about your business, when BAM! everything went nuts! you may feel like you're truly alone, now. you're losing friends, fake friends, your family doesn't see you the way you do, and you feel like you have no one. you've been grinding, though, working on yourself, chin up, working for a better version of yourself, a better version of the world. this pile has a strong sense of justice and morality, and you follow that. a lot of you are scared for change, and i assure you, it is positive. leap of faith. that may be significant for some. with the chariot, this is the right time to leap! now, you know exactly what experience i'm referring to for yourself. it'll come soon, but as of now, prepare. take a deep breath. you're strong; you're the atlas of your world, carrying the sky on your shoulders. you'll come out of this journey strong. you'll come out with benefits; you may start new opportunities, make new connections, work on your health. it's a new beginning in uncharted land. however, be careful with these new connections; don't give too much of yourself to people. you have underlying issues with that. save some of your beautiful energy for yourself.

pile 3.

you guys have been working hard. i hear this journey hasn't been as earth-shattering for you guys as it has for the first two piles. you've lived a relatively peaceful life, steady growth, baby steps. you've been working on your patience, and i can tell it's paying off. you guys are insanely skilled. insanely. you have determination and endurance, and you use it. you fight for what's right, for your people, your beliefs. but be careful; you guys are burning up, carrying so much weight, and a lot of it doesn't belong to you. why are you supporting everyone? people have their own hands, too; with the 10 of wands, give some of those staves to someone else. as soon as you realize this, you'll be able to be vulnerable. very slowly. think of a flower blossoming; it blossoms slowly, petals unfurling to reveal a divine beauty. that's you. with the lovers, i feel like your reward for the end of this journey is going to be a connection; romantic, platonic--it depends. however, you have a lot of emotional issues that you should start to work on. doesn't mean that this connection will happen after you heal every single part of yourself, it just means that you should get a head start on that journey. you'll reach stability.

#love reading #pick a card #tarot reading #tarotblr #pick a picture #rotagnus #divine guidance #pick a pile #pac reading #intuitive messages #intuitive guidance #tarot blog #tarot cards #tarot guidance

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wordsofwhimsy · 8 hours ago

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♥ My Hero ♥

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

【Ａ/Ｎ】⦂ Two posts, back to back?? Somebody better come put me out cuz I am on fireee 🔥🔥 This is just a cute little fluff piece for our main man cause I thought he needed some attention 😘 【ＰＡＩＲＩＮＧ】⦂ Main!Mark Grayson x Reader 【ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ】⦂ None 【ＩＮＳＰＩＲＡＴＩＯＮ】⦂ “Here I Am” by Rick Ross

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Mark hovered outside your apartment, the familiar sense of comfort tugging at him as he flew the last few feet to your balcony. After a long day of fighting battles and putting out fires—both literal and metaphorical—he was looking forward to some semblance of peace. And there was no place that felt more like peace than with you.

He landed softly, his boots making a quiet thud on the floor of the balcony. As he stepped inside, the warm scent of something delicious hit him. It smelled like home, and for once, he felt like he could truly relax.

You were in the kitchen, humming happily to yourself as you stirred something in a pot on the stove. When you turned around and saw him, your face lit up like the sun had just broken through the clouds.

"Mark!" you cheered, setting the spoon down and rushing over to him. "You're here!"

He smiled, his exhaustion melting away just a little bit at the sight of you. "Hey. I made it."

You laughed, a joyful sound that made his heart skip a beat. "I’m so glad! I’m making dinner—well, trying to, anyway. You’re just in time to see how badly I struggle with cooking."

Mark leaned against the doorway, watching you with a grin. “I’m sure you’re doing fine.”

You gave him a playful look, grabbing a jar of garlic from the counter. "I’m not doing fine. This jar is impossible. I’ve tried everything, but I can’t get it open."

With a dramatic sigh, you held it out toward him, your brows raised in mock defeat. "I know I could probably do it if I had the right muscles, but… unfortunately, I don’t. So, hero, think you can help?"

Mark’s grin widened, amused by how you called on him for help so effortlessly. Even though he was absolutely drained from the day's chaos, there was something about your bubbly energy that made him feel lighter. He stepped forward, reaching for the jar, and with an almost embarrassing lack of effort twisted the lid off.

You gasped, eyes wide with exaggerated awe. "Oh my gosh! You’re my hero!"

Mark chuckled, holding the jar out to you like he was showing off a trophy. “Guess I’ve still got it.”

You looked at him with such admiration that it made his chest tight. “You’re so strong,” you said, practically glowing with excitement. “Like, seriously! You just make it look so easy!”

He couldn’t help but tease. With a sly grin, Mark stood up straighter, flexing his arm and giving you a playful eyebrow raise. “What? You think I’ve been skipping arm day?”

You looked at his flexed muscles, then back at him, your face lighting up with a mixture of admiration and sheer delight. “I think you’ve been skipping nothing,” you gushed, eyes sparkling. “I mean, look at you! You’re literally, like… a superhero.”

Mark’s grin widened, loving the way you fawned over him so freely. It was hard not to get a little caught up in the energy you were giving him. It was so pure, so genuine. In that moment, everything else—the fights, the battles, the stress—seemed to fade into the background. All that mattered was you.

He shifted slightly, still holding the jar in one hand. "Guess it’s not so bad being a hero when you get to come home to this," he said, his voice softening just a bit.

You beamed, leaning up to kiss him softly on the lips, lingering for a moment. “I’m just lucky you’re here.”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat, and for a second, the weight of the world didn’t seem so heavy. He put the jar down on the counter and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for another, deeper kiss. When he pulled away all he could see was you, still looking up at him like he could do no wrong. The warmth of your smile, the way you were so genuinely excited to see him—it overwhelmed all of his sense and all he could think of was you.

“Alright, let’s see what’s cooking,” he said, shifting the conversation, but still holding onto that feeling of lightness that you brought him. He peered into the pot and saw a mix of vegetables and meat, filling the room with a mouthwatering aroma. "Smells amazing. What’s in the pot?"

You grinned. "It’s a surprise. But I’ll tell you this: it’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Promise."

Mark laughed, leaning down to kiss your forehead before turning back to the counter. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the last of his exhaustion drift away as he started to help you prepare the rest of the meal.

Despite the brutal day, despite the fights and the villains, here in your kitchen, he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be. Your energy was infectious, your admiration for him so genuine that it made him feel invincible again, if only for a moment.

As he pulled a pot from the cabinet and set it on the stove, you wandered over to him again, still buzzing with excitement.

"You know," you said with a grin as you snaked your arms around his waist, resting your head on his back. "I think you’re more of a hero in real life than you even know."

Mark gave a small, playful shrug as he stirred the meal. “Well, I don’t know about that... but I’ve got to say, I’m glad I’m your hero."

You giggled. “That’s all that matters.”

#invincible #mark grayson #invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible show #mark graryson fanfic

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profoundbondfanfic · 1 day ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you knew any fanfics where Cas's grace reacts to his feelings for Dean? (Eg blowing lightbulbs when they kiss etc) Thank you so much! 😊💫

Hello! Here are a few we could think of:

Angel's Wild by riseofthefallenone (Explicit, 389k words)

But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels. Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right? That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Come Fly With Me by EllenOfOz, followyourenergy (Explicit, 37k words)

Castiel is back from the Empty, and Dean wastes no time in diving in and planting his lips…well, all over the angel. Cas responds enthusiastically and all is well (or as well as Dean ever gets to have)…until sex with Cas turns out to have a surprising finish. Weird side effects or not, Dean will take Cas any way he can get him, and he makes the best out of every time. With each time, though, the repercussions of those side effects on Cas are more and more serious. Is Dean destined to lose Cas, one way or another? Or can he change the course of the future by confronting their past?

Don't by tricia_16 (Explicit, 97k words)

After nine days of radio silence from both Jack and Cas, Cas returns to the bunker without Jack but with black fur, four paws, a tail, and an obvious preference for Dean's company. With no idea how to turn Cas back or how he got turned into a cat in the first place, Dean has to learn to live with Cas quite literally underfoot all the damn time. Nobody could have guessed that having his best friend in cat form would end up being the catalyst for a huge shift in their relationship, but looking back, he's pretty sure it all started with an annoyingly stubborn ball of fur...

My Soul Whispers Your Name by casblackfeathers (Explicit, 15k words)

When Amara tells Dean that she will give him what he needs most, the last thing he's expecting is to sprout fucking wings and to be able to sense what his own soul — and heart — really want, making it impossible for him to ignore all the feelings he's been harboring for Cas over the years. It’s no shock that Dean’s soul is drawn to Cas like gravity and now that Dean can perceive Cas’ grace all the time, he’s constantly reminded how stupidly breathtaking it is. He had been a goner since the second he laid eyes on Cas, and this just seals the deal. Now that he’s stuck like this, he might as well pull his head out of his ass, give it a shot, and finally get what he always wanted.

Occursus by PallasPerilous (Teen and up, 4k words)

“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

Strawberry Moon by casblackfeathers (Explicit, 115k words) -- not exactly Cas' grace but his aura.

As a child, Castiel used to fall asleep with his mother telling him bedtime stories of the prophecy she had foreseen for him — how the Strawberry Moon would one day reveal the familiar he was destined to be with. However, it’s been twelve years since the heart-wrenching day Castiel last saw the one he hoped was meant for him, and at twenty-eight, with his magic quickly dwindling, he knows better than to keep believing in such foolish dreams. Castiel's resolve falters with the return of his long-ago teenage crush, Dean. The familiar’s evergreen eyes and rainbow aura are still as captivating, but his past is shrouded in mystery, one that could hold the answer to what drove them apart all those years ago. Maybe the peculiar tabby cat who seems to have taken a liking to Castiel is what it takes to make Castiel believe in the moon with shades of pink again.

The Greatest of These by DoctorProfessorSong (Teen and up, 9k words)

When Jack pulls Cas from the Empty, his vessel is damaged. Jack is working on it. In the meantime, Cas is stuck hanging around the bunker in his Trueform. In other words, the fic where Dean takes Trueform!Cas on little dates and the author has way too much fun with angel lore

you're holy to me by serenityfails (Explicit, 5k words)

"My wings inspired you," Cas says, smug at the thought. "Yeah, I'm feelin' pretty fuckin' inspired right now, man."

There's also this collection on ao3 cas vs lightbulbs that might interest you.

You might also want to check our grace fic tag.

#destiel #group rec #asks #grace fic

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lazyjellyfish300 · 23 hours ago

Text

lightning strikes twice 🖤⚡🎲

Synopsis: it all began with meeting Nanami Kento at a ruined MCR concert one night in Vegas that was as fleeting as it was passionate. But, sometimes fate has a funny way of repeating itself when he shows up as your blind date years later.

words: 11.8k

CW: x FEM! READER, READER IS SHORTER THAN KENTO WHO IS 6'0 AND HAS CURVES. College age emo!Kento, Post Shibuya scarred!Kento, SMUT(69, virginity loss(kento), protected p in v, elevator makeout), READER HAS SOCIAL ANXIETY, DRUNKENESS, ALCOHOL, SMOKING, ANGST, FLUFF.

a/n: written for @thesoftuglywrites for @unintentionalseductress blind date valentine's event. I profusely apologize for being late again.😭😭 I hope this is worth it!! 🫶🏽 I have two versions, this is the more general reader version and then there's the oc reader version based on your description.

No need to read both if you don't want to but I thought I'd include them both just in case. 🙂‍↕️Thank you so much for having me & reading in advance. 💕 dividers by @/saradika-graphics pics from Pinterest. My emo!Nanami inspiration as always: @actuallysaiyan.

@ambiguouslady42

Can lightning strike twice? Can the same piece of Earth be hit in such perfect succession as no coincidence of nature? Is such a formidable force destined to repeat itself despite the miracle of happening in the first place?

It is a rare occurrence, you would guess, and that is what many scientists would tell you. So, how can it be, as you stare, dumbfounded at the man across from you on a night like tonight, so similar to one you encountered him years earlier?

A face you knew once, intimately, similar, but the full weight of the time that had passed between you slowly became realized the longer you stare at one another, almost like he’s brand new.

A moment back then that was just like this one. A second strike of lighting landing directly in the same spot.

Maybe it can after all.

—---

Years earlier

It was spring break. When the temperature warmed up and the sun stayed in the sky a little bit longer. That trademark feeling of youth crept in the breeze that blew in your hair that felt like freedom with the weight of academics temporarily forgotten. You slowly worked up the bravery to take advantage of it while it lasted after a long, lonely winter of being frozen and cooped up in the same place.

That's how you found yourself on a plane to Las Vegas with a bunch of friends with unwise decisions brewing and holes burning in your pockets.

Every cell in your body was telling you that this was a bad idea. Normally the idea of going out would make your skin crawl and fill you with the exhaustion of running a marathon before you even stepped out of the house.

But FOMO would be an even more difficult force to contend with. Add the fact that My Chemical Romance was playing in Vegas, and that feeling tripled until you had no choice but to cave in and get through the vacation to the best of your ability.

As you got ready with your friends in your hotel room and jumped into the Uber, you prayed for the best and plastered on your best fake-it-til-you make-it-mask that you prayed would last the entire evening.

—-

Kento feels massively out of place in this endless sea of people. Doing his best to not let his attention linger on the strong stench of body odor, cheap liquor, and perfume, he absentmindedly bounced his knee as he surveyed the area around him, wondering how much longer he'd have to put up with the crowd before the show would finally begin.

This had all been Satoru’s idea, spending spring break in Sin City. He and Suguru were attached at the hip, of course, while Shoko and Utahime were in some kind of their own secret club, leaving him the odd man out. The fact that MCR was one of his favorite artists of all time was about the only factor keeping him here, aside from the unfortunate fact that he was effectively trapped since they were his ride.

“Nanamiii-PSSTT!”

Kento's eyes widened as he watched Satoru and Suguru roll like secret agents underneath the red ropes to the VIP section while Utahime giggled and looked around, holding them up as Shoko slid through, before following after.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me…” Kento grumbled and felt his stomach turn, looking quickly both ways to make sure the coast was clear before darting in as well before he could be seen.

—

It feels like an eternity that you've been standing in this same spot. You're excited for the show, but you were slowly being put to the test the longer you stood packed in like a sardine in an overheated and very loud tin can. Your friends are chatty with excitement due to the anticipation as well as the alcohol they snuck in, too preoccupied with taking selfies to notice your building distress.

As your social battery rapidly depleted, you feel yourself start to go nonverbal as you began envisioning how much better the air conditioned hotel room with some greasy food and a good nap sounds, and a sense of dread settles in your body because you don't want to miss this once in a lifetime opportunity to see MCR in all of their glory live.

“Give me one of those.”

You order one of your friends to hand you a mini bottle of Crown Whiskey, and they cheer you on as they watch you throw it back. The alcohol leaves a trail of fire down your throat and your body feels tingly, warm, and numb as it begins to work its impairing magic.

“Girl! This way!” Your friends call for you as they begin disappearing in a mischievous chain inside a random opening in the crowd.

Eyes watery, you grab the clammy hand of your friend who's bringing up the caboose right before she's lost in the crowd, letting them drag you to who knows where without a word of protest.

—--

Shit…oh, shit.

Coming to the realization that you and your friends illegally infiltrated the VIP mosh pit is not one you want to make while you're becoming more and more intoxicated. Judgement blurry, mind in a boozy haze where you couldn't think straight, you toss back one more mini bottle and that's when you clap eyes on each other.

“Sorry.” Kento mumbles as he feels himself stumble backwards into someone, and turns his head momentarily in half-hearted acknowledgement. He does a double take, and his pupils almost comically enlarge as the fact that the person he stumbled into isn't just some forgettable stranger, but a rather beautiful one, smacks him in the face.

The way that surprise was worn on your face as a sweeping dash of warmth spread across it that only complimented the sheen of the glow on your skin that was brought out by the stage lights, the way your hair fell around your face like petals framing the exquisite flower in the middle.

But, most of all, your eyes, the roaring depth of your irises echoed the other ethereal qualities about you that vacated his brain of all trains of thought like a vacuum of space.

An unexplainable force of nature that can only be likened to that first strike of lighting that smites him where he stands and his lips part a little.

The force does not go unexperienced by you, either. He's tall, and slightly lanky with skinny jeans and a black concert t-shirt to match. He has silky blonde locks with bangs that fall in his face that slightly cover one of his eyes that are subtly traced in eyeliner just around the edges that makes them pop. His gaze is gentle, contrasted with eyes an intense shade of amber brown like pools of darkened honey. He emitted an aura that was shy, reserved, and awkward even.

In a nutshell, he was absolutely perfect.

“Sorry,” he murmured again, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“It’s okay.” You reassure him. The alcohol has gone to your head, making you uncharacteristically chatty. “What's your name?”

The pink spreads to his cheeks as he leans in again for you to repeat your question over the noise in the venue. “Hmm?”

“What's your name?” You repeat closer to his ear.

“Kento.” He answers you, a little louder.

You beam, and that first glint of your smile sends a shudder through him. You were trouble.

“Yours?” He asks, since it was only the polite thing to do.

You give him your name and then more questions slip out from your loosened barrier. “Where are you from?”

“Japan.” He answers. “Japan.” He repeats when you lean in to hear him better.

“No way?” You answer, an incredulous look on your face as you gave him another disarming smile. “Spring break as well?”

“Yeah.” He nods in the opposite direction. “I'm here with some friends.”

“You seem like you don't belong here either.” You tell him.

He can't contain his blush yet again and shrugs as though you saw right through him. “Big crowds aren't really my scene.” He pauses, slightly at ease by your statement. “Not yours either?”

You shake your head profusely, grinning as you fan yourself a bit with your hand. “Fuck no. I'm trying to fight the urge to get out of here.”

The corner of Kento's mouth twitches a little in sympathy. “I hear you on that.”

The silence lingers between you for a moment, but neither of you want the conversation to die just yet.

��I’d stay if I were you, since you probably spent a lot on a VIP ticket. I would imagine.’ He adds quickly, not trying to appear as though he was prying in his statement.

You throw your head back and laugh. “Uhm, I didn't, actually.” You lean in to divulge your secret. “Technically, I'm not really supposed to be in here, sooo…” You nod in the direction of security.

“Ha, me neither.” Kento confesses with a chuckle.

“Hey, I won't say anything if you don't.”

Kento looks down as you offer him your hand, blush appearing yet again on his face as he accepts in a clammy handshake. “Deal.”

The lights go out and deafening screams echo throughout the venue as fog fills the stage. The crowd surges forward and you and Kento cling onto each other as it sweeps you up like a treacherous wave. The drums pound in your ears as Helena starts to play.

You can't help the butterflies that erupt all over your body as you're thrust into Kento's space and he can't either. But, right now as the music plays, you figure you'll just blame the lack of distance between you on the crowd.

You both bob your heads as you sing every word. You sneak glances of one another every so often, looking over at him, carefree and the most bubbly state you've seen him in all night as the lyrics you both know and love tumble out like muscle memory, broadcasting that gorgeous elusive smile of his that he tried so hard to hide in the beginning.

He also looks over at you, lost in the music with your eyes closed, hands in the air as you move to the beat. You both might still be considered strangers, but he can't help but feel like whatever connection that was drawing you to him ran much deeper than just passing acquaintances at a concert. Even though you were shy, your disposition was sunny and kind, almost like someone he used to know.

You trade small talk where you can between songs. Slowly, you piece together that he's also in college, loves the same music as you do, although you both would much rather stay in the comfort of your rooms and not leave the house.

It's almost uncanny, you think to yourself when he reveals that he also adores reading, though he'd rather opt for historical fiction or classic literature as opposed to your preference for fantasy. Though, he hates to admit, some of the romance isn't all that bad.

About halfway through, your view gets a bit obstructed by some taller attendees that stand in front of you. Kento clears his throat, wondering if he should say something, his fists growing sweaty again as he wrestles with how to breach the silence.

“Oop, my bad.” You giggle and he goes breathless for a moment as you use him as a wall to lean against as you try to stand on tiptoe in vain.

“Need a boost?” He asks shyly, nodding in the direction of the stage.

Warmth spreads through your body when you realize what he's asking. “Oh no, no I couldn’t.”

“I insist.” He nods.

“I don't wanna crush you!” You mouth to him over another roar of the crowd.

“You won't.” He answers assuredly, scooping you closer without a second thought. He stands you in front of him, slotting you between his legs, letting you balance your heels on his feet as a built-in chair, enabling you to see much better from where he's standing.

For someone who was a bit lanky, he's actually quite solid, and he smells intoxicating, a new brand of electricity ebbing and flowing between you as you adjust to this closeness to each other in which your personal space has all but disappeared.

Kento's face burns with a fever, but it dissolves into relief when you're finally in his proximity. A feeling of protectiveness fills him from the warmth you emitted from standing so close, the very faint waft of your floral shampoo that still lingered in your hair.

“Hey!”

Dread seeps in both your expressions as you realize you're right next to security and not wearing VIP wristbands.

“Run.” You mutter to him and before you know it, you're darting through the crowd propelled by nothing but pure adrenaline and the impaired judgement of alcohol coursing through your veins.

“Oh shit!” Kento curses but has no option but to follow after you, his own adrenaline banishing all rational thoughts for the time being as you both bobbed, ducked, and weaved through the crowd like a sweaty obstacle course of chaos until you make it to the finish line.

“And don't come back!!” The head of security shouts as you make your great escape into the night.

You both stumble onto the street, panting and breathing heavily as your heartbeats slowly return to normal.

He looks at you and you can't help but burst into raucous laughter, holding your sides as you felt like they were being split open.

“What's so funny?” He huffs but he can't help his own fit of giggles that slowly overtake him. The sound of your laughter was funnier than the non-existent punchline, and soon you both have tears leaking out of your eyes and sore ab muscles as you laugh together in disbelief.

“I'm sorry.” You sigh, throwing your head back as you dab your eyes with the back of your hand. “I just, that shit was unbelievable… You should've seen the look on their face.”

“I didn't.” Kento scoffs ruffling his hair. “Because you practically yanked my fucking arm off.”

You seize in a fit of laughter again and he shakes his head.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry.” You take a deep breath. “Really I am, cause I fucked up our night.”

“You think?” Kento asks you in mock disbelief.

“Okay, okay, now I really do feel bad.” You kick a pebble, trying to wrack your brain for ideas.

Kento shrugs. “It's alright, I guess.” He thinks for a moment then shrugs again. “Wouldn't be the worst night I've ever had.”

“Yeah, what was that?” You ask, curiosity piqued.

Kento pauses as he recalls his past night-outs gone wrong, but then lingers on the haunting memory of his true answer, cold walls of the morgue and a stale smell under his nose, a wet towel splayed across his forehead.

“Never mind, don't answer that.” You raise a hand as you sense his mind traveling somewhere far off, and he nods quickly in agreement, shaking himself out of that dark place.

“Hmmmmm…” you tap your chin as Kento retrieves a cigarette from his pocket, cursing when he can't find his lighter Suguru must have taken for the umpteenth time.

“Got a light?” He asks.

“Yeah I got you.” You take out a purple one from your bra cup, and Kento does his very best to ignore how warm it still was as you hand it to him.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You reply with a thoughtful hum. “Well, there's always Fremont Street.”

Kento exhales a plume of smoke, and you do your best to hold his gaze, knees growing a little weak at how handsome he looked with the clouds of smoke around his honey eyes, cigarette balanced between two long, dexterous fingers.

“Fremont Street?”

“Yeah, I hear there's usually lots going on. We could wander, get some drinks. On me, of course, because I fucked up our concert.”

Kento shakes his head. “I can't ask you to spend money on me.”

“I insist! It's no big deal, really.” You state firmly, hoping he’d cave in. “Let me make this up to you so your trip to Vegas doesn't suck entirely.”

“Hm.” He pauses, looking around. Part of him was simply still in shock that someone as pretty as you took such an interest in someone as awkward and shy as him. Were you still tipsy from earlier?

“What about your friends?”

You sigh and shrug. “They'll be fine. To tell you the truth, they probably didn't even notice I was gone.”

Kento extinguished his cigarette against the side of the building, nodding in solemn solidarity before tossing it into a nearby receptacle. “Me neither, if I'm being honest.”

A part of your heart pangs a little with sadness at this revelation from him. How could anyone not find someone like him as a person they'd want to be around all the time? Besides, this whole situation was crazy and a little reckless, spending an evening in Vegas with some guy you barely know. But somehow, in its own odd, messed up, and chaotic way, it makes more sense to you than anything you've done on this entire trip.

“So, Fremont?”

That glimmer in your eye was so enticing, the spring breeze blowing wisps of your hair under the flashing neons. Was he really about to spend his last night in Vegas with some gorgeous stranger?

Well you know what they say: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

“Fremont it is.” He agrees with a hopeful smile.

—-

Fremont Street, like the rest of the city, is alive as ever.

Flashy animated graphics illuminate the ceiling of the street experience, with cartoon bunnies and brightly colored flowers dancing across it in a hypnotizing light show in the spirit of the incoming Easter holiday in America. People mosey past, many of them intoxicated, with boisterous laughter and drunken yells. Street performers line the open space: contortionists, musicians, magicians, and scantily clad show girls with almost nothing left to the imagination.

There are several stages playing live music, small audiences built up around them while some patrons hollered and raised their glasses from their patio tables of the numerous outdoor restaurants and bars, a mixture of tobacco,marijuana smoke, and opulent lights pouring out of the open casino doors on every corner.

You and Kento stand there, mouths agape, fascinated by the display as you observe and take it all in for a few moments. You spy a vendor who sells frozen fruity alcohol slushies that come in the outrageously tall plastic cups and your mouth waters.

“Want a drink?” You nudge Kento and he looks where you're focused, his eyes lighting up at the fruity concoctions.

“Y-Yeah, let's do it.”

—

Kento feels like a kid in a candy store as he walks the street with you, peering into the numerous gift shops as he sipped his piña colada and mango tequila slush with a curly straw as he watched you sip yours(paid for him despite your protestations), unknowingly endearing yourself to him by the minute as the slush turned your lips and tongue red.

It was a feeling of being carefree that he hadn't felt in so long, something he only got to experience in fleeting doses ever since he started school at Jujutsu High and he had to take on more responsibility than the average person at his age.

And that happiness became all but foreign to him ever since tragedy struck a few years ago and he had to eventually start college, barely moving forward while his mind still lingered in that dark space. But here, in the flashing city lights of Vegas, somehow you make it all vanish.

He's ripped out of his thoughts as you hold up matching I love Vegas hoodies.

“Can we get 'em, Ken, please?”

And who is he to say anything but yes to any silly, wild demand you make of him tonight?

Maybe except to going on the zipline.

—

“No way.” He shakes his head as you stand in front of the large marquee that read: “Slotzilla” in green letters. “There's no way that we're doing this.”

“You scared?” You ask him, voice playfully laced in a teasing taunt. The alcohol was working both of you into a pleasant buzz, but such a proposal was crazy enough to make even Kento think rationally for a moment.

“I'm not scared. I just think you're bluffing.” Kento folds his arms defensively.

“But it's Spring Break.” You answer, and you can't deny there's just a tiny shiver of fear that pulls at you as you look up at the riders flying by above your heads on the ceiling, taking in how high up you'd really be.

There's no denying the booze was turning you into a whole different main character tonight, but by God if you'll let anything else ruin this vacation for you after you fucked up the MCR concert for both you and Kento.

“I'm sure. C'mon, let's do it once, just so we can say that we did it and we'll never do it again.”

Kento swallows, keeping his eyes on the towering zipline.

“Together?” You ask, offering him your outstretched hand. His expression is reluctant at first but a grin of mischief spreads across his lips as he accepts his fate with a solemn sigh.

“Together.”

—-

“Allllright, you'll wanna stand right here where my foot is, yep, right there in front of the sign so we can take a picture of you and your girlfriend.”

The attraction worker moves Kento right next to you. Butterflies fill your stomach first as he wraps an arm around your waist, and his second when you lean into him with your hands on his chest, even more so when you don't correct the worker at all when she refers to you as Kento's girlfriend.

“Cuteeee!” The worker beams and snaps a photo of you, and you can't resist pulling one another even closer so your arms are wrapped around his neck and his hold around you is even tighter, with his chin leaning against your forehead as you posed for a few more shots.

Soon, you and him are bobbing in midair, lightly suspended over the platform in your respective harnesses, hands still intertwined as your hearts raced in mutual anticipation for the go ahead.

“Last chance to back out.” You grin, giving his hand a squeeze.

“No way. You wish.” Kento huffs returning with a squeeze of his own. “I'm all in.”

“Okayyy lovebirds, you're gonna have to let go of each other's hand for just a moment. I know, ugh.” The worker announces over the loudspeaker.

You both give each other bashful looks as you let go, and speed off down the ziplines.

The flashing lights blur past your vision as you become weightless, gliding and flying across the dome of Fremont Street, wind in your hair as the air of the nighttime floods your senses, a wave of adrenaline that bleeds into a fleeting glimpse of eternity as you watch Kento, beaming wildly with freedom as you two zip across the buzzing street below.

“I'm flying!!! Whooooo!!” You cheer with elation and Kento giggles beside you, going breathless for a moment, the cause he can't trace exactly to the adrenaline, or to how stunning you look in this moment, just like the one at the concert, where every answer to every question he's ever had somehow lies in those bewitching eyes, sealed permanently in your lips that bore solutions to his every problem.

As you both come to a halt and catch your breaths as you walk down the stairs and back onto the street, you can't help but feel closer than ever as you walk hand in hand, as though you've been doing this for ages long before tonight.

“I'm hungry.” You state as you both come to a stop in the middle of the street.

“Hmm…” Kento can't deny the rumble in his stomach either, his eyes perusing the choices available until they land on a neon orange sign. “How about some White Castle?”

“Yes pleaseee.” And he beams as you both follow the trail of the distant smell of fresh french fries.

—-

Soon you're sitting across from each other in the burger joint, splitting a sleeve of mini cheeseburger sliders and some freshly salted crinkle cut fries, feet touching under the table, sharing some more meaningful conversation about the latest anime you're both into, sipping sodas until you've eaten so much you can barely move.

—--

The night feels like it's winding down a bit, but the tension has only amped up to undeniable levels. It almost hangs in a cloud around your heads, as you walk to a less busy corner and stop to stand in front of one another, too afraid to confront the obvious question about how it would end.

“Well then.” You sigh and Kento puts his hands in his pockets, nervously fiddling with the pack of cigarettes. “I um…I should probably be getting back.”

Kento can't deny the wave of disappointment he feels, but he clears his throat in a weak effort to keep it from showing on his face.

“Yeah, of course.” It was foolish of him and kind of a douchebag move after all to assume you would want to go back to his hotel room, despite this accumulation of events tonight that makes him feel like he's known you for much longer.

“But, I could make a detour…” You give him a shy smile and he can't stop the disappointment from turning into obvious excitement on his face.

“Really?”

God, he was adorable without even trying.

“Of course.” You smile as the spaces between his fingers find their way between yours. “I'm okay with it if you are.”

Kento swallows. It's probably a horrible time to drop the very teensy but extremely important tidbit about him that he's actually a virgin. But, he doesn't want to let this opportunity to spend more time with you slip him by. The reality that you'd have to go back to your separate lives tomorrow was one that he'd just have to contend with in the morning.

“Definitely, let's go.”

—--

The Uber ride feels like an eternity as you sit in the backseat, thigh to thigh. The intoxication from the alcohol earlier has now been replaced with intoxication of the late hour, and the tensions that were at a boiling point and threatening to spill over with the implications of what would happen when you got to his hotel room.

His lips part softly, pretending to stare ahead as he realizes the circles you're drawing on his thigh are brushing dangerously closer to a spot he really wants them to go.

You lean in, pressing your lips to the vein in his neck as your pinky meets the inside of his thigh, and he has to clench his fists and bite back a sigh when you run the expanse of your palm over the outline where his cock throbs under the fabric.

He pulls you out of the Uber with an urgency you hadn't seen all night, a smirk on his lips as he leads you to the elevator, almost as though he was stirring up a plan for revenge for all the teasing you did in the backseat.

But, it seems you're both on the same page. As soon as the doors close, you pounce on one another immediately, a passionate meeting of lips and soft groans, and hands sneaking under clothes as you grabbed and stroked one another as though the closeness alone wasn’t enough to sustain you, and you had to consume one another to get some semblance of completeness.

The taste of his lips surpassed anything you could have expected. They were soft and messy, with just a bite of chill lingering on them from the cold of outside you just emerged from. His mouth is so addictingly sweet, a mixture of the tobacco he smoked, and the lingering pineapple and tequila as you kiss one another deeply in the ascending elevator.

You taste just as perfect, he thinks. Your lips are still laden with the subtle gleam from your chapstick, the sweetness from your drink intermingled with the promise of so many possibilities, like stepping into the sun after years of living in a world where it hid behind unmoving clouds of grey, the smoothness of your skin and how it seemed to melt into silk underneath his touch, his mind slowly going delirious until nothing but you occupied it, doing his best to use what little function he had left to take a mental picture he could retrieve at a later time before it slipped away from his grasp.

“Kento, put your hands on me…” you pant, bringing his hands higher up under your shirt until they reached your breasts.

“Oh God…”

He groans at this permission as he feels your nipples harden and pebble. He watches your back arch responsively to his own doing, almost going faint from the heat of it all whose intensity that he had never encountered before, before he goes back to concentrating on kissing you while carefully kneading your breasts.

You notice the walls of the elevator are mirrors, and you feel your descent into lustful arousal needlessly deepen as you open your eyes intermittently during this heated makeout session, observing how far gone he was to the throes passion with his eyes closed and a look of pleasure spreading quickly across his face, this normally shy and quiet guy you met hours earlier as he allowed you to peel back all his layers, revealing how pent up and aching for you he really was.

The doors open with a ding and you almost topple over on each other when a stunned older couple is standing there, shell-shocked. The shade of red he turns is deeper than a tomato, and you both sweat profusely, doing your best to revert to normal, though both of your disheveled appearances aren't fooling anyone.

The woman is clutching her pearls, averting her eyes with a disapproving tsk of her teeth and grumbling under her breath. The man gives Kento a sneaky pat on the back and a thumbs up as they shuffle into the elevator and close the doors behind them.

“What just happened?” You ask, out of breath as you make the walk of shame hand in hand down the hall to Kento's hotel room.

Kento dismisses the humiliation of the incident that was still fresh in his mind, and he wraps an arm around your waist, turning a bright shade of cherry yet again. “Umm, let's just forget about it.”

“Good idea.” You chuckle.

—

You splash a bit of water on your face, staring at yourself in the fluorescents of the hotel bathroom while he waits outside.

You tapped your fingers on the granite countertop, shaking your head as you stressed over your hair, a bit mortified that you were in this less than ideal state for the majority of the evening, trying your best to fix it.

Somehow, you could deal with your fears of being in public, talking to this handsome stranger, yeeting yourself across a zipline over a hundred feet in the air, and making out with him in an elevator. But ironically, this was by far the scariest thing you were up against all night long.

Finally, you gain some semblance of a grip, and take a deep breath.

“Don't be a coward.” You mutter to yourself as you slowly consolidate whatever scrape of bravery remains.

—-

Kento bounces his knee, staring at his faint reflection in the black TV screen, almost jumping when you open the door.

You ditched your jacket, he notices, as you slowly make your way towards him, the shadows of your curves being hugged in all the right places in the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand. He swallows as he lets his eyes roam, mouth watering as his lips long to be on yours again.

“Hi.” You smile timidly, coming to a stop in front of him, standing between his thighs where he's sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hello.”

His Adam's apple bobs as he cranes his head slightly to gaze up at you, tingles of warmth erupting on both your cheeks as you cup his face, those liquid pools of hazy amber with the power to submerge you from a simple glance. His hands tremble, a little uncertain as he brings them to your waist, already going a little numb at the feel of your softness he got just a glimpse of earlier.

“You can touch me, Kento.” You reassure him and his eyelids droop, his breath shuddering as you run your hands along his chest. “Can I touch you?” You check in with him, emotion welling inside his heart when you give him the sweetest kiss on the forehead.

“Course you can.” He answers softly, giving you a smile. You gaze down at him as you run your fingers through his hair, gently massaging the back of his neck, a hint of hesitation you can't help but notice still hangs between you.

“Are you sure?” You ask, leaning your forehead against his, as if to soak up any worries that were brewing in his mind. “You seem hesitant.”

Kento sighs, a bit of shame filling him. It's almost spooky, how well you can see through him. He silently dreads the truth that he knows he needs to come clean about, knowing there's a possibility he might lose you tonight before he even had a chance, not that he'd blame you one bit for backing out.

“Um, it's just that…I'm a virgin.” He says quietly.

You sit there for a moment in disbelief, taking a moment to process his words. “Really?”

Kento nods, the silence a bit unbearable as he holds his breath, unable to discern what you were thinking.

“Hey, that's okay it's just…”

He braces himself for the worst, averting his gaze to a spot on the carpet.

“Hey, it's perfectly fine.” You answer, turning his chin to look at you, your heartstrings tugging in response to his weary expression. You can sense the weight of the effort it took him to be vulnerable with you in this moment, something you won't take for granted. The implication of grave responsibility on your part in response to this new information is a lot to take in, but for him, you'll do your very best to rise to the occasion.

“That doesn't bother me at all, Kento. I just want to make sure that you're sure about all this. We don't need to have sex. But if we do, then I want to make sure that you're a hundred percent comfortable, and we can stop at any time.”

Relief floods inside of him like heavy rain, his heart immediately growing much lighter in his chest.

“I'm positive.” He gives you a reassuring grin. “I have protection too, just in case.” He blushes a little, all the anxiety quickly giving way to arousal at what was to come next.

“That sounds perfect...” You lean in and kiss him, the soft smack of your lips echoing in the empty space. You hold your face close to his, hearing him inhale softly as your lips linger closely together, not wanting to part just yet.

He makes the next move, leaning back in and capturing them again, his hand finding residence on the back of your neck. All bets are off now as you take that as permission to deepen the kiss, albeit slowly as you don't want to rush perfection, letting him soak in and experience his first time the way it was meant to be: tender and meaningful.

“Help me?” You gesture to your clothes. Your doe eyed expression sends him reeling, your lovely pout with wetted lips, the built up warmth between you only made the natural glow of your skin stand out even more like it was matter from displaced stars in the scarce light. The number of times you've rendered him speechless is practically innumerable by this point, but he nods earnestly again, not allowing himself to be derailed from his mission.

“Of course.”

The act of undressing you is slow, and a little shaky on Kento's part, but still every bit as sweet. You shudder a little as he gently peels your shirt from your body, entranced as your hair spills out of the opening, your bare breasts bouncing free from the cups of cloth in a hypnotic sway.

You can't remember the last time someone took their time with you like this. Hands that were usually impatient were replaced by his: tentative and nervous, but sweet in a way that was uniquely his own. Eyes that would devour you like a piece of meat with little regard to the soul underneath your exterior were replaced with the caring chestnut of his. His gaze was chaste, but only sensual when you allowed him to be. He looks at you like you were a piece of art to be appreciated first and foremost, and explored only second. From the invisible halo over your head, to your shoulders, to your breasts, to every curve and dimple that flowed to your voluptuous hips, now presented completely bare before him.

It's all you can do before your lips are immediately on his again with a newfound hunger, more strained under the building weight of passion you longed to burn inside this room together.

“Kento…” You whisper his name as your lips work their way away from his, leaving kisses in a heated path starting on the corner of his lips, to the juncture underneath his sharp jaw, and his throat that thrummed as your name left his lips in heady abandon.

He practically whimpers, his cheeks painted in that dusty pink you’ve come to adore so much on him. He was slightly embarrassed at how pathetic the sound was, but a low groan rumbles from the center of his chest, and his thumb grazes tenderly over the point of your chin when you don't seem to give a damn. If anything, you're even more aroused from his pleasure which is just as good as your own as you begin to slink lower down his body.

“Can I?” You purr as your hands pause at the studded belt buckle.

“Go right ahead.” His mind temporarily factory resets as he feels it unravel through the loops, the sound alone adding fuel to his fire as he scoots back a little more on the bed to allow you to straddle him, sliding his jeans down his long legs.

He's so hard in his boxers, and this preview of his size in just his underwear sends immediate warmth to your core. He blushes and can't help the feeling of self consciousness creep up on him as your eyes rake over him, wondering how on Earth all of him will fit if your eyes really weren't playing tricks on you.

Once he helps you strip away the confines of boxers, your suspicions are reaffirmed as his large erection bounces free, uncut and heavy, the tip a darker shade of pink than the one that so often showed up on his cheeks.

Despite his obvious well-endowment, the sight of him naked, laying there like a god, hairy in all the right places, a divine masterpiece of lean muscle with an even more dazzling soul underneath, didn't even begin to scrape the surface of wonderful things about him.

“You can touch, i-if you want…” Kento prays that he doesn't come off as perverted from this statement. Intimate touches like yours were a foreign concept to him. But, still he couldn't evade his desires and would often daydream about what such an experience would be like. It's all so surreal in this moment that might be coming true tonight.

“I'd love to.” You whisper, pulling another melody of moans out of him as you stroke. He's incredibly warm and responsive as he pulses and twitches in your hand, the evidence barely concealed in a blooming trail of precum flowing from the slit, coating your palm.

“But let me take care of you too.” He whispers sheepishly. “To be honest…I, I dunno if I'm gonna last so, s-so I wanna do what I can to make sure you get taken care of too…”

His honesty is endearing, and you can't deny that the pornographic image that his words conjured up in your mind is a deeply arousing one.

“You want me on top?” Your tone is sultry and the effect your mere words have on him are very apparent as his cock throbs again, leaking another bead of pearlescent precum from the bulky tip of his cock and drooling all over your fingers.

“Yeah…I mean, yes please.” Kento’s heart rate begins to accelerate, breath becoming irregular before it departs his lungs when a literal goddess is now on top of him, your juicy ass and glistening pussy spread to his hungry gaze.

He is equal parts enthralled and impossibly turned on as he gazes at the lewd sight in front of his face, followed by a low stirring of pride to his ego, knowing from the presence of your shiny slick that he could have that kind of effect on you.

It's an experience that almost borders on religion for him as he marvels in silent worship what you're so willingly offering to him in this precious moment.

“You're perfect…” He mumbles, as all other words seem to fail him at this time. Despite your numerous assurances, he still hesitates.

“And…I can touch, too?” He asks gently, swallowing a lump that he didn't realize had built in his throat, hands hovering over the globes of your ass.

“Yes, baby. I want you to.” You coo as you situate your mouth over his cock, pressing a dainty kiss to his tip that ripples in chills all over his body. Your first use of a pet name for him almost wrecked him on the spot. Getting used to the idea of being desired by someone was a concept he still had a long way to grasp. You can sense it, and right now, you want to do everything you can to make him utterly drown in it.

“Still okay?” You check in with him and he nods. You lean down, pressing little kisses in a circle around his tip, sticking out your tongue to caress and lick near his slit before you take him in your mouth.

The next moan that Kento makes is downright sexy, low and breathy as the plush, silky inside of your mouth swallows him whole.

“Fuck…me…”

Somehow, heaven for him appears just around the corner, his resolve crumbling exponentially every second that passes, his long fingers bruising into the soft flesh of your ass. It exceeded anything he could have expected, and he can only imagine how warm and perfect your pussy must feel if this delectable sensation was only from your mouth.

You lick and massage all along the forest of veins that run vertically along his cock before wrapping your entire mouth around his tip and bobbing your head in a rhythmic pattern, making sure you're not neglecting his heavy balls and the underside of his shaft you goad with your free hand, using the slick mess of drool and precum to keep him nice and wet.

He begins with slow, careful kitten licks to your syrupy folds, eager to deliver on his promise he made to you, before he lengthens his strokes and makes them more relaxed as he delves deeper into your drooling cunt, exploring the folds and crevices of your velvety warmth, wincing and groaning as he feels his balls tighten as his release creeps up on him even faster, his low husky sounds causing you to drip and leak more creamy nectar onto his tongue.

You feed off one another’s energy in lewd exchange, the more he savors your dripping cunt in prolonged fervid strokes of his tongue, the deeper you try and take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suckle and swirl your soft tongue over every inch of him you can reach, relishing the tang from the wafts of his natural scent from his pubes.

“Shit..shit, I'm gonna…” His stomach muscles tighten, unable to hold back his release for much longer.

He decides to do something he saw in porn, using his fingers to rub and circle over your warm clit, alternating using his other fingers and tongue to fuck you. You stop dead in your tracks and moan like a siren, your rousing gasps intoxicatingly angelic.

“Ken…”

There was no way a guy as inexperienced as him could be so damn good at this on the first try. But then again, he was full of surprises as you came to discover tonight, this one being no different.

He's patient and a speedy learner, something you pick up on as he focuses on just you for the time being, curling his tongue in just the right squishy spot inside you, inhaling deep breaths of your slick as your honey coats his jaw and chin, your cunt clenching tightly and leaking more juices with every careful flick of his tongue and massage of his fingers on your clit.

“Cum for me.” He mutters and only seconds pass until you do, and your beautiful climax is the straw that breaks him, hot cum dribbling in warm trickles down his thighs.

He seizes up when he feels your smooth mouth envelop him again, practically dissolving into a fit of twitches as you lick him up, cleaning up the milky gloss and swallowing him down your throat.

He leans in and does his best to clean you up too, his tongue tracing in warm trails between your inner thighs, collecting and slurping your juices into his mouth.

You roll off one another in a shaky mess and he stumbles to the bathroom, returning with a few fluffy towels as you help one another wipe up.

—-

You're underneath the covers now tucked against his chest. You can measure the slow, calming thrums of his heartbeat where your head is resting, a cozy feeling settling inside both of your bellies as this eventful evening draws closer to a close.

“Stay the night?” He asks, fingers dancing featherlight across the smooth skin of your shoulder.

“Absolutely.” You respond, turning to him and pouting your lips.

He smiles as he leans in to fulfill your request, giving you an adorable peck that lingers, once again begging to be more. He was tired, but now he figures he's got another good half hour or so in him if you're not opposed.

You take the lead, opening your lips and depositing the softest of moans into his open mouth that drip with sinful implications. He gets the message immediately as he rolls on top of you. The weight of his body, careful not to crush you and feeling of his cock lengthening and pressing against your belly makes you widen your thighs to welcome him, his tip oozing again already as you softly run the bottoms of your feet up and down his calves.

“Do you still want to try?” You gaze up at him from where he's positioned, long bangs falling in his face as he leans over you, caramel eyes somehow even softer in this moment if such a thing was even possible.

“I…I do. But only if you do.” He answers.

“I do.” You nod before puckering for one more kiss. He can't help his smile as he leans in again, the simple gesture feels awfully domestic, a simple demonstration of how comfortable you became with one another.

You bite your lip as he carefully slides the condom over his swollen length, taking the liberty of helping him out by playing with your pussy while you watch him in a trance, taking note of the smallest things about him: the tendons flexing in his arms, the spotting of freckles across his shoulder, the meat of his thighs, his strength that was ever present that made him look so majestic, so beautiful in this intimate setting despite his lean frame and dark clothes he had on earlier that concealed it. All of him, every inch of his beauty was plain as day as you inhaled him like the purest oxygen.

—

“Kento…”

He begins to push the tip of his cock into you, cradling your head in his hands.

“You okay?” He murmurs, the fog of lust was intoxicating, but not strong enough to not check on you, particularly after he knew it was a struggle for you to take all of him.

“I'm…perfect…” You whisper before your breaths bleed onto his lips in another stolen kiss.

“Fuck, you're good, so good… I'm gonna…gonna start moving…”

He mumbles haphazard words of praise as his body ripples slowly against you in a gentle dance. Both of you are long gone as you settle on a tempo together, hands intertwining against the mattress, cementing the memory of your hair and the way it looked against his pillow, that inimitable glint in your eyes like no other he's seen at the very moment you became one.

Time is a concept, a pest, a nuisance that has its place in the dreaded morning that you both pray never arrives. The things that currently matter inside this cocoon of warmth between you is pure carnality, absolution in the tender pace of his thrusts, euphoric release that fans the flames at the base of your spines as you stretch and clench warmly around him, his thumb thrumming in infinite circles on your clit to open you up even more when you struggle to take him, amorous moans and endless spilling of the others name, this piece of himself willingly, permanently, and hopefully entrusted to you.

“Gonna cum...”

His salty ropes eventually dribble into a final act of undressing his soul, filling the barrier between you, your cries swallowed into the hollow of his neck.

—--

The sun springs itself onto you without warning.

You sit straight up in a frenzy, heart sinking to your chest when you notice that the hour said you only had 30 minutes until you needed to leave for the airport, and had over 10 missed calls from your friends.

You dart around the room, cursing and seething the time that pulled the rug out from under you. Robbing you of the slow moments you were supposed to share with him this morning until there was nothing left, and you had no option but to leave him stranded.

You look at him when you're fully dressed, peacefully still asleep, trying to stifle the overwhelming sadness when the harsh pain of the cruel reality of living on opposite ends of the world becomes too much to bear.

As a final act of desperation, you jot your phone number on a stray piece of paper, folding it and leaving it on the desk.

You can't bear to look at him one more time, not noticing the wind from the closing door behind you sweeps the paper under the desk and out of view.

—----

He had never been in love, but somehow within the span of one night you brought him the closest to feeling it that he's ever been, while simultaneously depriving him of it in the same breath.

Sadness stings in Kento's chest as he sits on that long flight home, doing his best to hold back any tears as he replays the memory of you, which for now you'll remain, before it gives way to bittersweet gratitude. Whispering a silent “thank you” which he only hopes can reach you some way, wherever you are now.

He was grateful he was lucky enough to experience it, even if it was never meant to stay.

What happens in Vegas, stays there after all.

—-----

Years later-Japan

This bar that Shoko recommended is far too loud, but the drinks are fairly decent.

You tap your foot impatiently, staring at the clock on the wall that seemed to stay in place, taking out your phone to check the time as though that would make any difference.

Agreeing to a blind date felt so…juvenile. Almost desperate, even. Love was something you put on the back burner when negative experience after another slowly turned you off to the idea of it entirely.

But, there were good ones that were few and far between that had you holding out hope. Enough remained that led you to agree to this silly date, after all.

But you didn't like to linger on those memories, one in particular that was approaching the 10 year mark during one spring vacation in Vegas. Every now and then, you'll allow your self-restraint to slip and you'll daydream about that blonde man. The kind of lover you meet that's too perfect, that's almost doomed for failure because everything about him was too good to be true and too idealistic to fit into the ugly reality of a long term commitment.

You recall the tears you cried over him and the haunting of the phone call that never arrived. But, you made peace with the ending a long time ago, chalking it up to an isolated experience that was never meant to be long lasting. He didn’t owe you anything after that night, that, looking back, was honestly blurred with bad decisions.

It wouldn't have been practical in either case. Between you both starting college in opposite corners of the globe, you were only barely sticking your toes into the real world that you soon would learn was cruel, cold, and could spit you out as quickly as it swallowed you up.

You should be grateful you even had the opportunity to meet someone like him. Some happiness was better than none, no matter how much you wished at the time that things were different.

And, without even trying, you subconsciously looked for him in every person you saw, but it never came close to that first strike of lighting.

Sure, there were other storms, other wonderful people you met along the way that ignited feelings and taught you lessons, but none quite like him.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, recognizing you're being led by the alcohol in this moment, setting yourself in the opposite direction before you're too far gone, knowing it would be unfair to your incoming mystery date to dwell on loves of your past that need to remain that way.

—---

Kento does his best to stifle his thoughts as he preoccupies himself with his tie, over and through, secured in his usual knot. Routine and order as always, a mere shadow of the young man he once was a long time ago.

He checks the time on the Heuer watch adorning his left wrist, marred in pink scars that peek from underneath his navy dress shirt layered under his tan suit coat. He still has plenty of time, just as he planned. He sighs and looks at himself in the mirror, thoughts somewhere far away as he ponders the true meaning of what exactly he agreed to tonight that was so unlike him.

Was he facing the onset of an early mid-life crisis? Was he in denial about how lonely he really was, causing himself to make decisions uncharacteristic of him in the name of finding some semblance of humanity after going down fruitless paths, chasing aloof ideals like money and honor that left him more hollow than before?

Maybe he was reverting to old patterns, like when he ran away from the world of jujutsu and tried to force himself into a societal standard that was never meant for him?

He can't play mind games with himself like this.

Whether the task at hand was a mission, or something as frivolous as a blind date like tonight, his way of reframing his perspective and focusing on the present moment came into full play.

He nods and studies himself one more time, gaze shifting to where an eye patch now covers where his left eye used to reside, before he turns and walks down the hallway, the quiet click of the door closing behind him.

—---

You had arrived a half hour early, because you knew the only other option for you was arriving a half hour late.

The gentleman you were supposed to meet, according to Shoko, had a preference for punctuality and order. In all honesty, you were probably his worst nightmare in that regard.

Your anxiety about the situation continued to nag you the longer you stayed seated amidst the chatter and bustle of the bar. You bounced your knee, once again daydreaming about curling up in bed and forgoing this ridiculous date altogether.

Just as you're about to bail, he walks in.

The same piece of Earth hit in perfect succession as no coincidence of nature. That formidable force statistically at odds to repeat itself, unfolding before your very eyes as he approaches.

You would not recognize him under normal circumstances. The left side of him has undergone some changes that rattle you to your core as you realize their extent.

His left eye is missing, now concealed behind a black eyepatch. The skin underneath is mangled and pink, but faded in such a way that would suggest that some time had passed since he received them. He walks proudly with a slight limp, an air of propriety and confidence he exudes that's both attractive and extremely jarring in contrast to the shy and insecure version of him you once knew.

It's clear as he takes your hand in his that the old Kento is long gone, but that space in your heart that he latently occupied ever since that night came bubbling, unscathed to the surface.

A night just like tonight, so similar to one you encountered him years earlier. He undergoes the same reel of emotions that zip through him like lightning. The unmistakable hue of your eyes that gripped him the moment he saw them and knew he needed to walk away that night with more than just your name. The promise of your kiss, the way that freedom ran in your hair that decorated his sheets. That happiness he thought was permanently out of his reach that you managed to restore in him that night, leaving him with hope if not anything else.

A face you knew once, intimately, similar, but the full weight of the time that had passed between you slowly became realized the longer you stare at one another, almost like he’s brand new.

A moment back then that was just like this one. A second strike of lighting landing directly in the same spot.

“Hello, my name is Kento Nanami.” He greets you nonetheless in ritual decorum that was instilled in his foundation. His voice is slightly deeper than before, a sign of the mature man he grew into from his twenties.

“Do you remember me?” You ask, trying not to make your tone sound emotional as you feel like you're speaking to the ghost of not quite someone you used to know.

“I do.” He answers honestly, possibly the faint glimmer of a fond look he gives you in the subtle crinkle of the crows feet by his eyes.

Both of you sit in silence while the bar around you carries on, him emerging from it momentarily to order his drink: whiskey on the rocks. You note that his preferences have also changed, hardly believing they belonged to this man who once sipped a fruity cocktail slush with you on the Las Vegas strip.

You ride a bitter tide of emotions, bearing a mixture of sadness, resentment, bitterness, and nostalgia.

Why did he never call?

Instead, you ask him, “How have you been?”

He almost scoffs, as such a simple question requires such a complex answer from him. He keeps it casual for now.

“I've been well. What brings you to Japan?”

“You know Shoko?”

He pauses, slightly confused at how this is relevant, but answers your question nonetheless. “Yes, I do know Shoko.”

“And she…she set me-us, up on this date.”

“That’s how it would appear.” He sips his drink.

You stare, confounded at him, a bit miffed at how…nonchalant he was about the entire situation. But a part of you also was slightly relieved that he didn't make it as awkward as it needed to be.

You narrow your eyes. “Are…you using sarcasm?”

“I'm not, I'm merely agreeing with your observation.” He raises a brow as he looks at you. He seems genuine and you blink, a little embarrassed now at your question that you hoped didn't come across as an attack.

“Sorry, I- it's just. There's just so many memories, and I'm still in disbelief if I'm honest with you.” You shake your head as you take another generous sip of your cocktail.

He sits in silence as he observes you out of the corner of his good eye, slightly bemused as it seems some things about you haven't quite changed.

“It's alright.” He answers. “It's quite a lot for me to take in as well.”

“Is it?”

“Well, yes. You're not exactly who I imagined running into here tonight.”

“Mm, then who did you imagine?”

He side-eyes you and you roll your eyes in response, much to his quiet amusement.

“Actually, please don't answer that.”

“I figured as much.” He hums and he leans back a little, and cocks his head while you're not looking. Your charm was certainly one of the things about you he missed. And this bite you possessed was something rather new.

“You know, I enjoy this bar quite a bit, but there's a quieter spot I know of that we could go to, if you're up for it.”

You pause, getting used to this initiative from him that you're experiencing for the very first time. His suggestion is a very welcome one, you can't deny and you nod.

“Very well.”

“Splendid.” He stands, allowing you to pass in front of him first, leaving the cost of both your tabs on the bar as he follows you onto the street.

------

The vinyl shop is nearly deserted as you enter, much to both yours and his relief. It's a pleasant surprise as you take in your new location, the premise of a record store telling you that there were things about him that stayed the same after all, taking you back to that night as one of the things you bonded over.

“This is nice.” You muse, eyes coasting over the abundance of albums available to peruse.

He nods in agreement, also satisfied that you're pleased with his suggestion. “It is. This one has a better selection than most I've been to.”

You browse, occasionally aware of his hand nearly brushing as you pass him in opposite aisles, enjoying the mutual silence as he gives you a moment to recharge and explore the selection of artists since it's your first visit.

There's two elephants in the room, and neither will be easy to address. You still feel burned by him. But, if this was going to be a meaningful attempt at a new start of your relationship, then beginning it from a place of honesty seemed like a reasonable thing to ask of him.

“What happened to you?” You ask gently.

He looks at you. Questions about his looks used to bother him in the very beginning when they were still fresh. After years of healing, both physically and emotionally(which he would argue was the most difficult to recover from out of the two), he's taken emotion out of the equation. And in your case, given the intimate history between you two, despite it occurring almost a decade ago, he recognizes it's a reasonable thing for you to ask.

“Asking the hard hitting questions already?”

You turn your head quickly, a little horrified in case you offended him already, but the look on his face makes you sigh in relief when you realize he was being playful.

“No, I'm-”

“It's alright.” He reassures, resuming your walk along the aisles, putting his hands in his pockets. “For another time, though.” He promises you, and you nod in complete understanding.

“Of course.”

There is more, so much more to him now that he must have experienced that you can conclude from just his appearance alone. But, you understand that such an in-depth unraveling of him will need to take place in steps. You're at a loss of where to even begin. But, another issue begs both your attention.

“Do you have another one for me?” He prods.

“Yes, actually.” You state cautiously, doing your best to make your tone even, before you rip off the bandaid.

“Why didn't you call?”

He exhales softly through his nose as you continue your slow walk. “I wanted to.”

“But?”

“But you left me.”

You stopped, confused as you try to suppress your long buried anger that was attempting to resurface.

“No…” You correct him. “You left me.”

He experiences a bit of frustration as well. It was an old forgotten fling, after all, but delving with you headfirst into the source of your connection going cold overnight digs up all of those old, forgotten feelings of hurt, particularly over something that happened in his early twenties, it feels so childish, a fact he really doesn't appreciate.

“I recall the opposite.” He rebuffs, keeping himself calm.

“Well, I do too. So it seems we're at an impasse.”

“It would seem very much so.”

You pause together in stalemate, lost in the tangled mess of all things you long to say with no idea of how to say them. He recognizes you're emotional, and you sense the same from him. But despite the emotional charge behind your conversation, neither of you pick up on hostility from the other. Taking a moment to recognize that a passionate and short lived affair from your twenties ended badly for both of you, leaving a scar with no resolution, and now both of you simply want to use this rare opportunity to gain some closure if nothing else transpires from your meeting tonight.

“Please.” He gestures patiently. “You first.”

“I left you my number, and you never called.”

Kento raises his eyebrows. “I don't recall that.”

“Well, I did.”

“When?”

You scoff, a little frustrated by something that seemed so obvious. “On your desk! At the hotel right before I left! You were still asleep.”

Kento nods slowly, beginning to understand, “This…changes things.”

“What do you mean?” You respond, puzzled.

“Why didn't you wake me up?” He counters with a question of his own, leaning against a shelf.

“I didn't want to disturb you.” You look down meekly, the memory coming back to you all at once, including the rather intimate happenings that unfolded that night.

Kento remembers it too, similar feelings of warmth cascading throughout his body at the sensual recollection that would have made his younger self blush profusely.

“Well, I can assure you wholeheartedly, I did not get your message after you left. I was actually under the impression that you abandoned me, for some reason or another.” He shakes his head.

“I'm sorry.” You apologize softly, eyes full of regret.

“No need.” He replies firmly. “We were young, it was a misunderstanding. There's no harm done.”

“No harm done.” You echo with a hum.

“Precisely.”

Silence.

“Well.”

“Well?”

“Can we start over?”

He smiles, the first genuine one he's given you all night. “I'd like that.”

You both grin in mutual elation, slightly lost at first at how to transition into this fresh beginning.

“So.” You wrack your brain for ideas, meandering over to the section alphabetized, “M.”

“Do you still listen to MCR?”

He nods, offering you another closed lipped smile. “Every so often.”

“Really?” You finger through the vinyls, landing on Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. “Do you have this one?”

“I do, actually.” He muses, an idea popping into his head. “Why don't we get you started on your own collection?”

You shake your head quickly, stowing the vinyl back like it was on fire. “Oh, no. Kento, no, I really shouldn't…”

“I insist.” He glides next to you, retrieving it with a hum as he examines it before stowing it under his arm, moving on in search of the latest album from Modest Mouse.

And you can't help but accept defeat with an affectionate shake of your head. Definitely one of the things you remember about him that hadn't changed.

There was no winning when it came to debates over him doing you favors. So, in the spirit of starting fresh, you'd let him have this one for now.

—--

You stand outside of the vinyl shop, a new connection born between you, lots of old feelings mixed in with apprehension, yet hope for the future.

He studies you under the light from the city streets, noticing you're every bit as beautiful as the night he found you and lost you all at once.

He longs to close the space between you, reunite with what he had missed out on for so long that he was certain he'd never taste again, brought back to him by sheer coincidence, a gift of fate.

But, unlike last time, he knows he can't repeat his mistakes. And though you long to just as badly, you know you can't, either.

Instead, he sweeps you into a warm embrace. He smells different than you remember, but this new scent is every bit as intoxicating as the old one.

You stay like that, wrapped up in each other for the longest time, buying back some of it that had been robbed between you. This hug was the physical apology you owed to one another for everything that happened in the old chapter, and the cornerstone you needed to pass over into the new.

When you part ways, he doesn't allow his gaze to drift from you until he ensures you're safely aboard your bus, watching until it rounds the corner before he ventures in the opposite direction, mind full of you he has no plans to clear anytime soon.

And, just like that, lightning does strike twice. The clouds of the storm have receded to sunny skies, a rainbow of hope glimmering on the horizon.

He smiles as he walks away, your number tucked neatly in his breast pocket.

This time, he'll make sure he doesn't lose it.

---

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