#another time i guess.. when I make some more

[angelsforthenight]

scream babe, mean babe, guess who’s gonna cream babe! (pt. 3)

camgirl!vi x reader (pt 1 , pt 2)

summary: things between you and vi warp into some sort of competitive game. who can tease each other the most? who can debase who? a barbecue party is where true feelings are revealed: some trivial, some unfeigned.

content (18+): more angst ofc, cursing, dbf!sevika feature!!!!, drinking, lightweight!reader, jealousy, sub!vi, pathetic!vi, nipple play, use of y/n

it doesn’t take long at all for you to join vi’s trifling little game. if she expected you to lap up her teases like a desperate hound-dog then she’s got another thing coming. she seems to think that you’re just so foolish and easy to manipulate — which is why she stepped on your foot under the table that horrid morning, held your hand through the sea of people and even bought that cd for you. showering you with attention the entire day, just so she could see your reaction. she was messing with you the entire time, waiting for you to keel over at her feet. but hell no. vi wants to play? oh, you’re more than welcome to join her.

day by day, your rivalry with vi nurtures into a big, fat glob of hatred. it sucks, because whilst vi is clearly obtaining fun from a) leaving your bathroom a mess on purpose, b) coming into your room, flexing in front of your mirror and leaving without closing the door, and c) having the nerve! the absolute nerve to fling her dirty top covered in dirt and stinking of sweat on your face. can you believe that shit? she may as well be an annoying little brother.

what’s funny is that whilst she ran away giggling, she forgot about coming back to retrieve said shirt. since you’re not interested in ambling to her room and handing it to her so easily, it’s untouched; lying underneath your bed instead.

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at one point in the night, you’re laying in bed wide awake, watching the streaks of moonlight dappling your ceiling in creases of blue. the clock renders eleven. that damned eleven o’clock, still engraved in your brain even now. you want her back. not vi, but PinkSage. you thought your interest had distinguished like a flame after learning who she really is, but your current increasing arousal clearly seems to defy that. the two are different sides of the same coin anyway, like a crude mockery of dr jekyll and mr hyde.

you find yourself aching to see PinkSage sprawled on her desk chair and fucking herself stupid. with the notable mask covering half of her face, being a constant goad for the viewers. “face reveal is out of the question, at least for now.” hearing that on stream feels like forever ago.

the memory of her orgasming to your username vertebrates through not just your brain but your entire body. that crack in her voice, the way she was convulsing, her desperate keens…

without any delay, your fingers already making its descent down your underwear. just quickly. it’ll hardly be about her anyway…

yet the door conveniently swings open, making you practically jump out of your skin.

“hey.” what a sweet little coincidence. “thank god, you’re not asleep. you’ve got my shirt, right?”

you gawk at vi rigidly, unable to control how fast and hard you seem to be breathing. of course she notices, and her lips quirk up: ready to say something as always.

“oh, i’m sorry, was i supposed to knock?”

your nervousness is quick to simmer into irritation. must this bitch always interrupt you? even when you’re literally about to jerk off in the sanctity of your own bedroom?

an exasperated sigh leaves your lips. “you talking about this old thing?” you reach under your bed, pulling out her tank top and waving it around. just like how PinkSage liked to do with her toys.

vi’s eyebrows knit together. “you had that shit under your bed? now i’m really glad i’m gonna wash it…”

you hold the shirt out to give it to her, but just as she’s about to grab it you quickly yank your hand back. vi frowns.

“my bad.” you try and hide your grin as best as you can, especially when you pull the same move again, and again.

“yeah, real fuckin’ funny.” vi attempts to quicken her speed, proven futile as you still manage to be faster.

“take it! i’m literally giving it to you.” you snicker, pretending to play coy. vi pounces on the bed, trying extra hard to grab it. it’s really funny seeing her try so hard, and almost cute hearing her huff and groan. almost.

“you’re nearly there, it’s okay!” you chirp, even as you extend your arm even farther away. what you hadn’t thought about was the fact that vi could plainly latch her arms around your body and pull herself up to grab it. when she does exactly that, your breath is taken away; chiefly because her chest is in direct contact to yours, so much so you can feel how hard her heart is beating, notorious pierced nipples crammed against yours. you have no idea if you should call yourself lucky or unlucky.

okay, see, in your defence, you’re acting blindly: internally freaking out by how close you two are. so you do what anyone else would do! frantically push her away… only to nudge your fingers against vi’s boob. you swear it’s nothing but a simple accident, until you hear vi suck in a sharp breath and withdraw like she’d been zapped; eyes widened like two saucers. in the sour of the moment you had forgotten that PinkSage is been famed upon for having a sensitive chest.

you both freeze. guess playtime’s over now.

“um, here.” you tentatively fling the shirt to her. vi almost doesn’t catch it, not with the way her eyes are set on you as if you’ve grown another head.

“you can take a picture, it’ll last longer.” you try to sound funny, pulling a little joke in attempt of relieving you two of this dire situation, but it just surfaces as awkward and stupid instead. besides, vi doesn’t laugh.

“right. have a good rest of your night.” vi’s voice is palpably strained and her words are rushed . so is the way she she leaps off the bed: leaving the room as quick as light. you don’t even know how you should feel right now.

a perverse part of you is glad that you caught her so off guard that she’s as red as a tomato, back to being humbled again. essentially, you’re now one point up in this foolish game so you should be happy, right?

yet another part, a bigger part actually, feels embarrassed and irrevocably guilty. vi probably thinks you’re a disgusting pervert that did that shit on purpose. with the way she left, in so much desperation and haste, who knows if she’s even going to look at you again?

you groan and throw yourself on the bed, palms on your eyes as you madly wriggle and toss around from side to side; trying to shake the utter embarrassment off of you.

this is going to be a long, tedious summer.

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over the next couple of days, not so much as an awkward ‘morning’ is shared between the two of you. the slight closeness that had sprouted has now distinguished like a dying flame, and as much as you’d hate to admit, you feel glum, not to mention bored.

it was an accident, but now vi doesn’t want to so much as be near you, as if you’re some infectious creature. it’s agitating, because it’s making you think a lot. too much. maybe you should just apologise? although resurfacing the shameful memory would be humiliating for the both of you. it feels like it’s too late to apologise anyway, considering the days of silent treatment that has stretched out between you two.

in a way, it feels immature. this has all felt immature.

on a particular balmy afternoon, your dad has the notorious idea of throwing a barbecue party. family friends and even neighbours are invited. in all candidness, you’re pretty excited. your dad is a beast at making good food, especially when you’re there to help him. yeah! that’s exactly what you’ll do: focus on grilling chicken and generally helping out instead of brooding over how weird things got with vi.

but things proves to be very difficult when she always seems to be within sight or hearing reach. the sun has mellowed; granting the sky into hues of twilight. you keep your eyes pointed at the chicken, sausages and corn whilst vi soaks up all of the attention from practically everyone in your garden. even the kids love her: running around and tugging at her for attention.

“here.” vi quickly devises a daisy-chain headband that she gives one of the little girls. the girl timidly takes it before running away to press her face against her father’s back out of thorough shyness. you roll your eyes shut as a string of ‘awwws’ follow after vi for that action. she’s loved everywhere! as if wherever she goes, a trail of flowers bloom behind. it’s sickening.

you let yourself get a good look at her. vi’s wearing a pink polo and washed out-jeans. she looks like any other dad out here, yet somehow managing to make it look better. you prolong your gaze, like penetrating daggers. look at me. look at me like you have before.

“jeez, what, someone’s so hungry she’s considering cannibalism now?” an ardent voice whisks you off your yearning stupor. you recognise it immediately, an excited inhale surging up your throat.

“sevika!” you squeal, practically jumping on her. sevika has been a family friend for longer than anyone else here has. she was your dad’s colleague before moving to the other side of the sea. you two were pretty close. she was unbelievably raw, which led you to receiving the best advice you know you wouldn’t get anywhere else. not to mention, she was also one of the key reasons on how you figured out you were a lesbian.

before you found out the wonders of butch cam-girls, sevika had been the root of all your desires and fantasies. it’s slightly taboo and you know it — considering she’s in the same damn age range as your father, but you couldn’t and still can’t help it. not since your blossoming hormones urged you to see to her in a different way. you still remember being too afraid to tell your friends that the reason why you weren’t crushing on any boys in school was because you were fawning over a brawny woman twice your age instead.

you weren’t expecting to see her here at all. you didn’t even know she was back in town! she’s still as hot as ever, if not hotter, as if growing older doesn’t even phase her. you almost forget all about vi.

“hey, sugar, what’s cracking?” sevika kisses the top of your head and you light up like a damn bulb. her manner of speaking has changed since you last saw her. probably because she moved to the south.

“i’m good. better, actually. since when were you back in town?”

“shhh. surprise.” she winks. oh, and could you blame crushing on sevika when she’s so damn flirty? it’s apart of her nature, delivering flirty remarks so casually. you never look too much into it since you’re sure she’s like that with everyone, yet each time it’s directed to you, you have a guilty pleasure of feeling special.

“who’s the pink haired woman? someone you know?” sevika points her chin towards vi, who’s drinking a beer and making some woman giggle a lot. must they flirt so shamelessly in a family barbecue party? it’s inappropriate, and you don’t even realise how much you’re making a face until sevika points it out.

“she-she’s our guest. staying over for the summer. she does volunteering.” you sounded a little too bitter in your last words there, and that makes sevika laugh.

“you don’t like her?” she takes a swig of her beer, eyebrows knitted together in curiosity. you have to look away.

“she’s… she’s alright. fine.” you feel your skin prickle, probably from all the lies scuttling up your back. no, i don’t think of her as just ‘alright”, because she’s actually my favourite camgirl pornstar who turns out to be really mean yet i still like her and i accidentally touched her boob and now we aren’t talking and it fucking sucks and—

“here. old enough now, ain’t we?” sevika smirks, offering her bottle to you. you hesitantly take it.

“thank you.” you take a large swig, basically gulping it down. you need it. two of your past and present crushes are in the same damn place, it’s overwhelming!

“woah! slow down, baby…” sevika chuckles, drawing the bottle away from you. a bit of liquor oozes from the corner of your lips and you wipe it, gazing at her like you don’t know any better. like a fool who was just born yesterday.

the alcohol warms you up better than the now-dying sun could, and you feel slow. sevika’s gaze seizes you up and down and you gush in more ways than one.

“you wanna dance? the music is good. ‘s my playlist actually.” you find yourself mumbling. alas, here’s the confidence you haven’t felt in a while now. funny how you’re offering to dance when you feel so floaty that you’re losing your balance whilst literally standing.

“you sure? you don’t wanna drink some water instead?” sevika gently guides your chin up, assessing how drunk you are. dedicated lightweight, always have been. you’re lagging on registering her words, but what you’re quick to feel instead is a pair of eyes studying you immediately. you sneak a glance and you’re right to find vi watching the two of you with a slight curious expression on her face. a surge of excitement pulsates through you. here’s the fun. you roll your attention back to sevika and smile, making a show of slinking your arms around her neck.

“i’m all good. aaaaall good.” you giggle. sevika finds all of this entertaining, though oblivious to the way you’ve caught vi’s attention. she gives in, and you guys start to sway along to the music. whilst sevika murmurs in your ear about all the places in the south that she thinks you’d like, your eyes are set on vi’s. it’s intense the way your eyes are locked together, and you relish in the way her jaw clenches when she realises what you’re doing. your fingers faintly grip sevika’s back a little tighter, in a way only vi would notice. for her eyes only.

honestly, vi looks laughable standing there; gawking at you as she is. it propels you to laugh in sevika’s shoulder — a move that seems to be the last straw for vi, because she turns around and storms away. you glance back up and she’s gone.

“everything okay? you hungry or somethin’?” sevika asks. your gaze flicks to sevika, before drifting back to the area where vi was standing, now just a patch of grass.

“sorry, i need the bathroom.” you mutter, hardly coherent as you pull away from sevika and start to slowly stumble your way inside.

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you ignore the way your mother calls for you, or the random people trying to start a conversation. once in the kitchen, you survey the area. there’s some people chatting away but no sight of vi. lumbering your way upstairs, you check the closest room which is your own, only to find some random baby asleep in your bed. definitely not vi.

you peek inside vi’s room, but it’s empty. in your drunken muddle, the possibility of vi being in the bathroom doesn’t even occur to you, and you feel so dizzy that you want to rest in the bathroom for a bit, maybe stare at yourself in the mirror for too long and dreadfully think about your life choices.

swinging open the door carelessly, vi almost yells — until actually noticing it’s you.

“vi?” you blink owlishly.

vi breathes in soft disbelief, shaking her head. “should’ve known you would’ve creeped on me in the bathroom.”

“wha— i didn’t even know you were here! this is my bathroom, you know.” you retort, not even choosing to dwell on the fact that you’d been looking for her.

“i don’t remember asking. get out.” vi grumbles lamely. you glare at her incredulously.

“not when you’re talking to me like that. why are you so mean? you’re always so mean to me.”

it could be the alcohol talking, sure, but it’s real thoughts being spoken aloud. you close the door, locking the two of you in there.

“but then you go ahead and buy a cd for me, and you hold my hand. i don’t like it, but it’s also all i’ve wanted.” you step in front of her, pinning your hands down on either side of the sink so she’s confined.

vi gawks at you, clearly surprised by the boldness, however she quickly composes herself.

“what are you even saying? spittin’ slam poetry at me or some shit?” she scoffs, trying to push past you. you stand your ground, gripping the sink tighter so she has no choice but to stay put and listen.

“i’m not going until you tell me what your damn problem is.”

“i don’t have one.” vi snaps, veering her face closer to yours as a result.

“you’re acting like i planned this! like i plotted for you to come and live in my house. i didn’t ask for this!” you raise your voice.

“i didn’t ask for this either!” vi roars. impenetrable silence infuses the room like a merciless wave. nothing can be heard but the frantic breathing expelling from the both of you. synchronised. your heart pounds against your ribs and hers pounds harder in tandem. hate is a word that has been muddled and twisted into something else. something more, but something less all the same.

“say something or leave—“

you don’t know what exactly propels you to do it, but you choose to shut her up by leaning in and crashing your lips against hers like a meteorite. as if the biggest ‘fuck you’ you could give is through a kiss.

and hell, it may as well be, in the light of the way you’re projecting all your anger and frustration into this, lips roughly moving against hers. vi stands still for a moment, before responding to the kiss in her own manner — relenting and matching your intensity.

you two get yourselves in a frenzy of wildness: teeth clinking together, tongues smothered against each other like theres no damn tomorrow. you grip vi’s hips, pushing her into sitting down on the sink. vi moans in your mouth, and you press yourself against her so closely that her head hits the mirror.

“you fucking bitch…” you whisper exasperatedly, before sinking your teeth in her bottom lip and slightly dragging it, almost drawing blood. vi whimpers, her fingers flying to your hair and tugging it tightly. your noises mate with hers at the tempting sensation of vi’s fingers on your hair. everything about this moment between you two is unbelievably passionate and fervid.

your hands grip vi’s wrists, slamming them against the mirror like a bird with clipped wings. vi gazes at you with meek eyes, making you certain that she’d bend over backwards at your beck and call. her brain is muddled and blank, all because of you. all because of you.

“is this what you wanted?” you whisper into her neck, pressing chaste kisses to the sensitive flesh. vi sucks in a breath.

“w-what?” she sputters out.

“you heard me.” you drag a stripe across her neck, compelling vi to whimper: especially when you nip at her skin.

“answer, pretty girl…” you whisper this like it’s a prayer, serving vi at the altar. vi melts, words slipping from her lips before her brain is able to stop her.

“so fucking bad… you don’t even know…” she whines breathily. you smile at her, loosening your grasp from her wrists so you can slip her shirt off. vi welcomes it, willingly raising her arms so it can come off with more ease. once she’s in she’s sports bra, you let your hand trail down her stomach, the pad of your fingers playing with the cluster of hair on her lower stomach, teasing her waistband with your pinky before purposely disengaging. vi watches all of this through hooded eyes, trying to stifle her pathetic noises by biting her lip.

your gaze flicks to vi’s clothed breasts, metal bars prominently standing out. you unconsciously lick your lips.

“they’re so sensitive, huh?” you put your question to the test by grazing a hand over her chest, in which vi faintly jolts. so cute.

“you should be glad i know everything you like.” your hands slip underneath vi’s sports bra, raising it up and shamelessly playing with vi’s nipples. poor thing cannot compose herself for the life of her, a series of quiet moans and whimpers spilling out of her lips whether she can help them or not.

your fingers roll the buds, eyes trained on vi the entire time — gauging all her reactions. vi’s little whimpers grow into full-blown moans, especially when you latch your lips around her right nipple; sucking and flicking your tongue, feeling the tinge of the metal bar. she’s twitching and squirming, unable to sit still and having no idea where to put her hands. she resolves in gripping the sink tightly, sinking her head back and taking what you’re giving her like a good girl.

“y/n…” vi whimpers pathetically, and you feel your cunt flex in return. you nip at her bud, simultaneously flicking the other one. vi cries aloud and you glance up at her.

“you want the whole damn party to hear?”

vi had clearly forgotten about that. she quietly shakes her head. you’ve managed to get her so compliant that you want to proudly pat yourself on the back.

you resume, your gaze fixed on her as your mouth lavishes attention on the left nipple now. vi isn’t able to hold eye contact with you for long, especially with the overbearing stimulation. her back is bowing frontwards, a silent plea for more. who said you wanted to stop anyways?

it’s your teeth pulling at her nipple that drives vi absolutely batshit, possessing her into jerking so strongly that her hips buckle into yours. you grind against her hips, feeling your own sparks of pleasure. vi’s hand flies to her mouth, trying to keep herself quiet as per your request. you smirk, liking the feeling how you could crush the usual mean, stony vi under your thumb with the pliant woman you’ve got in front of you right now.

“i’m gonna cum— i’m gonna cum, y/n… hah, please…” vi muddles through her words, twitching repeatedly. you grin as you flatten your tongue, feeling the coldness of the metal as you slowly drag your tongue upwards, massaging the nipple with the wetness of your muscle. you kill vi.

vi grunts, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she undergoes a remarkably intense climax. you pull away and watch her in awe, as stars explode behind her eyelids and she spasms a little.

she slumps forward onto your shoulder, panting hard down your neck. your skin prickles with heat as a result, fingers hesitantly reaching up to gently stroke the back of her hair. vi likes it, like a puppy being cared for.

“haah, thank you… thank you.” vi blabbers on your shoulder, her words slurring into a heap of incoherent words. you cup vi’s face with two hands, raising it up so you can gauge how fucked up she looks right now.

“all from a little nipple play, huh?” your thumb traces vi’s bottom lip before faintly dragging it downwards.

“you— know they’re um… sensitive. plus i’ve been pent up. ” vi’s train of thought is slowly starting to come to, but not fully. not with the way she’s struggling to speak. you want to ask more and more questions, just so you can enjoy her sputtering and stammering. but you go for an even better ruse instead.

you begin to lean in again as if you’re going in for a kiss. vi’s eyes repeatedly flick to your lips, her breathing fluttering and quickening its pace. yet just as you’re a stone’s throw away…

“have a good rest of your night.” you purr, before casually walking straight out of the door, leaving vi to gather her tangled thoughts. vi blinks repeatedly, running a hand across her face.

“touché.” she murmurs, pulling her sports bra down and picking up her shirt to put it on again.

meanwhile, you’re trying not to fall down the stairs over how giddy you are. vi got her tit for tat: teasing you before acting as if nothing happened surely came back to nip her in the bud. the score is even and you’re satisfied, hoping that you left vi thirsting for more.

and you would give her more and beyond, if only that meant you would lead through irrefutable punishment first.

a/n: okay pt 4 is gonna be so much easier to write now that there’s a sexual relationship established between vi and reader so thank god no more angst!! WOOO hope u guys enjoyed this one ^_^ i also proofread this less than i usually do so if there’s a mistake then ignore it heheh…

taglist: @lils-1979 @vxtanne31 @drunkenrosesluv @cuti3ve @princesspeachthefroggy @honeyboo-1 @aprilshireath @elliesbabygirl @h0n3yf0rlif3 @ysaona @elliezlils11utt @savedforlaterr @rishofkf @zaunite-516 @elliesbebegurl @jaydonisnothere @thankynext @moonchildcovenxx @kmhbygss @cotrill09 @godhatesgoodgirls @femme-forward @jajsnjz @avonnimimi @eren-luvr @bambiaches @wlw-please @scissorszex @yearningandstillnotlearning @stmvivs @fizzphat @oidloid @certifiedwomenlover @hellishdevotee @gel6tine @d1psht @v-williams02193

(whoever isn’t tagged but asked to be on the list it’s bc ur mentions are off ;;)

[flwrstqr]

彼★ : MY LOVE ◟ WHEN THEY TASTE YOUR LIPS

𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝒍𝗦 ᪲ 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾, 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾

【 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐀 】 enhypen & fem!rea. headcanons 8OO . fluff one shot established relationship ◜ᴗ◝ petnames skinship . . click ｡

다니 ⠀⦂ thank you jiah for helping me making this prompt (> <) i love you, muah ! also why did i have too much fun writing riki's part TT

LEE HEESEUNG

"mmm… cherry?" heeseung hums against your lips, pulling back just enough to smirk before diving in again, hands resting snugly on your waist. "or is it strawberry this time, baby?" you barely get a chance to answer before he steals another kiss, his thumb brushing over your waist. "you’re just making excuses to kiss me," you accuse, breathless, and he grins. "guilty," he admits, tilting his head as if in thought. "but can you blame me? my baby’s lips is so kissable." another kiss, deeper this time, leaves you dizzy, fingers curling into his shirt. "besides," he whispers, lips ghosting over yours, "you keep changing the flavor. how else am i supposed to keep up?" with a laugh, he kisses you again, like he’s savoring every second—because, honestly, he is.

PARK JAY

jay hums against your lips, his hands resting securely on your waist as he steals another soft kiss. his eyes flickering down to your lips, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. he presses another peck to your lips, then another, each one more lingering than the last. you barely get a chance to breathe before he whispers, "if you let me kiss you more, i'll buy you all the flavored lipsticks you want. promise." you giggle, pushing lightly at his chest, but he only pulls you closer."strawberry? vanilla? peach? name it, baby, it's yours," he murmurs, tracing his fingers along your jaw before tilting your chin up for another kiss. "just a few more, yeah? pretty please, my princess?" and with the way he's looking at you—eyes full of love—you know you've already lost.

SIM JAKE

“baby, you know i go crazy when you wear this,” jake whines, eyes flickering between your lips and the faint marks you’ve already left on his skin. his hands rest on your waist, pulling you closer as he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. “smells so sweet… tastes just as good,” he mumbles, brushing his nose against yours before stealing another kiss, then another, his lips chasing yours. “can’t believe my pretty girl’s out here making me weak over some lipstick,” he chuckles, but the way his grip tightens on you says otherwise. he pulls back just enough to admire you, his thumb grazing over your kiss-swollen lips. “you look so pretty in it… but i think i like it more when it’s all over me.” with a cheeky grin, he taps his cheek, his jaw, his nose. “leave more, angel. i wanna wear your love everywhere.”

PARK SUNGHOON

"really, sweetheart?" sunghoon pulls back slightly, lips still ghosting over yours. "you got me all distracted with your lips, and now i find out they taste like strawberries? were you planning to keep this from me?" his fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face up as he leans in again, kissing you slow, savoring the sweetness lingering on your lips. you giggle against his mouth, hands resting against his chest. "it's just lipstick," you murmur, but he only hums, shaking his head. "no, it's a trap," he counters, smirking before stealing another kiss. "you knew i wouldn’t be able to resist." he presses one more lingering peck, then pulls back just enough to admire you.

KIM SUNOO

"baby, what is on your lips?" sunoo mumbles against your mouth, eyes wide as he pulls back slightly, licking his lips like he's trying to figure out the exact flavor. you barely get a chance to answer before he’s kissing you again, this time slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring it. “apple? no—watermelon?” he guesses, tilting his head as his fingers brush your jaw, completely lovestruck. you giggle, watching his dazed expression, and before you can react, he’s leaning in again, stealing another kiss, then another. “okay, i need confirmation. what is this magic?” he demands, lips practically chasing yours. you smirk, tapping his nose. "it's just flavored lipstick, baby." he blinks, processing, then suddenly grins. "so if i steal all your kisses, will the flavor wear off?" he teases, already wrapping his arms around your hips. "guess we’ll have to test that theory, huh?"

YANG JUNGWON

"mmh—wait," jungwon pulls back just an inch, lips still brushing against yours, eyes flickering with something between wonder and mischief. "baby… why does this taste so good?" he murmurs, licking his lips like he’s already addicted. before you can answer, he’s kissing you again—over and over like he physically can’t stop. “oh no. oh no, i’m obsessed,” he mumbles between kisses, his hands cradling your face, completely lovestruck. “sweet lipstick for my sweet, pretty girl…” you laugh, breathless, trying to push him away, but he just pulls you closer, lips finding yours again like a magnet. “won, you’re gonna smudge it—” “who cares?” he grins, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips.

NISHIMURA RIKI

"this has to be strawberry," riki smirks against your lips, pulling back just enough to see your reaction. you roll your eyes. "wrong again." he groans dramatically, flopping back onto the couch before sitting up with a determined glint in his eyes. "alright, try this one." he hands you another lipstick, watching intently as you apply it. the moment you finish, he's already tilting your chin up, lips pressing against yours in a slow, teasing kiss. "hmm… cherry?" he guesses, grinning when you shake your head. "baby, you're terrible at this," you giggle. "how much money will you bet i get the next one right?" he challenges, with a grin. "ki, i’m not betting—" he cuts you off with another kiss, making a thoughtful noise. "peach?" "wrong." you laugh, and he groans, pulling you into his lap. "guess i’ll just have to keep trying till i win, huh?"

[thewitchblue]

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.

[cameronsbabydoll]

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WARNINGS — controlling behaviors from rafe , he sorta dresses the reader up, rafe speaks for her.

Rafe had a way of making things seem effortless, like he wasn’t controlling the situation—just guiding it.

That’s how he framed the shopping trip. A fun little outing. A treat for you.

“You should have nicer things,” he murmured, fingers grazing your lower back as he led you into one of the most exclusive boutiques in the city.

“Let me take care of you.”

And you let him.

At first, you sifted through racks with quiet excitement, reaching for things that felt safe—soft sweaters, floral sundresses, playful skirts. Things you would’ve worn before.

But Rafe was never far behind, subtly steering you in another direction.

Sleek fabrics. Softer, more delicate tones. Dresses that fit like second skin. Clothes that weren’t just pretty but polished.

He only hummed in approval when you held up something he liked. But when your fingers brushed over something too youthful, too familiar, his response was instant.

“That’s not really you anymore, is it?”

You blinked, fingers tightening around the floral sundress in your hands.

“But I—”

Rafe plucked it from your grasp with a small, dismissive shake of his head.

“You’re not some teenager anymore, angel, you’re my girl.” His tone was light, but his gaze was firm.

By the time you walked out of the boutique, your arms were weighed down with glossy bags, each one carrying pieces of a girl Rafe wanted you to be.

At the last minute, he took your wrist and slipped something delicate around it—a thin gold bracelet with a small charm.

Not an engagement ring. But a claim all the same.

You turned your wrist, the charm catching the light, and looked at him.

He only smirked.

—

You had told your best friend about the move weeks ago.

She had been skeptical. Maybe even a little concerned.

But you assured her it was fine—that Rafe wanted you there. That he took care of everything.

Still, you hadn’t seen her since. And when she texted to check in, you had been vague, avoiding details.

So when you opened the door and saw her standing there, expression tight with something between curiosity and worry, you weren’t exactly surprised.

“Hey.” Her voice was softer than you expected.

“Figured it was time I saw the new place.”

Guilt curled low in your stomach, but you stepped aside, letting her in.

She walked in slowly, eyes sweeping over the penthouse. The clean lines, the muted, masculine tones, the expensive furniture that looked more suited for a showroom than an actual home.

“This place is insane,” she muttered, running a hand over the sleek marble countertop. Then, more pointedly, “Did you do any of the major decorations?”

You hesitated.

Because no, you hadn’t, you only placed cute little trinkets on his shelves, vintage vogue magazines you collected beside his rustic books.

Her brow furrowed slightly. “It’s nice,” she said carefully, “but… it doesn’t feel like you.”

Before you could respond, the sound of a door opening made you stiffen.

Rafe stepped into the room, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. His presence filled the space effortlessly—broad shoulders, sharp gaze, exuding quiet authority.

He didn’t look surprised to see your friend. But you didn’t miss the way his jaw ticked slightly, the way his eyes flicked over to you, assessing.

You barely had time to react before he was beside you, slipping an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple. His touch was casual, possessive.

Your friend’s expression shifted—something guarded flickering in her gaze.

“Didn’t take you for the housewife type,” she joked lightly, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

Rafe chuckled, low and deep. He didn’t correct her. Didn’t deny it. Instead, his fingers stroked along your hip, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“Guess she’s just full of surprises.”

Your friend’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Something passed between the two of you. A silent, unspoken question.

Are you sure about this?

You swallowed. And nodded.

Your friend hesitated, then exhaled softly, forcing a smile.

“Well, I should go,” she said, her tone too casual.

“But we should catch up soon.”

Rafe was already moving, guiding her toward the door with polite ease.

It wasn’t until she stepped out that you realized how heavy the air had become.

Your friend lingered for a second, looking at you one last time. Her lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something—needed to.

But then Rafe was there, his hand resting lightly on the door, waiting.

She hesitated. Then nodded.

And left.

The door closed with a quiet click.

Rafe locked it.

The sound felt louder than it should have.

When you turned, he was watching you. Amused.

“That was cute,” he murmured, stepping closer, his fingertips brushing your wrist. He toyed with the bracelet he had given you, rubbing the charm between his fingers.

“Let’s not make it a habit, yeah?”

—

Later, after dinner, after the city lights had dimmed and the penthouse was wrapped in quiet, you curled into Rafe’s side. His body was warm against yours, his fingers idly tracing the hem of your slip.

The tension from earlier had faded into something softer, but it still lingered beneath the surface—unspoken, waiting.

Rafe’s voice was a low murmur against your hair.

“I’ve got a trip coming up.”

You shifted slightly, tilting your head back to look at him. “Where?”

“London. Just for a few days.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “I’ve never been.”

Rafe hummed, fingers sliding higher, grazing over your ribs. “Then it’s about time, isn’t it?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go. It was just—London. A whole different country. A whole different world.

“I don’t even have a passport,” you admitted.

Rafe’s lips curved in that slow, knowing way. “You do now.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I had it taken care of,” he said, so casually, like he had simply ordered you a coffee. “Figured you’d need one eventually.”

The words settled over you, an unsettling mix of flattery and something else—something tighter.

“You just—got me one?”

His hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your chin so your eyes were locked on his. “I take care of my girl,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. “And I don’t like being away from you.”

The implication was clear.

You wouldn’t be staying behind.

“You want me to come,” you said softly, though it wasn’t really a question.

Rafe’s gaze darkened, his grip firm but gentle. “I want you with me.”

Your stomach flipped. Because there was no denying how he made you feel—how safe, how wanted, how kept you were under his watch.

But there was something else, too.

A quiet understanding settling in your bones.

This was another step. Another thread tying you to him, weaving you deeper into his world.

Still, when his hand moved, fingers stroking along the gold bracelet on your wrist, you nodded.

Rafe’s lips brushed against your temple, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

And just like that, London was decided.

[cxffecoupx]

universe factory

you're live, but all your fans can talk about is 'universe factory'. what in the world is that??

[yourusername is going live right now.]

"hii~ hi you guys, I've missed you!"

"'i see the headphones; will you be gaming today?' yes yes, very keen observation. there's this new game that's launched recently, called 'good coffee, great coffee'. I'll be playing that today."

"for those who don't know, its a game where you basically just have to make coffees for the customers, but they can really be a pain in the butt so you also have to make sure you're doing everything correctly and such. it's really fun though, because it's got an interesting storyline with it where you get to meet other characters too. it's reaaally fun, you should try it out."

you take a moment to read a few of the comments, where fans ask about the game, upcoming works and your life in general.

"okay guys, going to finish a round. i'll read your comments after that."

the next 5 minutes is spent finishing the game, brows furrowed in concentration as you navigate through the level, curses occasionally coming out your lips when the customers give a bad rating, but you're quick to shut them out. after the round ends, you turn to your phone.

"hello again, i've finished day 75 in the game, and i'm fairly pissed at some of the customers who ordered a vanilla latte and then complained when i gave them a... vanilla latte."

you skim through a few more comments before deciding on one.

"'omg is this universe factory?' ...what is a universe factory? i've been seeing a few dozen comments about it, but i really don't know guys."

"'it looks so similar to universe factory aah i can't believe it' guys i genuinely don't know what you're talking about. what is a universe factory? why is everyone talking about it?"

as you watch more comments flood in, you notice most of them are now related to this thing, or whatever, that they're calling 'universe factory', and a look of confusion glazes your face. a while later, clarifications start coming in.

"'it's seventeen woozi's studio. the lights seem very similar to that' ohh well, clearly there's no reason for me to be there heh. these lights were actually a recent upgrade that i did to my room. for the vibes and all... but thank you for the classification! i assure you, this is just my room, not the factory you're mentioning."

"although," you add after taking a few sips of your cola, "i'd love to work with them someday. it's like a bucket list thing, kind of. deep down on the list, though, because it seems pretty unachievable. but they're really talented and amazing, so i'd love to keep hoping."

"anyways, i'm getting back to my game. see you after another round," you conclude and begin the game. the live goes on for about an hour, before you decide that any more could actually become detrimental to your idol image and health.

"well, i guess i should end the live soon before i lose my sanity. thank you so much for watching, guys. thank you for just watching me make coffees for people in a game. i love you, take care, i'll see you next week! bye bye."

once you're sure the live's over, you can only stretch your arms and take in a huge breath before sighing. just as you reach for your cup of cola, two hands pop out of nowhere and pull your cheeks. you turn your head to see jihoon standing beside you, a huge smile plastered to his face.

a rare sight truly.

"hi, my love," he says before pressing a smooch to the top of your head and sitting on the sofa beside your table.

"i'll never understand how you did a live for 6 freaking hours," you speak through sips and he chuckles. "i could barely finish one hour and that's cause i was playing games."

"well, it was just me talking about anime, so i guess i didnt realise time pass by."

"still impressive. oh! and also, the fans almost caught onto us, you know?"

"yeah, i was watching. but you handled it so well."

"aww you softie... but seriously, i thought they might have figured it out. weren't you worried we might get exposed?"

he just waves his hand, shaking his head. "nah. i knew you'd handle it well," he says and takes your hand in his.

"also, even if we do get exposed, i'm not worried. i'd only be glad that the world finally knows we're together," he brings your hand to his lips to press a kiss.

you can't help but smile.

"aah lee jihoon. who knew you'd say such romantic things out of nowhere?"

"it's just what you do to me. by the way, you were saying you wanted to work with me sometime...? you do realise i've got a few tracks of us, right? working hot and heavy with each other?"

a/n: this was waaay better in my head than whatever this turned out to be. this is also a way for me to speak about the game I've been playing recently. anyone here who plays 'good coffee great coffee', hmu i wanna exchange souls w u (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

[sheepispink]

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 :)

-----------

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.

--------------

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

[askqueenmoon]

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.

[mcrdvcks]

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!

[rotagnus]

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.

[profoundbondfanfic]

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.

[creatingblackcharacters]

not the same anon who asked about "pale" skin, but I've been considering the semantics of that issue as well - Ice, can you explain why and how precisely pale/blanched/ashen read different to Black people? I understand culture/society and language and how someone grew up have an influence on this, so I'm not expecting a universal answer, but I'm genuinely curious about the specific connotations attached

I can see why you take issue with the word "pale" in that ask, so I guess my question is more why does one specifically read worse than the other? as in what's the framework, what's the toolbox I'm working with as a writer? - how does blanche win over pale in this context when blanche is the French word for the colour white? how do pallid, deathly pallor, sallow-faced and wan factor into this, when they're all variations of a similar thing? so which ones get a pass in a metaphorical sense, are there any? how does context factor into picking the right words? (for the sake of an example: pale skin vs pale brown skin) and which words do Black readers want to see if not the above? is it best practice to default to what's actually going on (e.g. they're in shock, they're cold, they suffer from blood loss and it shows)?

I'm an ESL writer so being able to navigate my dictionaries well is an important skill to me, and being able to contexualise these things always helps a lot in making better word choices (essentially - what are the tools I apply to get the result I need? is a simple definiton enough or do I also need cultural understanding and etimology? I write fantasy, so I do occasionally think these things to pieces)

It took me some time to answer this because- I have to be honest- I was quite offended at something you implied here 😅 I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, bc I don't think you meant to, but I will absolutely need you to reframe your thinking after this. I'm probably not gonna answer all your questions either, sorry.

They don't read different to Black people, they read different to y'all!

You must understand that, from some of the questions I've received, and from the things that many a Black reader has read by nonblack (usually white) authors, it is often clear that some of you do not understand how we function or even look as human beings. It's as though we're another species, sometimes.

And that is not brand new! The history of antiblackness in medicine and physiology is as old as racism itself! Thinking that we do not blush- even though blushing is a physiological, human reaction. "Paler", as though that itself is not a word used from a eurocentric perspective to describe blood leaving a pale face. Blanche is also a verb describing blood leaving the face, which happens to everyone, but like you said... Rooted in literal whiteness.

We use physiological descriptions for Black people because if we don't, y'all do not understand how these words- and thus the reactions- apply to us! Because sure, we could use "paled"- if yall understood that it doesn't mean we get lighter skinned. Sure, we could use "blushed pink"- if you understood that it doesn't mean our brown cheeks turn a whole different color. Sure, we could say "pallid as death"- the one time being grey would make sense on our skin, as it is dry- but y'all don't understand that that doesn't mean getting lighter skinned.

You do not understand me; you do not understand how I as a human being function, even though I know enough about you to write you up entirely! I don't think 'oh well when pale folk blush and the writing says "cheeks darkened", they must mean that they're getting more melanin in their cheeks!' That sounds silly, right? And yet!

We use this language because it better allows us to be a part of a conversation that doesn't happen when the language and thus the visuals obtained still default to whiteness. And this has an effect from storytelling to having illnesses diagnosed. We're literally dying out here because doctors don't know what to look for on our skin or in our bodies; doctors that think having melanin makes your skin thicker and that being Black makes you less susceptible to pain somehow, that Black women bear childbirth pain better (despite dying more often) or that being Black is a pre-existing condition.

These are not words I'd have to lean on, if I knew that you understood how my body works the way you understood your own (and hell, y'all don't always understand that either 😅). Alas. Hope this made sense 👍🏾

[demigodsanswer]

Annabeth was, unsurprisingly, a night owl. Camp had kept her on a pretty early morning scheduled, but the late start of most college classes meant she could stay up late into the hours she worked best, and sleep through most of the early morning.

And then her feminist philosophy course chose to do something she considered deeply unfeminist: get scheduled for nine in the morning. The coffee shop near campus recognized her at this point. She only needed to step in the door at 8:40 and look at the familiar barista for them to start making her red eye - a cold brew with a shot of espresso - and toasted bagel.

It didn't help that Percy also liked to sleep in, and was usually still snoozing when she dragged herself out the door. He looked so comfy. It would be so easy to ...

Annabeth grabbed her backpack and dragged herself out of their apartment, before she could give into the temptation to skip. She'd actually done all the reading this time. She couldn't not go.

When Annabeth got back from class, the apartment was empty. Percy would be in his own class for another two hours. Annabeth dropped her backpack, shucked off her jeans and bra, and slipped back under the blankets.

She woke up gently to the feeling of an arm slipping around her waist. Her mind must have subconsciously recognized Percy's familiar smell, because she didn't jump into action. Either that or the safe life in New Rome was making her lazy.

"Hi baby," Annabeth said, her voice coming out in a whisper, her eyes still closed.

Percy gave her a good squeeze. "Hey, sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"'S fine," she said, snuggling back into his chest. Percy held her tighter, burying his face in her hair. "How was class?"

"Pretty cool," he said. Annabeth knew Percy really liked his pedagogy professor, and that he was genuinely enjoying the work he had to do for that class. It made her happy to see him happy and actually excited about school.

"I'm glad," she said, her mind drifting off again.

She felt Percy's hand move some of her hair off her neck, and then felt his lips press against her pulse. His legs slotted between hers, tangling them together as his hand slipped up under her shirt. It wasn't particularly sexual, she knew. He just wanted to be close to her and feel her heart beat under his hand. Annabeth relaxed under his protective touch.

"This is all I've ever wanted," he whispered to her, stunningly sentimental for a Thursday afternoon.

Annabeth hummed, content. "Sons and daughters," she mumbled.

"What?" Percy asked, nuzzling his head into her shoulder.

"You also want sons and daughters," she reminded him. He'd told her about his future dreams enough. And anyway, Annabeth wanted them too.

"Yeah, I want that too," Percy promised with another kiss to her neck. "Is this your way of telling me you're pregnant?" He joked.

"Yep, quadruplets. Two of each," she joked back.

"Hell yeah," he said, and then: "we probably shouldn't joke. You'll end up thinking four babies into existence."

Annabeth made a little pouting noise. "Oh, would that be so terrible?" She teased.

"Yeah," his hand slipped from where it had been resting on her chest down to her abdomen, "would rob me of the chance to dote on my pregnant wife."

Annabeth reached back to get her hand in his hair, twisting a bit until she was able to actually kiss him. "I love your little domestic fantasies," she told him. "Most twenty-year-olds are dreaming of hot girlfriends, handles of vodka, and sports cars."

"Already got a hot girlfriend," Percy said, "and vodka sucks, and Apollo kind of ruined sports cars for me."

"I guess babies are all that's left," Annabeth said.

"Guess so," he agreed, kissing her one more time. He snuggled back into his big spoon position. "Anything else you want, baby?" He asked her.

Annabeth thought for a moment. She tried to think of something sexy to say, but her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden awareness that she was so fucking hungry. She hadn't eaten since the morning, and now it was passed lunch time.

"Maybe like a cupcake or something," she said. "Oh! Or pho!"

Percy laughed. "You do kind of sound like a pregnant lady." She kicked him a little under the sheets, which only made him laugh more. "I can bake some cupcakes if you want to order pho?" He suggested.

"Okay," Annabeth said, before dramatically stretching her arm behind her, reaching helplessly for her phone.

Percy rolled over to get it for her, and she took the opportunity to roll over with him, until she was on top of him, pressing him into the mattress on his back. Annabeth rested her chest on his, her head on his shoulder, and breathed in his familiar smell as she relaxed on top of him.

"Hi," Percy said, rubbing her back. "Whatcha doing?"

She shrugged, not really sure how to answer. "Chillin'," she said finally.

"Sounds good. Food though?" She nodded and let Percy order on her phone as she stayed comfortable on top of him.

"Forty-five minutes," Percy said, as his other arm, now free of her phone, wrapped back around her.

"Wanna snuggle till it gets here?" She asked.

"Thought you wanted a cupcake?" Percy asked.

"I can wait," Annabeth said, letting herself relax again, until she was sleep on top him.

[nthewriter]

(Here you go!! Reader is hinted to be a minor in this so there will be no smut with the 141. They will be her protectors. Also, when I wrote it, Reader reminded me of a fawn)

The 141 were known for being ruthless mercenaries, taking on all kinds of dangerous jobs. There was the former Captain of a royal guard named Jonathan Price, his young recruit and student Kyle Garrick, nicknamed Gaz, rogue knight Simon Riley the Ghost, and John MacTavish, an assassin known as Soap for his quick aptitude on how to clean up the mess. Our four friends were reunited in front of a board with different offers for jobs, killing or rewards for capturing outlaws.

“Well… there's this one.” Kyle gestured to another scrap of paper with a face on it. “The reward seems pretty good.”

“Another sorcerer…? Seriously, Gaz?” Johnny groaned with a roll of his eyes. He still bore the scars from the latest encounter with another rogue magician.

“Fine- uh. That's strange.” The black haired man reached for a wanted poster and held it so his companions could see and read it.

“The fuck-” Ghost spoke, his metal mask not hiding the confusion from his voice.

Price didn't speak. He contemplated the paper attentively. It spoke about a runaway princess, apparently wanted for crimes against the kingdom they were residing in. The reward was certainly very interesting, but they weren’t that desperate for money. Price liked to hunt down monsters and criminals, not… runaways nobles or people who didn’t pay their debts. He shook his head.

“No. I guess we will have to move to another region, lads.” The older man spoke with a low grumble. “Get food, and then we will leave this… dump.” He added as he looked around. The town hadn’t been in great shape ever since they were attacked by raiders and by a dragon some time ago. “I heard the kingdom of Tylluy offer more contracts. Maybe we could have a deal with the commanding officer, Lady-knight Kate Laswell.”

“Someone you knew?” The Ghost asked to which Price nodded.

“Indeed. A very fine woman. Kicked so many groins and broke so many bones in her past.” Price chuckled, thinking and remembering about the times he and Laswell used to go in the battles side by side.

Mounting their horses, they rode on the dirty and muddy road. It had rained just before, in fact, the weather was strange lately. It was raining in the middle of the summer. Peasants were desperate: the crops had died, destroyed by the rain and the hail. As they rode, they watched as people seemed to move elsewhere. They noticed a family riding in a carriage led by two cows. Probably one of those peasant families leaving the land.

Price sent Johnny and the Ghost scouting ahead for a place to sleep. They will have to sleep under the stars tonight. Kyle was silent, seeming lost in deep thoughts.

“Is something wrong?” The captain asked softly, wanting to know his student's thoughts.

“I was thinking about that reward, regarding the runaway princess. Something about it felt… odd. Like it was not right.” Kyle replied, chivalrous as ever. “Why would someone post a public announcement? Usually, the royals like to use their own firm. Like that Shadow Company.”

“Your point, Garrick?”

“I think it's lawless to do this. Poor thing might be scared to death.”

When the Ghost and Johnny returned, they informed them they found a small glade where they could sleep and rest peacefully, away from prying eyes. They dismounted at the place, Kyle and Johnny gathering twigs here and there to start a fire. Then, Price and the Ghost went hunting, finding a deer. But… not only.

Simon Riley strutted back without the dead deer, requesting Kyle and Johnny's attention. Both men glanced at each other in confusion. But they obeyed. They walked behind the tall and intimidating man before finding Price a few meters away from a oak tree.

He made a silent motion, putting a finger on his lips, making sure both men stayed quiet. Johnny raised a confused eyebrow before looking down, finding a hole near the oak tree. Kyle also stepped up. And then, they saw it.

The princess from the wanted poster. But to their shock, she didn’t look like an adult, but like… a child. Someone who was in the middle of their adolescent years. She was huddling in a hare burrow, looking up at them anxiously with tears in her eyes. She was wearing a long tattered and muddy nightgown. Kyle saw some dried blood on her body as well. Was she hurt?

“What should we do, Captain?” Johnny questioned in a soft voice, not leaving the young princess from his sight.

The older man took a very deep breath. Either he escorted the girl back to the claws of death and perhaps worse, or… or he took her with them. At least, she will stay alive, cared for. They needed someone to care for the horses after all.

“Kyle. You’re good with people. Tell her she will be safe from now on.”

They watched as Gaz approached the burrow cautiously and knelt down with a soft and charming smile on his lips. The goal was to make the girl leave her hiding place, get some sleep and see what to do with her the next morning.

“Hey. It's okay. We won't hurt you. I promise.” He started with an equally soft and steady tone. The young girl immediately seemed to relax. It did help that Kyle had a pretty face too. “Come out now.” He extended his gloved hand, and the princess slowly reached for it, as he pulled her out.

Johnny immediately ripped his coat from his light armor and draped it around her frail shoulder. The girl tensed immediately next to Kyle, unconsciously leaning into him.

“There you go, lovie.” He spoke kindly, almost with pity at the sight of the poor princess. “No one is going to harm you.”

“Get her warm. We will come with dinner.” Price sternly told the pair, and watched as they led the princess to their makeshift camp.

“I know. But we can't let an innocent lamb go to the slaughter.” Price then paused and added with an amused chuckle. “You did say you needed someone to wash your blades and your armor.”

“It’s going to cause us troubles, Price.” Simon sighed, not really understanding this move. He rather liked the company of the three other men. Bringing a runaway princess was going to complicate things.

[muqingslover]

[ I absolutely adore Caleb and recently I've entered my Zayne era so today I want to talk about their relationship. (not based on canon just the voices in my head) ]

Yes they might have their issues but I wouldn't say they outright hate each other's guts. I believe they would actually be really good friends if their feelings for you wasn't part of the equation. Their dynamic works out sooooo good for one another if it wasn't for the conflict of interest it actually pains me that we won't see them getting along GRAAAH Infold I beg of you give me content of them together

Like I've mentioned before I like to think that their beef is mostly one-sided which, to me, means Zayne would be the more "mature" of the pair. He has a naturally caring nature so despite being aware Caleb doesn't like him (and they're technically competing for your heart) he can't help but worry about him, especially because you care about him.

Each time boy wonder showed up with bruises and scratches from practice or some other endeavor Zayne would force him to sit down and let him take a look by using the argument of "Do you want them to worry? Then sit. I'll make it quick."

Another sweet thought is Zayne coming over after his classes and finding you and Caleb dozing off while studying together. He would cover both with a blanket and remove anything that could interfere with your or his sleep (music playing, turning off the TV, glasses ECT)

Meanwhile Caleb reads him better than anyone. He may complain about how Zayne is so "stone faced" the whole time, but he KNOWS exactly what he's thinking and feeling for most of the time without even really trying. It's a skill he picked up while growing up — He always paid so much attention to the details for your sake that at some point he ended up getting very good at reading people in general.

What this means you may ask? Well my lovelies, Caleb is much more confident in expressing himself and he knows how to refuse requests he feels uncomfortable with or simply don't want to do (safe it for when they're about/from you) but Zayne not always can do that. In fact, during his early years, he was absolutely terrible at it and guess who came to rescue? That's right, our boy wonder.

"Please Zayne, just cover for me one more time?"

'...Oh, alrig—"

"Whoa whoa hold your horses! Sub-Zero has plans with me so no can't do, man."

"We don't—"

"Shush. Grab your things, let's go!"

He tells himself it's only because if Zayne worked himself to death then you would be worried about him and Caleb doesn't want to share any more attention than what he already has to. It's true of course, but not the full truth.

Caleb will pick up where he can't fully express himself by understanding what he wants without words while Zayne will be the rock he could lean on even if he is too stubborn to admit he needs the support because he doesn't feel the need to be the "perfect gege" like when with you.

[ I will continue to push the Zayne and Caleb agenda so come along for the ride pookies 🤭 ]

[kenzdolls]

𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧! 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐫𝐞-𝐰𝐚𝐫

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧! 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

MEETING TOMURA SHIGARAKI:

first meeting? he barely acknowledges you. he's got bigger things to worry about than some new recruit. you're just another pawn to him.

he watches you carefully during your first mission together. not because he cares, but because he needs to know if you're competent enough to be useful. if you screw up, expect a harsh comment.

your quirk fascinates him, but not in a good way at first. he sees it as a variable he needs to understand and control. he might ask you a million questions.

if your quirk is touch-based, he's extremely wary. he'll keep his distance and probably wear gloves even when he's not using his own quirk. 

he forgets your name for weeks. you're just "the [quirk name] user" to him.

he tests you, pushing your buttons, and trying to figure out what makes you tick. he needs to know everything about his teammates, obviously.

you're probably the only one who doesn't flinch when he gets angry. he notices.

TOMURA CRUSHING ON YOU:

the first time he actually listens to you – really listens, not juststrategizing – he's caught off guard. 

he starts finding excuses to be around you. "i need to observe your quirk usage" turns into "i'm sitting in the same room as you while you do absolutely nothing."

he gets unreasonably irritated when other league members talk to you for too long. he would never admit he's jealous.

he starts mimicking your mannerisms, subconsciously. 

he starts cleaning up his hands some more. not because he wants to touch you, no, no, no. it's because he wants to seem presentable for all for one.

small acts of "kindness," like making sure you're included in mission briefings or "allowing" you to choose your assignments. he's still the boss, after all.

he notices the little things about you: the way you furrow your brow when you're concentrating, the way you fidget when you're nervous, your favorite snack.

he'll deny it to his grave, but he starts taking your opinions into consideration.

he starts scratching his neck a LOT more when you are around for some reason.

if someone hurts you, he is more enraged than he is normaly.

he is more likely to listen to you.

he can't help but stare at you.

he accidentally calls you by a pet name when he's frustrated, and he gets even MORE frustrated after he realizes what he did.

he starts losing sleep, which is never a good sign for his mental state. he doesn't know why, it must be because you are bothering him or something.

DATING TOMURA SHIGARAKI:

the "confession" is less of a romantic declaration and more of a mumbled agreement. "i guess you're... not entirely useless."

physical touch is a HUGE hurdle. it starts with accidental brushes, then maybe a hesitant shoulder bump. he doesn't trust himself (or his quirk) to get any closer. 

lots of late-night talks about villains, society, and their shared hatred. it's his way of connecting.

he still doesn't say your name often. pet names become his go-to.

he is very protective and possessive of you.

dates? forget fancy restaurants or romantic walks. you're more likely to find yourselves planning world domination over cheap ramen.

he actually listens and remembers things you say and like; if it's useful for a mission, of course.

he can get jealous and possessive, and he isn't afraid to show it.

he occasionally wants to hold your hand but doesn't know how to approach it without disintegrating you.

he gets genuinely upset if you get hurt.

he hates seeing you sad or stressed.

he's still a mess, but your mess. And secretly, he wouldn't have it any other way.

sleepovers are uncommon since his skin can be harmful, but there are nights when he is okay with it.

he's not a cuddler, but he secretly likes it when you snuggle him.

he always wants to be around you.

he would go with you everywhere.

he's willing to do anything for you once he's in love.

when he actually calls you his partner, you know its serious.

sometimes when he's asleep, he has nightmares of you leaving him/ dying, so he hugs you closer in his sleep.

he would take you out on a picnic if you asked, even though he would hate it.

he will often ask you if you are doing alright or if you needed anything.

he would kill for you.

you are, without a doubt, his player 2.

he would never admit it, but you are his weakness.

it makes him very happy when you hug him.

he likes hearing you call him by his name.

he will do anything for you; wether it’s killing dealing with someone, or if it’s getting you anything you desire

he loves tolerates you a lot

© 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 —

[luvlisbon]

party 4 u ༉‧₊˚.

satc!clark kent x fem!reader ౨ৎ nyc au ೄྀ࿐ part one

౨ৎ alternate universe, adult au, no powers, human!clark, language, alcohol, smoking (cigarettes), a hint of sexual innuendos, hella sexual tension, horny reader(??) & bad writing.

At times, the occasional cigarette could be so freeing. Especially if you were in attendance for one of the most extravagant art gallery openings in the city. The idea alone of a freshly lit cigarette on a rooftop in New York City was liberating to you.

Truth be told, the skyline had never looked more marvelous. You believed that this very well could have been the best spot in the city to observe its beauty. How lucky you were to stumble upon it when in dire need of a cigarette.

You were dressed to the nines. The most gorgeous dark purple halter top gown clutched your curves in all the right places. The beaded detail of even darker purple half-swirls made the dress so breathtaking—aside from the enchanting woman inside of it. And your hair? An updo was in your cards no doubt. The stunning shimmer from the silver gems placed perfectly on top of your curled bun made you even more sensational. However, your once blackberry aroma was now masked by the smell of tobacco.

As you observed the city, the bright lights, the pedestrians walking at night, the loud taxi honks—you felt unconditional serenity. Leaning on the sturdy cement railing, you flicked out some ash from your cigarette. Bringing it back to your plush lips to inhale another puff of relaxation. Nonetheless, it would seem that the universe had other plans for you.

There was only one entrance to the rooftop. Truthfully, the roof’s elevator enclosure was the tiniest in the city. With just enough room for the singular elevator doors to open, the design left little space for the double glass doors that led outside to function. However, being New York, this was to be expected.

Breaking you out of your trance, the racket from the elevator’s motions was louder than you had recalled. Just a few minutes ago you, yourself were riding upon it in hopes of making it to the roof. But now, you watched and waited for the culprit to reveal themself from the noisy elevator.

Leaning further back onto the railing, you placed both of your elbows behind you. Your head tilted as you tried to make out who the figure was. As the doors clicked shut, a man you had never had the privilege of spotting before made his very way outside. You were no longer alone.

He was gorgeous, no doubt. His tux fit him nicely, his blazer hugging at his muscular arms. The stranger’s hair was dark, though it complimented him well. You appeared to be starstruck by a man you had never seen before.

Placing the cigarette to your lips, you let out a crooked grin. “D’you come to hide out too?” you smiled, exhaling the smoke.

In all honesty, you weren't hiding out. You had come to the gallery with a few of your closest girlfriends and you were having a great time. It was just that a few of them had already run off with their gentleman suitors for the night or they had taken a little too much advantage of the endless champagne tower. Leaving you to crave fresh air and nicotine.

He chuckled softly at your question, his radiant blue eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” His hair ruffled in the wind as he approached you. He was tall, like a movie star. Yeah, he was old Hollywood pretty. “I’m not one for art galleries,” he explained putting his hands in his pockets.

You chuckled. You wondered why he would even make the effort to attend one, considering his distaste. “What, you're here for the champagne then?” you asked jokingly, flicking some ash off your cigarette in the process.

The dark-haired man smiled, making his way over to the railing you were leaning on. His eyes traced the details of the city, before making their way back to you. “That and it’s a friend of mine’s exhibit,” he informed you. Oh, so he was supportive. Handsome, puts his needs before others. Could be worse. “I’m Clark, by the way.” he extended his hand to you.

Trading hands for your cigarette, you rested it in between your index and middle finger on your left hand—allowing your right hand to reach out and connect with his large palm. “It's nice to meet you, Clark.” you smile up at him as your hands interlock. “I’m y/n.” you introduce yourself, letting go of his grasp.

Moving your body off of the railing, you turn to face him completely. His eyes trail over your face for a moment before he speaks again. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he chuckles, leaving you confused. “You’re stunning,” he confessed, leaving your cheeks a bright red.

Reaching a hand into your bag you smile at the complement. Unsure if he was drunk or just always this forward, you gave in to his attention. “You smoke?” you asked reaching a hand into your small black purse.

Clark’s gaze drifted to your purse. He watched as you pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He observed you as you flicked the ashes off of your cigarette once more. “On the occasion,” he smiled, locking eyes with you as he flashed his sharp teeth.

You shook the red and white package, hitting it gently against the palm of your hand. Then you took another drag of your cigarette. “Yeah,” you exhaled the smoke. “me too.” You opened the carton’s lid, pointing it to Clark.

Naturally, he obliged, reaching two of his long fingers to grab a cancer stick. He was intrigued by your confidence and carefree attitude. Taking a cigarette out of the carton, he placed it to his lips. He eyed you as you placed the pack back into your bag and out pulled a leopard print lighter.

“Gotta light?” his voice muffled due to the object in between his lips. His words were teasing, because you had a light for him. Hell, you had many things for him. He was smirking at the lighter in your hands, waiting for your next move.

You smiled at him, placing your nearly dead cigarette in between your lips to hold it. Your polished fingers went to the spark wheel, trying repeatedly until a light of fire flashed before the two of you. You moved closer to Clark, meeting his cigarette with your flame. Your eyes locked with his the whole time. His hands reached up to block the wind and naturally, yours did too. When your hands grazed it felt as if the scene before you was provocative, even though it wasn't at all. Right?

Removing your hands you watched as Clark enjoyed his long drag of nicotine. He pulled away, head leaning back a bit as he closed his eyes. Clearing your throat, you moved to put the lighter back up in your bag. You had never seen someone so beautiful. But there he was, bumming off you're liberating tobacco stick.

You, on the other hand, were done with your cigarette. Lifting your left leg slightly up, you put out the shallow flame on the back of your red-bottomed heel. You walked away from Clark and toward a trash bin, tossing the butt away.

“So,” he flicked some ash off. “What brings you here?” he asked, smiling at you as his eyes raked over your body.

“What, to the roof or to the party?” you chuckled, returning to your spot by Clark.

“Why not both?” he teased, inhaling his coffin nail.

You grinned, looking at your feet and then back up to him. “For the party, I came with some friends. We just wanted to go out, you know. But uh, they're either drunk or getting fucked so. As for the roof, I just really wanted a fucking cigarette.” You confessed, looking out at the skyline. “But, I think I may have found the best view in the whole city.” You spoke, admiring the busy night life.

Clark took a puff, blowing the smoke away from your pretty face. “Yeah? I think I may have too.” He flirted, a wide grin glued to his pinky lips.

You chuckled a little bit taken aback by his forwardness. “Clark,” you choked out. “you’re a flirt.” You stated, still chuckling.

“I’m serious!” he defended, stomping his cigarette out on the ground. His hands found their way to your forearms. “Let me take you out, y/n. Any place in the city.” Clark grinned.

You rolled your eyes. “Are you drunk?” you asked.

“No, but you're fucking gorgeous! And not to mention good company. Come on, tomorrow night what’d you say?”

He was eager. But he was also sexy. Who were you to tell him no? “Alright.” you grinned, watching his face form into pure happiness.

“You darling, will not regret this.” He spoke, placing a kiss on your left hand.

Maybe, just maybe Clark Kent could be the exact solution to your loneliness in New York City. Maybe he could liberate you. Maybe he could be your sweet release.