#but god if those two had grown up together so many things would have been different.......

[icharchivist]

i always thought we were robbed of the fact Xing SHOULD have become our adopted brother the moment he met our father, but now with this simulation, this confirms it. HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN. HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN!!!!!!!!!!

[arolesbianism]

Shakes the bars of my cage I need to draw soooo bad I need to draw I need to draw let me draw I have to draw I need to draw I must draw (<- has been too sick to be on electronics much and doesn't like doing traditional art)

[bsturnzmtts]

Beyond innocence - Matt Sturniolo

Re uploaded because my account bsturnzmtt got deactivated :( Please follow and let me know if you want to be in my tag list !

Paring: dom! Matt x innocent' ! Reader

Contains/warnings: rough sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), creampie (on the pill), p in v, petnames, angsty, reader pretends to be innocent, long plot.

Summary: You were childhood best friends with the Sturniolo triplets. After moving to another state your freshman year, you stayed in touch with Nick and Chris, while Matt never really tried. Years later, Nick and Chris planned a trip to visit you and brought Matt along. They stayed at your house for a month, which gave Matt enough time to realize your innocence facade after seeing the real you.

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You are childhood best friends with the triplets. Sadly you had to move to another state when you were in freshman year. But you kept contact with Nick and Chris, Matt never really tried. Years passed and Nick and Chris planned a trip to go visit you. And made Matt come along. The trip is based on staying at your house where you and your mother live for a month and doing many fun activities. Unfortunately Nick and Chris also have an event to attend while they are there, so that obviously takes time that you could use to hang out, and means you're forced to spend more time with Matt.

You were really nervous to get to see the triplets again after many years. Especially Matt, you never really told anyone but back then you had a little crush on him. So it crushed your heart when he did even try to keep contact with you. But you're over that now, you’ve grown… right?

Matt remembers you. You always acted so innocent, oblivious and naive. But he knew deep down you were none of those things, especially after many years have passed and you two have grown

……

Your mother adores the triplets and often talks about the happy times you all had together. She sees them as part of the family and hopes their visit will bring back those happy days. Your mother believes you’re still the same innocent, well-behaved girl from back then, not realizing you’ve changed. Matt, however, always saw right through your act. Even as kids, he knew you weren’t as naive and innocent as you pretended to be for your mother’s sake.

You wake up to a notification buzzing from your phone. A message from Nick lit up on your screen: “We’re on our way. See you in a few hours!”

“Great! Can't waaaaait, see you in a few!!” You text back.

You felt excited and anxious at the same time. It had been years since you moved away, leaving behind the triplets and your shared childhood. While you had kept in touch with Nick and Chris, Matt had always been distant, never bothering to stay connected.

You glanced around your room, making sure everything was in order. You and your mother had prepared for their arrival, ensuring there was space for everyone. Your mom had even prepared their favorite meal.

After checking that everything’s in place you went to get changed. You take off your pjs and put on freshly clean clothes, brushed your teeth and hair, and added some perfume.

As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, you wondered how much you’d changed. Would they still recognize you?

Hours later, the doorbell rang, sending a jolt of anticipation through you. You opened the door to find Nick and Chris grinning widely, their familiar faces instantly comforting. You hugged them tightly, the years melting away in an instant.

“Oh my god guys I’ve missed you so much” you say hugging Nick and Chris.

As you pull away from Nick and Chris, you feel a sudden void in the air. You turn around, your heart pounding with anticipation, only to find Matt leaning against the door frame, his piercing gaze locked onto you. “Matt… Heyy it’s been a long time.” You say as you hug him awkwardly, giving him pats on his back. "Yeah, it has been a long time, hasn't it?" Matt says as he hugs you back, his voice smooth and unaffected as he takes in your appearance, a smirk playing on his lips. "But hey, I'm sure we'll catch up soon enough."

Your mother rushed in, thrilled to see the triplets. She hugged them tightly. “I’ve missed you boys! Come in! I made your favorite meal.”

You guys filled the house with laughter and stories, just like old times.

Now it’s time for them to choose a room. Your house has two guest rooms, one which is downstairs with a big bed, and another that is upstairs next to your room with a small bed. So two of the triplets will share the room downstairs and one will use the room upstairs.

“Soo who will sleep where?” You ask.

“I say we flip a coin, the winner gets to have their own room.” Matt says.

“Yeah, sounds fair.” Nick and Chris agreed.

“I’ll take tails.” Chris says.

“Me too.” Nick says.

Matt pulled out a coin from his pocket. “I’ll take heads,” he said. He flipped the coin and it landed in his hand. “Oh, looks like I got it.” Matt smirked.

“Mh great, so Matt takes the upstairs room and you guys share the downstairs room.” You say.

Matt smirks, knowing he got the better end of the deal. He turns to his brothers "You guys can split the downstairs room, don't make a mess of it." He heads up the stairs, leaving Nick and Chris to figure out the sleeping arrangements.

“K! So I’ll help you guys with your luggage.” You say to Nick and Chris as Matt heads upstairs.

"Thanks for the help," Nick says, grabbing his duffel bag. Chris nods in agreement, shouldering his own bag. They head towards their room, chatting excitedly about old times and plans for the weekend. After they finish unpacking you bring them towels and other essentials.

“Here you go guys, if you need anything ask me.” You say to them with a smile.

Then you walked upstairs and knocked on Matt’s door.

"Come in." Matt called out, his voice deep and smooth. You opened the door to find him sprawled out on the bed, shirtless with his long legs crossed and ankles resting on the pillows.

“Oh, hey… here you have towels and other things you might need.” You say.

Matt raises an eyebrow, taking in your sight, before sitting up to accept the towels, trying not to let his eyes wander too much. "Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” You say with a smile.

He sets the towels aside and pats the bed beside him in an unspoken invitation. "So, how's life been treating you?" His question is casual, but there's a hint of genuine curiosity in his gaze as he studies your face.

“Good y’know, normal” you respond.

He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips as he leans back on the pillows, one hand absently running through his hair. "Normal, huh? That's good to hear.“

You stand there awkwardly. “Yeah… What about you?” You ask.

He shrugs, letting his hand fall to the bed. "It's been... interesting. Work keeps me busy, but I can't complain. It's fulfilling." He says.

“Yeah, it must be fun being a youtuber. Anyways… good catching up, I’m gonna go see if Nick and Chris need some help.” You say.

"Sure, I'll let you get back to your friends. But first" He says as he stands up and grabs your wrist. “What?” You ask with curiosity. "First, I want to show you something." He pulls you closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. "Close the door behind you, will you?" “Matt, what is this about?” You ask with curiosity. "You'll see, now close the door." he said with a mischievous look in his eyes. “… fine.” You roll your eyes and close the door.

He chuckles at your eye roll and keeps his eyes on you. After the door is closed he turns around and walks over to his dresser. He opens it and pulls out a familiar bag to you. “Mmh I think I found something very interesting about you.” He says with a smirk walking closer to you holding a very fancy bag containing the lingerie you recently bought.

Your eyes widen as you see the bag on his hands. “What!? You went through my room!?” You ask, feeling a little frustrated.

He chuckles at your reaction. “Hey! I got confused, okay? Your room is right next to mine, I just accidentally opened the wrong door, and thought ‘why don’t I take a look?’ So yea, I was snooping around, sue me… but look what I found. And let me tell you, I'm rather impressed," he says, his tone dripping with amusement and a hint of something more.

“Ugh! Give it to me!” You say and try to snatch the bag out of his hands.

"Ah ah ah, not so fast, sweetheart," he says with a playful chuckle, holding the bag just out of your reach. He takes a step back, his eyes roving over your form with a smug expression.

“What would your dear mother think about her little perfectly behaved, innocent and naive daughter buying this kind of stuff?” He says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes in frustration. “Matt-“ but when you’re about to say something your mother walks in.

“Hey! I just wanted to check if everything was good. Did you get everything you need Matt?” Your mother asks sweetly.

“Yes! I already gave him the towels and everything!” You answer quickly, then turn to look at Matt. “If you need anything else you can ask me.” You say to Matt feigning a sweet innocent tone.

Matt smirks at your sweet tone, but says nothing for the moment, keeping the bag of lingerie tightly in his grasp. He glances at your mother, who seems oblivious to the awkward situation, and back to you, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Great! I’m off to work sweetie, could you finish the dishes please?” Your mom says.

“Of course mom. Good luck at work.” You answer with a smile.

Your mom gives you a peck on the cheek, humming a happy tune as she heads out the door. The moment she's gone, Matt closes it behind her with a soft click. He turns back to you, a playful glint in his eye. "Now, where were we?“

“Give me the bag, Matt.” You say in a serious tone.

He chuckles, the sound low and husky as he holds the bag out of your reach, teasing you with the temptation. "Ah, come on. Don't be like that. It's just a little fun, isn't it?”

“It’s not even mine. I’m hiding it for a friend. I would never use that kind of stuff.” You say.

The teasing glint in his eyes falters slightly, replaced by a flash of surprise. Then, he laughs again, a genuine amusement coloring his gaze as he hands you the bag. "Sure you wouldn't…Sure you wouldn't.”

“I swear! That’s probably expensive, so I wouldn’t be able to afford it.” You answer defensively.

Matt chuckles. “Fine, fine you can have the bag.” He hands you the bag, but still not believing you.

You roll your eyes and grab the bag. “Thank you.”

"No problem, sweetheart." He winks at you, then leans against the dresser, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes never leave yours, a playful smirk still on his face. "So, which friend is it for, hmm?”

“Ugh none of your business.” You say and leave the room and go to your room.

Matt smirks after you leave, shaking his head slowly. He chuckles to himself, making a mental note to double check that story later.

As soon as you get to your room you close the door and let out sigh, feeling happy Matt ‘bought’ your lie. You quickly hide the bag again, but this time in another place. After that you decided to go downstairs and see what Chris and Nick are up to.

You walk downstairs, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet house. As you reach the living room, you see Chris and Nick lounging on the couch. “Hey guys! whatcha doin?”

“Oh hey, we were just finishing getting ready for our event, it starts today” Nick answers.

“Todayyy? But you just got here.” You say.

The boys nod, confirming what they just said. Chris stretches on the couch lazily, grinning as he does so. "Yeah, we're excited to finally get started.”

“That’s good.” You say, then you har steps coming down the stairs.

Matt strolls down the stairs, a mischievous glint in his eye, he approaches the group, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Hey, don’t worry, you can hang out with me while they’re gone.” He says looking at you.

You faked a smile and answered. “Rightttt.”

He chuckles at your forced enthusiasm, knowing full well you're not entirely thrilled about the idea. He moves to sit on the armchair across from the couch, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp as he watches you. “Our car is here Nick.” Chris says. “Okay okay I’m ready! Bye guysss see you later.” Nick says.

“Byeee I’ll miss you.” You say as they walk out the door.

"I'm sure you will" he said, watching as Chris and Nick leave the house. Once they're gone, Matt turns his attention back to you. "Well, I guess it's just you and me now." He says with a smirk.

You let out a sigh and roll your eyes. “Great.”

He chuckles under his breath, finding amusement in your annoyance. "Ah come on, don't be like that" he says as he leans back in the armchair. His eyes never leave yours, his gaze intent as he studies you from afar.

“I need to finish doing the dishes.” You say and walk to the kitchen.

"Oh, alright then" He says with a playful tone in his voice. As you move to the kitchen, he follows you, making himself comfortable on the counter top.

You start doing the dishes.

He watches you intently as you start washing the dishes, his presence making the ordinary task feel charged with unspoken tension. "So, I've been thinking..." he says casually, his voice low and smooth like velvet.

“What?” You sigh.

He leans in a bit closer, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks at you with an unnerving intensity in his eyes. "About our little chat earlier," he begins, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think you might be hiding something from me, sweetheart.”

“That lingerie is not mine. I already told you.” You say.

He laughs softly, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Oh come on, you can drop the act with me. I know it's yours." He says, folding his arms across his chest as he watches you. “Who are you planning to wear all that stuff for?” He asks.

“Not you.” You snapped.

"Ah, so feisty today," he muses, a smirk playing on his lips. "I like it." He leans back against the counter, his posture relaxed but his eyes never leaving yours. "Well then, whose is it?" He asks, his voice light and teasing. He knows you're not actually angry with him, just a bit flustered.

“None of your business.” You answer and finish doing the dishes.

He chuckles softly at your response, clearly enjoying the little back-and-forth between the both of you. Once you're done with the dishes, he slides off the counter top and moves to stand in front of you, his gaze steady and unwavering. “I guess I’ll have to find out for myself then.”

“Yeah whatever.” You say and start walking away.

He catches your wrist, pulling you back around to face him. His grip is firm but not painful, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your skin. "Whatever, huh?" He says, a hint of a challenge in his voice.

“What do you want, Matt?” You ask.

He raises an eyebrow at your reaction, but there's a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, I want to know who the lingerie belongs to, for starters," he says, his tone teasing and playful.

“Fine. It’s mine.” You confess.

He smirks at your admission, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I knew it," he says, his tone triumphant. He releases your wrist and steps back, his hands raised in a see, I told you so' gesture. "I must say, I'm impressed.”

You roll your eyes at him.

He laughs at your reaction, the sound deep and rich. He enjoys teasing you, knowing he can get a rise out of you so easily. "Hey, I'm just saying, it takes a confident woman to wear lingerie like that,”

“Happy now?” You ask with sarcasm. “It’s mine, are you done?”

He grins at your sarcasm, clearly enjoying the banter between the both of you. "For now," he replies, his tone light and unbothered.

You pull away from his grip and go to your room.

He lets you go, his eyes following you as you walk away. His grin doesn't fade as he watches you leave, still amused by your reaction. He leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, as he watches you disappear into your room.

You stay in your room for a couple of hours until you get bored and decide to text Chris and Nick.

“Hey guysss at what time are you coming back? It’s getting lateee.” You text.

“This thing got delayed, so we’ll probably be here more time than expected :(“ Chris responds.

“Yeah, we’ll get home late. But don’t worry we have tomorrow to hangout.” Nick adds.

“Okayyy it’s fineee, luv u bye!” You text.

You lay in your bed bored, not knowing what to do.

But in the other hand, Matt did have a plan. He wants to annoy you, to tease you. So immediately after he got out of the shower he went into your room only wearing a towel hanging lowly on his hips. With an excuse to ask you a question.

Without knocking he just walked into your room. “Hey do you have-“

Your eyes immediately went to his body watching the water droplets dripping from his hair to his chest, his arms, how the towel is barely hanging over his hips. But you quickly wake yourself up giving him an ‘annoyed’ look. “Do you not know what knocking is?”

He grins widely at your reaction, his eyes glinting mischievously. He has exactly the reaction he wanted from you. "Thanks for reminding me, I forgot all about that." He says as his fingers lightly graze the door frame. “Anyway, I came to ask you, if you have a bathrobe I could borrow?”

“Ugh, no I don’t ha- wait… I already gave you one with the rest of the towels.” You say.

He chuckles at your exasperation, clearly amused by your flustered state. “What? You did?” He asks, while his eyebrows furrow in mock confusion, but his grin doesn't fade away. “Mh, I guess I forgot to check. My bad.”

“Yeah whatever, just leave.” You say and roll your eyes.

He chuckles again and exits the room, still with that infuriating grin on his face.

“And knock on the door next time!” You shout so he can hear you through the door.

He laughs as he closes your door behind him, the sound echoing in the hallway. "I'll try, but no promises," he calls back, his voice teasing and light. He can't help but feel a thrill at having gotten such a strong reaction from you.

As soon as he leaves you let out a sigh feeling frustrated, at him but especially at yourself, because of how wet you got by seeing him like that.

‘Mh if he’s going to play that game, I can play it too.’ You think to yourself.

After a while Nick and Chris finally get home. You guys ordered pizza and hung out for a little bit, after that you all went to bed.

Matt settles into bed, his thoughts lingering on the evening's events. He can't help but replay the moments in his head, the way your eyes widened when he entered your room, the flush on your cheeks, the annoyance in your voice. It was exhilarating, knowing he could get such a reaction from you. And he wanted more.

The next day you took Nick, Chris and Matt to all your favorite places and restaurants. You guys had a lot of fun, until the afternoon hit. It’s currently 5 pm and Nick and Chris have to leave again.

“Ughh againnnn?” You ask in a whiny voice.

“Yessss we’re so sorryyyy, this event lasts about a week and we have to go every day.” Nick says.

“But after the weekend we’ll have a lot of time to spend together.” Chris says.

They finish getting ready and leave.

Matt watches as Nick and Chris say their goodbyes and leave. He catches your eye, a slight smirk on his lips as he sees your whiny expression. "Well, looks like it's just you and me now," he says, his voice low and playful.

“Did my mom leave for work already?” You ask.

“Yeah like an hour ago. So no need to keep up with your innocent act.” He says.

You give him a glare and stand up to head to your room. But as you stand up, you ‘accidentally’ drop your phone. So you bend over in front of him, your back facing him.

He watches as you bend over to pick up your phone, taking in the sight of your curves and the way your shorts rise slightly. He bites back a groan as he adjusts himself, trying to hide his growing boner.

After you pick your phone up you stand up and leave like nothing happened.

He watches you leave, his eyes glued to your retreating figure. "Such a tease," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head with a small smile.

He is not gonna let you win this little game you two are playing. So for that he decided that he needs a change of clothes. He went to his room and changed his jeans for a pair of grey sweatpants, and obviously he didn’t forget to take out his boxers too. This change of undergarment leaves in view his erection that you left him with. With that said he goes back to the living room and puts on a movie, making sure the volume is loud enough to be heard in your room.

You start hearing a movie playing on the tv coming from the living room. ‘Ugh i'm going to kill him.’ You say in your mind. As you’re about to leave your room you decided to get more ‘comfortable’. So you take your bra off, now only wearing your white tee covering (barely) your upper body. You storm downstairs to the living room with an annoyed expression. “What’s your problem!? The whole neighborhood can probably hear the tv!” You say trying to avoid looking at his clear boner.

As you storm into the living room, Matt watches you with a smirk, his eyes flicking down to your almost exposed chest before meeting your gaze again. "Oh, was I being too loud for you, princess?" he taunts, making no effort to hide his obvious arousal.

You glare at him. “Yes! So turn down the volume.”

He smirks at your insistence, clearly enjoying the power dynamic between you two. Rising from the couch, he walks over to the TV and lowers the volume, his movements purposefully slow so you can't help but notice the bulge in his sweatpants with each step. As he does, his gaze lingers on your chest, the movement causing your braless breasts to jiggle slightly beneath the fabric of your shirt. "There, is that better?”

“Sure I guess.” You say and go to the kitchen.

Matt watches you head to the kitchen, his eyes never leaving your back as you walk away. He can't help but imagine the swell of your bare breasts, the way they'd feel in his hands, and it makes his cock throb with desire. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. He waits a few moments before following you into the kitchen, his movements a bit more deliberate now. As he enters, he leans against the counter, folding his arms across his chest in a nonchalant pose that belies the hardness still prominent in his sweatpants.

You ignore him grabbing a glass and pouring yourself some water.

He watches as you take a long drink of water, imagining how refreshed your lips would look after being wrapped around his cock. "You're awfully quiet now," he observes, his tone light but with an undercurrent of suggestion. His eyes rove over your form, lingering on the way your t-shirt clings to your curves, the soft swell of your breasts.

“I have nothing to say to you.” You say setting down the glass on the counter.

He smirks, unfazed by your cold tone. "Is that so? Because I seem to recall you had plenty to say earlier." His eyes drop to your chest again, the thin fabric of your shirt doing little to hide the delicate outline of your nipples.

“That’s because you decided to be annoying and put the tv on max volume.” You say

"Well, maybe if you'd stop ignoring me and actually engaged in a conversation, I wouldn't have to resort to such measures.” his voice low and husky.

“So you did that to get my attention?” You ask.

"Maybe," he admits with a shrug, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Why? You want to have a ‘conversation’?” You ask.

He raises an eyebrow at your sarcasm but doesn't comment on it. "Yes, I do," he says evenly. "Unless you're just going to keep giving me the silent treatment.”

“…fine. I won’t.” You say.

"Good. I was hoping you'd see it my way." He takes a step closer, his tall frame looming over you, the air between you charged with tension. "So tell me, what's really going on with you? Why the attitude?”

“What attitude?” You ask.

He chuckles, a low, amused sound. "Don't play dumb with me. You're clearly upset about something." He leans in, his face inches from yours, his breath warm on your skin. "Why don't you just say it?”

“Ohh I don’t know… did you do anything to upset me?” You ask in a sarcastic way.

"Me? No, never." He says with a smug smile, but you can see the glint in his eyes.

“Then I guess I’m not upset.” You say with sarcasm.

"Not upset, huh? Well, it sure seems like you are.” he growls, his voice low and urgent.

“No, if you claim you did nothing to upset me, then im not upset. Why would I be upset?” You say with sarcasm.

His eyes narrow at your tone, his jaw clenched in irritation. "Because you're still avoiding eye contact, your body language screams 'fuck off,' and you're using sarcasm like a shield. Classic signs of someone who's trying to hide their true feelings.”

“Congratulations, took you long enough to notice.” You say.

Matt scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I don't need a condescending attitude, thank you very much." But then he takes a deep breath and tries again, his voice softer. "Look, I don't know what I did to piss you off, but I'm trying to have a real conversation here. You're not making it easy."

“Maybe I don’t want to have a conversation with someone who was supposed to be my best friend, ended up ghosting me when I move away, never explained why, and decides to come back after years pretending that everything is normal.” You let out.

His eyes widen at your words, and for a moment, he looks taken aback. He takes a step back, his expression softening. "Oh, fuck," he breathes, running a hand through his hair. "I had no idea you felt that way.”

“It wasn’t that hard to keep contact, you know. Your brothers did.” You say.

He looks down, shame creeping into his features. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, alright? I was a fucking idiot for letting so much time pass without reaching out. I got caught up in my own life and... and I messed up. Badly.”

“… whatever Matt.” You say and start walking away.

"No, no, wait." He calls out to you, taking a few hurried steps to catch up. "Please, don't walk away from me. I fucked up, I know. And I want the chance to make it right." He looks at you with earnest eyes, genuinely remorseful.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice softer and more sincere than before. "I fucked up. I know I did. But I've missed you so much, man. I've realized that I can't just let things be without trying to make things right between us. Please forgive me?”

“Fine. I forgive you, it’s been years and I got over it a long time ago. But that doesn’t mean things will go back to normal.” You say.

He nods, understanding. "Yeah, I get that. But maybe that's okay. Maybe we can start fresh, build a new friendship based on who we are now, instead of trying to fit back into the mold of who we used to be." He shifts nervously, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Yeah” you let out a chuckle. “You turned out to be an annoying asshole.” You say jokingly letting out a laugh.

He laughs along with you, relieved that you're willing to give him another chance. "Well, you always had a way of calling me out on my shit," he says with a grin. "But hey, I promise I've been working on being a little less asshole-ish these days.”

“Mmhhh I don't think so, I mean first thing you did when you got here was snoop around my room.” You say and chuckle.

He groans, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Okay, okay, maybe I haven't completely changed yet," he admits with a laugh. “And it’s just that… I don’t know, you always act to innocent, and I know you’re not. So I just wanted to prove myself right.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You say feigning innocence.

He laughs "Oh come on, don't play dumb with me. I'm not stupid, you know. I've seen the way you operate, always playing the sweet, innocent girl, but I know you're hiding something. That's just part of why I had to snoop around.”

“I think I'm going to start locking my room.” You laugh.

He chuckles and smirks at you. "Yeah, maybe you should. Or you know, you could just give in and tell me your secrets," he says playfully.

You chuckle. “Yeah, no way. Anyways it’s getting late and I want to shower before Nick and Chris get here so we can have dinner.” You say.

"Oh, sure thing. I'll let you get to it." He says. "I should probably head back to my room as well and grab a shower myself." He smiles at you, making his way to the door. "I'll see you later then, okay?”

You both go to your own rooms. You take a nice hot shower. When you get out you blow dry your hair and do the rest of your routine. Then you put on some clothes. Your mother is already downstairs making dinner for you guys so you decide to go down and help her. Dinner's ready and Chris and Nick get home. You all sit on the table and eat dinner, Matt sat next to you. Everything was going fine until you felt his hand on your thigh.

You feel his hand creeping up your thigh under the table. His fingers trail up your inner thigh, the touch light but unmistakable. You freeze, the fork halfway to your mouth. You can feel the heat of his skin against yours. His touch is bold, fingers splayed across your leg, and it sends a jolt of electricity through you.

You swallow the piece of food that you had in your mouth and give him a glare.

He smirks at you and leans in closer, whispering in your ear. "Mmm, your thighs are so soft," he murmurs, his voice low and husky, making sure no one saw or heard him. His fingers continue their trail, moving higher before finally coming to a stop just below the hem of your shorts.

“Matt. Stop.” You whisper back, pulling his hand away.

He withdraws his hand, but not before giving your thigh a quick squeeze. “What?" He feigns innocence, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture as if he didn't just grope you under the table. A devilish glint dances in his eyes as he leans back in his chair, smirking.

You glare at him and continue eating. After everyone’s done eating you help your mom pick up the table.

When the table is cleared and the dishes are put in the dishwasher, he comes over to you, his hand resting on your lower back. "Hey," he says softly.

“What?” You ask, avoiding eye contact.

He chuckles lowly and moves to stand in front of you, looking down at you with a smirk in his “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Maybe next time, right now I’m tired and want to go to bed.” You say lying.

"Aww, come on," he coos, his voice dripping with persuasion. "Just a few minutes of your time." He reaches out to gently tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes is unmistakable, a mix of desire and something more sinister.

As you look at him you feel yourself getting wetter, but you can’t let him win. “No. Sorry I'm just really tired.” You yawn.

He narrows his eyes, seeing right through your tired act. "Fine," he says, his voice clipped. "But know that this isn't over."

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” You say smiling and then walk away.

He watches you go, his eyes smoldering with a heated hunger. He knows he'll get what he wants eventually, but for now, he'll let you think you've won this round.

Next morning…

Nick and Chris had to leave early today for their event, so it was just you and Matt in the house.

As you wake up, you hear some sounds coming from the kitchen. You get up from your bed and put on some sweatpants and a tank top before you go to the kitchen to check what's going on. “What’s going on here? Why is there so much noise?”

Matt is standing at the counter, cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them vigorously. He looks up and smirks at you as you enter, his eyes roaming over your casual morning attire. "Just making some breakfast," he says, his tone casual despite the heat in his gaze.

“Did Chris and Nick leave already?” You ask.

"Yep, they had an early call time for their event. So it's just us." He says with a smirk.

“Great.” You say sarcastically as you rub your eyes.

He laughs lightly at your sarcasm, but there's a touch of relief in his laughter. Now that it's just the two of you, he knows he has a better chance at getting what he wants. "Yeah, looks like it," he says, his voice low and full of promise.

You roll your eyes at his response. “Whatever. Don’t burn my house down. I'm gonna go take a shower.”

"Take your time," he says, his voice like honey, as if he's already imagining you in the shower, water cascading down your bare skin. He licks his lips and turns back to the stove, where he starts cooking the eggs.

You go upstairs to your room and start showering.

Downstairs, Matt's thoughts are consumed with you. He pictures you in the shower, your body slick and soapy under the water.

After some minutes you’re done showering and head to your room. You put on your black underwear set and start drying your hair, not noticing the door to your room is slightly opened.

When he’s going to his room he can’t help but notice your door is slightly open. He can't resist his curiosity. He quietly walks towards your room, stopping just outside the open door to sneak a peek. "Damn," he muttered under his breath as he peaked into your room. He sees you half-dressed and towel drying your hair. He felt his arousal spike as he watched the water dripping down the curves of your body.

Unaware of Matt's presence, you finish taking the excess water off your hair and decide to stay comfortable and put on an oversized shirt.

Matt swallows hard, his pulse racing as he drinks in the sight of you in your oversized shirt, leaving your legs exposed. He can't tear his gaze away. His eyes trailed down and admired your legs, feeling the heat of desire building up inside him. But he quickly left and went to his room so you wouldn’t notice.

You grab your phone and head out of your room.

He lays down on his bed, his mind still consumed with thoughts of you. He can't believe how sexy you looked even half-dressed. He groans softly as he starts to stroke his hardening cock, imagining you in more revealing states. "Fuck.” He hears you come out of your room and he decides to follow you. He quickly pulled up his sweatpants and opened the door to his room, seeing you in the hallway. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Hey.. I uhm I’m going down stairs.” You say. You obviously noticed the big bulge in his pants but try not to show it.

He smirks at your reaction, his eyes locked on yours with a knowing glint. "Downstairs, huh? I could join you." His voice is low and suggestive, the bulge in his pants straining against the fabric as he takes a step closer.

“No.” You say with a playful smile and start walking downstairs and make your way to the kitchen.

He watches as you descend the stairs, the hem of your oversized shirt riding up to reveal more of your bare legs. He groans again, the sound low and needy in his throat. He follows you to the kitchen, his gaze never leaving your body.

“I thought I told you no.” You say grabbing a drink from the fridge.

"Ah, but I'm a persistent man, aren't I?" He steps closer, his large frame towering over you as he leans against the counter, his eyes never leaving yours. The bulge in his pants is undeniable now, a physical manifestation of his desire.

“Mh, shows.” You say in a slightly sarcastic way.

A smirk plays on his lips as he catches your sarcasm, but there's an undercurrent of challenge in his gaze. He straightens up and moves closer, backing you against the counter. "Is that a problem, sweetheart?"

“It’s a little bit annoying.” You say and start walking towards the living room.

He quickly catches up to you, his hand reaching out to grasp your wrist tightly and stop you from walking away. "I think we're not quite done here," he says, his voice low and commanding. He pulls you back towards him.

“Ugh what the hell is your problem?” You say annoyed.

“My problem?” he says with a slightly offended tone in his voice. He keeps a firm grip on your wrist, his fingers digging in just enough to convey his dominance. "My problem?" he repeats, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. "I think you know exactly what my problem is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say.

His eyes narrow slightly at your response and his grip on your wrist tightens slightly at your continued ignorance. His other hand reaches up to cup your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Don't play games with me," he says in a rough tone. “My problem is that you’ve been trying to make me hard for the past 3 days.”

“No! You’ve tried to make me wet since you got here. So don’t start complaining about something you started.” You say frustrated.

He lets out a deep, rumbling laugh at your words, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "So I make you wet, huh?" He tilts his head, his eyes searching yours.

You roll your eyes and avoid eye contact. “I’m not answering that.”

"Oh, I think you just did," he says with a smirk.

“Ugh fuck you Matt.” You say and pull away from his grip. You walk towards the living and sit on the couch turning on the tv.

He watches you storm off with a smug grin, clearly amused by your flustered reaction. He follows you to the living room. He sits down next to you on the couch, much closer than necessary, his thigh brushing against yours. “Are you wet right now?”

You feel your panties getting wetter as he asks that. “No.”

He chuckles low in his throat, his hand coming to rest on your exposed thigh. His touch is warm and possessive, sending tingles up your spine. "So you would have a problem with me checking" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands moving slowly up.

You close your thighs. “Matt, stop.”

His smirk turns into a full-blown smile at your words and actions, clearly pleased with the effect he's having on you. He continues to tease you, his hand moving up to your waist, pulling you closer to him. "Stop what? Checking if you're wet for me?"

“You wish I was,” you say, giving him a little bit of attitude.

"Oh, I know you are," he says with a chuckle, his hand sliding further up your thigh.

“I’m trying to watch a movie.” You say and pull his hand away.

He raises an eyebrow, his smirk only growing wider as he hears the slightly breathless quality to your voice. "Mhm, sure you are," he murmurs, his hand moving back to your thigh and forcing your legs open. “I'm just going to check if you’re wet or not.” His hand moved further up, since you’re without pants he quickly reached your pantie.

You gasp at his action and bite your lip holding back a whine as he teases your clit through your damp panties.

He smirks at your reaction but doesn’t say anything; he just pulls out his fingers and pretends like nothing happened. “Let’s watch your movie.”

You quietly sit there trying to pay attention to the movie.

He watches you attempt to focus on the movie, a knowing glint in his eye. Every so often, his gaze drifts down to your lap, no doubt recalling the feel of your wet panties between his fingers. He faces the tv again but his fingers start creeping to your thighs until they reach your panties. He doesn’t say anything, he just ‘pays attention’ to the movie. Two of his fingers start moving in circular motion.

You nearly gasp at his touch, you look over at him but he’s facing the tv. As his fingers start to move you can’t help but hold up your whines and moans.

He smirks but his expression never faces your direction, instead, he keeps eye contact with the screen. His fingers continue to move and rub against you harder.

Without thinking you spread your legs wider giving him more access.

He smirks wider as he hears the soft gasp torn from your lips. The feeling when he sees you spread your legs wider, his finger moving against your clit in slow circles.

You whine needing to feel more friction. So your hips unconsciously start grinding on his fingers.

He loves seeing you like this, vulnerable and needy. He chuckles low in his throat as he feels you grinding on his fingers. His free hand comes to rest on your inner thigh, applying gentle pressure to keep you open for him. He whispers near your ear “fucking slut” as you’re about to cum he pulls away his fingers.

You let out a whine at the loss of contact.

His smirk is triumphant as he watches your reaction, knowing he's left you wanting. He turns to face you, his eyes dark with desire. "You’re a fucking slut, admit it." His voice is low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

As vulnerable you are you still keep up with the attitude. “No. I’m not.”

He chuckles as he watches your squirm in need, the way you answer, keeping up with the attitude, hiding how needy you are for his touch. He knows it's a lie. “Yeah? You’re not?” He chuckles. “Like you didn’t just take my fingers without hesitation.”

He watches your expression carefully, waiting for you to back down from your defiance. When you remain silent, he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "I could make you cum, right here, right now. All you have to do is admit it. Say the words, baby."

You look at him, your eyes filled with lust and desire. “Fuck… yes.” You say quietly.

He smirks, his lips curling up at your confession. "Yes, what?" His voice is soft yet demanding.

“Yes…I- I’m a slut.” You say in desperation for him to touch you.

He leans back in to whisper near your ear "That's right, you are." He watches your squirm under his gaze, his expression filled with satisfaction. His fingers move to your panties, teasing you as he spreads your wetness around. "Not just a slut, but my slut."

You whimper at his teasing. “Mh Matt please.”

He smirks as he hears your plea. "Please what, slut? Tell me exactly what you want." His fingers continue to tease your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to keep you on the brink of climax.

“Please let me cum.” You whine.

"Ah, baby, you want to cum so bad, don't you?" His voice drips with seduction as he continues to torture your clit, his fingers expertly dancing around the sensitive spot. "Tell me, how much do you want it? How much do you need it?"

“Please Matt, I want to cum so bad.” You whimper.

Finally, Matt couldn't resist your begging and he pushes his fingers inside of you. He starts to finger you roughly while still rubbing your clit with his thumb. "Cum for me baby, cum all over my fingers." He orders as he feels you getting tense around his fingers.

“Mmmhp fuck” you moan.

He curses under his breath as he feels your walls tighten around his fingers, your moans becoming louder. He watches your face contorting in pleasure, feeling more satisfied with himself as he sees you getting closer to the edge.

“Mhh Matt I’m gonna cum” you moan feeling close.

He grins, his eyes flashing with excitement as he feels your impending orgasm. "That's it, baby, give it to me," he growls, finger-fucking you with abandon, his thumb pressing hard on your clit as he coaxes your climax from you. "Cum all over my fingers, slut,"

“Mmh fuck” you moan as you cum hard on his fingers.

"That's it, baby, let it out. So good, so fucking perfect," he praises, continuing to stroke you through your intense orgasm, prolonging the pleasure. As your spasms slowly subside, he pulls his fingers from your dripping pussy, bringing them to his lips. He sucks his fingers clean, a look of satisfaction on his face as he savors the taste of your cum. "Mmm, you taste so sweet, baby," he says, his eyes locked on yours, the connection between you crackling with energy.

He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, sensual kiss. The taste of your essence lingers on his tongue, a delicious reminder of the pleasure he's given you. His hand trails down your side, tracing the curve of your waist as he pulls you closer.

You moan into the kiss and move to his lap strangling him.

Matt grunts as you straddle him, your legs wrapping around his waist as you press your body against his. He can feel the heat radiating from between your thighs, the evidence of your arousal soaking through his pants and leaving a wet spot on his lap.

He groans, his hands moving to cup your ass, pulling you in closer as he deepens the kiss. His tongue explores your mouth, dancing with yours in a sensual rhythm. "You're so fucking wet for me, aren't you?" he breathes against your lips, his voice low and husky with desire. He's hard beneath you, his cock straining against his pants as he grinds against your core. "You want this, don't you?

You nod and keep kissing him letting out muffled moans.

"That's it, baby, show me how much you want it," he growls, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he grinds his hips up against yours. He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving marks.

Matt groans, his hands moving to cup your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt. "You're so fucking sexy" he whispers huskily, his voice dripping with lust. He can't get enough of you, your moans driving him wild with desire. He pulls your top down, revealing your breasts. "Fuck, look at you,"

He trails his finger over your bare breasts, teasing your nipples until they harden beneath his touch. He then leans down to take them into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around them, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "You like that, baby?"

“Mhm” you moan and keep grinding against him.

"That's right, grind on my cock," he groans, his hands gripping your hips to meet your movements. He continues to suck and nibble on your nipples, his mouth hot and eager against your skin. "I can feel how much you want this, how much you need to be filled up."

He continues to grind against you, his cock throbbing in anticipation as he whispers dirty promises into your ear. "I'm going to make you scream my name, baby. I'm going to fuck you so hard that you won't be able to walk straight tomorrow."

“Please Matt” you whimper. He picks you up and takes you to his room.

He carries you to his bedroom, his lips still trailing hot kisses along your neck and collarbone. He lays you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours as he continues to kiss and nip at your skin. He trails his fingers down your body, stopping to circle over your nipples before continuing further south. "I need to taste you," he growls, his voice low and full of desire. He moves down between your legs, spreading them apart as he goes.

He buries his face between your thighs, his tongue delving into your slick heat as he devours you. He groans at the taste of your arousal, his fingers digging into your hips as he eats you out with wild abandon.

“Mmhf Fuck Matt” you moan as you arch your back.

His name is music to his ears as he doubles his efforts, his tongue thrusting deep into your pussy as he sucks on your clit. He can feel your walls fluttering around his tongue, your juices dripping down his chin as he feasts on your arousal.

"Fuck yes, baby, you taste amazing," he groans against your sensitive flesh, his words muffled but filled with desire. He continues his relentless assault on your clit, his tongue flicking and circling the swollen bud as he drives you closer to the edge.

“I’m so close” you moan.

He can hear the need in your voice and he knows you're close. He sucks harder on your clit, his fingers slipping inside you to fill the space his tongue leaves behind, thrusting deep and rubbing against the rough patch of skin on the roof of your pussy.

You let out a loud moan as you cum hard on his tongue.

"Yes, that's it, cum for me baby," he growls, his face buried between your thighs as he laps up every drop of your release. He keeps his tongue pressed against your spasming pussy, prolonging your orgasm and milking you of every last tremor.

He grins against your thighs, satisfied with the reaction he got from you. He slowly pulls his tongue and fingers out of you, savoring the lingering taste of your arousal and the slick feeling of your release on his skin. "You taste so fucking good, baby,”

He presses a tender kiss to your sensitive, still-quivering flesh before crawling up your body, his mouth and chin glistening with your juices. "I need to be inside you now," he growls, his cock hard and ready against your thigh.

“Mhm please Matt” you whine.

“Oh, baby, you're so wet and ready for me.” He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your opening. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with desire. "You want me to fuck you, baby? You want me to make you cum again?"

“Yes Matt please”

He smirks a little at your eager answer before thrusting himself inside you. He groans at the feeling of being surrounded by your tight heat, his cock slipping in easily thanks to how wet you are. "Fuck, you're so tight, baby.”

“Ahh Matt you’re so big” you whimper arching your back.

"I know, baby, and you feel amazing wrapped around me," he groans as he starts to move, pulling back slowly before thrusting in deep again. He sets a steady, relentless pace, each stroke hitting that special spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your walls flutter around his cock.

You moan loudly, your walls tightening more with each thrust.

"You like that, baby? You like me fucking you hard?" He grunts, leaning down to suck a mark onto your neck, just above your collarbone, his thrusts becoming rougher, his cock slamming into your cervix with each hit, with each thrust, his jaw clenched in effort as he tries to hold back his own orgasm.

“Mhhmp oh god Matt i'm going to cum” you moan pathetically as you feel that knot in your stomach about to explode.

"Cum for me, baby! I want to feel you squeeze my cock as you come undone," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic and forceful as he chases his own release. The base of his shaft pulses against your clit with each movement, providing additional stimulation that pushes you over the edge.

Your moans nearly come out as screams of pleasure as you squirt all over is cock.

"Fuck yes!" Matt groans loudly, nearly losing his balance as you squirt, the feeling nearly triggering his own release. His hips thrust frantically as he does his best to prolong the pleasure, the pulsing of his cock growing more and more erratic as he releases inside you.

"Mmmhhh... so fucking good..." He sighs as he collapses onto you, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, his still-throbbing cock buried deep inside you.

Your legs still shaking a bit from your orgasm when you hear sound coming from the hallway.

“Matt, Y/n where are you guys?” Nick asks.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

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[ghost-proofbaby]

IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse. 

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him. 

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless. 

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings. 

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival. 

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles. 

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery. 

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating. 

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of  mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own. 

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him. 

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy. 

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.” 

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.” 

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him. 

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?” 

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun. 

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.” 

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl. 

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization. 

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault. 

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life. 

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal. 

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence. 

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town. 

Come to me. 

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence. 

Come to me. 

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems. 

“Why are you here?” 

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him. 

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible. 

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment. 

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…” 

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you. 

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give. 

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.” 

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch. 

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own. 

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths. 

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness. 

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-” 

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep. 

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns. 

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away. 

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs. 

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.” 

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down. 

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him. 

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.” 

“So why are you still in pain?” 

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other. 

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.” 

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps. 

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…” 

“Different?” 

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind. 

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night. 

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.” 

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger. 

“What was the cost?” 

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing. 

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now. 

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey. 

Blood shouldn’t be sweet. 

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow. 

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you. 

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance. 

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in. 

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration. 

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed. 

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?” 

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him. 

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees. 

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?” 

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.” 

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.” 

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance. 

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it. 

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them. 

“Don’t,” he lowly warns. 

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?” 

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches. 

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment. 

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger. 

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were. 

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s. 

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you. 

He could almost taste you. 

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.” 

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable. 

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger. 

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone. 

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch. 

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.” 

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer. 

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone. 

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him. 

He’s losing control. You’re losing control. 

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation. 

A road to your hunger. 

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease? 

Probably. 

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge. 

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs. 

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising. 

Come to me. 

“Please.” 

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out. 

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.” 

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now. 

You’re so close. So close. 

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. 

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat. 

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.” 

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.” 

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him. 

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance. 

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push. 

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-” 

He breaks. 

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are. 

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you. 

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure. 

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment. 

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper. 

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you. 

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them. 

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly. 

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being. 

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you. 

I need more. 

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his. 

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously. 

Then take it. 

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt. 

My pleasure. 

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. 

Sweet as honey. 

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words. 

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?” 

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with. 

“Yes, please.” 

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to. 

And you most certainly did not want to. 

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control. 

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.” 

Yes. 

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.” 

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously. 

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this. 

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.” 

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy. 

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters. 

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts. 

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure. 

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.” 

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical. 

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him. 

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed. 

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine. 

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood. 

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin. 

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?” 

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.” 

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry. 

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you. 

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity. 

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance. 

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you. 

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself. 

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.” 

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares. 

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his. 

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth. 

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him. 

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure. 

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.” 

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it. 

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed. 

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you. 

Eddie. 

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire. 

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter. 

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours. 

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done. 

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.” 

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.” 

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.” 

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough. 

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough. 

Of course, lover. 

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them. 

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[waughymommy]

Mommy Knows Best

Chapter 1

Rebecca Sullivan plugged in the vacuum cleaner and set about cleaning the master bedroom. As she pushed the vacuum to reach under the bed, she hit something she wasn’t expecting. She quickly turned off the vacuum and got down on her hands and knees to investigate. Looking under the bedframe, she discovered a box she had not seen before. She pulled out and looked inside. To her complete surprise it was a full of baby supplies. There were bottles and pacifiers, diapers and onesies. But something was odd. No baby was big enough to fit into any of the diapers. They were huge. She unfolded a baby blue onesie and held it up. She thought to herself my god this would fit a grown man. Is my husband secretly a baby? Is this why he has never wanted to have kids? What the hell? She left the set the box on the bed and returned to cleaning up the bedroom. Brian would be home soon and would have some explaining to do.

He threw his briefcase in the passenger seat and hopped in his car. He ran his hands through is hair, tired and stressed out. All he wanted to do was get home to wife and have a quiet Friday night in. Brian worked for a major marketing company. It was a great paying job, but he often worked long hours, sometimes well into the evening. The stress could just be too much at times. He turned on the radio, rolled the windows down and tried to forget about his work as he drove home. A short drive later and he was rolling into his garage. He stepped out and cast a glance at all the power tools sitting on the shelf. These were all the things that made him feel like a man. Things that made him try and ignore the child that dwelled within. He hoped that by doing all the things guys are supposed to like, he could hide the secret that he still yearned to be little, to be cared for. He loved his wife dearly and had tried so many times to tell her, but every time he tried, his nerves failed him. They had been together for ten years. They had built a life together. He had climbed the ladder in his company which afforded him all the luxuries of life he wanted Rebecca to have. In providing for them both, maybe that childish fantasy would go away. But yet, he still fantasized that one day, she would make him her baby. However that was a fantasy and this was real life. He took a deep breath and walked into the house.

As he stepped through the threshold, he noticed the pleasant aroma of dinner. Rebecca heard the door opened and turned around with a bright smile. It was the smile that had smitten him all those years ago. She embraced him in a warm hug, kissing him on the cheek. “There is my big, hardworking man. Come sit and I will get you a drink sweetheart. Dinner is just about ready.” Brian didn’t object, sitting at the table and took a big sip of the Jack and Coke she placed in front of him. “My god honey, I needed a drink. It was just meeting after meeting. I’m pretty sure my brain has turned to mush. I’m going to try and forget about work until Monday,” Brian lamented. She soon retuned with their plates and the two enjoyed their dinner. He soon finished his drink and she quicky poured him another. “After dinner sweetheart, let me take care of you. Let me help my baby boy relax and unwind, she said in a syrupy sweet tone. He was a bit taken aback by “baby boy,” but he was too tired to really care.

“Here sweetheart, have one more drink and go sit in your comfy chair while I clean up. I will come get you when I’m ready for you.” Ready for what he thought. “Um ok, honey. Thank you for making such a wonderful dinner. I am so lucky that I have you to take care of me,” he replied. She smiled and said, “Of course.” Brian walked into his den and plopped down into his favorite chair. The drinks were starting to kick and soon he was nodding off to sleep. “Is my baby boy sleepy?” she asked while caressing his hand. He opened his eyes and mumbled some apology for falling asleep. “Its ok baby boy. Come with me and we will get you all cozy.” She led him by his hand back to their bedroom. His grogginess soon turned to panic when he laid eyes on his box sitting on the bed. Oh god. I am so fucked. I have no way to get out of this now. He chest grew tight and he felt like he might be sick. For decades, he had managed to keep his secret quiet. Rebecca quickly sensed his apprehension and squeezed his hand. “It’s ok sweetheart, trust me. Everything is all ok. There is no need to scare. I know my big man needs to be taken care of,” she said with such a maternal tone. “Now lay down on the bed for me. You don’t need to say anything. I know you want this. Brian, I know you want to be a baby, I found all of your stuff. I am not mad, I promise. You know I have wanted a baby for years. And maybe that time is here.” Rebecca looked down on him, seeing his eyes dart all over the room. He was scared. She knew he was filled with guilt and embarrassment. Brian thrived on being able to take care of her. “I want to be able to do this for you, but this is the only time I will make this offer. So if you want to accept this, you don’t need to say anything. All you need to do is place your thumb in your mouth and start sucking and mommy will know that you are going to be her little baby boy.”

Brian closed his eyes, as tears rolled down his cheeks. He felt horrified and excited all at the same time. His heart was racing. What do I do? This is my only chance. This is what you have always wanted. Trust her and let go. You need this. He opened his eyes and looked at his wife’s smiling face. He took a deep breath and slowly curled his fingers into his palm. He lifted his hand to his face and placed his thumb in his mouth. There he did it. Rebecca beamed, “Oh mommy is going to take such good care of my baby.” She slowly unbuttoned his shirt and then moved onto his pants. She removed all of his clothes until he was lying completely naked on the bed. She reached into the box and produced his pacifier, “I know you want your binky honey.” Returning to the box, she pulled out one of his diapers. “Get that sweet little tushy up baby,” as she slid the diaper under his bottom. The smell of baby powder seemed to put him in a trance as he sucked harder on his pacifier. She taped up the diaper, making sure it was secure. She kissed his exposed belly and then climbed up onto her side of the bed. “Come here cutie. Let me hold my baby.” He quickly complied with her demand. He laid his head on her chest, feeling her soft bosom. He let out a sigh and melted into her. He was now her baby. A tear escaped her. She had her baby. But she wasn’t content to just pretend. If she was going to be a real mommy, he needed to be a real baby. She ran her fingers through his hair and floated off to sleep.

[janeyseymour]

I Wouldn't Tell Anyone

based off of that tiktok trend: "i wouldn't tell anyone i won the lottery, but there'd be signs".

WC: ~2.75k

Melissa Schemmenti has worked at Willard R. Abbott Elementary School for years. And in those years, the one constant in her life has been Barbara Howard. The two had started the same year, and while many things have changed, their friendship would never. No, Melissa had watched as Barbara married Gerald, witnessed the woman’s growing belly as she carried both of her daughters, had seen the ups and downs in the Howard family. And likewise, Barbara had been there to see the marriage to Joe, the divorce of Joe, the lean years… and everything in between. They’ve seen the way that teachers come and go, children grow up before their very eyes, and at this point they’ve taught children of students that they had in the starting years. Teaching practices have grown and changed- it’s really an ever-evolving world that they live in.

The second grade teacher had a solid wardrobe that she kept in rotation over the years- really just a few blazers, her signature leather jacket, the same shirt in various colors, a few pairs of slacks and jeans, and of course her heeled boots that she wore everyday without fail.

“Melissa,” Barbara had asked one day. “Perhaps you and I should hit the mall? I know some great places that have wonderful clearance sections.”

“Are you tellin’ me I need to change out my wardrobe?” the redhead teased as she threw her bag over her shoulder.

“You know that is not what I am saying, woman,” Barb rolled her eyes. “But I see the way that your shirts are starting to wear thin. I also need an outfit for the end of the year banquet that this damned superintendent is forcing me to go to.”

“When you’re part of a committee, you have to go to that kind of stuff,” the second grade teacher had smirked. “Why you think I ain’t a part of all that?”

Even after the two of them hit it off, going to the mall whenever they found themselves with enough money to spare to treat themselves to a shopping spree, Melissa’s outfits still mostly circulate without fail. 

Years pass, and then she meets you one night while she’s out at the bar. She walks in, and you’re captivated. You don’t know what draws you to her, but whatever it is is magical. Your eyes hardly leave her stunning figure as she dances. You know that by the end of the night, you have to at least attempt to make a move on her.

And you do when she decides to take a break from dancing to come over to the bar. Conveniently, the only opening is by where you’re sitting and nursing a margarita.

By some grace of God, she’s been watching you too- trying to figure out how to start a conversation with you over the loud music and people dancing all around you.

She saunters up to the spot that you’re at and smiles at you. Wow… her smile is radiant.

“How come a pretty girl like you ain’t out there dancing with someone?”

“Just came here after a hard day at work,” you shrug. “Wanted a marg, thought maybe the music and drinks would brighten my spirit.”

“Well, you got the marg,” she gestures to your half empty glass. “Why don’t I buy you another, and then we can listen to the music together?”

“I’m sure you have friends here that wouldn’t want me crashing.”

“I’m here alone,” the redhead reveals. “The name’s Melissa. And you are?”

“Y/N,” you tell her.

“Well, Y/N, why don’t you let me buy you a drink, and we can be alone… together.”

You end up getting her number as you part ways for the night, and simply text her when you get home that night, time and place.

She’s just walked into her own house when your text comes through. How does Renata’s Kitchen at 5:30 on Tuesday sound?

I have to wait tomorrow and Monday to see you?

I mean, I could grab a coffee tomorrow after church if you’d rather that, the redheaded beauty sends.

You send her the address of your favorite coffee place, which just so happens to be hers as well. You wonder if the two of you have ever run into each other and just not known it at the time.

The outing for coffee ends up being an entire day’s worth of just walking around the city together as you chat about life. You find out that she’s a second grade teacher at one of the local schools and that she has Sunday dinners with her family every week (that is actually the only reason she has to regretfully leave you that day) among many other things. She finds out that you work for one of the local law firms down the street from Abbott, ironically enough. How have the two of you never bumped into each other, or at least seen each other? You get to your place of work at the same time as she does, you’ve both gone down to the same Wawa at the same time for lunch because your lunch hours coincide, and she quite literally walks past your firm to get to happy hour specials with her coworkers.

Once she leaves you to head to her family dinner, she texts you to let you know that she would still love to do dinner with you on Tuesday. You excitedly reply that you would be absolutely delighted. 

The two of you have been going out for quite some time now, and it’s quite funny that you’ve both kept it on the down low. You’re a bit concerned that while courtrooms have progressed with society that if your relationship were to become public, it could get in the way of cases. And she, similarly is nervous that she could face backlash at the school she works for for being in a homosexual relationship. So, neither of you have said anything to your coworkers. And it’s all going swimmingly. While you had both just stumbled upon each other one night at the bar, not expecting to find each other, here you are two years later as a happy couple.

You land the case of a lifetime, one where you could make a decent profit off of your already relatively high paying salary. On top of that, you know that you’re about to be promoted after working with this firm for the last five years.

You end up winning the case, bringing in some good money, and then you’re moving up the ladder and finding yourself with more cash outflow than you know what to do with at the moment. It’s too much for you, living in a small apartment in the city by yourself with nothing else to worry about. So, when your girlfriend comes over to your apartment for dinner, you propose something.

“Mel?” you ask as she stands at your stovetop. She hums to let you know that she’s listening, but her eyes stay trained on the vegetables that she’s chopping right now. “How would you feel if we moved in together?”

The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board halts, and she turns to face you. “What?”

“We’ve been together for almost two years,” you tell her. “I just got that nice promotion, plus a huge payout from the settlement with DuBoise, so… I was thinking maybe we could move in together? Find a nice townhouse somewhere in the city and settle into our lives together?”

About a million emotions flicker through the redhead’s face before it settles on a smile. “I think that might be a good idea.”

So, after months of looking, you both say goodbye to your small apartments and are able to move into a beautiful townhouse in Queen Village. When Melissa files the paperwork to change her address for paychecks, Ava comes flying into the staff lounge with her eyes nearly bulging out of her head.

“Uh, ahem,” the principal coughs out and raises her brows, waving the paperwork in front of the second grade teacher during lunch.

“What?” your girlfriend grumbles as she grades a few papers and shoves a forkful of her salad into her mouth.

“Since when did you move?”

“A couple of weeks ago,” Melissa shrugs.

Barbara’s brows furrow. She wasn’t aware her friend was moving house. “Oh, Melissa. Could you not afford the place anymore?”

“Girl, she upgraded big time! Went from living in the slums to a three bedroom townhouse in Queen Village!”

“Queen Village?” the kindergarten teacher repeats.

Again, the redhead just shrugs.

“Melissa, how did you manage that? I know what you make, and there is no way you could afford to live somewhere like that!” Janine cuts in.

“Can it, pipsqueak,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “Let’s just say… I have my ways.”

Nobody is brave enough to ask the mob-like woman what the hell that could even mean.

“Well, when do we get to see the place?” Jacob tries to invite himself over.

Green eyes glare over at the man. “If I can help it, never.”

“Oh c’mon, Mel Mel,” Jacobs whines out. “I lived with you at one point! Why can’t we come see your new place?”

“At the time, I did not know it was you,” the redhead huffs. “And then you moved out on me.”

“Because I found 

The second grade teacher blows out a breath. “Maybe once I have it all furnished and put together.”

So, once the two of you have the place put together for the most part, the Abbott clan makes their way over while you’re out of town for a convention that you were forced to go to.

To say that the crew is beyond impressed is an understatement.

“Melissa, this is beautiful,” Barbara compliments.

“How? How?” is all Jacob and Janine can stutter out.

The redhead just smirks. “I know a guy.”

They leave not knowing that the guy that she knows is you- her girlfriend of almost two and a half years at this point. And because it’s you, and you have an unwavering love for Melissa, the house is impeccable and everything she could ever want it to. You take good care of her.

Since moving in together, Melissa’s meals have only become more extravagant. With both of your finances almost entirely combined at this point, you spoil her with the best foods and ingredients that you can get her at any moment. So when she comes into the staff room with way fancier dishes for her lunch, it raises a few eyebrows. The teachers have seen Melissa stretch a dollar like a big headed baby stretches a… the redhead smirks.

“I know a guy,” is all she offers up.

The eyebrows of her coworkers only creep further up her head when she comes in with leftovers from one of the nicest restaurants in the city- a place known nationally for the delicate dishes and absolutely delectable desserts.

She’s eating the extra slice of cheesecake the two of you had brought home when Janine leans over. “How’d you get that?”

“I know a guy.”

“You sure seem to know a lot of guys.”

They have no idea that there are not multiple people- you are almost singlehandedly responsible for the lavish lifestyle that your girlfriend suddenly leads. 

Somehow, Melissa is forced to go to one of the banquet dinners that the district is holding because she’s hit a milestone in her teaching, and they’re highlighting her. So, of course Barb offers to go with her to try to find something nice to wear to the dinner that she too will be attending.

“Oh, I think I actually have an outfit,” the redhead refutes the offer. “But thank you.”

“Girl, you never turn down an opportunity to go out shopping,” the kindergarten teacher raises a brow.

“I just… know a guy that already bought me an outfit.”

Melissa shows up to the event looking like a million bucks, and Barbara almost can’t believe it. The redhead’s hair is curled to perfection, the dress that she’s in has clearly been tailored to accentuate all of her curves and to be the proper length. The shoes that she’s wearing are not the black heeled boots Barbara is so used to seeing her work wife wear- no, instead she’s got on a pair of heels that have to be at least two hundred dollars if the kindergarten teacher had to guess. 

Of course, their picture gets snapped and is posted to the school website a few days later. 

At lunch, while Janine is eating and on her laptop, her eyes go wide. “Melissa!”

“What?”

“You looked beautiful the other night!”

“Thanks, kid.”

“How did you get all of that?”

“I know a guy.”

Jacob moves his chair so he too can get a look.

“Melissa, that is…” he thinks to himself quietly. “At least a six hundred dollar look! For a school event? Girl, where are you getting all of this stuff?!”

“I told youse, I know a guy.”

It’s a weekend when the Abbott crew decides to get together, and they all have plans to go to Barbara’s house for game night, but Gerald gets sick and they can no longer use the Howard residence.

“Well, I guess we should cancel,” Melissa sighs as they’re all leaving the school that day.

“What if we just came to your place?” the kindergarten teacher asks. “It’s the only other space big enough to accommodate us all.”

Begrudgingly, the second grade teacher agrees. As everyone is on their way over, she calls you.

“Hello?”

“Hey hun,” she says softly. “So… change in plans for tonight.”

“Oh? Do I get you all to myself tonight?”

“Not exactly…” the redhead trails off. “We’re moving game night to our house.”

“Oh,” you say softly, your face dropping as you thumb through papers in your office.

“Yeah,” she hums.

“I mean, I guess I can go out to dinner with my mom or something to pass the-”

“What if we just… came out? At least just to the crew,” your girlfriend suggests quietly.

You mull that option over for a few seconds. “Y-yeah. If you’re ready for that.”

“I am if you are.”

“I can pick up dinner,” you tell her. “I should be out of here by 5:30, and then I can head over to grab some food before coming home.”

“There’s…” she counts in her head. “eight of us.”

“Eight?”

“Somehow Mr. J wormed himself into this get together,” Melissa laughs softly. “Something about getting the band back together- whatever the hell that means. 

Once you’re free from work, you head over to one of the nicer restaurants in the city, and because you and Melissa have become frequent flyers there, they’re able to oblige your request for a few trays of food. You leave a generous tip before packing the food into your car and making your way back to your townhouse. 

Upon pulling in, you take a few deep breaths before gathering your briefcase and the food and making your way to the door.

When you push it open, all eyes are on you.

“Hey,” you sigh as you kick off your shoes and head for the kitchen table to put down all the food.

“Melissa, you didn’t tell us you have a roommate, never mind a hot one!” Ava grins.

The redhead just rolls her eyes before glaring. That glare is gone though once you make your way back into the living room and sit down next to your girlfriend.

“Hey babe,” you smile at her before kissing her cheek softly.

“Babe?” Barbara’s eyes go wide. “Melissa Ann, do you have a girlfriend?”

The redhead just smirks. “Oh, did I not mention that I am happily in a relationship and have been for two and a half years?”

“Wait a minute,” Mr. Johnson furrows his brows and looks you over. “Ain’t you one of those fancy lawyers that works at the firm down the street from Abbott?”

You nod. “Hi. I’m Y/N.” You cordially shake everybody’s hand with a kind smile.

“Wait,” Janine pieces it all together. “Is this why you moved and could afford this place? Why your meals have gotten a lot fancier, and how you could afford the clothes you wore to the dinner the other night?”

Melissa just nods. “I guess you could say… I won the lottery with this one.”

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

[moneymartin]

・❥・- just for you.

summary: kate takes her anger out on you after a hard loss. (more gentle tho cause she doesn’t have the heart to hurt you 😞😞😞) + lil bit of aftercare at the end ;3

warnings: 18+ ASFUCK! SMUT MDNI! strap on use… lol

RPF!

a/n: ik i been lacking recently but i’ve grown some more motivation to do something since i’m kinda stuck at home. also almost broke my arm yesterday hahah 🥸 also not much dialogue tbh i’ve never been good at that cuz i dont talk to ppl 😭 AND i didn’t know how to end sozzzzzz!!!!

it was the toughest lost of kate’s college career, especially considering the fact that it was her last year at UOI. the only thing she wanted was to have the championship title, just once. but the team couldn’t do it.

you saw her put all her blood sweat and tears onto that court. the way she tried to make as many shots, as many blocks as she could, and as many fouls as she could draw. the way you watched her cry while she walked into the tunnel absolutely broke you.

when she got home the air between you two grew extremely thick. you couldn’t tell if she was angry or even over it at all. she wasn’t crying, just real quiet. and being the good girlfriend you were, you didn’t bother to push any of her buttons, no matter how much you wanted to just keep her company.

kate would either be sitting on the couch, on her phone, continuously walking around the apartment, sitting in random spots on the floor, in the kitchen. she’d be anywhere and everywhere. all she wanted to do was get her mind off of it, for a little bit.

“are you okay?” you speak amidst the quiet environment that had been lingering for god knows how many hours. you didn’t try to speak either because it felt like she’d just ignore you or give you a nasty look cause she wasn’t feeling so good about it. “i’m fine.” kate murmurs and looks up at you from the clasped hands on her face. the tone she gives you makes it known that she isn’t.

“yeah, right.” a scoff leaves from your lips and the mood changes almost immediately. your eyes dart towards kate and the look that she’s giving you makes it feel like a million daggers are being dug into your back. her face stiffens up and so does your body when you realize that she’s 100% angry.

you know that it isn’t your fault, but now it really feels like it was. “do you think that’s funny or something?” when you hear that, it’s obvious that you’ve fucked up. you can’t muster up anything in response cause you know that it’ll make it worse. not for her, but for you.

but there’s just something about kate that drives you insane when she’s fired up.

“no.” you swallow.

“exactly! don’t fuckin’ go around and laugh about it, if it isn’t funny! are we clear?”

she grunts and lets out a heavy breath when you stand there all quiet and unresponsive. she hates that. its the one thing that makes kate tick the most, other than losing a game that important to her. “answer me.”

you don’t respond. and the look of anger on kate’s face grows much more apparent. “c’mon!” she groans and quickly slides off of the bed. her fingers grip at the collar of your shirt, her rapid breaths brushing harshly against your face.

she tugs your body up against hers and a small whine escapes from in between your lips. kate is giving those eyes that make you shiver all over the place. “y- yes, we’re clear…” you choke out and look away. you can’t stand seeing her angry but its also the fact that it turns you on too.

your voice makes it seem like you aren’t very sincere about saying that though, and that makes her tick even more. kate’s teeth grit together and a sharp breath makes its way through them, her fingers inching closer towards the waistband of your jeans.

“yeah? you sure?” kate teases and starts to unbutton them. her voice deepens and the cold air that meets your now exposed skin makes the shivers feel more like a billion daggers going through your body. her hands cup your waist, a newfound lust taking over the look in kate’s eyes. “doesn’t seem so sincere…” she husks out.

“i mean it! god, you can’t believe me even when i mean it the most.” you sigh and stare at the jeans puddling around your feet. when you bend over to pick them back up and put them on again, kate’s fingers wrap around your sleeve and she pulls you up, drawing a quiet ‘tsk’ sound from your mouth. “just… let me fuck your brains out until i get you to really mean it.”

she tugs you up against her again, her front subtly grinding against yours. and now you can actually feel it. her stupid fucking strap. your eyes dart towards hers momentarily before they inch away. the embarrassment you feel is incredibly strong. you’re wet, and now you can’t even look her in the eyes.

before you even get a chance to speak, kate’s hand falls on the dip of your back and you’re face first into the foot of the mattress. the side of your head presses against it again to get a breather, the sound of kate unzipping her jeans rapidly, and the tip of the strap making contact with your body.

one of her hands grabs both of yours and pins them backwards, the other hand trailing up and down your body and towards the waistband of your panties. in one swift movement, they’re off and on the floor. you have no clue where, but they’re somewhere in that room. as much as you’re trying to resist, you can’t

“c’mon, baby. don’t fight it, please.” kate pleads and leans over your body to bury her face into your neck. her teeth dig into the side of it and you let out a wince, struggling to move your hands while she keeps them in a lock. kate’s breath tickles at your skin while she pulls away, the hand she has on your waist moving away to line herself up with your entrance.

she doesn’t even give you a warning before she slides in. the only thing that makes it known that you’re getting absolutely filled up is the groan kate lets out when she goes in all the way. you let out a huge whimper and eventually start to feel it. “fuck!… oh my god.” you babble and feel kate leaning toward your face again, her breathing hitting your skin, leaving behind dark marks on the base of your neck.

the more you moan and whine into the sheets, the more it fuels her to keep going. she thrusts into you as hard as she can, her hand letting go of the two she’s been holding, and yanks at your hair to pull your head up. “you fuckin’ feel that, baby? that’s all for you.” kate grunts, smashing her lips against yours and pulling your hair again. “just for you..” a hurried ‘mhm’ escapes your lips, your voice left limited.

your whimpers mix into the kiss as you constantly punch at the bed the harder she drives into you. her teeth tug at your bottom lip and your head moves away the more you feel yourself start to sweat uncontrollably. hair sticks to the side of your head and to your forehead, kate gently brushing them out of your face to keep that prolonged eye contact.

“you’re so beautiful, i swear.”

“hmphh—! you’re going too-“

you get cut off the second you feel the turns in your stomach and the blood rush to your face. that familiar feeling burns brightly in your belly and the knot that had been there forever finally becomes undone. you end up finishing, the overwhelming sensation dying down almost instantly.

kate rolls off of you and notices the water buildup in your eyes, her thumbs running across the bottom of them to wipe them away. she lets out a small sigh and scoots a little bit closer to you, eyeing down the hickeys she left on your skin. “i’m sorry, baby.” she whispers softly and cups your face with her palms.

her lips connect onto your neck and she peppers gentle kisses all over each hickey. the contrast from her rough nature to eventually turning into that natural soft, sweet woman you fell in love with the second she sees you like this. “let me fix you a warm bath, okay? for the troubles.” she whispers in between smooches, her hand snaking up your shirt, and her nails dragging softly against your back.

“duh. you know just how i like it.”

“why would i not.” she lets out a scoff and pulls away quickly, a small smile crossing her face when you agree. “was that a scoff?” you mutter and raise your eyebrows. hers do too, and her lips narrow into a straight line. “what about it?”

well, that was the small thing that got you here in the first place.

[okay-babe]

Fallen - A Lucifer Morningstar x Reader Series Preview

Synopsis: Reader is a specific type of angel called a heavenly virtue, who was created around the same time as the fallen seraphim, Lucifer Morningstar. More than friends and less than lovers, our Reader feels betrayed by the decisions that her dear friend makes that later lead to his banishment, though she finds a few hundred years later that flying might just be harder than falling after so many centuries of grief. Tags: lucifer x fem! reader, lucifer x angel! reader, friends to almost lovers to strangers to lovers??, angst, pining

It hurt to admit, of course it did, but in truth, it was impossible to deny.

He had been everything.

The two of you had come to be together, grown up at one another's side in the closest thing two angels could have ever gotten to a childhood.

Created for good, created for more, there had been so little time to become someone before you had both been thrust into being.

And for the longest time you had believed so truly that this fact was what bonded you together, what made you feel whole when in his presence.

Until of course, you learned the truth.

That being forced into being had not bound you to Lucifer, and he to you...

But rather, it had damned you both to an eternity of suffering -

One quite literal in a fiery pit called Hell,

And the other something that your God had not, and would not have ever given,

The silent and agonizing torture of longing.

But you supposed it was fitting, in a way.

Lucifer had given man free will,

And an angel of virtue an emotion that their God had never intended for her to feel -

Loss.

His final gift to you, wrapped up in the memories of agony you could not escape.

His hand in yours, unyielding,

His lips on your skin, curious and yearning,

His warmth at your back each night for eons that were never enough.

And of course,

His laughter in Eden, unending,

His lips on hers, confident and eager,

The look on his face as they served him his sentence, eyes finding yours before averting again and again, as if unknowing, as if ashamed...

And from that day forward, you had known deep down that something had been taken from you, something essential yet unnamed that lived on within every other angel.

But to think that it might have lead to your own expulsion?

Well, you supposed that idolatry was a sin, wasn't it?

And what was your Lucifer to you if not a God?

Did he not hurt you so casually as a God would?

Did he not vanish as a God would?

Did he not love you as a God would?

"It does not have to be this way,"

The booming yet gentle voice called out, that desperate edge to it the only tell that its owner knew you as well as she did,

"Remember, dear remedial one, who made you. Who gave you life and embodies through you our eighth heavenly virtue, that which tips the scale away from a balance between us and those seven deadly sins, and instead allows us to exceed their damning weight."

The Seraphim's warning was clear, speak incorrectly again and you would surely be banished, and in turn Heaven, the land you had been created for, would lose it's unspoken eighth virtue, casting things back to the original seven that had been customary before your time, none of which had ever known a world where they and sin had been equally matched.

But even still, you were not a liar, and with every passing day you felt less and less like you could step up to the very virtue you were meant to embody, your persisting grief a constant reminder of what you could not do in spite of what you had been made to represent.

In spite of what you had been made for.

"Now, let me ask you again, loved one,"

The voice spoke up, eyes seeking yours all the while as if trying to sway your answer before you could give it.

"Who do you love more than any other?"

The grand jury of lower seraphims, ophanims, cherubims, and virtues watched on silently, eagerly awaiting your answer with baited breaths they had never truly needed to take.

The answer was meant to be God, of course, and you knew it.

But you suddenly found that it wasn't true, and perhaps it never had been in the first place, for you had not felt as if you had been touched by God since your creation, and even still, it was not his divine touch that you longed for each evening, but another entirely.

One that you supposed was divine no longer to anyone who was not you, anyone who had not held the face of the seraphim before his fall.

No, he was divine to them no longer, but to you...

Well, you had already admitted long ago that he was everything,

And you could lie no longer.

"The Lightbringer."

You began, the room growing tense in an instant, the silence somehow growing more thick the very moment those words passed your lips,

"Lucifer Morningstar."

The high seraphim frowned, the weight of what she had to do to one she'd called a friend for so long acting as a burden she wished she did not have to carry.

But alas, not all angels had been made defective, so it seemed.

She did as she needed to do.

"Then today I'm afraid that Heaven loses it's eighth heavenly virtue to the pits of Hell."

You flinched at her words in spite of yourself, the knowledge of what was to come causing your heart to hammer within your chest.

Angels were meant to fly, not fall, after all.

The seraphim stepped forward, her eyes slightly clouded with a grief you knew all too well. You hoped she would not miss you as you did him.

She placed her hand upon your shoulder, bringing your full attention back to her once more,

"It is a shame that God made you as he did."

She spoke gently, each word she uttered drenched in pity.

"He does not deserve this betrayal."

You nodded solemnly in response, and bowed your head, waiting.

The high seraphim took a deep breath.

"I hereby banish you, our eighth heavenly virtue, Forgiveness, from Heaven forevermore for your treasonous acts against our holy father. May you repent forever in the fiery depths below."

And with that, your halo disintegrated completely, its golden shimmers falling all around your head as you looked around at those you had been created with one final time.

Your eyes flickered back to the seraphim, mouth opening just as the ground began to split at your feet.

"Goodbye, Sera."

You said gently, watching a stray tear fall from your dear friend's face before suddenly, all light seemed to vanish, and you found yourself hurdling into the abyss so fast that the wind almost felt as if it were burning you alive the whole way down.

And yet, all that you could think about was how ironic it was, truly,

That your Lightbringer had only ever led you into darkness.

[seoksgrl]

rather be dead than cool, 1 : jjk nerd!jungkook x popular!reader college au, dislike to love genderbent shes all that au

tws: some slight bullying (?), rich people being rich people

m.list

next

One thing could be said for you, and that is that you’re an overachiever. You set your goals way too high (some might say) and then struggle to reach them (also up for debate). 

Since you were a youngster clicking around the nursery yard in baby Gucci from head to toe, you’ve always known you were destined for greater things than the bumbling little town you happened to be born in. If it weren’t for your father building a large technology empire in your formative years, perhaps you would have turned out differently. But he raised you to work hard and to take everyone you know with a pinch of salt. 

High school had been a breeze, popularity and good genes meant you had many friends, but your father always reminded you that people could be bought. They always needed something from you, whether it be an elevation in social status or just a bite of your granola bar, your friends had motives. And you respected them when you were upfront about it.

As expected, you got straight A’s, entered one of the top colleges and built an appropriate social circle. Some call you conceited, shallow, rude - you’re just you. If they don’t like it, you don’t waste any more of your time. People didn’t affect you as much as they did your friends, especially boyfriends. You’d grown up with the knowledge your father instilled in you, meaning that when Park Jimin ended things with you, there wasn’t a tear spilled or an ounce of makeup smudged. 

Jimin had been your boyfriend for the longest of the guys you dated in college - lasting a whole year, in fact. He was good for your popularity, something you’ve grown to enjoy. Why feel bad for taking advantage of something you have no control over? You dated him, now you don’t. You can easily move on and find someone else, or not. You’re well aware of the fact you don’t need anyone. 

Your friends don’t think the same way, however. 

“Oh my god!” Irene gasps, her dainty, ring-adorned hand falls on the shoulder of your Prada sweater and you resist the urge to shrug it off. After all, a snag would just be inconvenient, and those rings house many gaudy diamonds, “Are you okay?”

The question isn’t surprising to you - people have asked you every time you’ve had a break up. The answer is always the same.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Mina’s brows pull together, and you wonder if she waxed them herself. They’re looking uneven, “Well, you guys were together for so long. I mean...did he dump you?”

You shrug, scrolling through Instagram, mainly Jimin’s posts from Spring Break are all that clog your feed. He ended - you both ended things a week before he left. You pause momentarily on a photo of him with what appears to be a cheerleader and close the app. 

“It was mutual,” You check over your acrylics, happy with the peach colour. It matches perfectly with your purse, “I’m good. Really,”

Mina and Irene don’t look convinced, though you truly do feel okay. It wasn’t like you were in love with Jimin or anything - you’d said it to each other, but really, how do you know when you’re in love. Nobody tells you how you’re supposed to feel. Jimin had said it, and so you replied with the same. You had your own way of knowing you didn’t feel much more for Jimin beyond simply liking him, and it was the same measure you used for all friendships and relationships. 

If you were planning to go to the movies, would you want to go with Jimin, or go alone?

The answer had always been alone. Jimin was a talker - he didn’t really watch the movie, and the couple times the two of you had chilled at his place with the TV on, he’d texted or tried to initiate sex with you. The idea of Jimin texting in the movie theatre made you irrationally angry. And so, you always went alone. 

“Jimin was cute,” Mina says suddenly, as if she had thought about it for some time, “You two were like...the It couple. You know?”

It wasn’t a secret to you that your relationship with Jimin had caught some attention in the social circles on campus. Things in a prestigious school such as Yonsei University worked a lot like high school - there are still the familiar cliques you would expect, and as such, you are known as one of the most popular individuals on campus. Popular and well-liked are not, as most might believe, mutually exclusive. You’re aware that some people dislike you, but it’s hard to care. How can they dislike you without knowing you?

“I mean,” You laugh, brushing away a stray hair from your bangs, “Jimin only got popular after we started dating,” And it was true. You would never lie about such a thing, “I feel like I could date anyone and we could become the It couple on campus. Almost everyone we know is single,”

Mina scoffs, a rice cake inches from her lips, “I could date, I just choose not to,”

Irene is the next to speak, her attention moving from your friend to you, “So, what are you saying? You made Jimin the man he is today?” She speaks through her laughter, but you don’t know why. It’s the truth - and you’re not even trying to be up your own ass about it either. 

“Yeah,” You reply, short and sweet, “Making a guy into high class material isn’t difficult. Men are pliable, like clay. You just mould them into what you need,”

Before you and Jimin became official, he was cute. But he wasn’t the kind of cute you would usually date. There was something inside you that yearned for a challenge, something to occupy your time. Doing well on assignments and quizzes was too easy for you. Thanks to your father’s money, he’d bought you the best tutor available to you and so you’re always pretty clued up on what you need to know in class before the semesters begin. 

“You know what,” Irene adjusts her bag on her shoulder, settling herself on the bench beside you. Class is in ten minutes, and you should really start walking, but before you can suggest it, her hand is diving inside her purse and pulling out a cheque book. It has daisies on the pages, and from what you can tell, it’s new, “My dad has lowered my allowance after I put a dent in his Jag. I could use some extra money,” Her smile turns devious, a little like when you were in high school and she confessed to shoplifting a jacket she was wearing, “How about we make this interesting, since you’re so confident?”

Mina is standing in front of the two of you now, cheeks stuffed full with rice cake and she bundles the wrapper in her fist, listening intently. 

You’re not just confident - you’re stubborn. And it was this, you would later realise, that would be your downfall, “Go on,”

“You have until the spring formal,” Irene writes on the cheque, her handwriting flows smoothly, little hearts adorning the i’s, “to turn some random dude into the newest campus hot boy,”

You chuckle, lips preparing to speak before Irene shushes you with the pen.

“To make this a fair bet, Mina will choose the guy,”

Irene wasn’t wrong, you were confident. So confident in fact that the concept of Mina choosing the guy you had to reinvent didn’t phase you at all. In fact, the fire of a new challenge began to build in your gut, and so you agreed, without even knowing what the prize would be. 

“If you win,” Irene speaks, “you get my car,”

Irene’s car is gorgeous, a white Porsche that her father had custom made for her twentieth birthday. Nobody else has anything like it in the world, let alone on campus. The idea of having it for yourself is more than appealing, “And if you win?” 

You raise your brow, waiting for Irene’s answer and fully expecting what you hear fall from her lips, “I get your Tiffany bangle,”

Irene had her eyes on your most prized piece of jewellery ever since you stepped on campus with it after Christmas with your grandma in Paris. Like the Porsche, the bangle was also custom made, and you believed it was probably worth just as much. Confident in your ability to create a new campus It boy, you agree. 

“Great,” Irene smirks, “If this guy doesn’t win Spring King at the formal, we’ll consider it as your loss. Happy with those terms?”

Anyone could win that plastic crown, you’re absolutely sure of it, and so you raise your manicured hand and shake it with that of your friend, sealing the deal and leaving the next part of the bet in the hands of Mina, who stands watching the whole exchange. 

The three of you agree to meet after class, during the free period you all share just after lunch. Your morning passes without issue, mostly because you had already read the book you’re studying during the summer. Now halfway through your senior year, it’s imperative that you remain on top of your game, but with your extra tutoring and excellent average, you have a feeling that would be straight forward. 

By the time you meet up with Mina and Irene again, Mina’s hair is just beginning to fluff up thanks to the humidity carried by the change in season. Spring is slowly morphing into summer, and the grass is at its greenest. As the other students laze about in the April sunshine, you and the girls seat beneath the shade of an old oak with rough bark and thick, flat leaves to shield you all from the rising temperature. 

“Mina thinks she may have found the perfect candidate for our little bet,” Irene begins, luxuriating on the grass, combing the long, black tresses of her hair with her fingers. Mina nods, halfway through braiding her own hair in an effort to quell its frizz, “If you manage to pull this one off, I’ll be very impressed,”

Mina finishes her work, letting her long braid hang over her shoulder before she crosses her legs, leaning forward to speak directly to you, “On my way to chem, I saw the Jeon boy,”

“Jeon?” The name rings a bell, perhaps from high school or middle school, but you can’t think of who Mina could be talking about off the top of your head, “Who is that?”

“Jeon Jeongguk,” She clarifies, “He’s in my art class - a photography major as far as I can tell. He takes fine art as a minor,”

“Do you have a picture? I’d like to at least know what I’m working with here,”

Mina pulls her cell out, just as Irene sits up, looking over your shoulder with a sly grin, “Looks like he heard you. He’s walking over there,”

What you expect to see, you aren’t quite sure. In your mind you’d pictured someone a little more...rough around the edges. Jeon Jeongguk is rough, definitely, but he seems to have a strange, delicate aura about him. From what you can make out as he walks across the back towards the library, he has long, dark hair - gathered up in a rushed pony that springs out the back of his head. He keeps his head down as he walks, clad in oversized sweats and a matching sweater, large backpack over one shoulder. He doesn’t look at anyone as he passes them, and it’s only when he looks up at the library that you see the white wire of his earphones swing into sight. 

From this distance, you can’t exactly know for sure, but you can already think of a few pointers regarding his style. The blank, unapproachable expression on his face intrigues you, and there’s that nagging sense of challenge within you that wants to get through to him. To do that, you will have to plan an approach. 

“What do you think?” Irene asks, and you turn back to your friends just as Jeongguk disappears into the building, “I did a little digging with some of the students in my class. He’s a loner from what I hear - a virgin. An excellent canvas,” 

With a shrug, you pop a raspberry into your mouth from the bento box sitting in your lap, “Doesn’t seem like too much work,” You grin, firmly confident in your abilities. The desire to prove yourself wins over everything else, and you continue with lunch, mentally planning a way to turn Jeongguk from loner to It boy in six weeks. 

What you’re doing right now isn’t exactly stalking, more like research. Shades perched on the bridge of your nose, you peek over them to where the Jeon boy is sitting; the target of your bet with Irene. The very same guy who will win you that Porsche. 

It’s a mere twenty-four hours since Irene proposed this bet, and you’ve skipped labs solely to begin your job as soon as possible, paying a girl to take notes for you and cover should your professor ask questions about your absence. No middle aged man can compete against a good menstrual cramp story. During said time, a half hour so far, you’ve learned some small things about Jeon Jeongguk. His hair looks damaged, grown out far too long and unkept for his face shape - a face shape that is, surprisingly, not bad. From this distance anyway. Said hair is currently hanging around his face, like a curtain, shielding him off from the world. He’d stayed like that for some time, and until a familiar student in junior year walked by, you hadn’t thought much of it. 

But then, something peculiar and, quite frankly, hard to watch happened. Jeon Jeongguk, famed loner of Yonsei’s esteemed campus, stood up and attempted to talk to the girl. As you’d lowered your shades, her face came into focus and you recognised her from one of the christmas parties you’d attended. Sana, her name was - very pretty, very shy. Though, from what you witnessed, not shy enough to shut Jeongguk down. 

And now here you are, almost fifteen minutes since the whole embarrassing affair happened, and Jeongguk successfully retreated once Sana left, crouching on the grass in a shady corner by the arts building, scribbling in a notebook. He hasn’t moved an inch since. 

You grin to yourself, going over the miniscule events over the past forty five minutes staring - no, observing Jeongguk, realising this is your in. This is how you’re going to get this guy to agree to the makeover of his college career. Everyone wins; you win your bet, and the chance to retain your impeccable track record, and Jeongguk gets the girl. Nobody will be able to resist Jeon Jeongguk when you’re done with him. As much as you hate to admit it, he’s not totally hopeless.

One thing your friends don’t know is that Jeongguk isn’t all that bad. Minus the overalls, haphazard man-bun and a complete lack of social skills. Okay, so he won’t turn into a stud overnight - so what? Hard work births the best results and at least you have a starting point: the guy’s tall. You know you can make this work.

You have no issues with approaching Jeon, sashaying over the patch of grass between you until you’re all but casting a shadow on his notebook. There’s some faint scratches of black, rushed and wild on the page, though he snatches it away before you can really see what it is, glancing up at you beneath his hand, shielding his hands from the final bursts of winter sunshine. 

He doesn’t respond to your outstretched hand, and upon further inspection, you note the ink staining his knuckles and digits, thinking better of your introduction and letting your hand fall back to your side. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” You grin brightly, a smile that has won you many a debate, “Y/N,”

“I know who you are,” Is all he says before he’s looking back down at his notebook, flipping it closed with a finality that indicates he believes your interaction is over. You frown. Jeongguk stands, and you realise how right you were about his height. The guy towers over you, enough so that now the roles are reversed, and you are the one shielding your eyes from the bright sky. 

“You do? I can’t say I’m surprised,” You reply, winning smile fixed back on your lips, your resolve as hard as steel, “I’m head of student government,”

Jeongguk doesn’t reply to that, he just gives you a weary once over and starts walking. Very rude, you can’t help but think. Though you won’t be deterred - you have a bet to win, after all. Your legs carry you across the grass, working a little harder in an effort to catch up with Jeon’s strides. He seems eager to get away from you, and that only makes you more determined to win him over. 

“I would have thought you’d welcome some social interaction,” You huff out, almost out of breath as you shuffle behind Jeongguk, his broad shoulders hunched as he approaches the sidewalk, heading to one of the buildings close to the science block. If your professor sees that you skipped class to talk to some guy, Jeon Jeongguk no less, you will be in danger of damaging your flawless reputation. 

Jeongguk scoffs at your words, though you barely hear it above the sound of your own breathing, and he leaves you no choice but to bring out the big guns earlier than planned.

“I noticed you were talking to my friend, Sana,”

He stops in his tracks, a great sigh heaving from his massive shoulders, and he turns, facing you with a look of trepidation and curiosity. His eyes are impossibly big, like really - you can’t believe someone can have such huge, doe-like eyes. He looks down at you, almost through you, and it has you blinking away for a moment. 

“You...know Sana?” He asks, his voice full to the brim with weariness, and you almost feel sorry for the guy. But, you’re not that nice of a person. 

“I do,” You smile, hiding the fact your lungs ache for you to take a full breath. It’s a lie, but only a little one. You’re the most popular girl on campus, Sana knows who you are. “I noticed you guys talking earlier,”

At this, he blushes, a faint bloom of red in his cheeks that looks so out of place on a face that was almost scowling at you moments prior. He clears his throat, apparently reigning in any outward evidence of his crush, fixing you with a confused frown, “You noticed?”

Fuck. “I was in the area. You don’t own the quad you know,”

You escape his scrutiny, just barely, and he lands another question on you. His hesitation isn’t surprising to you - after all, this morning you didn’t know this guy existed, you can’t blame him for being suspicious about someone suddenly prying into his life. But you’re stubborn, and eager to win. Your competitiveness can get you into the strangest situations if you let it, so when Jeongguk asks why you’re interested in him and Sana (or the absence of him and Sana), you know exactly what to say. 

“Well, I know Sana,” As you have said, despite it being a lie, “and if you wanna get her attention, you’re not gonna do it looking the way you do,”

His frown is back again, and he almost resembles a kicked puppy. 

“The template is fine. Basically, you just need some new clothes, a hair change. I can help - I like seeing my friends happy, and you don’t seem like an axe murderer or anything,” You flash him your winning smile again, and this time, it seems to be well-received, “Let me help. I’m acing all my classes, please give me something to do. I’m bored,”

He shoots you a look of mild bewilderment before he considers your proposal, still hesitant. Though, he glances behind you, eyes lighting up and you follow his line of sight towards where the girl in question stands, sitting with her friends. Sana is completely unaware of the way Jeongguk stares after her like a hungry mouse, innocence playing across his features, and you wonder if he’s as pure deep down in his soul as Irene implied. There’s a softness to him that continues to intrigue you the longer you stand here, watching him pine after his crush, and you’re only awoken from your inner thoughts when Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours, a little too wide having found you already watching him. 

“Okay,” He says, eyes once more finding Sana in the background, “I’ll let you help me,”

[cocogum]

Yugo and Amalia’s relationship is much more complicated than you think.

Sometimes I wonder what Amalia meant when she said “Nothing is impossible.” at Yugo’s explanation of why they couldn’t be together.

Like I know you want that eliatrope ass but he’s got a point shawty.

What do you think would’ve happened if he got into a relationship earlier on with you??? Can you imagine how it would’ve looked like?? My god there would be so much drama and rumours in the Sadida kingdom….but like really big ones to the point where it wouldn’t sound funny or entertaining anymore, but just criminal 💀

Also, how is she gonna….you know? Do anything to him? Sure, Yugo’s mentally a man but he still has a 10-year-old body.

Did Amalia not think this through when she told him “Nothing is impossible.”???? Either she said that because she genuinely only wanted to keep things pure with him besides hand-holding and kissing, or she’s just a really freaky bitch in bed.

There can’t be anything else, it’s either one of them or she just said that without thinking.

Imagine being a servant in her kingdom if Yugo did get together with her before season 3…..I love drama but I don’t wanna get scarred for life, there’s a limit.

Amalia would legit be the scariest one in the relationship though. Like it’s cute and very loyal of her to accept him even if he doesn’t look like a grown man but if you’re fine getting tongue kissed by him ON THE MOUTH when he looks like a minor AND you don’t care what others say, then you’re a menace to society. I wouldn’t even be worried for Yugo, I’d just be worried for everyone else’s sake. (Before ppl come for my ass, dw i loved the yumalia kiss cuz no one was around them-)

Some people are saying that Yugo’s reason for not being with her is bs because “love is love” and “Yugo can just explain that his race ages slowly to people”.

When in actuality, it’s all very much more complicated than it already looks.

In fact, their relationship could raise so many problems and conflicts that I decided to list them up for you. Here are the following reasons why these two being together can go very wrong:

1) Amalia isn’t a normal Sadida. She’s a PRINCESS of the SADIDA KINGDOM. Marriage isn’t just some event that happens and then ends. It won’t look like the one Dally and Eva had. Royal marriages are a bigger deal than they let on and it’s a public thing to witness.

2) Amalia is a public and authoritative figure. Meaning that if she were to marry Yugo, the whole world would know that she got with a man who’s stuck in a child’s body. Sure, even if Yugo explained the situation to the other nations, this would still look very weird and off-putting for the others to see. People would still wonder why (and especially how) Amalia fell in love with Yugo when he looks like that. They would definitely start asking questions. Not to mention that if Amalia were to showcase who she loves to the world, plenty of sick twisted people would see their relationship and feel encouraged to continue their behavior (you know exactly what kind of ppl I’m talking about here). And if those same disgusting people got caught doing immoral things with children, they would just point fingers at Amalia and say “But if she does it, how come I can’t?”. They’d start blaming her for their actions, making her look even worse to the public.

3) No matter how you look at their relationship, the only ones who would genuinely feel comfortable witnessing them together would be Ruel, Eva, Dally, Adamaï, and even Elely and Flopin. They know Yugo and Amalia on a personal level because they have all been through so much with these two that they know exactly how they are and know that Amalia isn’t the type to take advantage of Yugo like that. But if the rest of the world were to see them like this? That’s a hard no.

4) Amalia claims that she doesn’t care what other people think. That means she wouldn’t be ashamed or shy to give Yugo affection out in public, she definitely feels like the type to do public displays of affection with her significant other. Who knows who could see them together? Teenagers, adults, senior citizens, but especially the children who would pass by them and be too confused to understand why a grown woman is kissing a ‘child’ like that.

5) Her family (which currently consists of Armand and Aurora) would immediately stop her from getting together with Yugo. Because yes, her family would also be a problem. (I was surprised that I didn’t see a lot of people mention the Sadida family to be another factor against their relationship.) Armand is too much of a strict brother. He won’t be easy to sway and he always says what he thinks. He’d immediately (and clearly) explain to Amalia that this decision of hers is a very disgusting and shocking one. The idea of throwing harsh words at her wouldn’t seem very far-fetched for Armand to do. Not only that, but he’d also start to become very strict on her, wanting to know her whereabouts at all times and make sure that her time outside of the kingdom is limited since he now knows he can’t trust her when it comes to what types of men she loves and especially who she’s friends with. Aurora, on the other hand, is already very manipulative so she’d most likely side with her husband on everything that he says when it comes to Amalia.

6) And last but not least, her relationship with Yugo would make the royal Sadida family look extremely bad in front of the other kingdoms and nations. Like I said before, since Amalia is a public/authoritative figure due to her royal status, her choices to inflict any action has a chance to make her family look bad. The same can be said for Armand too if he did anything without thinking.

So in short, not only would Amalia and Yugo’s relationship look weird and wrong to the world no matter what Yugo says, but their relationship could also affect and hurt a lot of people if these two are not careful or aware of how they’d look like, especially Amalia.

[mars-barsz]

In this essay I will talk about how Rick could have made Jason a more interesting character to more people

Im not joking, Drews is next and why she really wasnt that bad of a person, just a traumatized teen

CW FOR MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU HAVENT FINISHED ALL THE BOOKS!!!!

Starting off I fully believe most people didn't like Jason because he was a random new guy, like we were expecting Percy and got some amnesiac and didn't get to see out hero happy and living his life for the entire book, and he was so confused most the time, because he fully didn't remember anything, he wasn't even given the same fake memories to try and act normal, he didn't know his own name when he woke up on that bus, we had to personality to go off of at the start, because HE DIDNT KNOW WHO HE WAS! People always say Leo was the best out of the lost trio and that's because so many people could relate to him, he used humor to cover stuff up, like everyone's favorite mc did (Percy). Piper had her own struggles, like finding out who she thought was her boyfriend, didn't know who she was, she was being manipulated and her dad was being held hostage as she was told to kill her friends, and she AND Leo were in a WILDERNESS SCHOOL. A. WILDERNESS. SCHOOL. I got off topic, sorry, but piper had so many of her own stuff she was working through in the way she thought was correct, by lying and hiding things. Jason had nothing, he knew he didn't remember anything and he was sad. Leo had a personality and was content separate to them, obviously he had issues but he was the most similar to Percy, so fans liked him the most (imo)

Now, onto how rick could have made Jason better

made him actually an awesome fighter, he killed monsters with his bare hands and was raised by wolves since two, he should have been equal to or even better than Percy with muscle memory and all, which yeah he had but he still should have had a more feral side to him, he was said to climb the ranks at camp Jupiter and was a bit more wild than other romans, I think it would have been interesting to see Jason use his instincts more and be a little feral when he lost his memory, not having his camp Jupiter training but muscle memory and instincts to guide him and keep him going

He should have been more separated from Percy, he was not a comparison to Percy and I don't like that was how he was written, I don't have much to say about this but I really didn't like when they both sat at the head of the table

He should have gotten his memories back like percy did, He never got to learn who he was or what he stood for in the past because he never got to get those back, even after the war ended hera/juno didnt return them, which I think would have made a really interesting ending to TLH, or getting them during the quest or something, but he dies without knowing who he was, only a pawn for the gods

Have had mention of him previously, like a picture thalia had and thats why she even agreed to bring annabeth, because she reminded her of jason, or just that she even HAD a little brother so readers could have had a fun plot twist and even more of a heart warming reuniting scene

Adding to that a bit i think thalia and jason really should have had more time together, like maybe in toa mentioning that thalia had been visiting jason when she could to catch up on lost time, to be siblings again and try to live as normally as possible. (off topic but i think the jason/luke comparisons are 50/50, i like others seeing it and Thalia at first but removing the idea immediately because at one point she liked luke and jason is her baby brother)

Let him be awake during fight scenes

I think jason could have grown more, and adapted a mix of fighting, a bit roman, a bit greek, and a bit feral, to match how his life was

when we see him in toa i think it would have been fun to see how much he had grown, experimenting with new styles (maybe a bit more alt considering his older sister, but he was at a boys school so maybe outside of it?) Just, growing into himself and not focusing on the gods as much, he lived and died for them, without much in return

Let us know who his friends were before he lost his memories, like have percy seens people asking around or being asked if he had seen a blonde gut about yae high, named jason, just stuff like that to show he had a community or at least someone who truly cared he was gone

Ik it was more of a list but yk, also sorry for the lack of punctuation, i forget it exists unless its an excessive amounts of commas, i like commas, and forget to capitalize my I's

Thanks for coming to my ted talk

[inchidentally]

Lando's eyes always sparkle when he looks at Oscar and it captures my heart every time. You can see that Lando likes Oscar very much and his eyes don't even hide it. God, their relationship is so intimate that sometimes it's hard to watch without feeling like a third wheel. Oscar, I don't know how you did it, but as a Lando fan, I'm grateful that I get to see this version of Lando every time he's around you.

straight up anon, the shift in Lando when he got a teammate who exists on the same natural wavelength as him has been a thing to behold ??

like, Lando is someone who goes through life looking for romance and he so easily gets a crush on anyone who populates his world with something special or beautiful. that's what has made Oscar such a unique relationship for Lando because Oscar doesn't consider himself or his life at all in the world of romance or fantasy. he considers himself extremely practical, "low frequency" and enjoying the simple things in life. he's not at all a typical heroic figure like Carlos or a big camera-ready personality like Daniel. Lando's interest in Oscar has been a slow but steady curiosity that has grown even without Oscar initiating a joint hobby or going on outings together or playing up a bromance for fans. Lando was definitely a little unmoored by the lack of all of that for a while!

the only two aberrations in Oscar's calm and cool are his pursuit of F1 and his fascination with Lando, which we know to have been intertwined as early as him moving to the UK at 14. there is serious romance in the way they ended up as teammates and major drama of Oscar's determination to get that seat.

but! then there's Lando saying how he sees them as similar to each other back in July 2023! bc Lando had always used self-mockery to interrupt his moments of earnestness and in a lot of ways was always striving to be Just A Guy to fit in with the guys in his life. his creativity would pop out very occasionally but mostly he became known for being naturally funny and able to click with just about anyone by matching their energy and adapting to their humor. he even took great pride in The Lando Effect - which ironically was more about Lando changing to suit Carlos and Daniel, who he has almost separate versions of himself with. he was the baby brother as always, wanting to hang out with his older brothers and wanting to fit in.

and then he gets Oscar as a teammate who seems content to just stay back and watch Lando and observe Lando and learn everything about Lando he doesn't already know. who seems to have no limit when it comes to handling the full range of Lando's personality and never tells - or even jokes - that Lando should change a single thing, even when it directly impacts Oscar. Lando doesn't have to match Oscar's energy and it turns out! they both like it best when Lando doesn't try!

which is when we started seeing lando.jpg reemerge and 7 podiums and a new hunger for even more and higher expectations of himself and a calmer, more authentic - less cartoonish - Lando on camera in challenges and social media. he even said how Oscar taught him by example the importance of "keeping calm and being yourself". of course silly, fun Lando is still there! he's still little brother to Carlos and Daniel and George and Alex! but those are now some of the many facets we've gotten to see in the past 14 months!

the winter break was a revelation because Lando spoke to fans solely through his camera lens and the reflections of the beautiful world he saw as he traveled. no goofing, no pretense, no corporate. his chosen pose for all his photos was partly in fun, partly symbolic of his confidence that he didn't need to sell these photos as selfies for them to blow up all over social media.

and all the while Oscar was quietly on his own down time and training, liking Lando's posts and saying "you went everywhere!" and listening to Lando recount it all.

then Lando came back to work this year and everything about him wore a new sheen of beauty and romance to it, including him having grown more beautiful. he's used his beauty more consciously when modeling and even LN4 and Quadrant took on a more stylized look. his new McLaren contract announcement was an entire aesthetic complete with a short film.

like, obv this whole post is me going off on a whole stupid thing but just. Lando was always meant to live his life in a unique way and he was always meant to see things through romance and art and music. he wasn't supposed to apologize for enjoying racing as a means of attaining perfection one day. and there's Oscar who reflects back to Lando all the quirks and things that make Lando unique that he's memorized over the years, listening to Lando's music in place of the usual silence in his own driver's room, helping Lando navigate unknown food and new lengthy words and knowing when Lando is comfortable to take the lead in public speaking and when Lando needs Oscar to step in and handle it. pushing Lando all the time as a teammate and the whole friction creates the pearl analogy.

idk it's just not as huge a leap as I thought last year to say that Oscar's comfortable, placid life has long had a splash of color in it at last in some part because of Lando and that Lando has become the most authentic and brilliant version of himself at least in some part because Oscar is there to always appreciate it.

like this little moment of Lando giving Oscar a nickname and Oscar finding it the best thing he's ever heard and Lando's half-stunned and delighted smile at being able to do that to Oscar is just all of that distilled:

Oscar's confidence has returned and he's smoothing over the awkward PR duties while Lando is relaxed and confident and the little quips like this just come so naturally. (the way Lando actually wriggles in his chair with delight over Oscar's reaction !!) like, Lando doesn't have to try ! he doesn't have to try to be anyone but himself ! there's someone here at work with him all day and every day who is delighted by him no matter what !

and what's even better is apparently! now that they both understand and exist on that wavelength together, they've returned from winter break circling around each other and looking for each other more than they ever have <3

[marifilue]

Part 10: What Remained Of Us

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n.

Warnings: Violence, Angst, Mature content

Word count: 24.8k

A/N: This turned out to be longer than I intended because I really wanted to give these two a proper goodbye. Apologies for taking more time than usual, and thank you for reading this final part. I've written 92k words which is roughly 300 pages for this fic series, so enjoy! :D

What Makes Us Human Completed

<- Part 9

Einstein was right about his theory of relativity, not that you were the biggest fan of physics class back then, but sure, you caught a thing or two. The past three weeks had felt like the longest you’d ever experienced. Since that collar was... Wow, you can't believe you could say it in a past tense now. Since that collar was restraining your ability, three weeks had felt like a three goddamn shitty years.

You didn’t even feel that way when you were nothing more than a servant to the military. Back then, the concept of time blurred as you grew strangely fond of your well, forced mutation. As much as you despised the idea, you’d made peace with yourself, the ability is cool as fuck. You’ve had it for twenty eight years now yes, you counted. Twenty eight years is longer than the age you received those injections: twenty seven.

Back to that theory of relativity, one you could actually apply right now, in your daily life. You swore the clock was lying when you glanced at the table to check the time, how many hours had you spent with Logan on this bed? The two of you had agreed to clean up together after this mess—the one both of you, but particularly him, had made. Yet, you kept saying, “Five more minutes,” as you lay there, cuddled in his arms, skin to skin.

Both of your naked bodies were tucked under the warmth of the blanket. His left arm served as your human pillow, while his right hand roamed over your body, tracing circles with his fingers. Your right hand never left the toned muscles of his abs. You’d had your intrusive thoughts about licking them earlier—which he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, judging by his expression, he enjoyed it. That look on his face would never leave your mind, and it made you smiled to imagined it again, as your fingers trailed down his happy trail. Only after that blissful moment, which felt like heaven on earth, did you finally glance at the clock. It was already dark outside, but seriously—eight p.m.?

"Shit, it’s eight." Your head whipped from the clock back to Logan.

He let out a weak chuckle. "Still wanna shower?"

You shrugged, letting your palm glide over the popped veins on his bicep. Good god, he really was a sight. For a guy who’d been around since forever, he definitely hadn’t wasted a second of it achieving this every man's dream physique.

Before you could answer, not wanting to pass the chance to shower with his Greek marble statue-like figure, a muffled knock echoes from the hall. The sound is faint, making it clear it didn’t come from your room’s door, you assume it’s Logan’s room, across from yours.

You glance toward your door, pulling the blanket higher over the two of you. “Looks like you’ve got company.”

Logan continues to squeeze your waist gently, as if he could reassure you. “Probably Marie. Kid can’t breathe five minutes without seein' me.”

You let out a low chuckle, knowing that despite the joke, the two of them have grown attached to each other. You can’t help but think Marie might have a little crush on him, but you don’t really see that as a problem. She’s a teenage girl, and Logan found her during a hard time, like a savior kinda way. It’s a pretty reasonable feeling for her to have.

Still, you can see Logan loves her like she’s one of his own, like a daughter. Damn, he’d make a great father, you think to yourself.

But then, a voice pulled you out of your thoughts about Logan—a voice you’d become all too familiar with.

"Logan? I’m coming in." Ororo voice faint.

The steps faltered as the door handle jiggled, only to stop short. You glanced up at Logan, sharing a silent, mutual hope. This was kind of a fucked-up situation. Shit.

Thank god you’d insisted Logan lock the door.

"That’s new," Logan muttered, more to himself than to you.

You clutched him tighter, shrinking into his warmth as if trying to make yourself as small as possible. Other thoughts began creeping into your mind now, like how the team would react to this. You and Logan? Nobody could’ve seen this coming.

The two of you didn’t say a word—not that it felt awkward. In fact, it was comfortable, really. Such a safe feeling, one you hadn’t realized you’d been longing for all this time.

Then the silence broke with the one thing you dreaded most at that moment: a knock. And it wasn’t just any knock—it was on your door now.

Shit, shit, shit.

You straightened up immediately, your body tensing as if facing an active threat. Ororo called your name, her voice loud and clear.

Instinctively, you whispered to Logan, "Go! To the bathroom, now." He half-frowned in response, clearly taken aback by the sudden secret-affair role he didn’t remember signing up for.

"Why?" he asked, with the audacity to question you in this situation. You shot him a look.

"It’s Ororo!" you whispered harshly, your tone low but not lacking bite. "The door opens straight this way—she’s gonna see you. C’mon, chop chop, mutton chops." You chuckled softly at your own words. God, you hadn’t called him that in what felt like ages.

Another knock came, firmer this time, followed by Ororo’s voice, clearer and more insistent. "I can hear you in there. Open the door."

You didn’t miss the way he rolled his eyes, accompanied by that signature grunt of his. Was he really going to risk everything by staying in your bed for Ororo to see? Dear god, you had a reputation to uphold here.

When he didn’t move fast enough, you gave his body a shove, forcing him to get up. Standing, you pointed firmly toward the bathroom. He picks up his clothes and walked as if it was the heaviest task in the world, each step deliberate and slow.

Meanwhile, you scrambled to pick up your panties from the end of the bed and your shirt from the floor, throwing them on to look at least somewhat appropriate. Pacing toward the door, you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for whatever came next.

Now standing in front of your door, you glanced back at Logan—he hadn’t even reached the bathroom yet. "Close the door, c’mon, faster!" you whispered urgently, not even sure if he’d hear you. Finally, he walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Your focus shifted back to the door. With a sigh, you unlocked it and opened it halfway.

Ororo’s expression immediately shifted from irritated to slightly shocked. She lets out a small gasps, her jaw dropping before she quickly covered it with her palm.

You raised your eyebrows, smiling awkwardly. "Ro?" you asked, clearly puzzled by her sudden reaction.

She scoffed, then broke into the widest smile you’d ever seen. "The collar!"

The realization hit you as your hand instinctively went to your neck, your fingers brushing against bare skin. It was a feeling you hadn’t taken the time to savor, too busy savoring Logan earlier.

"Yeah, Hank figured it out," you said softly, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

Ororo stepped forward, her joy radiating as she wrapped her arms around your neck. Dear god, you hoped she wouldn’t mind the sweat on you, or the lingering smell. You returned the hug, wrapping your arms around her back.

As she briefly opened her eyes, her gaze landed on the mess of your bed. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, but she said nothing. It definitely wasn’t her business—but judging by the faint shift in her expression, she could’ve guessed.

She pulled back, flashing another wide smile, her shining teeth on full display. "I thought Hank was messing with me," she said, her hands lingering on your shoulders before letting go completely.

"He did a really great job. I couldn’t be more thankful," you replied, smiling.

Ororo’s gaze softened briefly before she glanced around the room. "Where’s Logan, by the way?"

Panic hit you like a freight train, and without thinking, you blurted, "I haven’t seen him all day."

The lie spilled out so suddenly that it caught even you off guard. Ororo furrowed her brows, her head tilting slightly. "That’s strange. Hank told me he gave the chip to Logan to unlock your collar," she explained, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

You clicked your tongue, realizing you’d been caught red-handed. "Right, of course," you stammered, quickly pointing a finger at Ororo. "Sorry, I just woke up. He did bring the chip to unlock the collar, but then he left."

You were doubling down now, lying even more. Ororo’s expression tightened—she wasn’t buying it.

"Alright then," she said, clearly unconvinced but choosing not to press further. "Anyway, the Professor left for another conference. Scott thought it’d be great for us to hang out—just at the bar down the street. I’m heading there with Jean and Hank. You wanna come? We can ask Logan to look after the kids. It’s Friday night, after all."

Your response came a little too cheerful, the faux excitement evident even to yourself. "That would be great!" you chirped.

"I know, right? We'll just have to find Logan first" she said, her tone bright.

You chuckled nervously. "But I can’t," you said, shaking your head.

Ororo blinked, taken aback. "Why? Come on, you deserve it."

You nodded with a soft smile. "Yeah, don't worry about me you guys have fun. I’ll stay and look after the kids. Besides, Logan’s nowhere to be found, and I’m just feelin a bit tired, s’all." You placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, hoping to ease her concern.

Though your excuse was flimsy, Ororo relented with a sigh. "Fine, but I’ll bring you something, don’t worry."

You smiled again, leaning slightly toward the door, hoping she’d leave soon. "I’m counting on it," you said with a light chuckle.

As Ororo turned back and disappeared down the hallway toward the stairs, you finally closed the door and leaned against it.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you glanced at the bathroom door. You’d just hidden Logan—from Ororo—in your room.

You walked toward the bathroom door, reaching for the handle. When you pressed it, it didn’t click open—Logan had locked it from the inside.

"Logan?" you called, but there was no answer.

"They’re going out to the bar. You can join them if you want to," you said, raising your voice slightly toward the door. What the hell was he doing in there? You knocked again, this time with a little more force, guessing he hadn’t heard you the first time—but that didn’t seem possible.

"Logan? Open the door," you said, your tone firmer now.

Inside the small bathroom, Logan was already pulling on the jeans he’d picked up from the floor earlier. His shirt rested by the sink, forgotten for the moment as he stared at his own reflection—specifically, his eyes. What the hell was going on with him?

It wasn’t exactly the first time a woman had hidden him. Hell, once, he’d even been stashed in a wardrobe. He had a reputation for getting involved with women already in relationships. He’d even eyed Jean a few times when he first settled into the mansion.

But it had always been just a stupid fling to him—something meaningless. He didn’t care. He never did. At least, not until now. What had changed?

You?

Seriously?

He frowned, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake the thought loose. He felt embarrassed.

You weren’t even in a relationship—there was supposedly no reason for you to hide him. At least, not in his logic. Why’d you have to hide him like that? Were you embarrassed?

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. You were both adults, and so was Ororo. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of... right? Still, the knot in his chest refused to loosen.

Then a thought hit him, one so obvious it almost made him feel stupid for not realizing it sooner. He didn’t actually know if you were in a relationship or not.

The realization stopped him cold. He’d never asked. You’d never mentioned anything. For all he knew, there could be someone else in your life.

The idea gnawed at him, an unexpected twist of jealousy and unease stirring in his gut. Should he ask? Right now, while you were still outside the door knocking and calling his name?

Hell yes, he should. At least then, he’d know.

But then again, did he really want to hear the answer? What if it was something he didn’t want to deal with? What if it changed everything?

He let out a frustrated grunt, running a hand through his hair. His reflection in the mirror stared back, eyes conflicted and filled with questions he didn’t have answers to.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. His attention shifted when something on the floor caught his eye.

A delicate gold necklace with a red heart-shaped pendant lay near his feet, gleaming faintly in the light. His brow furrowed as he crouched to pick it up, holding it carefully between his fingers. For a moment, he studied it, his thumb brushing over the smooth surface of the pendant.

The knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Without a second glance, Logan slid the necklace into the pocket of his jeans and turned toward the door.

"Logan?" you called again, your voice edged with concern. "What are you doing?"

He ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply before finally making a move toward the door.

The door suddenly creaked open, and there he was, standing in the doorway, shirtless displaying full muscles, jeans hanging low on his hips. Logan’s expression was unreadable, though the faint furrow of his brow hinted at something simmering beneath the surface.

His eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made you freeze mid-knock, your hand still hovering in the air. You opened your mouth to ask what was going on, but he beat you to it.

“You seein' someone?” he asked, his tone gruff, low, and uncharacteristically direct.

The question knocked the air right out of you. For a moment, you just stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said—and why the hell he was asking.

“What?” you managed, blinking.

“You heard me.” His eyes searched yours, his jaw set tight. “You got someone in your life or not?”

It wasn’t the question itself that unsettled you, honestly? A reasonable one to ask someone you just had sex with, well. But it was the way he asked it. His voice carried something raw, like he wasn’t just casually curious. Like the answer mattered to him in a way that didn’t quite make sense.

Your lips parted to respond, but no words came out. Instead, you studied his face, the lines around his mouth, the tension in his shoulders. Something had clearly gotten to him, but the reasons behind it were a mystery you couldn’t crack. Was this about Ororo catching him here? Or… was it about something else entirely?

“I don’t… I don’t have anyone,” you finally said, your voice slower, more deliberate. “Why suddenly ask?”

He didn’t flinch, but the shift in his posture was subtle. He leaned against the doorframe, one arm braced against it, his knuckles white. His eyes narrowed slightly, though not in anger.

“I don’t get it,” he said, his tone clipped. “You hid me in here. Why?”

Your heart skipped a beat. The way he phrased it, the accusation buried in his words, made your stomach twist. “I didn’t want Ororo to see you because I didn’t feel like explaining. S'all.”

“Explaining what?” he shot back, his voice sharper now.

“That you were in my room!” you snapped, frustration spilling over. “Do you have any idea how that would’ve looked?”

“And why do you care if it would look like anything?” he asked, stepping closer. “Why do you care so damn much what she thinks?”

You took a step back, suddenly feeling cornered even though he hadn’t raised his voice. His presence was overwhelming, and his words, his questions—they all felt like a trap you hadn’t prepared for.

“I don’t know,” you said, throwing up your hands. “I just didn’t want her to think… I don’t know! That we’re… involved or something. God, this is ridiculous. What is wrong with you?”

His jaw tightened, his eyes dark and stormy as they bore into yours. For a moment, you thought he might actually say something real, something honest. But instead, he straightened up, stepping back toward the bathroom.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still laced with tension. “Forget I asked.”

“Forget you—Logan, what the hell?” you demanded, but he was already turning away.

“Drop it,” he said firmly, grabbing his shirt from the sink and pulling it over his head in one swift motion.

You stood there, stunned, as he brushed past you and headed toward the door. You should’ve let him go. You should’ve let it slide. But something about the way he asked—that vulnerability buried beneath all the bravado—stuck with you.

“Logan,” you called, your voice softer now, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn around.

The door slammed shut behind Logan, the sound echoing in the quiet room and leaving you rooted to the spot, staring at the space he’d just occupied. Your heart pounded in your chest, not from fear or shock, but from sheer frustration.

What the fuck was that?

You try to make sense of the whirlwind that had just stormed through your room. He had the audacity to grill you about your personal life, and then shut down without so much as an explanation? It was infuriating. But then again, wasn’t that just Logan? Always halfway out the door before you could get a real answer, always keeping people at arm’s length.

Fine. Let him brood. You weren’t going to waste your energy trying to figure him out.

The clock on your nightstand read 8:12 PM. Scott, Ororo, Jean, and Hank had definitely left for the bar, excited for a rare night out. You’ve waved Ororo off, claiming you weren’t in the mood. Now, standing alone in your room, you regretted it. At least at the bar, you’d have a distraction.

Instead, you were here, stewing over Logan.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself to move. Stressing around mulling over his cryptic nonsense wasn’t going to get you anywhere. You grabbed a fresh change of clothes and headed for the bathroom, letting the sound of running water drown out your thoughts. By the time you’d finished cleaning up and pulling yourself together, it was close to nine.

You sit down on the edge of the windowsill, propping one foot up as you tighten the final knot of your shoelace. The moonlight filters through the glass, casting shady patterns on the floor. As you lean back slightly, adjusting the fit of your shoe, your gaze falls on the unlocked collar resting nearby.

For a moment, you just stare at it, the light glinting off its cold, unyielding surface. A wave of melancholy washes over you, pulling you into a haze of memories you’d rather forget. Slowly, you reach out and trace your fingertips along the thick metal, its weight almost tangible even without wearing it.

A short, bitter chuckle escapes your lips, breaking the silence. Without warning, you grab the collar and slam it against the concrete edge of the windowsill. The sharp clang echoes through the room, and with enough force, the metal bends slightly. You strike it again and again, as if each blow might break more than just steel.

When the anger subsides, you toss the collar onto the floor, standing over it for a moment. Then, with a final stomp, you turn away, leaving it behind as you step out the door.

You wandered the halls of the mansion, your footsteps light on the wooden floors. Few of the kids were settled for the night, and the usual buzz of activity had quieted down. As you passed the TV room, you caught sight of Logan sitting on the couch, surrounded by a few of the younger kids.

They were watching some old action movie, the screen’s glow casting sharp shadows across Logan’s face. He looked calm, almost relaxed, the gruff tension from earlier smoothed over like it had never existed. He didn’t even glance your way until you moved to leave, your quiet presence catching his attention at the last second.

His eyes was on you as you turned and walked away and you didn’t stop.

Instead, you headed to the library. The heavy wooden doors creaked slightly as you pushed them open, the familiar scent of books and aged paper washing over you. The quiet here was different—soothing, intentional. You let out a long breath as you stepped inside, your tension easing slightly as the door clicked shut behind you.

Finding your usual corner, you pulled a book from the shelf and settled into one of the chairs. You let the silence wrap around you, doing your best to push Logan—and all the tangled emotions he seemed to stir—out of your mind.

As you turned the pages of your chosen book tonight, seated in the most comfortable chair the library had to offer, a loud commotion broke your concentration. The rhythmic patter of children’s hurried footsteps echoed through the halls, accompanied by frantic voices. Your immersion in the world of Wuthering Heights shattered, pulling you back into reality. It was nearly ten o’clock—far past curfew. What on earth was going on?

Curiosity pricked at you, and with a reluctant sigh, you closed the book, setting it carefully on the side table. Rising from your chair, you walked toward the source of the noise.

Outside the library, the chaos unfolded before your eyes. A crowd of panicked children filled the hallway, their anxiety palpable. The swarm of them seemed to converge at the backyard door, spilling out onto the cobblestone path illuminated by faint outdoor lights. From afar, you caught sight of Logan kneeling infront of a boy.

“Back to your rooms, everyone,” you called out, your voice firm but calm. Some of the older teenagers lingered, their curiosity outweighing their obedience. Turning to one of them, you asked, “What happened?”

“I heard there’s a student missing,” a teenage girl replied, her voice trembling.

Your brow furrowed at her words. Missing? Anxiety crept into your chest as you shifted your gaze back to Logan, still kneeling in the yard. Urging the gawking children to disperse, you repeated, “Come on, everyone, back to your rooms. Curfew’s long past.”

As the reluctant crowd thinned, you made your way outside, stepping onto the cool cobblestone steps. Logan’s voice carried through the crisp night air as he spoke to the young boy.

“Listen, Carter, I need you to tell me anything you saw. Did you see a logo? A picture? Maybe a name?”

The small frame of the boy trembling however he chimed in, “I saw a letter. It was on their phone.”

You stepped closer, careful not to interrupt, though Logan briefly glanced over his shoulder, his eyes locking with yours for just a moment before returning to the boy.

“Phone?” he repeated.

“Yeah, it was black and had... like, a long antenna,” the boy explained innocently.

“A handy talk,” Logan muttered, lowering his head slightly as if trying to piece it together. “What letter did you see?” he asked, shifting his attention back to the boy.

“Sac, I can read,” he replied with the same innocent tone.

Logan frowned, a slight furrow in his brow as he repeated the word back to her, confused. “Sak?”

The boy nodded eagerly, as if confirming his guess. “Yeah, Sac.”

Logan shook his head, his confusion growing. “How do you spell it?”

Before the boy could respond, something clicked in your brain. The pieces fell into place, and you couldn’t stop yourself from stepping in.

“S-A-C,” you said, spelling it out clearly, each letter cutting through the tension.

The little boy's eyes lit up as he pointed his small finger at you. “That’s right!” he said brightly.

Logan’s expression darkened, the weight of the realization settling over him. He glanced back at you, his jaw tightening.

“SAC, Special Activities Center,” he repeated, this time with understanding—and dread.

The word hit you like a cold slap. You folded your arms against the chill, the night air biting through your sweater.

“Thanks, Carter. You head back inside now.” Logan stand on his feet as he pat the child gently, sending him towards the mansion's backdoor.

Once he scurried off, you stepped closer to him, your voice low but urgent. “What's going on?”

Logan rose to his feet, brushing his hands on his jeans. “That's Carter he's Maya and Ellie friends.”

Your stomach dropped. “Maya? Where’s Maya?”

Logan hesitated, taking a deep breath. “The three of them were playing hide-and-seek out here earlier. Maya wandered out here to find them... she finds Ellie first, then Carter saw two people in black clothes take them two.”

“SAC take them?” you repeated, the weight of the revelation sinking in. “They're connected with the CIA. The fuck do they want?”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. But if they’re involved, this isn’t just about them mutants children—it’s about all of us. They’re watching, and now they’re making their move.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your thoughts racing as dread settled heavily over you both. The children inside weren’t safe, not anymore. The larger force at play had finally made its presence known, and the mansion, once a sanctuary, had turned into a trap.

“Shit” you said finally, meeting Logan’s grim gaze. “We need to find them.”

His nod was slight, but the determination in his expression was unmistakable. “We will.”

The team gathered in the common room for a late midnight meeting no one would expected, their exhaustion palpable. Scott slumped in his chair, the scent of alcohol faint but unmistakable, while Ororo leaned heavily against the armrest, her eyes half-lidded with fatigue. Jean sat cross-legged, her fingers massaging her temples, and Hank rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.

The situation frustrated you as bad as it already was. Fuck this. If it weren’t for the team’s fun night out, all of you would be out there looking for the poor little girls. You thought about doing it alone—after all, you were the only adult who wasn’t drunk or exhausted. Wait... there’s still Logan.

Fuck him. You're not going anywhere with him. The two of you still hadn’t addressed whatever the hell was going on between you.

If you waited until morning, they’d sure as hell be hungover or nowhere near the appropriate condition for a mission like this. And knowing these people all too damn well, they wouldn’t let you sneak into a CIA headquarters alone.

But you’d do it anyway.

You’d have to sneak your way out of this. Screw them. They’d be thankful as fuck when you took matters into your own hands.

“We have to address this in the morning,” Jean said, her voice steady but weary. “The professor will know the best approach.”

Of course, one of them would eventually say it. You had guessed it would be Scott, but maybe Jean read his mind first—like she’s probably doing to you right now. Fuck, I should clear my mind, you thought to yourself.

Hank sighed, his fingers tapping the edge of the table. “I’ve done some preliminary research, but it’s just theories right now. The CIA base we suspect isn’t far from here, and given Killebrew’s ties to the military, this might all be connected. If I’m right, they’ve been operating covertly, experimenting on mutants in ways we haven’t fully grasped yet.”

Ororo straightened, her brow furrowed. “That’s not something we can charge into without a solid plan. It’s dangerous.”

Scott waved a hand, his tone slurred but determined. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Right now, we all need rest.”

Jean nodded, glancing around the room. “Agreed. Maya and Ellie will need us at our best when we go after her.”

One by one, the team dispersed, their heavy steps echoing down the mansion’s halls. But you couldn’t shake the weight in your chest. The image of those girls—scared, alone, possibly suffering—played on a loop in your mind. By two in the morning, sleep had become impossible as you kept staring at the ceilings with eyes wide open, contemplating your plan which you came with none.

"Fuck this." You quickly changed into black cargo pants and a tight black long-sleeve shirt that pressed against your figure.

As you stood by the sink, you splashed cold water on your face, trying to steady your nerves for what was to come. But when you reached for the towel, your eyes flicked to the small accessory holder where you usually kept your mother's necklace.

It wasn’t there.

A knot of anxiety tightened in your chest. You leaned closer, scanning the sink area. It had to be somewhere nearby. Maybe it had just fallen off? You crouched down, searching the floor around the sink, your fingers brushing across the tiles in frantic movements. Nothing.

“Come on,” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding as you pulled open the cabinet doors beneath the sink. Still nothing.

You swallowed hard, the realization sinking in that you might have lost or misplaced it. The thought made your stomach churn—it wasn’t just any necklace; it was your mother’s.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it. Maya and Ellie needed you, and every second you spent searching was a second wasted. Clenching your fists, you forced yourself to push the worry aside.

You turned back to the mirror, taking a final glance at yourself. Tight black long-sleeve shirt, black cargo pants. "I look like a goddamn ninja," you muttered, trying to inject a bit of humor to steady your nerves.

The necklace would have to wait. Right now, you had to focus.

You grabbed your gear quietly, careful not to wake anyone. The mansion was still, the night cold against your skin as you descended the stairs with heavy black boots. You had just reached the kitchen when you froze.

Logan stood by the counter, cigarette in hand, the faint glow of its tip casting shadows on his rugged features. He didn’t look surprised to see you.

“Figured you’d try somethin’ stupid,” he said, his voice a gravelly rumble.

You adjusted the strap on your gear, feigning nonchalance. “I need to get some air.”

Logan chuckled dryly, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Air. Right. All geared up for a midnight stroll?” You frowned but didn’t reply, moving to the sink to double-check your supplies.

“You think sneakin’ out alone is a smart play?” he pressed, stepping closer. “What, you gonna take on the CIA single-handed?”

“I'll take my chances, better than doing nothing.” you snapped, spinning around to face him. “They're out there, and every second we waste, they could be hurting.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “And every second you’re out there without backup, you’re walkin’ straight into their hands. You heard what Hank said—Killebrew’s probably involved. You really think they won’t have another collar?”

You hesitated but clenched your fists. “I won't let such fear stop me. I won’t leave Maya and Ellie to them, Logan. I don’t care what’s waiting for me out there. It’s not like they can kill me.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he stubbed out his cigarette in his palm. You could never get tired from the sight of him rolling his eyes at the slight burn sensation on his skin that amused you—well, more than amused in different circumstances, really.

If only he hadn’t been so confusing earlier tonight.

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “It ain’t about killin’ you. It’s about breaking you. They don’t need you dead—they just need you broken enough to get what they want.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you, but the image of the girls wouldn’t let you relent. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working. I’m leaving.”

Logan’s nostrils flared, and for a moment, you thought he’d let you go. But then he stepped back, grabbing his jacket. “You’re a stubborn pain in the ass, you know that?” You blinked as he shrugged into his jacket.

“If you’re hellbent on gettin’ yourself killed, I’m not lettin’ you go alone,” he growled.

Despite the tension, a flicker of gratitude warmed your chest. He might be impossible, but at least you wouldn’t face this alone.

Logan gripped the steering wheel tighter as the car cruised down the empty highway, the hum of the engine the only sound between you. You stared out the passenger window, the dark road illuminated by the occasional passing streetlight. The silence was unbearable, heavy with unspoken tension, until you reached out and turned on the radio.

Bye Bye Bye blasted through the speakers, the upbeat rhythm shattering the quiet.

Logan groaned audibly, his hand darting out to switch it off within seconds.

'Don’t wanna be a fool for.....'

The music cut off abruptly, leaving an awkward void. You furrowed your brows and glanced at him, annoyed, but said nothing. He didn’t either, his jaw tightening as he kept his eyes firmly on the road.

This is gonna be a hell of a ride.

Minutes ticked by in agonizing silence, the clock on the dashboard glowing faintly. You stifled a yawn, the lack of sleep catching up to you. Logan glanced in your direction briefly, his expression unreadable, before returning his focus to the road.

“Sleepy already?” he finally asked, his tone gruff but quieter than usual.

You blinked at the window, counting the sparse cars around you. “Oh, so you talk,” you shot back coldly, not bothering to look at him.

Logan sighed heavily, side-eyeing you before speaking again. “I don’t know whaddya want me to say,” he muttered, his tone carrying a hint of frustration.

Your patience snapped. “Fuck you, Logan. You’re the one pretending like nothing happened between us.”

His eyes flicked toward you briefly before returning to the road, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “I thought that’s what you wanted.” he said, his voice steady but edged with tension.

“No! I don’t want that! Why are you acting like an asshole?” you snapped, shifting in your seat to face him fully.

Logan kept his focus ahead, his jaw ticking. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, but he didn’t raise his voice. “What do you want then?” he asked gruffly.

You opened your mouth to answer, ready to unleash everything bottled inside, but second thoughts hit you like a brick wall. Your throat tightened, and instead of speaking, you clamped your mouth shut and pulled your knees up, hugging them to your chest. Your gaze drifted back to the window, the darkened landscape blurring as tears threatened to sting your eyes.

Logan glanced at you from the corner of his eye, guilt flickering across his face, though he quickly masked it. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible but just loud enough for you to catch.

You swallowed hard, your nails digging into the fabric as you tried to steady your breathing. There was so much you wanted to say, so much that needed to be addressed, but this wasn’t the time. Maya and Ellie needed saving, and there was no room for emotions to get in the way.

You sat there, curled up in the passenger seat, clutching your knees tightly as the car glided through the quiet, empty highway. The faint hum of the engine filled the air between you, a stark contrast to the chaos in your chest. The longer the silence stretched, the heavier it felt, suffocating in a way words never could.

“M’sorry,” you whispered finally, the words escaping your lips before you could stop them. You didn’t even know what you were apologizing for exactly, but it felt like the right thing to say.

Logan glanced your way, his brow furrowing. You didn’t meet his gaze, your focus glued to the closed window, your reflection staring back at him. The image unsettled him—the way you sat curled into yourself, dressed in black like you were trying to look intimidating, but failing miserably with your chin resting atop your knees. You looked small, vulnerable, as though you were trying to shield yourself from something unseen.

He clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him as he returned his eyes to the road.

Logan took a deep breath, his knuckles tightening on the wheel. What the hell was he supposed to say now? Did you even realize how much he cared for you? How deeply?

Hell, he was out here driving through the freezing cold at two in the goddamn morning. Sure, finding that poor, innocent girl was the priority—but you were the real reason he’d agreed to this. He already knew how reckless and half-baked this plan was, especially with just the two of you. The team is going to be furious, he could already imagine the earful Scott would give him in this situation.

But he couldn’t fight you on it, he knew you too damn well. It was either he came along, or you’d go alone—and the thought of you facing this without him was something he couldn’t bear. Hell, he wouldn’t allow it.

If he had to, Logan would tear the whole goddamn world apart just to stand beside you. Whether to be an acquaintance, a friend, a partner, whatever you’d let him be. He would never leave you to deal with this on your own, not as long as he was still breathing.

“Don’t,” Logan muttered, his voice gruff as if the word was dragged out of him.

You blinked, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, unsure of what he meant.

“I’m sorry,” he growled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I was being a dick.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, surprised. Then, without warning, a small chuckle escaped you.

Logan’s head snapped toward you, confusion written all over his face. “What’s so funny?”

You bit your cheek, trying to hold back your laughter, but it only made it worse. Finally, you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “I just... I didn’t think you’d fall for it.”

Logan’s frown deepened, his confusion growing. “Fall for what?”

You shifted in your seat, lowering your legs and leaning back like you didn’t have a care in the world. “It’s okay. Now we’re both sorry.” You grinned at him mischievously. “I just didn’t expect you’d actually admit that you’re a dick.”

His expression darkened further, and he shot you a flat look. “Oh, fuck off.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, the sound bubbling out of you as his frown became more pronounced. “You’re a horrible person,” he muttered, though there was a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

“I know,” you said smugly, leaning back even further and resting your arm behind your head, clearly enjoying your victory.

But your moment of triumph didn’t last long. Logan’s eyes glinted with a mischievous edge as his foot suddenly slammed on the brakes.

The car jerked to a halt, and you—without your seatbelt fastened—were flung forward, hitting the dashboard with a loud thud.

“Ugh!” you grunted in pain, your hand rubbing to your forehead as you turned to glare at him. “What the fuck, Logan?!”

He was still in his seat, untouched thanks to his seatbelt “Sorry,” he said mockingly, his tone laced with sarcasm. “There was a cat crossing the street.”

He didn’t even try to hide his smug grin, leaning back in his seat like he didn’t just commit attempted murder. “Next time, buckle up, tough guy,” he said, his tone dry, but the amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

Your jaw tightened as you fastened your seatbelt with an angry click, not that you should even care because crashing would literally kill none of you, really. But you wouldn't take the chance to be a part of his petty joke again. “You’re so petty,” you muttered, slumping back into your seat, arms crossed.

Logan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “I know.” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as the car resumed its journey. The tension that had once suffocated the air now felt lighter, though your annoyance with him lingered.

You’d get him back. Somehow.

Logan parked the car a few hundred meters away from the high-security compound, the faint glow of cameras scanning the area. The building stood tall in front of you, a modern fortress with high, wire-topped fences and armed guards at every corner. This wasn’t going to be easy.

You both exited the car in silence, you popped the trunk, revealing your gear neatly packed. You reached for the heavy black duffel bag, pulling it out and unzipping it with quick hands. The bag was full of weapons built for efficiency and speed, the kind you knew you could rely on in a tight spot.

You grabbed the Heckler & Koch MP5, its compact frame sitting comfortably in your hands. The submachine gun was built for quick action, a weapon perfect for close-quarters combat. It was lightweight but packed a punch, with its 9mm rounds designed for high velocity and rapid fire. You checked the magazine, making sure it was fully loaded, before slinging the strap over your shoulder. The weapon's compact size made it ideal for maneuvering through tight spaces, and the sound of the safety clicking off was a sound you were all too familiar with.

You ran your fingers over the soft, rubberized grip, knowing you could rely on it when things went south. The bag also held extra mags, each one loaded with 9mm rounds, quick to reload and ready for action. You gave a quick glance at Logan, his eyes now locked on you again, but you didn’t let the moment last too long, the weight of the gun a comforting reminder of your readiness.

He gave a low grunt. “This is a bad idea.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you muttered, adjusting your gloves. The plan was simple: Get in, find Maya, get out. No alarms. No mess. The problem was, nothing ever went according to plan.

Logan took the lead, moving with his usual predatory grace. The two of you made your way through the shadows, careful not to alert the guards. The compound was surrounded by tall, overgrown hedges, giving you some cover as you approached the back entrance. You crept toward a side gate, its lock weak enough for Logan to pry open with ease.

"You always make it look easy," you whispered, impressed despite yourself.

He grinned, his eyes gleaming in the dark. "Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You slipped through the gap, your footsteps silent on the cold concrete as you moved deeper into the facility. The perimeter was quiet, but the tension in the air was suffocating. Logan led the way, his keen senses constantly scanning the area. Every creak of a door, every flicker of a light, had you on edge.

You reached the back of the building, a narrow, unlit hallway leading inside. Logan paused, giving you a sharp glance. “Ready?”

“No shit,” you said, determination hardening your voice. You weren’t backing out now, no matter what.

He pulled open the door and ushering you inside. The air was cool and sterile, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the cement floors. You crept down the hall, moving in sync with Logan, every step calculated.

At the end of the hallway, you spotted a guarded door—high-security, with a keypad and a camera positioned just above it. Without hesitation, Logan stepped forward, grabbing the guard’s arm from the shadowed corner and pulling him into the darkness. He was out before he could make a sound, leaving behind nothing but a faint smell of burning skin.

You shuddered slightly but stayed focused. This was just part of the plan. Getting in and out.

Logan keyed in the code he'd swiped off the unconscious guard’s wristwatch, the door clicking open with a soft beep. He held it open, letting you slip inside first. The room was dark and cold, filled with computers and high-tech equipment. At the far end, a small holding cell, barely visible in the gloom, had a single figure slumped against the wall.

“Maya,” you whispered urgently, your voice cracking.

She looked up slowly, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. But when she saw you, her lips trembled, and for a moment, you could see the faintest glimmer of hope. "You came..."

You rushed to her side, kneeling beside her, gently brushing a strand of her hair away to get a better look at her face. She was bruised and battered, her small frame trembling, but nothing seemed life-threatening. Still, the sight of her like this ignited a fierce protectiveness in your chest.

“Where’s Ellie?” you asked, your voice soft but urgent.

Maya flinched at the question, her lips quivering. “I-I don’t know,” she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “We... we were playing together, and then—” Her words broke off, her small body trembling as tears welled up in her eyes.

“It’s okay, Maya,” you said quickly, your tone firm but comforting. “We’re getting you out of here. You’re safe now.”

Logan moved around, his sharp eyes scanning the room for any signs of further threats. “We don’t have time for this,” he muttered, already heading toward the door. “We need to move. Get her to safety first.”

You hesitated, your instincts screaming to keep looking for Ellie, but Logan’s tone left no room for argument. He glanced back at you, his voice low but commanding. “We’ll come back for her. Right now, we’ve gotta get Maya out before we’re cornered.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and reached down to help Maya to her feet. Her legs wobbled, and she winced at the effort, but she clung to you tightly. “We’re getting you out,” you reassured her again, though the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen.

As you moved toward the door, the beeping of the security alarm behind you confirmed the worst. Logan’s eyes flicked to you, his expression grim. “Move it,” he said sharply.

Grabbing Maya’s hand, you pulled her along, your heart pounding as you navigated through the dim hallway. Logan led the way, his senses on high alert. You reached the stairwell, but your stomach sank as you saw more guards below.

Logan growled low under his breath, his fists clenching. “Stay behind me,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Logan cleared the path with a relentless fury, and together, you pushed forward, determined to get Maya out of this nightmare and to safety. Only then would you think about going back for Ellie.

Without hesitation, Logan leaped into action, taking down the first guard with brutal efficiency. You followed closely, keeping Maya tucked safely behind you, your body positioned as a shield.

You would have the time of your life alongside Logan taking these guards down, but tonight your MP5 was nothing more than a safety measure, secondary to your true focus. Your attention was entirely on Maya, making yourself her shield, her protection. No harm would come to her—not a single scratch, not the faintest injury. You positioned yourself between her and the chaos outside, every move calculated to ensure her safety above all else.

Logan’s claws came out, the metallic sound cutting through the air. With every strike, another guard fell. You couldn’t help but watch in awe at the way he moved—fierce, unstoppable. He cleared a path toward the exit, but it wasn’t without cost. You could hear the distant sound of reinforcements arriving, the compound now fully alerted to your presence.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath. There was no turning back now.

But you didn’t need to. Maya was free. That was all that mattered.

As you reached the exit, the lights behind you began to flash. You could hear the sirens, feel the pressure of the situation mounting. But Logan was already pushing you forward, his voice low and gruff. "Keep moving. I’ll cover you."

You barely had time to process what was happening before you burst through the door, the cold air hitting your face like a slap. The car was still a few hundred meters away, but there was no time to hesitate. Without a word, you crouched and scooped Maya into your arms. She instinctively clung to you, her small arms wrapping tightly around your neck, her feet curling against your stomach to secure herself. Her muffled cries broke your focus, soft and trembling as she buried her face into your shoulder, her fingers gripping your shirt like a lifeline.

You ran as fast as you could, every step echoing in the silence of the night, Logan keeping pace just behind you. The weight of Maya in your arms was nothing compared to the drive to get her to safety. You could feel her little hand clutching you tighter with every sound of pursuit behind you, her breath hitching against your collarbone.

You reached the car first, yanking the back door open and rushing Maya inside. Her tiny arms loosened around your neck as you gently set her on the seat, her tear-streaked face burying deeper into your shoulder for a moment. You whispered, "Stay here, sweet girl," before pulling back just enough to slam the door shut. You didn’t waste time sliding into the passenger seat as Logan bolted into the driver’s seat beside you.

The engine roared to life as Logan turned the wheel sharply, tires screeching against the cold pavement. The car bolted forward, but the horror started almost immediately. Gunfire erupted behind you, bullets slamming into the rear of the vehicle with sharp metallic thuds.

"Get down!" you yelled instinctively, your voice sharp and commanding. Maya screamed, a high-pitched cry that sent a pang through your chest. "Maya, keep your head down, baby. Stay as low as you can," you urged, already crawling from the passenger seat to shield her in the back.

The gunfire intensified, the attackers closing in. Logan growled under his breath as he adjusted the rearview mirror. “They’re catching up. Bikes.”

You twisted, catching sight of two motorcycles weaving in and out of the shadows. Their riders aimed and fired, their bullets shattering both side windows. Glass shards rained into the car, cutting into the chaos.

Logan flinched, jerking slightly as a bullet grazed his arm, tearing through his jacket. He hissed but kept his focus on the road. “Damn it,” he muttered, his grip tightening on the wheel.

Another bullet grazed your shoulder, burning through your jacket. The sharp sting was brief, dulled by your healing factor, but it still sent a jolt of frustration through you. "Logan, they’re on both sides!"

One biker closed in on Logan’s side, leveling his weapon for a clean shot. Logan swerved sharply, slamming the car into the bike, but the rider steadied himself. Without hesitation, Logan growled, "Hold on," and yanked the car door open.

In one fluid motion, Logan leaned out, his left arm shooting forward to grab the man by the neck. The rider’s eyes widened in shock as Logan yanked him clean off the bike, slamming him to the ground with brutal force.

On the right, another rider closed in, aiming for the car. You didn’t hesitate. The MP5 was already in your hands, and with a calculated burst of fire, you hit his front tire. The bike wobbled violently before tipping, sending the rider skidding across the asphalt.

"Fuck!" Logan snarled as another shot blew out the rear tire. The car lurched violently, metal screeching against the road as it ground to a halt. Logan slammed the wheel in frustration, his chest heaving. "Get her up. Now!"

You scrambled to Maya, pulling her carefully into your arms. She was trembling but responsive. “Come on, baby,” you murmured, trying to steady your voice.

By the time you turned, Logan was already at one of the fallen bikes, inspecting it for damage. "This’ll do," he muttered, hauling the machine upright. He swung onto the seat, revving the engine.

Then you saw it. Maya’s head lolled against your chest, and the dark stain on her shirt caught your attention. Blood seeped from a cut on her neck, spreading too quickly. Your stomach clenched.

"Logan!" you shouted, your voice cracking. "She’s bleeding bad!"

Logan’s head whipped around, his expression hardening. “Get on.” His voice left no room for argument.

Clutching Maya’s fragile body, you climbed onto the bike behind Logan, holding her close. Logan revved the engine, and the bike sped off into the night. You pressed Maya’s small frame against yours, one hand trying desperately to stem the bleeding at her neck.

“Stay with me, baby,” you whispered into her hair, your voice breaking as the cold wind whipped past. “Please, Maya, just hold on.”

4:27 a.m. You stood frozen, staring at Maya’s unconscious form in the medbay. The room felt distant, the sterile white lights blurring everything into a haze. Hank and Jean had been woken up barely ten minutes ago by Logan, and now they were rushing back and forth in their white coats, their voices low but urgent.

You should’ve felt bad for pulling them into this mess, dragging them out of bed at this hour. But even that guilt was nothing compared to the pit of self-loathing eating away at you. This was your fault. Maya’s condition, her pale face, her blood staining your hands was because of you. Reckless. Stupid. You didn’t fucking think before-

"Hey," Logan’s voice broke through the storm in your head, soft but steady.

You didn’t look at him, didn’t respond. You barely even registered his presence, the sound of Jean’s voice faintly breaking through your fog. She was explaining something to Hank, something about Maya losing too much blood, needing to confirm her blood type. But the words barely landed.

You clenched your arms tighter across your chest, folding into yourself. The weight of everything—Maya’s fragile state, your own failures was suffocating. Logan stepped closer, watching you carefully. His hand reached out, resting gently on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against you in a calming rhythm.

The small, unexpected gesture made you shiver. The knot in your chest tightened, and you felt the sting of tears threatening to spill. Slowly, your head dipped, your defenses crumbling under the weight of it all. You couldn’t stop the overwhelming tide of emotions crashing down on you.

"Go clean up. Let Hank and Jean do what they need to." he suggested.

A word didn’t even leave your lips. You felt lost, unmoored in a storm of emotions that you couldn’t navigate. You didn’t know what to do, how to move, how to think. You needed guidance, even if it was something as small and straightforward as Logan telling you to clean up. His words cut through the fog, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a sense of obedience—a familiar pull to follow orders. That was what you were good at, after all. What you were once best at: following orders.

Your eyes flicked up to Logan, searching for...something. His palm remained steady on your shoulder, grounding you, his thumb moving in a small, repetitive motion that somehow kept you from spiraling. His gaze met yours with the quiet reassurance there was enough to steady your nod.

You stepped away, walking out of the medbay, his hand falling from your shoulder as you moved. The absence of his touch left a strange void, but you pushed forward, heading toward the stairs. Logan followed silently a few steps behind, his heavy footsteps echoing softly against the walls. He didn’t push you, didn’t fill the space with meaningless words, but his presence lingered with constant, quiet support.

You climbed the stairs mechanically, every step feeling heavier than the last. The exhaustion, the guilt, the overwhelming swirl of emotions, they pressed down on you, threatening to crush you with each passing second. As much as Logan worried about Maya, you both knew there was nothing more either of you could do. It was Hank and Jean’s turn now. That truth didn’t make the wait any easier.

When you reached your room, you stopped in the doorway, gripping the frame as if it could hold you upright. Logan paused behind you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He watched you closely, his sharp gaze catching every tremble in your hands, every shaky breath.

Your fingers fumbled with the straps of your gear, but they wouldn’t cooperate. Frustration bubbled up, and you let out a low growl as you yanked the vest off and dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor. Bloodstains smeared across the fabric caught your eye, and your chest tightened at the sight.

Logan pushed off the wall and stepped inside, crouching down to pick up the discarded vest. He set it aside carefully, his movements slow and deliberate, as though giving you the time and space to process.

“I'll stay here,” he said again, his voice quieter this time, almost gentle.

You nodded again, your movements sluggish, and turned toward the bathroom. The weight of the day settled on your shoulders, dragging your steps, but you kept moving.

You stepped into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you, you turned around to lock it immediately. The smell hit immediately—dried blood, sweat, and the lingering metallic tang of Maya’s injury. It clung to you like guilt, heavy and suffocating.

With trembling hands, you stripped off your clothes, dropping them into a heap on the floor. The fabric stuck to your skin in places where blood had dried, and the motion sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you.

Standing at the sink, you turned on the faucet, the rush of water almost deafening in the quiet. You scrubbed your hands, desperate to rid yourself of the blood staining your skin. Maya’s blood. It was there, literal-fucking-ly on your hands, and no matter how hard you scrubbed, it felt like it wouldn’t come off. Your breaths grew erratic as the image of her unconscious face looped endlessly in your mind.

You turned the faucet off abruptly, the silence that followed almost unbearable. Moving to the shower, you twisted the knob to the hottest setting, steam immediately rising to fill the small space. You stepped in, holding your hands under the boiling stream, watching as the dried blood finally washed away, swirling down the drain.

The searing heat burned your skin, but the pain felt satisfying—a punishment you thought you deserved. It wasn’t enough to hurt you, not with your healing ability, but it gave you a brief, fleeting sense of control.

The water cascaded over you, from the top of your head to your toes, scalding and relentless. You gritted your teeth as the heat bit into your skin, but the pain wasn’t what broke you. The weight of everything did.

Your legs gave out, and you slid down onto the cold tiles, your back pressed against the wall. Hugging your knees to your chest, you buried your face in them, letting the boiling water pour over you as sobs wracked your body. It wasn’t the pain that made you cry—you weren’t even sure what it was anymore. You just needed to let it out, to feel something other than the crushing guilt.

Outside, Logan sat by your windowsill, his arms crossed as he stared into the night. His nose twitched as a faint scent wafted through the air—burned flesh. He furrowed his brow, his senses sharpening as the smell lingered. It didn’t fade. If anything, it grew stronger.

Concern etched into his features, he pushed off the sill and headed toward your bathroom door. The scent was unmistakable now, and worry gnawed at the edges of his composure. He knocked gently.

“Hey,” he called, his voice calm but firm. “You okay in there?”

No response.

He tried again, calling your name louder this time. “I’m gonna break this door if you don’t answer.”

Still nothing.

Logan muttered a curse under his breath, his patience snapping as the smell of burning flesh only intensified. With a heavy thud, he slammed his shoulder into the door. The wooden frame groaned but held. Another slam, then another, until the lock finally gave way, the door flying open to release a rush of hot steam that hit him like a wall.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, waving a hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to clear the air. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, curled up on the shower floor, water pouring over your trembling, bare figure.

“Shit,” he whispered under his breath, his jaw tightening as the scene before him sank in.

The scalding water hissed against his arm skin as he reached for the shower handle, shutting it off with a groan. His own flesh burned at the contact, but it healed almost instantly. He turned his focus to you, crouching beside your slumped form, his heart breaking at the sight of your vulnerability.

Grabbing a towel from a nearby rack, he opened it wide and carefully wrapped it around you. His movements were gentle, deliberate, as though afraid he might break you further. His voice was soft when he finally spoke.

“Hey,” he murmured, his hand brushing against your damp hair. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s get you out of here.”

You didn’t respond at first, your head lifting only slightly as you noticed his presence. His face was etched with worry, his sharp features softened by the sorrow in his eyes. His hand came up to cup the side of your jaw, his thumb tracing lightly over your tear-streaked cheek.

You swallowed hard, your voice caught in your throat. The overwhelming emotions left you unable to speak, and all you could do was stare at him, your swollen eyes searching for something—comfort, reassurance, anything.

Logan shifted to sit beside you, his broad shoulder brushing against yours. He opened his arms, a silent invitation. Without thinking, you leaned into him, tucking your head against his chest as his arms enveloped you. The dampness of your hair soaked into his shirt, but he couldn't care less. His chin rested atop your head, his steady presence anchoring you as you sobbed quietly, the tears flowing freely now.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest. “I’ve got you.”

Logan stayed there, holding you as though his presence alone could shield you from whatever storm was raging inside. His arms tightened just enough to remind you he was there—not pushing, not forcing, just being. His thumb drew absent circles against your arm, a silent comfort that kept you tethered to the moment.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours; time seemed to lose meaning. The bathroom remained cloaked in a haze of steam, the air thick and humid, but neither of you moved. The water had long since stopped running, leaving only the faint drip-drip of the showerhead to break the silence. Logan didn't rush you; he seemed to know you needed this space, this moment to fall apart without judgment.

Eventually, your sobs quieted, leaving you drained and trembling in his arms. Your head stayed tucked against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was grounding, a lifeline you hadn't known you needed. You felt small, raw, like a wound left open, but for the first time in hours, the suffocating weight of guilt started to ease—just a little.

Logan broke the silence first, his voice a low murmur. "I know you think this is all on you, but it’s not."

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you nodded faintly, your face brushing against the damp fabric of his shirt. He took the gesture for what it was, a small step forward, and didn’t press for more.

After a moment, he shifted slightly, one arm still wrapped around you as the other reached for the towel. He adjusted it, making sure it covered you properly before pulling back just enough to look at you. His piercing gaze softened when it met yours, his eyes filled with an understanding you hadn’t expected.

“You’re freezing,” he said, his brows knitting together. “Let’s get you outta here, yeah?”

You blinked, realizing for the first time that your body was shaking—not from cold, but from the aftermath of everything you’d been holding in. Still, you nodded again, letting him help you to your feet. His hand stayed steady on your arm as he guided you out of the shower, careful not to let you slip on the wet tiles.

He grabbed another towel, wrapping it around your hair with surprising gentleness. The care in his actions almost undid you again, but you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold it together.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” he said quietly, motioning toward your dresser. “Just sit tight.”

You sank onto the edge of your bed, the towel still wrapped tightly around you as you watched him move. His presence filled the room—not in an overbearing way, but in a way that made you feel less...alone. He returned a moment later with a fresh set of clothes, setting them down beside you.

“You good to change?” he asked, his voice soft but firm, like he was giving you the option to say no.

You nodded, and he took that as his cue to turn away, suddenly finding your window so interesting to glance at. Giving you privacy while still staying within arm’s reach. His respect for your boundaries didn’t go unnoticed, and it made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Once dressed, you hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice hoarse from crying. “Logan?”

He turned back to you immediately, his eyes meeting yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words trembling with guilt. “For dragging you into all of this. You didn’t deserve it.”

His expression softened, a mix of concern and frustration flickering in his gaze. “Don’t start with that,” he said firmly but not unkindly. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I’m here because I wanna be. Got it?”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling over you like a fragile reassurance. Your eyes flicked to the clock by your nightstand—5:03 a.m. The realization made your stomach twist, the hours slipping away faster than you could think.

“I need to check on Maya's condition,” you said suddenly, your voice steadier but still strained.

Logan’s hand, still resting lightly on your shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The hallway leading to the med bay felt like it stretched on forever, each step dragging like a weight tethered to your ankles. Logan walked beside you, silent but present, his steady pace offering a grounding presence you barely noticed through the storm raging in your chest. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly, an unbearable mockery of normalcy as dread curled in your gut.

When you reached the med bay door, it opened with a quiet hiss, and the world seemed to tilt. The room was unnaturally quiet, the air heavy, oppressive. Jean stood by the bed where Maya lay, her figure tense, arms crossed tightly over her chest. A bag of blood hung from a metal stand, but the tube dangled loose, disconnected. Hank sat slumped in a chair nearby, his head bowed low, the white of his coat streaked with red that had long since dried. He didn’t even look up when you entered.

Jean turned as the door clicked shut behind you, her gaze snapping to meet yours. Her expression was grave, her face drawn and heavy with something unspeakable. The weight of her silence crushed you instantly.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, your voice trembling as you crossed the room in hurried strides, your pulse roaring in your ears. The question tasted bitter on your tongue, dread bubbling up in your chest. You didn’t want to know the answer, not really. You clung desperately to the fragile hope that what you feared wasn’t true.

Jean didn’t answer. Her lips parted, but no words came, only a flicker of helplessness in her eyes that made your stomach plummet. You turned your attention to Hank, sitting motionless, his large hands limp in his lap. Still, no response. It was the silence that told you everything. The kind of silence that only follows the unspeakable.

Your breath quickened as your eyes fell on Maya’s still form on the bed. You reached out, your fingers trembling as they brushed against her cold skin. The moment you touched her, you recoiled. No. This can’t be real.

“Maya,” you whispered, your voice cracking. The panic rose inside you, but you fought to keep it in check. You pressed your fingers to her neck, hoping against hope for a pulse, for any sign of life. There was nothing. The stillness suffocated you. “No, no, no—this can’t be happening.”

You couldn’t stop the tears that welled in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You blinked rapidly, your chest tight, trying to hold it all in. Your knees buckled slightly, and you steadied yourself by gripping the bed rail. Your breath came in shallow bursts, but you forced yourself not to break down completely. Not here, not now.

“What happened?” The question slipped out of you in a broken, quiet voice, and you turned to Hank and Jean, your eyes searching for an answer they couldn’t give.

Jean’s gaze dropped to the floor, her voice soft but heavy. “She was gone before we could stop the bleeding,” she said, and her words cut deeper than anything else in the room.

“No.” You shook your head violently, your hands gripping the bed rail as if it could anchor you. “You’re lying. She’s not—she’s not gone. She can’t be. It’s my fault. I should’ve—” Your voice broke, your chest heaving as the truth slammed into you like a freight train.

Logan’s hand was on your shoulder then, warm and steady. “They've tried their best” he said, his voice low but certain. “So did we, so did you.”

Your tears finally slipping free, but you didn’t sob. It was quiet, contained, but the weight of them felt unbearable. You swallowed hard, wiping your face, but the tears came regardless, leaving silent trails down your cheeks. The grief sat heavily in your chest, raw and unyielding.

You looked back at Maya’s small body, your heart aching, the guilt still gnawing at you. “I should’ve—” Your voice faltered again

“Stop,” he said, his voice low and firm, cutting through the chaos in your head. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

Logan's arm rests steady by your shoulder, with a slight pressure, as if he's trying to pull you into his embrace. As inviting and comforting as it seems, you can't accept such affection from him—you simply cannot.

His heart shatters into pieces at the scene before him: the sweet girl who doesn’t deserve this, and you, torturing yourself with it. He can feel the guilt radiating from your very core, and whilst he's not a much of a believer at this very moment he wishes he could make it better, could make you feel better, if only he knew how. His vain attempt at a gentle pull to draw you closer goes unnoticed by you—or at least, that's what he thinks.

You felt worthless, an absolute failure. You thought you are a failure when Maya's injured but now to cost her a life too? Is there even a word for that, something lower than a failure, a disappointment perhaps. She deserved better, if only you didn't storm in like a rookie and thought everything would go as planned, maybe she'd be alive. If only you didn't let the paranoia get the best of you, letting yourself to work as a team with the others.

You stepped back, the nauseating feeling washing over you once again—one you could never get used to. It was overwhelming. Logan’s arm fell from your shoulder, and he glanced at you immediately, searching for your eyes.

You didn’t know why, but a sudden urge to hide overwhelmed you. Embarrassment crept in like a heavy shadow. They would acknowledge your grief, yes, but they would also acknowledge the truth you couldn’t escape—that it was all because of you. Your fault. No matter how hard they tried to mask their silent judgment, it was always written plainly on their faces.

You wanted to run away from all of it. Like you always do—an avoider. “Excuse me,” you said, your voice quieter than intended, as your hand relentlessly wiped at the stupid tears streaming down your face. Your feet, weighed down by guilt, carried you out of the medbay in seconds.

Logan's confusion was palpable. He would’ve expected you to mourn in a much different way—maybe saying a final goodbye to Maya with heavy, fat tears. Instead, your reaction left him unsettled. Turning his attention back to Maya's body, he murmured softly, “M’really sorry, girl,” a quiet apology and farewell meant more for her than for himself. He tried to be tough, for his own sake and, in part, for yours.

When he looked up again, his focus shifted to you disappearing down the hallway. With a deep sigh, he turned to Jean and Hank. “I’m sorry, Jean, Hank.” he said simply, nodding at each of them before walking out with heavy, deliberate foot steps.

With your arms wrapped tightly around your body, as if they could shield you from the crushing weight of your shame, you walked briskly, desperate to disappear before anyone could see you. But your hope shattered when Logan’s voice rang out from behind, calling your name—once, twice, and then multiple times.

That didn't stopped you, why would it be. You need a time, an alone time obviously.

You kept walking, your pace quickening with every step. Logan's voice called after you, his tone growing sharper, more insistent, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Your feet moved on autopilot, carrying you toward your room as if it were the only safe harbor in a storm. You needed space—alone time, desperately—because facing anyone, even him, was unbearable right now.

Reaching your door, you fumbled with the handle, slipping inside just as Logan's footsteps came up behind you. The door clicked shut, and you locked it immediately, the sound echoing in the suffocating silence of your room.

Your legs gave out beneath you, the weight of everything dragging you down. You fell to the floor with a quiet thud, your back sliding against the door until you were sitting, knees pulled to your chest. Your hands trembled as they wrapped around your legs, holding yourself together as though you might otherwise shatter completely. The tears came fast and hot, spilling down your face in relentless waves as sobs wracked your body.

Outside, Logan stopped just short of colliding with the door. He stared at it for a moment, frustration and worry warring on his face. His hand came up, hesitating before he knocked gently, his voice barely audible over the sound of your muffled cries.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” he said, his words soft but edged with a quiet plea. “C’mon. Let me in.”

Your sobs didn’t stop. If anything, they grew louder, raw and broken, tearing through the fragile silence like jagged glass. The sound twisted something deep inside him, and Logan let out a frustrated growl under his breath. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he leaned his forehead against the door, the cool wood doing little to ground him.

He could hear every breath you took, every hitch in your voice, every agonized cry that told him exactly how much pain you were in. And it was killing him. Logan wasn’t the type to sit idly by, but now, he had no choice. You had locked him out—both literally and figuratively—and no matter how badly he wanted to rip the door off its hinges, he held himself back. Barely.

“Dammit,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. His fists uncurled, one hand coming up to press flat against the door, as if somehow that small gesture could reach you.

Inside, you heard his words, but they felt distant, like a faint echo buried beneath the tidal wave of your guilt. Your breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, your chest heaving as the weight of everything pressed down on you. Maya’s face flashed in your mind—her lifeless body, the blood, the stillness—and a fresh wave of nausea rolled through you.

Logan's voice came again, this time firmer, though still gentle. “You’re not the reason this happened. You hear me? It wasn’t your fault.”

But you couldn’t hear him—not really. The voice in your head was louder, crueler, drowning him out with accusations and blame. It was your fault. You should’ve done better, been better. You shouldn’t have stormed into the mission so recklessly, thinking everything would go as planned. Maya was gone because of you, and nothing anyone said could change that.

Outside, Logan’s patience snapped. He slammed his palm against the door, the loud crack startling even him. “Lemme in,” he demanded, his voice rough, a thread of desperation woven through it. “Lemme in, Jesus.”

But there was no response. Only the sound of your quiet, choked cries bleeding through the door. Logan clenched his jaw, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He wanted to be angry at you, to yell at you for shutting him out, but he couldn’t. Not when he could hear the sheer agony in every sound you made.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He leaned back against the door, his body a tense line of restraint. The urge to break down the barrier between you was almost overwhelming, but he stayed put, knowing you’d only push him further away if he forced his way in.

“Please,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, almost a whisper. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.” His words hung heavy in the air, unanswered.

Logan’s heart twisted painfully as he realized he couldn’t reach you—not like this. You kept putting distance between yourself and everyone else, a distance that felt impossible for him to cross. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to hold you until the storm inside you calmed, but you wouldn’t let him. And that broke something inside him more than he cared to admit.

Sliding down to sit on the floor outside your door, Logan rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He stayed there, silent but present, listening to your muffled cries. His claws itched to tear the door apart, but instead, he let out a quiet sigh, his voice barely audible as he spoke again.

“M'not going anywhere,” he said softly, his words meant for you and you alone. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here.”

•••

The sun had begun its slow ascent, casting a dark blue hue over the horizon visible through your window. The shadows of the night retreated inch by inch, but the heaviness inside you refused to dissipate. You hadn’t moved from your spot by the window, knees drawn to your chest, the tears long since dried on your cheeks. An hour had passed, maybe more, though it felt like a lifetime.

Then, Professor Xavier's calm, commanding voice broke the silence, resonating in your mind. “I need you in the meeting room.”

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady the storm inside you. Rising to your feet felt like a monumental effort, but you managed. You opened the door and froze at the sight of Logan seated by the wall just outside, his head resting against it, eyes closed but still alert. He looked up instantly, his gaze locking onto yours.

He stood quickly, his movements fluid despite the obvious exhaustion etched into his features. "Xavier?" he asked, his tone neutral but edged with concern.

“Yeah,” you croaked out, your voice raspy and weak, accompanied by a small nod. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the floor as you closed the door behind you. Without another word, you turned and began walking toward the stairs, your feet moving automatically.

But you hadn’t gone far when Logan’s hand gently caught your wrist, halting your steps. “Hey,” he said softly followed by muttering your name, his voice a plea more than a call.

You froze, your body stiffening at the contact. For a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn, couldn’t bear to see the worry or frustration in his eyes. But his pull was gentle, almost reluctant, and it broke through your hesitation. Slowly, you turned to face him, your gaze falling to where his hand wrapped around your wrist.

“You don’t have to go,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. “I can talk to Charles.” His thumb brushed lightly against your wrist, the touch grounding in its tenderness.

“No, Logan,” you said, shaking your head, your voice steadier this time. “This is my responsibility.”

His grip loosened but didn’t fall away, his thumb still tracing soothing circles on your skin. “Alright,” he muttered, his tone almost resigned, though his words carried an undercurrent of understanding.

His voice pulled your gaze upward, and for the first time, you met his eyes fully. They were heavy with exhaustion and unspoken emotions, a reflection of everything he wasn’t saying but felt nonetheless. You swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at you as your eyes flicked from his to his lips for the briefest moment—a fleeting, subconscious act.

Realizing what you’d done, you flinched slightly, pulling your wrist free from his grasp. “I’ll be fine,” you mumbled, turning quickly and walking toward the stairs without sparing him another glance.

Behind you, Logan let out a quiet sigh, his frustration palpable. He followed a step behind, unwilling to let you face whatever awaited you alone, even if you didn’t want his company.

The room fell silent as you stepped in, Logan following close behind. All eyes turned toward you, their gazes heavy, searing into your already fragile composure. You glanced around the table, forcing yourself to take in each expression, though you couldn’t linger for long.

Scott’s face was a mask of barely restrained fury, his jaw clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line. Even behind his visor, you could feel the weight of his disappointment. It radiated off him, sharp and cutting, like a physical blow.

Beside him, Jean sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her face pale, her eyes rimmed with red. She wasn’t just mourning—she was devastated, her grief a palpable force that seemed to drain the room of warmth.

Ororo’s expression was harder to decipher. Her lips pressed together in a grim line, her eyes clouded with a mix of emotions—grief, perhaps, but also a quiet sadness that hinted at disappointment.

Hank sat hunched over, his hands clasped tightly on the table, his brow furrowed in an almost pained expression. His guilt was etched into every line of his face, though you knew this wasn’t on him. Still, it weighed on him as if it were.

Finally, your eyes landed on Charles. His face was as composed as ever, his expression neutral and unreadable. Yet the silence that lingered between you spoke volumes. There was no condemnation in his gaze, but no reassurance, either—just the quiet presence of a man who had seen too much.

The weight of their collective stares became unbearable, and you looked down, focusing on the floor as you moved to take an empty seat. Logan’s hand lightly brushed your back, a silent anchor, before he stepped around you to take the chair beside yours.

The silence in the meeting room was oppressive as Charles cleared his throat, his voice calm yet heavy with the weight of the situation.

“We’re here to discuss the unfortunate events that has occurred,” he began, his tone measured, “And to prepare for Maya’s funeral this morning.”

The mention of her name sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over you. You stared at the table, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

Scott, however, wasted no time, his voice sharp and biting. “She needs to explain herself.” His gaze burned into you, and though you couldn’t see his eyes behind the visor, the fury in his voice was unmistakable. “A student is dead, because she couldn’t keep her head straight.”

Logan shifted in his seat beside you, his fists curling against the table. “Ease up, Summers,” he growled, his tone low and menacing.

“No,” Scott shot back, his voice rising. “You think this is something we can just brush off? Maya’s gone, and someone needs to be held accountable!”

Logan leaned forward, his voice cold and deliberate. “Accountable? You wanna talk about accountability, Scott? Maybe we should start with who came back drunk last night.”

Scott froze, his jaw tightening as Logan’s words hit their mark.

“She was trying to do the team a favor” Logan continued, his gaze hard.

“Logan,” Charles interjected, his tone a quiet warning, but Logan ignored him, his focus locked on Scott.

“You weren’t out there,” Logan said, his voice sharp as claws. “You didn’t see what we were up against.”

Scott looked like he wanted to fire back, but Jean placed a hand on his arm, her touch calming him just enough to make him sit back.

Charles turned to you, his expression gentler. “Please, tell us what happened,” he said, his tone more of a request than a command.

Your hands tightened into fists against your knees, your voice trembling as you began.

“Logan and I got her into the car, we were already leaving from the facility and her condition was well” you said quietly, your throat tightening. “I thought we were clear, but then…” You hesitated, the memory of that moment flashing vividly in your mind.

“They catch up with bikers and started shooting, the window shattered” you continued, your voice breaking. “A bullet… or maybe a glass, it nicked through her neck.”

You couldn’t say more, your words catching as your breaths grew shallow. Logan’s hand moved, his rough palm settling atop your trembling one where it gripped your knee tightly. His warmth anchored you, his touch gentle but grounding.

“We almost got her,” Logan said, his voice low but steady, cutting through the tension in the room. His tone carried a weight of guilt, even though you knew it wasn’t his to bear. “I couldn’t drive fast enough.”

His admission hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, as if he blamed himself when the truth was far from that.

“It wasn’t his fault,” you said, your voice barely audible, but firm. “It was mine. It was my idea to move faster, to take the risk.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly, a silent protest against your self-blame.

The room remained quiet for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. Even Scott, though still fuming, seemed to falter, the sharp edges of his anger dulled by the rawness of what had been said.

Charles’s gaze lingered on you and Logan, his expression unreadable but thoughtful.

Jean was the first to break the silence. “And Ellie?” she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

The reminder hit you like a punch to the gut. Ellie. You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “We didn’t find her. She’s still out there.”

Scott’s scowl deepened. “So, we’re sitting here, wasting time when we should be focusing on finding her.”

“We will,” Charles said firmly.

Ororo looked to you, her expression thoughtful but troubled. “Why would they target children, especially girls?” she asked. “It seems deliberate.”

You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. “Because girls are less likely to be seen as a threat,” you said, your voice steady. “They’re easier to overlook, which makes it simpler to take them without raising alarm. And if they’re young enough, they’re more vulnerable—less likely to fight back or escape.”

You paused, glancing around the room. “But it’s not just about control. Girls are often underestimated, even when they have powerful abilities. Someone like Maya, with her supersonic scream, or Ellie, who can manipulate fire—that kind of power in someone people don’t expect to be dangerous? It’s exactly what these people want. They can groom them into weapons without the same resistance they’d face from boys or adults.”

Ororo’s expression hardened as your words sank in, the room falling silent under the weight of the revelation.

Hank nodded solemnly. “Their methods align with that theory. The equipment and resources we’ve seen point to calculated, targeted operations.”

“We need to find Ellie,” Scott said, his tone resolute. “And we need to stop SAC and Killebrew before they take anyone else.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, his hand still resting lightly atop yours. “We gotta face something bigger” he began, his voice steady but edged with tension, “This wasn’t just random. The SAC, they’re mixed up in this probably alongside with CIA and Killebrew too. This ain’t the first time we’ve crossed paths with the man, he could be deep with all this.”

Scott’s scowl deepened, and he crossed his arms. “We’ve dealt with Killebrew before,” he said sharply. “There's not enough solid proof he was behind these new experiments. Just speculation. The man's old, he's running out of time.”

“Speculation doesn’t get us anywhere,” Ororo said softly, though her tone carried a distinct edge.

Jean leaned forward, her voice low. “If Killebrew is involved, we need to connect him to SAC and whoever else is funding these operations. Otherwise, we’ll just be chasing shadows again.”

Hank adjusted his glasses and sighed. “The attack on Maya and the equipment used tell us a lot. I analyzed the bike, custom made. It’s clear their resources are not only military-grade but could also specifically designed for counter-mutant operations. This suggests direct involvement from SAC, with Killebrew’s expertise likely supporting their goals.”

“What exactly are their goals, Hank?” Charles asked, his tone even but probing.

“From what we’ve gathered so far,” Hank said, his voice growing more serious, “it’s not just containment. SAC is using Killebrew’s methods to experiment on mutants. They’re trying to weaponize abilities. Think back to the enhanced weaponry we encountered—they’re taking mutant DNA and turning it into tools for warfare.”

A heavy silence followed as the weight of Hank’s words settled over the room.

Logan broke it, his voice rough. “We need to hit their base again. There’s gotta be somethin’ there—a lead, intel, anything. Webknow what we’re walkin’ into this time.”

Scott scoffed, his frustration bubbling over. “Yeah because this time nobody's gonna be harmed” His voice was sharp, his anger directed more at the situation than any one person.

Logan’s jaw clenched, but his voice stayed level. “Can you stop being such an asshole for five fucking minutes?” he said pointedly, as Scott referencing the recklessness of his and your recent off-mission behavior.

The tension between them was palpable, but before it could escalate, Charles raised a hand. “Enough,” he said firmly. His tone left no room for argument.

Jean quickly stepped in. “Let’s focus. We can’t afford to splinter as a team.”

Hank nodded, his voice steady. “Logan’s right. Returning to their base may provide us with the evidence we need to finally pin this on Killebrew and SAC. We should move quickly before they clear out any remaining traces.”

Ororo glanced at Charles. “And Maya?”

Charles’ face softened slightly, though his voice carried the weight of leadership. “We will lay her to rest in the garden this morning. She was one of us, and she deserves to be honored as such. Afterward, we’ll plan the mission in detail.”

The group exchanged solemn glances, unified in their grief but also in their determination.

Logan gave your hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment.

The room fell into a heavy silence after Charles dismissed the team, his parting words lingering in the air. "Pay your respects for Maya soon. She deserves it." One by one, everyone stood, somber and weighed down by grief.

You pushed yourself to your feet, still clutching your arms around your body for some semblance of comfort. The ache in your chest was unbearable, making it hard to even look up at the others. Logan followed closely behind as you stepped toward the door. By the time you exited the room, his palm rested gently on your back.

The touch was warm, steady—an anchor in the storm you felt raging inside. A shiver ran down your spine, one you couldn’t suppress. His voice broke through the haze, low and calm, “You should eat something.”

The suggestion felt like an afterthought in your daze, but it stirred a faint awareness of the emptiness in your stomach. You were too weak to respond, too wrapped up in your own exhaustion, but Logan’s sharp ears caught the faint growl from your stomach.

His lips twitched slightly, just enough for you to catch the ghost of a smirk. “I could make omelette and potatoes,” he said casually, as though trying to lighten the mood. “Like that one time, huh?”

A faint memory surfaced—Logan fumbling in the kitchen, you relentlessly judging his cooking skills for making something so basic. You’d teased back then, earning a gruff chuckle and a sarcastic quip.

Now, despite the heaviness pressing down on you, a weak laugh escaped your lips. You glanced up at him, catching the faint amusement in his expression. His palm remained firm against your back, grounding you, while his other hand rested casually in his pocket.

But the small moment was shattered by a sharp voice from behind.

“Right, keep her tame like your little pet.” Scott’s words were venomous, startling you as you turned, not realizing he’d been walking behind you. Logan froze mid-step, his hand dropping from your back as he turned to face Scott.

“Whatddya said?” Logan’s voice was low, his tone barely controlled, carrying an edge that made you flinch.

Scott met his glare with one of his own, unflinching. “You heard me, I said keep her tame like you—”

Scott never got to finish. Logan’s fist flew faster than you could react, connecting with Scott’s jaw in a sickening crack. You flinched, your body tensing as the scene unfolded before you.

Scott staggered back, his hand shooting to his jaw as he scowled. Without hesitation, he retaliated, throwing a punch that caught Logan square on the nose. Blood trickled down, but Logan barely seemed to notice. Instead, he grabbed Scott by the jacket, pulling him close.

You swear you couldn't care less about their immature behavior, you got too much on your plate and barely enough energy to raise your voice for them to hear. “Please, just stop” you said weakly, stepping forward, but the two were frozen in place before you could intervene.

You blinked in confusion, your voice uncertain as you took a cautious step closer. “Logan?” you called, your concern palpable as you inspected their frozen forms. Logan’s hand remained clenched around Scott’s jacket, while Scott’s arm hovered mid-air, inches away from his visor.

From behind you, a familiar voice broke the tense silence, tinged with exasperation. “They’re getting too old for this,” Jean said dryly, stepping into view.

“Since when could you do that?” you asked, glancing back to see Jean emerging from the meeting room.

She shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Professor taught me a while ago.” She clicked her tongue, strolling closer to inspect the scene. “Look at them.”

Despite yourself, a weak chuckle escaped. Jean nudged you lightly with her shoulder. “It’s kind of amusing,” you admitted, your voice soft but tinged with a hint of laughter.

Jean smirked, crossing her arms. “Aren’t they?”

Charles and Hank appeared from the hallway, both glancing at the spectacle before them. Charles sighed but didn’t stop strolling, his voice calm but firm. “Jean, let the poor gentlemen go.”

Hank shook his head but said nothing, following Charles without breaking stride. Jean tilted her head slightly, and in an instant, Logan and Scott were moving again.

Logan blinked, releasing his grip on Scott’s jacket as he stepped back. Scott stopped his arm mid-motion, lowering it reluctantly as he glared at Logan.

“Not cool,” Logan muttered toward Jean, his voice rough with irritation.

Jean just smirked, her attention already shifting. Logan turned back to you, his features softening immediately. “C’mon,” he said, tilting his head and gesturing for you to follow.

You clutched your arms tighter around yourself, your exhaustion evident as you walked to his side. His palm found its place on your back again, steady and comforting.

Jean and Scott trailed behind, their voices low.

“Are they together or something?” Scott whispered, his tone both bitter and curious.

Jean gave him a look, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I don’t know.”

Scott frowned, skeptical. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re a telepath.”

Jean rolled her eyes, her smile widening as she glanced ahead at you and Logan. “Some things are better left unanswered, Scott.”

The garden was silent except for the soft rustling of leaves in the morning breeze. The students and staff of Xavier’s School had gathered in somber rows, faces etched with grief. The small tombstone stood freshly planted in the earth, its inscription simple yet heartbreaking:

Maya Fernandez

Gone but not forgotten.

You stared at it, the weight in your chest growing heavier with each passing second. The sound of Charles’s voice delivering a eulogy barely registered, muffled as though you were underwater. You couldn’t bring yourself to look anywhere else, not even as the team began to disperse after the ceremony.

Logan stood across from you, his arms crossed tightly, his sharp eyes fixed on your still figure. He hadn’t moved since the gathering started, lingering at a respectful distance but watching you closely.

One by one, the others left the garden, the sound of footsteps fading into the background. Ororo cast a last glance in your direction, her expression heavy with sympathy before walking away. Jean lingered for a moment, exchanging a look with Logan before she too left, leaving only the two of you standing there.

Logan’s boots crunched softly against the gravel as he approached. His presence was solid, grounding, but he hesitated as he neared you. His jaw worked, as though he was trying to find words, but nothing came out.

Finally, he stood by your side, silent. His hand hovered near your back before finally resting there, his touch tentative at first, seeking permission. When you didn’t flinch or pull away, his palm slid gently to the curve of your waist. The pressure was light but steady, a silent invitation to let him be there for you.

Without looking up to him, you stepped closer, leaning into his side. The movement was instinctive, your body desperate for some kind of support as your legs threatened to give out beneath you. Logan’s arm tightened around you slightly, anchoring you to him.

Your left arm reached around his back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. The closeness sent a faint shiver down his spine, but he said nothing, letting you take what you needed. Your right hand rested against his chest, your fingers brushing over the soft shirt he wore as you wiped away tears that seemed endless.

“You're always have been the resilient one,” Logan murmured, voice low and rough but carrying a gentleness.

You shook your head. “Not today.”

He exhaled deeply, his hand moving in small, soothing circles against your waist. “And that’s okay,” he said quietly.

The words, simple as they were, broke through the dam holding back your emotions. You buried your face against his chest, muffling the quiet sobs that racked your body. Logan stayed still, his broad frame solid against you, his warmth a shield against the cold weight of grief.

By the time darkness had fallen, the team was already prepared for a calculated mission to find Ellie, putting the grief of Maya aside to save, hopefully, the living one. You'd picked a twin pair of handguns—glossy black—safely secured in their holsters.

The Blackbird took off as usual, with Hank in the pilot’s seat and Ororo co-piloting. Logan, as always, secured his favorite spot next to you on the long bench in the cabin, various straps holding his broad frame in place.

However, unlike the rest of the team, Logan wasn’t dressed in the usual black suit—no tactical gear, no uniform. He just sat there in a pair of jeans and a simple black shirt alongside with black leather jacket, like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

Scott eyed him, his lips twitching in mild exasperation. "You're seriously not going to wear the team gear?" he asked, an eyebrow arched.

Logan shot him a quick glance, his usual smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Nah. Don't need it."

"Party pooper," Scott muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Logan didn’t bother responding, keeping his focus on the mission ahead.

It was a smooth takeoff at first, but soon heavy clouds began shaking the Blackbird. Despite its sophisticated technology, it couldn’t fully defy nature's might. The turbulence wasn’t unfamiliar to you, but the violent tremors made even you a bit uneasy. Your mutation would protect you if anything happened, but you couldn't help wishing this particular flight would remain incident-free. After all, this plane carried the only people you truly cared about in your half-century of life.

You glanced toward the cockpit. Hank’s normally calm demeanor was strained as he gave Ororo instructions, his voice steady but clipped. Ororo nodded, adjusting the controls to lower the jet and avoid the worst of the storm. Their calm professionalism grounded you, even as the turbulence worsened.

Jean and Scott sat across from you and Logan. Scott’s expression was unreadable behind those glasses, his posture relaxed as though turbulence were just a minor inconvenience. Jean, gripping her seatbelt casually, seemed equally unbothered. Your gaze drifted left to Logan, though, and what you saw surprised you.

His eyes were shut tight, his jaw clenched, and his hands gripped the safety straps like they were his lifeline. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his normally robust complexion had turned pale. His lips were pressed together so hard they almost disappeared.

He was scared. That was new.

“For someone who can’t die, you kinda sucks at it,” you quipped, hoping to lighten the mood.

Logan’s eyes snapped open, meeting yours, but the stress etched into his features didn’t soften. The lines on his forehead deepened as he shook his head silently, a clear sign he wasn’t in the mood for your jokes.

Realizing you’d misread the situation, you softened your tone. “It’s just a little turbulence,” you said, trying to reassure him, but the jet betrayed you as another violent jolt rocked the cabin. Logan grunted, his grip tightening on the straps.

“Little’s a strong word,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his knuckles white from the pressure of his grip. His breathing grew short and shallow, a rhythm that immediately set off alarms in your mind.

“Logan, breathe,” you said gently, leaning closer. His eyes locked onto yours, and you exaggerated a deep, steady breath, silently urging him to follow. Slowly, he began to mimic you, his breathing evening out with each deliberate inhale and exhale. Another slight shake hit the jet, but this time he managed to stay calm, his breathing steady under your watchful gaze.

You nodded to him, and he returned the gesture before breaking eye contact, his hands finally relaxing their death grip on the straps. He let them slide down to rest on his thighs, his shoulders sagging as some tension left his body.

Then another violent jolt struck, causing Logan’s hands to clench into fists on his thighs. You caught snippets of conversation from the cockpit as Hank and Ororo discussed a change in altitude to escape the worst of the storm. Acting on instinct, you placed your hand over Logan’s right arm, the one gripping his thigh.

His gaze darted to your hand, a flicker of surprise and, perhaps, gratitude flashing across his face. Almost immediately, his grip relaxed, his arm going still under your touch. You rubbed small circles on his forearm with your thumb, a soothing motion that seemed to anchor him further.

From across the cabin, Jean caught your eye, her expression laced with quiet amusement. She smiled softly, and you pressed your lips into a thin line, feeling warmth creeping up your neck. You quickly shifted your focus back to Logan, whose arm beneath your palm now felt steadier, the tension in his body beginning to ebb away.

Jean turned slightly, nudging Scott with her shoulder. Without speaking, she sent him a telepathic message: "They’re going to end up together by the end of the week."

Scott glanced at her, raising an eyebrow in amusement. His thoughts answered hers with a teasing tone: "End of the week? Please. I give it forty-eight hours."

Jean raised an eyebrow back at him, her lips twitching in a restrained smile. "Oh yeah? Wanna bet?" The spark of challenge in her tone was unmistakable.

Scott smirked, meeting her gaze. "Sure. If I win, I’m picking the next Saturday movie night."

Jean’s nose wrinkled in mock disgust. "Ugh, not a three-hour boring war movies. Fine, but if I win, we’re going on a picnic Sunday morning. No excuses."

Scott tilted his head, feigning consideration before nodding. "Deal."

Their expressions mirrored a conspiratorial delight, both barely containing their amusement as they exchanged a subtle smile. Scott leaned back, looking smug, while Jean cast another knowing glance in your direction.

Neither you nor Logan noticed the silent exchange, too absorbed in the moment between you. Logan’s grip had relaxed completely now, and your thumb instinctively moved in small circles over his arm. Whatever storm lingered inside him seemed to settle under your touch.

Jean fought the urge to laugh, her amusement evident as she leaned slightly toward Scott. Telepathically, she added: "Better start picking your movie, Summers."

Scott's response came swiftly, with equal confidence. "Better packing that picnic basket, Grey."

The rough flight to the SAC headquarters had unsettled the team, though Logan hid it better than most. The turbulence seemed almost symbolic, foreshadowing the chaos they were about to face. When the Blackbird finally touched down, everyone was tense but laser-focused. Logan led the charge during the initial infiltration, his claws carving a silent, efficient path through the guards. Behind him, Ororo and Scott cleared the way for Hank and Jean to access the facility's systems. You followed suit, the rhythm of combat grounding you in the moment.

The team split up for efficiency. You found yourself alone, navigating the sterile hallways. The lab doors loomed ahead, and when you stepped inside, a sight far worse than you'd imagined greeted you.

Stacks of files and records lined the walls, their labels clinical and cold: Mutation Experimentation Logs, Specimen Decommission Reports. You hesitated, dread coiling in your gut. Pulling out a file at random, you scanned the contents, each word cutting deeper than the last.

The SAC wasn’t just experimenting on mutants—it was cross-breeding them with animals to create grotesque hybrids. Descriptions of failed experiments leaped off the page, detailing lives spent in agony before termination. Your breath hitched as you stumbled across a photo clipped to the file: a child, no older than ten, with reptilian scales covering half her body. The caption read: Deceased – Subject incompatible with human host.

Your hand trembled as you shut the file and grabbed another. This one bore a name you recognized—Ivan Sokolov. A pit formed in your stomach as your eyes skimmed through the familiar handwriting: Killebrew's.

"Subject terminated following loss of viability due to prolonged suppression of mutation. Will be sent to battlefield without request for funds. Further trials planned with new candidates."

The words blurred for a moment, but your gaze snapped back to a single phrase that sent a chill down your spine: "prolonged suppression of mutation."

Mutation? Ivan was a mutant?

Your breath caught, your pulse pounding as you scrambled to reread the lines, searching for anything that might explain. Ivan, your closest friend in that desolate sea of blood and cruelty, had never hinted at being anything other than human. He hadn’t had the enhanced strength or agility some mutants wore like badges. He hadn’t shown any signs of powers you could remember.

The realization struck like a thunderbolt—he never told you. Or perhaps, he couldn't. The military had kept his secret, used him just as they had used you. But why? What was his mutation? Questions clawed at your mind, unanswered and unanswerable, now that Ivan was gone.

Your vision blurred as you returned to the file, flipping through pages frantically. Buried amidst the clinical notes was a vague mention: "Unidentified genetic anomaly. Presumed linked to cognitive augmentation." Cognitive augmentation? Your chest tightened. Ivan had always been the strategist, the one who saw patterns, who seemed to anticipate moves before they happened.

The finality of Killebrew’s words—discarded like so many others—hit you with full force. He wasn’t just a casualty of war. He had been erased, his humanity stripped away in the same cruel experiments that had stolen so many others.

Ivan had been a flicker of light in your darkness, the anchor that kept you grounded when the horrors of the battlefield threatened to swallow you whole. And now, that light was snuffed out, leaving you alone with the knowledge of the secret he had carried to his grave.

Your hands shook as you shut the file. But this time, it wasn’t just grief. It was rage—cold, seething, unrelenting rage. Ivan had deserved better. They all had.

A sound behind you snapped you out of your daze. Whirling around, you saw Logan emerging from another hallway, flanked by four wide-eyed children. Their faces were pale, their thin bodies trembling with fear.

"There's more?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Another batch of kids these bastards managed to catch," Logan growled, his tone a mix of rage and quiet grief. “Still no sign of Ellie.”

Your jaw tightened. “Take them back to the jet. I'll keep looking.”

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Not alone, you're not."

“Logan,” you said firmly, your eyes locking with his. “They need you more than I do. I’ll manage.”

He stared at you for a moment, torn between arguing and trusting you. Finally, he relented. “Fine. Be careful.”

You nodded and moved past him, your steps purposeful despite the storm of emotions churning inside you.

Deeper into the facility, you found another lab, and your heart sank at the sight. Ellie sat inside a cage, her small frame curled up in a corner. A thick collar rested around her neck—the same mutation-suppressing device you knew all too well. Her tear-streaked face lifted at the sound of the door opening, and your chest tightened.

“Ellie…” you whispered, stepping closer, but your movement was halted by a voice that sent ice down your spine.

“They found a way to unlock your collar,” Killebrew said, emerging from the shadows with a smug smile. “Still playing the hero, them disgusting mutants band messed with your head.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “Let her go.”

Killebrew ignored your demand, circling the room with calculated steps. “Do you ever stop to think, my dear? Everyone who comes near you ends up dead. Ivan. Your father. Your mother. You’re a curse.”

The mention of your parents made you freeze. “What did you say?”

He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Your father’s betrayal was just the beginning, wasn’t it? But your mother—oh, she broke after his death. I heard she didn’t last long. A few months, maybe?”

The words sliced through you, but you refused to show weakness. “What did you do to Ivan?!” you hissed.

Killebrew chuckled, leaning casually against the workstation. “Face it—you’re nothing but a harbinger of death to those around you. Maybe your new guy can’t die this time, but I suspect something far worse than death is already creeping up on him. The big bad Wolverine with fire and flesh... Oh, they call you ‘Hollow’ now, don’t they? I have to admit, you two make such an exquisite pair.”

Rage boiled over. With a growl, you launched yourself at him. The fight was vicious, Killebrew surprisingly agile for his age. He dodged your first swing, reaching for a scalpel, but you knocked it away. As the scuffle continued, you kicked over the cage holding Ellie, breaking it open.

“Run!” you shouted at her. “Find the others!”

Ellie hesitated, her wide eyes darting between you and Killebrew. “Go!” you yelled, your voice raw. Finally, she bolted, disappearing into the hallway.

Killebrew used the distraction to strike, slamming a piece of equipment into your side. Pain flared, but you ignored it, throwing yourself back into the fight with renewed fury.

Ellie stumbled into Scott first. “I found her!” he called into the comms. “She’s alive, but we need to move. Everyone, back to the Blackbird!”

Jean and Hank joined quickly, carrying armfuls of documents. By the time they reached the jet, Logan was already there with the other children, his expression dark and searching.

“Where is she?” Logan barked, his eyes scanning the group. When no one answered, he yelled your name.

“She’ll manage,” Scott said firmly, strapping in. “We can’t risk the kids.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his rage simmering just below the surface. “Fine,” he snapped, storming out of the jet. Jean called after him, but he ignored her, leaping down and heading back toward the facility.

“Logan, wait!” she yelled again, but he was already gone.

Scott shook his head. “Start the engines,” he ordered, leaving no room for debate. The roar of the Blackbird filled the air as Logan disappeared into the woods, determined to bring you back.

That old age isn’t lying; Killebrew is slow and can’t put up with your fight for so long. You manage to tie him to the laboratory chair with cable and some rope—god knows for what. His ridiculous face whining in pain and gray hair striking under the harsh light is absolutely amusing.

You shake your head, the view is amusing, but you can’t shake the question out of your system. What the fuck happened to Ivan? So you pull a chair and sit across from him.

“What’d you do to Ivan?” you manage to ask calmly, despite the raging storm.

“Injected him with the formula I bought from Russia. It was so expensive, he was practically a waste of funds.”

“Waste of fucking funds?!” You grunt in disgust. “Why didn’t he ever tell me? Why didn’t you?”

Killebrew shakes his head, confused. “Tell you what?!” he yells in frustration.

“That he was a mutant?! All this time, I thought he was human. Some random guy that got tangled under the filthy US government military that he probably didn’t even know half of what was going on. And I just fucking find out he’s one of your projects, just like me. Why’d you keep it from me?” you cry in frustration.

Killebrew’s brows narrow together. “Why on earth would I fucking tell you that? I’m rather surprised he didn’t tell you,” he says, leaning back with the slightest grin forming on his lips.

You shake your head. Of course, he didn’t fucking care. And here you are, thinking he kept it all away for a reason, but it’s all on Ivan. He didn’t tell you anything, and you thought you knew him, only to be proven that you didn’t know him at all, years after he was gone.

You sit in silence, letting this new fact that alters a big part of your life sink in. Your head feels heavy, and it suddenly drops as you look at the floor.

A whole year, maybe even a little more than that, you were stationed together. Sure, a year is a pretty short time to get to know someone new, but it’s a different case when the only time you didn’t see each other was a week out of that one year. You and Ivan, alongside ten other human soldiers—or at least you thought they were human because now Ivan has you questioning everything—were stationed under that sergeant whose name you can barely remember. But you remember every minute you spent with Ivan.

He told you his father was in the military. It was a common ground that instantly clicked between you two. You remembered his witty jokes: “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this? I bet ten dollars your father served.” To which you instantly replied, “And I bet you twenty your pops also served.” That day, you lost ten dollars but also gained another ten.

He’s from Montana, he told you that. His father served in the military and wanted him to be a real man and serve their country for being so kind to them as refugees. His father used to say their family owed America their lives, which you both laughed your asses off at. Owing America your life... what a shithole nightmare of a life to live.

He left Russia when he was six and never came back. He told you that. He pretty much fucking told you everything about his life because none of the other ten soldiers were fun to talk to. You did the same thing—told him pretty much everything about your life, even the experiments Killebrew had done and how they affected you. He had shared his sincere apology to you for it, but that was all.

You two lived the same life. He never told you that part. He never told you he was also an experiment, someone whose choices were taken and rights violated?

“So, Ivan’s father also sold his son to you?” you ask, finally breaking the heavy silence and lifting your head.

“Sold? He volunteered,” Killebrew says.

Before you can speak, Killebrew opens his mouth again. “It was because of you. He adored your ability and wanted to have what you have. That one week off, when all of Sergeant Cooper’s soldiers were sent back to regroup, Ivan willingly came to me. His body just rejected it.”

Your breath comes in shallow at another heartbreaking piece of information dropped like some atomic bomb on your head. What the actual fuck? Why would he fucking do that? His blood is actually on your hands? Gosh, he’s so fucking stupid—you should never have told him about your experiment.

You’re upset, angry about his decision. You can’t wrap your head around it. Just why? You feel like throwing the chair across the room. Your hands go up to your head, massaging your temples, then rest on your thighs as you bend slightly forward in the chair.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

As you’re distracted, too busy controlling your breath, Killebrew slips himself free with a piece of broken glass hidden under his white coat sleeve. He cuts the knot on his hand and lunges at you, stabbing you in the neck with the glass.

You scream in pain as he frees himself from the other knot. Your hand instinctively covers the stab wound, carefully pulling the glass out and letting your skin knit itself back together.

He runs toward one of the lab’s drawers and opens a metal door. You try to chase him but stop in horror at the sight of what he grabs.

A mutation inhibitor collar.

“One step closer, and you won’t fucking survive this time, bitch!” he spits, holding the collar out toward you as you stand a few steps away, raising your hands smartly to avoid getting caught in that shit again.

Fuck him.

You run toward him and lunge, knocking him in the stomach until his body drops with a loud thud onto the floor. You pin him in place, and he drops the collar.

Combat isn’t your strong suit, but right now, you want nothing more than to punch him bare in the face. Your fist curls, and you land a fat punch straight to his nose. He grunts in pain and manages to grab a piece of steel, smashing it into your head.

The fight isn't over. You slam Killebrew's head into the wall with a sickening thud, his skull making contact with the concrete. Не lets out a sharp cry of pain, but you don't stop. You keep smashing his head, again and again, until there's a small pool of blood trickling from the back of his skull. He slumps against the wall, his body barely staying upright, but still conscious.

Footsteps approach. Logan walks in, his gaze immediately locking onto the scene. He stops just in time to see you standing over Killebrew, his figure now small and pitiful, sitting and leaning against the wall, panting heavily.

"Hey," Logan calls your name softly. You turn at the sound of his voice. His expression softens when he sees you, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury. "You okay?"

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. His hand reaches for your shoulder briefly, giving you a comforting squeeze.

Logan looks down at Killebrew, who's still breathing heavily, his face twisted in pain. "Look at you two," Killebrew sneers, his voice ragged. "Gonna outlive every single person you knew on this earth, until nobody's left but the two of you. A match made in hell, an eternal damnation."

Logan glances at you, and you start walking away. He follows, his voice lowering. "Aren't you gonna finish the job?" he asks.

You shake your head. "Let him suffer."

Logan steps in front of you, halting your progress. "Woah, woah, what if someone finds him and rescues him?" He looks at you, concern flashing in his eyes.

You pause, eyes flickering to Killebrew as he struggles for breath. "If I kill him, I'm just proving his point," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

"You're not what he created," Logan's gaze softens as he processes your words. He nods in understanding. "If he survives, he won't stop."

"I know," you sigh, running a hand through your hair. "You might think I'm crazy, but I just... I'm proving this to myself. That I'm much better than him." Your gaze falls to the floor, your emotions a mess.

Logan steps closer, his breath steady, his tone gentle. "Do you want him dead?"

"Logan, I-"

"It's a yes or no question," he says cutting you off, more firm now, his voice low but unwavering.

You take a deep breath. "Yeah." You sigh, the word heavy on your chest.

Without another word, Logan walks past you, his figure casting a shadow over Killebrew's beaten form. He kneels down in front of Killebrew and curls his fist, bringing it to the man's chest. His claws emerge with a sharp, unmistakable snikt, and without hesitation, he stabs them right into Killebrew's heart.

The life drains from Killebrew's eyes, and his body goes limp. Logan pulls his claws out, the blood dripping slowly down his wrist. He retracts them, wiping his other palm across the blood-stained hand without a care in the world.

He stands up and looks at you, your eyes flickering with something, gratitude, maybe. He approaches you, his hand warm as it rests gently on your back.

"C'mon," he says softly. "Let's get outta here."

You nod, and together, you walk away, leaving the body of Killebrew behind.

The two of you walk down a desolate road, surrounded by dense woods whose name you don't even know. Glancing at your watch, you note it's half-past midnight. You still can’t believe Logan had no better plan for getting back to the mansion than walking. It’s freezing, and the single piece of black leather you’re wearing does nothing to help. And now, left alone with Logan again, you can’t ignore the awkwardness lingering between you two.

A question drums against your skull, one you’ve yet to address properly. You cringe at the thought of saying it out loud, but it keeps circling in your mind.

What the hell are we?

Maybe drop the "hell"—just what are we? Dear god, it sounds absolutely pathetic. Maybe Logan does this often, y’know, the casual thing. You’re not against it, but the idea doesn’t sit right with you. Especially since, well… it’s Logan. He gave you the best head you’ve ever had.

Or maybe it’s better left as is. No strings, no drama. No breakups, no obligations. Nobody gets left behind because there wasn’t anything to fulfill in the first place.

The two of you keep walking down the road. A few cars pass by, and Logan halfheartedly sticks his thumb out for a ride. You quickly point out that it’s not the brightest idea.

Then, a light catches your eye—a building, glowing in the dark with a bright orange sign. "You hungry?" you ask, nudging Logan with your shoulder and nodding toward the diner across the road, about a hundred yards away.

Katz Diner, the sign reads, gleaming through the gloom of night.

"We don’t have any money," Logan says, his boots crunching against the gravel.

"You don’t have any money," you reply, reaching into the pocket of your holster and pulling out two neatly folded hundred-dollar bills.

Logan scoffs, clearly amused. "You’re carryin’ cash around on a mission?"

"What? This is a survival kit." You flash him a wide smile, and his husky chuckle follows, warm and familiar against the cold night air.

The two of you finally make it to the diner, your steps quickening as the glowing orange sign promises warmth and food. But as you reach the glass door, the truth dawns on you. A "CLOSED" sign hangs in clear view, mocking your misplaced hope. You groan, your breath fogging up the glass as you clutch yourself against the biting cold.

"Asshole," you mutter under your breath, shivering as you glare at the locked door.

Logan glances down at you, his expression unreadable except for that flicker of mischief in his eyes. Without a word, you already know what he’s about to do.

"Logan, don’t—"

Before you can finish, his fist smashes through the glass. You flinch at the sound, but Logan barely reacts, calmly reaching through the jagged shards to unlock the door. Pushing it open, he gestures for you to go in first.

"You’ll have to leave the hundred bucks on a table," he says, stepping aside with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, walking past him into the dark, empty diner.

"We’re gonna get arrested," you tease, glancing around the quiet interior. Your gaze catches a red light from CCTV camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling.

"But maybe if there’s no footage," you quip, pulling your gun from its holster.

The loud crack of the gunshot shatters the stillness, and Logan startles, snapping his head toward you. "Geez, give a guy some warning, will ya?"

"Where’s the fun in that?" you reply with a grin, holstering your weapon as you take stock of the diner.

Behind the counter, you push open the swinging door to the kitchen. A quick glance around reveals a treasure trove of ingredients—raw chicken, beef, potatoes, eggs, butter, pasta, tomatoes, sausages, bacon, and more.

"Jackpot," you mutter, pulling a few items off the shelves.

Logan steps into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you inspect the food. "You planning to cook or hoard?"

You toss a bag of potatoes at him, which he catches with ease. "Both," you shoot back.

Within minutes, the two of you are working side by side, a light banter filling the room as you chop, stir, and fry. Logan handles the meat, seasoning and grilling the chicken and bacon with surprising skill. Meanwhile, you focus on the carbs, boiling pasta and mashing potatoes.

"You're getting better with that," you remark, watching as Logan flips the bacon in a pan.

"Had to learn," he replies with a shrug. "Ain't gonna risk the chance of you callin' my meal closer to inedible, again..."

You chuckle recalling your own joke to him "I really did hit a nerve there huh?" you tease.

Logan smirks, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "Wound still fresh"

The playful tone lingers in the air as you finish cooking, the warm scent of food filling the room. You walk from the kitchen to the table first, balancing your plate carefully, eager to sit and eat. But as you place it down, Logan appears behind you like a shadow, plate in hand, following without a word.

You turn back toward the kitchen, remembering your forgotten glass of water, and nearly crash into him. You freeze as he blocks your way, standing so close that you feel his warmth against the cold air of the diner. Startled, you glance up, and for a brief moment, his heavy, tired eyes bore into yours. It’s like he’s seeing through you, and you’re not sure if you want to look away or keep holding his gaze.

The tension breaks awkwardly as you both shift to move, but in the same direction, cutting each other off. You chuckle nervously. "You want water?"

Logan’s lips twitch into a soft smile, rare and disarming. "Yeah."

You gesture to his right, stepping aside to give him space. "Okay, I’ll go this way, you go that way," you say, slipping past him and retreating to grab two glasses.

Your breath feels shaky as you fill the glasses, your mind stuck on that split-second where he had looked at you. Only if he knew how much he was affecting you, how much you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on you.

When you return, Logan is already seated, waiting. You slide the glass to his side of the table, his quiet "Thanks" breaking the silence as you take your seat.

You eat in silence at first, avoiding his gaze, your eyes fixed on your plate. The chicken looks unappetizing, under-seasoned and bland, but you tell yourself it’s fine—you’ve had worse.

Logan, on the other hand, occasionally glances up from his plate to you. His fork pauses midway to his mouth as he studies you, the way your focus stays locked on your food, the way you keep your head down.

Finally, he speaks. "Y’alright?" His voice is steady, cutting through the quiet scrape of utensils against plates.

You shrug without looking up. "Yeah."

Your gaze shifts to the window beside you, the yellow streetlight casting a faint glow against the black of night. It’s easier to stare at that than at him. After a moment, you bring your attention back to your plate, but the awkward weight of his question still lingers in the air.

Logan’s fork clinks softly as he sets it down, leaning back in the booth. His sharp eyes don’t leave you. "What’s wrong?" he asks again, his voice gentler this time, but persistent.

"Nothing," you reply quickly, a little too quickly, cutting another piece of your chicken as though focusing on the task would shield you from his gaze.

He doesn’t let it go. "Look at me," he grumbles, his tone low but firm, the kind that makes your hand freeze mid-motion.

You hesitate, but eventually tilt your head, meeting his eyes. They’re heavy with something you can’t quite put into words—concern, maybe frustration, but most of all, care.

"What’s wrong?" he repeats, this time softer, your name slipping from his lips like an anchor, grounding you.

You hate that. Hate how much his concern cuts through your walls, hate the way it makes your chest tighten. It’s unbearable, so you break the contact, dropping your gaze back to your plate.

"I don’t know," you admit, your voice small, barely above a whisper. You spear the last bite of chicken and shove it into your mouth, hoping to end the conversation.

But Logan doesn’t move. He doesn’t pick his fork back up, doesn’t shift his attention elsewhere. You can feel him watching you, his patience unnerving.

"You do," he mutters, his voice calm but resolute.

You glance up briefly, your brow furrowing. "No, I don’t," you insist, the words coming out sharper than you intended.

Logan leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. "You’re not a good liar, y’know that?"

The corner of your mouth twitches, but you don’t let the smile break through. "Guess I need more practice."

His lips quirk in a faint smile, but his eyes remain serious. "You don’t need practice. You need to talk."

You shake your head, suddenly feeling exposed under his unwavering attention. "Not now, Logan. Can we just… drop it?"

For a moment, it seems like he might push further, but then he exhales heavily, leaning back again. "Fine," he says, though his tone suggests he’s not letting it go forever.

You stood up quickly, desperate to put some space between you and Logan, the weight of everything hanging in the air. You felt a mix of frustration, confusion, and something you couldn’t quite place. But before you could walk away, his voice stopped you.

"Hey."

You froze, heart pounding, and turned to face him. His eyes were locked onto you, steady and unyielding. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out your mother’s necklace, holding it out to you. The sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut, and you could barely process it.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stepped closer. "Where the hell did you find that?" you demanded, your voice coming out shakier than you intended as you snatched the necklace from his arm.

"Your bathroom’s floor," Logan said, his tone almost too casual, like it was no big deal. A smirk tugged at his lips, but there was no hint of apology.

"My bathroom’s floor?" You repeated, disbelief taking over. You could feel your anger rising, the frustration bubbling up. "What the fuck, Logan? Why the hell would you put it in your pocket?!"

Logan's eyes narrowed, and he shifted, standing up from the booth in one smooth motion. He was inches from you now, his body tense with frustration. "Jesus, calm down. It’s just a necklace."

"Just a necklace?" You snapped, voice rising. "It’s my mother’s! You don’t just take things and shove them in your pocket like it doesn’t matter!"

You stood there, fury coursing through your veins, your heart pounding in your chest as Logan continued to stand in front of you. He looked almost unbothered, his stance relaxed, but his eyes—his eyes were anything but.

"You always do this," you said, stepping closer, your voice low but trembling with frustration. "You make me feel like I’m the one losing my mind while you—" you gestured sharply at him, "just stand there like nothing’s wrong!"

Logan’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides. "And you think I’m not losing my mind too? You think I don’t feel this—" he waved vaguely between you both, his voice rising, "whatever the hell this is?"

"This?" you shot back, your chest tightening. "This is you pushing and pulling untill I don’t even know where I stand with you!"

His laugh was bitter, almost a scoff. "Yeah? Well, try being on this side of it. Try waking up every day thinking—" He stopped abruptly, his words catching, and his eyes darted away.

"Thinking what?" you demanded, stepping closer. "Say it, Logan. For once, just say it!"

His head snapped back toward you, and his voice dropped, low and rough, like he was forcing the words out. "Thinking that if I get too close, I’m gonna ruin you. And if I stay away, I’ll hate myself for the rest of my goddamn life."

The air between you felt like it might break. Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you couldn’t look away from him.

"Then what do you want me to do?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips parted, but the words seemed to stick, his throat working as he searched for something to say.

"Stay," he murmured raw and pleading. "For once in your damn life, just stay."

You shake your head hesitantly. "Why?" Your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes stinging as you fight back tears.

Logan steps closer, the warmth of his body radiating toward you. His gaze searches your face as if memorizing every detail, etching it into his mind.

"Because we need each other," he says, his voice rough but steady. "You and I... we can be quite destructive on our own. But together—" he pauses, his jaw tightening as if the words are caught in his throat, "we cancel that out."

Your fingers tighten around the heart-shaped pendant in your hand. He reaches for you, his touch impossibly gentle, and you resist, unwilling to let go of this fragile barrier. But the tenderness in his hand disarms you, and slowly, your grip softens.

Logan carefully takes the necklace, holding it as though it’s something sacred. His gaze softens as it locks onto yours. "I've been the best version of myself when I'm with you. And I think—no, I know—you feel the same."

He steps behind you, his movements slow, deliberate, as he fastens the necklace around your neck. You close your eyes, his nearness overwhelming. The familiar scent of him—leather, smoke, and something distinctly Logan—wraps around you, grounding you and pulling you apart at the same time.

"Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll stop," he says softly.

You don’t answer. Words fail you as his fingers brush the back of your neck and lift your ponytail for adjusting the clasp. Your breath catches when his hand grazes your waist, the touch featherlight but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

His voice drops, barely audible. "Just one chance. That’s all I’m asking."

You lean into his touch despite yourself, your head tilting slightly as his breath warms the curve of your neck. When his lips hover, hesitating, your resolve weakens entirely.

"Logan..." you whisper, though you’re not sure what you’re asking for.

He exhales sharply, the sound laced with longing. His palm rests firmly on your waist, and his other hand grazes the zipper of your suit. Your heart pounds as he begins to pull it down, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow.

Unable to take the tension any longer, you turn to face him, the suit unzipped halfway. His hands find your waist again as you rest yours on his shoulders, grounding yourself against the storm building between you.

"What do you want?" you ask, your voice trembling as his forehead touches yours, his nose brushing against you in the smallest, softest gesture.

"You," he breathes. "I want you."

His hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing your skin with a gentleness that sends heat spiraling through your chest. Before either of you can think twice, you close the gap, your lips crashing into his.

Logan kisses you back with equal intensity, his lips moving against yours in a way that feels both desperate and certain. It’s messy, passionate, and utterly consuming. When your tongue slips past his lips, he meets it eagerly, a low growl escaping his throat.

Without warning, a wild thought flickers through your mind, and you bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to hurt and leave an impression. Logan pulls back with a sharp inhale, his eyes wide with surprise.

You grin, mischief playing on your lips as you watch the small wound heal almost instantly. He licks the blood from his lip tasting the iron.

He cooed "Easy there" the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk.

You grab his wrist after he moves to wipe the blood away and bring his finger to your lips. Slowly, deliberately, you lick the crimson from his skin, your eyes never leaving his.

Logan lets out a low, disbelieving chuckle. "You’re gonna be the death of me," he growls, his voice thick with desire.

"Then I’ll make sure it’s slow and satisfying," you reply, your voice a whisper dripping with challenge.

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else, his lips crashing into yours again, hungrier this time. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel his body tense against yours as if holding himself back from unraveling completely.

"Logan," you moan against his lips.

"Say it again," he murmurs, his voice raw as his lips trail down to the edge of your jaw.

Your breath stutters. "Logan..."

The way he reacts, the way his name seems to break something inside him, sends your heart spiraling.

Logan pulls back suddenly, his gaze darting to something behind the counter. His expression is unreadable as he peeks over, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“Logan, what—?” you start, but before you can finish, a familiar tune blasts through the speakers.

'I could stay awake... just to hear you breathing...

Watchin’ you smile while you are sleeping.'

Your eyes widen as you recognize the opening chords of Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing by Aerosmith fill the room.

Logan steps back toward you, a mischievous grin on his face. With a slow, deliberate motion, he extends his arm, inviting you to take it.

“What are you doing?” you ask, half-laughing, but you instinctively reach out, letting him guide your hand to his.

“Dance with me,” he says confidently, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking your head but allowing him to pull you closer.

“Didn’t take you for a sucker of romance,” you tease, laughing softly as he spins you around the empty diner.

His movements are surprisingly smooth, his hand guiding yours to his shoulder while the other stays firmly at your waist. “Yeah, well,” he smirks, “I don’t even know how to dance.”

“Sure you don’t,” you reply with a grin, noticing how effortlessly he leads.

'Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure.....'

As the music swells, your eyes meet his, and the warmth in his gaze makes your chest tighten. This song—it hits every nerve just right.

And then, as if on cue, the two of you burst out in unison:

“Don’t wanna close my eyes…”

Your voice is off-key, and so is his, but neither of you care. You’re singing with abandon, your joy filling the room.

“I don’t wanna fall asleep, ‘cause I’ll miss you, babe!”

Logan laughs, a deep, husky sound that makes your stomach flutter, and you can’t help but join in.

“And I don’t wanna miss a thing!”

You yell out the lyrics, your voices echoing through the diner. Logan suddenly lifts you off your feet, spinning you around, and you shriek with laughter, clinging to his shoulders.

“‘Cause even when I dream of you…” Logan sings the line. You laugh so hard tears prick your eyes.

“The sweetest dream will never do…”

You quiet down, your smile fading into something more genuine as he carries you in a slow, swaying circle.

“I’d still miss you, babe…”

Your chest tightens, emotion welling up as you press closer, resting your forehead against his.

“And I don’t wanna miss a thing,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

Logan’s grin softens, and he pulls you even closer. His chin rests gently on top of your head as the two of you move in slow, easy steps to the rhythm of the song. Your hand squeezes his arm, and you close your eyes, letting the moment take over.

The beat of his heart is steady beneath your ear, grounding you. His hand at your waist tightens, his touch warm and reassuring. For the first time in a long time, everything feels right—no fights, no pain, just the two of you and this perfect, fleeting moment.

'Then I kiss your eyes and thank God we’re together,

And I just wanna stay with you,

In this moment forever, forever and ever.'

The song continues to pour through the diner speakers as the two of you move in slow, deliberate steps. You pull your head away from Logan’s chest, your eyes flickering with unspoken gratitude. He holds your gaze, leaning in closer, and brushes his lips against yours in a soft, tender kiss.

Outside the diner, across the road, Scott and Jean stand in their gear, clearly fresh from their mission. Ellie and the children have been safely returned to the mansion, and with the tracker embedded in your suit, it wasn’t hard for them to find you and Logan in the middle of nowhere.

What they didn’t expect was… this.

Under the diner’s bright lights and with its large glass windows, you and Logan are clearly visible, completely absorbed in each other.

Scott lets out an incredulous sigh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he mutters.

Jean chuckles, nudging him playfully. “Man, can’t believe we both lost this one,” Scott grumbles.

Jean smirks. “Lovebirds,” she teases, crossing her arms as they continue watching the scene unfold.

Scott huffs, stepping off the curb. “Alright, let’s break this up.”

The two of them approach the diner, standing awkwardly just outside the glass. They exchange a glance, silently debating what to do. Finally, Scott knocks loudly on the glass, startling you both mid-kiss.

You jolt, pulling away from Logan as your heart jumps into your throat. “Fucking hell,” you mutter, your face flushing as you spot Scott and Jean standing there, Scott looking thoroughly unimpressed and Jean offering a thin, awkward smile.

Logan doesn’t look even remotely phased. He’d sensed their presence long before the music even started, but he hadn’t cared. With a soft grunt, he reaches behind you and zips your black leather suit back up, taking his sweet time.

Scott and Jean step carefully through the broken glass on the diner floor, their expressions half-amused and half-annoyed.

“I had high hopes for you two,” Scott says, his tone dry as he surveys the scene.

Logan raises an eyebrow, his hand still resting on your lower back. “You’ve got a point, Summers, or are you just here to gawk?”

Jean laughs lightly, shaking her head. “Don’t mind him. He’s just sulking because he bet you’d get together in the next forty-eight hours.”

Scott scowls. “And she bet it’d take at least a week,” he grumbles, gesturing at Jean. “Turns out, we were both wrong.”

You blink in disbelief, glancing at Logan, who looks utterly amused. He lets out a low, satisfied chuckle.

“Guess you two underestimated us,” he says, flashing a smug grin before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips—right in front of them.

Your cheeks warm, but you can’t help the wide smile spreading across your face as you lean into Logan’s side.

Scott groans, throwing his hands up. “Alright, get a room, you two. Your ride’s outside. Time to go home.” He turns, wrapping an arm around Jean’s shoulders as they head for the door.

'Don’t wanna close my eyes…

I don’t wanna fall asleep…

I don’t wanna miss a thing,'

the song continues, fading behind you as Logan intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Home,” you murmur with a soft smile, glancing up at him.

Logan’s lips press gently against your temple, his touch grounding and warm.

“Home indeed,” he echoes, voice filled with quiet contentment.

Together, you walk out of the diner, leaving the music behind and a two-hundred-dollar bill on the counter by the radio.

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Build and then rebuild

Day 1 of @nedcatweek: Early days in Winterfell

The night is cold and harsh, but Catelyn at least finds some warmth in her husband

Cold nights became cold days became cold nights became cold days. Endless snow falling from clouds that changed between various shades of grey. Never so much as a flash of sunlight or a glimpse of a blue sky.

Catelyn’s chambers were warm and for that she was deeply grateful. She would have thanked her gods if it had not been for that she knew she had her husband to thank. He had told her he had chosen those rooms for her because they were the warmest Winterfell had to offer and he did not wish for her to be cold.

Escaping the cold was a possibility. Each night she was allowed to retire to the dry heat of her bedchamber and curl up underneath soft furs. There she could sleep comfortably with no worry of that the cold would reach her.

Escaping the loneliness was less of a possibility. The northerners were all kind to her. Welcoming, even. They had taken to her well and she did like them. It had not taken long to grow fond of them. Though they were not riverlanders. Not even southerners. They scoffed at her gods and her customs and the fashion she knew from her home. They were eager to bring her into all the they knew. They did not quite understand.

Benjen had been the closest thing to a friend she had acquired in her first time. He was certainly very young, though he had met her with a curiosity few others had mustered. Many northern lords and ladies she had met and they were all courteous, though she had not come to know them quite as closely as she had come to know Benjen. Then Benjen had joined the Night’s Watch and so she had again been alone.

She had her boy, of course. Her beautiful son. The sweetest thing in the world. He would grow to be a wonderful man, she was absolutely certain of it. Though that was years away. As of yet he had only just began putting words together. Which was a delight for everyone that listened to him even as he was not much of a converser yet. She could not tell him of what chafed within her.

The frozen silence that came from her husband made the chafing worse. He was good. She knew he was. He was so soft with their son. Loved him so truly. Mumbled stories to him and rocked him to sleep. For a time she had believed he was warming to her, too. He had smiled at her often. Conversed with her over their shared meals.

Then she had made a mistake. She had believed that maybe in the darkness of her bedchamber, in the gentle moment that was the aftermath of their coupling, she could ask of the other boy’s mother. The thing that had been and remained the worst aspect of her chafing. He had not liked that. For the first and so far only time he had frightened her. Then he had grown cold again.

All that she endured and would continue to endure. It could have been much worse. She had given her husband a strong boy that they both adored. With time she would grow more accustomed to the harsh cold of the north and the boldness bordering on impudence of her people. She would find friends among the strange men and women. It would all be right in the end. She merely had to wait for it. And wait she would do. She was good at waiting.

That night she waited for sleep to take her. She could not say why she struggled so with finding peace when she was usually so exhausted she barely had time to lay her head down before she was dreaming.

Perhaps it was worry for Robb. He had a cough. The maester kept a close eye on it and had initially seemed worried, though when after two days it had not grown worse he had assured Catelyn it was most likely nothing she needed to concern herself with. A common cough brought on by the cold, was all. If they simply ensured Robb was kept warm it would pass soon.

So she had brought his cradle into her rooms so that he could sleep just by her bed. Her rooms were the warmest, after all. And that way she could listen to his breathing and his little coughs, ensure he was well through the night.

Not much time could have passed since she had retired for the night when there was a knock on her door. There was not often visitors at that time. Whatever could have happened?

As quickly as she could she climbed out of the bed and crossed through the room to the door. She did not wish to call for someone to enter when Robb was asleep just by her. He could become so fussy if he was woken. It was difficult to get him to settle down more than once a night.

It was a surprise to find her husband just outside the door when she opened it. Dressed in a simple robe as if he had only just come from his own bedchamber.

”Good evening, my lord” Catelyn said, suppressing the initial shock. ”May I in any way assist you?”

There was a brief moment of hesitation from Eddard before he cleared his throat.

”I was merely wondering if I might share your bed this night.”

Catelyn stepped aside so that he could enter.

”Of course. It is your right always.”

Again there was hesitance.

”I would not force my presence upon you, my lady” he insisted.

”You are not forcing anything upon me.”

If he wished to come to her then she would welcome him. Continuing the animosity would do no one good. Neither of them would benefit from it. So why send him away? Why not make an attempt at bridging the rift? He was the father of her son, after all. He would be the father of all children she might have. And how was she to have them if they could not be close to one another?

Still she did not know what to say to him as he entered her chamber and she closed the door behind him. What did she speak of with this man that was her husband? This man that had been furious with her for asking about his bastard and now came to sleep next to her?

”Are you only just now retiring for the night?” she asked, mustering her politest tone. ”My lord.”

”Aye. It has been a long and tedious day.”

And yet he came to her rather than withdrawing to the calm and solitude of his own bedchamber.

”I was not certain you would still be awake at this hour” Eddard then added.

He had shed his robe and hung it over the chair by her dressing table. Again Catelyn was strangely flattered by his words. He had believed her to be asleep and still he had taken the chance. It would have been so easy not to.

”I hear myself I sound silly, though I find myself worrying for Robb despite the good maester’s assurance of that he will be well” she confessed.

The thought of something befalling their only child was excruciating. He had to be well always.

”It does not sound silly in the least, my lady. I have been quite worried myself.”

Catelyn watched him as he crossed over to the cradle standing by her bedside and looked down at Robb.

”He still sleeps well” she told him. ”And for that I am glad.”

”It is certainly a relief.”

When she walked over to stand next to him so that she could also see Robb he glanced at her with half a smile on his lips and Catelyn found herself immediately returning it.

There was a drawn out silence as they both observed their son. Watched his chest rise and fall with every breath he took. He held onto the blanket he would not sleep without with a strength that should have been impossible for such a small being. He would be even stronger once he grew.

On a whim Catelyn reached up and kissed Eddard’s cheek before returning to the bed. It had simply felt appropriate.

As she once again made herself comfortable under the furs Eddard reached into the cradle and lifted Robb into his arms.

Any other person Catelyn would have advised against it, though she had seen Eddard’s marvellous ability to both make Robb fall asleep and keep him sleeping. It was a wonder. Robb could be crying and refusing to settle down and all his father had to do was hold him and speak to him in a soft voice. It was almost unfair.

”My sweet boy” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of Robb’s head.

Catelyn could not keep from smiling.

Carefully Eddard laid down on the bed with Robb in his arms so that the little boy was resting on his chest. Never once did he show signs of waking. He was perfectly content with Eddard. Even buried his small fists in the fabric of his father’s nightshirt, holding onto him. There was a warmth spreading through her chest when Catelyn turned to her side so that she could look at her husband and her son.

”You are so good with him” she said softly.

”He’s my son.”

There was some distance between them in the bed and in a bold moment Catelyn closed that distance so that she could hold Robb’s hand. It left her hand resting on Eddard’s chest.

The silence was heavy. As if there was something in the air surrounding them. Once again she did not know what to say. Even so she grew more tired with each passing second. Robb was asleep on his father’s chest, safe in his embrace. She was no longer alone in her bed, and Eddard did not seem so upset with her anymore. It was almost like it had been before. It lessened the chafing. Made it easier to find peace.

”I am glad you came” she said, wanting him to hear those words before she fell asleep.

”I could come more often. If you wish.”

She did wish for that.

[seramilla]

God that must be so hard and nerve wracking for Carmilla. Finally knowing what happened to the baby she lost and feeling slightly relieved cause now here was her baby safe and here in her arms again where she belonged damnit but they were all in hell and her baby had already lost an eye and had to fight every day...

But also...how are Clara and Odette handling the news that they found their baby sister and just who she is?

Carmilla takes a few days to determine if she wants to inform Odette and Clara about what she'd gleaned following the most recent Extermination. In the first place, her girls had been working overtime extracting all the angelic steel left behind near the Hotel; it's a veritable treasure trove this time, and they'd been so excited to get started. Second, Carmilla needed time to process recent revelations herself, and figure out how to delicately broach the subject with her eldest two.

How is she supposed to tell her daughters that their sister, whose existence they'd barely even registered back on Earth, had quite literally come back from the dead? Not only that, they'd missed an entire childhood together; growing, playing, bonding, fighting, and loving one another -- all things Clara and Odette had the opportunity to do. How is Carmilla supposed to just go up to them and say, "Surprise! You remember that child I was pregnant with when we all died? Well, she's still around! She's an ex-Exterminator, killed hundreds of our people, and I don't even know if she wants anything to do with us!"

Would Odette even accept her? Clara is usually the more open-minded of the two. That's another question she can't answer. With how many times Vaggie's "sister" Exorcists have tried to kill them over the years, would her other daughters even want to have anything to do with Vaggie? She thinks they would...Clara the most likely of the two...but they are fully grown women with their own thoughts and feelings. She wouldn't blame them if they...well, they'd have every right not to want that kind of relationship with Vaggie, at any rate.

Carmilla is still stewing in these thoughts, having practically worn a path in the middle of her bedroom floor by walking back and forth so many times, when she feels a vibration in her pocket. Pulling out her phone, Vaggie's name flashes prominently on the screen, like a fresh piece of graffiti on the side of a building. She almost drops her phone in surprise, but manages to keep it together. She taps the answer icon in trepidation.

"Ye-yes?"

"Carmilla?" Vaggie's voice on the other end sounds so...tired. Carmilla recalls she's been home for a few days now, but she wouldn't have been able to tell by the sound of her voice alone. Her tone is so...ragged and laced with anxiety; a spitting image of her own, if she's honest.

"Vaggie! Umm, yes! How can I help you?"

There is a definitive pause, one that makes the distance between them seem more metaphysical than real. They are just across the city from each other, but in every other sense, Vaggie is undoubtedly existing in her own plane of reality right now. She seems so much farther away than Carmilla could possibly reach by foot. It must have taken her a lot to call Carmilla. The arms dealer puts her patience to the test, and waits intently for Vaggie to find the words to voice what she needs to say.

"Carmilla..." Vaggie finally starts, a voice much shakier and insecure than she remembers; a far cry from that determined, brave girl that challenged her at her compound all those days ago. "Can I...come over?"

Carmilla's heart jumps into her throat. Her ears start ringing, and she almost needs to sit down on her bed before she collapses.

"Yes!" she says, flinching as she sounds a little too eager for her own ears. There's no helping that now. "Of-of course! Whatever you need, mi querida. My door is always open. When do you want to come by?"

"Ummm," Vaggie hesitates, as if she fears she's asking too much. "Is right now okay? Are you...busy?"

Odette and Clara will be back soon, but that is the furthest thing from Carmilla's mind at the moment. She'll deal with it when the time comes.

"No, that's perfectly fine! Absolutely, I'll be here! I'm not going anywhere today."

Vaggie sounds a little relieved, but also like she hadn't expected her question to be answered so quickly, so freely. Carmilla hopes she doesn't sound too eager...but she is. How can she not be? This is her daughter, for goodness’ sake, her child, wanting to see her.

"O-oh-okay!" Vaggie says, a little more eager this time. "Gi-give me an hour? And I'll...I'll be there."

"Text me once you're close by," Carmilla says, trying to push away any further doubts and hesitation from her mind. Vaggie wants to come over. She needs to be strong for her. She needs to keep it the fuck together. "I'll come out and get you this time."

"Okay," Vaggie responds. "Thanks...thank you, Carmilla."

Vaggie hangs up. Carmilla stiffens. She stands up, putting her large hands over her face, wiping her forehead down to her cheeks from the stress of it all. Vaggie is coming back, coming here, right now. She tries so much not to freak the fuck out.

Now to figure out what to do about Odette and Clara.

[kitixie]

Unknown / Nth (T.S.)

hey y’all! this is just a little one shot inspired by the new hozier song, unknown / nth. i highly highly recommend!!

word count: 1.2k

warnings: this is SAD. like, sad sad.

A marriage to Tommy Shelby was not for the faint of heart. He was a liar, a secret keeper, a killer. He was many things a man should not be. But God, did you love him. He hung your moon and stars, he was the rising and setting sun, and your world revolved around him. He was it for you, and you thought you were it for him too.

Until Grace.

Until Grace came along, and Tommy started staying out late, saying things that your Tommy never would have said to you. He became hateful, cold, and distant towards you. Instead of being the sun, he was now the darkness. The kind that swept in at night and stole all signs of happiness and joy, the kind that pillaged until you begged for a shred of the man you knew to come back. It’s funny how true colors shine in darkness.

By the time Tommy began to change, you were in deep. With him, with the Shelbys, with all of it. You and Tommy had experienced things that would bring most couples together. You had felt the loss of two children inside your womb, and Tommy had been there for all of it. You had felt the death of your father, yet he had stayed constant. You moved homes, you survived fights, you survived wars. You survived. Maybe that was the issue, you were just surviving. How long could you act like he wasn’t becoming someone you didn’t recognize? How long could you last, when every night he came home smelling like her, your heart cracked?

“Thomas?” You called, hearing the front door shut.

“Yeah, Y/N, ‘ts just me,” he responded blandly.

You could hear footsteps, but they sounded like they were stumbling. He was drunk, once again, which meant he would come into your shared room bearing the scent of Grace, once again.

You watched him as he footed his way through the bedroom door, tripping over things that weren’t there.

“Thomas, are you drunk? This is the third night this week, and it’s only Wednesday.”

“And what if I am, Y/N? Who cares?” He spat, narrowing his eyes at you.

“I care, Tommy. I care,” you let out in a whisper, a tear slipping from your eye.

You had set a rule for yourself when he first started going out. No crying in front of Thomas, especially not over things that Thomas did. If he saw you cry, he’d work his way in, feeding off your emotions like a succubus. You couldn’t let him do that, you had to keep him at an arms length, especially right now. Your heart ached for him, for its home inside of his hands. More than anything, you wanted to tear out the dreadful thing and hand over to him, let him fully destroy it. It had always belonged to him, ever since you were school children. The Tommy you had grown up knowing, the one you had dated since you were 16, the one you had married, was gone. He no longer existed, yet his body stood in front of you. It was cruel thing, to be married and chained to someone like that. To be bound by so much trauma and grief and love, yet to know they are not the same person who shared those feelings with you. To feel so close, yet be reminded that you are so far away by the cheap perfume and lipstick smeared on his shirt collar.

“What are you crying ‘bout, Y/N? You’ve nothin’ to be sad about.” He spoke, not having compassion, but annoyance.

A million feelings boiled in your chest. Anger, grief, passion, pride. But the one that was leading them all, the one that ruled every word about to come from your mouth, was love.

“I’m crying because I miss you, Tommy. I miss you, and you’re off doing God knows what with that bar keep, Grace. I can’t stand it, Tommy. To see her have what’s mine. Do you know what it feels like to be inside my body? Do you know I could break beneath the weight of the goodness and love I still carry for you?”, you screamed, letting the feelings flow like a free river, “I feel like I’ve been caged, Thomas. I feel like I’ve been banished to a room, only able to watch our lives through glass panes. I can’t touch you, I can’t hold you, I can barely speak to you. But I love you, God I love you Thomas. I wish you knew what it was like.”

You had stood from your seat on the bed, letting your hair fall around you as you sunk to the floor. Your hand cradled your face, drying your own tears. You had always been able to be alone, always being fine when Tommy had to go away for a while. But this time, you couldn’t tell if Tommy would ever come back, not really. He was totally different.

Tommy stared at you, a blank look on his face as he observed your crumpled form. Your shoulders shook, and you let heaving sobs fall from your mouth. Was it worth it to stay here? To let this love you had once known control everything you could ever know? How would the two of you fair this storm? How would you not only survive, but come out thriving? Was it worth the weight of carrying this burden, of knowing that Tommy was disloyal?

“I don’t know what to do, Love. I’m lost.” He finally spoke, his voice coming out a whisper.

“Tommy, I would cross the earth for you. I would walk so far to take the injury of knowing you. I just need you to reach out a hand for me. I would give you everything, and you know that, you have to know that.”

He had to know.

“I know, Y/N, I know. I’m sorry, Love, for how I’ve been acting.”

-

Tommy had agreed to some counseling after your breakdown, and not much had changed. He still came home smelling like her, kept staying out, just now he went on weekends and swore it was with his brothers. He kept trying to trick you, and he truly thought he was getting away with it.

Not anymore. Now, as you stood in your bedroom, stuffing clothing into a small suitcase, no tears were in your eyes. No feelings were in your heart except anger and betrayal. Once again, you heard the stumbling footsteps of Tommy Shelby. You had become used to the sounds by now, being able to accurately tell that it was him and where he was on the staircase.

He finally entered your room, a look of shock crossing his face.

“Y/N, what are ya doin’?” He slurred. Typical.

“I’m leaving, Thomas. I’m leaving Birmingham, and I’m leaving you.” You said, keeping a calm tone.

“No, ya aren’t. You’re my wife.” He grumbled, sharpening his words.

“Thomas, I don’t want to be your wife. I won’t lay with you while your with her.” You zipped the suitcase.

“What the ‘ell are ya talkin’ about! You don’t know anythin’!” He screamed, his face redding.

You kept calm. You had already had this fight in your head a thousand times.

“I am leaving, Thomas. I gave you my heart, and now I see it’s pieces stuck in your teeth. I am done.”

You gathered your suitcase, and left the home you had built together, finally finished with trying to know and understand Tommy Shelby. There are some people who are better unknown.