#but the thought of not having her around is enough for me to pick up the razor again and go back to square one

[moonstruckme]

Hi, I love the emt!marauders you post, I was wondering if u could write one that the reader has a chronic disease that involves getting sore when it's cold? Idk how to explain, I have lupus, and when it's cold, my joints tend to get sensitive and sore...so something with fluff/comfort, pls?

Thank you for requesting my love <3

cw: reader has unspecified chronic pain that flares up in the cold, I relied on the internet to write this so if anything seems wrong/inaccurate please let me know

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 887 words

Sirius is furious with himself for not checking the weather report. It’s so rare that you all have time off work on the same day, it’s possible you’d gotten ahead of yourselves in the excitement, but the sudden onset of winter wasn’t part of anyone’s plan. Even in Remus’ coat and tucked under James’ arm, you’ve gone quiet and withdrawn. Sirius can practically see you cringing with every step you take down the sidewalk. 

The other boys are similarly concerned.

“Let’s pop in here,” James suggests, maneuvering you all towards a bookstore. 

“Jamie,” you say, voice all sweetness even when it’s threaded through with exhaustion, “don’t go in somewhere you don’t want to just for me.” 

“Doll, I know how it might seem that way,” says Sirius, “but despite popular misconception, James actually can read.” 

You crack a smile, though it looks like it costs you. “Right, thanks, but we’re supposed to be out doing things we all like. If we went into a bookstore, you two would just end up sitting somewhere while Remus and I looked around.” 

“I like seeing you comfortable,” James says, somewhat poutily, “and I like buying you things. A bookstore is sounding rather enjoyable right now.” 

“Don’t you want to go inside?” Remus touches his knuckles gently underneath the butterfly-shaped rash on your cheeks that’s worsening due to the sun and cold. It’s not a terribly frigid day but the wind makes it worse, and however you try to act your boyfriends can see the toll it’s taking on you. “Even if it’s just for a while, it’ll be good to give yourself a break.” 

“Rem’s cold too,” Sirius says, noting the tension in the other boy’s posture now that he’s given up his coat, “aren’t you, lovely? C’mon, I know where we can go.” 

You don’t seem to have it in you to protest as Sirius leads you all down the block to the coffee shop around the corner. The heat is blasting inside. He finds you a table away from the door, where the cold breeze coming in can’t reach you and the whirring of the coffee grinders is less deafening. James insists on buying you each a warm beverage and a sweet (only you and Remus protest this; Sirius doesn’t know why you bother). 

“My poor girl,” Sirius murmurs, holding your frozen hands carefully in his. Remus’ coat pockets have done an insufficient job protecting them. Sirius devotes himself to rubbing warmth into each finger. 

“I think my drink would do as good a job of warming them up,” you say amusedly. 

“As good? I’m insulted.” 

“You know she really should be stretching her joints herself, love,” says Remus. 

“I do know,” Sirius replies primly, “thank you very much. It’s only that I’m very selfish.” 

Remus hums into his tea. “Selfish enough to let her drink go cold.” 

Sirius relents and lets you pick up your mug. You squeeze his hands thankfully before letting go. 

The windows at the front of the shop are foggy. It’s not cold enough yet for frost around the edges, but the mist gives the bustling street a blurred, wintry look, like the four of you are encapsulated in a warm snow globe scene, unmoving and separate from the outside world. Sirius finds it rather peaceful. 

“Did anyone bring ibuprofen?” James asks. 

You cringe sheepishly. “No, sorry. I forgot it at home.” 

“Don’t be sorry, lovie.” James palms the back of your neck, thumb rubbing soothingly. “Any of us could’ve thought of it. We’ll stop somewhere and grab a bottle.” 

“It never hurts to have extra,” Remus agrees before you can argue. 

“Okay,” you say, voice gone soft as it often does when you feel your boyfriends are taking too much notice of you. Sirius doesn’t understand your aversion to this in the slightest. “Thanks.” 

“It’s ungodly freezing out,” Sirius complains. “I move that we make a coffee shop stop every two blocks.” 

James’ face lights. “It could be like appetizer hopping—”

“But with pastries,” Sirius finishes. 

You don’t immediately argue, a promising sign. Remus appears to be warming to the idea as well. “We’d have to pace ourselves a bit more,” he points out, looking at your table cramped with plates and saucers. “Maybe at each place we pick one thing to share.” 

Sirius scoffs. “Suit yourself. I’m not splitting a muffin into four pieces and eating only one.” 

James looks as though he agrees, but he only says cheerily, “We’ll figure it out as we go. Does that sound good?” 

He poses the question to everyone, but they all know he’s really only asking you. Remus and Sirius give their assent quickly and you shrink a bit in your seat, embarrassed. 

“If it really doesn’t sound too inconvenient for you guys.” You lift one shoulder in a shrug. Sirius thinks with satisfaction that the motion looks easier than it might have when you first came in from the cold. “Then yeah, I’m alright with it.” 

“Oh, yes,” Sirius teases, “an afternoon spent enjoying coffee and pastries with the three most fetching people on the continent. I should really rethink this, it may be too inconvenient.” 

“Prick.” James elbows him and leans over to wrap an arm around you protectively, but your smile blooms, and that’s all Sirius wanted in the end.

[greengoblinswifey]

Secret Lovers— Brother’s Bsf!Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you and your little brother’s best friend sneakily navigate your secret escapades around your house. based on this request.

warnings— slight age gap(nicholas is 2 years younger), mentions of sex, sub!nicholas, oral, praise kink, unprotected sex, forbidden relationship, sex in brother’s bed.

Part one

The first time it happened, it was late at night. Nicholas, shy but completely captivated, had stumbled over his words as you found your way into his pants. That night was his first, and by dawn, he’d snuck out before anyone could notice. But as fate would have it, he ran into your brother at school the next day.

“Dude,” your brother had gawked, looking at the hickey’s all over Nicholas’ neck, “what happened to you? You look like you got into it with a—well, someone.”

Nicholas had just grinned, his face flushed. “Yeah, you could say that. Maybe I’ll tell you about her sometime.” But he never did.

After that, things only got riskier. Nicholas would slip in through the front door while your brother was gaming with headphones on, and the two of you would race past his room to your own. It was thrilling, sneaking around in your own home. Your brother assumed you were just seeing someone new, completely unaware that his own best friend was sneaking in.

One evening, Nicholas started showing up at your house a bit more often under the pretense of “hanging out.” Your brother didn’t think much of it, only shrugging when Nicholas stuck around long after he’d gone to bed. Those nights always ended the same, with Nicholas slipping down the hall to your room once the coast was clear, holding back moans as you pushed him up against the closed door behind him.

But there were close calls, too. Once, after a late night together, your brother woke up earlier than expected. Panicking, Nicholas jumped out of bed and bolted into the bathroom, pretending he’d been in there the whole time.

Another time, your brother came home unexpectedly, just as the two of you were tangled up naked in bed. Nicholas managed to hide under your bed just in time, holding his breath as your brother knocked on your door, asking if you'd seen his headphones.

Then, there was the night Nicholas accidentally dozed off in your room, only to be jolted awake by the sound of your brother’s voice just outside the door. He barely had time to scramble under the bed before your brother strolled in, asking you for help with girl problems.

“Hey, have you seen Nicholas? Thought he might still be here,” he mumbled, oblivious to the fact that his best friend was lying flat on the floor under your bed, barely stifling his laughter.

Whenever Nicholas stayed to eat with you and your family, he’d sneak glances across the table, his eyes filled with lust. You’d catch him looking just a little too long, smirking over the rim of his glass or giving you a slight nod had you throbbing. He looked innocent enough to everyone else, but you knew better; those looks were anything but.

Your brother, though oblivious, began picking up on little changes. “Hey, Nicholas, you got a lock on your phone now?” he asked one night, narrowing his eyes. “Didn’t think you were the private type, you never used to have one.”

He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Just—uh, you know, gotta keep things secure.”

Your brother smirked. “You hiding something? Got some secret girl or something?”

You listened quietly from the kitchen, heart pounding as you overheard their exchange. Nicholas played it cool, just laughing it off and saying, “Nah, nothing like that.” But you knew he needed the lock for a reason. His phone was practically a vault of amateur porn— naked photos of you both, late-night messages, and homemade sex tapes you’d both be mortified if anyone, especially your brother, found.

“Just admit it,” your brother teased, nudging him. “You’re holding out on me.”

“Nothing gets past you, huh?” Nicholas muttered, glancing toward the kitchen where you hid, smiling to yourself.

One evening, things got riskier than usual. Your brother’s bathroom was under repairs, and he’d started using yours out of habit, which made sneaking around with Nicholas more challenging. You and him thought you had a moment for a quickie on the couch downstairs, his hands tracing soft patterns along your inner thighs as he pulled you close. Just as he began lifting up your skirt, you heard footsteps coming down the hall. In a split second, you scrambled, doing your best to appear innocent just as your brother stepped in, oblivious to what had nearly happened.

And yet, those close calls only added to the thrill. When he’d stay over, you’d find yourselves whispering in hushed tones, or meeting for a secret kiss in the hallway while your brother watched TV. Those late nights, Nicholas would slip into your room once your brother was asleep, barely containing his excitement as youshoved him onto your bed, whispering how much he’d missed you in your ear.

The stolen moments, the thrill of secrecy, and the constant dance of nearly getting caught only made things more electric.

Nicholas slipped into your room one evening with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. You tried to keep him quiet, whispering, “He’s right downstairs! We can’t risk it.”

He gave you a needy look, running a hand through his hair, leaning in close. “Five minutes. That’s all I need,” he whispered, brushing his thumb gently along your jaw with pleading eyes.

You sighed, glancing at the door. “Five minutes? You’re sure?”

His smirk deepened. “I’m sure. I missed you way too much for me not to cum quick.”

Your resolve melted as he pulled you close, his hands warm and insistent. You couldn’t resist him, feeling the excitement of sneaking around and the thrill of getting away with it.

“Five minutes,” you murmured, guiding him to sit quietly on the edge of your bed as you kneeled in front of him, his breath hitching.

He barely held back a quiet moan, his eyes wide with gratitude and need, whispering, “Y-you’re the best,” as you leaned in, savoring the feeling of him deep in your throat. You bobbed your head faster and faster, determined to make the five minutes count and to not have your brother catch you in such a compromising position with his best friend.

You arrived home late from your trip, bags in hand, to find your house in full party mode. Music blared, people were mingling, and your brother was clearly hosting more friends than he'd probably asked permission for. Shaking your head at the scene, you slipped inside quietly, hoping to reach your room without being spotted.

As soon as you opened your door, there was Nicholas, sitting on your bed, a sly grin spreading across his face. “You’re back early,” he whispered, pulling you into a warm hug.

“Looks like my brother’s a little preoccupied,” you murmured, nodding toward the commotion outside. “Guess that means we won’t be disturbed for a while.”

His grin widened. “So, we finally have the house to ourselves?”

You smirked, locking the door behind you. “And no one’s going to come looking for either of us.”

For the next few hours, you and Nicholas enjoyed your stolen time together, sharing quiet laughter and mind blowing sex as loud as you wanted as the party thumped downstairs. You listened to the sounds of your brother and his friends, comfortably hidden away in your room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so big!” you screamed.

God, it felt good to scream as loud as you wanted. Nicholas was enjoying himself too, unable to contain his sweet little whimpers as he stared up at you like you were the only girl in the world while you rode his cock.

Later, your brother knocked on your door. “Hey, you in there?” he called, the music fading as he paused outside. Nicholas held his breath, glancing at you with wide eyes.

You kept your voice calm. “Yeah, I got back early. Just tired, going to sleep.”

He hesitated. "You seen Nicholas around? I can’t find him.”

You exchanged a glance with Nicholas, who was barely holding back nervousness. “Uh, last I heard, he said he’d be mingling. Probably outside somewhere.”

“Alright,” your brother replied, sounding slightly suspicious, but he wandered away, calling Nicholas’ name as he headed back down the hall.

When his footsteps faded, Nicholas shook his head, laughing quietly. “We really need to be more careful. He’s going to catch on one of these days.”

You grinned, pulling him closer. “That’s the risk we take, isn’t it?”

It was late, and your brother had just gone to bed after a long night of studying. Nicholas had come over under the guise of helping him with an assignment, but as soon as your brother headed upstairs, he quietly slipped into your room, closing the door as softly as he could behind him.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he was on you, hands on your tits, pulling you close and groping as he murmured, “Do you know how hard it is to sit across from you and pretend like I’m focused on anything else?”

The thrill of him sneaking around, practically right under your brother’s nose, made everything even more intense. But just as things were heating up, you both froze, hearing footsteps heading toward your room. Nicholas’ eyes widened as you whispered, “Closet, now!” You pulled him inside, shutting the door just in time to hear your brother knock on your door.

You barely breathed as your brother called out, “Hey, I thought I heard something in here, everything good?”

“Yeah, I’m just on the phone,” you replied quickly, hoping he wouldn’t question it.

He paused, as if he might press further, but eventually, he muttered a distracted “Alright” and walked away. You let out a sigh of relief, turning to Nicholas, who was smirking at you even in your huge closet.

“Close call,” he whispered, grinning mischievously. “Guess we’ll have to be quiet—if you still want to finish what we started.”

You shot him a daring look, realizing you might just take him up on that.

One afternoon, when your brother was out with his other friends, Nicholas couldn’t resist pulling you into your brother's room with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You uh, ever thought about us doing it—here?” he whispered, eyes dark with that playful, needy, look.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “In his fucking bed? You’re insane.”

“Just a little,” he grinned, moving closer. “But it’s kind of thrilling, isn’t it?” He kissed you deeply, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you down onto the bed with him. The forbidden aspect only made things more intense.

You were both already naked, on your brother’s fucking bed too and you straddled him as he lined his very hard cock up with your leaking entrance.

You never thought in a million years you would ever do something like this, you were even shocked out of your wits when shy, sweet, Nicholas suggested it, pulling you onto the bed without waiting for protest.

“You’re so fucking sexy, I need to be inside you, please, right here, right now,” he pleaded.

Your eyes were filled with a dark glint, how wrong it was, how absolutely insane it would be, but that’s what made it all the more endearing. The thought had you warm and throbbing.

Giving in, you slowly sank onto his cock, his loud moans filling the room, he was enjoying this, maybe even more than you were.

“You’re so naughty,” you murmured, your knees on either side of him as you bounced wildly.

The bed creaked beneath you, the bed frame slammed against the wall loudly and the sound of skin slapping and both your moans would be heard the minute someone stepped into the house.

“Faster, p-please baby, please,” he whimpered, his hands gripping your hips.

But just as things were getting heated, you both heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up outside. Nicholas’ eyes went wide, and you both scrambled, hurriedly grabbing clothes and slipping off the bed. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, both of you barely stifling your giggles as you made a break for the door, tiptoeing down the hall and slipping back into your room just as the front door opened.

You and Nicholas collapsed onto your bed, breathless from the rush, both of you laughing quietly. He leaned close, grinning. “Worth the risk,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

“You’re lucky we didn’t get caught,” you teased, nudging him.

Then, you heard loud pounds on the door, “hey, Y/N, were you in my goddamn room?”

[thealbatrovss]

waiting // logan howlett x reader

summary: scott and jean get engaged. logan seems happy for them. but old insecurities start bubbling to the surface.

one shot: angstyyyyyy, insecure reader, happy ending of course, not proofread

word count: 1k+

authors note: getting back into writing so here’s a quick one for ya’ll. Enjoy!!!

masterlist

When he made his way towards her, with a big grin on his face, you had to get out of there.

You bumped past friends and colleagues, weaving through the bodies like a hedge maze. The room closed in. Your stomach was raging with alcohol and fire.

It was so childish. Running away from your friend's own engagement party. This night was about them, not you.

But, Logan wouldn't stop talking about how happy he was for them since they made the announcement. You were happy too. Of course you were. They were like family to you. But, was he really content with everything? Sometimes, thoughts that he was settling would cloud your mind.

You’d only been dating for little over a year now, and well, Jean was still Jean. The Jean he loves. Or loved. It was becoming too hard to tell, your head starting spinning.

The night air hit your face. It was cold, too cold to be out at a time like this. But at least there was space. Space to hold yourself on the mansion's steps and think about everything swirling in your mind.

You knew holding her up on this pedestal wasn’t fair to her, to Logan and especially yourself. But sometimes, wounds that were once sealed up and packed away, came around visiting again.

He spent years harboring feelings for her. You just stood there and watched it. Until one day, you were grabbing a late night snack from the kitchen and saw Logan sitting at the table.

And he was no longer sulking. No longer chasing after someone who was always going to pick someone else. He smiled, and told you to sit and have a beer with him.

It wasn’t an odd request. You too were friends after all. But, you ended up spending the entire night talking. You asked him about his past and he was completely honest. He asked you about yours, barely ever looking away from you as you rambled on. Logan had a soft smile on his face the entire time you talked.

The two of you moved closer together as the night progressed into the early morning. By the time students began pouring in for breakfast, your chairs and shoulders were touching. He walked you to your room that day, asked you out to dinner. You had your first date at a bar. Jalapeno poppers and chicken sandwiches. The waiter accidentally spilt his tray of drinks on Logan trying to squeeze through the aisle.

When Logan kissed you for the first time in his car, you could feel the sticky drinks stuck to his leather jacket and skin.

The door creaked open behind you. Footsteps stopped at the steps above. You could smell that familiar wood and cigar smoke. It has stuck to you ever since that night in his car. “Its fucking freezing out here.”

You brushed away a fresh well of tears, hoping they’d dry quickly so he couldn’t tell. “You’re right about that.” You sniffed. But it was your voice that gave it away.

“Whats going on?” He sat down next to you. “Could you look at me?” He moved your hair away from your face, fingers grazing the wet skin. He paused. “Can you please talk to me? Why are you crying?”

You tried brushing his hand away, making yourself smaller against the stone wall. You pushed the side of your face into the rock, like it would magically make you disappear.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know whats going on.”

“I’m just drunk.” You tried to play it off. Not good enough.

Logan shook his head. “No. That's bullshit. You’ve been acting weird all day.”

The air kept getting colder. You started shivering. Logan cursed underneath his breath, taking his jacket off and draped it over your shaking shoulders. The simple gesture made you feel even smaller. “Do you ever wish things could be different?”

Logan looked at you confused. “What kinds of things?”

You sat up, knees facing away from your boyfriend. “The people you let into your life.”

“No.” He answered quickly. “I only let in people who let in me. Like you.” He smiled at the memory of spilt beer and messy kisses in the parking lot. “So no. Why? Do you?”

You huffed. “I find that hard to believe and I hate myself for it.”

Logan sat there bewildered. You’d always been open and honest with him about everything. You even opened up to him about your insecurities surrounding his relationship with Jean the first few months into dating. The realization washed over him as he watched the party goers mingle inside. “You still think I have feelings for Jean.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

The wind picked up, sending its sharp claws against your wet cheeks. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“No. I just don’t understand.” He sighed. “Why would you think that? I’m with you. I wouldn’t be if I didn’t want to be.”

The drinks settling in your stomach did the talking for you. “Well, if she wasn't with him things would be a lot different, wouldn’t they?” Your tone was as cold as the wind. You didn’t mean it to be.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You gripped his jacket tight around you. Holding onto it like you did when you first kissed. “Sometimes, it’s hard to accept your love.”

He didn’t respond, just let you continue. His hand started rubbing circles on your back.

“I feel like I’m taking something that isn’t mine.” Maybe if you were sober you could explain it better, but you carried on. “Or, I’m just holding my breath. Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

You’d feel more embarrassed without the alcohol running through your veins. But you sat there as tall as you could. Letting the insecurities bubble out in circles of angry shades of red. It wasn’t pretty, but it was real. It was what you’ve been bottling up for years now. “Waiting for it to go to its true destination.”

Logan looked up at the night sky. The wind ruffled his short hair. He looked so handsome in that all black suit he wore. One that you picked out just for him. He chuckled to himself, his eyes finding yours with a piercing gaze. He faced those words, seeing past the surface.

“I loved Jean once. That's the truth. But I’ve loved people before her. I’ve been alive for a long time.” He moved strains of hair from your face, resting his hand on your cheek. “But here’s another truth. I love you. Can’t you see that? Right here and now?”

You could see the genuine look in his eyes. You could always see it.

“And that’s not something I just give away. It’s also taken from me. You’ve taken it from me. And I’ve never been happier for you to have it, like I have yours.”

You nodded, sniffling. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, pulling you against his chest. “Don’t be. Just maybe next time, talk to me about this instead of holding it all in.”

You buried your head into his chest. Voice muffled against the dark fabric. “Says Mr. Wall builder himself.”

Logan kissed your head, fighting back the wind and a fit of laughter. “You got me there.”

[p-e-n-i-s-c-o-r-e]

Jewels

Summary: In which the reader and Lando had been broken up for a while. He comes into her jewelery store looking for something.

Warnings: Use of Y/n

Authors Note: Hey, fellas, how we doing. It's currently 10:31pm where I am. Meaning it's still Landos birthday 😼. Which is when I wanted to post this. Remember I am a beginner so pls don't bully me I'll cum :(. Anyways, enjoy!

It's been rough these past few years. Having had been broken by the person who you had thought was the one. The one who you were still deeply in love with now. Yeah, he was quite distant but you just thought he was stressed. Never have thought he would've called you late while you were sitting in your hotel room in Brazil. The words I think we should break up echoing into the room. The words sinking in as your heart breaks into millions of pieces. His reasoning being I fell out of love. You had hung up. You had this plan that you would quit your job, and surprise him at Brazil just in time to watch him race, but he broke up with you. Carlos was helping you with the plan, providing the paddock pass you would've needed. Now you don't know what to do. You don't have a job anymore. You had some money still in the bank yes, but not enough to pay the bills creeping in from your house back in Texas. You felt like dying. The one you loved with your whole being just broke up with you. You called Carlos, explaining the whole thing. He didn't know. How would he? Lando rarely had been talking to anyone lately. Carlos offered to help, which you appriciate, the only reason you were somewhat stable now was because of him. He helped you find an apartment in Monaco, helped whenever you were short with payments. You always refused, but he wanted to help. He felt bad for you.

Here you were now. You worked as a Jewler for a small Jewelry shop in Monaco, known for the most gorgeous engagement rings. You hadn't seen Lando in years, and your heart still hurt. Never really getting over him, you tried, went on a few dates here and there, your co-worker, Isabella, setting you up with a few guys she was friends with, but they never worked. They weren't him.

You were helping out a customer pick out a necklace for his wife's upcoming birthday when the door chimed, signaling a new customer had walked in. You look up ready to greet the customer like how you do the others, but you freeze once you lock eyes. It was him. The man you hadn't seen in 4 years. The man who had broken your heart. You feel your body start to grow heavy, but you keep it together.

"Welcome! If you need any specific help, just ask."

You say, looking at him like you don't recognize him. You turn back to the old man you were helping when Lando speaks

"Uh, yeah.. Engagement rings?"

What? Your face visibly falls, but you catch it quickly, not fast enough, though, because Lando notices. You speak.

"Yeah, right this way."

You lead Lando further into the store, where the Engagment Rings were showcased.

"Anything specific?"

You ask, your eyes scanning over the display of rings. Your heart clenching inside your chest.

"Anything with like... a flowery design? Oh, and a black band."

Your mind immediately thinks of one ring in stock. It was this beautiful double ring with a Moss Amite stone that sat in the middle, surrounded with smaller Mossanite stones, brought together with a black gold band that had leaves spreading around the stone. You walk over to the cabinet right next to the display case, and grab a small black velvet box, opening it to show Lando.

You watch as his eyes widen slightly at the sight of the ring. Your heart is starting to deflate around itself.

"Shit.. it's perfect... how much is it?"

"€1699.00"

You say, your voice betraying you as your voice breaks. He doesn't notice it, though, simply following you to the front counter to pay for the ring.

"So.. uh.. how you've been?"

"Alright."

You say, one worded answer. The air around you both is awkward. Very, very awkward.

"That's good."

Lando watches you type on the computer before speaking again.

"You got a boyfriend?"

Your body freezes slight at his words.

"No."

You look at him, he seems surprised. Everyone always is. How a pretty girl like you doesn't have a boyfriend. You just couldn't find one.

"Really? Have you had one since.."

He pauses a bit, hoping you would get what he was trying to say.

"Little flings. Nothing serious." You say bluntly. Waiting for a few papers to print.

"Ever plan on settling down?"

You hesitate to answer with the truth, but you do.

"Don't think I'm gonna find anybody." You place a few papers in front of Lando.

"Sign these"

He takes the papers and signs them where it tells him. Hes not exactly sure how to keep talking to you. The air around you both was very awkward.

"That's.. sad. I'm sure you'll find someone, though. I didn't think I would, but now I'm about to propose."

Your lips purse together. You were noticeably uncomfortable, grabbing the papers in front of him and putting them away in a file.

He could tell that you weren't interested in the conversation, but what he was saying wasn't untrue. He thought it might be a bit better if you both got lunch together.

"Do you wanna.. get lunch maybe? Catch up?"

You open your mouth to talk, but quickly shut it afterwards. Hesitating.

"I.. I don't think I can do that to myself Lando."

"Can I ask why?"

You saw the look of confusion on his face. Did he think you both could just.. be friends?

"Let's not do this now." You flipped the card machine towards him.

"No, please.. we need to." He pleads with you, trying to get you to open up.

"Pay for the damn ring Lando."

Your tone is stern. You felt like you were about to cry.

He's slightly hurt by the sternness in your voice, but alas he does what he's told and pays for the ring.

"Can we talk now?"

"Fine. Follow me."

You lead him into the breakroom of the store. Closing the door slight, leaving it a bit cracked.

"Why can't you get lunch with me?"

He's very confused. It's been 4 years. He just wants to catch up. So much has happened since then.

"I.. I never got over you Lando."

He looks at you surprised. How was he supposed to know? He had assumed after all these years you would've moved on by now, but you haven't.

"You..-You're still in love with me?"

You look back up at him, tears starting to pool into your eyes.

"I told you. I never got over you."

You tried to keep your voice from breaking but it was a lost cause. Your feelings for him never died, only dimmed a little, but since he walked throught that door, they had lighten back up.

"Y/n.. I..-I don't know what to say."

You don't know why you had hope. The tinyist bit of hope that he might still love you. He broke up with you because he didn't love you. A few tears rolled down your cheek.

"You're an..-an amazing person, Y/n. You deserve someone who loves you. Someone that's not me."

You were silent for a little before you spoke up with a question.

"Lando..I need to know..-"

You paused, trying to find the right words.

"When did you lose feelings..?"

You could see Landos body stiffen, as I he was dreading this question. He knew he had to be honest.

"Um.. a year.. before we broke up."

A year? He led you on for a whole year? He pretended for a year that he loved you like you loved him. Forced 'I love you's, forced kisses, forced smiles, forced everything. Tears steadily fall down your cheeks.

"You..-You led me on.. for a year..?"

"I'm so sorry."

Was all he could muster up. You felt like your was getting the life squeezed out of it.

"Why didn't you do it sooner?"

"What difference would it have made? We still would've broken up."

You can't believe those words just left him mouth. Did Carlos never tell him?

"The night you had broken up with me was the worst night you could've done it. I was in Brazil. I was going to surprise you. I had quit my job to be there for you and you told me you didn't love me anymore. Do you know how hard it is to hear that? I had quit my job to travel with you, but I did it for nothing."

He looked surprised, which you understood. He didn't know you were in Brazil at the time. He was silent. Not knowing what to say.

"I..-Im sorry."

"Save your apologies, just leave, please."

Your face was stained with tears, and your heart hurt so incredibly bad. A year. A year he had led you on. You were so incredibly in love with him you couldn't even tell how he was faking everything, and it made you feel so bad about yourself. You let love blind you.

"Bye, Y/n."

You watch as he turns for the break room door. Opening it so he can walk out.

"Goodbye, Lando."

[lunaritex]

𓏲࣪ ִֶָ ︎ִֶָ LOVE HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT 𖤐. — yang jungwon.

pairing: idol! jungwon x fem! reader. content: idol au, childhood friends to lovers, reader is female, reader is not an idol here, reader got stood up (not by jungwon), confession, fluff. wc: 1.7k

FROM HYE: childhood friends to lovers troupe will always hit idc!!! idk why this became kinda long though, whoops... ALSO NO DOUBT AND DAYDREAM IS SO GOOD IM ASCENDING

This cannot be happening. 

You sighed for the unknown time, leaning back in your seat as you tapped your phone. The screen lit up upon your brief contact but as always, there was no new notification from your boyfriend. Nearly an hour had passed and you were sure your current state was gathering unwanted pitiful glances thrown your way. You knew what they were thinking. In their eyes, they saw a dressed-up young adult, excited for her date with her boyfriend, only to get stood up and had been hopelessly waiting there, like a complete fool. 

You finished the drink and decided to leave, having waited long enough. You stepped out of the cafe, the door gently closing behind you as you pulled out your phone to call the first person you thought of. It only took two rings before the intended receiver picked up. 

“Hello? (Name), aren’t you supposed to be on a date with Sungjin?” Jungwon asked, concern evident in his voice. His questions put a smile on your face, probably at the fact that he knows your schedule for the day, despite how he was in the midst of practice when you heard music coming from his background on the other line. 

Your prolonged silence was starting to scare the idol, who had stepped out of the practice room after signaling to his members that he was on a call. Jungwon frowns when his ears register the poorly stifled sounds of you sobbing. Hearing you breaking down is similar to getting shot in the heart. 

“(Name), what’s wrong? You know you can talk to me,” he continued in a soft and assuring tone. 

“I… I got stood up. I waited there for an hour and Sungjin didn’t turned up, making me look like a fucking idiot,” you replied through your tears, letting out a bitter chuckle. 

Jungwon's grip on his phone tightened as he listened to you, his jaw clenching when he realized the pain in your voice. The news hit him like a blow: once again, you have been left standing alone, waiting for someone who clearly did not deserve you. His eyes darkened, a storm of anger brewing in them.

“Wait,” he interrupted, his voice low but seething. “He… stood you up? Again?”

You let out a sigh on the other end, trying to laugh it off, but Jungwon could hear the hurt behind it. That was all it took. He took the stairs instead of the lift, stepping out of the company. His sudden disappearance will surely cause his manager to be worried and how he had forgotten his mask would make the situation even worse. But none of that matters when it comes to you. 

“Where are you?” he demanded, his tone softening just a bit when he spoke to you. But there was an undeniable edge to his words, a mix of frustration and protectiveness that seeped through.

"Jungwon, you don’t have to—"

“Just tell me,” he insisted, his voice firm but reassuring. “I need to know where you are. I’m coming to you.”

“...I’m at the park we played at when we were kids,” you replied, knowing your childhood friend is very persistent when the times required him to be. 

Somehow, your feet had led you to the place where you had created countless memories with Jungwon. You took a seat on one of the nearest benches, watching as people of all ages minded their business. Some were having fun with their children or partners. There were children running around the playground area, screaming at the top of their lungs as they chased one another. The sight made your heart soften, as you remembered how you and Jungwon were just like them; having the time of your lives before the harsh reality of life combined with responsibilities had taken over you. 

“(Name)!” 

You turned at the shout of your name, eyes widening in pure disbelief at the sight of Jungwon rushing towards you without a care in the world. What rendered you speechless was how he had forgotten to hide his identity, resulting in the public stopping to openly gape at him. Some had even pulled out their phones to record him, ready to post it on the Internet. Flustered, you stood up, grabbed his hand and dragged him to your home. 

When the both of you are in the privacy of your home, you turned and smacked him on his head. 

“Ow! What was that for!?” He yelped, rubbing the spot with his hand. 

“You idiot! Why did you run out in the midst of practice, and without a hat or a mask too!? What’s going to happen if your manager hears you ditch practice!” You scolded him, resembling a mother scolding her child. 

“Alright, I’m sorry! The thought might have slipped my mind when I heard you were crying,” he admits with a sheepish grin on his face, lowering his hand. 

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Look, it’s fine. You didn’t have to come all the way here. I’m sure Sungjin’s probably busy with work and he had forgotten to text me.” 

Jungwon gave you an unreadable look. “You’re always making excuses for him.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he tried to rein in his emotions. 

“Tell me, has he done anything good for you in this relationship? Has he ever gone out of his way to make you feel loved, or even just… appreciated?”

You were silent, and he took this as a chance to continue. 

“But what about you? You deserve someone who’d show up without a second thought, someone who’d want to be with you, not leave you hanging like this,” Jungwon continued. 

You opened and closed your mouth. “I—” 

He exhaled sharply. “You don’t get it, do you?” He said, his voice softer but laced with pure honesty that made your heart race. “I’ve been here, right by your side, through all of it. I’ve watched you get your heart broken over and over… and every time, I keep hoping you’ll see what’s right in front of you.” 

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. 

“I can’t stand seeing you hurt anymore,” he whispered, his eyes glistening as he held your gaze. “Because I love you. And I would never leave you waiting, not even for a second.”

“Jungwon, I…” You struggled to find the words, feeling a mix of shock and confusion. “You’ve… always been there. I just—”

“You didn’t know,” he finished softly, looking down for a moment, a faint sadness in his eyes. “I know. I never wanted to push you or complicate things. I just wanted you to be happy.” He paused, swallowing hard, his voice lowering. 

“But seeing you go through this again, seeing someone else treat you like you’re disposable, when I know you’re anything but… I can’t keep quiet anymore.”

Your chest tightened, a wave of emotions you had not expected crashing over you. All those times he had offered a shoulder to cry on, the countless moments had picked you up when you were at your lowest—had they all been laced with feelings you’d missed? Slowly, you reached out, placing your hand over his. His fingers were tense beneath yours, but at your touch, he glanced up, searching your face with an expression that was both hopeful and terrified.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He looked at you, his eyes raw with vulnerability. “Because I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to risk our friendship over something I could never take back.” His hand turned under yours, holding it gently as he continued. “But now… I can’t pretend anymore. You deserve someone who’s there, through every high and low, someone who sees you for who you are.”

The words touched something deep within you, warming your heart in a way you hadn’t expected. As you looked into his eyes, the realization hit you like a flood—Jungwon had been that someone all along.

With a breath, you leaned closer, feeling a sense of clarity for the first time. “Maybe I’ve been blind,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But now… I see you.”

A spark of hope flickered in his eyes, and without another word, he closed the distance, his forehead resting gently against yours. You saw how his eyes flickered to your lips for a brief moment. He was about to lean in when the moment was rudely interrupted by your phone ringing, causing you to pull away. Your face felt when you recognized the number. You were about to reject the call when Jungwon snatched the device out of your hand, accepted the call and put it on speaker mode. 

“What are you doing!?” You hissed, but he merely shushed you. 

“Hello, (Name)? Oh my god, I’m so sorry I missed out on our date. Are you still there? If you want, I’m free now and we can have dinner together if you want,” Sungjin’s frantic voice echoed throughout your apartment. 

“Sungjin, is it? Sorry but your relationship with her is officially over. I’ll greatly appreciate it if you could leave her alone,” Jungwon nonchalantly replied, his thumb drawing circles on your knuckles. 

“...Who is this? And what’s your relationship with my girlfriend?” Sungjin’s voice turned cold but Jungwon was unfazed, turning to face you with a wide grin on his face. 

“Me? I’m her new boyfriend and now if you could excuse us, we have a date to tend to, goodbye and see you never.” 

“Wait—” 

And just like that, Jungwon ended the call. He had even blocked his number, preventing your now ex from calling you anymore. You, on the other hand, burst out laughing. Jungwon puffed his cheeks. 

“What’s so funny?” He pouts. 

“N-Nothing, I didn’t expect the leader of ENHYPEN to be this bold, but since when we’re going on a date and since when you’re my boyfriend? I think you have skipped a few steps,” you teased him once you had calmed down. 

Jungwon’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh! Then (Name), would you do me the honors of being my girlfriend?” 

Chuckling, you moved closer to press a chaste kiss on his lips. “Of course, Jungwon. I’d be more than happy to do so.” 

He made a noise of happiness before engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug, to which you returned the gesture. “You have no idea how happy I am right now.” 

“And what’s the reason?” You inquired when he pulled away to admire your face. 

Jungwon’s features softened as he cups your cheeks. “It’s because I finally got the prettiest girl and I can finally call her mine.” 

[sacrednova]

Drive me home | Simon "Ghost" Riley | 5

fem!reader | In this story, a young woman mistakenly texts Simon "Ghost" Riley, thinking he's her Uber driver after a wild night out. Despite his gruff, reserved nature, Simon shows up. Contains fake screenshots with texts messages and calls!!!! Start reading from the beginning: Part 1 | Part 2 | part 3 | Part 4

Back to that night, (morning to him), Simon barely had time to process the call, dripping water onto the floor as he wrapped a towel around his waist. Her number flashed on the screen, but the voice on the other end wasn’t hers—it was one of her friends, slurring and calling him “Uber.” He was about to hang up, shake off this bizarre interruption to his night, when he heard her laugh in the background. It was a sound he hadn’t realized he missed.

And just like that, the memory flooded back—the way she had looked lying there in her bed, still half-dreaming, the way her hair spread across the pillow like some kind of halo. Her eyes, when they met his, had held something he couldn’t ignore, something that lingered long after he’d driven away that morning.

He closed his eyes, took a slow breath. Why was he even entertaining this? There was no denying it: he was interested, if only a little. But enough to look for her, to chase her? No, not exactly. Still, this was an opportunity, wasn’t it? A coincidence that didn’t require him to make any choices, just… to drive, to be there.

As he finished getting ready, he shot a quick text to Johnny, letting him know he’d be running late to base. Unsurprisingly, Johnny was quick to pick up on it.

Simon huffed at the message. He could practically hear Johnny’s smirk.

And with that, he slipped on a face mask, pulled a black cap low over his eyes, and buttoned up his uniform. He wasn’t about to make a habit of this—but one more night? That he could handle.

As he pulled up to the curb, he could already hear her friends talking—half-laughing, half-teasing. Their voices carried that messy excitement of a night spent a little too deep in the bottle, and he could hear his name on their lips, thrown around in a way that would have made most men’s egos soar. But when he saw her there, cheeks flushed, head ducked as her friends nudged her with conspiratorial glances, it felt… different. Pride crept up on him, sure, but it wasn’t the familiar, shallow kind he usually felt in these situations. She wasn’t just another face in a line of passing encounters, and the idea of seeing her as a one-night fling felt wrong. Somehow, he knew she’d never fit into that category, not for him.

Still, he felt the pull—the impulse to admire her, take in every detail, imagine the things he was barely allowing himself to think about. But more than that, he wanted to hear her talk, to get lost in the way she rambled and blushed, her boldness dipping in and out like a tide. It was maddening and frustrating, but even more, it was addictive.

“Right?” he thought to himself, as if needing the reassurance. I just want to hear her talk. Right?

Then again… maybe that wasn't all. He clenched his jaw, fighting off the surge of thoughts that threatened to pull him down a familiar path.

And when she slipped out of his truck, the look on her face settled like a weight in his chest—a fleeting disappointment, a shadow of hurt. He hadn’t meant it that way; he’d just been honest. He didn’t do well with calls, or texts, or… whatever this was supposed to be. Keeping distance was safer, for both of them. But somehow, seeing that expression made him feel like he’d fumbled it all.

Bloody hell, he thought, dragging a hand over his face. He was trying to keep things simple, keep his boundaries intact, avoid this tangled mess he knew he’d only ruin. But the second those words slipped out—“I like bourbon”—the guard he’d tried so hard to hold was gone.

Why did he say that? Why couldn’t he just let her leave with a clean goodbye? He should have known better. He did know better. But she’d left something unsteady in his mind, a tug he couldn’t shake. He wanted her close, yet something dark and heavy in him kept holding him back, whispering the same, cold refrain: You don’t deserve a good thing.

For a man who thrived on control, this was chaos. And maybe that was what scared him most—how badly he wanted her, despite everything that told him he shouldn’t.

He gripped the wheel tighter, jaw clenched, as if forcing himself to stay grounded could untangle his mind. Get it together, Riley. But her message kept replaying in his head, “It’s a date.”

His pulse jumped every time he thought about it, a strange thrill running under his skin that he couldn’t explain. Adrenaline was familiar—this wasn’t that. It was something sharper, laced with a damn feeling he’d barely let himself acknowledge. Anticipation, maybe. But did she actually mean a date with him? What did she see here, in a man like him, someone who came and went, who’d never had more to offer than a night or two and a silent exit?

He shook his head, almost laughing at himself. You’re thinking too far. But it nagged at him—some reckless part of him considering more than a single night, something deeper. Get a grip. He shouldn’t be thinking about seeing her again, about anything more. Yet somehow, the thought of something real with her felt like a dangerous promise, and he wasn’t sure if he was more afraid of letting her down… or of wanting it for himself.

The days that followed felt like a haze, each one blending into the next as if time itself had twisted around them. She was nearly losing her mind in disbelief, clutching her phone every so often just to make sure she hadn’t imagined their exchange. A date with him, she thought, her heart racing each time she saw that simple, blunt text: “It is.”

On the other end, Simon was in his worst mood all week. He’d been restless, short-tempered, and on edge—a state Soap noticed immediately. Every comment, every offhand remark seemed to hit him wrong, and the last thing he needed was Soap’s relentless needling.

Late Wednesday night, Simon had just returned from a brutal day—one that included nearly getting himself buried alive thanks to a reckless mission. As he tried to settle his mind, Soap’s text popped up.

Simon stared at the word, letting it sink in, and he felt that twinge again. “Ghosted me.”

It hit harder than it should have. He clenched his jaw, then tapped back a quick reply, unable to shake the memory of her voice, almost uncertain but trying to laugh off the sting when she’d said it.

Soap’s response came immediately, and Simon could almost hear his laugh through the screen.

Simon scowled, but the explanation hit home. He didn’t mean to disappear on her. He just… hadn’t known how to continue, how to deal with whatever was stirring up inside him. He was used to being here one day, gone the next—no strings, no complications.

But it was her voice, that small crack in it, that was stuck in his head. And something about the thought of her feeling hurt, thinking he’d just dismissed her, made his chest tighten with a strange guilt.

He shot another reply to Soap.

Simon stared at his phone, that unwanted little spark of irritation pricking at him. Soap had always had a knack for prying at the worst times. But this time, Simon didn’t answer. Instead, he sat there, his thumb hovering over the screen, his thoughts circling back to her words.

The days leading up to Friday felt like a fever dream. She couldn’t focus, her mind looping back to him at the worst times. She was texting Lottie about outfits all week, messaging in frantic bursts:

Lottie’s replies came just as fast:

And then Friday came. The second she opened her eyes, her stomach was tight with nerves. She was sweating through her day, fussing over every tiny detail, trying to push away the flustered feeling every time she thought about him. Why was she this worked up over a guy like him? He wasn’t anything like the men she usually went for, and honestly, he was a mystery—never showed his face, never even gave her the faintest hint that he might be interested. But… maybe, just maybe she’d missed the little signs he had given.

Because that thing about bourbon—was that a sign? And the fact that he actually drove her and her friends home that night?

Maybe, in his all-serious, closed-off way, he was giving her hints. And maybe, she just needed to be a little patient, to take things slow.

She wanted this. Wanted him. And maybe, against all her own warnings, she wanted it to be more than just one night.

By 19:00, she couldn’t take it anymore—she had to text him. Nerves made her fingers fly over her phone as she typed:

Before she could spiral any further, his reply came in, simple and to the point.

She bit her lip, eyes narrowing. Of course, he was that dry.

A pause, then his reply came back just as blunt.

God, he was so direct. So dry. And she couldn’t help it—she loved it.

@sleep101

I am posting this story on AO3 too; CLICK HERE TO SEE IT! (I always post here first)

[areyouwell]

Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out. 

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times. 

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.” 

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included. 

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking. 

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.  

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room. 

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could. 

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles. 

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings. 

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing. 

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her. 

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell. 

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly. 

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision. 

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it. 

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes. 

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel. 

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon. 

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls. 

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too. 

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation. 

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever. 

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body. 

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children. 

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night. 

An ancient, local church, ironically enough. 

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now. 

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out. 

“Is he–” 

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether. 

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond. 

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong. 

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head. 

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end. 

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk. 

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–” 

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors. 

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good. 

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free? 

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away. 

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic. 

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams. 

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short. 

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man. 

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other. 

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right. 

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man. 

You were a woman. 

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.” 

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek. 

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert. 

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber. 

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light. 

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes. 

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch. 

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.” 

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything. 

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you. 

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked. 

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step. 

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground. 

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws. 

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask. 

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades. 

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons. 

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done. 

Like you’d already won. 

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince. 

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat. 

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths. 

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself. 

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings. 

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours. 

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale.  “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?” 

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant. 

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes. 

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew. 

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name. 

Logan. 

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red. 

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended. 

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location. 

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone. 

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him. 

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.” 

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

[kouudi]

ᡣ𐭩 winter is cold in tokyo — itoshi rin

contains: reader gender isn’t mentioned but you have a brother, meet cute, not proof read

a/n: I kind of want to continue this into a pt 2 but knowing myself it probably won’t happen soz

You first met Rin at your older brother Hiro’s football game.

Your parents had dragged you along despite your protests that it was too cold to be sitting outside.

In the car, your mom argued, “You need to support your brother.”

“You’ll regret not watching me when I grow up to be a super-famous football player,” Hiro added, sticking his tongue out from the front seat of the family SUV.

“As if you’ll ever be good,” you mumbled under your breath, burying your face in your thick winter scarf.

The moment your mom parked the car, Hiro bolted out to join his team on the field. Your mom sighed, clearly not surprised, before turning to help you out.

“I need to talk to the other moms about the end-of-season party. Stay nearby,” she said, though her words barely registered as you trudged behind her, more focused on keeping warm than on following directions.

Your mom disappeared into the crowd of chatting parents. Despite her instructions, you wandered near the field where Hiro was already running drills with his teammates. He was shouting and laughing as if the cold didn’t bother him at all.

Typical Hiro.

You settled in a spot between the field and the parents, a place where your mother could still see you but far enough away that you didn’t have to listen to arguments over whose house the party should be at.

The ground was cold underneath your thighs—not cold enough to make you stand, though. You picked at a patch of half-frozen grass for a minute before the chill started to creep into your toes through your boots, making you regret every life decision that led you to this place.

You hugged your scarf tighter around your face, determined to get through this dumb soccer game by sheer force of will—or by sulking through most of it.

Your eyes flickered between Hiro, laughing with his teammates on the field, and your mom, chatting with the other parents, a bright smile on her face.

She leaned in closer to one of them, nodding as if they’d just come to an agreement on whose house would host.

It seemed as if everyone around you belonged somewhere. They were connected and warm.

You shifted around on the ground, trying to get comfortable as the cold bit through your layers. The laughter and voices blurred into the distance; none of the noise was meant for you.

Even the air began to feel sharper, like it stung more because no one was distracting you from it. It was as if the air itself was mocking you.

Your gaze drifted back to the field. Hiro was grinning without a care in the world. You had always envied how effortless it was for Hiro to find people, to always belong, for others to want him around.

A gust of wind sent shivers down your spine, and you curled up into yourself, wishing you could disappear into the scarf around your neck.

It made you wonder if anyone noticed you sitting there, alone. Would anyone notice if you got up to use the bathroom? You probably could just leave, and no one would care.

“Can I sit here?” a voice interrupted your thoughts, soft but kind.

You blinked and looked up. A boy around your age stood a few feet away, his cheeks pink from the cold. His long underlashes stood out on his round face, and he was wearing a too-big hoodie under his coat. In his hands was a thermos, steam curling from the lid.

“Sure,” you muttered before scooting over. You didn’t have a reason to say no.

“Thank you,” he said, giving you a small smile before sitting beside you. He unscrewed the lid of the thermos, the rich scent of hot chocolate wafting out. It made you jealous—you wished you’d asked your mom for hot chocolate before leaving.

“Is your brother playing?” you asked.

“Mhm! He’s the redhead!” He pointed toward the field. You followed his finger to a red-haired player who looked exactly like him—underlashes and all.

You recognized the older boy as Itoshi Sae. Hiro always complained about how Sae acted all high and mighty because he was a good player, but you could always tell Hiro admired Sae’s skill.

“My brother is the one with a bad haircut. He says he’s gonna go pro, but I won’t buy it.” You stuck your tongue out at the thought of Hiro going pro. “Oh! What’s your name?”

“Rin.” He unscrewed the lid of his thermos and took a small sip. “Sae says he’s gonna go pro, and I believe him. Sae is the best football player ever!”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “They got beat by another team a few weeks ago.”

“Sae still got the most goals on his team. Once he joins a better club than this one, he’s gonna get even better.”

You furrowed your brow at the slight insult toward Hiro. “What makes you say he won’t suck on another team?”

Rin blinked at you, his expression shifting to one of quiet confidence. “Because Sae doesn’t lose. He plays to be the best, not just to win. And when he’s on the field, it’s like he dominates the area.” Awe shone through his voice. “Sae is different.”

“That’s kind of intense.” You stared at him for a moment, surprised by how sure he sounded.

Rin shrugged and took a longer sip from his thermos. “That’s just Sae. He’s not the type to care about what anyone thinks as long as he’s getting better.”

Rin glanced at the field. You followed his gaze again and watched as Sae effortlessly weaved through a drill. Even from a decent distance, you could see how differently Sae moved compared to his teammates. Every step he took seemed deliberate and precise.

Hiro, on the other hand, was laughing on the ground with another teammate. You rolled your eyes.

“My brother is a clown. I don’t think he’s serious about football because he’s never been serious about anything in his entire life.”

Rin tilted his head at your words. “He probably plays because he loves it. He doesn’t have anything to prove.”

You frowned; his words lingered in the air between you. He was probably right, though. Hiro always talked big, but there wasn’t much effort to give him credit for. Still, you weren’t about to let Rin off the hook for mildly insulting your brother, even if Hiro sometimes needed humbling.

“Well then, if Sae is so amazing, Hiro just needs to beat him one day.” You said it half-jokingly.

Rin frowned. “Good luck with that. Sae doesn’t lose to anyone.”

“Oh, really?” You raised a brow at his confidence. “Everyone loses eventually. You might even beat him one day if you play.”

“I don’t want to beat Sae,” Rin said with a small smile. “I want to play beside him and be the best after him.”

His smile quickly vanished as he looked back at you with a small frown. “Sae definitely won’t lose. Especially not to your brother.”

Rin shook his head, looking at you like you just didn’t get it—and maybe you didn’t.

You sighed. “Oh well. What do I know? I’m only here because my mom forced me to be.”

“Figures. You don’t look like you want to be here.”

“Wow, thanks,” you deadpanned, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

Rin looked over at you. The expression on his face was unreadable. “You just look like you’d rather be anywhere else than here.”

You glanced at the field again, watching the players laugh and shout, Hiro the loudest. “Yeah, well… I kind of would.” You sighed into your scarf. “What about you?” you asked, mostly out of politeness. You already know the answer.

Rin didn’t say anything for a moment, but when you looked back at him, he was smiling—small and quiet. “It’s not too bad here.”

You weren’t entirely sure if he meant watching the game or sitting next to you, but for some reason, his words made the cold feel just a little less biting and for the first time that day, you felt a little less miserable.

written by mika

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (the eclipse of the alliance)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: lion's pride

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The gentle afternoon light spills through the windows of your chambers, casting a light over the rich silks and delicate fabrics laid out before you. Rhaenyra sits beside you, her eyes alight with excitement as she picks up a length of golden lace, holding it against the fabric of your gown and studying it with a critical but admiring gaze.

“This,” she says decisively, her tone one of certainty. “It’s perfect. The color, the delicacy—it suits you.”

You smile, taking the lace from her hands and feeling its softness beneath your fingertips. “You’re right. It’s beautiful,” you murmur, your voice tinged with a hint of disbelief as you look around at the array of details before you—the lace, the intricate embroidery, the small jewels meant to adorn your gown, each piece carefully chosen for your upcoming wedding. “I can hardly believe this is happening. Sometimes it feels like a dream, one I thought I’d never be lucky enough to have.”

Rhaenyra watches you thoughtfully, a knowing smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Then let it be real, sister. Let this wedding, this happiness, be yours.”

You look up at her, your expression softening. “I always thought… that my match would be nothing more than a duty. That I’d be married off to some lord for an alliance, as so many noble ladies are. Matches made for gain rather than happiness. I’d resigned myself to that fate.”

Rhaenyra nods, understanding in her gaze as she places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I know. So many of us are given no choice at all.” She pauses, her eyes darkening slightly with memories of her own struggles, her own sacrifices for duty. “I fought my battles to make sure I could find my own happiness. I know what it’s like to feel… bound by the expectations of others.”

You give her a small, grateful smile, reaching out to take her hand. “And now, here I am, free to choose and to marry a man who… who sees me for who I am, not just as a princess.” Your voice softens, and you feel a rush of warmth as you think of Tyland, of the unexpected comfort and understanding you’ve found with him. “I never thought I’d find that.”

Rhaenyra squeezes your hand, her smile turning tender. “Tyland is a good man. And he adores you—I see it every time he looks at you. You deserve someone who values you, who would go to any length to protect you and cherish you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “It still amazes me, really. I see other noble ladies here, young women with dreams and spirits of their own, resigned to marriages that bring them neither love nor happiness. I feel as if I’ve somehow defied the odds.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Then let us call it luck, sister, or perhaps fate. You are marrying a Lannister, after all. They say those lions have a way of claiming what they want—and it seems you’ve claimed each other.”

You chuckle, feeling your spirits lift as she leans in, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “Though I must admit, I can hardly imagine you at Casterly Rock,” she adds with a teasing smile. “All those stony halls and golden lions—it will be quite the contrast to Dragonstone.”

You shake your head, laughing. “I doubt I’ll ever be quite at home there, even with all the lions watching over us. But Tyland will be here, with me, at King’s Landing, at least for now. And I think… I think that’s all I need to feel at home.”

Rhaenyra nods, her expression softening as she hands you a delicate ribbon embroidered with faint threads of gold. “Then let’s make this wedding everything you deserve,” she says, her tone gentle yet determined. “Let it be a celebration of you, of the choice you’ve made, and of the happiness you’ve claimed.”

You take the ribbon from her, the weight of the fabric a comforting presence in your hands as you meet her gaze, a sense of joy and gratitude welling up within you. “Thank you, Rhaenyra. For standing by me, for helping me make this choice, for… everything.”

Rhaenyra smiles, her eyes glistening slightly as she leans in to embrace you. “Always, sister. You’re not just a princess—you’re family, my family. And I would see you happy, above all else.”

The two of you pull back, a shared sense of joy lingering in the air as you continue to select the final touches for the wedding. And as you hold each fabric, each delicate detail chosen with care, you feel the quiet certainty of the life you are building—one that, against all odds, has brought you both love and freedom.

The small council chamber is filled with activity as King Viserys and his advisors discuss the arrangements for the upcoming wedding. Viserys sits at the head of the table, his expression one of contentment, a faint smile pulling at his lips as he listens to the details being laid out before him. Around the table, each member of the council appears engaged, but none more so than Tyland, who sits at Viserys’s left, the faintest trace of pride lighting his gaze as he listens to the preparations.

“The invitations have been sent to the noble Houses, Your Grace,” Lord Beesbury begins, shuffling a stack of parchment before him. “Most have already responded with their intent to attend. The Great Sept has agreed to host the ceremony, and arrangements for the feast are underway.”

Viserys nods approvingly, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Good. It should be a celebration worthy of both Houses.” He glances briefly at Tyland. “This union is more than a simple wedding; it’s a symbol of our alliance, of peace between our Houses.”

Lord Jasper Wylde nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “And with such esteemed guests, it will serve as a reminder of the Crown’s strength. House Lannister and House Targaryen together—there are few in Westeros who would challenge that.”

Tyland inclines his head in gratitude. “Thank you, my lord. It is our intent that this union strengthens the realm as much as it does our families.”

At that, Lord Lyonel Strong, ever the voice of reason, speaks up, his tone thoughtful. “It will be a fine day for the realm, Your Grace. The symbolism alone holds power, and it shows your commitment to unity and prosperity.”

Viserys nods, clearly pleased. But as the conversation begins to wind down, Otto Hightower clears his throat, leaning forward with a slight frown, his eyes fixed on the King.

“Your Grace,” he begins, his voice calm but carrying a hint of unease, “while I, of course, understand the significance of this match, there is something I feel compelled to address.” He pauses, his gaze shifting briefly to Tyland before returning to Viserys. “It has not gone unnoticed that many lords from the Westerlands have taken it upon themselves to establish a steady presence here at court. Their enthusiasm is… notable, to say the least.”

Viserys’s brow furrows slightly, but before he can respond, Tyland speaks up, his tone even but carrying an undertone of steel.

“Surely, Lord Otto, you don’t find it concerning that lords sworn to House Lannister wish to be present to support my union with the princess?” His eyes narrow slightly, his expression calm but his voice carrying a subtle edge. “Or does the strengthening of the Crown’s alliance with the West somehow trouble you?”

Otto meets Tyland’s gaze with a measured look, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of formality. “It is not the alliance itself that raises my concern, Lord Tyland,” he replies smoothly. “It’s the sudden influx of Western influence within the heart of the court. The Crown’s interests must remain balanced, and as Hand, it is my duty to ensure that one region does not… overstep.”

A faint smile tugs at Tyland’s lips, though his eyes remain sharp. “House Lannister has long been a loyal servant to the Crown, Lord Otto. And if my kin see fit to lend their support to this union, it’s only a reflection of their dedication to stability.” He pauses, letting the words hang for a moment. “Or is it that you fear the West’s influence might rival that of the Reach?”

Viserys raises a hand, his expression firm but carrying a hint of weariness as he interjects. “This union was intended to bring peace and strength, not division.” He glances between Otto and Tyland, his tone carrying an undercurrent of authority. “Otto, I understand your concerns, but I expect all of my council to work toward a shared vision for the realm.”

Lyonel Strong, ever the voice of reason, inclines his head and speaks up. “Your Grace is wise. Both the Reach and the West are pillars of strength within the realm. Surely, we can find a way to honor both without falling into rivalries.”

Beesbury nods in agreement. “Precisely. The nobility’s support should be a cause for celebration, not suspicion. If anything, this wedding reaffirms the unity of Westeros.”

Otto’s jaw tightens, though he keeps his expression respectful as he inclines his head toward Viserys. “Of course, Your Grace. I merely wish to ensure that our alliances remain… in harmony.”

Tyland watches Otto with a faint, knowing smile, his gaze unwavering. “Rest assured, Lord Otto, House Lannister’s loyalty remains with the King and his vision for the realm. We are here to strengthen the throne, not challenge it.”

Viserys nods, clearly satisfied with the exchange. “Good. That is what I wish to hear from all my council. Let us continue preparations for the wedding without unnecessary divisions. This union is a gift to the realm, a sign of our strength.”

The room falls into a respectful silence, and Tyland glances briefly at Otto, catching the faint hint of disdain still lingering in the Hand’s eyes. But he lets it go, choosing instead to focus on the satisfaction of having the King’s support and the chance to stand beside you openly, unchallenged.

The afternoon sun filters gently through the leaves of the garden, casting dappled shadows across the soft grass where Daemon lounges with an air of casual defiance. He’s sprawled on a low stone bench, eyes half-lidded, but there’s an unmistakable edge to his expression, a simmering intensity that hints at the impatience he’s barely kept in check for weeks.

Across the garden path, Tyland approaches, deep in conversation with a few courtiers from the Westerlands, their voices a soft hum in the distance. The men laugh, voices warm with camaraderie, but Daemon’s gaze sharpens as he watches them approach. A faint smile, more of a smirk than anything, curves on his lips as he rises slowly, deliberately positioning himself in their path.

When Tyland and his companions draw near, Daemon makes no effort to move aside. Instead, he inclines his head with a mocking smile, his gaze fixed squarely on Tyland, ignoring the courtiers entirely.

“Lord Tyland,” Daemon drawls, his voice carrying a faint, derisive edge. “So good of you to grace the gardens today. I thought you might be too busy… consolidating all that influence you’ve acquired.”

Tyland stops, meeting Daemon’s gaze with a cool, measured expression, his tone even. “Prince Daemon,” he replies, inclining his head in polite acknowledgment. “The gardens are a welcome respite from court, though I hadn’t expected to find you here.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Oh, I find the garden to be an excellent place to observe the… comings and goings of court.” He pauses, his tone growing colder as he adds, “Particularly when certain guests are determined to dig their roots a little too deeply.”

One of the courtiers, an older lord from the Westerlands, glances nervously between the two men, sensing the tension. “Perhaps we should take our leave, my lord,” he murmurs to Tyland.

But Tyland gives a slight shake of his head, his gaze never leaving Daemon. “No need,” he says, his voice steady. “Prince Daemon and I merely have… differing perspectives.”

Daemon chuckles, crossing his arms as he looks Tyland up and down, his gaze both mocking and probing. “Differing perspectives, indeed. Tell me, Tyland—have you grown comfortable here, at court, or are you simply savoring the novelty? A lion in the dragon’s den. You must enjoy the thrill of it.”

Tyland’s expression remains unreadable, his tone calm but firm. “I am here because I was invited, Prince Daemon, by both the King and the princess.” His gaze sharpens, a hint of steel in his eyes. “If my presence disturbs you, perhaps it is because you see the strength it brings to the realm.”

Daemon laughs, the sound more biting than amused. “Strength? Is that what you call it?” He takes a step closer, his voice lowering, though his words are pointed enough for the courtiers to hear. “Tell me, Tyland, do you honestly believe your golden lion could ever hold its own against the fire of a dragon?”

The Westerlands lord shifts uncomfortably, but Tyland holds Daemon’s gaze, his tone unwavering. “Respectfully, Prince Daemon, strength does not always roar. Sometimes it is silent, enduring… and far more resilient than flame.” His eyes narrow slightly. “And House Lannister has withstood far more than the bite of a dragon’s fire.”

Daemon’s smirk fades, a flash of anger darkening his gaze. “I wonder if you’ll keep such confidence when you realize that dragons do not tolerate the pride of lions.”

Tyland’s face remains impassive, his voice a calm counterpoint to Daemon’s rising anger. “Perhaps you would do well to remember that lions do not bow so easily, either.”

The courtiers glance uneasily between them, caught between the quiet intensity of Tyland’s defiance and the barely contained rage simmering beneath Daemon’s casual exterior. Finally, one of them steps forward, bowing slightly to Daemon in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

“Prince Daemon, Lord Tyland,” he says cautiously. “Perhaps… it would be best to keep our focus on the upcoming celebrations. The union between House Targaryen and House Lannister is a boon to the realm.”

Daemon’s gaze flicks to the courtier with a look of faint disdain, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he steps even closer to Tyland, his voice a quiet, venomous whisper. “If you believe that a wedding band and a few pretty words will make you my equal, Tyland, you’re sorely mistaken. You may sit at court, but know this—you will never be part of my family.”

Tyland’s jaw tightens, but he remains composed, his voice level. “I am not here to compete with you, Prince Daemon. My loyalty is to the princess and to the realm. And whether you accept me or not will not change that.”

Daemon’s eyes blaze with a barely concealed fury, and for a moment, it seems as though he might say more—something that would truly cross the line. But instead, he steps back, his smirk returning, though his eyes remain cold.

“Very well,” he says, his tone laced with mockery. “Enjoy your place, Lord Tyland. For as long as it lasts.”

With that, Daemon turns on his heel, his movements sharp, his departure leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake. The courtiers exchange uncertain glances, unsure of whether to remain or leave, but Tyland merely straightens, his expression unreadable as he watches Daemon disappear into the distance.

One of the lords, still clearly unsettled, clears his throat. “Lord Tyland… are you… all right?”

Tyland looks at him, offering a small, composed smile. “Quite all right,” he says calmly, though his gaze lingers in the direction Daemon had gone. “Let us continue. There’s still much to prepare for the wedding.”

And as he walks forward with the courtiers, Tyland’s mind remains steady, resolute. Whatever Daemon’s anger, whatever his threats, he would face them all—for you, and for the future that now lay firmly within his grasp.

The sun is warm as you sit with your ladies-in-waiting in the gardens, laughter and easy conversation filling the air. The gentle rustle of silk skirts and the soft chatter of voices blend with the birdsong, creating a rare moment of peace in the otherwise bustling Red Keep. You’re reviewing samples of delicate lace, choosing the final details for your wedding gown, when the unmistakable figure of Queen Alicent, flanked by her own ladies, steps into view.

The mood shifts instantly, the easy laughter fading as your ladies fall silent, their gazes respectful yet wary. Alicent approaches with a pleasant smile, her expression warm, though her eyes hold a glint of something sharper, a curiosity laced with subtle calculation.

“Y/N,” she greets you smoothly, her tone polite. “I thought I might join you for a moment. The preparations for your wedding must be keeping you quite busy.”

You rise, offering a polite nod, though you feel the weight of her scrutiny. “Thank you, Your Grace. They are indeed,” you reply, keeping your tone courteous. “There’s so much to plan and consider.”

Alicent nods, her gaze drifting over the lace samples and delicate fabrics before settling on you. “It’s a grand match,” she says, her voice smooth but carrying a faint edge. “A marriage between House Targaryen and House Lannister… it’s quite an alliance. No doubt it will strengthen both Houses considerably.”

You meet her gaze, aware of the probing curiosity behind her words. “That is the intent,” you reply calmly. “Both families stand to gain from this union. And it pleases the King, which is what matters most.”

Alicent’s smile remains in place, though her gaze sharpens subtly. “Yes, and House Lannister has taken a particular interest in this match. Their presence at court has been… substantial as of late. I imagine they must be quite invested in your future.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting her gaze with a measured smile. “House Lannister has always been loyal to the Crown, Your Grace. They are here to show their support for this alliance, as is expected of any House when one of their own weds a member of the royal family.”

Alicent’s expression doesn’t falter, though you can sense her curiosity deepening, her desire to uncover what she perceives as hidden motives. “Of course,” she murmurs, a hint of skepticism in her tone. “Though I wonder, what is it that Lord Tyland truly seeks? It’s rare for the lions to venture far from the Rock without a purpose.”

You feel a flicker of irritation at her insinuation, but you maintain your composure, lifting your chin slightly. “With respect, Your Grace, I wonder why this marriage concerns you so deeply. After all, it’s a match for a second sister, not a matter of succession. When Rhaenyra wed Laenor Velaryon, her marriage faced far less scrutiny, even though she was named heir to the throne. Yet here we are, with far more interest in my union.”

A faint shadow crosses Alicent’s expression, though she quickly masks it, her smile tightening slightly. “I am only concerned for the stability of the realm, Y/N. House Velaryon was already allied with House Targaryen; their marriage brought unity. But the Lannisters… they are not as close to the Throne as House Velaryon.”

You match her gaze evenly, refusing to back down. “House Lannister is sworn to the Crown, as are all great Houses. Their loyalty is to the King and his family, just as House Velaryon’s was. And Tyland… he has shown nothing but respect for me, for my family, and for the Crown.”

Alicent’s gaze lingers on you, her expression unreadable as she studies you with a mixture of surprise and mild irritation. “I see,” she replies, her tone softening slightly, though you sense she is still unconvinced. “It is… commendable, how you speak in his defense. You seem to have found quite a confidence in Lord Tyland.” Her voice is smooth, but the underlying note of scrutiny remains.

You hold her gaze, refusing to let her subtle implications unsettle you. “Confidence, yes, and respect, Your Grace. Tyland is a man of honor, and I would not have chosen him otherwise. He seeks no undue power—only a bond of loyalty, as any union between two noble Houses should offer. That is the strength we intend to bring to the realm.”

One of your ladies shifts beside you, her gaze flicking between you and the Queen, clearly sensing the tension in the air. But Alicent only smiles, her expression polite, if a bit forced, as if attempting to regain control of the conversation.

“Of course,” she replies smoothly. “Such a strong alliance should bring much-needed stability to the realm, and I am pleased to hear that you are… content in this arrangement. I am certain the King shares my hope that this union will serve the Crown well.”

You nod, your tone unwavering. “I believe it will, Your Grace. House Lannister’s loyalty and wealth will strengthen our position, and I am honored to be part of that bond.”

Alicent’s smile falters for a fraction of a second before she regains her composure, glancing briefly at her ladies before meeting your gaze once more. “Then I am glad to see you so resolved, Y/N. Such confidence befits a Targaryen princess.”

Her tone, though polite, holds an edge—a subtle reminder of the power dynamics at play, of the fact that your future, as much as it now feels like your own choice, will always be entangled with the interests of the realm.

You offer her a courteous nod, unfazed. “Thank you, Your Grace. I have found that confidence often accompanies purpose. And I am grateful for my family’s trust in me to make this choice.”

For a moment, there is a quiet tension between you, a silent clash of wills as Alicent studies you, her expression unreadable. Finally, she inclines her head with a tight smile, her gaze lingering a moment longer before she turns to her ladies.

“Very well,” she says, her tone cool and measured. “We must all be certain of our roles in service to the realm.”

With a final glance your way, she gestures to her entourage, who fall in step behind her as she departs, her graceful form retreating down the garden path. As the quiet settles in her wake, one of your ladies lets out a quiet sigh of relief, her face still flushed from the anxiety of the exchange.

You turn back to your ladies, offering them a reassuring smile as you resume your seat. “It seems, ladies,” you murmur, with a faint but confident smile, “that Queen Alicent is far more invested in this wedding than she cares to admit.”

Your ladies share knowing glances, small smiles pulling at their lips as the atmosphere eases once more. And though the conversation with Alicent still lingers in your mind, a quiet confidence settles within you. Whatever doubts or suspicions she may hold, you know where your heart and loyalty lie—and no amount of scrutiny will change that.

In the dim light of Tyland’s private chambers, the world beyond fades away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace, the press of his skin against yours, and the soft murmur of breaths shared in the quiet aftermath. You lie tangled together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the remnants of your passionate union lingering in the charged air. The warmth of the bed and the intimacy of his presence ground you, and for a few moments, you savor the closeness, resting your head against his chest as his fingers trail lazily over your shoulder.

Tyland’s hand finds yours, his thumb tracing gentle patterns over your skin as he sighs, breaking the comfortable silence with a faint chuckle. “It seems, my love, that our match is not without its share of obstacles.” His voice holds a hint of humor, though there’s an edge of something more in his tone—something darker.

You glance up, meeting his gaze, and he gives you a small, rueful smile. “I had an… encounter, let’s call it, with your dear uncle Daemon in the gardens earlier.” His fingers tighten slightly, his expression hardening as he recalls the moment. “He took it upon himself to remind me of the fire that runs in your family’s blood—and to make certain I understand my place.”

Your brow furrows as you push yourself up slightly, resting a hand on his chest as you watch him. “Daemon,” you murmur, your voice laced with a mixture of exasperation and concern. “He couldn’t resist, could he?”

Tyland lets out a low chuckle, though his eyes remain serious. “Apparently not. He made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t see me as his equal—and that he doesn’t intend to welcome me into the family with open arms.” He pauses, his gaze searching yours. “But I assured him that my loyalty is unwavering. No amount of fire from a Targaryen can scorch my resolve.”

A soft smile tugs at your lips, and you reach up to brush a hand along his cheek, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I’m not surprised Daemon tried to intimidate you. He’s… protective in his own twisted way. But he’ll come around. He’ll have to. I’ve chosen you.”

Tyland’s expression softens, and he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And for that, I would face dragons a thousand times over.”

You nestle against him, feeling a sense of security in his arms, but the memory of your own recent encounter with Queen Alicent stirs in your mind. Letting out a small sigh, you say softly, “You aren’t the only one who’s had to fend off a member of my family.”

Tyland’s brow arches in interest, his hand coming to rest on your back as he listens. “Oh? Don’t tell me the Queen has taken it upon herself to extend her… concerns.”

You nod, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “You know her well. Alicent came to the gardens earlier, surrounded by her ladies, trying to gauge my intentions—and by extension, yours. She questioned whether House Lannister’s presence at court was truly as benign as it seems.”

Tyland snorts softly, shaking his head. “So she’s taken to examining motives behind every veil and shadow now, has she? What did you tell her?”

“I reminded her,” you reply, a touch of pride in your voice, “that as a second sister, my marriage should hardly warrant such scrutiny. After all, Rhaenyra’s marriage to Laenor faced far less questioning. Alicent didn’t seem pleased by that comparison.”

Tyland chuckles, a faint smirk gracing his lips. “Well said. The Queen may play her games, but you, my love, are more than her match.” He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It seems we both have to endure our share of challenges from your family. But I would face a hundred of them if it meant being here with you.”

You smile, nestling closer to him, feeling the strength of his resolve surrounding you like a protective barrier. “Whatever challenges they throw at us, we’ll face them together. Alicent, Daemon… they may doubt, they may question, but our loyalty and love for each other remain unshaken.”

Tyland nods, his expression serious as he gazes into your eyes. “And that, my love, is something neither dragons nor queens can ever take from us.”

Wrapped in each other’s arms, you find solace in the quiet strength of your bond, knowing that, no matter the challenges, you have each other to face them with—unwavering, together.

[lostsyren]

Could you do.....maybe Sofia canceling a date with Rafe because her paycheck got delayed, and she feels to embarressed to go on dates in the same clothes and had plan to buy new things. She tells him that she is sick, but then he sees her at a bonfire party. He feels heartbroken thinking she lied because she is tired of him while he is head over heels, he walks off, she runs after.....ANGGSTTT <3

˚⊱🪷⊰˚ date night

{a/n: sorry for taking so long to get to my requests but I hope it was worth the wait!!}

{summary: sofia can’t make it to date night, and rafe’s not happy about it…}

꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥

“You really like that dress don’t you?” Ruthie said with a slimy smirk across her face.

Those words echoed through Sofia’s mind as she stared at her closet trying to figure out what to wear with her date with Rafe.

She hadn’t even thought twice about the clothes she wore in front of Rafe and his friends before– having enough confidence in her sense of style. Sofia had carefully curated a wardrobe from lucky thrift store finds and the occasional designer splurge when she had some of her pay check left over.

So when Ruthie had teasingly poked fun at her favourite dress (a satiny, floral slip that she adored), her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

“It’s so cute though, if you like that sorta thing, I can understand why you wear it so much,” Ruthie had continued, hiding her bitchy words under a guise of tooth-aching sweetness.

She hadn’t thought about it again until Rafe had asked her to come out to dinner with him a couple nights later. Sofia enthusiastically accepted– it was only when she got home to get ready, seeing her limited selection of clothes, did the stirring regret begin to overwhelm her senses and Ruthie’s words begin to engulf her brain.

She still had time to go out and buy something new, something Rafe would like (and something that would shut Ruthie up), but when she checked her account balance, she realised she didn’t have enough. After the bills for her siblings tuition and the chunk of her wage she’d spent helping her parents fix the car, she was left with nothing. And she wasn’t getting paid again till a couple weeks.

Sofia huffed exasperatedly, sinking into her bed. She hated feeling like this…feeling inferior. What if Rafe through the same thing? That he was taking her to all these flashy places, driving her around in his shiny car and she couldn’t even dress up a bit for it?

With a sinking heart, Sofia grabbed her phone to call him.

It went through instantly.

“Hey baby, everything ok?” He asked, his voice eliciting somersaults in her stomach.

“Hi Rafe, I just…I don’t think I can do dinner tonight, I’ve got this horrible headache and I think I’m just gonna go to sleep,” she fibbed, biting her lip.

“We don’t have to go out, I can pick you you up and we can just chill at mine– order from that place you like?”

Sofia didn’t like lying to him, it almost physically pained her, gnawing at her bottom lip and playing with the dead skins around her thumb. “I think I just needs some rest.”

“Ok then, get well soon yeah? And text me if you need anything alright? Goodnight Sof,” he said, disappointment toning his words.

“Night Rafe.”

She ended the call quickly, burning hot with guilt– she hated lying. Especially to her boyfriend of all people.

And now she had nothing to do for the rest of the night all because she was too embarrassed to wear the same thing twice…it was honestly so stupid. Sofia huffed and turned around in her bed.

As if sensing her impending boredom, her phone buzzed with a text from her friend, talking about a bonfire party at the Boneyard.

Sofia smiled too herself, slipping on her worn trainers and getting ready to head to the beach.

She didn’t have to worry about what to wear there.

꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥

Rafe, along with Topper, Kelce and Ruthie drove down to the Boneyard. He wasn’t supposed to tag along, but with Sofia cancelling their plans, he had nothing better to do.

As they rolled down the rocky beach in Topper’s jeep, Rafe pulled out his phone, sending Sofia a quick text.

R: Hope that headache goes away soon then maybe we can reschedule? :)

Rafe was surprised at how disappointed he felt after she said she couldn’t make it. All he could think about sitting in the back of the car, watching the Stygian waves roll onto the coast, was how much he’d rather be with her right now.

“Yo Rafe, I thought you were busy tonight?” Kelce pestered with a smirk.

Topper chuckled lowly, “oh yeah, wasn’t it date night tonight? What happened to that?”

“She wasn’t feeling too good so now I’m stuck with you idiots.” He muttered.

“Oh come on, you’ll see her again the club. I’ll make sure to ask for doubles so she’ll come by our table twice, yeah?” Ruthie goaded, twisting her body around so she could see him.

Rafe brewed with a dull anger– he always thought Ruthie was a bitch.

“Two drinks Ruthie? You sure about that? Aren’t you a lightweight?” He scoffed.

“Hey hey hey, let’s have fun tonight yeah?” Topper mediated, parking up the jeep next to the arsenal of vehicles.

The four of them hopped out, heading to the kegger, quickly getting pulled in by their kook friends, enveloped in the heady flow of gossip and conversation. Rafe just stood quietly, sipping at his third cup, enjoying the warmth of the fire on his face and salt of the air on his tongue.

His vision strayed over to the other side of the beach, where all the pogues had congregated. And that’s when he saw her. Dressed in her favourite shorts and sunset coloured hoodie– she looked gorgeous bathed in the glow of the bonfire.

Rafe felt his heart sink into the cavern of his ribcage. She lied to him.

Settling his solo cup down on to the kegger, he pulled out his phone and rang her number, watching her like a predator eyes its prey, his dilated pupils honed on to her unassuming figure.

She excused herself from her friends, walking off to a quieter area before she answered his call.

“Hey baby,” she cooed with a smile, Rafe seething in silence as he watched.

“How you feeling? Still got that headache?” He asked bluntly, his molars grinding down on each other.

“Yeah- yes, still hurts.” She said. Rafe saw her eyebrows furrow as she bit her lip furtively.

“You at home? It sounds kinda loud over the phone?”

“Yeah my siblings have the TV on,” she blatantly lied. Rafe breathed in deeply through his nose.

“Oh so you’re not at the bonfire at the boneyard?”

Rafe watched her face drop, her gaze darting around the beach as she stayed silent on the phone. She locked eyes with him from across the sand, her mouth parting slightly, lips forming a little ‘o’ shape, something that he usually found cute, but now it just irked him.

“Rafe,” she said, voice bordering a whisper.

“You fucking liar,” he hissed, before ending the call, and heading over to the cars, ready to call an Uber for himself and head home.

He tried to regulate his lurching breaths, anger beginning to flow hot through his veins, but it was hard to do when a heart rending sadness slammed into his nervous system, catching him off guard.

Sofia? A liar? No. She wasn’t like that. She wasn’t like everyone else.

His fingers struggled to order an Uber, shaking with the aftershock at seeing her deceive him with such disregard.

“Rafe! Wait please I can explain.” He whipped his head back to see Sofia approach him.

“Stop it Sofia, explain what? Huh? How you lied to me?”

A pang of regret reverberated through him when he saw her glassy, tear filled eyes, her quivering lip. Was he being too harsh? No. She was the one who was in the wrong– not him.

“I’m sorry, I just, it’s ugh it’s going to sound so stupid Rafe, but I promise I didn’t mean to hurt or lie to you.”

“What’s going to sound so stupid? Why you made an excuse to get out of being with me? You hate me that bad huh?”

“No no! Of course not. Look, Ruthie said something the other day…” she began, her cheeks red and tear stained.

“Ruthie? What the fuck does she have to do with this?” He yelled. They were on the outskirts of the party, away from the crowds and crackle of firewood.

“She was making fun of how I wear the same thing all the time, you know? And it made me get self conscious…and tonight when I was getting ready, I just got in my own head, thought you would want me dress up more, not just wear the same things every time.”

Rafe’s face contorted in confusion. She couldn’t be serious right now?

“And I can’t just buy a new dress like that, I have bills to pay and stuff so I was just feeling sorry for myself and lied because of my own stupid feelings.” Sofia’s lips began to quiver, another bout of tears quickly approaching, before she shrouded her face with her hands, muffling her soft cries.

“Sof…” he said, tone gentle and kind, feeling like shit for shouting at her. He should’ve know Sofia had a reason for lying and he should’ve know Ruthie had something to do with it.

“Ugh it was so stupid, and I feel like an idiot.” She laughed mirthlessly, as he pulled her into a hug, letting her cry against his chest.

“Baby, you know I don’t care right?”

“Yeah I know. I care though.” She mumbled against his warm embrace.

“Come on, let’s get out of here yeah?”

“Yeah, ok. I’m sorry again, I feel terrible.”

Rafe slung an easy arm around her shoulder, leading her up to road where their taxi was going to meet them, “well don’t, otherwise I’ll feel like shit for shouting at you.”

“Fine. Truce?”

Rafe chuckled softly, looking down at her with a soft smile, as she gazed up at him with her glossy eyes.

“Yeah, truce.”

꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥

A couple days later, after Sofia had slept over at his place, she woke up to the birds singing on Figure 8, a sound lost amidst the cacophony of building work and barking dogs on the Cut. She sighed contentedly, turning around in the sumptuous sheets ready to nestle up against Rafe, to find the bed empty. She hummed in dismay, forgetting it was Sunday, the day he needed to go down to the office.

Eventually, after letting her eyes flutter shut for a couple more blissful minutes, Sofia rolled out of bed, slipping on Rafe’s shirt, a habit she was getting increasingly used to.

She pattered across the hard wood floors ready to get into the shower, before her eyes snagged on something resting on the drawers. It was a cream coloured bag, one from those fancy stores in Kildare Town Centre, the straps made of black silk.

On it was a sticky note, Rafe’s familiar scratchy writing scrawled across the paper.

Now you don’t have an excuse to miss dinner with me :)

Sofia’s eyebrows quirked up in curiosity as she read the cryptic note, rifling into the bag.

Inside was maybe a dozen items of clothes, from satin dresses to cashmere shirts, all in shades of her favourite colours– blooming pinks, soft oranges, cherry reds. She adored every single one.

Her heart soared with excitement and warmth, her cheeks tinged with a rosy blush. Rafe could sometimes be so sweet it left her weak-kneed and gooey, her insides alight with joy.

A creeping sensation of guilt arose– these must’ve been expensive. Sofia noticed he’d removed all the tags off them, probably anticipating her qualms about the price. But she put it aside, ready to first try them on. She’d pay him back, she told herself, running her hands over the silken fabric.

Carefully unpacking each item, she laid them out on the bed, until her fingers skimmed the final one.

Pulling it out, she rolled her eyes with a small smile when she saw the two piece lingerie set Rafe had nestled at the bottom, comprised of black lace and gossamer.

Sofia laughed softly, as she put the piece along with the rest of her gifts– maybe she already had a way to pay him back, one that was much more fun than working double shifts at the club.

꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥

[yuckiemouth]

Ugh I miss u sex with Riki bro like him coming home from tour I’m frustrated

“I Missed You So Much”

“did you think of me every-time you masturbated in your dorm?”

After their ‘WALK THE LINE’ tour, ENHYPEN finally got the chance to fly overseas to reunite with their friends and family. Although the experience was exhausting yet enjoyable for all seven members, they could finally relax—at least until they navigate through the throngs of enthusiastic fans and paparazzi. The pushing, shoving, screams, and tears were finally behind them as they settled into their first-class seats—something they could now afford, escaping the usual chaos of being followed even in the air. Riki sat at the very back by the window, headphones over his ears, resting his head on a neck pillow as he settled in for some much-needed rest. A soft ding interrupted his music. Riki glanced down, picking up his phone from his lap. A message from Y/N, his secret girlfriend back in Japan, lit up the screen. It read: “I can’t wait to see u ❤️.”

A warm smile spread across Riki's face as he read Y/N's sweet text. He quickly typed out a reply, "Me too, baby. Can't wait to hold you again." His thumbs hovered over the send button, but then he hesitated. Better not risk getting caught by the others, especially Jake who always seemed to snoop around his phone. Riki deleted the message and replaced it with a more innocent one: "Miss you already! See you soon!" Satisfied, he hit send before putting his phone away and sinking deeper into his seat, letting the gentle hum of the plane lull him towards sleep once more.

His phone dinged again and Riki’s 100% sure Jake would’ve twisted his head and asked “who’s texting you so much?”, but luckily he was slumped next to the seats beside him with his mouth agape. Riki chuckled before snapping a pic, preparing to use it for blackmail. He quickly checked Y/N’s message and it read: view picture. He dubiously viewed the picture and he inaudibly gasped. Y/N’s shirt was lifted with her perky titties in frame with the letters blocking her nipples like a tease. “I really need you.” Riki felt a stirring in his loins as he gazed at the provocative photo, his eyes lingering on Y/N's tantalizing cleavage. He bit his lip, trying to stifle a moan. Damn, she knew just how to make him ache for her. He couldn't wait to get his hands on those perfect tits again, to taste her skin and hear her breathy pleas for more.

With a smirk, Riki typed out a response, keeping his words light and playful to avoid arousing suspicion. "Mmm, I really do need you too, baby. But we have a few hours till we land. Why don't you play with yourself while thinking about me?" He attached another sultry selfie of himself lounging comfortably, his bulge barely concealed beneath his pants. "Get me hard for our reunion." Riki let out a low chuckle, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair in anticipation. His mind wandered to their last encounter, the way she'd writhed beneath him, crying out his name as he pounded into her tight little pussy. The memory alone was enough to make his cock twitch inside his pants. With a sigh, he decided to drift off with that thought.

.

.

.

As Riki approached Y/N's apartment building, a sense of relief washed over him. Being surrounded by his loving family had been wonderful, but there was no denying that he craved the intimacy and passion he shared with Y/N. He quickened his pace, his heart racing with anticipation as he climbed the stairs to her door. Taking a deep breath, Riki knocked softly, hoping she wouldn't keep him waiting. When the door swung open, he was greeted by Y/N's radiant smile, her eyes sparkling with adoration. Without a word, Riki pulled her into his arms, claiming her lips in a searing kiss filled with pent-up desire. He needed her, wanted her, and nothing else mattered in that moment. Riki shoved her back into the apartment with the wet kiss, pushing the door back close with a soft kick.

Riki's hands roamed over Y/N's curves as he backed her against the wall, breaking the kiss only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jawline and down the column of her throat. He nipped and sucked at her sensitive skin, leaving a path of love bites in his wake. "Missed you so fucking much," Riki growled against her ear, his voice husky with lust. He ground his hips against hers, the hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against her belly. "Need to be inside you, Y/N. Now." Without waiting for a response, Riki scooped her up into his strong arms, carrying her towards the bedroom as he devoured her mouth once more. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them lost in their desperate hunger for each other. Riki laid Y/N gently on the bed, his hands roaming her body as he kissed a fiery trail down her chest. He paused to worship her breasts, sucking and nibbling at her pert nipples until they pebbled under his attention. Y/N arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she gasped and whimpered with pleasure.

"Please, Riki," she panted, her hips bucking upwards in search of friction. "I'm so wet for you. Fill me up, baby." He grinned against her skin, his cock throbbing with need. He slid down her body, kissing and licking a path to her dripping core. "Oh, I plan to," he murmured, burying his face between her thighs and inhaling deeply. "Fuck, you smell incredible." He left one last kiss on her inner thigh before adjusting himself between her thighs.

His rigid erection brushing against her slick folds. He looked up at her, his dark eyes smoldering with raw desire. "Fuck, I’ve missed you, Y/N," he urged, his voice thick with lust. "Hmm, this wet pussy," Y/N's breath hitched, her gaze locked onto Riki's as she reached down to guide him to her entrance. "I want you to fuck me hard," she whispered, her voice trembling with need. "Make me scream your name until my throat is raw." Riki groaned, his control slipping at her bold demand. With a swift thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her, stretching her walls deliciously around his thickness. "Oh, fuck yes," his eyes rolled as he began thrusting into her tightness. Her mouth falls agape with desperate pleas escaping her short breath. “Uh huh, yeah, fuck me harder,” she nodded, encouraging him to go faster.

Riki gripped Y/N's hips tightly, pounding into her with reckless abandon as he chased his impending release. Her inner walls clenched around him, milking his cock with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin and their ragged breathing filled the room, creating a primal symphony of lust. "You're so damn tight," Riki grunted, sweat beading on his forehead as he drove deeper. "Take all of me, baby. Every inch." Y/N's cries grew louder, her nails digging into his arms as she teetered on the edge. "Riki! Oh god, Riki!" she wailed, her body tensing beneath him. With one final, brutal stroke, Riki felt Y/N convulse around him, her orgasm crashing over her in waves.

Riki's climax hit him like a freight train, his vision blurring as he spilled himself deep within Y/N's spasming heat. He collapsed on top of her, his heavy breaths mingling with hers as they both rode out the aftershocks. He rolled off her, pulling her close as they lay entwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. Riki pressed a soft kiss to her temple, feeling content and sated in a way that only Y/N could provide.

[tenisperfection]

Detritus

post 8x06, post-Bucktommy break-up, NOT a fix-it, more a retrospection. Buck POV.

As soon as Buck sees the box, he makes up his mind. He is not going to give up the drawer.

He can't give it up, because it's only three days and ten hours after Tommy left and a sheepish Eddie is already here with a box, and Buck immediately slams the door shut in his face. This is not right, and that is not Tommy, and Eddie is Eddie and Eddie can and will stand out there till Buck's breathing slows down enough to let him in.

Because Buck had thought, for a foolishly hopeful second, that it was the knock he'd been waiting for. Instead, it's a box. A box that only took three days and ten hours, because it's that easy to pack things up for Tommy.

"Sorry, man," Eddie shrugs, seven minutes later. "Here."

For being the receipt of the past six months of Buck's life, the box contains surprisingly few things. Two sweatshirts, five pairs of underwear, three shirts, a copy of Artemis that Buck never got around to making a dent in, two tubes of chapstick, a small container of his medications, a nearly-empty bottle of his moisturizer, his second pair of sunglasses, and a single red toothbrush.

At the very bottom, there's a single key.

"Who the fuck returns a toothbrush," Buck murmurs. He wonders if he's the odd one out, if it's normal for exes who suddenly break your heart to give you back the seven dollar toothbrush that's due to be thrown out anyway. He then laughs, because he hadn't even outlived the fucking plastic toothbrush.

Buck says nothing. He upturns the contents of the box on to his couch, races around and fills it back up with the easiest traces of Tommy he can find in his vicinity. He dimly hears Eddie start the dishwasher as he's upstairs, throwing every stupid and warm hoodie Tommy left behind like little cruel reminders for Buck to find, to touch.

He doesn't open the drawer.

"Here," he places the box on the counter. Eddie's leaning against the fridge, beer in hand. He hasn't left one out for Buck, most likely because of the empty bottles near the sink. Buck rolls his eyes anyway.

"Is that it?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah," Buck lies. Tommy won't come back, Buck knows, not for a drawer with almost nothing in it. But Buck can pretend for a while. Buck can wake up, count the hours, go to work, count the hours, go through the motions and count the hours, come back to the loft and pick up Jee and bake with her and drop her back at Maddie's and Chim's. He can sit in his balcony till it becomes too much. He can go to Eddie's and fall asleep there because there's nothing in his house that doesn't speak to him in Tommy's voice. He can count the hours and not really sleep before it's time to wake up, and then he can race to his apartment, just in case, just if there's something he has to go home to.

Just in case.

It's seven days and seventeen hours later. The knock doesn't come.

Buck types thirty seven texts he doesn't send.

It's nine days and five hours later when Buck's in the engine and they're driving to a fire.

There hasn't been a knock or a call or a text. Not even another box sent through Eddie, because all Buck was in the end was one medium sized box of junk that Tommy still did a thorough job of filling. His house, cozier and warmer than Buck's loft had ever been, is probably free of every trace of Buck ever having existed there, like Tommy had flown them back from the sinking cruise ship and gripped Buck's elbow and smiled and then walked out of his life.

Buck deletes his number. He stares out the window till his eyes burn.

It's day fifteen when Buck throws his copy of Artemis into the drawer. He doesn't look inside.

Buck makes Eddie send him Tommy's number on day eighteen.

Your sketchbook is with me. I'm not giving it back.

Buck doesn't send it. He can't send it.

Why did you return the toothbrush

Are you really serious? We're not even going to talk? Ever?

Is this really it?

Day thirty five. Buck finds a stray purple sock with a hole in its toe that's wedged under the couch cushions. He throws it into the drawer too.

Buck deletes all the photos on his phone from the past six months on day forty three. He makes Maddie and Eddie send him all the pictures from her wedding. He knows they won't send him anything with him in it.

I watched that Guadagnino movie you wanted to see. I hated it.

I really wish I could hate you.

Fuck. I really wish I could forget.

Did you forget?

Day fifty nine. The drawer doesn't quite slide shut now, because it's been nearly too months and Buck is still finding traces of Tommy here in the loft.

This is how it's going to be. I'm going to be finding you here till the day I move out.

Why did you call me Buck

I'm never moving out

It's day ninety when Buck makes the drive after work.

The garage is open and Buck ducks inside, places the box on the stoop.

Buck is almost back home when his phone buzzes.

Thanks for my stuff.

Buck responds a second later. I kept your sketchbook.

He doesn't send I liked watching you draw. I liked seeing you do things. I liked your hands so much, the way you held things. I liked having you here. I liked the way you held my face. I am scared I'll keep finding you here. I'm scared I won't. I'm scared that one day I'll forget what you look like, what your smile feels like when it's against my mouth. I'm terrified that I'll never forget and I'll see you in everyone.

You can keep it, Tommy sends.

Buck doesn't ask Is there someone else? Do you even remember the time we stayed in bed all day and ate seven waffles and white chocolate chips straight from the bag? Did you find more of me in your beautiful house? Did you ever fix your blender? Or are you the kind to just buy a new one every time something breaks?

He doesn't send Why did I not know this about you?

Buck sends back a thumbs up. He watches as the message notification turns to Read.

When Buck goes to bed that night, he opens the drawer and grabs the book. He'd read fifty three pages of Artemis then. Now, Buck goes back to the beginning.

[yourbiggestcrybaby]

“Best Friends”

Billie Eilish X Reader

Billie and you have always been close, some would even say too close… She was your “Best Friends” . Your best friend who was far too flirtatious. Your best friend who you were secretly in love with. At one of her parties, both of you a little drunk, you finally muster up the courage to tell her how you truly feel.

Warnings: alcohol, reader is kinda oblivious, that’s all tbh

The night air was cool as you walked up the steps to Billie’s house, the music and laughter spilling out from the door. It wasn’t unusual, Billie loved throwing parties, but tonight, something felt different. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but your chest was tight, almost as if you knew something was about to happen. You pushed the thought aside. It’s just a party, you told yourself. Nothing to overthink.

When Billie opened the door, her grin was wider than usual, her light blue eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint that always made you second-guess yourself. “Well, look who finally showed up,” she said, her voice low and husky, a little too teasing. She didn’t just let you in - she stepped closer, her body brushing yours as she passed you a playful, lingering glance.

You froze, a bolt of electricity running through you at the contact. What the hell? She must have drunk a little too much.

“Of course I did,” you said, trying to sound normal, but your voice came out a little too breathy. Get it together, it’s just Billie.

Billie stepped aside, her fingers grazing yours as she led you inside. “Good,” she murmured, her voice lowering even more, just enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I was starting to think you might be avoiding me.”

You laughed nervously. Avoiding her? No. You could never avoid Billie. But you had no idea what was going on with you tonight. It felt like every time she moved, every time she looked at you, she did it with purpose, like she was trying to tell you something. She’s just being her usual flirty self, you thought. Don’t read too much into it.

As you moved through the crowd, Billie kept close. Too close. Her shoulder brushed yours every few seconds. Her hand lingered on your back as she steered you toward the drink table. The whole night had been like this, too many lingering touches, too many slow glances, too much tension building between the two of you. It’s all in my head, you told yourself, but deep down, you knew something was different. And it was making you dizzy.

You tried to focus on the conversation around you, but every time you glanced over at Billie, she was staring at you. Her lips curled into that flirtatious smile, eyes flickering over you like she knew something you didn’t know. She’s messing with me, you thought.

“Hey,” Billie said, suddenly right next to you. She was standing so close now, her breath warm against your skin. “I need a break from this chaos. You wanna come outside for a sec?” She raised an eyebrow, that smile curling at the corners of her lips. There it was again.

You nodded quickly, your heart picking up pace. Just stay cool. Just stay cool. Billie pulled you toward the back door, her fingers brushing against your hand, the contact sent a jolt through your chest. I can’t do this. I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel it.

The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside, but it didn’t do much to cool the heat that had settled in your chest. Billie leaned against the railing, her eyes scanning the party through the window. You couldn’t help but watch her—her messy hair, the way she bit her lip absently, the way she exhaled a long breath like she was trying to calm herself.

She turned back to you then, her eyes locking onto yours with that familiar glint. “You’ve been acting a little off tonight,” she said, her voice softer now, almost coaxing. She took a slow step toward you, her fingers grazing the side of your arm, and you nearly flinched at the contact. Nope, don’t do this. Don’t read into it. But the way her fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary made you question everything.

She stepped even closer, her lips curling into that teasing smile again. “You sure you’re not hiding something from me?” she asked, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. Oh god.

Your heart skipped a beat. She was close enough now that you could feel the heat from her body, smell the faint trace of her perfume. And the tension was thick between you two—unavoidable, electric. This is ridiculous. She’s just being flirty. She’s always like this, right?

But then Billie tilted her head, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Unless…” She trailed off, drawing it out, as if she was savoring the moment. “Unless you’re too shy to admit something to me?” Her lips twitched, and she gave you that look—the one that made you feel like she knew exactly what was going on inside your head.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breath, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the one in control right now, and you were just a little bit helpless.

"Billie, I—" You hesitated, then blurted it out. "I need to tell you something."

She tilted her head, biting her lip, eyes locked on yours. “Yeah?” Her voice was teasing, but there was something else there, something that made it harder to breathe.

You took a breath. “Look, we’ve been best friends forever, but… I don’t think I can be just your friend anymore.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she was completely still. “Wait, what do you mean? You… don’t like me?”

“No!” you burst out, heat rushing to your face. “It’s the opposite. I can’t pretend anymore. I think about you constantly, Billie. I think I love you.”

The seconds stretched on, and the whole world seemed to fall away as you stood there, heart pounding, wondering if you’d just made the biggest mistake of your life.

Then, Billie’s lips curled into the most mischievous grin you’d ever seen. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said, her voice a breathy laugh. “I thought I was the only one. But damn, I didn’t think you’d be so bold about it.”

You blinked, your stomach flipping. Wait, what? She’s not... mad?

Billie stepped even closer, her breath warm against your lips. “I guess I’ve been waiting for you to make the first move,” she teased, her fingers brushing your jaw as if she were savoring every second of this. “Didn’t think it’d take this long, though.”

Before you could process anything else, Billie’s lips were on yours. Soft at first, just a whisper of contact, like she was testing the waters. But it didn’t take long before the kiss deepened, slow and hungry, full of everything you had been trying to ignore for far too long.

Her hands found your neck, pulling you closer, as if she couldn’t get enough of you. And in that moment, everything else faded away. There was just Billie. And you. And the truth was finally out in the open.

When she pulled away, her lips were still tingling with the kiss, and she looked at you with a soft smile. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that,” she murmured, her voice low and husky.

You could barely catch your breath. “I thought you knew,” you said, your hands still shaky as you ran them through her hair.

Billie laughed softly, the sound rich and full of warmth. “I had a feeling, but hearing it from you…” She shrugged playfully. “Well, let’s just say I’m not going to let you off the hook that easily.”

You blinked, trying to regain your composure. “I don’t think I want you to.”

Billie raised an eyebrow, her grin returning. “Good. Because now that you’ve said it... I don’t think I’ll be able to stop kissing you.”

You laughed breathlessly, your heart still racing in your chest. “I think I’m okay with that.”

With that, Billie gave you one last playful smile and tugged you back toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go before I drag you somewhere private and forget we’re even at a party.”

[cmkren]

— a human’s touch

; house x gn! reader

Maybe in some other lifetime romanticism wasn’t lost to House. That he had grown into a man capable of giving clear-cut affections— and capable of receiving it as well. The first ever puzzle he never wanted to solve, and it was of his heart. You, on the other hand, couldn’t give a damn about it all. You tied yourself to him after all.

In your lap, maybe that fact of House’s could be forgotten. For an hour or two.

a/n: i’ve never written for house, or house md at all. Currently in s4, and I’m just so attached to this crowd of misfits. I’m sorry if he ends up ooc— I just wanted to write something as close to fluff as I can with house LMAO 😭

tws; nothing you wouldn’t find in the show — 1.08k words

“What, are we playing mommy and her sexually frustrated boytoy? I don’t recall putting this into the search bar.”

“I don’t think you’re young and spry enough to be playing the pool boy in this scenario. Take as much offence as you’d want to that shocking revelation.”

Despite the very particular banter, nothing nefarious was happening in this scene. It was quite normal actually. In the tidiness of his apartment the two steeped in each other’s presence. Steeped may have been a strange word for it, but it fit the two. House was chatty like always, but even now and then he had grown quiet. Either getting caught by a specific feature of his partner (still thick on his tongue, not something he ever says really) or deep in his own thoughts.

What prompted him to make the off handed remark? Some might ask, especially when they were having such a peaceful moment!

The obvious answer would be because he’s House. What else was he supposed to do? The not-so-obvious answer was the strange feeling in his chest, as his head lay against the thighs of the person he oh-so cautiously let pull him down to such a position. If he turned his head sideways, you’d most certainly feel the prick of his unkempt beard.

He flexes his fingers, arms sort of kept… limp. Close to his chest. The pale blue of his eyes looking up to the other, brow wrinkled into a furrow as he felt awkward. He only allowed himself to be so hesitant for a second more before he went slack jawed and widened his eyes— a mockery of coming to another ‘revelation’.

“Oh! Pray tell me then, what are we?” Spoken like a young teenager picking out lines from a rom-com they watched the day before to aid them in romantic endeavours. His arms even moving just the slightest to resemble a ‘gosh darn it!’ kind of movement. That garnered an amused noise out of you, your hand very gently resting atop his mess of hair.

“Not we, you. What you are, is a man who can’t even sit still and let me dote on you. So I resorted to,” your free hand gestured to him. Legs stretched and resting on the arm rest of his couch, his head comfortably in your lap, “this.”

Then it was House’s turn to give a little snort.

“What you’ve resorted to is crippling a cripple. Can’t move! Should I go dial 911? Or are you going to kick my legs from behind just as I reach my phone?” This time, there wasn’t any sort of sound akin to laughter. Instead, you gave the hairs atop his head a bit of a tug. A warning.

A grunt left him, his eye wincing a little from the sensation but his wit outran any sort of complaint, “Pineapple! Oh— right we aren’t doing anything like that.” He still shot you a half-hearted look. All the playing around didn’t get him anything but a gentle expression though, a soft look in your eye that said that you would put up with him more than he could ever dream of.

A look he’d seen, but never truly appreciated. He wasn’t quite sure if he did so, even now.

“I would tell you to stop being stupid, but I know I could never stop that.”

“Wow, thanks.”

The way you leaned down to give press a kiss atop his forehead spoke to the fact that you never meant any malice or exasperation in their words. Sure, there was bound to be exhaustion, everyone had breaking points. You were always so lenient with him. Even if you wouldn’t admit that yourself.

Suppose in a way, they understood each other like that.

House didn’t react much to the kiss. You gave a lot of those, so. He didn’t say anything though, so that was either a good indication or a bad indication. 50/50, who knows maybe you should flip a coin.

“Good day at the hospital?” You mumbled, slowly twirling the short strands on his head, coiling them around your fingers. House’s face visibly relaxed, only flexing and moving as he responded. “Oh, yeah, like Santa’s little workshop there. Bundle of joy, fun bright lights.” He muttered, eyes closing for a moment.

Everyone knew that his days were full of pain. He made sure everyone knew, actually. Always made sure that everyone had to be dragged down with him. With you though, he toned it down. Just a little bit.

Your hand caressed the side of his face, gliding down the rough surface and down his scraggly beard. Mindless shapes formed along his skin, his eyes trained on your face. Whether your face would contort the longer you looked at him. As if waiting for you to have a revelation of your own— that he wasn’t who you wanted to spend your time with. That’d you’d wake up soon. Wake up from the dream you seemed so content with, him in your lap and the carefulness of your gestures.

“Something on my face?” Your hand trailed back up to his cheekbone, before pinching the skin there. A smile on your face, for him. For a moment, he stayed silent. Lips that were once parted were now pursed into a tight line, furrow of his brows suggested that he was thinking again.

The longer you waited though, the lighter your touch became. As if you were drawing back. An end to a gentle moment.

“No,” his hands shot up, taking yours in his own. His eyes firm, before they would soften and close as he brought your hands to his face. “Keep it this way a little longer.” For once, not a quip. A moment of genuine love, one that came out of him thinking this was all but fleeting.

In reality, you hardly moved at all.

You were just going to shift, hopefully making him more comfortable if he had felt the position a little awkward. Instead he cradled your hands as if they were the one thing keeping him off his pills. Even just for a short amount of time. Your shoulders went lax, tilting your head as you gave a faint smile. “Okay.” Was all you said.

“I’d rather have you touch me than the old reliables here,” one of his hands let go, giving a bit of a jazzy shake as if to emphasize, “god knows I’ve touched myself enough. Your hands are softer.” You snorted.

“I don’t doubt it.”

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

hello! i was wondering if you could do poly!plastic x reader where regina has a condition like anemia or is simply just sick and won't admit that she's sick or needs help till she eventually collapses. sorry if it's too specific and you absolutely don't have to do it if you fon't wanna! :)

The Date-

|| poly!plastics x nonbinary!reader

|| Warnings; mostly Regina's pov, mentions of throw up, Regina's sick and hiding it, Gretchen stands up to Regina (though briefly), Regina blacks out, brief swearing

|| Summary; when Regina wakes up, she finds she isn't feeling well. But holds out for the date later that evening.

Requests closed!

Started; November 13th

Finished; November 13th

+ Anon Request; hey can you do poly!plastics x reader where it's regina being sick or anemic (only her gfs know that) but would never admit if she's not feeling well because she has an image to "uphold." sorry if it's too specific! it's all gopd i you can't 😅

Author Note; i wrote her being sick, since that was easier for me to write 🫶

~~~

It wasn't often Regina George got sick. In fact, there was hardly ever a time where she was. Of course she's faked being sick a number of times, just like every other kid. But today she was not feeling great. Like, at all. Every time she took a step Regina felt like she would throw up. Or pass out. Or both.

But did she take the day off? No. Because there were things she genuinely wanted to do at school and after today. She wanted to see her girlfriends and partner. Plus, Regina was looking forward to their date tonight. She booked them reservations at a nice ass restaurant and it would suck to lose their spot. Considering the next wait was nearly two months. She wasn't about to wait forever again. So, Regina tried her hardest to look okay. She may have over done it a bit on the makeup, but Regina hardly cared right now.

Despite feeling sick, Regina still took the time to pick up all of you. You, Gretchen and Karen. None of you noticed the signs at first. Gretchen thought she maybe saw a grimace, or was it a scowl? Sometimes it was hard to tell with the blonde. She did try keeping an eye on her, though it didn't take long before Gretchen was distracted by Karen's lips.

Being at school was probably the worst part of it. She skipped a lot of her classes. Regina ended up spending most of her day in the bathroom, just in case she threw up. Because there was no way she would be listening to a teacher right now. No matter who told her to. She'd come out for lunch, hanging out with you and the girls. Trying to seem okay enough that no one would ask her any questions.

Regina managed to make it all the way until the end of the day. Where everything went wrong. Regina was walking next to you, on her other side was Gretchen and Karen. The four of you walking together. You held Regina's hand, rambling about whatever your latest interest was. And Regina tried to pay attention. She really, really did. But... everything went black.

She could vaguely hear the sounds of voices, though it was like she was separated by water. It was muffled, groggily. All around impossible to understand. When she finally came to, Regina was in the nurse's office at the school. Bucket at her couch side. You were next to her while Gretchen and Karen watched nervously. Hands and arms linked together. She groaned as she tried to sit up, but you put a hand to her chest. Keeping her down.

"No you don't," You murmured. Regina's eyes locked to yours and you could see the pain and nausea behind her eyes.

"What..?" Regina had started to ask what happened, but you answered before she could speak. Wanting her to save her strength. You gently brushed Regina's hair out of her face, hand cupping her cheek before you spoke.

"You passed out. Nurse said you looked feverish," You explained, Regina scoffed and rolled her eyes. Slowly letting herself sink into the couch a bit. Before her eyes widened.

"The date-" Regina said, once gain thinking about the reservations. You just smiled softly and shook your head. Looking to Gretchen.

"Absolutely not, those reservations aren't as important as your health." Gretchen put her foot down; which was rare for her to do. Especially to Regina. Though Gretchen's worry for her out weighed any fears.

"There were reservations?" Karen blinked, looking at Gretchen. She forgot all about it. Gretchen just sighed.

"Not for tonight." Her tone held a sense of firmness to it that sounded weird coming from Gretchen. Regina challenged her, knowing it usually didn't take much to sway the girl.

"Excuse me? We're going, I paid a shit tone for those spots. Besides, I'm literally fine. You're overreacting." Regina grumbled. Trying to keep hold of her image. She had to be fine.

You frowned at her, deciding to take over when you saw Gretchen tense up," we'll get a refund, baby. Go another time. But like Gretchen said, those reservations aren't as important as your health."

Regina did not look happy in the slightest. But she finally stopped fighting on it, mostly because she threw up in the trash can. And she was smart enough to know there would be no convincing after that.

[deeranger]

Sam letting Dean suck on his breasts to calm him down when he is mad or angry is so real… It also makes perfect sense because in canon Dean misses Mary a lot and Sam is so much like their mother (save me Sam/Mary parallels save me). Dean definitely has memories of her, he probably sees her in Sam sometimes.

Oooh..... Oh. Mommy kink, anyone? 😏

"Yeah, that's it, just let me—" Dean babbles, cutting himself off with a moan when his lips close around Sam's nipple. His little brother has barely had the time to properly open his shirt, but Dean's already shoving his face in there, eager and so damn riled up that he's hyperventilating. It doesn't take many seconds before teeth graze the tender flesh either, any restraint and finesse forgotten long ago.

"Oww, s-slow down," Sam gasps, but there's a small smile tugging on his lip despite the pain. Dean whines in response, a high-pitched noise stuck in his throat as he suckles, tongue lapping greedily at the hardened nub.

"M'right here, De.... Not going anywhere," Sam adds, voice shaky, as Dean eagerly palms his other tit, strong fingers squeezing it like he'll never let go.

"Hmmm," Dean just mumbles, his hot mouth leaving smears of saliva to cool everywhere on the tanned skin. By now, he's so hard in his jeans that it looks downright painful, and Sam's no better off. There's no way either of them is going to last long. Every few seconds their hips involuntarily twitch, small stutters that they don't quite manage to conceal, but right now there's really no need to hide it. Not now, not anymore. They're too far gone for that.

"Oh, God...." Sam grunts when his big brother nips at him, only to let go of his nipple with a loud and vulgar pop. It's nothing short of pornographic, and as Dean stares up at him through dark lashes, the younger Winchester can't help a moan falling from his lips, raw and blatantly wanton. As he sits there on the edge of the motel bed, Dean looks so small between his legs, so.... Devoted. And the way he's leaning into Sam, just clinging to him like his life depends on it, it's making every fiber of him want to relieve the pressure building in his groin. But he can't. Oh, he can't.

"Please, can I just....?" Dean asks, and he sounds wrecked. Both his hands are now on Sam's tits, squeezing them together like they're actually big enough for it. Like Dean has done a million times with the bar skanks he'll pick up at night. Only, Sam's chest is firm and muscular, not at all as supple as the various C cups he usually gets his hands on. It's not the same. Oh, but it's Sam. And he's so warm and beautiful, endless planes of golden skin, smooth under his calloused fingertips. It's like he can even feel the heartbeat underneath it, just thrumming away in a strong jackrabbiting rhythm that perfectly matches his own. It's intoxicating. It's safe, it's home. And it's so much like her.

"Fuck..." Dean says, the word punching out of him in a breathless moan. As his fingers pinch and caress and squeeze, his eyes never leave Sam's face. God, he's beautiful. And he has Mary's eyes. Shit, he even has her smile.

By now there's a wet patch forming on the denim fabric of his jeans, and Dean can't help but grind himself against the side of the mattress. Sparks zap up his spine as he does, and a loud moan tumbles out of him.

"Oh, God, I n-need... I need to..." he whimpers, dark green eyes laser-focused on Sam's lips while he humps the edge of the bed.

"You can have whatever you want, De- just- take whatever you want," Sam babbles in return, hips twitching and mouth open as his brother squeezes his chest. The coil in Dean's groin tightens, the heat there flaring up in an instant by Sam's words. It's like a goddamn flip of a switch. And without hesitation, he's suddenly hauling himself off the floor and into Sam's lap knees digging into the bed on either side of him with a protesting squeal of the metal springs in the cheap mattress.

There's no more hesitation. No more second thoughts. There's simply no room for it anymore, and Dean's mouth crashes against Sam's in a wild frenzy of clacking teeth and prodding tongues. It's primal, and there's something so unique in the way Sam tastes, something that sets Dean's groin alight. He tastes like cinnamon and raspberries and coffee, like something long forgotten, like everything Dean ever missed... He tastes like friggin mother's milk.

A pitiful mewling sound spills from Dean's mouth, desperate and so, so hungry. He almost sounds like he's hurt, and he's pawing at Sam now, big hands roaming everywhere to squeeze and tug and pinch like he can't get close enough. He's almost there. Shit. He's almost there, he's so, so close but still just too far away to slip over the edge, that fire blazing in his groin and in his mind and everywhere, like he's going mad with it, like he's friggin dying from it, and his dick fucking hurts and—

"M-Mommy..." he whimpers into Sam's mouth, mind a whirl and body ablaze. He can feel Sam tense, feel the way he stiffens ever so slightly, insecure surprise making his large body go extra taut under him. But it's only for a second. Just a second, as scary and fleeting as a ghost. And then, Sam relaxes once more, delves deeper into the messy kiss with a throaty groan of his own. There's even a stuttering roll of his hips, eager and clumsy, and then they're suddenly grinding together, denim against denim. It's rough and the angle is weird, but it's everything Dean ever wanted. It's electrifying. And while they breathe each other's breath, tongues lapping and swirling and tangling, Sam whispers into his brother's mouth:

"It's okay, baby boy... I've got you."

The reaction is instant. Dean groans against Sam's lips, hips thrusting and grinding against his little brother's crotch, seeking release, touch, anything, just more, more more. The fire in his groin feels searing, like it's lapping at his spine, scalding tendrils shooting through his abdomen and spreading like wildfire. He's right at the edge, the point of no return rushing past him so fast that he's forgetting how to breathe.

"Please—" he manages to choke out, but it bleeds into a helpless moan before he can finish it. It seems that Sam knows exactly what he wants though, because suddenly a big hand drops to the bulge in Dean's pants, long fingers rubbing at him through the denim:

"Come on, baby... Let mommy take care of you," Sam whispers, low and throaty into Dean's mouth.

And that's all it takes.

With a whimper, Dean shoots hot and messy inside his jeans, hips jerking in cramp-like thrusts against Sam's hand. It's as clumsy as it is mindless, both of them writhing against each other. It's animalistic. The sounds they make easily rival the dirtiest porn flick, and Dean's mind is reeling with want and more and Mary and Sam, Sam, Sam. It's everything Dean ever wanted and everything he should never have. Oh, but it's beautiful. It's perfect. And he's finally home.