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marvelstoriesepic · 4 months ago

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Whumpcember (day 15)

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: Broken glass

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: slight mentions of panic attacks; crying; slight injury and blood; Bucky being a sweetheart because I love him so much

Author’s note: This got unnecessarily long somehow. Again, this was meant to be a shorty. Also, I was in my feels when I wrote this. Anyway, thank you for reading!

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

The final box of Christmas decorations thuds to the ground as you let it down with a heavy huff. You straighten up your back with a grimace, rolling your shoulders.

You might think as an Avenger, carrying a few boxes, would be an easy task. After all, you are trained to thrive under the most punishing conditions, with sharp skills and boundless stamina. But after hauling all those cartons stuffed with tinsel, garlands, and ornaments up from the storage room to the towering Christmas tree in the compound’s common area, you are left panting like you’ve just run a marathon.

It’s almost laughable. Thankfully, you are alone for now. Sam would have a field day, smug grin plastered across his face at the state you’re in.

Wanda, Natasha, and Clint meant to help you with this but they were all still glued to the desk, writing reports, but Bucky is supposed to be back from his latest mission any minute now and you wanted to do this nice thing for him at least. He did sound a little worn out on the phone earlier when he called you to tell you they were on their way back.

So perhaps decorating the Christmas tree would lift his spirit a tiny bit. It’s the first step in what you hope will be a cozy and inviting scene - something Bucky might walk into and, for once, not feel like a soldier returning from a war zone but a man coming home.

The tree is a statement, of course. Tony insisted on it. It’s so tall, it might even brush the high ceiling of the room and there is no way you’ll get some ornaments all the way up without risking your life. And Bucky would definitely not brighten up if you tried it out.

So you’ll absolutely be needing Wanda’s help sooner or later. With a flick of her wrist, she could make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier but you don’t have the time to wait until she is done writing her report.

You let your eyes roam over the many ornaments lying neatly in the box before you and one of them immediately sparks your attention. Your fingers brush against the delicate surface of the red ornament placed almost carefully beside the others.

Its glass is smooth and cool, the color a deep crimson so much more in depth than all the others. You hold it up to the light, turning it slowly, marveling at how the glow from the tree’s string lights catches on its curves and the unique and detailed pattern all across.

It’s heavier than expected, the weight surprising for something so fragile. The gold clasp at the top gleams faintly, tarnished just a little with age. A thin ribbon dangles from it, curling at the end like it has been tied and untied countless times.

There is something about it, some intangible quality that draws you in - a sense of history, of significance.

And then it happens.

The ribbon slips from your grasp, too quick for your fingers to snatch it back. If you weren’t so enamored with the beautiful piece, you would have gotten access to your reflexes a little earlier.

It’s too late now though, and you can only watch in stunned silence as the ornament tumbles to the ground, the crimson surface catching flashes of light as it falls.

It hits the hardwood floor with a sound that is both sharp and final - a crack, then a splintering.

Disappointed in yourself, you crouch down to the shattered remains. Tiny shards of glass fan out like a constellation, glinting under the glow of the tree. The ornament is no longer whole, splintered into different-sized fragments.

Annoyed that you were so stupid and careless to let this special ornament fall to its devastation, you begin to pick up the many red pieces into your palm.

It really was unique. It would have looked great on the tree-

Your movements freeze. Your heart leaps to your throat. A rush of panic claws at your chest and rises up to your ears where it floods and pounds tremendously.

Rebecca B.

It’s a name ingrained into the largest surviving piece of the glass - a faint, looping scrawl. Clearly written by hand.

Rebecca Barnes. The realization makes you weak in the knees and you fall back onto your heels, your ass hitting the floor with a thump.

This isn’t just some random ornament. This isn’t another piece of holiday cheer to hang on a tree and forget about for the rest of the year after packing it back into boxes to store it in a corner of the storage room.

This ornament belonged to Rebecca Barnes. Bucky’s sister. Something Bucky kept all these years, hidden among the other decorations like a relic of a life he’d lost long before his own had been ripped apart.

The air around you feels heavy. The smell of pine from the tree now stings in your nose. Your heart might actually have fallen along with the ornament because it too is shattered in pieces.

The shards tremble in your palm and you stare at them along with the rest still lying helplessly on the ground, as if there is actually something you can do right now to go back in time and not pick it up ever again, just to make sure.

But there is nothing you can do.

Your heart breaks even further at the thought that Bucky might have put it here deliberately. Maybe it was an attempt to move forward, to share the memory of his sister. Maybe he thought the ornament didn’t belong in some dusty package hidden away, but out in the open, a part of the holiday warmth he’s been so hesitant to feel. Maybe it was his thought of remembering her with someone else this time, instead of alone.

This would be such a huge step for him. And you would feel so proud if you weren’t on the verge of a panic attack.

Because it’s broken, divided into so many pieces. You just dropped something so carelessly that probably meant the world to Bucky. And, god, did he deserve the world. But you took it. You contorted the precious memories of his little sister. Unwillingly, of course. But that doesn’t make you feel any better right now.

You have known Bucky for a few years now. Though knowing him feels like a word too shallow for what you share. You never labeled it, both of you walking the fine line, and never crossing it.

But you see that Bucky trusts you - the kind of trust he doesn’t hand out freely. And for good reason, after all. In fact, you’re not even sure he’s ever given it to anyone else in quite the same way, not even Steve. And that’s saying something.

You see it in the small things, in the way his guarded demeanor softens when it’s just the two of you, the soft smiles that seem to be reserved for you. It’s the kind of friendship where silence doesn’t have to be filled, and words don’t have to be spoken to be understood.

He lets you sit with him on the couch in the living room on nights when his past pulls him under and doesn’t allow for him to get some shut-eye. You are usually awake yourself, sometimes just running on adrenaline after coming home from a mission and accompanying him silently. He always seems to linger out here when you are away on a mission anyway, so you usually meet him here after getting home, watching his shoulders slowly droop and his back rest more comfortably against the back of the couch.

You are the first at his bedside when his nightmares claw at his mind. You’ve seen him at his most vulnerable - shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked chest, hair plastered to his face, his breaths coming in uneven gasps as you help him fight to pull himself out of his memories.

Those nights, you never push him to talk. You don’t ask him to explain or tell you what he saw. Without a word, you would hand him a glass of water and wait while he drinks, his hands trembling so slightly it makes your stomach feel heavy every time. Sometimes you tell him to breathe with you, in and out, until the panic subsided and his shoulders stopped shaking.

You were never sure how much touch he needs in those moments so you usually stay at a small distance from him, but it seems your presence alone does wonders.

When he would be ready, he always searched your face so long and intensely, before croaking out a heavy but meaningful “Thank you.”

And his small acts of kindness always fill you with a jittery feeling that makes your knees weak and unfortunately doesn’t help at all when fighting against Natasha in the ring.

Just a few weeks ago, Bucky spent an entire Saturday afternoon fixing the squeaky hinge on your bedroom door because he heard you muttering to Wanda about how annoying it was.

He never even told you he was going to do it. You just came back to your room later that evening to find the door silent as a ghost. It took a whole week for you to find out how this happened. And it wasn’t him, who told you. It was Clint, who saw him walk around with a toolbox and a satisfied smile on his face that Clint, as he told you found a little terrifying.

Additionally, he always seems to know when you need a break during training sessions, tossing you a water bottle before you even realize how tired you are. Or he would plant himself wordlessly between you and your opponent for the day, with his arms crossed and a chastising glance at you when you’ve been fighting for hours without acknowledging the way your movements already grew sluggish and wobbly.

You are always aware when his hands linger on your shoulder a second longer after a sparring match, his metal fingers cold but careful, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you there. Or the way your stomach twists when he catches your eye across the room, and for just a moment, it’s like the rest of the world falls away. And the way he talks to you, even when people are around, his voice lower, softer, words chosen with an almost uncharacteristic care, makes you feel like you’re the only person he truly is interested in talking to. You also love the nights he shows up at your door with takeout, wordlessly handing you your favorite meal, and striding into your room to settle at the foot of your bed with a contented sigh.

Through it all, however, was always this persistent question you had. The one that molded into an ache inside your chest. Because what if? What if you took one step closer and stopped holding back? What if you risk everything you have with him now for something more?

But right now you feel like those questions don’t hold the same energy anymore. The same weight. No, they just got weightless. Pointless. Because you just ruined everything without even risking it.

You just destroyed something that can’t be fixed with glue and an apology. It can’t be fixed with you sitting with him and comforting him in the dark while his mind goes to the same cruel place like many times before.

This feels like you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross.

The wrong line.

Shaking hands pick up the largest fragment, the soft loops of her name still visible through the fractures. The sharp ends bite into your palm like the memory of something sacred that’s been lost. You don’t feel the sting. You don’t feel the sensation of the few droplets of blood sliding over your palm where the ends nicked your skin.

The only thing you register is that this foolish mistake might actually unravel everything you’ve built with him.

He let you in, further than anyone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t push you back out if you give him a reason. And this definitely feels like a reason.

Your mind presents you with his reaction when he comes walking in here and sees what happened.

At first, there’d be nothing - just the stoic silence he uses to sink into, the kind that makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. But you’d see it in the smallest of things - the way his jaw tightens just enough to be noticeable, the flicker in his eyes that he’ll try to hide but won’t be able to, the stiffening of his shoulders. And then the desolation, like a tide pulling back just before it crashes. You wonder if he would say anything at all, or if the silence would hang heavy.

You swallow hard, begin to feel the sting behind your eyes, and try to force the lump in your throat down.

You’ve worked so hard to be someone he could rely on, someone he could trust in ways he hasn’t trusted anyone else in decades. You’ve sat with him, listened to him, stayed silent with him. Learned to know him so well, you even memorized the subtle shifts in his expressions, the things he won’t say but still lets you feel.

And now, here you are with broken glass in your hands and a painful feeling in your chest, terrified that this could be the moment that shatters the thing between you.

He might pull away, retreat behind those walls he’s spent years building. What if he doesn’t let you sit with him anymore. Or what if he does, but his shoulder would only grow more tense. What if he starts holding back, measuring his words, locking the parts of himself away that he once entrusted to you?

The idea of losing him - not just losing him, but losing this connection, this unspoken, almost-more-than-friendship thing that you’ve both been too afraid to name - makes your breath catch and something rise in your chest that might be bile.

A sob comes out instead.

It comes out like a wound ripped open before it could begin to heal. You press a quivering hand to your mouth, in hopes of muffling the sound, but it’s no use. More broken sobs come anyway.

You try to pull yourself together, to force the tears back, but your body feels so weak under the guilt and shame.

More parts of the broken ornament bite into your skin, red droplets welling up and sliding down your skin, pooling at the curve of your wrist, before falling soundlessly to the floor.

Pain should ground you. It should pull you out of this spiral, force you to snap back to some semblance of control. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t do anything at all.

Instinctively, your hand gives way, the pieces tumbling from your fingers and scattering across the hardwood once more.

You only sit there, frozen, your breath hitching and catching in your throat as tears streak down your face, warm and unwelcome. You can’t stop them.

You’re not supposed to be this weak. You’re not supposed to break down like this, over something so small. And yet that makes the sobs only harder to contain. Because this isn’t small - not to Bucky. And that’s the part that leaves you as shattered as the crimson glass. Perhaps as shattered as your relationship with the person you fell for as hard as the ornament fell to the ground.

It’s Rebecca. His sister. His past. His grief. It’s a tiny piece of his life that he trusted enough to bring out of hiding, to put here with the rest of the world, in the open where it could be seen. Where it could be touched. And you touched it, only to let it fall. Only to ruin it.

Shame knocks down on you so hard, you draw your knees up to your chest, curling into yourself as though you could make yourself smaller, invisible, anything but this.

You don’t even know what to do with your blood-streaked palm, only letting it hover in the air, the shallow cuts glistening under the still-glowing lights of the tree. It’s a mess. You are a mess. Curling your fingers into a fist, you wince in pain at the stinging of the cuts but you leave it like that.

Perhaps you are overreacting, sitting here on the floor in the common area of the compound with a bleeding hand and the shattered remains of Rebecca Barnes's memory, but you feel so helpless and remorseful, you can’t really think straight at the moment.

The sound of the elevator is faint, but it’s enough to reach your ears. You freeze. You just sit there, knees drawn to your chest, blood smeared across your palm, the shattered glass of the ornament glittering like broken stars on the floor.

You are tear-streaked, trembling, your chest still hitching with uneven breaths and Bucky just got home.

Those approaching footsteps are so familiar to you, you would always recognize his gate. Usually, it’s comforting, grounding to know he got home and would leave you with relief in your chest.

But there is no place for relief in your chest right now.

His footsteps sound normal, steady, perhaps a little hurried but he hasn’t reached this room yet.

You don’t look up. Instead, you bite your lip to stop the sob that threatens to escape. The shame is too sharp, cutting deeper than any piece of the ornament and making your heart bleed as well.

Maybe if you stay still, if you stay quiet, he’ll miss you somehow.

But then his steps come to an abrupt halt and you know you are screwed.

Burning tears spike once more and the sob breaks free.

“Woah, hey-” he calls out, so urgent, so worried.

Bucky is across the room in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees in front of you with a speed that catches you off guard.

“Sweetheart, hey.” It falls from his lips so softly, so worried, it nearly breaks you all over again.

Tears fall more freely at the kind of tenderness in his tone and suddenly his hand is cupping your face, thumb, and knuckles brushing the streaks of wetness from your cheeks.

But they keep coming.

“Look at me, please! Doll, look at me,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly gentle, but dripping with so much concern. His metal hand is on your face as well and he tilts it upward, guiding your gaze toward his.

His brows are drawn so deeply, lips parting slightly as he studies your face - the tear tracks, the desolation in your eyes, the shame and guilt, the trembling of your shoulders.

You can’t look at him. Can’t bear to see it. So you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you’ll ever be able to forget that look on his face. Not when you know what’s coming. Not when you know what you have caused.

Just wait until he sees it, you think. That look will change.

“No,” he whispers, his voice so soft again, but there is a firmness in it. The pad of his flesh thumb smooths gently across your cheek again, while his metal fingers move to your hair. “Hey, no, don’t do that. It’s okay. Y/n, it’s okay!”

You shake your head quickly and try to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a choked sound, half-sob, half-breath. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know what this is about.

You want to stay hidden behind the veil of your closed eyes, safe from not seeing what you know will be there in perhaps seconds when he figures it out - disappointment, maybe anger, the grief of what you’ve broken.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart, please.”

There is something in his voice you can’t ignore. It sounds unshakable and steady, yet fragile and thick.

Slowly, reluctantly, your eyes flutter open to meet his, but when you do, you freeze.

Because he already knows.

He looks at you. Just looks, but you see he already put the pieces together. He saw the shards scattering around your knees. His expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it but he looks at you with an intensity that is new to you. There is that understanding in his eyes. But it’s so soft. So gentle.

There is no anger, no frustration, no disappointment.

There is nothing of the reaction you had feared for.

Yes, there is pain in his eyes as well. It’s unmistakable, flickering in the soft blue of his irises. But it’s not the pain you expected.

It’s not for the ornament. It’s not for what it meant.

It’s for you.

You can see it in the way his brows crease, the frown that tugs at his mouth. And the way he never once lets his gaze stray to the shards on the floor. All he looks at is you.

Bucky keeps his hands on your face, continuing to swipe over your cheeks like he’s afraid you’ll crumble if he lets go. Then, his thumbs still, resting against your cheekbones, his touch so achingly gentle that it only makes more tears fall.

“Sweetheart,” he says again, and the word cracks, quiet and uneven. He still doesn’t look angry. He still doesn’t look disappointed. He looks devastated - not for what you’ve done, but for what it’s done to you.

Your lips tremble, barely able to form words.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Come here.”

Baby definitely is a new one. It’s something he’s never called you before. But there is no time to linger on it, no chance to unpack the flutter it sparks in your stomach because he’s already pulling you toward him.

His flesh arm wraps around your body, tugging you against his chest, while his metal hand finds its place at the back of your head, cold but reassuring fingers threading through your hair.

He lets you cry against his chest. Cradles you so tightly to him, you might actually get worried about your ribs, but it feels so good. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his heart is pounding. The fabric of his tactical suit presses against your skin, rough and worn from the mission he just came back from, but it grounds you to some extent.

“It’s okay. Just breathe, alright? Breathe,” he keeps whispering, exaggerating his breaths against your body to invite you to follow his lead. You try.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob, the words spilling out in a choked, broken rush as you bury your face in his chest. The tears won’t stop, soaking into the dark fabric of his suit.

“Shh,” he keeps on with his soft voice. His arm around you tightens, holding you closer, while his metal hand stays solidly at the back of your head. His fingers brush through your hair in slow, soothing motions. “Don’t be. Don’t you dare be.”

He continues murmuring to you when you try to apologize again, his voice low and warm. He talks so calmly and sure, you feel something inside of you churn.

Bucky tilts his head slightly, resting his cheek against your hair, and you feel the warmth of his breath as he talks to you.

And yet, biting guilt gnaws its way through your ribs. You feel terrible - worse than terrible - because it should be you comforting him, not the other way around.

It’s him who lost something precious, something you had broken. And here he is, holding you, brushing tears from your face, whispering words meant to stitch you back together.

But somehow, he doesn’t even seem to care. He holds you like you are the only thing that matters right now.

Remorse burrows deep, heavy, and shaming, until it pulls you back to yourself - slowly, shakily, but enough to loosen the sobs caught in your throat.

You sniff and take a breath, a real one this time, ragged but yours.

Then, you shift in his arms, gently pressing against his chest to put space between you. His hold loosens, slowly, with a hesitation that tugs at something in you. As if he is reluctant to let you go. Still, he relents.

His flesh hand slides away first, but his metal one lingers, brushing through your hair one last time before settling on your shoulder. He keeps you close, his thumb brushing absentminded sweeps across your sweater.

His gaze never strays and it’s heavy. You can’t meet his eyes for long. They’re too full of that care you don’t deserve, the care he shows you in so many small gestures all the time.

So your gaze falls to the floor, but then you freeze again.

The broken shards that had glinted so mockingly against the floor just moments ago are gone. Instead, settled carefully on the coffee table as though it had never fallen at all, is the ornament.

Whole.

It takes you a moment to process it, to trust what you’re seeing. The cracks are gone, smoothed over seamlessly. The gleaming red glass catches the light of the Christmas tree, its golden little details shining like something out of a memory, timeless and unbroken. As beautiful and aesthetic as before.

For a moment, you even wonder if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but then you notice Wanda standing at the far side of the room. Her hands lower slowly, the telltale red glow of her magic fading from her fingertips.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t step closer - just tilts her head slightly, offering you the faintest, knowing smile. Her eyes are warm.

God, of course. You should have thought of that. It even makes you feel a little ridiculous. You live together with people who possess supernatural abilities, powers beyond comprehension. You should have thought of Wanda. How her hands could have mended it back together in seconds.

A choked breath stumbles out of you, somewhere between relief and disbelief. Bucky follows your gaze, his brows furrowing, only to soften when he sees the ornament resting perfectly intact on the table. He stares at it for a moment.

But then he looks back at you and his sweet smile could melt any ice this winter has to offer.

His flesh hand moves a few strands of hair out of your face and tugs them tenderly behind your ear. His hand stays on your cheek. “Told you it’s okay.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I still broke it,” you say, words slipping out quietly, somberly. Your gaze remains fixed on it. Wanda seems to have slipped out again.

“Stop,” Bucky cuts in, his voice more firm than before but still gentle as always. He shakes his head, moving closer to you again, gaze fixed on you.

You feel his hand brush against yours, but then his shoulders stiffen up. He stops. His eyes catch on something and his expression shifts in an instant.

“Jesus-” His frown deepens, something like a shadow crosses his eyes. Sharp eyes lock onto the red streaks lining your palm, the cuts where the shattered glass had broken your skin.

You hadn’t even realized you were still holding onto the pain - too caught up in everything else to notice the dull throb of your hand or the sting of the scratches.

“You’re bleeding. Why didn’t you say anything?” The words are a quiet exhale, soft but weighted. There is no reprimand in his voice, no anger - only concern coloring every syllable.

His thumb ghosts over your wrist, careful not to brush against the cuts. His intense gaze flickers from your injured hand to your face, searching your expression.

“It’s not a big deal-”

“Don’t.”

Bucky shakes his head. His jaw tightens and he exhales sharply through his nose. It’s not frustration - not with you, anyway. It’s something deeper, something that seems to pain him in his chest as he studies the scratches like they’re a personal failing.

“Bucky,” you say while trying to pull your hand back from his grasp when he tilts it more toward the light to get a better look. As if he hasn’t the eyesight of a super soldier.

“Doll. Let me see.” His lips press into a thin line, the faintest hint of exasperation ghosting across his face.

The sigh you let out drags down your chest and you don’t resist when Bucky keeps cradling your bleeding hand and studies the scratches. His brow is furrowed in concentration that feels too much for something so small.

You want to tell him it’s fine, that this is nothing, but the words die before they reach your tongue.

“Let’s get you fixed up,” he says tightly, the tone of his voice all business and leaving no room for argument.

But you shake your head. It’s your fault the ornament broke in the first place. You’re aware it’s whole again, but it was in shambles just moments earlier and you cut yourself thanks to your own stupidity.

“Bucky, you just got back from a mission-” you protest, your voice quieter than you’d like.

“Not too worried about myself right now, doll,” he interrupts, his voice insistent but warm. The hint of steel beneath his words not directed at you but at the way your guilt is still in control, trying to downplay yourself.

“Come on.” He says it softer now, but before you can argue any further, he’s already moving.

Without so much as a pause, Bucky stands and scoops you up into his arms as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You barely have a second to process the shift, before you’re pressed securely against his chest.

“Bucky!” you exclaim, startled, your uninjured hand reaching for his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Relax, doll. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost amused, though his expression remains calm, focused.

You sigh again, but there is a laugh on your breath. “Buck, I can walk. You don’t have to-”

“Not hearing it,” he says simply, almost flatly. He just continues striding along the halls with you in his arms. His steps are heavier, but you know it’s not because of your weight. He holds you like you weigh nothing at all. “You’re hurt.”

That doesn’t sound like a plausible explanation to you, since you’ve come home with way worse injuries from missions over the last months alone. But the gruffness of his voice, the one that always accompanies him when you’re injured, no matter how small - the seriousness, the concern - it shuts you up for the time being.

You let your head rest against his shoulder. He smells a little like gunpowder and dust, but you only latch onto the parts that are him and breathe them in.

“I didn’t mean to break it, Bucky,” to whisper, gaze dropping to the tightly pressed ball that is your bloody fist. “I’m so sorry.”

You feel the intake of Bucky’s breath against your body and his eyes warmly falling down on you. You don’t meet his gaze.

“You didn’t break anything, sweetheart.” His voice is like velvet, brushing so softly against your skin. So reassuringly. So profoundly gentle. “You’re okay, doll. We’re okay. I promise.” His hands curl tighter around you.

You blink, your head tilting to glance up at him, and your breath catches when you meet his gaze.

It is intense. His brows are pulled together - not with anger, but with concern. Like the only things he cares about right now are the tears that linger in your eyes and the way you’re still trying to curl in on yourself, still letting your body slightly shake with the guilt that he refuses to let you carry.

Something stirs in your belly. Something flutters, as if thousands of tiny wings brush against the walls of you, demanding to be seen. To be felt.

Because you let your mind spiral so much earlier, bracing yourself for a reaction of disappointment, frustration - that flicker of something unnameable that might pull the two of you apart.

But it still isn’t there.

Not even close.

It’s the opposite, really.

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marauroon · 2 months ago

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𝟏 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝟎 — 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 (𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧).

it’s your first year at hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, and aside from an initial minor setback, you’re settling in well.

eventual james x fem!reader | 2.7k | series masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n | caved and started writing that james project i was talking about, it’s gonna be seven parts (one for each year) with varying lengths, actually so looking forward to writing it

The platform is alive with noise and movement—students hugging their families goodbye, owls hooting from their cages, and the occasional burst of sparks from overenthusiastic wand-wavers.

You weave your way through the crowd, dragging your trunk behind you, and step onto the Hogwarts Express. The air inside is thick with chatter, compartments packed with first-years buzzing with excitement and older students catching up after the summer.

Finding a seat proves harder than expected. Nearly every compartment is full, and the ones that aren’t seem to have formed their own unspoken cliques already.

Eventually, you spot one that isn’t completely crammed—just four boys, sprawled across the seats, deep in conversation. You hesitate for only a moment before sliding open the door.

“Mind if I sit here?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

The boys glance at you, then at each other. One of them—messy dark hair, glasses—leans back slightly, clearly considering. Another, with neat brown hair and a slightly more polite expression, opens his mouth as if to say something, but before he can, the smallest of the group pipes up.

“Sorry, no room,” he says quickly.

You blink. There is room. Not loads, but definitely enough for one more. You glance at the seats again, then back at them, raising an eyebrow. They don’t budge. The dark-haired one with the glasses smirks slightly, as if waiting for you to argue.

You don’t bother. Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Right. Fine,” and slide the door shut with a little more force than necessary.

Typical. First day and already off to a bad start.

Frustrated, you push on down the corridor, peering into compartments as you go. Most are even fuller than before, but finally, you spot a tiny sliver of space in one near the end of the carriage.

There’s a girl with vivid red hair sitting by the window, her nose buried in a thick textbook. The other seats are taken, but there’s just enough room to squeeze in if no one minds.

You knock lightly before sliding the door open. “Alright if I sit here?”

The red-haired girl looks up, blinking as if pulled from deep concentration. She takes in the full compartment, then shifts slightly to make room. “Yeah, go on,” she says, giving you a small smile.

Grateful, you heave your trunk into the overhead rack and drop into the seat beside her. For a moment, neither of you speak—she’s still absorbed in her book, and you take the chance to glance at the title. The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.

“Bit of light reading?” you say, nodding at it.

She grins. “Something like that. Just wanted to get a head start,”

“Lucky you,” you reply. “I’ve barely even looked at mine,”

The girl laughs, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “I was just curious, really. I’ve been trying some of the wand movements at home, but obviously, nothing happens. My sister—“ She hesitates for half a second before continuing. “She’s not a witch, so she thinks I look ridiculous waving my wand around at empty air,”

You nod. “At least you’ve got the motions down. I still feel like I’m going to snap mine in half by accident,”

She laughs again. “Yeah, I keep checking mine’s still in one piece. I practised holding it so much over the summer I thought I’d wear it out before term even started,”

You smile, settling into your seat. Talking to her already feels easier than trying to force your way into a conversation with anyone else on the train. “So, are you Muggle-born, then?”

She nods. “Yeah. I only found out about all this last year, and it still feels… strange, I guess? But exciting. I just hope I don’t mess everything up,”

“You probably won’t. And if you do, at least you’ll have company. I reckon half the first-years are going to end up turning teapots into frogs by accident or something,”

Lily grins. “At least that would be impressive. I’m more worried about setting something on fire,”

“You and me both,” you say.

The train continues rattling along the tracks, the countryside rolling past the window in a blur of green. The chatter in the compartment swells and fades as conversations shift, but you and Lily keep talking.

It’s mostly about Hogwarts—what subjects you’re most excited for, which house you think you’ll end up in, whether the moving staircases are real or just a myth.

“I don’t really mind which house I’m in,” Lily says after a while, tapping her fingers idly on the cover of her book. “They all sound interesting in different ways,”

You nod. “Yeah. I just hope I don’t end up somewhere awful. Imagine getting stuck in the one house where everyone’s horrible,”

Lily wrinkles her nose. “That’d be the worst,” She pauses. “Do you have family that went to Hogwarts?”

“Yeah, a few,” you admit. “They keep telling me it’ll be the best years of my life, which is a lot of pressure, honestly,”

She grins. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,”

Before long, the train begins to slow, and the hum of conversation shifts as people start shuffling into their robes.

The compartment is suddenly full of movement—trunks being pulled down, nervous chatter about the Sorting Ceremony, the occasional lost toad being retrieved from beneath seats. You and Lily exchange a glance, the weight of what’s coming finally sinking in.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Not even slightly,” you admit.

She laughs. “Same. But I suppose it’s too late to turn back now,”

The train pulls to a stop, and the doors slide open. The night air is cool as you step onto the platform, taking in the towering figure of a man calling for first-years to follow him. The castle looms in the distance, its windows glowing against the dark sky.

Whatever happens next, it’s officially begun.

—

The excitement of arriving at Hogwarts is quickly overshadowed by the nerve-wracking experience of the Sorting Ceremony.

The Great Hall is a blur of candlelight, floating above the four long tables where the older students are already seated. The air is thick with anticipation, and the chatter of the first-years falls to a nervous hush. Above, the enchanted ceiling reflects the sky outside, dark and starry.

As the ceremony begins, one by one, students step forward to place the Sorting Hat on their heads.

You watch each person ahead of you, some eager, others visibly trembling. The Hat mutters something as it’s placed on their heads, then announces their house with a flourish.

Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin—the names echo in the hall, each one met with cheers and applause from the appropriate table.

Finally, the moment arrives. Your name is called, and your heart skips a beat. You make your way down the aisle, the eyes of hundreds of students on you, each of them silently judging or sizing you up.

You climb the steps to the platform, trying to ignore the way your knees feel like jelly. The Sorting Hat is waiting for you, perched on a stool.

You sit down, and it is placed gently on your head. The cool fabric brushes against your forehead, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then the Hat speaks, its voice low and murmuring in your ear.

“Ah, I see... courage, certainly. And a desire to prove yourself... but a touch of caution too. You’re not afraid of a challenge, though, are you? I can sense a bit of ambition lurking in there, just under the surface...”

The Hat seems to deliberate, shifting slightly as it considers you. You can feel it probing your thoughts, weighing the choices. It’s as though your very soul is being laid bare, and the pressure of it almost makes you want to squirm.

“Hmm, yes... definitely brave, but with a clever streak. Yes, yes, I know where you belong...”

Please just say it already, you think desperately, trying to steady your breath.

The Sorting Hat finally calls out, “Gryffindor!”

Relief washes over you, and the sudden, overwhelming weight of your nerves lifts. You stand, giving a small smile to the cheers from the Gryffindor table. You know, deep down, that it was the right choice for you. The bravery, the will to stand up for what’s right—it makes sense.

But as you make your way to the table, your eyes flicker over to the group of four boys who had claimed there was no room for you on the train. They’re already sitting together, grinning broadly, clapping each other on the back as they welcome the new arrivals.

You catch their eyes as you sit down, and for a moment, they stare at you like they’re half-sure they’ve seen you before. Then one of them, the one with messy black hair and glasses, smirks and gives a half-hearted wave.

Great. Just my luck.

You roll your eyes, disgruntlement tugging at the corners of your mouth until you’re frowning. The boys are all in Gryffindor too. Of course they are.

The rest of the Sorting Ceremony passes in a blur. You hear the names of other students being called, but your focus is pulled back to the group as they laugh and joke amongst themselves.

Despite your earlier annoyance, you feel a twinge of curiosity about them. You wonder if they’ll always be this rowdy, or if it’s just first-year excitement.

Lily, sitting beside you, is grinning. “Well, we’re in the same house,” she says, nudging you lightly. “At least we’ll be able to stick together,”

You nod, feeling your earlier annoyance about the boys from the train fade. It’s not like you have much choice, anyway. But then again, it’s not the worst thing. Maybe there are worse things than being surrounded by a bunch of rowdy Gryffindors.

When the Sorting is finally over, the Headmaster stands, his voice booming through the hall. “Welcome, students, to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before we begin the feast, a few words—“ But the rest of his speech is drowned out by the mouthwatering smells of the food that suddenly appears on the tables.

The chatter picks up again, the tension from the Sorting easing as everyone eagerly grabs at their plates.

You’re too busy eyeing the vast spread of food before you to hear much of the rest of the speech, but you’re vaguely aware of the boys throwing a few half-hearted jests around the table, already in full swing.

—

The rest of your first year at Hogwarts passes in a blur, the excitement of arrival quickly replaced by the everyday hustle and bustle of student life.

At first, it’s overwhelming—everywhere you turn, something is new, something is strange. The moving staircases seem to change direction just when you think you know where you’re going, and the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall never stops being fascinating, no matter how many times you see it.

It takes time to get used to the constant hum of magic in the air, the eerie whispers of ghosts, and the strange ticking of clocks that seem to come from nowhere. And don’t even get started on the sheer number of subjects you have to juggle.

In the beginning, it feels like every lesson is a battle—Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration lessons are a challenge, with all the wand flicking and concentration required, and you can’t seem to make heads or tails of the theory behind Charms. But slowly, everything starts to fall into place. You manage to keep up, and your confidence grows.

Friendships begin to form naturally. Your dorm mates, Marlene and Dorcas (along with Lily), are both easy to get along with, though they couldn’t be more different.

Marlene is loud, confident, and a bit of a daredevil, always getting you into minor trouble when she dares you to climb a tree in the middle of the night or sneak a peek into the Forbidden Forest.

Dorcas, on the other hand, is quieter and more thoughtful. She’s often seen with a book in hand, but she has an infectious laugh and a dry wit that makes you feel at ease around her. Both are easy to talk to, and by the end of the first few weeks, you all fall into a comfortable rhythm.

Your room, though small, is cozy. There’s a large window that overlooks the grounds, and at night, when the stars are visible, it’s easy to feel like you’re part of something bigger. You and Marlene have become particularly close, while Dorcas is often found deep in conversation with Lily, especially when the two of them start discussing spells and charms that they’ve been experimenting with.

The common room becomes a safe space for study sessions, late-night gossip, and the occasional nap.

Unfortunately, you also become all too familiar with the Gryffindor boys. You can’t seem to escape them—whether it’s Sirius Black’s voice echoing through the corridors as he cracks jokes, or James Potter’s comments about other students that walk by, they’re everywhere.

While they’re certainly fun to watch, and you do start to find their antics amusing in the end, you can’t shake the feeling that they’re never really serious about anything.

It’s in your first Potions lesson that you meet Severus Snape.

Professor Slughorn, who is strangely enthusiastic about everything, divides the class into groups of three, and you, Lily, and Severus end up paired together.

At first glance, Severus is a bit odd—he’s quiet, almost brooding, and his sharp, pale face seems like it belongs to someone much older. He doesn’t seem to mind being in the same group as you and Lily, but he also doesn’t offer much in the way of conversation. Instead, he focuses on the task at hand, muttering under his breath as he carefully measures ingredients.

But despite his aloofness, you find that you get along decently well. He’s not rude, just... reserved, and he’s clearly very good at Potions. When you and Lily struggle to get the potion just right, he offers a quiet suggestion or two, and the two of you exchange surprised looks when it works.

“You’re good at this,” you remark as the potion finally takes on the proper colour, a soft greenish hue that bubbles gently.

He looks at you, his dark eyes almost piercing. “I’ve been brewing since I was a kid,”

Lily glances up from her cauldron. “Really? That’s cool,”

He doesn’t answer her question directly but gives a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “I don’t have much else to do,” His tone is distant, and you sense there’s more to the answer, but you don’t press.

Despite his oddities, there’s something in Severus you can relate to—perhaps it’s the feeling of being an outsider, the awkwardness of trying to fit in while everyone else seems so confident. Still, you can’t help but feel that there’s a lot more lurking beneath the surface, and you find yourself wondering what makes him tick.

After that first Potions lesson, you, Lily, and Severus share a few more classes together—though it’s not like you’re all best friends. Severus stays to himself for the most part, but he’s never openly hostile, and you find that you can work together when needed. He has a strange intensity about him, but for the most part, you leave it at that.

As the year goes on, you find that your time at Hogwarts isn’t quite as eventful as you might have imagined. There are no dramatic moments, no life-changing revelations—just the slow, steady pace of school life. Yet, in a way, that’s comforting. There’s a certain rhythm to everything.

Hogwarts, for now, is just Hogwarts—a school that now served as your new home.

#marauders #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter fluff

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s4nguiine · 4 months ago

Text

dead flowers; pressed against my lips

arlecchino x fem!reader

» summary: you and arlecchino go on a christmas date and end the night with nasty lesbian sex

» rating: NSFW!! minors dni!!

» notes: ohhhh my godddd merry christmas everyone! here is 3.5k words of wlw with dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, choking, strap sucking, you know, the kind of stuff you usually imagine when thinking about arlecchino. don't look at me like that. i know who you are. i speedran writing this in a single afternoon and it is not beta read so there are probably many many mistakes. have fun!

arlecchino does not get christmas. she finds it frivolous and materialistic and most of all, she finds it to be a waste of time. suffice to say that the house of the hearth does not celebrate this holiday. or at least it used not to.

when she wakes up early that morning, she is immediately struck speechless when she finds you up and about. that much is a feat on its own, as you are not one to get up early unless strictly necessary. and yet here you are, awake earlier than arlecchino herself, and the living room is… green, red and golden. your back is turned to her when she enters, and although your hands are preoccupied with hanging up a wreath above the fireplace, you notice her presence anyway.

this does not come as a surprise to arlecchino. you wouldn’t run the orphanage with her if you weren’t good at your job.

“good morning,” you greet her, then you finally face her.

“what’s all… this?” arlecchino asks as she motions around her in general.

“why, it’s christmas, of course.” you smile like you’re saying the most obvious thing in the world.

arlecchino furrows her brows, looking around herself once more. “it’s gaudy.”

you laugh. she looks like a grumpy cat finding out that the furniture has been rearranged. “yes. yes, it is gaudy. but i think the kids will like it. some of them never got to experience christmas before, a change of pace should do them good.”

the harbinger sighs and relents. “i suppose you are right. it shouldn’t hurt to spoil them every now and then.” she can’t not relent when there’s that spark in your eye anyway. in this way, you’ve got her wrapped around your finger.

“come on,” you say, making your way towards the kitchen. “we still have some time before the kids wake up. coffee?”

arlecchino follows. “of course.”

she doesn’t need to say how she wants it made. you know that she likes it black, no sugar, no milk or cream. in this way, the two of you are once again opposites. arlecchino often cringes at the amount of flavoring you like to put in your coffee, asking you if you even like coffee in the first place. the truth that you haven’t told her yet is that you just want to be involved in her daily routine.

you were right, of course. the children begin to filter in, and everyone’s spirits seem to lift when their eyes land on the decorated living room. the more extroverted children are visibly excited, wasting no time in running back to the dorms to grab their friends, and even the gloomy ones perk up somewhat. arlecchino’s eyes, however, remain pinned to your beaming face. you’re clearly proud of your work.

if you’re the sun, the arlecchino is the darkness. and much like the color black, she wants - no, needs to soak in as much of your light as possible.

arlecchino catches your attention by tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. finally, your eyes are on her. if things went according to her, they would never leave her. the knave is lucky that the kids are too busy to notice this moment of tenderness.

days pass, and arlecchino finds herself growing accustomed to the holiday atmosphere around her. in the end, she is glad that she allowed you to do this.

she sits by the hearth, gazing into the fire as she usually does when she’s free, a warm cup in her hand. the scent of high quality chenyu vale tea wafts into the air, creating a relaxing atmosphere calm enough to lull one to sleep.

your footsteps draw near, and arlecchino knows that she can only hear them because you allow her to. she puts down her cup and folds her hands in her lap.

“come to keep me company?” she asks, feeling the backrest of her chair dip under your weight as you lean on it.

“maybe. or maybe i’ve come to ask you out on a date,” you reply.

arlecchino lifts both of her eyebrows and finally turns her head to look at you. “a date?”

“indeed. we haven’t gone in a while, right?”

arlecchino hums. she takes your hand in hers and brings it to her lips. “do you have something in mind?”

you smile at her display of affection. “there’s a christmas market in the court of fontaine. what do you say we go check it out tonight?”

she takes a moment to consider it. markets really aren’t her thing, and she really doesn’t understand the excitement about christmas. but it would make you happy. if she gets to see your smile, she will go.

“very well. let’s have a date, dear.” your grin is all she needs to know she made the right choice. “as for those three…”

“i will handle it.” you pull away and cross your arms, facing a nearby door. “you can come out now.”

there is a moment of silence before lyney, lynette and freminet emerge from the door, each looking more bashful than the other.

“i’m disappointed,” you scold. “surely i taught you to sneak better than this. did you even try to be quiet?”

the trio shift on their feet, throwing glances at each other to urge someone to speak already. you shake your head. “two weeks of dishwashing duties for each of you. now go along. i’m sure you have chores to do.”

lynette and freminet both deadpan at lyney, who laughs nervously. this is enough to clue you in on whose idea it was to spy on you. the children leave, and you sigh. “sometimes i feel like i have no clue what’s going on through their heads.”

arlecchino does. you’ve always had a way of pulling all eyes towards you. it makes it all the more impressive how good you are at being stealthy. she rests her hands on the armrests of the chair and pushes herself up.

“now then, let’s waste no more time and start getting ready, yes?”

you look at her, confused. “we still have ti-”

the words are swiped from your tongue when arlecchino leans in to capture your chin between her thumb and index finger. “don’t you want to pretty yourself up for me?”

your face burns up with the heat of a thousand suns. “i… yes… of course…”

the harbinger graces you with a small smile that’s enough to make you feel weak in the knees. she then lets go of you and retreats into the bedroom, leaving you reeling in the middle of the living room.

you’re pretty sure your brain just melted. when you come to, it’s been a full minute, and you quickly scamper to the bathroom to start putting on your makeup. yes, you’ll pretty yourself up for her. better yet, you will make her want you like she’s never wanted you before. tonight will end with her strap rearranging your guts, you’ll make sure of it.

when the two of you meet outside, you both stare at each other without saying anything. she’s hot. insanely hot. hotter than usual, even despite the fact that she is wearing more clothes than usual. arlecchino’s hair is let loose for once, a sight usually reserved for the bedroom. she knows you like it loose. seems that the two of you have the same plans for tonight.

you grin and take her up on her silent offer to lock your arms together.

“you look dashing,” she says. compliments are rare - you know you’ve struck gold.

“so do you. i’ll have to watch out for suitors.”

“no need.” her eyes are cold as she sweeps them over your surroundings. “i only have you in my sights.”

satisfied and arm in arm, you head out to find the christmas market. it only takes a few minutes for you to arrive at the main plaza, which is teeming with people. you know you don’t have to worry, though. as soon as you enter the crowd, there forms a circle of space around you two. this is simply the effect of dating peruere, who is so intimidating that people naturally avoid her whether intentionally or unintentionally. not you, though. you find that attractive.

you arrive at the first mulled wine stand and get a cup for each of you (but not without complaining about the ridiculous price.) arlecchino watches as you hold it with both of your hands and blow at the rising steam to cool the drink down a little. your cheeks and nose are red from the cold and your eyes are cast downward to show off the full length of your eyelashes.

having a better tolerance for heat, she sips at her own wine without taking her eyes off of you. you blink when you notice.

“like what you see?” you grin, exposing the teeth beneath your red-tinted lips.

arlecchino hums. “i do. very much.” she notices a speck of mascara on your cheekbone. immediately without thinking her hand darts out to wipe it away, black finger brushing against your skin.

“you’re spoiling me tonight, i see,” you joke. it’s all you can do not to give away your racing heart.

“for now,” she replies. “don’t get too used to it.” and with a wink she turns to lead you to another stand. you feel warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach and you’re unsure whether it’s the alcohol or the anticipation of what’s to come.

it is a nice date. you walk between the stalls, looking at the various products on sale. at some point you buy matching rings for you two, and you get chocolate croissants and some more wine, her treat of course.

by the end of the evening there is a pleasant buzz permeating your body and you’ve got a dumb grin on your face. arlecchino also seems more relaxed, despite all the eyes on her. she leans in close to your ear.

“shall we get to the next program?” she asks. you have to hold down a whimper.

your shoulder presses closer to hers, both hands wrapped around her arm. “i would love nothing more.”

“wonderful. let us depart.”

you are shoved down onto the bed, your naked body bouncing with the force of the push. arlecchino watches you like a hawk about to snoop down to catch her prey. she finds pleasure in seeing your messed up makeup, the lipstick smeared from vigorous kissing, and she licks her lips to taste your spit. stripping down to her underwear, she finally climbs on top of you, presenting you with a full view of her clothed cunt. she’s wearing the panties you gifted her a few months ago; black with a small red ribbon in the front. you’re salivating.

“what are you waiting for?” her voice comes from above, and in the darkness of the room all you can make out from her face are the glowing red crosses in her eyes. you swallow. “take them off.”

your thumbs immediately find their way under the hem of her underwear but she slaps them away.

“with your teeth.”

you let out a shaky breath. “yessir,” you reply as you push yourself up on your elbows. your face inches closer to her sex and you pinch the fabric between your incisors, careful not to bite arlecchino. your nose buries itself in her lower abdomen, upper lip dragging across her skin as you pull the panties lower. you manage to pull them down to the middle of her thighs before letting go. a strand of spit connects you to the fabric before breaking once you’re far enough.

the harbinger lets out a pleased hum. “good girl,” she purrs, and her clawed hand cups your cheek. her thumb pushes down onto your lower lip before breaching the entrance of your mouth. she explores your tongue and teeth and you let her like an obedient puppy begging for a treat.

arlecchino releases you from her grasp and you whimper. she reaches behind you, grabbing something from her drawing, and when she comes back into your field of vision, she’s holding a strap harness.

“would you put this on for me, darling?” she asks. you nod. of course you nod. anything for her, anything she asks. you take the harness and put it on her, making it tight enough to stay in place but not so tight for it to dig into her skin uncomfortably. more praises spill from her lips and you have to rub your legs together in search of some kind of friction.

arlecchino fastens a strap-on to the harness. you peek up at her through your lashes, salivating at the sight of her towering you. she seems to notice your reaction as her eyes narrow into a crescent shape. she grips the toy with her hand, bringing it up to your lips.

“why don’t you suck it first, hm?”

you part your lips, breathing onto the fake cock in front of you. “yessir…” she doesn’t move. you have to do all the work, and you do it gladly, leaning in, resting the dildo on your tongue. it tastes funny. you pay it no mind. it’s time to put on a show for her.

you swirl your tongue around its tip before dipping lower to its base, coating the dildo with your saliva. her eyes remain on you, a scalding hot gaze that penetrates your very soul. it makes you shudder.

a couple more licks, and you feel that the dildo is sufficiently covered. you pull back to the tip to give it a tender kiss, maintaining eye contact with arlecchino, before closing your eyes and completely wrapping your lips around her cock. your head dips and you take more of its length in your mouth. you move without stopping, until the dildo hits the back of your throat, making you gag. breathing in deep, you swallow around the shaft in an attempt to get used to it, and as you do so, you feel arlecchino tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“you’re taking it so good,” she coos, almost out of breath. “go on. you can take all of it.”

of course you can. if it’s her, you can do anything. so you flatten your tongue around the base of it and you push deeper, feeling it enter your throat. tears well up in your eyes, spit runs down your chin, but you press on - and at last, you can feel your nose hit the leather harness. you feel full, accomplished.

arlecchino shifts her hips and you gag again. “good girl,” she praises, and if you had a tail, it would be wagging right about now. “i suppose i should reward you for being so obedient.” she reaches behind herself, and as soon as you feel her fingers push past the folds of your pussy, you groan around the girth of the dildo. her middle finger teases your clit and your hips flinch. you want it, you need it so bad. unfortunately for you, you cannot beg with your mouth full of cock.

arlecchino pulls back her hips and you gasp for air, then cough as you choke on your own saliva. she brings her hand forward again, glistening with your arousal.

“so wet,” she drawls. “i didn’t even have to touch you.”

“please,” you seize this opportunity to beg, “please fuck me. please.”

arlecchino’s eyes find yours, and they’re freezing cold. “all in due time, my dear. or are you questioning my leadership?”

you shake your head. “i wouldn’t dare.”

“that’s what i thought.” you think you’re about to pass out with arousal. “open up.”

obedient as always, you do as you’re told, and her strap is back in your mouth before you can register anything. she begins to move her hips, and you suck to the best of your abilities. this proves difficult when her hand finds your cunt once again, middle and ring fingers rubbing your clit in a circular motion.

your eyes roll back into your head at the feeling and you arch your back. the moment you lose focus however, arlecchino draws her hand back and slaps your pussy, forcing a muffled squeak out of you. you get right back to work, glancing up at her pleadingly. she decides to indulge you, going back to your pussy, this time pushing her fingers inside while her thumb stimulates your clit.

your thighs shake, but you do your best to focus on showering her strap with love. arlecchino sighs at the sight. she withdraws her fingers to touch herself under the harness. and you feel yourself drip even more. arlecchino then grabs a fistful of your hair with the hand coated in a combination of your slick and hers, and her thrusts grow more forceful. your own hands find purchase on her thighs, now gone taut as her muscles flex.

she fucks your throat mercilessly through your garbled sounds of pleasure and gagging, and your eyes roll back as your vision grows blurry with the lack of oxygen in your lungs. your face burns and turns red. and just as you think that you’re about to pass out, arlecchino pulls out to let you breathe. you gasp, and the moment your lungs fill with air, your cunt spasms and you release, painting the bed sheets with your arousal.

the woman above watches you intently, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths. neither of you realize it, but her own arousal drips from between her folds, falling in drops onto your bare stomach.

once more, she praises you. “good girl,” she says, and you believe her. you’ve been a very good girl.

arlecchino lets go of your hair and gets off you, leaving you to ride out your high and calm down. once your small moans cease, she settles between your legs, lifting your hips and hooking your knees over her shoulders. it seems that while you were reeling, arlecchino procured a flask of lube, which she is now pouring over the dildo.

she then strokes the dildo with her bare hand, a casually vulgar display that leaves you biting your lip. her fingers delve inside your pussy and make a scissoring motion to test how stretched you are, and she hums, pleased with the result. at last, she lines up the tip of her cock with your entrance, and with a plunge, its girth enters your body.

you moan, fingers digging into the bed sheets as you’re stretched and filled. your heels dig into arlecchino’s back, toes curling while you struggle to breathe.

arlecchino’s hawk-like eyes remain on the connecting point between your bodies and one of her hands lets go of your thigh to rub at your swollen clit, which pulls a whine out of you.

“puh-please, have some mercy-” you interrupt yourself with a groan as arlecchino thrusts her hips, rocking your body. you feel like you’re going to snap in two.

“don’t lie to yourself,” she scolds, “you love it when i’m rough.” she thrusts again, hitting a spot deep inside that rips a sob out of you.

you cry, “you’re right! fuck- fuck me! peruere!”

arlecchino’s eyes widen at the mention of her name, crimson crosses seemingly glowing brighter. “as you wish, dear.”

she sets a merciless pace. the dildo penetrates you time and time again, and each time the sounds of your sex grow wetter, dirtier. you’re practically gushing over her dick while she rearranges your guts, fucking you into the mattress like her life depends on it.

her thrusts turn you into a whimpering and mewling mess, and arlecchino groans with you as you begin to unravel.

“so beautiful,” she says, voice gravelly, “you’re so beautiful for me. are you gonna cum again, dear?”

you have half a brain cell to nod. your mascara runs down your face and your lipstick is smeared all over your mouth. in spite of this, she calls you beautiful, and you truly believe her, for anything arlecchino says is the truth.

you feel pressure on your clit again, as peruere massages the bundle of nerves. you sob, then throw your head back, and your vision goes white. everything inside you grows taut, until the dam breaks with the snap of a finger and you come undone, legs stretching as you squirt all over arlecchino’s belly.

her movements finally still, except for her finger on your clit, which only slows down. you hiss when it becomes painful and arlecchino stops entirely. she pulls out and leans in to kiss you, humming into your mouth when you reciprocate.

“wonderful,” she mumbles. “you’re simply wonderful.”

your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, leaving you unable to reply. you don’t need to. arlecchino draws back and you hear the clinking of the harness’ strap, followed by a soft thud.

as you stare at the ceiling, the harbinger comes into view once more. “i hope you don’t think we’re done for tonight,” she says.

you chuckle.

“without repaying the deed? never.”

#★ genshin tag #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino x female reader #arlecchino x y/n #genshin x reader

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muletia · 6 months ago

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[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

summary: you had to go on a business trip. optimus doesn't take it too well

cw: obsessed!optimus, hardcore pinning, angst, i wanted to practice writing dialogues and it shows lmao

word count: 1800

an: i want you guys to know that i am reading EVERY reblog and comment from you swirling my hair and kicking my legs like a schoolgirl

you are so real for that anon

When you, out of your own free will, expressed the desire to join him on patrol, Optimus was overjoyed. You rarely got the chance to be together, just the two of you, always consumed by work or saving the world. And although Optimus wouldn’t dare ask you outright to accompany him on patrols (because the last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable), he deeply longed to spend more time with you alone. He knew he was feeding only his own illusions, fueling the machinery of madness, but by this point, he couldn’t stop. Not when you sat comfortably on his seat, gazing at the views outside the window, visibly content with your outing together.

He wanted so badly for this to be your everyday reality. Maybe then he could finally find some relief from his fixation, maybe you would even save him.

"Hey," you started, and his entire attention focused on you. "Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while."

Oh.

Did your feelings match his? Did you feel affection for him as well? Had you noticed his suffering? Or maybe you wanted to reject him, once and for all, to make him understand that his passion was an illusion, that no matter how much he wanted it, the two of you could never be together — too incompatible, too different. That he had developed this coping mechanism, exhausted by the war.

But before Optimus could spiral further, you crushed his hopes.

"The company I work for is sending me on a business trip," you sighed, clearly dissatisfied with the news. "It’s supposed to take two weeks, but you never really know with these trips, especially since they’re sending me across the continent."

"I understand," he replied, his tone not betraying the turmoil within. "What does this business trip involve?"

"Oh, shoot, sorry! I should have explained that right away," you laughed casually as if you hadn’t just delivered news that shattered his spark. "Business trip is assigned by an employer for training sessions, conferences, exhibitions, and other boring stuff. Kind of like a mission, but without explosions, action, or danger."

It was good to hear that you’d be safe, though you would truly be safest only at the base, under his watchful optics.

Pessimistic, ugly thoughts churned in his processor. Of all the things he expected to hear from you, this wasn’t one of them. Suddenly, he feared being alone, feared his own dreams. Because he knew you wouldn’t be there to comfort him after a nightmare, and nothing else could bring him peace.

"I am sorry to hear we will not see each other for two weeks," he said, "but I am confident you will do exceptionally well on this assignment. You are dependable, unyielding. You can handle anything."

"Oh, thank you," you answered, a bit flustered. You hadn’t expected a compliment. "It just makes me sad to leave Jasper. I don’t say it often enough, but I have a wonderful time with all of you. With you."

"Likewise, [Name]. When are you leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow. Tomorrow after work, I’ll say goodbye to everyone else."

So soon. Too soon. He’d hoped you wouldn’t leave until next week, to at least give him time to mentally prepare for the separation, but you denied him that luxury. Not that any amount of time would have prepared him for this.

Slowly, subtly enough that you wouldn’t notice the change, he reduced his speed, prolonging your shared drive.

"I’m not sure I’ll have time to write," you warned. "Unfortunately, they’ve given me a really tight schedule. But! If I can, I’ll write to the kids. Oh, and expect some souvenirs — I’ll bring something back for you all."

"You do not need to spend your valuable time searching for trinkets. But if you insist, I will cherish anything you bring me."

"Aw, don’t worry—it’ll be no trouble." You waved your hand dismissively. "You do so much for me, for the kids, for the whole Earth without asking for anything in return. You deserve something nice."

"I do not protect your planet for glory or offerings."

"I know, I know. That’s very noble. And amazing. So many years, sticking firmly to your values."

He eagerly soaked up your praise, allowing himself, if only for a brief moment, to forget the world around him, to forget his duties, unfulfilled promises, fallen brothers and sisters. He’d never describe himself as 'amazing', nor did he believe the praise his own kind gave him about his greatness. But for you, he could believe it. If only for a moment, a few seconds, so that you’d leave on your mission thinking warmly of your time together and of him.

"Thank you, [Name]. Please know that I value your words tremendously."

"Oh," you blushed, "that’s nice to hear."

Embarrassed, you quickly changed the subject, unaware that Optimus was watching you closely, curious about your reaction. For now, he pushed thoughts of your departure to the back of his processor, wanting to fully enjoy your presence. You recommended songs from the country genre, one of his favorite discoveries on Earth, which he promised to listen to later. He knew well that this would lead to more daydreaming, imagining a future that would never be. Because no matter how hard he tried, his tomorrow would not be entwined with yours. His desires would forever remain mere fantasies born out of desperation, longing, and sorrow.

A week had passed since you left. In the lives of the Autobots, not much had changed because of your absence; they went on with their chaotic schedule. The kids, however, missed you. No more evenings spent helping them with their homework, working on your reports, playing games, or simply chatting. The worst part was that no one really knew what was going on with you. You rarely messaged, didn’t have time to talk, and when you did, it was just to say, "I’m alive, it’s boring, I’ll message you on Thursday." Life continued, despite how much Miko wished she could play games with you instead of doing her homework.

Everyone managed to adapt to your absence.

With one exception.

At first glance, it seemed like Optimus, the bot with whom you shared the closest bond, hadn’t been affected by such a drastic change. Nothing in his behavior indicated any longing. He didn’t express his opinion on the matter, didn’t ask, didn’t demand. As always, he buried his feelings deep within, playing the role of a diligent leader, hiding from everyone the nightmares running through his processor, now even more intense because of your absence.

He was withering, quietly and alone.

Until now, he had been content simply watching you. He had established a routine, unhealthy as it was, that kept him going. He knew that most of the time when he returned from patrol or a mission, you would be at the base. Even if you came every other or every third day, Optimus knew that eventually, you would show up. It gave him a sense of stability amidst the chaos surrounding him. But now? Maybe two weeks wasn’t a big challenge for you, but he was done after one.

Now, he wanted to be more than a passive observer. He craved physical contact, to hold you close, to feel your heartbeat against his metal. He wanted to know you were alive, to feel your pulse under his digit, to listen to its rhythm, to understand how your chest moved against his metal. He wanted to feel, taste, touch, enter.

He kept glancing at the spot on the couch where you usually sat with your laptop on your lap or spent time with the kids as if hoping that if he looked just one more time, you would materialize there. That everything would return to normal, that he wouldn’t suffer so much, that you would give him the daily dose of antidote he needed to function without plunging deeper into despair. But no matter how many times he looked, you weren’t there, and wouldn’t be for another week.

At some point, however, someone noticed their leader’s miserable mood.

"I can’t quite figure out what kind of bond you have with that woman," Ratchet said, pausing his work to look at Optimus. Before his friend could answer, he continued, "But she’ll be back soon. And whatever she’s doing, she’ll do it well. She’s tough."

"Thank you, old friend. I have no doubt in her abilities. But I would feel better if she were stationed closer to the base in case of a Decepticon attack."

"Mm-hmm," the medic scoffed. "Sure, that’s all it’s about."

Optimus had no response to that. He wasn’t surprised that Ratchet noticed his infatuation, but he would prefer that his friend not delve into the details of their relationship. At least, not yet. Not while Optimus himself was a wreck.

"Hey, hey! [Name] messaged!" Miko yelled.

The Autobot leader immediately approached the platform, finally abandoning his conversation with Ratchet, aware that it would only spark more suspicions. But he didn’t care anymore, not in such an important moment.

He stood directly behind Miko, with Bumblebee and Bulkhead beside him, equally curious to know what you had been up to over the past week.

"She sent photos, too! Look!"

Miko turned to show the messages to the others but paused when she noticed Optimus’s helm close to her.

“Whoa,” she whispered, surprised that out of all the bots, he was the one standing the closest. She swallowed, but her confidence quickly returned.

Holding her phone firmly, she displayed a close-up selfie of you. You were smiling, though the bags under your eyes betrayed that you were sleep-deprived, probably exhausted.

Optimus felt the accumulated stress, pain, and longing of the past week slowly dissipate. Everything was fine with you. You were alive, pushing forward with a smile on your face, happy to simply exist. Admiring your photo didn’t compare to seeing you in person, but it let him vent a little easier, granting him a brief respite from worry, gnawing at him from within. It was enough. For now. For a moment.

“She sends her regards to everyone,” Miko went on, “Oh, and she also asked Ratchet to take a break and mentioned she already bought a gift for Optimus and can’t wait to come back. Hey, I want a present, too!”

Optimus couldn't be certain if another week apart wouldn’t inflict even more damage on his processor and spark, or if longing would eventually consume him entirely. But he knew he was already lost, that you held sway over every aspect of his life. He was wrapped around your finger, tethered by a leash you didn’t even realize existed. And he didn’t mind one bit.

#transformers #transformers x reader #optimus prime x reader #optimus x reader #tfp #obsessed!optimus

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kyuujo · 6 months ago

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↳ thinkin of u <3

↳ sae itoshi, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro x fem!reader (separate) ↳ nsfw(ish) ↳ established relationships, nudes, descriptions of masturbation (fem), “sending them nudes/spicy vids while they’re in public”, slight sexting?, contains crack (sorry i can’t help myself), no explicit sex but lots of allusions to it, language, aged up characters, not proof read :x, my writing

↳ 1k words

↳ tbh i’ve thought about this trope for a long time and finally got the creativity and inspiration to write it! i’m not entirely sure of the quality of this as i’ve never written anything like this before, but i hope it’s still enjoyable! thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoy!! <3

“… now that you’ve played alongside japan’s u-20, would you ever reconsider your decision not to join? the people want to know.”

sae sent an icy glare to the reporter across from him; he’d thought he’d made his stance on this vividly clear, but obviously not.

“no.” sae said simply, reveling in the spark of indignation his refusal brought to the man’s eyes.

“well, why not—?”

sae lifted a hand to silence the man when his phone pinged twice — maybe that was rude, but sae had the feeling that whatever had just come through his phone would be a thousand times more entertaining and engaging than the sleaze across from him.

and boy, was sae right.

my wife: seeing you on tv has me all worked up. maybe hurry it along? 😘

my wife: [video attachment]

despite his current surroundings and the many cameras pointed at him, sae opened the attachment — it was a video, one without sound, but the muteness didn’t take away from the sheer tempting nature of it.

you looked so good, back resting against the armrest of the couch and legs spread lazily and slit glistening in the flash of the camera. your fingers teased at your clit lightly, and desire shot through sae’s body as he itched to replace them with his own.

sae didn’t even get halfway through the video before his phone pinged with another message — and then another.

my wife: SAE YOU ARENT SUPPOSED TO LOOK YET

my wife: YOURE ON LIVE TV PUT IT DOWN

sae smirked and gave the reporter a lazy wave before standing.

“my deepest apologies, but i’m cutting this short. i have some other business to attend to.”

sae couldn’t give two shits about the way both the reporter and his pr manager sputtered and desperately attempted to flag him back — his woman was waiting on him at home, and that was far more important.

shidou rarely ever felt bored during matches — but so far, this one had simply been a drag. the opposing team didn’t really offer much of a challenge, and shidou had scored more points off of them than he could justly remember.

by the time half-time rolled around, shidou was seething and sweating, feeling incredibly tense and antsy as he whipped into the locker room.

his teammates knew not to bother him when he was in a dip like this, so they cleared a path for him and avoided eye contact at all costs. if shidou weren’t so frustrated he would have found it amusing.

there was only one thing that may make shidou feel the least bit better — messages from you, something he was guaranteed to find at half-time. a trickle of excitement slithered down his body when he pulled his phone from his locker and plopped down on the nearest bench. his phone read ‘3 unread messages’ when he clicked the screen on.

shidou didn’t think twice about tapping open the chat log between the two of you, a smile instantly gracing his lips at your first message.

babygirl💕: hope your match is going well baby!! i know you’re gonna rock it

babygirl💕: but on the slim to none chance that it may not be, i want to give you some motivation ;)

babygirl💕: [video attachment]

shidou probably should have ensured his sound was off before opening it — but your legs were spread open so deliciously and your fingers were working your cunt at a desperate speed, what was shidou supposed to do? think rationally? tough chance.

lewd moans and whines of “shidouuuuu” filled the locker room and ten pairs of shocked eyes met his. shidou’s cheeks warmed and anger sparked in his chest at the knowledge that now his teammates knew how absolutely angelic you sounded in the throes of pleasure.

all it took was a heavy glare and they were clearing out of the room to give him and your video some privacy.

every single tiny box on the shelf looked exactly the same.

what was he even supposed to get again? he’d read over the front of every box at least three times. pearl, radiant, braided… none of those words rung any bells in his head. what was it you had told him before he left?

“maybe it was the pearl…?” nagi murmured to himself, eyes narrowed as if that would somehow help the answer become more clearer to him. he gingerly grabbed a box and examined it before promptly putting it back on the shelf.

nagi didn’t like to admit defeat, but he’d been perusing this shelf for nearly thirty minutes and still didn’t know shit from shat — he’d have to phone a friend, unfortunately.

nagi slipped his phone from his pocket and was just about to tap open his contacts when his phone pinged with a message; ironically, it was from you.

babycake <3: hurry home love. i’m waiting for you 💕

babycake <3: [image attachment]

nagi’s eyes nearly bugged from his skull when he caught sight of the picture you’d sent him — you, sprawled across the lush queen bed, donning nothing but his freshly washed jersey. if he looked close enough, he could see the faintest tease of your nipples perked up beneath the fabric, and the hem of it fell to your mid thighs, hiding the sweet spot between your legs.

nagi sucked in a breath and clicked off his phone screen, willing his half-hard dick to calm down — at least while he was in the store. with furtive glances down each side of the isle nagi powered his screen on and, while avoiding letting his gaze fall to the tempting picture, typed a quick response.

me: omw. don’t move.

your period wasn’t due for another week, anyway. nagi always had time to figure out the pearl-versus-radiant-versus-braided debacle before then.

i genuinely had so much fun cooking these up! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments and reblogs are not at all required but are much appreciated!! <33

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bluelock x reader #sae itoshi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #shidou ryusei x reader

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forzarma · 1 year ago

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makeup disaster

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: lando Doing your makeup on stream what could possibly go wrong?

warnings:haven’t proofread 😞

You joined Lando while he was streaming last week, and both of you were playing a game. Well, you lost, which means you’re gonna let him do your makeup on his next stream.

Both of you sat, and you got your makeup essentials that you’re gonna have to use for this stream, hoping Lando wouldn’t freestyle your face considering the fact he doesn’t know anything about makeup.

“Hello chat,” he said while looking at the computer, “so apparently I’m doing your makeup,” giving a cheeky smile.

“I’m regretting this already, omg,” you said, laughing nervously.

“Anyways, first thing, I guess primer ’cause you have been nagging about killing me if I don’t put it first,” Lando said.

You rolled your eyes playfully at him.

He started tapping your face aggressively.

“Ouch, Lando,” you said, giving him a stern look.

“I’m trying, okay?” he said, looking at you innocently.

“Anyways, I think we need to use this,” he said while holding your foundation and your beauty blender.

He blended your foundation, and you were thanking god that he was doing good for now. Well, your happiness didn’t last long when you saw him taking your setting powder and putting it over your face.

“Wait, Lando—“ you were trying to tell him he should put concealer, but all you heard was “SHUSH.” You gave him a literal side-eye.

And then he had the audacity to put concealer after what the hell????

Looking at the mirror, all you could see is your cakey face.

He opened your eyeshadow palette and took a bright blue and started putting it over your eyes.

Then he picked your blush, PAINTED your face with it, making you look like a tomato.

Then he got the liquid eyeliner and hummed, “this is interesting,” and decided to literally act like your eyes are drawing papers.

He gave his attention to the chat, reading it, and people saying that’s not how he should put things, just for him to say, “nah, y’all are just wrong, I know what I’m doing.”

He took the lip liner, he put it on your lips, and gloss.

“Alright chat, that’s the finished look,” he said, looking proud as if he did an achievement.

“You did terrible, Lando,” you said, looking at him.

“You know, I did good, better than you do,” he muttered.

“Alright, I hope you guys enjoyed this stream and don’t fall in love with my makeup skills ’cause,” he said, smirking, then he ended the stream.

After ending the stream, Lando turned to you with a cheeky grin. "Alright love, let me help get that makeup off you. Can't have you walking around looking like a clown all night!"

You playfully hit his arm. "Whose fault is that?" You retorted with a laugh. Lando gently took a makeup wipe and started dabbing at your face, his touches soft and caring as he removed the remains of his "artwork."

"There we are, much better." He smiled, gazing into your eyes. You felt yourself getting lost in his stare, all thoughts of the disastrous makeup attempt melting away.

Suddenly , you leaned in and pressed your lips to his in a sweet kiss. Lando made a small noise of surprise but quickly melted into the kiss, cupping your cheek tenderly as he kissed you back. The spark between you that had been building for so long was finally igniting.

When you finally broke apart, Lando rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. "Well, I may not be able to do makeup but at least I know how to do that," he whispered with a wink. You giggled, feeling giddy and light. It seemed the stream had ended on a much sweeter note than anticipated. Your "punishment" had turned out to be quite the reward after all.

#Lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #lando norris x you #lando norris smut #formula one x reader #Formula one x you #formula one x fem!reader #F1 imagines #lando norris #Charles leclerc #lando norris fluff

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elikajinnie · 1 month ago

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P: Obsessed Bff!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Obsession, Implied Stalking, Mentioned Murder, Dark Themes, Blood/Injury, Manipulation, Jealousy, Ambigious Ending.

Synopsis: School was exhausting—early mornings, endless classes, and a future resting on grades you couldn’t bring yourself to care about. The only thing that made it bearable was Ni-ki, your childhood friend who had been by your side for as long as you could remember. But that was the problem. He was always there. You only had him, and now you wanted some space away from him. But Ni-ki had other plans... After all, he wasn’t about to let you go.

a/n: i had jason dean from the heathers in my mind during this :3 now fun fact! i was spacing out during work and the plot just came to me :3

now playing: nowhere to go by bad omens | stalker by badflower | lil demon by future

Watching the clock on the wall tick away the seconds had been your only source of entertainment for the past few minutes. Your eyelids drooped, heavy with exhaustion, as your arm singlehandedly kept your head from fully surrendering to sleep. The droning voice of your teacher faded into the background, blending with the faint scribbling of pens and the occasional cough from a classmate.

Your only solace was the fact that class was almost over. Your second was that Ni-ki sat beside you, taking notes that you’d probably copy after school. Your third—perhaps the most important—was that if you did end up dozing off, he’d cover for you without hesitation.

That’s what you liked about Ni-ki—he could read you like an open book. After years of friendship, he knew exactly what you needed, when you needed it, and what you liked without you ever having to say a word. He was the one person in the whole world you trusted without hesitation.

So, when he subtly nudged your arm with his elbow, not even glancing your way, you knew it was his way of saying, Stay with me, class is almost over. His notes continued to fill the page in his handwriting, and you briefly wondered if he was even paying attention or just writing for the sake of keeping busy.

You let out a quiet sigh, blinking away the exhaustion, but the weight of the day clung to you stubbornly. Your head tilted slightly toward him, and without a word, he shifted his notebook a little closer to your side of the desk, making it easier for you to read.

A silent agreement. If you weren’t going to stay awake, at least you wouldn’t fall behind.

After all, it was you and Ni-ki against everything. You had him, and he had you. No matter what happened, no matter how hard things got, you both knew that there was no one else who would stick by your side the way he did.

When the clock finally ticked down to the last few seconds, and you both gathered your things. Ni-ki glanced at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, knowing exactly what was coming next.

"Copy my notes later, yeah?" he said, his tone teasing but warm.

You nodded, a small smile forming despite yourself. “You always know what I need, don’t you?”

Ni-ki’s grin widened, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous spark. “I’m practically psychic.” His voice was light, but you could hear the affection hidden beneath.

“You should charge for your services,” you teased back, gathering your books as you stood.

“Yeah, I’d make a fortune,” he said, his voice laced with humor. “But then I’d miss out on all the fun moments, like this one.” He nudged you lightly with his elbow, with a soft smile.

As you both left the classroom, the usual chatter and laughter of your classmates filled the air. You stopped by your locker, pulling out the books you needed for the next class while Ni-ki leaned against the locker beside you, his arms crossed, casually watching the hustle of the hallway.

It was then that Hyunwoo approached, his presence slightly more formal than the usual, his expression serious but friendly. “Hey,” he greeted, nodding towards you. “Got a minute?”

You turned to face him, giving a small nod. "Sure, what's up?"

“I wanted to see if you could meet me at the campus café after classes today,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “We need to go over the presentation for the class project we’re working on together.”

You thought for a moment, then agreed, “Yeah, that works for me.” Hyunwoo smiled, offering a small wave and as he turned to leave, you watched him walk off.

But you weren’t the only one watching him.

Ni-ki had gone still, his attention fully on Hyunwoo’s retreating back. His eyes narrowed slightly, and the usual ease in his posture seemed to shift into something more guarded. You could feel the subtle tension in the air, the way his focus remained locked on Hyunwoo as if he were analyzing every move.

“Is something up?” you asked casually, trying to sound nonchalant, but noticing the way Ni-ki’s gaze lingered, his jaw tightening just a little before he finally looked back at you.

“Nah,” he said after a beat, shrugging like it was nothing. “Just didn’t know you and Hyunwoo were getting all buddy-buddy now.”

You rolled your eyes, shutting your locker with a soft click. “We’re partners for an assignment, Ni-ki. It’s not that deep.”

He hummed, unconvinced, shoving his hands into his pockets as the two of you started walking. “Still. You sure he’s just interested in the assignment?”

You shot him a look. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Ni-ki glanced at you from the side, his expression unreadable for a second before he smirked, his usual teasing demeanor slipping back in. “Nothing. Just saying, I wouldn’t be surprised if Hyunwoo suddenly starts asking you to ‘study’ more often.”

You scoffed, nudging his arm. “Don’t be annoying.”

“I’m not! I’m just looking out for you,” he said, raising his hands in mock innocence. “If he tries anything weird, let me know. I’ll handle it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re being dramatic.”

Ni-ki let out a small huff, but there was something serious in his expression as he looked at you. “I just want the best for you,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “I know how people are. They act nice, like they care, but most of the time, they just want something from you.” His hands were still stuffed in his pockets, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

You sighed, already used to him being like this. Protective. A little overbearing sometimes. But it was just Ni-ki—it was how he was. So instead of arguing, you simply stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

His body tensed for half a second before he melted into your embrace, his arms circling around you tightly, almost as if he was afraid to let go. His chin rested lightly on your head, and he closed his eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of your perfume. His fingers curled slightly against the fabric of your shirt, holding you close.

He knew you didn’t see it—didn’t see him for what he really was.

Because Ni-ki wasn’t just protective.

He was possessive.

And he knew exactly what he was doing.

You trusted him. Relied on him. And that was exactly how he wanted it to stay.

So as he held you in his arms, his grip tightening just slightly, his thoughts weren’t on Hyunwoo anymore.

They were only on you.

Ni-ki didn’t let go. He held you just a little longer than necessary, his fingers subtly gripping the back of your shirt like he was grounding himself in the moment. You, oblivious as ever, simply leaned into him, used to his warmth, his presence—used to him.

If only you knew.

If only you saw the way his eyes darkened whenever someone else got too close to you. The way he kept track of the people you talked to, the ones who lingered too long in conversations, the ones who looked at you like they thought they had a chance.

He exhaled slowly, savoring the scent of your perfume, the steady beat of your heart against his chest. It was moments like this that reminded him why he did what he did. Why he always kept an eye on you, why he made sure no one got too close—no one but him.

Because no one else could protect you the way he could. No one else knew you the way he did.

You pulled away first, giving him a small smile, completely unaware of the storm in his mind. “Thanks, Ni-ki,” you said, as if his words had been nothing more than friendly concern.

He forced a smile back, shoving his hands into his pockets again. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, feigning nonchalance. “Just don’t forget it, okay?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I won’t.”

But he knew you didn’t understand.

Not yet.

Ni-ki watched you walk ahead, his jaw tightening slightly as his eyes followed your every step. You were so carefree, so unaware of the way the world worked—of the way people worked. It wasn’t your fault, of course. You were just trusting like that. You always believed the best in others.

And that’s why you needed him.

As he fell into step beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets, his mind was already working through the situation. Hyunwoo was a problem—one that needed to be dealt with. Nothing drastic, of course. Not yet. But he would start small. He knew how to turn people against each other, how to make sure someone like Hyunwoo quietly backed off without you ever realizing why.

You glanced at him as you reached the staircase, your expression curious. “You’re quiet all of a sudden,” you noted.

He snapped out of his thoughts, forcing an easy smirk onto his lips. “Just thinking,” he replied.

“Thinking about what?”

Ni-ki tilted his head, as if considering his answer. “You,” he said simply, watching as your face scrunched up in mild suspicion.

You nudged his arm playfully. “You’re so weird sometimes.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You still keep me around though.”

“Of course,” you said without hesitation. “You’re my best friend.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face, but it was gone before you could catch it. Best friend. That’s what you always called him. That’s what you believed he was.

And for now, he would let you believe it.

Because as long as you thought of him that way, you would always need him. And as long as you needed him, he could keep you safe.

Hyunwoo wouldn’t be a problem for long.

Ni-ki would make sure of it.

After classes ended, you made your way to the campus café, weaving through the late afternoon crowd of students chatting and studying. The scent of coffee and pastries lingered in the air, and the sounds of conversations filled the space as you searched for Hyunwoo.

It didn’t take long to spot him—sitting at a small table near the window, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. He looked up the moment you walked in, his eyes lighting up as he quickly straightened in his seat, offering you a small, somewhat shy smile.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft but warm.

You slid into the seat across from him, setting your bag down beside you. “Hey, sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“No, not at all!” He shook his head quickly, almost a little too eager. “I—I just got here, actually.”

You smiled, amused by his nervous energy. You had always known Hyunwoo to be the quiet, thoughtful type, but seeing him like this—fumbling slightly, his fingers tapping against the table—was kind of endearing.

“So,” you said, pulling out your notebook. “The presentation. Did you have any ideas on how we should split the work?”

“Ah, yeah,” he said, his gaze flickering down to his own notes. “I, um, wrote down a few ideas, but I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, so I thought maybe we could decide together?” His voice was gentle, uncertain, as if he didn’t want to overstep.

You nodded. “That sounds good. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As he hesitantly pushed his notebook toward you, his fingers brushed against yours slightly. It was barely even a touch, but you felt him freeze for half a second before quickly retracting his hand, his ears tinged red.

You pretended not to notice, not wanting to fluster him even more. Instead, you focused on the notes, nodding as you skimmed through them. “These are really good,” you complimented, looking back up at him.

His lips parted slightly, as if surprised by the praise, before a small, bashful smile formed. “You think so?”

“Yeah, you’re really thorough. This is gonna make our work a lot easier.”

He ducked his head a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I didn’t want to mess anything up. I know you’re really good at this kind of thing, so I wanted to keep up.”

Something about the way he said it—so earnest, so quietly admiring—made warmth bloom in your chest.

“You don’t have to try to ‘keep up’ with me, Hyunwoo,” you reassured him. “We’re partners, we’re in this together.”

He glanced up at you then, eyes soft, for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he simply nodded, that small, shy smile still lingering.

As the minutes passed, you and Hyunwoo fell into an easy rhythm, bouncing ideas off each other as you worked through the presentation. The initial nervousness he had at the start slowly melted away, replaced by a quiet excitement.

“I didn’t know you were so into this topic,” you said, watching as he animatedly explained one of his points, his hands gesturing as he spoke.

Hyunwoo laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I just really like researching stuff. It’s kind of fun when you get into it, you know?”

You nodded, resting your chin on your hand. “It’s cute.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you realized what you had just said, and Hyunwoo practically short-circuited in front of you. His face turned bright red, and he immediately dropped his gaze to the table, suddenly very interested in the corner of his notebook.

“Cute?” he echoed, voice a little higher than usual.

You chuckled, amused at his reaction. “I meant the way you get excited over things. It’s nice.”

He swallowed hard, nodding quickly as if trying to process your words. “Oh. Um. Thanks.”

Neither of you noticed the tall figure standing outside the window, watching. Cause Ni-ki had followed you. Of course, he had. He wasn’t going to let you wander off to meet Hyunwoo alone—someone had to supervise. And that was all it was supposed to be. Just making sure nothing happened.

But now, standing outside the café, watching through the glass as Hyunwoo looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, Ni-ki felt something snap.

He had seen that look before.

Had seen the way people got too comfortable, thought they had the right to be close to you—to be near you the way he was.

And he had dealt with it before.

His fingers curled into fists, his jaw clenching as he watched you laugh, completely unaware of the way Hyunwoo practically worshipped you with his eyes. It made his stomach churn, his mind race. That was supposed to be his job.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Ni-ki was pushing open the café door.

The bell above the entrance chimed, but you were too caught up in the conversation to notice—at least, until a shadow loomed over your table.

You looked up, surprised to see Ni-ki standing there, hands stuffed into his pockets, an easy smirk on his lips. “Hey!” you greeted. “What are you doing here?”

Ni-ki shrugged, his gaze briefly flickering to Hyunwoo, who had gone stiff in his seat. “Just thought I’d grab a drink,” he said casually before pulling out a chair and sitting down beside you without asking.

Hyunwoo glanced between you and Ni-ki, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh, do you guys—do you want me to go?”

Ni-ki’s smirk widened, but there was no humor in it. “Nah, don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here. Keep an eye on things.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Ni-ki…”

He leaned back in his chair, draping an arm over the back of yours, completely relaxed despite the storm brewing in his mind.

“Go on,” he said, nodding at Hyunwoo. “Don’t stop because of me.”

And as much as he kept his tone light, there was something off in his presence—something that made Hyunwoo hesitate before continuing.

Because Ni-ki wasn’t here to supervise anymore.

He was here to claim his place.

You barely noticed the way the atmosphere shifted as Ni-ki made himself comfortable beside you, his presence taking up more space than it should. His arm was still draped over the back of your chair, his body angled toward you in a way that felt too close, but you didn’t think much of it.

He was always like this.

Hyunwoo, on the other hand, looked unsure, his eyes flickering between the two of you. He hesitated before continuing to talk about the presentation, his voice quieter now.

But Ni-ki wasn’t interested in the presentation.

“Wow, Hyunwoo,” Ni-ki suddenly spoke up, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You’re, like, really into this, huh?” His tone was light, teasing, but there was something sharp hidden beneath it.

Hyunwoo blinked, confused. “Uh, yeah? I mean, it’s for class—”

“Right, right,” Ni-ki hummed, nodding. “Just seems like you’re trying really hard. Almost like you’re trying to impress someone.” He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Who could that be?”

You laughed, nudging Ni-ki’s arm. “Stop teasing him,” you chided playfully, completely oblivious to the way Hyunwoo had tensed.

“What?” Ni-ki blinked at you innocently. “I’m just saying. It’s kinda cute, don’t you think?”

Hyunwoo cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “I just want to do well on the assignment,” he muttered.

Ni-ki chuckled, leaning in a little closer to you. “Sure you do, Hyunwoo.”

You giggled, shaking your head, still not catching onto the underlying tension. To you, this was just Ni-ki being his usual self—teasing, playful, maybe a little mean, but never serious.

Hyunwoo, however, wasn’t laughing.

After a moment, he hesitated before asking, “Are you two… dating?”

The question caught you off guard.

Your eyes widened slightly, and you immediately waved your hands. “What? No! We’re not—we’re just—Ni-ki and I—” You stumbled over your words, feeling the heat rise to your face.

Ni-ki, however, said nothing.

Instead, he simply leaned in closer to you, his body pressing slightly against yours as he rested his elbow on the table. His fingers casually brushed your arm as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And when Hyunwoo glanced at him, Ni-ki’s smirk remained, but his gaze was steady—watching, calculating, almost daring him to say something else.

Hyunwoo swallowed, glancing down at his notebook, suddenly finding it much harder to focus.

Meanwhile, you were still trying to compose yourself, completely missing the way Ni-ki’s fingers ghosted over your wrist, as if subtly reminding you that he was still there.

“W-We’re just friends,” you finally managed to say, forcing a laugh.

Ni-ki exhaled a soft chuckle, but still, he didn’t correct you.

Didn’t agree.

Didn’t deny it, either.

And as Hyunwoo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Ni-ki only leaned in closer, tilting his head slightly, watching him with an unreadable expression.

Because it didn’t matter what you said.

Ni-ki knew the truth.

Hyunwoo tried to shake off the unease settling in his chest, but it was hard when Ni-ki wouldn’t stop looking at him like that—like he knew something Hyunwoo didn’t. Like he was silently laughing at him.

And maybe he was.

“Well,” Hyunwoo said, clearing his throat, “that’s good to know.”

You, still flustered, nodded quickly. “Yeah! I mean—Ni-ki’s my best friend. That’d be… weird, right?”

At that, Ni-ki finally let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Yeah, weird,” he echoed, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You didn’t notice how his fingers subtly tightened around the back of your chair. Didn’t notice the way he side-eyed Hyunwoo like he was sizing him up.

You were too busy trying to compose yourself, too busy scribbling something in your notebook to distract from the heat still lingering on your face.

Hyunwoo, however, noticed.

And he had to wonder if maybe Ni-ki wasn’t as harmless as anyone would think.

“So,” you said, finally regaining your composure, “should we wrap this up? I think we covered most of the important stuff.”

Hyunwoo hesitated before nodding. “Yeah, sounds good.” He cast a glance at Ni-ki, who still hadn’t moved from his spot practically pressed against you. “Uh… thanks for letting me work with you.”

“Of course!” You smiled, completely oblivious to the way Hyunwoo’s fingers twitched slightly against his notebook.

Ni-ki only hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “Yeah, this was fun,” he said, though his tone made it unclear whether he actually meant it or not.

As Hyunwoo gathered his things, he hesitated once more before looking at you. “Maybe we can meet up again? Just to go over everything one more time.”

Ni-ki’s fingers stopped tapping.

You, completely missing the way his expression darkened for just a second, nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great! Just let me know when.”

As soon as Hyunwoo stepped out of the café, Ni-ki’s entire demeanor shifted. The moment the door swung shut behind him, Ni-ki turned his full attention back to you, his smirk returning, but softer this time—more familiar to you.

“Finally,” he sighed dramatically, stretching his arms before draping one across your shoulders with an easy familiarity. “Thought he’d never leave.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “You’re so impatient.”

“I hate group projects,” Ni-ki complained, pulling you in just a little closer as if it was second nature. “Especially when I’m not in them.”

“You wouldn’t have helped even if you were in this one,” you pointed out.

He gasped, placing a hand over his heart like you had wounded him. “Wow. You wound me.”

You rolled your eyes, but let him stay close, not thinking much of it. After all, this was Ni-ki. He’d always been touchy, always draping himself over you like it was his right. It wasn’t weird.

Not to you, at least.

But to anyone else walking by?

It was a completely different story.

The way Ni-ki leaned into you, his arm resting so casually over your shoulders. The way his head dipped closer every time he spoke, his voice just low enough that it felt intimate. The way his fingers occasionally brushed against your arm, light, fleeting touches that felt possessive in a way that wasn’t quite noticeable unless you were looking for it.

To anyone watching, there was no doubt about it—

You and Ni-ki looked like a couple.

And maybe that was the point.

Because as Ni-ki sat there, acting like he belonged at your side, his lips curled slightly in amusement.

Hyunwoo would never come in between you and him.

Ni-ki leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood as his mind raced through the plan he had meticulously crafted. A plan that had been years in the making.

For years, he had quietly worked to ensure that your world revolved solely around him. Slowly, subtly, he'd taken out the people who dared to get too close to you. Each one, a stepping stone to where he was now. They were all nothing more than obstacles to be removed. And every single time, he had been successful. Always.

Now, Hyunwoo had stepped into the picture.

And Hyunwoo, as far as Ni-ki was concerned, was just another pathetic nobody who was standing in his way.

The thought of you smiling at Hyunwoo, laughing with him, looking at him with those bright eyes that only Ni-ki was used to seeing, made something cold coil in his chest. He couldn’t let this go on. He wouldn’t let it.

Hyunwoo wasn’t going to take you from him.

Ni-ki had it all planned out.

Step one was simple, almost too easy. A rumor.

A rotten, venomous rumor that would spread through the school like wildfire. It didn’t matter how small or insignificant it started, because he knew it would reach your ears.

And when it did, when you heard the whispers of Hyunwoo’s so-called true character, you would start to doubt him. You would start to question everything you thought you knew about him.

Ni-ki would ruin him, piece by piece.

The rumor would be about something harmless at first—something enough to be believable, yet still enough to make people look at Hyunwoo sideways. Maybe he had been a felon and just got out of juvie, or maybe he was hiding something from everyone. Something he didn’t want people to know.

It didn’t matter what it was, because the moment it hit the ears of the wrong people, the damage would be done.

Ni-ki’s eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction. He could already see it playing out in his head—the small whispers, the sideways glances, the doubt seeping into your mind. He could already picture you questioning Hyunwoo, wondering if you had been wrong about him all along.

And the best part?

You would never suspect it was him.

No one ever did.

Ni-ki had always been the master of subtlety. The master of making things look like accidents. And he knew exactly how to get what he wanted without ever having to dirty his hands.

And Hyunwoo?

Well, Hyunwoo would be nothing more than a casualty of Ni-ki’s game.

His first move was already in motion. He had already planted the seed, and now it was only a matter of time before it took root and began to grow.

Once the rumor spread, Hyunwoo would crumble.

And when he did, you’d come running back to him. You’d see how right Ni-ki had been all along, how much he cared for you, how much he understood you.

You would remember who had always been there for you.

Ni-ki would make sure of it.

Because at the end of the day, it was always going to be him and you against the world.

And no one could change that.

The next day at school, Ni-ki wasted no time. He was a master of timing—he knew how to slip into people’s conversations, how to make himself just noticeable enough for the rumor to take root, and how to stay under the radar. It was all part of the plan.

He stuck close to you, his usual charm and ease masking the fact that he was meticulously watching every detail, every shift in the atmosphere around you. He was perfectly casual, acting as though everything was normal. He laughed at your jokes, teased you the same way he always did, never letting on that his mind was focused on the bigger picture.

The whispers started slow, like the rustling of leaves in the wind. Little things—insignificant things that didn’t seem to carry much weight at first. But with every passing hour, they grew louder.

Ni-ki heard them all.

It was always the same story, twisted more and more as it passed from person to person. At first, it was just idle gossip. “Did you hear about Hyunwoo? Apparently, he’s been… kind of a player.” Someone would murmur it to another, who would then say it to someone else, until it became something else entirely.

By the time the rumor had made its rounds, Hyunwoo was no longer just a “player” or someone with a bad reputation.

No, now he was something far worse.

“Did you hear? Hyunwoo’s a stalker.”

The words stuck out to Ni-ki like a jagged piece of glass, cutting into his amusement. The rumor had shifted, darkened, morphed into something sinister.

“Apparently, he’s been following women around, sending them creepy messages, even showing up to their home.”

Ni-ki’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he overheard a group of students gossiping about it. He could practically taste the chaos in the air, feel the weight of the lie settle over Hyunwoo’s reputation like a suffocating blanket.

He couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction. The rumor was working. It was twisting its way into people’s minds, painting Hyunwoo as something dangerous.

And the best part?

You hadn’t heard yet.

Not directly.

But it was only a matter of time.

Ni-ki kept his position at your side, subtly steering conversations so you wouldn’t be the first to hear the more shocking parts of the story. He knew you well enough to know how to shield you from it—at least for now.

As the day wore on, the whispers continued, but the one that made Ni-ki’s smirk widen even further was the one that he had planted into the wind himself:

"Did you hear? Hyunwoo's obsessed with a girl he can't have. He stalks her. Followed her home the other day. People say he’s been showing up at her favorite spots, too. Who knows what else he’s done."

Ni-ki chuckled quietly to himself. He knew that version would stick.

Hyunwoo had become the perfect villain in this story, and the seeds of doubt had already begun to sprout in your mind.

He didn’t need to do anything else for now. He just had to sit back and watch it unfold.

And as he saw you later in the day, eyes still unaware of the storm brewing, Ni-ki put his plan into motion again, leaning closer to you as if everything was fine.

“Hey,” he said softly, acting like the best friend he always had been. “You okay? You look a little… distracted.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Just tired, I guess. It’s been a weird day.”

Ni-ki tilted his head, feigning concern. “A lot of rumors going around today. You heard the one about Hyunwoo?”

You blinked, shaking your head. “What about him?”

“Well…” Ni-ki leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but people are saying… well, stuff. About him following girls around. And it’s starting to get out of hand, you know?”

You stared at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Wait, really? That doesn’t sound like him…”

Ni-ki shrugged, his eyes flickering briefly over to Hyunwoo’s direction before focusing back on you. “I mean, I don’t know. I just heard it from a few people. But it’s getting weird. People are talking, and the more they talk, the worse it sounds.”

You seemed troubled, biting your lip. “I’m a bit doubtful.”

Ni-ki just gave you a soft, reassuring smile. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt by someone who doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”

You gave him a grateful smile, completely unaware of the dark satisfaction that lurked behind his eyes.

Ni-ki didn’t need to say anything else.

It was only a matter of time before it bloomed into the full-blown truth everyone would believe.

And as the days passed, the rumor continued to spread, slowly poisoning every conversation that Hyunwoo was a stalker. The whispers followed him wherever he went, and soon enough, students began to glance at him sideways, avoiding eye contact or even crossing the street when they saw him coming. It wasn’t long before the gossip turned into outright hostility—people gave him cold stares, making snide remarks behind his back.

Ni-ki watched it all unfold with quiet satisfaction, each twisted word building the barrier between you and Hyunwoo. He saw the small, hesitant glances you shot in Hyunwoo’s direction, the doubt that began to creep into your eyes. Every time you talked to him, it was more stiff, more uncertain.

Ni-ki, of course, stayed right by your side, always the supportive friend. He was always there to offer a comforting word, a soft touch when you seemed troubled.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked one afternoon as you stared off into space, looking like you were lost in thought.

You sighed, glancing at him with a faint frown. “I don’t know… it’s just… I’ve been hearing so much stuff about Hyunwoo lately. People are saying things, and I don’t know if I should believe them or not.”

Ni-ki’s lips quirked up in the slightest, though his eyes were filled with concern, like he genuinely cared. He moved closer to you, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “It’s tough, right? I get it. But, honestly, maybe it’s better to just listen to what people are saying. Sometimes the truth comes out in ways you wouldn’t expect.” He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting toward Hyunwoo, who was talking with a few people across the hallway. “I’ve been hearing some pretty... unsettling things, too. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

You stared at him, your expression caught between confusion and doubt. “But... He don’t seem like that type of person. I don’t want to just believe everything I hear.”

Ni-ki nodded slowly, his hand gently resting on your shoulder in an almost possessive way. “I understand, really. But just... think about it, okay? Trust your instincts, and take care of yourself. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what happens.”

His words seeped into you, and you felt comforted. Still, a part of you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in your gut. Something didn’t sit right, but you didn’t know what to make of it yet.

Over the next few days, Hyunwoo became more isolated. He didn’t fight back against the rumors—he didn’t have the energy to. He was becoming a shell of the person you had known, retreating into himself, avoiding eye contact, and withdrawing from everyone. It was as if the weight of the rumors was suffocating him.

Ni-ki, though, was always there, watching over you. He continued to play the perfect role, offering you endless support, making sure you never felt alone.

But he was also keeping a close eye on Hyunwoo, watching him from the shadows, making sure the damage he had caused wasn’t coming undone.

And as you noticed the change in Hyunwoo—his slumped shoulders, the way he barely spoke to anyone anymore—something in your heart twisted with guilt. You weren’t sure what was real and what wasn’t anymore. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.

Ni-ki smiled to himself as you turned away from the window, your eyes still clouded with uncertainty.

Everything was going according to plan.

Yeah no.

Ni-ki’s previously carefully constructed world seemed to shatter in an instant. The next day, he walked into school, expecting to see the usual whispers, the usual isolation surrounding Hyunwoo. He’d kept his distance, knowing that the rumors were doing their job, eroding the trust between you and him bit by bit. He was just waiting for the final nail in the coffin—the moment when you'd pull away from Hyunwoo for good.

But then he saw you.

Talking to him.

Laughing with him.

As if the past few days had never happened.

Ni-ki stopped dead in his tracks, his heart thudding in his chest. His eyes locked onto you and Hyunwoo as they stood by the lockers, shoulders brushing naturally. You were smiling up at him, and it wasn’t the polite, distant smile Ni-ki had seen before. No, this was the real thing. Your eyes were bright, your laugh light, your body turned toward him with a sense of comfort that made Ni-ki's insides twist with something cold.

No.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

The rumors had worked. They had to have worked. Hyunwoo should have been pushed away, isolated, out of your life. He should’ve been some distant memory by now, something you could brush off as a mistake.

But here you were. With him.

Ni-ki’s jaw clenched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it was just a fluke, maybe you were being nice, but the way you laughed at something Hyunwoo said—the way you looked at him—was something deeper than just a casual conversation.

He couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t let you slip away like this.

Ni-ki’s gaze darkened as he walked past them, trying to stay out of sight, but unable to stop himself from keeping a close watch. He heard Hyunwoo say something, and then, to his fury, you laughed. Really laughed, that kind of laughter that only happened when you felt at ease, when you trusted someone. Ni-ki wanted to storm over and pull you away from him, to drag you back to where you belonged—by his side.

But instead, he just stood there, hidden in the corner, his mind spinning.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

You were supposed to be his.

Ni-ki’s breath quickened as his grip on his phone tightened. He needed to think, to do something, anything. He couldn’t let Hyunwoo take you from him.

It was then that the thought hit him—maybe it was time to escalate. The rumor was no longer enough. He had to do something more.

But what? What could he do to ensure that you would never look at Hyunwoo the way you used to look at him?

A surge of panic mixed with anger coursed through him. He couldn’t lose you.

He couldn’t.

Ni-ki’s mind flicked to the moments he had spent with you over the years, the times he had held you close, promised to protect you. He had been patient, always patient, but now, the slow and steady approach was failing. He couldn’t let it go on any longer.

The next move was crucial. It had to be.

But for now, all he could do was watch as you and Hyunwoo continued to talk, oblivious to the storm brewing just behind the curtain.

Ni-ki's frustration was reaching a boiling point. For days, he had played his cards, whispered his lies, and watched as his plan failed to have the desired effect. He tried everything he could think of: more rumors, subtle hints, and even staging situations that would make Hyunwoo look bad. But each time, it was like you didn’t even notice. You didn’t pull away from Hyunwoo. If anything, you were only getting closer to him. Laughing, talking, hanging out. You, who he had always been able to manipulate and control, were slipping away from him.

It was maddening.

Ni-ki couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus on anything else. Everywhere he looked, you were there with Hyunwoo, your friendship with Hyunwoo growing stronger, while his grip on you weakened. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface was now bubbling over.

And that’s when he decided he couldn’t take it anymore.

He found you after class, cornered you by the lockers where you were just finishing up with your books. His steps were quick, purposeful, and he was barely holding back the storm brewing inside him.

“Y/N,” he snapped, his voice sharp, and your eyes flickered up to meet his.

You looked confused at his tone but didn’t back away. “What’s up, Ni-ki?” you asked, voice still calm, like there was nothing out of the ordinary.

He couldn't control the frustration that seeped into his words. “What’s up? Are you seriously asking me that? You've been acting like everything’s fine with Hyunwoo. After everything that's been going on? You still won’t listen to what everyone’s saying about him?”

You took a step back, your brows knitting in confusion. “What are you talking about? I told you, Ni-ki, Hyunwoo is not like that. He’s a shy, quiet nerd, not some creepy stalker. People have been blowing things out of proportion.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The way you spoke, the way you defended him—defended Hyunwoo—it was like a slap in his face. It made his blood boil.

“You really believe that?” Ni-ki’s voice was dangerously low now. He was clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles were white. “You really believe he’s just some shy guy? I’ve been telling you the truth, Y/N. People warned you! And you’re just ignoring it, defending him like he’s some kind of angel. He’s not. He’s a liar and a manipulator. He’s been playing you the whole time.”

The anger in his voice was almost enough to make you step back, but you didn’t. You just looked at him, your face filled with an expression he couldn’t quite read, but the words that left your mouth next hit harder than anything he’d ever heard.

“I’m not going to listen to your lies, Ni-ki,” you said, your voice steady but filled with something he couldn’t ignore. “I’ve known Hyunwoo for some time now. He’s not perfect, but I trust him. And that’s something you’re just going to have to accept.”

His chest tightened, the words stinging him more than they should have. You trusted him. You trusted him more than you trusted Ni-ki.

He could feel the weight of his own breath, shallow now, fighting to stay composed. “You really think he’s worth trusting, huh? After everything that’s been said about him? After all the warnings people have given you?”

Your face softened, but there was an unmistakable firmness in your gaze. “Yes, I do. And I think you’re letting your jealousy get the best of you, Ni-ki. This isn’t like you.”

His eyes narrowed, the words stinging more than he ever expected. Jealousy? Was that all this was to you?

“Jealous?” His laugh was dark, almost bitter. “You think this is about jealousy?” He stepped closer, his voice low and almost threatening now. “You think I’m jealous of him? I’m trying to protect you from someone who doesn’t even deserve to be in your life. You’re so blinded by him, you don’t see it. You don’t see that he’s just using you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you said, your voice firmer than he had ever heard it before. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Ni-ki. I can make my own decisions.”

It felt like the ground beneath him was slipping away. He had always been the one who kept you close, always been the one who kept you from making mistakes. But now, you were pushing him away, trusting someone else more than you trusted him.

And that was something Ni-ki couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept.

He took a step back, his breathing ragged, but his eyes locked onto yours. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned sharply, his fists still clenched at his sides. He didn’t say another word as he stormed off, his heart pounding in his chest.

You wanted to believe some random nobody over him? Fine. Then he was no longer playing by the rules.

The days after the confrontation with Ni-ki felt different, unsettling. At first, you tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of your mind, but it was hard to shake. Ni-ki had always been the one person you could count on, the one who understood you in ways no one else did. But his sudden behavior, his insistence that Hyunwoo wasn’t someone to be trusted, made you feel... uneasy. The way he’d confronted you, the way he had looked at you like you were making some kind of mistake—it wasn’t the same Ni-ki you’d known for years. And you couldn’t help but feel a strange distance creeping between the two of you.

The more you thought about it, the more you realized just how weird his actions had been. He was clingier, possessive, almost... desperate. And that wasn’t like him. It set off an uncomfortable feeling in your chest, one you didn’t know how to place. You started pulling away, not answering his messages right away, not seeking him out like you used to. It wasn’t that you wanted to push him away, it was just that something didn’t feel right anymore. And it was leaving you with more questions than answers.

In contrast, Hyunwoo had been nothing but calm and sweet. He hadn’t let the rumors or the cold treatment from others affect him. And, oddly enough, his presence started to bring a sense of peace to you.

One afternoon, you found yourself sitting with Hyunwoo in the library, reading a book while he worked on some school assignments next to you. The atmosphere between you was calm and quiet, a comfortable kind of silence that let your mind wander. But the longer you sat there, the more you realized that you weren’t really reading the words on the page. You were lost in thought, replaying the scene with Ni-ki over and over in your head.

You didn’t even notice when Hyunwoo had stopped working and was looking at you, his gaze soft, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

"Y/N?" His voice broke through your thoughts, gentle but persistent.

You blinked, snapping out of your stupor. “Huh? Sorry, Hyunwoo. What were you saying?”

He hesitated for a moment, his cheeks flushing as he looked down at his hands. “I, uh... was just wondering if maybe... you’d want to go out with me one night?” He glanced up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of nervousness and hope, his face turning even redder. “You know, just the two of us. I mean, if you want to, of course.” He stumbled over his words, clearly embarrassed.

You felt your heart skip a beat, a strange tightening sensation in your chest. This wasn’t something you had expected. You hadn’t considered Hyunwoo like that—not in a romantic way. Sure, he was sweet, and you enjoyed spending time with him, but that kind of thought hadn’t crossed your mind.

“I, uh...” You froze for a moment, unsure of what to say. You hadn’t even considered the possibility of going out with him like that. You had just started to get to know him as a friend, but now, the thought of it seemed... strange.

You glanced away for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts, feeling your nerves starting to kick in. "I... I’ll think about it, okay?" you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrayed a nervous tremor.

Hyunwoo’s eyes lit up at your response, a shy, relieved smile forming on his lips. “Really? You’ll think about it?” His voice was hopeful, almost too hopeful, and you could see how happy the simple suggestion made him.

You nodded, feeling a strange knot in your stomach. “Yeah... I’ll think about it.”

He smiled even brighter, his face turning a shade darker. “Okay, well... I’ll be waiting, then.” He turned back to his work, but the smile lingered on his face, and you could see the way he was trying to hide his excitement behind his concentration.

You sat there for a long moment, staring at the pages of your book but not really seeing them. Your mind was spinning, your heart racing in your chest. You had no idea what to make of what just happened. You didn’t have feelings for Hyunwoo—at least, you didn’t think you did—but something about his shy, hopeful smile made something inside you stir, a weird feeling that you couldn’t quite explain.

Was this what it felt like to be unsure?

You felt suffocated, like the air around you was pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe. Why did he have to ask that? Why now? You liked being around him, but not like that. Not in the way he clearly wanted.

Ugh. You hated this.

You didn’t want to hurt him. But you also didn’t want to lead him on, didn’t want him to think there was a possibility when there wasn’t. And yet, when he had looked at you like that, so full of quiet hope, you couldn’t bring yourself to immediately shut him down.

Now you were stuck in this awful middle ground, confused and conflicted, unsure of what to do next.

You clenched your fists in your lap, your nails digging into your palms. I just want things to be simple again.

“Hey... you okay?” Hyunwoo’s voice broke through your thoughts again, softer this time, like he could sense something was off.

You forced a small smile, even though your chest felt tight. “Yeah,” you lied. “I just... I have a lot on my mind.”

He nodded, not pressing further, and went back to his work. But you weren’t really present anymore. Your thoughts were a mess, your emotions tangled up in a way that made you want to scream.

You barely even noticed the pair of sharp eyes that had been watching you from the moment you had stepped inside the library.

Ni-ki.

He had been waiting, lingering by, watching the way you interacted with Hyunwoo. Watching the way your expression faltered when the other boy spoke to you. And now, seeing the way your shoulders were stiff, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, he knew something was wrong.

Something had happened.

And Ni-ki was going to find out exactly what it was.

Ni-ki didn’t hesitate. His steps were slow, calculated, as he made his way toward your table. His hands were shoved casually in his pockets, but his eyes—sharp, assessing—were locked onto you.

You didn’t notice him at first, too lost in your thoughts. But Hyunwoo did. His body tensed slightly, his fingers tightening around his pen.

Ni-ki slid into the seat beside you, close—too close. His shoulder brushed against yours, and you startled, blinking up at him.

“Ni-ki?”

He tilted his head at you, feigning innocence. “What? Can’t I sit with my best friend?” He turned to Hyunwoo then, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, Hyunwoo. What are we working on today?”

Hyunwoo hesitated. You could tell he was trying to stay calm, but you could also see the shift in his demeanor—the slight unease in his posture, the way he averted his gaze.

“Uh, just some classwork,” Hyunwoo muttered, not looking at Ni-ki directly.

Ni-ki hummed, like he was actually considering the answer, but his attention was on you again in an instant. His fingers tapped against the table, his leg bouncing slightly as if he were holding back something. “You seem lost in thought,” he mused, tilting his head at you. “Everything okay?”

You opened your mouth, then hesitated.

You could tell him. You could let it all out—the confusion, the pressure, the guilt eating away at you. But something about the way Ni-ki was watching you made you hesitate. His eyes were too sharp. Like he already had the answer and was just waiting for you to confirm it. “I’m fine,” you said instead, forcing another small smile.

His gaze flickered, just for a second, before he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Is that so?”

You nodded, ignoring the way your stomach twisted.

Ni-ki leaned back, exhaling a dramatic sigh. “Well, if something was bothering you,” he said, eyes darting briefly to Hyunwoo before returning to you, “you know you can always tell me, right?” His tone was lighthearted, but you knew him well enough to catch the underlying message.

You swallowed hard. “Of course.”

Hyunwoo cleared his throat. “Um, actually, I think I should get going,” he said suddenly, closing his notebook. “I have something to take care of.”

You frowned, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. “Oh... are you sure? We didn’t even finish studying.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering toward Ni-ki before landing back on you. He forced a smile. “Yeah, I’ll just... see you later, okay?”

Before you could say anything else, he grabbed his bag and left.

You stared after him, feeling that tightness in your chest again.

“Wow,” Ni-ki chuckled beside you. “Didn’t know he was so jumpy.”

You turned to him, frowning. “Ni-ki, what was that?”

He blinked at you innocently. “What was what?”

“You know what I mean.”

His smile didn’t waver. “I was just sitting with my best friend. Is that a crime?”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

Ni-ki’s head tilted slightly, his eyes locked onto you. “You’re acting strange,” he mused. “Are you sure you’re okay? You know you can tell me anything.”

There it was again. That suffocating weight in his words.

You forced a tight-lipped smile, gripping the straps of your bag. “I’m fine, Ni-ki. Just… tired.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? I mean, I worry about you. Especially with everything going on lately.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I— I have to go,” you blurted out, stepping away from the table so quickly that your chair scraped against the floor.

Ni-ki’s smile didn’t falter immediately, but you noticed the way it froze slightly, like it wasn’t quite real.

“You’re leaving so soon?” he asked, voice still light, but his eyes? They were unreadable.

You nodded, barely sparing him another glance. “Yeah, I just— I need to do something.” Then you turned, quickly walking away before he could say anything else.

You didn’t notice the way he stared after you, the way his expression darkened the moment your back was turned. His smile slowly faded, lips pressing into a thin line, his fingers twitching slightly as he watched you disappear through the library doors.

You didn’t see any of it.

All you could focus on was getting to Hyunwoo.

Your feet carried you through the hallways, your heart hammering against your ribs. You didn’t know why you felt this urgent need to find him, but after what had just happened, you had to. You needed to check on him, needed to make sure he was okay. But as you stepped outside, scanning the campus for any sign of him—he was gone.

Weird...

Your footsteps echoed against the hallway tiles as you hurried from one familiar spot to another, frustration gnawing at you with every passing second.

The classrooms? Empty. The cafeteria? No sign of him. The study lounge? Nothing.

With every place you checked, Hyunwoo seemed more and more like a ghost—like he had disappeared off the face of the earth.

That’s when you remembered.

The photo room.

Hyunwoo had once told you about his love for photography, how he would spend hours developing pictures in the red room, watching them come to life in the dim glow. If he wasn’t anywhere else, maybe he was there.

Heart pounding, you made your way down the quiet corridor leading to the photography lab. The moment you reached the door, you hesitated. Something about the stillness on the other side felt… off. But you shook the feeling away, gripping the handle and pushing it open.

A wave of dim red light washed over you, casting long shadows across the room. The faint chemical scent of developing solutions filled your nose. Photos hung from wires, clipped up to dry, swaying gently in the air.

But Hyunwoo wasn’t there.

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders slowly melting into disappointment. Where could he have gone?

Just as you were about to turn and leave, something caught your eye.

A photo—hanging slightly lower than the others.

Your brows furrowed as you stepped closer, the dim red glow making it hard to make out the details at first. But the longer you looked, the clearer it became. And when you finally realized what you were looking at, your breath hitched.

It was you.

A photograph of you, taken from outside your bedroom window.

Your stomach twisted painfully as your eyes darted to the photos beside it. Some were of trees, the sky, random shots of nature. But scattered among them, hidden in plain sight—were more photos of you.

You in class. You walking home. You reading at the library. You staring out of your kitchen window, completely unaware.

A chill ran down your spine as you took a step back, heart hammering against your ribs.

What the hell was this?

The air in the room felt thick, suffocating as you stood there, staring at the countless photos of yourself. Your hands trembled as you flipped through them, each one worse than the last. Some of them were taken so close, so intimately, that you felt exposed just looking at them.

Then—

The door creaked open.

Your breath caught in your throat as you whirled around.

Hyunwoo stood at the entrance, his wide eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke. He looked… surprised.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice laced with confusion.

You swallowed hard, gripping the photos in your hands as if they would disappear if you let go. “I was looking for you.”

His expression softened for a split second—until his gaze dropped to the pictures in your hands.

“You…” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “Do you like them?”

Your stomach twisted violently.

"You took these?" The words came out in a breathless whisper, but the disbelief quickly turned into anger as you waved the photos in his face. "You took these?!"

Hyunwoo’s eyes widened in alarm when he actually saw the pictures, hands coming up defensively. “No! No, I didn’t— I would never take those! I don’t know where they came from!”

“You expect me to believe that?” You felt your voice rising, panic and fury twisting together inside you. “These are pictures of me, Hyunwoo! Taken from outside my house! Who else could’ve done it?”

“I don’t know!” he pleaded, his voice cracking. He looked genuinely distressed, but you were too far gone to care. “I only take pictures of nature and trees! Someone must have put them there, I swear!”

His words made you pause.

Because you remembered something.

Hyunwoo had once told you—very distinctly—that not many people had access to the photo lab. That only a few had keys to the room.

And yet, somehow, these pictures ended up here.

Your jaw clenched as the realization hit.

“You’re lying,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I should’ve believed what people said about you. I should’ve known—” You took a step back, feeling disgust crawl up your spine. “You are a creep. You are a stalker.”

Hyunwoo’s face crumbled. “No, please—”

But you were already backing toward the door, chest heaving, mind racing.

You needed to get out of here.

Away from him.

"Please, you have to believe me!" Hyunwoo pleaded, his voice desperate, his hands reaching out like he could physically hold onto your trust before it slipped away completely.

But you were already gripping the door handle, heart pounding in your chest like a drum. You needed to go.

"Stay away from me!" you snapped, yanking the door open.

Hyunwoo moved instinctively, trying to grab your wrist—whether to stop you or just to make you listen, you didn’t know. You didn’t care.

SLAM!

You shoved the door shut with all your strength, and the solid thud of it colliding with Hyunwoo’s face was followed immediately by a sharp cry of pain.

You didn’t stay to see the damage.

Didn’t look back.

You ran.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps as your feet pounded against the tile floors, the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears. The hallways were eerily empty, the school quiet except for the echo of your frantic footsteps.

You didn’t stop.

Not when your legs started to burn. Not when your lungs screamed for air. Not until you were far, far away from that room, from those pictures, from him.

Hyunwoo’s breath was still ragged as he clutched his nose, the sharp sting of pain radiating through his face. He could feel the warm trickle of blood slipping past his fingers, but he barely registered it. His mind was spinning too fast, replaying everything that had just happened.

You—your horrified expression. Your accusations. Your retreating figure as you ran away from him like he was some kind of monster.

His stomach twisted painfully.

He had to find you. Had to fix this.

Gritting his teeth, he braced himself to stand, but just as he began to push himself up—

The door creaked open.

For a split second, hope sparked in his chest.

“Y/n?” he croaked, expecting to see you. Expecting you to have come back, second-guessing your words, ready to listen.

But it wasn’t you.

It was Ni-ki.

Hyunwoo’s entire body went still.

The dim glow of the room made it hard to read his expression, but the way he stood there—calm, relaxed, as if he had all the time in the world—made Hyunwoo’s skin prickle with unease.

Ni-ki tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering down to Hyunwoo’s bloody nose before dragging back up to meet his gaze.

“Tough day?” Ni-ki asked, voice smooth, casual. Too casual.

Hyunwoo swallowed thickly, trying to shake off the chill creeping up his spine. “What… what are you doing here?”

Ni-ki stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. His eyes trailed lazily over the photos hanging from the wires, his lips curling slightly in amusement.

“Just checking in,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over one of the pictures. One of you.

Hyunwoo felt his pulse quicken.

"You—" He hesitated, a sudden thought slamming into him like a freight train. "You did this."

Ni-ki finally looked at him again, dark amusement flickering in his gaze. "Did what?"

"You planted these photos here,” Hyunwoo accused, forcing himself to his feet despite the throbbing in his face. “You wanted her to find them. You wanted her to think it was me."

Ni-ki didn’t deny it.

He simply smiled.

"Wow," Ni-ki said, slow and mocking. "Look at you, putting all the pieces together. Guess you’re not as dumb as you look."

Hyunwoo clenched his fists. His entire body was shaking—not just from anger, but from the sickening realization that Ni-ki had been playing a game this whole time. That he had been set up.

"Why?" Hyunwoo demanded. "What the hell is your problem?"

Ni-ki sighed, stepping closer. "My problem?” He let out a soft chuckle, leaning in slightly, voice dropping to a near whisper. “You are.”

Hyunwoo barely had time to react before Ni-ki’s hand shot out, gripping his throat in a bruising hold.

"You should’ve stayed in your lane, Hyunwoo," Ni-ki murmured, his grip tightening, his expression unreadable. "But you didn’t. You got too close. And now?" He smiled wider, something twisted in the way his lips curled.

"Now you’re done."

Ni-ki's grip was unrelenting, his fingers digging into Hyunwoo’s skin as he struggled desperately to break free. He tried to shove him off, twisting and pushing, but Ni-ki was taller and stronger.

"Let go of me!" Hyunwoo gasped, his breath coming out in short, panicked bursts as he thrashed against Ni-ki’s hold.

But Ni-ki only tightened his grip, forcing Hyunwoo back against the table. His dark eyes gleamed under the red light, his expression eerily calm despite the madness lurking beneath the surface.

"You took her away from me." Ni-ki murmured, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "You were never supposed to be here. You were never supposed to be in her life."

Hyunwoo’s stomach dropped as Ni-ki reached into his pocket, and before he could even process what was happening—

The glint of a knife caught the red light.

Hyunwoo’s blood ran cold.

His struggling grew frantic as his eyes locked onto the sharp blade in Ni-ki’s hand, his heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst out of his chest.

"You took my girl away," Ni-ki accused angrily. "But that’s okay. I know how to fix things. I know how to get rid of pests."

Hyunwoo’s breath hitched. "Ni-ki, please—"

"She’ll come back to me," Ni-ki continued, ignoring him completely, his grip steady as he lifted the knife higher. "And this time, she won’t leave. This time, she’ll be mine—permanently."

Hyunwoo's eyes widened in terror. "You’re insane!" he shouted, thrashing harder, his body screaming for an escape. "You don’t have to do this—please, don’t do this—!"

But Ni-ki only grinned.

And then—

The knife came down.

You couldn’t believe what your life had come to.

Your body felt ice cold, your fingers numb as you walked aimlessly through the school hallways, your mind clouded with disbelief, shame, and something else—something worse.

Hyunwoo had those pictures.

Pictures of you.

Moments where you were completely unaware—fresh out of the shower, changing in your room, lost in thought by your window.

These weren’t normal pictures. They weren’t innocent.

They were intimate.

The kind of images that no one should ever have taken. The kind of pictures that made you feel exposed, violated.

Your stomach twisted painfully, nausea clawing up your throat.

How could you have been so stupid?

You had wanted a friend. Someone other than Ni-ki. Someone to prove that your world didn’t have to revolve around just one person.

But that person—the one you had chosen to trust—had turned out to be a vile stalker.

He had stolen your privacy, taken something that wasn’t his to take.

And Ni-ki…

Ni-ki had been right all along.

He had warned you. Had tried to keep you safe. Had told you not to trust Hyunwoo, and you—

You had ignored him.

A fresh wave of regret crashed over you, suffocating and overwhelming. You should have listened. You should have been careful.

All you hoped now was that it wasn’t too late.

That Ni-ki would forgive you.

That he would take you back.

Because right now, the only place you felt truly safe was with him.

You spotted him before class, standing near the lockers, casually chatting with a few people. His back was partially turned to you, his posture relaxed.

For a moment, you hesitated.

What if he was still mad? What if he didn’t want to see you after how you had doubted him? But you couldn’t keep this weight in your chest any longer. You needed him.

Taking a shaky breath, you pushed forward, weaving through the hallway until you reached him.

“Ni-ki.”

His name came out softer than you intended, barely audible over the noise. But somehow, he heard you. The conversation around him stilled as he turned his head, eyes meeting yours. And just like that his amusement vanished.

The people around him looked between the two of you before one of them nudged his arm. “We’ll catch up later.”

Ni-ki didn’t acknowledge them as they walked away. His attention stayed fixed on you, a slow blink the only reaction he gave.

You swallowed, shifting nervously under his stare. “Can we talk?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond.

Then, after what felt like forever, he tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a small smile. “Now you want to talk?” His voice was casual, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

You bit your lip, guilt twisting in your stomach. “Ni-ki, please…”

His smile widened slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he leaned back against the lockers, crossing his arms. “Alright,” he mused, studying you. “I’m listening.”

You shifted on your feet, looking up at Ni-ki anxiously. His expression was tense, his dark eyes locked onto you like he was peeling you apart layer by layer, searching for something.

“I…” You hesitated, your throat dry. “I was wrong.”

He didn’t react. He just stared.

“I should have listened to you,” you continued quickly, hoping that if you just kept talking, he’d say something. “You were right. Hyunwoo was—he is a creep. I shouldn’t have doubted you, Ni-ki. I should have trusted you.”

Silence.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he looked at you through lidded eyes. “You should have,” he murmured.

The knot in your stomach tightened. “I—I know. I feel awful about it. I just wanted to know if we—if you could forgive me.”

Ni-ki tilted his head, watching you. Then, in a movement so slow it made your breath hitch, he reached out, brushing his fingers along your cheek. “I don’t know…” he mused, his voice light, teasing. But his fingers gripped your chin just slightly, keeping your eyes on his. “You really hurt me, you know?”

Guilt crashed into you, making your chest ache. “I didn’t mean to,” you whispered.

“But you did.” His grip didn’t tighten, but the weight of his touch made you feel like you couldn’t move. “You chose him over me.”

“No,” you rushed to say, shaking your head as much as his hand would allow. “I wasn’t choosing him over you, I swear. I was just—”

He sighed, cutting you off. His fingers slid away, and suddenly, you missed his touch. “You know,” he said, voice soft, “after everything I’ve done for you, I really thought you knew me.”

Your stomach dropped. “Ni-ki, I do—”

“Do you?” He gave you a sad smile, “because if you really did, you would have never doubted me.”

Your throat tightened. “I won’t ever again,” you said quickly, desperate to fix this. “I promise, Ni-ki. I’ll listen to you. I’ll trust you.”

He hummed, eyes studying you. “You sound so sure now.”

“I am.”

Another beat of silence, then Ni-ki sighed dramatically, as if this was all so difficult for him. “Well…” He suddenly grinned, his usual, easy-going expression slipping back into place. “I guess I can forgive you.”

Relief flooded through you. “Thank you,” you breathed.

But you didn’t notice the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes. You didn’t notice the way his fingers flexed at his sides, the way his posture shifted ever so slightly—like a predator easing back into position after a temporary setback. All you saw was Ni-ki, your best friend, smiling at you again, forgiving you. That was all that mattered.

You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding, and without thinking, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. “I missed you,” you murmured against his shoulder.

Ni-ki stilled for a second. Then, slowly, his arms came around you, pulling you in just a little too tight, his hand settling against the small of your back. “Oh,” he breathed, voice dripping with affection. “You have no idea how much I missed you too.”

You smiled, completely oblivious to the way his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, as if grounding himself.

As if making sure you wouldn’t slip away again.

When you pulled back, he studied your face, his expression unreadable. Then, in an instant, he was back to his usual self—grinning, shoving his hands into his pockets like nothing had happened. “So,” he said casually, “since I’ve so graciously forgiven you, I think you owe me a little something.”

You blinked. “Owe you?”

He smirked. “Mhm. You ditched me, remember? So I think you need to make it up to me.”

You bit your lip, guilt still swirling in your chest. “Okay… What do you want?”

His smirk widened just the slightest bit, his eyes gleaming. “I have an idea,” he said simply.

You let out a small laugh, rolling your eyes. “Alright, fine. Be mysterious then.”

That was all he needed to hear.

Ni-ki's smirk didn’t waver as he draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you just a little too close, but you didn’t question it. Why would you?

If his grip on you was a little firmer than usual, you ignored it. If his fingers brushed against your shoulder just a little too slowly before settling, you thought nothing of it. Because you were too relieved. Too happy to have him back.

And Ni-ki knew that.

“C’mon,” he said, leading you down the hallway, his pace slow and easy. “Let’s get out of here before class starts. You owe me, remember?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know, Ni-ki..”

He sighed dramatically, nudging you with his shoulder. “Skipping one school day won’t kill you. Besides, you seem stressed.” He gave you a sideways glance, tilting his head slightly. “You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?”

Your stomach twisted. “I just… I don’t get it,” you admitted quietly. “How could Hyunwoo do something like that? I really thought he was my friend.”

Ni-ki clicked his tongue. “That’s the thing about people,” he murmured, his grip on you tightening just a fraction. “They lie. They pretend. They disappoint you.”

You swallowed, unsure of why his words made a shiver crawl up your spine.

But before you could say anything, Ni-ki suddenly brightened, tugging you forward. “Enough about him,” he said cheerfully, like he hadn’t just spat his last words. “Let’s go. I wanna spend some time with you.”

You hesitated for only a second. Then, finally, you nodded.

Because Ni-ki was right. You were stressed. And spending time with him would help.

So you let him lead you away.

And you didn’t notice the way his smirk returned as you finally fell into step beside him. You didn’t notice the way his fingers twitched against your shoulder.

Because Ni-ki had won.

You were right where you belonged.

Ni-ki had a way of making everything feel easy.

The moment you agreed to skip class with him, any lingering guilt melted away. He took you downtown, leading you into store after store, insisting you pick out whatever you wanted.

At first, you protested. “Ni-ki, this is too much—”

But he just rolled his eyes, pushing a expensive sweater into your arms. “Shut up and let me spoil you.”

And you did. Because how could you say no when he looked at you like that?

After shopping, he dragged you to the arcade, a smug grin on his face as he cracked his knuckles. “Alright, what do you want?” he asked, motioning to the rows of claw machines and prize walls.

You pointed at a ridiculously large plushie sitting inside one of the machines. “That one.”

He let out a low whistle. “Going big, huh?”

“You said I could pick anything,” you reminded him with a smirk.

Ni-ki laughed, ruffling your hair. “Alright, princess. Watch and learn.”

And, of course, he won. Because of course he did. After three tries—because “I’m warming up, shut up”—he proudly pulled the giant plushie out, shoving it into your arms with a satisfied grin. “There,” he said, watching as you hugged it tightly. “Now you can’t say I never get you anything.”

You beamed at him. “Thank you, Ni-ki.”

Something flickered in his gaze at your words, but before you could question it, he slung an arm around your shoulders again. “Alright, enough fun. Let’s go to my place,” he said, leading you out of the arcade.

That was how you ended up in his room, curled up on his bed, the giant plushie beside you as a movie played on his TV.

You were comfortable, warm, and full from the snacks he had insisted on buying.

It felt safe.

Leaning against his pillows, you sighed happily. “Today was fun.”

Ni-ki turned to you, a lazy smirk on his lips. “Told you.”

You laughed softly, glancing at him. “I am supposed to be the one making it up to you, remember? Doing the things you did today.”

His eyes darkened for a fraction of a second before he grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. You will.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Huh?”

But Ni-ki just reached over, casually tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Nothing,” he said smoothly, voice low. “Just relax. I like having you here.”

You smiled, resting your head against the plushie.

And Ni-ki?

He just watched you, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

Because everything was perfect.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he paused the movie, his hand casually moving to the remote. “I’ll be right back,” he said, standing up. “Gotta hit the bathroom.”

You nodded absentmindedly, your attention shifting to the movie screen as he disappeared out of the room.

The silence in the room felt heavier than usual, and you stretched your legs under the blankets, the muscles aching from staying in one position for so long. Standing up, you felt the soft rush of air hit your skin as you stepped away from the bed.

You wandered around the room, your eyes taking in the familiar space. Ni-ki’s room was always so... him. The shelves lined with trophies, random trinkets, and a few of his old toys. Your gaze flicked over the pictures on one of the shelves—mostly candid shots, most of them of you and him together.

You smiled softly, memories flooding your mind.

There was one where you both were little, a snapshot of you and Ni-ki running through a park, laughing with carefree expressions. Another where you two were sitting in the same spot at a carnival, a huge stuffed bear between you, just like today.

But what caught your eye the most was a picture of the two of you at a family gathering. You were both a bit older, but the way you were smiling at each other, your cheeks flushed from laughing, made something flutter in your chest.

You picked it up carefully, your fingers brushing against the glass frame. You didn’t remember exactly when it was taken, but the memory felt so vivid—Ni-ki teasing you, making you laugh so hard that you nearly choked on your drink, then gently patting your back when you’d spilled it.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

A soft sigh left your lips as you placed the frame back, running your fingers along the shelf. Everything here felt like home.

You turned to walk back to the bed, about to sink into the comfort of the blankets once more, when something caught your eye.

On Ni-ki’s desk, almost hidden in plain sight among some scattered papers and random objects, was a photo book. You hadn't noticed it before. It looked out of place, lying there as though it had been carelessly thrown aside in a rush, half-forgotten.

Your brow furrowed. You didn’t remember seeing it the last time you were in his room, and curiosity tugged at you. You tilted your head, your feet carrying you instinctively toward his desk.

You reached out, picking it up cautiously, the cover was plain, a simple, dark leather binding that had clearly seen better days, worn from use. You assumed it would be full of memories—pictures of you and Ni-ki growing up, like all the other ones in the room.

But as you opened it, your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t what you expected.

The pages were indeed filled with pictures. Pictures of you.

But these weren’t the happy, carefree photos of your childhood that you had seen in the frames on the shelf. These were different.

These were pictures of you when you were unaware. Taken without your consent.

Your heart raced, and your palms began to sweat as you flipped through the pages. Picture after picture, each one more unsettling than the last. There you were, sitting on the bus, walking home, standing by the window of your house, your back to the camera. Your face, your body, captured in intimate, personal moments.

Your throat tightened as your mind struggled to process what you were looking at.

The pictures were disturbingly familiar. They looked exactly like the ones you had seen in the photo room. The ones that had sent a cold chill down your spine. The ones you thought were taken by Hyunwoo.

You could feel your pulse in your ears, panic swelling within you. This was wrong. This was beyond wrong.

You flipped through the pages faster, as if the speed would make the truth less real. But it only made it worse. The photos were endless. You could see the places you’d been, the things you had done—none of it private, none of it yours anymore.

The realization hit you like a slap across the face.

Ni-ki had been following you. Watching you.

Your stomach churned, nausea creeping up your throat. You could feel the tightness in your chest, the pressure building, suffocating you.

And just as you were about to flip the page again, a familiar voice broke through the fog of your thoughts.

“Hey,” Ni-ki called from behind you, his tone light, like he was calling your name in some sort of casual greeting.

Your body froze, and the book dropped from your hands, the pages scattering on the desk as you turned to face him.

His eyes scanned your face, as if looking for something—something you couldn’t give him.

“I didn’t expect you to be so interested in that,” he said softly, his voice almost too calm.

You swallowed hard, the words stuck in your throat, and your heart beat wildly in your chest. You wanted to scream, to run, but all you could do was stare at him.

He smiled then, but it was different. There was no warmth in it. Just something cold, something that made the room feel smaller, darker.

“Why... why do you have these?” you finally managed to ask, your voice trembling.

Ni-ki’s smile widened, and he took a slow step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Because I wanted to remember you,” he said softly, his voice oddly sweet. “Every little moment. Everything about you.”

You backed away instinctively, your mind scrambling for some form of defense, but the words tangled in your throat. You were stuck. Trapped.

Ni-ki reached out, a glint of something dark in his eyes as he touched your arm gently, his fingers lingering.

“But don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice soft, almost reassuring. “You’re not going anywhere. You never have to.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your entire body screamed for you to run, but your legs wouldn’t move.

And Ni-ki just watched you, the satisfaction in his gaze unmistakable, as the world around you felt like it was collapsing.

Because now you realized—Ni-ki had been controlling everything.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

Your mind was too fogged, too overwhelmed to process it all at once. You could only stare, your mouth slightly open, your hands shaking at your sides.

And Ni-ki…

Ni-ki just smiled, that same soft, knowing smile that had always comforted you before—but now, now it felt suffocating.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping closer, reaching out with careful hands as if you were something delicate, something that could shatter at the slightest touch. His fingers brushed your cheek, his warmth stark against your cold, clammy skin.

“You look so scared,” he whispered, his voice drenched in something too sweet, too tender. “You don’t have to be. I’m right here.”

Your body flinched instinctively, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. His presence, his words, his touch—it was all too much, too overwhelming, and you felt trapped, like a moth caught in a web, the silk threads of his affection and obsession binding you tighter with every second.

“This is a lot, isn’t it?” Ni-ki cooed, his hand slipping down from your cheek to your shoulder, his grip firm yet comforting. “I know it must be confusing. But you don’t have to worry about anything.”

His eyes softened, and for a fleeting second, you almost believed him.

Almost.

But then you remembered the book. The pictures. The lies. The control.

“N-Ni-ki…” Your voice came out weak, barely above a whisper.

He hummed in response, tilting his head like he was waiting for you to say something important, something that mattered. But the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t even know what you were trying to say.

You didn’t know what to do.

And Ni-ki could tell.

His expression was gentle, something so sickeningly affectionate that it made your stomach twist. He let out a soft sigh before pulling you forward, wrapping his arms around you like a lover soothing their frightened other half.

“There, there,” he murmured against your hair. His fingers trailed slow, lazy circles on your back, his touch light but firm enough to keep you pressed against him. “I’ve got you. I always have.”

You let out a shaky breath, your entire body stiff in his embrace, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re so cute,” he whispered, his voice almost adoring as his hand came up to cradle the back of your head. “So innocent… too trusting for your own good. You needed someone to protect you, didn’t you? Someone who understood you.”

His fingers tangled in your hair, and he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

“I did this for us,” he murmured against your skin. “So you wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. So no one would ever take you from me.”

Your breath hitched.

You should’ve run. Should’ve fought. Should’ve screamed.

But instead, you just stood there, frozen in place, as Ni-ki held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

Because you had always trusted Ni-ki.

And that’s exactly what he wanted.

a/n: Answers to possible questions; 1. Ni-ki did kill Hyunwoo in the photo room. 2. Ni-ki wanted you to find the photo book. 3. Ambigious ending, so you choose if you wanna forgive Ni-ki or tell the police :)

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shybluebirdninja · 7 months ago

Text

The Great Outdoors

Summary: Logan takes you on a camping trip, but his survival skills are hilariously outdated.

Pairing : Logan Howlett x Fem!Human-reader

Genre : Fluff

The sun was already dipping low behind the trees when Logan parked the truck. He got out like he was about to conquer the wild, while you stood there, looking at the woods and trying not to laugh at the seriousness on his face. Logan wasn’t the camping type—or at least, not the “modern” kind. He was more like the “rough it with nothing but your fists and claws” type.

This was going to be interesting.

“So, what’s the plan, Bear Grylls?” you teased, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

Logan grunted, pulling out a rolled-up tent from the back of the truck. “Survive. That’s the plan.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, so detailed. I feel so prepared.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve done this a hundred times. Just follow my lead, and we’ll be fine.”

Oh, boy.

You made your way into the clearing Logan had apparently scoped out beforehand. It wasn’t bad, actually—nice little spot near a river, surrounded by trees that rustled softly in the evening breeze. As soon as you set your stuff down, Logan got to work... sort of.

He started with the tent. You watched him as he unfolded it, frowning like the damn thing had personally offended him. “These damn things get more complicated every year,” he muttered, trying to shove a pole into one of the sleeves.

“Need some help?” you asked, biting your lip to keep from laughing as he wrestled with it.

“Nah, I got it,” he grumbled, jamming the pole so hard it almost snapped.

Five minutes later, the tent was half-collapsed, one corner flapping in the wind, and Logan was cursing under his breath.

“I think it’s supposed to stand up, Logan.”

He shot you a look, then glanced back at the tent. “It’s fine. I’m just, uh... testing its durability.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head. “Right. Maybe you should just let me handle that.”

“I’m a grown-ass man,” he muttered, glaring at the tent like it had insulted his mother.

“Yeah, and you’re losing a fight to a piece of nylon.”

After another moment of watching him struggle, you stepped in and started putting the thing together while Logan, not exactly one for sitting still, decided to gather firewood. He disappeared into the woods with nothing but his claws, because why bring a hatchet when you’re Logan?

By the time he came back, arms full of sticks and logs, the tent was up and looking perfect. You leaned against it, smirking as he dropped the wood into a pile.

“See?” you said, gesturing to the tent. “That’s how it’s done.”

Logan grunted, clearly not impressed. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see you start a fire.”

You crossed your arms. “Watch and learn, old man.”

He grinned, that dangerous little glint in his eye. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

Logan, being Logan, didn’t just gather some twigs and light them with a match like a normal person. No, that would’ve been too easy. Instead, he pulled out his claws and crouched next to the fire pit, sparks flying as he struck them against a rock.

“Logan, that’s not how—”

Whoosh!

The pile of wood lit up like someone had dumped gasoline on it. Flames shot up higher than you thought possible, and you stumbled back, laughing your ass off while Logan jumped up, cursing.

“Goddammit!” He swiped his claws through the air, trying to beat the flames down. “I meant to do that.”

“Oh, sure,” you choked out between laughs, wiping at your eyes. “That’s the perfect height for roasting marshmallows, right?”

Logan glared at the mini-bonfire for a second, then at you. “Next time, you can light the damn thing.”

You couldn’t stop laughing, the sound of it bouncing around the trees. Logan finally cracked a smile, though he tried to hide it behind a gruff mutter.

After some careful maneuvering (read: Logan finally letting you fix the fire), you both settled down for the evening. The fire was low, crackling softly, the night air cool around you. Stars were starting to peek through the darkening sky, and the only sounds were the soft hum of the forest and Logan chewing on beef jerky.

You leaned back against a log, holding your hands out to the fire. “So, what now? Gonna show me your impressive ghost story collection?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, gnawing on his jerky like a wild animal. “Ghost stories? What are we, twelve?”

“Come on,” you teased. “Everyone knows camping isn’t complete without ghost stories. It’s like... the law.”

He scoffed but leaned back, his eyes glinting in the firelight. “Alright. You want a ghost story? I’ll give you one.”

“Oh, this oughta be good.”

Logan cleared his throat dramatically. “So... once upon a time... there was this girl. Thought she was real tough. Real smart.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is this about me?”

“Shhh, I’m tellin’ a story here,” Logan said, smirking. “Anyway, she thought she could survive out in the wild with just a little ol’ tent and her wit. But one night, she heard a rustling in the trees... something... watching her.”

You leaned in, playing along, even though you knew exactly where this was going. “Oh, yeah? What was it?”

Logan’s eyes widened theatrically. “A bear! Big, ugly thing. Twice her size. It came into her camp, sniffin’ around, and you know what she did?”

You shook your head, grinning. “What?”

“Nothing. She just froze. The bear ate all her snacks, tore up her tent, and left her sittin’ there in her own piss.”

You burst out laughing. “Wow, Logan. Truly terrifying. 10/10. I’m gonna have nightmares for weeks.”

Logan grinned, leaning closer. “I got more. You’ll be beggin’ for mercy by the end of the night.”

You pushed his shoulder lightly. “You’re such an ass.”

As the night deepened and the fire began to die down, you both retreated into the tent. It was surprisingly cozy inside, the faint warmth of the fire lingering outside while you snuggled into your sleeping bag. Logan stretched out beside you, his body taking up way too much space, but you didn’t mind.

“Comfy?” you asked, glancing at him as he wiggled around.

“Like a fuckin’ sardine,” he muttered, trying to adjust in the small space. “Who the hell makes these tents so damn small?”

“They’re meant for normal-sized people, not... whatever the hell you are,” you said with a smirk.

Logan snorted. “Mutant privilege. I need bigger accommodations.”

You both lay there for a few minutes, the quiet settling in around you. Logan’s breathing was steady, his body warm next to yours, and despite his earlier grumblings, you could tell he was content. This whole camping thing wasn’t so bad, after all.

“Alright,” you said suddenly, turning to face him. “I’ve got a ghost story.”

Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, so you went on.

“There’s this guy, right? Big, tough, hairy—like, really hairy. The kinda guy you wouldn’t wanna meet in a dark alley.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but you kept going.

“And one night, he decides to go camping with this totally amazing girl—smart, funny, great taste in camping snacks—”

“Wow, I wonder who this is about,” Logan deadpanned.

“Shhh,” you said, stifling a laugh. “But the thing is... the guy? He’s got a secret. See, he acts all tough, like nothing scares him, but deep down? He’s terrified of one thing.”

Logan looked over at you, eyes narrowing. “What?”

You grinned, leaning in close. “Commitment.”

Logan blinked, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re full of shit, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, smiling. “But you know I’m right.”

He didn’t deny it, just stretched out a hand to pull you closer, his arm wrapping around you with an ease that made your heart flutter a little too fast.

“I’m scared of plenty of things,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Just not the same kinda things as you.”

“Like what?” you asked, curious now.

Logan looked at you, his eyes serious for once. “Losing people. People I care about. That’s what scares me.”

The confession was quiet, unexpected, and it hit harder than you’d thought. You swallowed, unsure of what to say, but Logan just shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, pulling you in tighter.

“Guess that makes you a real badass,” you whispered after a moment, your voice barely breaking the stillness of the tent.

“Damn right,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now shut up and go to sleep before I start tellin’ real scary stories.”

You smiled against his chest, warmth spreading through you as the sound of the river and the soft crackling of the dying fire lulled you to sleep. And maybe, just maybe, you’d both survived the great outdoors after all.

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pellucid-constellations · 1 year ago

Text

If It All Fell (5)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, PINING, references to nonconsensual situations (very brief, nothing graphic, and not Az)

a/n: Hope this clears some stuff up ;) More to come and especially more Az to come. Thank you forever for reading and sharing your thoughts! This is getting me through the semester <3

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ✶ Part 4☼ Part 6 ♡

Series Masterlist

Azriel walked you to your room.

He knew exactly where to go, which corners to turn and which to pass, which was very convenient as you still found yourself struggling with the task. The House of Wind, as everyone so lovingly called it, was practically a maze for someone with no memory of its twists and turns. But Azriel had absolutely no trouble getting you to your room.

Once you got to your room, however, he appeared to have many troubles.

“You can come in,” you prompted, looking over your shoulder to find the shadowsinger with his shoes at the threshold. “I promise I just cleaned it. Or, at least I’m pretty sure I cleaned it. It’s hard to know where to put things when I only just started…”

Your voice trailed off. Upon further inspection of the man standing just outside your door, you found that he didn’t simply look hesitant to enter. He had his hands pressed to the doorframe, his head slightly leaned into the room, and his eyes were slowly trailing along your belongings. The expression on his face read as forlorn, but his body read as tense.

He had been here before, obviously. Of course this would be hard for him. You probably had everything in the wrong place and he had just told you about the difficult time he was having—how close the two of you had been before you lost everything.

“Um,” you began, pressing your lips together tightly when his gaze flickered to you. “Maybe you could… or would you mind maybe telling me where my bags are? If you know. Mor gave me a surface-level tour, but she didn’t seem to know everything.”

Azriel looked down to the ground beneath your feet. He blinked back up to meet your eyes. “Of course,” he replied, with so much practiced restraint in his tone you weren’t sure how he gritted out the words.

When he stepped in the room, it felt as if something shifted. He walked between tables and furniture and he fit like a puzzle, his wings never brushing anything, his eyes never casting down to analyze his body in the space. He looked like he belonged—he looked like he completed the space.

Something finally felt right.

Nothing felt right… but this did.

Azriel pushed open the closet doors, rifling through a cabinet you had only glanced at before. After a few silent moments, he walked out with bags in hand. His shadows hadn’t followed him. They drifted towards the bed instead, burrowing into the blankets and pillows until the plush surface became dark.

Azriel zeroed in on them as he placed the bags by your feet, staring off at his shadows as you brought your attention back to him. This close, you were able to catch his scent—the cedar and night-kissed air you’d recognized many times in recent days. But it had been so faint before, like he had been gone for weeks and the scent still lingered, or he had been in the room but only for a brief time. Nothing like now, with his chest only inches from your face.

“They seem to like my bed,” you laughed, just a small, breathy sound. An attempt to diffuse some of the untouched tension in the room.

The side of Azriel’s mouth curled up. You watched it rise, silently relishing in the heat of his body as it radiated into the space between you. “I can see that.”

He wasn’t a man of very many words—that’s something Mor had thankfully shared with you—but you wanted to fight against that. You wanted to hear the soft, low rumble of his voice. You wanted his laugh to spark in the air, to feel his words against your skin as you had just a few moments earlier. Azriel told you he didn’t hate you, that he was close to you, and suddenly the space between you felt impossible.

You just wanted to hear his voice.

“Have I changed things much?” you asked, heart thudding when he brought his gaze down to you. “I don’t know how much time you used to spend in here… or currently spend in here, I suppose—it’s only been a few days—but I’ve moved a few things. If you could tell.”

Azriel took in a long breath. “Actually, you—” he shook his head with an expression you could only decipher as baffled “—you put everything back. Cassian and Feyre, they moved a few things around when you were being brought home. Things that might have… well, we just didn’t want you to be overwhelmed.”

Overwhelmed.

“We should have known that was a ridiculous idea. You’re too brilliant, even without the context.”

Warmth flooded you; one compliment from Azriel and it was as if nothing mattered. You didn’t need your memories, you only needed this.

Azriel’s cheeks colored as if he felt the rush of emotions himself, his eyes bright.

No, that wasn’t right—you needed your memories. You needed to remember each and every time he had looked like this.

“Probably didn’t help that there were a bunch of empty spaces everywhere. If you leave nails on the wall it becomes quite obvious that something belongs there,” you quipped, a small smirk playing at your features.

Azriel laughed. Not a full laugh, but one that you had no idea you were missing before. “I will be sure to pass on the message.”

“Good. Cassian has many messages coming from me, it seems. Conflicting ones as well.”

“Right, of course. I will convey to him that you missed his presence earlier, but also that he is awful at hiding things from an amnesiac.”

“Perfect, thank you, Azriel.”

He gazed upon you, eyes flickering to every corner of your face.

They rested on your lips and then your eyes, trailing up until his hand followed to move the strand of hair that had wisped across your forehead. He brushed it away with delicate fingers, not a touch of hesitancy in them. Like it was natural for him, normal.

And maybe it was.

“I don’t know what to pack,” you whispered, trying to keep some of the lightness in the room. “Can you help? I haven’t a clue where most of my things are and you appear to be much more knowledgeable.”

Azriel drew his hand back, his eyes closing for a few long moments.

You wished you could delve into his mind the way Rhysand could—that you could understand some of the pain written in the tight clench of his eyelids.

“Of course I’ll help you.”

It began with him gathering things from the connected washroom. He entered the tiled room and opened drawers without fault or mistake, collecting perfumes you had been gravitating towards and zipping up products you hadn’t even found yet. He packed your brushes and jewelry as if he’d done this all before, as if your request for help wasn’t really a request, but an expectation.

“Have we traveled together before?” you found yourself asking as you followed behind the shadowsinger, a bag hanging from his arm.

Azriel smiled, turning to you with a glint in his eye. “A few times.”

You were very close friends, then.

Azriel led you back to the closet where he pulled a few articles of clothing from the hangers, holding each out for you to approve before he neatly folded them. You denied nothing, rather surprised by his taste and sense for whatever the weather was like in Day.

He moved further into the closet, half of which was sparsely filled. Maybe you filtered out your clothes with the seasons.

Or maybe something was missing.

Azriel paused.

You watched his scarred fingers brush over the purple dress you had worn on the first day you spoke to him after waking up. He rubbed the material against the pad of his thumb once, and then twice, before closing the closet doors and taking an abrupt step back. You stepped with him.

The shadowsinger said nothing.

“All done?” you asked. “Anything else I would need at Day?”

His shoulders rose and fell. Some of his shadows returned to make revolutions around his body.

“Azriel?”

“I—I’m sorry. Give me a moment.”

The shadowsinger stalked over to the bed, went to sit, but then seemed to think against it and began pacing instead. You tucked your fingers into your palm as you watched him, trying to hide the discomfort you felt as his clear unease.

Had you done something wrong?

Maybe you were being too familiar. This friendship between you was new and comfortable and exciting, but that was for you.

For Azriel, there was a gap, an immense amount of pain and missing connection.

He didn’t hate you, and that was… wonderful news, but this was also uncharted territory.

Maybe you shouldn’t have asked for his help—shouldn’t have invited him in.

“Azriel, I—”

“I need to explain this to you,” Azriel began, running a hand through disheveled locks. “I need you to understand why this is so hard. I don’t want you to assume this is your fault or that this is anything other than what it is.”

You nodded, but he didn’t look up to see your confirmation.

Azriel sighed and his wings flared slightly, returning back to his body in a quivering motion.

“I am terrified, y/n.”

This time, Azriel did look up to catch your gaze.

“I am terrified because this has happened before. It’s like I’m reliving it. Like you’re reliving it but you just don’t remember.”

Your fists unfurled as your brows met a point. “No one’s told me—“

“I know,” he breathed out, defeat the most prominent emotion on his beautiful face. “Last time this happened, the more we told you about the past—about certain aspects of your life—the more it hurt you, y/n. You’d… you’d scream until your lungs gave out every time we tried to share something new. It was like that for weeks.”

The Illyrian forfeited his internal battle with the bed, dropping down into a seat on the foot of it. Unsure of your place within your own room, you simply followed him, standing in front of his bent knees, eyes prompting him to continue.

He watched you as you moved.

“Has anyone told you what you do for this court? Your job?”

You shook your head.

Azriel continued. “You work as an emissary between courts and continents, but that’s more of a cover—a more comprehensible title for those outside of our circle. It’s hard to explain, but that power Rhys mentioned? It’s—it’s as if you have this intuition. For everything. You look at things, at people, and you just… know them. You look past lies and you pick up on things that are seemingly impossible to catch.”

Your head shook as Azriel fumbled over each of his words, confusion swirling in your gut. “That doesn't make any sense. Mor said that Rhys found me working at some boatyard by the Sidra. She said I used to help build vessels—there’s no way I have a power like that.”

“You do,” Azriel affirmed. “Rhys only went to find you because he heard of a girl building boats from memory. You took one look at him and knew what he wanted. Rhys said he barely had to offer you the job.”

It was a struggle not to grind your teeth together in frustration.

You used to know everything.

And now you knew nothing.

Your head began to hurt, or maybe you were just noticing that it had never stopped hurting.

“You said—” you started, tone heavy with vexation. Your eyes couldn’t find a solid place to land “—you said this has happened before. What does that have to do with these powers?”

Sensing the rise in your mood, Azriel seemed to even his own out. A balance between the two of you. You became agitated, he became calm. But you could tell he was struggling.

“Around 270 years ago, after you’d been working for the court for a few decades, Rhys sent you to Day. It was routine. You were going to gather information for a High Lord’s summit meant to take place there, but really, Rhys wanted you to scope out the area. To get insight on any plans, any secret dealings. You were meant to be gone for a few days at the most.”

Azriel’s fists clenched atop his knees. His face remained impassive.

“You were gone for six months. Gone. No one could reach you, Helion had assumed you went home already. It was right after you and I… became friends, so I was worried for you. More than the others, but no one was without worry. We found you eventually, but you—”

Something choked. Azriel choked. His head hung down and you replayed the last few of his words in your mind—the way they tightened and then tapered off.

This was too much.

Conveying comfort in the only way you knew how—in the way this family tended to love—you stepped between Azriel’s legs and brought a hand to his cheek, raising his face until his glassy eyes came into view.

“You don’t have to talk about this,” you whispered. “If it’s too hard, we can stop.”

Azriel’s jaw quivered. His next words seemed to tumble from his mouth without warning.

“Fuck, I miss you.”

It was simple instinct that led to your reply. “I’m right here.”

Something stirred within you, tugging lightly. Your heart, you deduced, beating so fast it was playing tricks on you. The shadowsinger in your hands twisted slightly, just barely so that the corner of his mouth touched your palm. Your heart tugged again.

“You didn’t remember anything, like now,” Azriel revealed, speaking just as you were about to pull away. You stopped yourself, feeling as if your touch was an encouragement to speak. “It was worse though, you were in so much pain. Any time you tried to remember anything, or even just tried to learn, it was like you were being pierced through the skull. You—you screamed so much.

“But it didn’t take us very long to figure it out. My spies in Day found the culprit and it was easy to capture him. He was weak. Strong powers, but weak in every other sense of the word. It was another Daemati—like Rhys. He became infatuated with you during your time in Day. He knocked you out, found a way to use your powers against you, to make them hurt.”

Azriel shuddered. His mouth got closer to your hand like he was leaning into it.

“It took a few weeks to get him to fix it. But those months, y/n—the time you were gone. You don’t remember them. I can only imagine what you went through. And when we brought you home you hurt so badly. So that's why… why us going back there is hard. Because this is all so similar and if it’s happening again I can’t…”

“Azriel,” you softly called, sure that this was the most amount of speaking the shadowsinger had done in a while. Sure that he needed a break. A respite. “It’s not the same, is it? You know that. My head hurts, but not like that. I don’t struggle to be reminded of the past. I learn new things. There is no evil villain waiting to take me away.”

“Y/n—”

“It’s not the same. I might not have access to these all-encompassing powers you speak of, but I can tell you that much. I’m sorry for what you went through before—that you had to watch a member of your family go through that then and then now… but it’s different. It’s different and I’ll be okay.”

His pond water eyes stared back at you as you attempted a reassuring smile. You felt his knees press against your thighs where you stood between them, and the pressure spurred you on. You ran your thumb along the high point of his cheek, relishing in the flutter of his lashes, gravitating towards him to relish in that closeness as well. This moment felt like yours, and something was telling you it was yours. That no one else could have this with him.

But you didn’t have your powers, your fae abilities, so maybe that feeling was nothing but hope.

Your thudding heart lulled you into a long breath.

“Maybe, if it would put you at ease, you could stay with me while we’re in Day? At my side, I mean. You could whisper everyone’s names into my ear so I don’t look like a fool and make sure I don’t get lost—”

“Yes,” Azriel replied, sure and resolute with no traces of the impending tears that had made his hazel eyes a pretty pool just moments before. “I won’t leave your side once. I promise.”

His devotion made you pause, surprise evident in the rapid blinking of your eyes. You wanted to protest, to tell him he didn’t need to promise something so taxing, but determination had set in his brow, and Azriel—your friend—wanted this. Needed this.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you, Azriel. For telling me all of this even though it was hard. For being here for me even though I know that’s hard, too. You’re a wonderful friend. I can’t wait to continue to find that out. I promise to be just as wonderful.”

“You are already the most wonderful thing in my life.”

Part 6 ♡

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel angst #acotar fanfiction #azriel #if it all fell

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sillyteecup · 12 days ago

Text

Nowhere But You

Terry Richmond x black!o.c

Warnings:

18+

Swearing/Cursing

Smut

Oral (female receiving)

The greed they talk about in the Bible😔

Word count: 4463🧍🏾‍♀️

A.N: I'm not a monster so here's a little band-aid for "Requiem For My Lover". Anyway, if you've read any of my stuff then you know that I don't write fluff. Because I don't really know how to. So I don't know if this counts as fluffy, but I'm giving Mila a break. Now, what I lack in the sweetness department, I try to make up for with filth. So sit back, relax, and enjoy some Milaverse shenanigans where there are only 3 constants: Mila, Terry, and smut.

~Tee❤️

-SoMiLa/Ring Finger.

T.R

One would think that being a Grammy award-winning artist and having a painter for a husband would make Mila some sort of a visual art connoisseur; or at least mean she at least understood it. But neither were true. In her 29 years of life, Mila had been to many an art gallery. Be it on a date or for her sister’s friend’s exhibitions, she never truly grasped the concepts of any of the works she had laid eyes on. Other than being pretty artworks, they sparked nothing but confusion in her regardless of how long she stared or how many artists and coordinators explained.

Until she met Terry. Suddenly the art began to make sense, invoking all kinds of different thoughts and feelings. And maybe it was vanity, but an artwork that centered her was the only kind that could capture and hold her attention hostage.

Although she was a household name in the music industry for her entrancing voice and soul clutching lyrics, she was shrouded in mystery. Her fans and the public had been grasping for straws for anything personal regarding the enigma that was SoMiLa. All they had to speculate over was the music and the rare interviews. Terry was no different. Critics, peers and fans alike would jest about how they could count on their fingers how many times he had made public appearances. The number would come to dwindle when he and Mila moved in together, both prioritizing a quiet and private life together over their public images. Even though they had been spotted out together a few times over the last 7 years, fans couldn’t tell if they were together or just close friends. This sparked a years-long movement of fans analyzing the rather cryptic lyrics in her love songs and his paintings that centered the same black woman who always somehow resembled Mila. The pair remained silent, not confirming or denying anything. Not out of secrecy either; they just had no desire to entertain the public.

Then came the release of her latest album, "I Rich(MoNd)". With the added bonus of the famous "T.R" signature across the originally hand-painted cover art. But the real icing on the cake? The final track being titled “T.R/Ring Finger.” The public was sent into a frenzy, but the couple paid them no mind, continuing with their lives in private while everyone fretted over the long awaited confirmation of their relationship.

“Don’t tell me you named it after-” Mila gasped as she marveled at her man’s latest creation.

“Our song? You’re my muse, I’m yours. It only felt right,” Terry said from beside her.

Terry’s newest exhibition, “RiChMoNd,” consisted of personal works that symbolized his adoration for and marriage to Mila. Thus none of the works were for sale. They were however available for public viewing at his Johannesburg museum, “Heart of Richmond.” The museum housed many artworks. Some were favorites from his mother’s collection, others were the very few that Mila remotely got and liked, and the rest were works by Terry that he refused to sell. The exhibition also served as the opening of the latest addition to the gallery, also titled. “I Rich(MoNd)”. A passion project he had been working on since he had proposed 4 years ago.

Despite standing in an entire gallery of works devoted to her and their love, the image of the semi-faceless black woman intrigued her. Aside from the boho locs, the subject’s resemblance to Mila hid in the more intricate details. From the tiny mole above the deep-thought induced dimple, to the scars that painted memories of her childhood over the cocoa skin of her arms and the single raised thigh that was visible. Glimpses of her personality appeared as the pens sticking out of her locs, the lit J tucked between her full two-toned lips and the way the white sheet draped over only a fraction of her body. Laid up in an unorganized space full stationary and opened CDs, tinted by the red hue of the sun was the exact reflection of Mila’s writing process. Complete with the song that not only perfectly encapsulates the way her husband inspired her, but also won her 5 new Grammys.

While Terry was a man of very few words, his hands always found ways to say the most endearing and intimate things for him. Their families joked about how stoic and quiet he was for an artist, but Mila knew better. Terry’s love language was only understood Mila, a canvas, and every crevice of the house he had fucked her into.

“You’ve done it again. It’s amazing. All of it is perfect,” Mila said appreciatively.

His breath lightly brushed her skin as he leaned into her. “Not as perfect as the woman that inspired it all,” he whispered between light kisses behind her ear.

It didn’t take much for Mila to have Terry bricked like the third little pig’s house. He had been absolutely taken from the very moment he had laid eyes on her and only grew to fall in love with her and everything about her. All she had to do was open her mouth to breathe and Terry would be on his knees before her. The way she looked at the moment didn’t do his self-control any favors either. As much as he didn’t care for what the media thought of him or their relationship, he still wasn’t one to get caught up in a scandal. But damn, the way the exposed parts of her soft, mocha skin in that backless wine-colored satin gown invited him, silently goaded him into throwing all rational thought away. If the cost wasn’t a possible snapshot of him making love to his gorgeous wife in the middle of an exhibit modeled after his love for her, he probably would have ripped that dress off right there and then.

Cameras clicked behind them, reminding them that they weren’t in the safe bubble of their home where they were just Terry and Mila Richmond. Now they were SoMiLa and Terrence Richmond, music’s prodigal son and the new age Basuiat. The public’s favorite unicorns making one of those prized rare appearances before disappearing back into whatever hidden mythical realm for who knows how long. Although conscious of the attention, Terry kept his nose buried in the skin of her neck and his hands planted firmly on her waist. As far as he was concerned, their love had never been a secret: everyone had just either been too blind or dumb to see it. Not that he cared either way.

“Fuck baby, I need you,” he rasped needy in her ear.

Although her own arousal had begun to make itself known and was begging Terry to just drag her out of the building so he could turn her every which way all over their Bryanston home, Mila understood that he still had some work to do. And if the boner digging into her lower back wasn’t enough of an indicator, Terry’s erotic declaration was definitely a sign that she had to be the smart one. Otherwise his agent, Sandra, would have both their heads for weeks to come. Neither of them feared the cut-throat agent, they just didn’t have the energy to have her yelling down their throats for a week.

“And you can have me T, but first you have to find Sandra and then get through this opening night,” Mila replied, biting back a moan at the unrelenting kisses on her sweet spot.

His grip tightened around the satin covering his wife’s waist as he let out a disgruntled grunt. “Man fuck Sandra and all these people. Let’s get out of here so I can taste you. Make you feel good, hmm?” he hummed against her now goosebump riddled skin, a natural green light from her body that contradicted her words.

“How about you make me feel even better by keeping me by your side while we make tonight a success? Then I'll let you taste every single part of me all you want, loverboy,” Mila said, objecting to her own deep desire for the man that threatened to consume her whole.

“Promise?” Terry asked, moving his affectionate attack to the other side of her neck.

Mila raised her pinkie for Terry to interlock with his. “Pinkie promise.”

Terry texted Sandra to open the doors and have everyone gathered in the center immediately. He wanted this over with, and he wanted to do it quickly. He had a wine colored bowl of a chocolate dessert waiting on him. The kind that had a creamy center and melted on your tongue. And Terry was never one to deprive himself of his favorite treats, let alone the one next to him.

As the guests poured in, Mila helped Terry straighten out, smoothing his jacket and wiping his glasses. She placed them back on his face, gracing him with a proud and grateful smile. Despite his lips barely moving an inch, the corners of his eyes crinkled as if he were grinning. Such little expression covering so much emotion. Emotion only Mila could read, like her own secret diary.

Still, it was a miracle that this man could paint because he was terrible at expression of any other form (that wasn't affection for Mila).

Having become accustomed to large crowds, Mila had grown indifferent to all the eager eyes focused on her and Terry. They stood in the center of the gallery, hand in hand, as they waited for everyone to settle down. Right behind them stood Sandra who was nursing a glass of champagne to ease the nerves and whispering animatedly with her best friend, and Mila’s manager, Sid. The couple’s mothers and teams chattered excitedly among themselves about the direction of the night.

“Good evening everybody. My name is Terrence Richmond and I wanna welcome you all to the grand opening to the latest, and dearest to my heart, vessel in the Heart of Richmond, a passion project that I’ve put my all into because a tribute to my literal heartbeat and our love deserves nothing less: “I Rich(MoNd)”,” he announced, garnering loud applause from the crowd.

He waited for the clapping to subside before continuing. “I would like thank each and everyone of you for taking time out of your busy lives to celebrate with me this ode to the love of my life, Somila Richmond.” Another round of applause sounded through the room as Mila stepped into the imaginary spotlight that was the audience’s admiration and his loving gaze. She shone them a grateful smile before stepping back to place short but yet desire filled kiss on Terry’s lips. The low growl that rumbled in the depths of his chest had her fighting the urge to deepen their kiss and have him show the room just how much he loved her. But she was the rational one, so she pulled away, but not before sneaking a light swipe of her tongue over his lip. The only reaction she had dragged out of him was a sharp inhale and his nails once again digging into her waist. She retook her place beside him while he finished his relatively short intro speech.

He implored everybody to enjoy their evening, watching the crowd disperse into the gallery. Almost immediately the press swarmed in with their cameras, beckoning the power couple’s attention for a photo op for their websites, blogs and magazines. Terry had banned microphones from the opening, stating he would only be giving interviews starting the following week. This decision was influenced by Mila during his meeting with Sandra a month ago at their Phuket home. Her reason was that Terry would be too tired from planning and setting the gallery up, and her man’s health was a top priority. The public would wait till he was at least somewhat well rested and that was that.

“Abagqibi na aba? It’s been 10 minutes and I, personally, get tired of smiling,” Mila hissed through what was slowly becoming a strained sneer.

“Imagine how tired I am,” Terry gritted through his teeth, cracking Mila’s sneer back into a genuine grin as she bit back a chuckle.

One of her favorite things about doing press with Terry was his absolute disdain for smiling and how much of a grouch it made him during photo ops. If she was lucky, he’d start cussing like a sailor any second now.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Sandra called out, earning disappointed groans and protests from the disgruntled photographers.

“That’s a lot of complaining from people that haven’t been kicked out. You guys getting ungrateful with me now?” she demanded as she stood before them with her hands placed on her hips and an expectant glare. That seemed to silence them as they also ventured into different parts of the gallery.

Terry and Mila both instinctively relaxed as the cameras disappeared into the crowd. Terry flexed his jaw while Mila stretched her neck. Terry’s hands came to the rescue, gently grabbing and twisting at Mila’s chin and cranium till a tiny crack signaled a job well done. Mila mouthed a grateful thank you right as Terry placed gentle kisses on her cheek and forehead. Sandra approached the pair, smirking as they gathered themselves.

“Where would you two be without me?” Sandra asked sarcastically, making Terry roll his eyes.

“Scary Terry over here would probably be in jail for massacring a gaggle of photographers because they dared to ask him to show some tooth,” Mila quipped, earning chuckles from their managers. Terry just scoffed as he absentmindedly rubbed circles on her shoulder.

“Like you weren’t complaining,” he deadpanned, his unamused glare making Mila giggle like a schoolgirl.

“You’re so cute when you’re grumpy,” Mila gushed with a playful elbow to his side.

The corner of Terry’s lip twitched into a smirk. “I’m even cuter when I’m eating you out till you cry.”

Sandra’s features scrunched up in disgust before strutted away, muttering something about finding Sid and the champagne. A flustered Mila on the other hand, smacked his bicep, only earning a wider smirk as a reaction from Terry. “Kanene wena woyikwa zintloni,” Mila sighed with a click of her tongue.

Terry took her wrist into his hand, gently pulling her into him. His palms cupped her face, angling her upwards to meet him for yet another soft kiss. Only this time her lips felt like they were being claimed as his by his. His hands had taken refuge back on her waist, keeping her body flush against his to make her feel his growing arousal. Thank God for the long wrap-around coat his stylist, Tori, had picked out for him. Although the matching slacks were a little loose around that region, Mila doubted they would have fared well on their own. With a gentle tug of her lip, he pulled back, leaving Mila in a semi-lustful haze.

“Let's get out of here. I'm not asking this time,” his tone, although barely above a whisper, left no room for argument. Luckily for the two of them, Mila had none left in her. Especially when he had stolen her breath and common sense a mere moment ago.

She nodded, offering a breathless “yeah” as he led her out of the building, not bothering with any formalities. Either way, his job for the night was done. He'd just text Sandra to handle the rest of the night.

With Mila in front, and Terry trailing right behind her like a bear-sized pup, they quickly paced to the car. He hurriedly opened the passenger door to their Rolls Royce, ushering her in and making sure she was safe inside before making his way to the driver's side and starting the car.

One hand gripping the steering wheel with purpose and the other firmly perched on Mila's thigh. Halfway through the trip, Terry had begun to regret his insistence that they drive there and back themselves. He stupidly ignored the possibility of wanting to turn his wife inside out on the way back. Now he had to give all of his attention to the road while ignoring the temptful gaze piercing threatening to veil his judgement. He was only able to spare her the occasional squeeze of her leg, resulting in a subtle clench, a light gasp, or her fingers brushing against his knuckles.

The usual 29 minute drive was cut to 19 as Terry basically drifted into their driveway like he was Dominic Toretto. He wasted no time, moving like a man on a mission from the driver's seat to retrieve Mila from the passenger side. A quick shuffle and a fumble with the keys later, they were in their living room, locked in a tangled frenzy of wandering hands and spells against each other's lips.

“Where?” he breathed against her.

“Anywhere. Fuck, right here,” she moaned into him.

He hoisted her by the backs of her thighs, placing her gently on the suade couch. He knelt before her and slid the scarlet So Kates off her French-pedicured feet, placing soft kisses up her ankle to her calf. Repeating on the next foot, his heavy lidded gaze found her needy one.

Her chest gently rose and fell under the top of that dress. That dress that took him three steps back from God whenever he laid eyes on her that night. Her deep cherry lined lips were agape as she welcomed the last few regulated breaths for the night. All these shades of red, like the blood pumping through his veins, into his hardened cock, goading him into fulfilling every sinful thought that had crossed his mind since they had left the house.

“Sandra…you need to-”

“She's a grown woman, she'll be fine. I need to attend to more pressing matters,” he interrupted, as he pushed her dress up to her hips and guided her legs open to reveal the thin lace material covering the aforementioned matters.

Red. The thong was red.

“But T, the gallery-your work-” Mila breathlessly protested, earning a sharp smack to the back of her thigh.

“It can wait. My princess’s pleasure on the other hand can't, and if she can't understand that then I'm going to have to gag her for the night,” Terry stated.

“Do you want me to gag you princess? Do you want to deprive me of hearing that beautiful song of you coming undone? Are you trying to punish me Mama?” he asked, tone dripping of lustful sincerity.

Mila's head shook frantically as she reached for the hands clamped around her calves. “No baby, I want you to hear me. Need you to touch me, please.”

Terry's head tilted to the side, feigning confusion at her request. “But I am touching you sweetheart. Is there something I'm doing wrong?” he was taunting her into specificity, and he knew she wasn't far gone enough to understand that.

“Fuck, Terry just touch my pussy please!” she breathed out, beginning to lose her patience for his games. He had insisted they leave early so he could make her feel good. Now was the time, and teasing just simply wouldn't do.

At her command, Terry’s fingers hooked beneath the thin waist straps of her racy underwear. Instinctively, Mila lifted her hips slightly for him to pull the only thing in the way of him feasting on her, down her legs. He tossed the thong over his shoulder as though it were a nuisance, not caring where it landed. Mila’s hand reached behind his buzzed head, angling him to meet her in a careless gathering of lips dancing against one another.

Her tongue slid into his mouth, occasionally brushing against his own in a claim of dominance. He groaned into the kiss, the sharp tips of her acrylics grazing his nape and pushing him into a delirium that only grew his hunger for her. Like a psychic. her teeth sunk into the plump flesh of his bottom lip, daring him to consume her as she had just done to him.

The sense of duty his military father raised him with, overtook him as he reluctantly pulled away from the soft, cherry flavoured appetizer. Like a panther in the night, his bright irises zeroed in on his meal as he grabbed her legs and reeled her in for her reckoning. Mila’s shaky gasps and growing whimpers hit his ears like music. Melodies he controlled with the varied pressures of his thumbs on her clit. With every stroke and light brush, her pussy leaked with a call for Terry to devour her whole.

His index and ring fingers joined the fleet, greedily plunging into her entrance.The curve of his digits against her walls rewarded him with a lewd cry for more, and who was Terry if not a dutiful husband. Daring to tear his gaze from his treat, the sight of Mila’s needy state cracked the stained glass window that was his self-control. Her hooded eyes burning with wanton, her cherry stained lips trembling, and the rest of her features idle from the pleasure only nurtured the unholy lust scorching him from the inside out.

“I’m the luckiest nigga on earth, no doubt about it. You’re so fucking perfect Mama,” the curl of her lips paired with the light giggle his words elicited drove Terry’s fingers even deeper into the valley of her sex.

“Teeerryyyy!” her honeycombed voice, accompanied by the squelch of Terry working her pussy like a fiddle, cried as her head flew further into the back of their couch.

Between watching her unravel on his fingers and watching said fingers take a swim in the frothy center that awaited his taste buds, Terry was beginning to grow impatient.The fragile glass of his window was falling apart as her desperate song for more backed by the raw instrumental of her pussy being prepared just for him, dealt devastating blows. But with the way she screwed herself around his digits as her walls clenched, the light at the end of the tunnel appeared. She would cum soon, and then he would feast on her as if he were a death row inmate and she was his last meal.

“Terry I-”

“I know Mama, just let go. Let me handle the rest. Let me take care of you,” he coaxed as her juices thickened and whitened into the creamy delight that consumed his more sinful thoughts. Her eyes clenched shut, prompting a sharp smack to her thigh. “Come on Princess, I need you to look at me. Need to see those beautiful eyes process what I’m giving to you,” he cooe’d.

And there they were; beautiful brown eyes spiraling through mindless pleasure while Terry’s words and fingers carried her through to the other side of the bridge he had built her by hand. The bridge called “mind-scrambling pleasure”. The end of it being Terry’s insatiable hunger for his Princess. The center of his being. His wife. Somila Richmond.

Feeling her come down, Terry slowly retracted each finger individually, savouring the labored gasps and strained whimpers he drew out of her. Each finger was immediately cleaned off by Terry’s tongue. A satisfied groan vibrated in his throat, eyes closing as he enjoyed his little taste test. The thought of how close he was to tasting the real thing sent a rush to his head and his dick. This woman had no idea how much of a crack fiend she had turned him into.

“Y’know Mama, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t need trivial shit like food, water or even air. You’d be all I need to survive-no. You’d be all I need to live,” his words of praise were punctuated by kisses of worship against the soft skin of her inner thighs.

“I love you…so fucking much T,” Mila declared breathlessly, making Terry’s heart flutter.

His loving gaze, carrying a predatory undertone, connected with her love-drunk one. His heaven on earth sat before him. The only woman to ever have him on his knees; not sexually, but in full submission of his heart, mind and soul. Everything he did was for her, and the moments like these? With her lost in pleasure he had hand delivered to her (although sometimes out of greed) professing her love to him? These were the moments that made life feel worth it. Because what would his be if it weren’t the one he built with her?

“I love you too Mama. More than you could ever comprehend.”

Having said his grace, Terry pressed his forearm to her hips, pinning them to the velvet seat cushions without breaking eye contact. One thing he just couldn’t have interrupting his meal, was uncontrollable squirming. His knowledge of Mila’s body was extensive enough for him to anticipate and plan for such…inconveniences.

He watched her watch him have a few quick laps at the mess he had created. The remains of her previous orgasm were always the first focus. In tandem, the thumb on his free hand began to massage her clit, coaxing her pussy to increase his supply.

His tongue dipped into her sex, scooping through anything it could taste. The once smooth, lewd sounds sliding from her lips became indecisive erratic cries. As the tip of his tongue swirled through her entrance, the pressure of his thumb increased, as if opening a faucet. Uncontrolled grunts vibrated against her entrance as her essence kissed his taste buds and flowed down his goatee while her body writhed and shook from unbridled pleasure.

Terry wasn’t even in the business of overstimulation, he just had a tendency of feasting on her like a madman. The way his tongue would rearrange her mind just by pressing deeper into her pussy always blossomed a few seeds of pride in his chest. His lips had begun to glisten, matching Mila’s now glowing skin from the sweat she was working up.

He momentarily swapped his tongue and thumb, the coarse, flat pressure on Mila’s nub sending ripples through her body while his thumb worked her back to where he needed her to be. Flat pressure turned to light flicks, and Mila turned to mush as another orgasm tore through her with a guttural moan.

More creamy froth coated Terry’s thumb, telling him to switch back. The onslaught continued as Terry relished the taste of Mila’s undoing while Mila dissolved into a body of incoherent whimpers. Like the glutton she had turned him into, he went for thirds, then fourths, cleaning her out of every orgasm he could claw onto. But alas, his jaw could only take so much, and his tongue could only flex for so long.

Finally releasing her, Terry got off his knees and stood at full height, only then being reminded of the raging boner he had developed back at the museum. Unfortunately his greed had delivered him his comeuppance rather soon. Mila was a twitching mess of nothing but pleasure and vibes on the couch. The bun her locs was in had come undone, leaving them in a sprawled high ponytail. A clear sheen covered her face and the dark brown skin glowing iridescent under their dim orange light. The lip liner had faded but the cherry lip gloss remained, keeping her plump lips soft and smooth.

Still absolutely perfect.

“Fuck, I did too much didn’t I Princess?” he chuckled hoarsely, earning nothing but a mere incoherent mumble in response.

If Terry were a lesser man, he would take more than necessary. He would take the monster prowling in his slacks and fuck her till she didn’t even know who he was. But he wasn’t. He was a man of honour. One that at least accepted consequence when met with it. So he gently scooped her into his arms and carried her bridal style into their ensuite bathroom.

He would just use the hand that was complicit in his gluttony to get himself off. A small price to pay really.

#terry richmond #terry richmond smut #terry richmond x black!oc #terry richmond fic #terry richmond fanfiction #aaron pierre #sillyteecup writes #black fanfic writer

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loving-barnes · 30 days ago

Text

LOGAN HOWLETT - SECRET LOVE

A/N: Well, finally finished this piece. Are you excited? Another Logan one-shot? What? Yeah, I tried. It's not good but at least I put out something. Enjoy.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: some smut at the beginning, angst and fluff

Please, do not read if you are under 18. This story has sexual scenes.

Words: 3800+

Important note: HughJackman!Wolverine - always!

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - SECRET LOVE

Logan’s hand pressed against Y/N’s mouth before she could moan loudly. He was buried deep inside her when he heard Hank and Scott walk through the hallway, talking. They didn’t need to know what was happening behind his closed doors. It was too soon. They were not ready to let them into their secret relationship.

His eyes locked with her, grinning. “Careful, princess. We don’t want them to know.” He was a wicked man. He thrust his hips hard, making her huff into his palm. “Good girl,” Logan grinned at her. “Such a good fucking girl. Taking me so well while people walk behind the door.”

This relationship had been going on for months, and no one knew. Y/N ensured neither Jean nor Charles could enter their minds and snoop around. Thank god her ability was all about protection. This was still new and exciting, and they wanted to keep it a secret until they were ready to tell everyone. Both needed to know if this thing would work out.

It started one evening. They sat in the kitchen, talked about shit and laughed while drinking beers. As time passed, they moved chairs and got closer to each other. Shortly, they were kissing, exploring their bodies and admitting their hidden feelings without the L word.

That was months ago. Logan and Y/N managed to hide it well.

Logan let go of her mouth once he knew no one would hear her. People were gone. He grabbed both of her hands and forced them above her head, holding them firmly as he kept fucking her. Her legs were wrapped around his waist. “Fuck, sweetheart, your pussy is so good,” he grunted. “You gonna come for me?”

“Yes,” she mewled.

He kept talking to her, praising her. One of his hands sneaked between their bodies. He found her clit, circling it to bring her closer to her peak. Logan’s mouth was hanging open, breathing hard. They both reached their climaxes, one after the other.

When her legs let him go, he rolled right next to her, panting. “Fuck,” he cursed.

Y/N pulled herself closer to his side, resting a hand on his hairy chest. Her fingers brushed through them. Body hair was normal and in Logan’s case, it made him hot. Bus she enjoyed the feeling of his thumping heard under that adamantium skeleton. “The thrill of being caught made it more intense,” she admitted.

Logan pressed a kiss to her forehead and laughed. “Ah, I knew that was it. Naughty girl. Do you like that shit? Being caught?” he teased.

“It’s… thrilling,” she admitted, biting her lower lip. “The dirty talk is a bit better, though. When you talk with that mouth of yours, it gets me going.”

He leaned closer, his lips pressing against her in a messy kiss. “My dirty girl.”

Y/N hummed. A smile remained on her face. “Tomorrow, my room?” she asked. “Will you be waiting there when I come back from Boston?”

His eyes lost the spark. Logan sighed. She had to leave on a mission with her fellow X-men. Charles picked the three people who would fly to Boston to bring two mutant children into the school. Of course, Logan hated that he wasn’t among the chosen ones. He felt the need to be there, to protect his girlfriend.

So he huffed. “I don’t like it when I’m not on a mission with you,” he said. “I know, I know, you are going with Storm and Scott. Yes, you are only bringing two kids to the school, who are in danger. And, fuck yes, you are a strong mutant. But, baby, I can’t help the feeling like I should go with ya.”

“You always say that when we are not paired together,” she giggled.

“No,” he lied. One look from her and he nodded. “Fine, yes. However, my gut is saying something to me this time. Like I should go with you.”

Y/N pushed her body up to have a better look at him. Her index finger brushed over his nose. “Logan, I’m gonna be okay,” she smiled. “If something goes to shit, I’ll protect both Scott and Storm. And, I can heal. I’m practically invincible. So stop worrying,” she giggled again and kissed the top of his nose.

Her mutation was all about protecting others by creating forefields and protecting herself with immediate healing. So, yes, he shouldn’t worry about her. Y/N could heal just like him. But in her case, it was more magical. Little light would appear every time a wound needed to be closed.

And yet he felt fear crawling up his back.

Her eyes sparkled as she kept looking at him. Y/N wanted to tell Logan how she felt. She had the L-word on the tip of her tongue. She had it there for days. She feared it would scare him off if she said it now. Maybe it was still too soon. Little did she know Logan felt the same.

“What if we spend the weekend away?” His brows wiggled. “You’ll say you want to spend the weekend away and I don’t say shit because they know how I act when I’m grumpy.”

Y/N glared at him, then laughed. “Privileged man.” The irony could be smelt in the air. It made him laugh. “To answer your question, that sounds nice. How about a weekend somewhere in the woods? A nice cabin, fresh air and just the two of us. And, you know we could be as loud as we can?”

“Promising, promising,” he rolled over her, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. “We’ll plan it once you are back from Boston. Your room.”

“Deal.”

Early in the morning, Y/N got up before the whole school started to prepare for another day. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, fingers lightly brushing his hair. One more look, a smile and then she was gone.

They didn’t need anyone seeing her sneaking out of his room. This way it was a lot of fun. The truth was, there was this longing inside her. Y/N wanted to tell him how much she loved him, and how she wanted to share this relationship with the world. It was all fun and games, yes. There was this hidden desire to take the next step forward.

Another thought popped into her head. What if he wasn’t ready? What if this was not as serious for him as for her? No, that wasn’t it… Or?

With a sigh, she returned to her room and prepared for Boston.

. . .

Logan was on edge the whole day. He checked the time every five minutes, wishing the jet was back. He knew it was a simple rescue mission. Charles sent Y/N there to protect the team and the children if something went wrong. Where was this worry coming from? Or was this the excitement he felt towards spending more time with Y/N? What the hell was wrong with him?

He knew he had to tell her how he felt. Maybe that’s why he was restless. He needed to confess his feelings. But would she want him? Fuck. He was overthinking their relationship. He wasn’t confident she felt the same way he did.

“You okay?” Jean's voice brought him out of his deep thoughts.

He looked into her eyes, frowning. Then the muscles in his face loosened. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just hoping the mission is going well.”

She smiled. “Relax. They are bringing back two children who need a safe place to grow and learn. They should be back soon.”

Logan tried to be patient. He occupied himself with training in the danger room and planning one history lesson for the senior year. The students knew he was not his usual self. They remain silent and focused rather than get on his nerves.

In the late afternoon, he walked through the school hallways, looking for something to distract him. Thank fucking god Charles called the rest of the X-men into his office. Even to the Professor’s surprise, Logan was the first one there.

“Ah, what a lovely change. I’m glad to see you here so fast, Logan,” Charles smiled at him.

“Well, I happened to be close,” he said. He sat by the window where usually Y/N would stand with Rogue or occasionally next to him.

When the rest of the X-men arrived, Charles started a discussion. “I want to throw a Christmas party for the students,” he said with a smile. “The last few years were intimate on boxing day. This year, I want a full extravaganza for them. I am talking about music, food, drinks and decorations.”

“That’s amazing,” Rogue clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh my god, Y/N and I will take care of the decorations. I’ll talk to her about it once she arrives.”

“That’s a great idea,” Jean smiled. “The students will love it, and it will be a change for us,” she smiled at the bald man. “If things go well, we can start a new holiday tradition.”

“Will there be booze?” was Logan’s question. It sounded like a sigh.

“Adults can have a beer or champagne,” said Charles.

“Thank fucking god,” Logan praised. He wished for something stronger, but this was better than nothing. It was a small miracle. At least something that would help him get through the festivity. Beer. Well, beer and Y/N.

Charles opened his mouth to continue. No sound came out of it. His head snapped up as if he was listening and waiting for something to happen. He gasped, eyes wide. Fear appeared in his irises. Jean was immediately on her feet, running out of the office.

“What’s going on?” Rogue voiced the question.

That’s when the sound of the Black Bird echoed in the air. Hank now understood his presence was needed elsewhere. Logan and Rogue’s eyes met.

“Professor,” Logan said his name firmly. He needed to get the man’s attention. “Tell us what the hell is going on. You look as if someone showed you a dead body for the first time.” Instantly, he wanted to choke on those words. Logan could sense the answer. Something terrible happened. Logan’s heartbeat fastened. The unsettling feeling crept over his body. Oh, he knew. His gut was telling him the whole time.

A second later, Logan ran out of the office. “Logan, wait!” Rogue called after him, running as well.

When they arrived at the underground hangar, the engines of the Black Bird turned off. Jean and Hank were prepared for anything. The redhead knew what was inside the jet.

“Jean!” Logan called her name. This was his way of wanting answers. “Tell me what the fuck is going on!”

When the rear door opened, Scott was the first to come out. His suit was torn in many places, wounds bleeding and his face bruised. Jean gasped when she saw him. It wasn’t a pretty look. “Oh my god,” she ran to him.

“It… It was all a trick,” he said through gritted teeth. He was in a lot of pain.

“What do you mean?” Hank asked.

“Where’s Y/N?” Logan demanded.

Rogue ran inside the jet. She needed to see both Storm and Y/N.

“Scott,” Jean whispered his name, pressing a hand to his bruised cheek. She read his mind. All those horrors were now swirling inside her brain. “Oh, baby. You should have called for help.”

“Y/N, she…” he couldn’t continue.

That was Logan’s cue. He ran inside the jet with Hank. And there was Storm, who was on the floor with a bloody nose. Rogue was by her side, talking to the woman. Next to them, on a foldaway was Y/N’s lifeless body.

Hank got to her first. He pressed his one blue finger on her neck. There were five seconds of silence before he shouted, “She’s alive!”

Even Storm exhaled the breath she held. “I thought we lost her. I thought we lost her,” she repeated. “She saved us,” she mumbled. “There were so many of them.”

“Who?” Rogue asked gently.

“Mutant hunters,” she replied. “They used mutant children to lure us in.” Tears started to fall down her cheeks. A painful sob escaped her lips. She curled to Rogue’s side, crying.

Logan lurched to Y/N’s body. His big hands pressed against her cheeks, stroking them. He hated this, hated seeing her unconscious. “Come on, darlin’, come back to me,” he pleaded silently. He took her into his arms bridal-style and carried her out of the jet.

Rogue helped Storm to her feet. Hank followed and they all exited the get. “Take her to the lab,” Hank shouted at Logan.

Logan did as told. He brought Y/N’s body to the lab and put her on a bed. Scott was sitting on a chair beside a desk while Jean was already by the bed, hooking Y/N to a heart monitor.

Rogue brought Storm in. She helped her onto the second bed and fetched a glass of water. The last one who arrived was Charles. He was distressed, horrified by what happened. He could read Scott and Storm’s thoughts. He saw what happened in Boston. Charles blamed himself for what happened. He should have known.

“No,” Jean turned to him. “Professor, you didn’t know,” she glared at the man. “They faked it. No one could see it coming. They had innocent mutant kids work for them.”

“I could,” he sighed. “I should have known better, look into everyone’s minds. But I didn’t. It’s my fault Y/N is fighting for her life and Storm with Scott got injured.”

Logan wanted to agree. He wanted to scream at him and blame the man for what happened. He kept his mouth shut and bit his tongue. Y/N wouldn’t want him to say words like that.

Jean opened the top of Y/N’s suit. “Shit,” she sighed. There were two bullet wounds - one on her right shoulder and another where her liver was. “She’s not healing.”

Logan’s face lost all colour. “What do you mean she’s not healing? She should be!” Without thinking, he stroked her hair, leaning above her unconscious body. “Come on, darlin’. Don’t do this to me,” he pleaded. “We have things planned. You are not getting away from this.”

“Logan,” Rogue grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull him away from her. “Let them work, please.”

“No,” he growled. “I’m not leaving her. I’m staying right here with her, Rogue. I can’t let her go. I should have been with her when this happened.”

She sighed. Her touch on his shoulder tightened. “I get that she’s our friend. But Jean and Hank need to help her now. They know what they are doing. Let them work.”

Beast drew Y/N’s blood into three vials as Jean checked her wounds. Neither of them noticed her eyes open, blinking rapidly.

She glanced from right to left, barely recognising anyone at this point. It was all mushed together, voices echo-y. The light was bright and painful. “L-Logan?” she whispered at first. When no one responded, she tried again. “Logan?” her voice was weak and raspy.

This time everyone heard. Logan was the first one to appear above her head. All the tension that was inside him left with one loud exhale. “Darlin’,” he smiled. Logan’s fingers brushed her messy hair. “I’m here. I’m right here, baby. I’m not leavin’.”

Jean, Hank and Rogue looked at each other, noticing the words Logan used.

Y/N’s hand tried to reach for him. He was so close yet far, and she couldn't touch him however she wished. “I…” she tried to speak.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Logan said, grabbing her hand into his big ones. “Jean and Hank will help you. You need to be strong, okay darlin’?”

A whine left her lips. She was frustrated. She couldn’t talk without energy. There was something she needed to say to him. “Logan,” Y/N huffed his name. “I… Logan, I…” Her eyes closed and opened a second later. She was losing consciousness. “I love-” she tried one more time before she could finish that important message.

“Y/N!” he shouted her name.

Hank grabbed Logan by his shoulders. “Give us space, Logan,” he said strictly. Hank wasn’t messing around. “We need to help her.”

“I,” he panicked. “I need to be here with her,” he defended. “Hank, you have to…” He was panicking.

The Beast somehow managed to push him to the main door. “Wait outside, Logan. Jean and I will help her. Just stay here!” With one last push, he made him stand in the hallway and the door closed to Logan’s face.

That was it. He was there alone, locked outside to wait. And it was painful. His soul was shaking, fearing that the love of his life would die. Fuck, ‘love of his life’. At least now, he was sure his feelings for her were strong and true. Y/N was the love of his life. He only hoped he’d get to tell her those three beautiful words. All she needed to do was survive.

Logan… I… I love- He heard her voice echo in his mind. Damn, she tried to confess. She wanted to tell him first. He punched the nearest wall, making a dent in it.

Logan didn’t know how much time had passed. He sat on the cold hard floor, head resting on his arms. He went through a lot in his life - wars, fights, near-death moments, and yet this one was the scariest of them all.

When the door finally opened, he didn’t register it. It was when Jean placed a hand on his shoulder, crouching next to him. “Hey,” she said softly. His head snapped up, eyes wide. She didn’t let him talk. “Y/N’s doing well. She’s asleep. But…”

He raised a brow. “But what?”

Jean sighed. “She’s not healing, Logan. We ran some tests and discovered the bullets were tainted with a poison that wouldn’t allow her mutation to heal her. Now, it’s a waiting game. Hank is already working on a serum which will take time to make. In the meantime, we hope her body will flush the poison out of her system.”

“Fuck, fuck!” he cursed. “I had a feeling. I knew I should have come with them. And I wasn’t there, Jean. I wasn’t there to fucking protect her. And now, we don’t know what’s gonna happen,” he snarled. He got up, fixing his jeans.

“There’s nothing you can do now, Logan,” she said. That was the truth. “You can see her if you’d like. I know she means a lot to you.” There was a genuine smile on her face.

Jean knew. With Y/N unconscious, she couldn’t protect her and Logan’s minds from Charles and Jean. But then again, he wasn’t very subtle about his feelings. All those nice nicknames he said also could have been a hint.

Logan patted Jean’s shoulder as thanks and walked inside the lab. One side was all machines and computers. The other had a few beds. His eyes found Y/N resting closest to the door. His legs hesitantly moved forward, approaching her bed.

She was like a sleeping beauty, even with her messy, tangled hair. When he saw her chest rise, he knew she was alive. He could hear her heartbeat. The sound made him relax.

His finger brushed her cheek, feeling its warmness. “Oh, baby,” he sighed. “Wake up for me,” he pleaded.

His eyes captured every detail of her face. The imperfections she pointed out were perfect. They made her more beautiful. He longed to see her gorgeous eyes, that smile that would brighten his day. “Come on,” he whispered. “I need to tell you something, gorgeous. You need to be up for this.”

Nothing. She remained unconscious for several more hours.

Logan fell asleep by her side. His hand holding her, not letting go. He wanted to be, no, needed to be there when she came back to him.

“Wakey-wakey,” he heard a soft murmur of a voice he knew. Fingers lightly brushed through his hair. He growled tiredly, frowning that someone was waking him up. “Logan,” he heard his name. It sounded like a gentle prayer.

His eyes opened, only to be met with the gorgeous ones he loved. “Darlin’,” he gasped when he realised Y/N was awake, smiling at him.

Logan didn’t hesitate. He pushed himself up and pressed his lips again her dry ones. He made a mental note to bring her water first thing after greetings.

“You are up,” he exhaled deeply. “Fuck, I was so worried.”

Her lower lip quivered. “You won’t get rid of me that easily,” she whispered. The fatigue was still present on her face.

He kissed the top of her hand. “I’m gonna get you some water. I’ll be right here.”

Y/N didn’t have much time to argue before he left her side. He retreated with a plastic cup. Logan helped her take a sip. “Good,” he smiled at her.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” she said.

“No, no, it’s okay. You are okay, back in the mansion,” he said. “You are back here, with us, with me. But next time, I am coming with you, no ifs, and, or buts.”

She didn’t argue with him. That would come later. Now, she just nodded, accepting his words. Her eyes locked on his. All she could see was his fear and devotion. Then there was something more. Something she kept hidden inside her.

“I love you,” they said at the same time.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Yeah? You love me?” she had to ask.

“With my whole fucking being, princess. I love you, Y/N,” said Logan. His lips found the top of her hand again.

She gave him a tired smile. ”I fucking love you, too,” and she chuckled.

“Okay, lovebirds.” The voice belonged to Scott.

Logan turned his head, finding Jean and Scott in the lab, watching them. While Scott had a teasing grin, Jean’s smile was more relaxed and honest. He frowned at them. “You are ruining our moment.”

“Sorry,” Jean said. “Wanted to check on you. As we can see, you are both doing well.”

Y/N raised a hand into the air, showing her a thumbs up. “Tired as hell but alive.”

“Hank is finishing the antidote,” Jean added. “He will administer it today and you should become your old self in no time.”

“Thanks, Jean,” Y/N nodded her head.

Logan looked back down on his girl, his fingers brushing against her cheek. He waited until they were alone again. “Can’t wait to have you for me as soon as possible.”

She rolled her eyes. “So you can take care of me and pamper me after my near-death experience?”

“Of course,” he nodded. “I will show you how much I love you.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Logan,” she demanded tiredly.

He laughed. “Yes, ma’am.” He leaned closer, lips connecting with her in a deep kiss. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, that showed their hidden emotions. It was nothing but love - eternal, unconditional love.

#Logan Howlett x reader #Logan Howlett x female reader #Logan Howlett smut #Logan Howlett #Wolverine #Wolverine x reader #Wolverine x female reader #Wolverine x female reader smut #Wolverine x reader smut #Marvel fanfiction #x-men fanfiction

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bernardsbendystraws · 1 year ago

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𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒛𝒐𝒏𝒆

⚠︎ mdni, smut, alcohol abuse, parental neglect, overall mature themes, and more [ this is made for all parts ]

⤷ Get to reading, sluts. No copying. Ask if you’d like to use this as ‘inspiration.’ Fuck off and fuck me, lets get horny!!!

with love and big tits, Rose Toy

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Chapter 3: Daddy! I’m In Love!

Matt’s POV

I knew it was a lie. The way she looked over my shoulder, avoiding my eyes, cracked her knuckles, and how she seemed so unsure of her own words. I had always been good at reading people, maybe too good sometimes.

I couldn’t get out of my own head while we sat side-by-side on the couch watching the movie again. I look over, seeing her completely entranced by the screen.

She wasn’t on her phone, half paying attention, like most people do. It sparked my curiosity more. Everything about her did.

I knew she had only transferred to the school at the beginning of this year. She didn’t have many friends and I couldn’t understand why. Something about her just didn’t quite add up.

She doesn’t even realize my stare. I observe as she keeps bringing a hand up to her head, massaging at her scalp with a disgruntled expression. She doesn’t have a car, so why does it hurt?

I had gotten a shadow of a glimpse of the figure by her front door when I had dropped her off yesterday. I waited to make sure she got in, she didn’t spare me a final wave or glance. I could tell she was sweet, genuine even. There’s something I don’t know and it’s obvious.

I have never been the type to push. Other people’s business was their own thing. However, something about her made me feel the need to know more.

She was unbelievably gorgeous. Not in the way most girls were. Everything about her just fit her perfectly. Her silky hair, her blushed cheeks, and even her eyes. It just seemed so…her.

I see the end credits roll from the corner of my eye as she looks over at me with a smile. Fuck, did she know I was staring? I look down at my hands, fiddling with the silver rings before pulling my gaze back up to her own.

“How was it for a second time?” I ask. She shrugs, “I still love it. What about you, Trev?” She asks, looking over at the dog on the sofa on her other side. I feel my smile grow watching her talk to Trevor, admiring her gentle pats on his head as he nuzzles into her.

If she likes dogs so much, how come she’s never had one? I could tell he loved her already, but something about her touch on his head just told me animals loved her. How could they not?

“Thank you, Matt. I don’t think I’ve felt this calm in ages.” She remarks. I feel my smile falter at her words. Why? I look down at my phone, noticing the time.

12:13 P.M.

“Wanna make lunch? I think we have a couple of things, I’m not the greatest cook-just a forewarning.” I say. She nods her head with a soft smile. I get up, hearing her follow me as we walk over to the kitchen.

“Any allergies?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Not that I’m aware of at least.” She responds. I look through the cupboard, listing all the options. “Cereal, pancakes-”

“Do you have chocolate chips?” She interrupts. I look over my shoulder, smiling at her with a curt nod. Her eyes light up, making it impossible for me to look away from her.

“Chocolate chip pancakes are actually my favorite.” I remark. She excitedly waves her hands. “Me too!” She exclaims. I laugh, taking out the box of pancake mix along with the bag of chocolate chips.

“YOU HAVE THE MINI CHOCOLATE CHIPS? Oh my fucking god!” She yells. She slaps a hand over her mouth, looking up at me with a red hue covering her cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

I walk towards her, glancing down at her. I pull her hand away from her mouth. “Don’t be sorry, I thought it was adorable.” I let out. My eyes shift between each of hers. I wonder what her lips would feel like against mine.

Her hand in my own felt like the excitement you get as a kid, going into the ocean with your closest friends. Comforting and thrilling.

She looks away, Trevor pawing at her leg for attention. Damn dog. I pull out the milk and eggs, pouring everything into a bowl as she stirs the batter with a whisk. I turn on the griddle, grabbing a ladle to scoop up the batter.

I pour it onto the searing pan, grabbing the bag of chocolate chips. “Can you pour more?” I ask. She hums in response, taking the measuring cup and scooping the batter herself. The sizzle on the pan is the only noise to be heard.

I grab a hand full of the chocolate chips, sprinkling them in an even layer across each pancake. “Here, open.” I direct. She opens her mouth, smiling as I drop a couple of chocolate chips into her mouth. She laughs, pushing my hand away as I dumb the rest of them into my own mouth.

I take the spatula from her grasp, flipping the pancakes. I set it down to the side, letting them cook. I turn to see her staring at me while leaning against the counter with her palms supporting her weight. I look down at her hands, admiring her nails.

They weren’t painted, but they were beautifully long. Each nail was the same shape as the last, slightly square, but no sharp edges. I want to feel her run her hands through my hair.

My hand reaches out, grabbing her own as I fiddle with her fingers. She laughs lightly, the sound making my lips tug up. “What are you doing?” She asks. I shrug, lightly pinching on the top of her nail. “You have really pretty nails.” I state.

I look up, seeing her eyes widen as she starts to shake her head. “They aren’t even painted.” She points out. I let myself analyze her face, settling on her eyes. “So?” I shrug, “They’re really pretty.” I state.

I watch as she bites her bottom lip with a light pressure. Her eyes wander down to my hand holding her own. I follow her gaze, admiring how small her hand looks in comparison to my own. I wonder how good it would feel to hold her.

“I really like your nails,” she starts. “Do you paint them yourself?” She asks. I look up at her, nodding my head. “I like to, yeah.” She grabs my own hands, bringing them closer to her face as she analyzes them. My fingers tingle from her delicate touch.

“Maybe I could paint your nails sometime?” I offer. She looks up at me, raising her eyebrows. “Really?” She retorts. I nod my head, a smile spreading across both of our faces, practically in sync. “I want to, actually.” I blush.

Her eyes squint down at me before a look of horror crosses her face. She looks down at the griddle, flipping over the pancake to see it slightly more than golden brown. “Oh shit.” I say. I walk over, grabbing two plates as she serves them.

A stray baby hair falls into her face as I hold out the plate with one hand. I watch her purse her lips to the side, trying to blow it away. It falls back as she sighs in frustration. I let my hand reach out, pushing the hair behind her ear as her eyes meet mine.

“Thank you.” She mutters. I let out a hum in response, not moving my hand. We stand there for too long, breaking out of the silence as Trevor jumps up, knocking her into my chest as I hold the plate to the side. My other arm wraps around her instinctively.

Damn dog.

Her body warmth radiates onto me as I look down, watching her look up at me with her palms flat against my chest. Can we always be this close?

She pushes back, attempting to stand straight up. I set the plate down, holding her waist. “Are you okay?” I whisper out. She nods, not moving her eyes from mine as we stand frozen, chest-to-chest.

My heart is so close to hers.

Trevor falls back to the ground, landing on his paws. She clears her throat, averting her gaze. “Sorry.” She mumbles. I shake my head, pulling her chin up with my fingers. “Don’t be sorry.” I let out. I see her gulp, her eyes widening before they flicker down to my lips, quickly back up.

Does she want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss her?

“We should eat before the food gets cold.” She states, pulling her lips in between her teeth.

I guess she doesn’t.

My shoulders fall as I force a smile, nodding in agreement.

Y/n’s POV

After eating, we made our way out into his backyard. He looked over his shoulder at me, holding out his hand. I let my hand fall into his own as he grabs it reassuringly.

“Where are we going?” I look up at him, watching him grin down at me. He pokes his tongue on the side of his cheek. “You’ll see.” He answers. I squint my eyes at him as he lets his tongue glide along his teeth.

I feel my eyes widen as I gulp loudly ast the sight. He wasn’t even trying and I was melting at his feet. His hand squeezes mine as he guides us into the woods behind his house.

The dirt path beneath our feet is slightly damp, but not wet. We travel through the tall, thick trees. “Here, look.” I follow his direction, looking where his face is turned towards.

I gasp at the sight in front of me, squealing with excitement. He laughs softly, tugging my hand closer as I follow slightly behind him. I trip over a rock. “Oh!” I let out.

I feel my body lurch forward, grabbing onto his shoulder for stability. “Sorry.” I mumble. My ears feel hot as he maneuvers me. His hand drops mine, curling around my waist. “Don’t worry, I got you.” He assures me.

My chest feels sickeningly light as I feel the warmth from his touch spread. My cheeks feel hot as I swallow thickly. I look up, meeting his eyes that are already planted on my face with an admirable glance.

His hair falls, nearly covering his eyes as he tilts his head down to look at me. My hand on his shoulder reaches out, brushing it from his face as he leans into my touch. A soft groan escapes his lips as my fingers delicately scratch at his scalp soothingly.

A sound so quiet, so subtle that it could’ve been lost in the breeze had a wind stormed by. I heard the noise, my heart skipping a beat as I fight the urge to do it again.

I let my hand fall to his shoulder, watching as his eyes flutter back open, dilating on me. His lips are slightly parted. The sun shimmers in his pale eyes, creating a scene that mimics the clear, pale-blue sky.

We turn the corner of the narrow path. In front of us is a lake, a beautiful vast expanse of water. It isn’t huge, not even big. The small lake is less than half a football field. A singular dock outreaches into the water, reaching nearly halfway.

Small various plants curate the shoreline, creating a barrier like fence. Purple, pink, blue, and green hues spread throughout mimicking the scenery of a sunset.

For a second, I forget all my fears. My hand in his, looking out at the water makes everything seem okay. Just like my stuffed moose had.

Nostalgic.

The joyous feeling fades into sadness. Will this be taken away from me too?

Almost as if he senses my aura of depression, he tugs me closer to the lake. “Come on.” We walk hand in hand. Our feet clamber on the wooden dock. We reach the end of it as he sits down, taking off his socks and shoes. I do the same, but my feet barely touch the water while his feet are fully submerged up above his ankle, his jeans rolled up slightly to stay dry.

I rest my hands in my lap, admiring the spring breeze that never seems to feel so refreshing than now. I take in a deep breath of air, catching the faint scent of pine and spices. I wasn’t sure if it was from the trees and various plants around me, but it felt like cold water on a hot summer day.

Have I ever felt this deep of a breath?

My hand is resting in his lap, in his own hand. His other hand encases around us, rubbing mindless circles on the back of my palm as if it’s instinct. His rough calloused fingers felt gentle, calming even.

How bad could he hurt me? The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Why do I always have to assume the worst in everyone? I shake the thoughts off, bringing myself back into the moment.

“This is beautiful.” I say. I look over, seeing his gaze already on me. “I’m glad you like it. I come out here a lot. It’s technically public property, but no one really knows about it besides my family.” He says. I nod in response, looking down at our hand entangled in his lap.

My eyes flicker up, watching as he gleams down at me with desire. I don’t feel scared, I feel the butterflies electrify me, making me feel more alive. I lean in subconsciously as he gets closer. I can feel his breath against my lips, hot in comparison to the cool breeze rushing past.

His head leans down against my forehead. Our eyes and lips are only inches away. I hadn’t even felt a kiss this…intimate. His head against mine felt like an entire hug, clouding me with a source of clarity. If he kisses me will it feel better than this? Is that even possible?

“I really wanna know you.” He says. I’m taken aback by his words. They were the last things I had imagined falling from his lips right now.

“How much do you wanna know?” I remark. He smiles up at me. “Everything. The good, the bad, the unspeakable.” He says, glancing between my eyes with a glimmering hope of sweet intentions.

I pull back slightly, looking back at the water. “Are you sure?” I ask. His hand squeezes mine reassuringly, bringing it up to his lips as he kisses my knuckles softly. The same knuckles I had cracked nervously while lying straight to his face yesterday.

“I-uh, I…I lied to you yesterday.” I confess. His body doesn’t react as he continues peppering kisses along my hand before setting it down softly. He looks over at me, our eyes meeting. “I know.” He says, pulling his lips into a gentle tightline and letting them fall.

“I…I…” he interrupts my attempt at explaining the unspeakable event. “You don’t have to tell me-not if you’re not ready. I just wanna know that you’re okay-that you’re safe.” He says.

I am safe. He didn’t mean to hurt me, he’s trying to get better. The cigarette burn on my forearm was a reminder, it can get so much worse. “I’m safe.”

The walk back to his hand had been a comfortable silence. We made our way into his house, coming face-to-face with Nick and Chris sitting at the counter of the kitchen. Chris immediately runs up, tackling Matt and I into a group hug.

“My homies! I missed you!” He dramatically exclaims. I laugh, looking sideways towards Matt as he pushes Chris’s arm off of my hair on my shoulder, moving it before letting go. The subtle actions warms my heart. Would he still care if he knew everything about me? Or am I just his type?

“Can’t believe you ditched without us. It’s okay though, I didn’t want to help with whatever project you were working on for fucking literature. Would’ve put me to damn sleep!” Chris remarks.

…project?

I look over to Matt who is staring wide-eyed at the wall in front of him with red cheeks. He lied too? Chris pulls back, patting our shoulders before sitting back at the counter. He aggressively shoves the chips into his mouth, talking loudly while Nick starts rolling his eyes.

I look over to see Matt biting his bottom lip, nearly piercing the skin. I reach out, tugging on his hoodie sleeve to get his attention. His eyes darted over to me as I gave him a reassuring smile. His chest heaves down as his shoulders relax.

We snacked on various bags of chips and candies. Chris, Nick, and Matt all played video games together as I sat in Matt’s room. He occasionally screamed at the monitor, some obscenities catching me off guard.

“Who's your daddy?” He questions. Chris audiobally screams at him through the thin walls. I burst out laughing, rolling on his bed as he turns around, smiling at my reaction as I try to catch my breath. He turns back to the monitor.

“Fuck!” He curses. “Whatever, I’m done–you guys keep playing, peace.” He says. He takes off his headset, walking over to the side of the bed. I look up at him, curled on my side as he holds out a hand. I place my own in his, standing up as he starts walking out his bedroom door.

“What are we doing? Where are we–” I’m cut off, tripping yet again as I clutch onto his shoulder for support. He chuckles. His hand drops my own as he wraps me under his arm, pulling me into his side. “You’re so clumsy,” he teases. I huff in annoyance, puffing out air to distance the hair from my eyes.

He fixes the stray hairs, patting them down into place. “Thanks.” I mutter sarcastically. “I love it. I like catching you.” He admits with zero shame.

I feel my ears heat up at his words, my smile curving into a sly grin as I squint my eyes. “Really? Do you like lying to get me alone too?” I tease. He shakes his head, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. His tongue pokes out from the inside of his mouth. He wavers his head side-to-side, almost as if he was debating.

“Actually,” he grabs my shoes, placing them in front of me. “I do.” He says. I lean down, putting on my shoes as he just slides his feet into his loosened sneakers. He holds out a hand. I accept, cocking my head to the side.

He pulls me up with force, catching me off guard. I fall, my palms resting on his chest to catch myself. His hand rests over mine as a smirk rests on his face. Our eyes meet, his breath fanning onto me warmly, inches away from his lips pressing against my own.

“Wanna fall in love?” He asks. I stand up straighter. “Huh?” I voice, confused.

He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, but the yellow ‘M’ appeared only after a couple of minutes. He pulls through the drive-thru, ordering chicken nuggets, fries, and ice cream. He grabs the bag from the employee, driving and parking in an empty spot.

Once the car is in park, he hands me the ice cream. I look up at him questioningly. “You told Nick when he got you ice cream that–” “That I would be in love with him if he wasn’t gay?” I finish, laughing at the pure ridiculousness.

I see him nod his head, scooping a pile of ice cream into his own mouth. “You remembered that? I didn’t even know you were listening!” I exclaim. He shrugs, taking a spoonful of ice cream and placing it in front of my lips.

I squint my eyes at him, trying to ward off the laughter as I open my mouth. A few giggles escape as he tries to feed me. “-’m sorry-sorry,” I laugh. He shakes his head. He places the cup of ice cream down in the cupholder. He brings his now free-hand up, holding my face in place.

His rings are cold compared to his warm touch. The ice cream hits my tongue, sweetness making my mouth salivate. He pulls the spoon away, pouting as he looks down at me. “What?” I ask, covering my full mouth with my hand.

He holds up his pointer finger. I watch curiously as he takes the near-empty spoon back up to my face. I look at him questioningly as he taps it against my nose. “--oh sorry, you got a little something, righttttttt–,” he reaches out, swiping the ice cream off my cheek with his fingers. “--there.”

My cheeks heat up as I see his eyes wander up to my own. “Oh really?” I challenge. He scrunches up his nose, titling his head while looking into my eyes. “Really.” He states. I take the spoon in his hand, brushing it on the tip of his nose.

“Oh no, Matt!” I sympathize with poor acting skills. “You got a little something, don’t worry, I’ll get it.” I continue. I lean over the center console, resting my chest on my crossed arms. My face is inches away from his as I stick out my tongue, licking the sweetness off of him. His breath audiobally shutters as I pull away.

His eyes open, gleaming into mine with a tempting sly look. “Hurry up, James Dean. The food is getting cold.” I remark. He shakes his head, biting his lips before pulling out the warm food.

The music played in the background as we ate. The tension had died only slightly as we laughed at each other’s jokes, talking about our favorite things.

“Mr. Puggles? You’re kidding!” I remark. He swallows the mouthful of food in his mouth. “I was eight! I really liked–well, I still do like pugs, actually.” He trails off quietly. I laugh harder, covering my mouth with one hand.

“What’s your favorite animal, hm?” He cocks his head to the side, shoving more fries into his mouth. “Well,” I look up out the window, the orange sunset peering in and leaving a golden hue. “I love penguins, honestly.” I admit. I look back at him, seeing as he nods his head up and down slowly. “Good pick, good pick. Mr. Penguin honestly got a ring to it.” He says.

He throws the empty chicken nugget and fry container into the paper bag. I grab my ice cream, licking it off the spoon as he does the same. “The sunset is always so pretty here.” I point out. He nods, smacking his lips open. “I know, I never get tired of it.”

We settle into a comfortable silence as the sky fades. The sun is barely brimming above the horizon. “Wait, look at me.” He directs. I turn my head, looking over at him as he holds an analyzing stare on my face. I gasp, feeling his cold spoon brush on my lips.

With wide eyes, I watch as he brings his hand up, caressing my cheek. “You got a little something–” I cut him off, pulling him in by the collar of his shirt. His lips crash against mine. I feel him smile against my lips before kissing me back passionately.

The swarms of excitement run rapidly through my veins, everything fading away as my mind can only think of the way his lips feel against mine. I pull back as he stays leaned over the center console. We both laugh, trying to catch our breaths.

“I wanted to do that so bad, you have no idea.” He confesses, sitting back in his chair with his hands in his lap. I reach over, grabbing his hand and placing it on my thigh, resting my own hand on top of it. “Trust me–” I let my thumb caress his rough hands, “I know.”

He smiles back up at me, biting his bottom lip as he turns and looks out his window. His hand squeezes my thigh, his eyes meeting mine. “Do you want to go back yet?” I shake my head. “Honesty—no.” His hand rubs down on my knee, squeezing back up on my thigh.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He says.

The golden-orange sky faded. The stars shining down on us as he drove us up a road. Curving along the mountain side, I felt my ears start to pop from the altitude. We reach a pull-off as he parks. “Are you showing me the backseat, Matthew?” I joke.

His cheeks flush as he grabs the keys out of the ignition, looping them back on his jeans. “Not yet, sweetheart.” He teases, squeezing my thigh. He gets out of the car, leaving me in utter shock as my cheeks burn up.

I hear my car door open, the cold breeze flood in. I look over, quickly averting my eyes from him as he laughs. He leans over me, unbuckling me as he tugs the seatbelt off. “Come on, sweetheart.” He repeats, offering me a hand.

��Shut up.” I mutter. I grab his hands, getting out of the car. I hear the car door shut behind me as he guides me to the cliffside. The city lights seem miniscule, like fireflies as they flicker occasionally. “Woah, this is gorgeous.” I admit.

His hand squeezes in mine, pulling me further. I follow mindlessly, not averting my eyes from the breathtaking scene in front of me. “Look,” he leans in, pointing in front of us while leaning his head on my own. I follow his finger, seeing blurry buildings with lights. “--that’s my house, right there.” He explains. I focus in, being able to see the roof that resembles their house. “It looks so small from here.” I voice.

He stands straight up, dropping my hand and using his arm to loop around my waist. He uses his further hand, entertaining our hands once more. “Gotta make sure that you don’t trip here. It’d be a real shame if I didn’t catch you.” He jokes. I laugh, feeling him squeeze my hand.

“You’ve never not caught me, to be fair.” I point out. He looks down at me, the pale moonlight hitting his face. “I hope to keep it that way.” He says softly. I nod, “Me too.” I whisper.

We fall into a comfortable silence, watching the big city from afar. The twinkling of the lights, the vibrance of the moon, everything makes me forget about whatever I always worried about.

I’m here, I’m enough. With him, I feel like a kid. Everything seems more colorful, more exciting. Maybe the danger is covered by the thrill?

I shake off the negative thought at the feeling of him squeezing my hand. “Sometimes,” he speaks out, his head leaning against mine in the slightest. “--I like to come up here. I like seeing everything that looks so big seem so small. It reminds me to keep perspective when I get anxious. I hated coming up here at first, it was really nerve racking for me to do anything alone. Now–I love it. I come up here all the time, it’s my safe space.” He explains.

His arm pulls me in closer as I nuzzle my head on his chest. His cheek rests on the top of my head. “I could never do that, my mind stops me from doing anything new. Routine seems so…I don’t know.” I express.

A sigh leaves my lips as I can’t think of the right word. “That’s what I used to think. My therapist had me make a list, everything that I wished I was able to do. I started doing them all, one by one, I still have plenty left, but I love crossing off boxes.” He says.

I bite my cheek from the inside, gnawing at the flesh as the question sits on the tip of my tongue. “If you want–,” “Could you–,” We both laugh as we talk at the same time. “Want me to help you–” I cut him off, looking up at him as I wrap my arms around his waist. “Yes–please, I’d love that. Although, I may need you to do some of them with me.” He nods, “I could use a partner too. Shake on it?” He jokes.

I shake my head, my eyes dropping down to his lips. “Kiss on it?” He suggests. I nod, balancing on my tip toes as he leans down to kiss me. He brushes the hair back from my face, holding the side of my head. His cold rings make me shiver, along with his electrifying touch.

I close my eyes, feeling his lips brush against mine softly, pulling back slightly. I let my hand wander up to his shoulder, pulling myself up to meet his lips again. I can’t get enough of him.

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