#five tags is still enough to keep this out of the main tag

[malachitezmeyka]

Violently swinging between still wanting to write that "Kuvira talks Suiren down from her manic cleaning spree" fic and not wanting to just rehash what I've written before/fearing I won't do it justice/genuinely scared of triggering myself again because I sink deeper and deeper with every breakdown

[halfvalid]

nobody but you

ABOUT

alternate title: the jealous character trope is actually kinda fun to write

rating: teen+

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!vinsmoke sanji | live action!straw hats ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

description: sanji flirts endlessly with you while dining at the baratie. zoro is displeased.

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, fluff, kissing, no use of 'y/n', establishment of relationship, flirting, alcohol consumption, pda

author’s note: i got like ~5 requests to write this so here you guys go! this was a popular one lmao. the story is a vague spinoff to my other fic pretty in that, but it doesn't have to be read to understand this one.

You’d volunteered to deal with the docking fees for the Going Merry, locking up the pirate ship as the rest of the crew entered Baratie. You were just five or so minutes late entering after the restaurant the rest of the Straw Hats had gone into. You’d never seen anything like it before—an eatery right in the middle of the ocean, in the shape of a giant fish. 

You stepped into the building cautiously, glancing around the wide expanse of the main room to try and catch a glimpse of your friends. The restaurant was big, with a mezzanine that you’d entered in and stairs leading down to the first floor. The host, a fishman who was standing at the reservation desk, glanced up to take a look at you. 

“Ah, you must be with the pirates,” he said pleasantly. “Right this way, miss.” 

You nodded, wondering how Luffy was intending on paying for the bill of such a place as you scoped out the area. It was far nicer than anything you would’ve expected—but then again, he’d somehow managed to score the Going Merry from Kaya back in Syrup Village, so you figured he’d work something out. 

Finally, you caught a glimpse of the rest of your crew, tucked away in a circular side booth that the fishman led you to. Luffy brightened upon seeing you, waving you over with a hand so excitedly you feared it was about to flop around like rubber. Considering his powers, that was a more than likely situation, actually. 

“Thank you,” you told the host, then turned towards your friends. “No food yet?” 

“You didn’t miss much,” Usopp said, a little snicker in his voice. “Just the waiter getting our drink orders. He was flirting the heck outta Nami.”

“Oh?” you asked, a smile flickering up your lips. The only open space in the table was between Zoro and Nami—you gave Zoro a confused look, and he gestured down to his swords, which were caught in the ledge between the chair and the wall. You snickered. “Ro. You’re such a loser.” 

“Shut up,” Zoro muttered, hand on your waist as you climbed over him to get to the empty seat. It stayed there for a moment longer, even after you’d arranged yourself in the seat, before he finally dropped his hand. Usopp made a face that you pointedly ignored. 

“What’d you guys order?” you asked instead. If there’d been a menu available, the waiter had probably taken it away; still, there wasn’t much variety in the East Blue, so you could expect there’d be a lot of seafood and not much else. 

“One of everything,” Luffy responded brightly. “So we’ll be able to try the whole menu!” 

“You sure that’s a good idea, Cap?” you asked, brows raised. Luffy shrugged. 

“I don’t see why not.”

“Quit it with the nickname,” Zoro muttered. Neither him or Nami had gotten any more receptive to it since you’d first started calling Luffy it. Usopp didn’t seem so keen on it either—if only because he fancied himself Captain Usopp. Luffy liked it, though, and that pleased you enough to keep using it.

“I’ll get you to start saying it eventually,” you teased, nudging Zoro in the arm. He shook his head, but there was a suggestion of a smile on his lips as he glanced away. “Just you wait.” You turned to Nami, eyes sparkling. “What about the waiter, though? Was he cute?” 

Usopp laughed at that, and Nami gave you a disparaging look. “Come on,” she started. “Not you too. Zoro was all—” 

The sound of footsteps cut off her speech, and you glanced up to find a lean, blond man pausing by the lip of your table. He held a silver plate, upon which perched a variety of different drinks—beers, milk, water. “Here are your drinks,” he said, voice lifting with an accent you couldn’t quite place. “And appetizers.” 

He had just finished placing the last of the drinks balancing on his forearm on the table when the waiter glanced up and registered you sitting there. His expression instantly changed, the crease of his mouth softening into a pleasant smile, his previously-dull blue eyes bright and sparkling. “Well, hello there. An addition?” 

“Yeah, sorry I’m late,” you said. The waiter flashed a grin, white ivories shining under the fluorescents.  

“Oh, absolutely no problem. They say those who are late are fashionable, and you, madam, certainly fit the bill,” the waiter said. Your eyes widened, glancing over to Nami to find her shaking her head, but the waiter didn’t stop there. “I’m Sanji. What can I get for you to drink? We’ve got a wide selection of fine wines that might suit your taste.” 

“Oh, um—” you started, glancing at the rest of your crew again. Usopp was hiding his snicker, and Nami was giving you a tired look. Assumedly this had been the man who’d tried it on her, too—to unfortunate ends, probably, considering how Nami was. Not that this would be any more effective on you. Your eye was already captured by a particular green-haired swordsman, after all. “I don’t really have anything in mind.”

Sanji looked pleased about that, clasping his hands together around his platter. “Ah, let me guess, then. A bayberry or red currant wine, perhaps? Fruity, tart, full of flavor.” he winked. “A feisty drink for a feisty girl.” 

“Can’t say I’ve tried it, but sure,” you said, the faintest smile on your lips. “I’ll let you know how I like it.” 

Sanji grinned, looking rather satisfied with that, a delighted little smile on his lips. “One red currant wine, then. I’ll have it right out. And would you also like to order a meal, or…” He glanced over at Luffy, presumably referencing your captain’s more-than-outrageous order. “Are you all set?” 

“I think we’re set, thanks,” you assured, and Sanji nodded. He flashed you another bright smile before turning on his heel back off to the kitchen. 

Usopp finally let out the laughter he’d been keeping in, choked sounds emitting from his throat as he thudded his chest with a fist. You rolled your eyes, but it was good-natured, letting Usopp laugh. 

“Well, at least I’m not being singled out,” Nami said with a sigh, and you exchanged a sympathetic glance with her. She patted your hand comfortingly, then scrutinized the water Sanji had gotten her. “At least he didn’t put it in a flute.” 

“Zoro, you’ve got competition!” Usopp called, still laughing from the entire ordeal. You glanced to your side, to where the swordsman sat. Zoro had stiffened sometime during the conversation, jaw clenched and arms wound tightly across his chest. He hadn’t even touched the beer that Sanji had set in front of him, eyes fixed carefully to a spot beside Luffy’s head and refusing to look over at you. 

“He’s a waiter,” Zoro said crisply. “He buses tables for a living.” With that, he grabbed his bottle, popping the tab and taking a swig. 

“I don’t know, man, did you see the way he took down those pirates?” Usopp turned to you, all excited again. “Oh, you missed this whole thing! Two pirates were fighting over a seat or something, and Sanji just demolished both of them! You would’ve loved it.” 

“He is a really good fighter,” Luffy agreed. Their words did nothing but seem to annoy Zoro further. 

“Can we not talk about the restaurant personnel? Surely you can think of more interesting topics of conversation.” His tone was sharp, and all icy, and you inched your hand closer to his leg to tap his thigh in question. He glanced down at your touch, but didn’t deign to say anything else. He just picked up his beer again, nursing it while the rest of the crew continued on with their conversation. 

Despite Luffy changing the subject, Zoro didn’t speak, and you kept peeking glances over at him in concern. Your feelings for him had just continued developing ever since Syrup Village, although neither of you had reasonably talked about the closet incident since it’d happened. What with the reveal of Kuro and the escape from the marines and all, there hadn’t exactly been time to. But you’d been on good terms, and the actions he made around you—pressing a hand to your waist as you moved past him, turning towards you first mid-conversation, shoving you down when the marines had fired their first cannon at the Going Merry. 

Before you could whisper to him and question what his silence was about, though, Sanji reappeared, carrying two platters filled to the brim with plates. They were laden with different types of meat and vegetables, sauces glinting under the light and hot steam still billowing. 

He set the dishes on the table, somehow managing to arrange them so they all fit on the countertop. Sanji set down the last plate then turned to you, placing a glass and a bottle of dark crimson wine on the table in front of you. He had to lean over Zoro to reach, and Zoro flinched, but still didn’t say anything as Sanji uncorked the bottle and poured you a glass. 

“Tell me what you think,” he said, all smiles again. “I’ll be embarrassed if it isn’t to your liking.”

You picked the glass up, swirling it carefully inside the glass before leaning down into the cup to take in a full sniff. You tilted your head back to take a small sip, moving the liquid around your mouth to fully savor the flavor before finally swallowing. The wine was sweet, light rather than rich with a delicate tartness that burst on your tongue. You glanced up just to see a giant grin had stretched up Sanji’s mouth, brightening his face up considerably. 

“What?” you asked. 

“Not often do I see a patron who knows how to taste wine properly,” Sanji answered with a little duck of his head. “A lady of class, I see. How do you like it?” 

“Not too strong. I like the tartness,” you answered. “A good recommendation. Thank you.” 

Sanji gave you a little bow, hand flourishing to the side as he dipped his head. “I live to serve.” 

“Yeah, well, why don’t you serve me another beer?” Zoro said abruptly. Usopp coughed, and you could see Nami elbow him out of your peripheral vision. Luffy just looked confused. 

Sanji’s face fell almost immediately after Zoro had spoken, his eyes flickering away from yours. “Of course. I’ll be right back,” he said, a tight smile at his lips. He ducked out of the booth, and Zoro let out an irritated noise, tongue flicking against from the roof of his mouth. 

Usopp snorted, fully this time, and you turned to glance over at him—he and Nami were both hiding their gazes, though you could see smiles cracked along their lips. 

Zoro glared at them. “Shut it.” 

“Not saying anything!” Usopp said, though he half-hid behind Luffy like Zoro was going to lunge over the table to get to him. That didn’t seem… entirely unlikely, actually; Zoro’s right hand rested firmly on the handle of one of his swords, fingers ready to pull the blade at any second. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, wanting to say something. But not in front of everyone else. It wouldn’t be appropriate, you decided. 

Eventually your meal wound down to an end. Zoro got less and less tense throughout it, though you were fairly certain that was due to the drinks he was having rather than any actual reassurance. Sanji, thankfully, came back with the bill in the middle of a conversation you really didn’t want to think about—Luffy and his marine grandfather was not something your mind wanted to dwell on—only for him to disappear again. 

Just moments later, a man with a braided mustache came storming out of the kitchen. Luffy did some more of his Luffy nonsense, and, honestly—you were getting too tired about all of this to pay any close attention. You spared a glance over at Zoro again. His face was as blank as ever.  

“Okay,” Usopp said slowly, a few delayed seconds after who’d undoubtedly been the head chef yanked Luffy out of his seat. “I’m ready to check out whatever’s outside. Let’s go.” 

“What about Luffy?” you asked, perplexed. 

“He’ll find his way out of that,” Nami said with a sigh. She stood up, knocking back the rest of her drink. Since she wasn’t exactly wrong, you got up, glancing over your shoulder at the last of the group that remained seated. “Zoro?” 

Zoro was staring into his now-empty bottle of beer. He still seemed off, the line of his mouth creased downwards, jaw set tight. “Yeah,” he said finally, standing to his full height and slipping out of the booth. He offered you a hand, helping you down from your seat, but said nothing more. 

The four of you headed out to the mouth of the Baratie fish, which boasted a bar decorated with neon lights. You found a place to sit by the fish’s bottom lip, and you turned in your seat, staring out at the sea. The water was dark with the night, peaceful ripples moving across the water that sent shimmering waves across the blue. 

“I’m gonna get a drink,” Usopp said. “Come, Nami?” 

“Huh?” Nami glanced up, and you turned to watch the exchange. “Oh, I’m okay, Usopp. Thanks, though.” 

“No,” Usopp insisted, a smile still pasted on his face as he jerked his head, not very discreetly, in your and Zoro’s direction. Nami seemed to realize, then, eyes going wide before she got up from her seat. 

“Actually, on second thought, I’ll join you,” she said, far smoother than Usopp had been. “God knows you don’t have any money to pay for a drink.”

She breezed past him, ignoring the offended gape Usopp left in her wake before he was scrambling to follow her. You turned your attention towards Zoro—he was lounging in the seat across from you, one hand on his swords with his legs crossed. “Hi,” you said carefully. 

He stiffened. “Hey.” 

You pursed your lips, mulling over the ways to go about the conversation before ultimately deciding to spit it out. “What’s wrong?” At his raised brow, you were prompted to continue— “During dinner. You were acting weird.”

Zoro shook his head, dropping his gaze from yours. You could see the faintest trace of freckles spattered along his cheeks, the yellow glow from the lanterns reflecting off his skin. “Nothing’s wrong. Just… the waiter.”

“The waiter,” you repeated. Zoro shifted, legs uncrossing and hand tightening around his swords again. His voice was low the next time he spoke, and you could barely hear him, having to lean forward to catch all of his words.

“He was flirting with you.” 

Your breath hitched, but you tried to keep your tone casual. “He was flirting with Nami too,” you said, glancing up to meet his eyes. Zoro still wouldn’t meet your gaze, staring out into the East Blue behind you. 

“That’s different.” Zoro’s eyes finally lifted, long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks as you met eyes. You shivered, gooseflesh suddenly prickling up everywhere on your skin—the back of your neck, up your spine, down your arms and legs. “I don’t like Nami.” 

You tilted your head to the side, meeting his gaze. The words sent a little rush through you; a rush you got practically every time Zoro looked in your direction, actually, which was only a little bit annoying. The amount of influence a man you’d known for, comparatively, not that long had over you had you rolling your eyes all the time, but… you trusted Zoro at this point, as uncooperative as he and Nami had been throughout your entire journey. 

“You’re jealous of a waiter.” 

“Don’t—” Zoro sighed. “Don’t put it like that.” 

“But it’s true. You’re jealous of a waiter,” you said, unblinking. Zoro rolled his eyes, teeth resting along his lower lip in an almost-bite. You snickered, tone sloping upwards to become more teasing, almost sarcastic. “How the mighty have fallen. From me practically begging you to say I looked nice in a dress to this.” 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Zoro said, uncrossing his legs to lean over and press his hand over your mouth. You laughed, surprised, as he leaned over you, eyes sparkling at the reaction. “Not another word.” 

He removed his hand, giving you a look. You betrayed his trust almost immediately. “Of a waiter.” 

“Do you want me to put the hand back?” Zoro threatened, but you were full-on laughing by now, and he couldn’t do anything but watch. The sounds escaped from your mouth, ringing out in soft, lively hiccups. He shook his head, hand falling to his side as he watched you, a ghost of a smile tugging up the side of his mouth. 

“Sorry, Ro,” you said, unable to suppress your grin even as your laughter died off. “It’s a little funny, you have to admit.” 

“I’d like to hear you talk if someone was flirting with me,” Zoro muttered, so quiet you could barely hear. You had to stifle another laugh. 

“Okay, well, unlike you, I don’t get territorial over people I haven’t even talked about my relationship with, but I appreciate it.” You nudged him. “It’s kinda cute.”

Zoro seemed lost in the first half of your sentence, and you could practically see the cogs whirring in his head. For a moment, you were worried that the closet had been a one-time thing—but no, he’d mentioned just earlier that he liked you, so clearly something else was the matter. 

Your worries were answered in just another moment. “...We’re supposed to talk about our relationship?”

“Zoro.” You gave him a look of disbelief, forced to suppress another laugh, though this time it was out of incredulity. “Yes. Have you ever dated anyone before?” 

Zoro made a face at that. “Keeping that to myself, thanks.” He dropped his chin, glancing down at where you were, still leaning over you so you were forced to crane your neck to stare up at him. He tilted his head to the side. “So what kind of talking are we supposed to be doing?” 

“You know, the establishment of being exclusive; a cementation of our feelings; what the relationship entails; where we want it to go…” You paused, watching as his eyes flickered down your face. Your words were going in one ear and out the other. “You’re not listening at all, huh.” 

“Not really,” Zoro said, not sounding very apologetic about it. His free hand came to cup the underside of your jaw, tilting your head up just so. “Is the talking really that necessary?” 

You shrugged, trying to keep your cool. “Eventually.” 

“Eventually,” he repeated, stretching out the syllables of the word as he quoted you. “So we can do it another day.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your smile. “What were you thinking?”

Zoro was slotting his lips over yours before you could say another word, his fingers digging into the hinge of your jaw to allow him better access. You smiled into the kiss, lips curling upwards and open to let him lick into your mouth. 

It wasn’t too risqué, but Zoro took your breath away all the same, an appreciative murmur low in his throat as he kissed you. One of your hands wrapped around his wrist, tugging him insistently downwards so you could get a better angle at his mouth, sucking gently at his lower lip. He nearly stumbled, losing his center of gravity before steadying himself, one hand coming to rest on your ribcage as the kiss deepened. 

“Guys!” Usopp’s voice came somewhere from the right, high-pitched and excessively scandalized. You felt Zoro scoff into your mouth.

“You realize you’re in public, right?” Nami deadpanned, plopping down in the seat next to you. You nudged Zoro’s head away, his hand still on your jaw, half-craned over your figure. Nami looked unimpressed, eyes flickering from Zoro to you and back again. “Get a room. Go back to the Going Merry for all I care.” She extended a hand, placing a mug of beer on the table before you before handing you a matching one. “I got you drinks. You’re welcome.” 

“Thanks,” you said, leaning up to press one final kiss on Zoro’s lips before turning to take the glass Nami had outstretched. Usopp groaned, covering his eyes with one hand and lifting a giant cup of something with the other. It was so big you wondered how he’d even been able to carry it. You eyed him. “You’re going to pass out drinking that.” 

Usopp made a face at you. You just laughed. 

“Sorted out your issues with the waiter, then?” Nami asked, turning to fix a knowing look on Zoro. He rolled his eyes, effortless as ever as he settled back down into his seat. 

“Still don’t like the waiter.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, and Zoro scoffed, picking up the mug Nami had gotten him. You could see the smile behind the glass rim, though, even as he clearly tried to hide it, and matched it with one of your own. 

Zoro ducked his head to smile into his beer. Usopp made a gagging sound. “God,” Nami muttered, but their criticisms might as well have been deaf to your ears by then. 

All you could see was Zoro. 

© halfvalid 2023

[suhsweet]

for halloween ⟡ kmg

wc: 3097 | pair: bf!mingyu x afab!reader | genre: smut, 18+ (minors go away) | tags: horror movie mentions, brief mention of gore (in relation to horror movie), living room sex, netflix & chill, size kink, fingering, reader has medium to long hair

summary: “I want to see if we can fuck each others’ brains out, so good to the point that we forget that there’s a scary movie playing right in front of us.”

authors note: sorry, i’ve been away for forever. with halloween coming up, i rushed this to get it out in time. it's not the best, but please enjoy <3

“Kim Mingyu, we are not spending our Saturday night watching a horror movie out of all things.”

“Sure we are, for Halloween.”

You smack a palm against your forehead, watching your stupid boyfriend flick through stupid Netflix on the stupid TV to search for a stupid horror movie. The options flick past, each movie poster looking more creepy and gruesome than the last.

“You forgot the biggest issue here. We both hate horror movies. We don’t like horror.”

“I know, but I think I might come to love it after tonight,” Mingyu smirks to himself and he waves you over towards him.

“Why do you think that?” Your eyes narrow, watching your soon-to-be-dumped boyfriend choose a film that you didn’t bother to learn the name of. As the screen goes black, the movie poster remains in your mind. All you remember are the blood splatters on the main character’s face, and the shadowy figure behind them.

The image brings about a chill down your spine, causing you to spin around and start heading for your shared bedroom. “Nope. Actually, don’t worry. Enjoy your movie! I’m just gonna hide here for the next hour and forty five minutes...”

“Baby no!” Mingyu laughs and you hear him follow you.

The heavy slap of his house slippers rapidly follow you as you speed away, a squeal threatening to escape your throat. Nevertheless, you're effortlessly scooped up into his arms bridal style.

Maybe if you close your eyes and go limp like a dead fish he’ll change his mind… You give up on fighting your boyfriend's strong hold, allowing your head to flop backward and your arms to your sides.

Entering the living room once more, Mingyu's laughter echoes throughout the apartment. Still holding you in his arms, he falls onto the plush sofa causing the both of you to let out a simultaneous ‘oomph’.

He keeps you sideways on his lap, one arm braced around your waist. He fusses over you, brushing your hair out of your face as he acts oblivious to your squirming.

You're trying your best to wriggle your way out of this cage of yummy tanned skin and muscle before he presses play on the movie. “Let me goooooo!”

“No!” Mingyu grunts, and if you thought his hold was tight enough, he pulls you in even tighter.

After three minutes of Mingyu chuckling at your poor attempts of escape, you eventually give up. It's times like these that you remember that he goes to the gym everyday, and never fails to meet his target protein intake. With him sitting down, you also forget he looms over you like a skyscraper. Fighting him is impossible.

You pout, crossing your arms with a soft, "Hmmph."

Mingyu gives a satisfied whoop as he settles you in his arms. Your attempts of appearing annoyed with him immediately dissolves as the ominous music grows louder.

Suddenly, the lamp beside your sofa switches off. Apart from the TV itself, it was the main source of light in the otherwise dark room. Your head whips over to see Mingyu in the process of retracting his hand from the switch, a devilish grin on his face.

“Where is my boyfriend!?” You practically wail. “My Mingyu wouldn’t even look at the horror section on Netflix!”

Mingyu just chuckles to himself. You bury your face in his chest, and wrap your arms around his neck. The beginnings of the jump-scares and screaming starts, and you feel the thrum of your pulse quicken.

Mingyu coos at you and begins to rub his hand across your back rhythmically. His other hand cradles your head to him. His lips softly press kisses into your hair, slowly trailing down to your temple, cheek, jaw, and then your neck. The kisses gradually go from sweet and brief, to slow and burning. You can hear his lips coming into contact with your skin, and the soft suction of his mouth.

“Mingyu…” You clench the fabric of his hoodie in your fist.

“I had a thought,” he says, completely ignoring you.

“Something you should stop doing after this,” you grumble. Being scared and horny is a weird and unfamiliar sensation.

Mingyu chuckles softly. The light touch of the back of his pointer finger tickles your cheek. You notice the way his eyes become half-lidded, hypnotized. “I want to see if we can fuck each others’ brains out, so good to the point that we forget that there’s a scary movie playing right in front of us..”

A shocked laugh bubbles up inside of you. It takes you a second to process the unexpected turn of events. “For Halloween?”

“Yup,” the side of his mouth quirks up slightly as your eyes meets his.

“You better make me scream louder than her,” you point your finger to the TV screen where all sorts of terror is occurring to the main character.

Mingyu kisses up and down your jaw once more, his fingers gripping your sides as if wondering whether to rip off your clothes or take them off intact. “I’ll try my best, baby.”

Suddenly upright and straddling Mingyu’s lap, your fingers snake through your lover’s hair. Through your lashes, you delight in the way he completely succumbs himself to your touch. Like he's happy to take anything that you'll give him, his head is tilted backwards and his eyes are shut.

Mingyu is chasing your lips when you pull back from the kiss, refusing to have your faces more than an inch away from the other. You’re about to tease his dopey expression when the back of your head is held in place by his hand, and his lips are back on yours. Your teeth clash briefly before you find your rhythm, his tongue teasing your own. And all while this is happening, he’s humping up into you.

“How am I already pussy drunk and I haven’t even taken your clothes off?” Mingyu whispers into your ear, nipping the lobe before kissing your neck. He’s licking stripes, making marks, and worshipping the skin where your jaw and neck meet. The sensation has your toes curling and your eyes screwing shut.

“Min…gyu,” you sigh out. Your hands steady themselves on his firm shoulders and you begin to grind against his heavy bulge. He watches in amazement, lazily palming your breast and breathing heavily.

You’ve always loved the sounds that Mingyu makes when you fuck. His raspy voice was already attractive, but in bed? When it’s heavy with lust and need for only you? It’s fucking heavenly.

“So, so pretty,” Mingyu sighs, eyes rolling when your hips move a certain way. You pause to reach under the waistband of his black sweats, easily finding his arousal.

His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the shape of your bottom lip. You immediately catch it in your mouth and start sucking it like you would a lollypop. Your tongue in particular starts drawing patterns on the pad of this thumb. Mingyu’s gaze seems to grow darker as he watches you.

Immediately he retracts his hand, and starts stripping you of your shirt. You help take off the last of it off your body while Mingyu eagerly latches his mouth onto your chest, a hand greedily grabbing and squeezing the one that doesn’t have the attentions of his tongue.

You’re the one holding his head close this time. You watch Mingyu with his mouth on your tits, licking and sucking as if you’re his life source. He looks completely drunk on you, focused on worshipping your body. Your sounds encourage him to reach down into your pants, nudging away your panties to find your slick folds.

His fingers outline the folds of your pussy, then focus on your clit. You hum with approval as he starts drawing circles on the little nub. You feel him go back to tasting your tits, switching between kissing your neck and whispering dirty things into your ear.

“Your fingers… Fuck,” you pant. “I’m gonna-”

“I know baby,” Mingyu takes in your expressions with a satisfied smirk. His fingers speed up, pressing firmly. He pulls your head down to kiss you, wanting to feel you moan against his lips as you cum.

And you do; with your lips pressed to Mingyu’s, holding onto his shoulders as you buck against his fingers. His gaze burns into you, and it's so intense that if you weren’t in the middle of an orgasm, you would’ve blushed furiously.

As you come down from your high, Mingyu's there to hold you steady. You lazily kiss him, telling him thanks with your tongue and soft moans. His fingers dive into your hair, making your pretty tresses snake around his fingers. He plays with the ends of the strands just as you pull away and start to get on your knees.

"What're you doing?" He whines, hands gripping your arms firmly.

You frown. "Returning the favor."

"No, no, no," he rushes out. You're pulled back up on your feet when Mingyu unceremoniously yanks your pants down and pulls you back onto his lap. "I need you now."

You giggle at his desperation, and allow him to manhandle you. He strips himself of his shirt while you line his cock up to your pussy. You’re so close to having him stretch you out that your toes curl from anticipation.

However, after many lessons learnt you remembered to prep yourself at the last second. Effortlessly, you lean down to spit onto Mingyu’s cock, rubbing it all over the tip until it glistens.

Mingyu groans. “It’s so hot when you do that.”

You wink at him. His grip on your waist keep you steady as you slowly lower yourself. On instinct your eyes flicker to his to watch the minor changes in his expression as he feels your body take him. The softening of his eyes, the soft flare of his noise and the plush of his lips caught between his teeth.

And although the two of you have had sex enough times to know the other’s body like their own, the feeling of you bottoming out on his cock never gets old. Feeling so full, and so stretched out, nothing could feel as good as Mingyu’s heavy cock.

His eyes seem to dart across every plane on your face, wanting to take in your expressions too. You tenderly kiss him on the mouth and slowly start to move.

“Fuck…” Mingyu breathes out, his eyes fluttering closed.

As you start to work your body on his dick, Mingyu’s arms circle around your body. His trunk-like arms keep you close to him as he presses his head into your shoulder, breathing heavily and taking in your scent.

It’s so intimate, and perfect until you hear the movie and remember that it's still playing. Your attention unintentionally flickers over to the TV just in time to witness a jump scare. The sudden close up of the monster's morbid features, combined with the loud music has you squeezing Mingyu tighter, and a minor squeak leaves you as you jump in fright.

Mingyu’s perks up, alert. You briefly witness the protective side of him come out. His misplaced concern has you feeling sorry, and a small laugh escapes you.

His expression softens when he looks back at you and sees you smiling. He doesn't say anything, but his face asks you about what happened.

"I saw a jump scare," you admit, noticing your movements have slowed.

Mingyu shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Well that won't do. My theory would be proven wrong..." His warm, large hands trail upwards from your hips to your sides. His warm palms smooth over your upper back, creeping up past your shoulder blades before stopping at the curve of each of your shoulders.

You gaze up at him just as he pulls your body down onto him by your shoulders. The sudden intrusion doesn't hurt, but it makes you gasp. Suddenly feeling full brings an unfamiliar pleasure, and judging by your lover's face, he definitely loves it.

Mingyu's heavy lidded gaze never strays from your face, but he breaths heavily as he fucks up into you. His grip never weakens, even while your chanting his name, even while your legs squeeze together in an effort to halt his movements as you come. He manages to continue to fuck you regardless.

That has you forgetting about the movie in an instant.

"Holy... Fuck," you groan in between heavy breaths.

"What do you think of the movie so far?" Mingyu teases as he lifts you off of him and onto the sofa, on your back. As he covers your body with his own, you feel him tease your breasts. Each nipple is pinched, and the other even gets a little nip.

"Mmm," you gather your hair out from under you in an effort to get comfortable. You reach between your legs to reach for his cock. "What movie?"

Mingyu laughs as he slowly kisses up your chest and onto your lips. Your open mouthed kisses are interrupted by the sensation of him filling you up, and the two of you groan into each other's mouths.

"Fuck, angel," Mingyu's rasping into your mouth. He lays his right forearm down next to your head, while his other arm is next to your waist holding himself up. They both work to keep his weight from crushing you, but allows him to still feel every inch of your skin touching his own. "You don't understand how much I fucking need you."

Feeling caged in like this has you feeling so safe that you start to go delirious. Everywhere you look is Mingyu. If you look up, you'll find him watching you with your name escaping his lips like it was a prayer. If you look between your legs, you can see the silhouette of his heavy cock thrusting into you, making you feel so full. If you look to either side of you, you'd see his muscles working to keep himself up.

"So good," you gasp. He seems to agree from the way that his head dips down to kiss you. Your bottom lip gets stuck in-between his teeth as he sucks at it hungrily.

Unlike you, Mingyu isn’t caged in. He has the freedom to look anywhere but down, to avoid looking at your pretty face and increase the chances of him coming early. Yet, like magnets, his eyes can’t stray far from your pretty lips or flushed cheeks. The little sweat beads that decorate your face are his doing, just like the fucking delectable view of your breasts bouncing from his thrusts.

The possessive side of him revels in the fact that only he can see you like this. He likes that it’s because of him that you’re feeling this pleasure.

Your arms loop around his neck, tugging his head back down. Your lips meet in another round of hungry kisses. The two of you are as close of you can get, sharing the same breath, with your foreheads pressed together. Your skin is slick with sweat– his or yours, you're not sure. Mingyu looks close, and to catch up, you bring your fingers to your clit.

"Good girl," he praises. "Make sure you come with me. Come on this cock, baby."

You can't even give him a proper reply. All you can do is nod as you watch him work you both to the edge.

Without warning, you feel yourself come first and your words come out slurred. "'Gyu, 'm cummin'."

Your words act as the catalyst and Mingyu squeezes his eyes shut. He buries his head into your neck, allowing only you to hear his deep moans.

The last of your orgasms drain from the two of you, and you laugh softly up at your lover. He grins down at you, leaning in to kiss you when the final jump-scare from the movie makes itself known.

A loud screech from the movie’s demon, combined with the sharp music has you both jumping in fright. Mingyu collapse onto you, hugging your body and burying his face into your neck. You instinctively stretch your arms around his shoulders as if that would protect him from any bad guys, and you shut your eyes from seeing any more of the film.

The music changes after a few seconds, making you peek an eye open. The credits are creeping up the screen, and you let out a loud sigh as you go limp.

Mingyu’s head perks up to look at you, and then the TV. “Hey! We did it.”

You laugh, remembering the stupid theory your boyfriend came up with. Your hand rises in a hi-five to which Mingyu slaps enthusiastically.

Mingyu takes in your dopey, fucked-out expression with a toothy grin of his own. You feel him press a smattering of kisses all over your face, and then the pressure of his body rolling away from you to retrieve the TV remote. Even if it's just to turn the TV off, you whine in protest at the idea of having to separate from him so soon. You rise and attach yourself to his back like a koala would a tree.

Mingyu stands, fixing his arms into the crooks of your knees to piggyback you. He walks to your bedroom with a pep in his step. He mumbles to himself, “I won’t be able to sleep all night after that movie.”

His innocuous tone makes you laugh. “Because you were definitely focused on the movie and nothing else.”

“Yeah, yeah. It had demons and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, I remember seeing that too,” you laugh. "Did you see the thing that happened to that person at that place?"

"Oh yeah, totally," Mingyu scoffs. "I know exactly what you're talking about. Wasn't scared of that at all."

He deposits you at the foot of your bed and starts to crawl up on top of you again, his body acting as a cage once more.

The predatorial gleam in his eyes elicits a shiver from you.

“You know, I normally find it hard to fall asleep after watching scary movies too,” you say as Mingyu leans down to kiss your jaw.

Mingyu hums in interest. “Glad to hear it isn’t just me. But I know a couple things we could do to help us sleep.”

You burst out laughing at the cheesiness of it all. Mingyu looks up at you, giving you another of his precious toothy grins. You smile, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging gently. “Alright, alright, let’s get into round two already.”

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ make you mine

chapter summary: With finals over, summer break starts. But of course, there are a few surprises along the way.

word count: 14.7k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: helllloooo! so this is the 'main' alternate timeline, basically just meaning the timeline that exists because logan changed the past. or in other words, the timeline where logan wakes up after stopping mystique from killing trask

i still have quite a few stories to tell about logan and reader, like how they got married, found laura, had gabby, etc. most of this series is just fluff, sometimes with some angst, but the only problems that arise don't involve any violence.

anyways, think of this as taking place sometime after who are we to fight the alchemy? (pt. 1 and 2)!

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, summer break, mention of damp hair and hair being tied back, x-men mission, light violence, slight angst, soft!logan

series masterlist - chapter 2

Logan was like a bear—a giant, warm, cuddly bear. Though if you told him that you were sure he’d deny, deny, deny.

You let out a sleepy grunt, groggily reaching over to slap your alarm clock into silence. As the shrill beeping stopped, you became acutely aware of the warm, heavy weight wrapped securely around you. Logan’s arm was draped over your waist, holding you firmly in place against his chest. His even breaths fanned across the back of your neck, and the slight scruff of his beard grazed your skin as he shifted, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Logan,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep as you squirmed in his grasp.

A low, disgruntled growl rumbled from his chest. “Mm-mm. Nope,” he mumbled against your shoulder, his voice rough and muffled. “Five more minutes.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, even as your cheeks warmed at the sound of his voice so close to your ear. “I have to get up,” you protested softly, trying to wriggle free. His arm tightened instinctively, making escape a futile endeavor.

“Don’t see why,” he muttered, still half-asleep. “You’re comfy right here.”

You rolled your eyes, your lips twitching into a smile despite yourself. “I have class to prep for, Logan. You know, that thing where I teach physics to a bunch of mutant teenagers?”

He grunted in response, clearly unimpressed by your logic. “Teenagers’ll survive without you for one morning,” he drawled, his lips brushing against the crook of your neck in a way that made your breath hitch. “I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face—eyes still closed, hair sticking up in every direction, and a faint smirk playing on his lips. The sight was almost enough to make you cave, but you managed to keep your resolve. Barely.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, even as your hand instinctively reached up to comb through his unruly hair. His grin widened at the affectionate gesture, and he cracked one eye open, peering at you with a sleepy, satisfied expression. “But today is the last day of classes, and I have to give them their final.”

Logan let out an exaggerated groan, burying his face against the curve of your neck. “You’re tellin’ me a bunch of kids and their tests are more important than me?” His voice was muffled, the low rumble of it sending a pleasant warmth through you.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I don’t make the schedule, Logan. Believe me, if I could skip it, I would.”

“You’re not skippin’ it,” he grumbled, though his lips brushed lightly against your skin. “But don’t think I won’t complain about it the whole time you’re gone.”

“You? Complain? Shocking.” Your playful tone earned you a half-hearted growl as Logan rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You landed on his chest, his arms securely around you. His fingers traced idle patterns along your back, his gaze fixed on you now with a mix of affection and amusement.

“You’re gonna spend the rest of the day buried in grading,” he said, arching a brow. “And I won’t see you for days. Don’t think I didn’t notice what happened after midterms.”

Your face warmed at the memory of being holed up in your office, surrounded by papers, but you tilted your chin stubbornly. “I have to grade, Logan. How else will they know whether they pass?”

“Sounds like a them problem,” he countered smoothly, his smirk deepening.

“Logan.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. He always had a way of making you feel light, even when you were stressed. “You could help me grade, you know. I’ll even teach you how to curve a test.”

His laugh was deep and genuine, rumbling through his chest beneath you. “Pretty sure that’d end with me givin’ everyone a pass just so I could get you back quicker.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he silenced you with a kiss. It was soft and unhurried, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head as he tilted his own. By the time he pulled back, your thoughts had scattered, and he looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Fine,” you muttered, still breathless. “But I’m locking my office door when I’m grading.”

His grin widened. “Good. I’ll just pick the lock.”

“Logan!”

He chuckled, flipping you gently onto your back and leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. “Alright, darlin’. Go teach your kids or whatever. But I’m holding you to dinner tonight. No papers allowed.”

You smiled up at him, your hand brushing lightly against his jawline. “Deal.”

Logan lingered a moment longer, his eyes tracing your face as though memorizing every detail. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself up, reluctantly letting you go. “Go on, then, before I change my mind and keep you here.”

You bit back a laugh, slipping out of bed and grabbing your glasses from the nightstand. As you moved to get ready, you could feel his eyes on you, his presence a steady warmth in the background.

---

“Why are you in my office?” Jean asked, walking into the room where you sat on the couch in the corner.

“Close the door, Jean!” You whisper-yelled. Jean raised an eyebrow but complied as you spoke again, “Logan’s clingy, he says that since classes are over for the summer I should be ‘spending time with him’ even though I told him I still have the finals to grade.”

Jean closed the door, her curiosity evident as she leaned against it, arms crossed. “You’re hiding in my office to avoid Logan?”

You sighed, setting aside the stack of papers you were grading on Jean’s coffee table. “It’s not like I’m avoiding him forever. I just need a few hours to finish these finals without him finding me and pulling me into another impromptu cuddle session.”

Jean smirked, clearly entertained. “He’s got a point, though. Classes are over. Most people would kill to have their boyfriend be that invested in spending time with them.”

You rolled your eyes, even as a smile tugged at your lips. “I know. And it’s sweet, really. But he doesn’t understand that I can’t just wave a wand and make the grades magically appear. These finals aren’t going to grade themselves.”

Jean quirked a brow. “And you thought my office was the safest place to hide?”

“Well, yeah.” You gestured around. “Logan wouldn’t think to look for me here. Plus, I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Jean replied, amused. “But you know he’s going to find you eventually. He has an uncanny ability to know exactly where you are.”

You slumped back against the couch, groaning softly. “Don’t remind me. It’s like he has a sixth sense or something.”

Jean chuckled, walking over and plopping into the chair across from you. “It’s called being ridiculously in love with you. That man’s not exactly subtle.”

The words made your face heat up, but you tried to brush it off. “Yeah, well, ridiculously in love or not, he needs to let me work for a bit. I’ll make it up to him later.”

Jean’s smirk turned mischievous. “Oh, I’m sure you will. Candlelit dinner? Maybe a movie night?”

“Jean!” you hissed, your cheeks burning as you tried to shush her. “Don’t you start too.”

She held up her hands, mock-innocent. “I’m just saying, it’s adorable how smitten he is. Honestly, I think it’s good for you. You’re not usually the type to take much downtime.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, the door creaked open just enough for Logan’s unmistakable voice to drift in.

“Jean, you seen—”

Logan froze in the doorway, his brows lifting slightly when he saw you sitting there. His gaze flicked to Jean, who was already biting back a grin, and then back to you.

“Found you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he was trying not to smirk.

You sank further into the couch, your face heating under his knowing stare. “I was… grading,” you said lamely, gesturing to the papers in front of you.

Logan stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes stayed on you, warm and amused. “In Jean’s office?”

“It was a strategic decision,” Jean quipped before you could answer, her tone dripping with mock seriousness.

Logan ignored her, his attention fixed solely on you. He crossed the room, crouching down in front of you so you were at eye level. His hand came to rest lightly on your knee, the warmth of his touch grounding you despite your embarrassment.

“You could’ve just told me you needed time to work, darlin’,” he said softly, his voice carrying no trace of irritation—just quiet understanding.

“I did,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. “You didn’t exactly listen.”

His lips quirked, and he leaned in slightly, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Maybe ‘cause I’m selfish and like havin’ you around too much.”

Your resolve wavered as you finally looked at him, his eyes impossibly soft. Jean, sensing she was no longer needed, stood and slipped out of the room without a word, leaving the two of you alone.

“Logan,” you sighed, your voice quieter now. “I just… I really need to finish these finals. I promise, as soon as I’m done, I’m all yours.”

Logan studied you for a moment, then nodded, his hand squeezing your knee lightly. “Alright,” he said, standing up. “But I’m takin’ you to dinner tonight. Non-negotiable.”

You smiled, the weight of his gaze melting some of your earlier frustration. “Deal.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before straightening. “I’ll leave you to it, then. But don’t think I’m not gonna check in later.”

You rolled your eyes, but your grin lingered as he turned and left the room, his presence somehow leaving it warmer than before.

---

Theresa stood by you on her tiptoes, eagerly watching as you carefully sliced her apple. She hummed happily, her curly red hair bouncing with every small fidget of excitement. You smiled softly at her, taking your time to arrange the slices neatly on the plate. The summer sun streamed through the kitchen window, making the air feel lighter now that the semester was officially over.

You were dressed comfortably for the warm day, the floral sundress swaying slightly as you shifted your weight. Logan had gone off to check on something outside earlier, so the mansion was unusually quiet.

Logan passed the kitchen door without sparing it a glance, only to stop mid-step and double back. His figure filled the doorway as he leaned casually against the frame, his arms crossed, eyes locking onto you immediately.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and something softer. His gaze flickered over you briefly, but it was the kind of look that left you feeling as though he’d memorized every detail in a single second. His brows raised slightly, and the corners of his mouth pulled into the faintest hint of a smile.

You glanced up at him mid-slice, caught completely unaware. “What?” you asked, confused by the way his stare lingered.

Theresa, oblivious to the subtle tension, tugged lightly on your wrist. “Is it ready yet, Y/N? Can I have it now?”

“Almost,” you murmured, distracted as you finished the last cut. You placed the slices neatly onto the plate, handing it to her with a small smile. “Here you go, Tessie. Go eat at the table, alright?”

“Thanks!” she chirped before skipping off, her plate held triumphantly in both hands.

The kitchen was quiet again, save for the soft hum of the fridge. You turned back to find Logan still standing there, his smirk more pronounced now.

“What is it?” you asked, feeling a little self-conscious under his scrutiny.

“Nothin’,” he said, pushing off the doorframe to step closer. His voice was casual, but his eyes betrayed the warmth he was holding back. “Just… you look nice.”

Your cheeks heated immediately, and you glanced away, focusing on tidying up the cutting board. “It’s just a dress,” you mumbled.

“First time I’ve seen you wear one,” he replied, his voice quieter now as he leaned against the counter beside you. His knuckles brushed lightly against yours, and the gesture, as small as it was, sent your pulse skittering.

“I usually don’t,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not really practical, you know. With teaching, and the lab, and—”

“Practical or not, I like it,” he interrupted, his tone genuine. “Suits you.”

You risked a glance up at him, your eyes meeting his. He wasn’t smirking anymore. Instead, his expression was unguarded, softer than you were used to seeing. That look—the one where he seemed to see you and only you—made your heart twist in your chest.

“Thanks,” you said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Logan reached out, his fingers brushing the side of your arm lightly. “No need to hide when you’re wearin’ something nice, darlin’,” he murmured. “Don’t need to hide, period.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” you argued weakly, your voice betraying you with its timid edge.

He huffed a quiet laugh, his thumb grazing your forearm. “Sure you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t!” you protested, though your voice lacked conviction. His touch was making your thoughts spiral into incoherence.

“Okay, okay,” he said, his grin returning. “But you’ll wear it again sometime, yeah?”

You bit your lip, nodding slightly before looking away again. “Maybe.”

“Good,” he replied, his voice low and warm. “Because you’re stuck with me the rest of the day, anyway.”

“Logan,” you started, your shyness creeping back. “I—”

“No excuses,” he said firmly but without any harshness. “You’re done grading. It’s summer break. No runnin’ off to Jean’s office this time.”

Your face heated at the memory of that little escapade. “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his grin widening. “Now c’mon. Let’s go for a walk or somethin’. You’ve been cooped up too long.”

He offered you his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, you took it. His grip was strong and steady, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t sure you’d ever stop craving.

As the two of you walked out into the summer sun, you couldn’t help but glance down at your dress, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. Maybe dresses weren’t so impractical after all.

---

The kids’ laughter echoed over the beach, blending with the rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore. A soft breeze ruffled the umbrella shading you and Jean as you sat in matching beach chairs. The air smelled faintly of salt and sunscreen, the summer sun bright but not unbearable.

You had been staring at the same page of Maisie Dobbs for what had to be ten minutes, the words nothing more than a blur. Jean, seated beside you with her own book, glanced at you over the rim of Evidence of Things Unseen. Her lips twitched as she noticed the way your gaze had drifted—away from your book, away from the umbrella’s shade, and unmistakably toward the figure near the shoreline.

Logan stood knee-deep in the water, his jeans rolled up and his shirt conspicuously absent. He hadn’t bothered to wear anything particularly ‘beachy,’ but it didn’t seem to matter. The sun kissed his skin, highlighting the lines of muscle across his chest and arms, and his usual gruff expression softened as he helped some of the kids with their sandcastle defenses. His low chuckle carried faintly on the wind as he spoke to Bobby, who was excitedly gesturing at a moat that, from your vantage point, looked like it was doomed to fail against the incoming tide.

Jean smirked, closing her book deliberately. “You know, for someone with a PhD, you’re doing a terrible job pretending to read.”

Your head snapped back to your book, the sudden motion almost dislodging your glasses. “I’m reading!”

Jean arched an unimpressed brow, her tone teasing. “Oh? What’s happening in the book?”

You scrambled, trying to recall the last thing you’d actually processed. “Uh... Maisie just—she was, um—”

Jean’s laughter was soft but pointed. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “You know, it’s not like he’s never been shirtless before. You do live in the same mansion.”

Your cheeks burned, and you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose as if that would help hide your embarrassment. “It’s different,” you muttered, keeping your gaze firmly planted on your book now.

Jean grinned. “Different how?”

You hesitated, unwilling to put into words what felt so obvious. How the sight of him here, carefree and laughing with the kids, hit differently than the times you’d seen him shirtless before—training in the Danger Room, patching himself up after a mission, or even just wandering the halls in the early hours of the morning. Here, on this beach, Logan seemed... lighter.

“It just is,” you said finally, your voice quiet but insistent.

Jean shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re hopeless. But hey, at least now you’re not the only one distracted.”

Before you could process her words, a shadow fell over you. You glanced up to find Logan standing there, shirt slung over his shoulder and a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

Your face flushed so hot you were sure it rivaled the sun. “I—I wasn’t—”

Jean, ever the opportunist, cut in before you could flounder any further. “She was definitely enjoying it.”

You shot her a mortified glare, but she just winked, clearly pleased with herself. Logan chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he crouched beside your chair. His hand came to rest lightly on the armrest, his proximity making your heart race.

“I thought I’d find you buried in a book,” he murmured, his tone teasing but warm. “Didn’t realize you’d be out here gettin’ a tan instead.”

“I’m not—” You floundered again, words failing you under the weight of his gaze.

“She’s been staring at you for the last ten minutes,” Jean added helpfully, earning her a sharp, wordless plea from you.

Logan’s smirk deepened, his attention unwavering as he tilted his head slightly. “That right?”

You wanted the earth to swallow you whole, but instead, you mustered up a weak protest. “Jean’s exaggerating.”

“I’m really not,” Jean chimed in.

“Alright, that’s enough outta you,” Logan said, though his amusement was evident.

Jean chuckled, standing and stretching dramatically. “I’ll leave you two to... whatever this is.” She shot you one last mischievous look before strolling off toward Scott, who was supervising the soccer game.

Once she was gone, Logan shifted, leaning closer. His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist where your hand rested on the book, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, darlin’,” he said, his voice a low murmur.

“I wasn’t flustered,” you lied, your gaze dropping to the book again.

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, unconvinced. His thumb traced an idle circle on your wrist. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You finally risked a glance up at him, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch. There was no teasing smirk now, just a quiet warmth that left you feeling as if the rest of the beach had faded away.

“Logan,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” he prompted, his tone gentler now.

You hesitated, then shook your head, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. “Never mind.”

He huffed a soft laugh, leaning in just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. “C’mon,” he said as he straightened, offering you his hand. “Let’s go walk by the water. You’ve been sittin’ here too long.”

You glanced at his hand, then back at him, your shyness warring with the warmth spreading through your chest. Finally, you slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet.

As the two of you strolled toward the shoreline, the kids’ laughter filling the air around you, you couldn’t help but think that Jean had been right. Distracted or not, Logan was a sight worth lingering on.

---

“You have got to get better at working with a team,” Ororo said.

Scott nodded in agreement, “you can’t just go off on your own and do whatever you want just because you can.”

They entered the viewing deck as Logan playfully scoffed, “I can work on a team. Just depends who I am working with. Isn’t that right, darlin’?”

You continued to look at the screens around you, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Yeah, sure.”

Logan chuckled under his breath, his tone dripping with amusement. “See? Told ya.” He leaned casually against the console, arms crossed as he glanced at you.

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “That’s not exactly what I’d call an endorsement.”

“Maybe not by your standards, Slim, but I’ll take what I can get,” Logan shot back with a lopsided grin.

Ororo let out a long-suffering sigh. “Logan, this isn’t a joke. You can’t keep running off and doing your own thing in the field. It puts everyone at risk.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “I get the job done.” His eyes flicked to you again, a faint spark of amusement lingering there. “Besides, I work just fine with the right people.”

Ororo didn’t dignify that with a response, her gaze narrowing. “You’re impossible.”

Scott gestured toward the holographic screens. “What’s the scores?” he asked, clearly trying to redirect the conversation to something productive.

You adjusted your glasses, your fingers moving across the controls as you pulled up the relevant data. “The team as a whole got an 84.75%,” you said, glancing at the screen and making a few adjustments to bring up individual scores. “Individually… well, it’s a mixed bag.”

Logan smirked, leaning closer. “Let me guess. I carried the team.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Logan, you were the reason we lost points in the first place.”

“Details, details,” Logan said with a shrug. He glanced at you. “What’d I get, sweetheart?”

You tapped a few keys, pulling up his stats. “Well… I mean individual scores don’t really matter much do they? It’s all about—”

Jean chuckled and crossed her arms, interrupting you, “oh, I know what that means. You’re stalling.”

Your cheeks warmed as you adjusted your glasses, fumbling slightly with the console. “I’m not stalling. I’m just—being thorough.”

Logan tilted his head, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s hear it. I know I aced it.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Logan, you left your assigned post twice and ignored team strategy. I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

Jean chimed in with a smirk. “Not to mention, you destroyed half the simulated building—after the objective was completed.”

Logan’s grin didn’t falter. He leaned closer to you, his voice low and teasing. “They just don’t appreciate my style, do they?”

You bit back a small smile, keeping your gaze fixed on the screen. “Okay, fine. You got… a 62.”

Scott made an incredulous noise, crossing his arms. “See? That’s exactly what we’re talking about.”

Logan shrugged, completely unfazed. “Still passed. A win’s a win.”

“It’s barely passing,” Scott countered, clearly losing patience. “And that’s only because of your combat performance. Your teamwork score was—what? Ten points?”

“Seventeen,” you corrected, your tone soft but pointed. “Which isn’t… great.”

Ororo pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly exasperated. “Logan, the whole point of these exercises is to improve coordination and teamwork, not just show off.”

“Hey, if they want me to play nice, they should stop slowing me down,” Logan replied, his casual tone earning a groan from Scott.

“Logan,” you said, trying to balance your shy nature with the need to contribute. “I think what they’re saying is… you’re great on your own, but in a real mission, working together is—kind of important.”

His gaze softened as he looked at you, the teasing edge fading slightly. “Noted, sweetheart. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Jean exchanged a quick glance with Ororo, who simply shook her head. “We’ll see,” Ororo muttered, clearly skeptical.

Scott stepped forward, pointing to the screen. “And what about the rest of the team?”

You quickly pulled up the individual stats for everyone else, rattling off the scores. “Jean’s at 90, Ororo’s 92, and Scott—you’ve got a 95.”

Logan gave a low whistle, mock-impressed. “Look at you, Slim. Setting the curve.”

“Someone has to,” Scott replied dryly, but his tone lacked its usual sharpness. He turned back to you. “Good work, Y/N. At least someone here knows how to focus.”

Jean grinned. “She’s always focused. Unlike some people,” she said pointedly, glancing at Logan.

Logan smirked, unbothered as he straightened up. “Guess I’ll just have to make up for it next time.”

Scott opened his mouth to argue, but Ororo cut him off. “Let’s just take the feedback and move on. We’ll schedule another session next week.”

As the group began to disperse, Logan lingered by your side, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re too nice to me, sweetheart.”

You hesitated, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “Someone has to be.”

Logan smirked at your response, but before he could say anything else, he slid an arm around your shoulders, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he guided you toward the exit. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

You stiffened slightly, your hand coming up to his chest as you gently pushed him away. “Logan—seriously?”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “What? Afraid someone’s gonna think we’re cozy or somethin’?”

“No,” you said firmly, stepping out of his reach. “I’m afraid of the fact that you’re sweaty and gross. I’m not getting anywhere near you until you shower.”

Logan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that earned a chuckle from Jean and a loud groan from Scott. “Sweetheart, I’ve been through worse. Little sweat never killed anyone.”

“Maybe not,” you said, adjusting your glasses and flashing a rare smirk. “But it’s definitely killed my willingness to put up with you right now.”

Jean leaned casually against the doorway, her arms crossed as she watched the exchange. “She’s got a point, Logan. You’re a walking hazard zone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered, waving a dismissive hand. He threw one last glance at you before heading toward the door. “Fine. I’ll clean up. But don’t think this is over, sweetheart.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied dryly, turning back to the console to shut everything down.

---

The next week, as you were setting up the console for the simulation, Scott and Kitty came walking down the viewing deck hallway. “Come on,” Scott said, “you’re joining us this time. Kitty’ll take care of this.”

You raised your head from the screens and looked over at Scott, tilting your head. “You sure? I’m not exactly much help in the field.”

Scott crossed his arms, giving you a look that said he wasn’t buying your self-doubt. “You’re more capable than you think, Y/N. And we’re not giving you a choice this time. Kitty’s handling the tech, so suit up.”

You hesitated, glancing at Kitty, who gave you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” she said, sliding into the chair you vacated. “Besides, it’ll be good for you. Logan’s always saying you need to get out of the lab more.”

“Does he now?” you murmured, adjusting your glasses. A small, nervous smile tugged at your lips as you looked back at Scott. “Okay, but only if you promise not to get annoyed if I mess up.”

Scott’s expression softened, and he nodded. “You won’t mess up. Just stick to the plan, and you’ll be fine.”

As the three of you headed down the hallway toward the locker rooms, Logan was leaning casually against the wall just outside, his arms crossed. His signature smirk appeared the second he saw you. “What’s this? Slim finally letting you outta your cage?”

You rolled your eyes, already feeling a little self-conscious. “It’s not like that, Logan.”

“Sure it’s not,” he drawled, falling into step beside you. “Guess this means I’ll have to keep an extra close eye on you, darlin’. Wouldn’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

“Or distracting anyone else,” Scott muttered under his breath.

Logan shot him a look, but you quickly intervened, your tone light but firm. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to babysit me.”

Logan chuckled. “You say that now, but wait till the action starts.” He gave you a wink before heading off toward the men’s locker room.

Scott let out a long-suffering sigh. “Just… try not to encourage him.”

“I didn’t say anything!” you protested, your cheeks flushing.

“Yeah, but you smiled,” Scott replied, shaking his head as he disappeared into the locker room.

---

In the simulation room, the team gathered near the starting point. The scenario was a hostage rescue in a collapsing skyscraper, and Scott was already running through the plan with his usual precision. “Ororo and Jean will handle structural stabilization while Logan and I take point on the hostiles. Y/N, you’ll be with Logan.”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Figures. Slim knows who the real MVP is.”

Scott ignored him, turning his attention to you. “Your job is to focus on time manipulation to give us an edge. Slow things down where necessary, especially if Logan decides to... improvise.”

Jean coughed lightly, barely disguising a laugh. “You mean when Logan improvises.”

“Whatever works,” Logan said with a shrug. He glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “You ready for this, sweetheart?”

You nodded, though the nerves were clear in your posture. “Yeah. I think so.”

Logan leaned in just enough to lower his voice. “Hey. You’ve got this. Just stick with me.”

You managed a small smile, adjusting your gloves. “Thanks.”

---

As the simulation began, chaos erupted almost immediately. Logan, true to form, charged ahead with reckless abandon, his claws slicing through holographic enemies like they were nothing. You stayed close, using your powers to slow time in bursts, giving him an edge whenever he veered too far from the plan.

“Logan, stick to your quadrant!” Scott’s voice barked over the comms.

“I’m stickin’ to it!” Logan shot back, even as he lunged into an adjacent zone. “Just takin’ the scenic route.”

“Scenic route?” you muttered, struggling to keep up with him. “You’re all over the place!”

Logan flashed you a grin over his shoulder. “That’s why you’re here, sweetheart. Keepin’ me in check.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but a part of you felt a flicker of pride. Despite his chaotic style, he trusted you to have his back.

As the simulation progressed, you found yourself falling into a rhythm with him. Whenever he rushed headfirst into a dangerous situation, you instinctively slowed time to give him the upper hand. He, in turn, would glance back to make sure you were safe, his protective instincts as sharp as his claws.

When the final wave of enemies fell and the simulation ended, Scott called the team to regroup. “Not bad,” he said, though his tone suggested he had plenty of notes. “We’ll review the footage and—”

“Hold up,” Logan interrupted, glancing at you. “How’d she do?”

Scott blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Y/N? She did well. Kept up with you, which is more than I can say for most people.”

Logan’s smirk returned. “Told ya she’s got it.”

You adjusted your glasses, your cheeks warming as Jean gave you an approving smile. “She definitely held her own. Maybe we should bring her along more often.”

Scott nodded reluctantly. “We’ll see. For now, let’s debrief.”

As the group started toward the viewing deck, Logan slowed his pace to walk beside you. He bumped your shoulder lightly, a rare softness in his tone. “Proud of you, darlin’. Told ya you’d do great.”

You glanced at him, a small smile breaking through your shyness. “Thanks. But I think we both know you’re the reason Scott’s hair is going to turn gray early.”

Logan laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Worth it.”

---

You let out a quiet groan in your sleep, twisting the thin sheet that barely covered you. The summer heat was relentless, and your room, like most of the older parts of the mansion, didn’t have air conditioning. Adding to your discomfort was Logan, who radiated heat like a furnace. Despite the oppressive warmth, his arm was slung lazily around your waist, anchoring you close.

Shifting slightly, you tried to peel yourself away without waking him, but his grip tightened instinctively. “Where d’you think you’re goin’, sweetheart?” Logan’s voice was rough with sleep, his words barely above a murmur.

“It’s too hot,” you whispered back, your voice tinged with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “You’re like a space heater.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, his breath warm against your neck. “Can’t help it. Comes with the claws and all.”

“You mean being insufferable comes with the claws?” you teased softly, attempting to squirm out from under his arm again.

He growled playfully, pulling you closer instead. “Watch it, darlin’. You’re startin’ to sound a lot like Slim.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “I mean it, Logan. I’m going to melt.”

Logan loosened his hold slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and the faintest hint of a smirk played on his lips. “Guess I’ll have to cool you off, then.”

“Don’t even—” you started, but before you could finish, Logan leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and entirely unfair in its ability to make you forget the heat. When he finally pulled back, his grin was infuriatingly smug.

“Still too hot?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.

You huffed, pushing his chest lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His hand lingered, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone.

Your cheeks warmed, though you blamed it on the heat. “I guess I do.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and genuine, before he flopped back onto his pillow. “Go back to sleep, darlin’. I’ll try not to roast you alive.”

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words. Settling back against him despite the heat, you allowed yourself to relax, his steady presence oddly comforting.

As you drifted off, Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Night, sweetheart.”

---

You could bake and cook, but apparently, your skills weren’t exactly pro level. You huffed as you pulled out the pan of macaron shells, all of which were deflated, cracked, or just… sad. The vision of glossy, perfectly round macarons you'd had in your head? Nowhere to be found.

Logan, who had been lounging at the kitchen table flipping through a newspaper, looked up as you groaned in frustration. “What’s the problem, sweetheart?”

You held up the tray of macaron disasters like a defeated warrior displaying a broken weapon. “This is the problem. They’re supposed to be pretty and fluffy, not—whatever this is.” You gestured to the cracked, flat mess.

He squinted at them, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t see the problem. They’re just cookies, right? Still edible.”

“They’re macarons, not cookies. They’re supposed to be delicate, with perfect little feet and smooth tops. This is a disaster,” you said dramatically, setting the tray down with a sigh.

Logan snorted, setting the newspaper aside. “Darlin’, you’re makin’ a big fuss over somethin’ that’s just gonna get eaten. I mean, they look fine to me.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Fine? They look like they’ve been through a war.”

“Then they’ve got character,” he said, standing and walking over to you. He plucked one off the tray and popped it into his mouth before you could stop him.

“Logan!” you protested. “They’re not ready yet, and they probably taste—”

He raised a hand to silence you, chewing thoughtfully. “Huh. Not bad,” he said with a shrug. “Tastes like sugar.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t help the slight twitch of a smile on your lips. “That’s because it’s basically just sugar and almond flour. But they’re not supposed to just taste good; they’re supposed to look good too.”

Logan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you fuss over the tray. “Seems like a waste of energy, worryin’ about somethin’ like that. Long as they taste good, who cares?”

“You don’t understand,” you said, shaking your head. “This was supposed to be impressive! Like, ‘look, everyone, I can make professional-grade macarons!’ impressive. Not, ‘here, enjoy these sad, sugary pancakes.’”

He laughed at that, the sound low and warm, and you glared at him halfheartedly. “I’m glad my baking failure amuses you.”

"Y/N, I’m serious. They’re fine. Hell, I bet they taste better than anything anyone else around here could make.”

Logan’s hands found your waist, and before you could protest, he effortlessly lifted you onto the counter. A surprised yelp escaped your lips as you steadied yourself, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.

“Logan!” You glared at him, though your annoyance was quickly melting under the warmth of his amused grin.

“What?” he asked innocently, leaning one hand on the counter next to you while his other stayed resting lightly on your knee. “Figured this was a good place for a pep talk. Y’know, eye level and all that.”

You shook your head, exasperated but unable to hold back a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said with a small shrug, his smirk softening as he looked at you. “But you’re sittin’ here beatin’ yourself up over somethin’ stupid when you’ve got no reason to.”

“They’re not stupid, Logan. They’re macarons,” you insisted, crossing your arms in mock defiance.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, as he stepped closer. “Y/N, you’re sweatin’ the small stuff. You could burn dinner, and everyone’d still eat it without complainin’—myself included. But these? They’re fine. And you wanna know why?”

“Why?” you asked warily, narrowing your eyes at him.

“’Cause you made ’em,” Logan said simply, his voice quieter now. “You put in the work, and that means somethin’. Might not be perfect, but hell, nothin’ ever is.”

The sincerity in his tone made your cheeks flush. You tried to look away, but his hand was already reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“You’re too nice to me,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not nice,” he said with a smirk. “Just honest.”

Before you could come up with a witty response, Logan leaned in, his lips brushing yours softly. His kiss was unhurried, filled with the same steady warmth that he always seemed to carry. You melted into it, forgetting for a moment about the tray of failed macarons still sitting on the counter.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Still feelin’ like a failure?”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. “Maybe a little.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Guess I’ll just have to keep convincin’ you.”

“Logan,” you started, but he didn’t give you a chance to finish. In one swift motion, he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder.

A startled laugh bubbled out of you as you smacked his back lightly. “Logan! Put me down!”

“Not a chance, darlin’,” he said, his tone filled with teasing amusement as he strode toward the door. “You need some fresh air. Maybe if I walk you around a bit, you’ll quit stressin’ over those sugar pancakes.”

“They’re macarons!” you corrected, your laughter echoing through the hallway as he carried you out of the kitchen.

“Whatever they are, they’re fine,” Logan said firmly, his hand resting against the back of your thigh to steady you. “And you’re gonna see that—after I get you outta this mansion for a bit.”

You let out a resigned sigh, though the smile on your face betrayed any attempt at irritation. “Fine. But you’re carrying me back if I don’t feel better.”

“Deal,” he replied, his grin widening as he turned the corner, earning a few amused glances from passing students.

As you hung over his shoulder, your heart felt lighter. Maybe your macarons weren’t perfect, but with Logan by your side, it hardly seemed to matter.

---

You walked out of the bathroom, towel-drying your damp hair as you adjusted the straps of your light blue silk nightgown. It was new—something you had picked up during a recent mall trip with Jean and some of the kids. You weren’t entirely sure what had possessed you to buy it, but Jean had insisted it was ‘perfect’ for summer, and you figured she was probably right. Now, as the smooth fabric clung lightly to your skin, you found yourself feeling just a little self-conscious.

Logan was sprawled on the bed, one leg hanging off the edge, his back propped against the headboard. A notebook was in his hand, and his brow furrowed slightly in concentration as he sketched something on the page. His expression was uncharacteristically relaxed, a rare sight that made your heart clench.

He looked up as you stepped into the room, his gaze lingering for a beat longer than usual. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm. His eyes flicked over you briefly, and though he didn’t comment, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Hey,” you replied softly, padding over to the bed and sitting on the edge near him. You glanced curiously at the notebook in his hand. “What are you working on?”

Logan tilted the book slightly, as if debating whether to show you. “Nothin’ much. Just passin’ the time.”

Your curiosity deepened as you caught a glimpse of pencil strokes and shading. “Can I see?” you asked, tilting your head.

He hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, sure.” He shifted to sit up straighter, his arm brushing yours as he handed you the notebook. “Don’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?” you asked, smiling softly as you took the notebook. Logan adjusted his position, his hands resting lightly on your waist as he guided you onto his lap, the warmth of him seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. Your back pressed against his chest as you settled in, the notebook resting on your knees.

The first drawing you saw took your breath away. It was a detailed sketch of the mansion’s garden, the shading capturing the way the sunlight filtered through the trees. The perspective was flawless, each flower and blade of grass rendered with care. “Logan, this is amazing,” you murmured, your fingers lightly tracing the edges of the page.

He huffed a quiet laugh against your shoulder. “Didn’t peg me for an artist, huh?”

“I didn’t know you could draw like this,” you admitted, flipping to the next page. This one was a portrait—a student from the mansion, laughing mid-conversation. It was so vivid you almost expected the image to move.

Logan’s hands tightened slightly on your waist as you turned the pages, each one revealing another sketch: Ororo standing by the lake, Jean mid-training, even Scott adjusting his visor. And then you stopped. The next drawing was of you.

It wasn’t posed or polished like the others. It was you caught in an unguarded moment, sitting cross-legged on the mansion steps with a book in your lap. Your hair was loosely tied back, and your glasses perched on the bridge of your nose as you absentmindedly twirled a pen in your fingers. Logan had captured every detail, right down to the faint curve of your lips.

You blinked, unsure what to say, the heat rushing to your cheeks. “You—this is me.”

“Yeah,” Logan said simply, his voice quieter now. “Figured you’d catch on.”

You turned to glance at him, your breath hitching at the way his eyes softened as they met yours. “It’s… beautiful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan smirked, but there was something tender in his expression. “Guess I got the subject right, then.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned back to the sketch, feeling his chin rest lightly on your shoulder. As you flipped through the remaining pages, you caught more glimpses of yourself—small moments you didn’t even realize he’d noticed. Sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, laughing at something off-camera, standing by the window as the morning light spilled in. Each one was intimate, raw, and filled with a kind of reverence that left you speechless.

As you paused on another drawing, the strap of your nightgown slipped down your shoulder. Logan’s hand moved almost instinctively, his fingers brushing your skin as he gently slid the strap back into place. The touch was so casual, so natural, that it barely registered—but the warmth lingered.

“Didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Logan said softly, his voice low against your ear.

“You didn’t,” you replied, though your cheeks betrayed you. “I just didn’t realize you… paid attention like this.”

“’Course I do,” he said, his tone gruff but sincere. “You’re worth payin’ attention to, darlin’.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you leaned back against him, letting the quiet reassurance of his presence wash over you. “Thank you,” you said softly, your fingers brushing the edge of the notebook. “For this. For… seeing me.”

Logan pressed a kiss to your temple, his stubble grazing your skin. “Always.”

---

The room hummed with quiet tension as the group gathered in the briefing room. Scott stood at the head of the table, his sharp, no-nonsense demeanor firmly in place as he laid out the mission details. Jean sat beside him, her fingers laced neatly in her lap, while Ororo leaned back in her chair with an air of calm focus. Bobby and Kitty exchanged a few quiet words, their confidence steady despite the high stakes.

Logan sat beside you, his hand resting casually on your thigh under the table. To the others, it probably looked like a typical display of Logan's relaxed attitude—or as relaxed as he ever got. To you, it was anything but casual. His fingers were warm and slightly calloused, a steady presence that grounded you as Scott’s voice went on about tactical points and contingency plans.

“We’re infiltrating a research facility,” Scott said, gesturing to the holographic map projected above the table. “The main goal is retrieving this.” He tapped a button, and the image shifted to a glowing USB drive. “It’s encrypted with data on mutant experiments. We need it to understand what they’re planning. The defenses will be heavy, and we’ll have limited time.”

Scott turned his gaze toward you, and your stomach flipped. “You’ll be in charge of getting the drive. The rest of us will keep the guards distracted. Once you have it, get to the Blackbird as quickly as possible. No detours, no delays. Understood?”

You nodded, twirling the pen in your hand as you absorbed the weight of your task. “Understood.”

Logan shifted beside you. Though he hadn’t said anything yet, you could feel the tension rolling off him. His thumb absentmindedly brushed over the fabric of your pants, a barely-there motion that sent shivers up your spine.

“Good,” Scott continued. “Logan, Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the main group of guards. Bobby and Kitty, you’re with us on crowd control. Everyone stick to the plan.”

As the meeting wrapped up, Logan finally spoke. “You sure she’s going in alone?” His voice was gruff, his eyes fixed on Scott. The unspoken I don’t like this hung heavy in the air.

“She can handle it,” Scott replied without missing a beat. “We wouldn’t assign her this role if she couldn’t.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, his hand squeezed your thigh gently before he pulled it away, as if reminding you that he was there, even if he didn’t agree with the plan.

---

The mission started smoothly. The team split up as planned, with Logan, Scott, Jean, Ororo, Bobby, and Kitty engaging the guards near the facility’s entrance. Meanwhile, you slipped into the building, your footsteps light as you navigated the sterile hallways.

The hum of fluorescent lights and the faint beeping of machinery filled the space. You kept your breathing steady, relying on your time manipulation to slow your perception of movement, giving yourself more control and awareness. It was a skill you’d honed over time, though it still required focus. You reached the central lab and quickly spotted the USB drive Scott had shown during the briefing. It was locked inside a glass case.

“Piece of cake,” you whispered to yourself, pulling out a small device. The gadget made quick work of the lock, and with a soft hiss, the case opened. You grabbed the drive, tucking it securely into the pouch on your belt.

As you turned to leave, you heard footsteps approaching from the hall. Instinctively, you reached out with your powers, halting time in the immediate area. The world around you froze: the footsteps, the hum of lights, even the faint sway of papers on a desk. Moving quickly, you exited the lab, retracing your steps until you reached a side door leading to the facility's exterior. Only then did you release your hold on time, letting it snap back into motion as if nothing had happened.

You broke into a run, heading for the Blackbird as planned. The others would be close behind once they finished with the guards. The night air was cool against your skin as you darted across the open space between the facility and the jet.

---

Logan stood amidst the chaos at the entrance. His claws slashed through another guard as Scott barked orders to hold the line. Jean and Ororo flanked him, their powers keeping waves of reinforcements at bay. It was going fine. Almost too fine.

Until Logan heard voices over the comms—the crackling radio chatter of guards somewhere outside the perimeter, and then the faint sound of footsteps heading toward the Blackbird.

His chest tightened. He didn’t think. He just moved.

"Logan, where the hell are you going?" Scott shouted over the din.

“Something’s off,” Logan growled, already bolting from the fight.

“We’re not done here!” Scott’s voice crackled in Logan’s earpiece, but Logan ripped it out, tossing it aside. He wasn’t going to lose you. Not again.

---

You’d just reached the Blackbird, your hand resting on the ramp control, when Logan appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. His breath came in harsh pants, and his eyes darted around, scanning the tree line for threats.

“Logan?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you lowered your hand. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the team.”

“They were handling it fine,” he said gruffly, his claws still out as he moved to stand in front of you like a shield. "Heard movement. Thought maybe they were gunnin' for you."

You stared at him, your confusion giving way to frustration. “You thought—Logan, I’m fine. The plan worked. I got the drive. I was already here.”

He turned to face you fully, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with a mix of anger and fear. “You think I’m just gonna sit back while you’re out here alone? Anything could’ve happened!”

“I can handle myself,” you shot back, your voice sharp but steady. “That’s why Scott trusted me with this part of the mission. You should’ve stayed with the team.”

Logan took a step closer, his presence overwhelming as always. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Every damn time... I lose you. Every time. And I can’t—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair, the claws retracting with a soft snikt.

Your frustration faltered, replaced by confusion. “What do you mean, ‘every time’? Logan, what are you talking about?”

He looked at you, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes. “I’ve lost you before, Y/N. More times than I can count. Doesn’t matter if it’s this life or another—I lose you. Always. And I can’t go through that again.”

You blinked, your mind reeling. His words didn’t make sense. “Logan—”

The sound of the others approaching cut you off. The rest of the team appeared, battered but victorious, and the moment between you and Logan was shattered. He stepped back, his usual mask sliding into place as he moved to help Scott secure the ramp.

But you couldn’t shake his words. You couldn’t shake the look in his eyes.

---

The flight back to the mansion was quiet and, thankfully, short. As Ororo and Scott expertly landed the jet, Bobby and Kitty were the first off, eager to escape the tension that hung in the air. They exchanged a few hushed words and hurried down the ramp, their footsteps echoing into the still night.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and stood, adjusting your glasses and stretching your legs. Logan was already up, his movements deliberate as he waited for the others to disembark. Jean followed Scott down the ramp, her hand brushing lightly against his arm as they spoke in low voices. Ororo trailed behind them, her gaze calm but perceptive, always attuned to the undercurrents of emotion in the group.

Scott stopped at the base of the ramp, his expression tight as he turned back toward Logan. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice clipped.

Logan leaned casually against one of the seats, his arms crossed. “Sure,” he replied, his tone dismissive. “Later.”

Scott’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he motioned for Jean and Ororo to follow him, and the three disappeared into the mansion, leaving you and Logan alone on the Blackbird.

You stayed near your seat, unsure whether to move or wait. Logan’s gaze flicked toward you, his expression softening as he stepped closer. His hand reached out, fingers brushing your wrist before he wrapped them around it gently.

“C’mere,” he said, his voice low but firm.

You allowed him to lead you to the far corner of the jet, away from the open ramp. Once there, he released your wrist but didn’t step back, his proximity sending a rush of warmth through you.

“What was that back there?” you asked, your voice steady despite the lingering tension. “Why did you leave the team to come after me? I was fine, Logan.”

He didn’t answer right away. His hands rested on his hips, his head bowing slightly as if searching for the right words. Finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his tone gruff. “This ain’t just about the mission. It’s about you. I can’t just sit around and hope for the best when you’re out there, Y/N. Not after—” He stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he dragged a hand through his hair.

“Not after what?” you pressed, stepping closer. “Logan, what are you not telling me?”

He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face as if weighing whether to pull you into his truth. Finally, with a quiet sigh, he took a step back and leaned against the wall of the jet, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I’ve lost you before,” he admitted, his voice quieter now but no less raw. “Not just once. Over and over. Five times, to be exact.”

You frowned, confusion swirling in your mind. “Lost me? What are you talking about? I’ve only known you for—”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Not in this life. In others. You don’t remember, but I do.” He paused, his hands gripping the edge of the wall as if steadying himself. “Every time, I meet you. Every time, we get close. And every damn time, I lose you. To sickness, accidents, war... something always takes you from me.”

You blinked, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. “That doesn’t make sense. Logan, I don’t—”

“I know it sounds crazy,” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly before softening again. “But it’s the truth. The second I met you here, I knew. I’ve known you in ways I can’t explain. And now that I’ve got you in this life, I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”

Your heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice, but it also raced with doubt and confusion. Logan’s words stirred something deep within you—a sense of recognition that you couldn’t explain, like catching the edge of a forgotten dream. But as much as your emotions pulled you toward him, your rational mind resisted.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Logan, I’m not saying you’re lying, but you’re telling me you’ve known me in other lifetimes? That’s not… possible.”

“It’s the truth, darlin’,” Logan said softly, his voice steady despite the weight of his admission. He leaned back against the wall, his posture deceptively relaxed while his eyes never left yours. “You can twist the logic all you want, but I know what I’ve lived through. And I know you.”

You shook your head, your mind racing to reconcile his certainty with everything you understood about the universe. “I’m a scientist, Logan. Time, space, the way life and death work… it doesn’t leave room for things like this.” You paused, searching for the words. “I mean, even if something like reincarnation were possible, how would you remember? How would you—” You stopped yourself, a lump forming in your throat as you thought of the weight he carried in his words. “Why would you remember and not me?”

Logan sighed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t have all the answers. Hell, I don’t even know why my memories are so damn broken, but I know this much: every time I see you, it’s like some part of me snaps into place. Doesn’t matter how the rest of my life’s a blur—you’re the one thing that sticks. You always do.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The sincerity in his tone, the desperation in his eyes—it was undeniable. And yet, your logical mind clung to disbelief.

“What do you remember?” you asked after a long pause, your voice quieter now. “About me? About… us?”

Logan’s jaw worked for a moment as he considered your question. “Everything,” he said finally. “The way you laugh, the way you think too much and then laugh about that. The way you’ve always got your nose in a book or a project that’s way over my head. And the way you look at me—like you see something good in me even when I don’t.”

Your breath hitched, and you pushed your glasses up your nose as you looked away, your cheeks burning. “That’s just how I am,” you mumbled, trying to deflect the heat of his gaze.

“Maybe,” Logan said, his voice softer now, almost tender. “But it’s always you, sweetheart. Doesn’t matter if you’re shy like now or bold like before. You’re still you.”

You hesitated, your mind a storm of contradictions. “If what you’re saying is true,” you said carefully, “then why don’t I remember? Why would I just… forget all of that?”

“I don’t know,” Logan admitted, stepping closer to you. He didn’t touch you this time, but his presence was steady and grounding, like the weight of his hand had been earlier. “But does it matter? You’re here now. And so am I.”

You didn’t know what to say. The logical part of you screamed to question him further, to demand proof or push back against the impossibility of his claims. But another part of you—the part that had always felt an unspoken connection to him, the part that trusted him without question—wanted to believe.

Before you could respond, a distant voice called out from the mansion grounds, cutting through the stillness. Logan’s eyes flicked toward the open ramp of the Blackbird, his jaw tightening briefly before his gaze returned to you.

“We’ll talk more later,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “I’m not lettin’ this go, Y/N. Not this time.”

You swallowed hard, nodding despite the turmoil inside you. Logan lingered a moment longer, his eyes searching yours as if memorizing every detail, before he turned and headed toward the ramp.

You stood there, rooted in place, your thoughts tangled and chaotic. If what Logan said was true, it changed everything. But even if it wasn’t, the weight of his words—and the look in his eyes—told you one thing: Logan wasn’t going to let you slip away. Not now, not ever.

---

That night, you found yourself lingering outside Jean and Scott’s room, hesitant but resolute. You raised a hand to knock, but paused, second-guessing. Before you could lose your nerve, you rapped softly on the door. It opened after a moment, Scott standing there with a questioning look. Behind him, Jean was tidying up near the dresser, her head tilting curiously at the sight of you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Scott said, his tone polite but guarded after the mission. “Everything okay?”

You glanced past him at Jean, then shifted back to Scott. “I was wondering if I could talk to Jean alone for a minute,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Scott’s brow furrowed, but he stepped back with a small nod. “Sure.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the common room,” he told Jean, his tone softening before he passed you a quick glance and exited the room.

Jean came over, her posture open and inviting as she gestured for you to come in. “What’s going on?” she asked, closing the door behind you.

You hesitated for a beat before finding your words. “I just… I needed to talk to someone. About Logan.”

Jean’s eyebrows lifted, her expression curious but understanding. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing for you to take the chair by the desk. “Alright,” she said, her voice calm. “What’s on your mind?”

You sat down, folding your hands tightly in your lap. “He told me something today. Something… huge. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

Jean’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Is it about the mission?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. It’s… personal.” You hesitated, chewing on your lip before continuing. “He said he’s known me before. In other lives.”

Jean blinked, her posture stiffening slightly. “Other lives?”

“Yeah.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “He said we’ve met before—five times. That every time, we…” You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “Every time, I die. And he remembers everything.”

Jean was quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching your face as she processed what you’d said. “And you don’t… remember any of this?” she asked gently.

“No,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. “And I don’t even know if it’s true. But the way he said it, Jean—it wasn’t just some story. It felt real. He believes it.”

Jean nodded slowly, her expression contemplative. “Logan’s been through a lot. And his memories—or the gaps in them—are complicated.” She tilted her head. “Did he say why he remembers you specifically?”

You hesitated, recalling his words on the jet. “He said… I’m the only thing that sticks. That everything else is a blur, but not me.”

Jean’s expression softened, and she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “Y/N, I don’t know if I can explain why Logan feels this way. But I do know he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. If he told you this, it’s because he believes it with everything he has.”

“That’s what scares me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because what if he’s right? What if there’s this… this whole part of me that I don’t even know exists?”

Jean reached out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Maybe there is. Or maybe this is just Logan’s way of processing his feelings for you. Either way, it doesn’t change who you are right now. You’re Y/N. The person we know, the person Logan clearly…” She trailed off, smiling faintly. “Clearly cares about.”

You looked down, your cheeks burning. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

Jean squeezed your arm gently. “I get that. But you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Just take it one step at a time.”

You nodded, grateful for her steady presence. “Thanks, Jean. I needed this.”

“Anytime,” she said warmly. “And if you need someone to talk to again, I’m here.”

---

Meanwhile, in the common room, Logan sat slouched on the couch, a glass of whiskey resting on the table in front of him. His gaze was fixed on the darkened fireplace, his thoughts far away. He barely registered the sound of the door opening until Charles wheeled into the room.

“You look troubled,” Charles observed, his voice calm but perceptive as always.

Logan didn’t turn, his jaw tightening. “Not in the mood for a lecture, Chuck.”

“I wasn’t planning to give you one,” Charles said, stopping his chair beside the couch. “But I can tell something’s weighing on you.”

Logan huffed out a breath, finally glancing at him. “You ever feel like you’re living the same nightmare on repeat?”

Charles regarded him thoughtfully. “I’ve certainly seen my share of patterns in life. But I suspect you’re referring to something far more personal.”

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s Y/N,” he said finally. “She doesn’t know it, but… I’ve met her before. Five times, in different lives.”

Charles tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “And you remember all of this?”

“Every damn detail,” Logan muttered, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I can’t explain it, but it’s like she’s the one thing I can’t forget. Even after Weapon X, when they wiped everything else—she stuck.”

Charles was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And you told her this?”

Logan nodded, his jaw clenching. “She thinks I’m nuts. Can’t say I blame her.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles said gently. “But if what you’re saying is true, then Y/N’s presence in your life may have a purpose beyond what either of you understand.”

Logan let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, if it’s got a purpose, it sure as hell ain’t been kind. Every time I get close to her, I lose her. And I can’t do it again, Charles. I won’t.”

Charles placed a hand on Logan’s arm, his touch steady and grounding. “Whatever the truth may be, you have an opportunity now. She’s here, Logan. Focus on that. Focus on this moment.”

Logan exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping. “Easier said than done.”

Charles smiled faintly. “Perhaps. But you’re not alone in this.”

Logan nodded reluctantly, his gaze returning to the fireless hearth. Despite the weight of his memories and fears, one thought remained constant: he wasn’t letting you go. Not this time.

---

The days after Logan's confession were a strange blend of tension and normalcy. One evening, as the mansion settled into its usual calm, you found yourself wandering outside. The garden was quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the crisp air biting at your skin as you walked aimlessly, your thoughts tangled.

You were startled when Logan's deep voice broke through the quiet. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

You turned to find him leaning against a tree, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was dressed in his usual leather jacket, the faint scent of smoke and pine lingering in the air around him.

“I needed some air,” you said softly.

Logan pushed off the tree, closing the distance between you in a few long strides. “Yeah, well, you know how it gets around here. Safer not to wander too far.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean safer from the squirrels? Or the mutant squirrels?”

That earned you the faintest twitch of a smile. “Both.”

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You looked up at the sky, the stars scattered like glitter across the inky blackness. Logan stood beside you, his gaze fixed on you instead of the view.

Finally, you broke the quiet. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t know if I believe in reincarnation or destiny or any of that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But… I believe you. I can’t explain why, but I do.”

Logan’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his expression remained guarded. “You don’t have to believe it. Hell, half the time I wish it wasn’t true.”

You turned to face him fully, searching his face. “Why?”

His gaze flicked away, his mouth pressing into a hard line. “Because it’s a curse, Y/N. Every time I get you back, the universe rips you away. I can’t go through it again. I won’t.”

You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan… I’m here now. Whatever happened before, it’s not happening now. I’m alive. I’m me.”

His eyes met yours, a storm of emotions swirling in them—fear, longing, and something deeper, raw and unspoken. “You say that now, but it doesn’t change what’s coming. You don’t know what it’s like to watch someone you—” He cut himself off, his voice breaking.

You reached out, your hand brushing his arm. “Then tell me. Help me understand.”

Logan stared at you for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Then, without warning, he closed the space between you, his hands gently but firmly gripping your shoulders. His voice was low, almost desperate. “You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real to me. Everything else gets taken, erased, twisted—but you… You’re the one thing they can’t touch. And I don’t know how to protect you without losing you.”

Your heart ached at his words, the weight of his pain pressing down on you. You covered his hands with yours, grounding him. “Then stop trying to protect me from something that hasn’t happened. Stop living in the past or the future and just… be here with me.”

His grip loosened slightly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “We’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

Logan exhaled a shaky breath, his forehead lowering to rest against yours. “Okay.”

The two of you stood there, the world around you fading into the background. For the first time in a long while, Logan allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time could be different.

---

He sat on the edge of the bed, the small jewelry box in his hand open as he looked at the ring he’s had for almost two centuries.

The door to Logan’s room creaked open as you stepped inside, balancing two plates in your hands. The smell of freshly baked lemon scones lingered in the air, and a small smile played on your lips as you made your way over to him.

“Breakfast in bed isn’t your usual thing,” Logan teased, his tone warm as his eyes followed you across the room.

You shrugged, setting the plates down on the bedside table. “First time for everything, right? Besides, I wanted to try making these.”

Logan arched a brow, feigning suspicion. “Scones, huh? What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” you said with a small laugh, sitting down on the bed beside him. “Just a lot of flour, butter, and a very questionable amount of zesting.” His lips twitched, but you caught the way his hand subtly slid into his jacket pocket. You raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, leaning over to snag a scone off one of the plates. “These smell good.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicion flickering in your expression, but decided to let it go—for now. “They’re lemon scones. First time making them. I figured I’d test them out on you.”

“Guinea pig, huh?” Logan bit into the scone, chewing thoughtfully. After a moment, he nodded. “Not bad. A little tart, but good.”

Your shoulders relaxed, relief washing over you. “Tart? I thought I added enough sugar…”

“It’s fine, darlin’. I like it.” He smirked, breaking off another piece. “Guess this means I’m stuck with being your taste tester now.”

You grinned, picking up your own scone. “You’ve survived worse.”

Logan chuckled, his laughter low and rumbling, as the two of you ate in comfortable silence. The summer sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. It was a quiet moment, one that felt oddly normal amidst the chaos of life at the mansion.

As you set your plate back on the table, you caught Logan watching you. His gaze was steady, but there was something behind it—an intensity that made your cheeks heat.

“What?” you asked softly, brushing a crumb off your lip.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head with a small smile. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

Logan leaned back, his arm draping across the headboard as he studied you. “How you’re the best part of this place.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “Logan…”

“I mean it.” His voice was quieter now, more serious. “This place, the people—it’s good, but you? You make it feel like home.”

Your face warmed, and you looked down, suddenly shy. “You’re just saying that because I made you scones.”

He reached over, his hand gently tipping your chin up so your eyes met his. “Nah. It’s not the scones.”

The moment lingered, heavy with unspoken words. Logan’s thumb brushed your jaw before he pulled back, clearing his throat. “So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

You blinked, still recovering from the softness of his touch. “Um… I don’t know. I was thinking about working on a project, but…” You hesitated. “It’s summer break. I guess I could take a day off.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a grin. “A whole day off? Guess miracles do happen.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pillow and lightly swatting him with it. “Don’t push your luck.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and for a moment, you forgot about the world outside this room. It was just you and Logan, caught in a bubble of warmth and quiet understanding.

But as he reached into his pocket to absently fiddle with the small box, his expression turned thoughtful again. Logan didn’t know how to bring it up—or if he should. All he knew was that someday soon, he’d have to decide. Not if, but when.

---

Your goggles sat on top of your head, the red indent from the frame pressing into your skin as you scribbled furiously in your notebook. Equations sprawled across the pages in a chaotic but purposeful mess. The lab was quiet except for the soft hum of machinery and the faint scratch of your pen against the paper. You were so focused on your work that you didn’t hear Logan come in.

You jumped slightly when you felt his arms wrap around you from behind, his hands resting lightly on your waist. His voice rumbled close to your ear. “You’ve been holed up in here for hours, darlin’.”

“Logan!” you exclaimed, a blush rising to your cheeks. “You scared me.”

His lips curved into a grin against your neck as he pressed a soft kiss to your skin. “Didn’t mean to. What’s got you so wrapped up you didn’t even hear me?”

You relaxed against him, your hands stilling over your notebook. “I’m working on this project—trying to calculate temporal fluctuations in the presence of quantum anomalies. Basically, seeing how external variables could impact time distortion…”

Logan hummed, his lips grazing the side of your neck as he spoke. “Sounds complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated,” you said, your voice picking up with excitement as you began to explain. “The idea is that time manipulation isn’t linear—it’s like... imagine a fabric, but instead of pulling it straight, you twist and fold it. That’s where the anomalies come from. If I can track the changes in—” You cut off with a startled laugh as he kissed the sensitive spot below your ear. “Logan!”

“Keep talkin’,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His arms tightened slightly, swaying the two of you gently side to side. “I’m listenin’.”

Your blush deepened, but you continued, trying to keep your thoughts straight despite the warmth of his lips trailing along your neck. “If I can track the changes in the energy fields… I might be able to stabilize them. Or at least predict when an event could disrupt—Logan!”

He turned you around, his hands still resting on your hips as he gave you a lopsided grin. “You’ve got no idea how good you look in a lab coat, do you?”

Your mouth opened, then closed as you searched for a response. “It’s… just a lab coat.”

Logan chuckled, his hands sliding to rest on the small of your back. “Not the way you wear it, sweetheart.”

You pushed lightly against his chest, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your attempt at indignation. “Are you just here to distract me?”

“Maybe.” His grin softened into something more tender as his eyes held yours. “Or maybe I wanted to see my girl.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the way he said it, so casual but so full of affection. “Well, I’m flattered,” you teased, your voice quieter now. “Even if you’re trying to derail my research.”

Logan leaned down, his forehead brushing yours as his hand came up to cup your cheek. “You’re always workin’ so hard. Someone’s gotta remind you to take a break.”

You softened, your arms looping loosely around his neck. “Is that your job now?”

“Damn right it is,” he murmured before closing the small gap between you and capturing your lips in a kiss. It was slow and deliberate, and when he pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Still wearin’ that cherry lip gloss, huh?”

Your laugh was breathless. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Hard not to,” he admitted, kissing you again, this time deeper, as if he were memorizing the taste. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed over your cheek. “Guess it’s my new favorite.”

Your head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering across your face. “What was your old favorite?”

Logan chuckled, his arms tightening around you as he started to sway the two of you again. “Haven’t had one ‘til now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into him as the tension from your work melted away. Logan always had a way of grounding you, reminding you that life didn’t have to be so complicated all the time. For now, you let yourself forget about time anomalies and equations, losing yourself in the warmth of his embrace and the way his lips brushed against yours again, soft and unhurried.

---

Usually, you were a light sleeper. The smallest sound—a creak in the floorboards, the subtle hum of the air conditioner kicking on—would have you stirring. But ever since you and Logan started sleeping in the same bed, whether it was his room or yours, you were out like a light the moment your head hit the pillow. It was as if some part of you instinctively knew you were safe, tucked against his warmth, lulled by the steady rhythm of his breathing.

It gave Logan a chance to test something he'd been thinking about for weeks.

The small velvet box sat on the nightstand on his side of the bed, just out of your line of sight. He had stared at it countless nights, his mind torn between the weight of what it meant and the comfort it brought him. That ring had traveled with him through lifetimes, through hell and back. It was the only constant in his pocket, a piece of the past he hadn’t been able to let go of.

And now, there you were again, lying beside him, so close he could hear your soft, even breaths. The moonlight streaming through the window glinted off your glasses, which sat folded on the bedside table. You looked peaceful, serene. He hated to disturb you, but the thought wouldn’t leave him alone.

He reached over slowly, careful not to jostle the bed, and picked up the box. His fingers hesitated on the lid. This wasn’t a proposal. Not yet. It was just... curiosity.

The lid opened with a soft click, revealing the simple yet elegant band. It had been forged in a different era, but it felt timeless, like you. He carefully pulled the ring out and turned it over in his hand, the faintest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he looked at you.

“Still sleepin’ like a rock,” he murmured under his breath. “Guess that’s new.”

You shifted slightly, your hand sliding out from under the pillow. Logan froze, waiting. When you didn’t stir again, he carefully took your hand, marveling at how delicate it felt in his rough, calloused one.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a pang of something bittersweet pulling at him. He slipped the ring onto your finger, holding his breath as it slid snugly into place.

It fit.

Logan’s chest tightened. It wasn’t just the way the ring looked—though it looked like it had been made for you, shining faintly in the moonlight. It was what it meant. A promise he hadn’t been able to keep five times before.

He lingered for a moment, his thumb brushing over your hand before he carefully slipped the ring off again and placed it back in the box. Closing it, he set it back on the nightstand and leaned down, pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple.

“Soon,” he whispered, his voice rough and low.

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open just enough to catch his face close to yours. "Logan?" you murmured sleepily.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You hummed in contentment, your eyes closing again as you snuggled closer. “Mmm... okay.”

Logan wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against him. For now, he could wait. There was no rush. He just needed to take it one day at a time.

---

The cool summer breeze ruffled your hair as you leaned back against Logan’s shoulder, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. The two of you were perched on the roof of the mansion, a favorite spot for quiet nights away from the chaos of the team. Above, the stars blinked faintly against the dark canvas of the night sky.

You closed Cloud Atlas with a soft thump and set it aside. Logan glanced over from where he was sketching in his notebook.

“Ya done with it?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Yeah,” you replied, stretching your legs out in front of you. “It was... alright. Kind of disjointed but interesting.”

Logan chuckled, a sound that sent warmth straight to your chest. “Figures. You and your ‘I have to finish every book I start’ thing, darlin’.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “It’s called commitment, Logan.”

“Uh-huh.” He smirked, setting his notebook down. “Speaking of commitment...” He leaned over, reaching into the small bag he’d brought up to the roof.

You raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a book wrapped in brown paper. “What’s that?”

“Somethin’ you’ve been wantin’,” he said, handing it to you.

Curiosity sparked, you unwrapped it carefully, your eyes lighting up when the title was revealed: The Fabric of the Cosmos: Space, Time, and the Texture of Reality.

“Logan!” you gasped, running your fingers over the cover. “I’ve been looking for this everywhere! How did you—?”

“Course I remembered,” he interrupted smoothly, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t forget somethin’ that makes you light up like that.”

Your cheeks warmed as you ducked your head, shy but unable to hide your smile. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, leaning back and draping an arm over your shoulders. “Go on, crack it open. Figured you’d wanna start it tonight.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Settling against him, you flipped open the book and dove into the first chapter, the world around you fading as the words pulled you in. Logan stayed silent beside you, watching with an easy contentment as you lost yourself in the pages.

Two chapters in, you stopped mid-sentence, frowning slightly as something unexpected caught your eye. Pressed between the pages was a small, folded piece of paper. You glanced at Logan, who looked pointedly at the sky, pretending not to notice.

“What’s this?” you asked, unfolding it carefully.

“No idea,” he replied, his voice too casual.

You raised an eyebrow at him before returning your attention to the note. As you unfolded it, a glint of metal fell onto your lap. Your breath hitched. There, nestled against the fabric of your jeans, was a ring.

It was simple yet beautiful, timeless in design, with a delicate band that caught the starlight. For a moment, all you could do was stare, your mind reeling.

“Logan...” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He shifted beside you, his movements slow and deliberate. When you turned to look at him, his expression was uncharacteristically soft, the usual gruffness in his features replaced by something vulnerable.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice rough but steady. “This ring... it’s been with me for longer than I care to admit. Carried it through lifetimes, through every damn thing life’s thrown at me. And every time, it’s led me back to you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as he reached out, gently taking the ring from your lap.

“I’ve lost you too many times,” he continued, his thumb brushing over the band. “But this time... this time, I’m not lettin’ go. I don’t care what happens, how crazy things get, I want this to stick.”

He reached for your hand, his calloused fingers warm against yours. “So what d’ya say, darlin’? You up for makin’ this official?”

Tears blurred your vision as you nodded, your voice catching in your throat. “Logan... yes. Yes, of course.”

A grin broke across his face, rare and genuine, as he slid the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly.

Without thinking, you launched yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest as he held you close. His embrace was solid and unwavering, grounding you even as your emotions threatened to overwhelm.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get here,” he murmured against your hair.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “Me neither,” you admitted, your smile wobbly but radiant. “But I’m glad we did.”

He kissed you then, slow and deliberate, as if sealing a promise. The stars above seemed brighter somehow, the night air warmer. For the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

As the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours. “Guess I don’t need that ring burnin’ a hole in my pocket anymore,” he teased.

You laughed softly, wiping at your eyes. “Guess not.”

i could've dragged out them not being engaged, but i couldn't help myself. anyways, if you can't already tell, most of this alternate timeline is going to be just fluff so i hope y'all are ready for it!

(also, in my head they've been dating for a year so it's currently 2004, a year-ish after x2. i'll add the years at the end notes just for people who like it, because i need the dates just because that's who i am)

[mischievousmoony]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚎

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟻 ⟡ 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎

⟢ james potter x fem!reader

⟢ summary: modern restaurant au; you and james complete side work at the end of your shift . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁2.1k

⟢ warnings/tags: coworker!james, coworker!marauders, anxious!reader, not rlly proofread

⟢ the new hire masterlist ⟡ main masterlist

note: dropping lore in this part ig

"I don't think this restaurant is fancy enough for this to be necessary," you huff, polishing what seems like your millionth spoon.

You're sitting at the rickety break room table, polishing silverware and rolling sets of them into cloths. James is across from you, looking at his reflection in a butter knife.

"No one who eats here is going to care if there are a few water stains on their spoons," you grumble. You're in a bit of a bad mood, this task being the only thing keeping you from going home.

"Nate wants this place to be fancier than it is. Always has," James replies, neatly arranging his knife with the other utensils on the cloth in front of him.

"Always, huh?" you wonder, "Has he always been the manager?"

"As long as I've been here."

"And how long is that?"

"Ah," James pauses in the middle of rolling his napkin, counting in his head, "Technically five years."

You stop in the middle of polishing a fork, looking up to meet James' gaze. "What? Really?" you ask.

James shrugs as if it's nothing, responding, "Started as a busser when I was seventeen. The only person who's been here longer is Remus."

You don't understand the relevance of the comparison, pointing out, "Well, he's older."

James looks at you puzzled, "Remus and I are the same age."

You put the fork down entirely, gaping at James. "Remus is twenty-two?" you ask, your tone conveying your shock.

"Yeah," James says slowly, furrowing his brows, "You didn't know that?"

"No. He looks at least a few years older."

James tilts his head side to side, pondering your comment. "Maybe a little," he admits. "That kitchen wears him down."

You look puzzled as you straighten out the fork you had dropped down on the table, thinking about the revelation that still doesn't quite add up to you.

"If he's our age how in the world is he already a head chef?"

James looks as if he's trying to recall the answer, but comes up short.

"You'd have to ask him. He was hired before me and I guess I never thought to ask that."

"He was a head chef at seventeen?" you ask, eyes widening as your shock doubles.

"No! No, he just worked in the kitchen. Think he was head chef by twenty, though."

"Oh..." you trail off, thinking that makes much more sense than your initial impression. But not by very much. "Still, wow. What about everyone else?"

James' eyebrows raise curiously as he starts polishing yet another spoon.

"What do you mean?"

"They've been here how long?" you clarify.

"Ah. Sirius started about a month after I did. Did you know he started as a server?" James shares the details like it's hot gossip.

To you, it basically is. You can't imagine Sirius doing anything besides bartending at this restaurant.

"Really?"

James smiles at the way your eyes light up in surprise and slight amusement. "Yeah," he confirms. "He absolutely hated it, but doing that he got to train with the bartender before him."

You nod understandingly. It makes sense, you suppose. Bartenders don't just appear out of thin air. You either have to work your way up the ranks or receive formal training, and if you had ever given it any thought, you would have assumed the former.

It dawns on you that you haven't given much thought to your other coworkers at all. Besides what you've naturally found out over the handful of weeks that you've worked here, you don't know much about anyone besides James.

"And the others?"

James blows out some air, thinking, and he takes two rolls of silverware and begins using them as drumsticks against the table. You smile a little at the action.

"Whenever I became a server I recommended Pete for my old busser job. That was probably four years ago."

James had told you stories about him and Peter before, but you wonder how long they've actually known each other.

"How did you know Peter?"

"Known him since primary school."

"Huh," you express your surprise quietly, and James continues on.

"The next hire was Marlene," James smirks as he recalls something. "Actually, she's the reason Lily and Mary were hired."

"Did she recommend them too?"

James chuckles, shaking his head as he explains, "No, Marlene was always complaining about too much testosterone in this place. I think five.. six months after she started, she told Nate that a customer said that they thought management must be sexist because of the lack of girl hires."

"Did someone actually say that?" you ask skeptically.

"No," James laughs, "He totally bought it though cause he hired Lily and Mary a week later. Worked out great for them in the end. You know they go to uni in the city? They’re both here to support themselves through it.”

Your bottom lip finds itself between your teeth as you think about how long everyone has worked here. They’ve all had years to get to know each other. You have already been feeling like an outsider, so learning this just amplifies that tenfold.

James puts his makeshift drumsticks away when he notices you getting lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind?”

Your eyes flash to him, startled out of your train of thought. Shrugging, you try to brush it off and return to your duties to the silverware.

“C’mon, I always know when you’re getting lost in that head of yours,” James says with a teasing yet affectionate tone.

You purse your lips, knowing the chances of James letting this go are slim.

"I just… I don't really know much about them at all I guess. Do they..." you trail off, apprehensive to admit your insecurities.

"What?" James probes gently, softening at your hesitation.

"I’m worried they don't like me,” you admit.

"What!? Why? You’re great! Why wouldn’t anyone like you?” James says it earnestly without a hint of hesitation, and that alone makes you feel a bit better.

You keep your hands busy with the silverware, your eyes focusing intently on the water stains you polish away so that you don’t have to face James as you explain.

“I feel like I haven’t made much of an effort to get to know them. I was nervous, I guess, to talk to new people. Now I’m even more nervous because it’s been so long and I haven’t even tried. They’re going to think–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” James stops you from snowballing into a self-deprecating ramble, placing a hand over yours across the table, also stopping the way you’re polishing a spoon to death.

He dips his head down to try to meet your eyes, which are trained intently on the table. “No one thinks anything,” he says patiently. “Actually, you know what I’ve heard? I’ve heard them say that you’re kind. Maybe a tad shy, but that’s not a bad thing!” The last few words tumble out in a rush, James being worried that you’d take it negatively when he really finds your timid nature so endearing.

Your gaze slowly shifts to meet his eyes. “It’s hard for me to warm up to new people,” you admit, your voice low.

James absentmindedly strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, “You got on with me just fine.”

“You’re different,” you say before you can give it much thought. You would’ve bit your tongue if you had.

“How am I different?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place.

“I-I don’t know you just are.”

It’s true, you’re not sure why but after your first day you were already comfortable with James, more than comfortable if you’re being honest. He quickly became your favorite part about this job.

He simply accepts your answer. Normally, he’d say something witty or teasing, but he finds himself at a loss for words.

The conversation fades into silence, neither of you knowing how to proceed, both overwhelmed with confusing feelings.

James can’t stop looking at where his hand rests over yours, not knowing how to retract it. Not wanting to.

Meanwhile, you search your brain for something to say, something that would change the subject. You don’t feel the need to keep talking about this anyway. Although, you’re not sure if you feel better about the situation with your other coworkers or if you’ve just been distracted from it.

“So, five years, huh?” you start.

"Technically," he emphasizes. He slowly retracts his hand as the conversation takes on a more casual tone.

You had barely even noticed his hand there with how natural it felt, but now that it’s gone your hand almost feels cold. You distract yourself by rolling more silverware.

"What does that mean?" you ask.

"I, er, pursued other things for a little while. Didn't work out, so I ended up back here."

You can’t help but wonder what he means, so you ask, "What things?"

James stammers, him now the apprehensive one.

"Sorry,” you say quickly, “I don't mean to pry."

"No, it's okay,” James waves off your worries, “I was playing rugby."

“What, like, professionally?” you ask, not expecting him to say yes.

“Er, yeah," he admits, twirling a butter knife in between his fingers.

You freeze. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Yes,” he chuckles airily.

He notices how your mouth is slightly agape, twitching as it forms the shape of words which never leave your lips. He can tell you’re wondering what happened, but you’re too polite to ask.

“I hurt my knee,” he continues, purposefully avoiding the specifics, “so ended up back here.”

Your face crumples in sympathy. "Oh. Oh, I-I'm sorry," you say, genuine compassion in your tone.

“It’s fine. I’ve come to terms with it," James says honestly. His career was brief— barely even got a chance to start— and while he'll always wonder what could've been, he's not angry about the way his life is turning out.

"So what about you? What would you be doing if you didn't work here?" James suddenly asks you.

"I never went to uni," you say, thinking of Lily and Mary— your age and likely almost done with their studies. "I would've liked to. I don't even know what for."

"You still could."

"Yeah, maybe," you say tentatively, rolling you're last set of cutlery. "That's all my side work. Want me to help with yours?"

"No, you get out of here, I'll be alright," James assures, not wanting to put extra work on your plate, recalling how annoyed you've been with this task.

You nod, standing from the table to collect your things from your locker. You bid him goodbye as you sling your bag over your shoulder.

"I'll see you tomorrow, James."

"Bye, love," he says fondly, waving with a fork in his hand as you go.

On your way out, you pass Sirius, giving him a small wave and a barely audible "goodnight" as he joins James in the break room.

"Night, doll," he calls down the hall as he turns into the room.

Sirius has a wide, knowing smirk on his face when he locks eyes with James.

"Rolling silverware?" Sirius asks, his tone dripping with his amusement.

James shrugs, "Yeah, so?"

Sirius tilts his head, chuckling, "I thought your side work was to prep garnishes today."

"Ah," James fumbles with some silverware as he responds, "I finished that ages ago. So, I offered to do Lily's side work."

"Oh, did you?" Sirius says with mock surprise.

"Yup. Just doing a favor for a friend," James grins innocently.

"Or trying to get some alone time with that work crush of yours."

"I do not have a work crush!" James quickly defends, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks. He almost feels guilty, Sirius is at least right about the alone time part. James still misses having you by his side as a trainee, but after you're conversation today he feels bad about stealing you away from your other coworkers.

Sirius raises his hands in the air, "Alright, mate. Whatever you say."

"You're a prat. Why don't you come help me with this?"

Sirius looks incredulous at the suggestion, "I'm not the one who volunteered to do extra work!"

James rolls his eyes, picking up one of the many forks he has left. But truth be told, he didn't quite mind having to do the extra work— spending time with you made it well worth it.

Sirius snorts at the sudden lovesick look on James' face when he gets lost in his thoughts, and makes a mental note to wager a bet with Remus tomorrow on how long James will last.

[nakylvr]

— ERASE

ning yizhuo (aespa) x fem!reader

genre: fluff

summary: after realizing you have a crush on ningning, you try to avoid her at all costs, keeping it a secret. you thought you were doing well until she comes and confronts you one day

warnings/tags: language, non idol!ningning, best friend!ningning, friends to lovers, confessions!

wc: 1,2 k

aespa masterlist | main masterlist

the moment you realized you had feelings for ning yizhou, you knew you were doomed. you thought that maybe it would go away, that it was just you having a once-in-a-lifetime thought. you were proven wrong the next time you were with her. 

you sat on the bed in her room, scrolling through social media on your phone while she was getting ready to go out later that night. you were so immersed in your phone that you didn't even hear yizhou walk out of the bathroom until you felt the bed dip and you looked up from your phone to see her sitting down in front of you.

your eyes quickly viewed what she was wearing and a blush spread on your face just as fast, resulting in you averting your gaze and looking back at your phone.

���what? you don't like it?” she said, a pout on her face.

you looked back up and shook your head, putting your phone down. “you know you always look great, yizhou,” you responded. 

“but i want your opinion,” she replied, still pouting.

“you look great,” you immediately told her. 

a smile quickly formed on yizhou’s face and she got up off her bed, walked over to her vanity and grabbed a few things and walked back over to you. you looked up at her with confusion and she just smiled at you. “can i please do your makeup?” she asked.

“what?” you accidentally let out. “i mean- yeah, i don't mind.”

yizhou’s smile grew wider and she climbed back onto the bed. only, instead of sitting down in front of you, she straddled your waist and peered down at you from above, her hair falling to the sides of her face and close enough that it gently tickled your cheek. you stared up at her with a blush growing on your face again, and you thought you were going to pass out at that moment. from that moment on, you knew you were doomed.

you had feelings for your best friend, ning yizhou. 

you tried your best to avoid her at all costs after that interaction. you couldn't believe it. to have feelings for someone was one thing, but to have them for your best friend was a completely different thing. 

you tried avoiding her, hoping it would work. the keyword was tried. and it did, for a little bit of time, just not for very long. it was immediately noticeable to your mutual friends that quickly spotted the two of you not being around each other as much. but, you would never speak of these feelings ever. never ever, ever. at least, that’s how you wanted to keep it. that didn’t exactly work once it became more obvious you were spending less and less time around yizhou. 

you would decline going out with your friends if it meant yizhou would be there, and she always was. you wouldn’t respond as quickly to messages to try and not make it obvious that you would reply within five seconds of getting a message from her. you attempted to avoid her at all costs. while you were doing your best to avoid all conversations and anything with her, she was left trying to run after you every time she spotted you and you would quickly turn the other way and leave. so what did she decide to do? show up at your house. 

you had been home for a few hours and were sitting on your couch when you heard knocking at your door. you looked at the time and let out a sigh before getting up and heading to your front door. when you opened the door, you were met with yizhou standing in front of you, making your eyes go wide. 

“wh-what are you doing here?” you question. 

“i wanted to talk to you,” yizhou answers. “will you let me inside?”

“yeah, yeah, come in,” you nod your head, opening the door wider for her to walk inside. you close the door when she walks in and you can feel your anxiety growing as you walk back to your couch and sit with yizhou following shortly behind you, sitting next to you. “so, uh, what’s up?” you say, clearly nervous. 

“you’ve been avoiding me the past few weeks, why?” she gets straight to the point, looking over at you. 

“what?” you laugh nervously. “i haven’t been avoiding you.” 

“don’t be dense,” she shakes her head. “i just want to know if i did something wrong, is all.”

you look at her with confusion on your face and in your voice as you respond. “huh? no, you didn’t do anything wrong! really!” you wave your hands. 

“then why have you been avoiding me?” she asks. 

you hesitate to answer that question. while you had been reassured by your friends that if you just said it, it would be better than never saying it and you two falling apart because you were too scared to admit your feelings, you were still terrified by the outcome. you didn’t know what was going to happen the second you confessed your feelings, and that alone gave you enough anxiety to never say it out loud. you avert your gaze from hers which were staring deeply at you, fiddling with your fingers as you try to form an answer. “well, erm. it’s because well, uh, i have feelings for you,” you murmur quietly. 

there’s a silence that fills the apartment between you two and you aren’t sure if it’s a good or bad silence. you don’t bother looking up from your hands, already expecting the worst to come when yizhou grabs ahold of your hands, making you finally turn your head and look over at her to see a smile on her face. 

“is that seriously it?” she asks in an almost teasing manner, the smile growing on her face. 

you nod your head slowly as a response, not trusting your voice to speak the right words. 

she lets out a giggle, making you look at her confused before she starts talking again. “well, that’s good! so do i! i was soooo worried you like, hated me or something so this is a lot better than i expected!”

“what?” you let out. “you actually like me?” your so incredibly confused that you don’t even notice her leaning closer towards you until your faces are merely inches apart. 

“yes!” she grins at you. “i have for a while now, you’re just a little dense.” 

“o-oh,” you stutter out. your eyes flicker all across her face before stopping at her lips, which she notices. 

“can i kiss you?” she asks in a soft voice. 

“y-yeah,” you nod slowly. 

yizhou smiles at you before leaning in more and pressing her lips against yours. her hands instantly find your face and cup your cheeks, smiling into the kiss as your arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer to you. when you both pull away, there are idiotic grins on both your faces staring back at each other. 

“i’m sorry for avoiding you,” you say. 

“don’t worry about it,” she shakes her head. “i get it.” 

“do you maybe wanna stay for the night? you’re already here,” you add on, your thumb rubbing the skin of her waist. 

“wow, you move fast don’t you?” she teases. “sure, i am here after all,”

“great,” you smile, leaning in and kissing her again. 

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓣𝓸𝓸𝓽𝓱 [Cookies]

Jimin isn't sure anymore what to think about you and Jungkook. But maybe tonight he realizes something.

Tags/Warnings: Human!Yoongi, Human!Jimin, Rottweiler hybrid!Jungkook, Cat hybrid!Reader, Enemies to friends to lovers, mentions of past trauma, some Yoonmin here and there oops, Main story focus are MC and Kook though, some Angst in this, major fluff too, christmas!!!

Wordcount: 3.1k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jimin has no idea how to talk to you anymore.

It’s not like you became an entirely different person overnight, or as if Jungkook actively keeps him away from you- it’s just.. awkward. He’s seen you search online for jobs, something you’ve never done before, or at least you’ve never actually seemed to be interested in that. And neither has he ever wanted you to do get one- he’s making enough money for the both of you, you don’t have to provide for yourself.

But he believes that Jungkook might have something to do with it.

“jiminie?” You say, skipping towards him to put your phone down, a page opened. “can you drive me to my job interview tomorrow?” You ask, and Jimin frowns, looking at the page on your phone.

It's an email. You’ve been apparently asking for a job at a local grocery store to just help stock the shelves and such, but Jimin worries. “are you sure?” He asks, and you deflate quite a bit. “eight hours a day is a bit much to start with..” he says, and you huff, slumping over onto the kitchen counter.

“But I wanna have my own money too…” you mumble, complaining when the door opens, Yoongi entering.

“But baby you don’t have to? Just tell me how much you need and I’ll give it to you.” Jimin says, earning some attention from Yoongi who gets himself a bottle of cold coffee from the fridge.

“But then- noo, that’s not right!” You huff, tail smacking against your chair you’re sitting on. “no, I need my own for that!” You complain. “eight hours isn’t a lot! I can do that!”

“Can I look at it?” yoongi asks, and Jimin slides the phone over with a sigh. “eight hours five days a week. Have you ever worked before?” He wonders, and you sheepishly shake your head. “then eight hours might be a bit much as a start. Don’t they offer part time positions?” He asks, and you shrug.

“I’ll get less money then though..” you say disappointed, leaning back a big as your legs swing around.

“Work your way up then.” Yoongi encourages. “it’s a good job, decent pay even as part time.” He mumbles, looking through the job description. “I’d like to look over the contract before you sign it though. Just to make sure it’s all good.” He says, turning around to throw the bottle in the trash.

Jimin notices instantly how you look at Yoongi.

“There’s my princess!” Jungkook however breaks through the moment, picking you up from the chair you’re sitting on to hug you, tail wagging with excitement. He’s apparently just come home from work to pick you up- like he always does.

These days, the moment Jungkook is available, you’re gone out of sight.

Yoongi has already slowly brought up the topic of potentially changing the living situations permanently in the future- switching around so to speak, with Jungkook and you living in one house, while Jimin and Yoongi occupy the other. Of course, this wouldn’t be official due to the fact that both Jungkook and you are still hybrids and therefore legally not allowed to rent or own any land or property, but it could still work as long as the paperwork stays the way it is right now. Jimin isn’t really sure if he likes the idea.

He knows it’s inevitable, but that doesn’t mean he likes it.

Jungkook and you are gone as quickly as always, with the dog hybrid helping you wrap your scarf around your neck to keep you warm outside. He’s taking you for a bit of a date- he’s doing that a lot in fact. But especially now- with Christmas fast approaching and your love for all things sweet, it’s the perfect time to spoil you rotten.

You don’t tell him about your job hunting. You kind of want it to stay a bit of a secret.

“Do you know what you’d like as a Christmas present yet?” He wonders, warm hand holding yours as he swings them a bit, both of you walking through the busy streets full of food stalls and advertisements. You think a little, unsure.

“I don’t know.” You admit. Jimin and you always exchanged tiny presents, never truly having to think about what to gift the other.

“hm, I’ll have to think of something then.” He chuckles, squeezing your hand a second before he looks ahead again.

Back home, Jimin and Yoongi are arguing once again. “I’m just saying- what if they can’t keep the house tidy? She’s pretty messy..” jimin worries.

“Jungkook will get her to clean up, don’t worry he’s a bit chaotic but they’ll manage.” He easily defends. “jimin, I know it’s hard to let go but-“ he sighs when Jimin turns around, facing away from him. “-she’ll stay close? Literally next door.” He offers.

But it’s not enough. He wants you home.

“She’s already looking for a job. She clearly must be thinking of it too.” Yoongi says. “You can’t keep that away from her. She deserves that freedom.”

“She never worked before. She wont last.” Jimin says, sitting down again to put his head in his hands. “I don’t want her to go through that feeling of failure. She’s fine as it is- why does she suddenly want her own money? Just because Jungkook works?” He whines, and Yoongi shrugs, because he has an idea as to why you could be doing this.

“Does it really matter?” the older male says, sitting down as well. “this isn’t about the money, or the work, or the house, and you know this.” He tries to reason. “it’s about the fact that you don’t want her to leave.”

“Why can’t I have you both?” jimin softly complains. “it feels like I have to choose. Like.. I’d have to take Jungkook away from her to get her back.” He reveals his feelings, making Yoongi stay silent.

Because there’s really nothing he could say to make him feel any better.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Yoongi waits for you in the car as you return from your job interview, offering him the documents to read through. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?” yoongi asks, reading through the papers with a pair of glasses.

“Yeah, but I don’t.. want to just be lazy.” You mumble, playing with your new acrylics you got done with Jungkook. They’re Christmas themed. “Jungkook.. works a lot. And he's always so proud.” You say quietly. “I know working in a grocery store isn’t as cool as his job but..”

Yoongi looks over at you, a gentle expression on his face. “You have a lot to be proud of too.” He says, giving the documents back to you. “and even just part time is already a big thing. You’re a different category than Jungkook, remember that.”

“How do you know?” You ask, surprised.

“both simple observation-“ He smiles a bit, before he flips a page of your document. “-and the ability to read.” He chuckles, causing you to become a bit shy now.

He's right. It’s all written down right there.

“You’re right in the middle of categories. That’s got to be confusing.” He gently tells you. “Go slow and steady. They offer a training day, take it. I’ll bring you and pick you up, and then we’ll decide whether or not you’ll sign it, okay?” He asks, and you nod, watching him drive home in silence.

The moment you both step out in front of his house, you do something unique-

You hug him, an actual, full on hug, arms wrapped around him as you rub your cheek on his chest to scent him. “thanks.” You mumble, and Yoongi awkwardly pats your head, before you run off at the sight of Jungkook after giving yoongi the documents, as the dog hybrid is seen opening the front door to greet you.

“Well, that’s new.” Jimin hums. “is she growing closer to everyone but me now?” He half-jokes- though yoongi can hear some genuine insecurities.

“I think it’s simply evening out, Jimin.” Yoongi tries to explain. “see it like that. Her attention is like a bottle of water. And before, it was all just filling one cup- yours.” He says as they’re both inside the kitchen now, him taking out two glasses and a bottle of water. “But now, there’s more cups to fill. And Jungkook’s simply gets a bit more from her.. well, because it’s a special cup, you could say.” He chuckles.

“I was just as spoiled, huh.” Jimin sighs, taking the glass of water from him, staring at it.

“Pretty much. But just like her, you’ll adapt.” He gently hums, hand on his. “it’s just a bit tough right now. And hey-“ he says, leaning over the table a bit to get closer, faces only inches apart.

“-You’ve got your own special cup too, no?”

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook and you cuddle on the sofa, when he notices it again.

Sometimes, whenever you’re close like this, or he offers you just a tad bit too much physical affection, you seem to become almost drunk off of it. He’s noticed it in public too, whenever he hugs you fully and gives you a lot of kisses or even just a hand on your back running up and down a bit too often. Now, he knows that cat hybrids can get excited from a lot of physical contact- but you seem especially sensitive.

Almost as if you’re not the same category as himself.

He doesn’t really know how to ask you, considering that it might be a touchy subject- but he’s also endlessly curious. Though, right now, it’s not a very pressing issue, as you’re both in the privacy of the home he technically shares with Yoongi. These days, your things have found their way into this house as well though- from clothes in the wash, blankets on the couch, or stuffed toys in his bedroom that you wanted to show off but forgot to take back.

He can’t say he doesn’t like it.

You’re happily purring against him, rolling over onto your back, sweater rising up a bit to reveal your stomach- and he can’t help himself as he leans over you to kiss the skin, cold top of his nose making you giggle. “You’re so pretty.” He chuckles as well, moving up to kiss your lips now. You’re buzzing with emotions now, tail swiping from side to side, smacking hard against the couch now as he charges you up again.

It's then that you bite him, and he notices it.

As if he looks at you for the first time so intensely, he realizes a few things. From the more pronounced feline shape of your pupils, to the more defined sharpened teeth of yours. It doesn’t just seem like you’re a different category- you most likely are.

And yet you seem so aware? Something doesn’t make sense- but right now, it’s not the moment to ask about it.

Instead, he watches how you let go of his arm again, only some slight marks present on his skin, proving that you didn’t mean to hurt him at all- that it was just a reaction to get rid of all that excitement. It’s cute to him, most of all, so he doesn’t really care about it, happy sighing along with you as you both entangle your legs together before you cuddle up, getting ready to nap a little.

It's Jungkook’s favorite part of the day.

If he didn’t like his job so much, he’d stay home with you all day every day, and he’d never get bored of anything at all as long as you’d be there at his side. But to spoil you how you deserve it, he needs money- so it’s currently for the best to be away for seven hours and be able to offer you the best he can.

And you deserve only the best, in his opinion.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You feel ashamed when Yoongi picks you up from your first day.

You had to take breaks way more often than you thought you’d have to, it was honestly stressful despite the fact that you did nothing but stock shelves for four hours. You’re being paid- but you also feel almost defeated. You can’t see yourself doing this long term- you feel absolutely drained.

“I know I’m repeating myself, but it’s fine to admit if it’s not for you.” Yoongi tells you, who just starts at your lap. “no shame in it.”

“Why can’t I be normal?” You mumble.

“Because no one is.” Yoongi simply chuckles. “some might fit a common standard. But there is really no ‘normal’. Only average at best.” He explains.

“then I wanna be average.” You say.

“But that’s not you.” He shrugs. “and we all like you the way you are.” He offers. “Jimin mentioned to me that you don’t like Christmas. Are you upset because of that right now?” He wonders, genuinely curious.

“Christmas.. I don’t know.” You tell him. “It’s all.. a lot. Like, the lights, and the noise, and everyone’s always on edge, and nervous..” you confess.

“Its stressful.” Yoongi concludes, and you nod.

“And I also always feel bad.” You admit. “because.. Jiminie always gets me a lot of presents, but all I can give him is.. stupid stuff I made myself.” You say.

“Ah, now I get why you want to work so badly.” Yoongi clicks his tongue.

“I want to give you guys nice stuff too!” You cry out, finally letting it all out to someone. “I want to make you happy too, but I can’t do anything, and I can’t buy anything! I can only take, that’s it!” You huff angrily, ears pinned back when you notice Yoongi pulling up to a small grocery store. “Huh?” You wonder, distracted, when Yoongi runs a hand over your head- the touch able to calm you down quite a bit as you look at him.

“you and Jimin are very similar, you know?” He smiles. “You need to be more open. Don’t suffer all by yourself- getting help isn’t admitting defeat.” He says. “how about you help with chores at home, and I’ll give you some pocket money for it?”

“But then I’ll take money from you again.” You deny.

“Its not that different from working. You do something, I’ll pay you. Simple.” He shrugs.

“…OK.” You nod, determined, as he reaches over to wipe your cheeks, tears staining them that you didn’t even notice falling.

“there we go.” He grins, before driving back home with you.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

After Yoongi had informed the rest of them back home about your actual issues with the holiday season, Jungkook is now busy making sure the new Christmas lights aren’t blinking anymore but instead glowing steady, settings adjusted. He's almost done, when you rush into the house, almost tripping upstairs. “everything okay?” Jungkook calls, Jimin and Yoongi looking after you as well.

“Everything’s fine, promise!” You call down. “I just gotta wrap some stuff!!” You say, before something chatters, making Yoongi chuckle.

“So all those Years.. she didn’t hate Christmas at all?” jimin wonders.

“I mean, cats are pretty sensitive to stuff like that.” Jungkook mumbles with his head almost entirely stuck within the large Christmas tree. “and she’s a different category so- ouch!” He flinched when the pines prick him a little.

“I never thought that the difference in just seven percent is that big..” jimin shamefully sighs to himself.

“Well, you know now.” Yoongi reassures. “the past is the past. Let’s focus on the future.”

You’re downstairs a few hours later with a few colorful bandaids on your fingers from papercuts, watching the cookies in the oven bake with Jungkook hugging you. Some of them are shaped like cats, others like dogs. “can we eat them when they’re done?” You wonder.

“They’ll be hot though.” Jungkook chuckles. “you’ll burn your tongue.”

“I don’t wanna wait..” you huff.

“I’ll distract you then.” Jungkook suggests. “we can go put the presents under the tree while they cool down.” He says, letting go of you to take them out, careful not to have you get hurt.

“Okay.” You nod, fetching all the little things you wrapped admittedly a bit chaotically. Still, everyone’s proud- it’s not an easy task for you, and it’s clear that you had to take breaks multiple times in between wrapping to get your focus back on track. “mine look all crumpled up..” you pout, sitting on the floor in front of all the presents.

“You got drastically better though after the first two.” Yoongi comments. “that one there looks pretty neat.” He points to a small one, and you purr at that, before you turn. “You want some?” He offers the peeled tangerine, which you take.

“She’s warmed up to him.” Jimin notices from the sidelines, and Jungkook nods, tail wagging.

“Isn’t it great?” He says, though his tail slows when he notices Jimin’s rather somber look. “Why are you so against us loving her.?” He asks, and Jimin looks towards the dog hybrid in surprise.

“What?” He asks, caught off guard.

“I don’t know. But it feels like you’re.. upset that she’s befriending Yoongi. Or that she loves me now.” He explains.

“I’m not upset.” The older human denies. “I’m just.. scared.”

“Of what?” Jungkook calls, bewildered. “aren’t we a family now?”

A family.

Jimin hasn’t really thought of it that way- but Jungkook’s right. Yoongi and the dog hybrid aren’t taking you away, really- they’re more like an extension now, added on instead of pushed into the existing bond you two once had. The only one who pulled away had been himself.

“we all love her. In different ways.” Jungkook smiles. “the only one who’s making it weird is you.” He jokes, before he joins in, tugging on your tail playfully to get you to turn and tackle him, Yoongi sighing as he has to make sure you both don’t tumble right into the tree.

And that night, a switch had been flipped.

Jimin finally jumps over his own shadow again, helping you unwrap your presents, while also almost brought to tears when he receives yours. It’s all warm, and happy, and almost like you’re both back to normal again- but one look around him offers him a true picture of what it is now.

You both have always considered each other family-

You’re just a few more people now.

[currentfandomkick]

Re-Making Ghost King function

Ghost King is a lot of OP!Danny and skipping other avenues to explore how that could work, so i have IdeasTM to add weight to the role and make it Worse For Ghost King or add costs to acting outside of the role.

Adding possible story ideas to each example i give, and up for grabs just tag me if you do anything :D

Ghost king is a curse and death sentence.

It drains your core and keeps you from your obsession. It is the realm’s denizens deciding ‘fuck this guy in particular’. The draining of the king’s core causes them to go insane (known problem) and the energy goes to sustaining a number of youngers and newly forming ghosts in the Ghost Nurseries.

Yes, Danny’s main area of the Ghost Zone is included in Nursery where ghosts of similar species and backgrounds intermingle with parents of neverborns, form firghts and later move deeper into realms, unless their obsession includes the living. Then they tend to gravitate to portal rich areas, and areas that spawn in their preferred time and regions of living world.

This means Danny? Is possibly going to deal with going insane if he’s crowned, especially as Pariah is around still. Realms are convening on if Danny’s a bigger threat than Pariah after defeating him. Go nuts on court and legal arguments between various ghosts. JLD may be called in by [character] to find a way to save Danny from this BS, while Danny is staging another prison break and probably forming another army on his side that he does not lead and like him enough to keep around but do not agree with him in terms of leadership. So his new friends are kidnapping him for his own good, while a trial is held over if a halfa can be given the cursed role of ghost king, and if Danny should be cursed to future madness

Go nuts on political drama, jail break fun and Danny debating if this makes him a McGuffin, and why his life is Like This

Team ups everywhere

Ghost king is the loosely diplomat between the Infinite Realms. And other realms sometimes.

Pariah decided war was the best way to get everyone to shut up and unite and maybe not make all their issues his problem for five minutes.

Danny is now expected to handle this as physically beating opponents to establish credentials is vital

Danny is shit at remembering his powers. Or how to switch between them outside his main ones…

Cue danny finding mentors to help and runs into hero of your choice for help (yes this means Batman isn’t the best to handle this, if he’s around have him shuffle Danny to another team or frequent meetings with a lot of heroes)

Feel free to unleash him onto Hero Team of Choice and make him their problem as ‘oh its me or the guy who’s main response is world domination! My mirror likes traveling and a few of my friends are activists. I dont want Conqueror McGee in charge of this stuff. I’m just here as the muscle/backup, and engineer. And space stuff. I am not the negotiator, i am the negotiator’s bodyguard.’

Danny is here to play Guard the Diplomat and act like he is not, in fact, the diplomat Legally.

Heroes? Doing their best to train danny up, likely bonding with him and his crew (tagalongs of your choice. But please let Val be there too, and calling Danny out on ‘crap tactics’ in a teasing manner.)

Ghost King is Extremely Limited in living world regardless of previous powers

Ghost Kings only have their full powers in the realms of the dead, and said powers vary by monarch and region they are present in

Yes this helps explain Danny’s weekly new powers if we include Clocky as a previous king who saw Dan become king and thought early intervention on powers might prevent Dan. Did not work as intended.

In the living realm danny acts more as a medium and can answer questions about the dead, but cannot use his powers anywhere but Amity as Amity is a Veil City (city that exists in both the IR and Living Realm) but is anchored more on living side… outside of the city wandering about as it pleases

Danny is mostly human in human word besides having an encyclopedic knowledge about the dead, burial sites, which death realm one resides in or returned from, ect.,

In the infinite Realms he is eldritch though. As a treat.

Danny is not able to be summoned unless he’s in the infinite realms. Pariah is the backup summon though. And he’s bitchy about it.

High crack, comedy and angst potential

Summons can be anyone, and danny is Done with Cultists and makes a point to tell them to fuck off with the power crap. He will take questions about the dead, and only if he gets a burger shake.

As King Phantom he’s basically a Glorified Realms Secretary in his opinion. He makes Pariah the King when he wants to be bitchy to people, and vice versa.

No rule against Pariah and Danny in a weird joint custody of the title as ‘i beat you, i won’ vs ‘you only meet the credentials half the time. We work in shifts’

Ghost King with Serious Limitations the way most monarchs have.

King Phantom cannot help you with… finding your missing friend. Danny Fenton can.

Fenton gets no access to his powers when going against what Phantom is allowed to do. Including his healing factor!

Much whump and angst potential

So many scenarios to put this in, especially if you have another person pissed at danny for not doing more with his own powers and get reality checked with danny seriously injured for Not Following the Ghost King Restrictions

Fenton making tech to help where he cant is highly applicable

I say engineer Danny working with Hero Of Choice as Gadget Guy and finding out powers afterwards and former hero status could be fun too!

And there’s all i got ATM, if anyone has other ideas to make Ghost King less OP or have other angles, let me know so we can circulate other ways this can work.

Tag whoever may be interested or have other ideas to rework the ghost king concept

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To a Tea 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc. 

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU 

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary:  A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character:  Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don’t @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved. 

You don’t often miss work, but that week, a burst pipe throws everything off. A morning spent waiting on your landlord, then the next few hours for a plumber, has things a bit off kilter. Even the next day, you’re not quite back on point. 

The patched wall next to fridge reminds you of the disaster and a dingy smell persists. You hope it doesn’t cling to you as you set off for your shift that day. If you can, you want to pick up some hours from others if their up for grabs. Harry doesn’t like Saturday’s, maybe he’ll hand over some. 

You try to leave your problems behind as you catch a bus down to the city centre. You get to the tea shop five minutes before the hour. Jenna’s wrapping up the opening tasks as you go to leave your things in the back. You tie on your apron and unlock the front door for the first customers of the day. 

At first, it’s a trickle. Never very much at all. The early risers who often come alone or if they aren’t, they don’t speak much or very loudly. The smell of fresh baking and the slow rising sun add to the lazy din. 

“Thought the special was strawberry today,” you comment as you transfer macarons from a cooled tray to the display. 

“Eh, it was but we didn’t have enough jam,” she shrugs. “Changed the sign, is all.” 

“Ah, thought my mind was lagging again. Everything’s been off since yesterday.” 

“Eh, how’s the apartment, anyhow? Marilyn said it was something about a leak?” 

“Burst pipe,” you explain, “they took out the wall above the sink, buncha clanging all day. When I tell you this place is like heaven.” 

She chuckles, “can be.” 

“There’s a formal tea booked in the Marigold Room at noon,” she intones, “forgot to mention that. With Mother’s day coming up, suppose we’ll get more bookings.” 

“Suppose,” you go to check the schedule hanging on the wall. “Party of twelve, wow.” 

“I’ll man the till. Honest, since those ladies at New Years, I’ve hated doing them.” 

“No problem, Harry should be here, shouldn’t he?” 

“Well, he’s... called in.” 

“Again?” You whine as you face her. 

“Are you really surprised?” She scoffs. 

“No one else to cover? Not even Louisa?” 

“Nah, she’s on holiday still.” 

You huff, “fine. Not much of a choose then, is it?” 

🫖

The tea room is as close to raucous as you’ve ever heard it. You have your back to the rest of the shop as you balance the stacked serving trays with an array of sponge cake, fruit, and biscuits. It’s the typical assortment for a tea party booking. 

You’ve already served the tea and the sandwiches, and dessert is the last bit, along with any further pots needed to be steeped throughout. With a partner, it isn’t hard to keep up, but alone, it’s rather overwhelming. Jenna does her best to assist but there aren’t many lulls around lunch time. 

Beyond that, the tourists are chatty. You could hardly get away to fetch each course as they wanted to chat about the culture and your suggestions of what they should do next. It’s nice that they’re friendly but still stressful. 

You put the trays on the cart and roll it around the counter. As you do, you nearly skid to a halt. In the rush, you hadn’t noticed him. Your eyes meet Raymond’s as he watches you. Intent, intense. You give an apologetic smile and nod in acknowledgement. Jenna wanted to deal with the main room, she’ll have to wipe down his table and do her best. 

You roll behind the wall and into the Marigold room. You present the tray and grab it by the ring at the top, lifting it onto the centre of the table. You roll around to gather the empty plates and cups, taking two pots for refill. 

You come back out and see Raymond standing, just as he was. He sees you too. Watching, hands folded, knuckles white, jaw set. He’s usually patient but you don’t know how long he’s been waiting. 

You roll behind the counter and sigh, clearing off the cart as Jenna steams a tea latte. 

“Can you wipe Raymond’s table?” You ask. 

“Who?” She furrows her brow. 

You glance over your shoulder toward the man in question and she follows. She rolls her eyes, “I tried, I wiped the the table. He didn’t sit.” 

“Hm, well... did you wash your hands first?” 

“Christ Almighty, what is he a child?” 

“Jen, he’s just... you know, my mom’s the same. He can’t help it.” 

“You can deal with him. I won’t be arsed,” she sniffs, “he was rude and you know I don’t got time for those ones.” 

“Jenna, I’m kinda up to my eyes,” you dump the used bags from a pot. “I know he can be prickly but just wash your hands and redo the table.” 

“Ugh, fine,” she sneers, “but you owe me.” 

“Let’s call it even,” you retort as you pour boiling water into the pots mouth. 

She shakes her head and huffs, “guess it is.” 

🫖

It’s nearly three in the afternoon. It’s quiet. Harry’s on his phone instead of doing the cups and your wiping the empty tables to keep yourself moving. The door opens and you glance over to make sure Harry’s alert. He’s not. 

Doesn’t matter. It’s him. Raymond. You stand and clutch the cloth tight in your hand as you greet him. 

“Be right with you, Raymond,” you assure him. 

He barely looks at you as he goes to wait next to his table. You go behind the counter and mutter under your breath in Harry’s direction, “...dirty cups.” You wash your hands and make sure to clink some of the empty porcelain in an effort to draw your coworker’s attention. He’s still entranced by his phone. 

You take the disinfectant wipes and go back out. You approach Raymond as he checks his watch. 

“How are you today?” You ask. 

He grumbles and shrugs, “fine.” 

“English Breakfast, black,” you declares as you finish wiping up, “usual.” 

“So you remember,” he challenges as he steps close, closer than ever, before sidling around to sit. 

“Of course, I always do,” you smile. 

“And last time?” 

“Last time...” 

“Twice.” 

You’re confused. What is he talking about? 

“I came on Tuesday and you weren’t here. Then on Thursday, you didn’t even say hello.” 

“Oh, well, I’m sorry, Raymond, it was a busy day. Tuesday, I had a personal emergency so I didn’t even know you’d been in--” 

“I’ll have my tea now,” he interjects tersely. 

“Right, tea,” you confirm and spin around. 

“Crooked strings,” he remarks dully, “again.” 

[the-fruitpunch-clown]

KINKTOBER 2024:

DAY II: car sex featuring Mike Schmidt

synopsis: mike can make you come on his face in less than five minutes, right? or mike makes you late bc he’s munch

tags: oral sex fem! receiving, mike being a needy whore basically lmao

kinktober 2024 masterlist | main masterlist

“mike, baby, you know i have somewhere to be. i don’t have time for this…” your voice trails off. mike continues to kiss along your neck, even after you’ve told him multiple times you’ll both be late for work if this goes any further. 

“c’mon babe, just five minutes, please? i’ll be quick, promise,” his light kisses continue up to your ear, whispering the words against you as his hands play with your hair. you sigh, internally reprimanding yourself for giving in so easily. “fine, but just five minutes, nothing longer. alright?” 

mike smiles at you and presses a quick kiss to your temple before eagerly fumbling over the center console to settle between your legs. unsurprisingly, there’s already enough room from your previous intimate moments shared in his car. he makes quick work with shoving your skirt up and settles his hands on your spread legs, “open up for me baby, that’s it, fuck…” 

mike leans in and leaves a chaste kiss against your panties, making you squirm against him. in return, he smacks your thigh, “quit movin’, you said you wanted this to be quick right? well sit there and be still for me.” 

right before you’re about to chide him, he shoves your panties aside and licks a long stripe up your center, flicking your clit with his tongue. he continues his assault by shoving his whole face into you, his tongue dipping lightly into your hole, and you can’t help but grind your clit against his nose. he moans into you, the vibrations going straight through you and adding to the pleasure he’s bringing you. 

mike continues to messily make out with your cunt while you moan and mewl above him. “mikey, oh fuck- please.. i need it,” you grip his hair mercilessly, pulling him deeper into you. you think you hear him mutter a muffled, “i know i know, baby, use me, fuck my face, c’mon, give me it..” but you can’t tell anyways with the ringing in your ears. 

you continuously rock your hips against his mouth, quickly chasing your orgasm. “mikey, baby.. fuck, ‘m right there, please..” you whine out. the grip you have on his hair borders on painful, but it only ceases to turn him on more. mike groans out against your cunt, “come on my face baby, do it for me, c’mon,” he fucks his tongue into you, rubbing his nose against your clit. his quick ministrations push you over edge, has you coming on his face as you moan out his name and a string of curses. 

as you slowly come down from your high, mike works you through it, lazily lapping at your release while looking up at your blissed out face. soon, his lazy strokes start to build up to overstimulation and you push against his shoulders and shove his head away, “too much, it’s too much mikey.” 

he reluctantly pulls away from you, resting his head on your head, “alright, you good?” 

you smile down at him, admiring how equally blissed he seems, “mhm.” you check the time on the clock, which reads 1:08 P.M., eight minutes past when your break ends, and ten past the end of your “five minutes”. 

“micheal!” you sit up abruptly, forcing him to lift his head. “what?” 

“you made me late, i told you five minutes!” you scold him, but you can hardly keep up the act with the adoring look he gives you. “i’m sorry, baby, i can make it up to you-“ 

“later. if i’m already gonna be late, might as well make the most of it. get in the back seat, it’s my turn to have fun.” 

notes: so the plan was to post either logantober or kinktober early in the morning (around 12am eastern, as i am on the east coast lmao) and then the other later in the day but i forgot to post this morning. oops. but logantober will be out later today!!

also no logantober for tmr, but will be back on the 4th!! kinktober will continue ofc!

all banners, dividers, and graphics are from @/saradika-graphics !!

[veronicaphoenix]

the first time | samurai!noah

Pairing: samurai!noah x his princess | Words: 6.2k | Reading time: 20mins aprox. | Series masterpost 🤍

Summary: noah and princess' first intimate night.

Can be read as a one shot ✨ but it’s part of the samurai!noah fic (this takes place before the main storyline and before "let me worship you").

Tags & trigger warnings: forbidden love, clandestine rendezvous, fluff, loss of virginity (both f. and m.), reader is 18 and noah is a few years older, sexual content including fingering and f/m intercourse (p in v, unprotected) NEVER DO IT UNPROTECTED ON YOUR FIRST TIME!!! Condoms did exist in feudal Japan and they were called kawagata/kabutogata, but considering they were made of leather, animal intestines, or tortoise shells, I preferred to go for unprotected sex in this one 😶‍🌫️. There are also allusions to Noah and her having had sexual encounters before, meaning that she was a minor when they happened, but it was always consensual.

Author's note: This is based on an idea (aka brainrot 🤭) from @somebodyels3, so say thank you to her and send some flowers because she deserves to be showered in them. (I love you, Kells 🌸 all the flowers and hugs and smooches in the world for you 🌺🌹🌼🌷💐 thank you for always keeping me motivated and loving my stories sm 🥹).

I've also shared the first few paragraphs from the epilogue (part one) at the end, where Noah and his princess are about ten years older than in this one shot :)

THE FIRST TIME 🤍

I was less than five minutes into my eighteenth birthday when a sharp knock on the balcony doors of my room startled me, prompting me to turn my head quickly toward the sound. 

My heart skipped a beat, but I instinctively turned my gaze toward the doors leading to the hallway, half-expecting my father’s soldiers, who often patrolled outside, to come and investigate the noise. If they had heard it, they might barge in any second. 

Two minutes passed, and when no one appeared, I threw back the sheets, slipping out of bed. My fingers brushed the curtains aside, just enough to see the balcony overlooking the village. The moonlight cast long shadows across the stone floor, but no one was there. However, a small rock lay conspicuously in the center, tied with a thin piece of string.  

Cofusion might have overwhelmed me—had this been the first time I’d received such a delivery. But it wasn’t. I knew exactly what I was looking at. I stepped outside into the cool night air and knelt to pick up the stone. Attached to it was a note, yelllowed and slightly crinkled. My heart fluttered. Before I even unfolded the paper, I knew whose handwriting awaited me on the other side. 

Standing outside in the moonlit stillness, I carefully opened the note, biting my lip. The sight of the familiar script nearly brought tears of elation to my eyes. Noah’s handwriting was beautiful—elegant strokes that had, over the years, become more than just letters on a page. His hours of studying calligraphy, forced upon him by my father’s insistence on training even his soldiers in the art of refinement, had not been in vain. I couldn’t help but wonder if, one day, the hands of a samurai might possess more grace than those of a princess. There was something poetic about the idea, about the balance of strength and delicacy in Noah’s fingers. For the past two years, he’d sent me notes like this, and each one meant more to me than the last.

I kept each of his letters hidden beneath my futon. He would send two every year, timed precisely with the solstices, as if marking the turning of seasons mirrored the unspoken passage of time between us.

I still remember the day I stumbled upon him in the woods when I was thirteen, disobeying my parents’ strict orders to stay within the castle grounds. Noah was a few years older than me, already tall for his age, with the quiet strength of someone training to be a samurai. I found him sitting under an ancient oak tree, hunched over a piece of parchment, deep in thought.

When I greeted him, he startled—springing up with the reflexes of a warrior-in-training. In his rush, the paper slipped from his fingers and floated down at my feet. I remember the curiosity that had sparked within me, the rebellious streak that had always simmered just below the surface. Without thinking, I picked it up and read it, never realizing in that moment how that small act would change everything between us.

The letter had been meant for me, but he’d never planned on delivering it. 

Sweet how it turned out. 

I could have fallen for his charms just from how delicate and thoughtful his prose was, but truth be told, I already had eyes for him from long before. The letter only deepened the feelings I’d been trying to suppress for the forbidden soldier boy.

For years, my mind had been a battlefield of thoughts, fantasies, and a thousand impossible scenarios. As a kid, and then as a teenager, I had wondered what it would be like to hold his hand, to let him hold me, kiss me. What it would be like to lay next to him in the grass and let him play with my hair until I fell asleep. I wondered what it would be like if we ever ran away, if we ever battled for a life together. 

I had wondered so many things. I had had so many dreams… Still had them. 

Tonight one of them was about to come true. Noah was going to end this endless waiting, this dread of wanting something I thought I could never have.

The message this time was short and simple: 

Meet me in half an hour at the old heiya by the river.

My fingers trembled as I clutched the note as if it were some rare treasure—like the words themselves were a gift, even though the real present, the one I had been waiting for, was the promise of what Noah had planned.

Quickly, I slipped back into my room and closed the door behind me, pulling the curtains shut to ensure no one could see in. My heart pounded against my ribs as I hurried to the lacquered chest at the foot of my bed. I opened it, my eyes falling on the delicate kimono I had carefully chosen for tonight—a deep red silk embroidered with golden cranes and blossoms. I thought it was a good representation of my youth but also a hint at the woman I was becoming.  

I dressed quickly, sliding the obi around my waist and tying it in place. The silk was cool against my skin, but it did little to soothe the heat rising within me. I reached for the kanzashi combs adorned with tiny jade flowers and secured my hair in a loose yet elegant style. I kept it simple, knowing he loved when I left it flowing freely, but tonight, I wanted to look a little more grown-up—more like the woman I was. I didn’t want Noah to doubt that I was ready. 

I carefully slid open the door to my balcony and stepped out into the night again. This time I paid notice to the air, fresh and fragrant, carrying the scent of summer blooms mixed with the earthy aroma of the forest that bordered the castle grounds. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and began my descent down the side of the castle.

It wasn’t the first time I had done this. The vines that clung to the stone walls had become familiar, their sturdy stems and leaves providing enough cover for me to climb down without being seen. Still, I moved cautiously, aware that one wrong move could send me tumbling to the ground considering the kimono I was wearing. It wasn’t heavy, but the length of the folds could give me trouble if I wasn’t careful. 

My heart raced as I neared the bottom, my feet finally touching the soft earth of the garden below.

I hesitated for a moment, listening for any sounds that might indicate a guard on patrol, but there was nothing. The castle was asleep, unaware of my departure. With a final glance back at the towering structure, I turned and slipped into the shadows of the forest.

The path to the heiya was one I knew well; well enough to know it was alive. The rustle of leaves, the chirp of crickets, the occasional hoot of an owl… Each sound kept me on alert, but it wasn’t fear that quickened my pace. It was anticipation, a heady mix of nerves and excitement that spurred me forward.

As I walked, the soft rustle of my kimono joined the night sounds, my sandals barely making a sound on the forest floor. The trees gradually thinned, and I caught my first glimpse of the old heiya by the river. It stood there, half-hidden by the foliage and under the moonlight, a relic of a time long past.

The heiya was a simple structure, built of wood and thatch, its walls weathered by time and the elements. It had once been a place of worship, a shrine to the spirits of the forest, but now it was abandoned, replaced by a bigger and more fortified one closer to my father’s estate, and left to the mercy of nature.

There was something different to it that night. A soft glow emanated from within, as if there were candles burning up inside its walls. I could see the flickering through the windows. My breath caught in my throat as I approached. The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open slowly, stepping inside.

The interior was warm, the air thick with the scent of wax and wood. There were a few candles all placed in safe spots, their flames dancing in the darkness, casting long shadows on the walls. In the center of the room, there was a simple futon covered with soft white bedsheets and pillows, its mattress suspiciously new, as if it had been placed there with purpose. The rest of the room was filled with the remnants of the past—cracked wooden beams, broken pottery, and dried flowers that had once adorned the place.

I stood there for a moment, taking it all in, my heart pounding in my chest. 

“Noah?” I called softly. 

The silence that followed made me doubt for a moment that he was even there. 

Before I could turn, his breath brushed against my ear. 

“Happy eighteenth birthday, princess.” 

His voice was low, roughened by the years and the nights we’d spent in secret, and it sent a thrill through me that I couldn’t suppress. I turned quickly, elation bubbling up inside me, nearly giggling as I spun around and threw my arms around his neck. He caught me easily, pulling me close, his arms wrapping around my waist.

The scent of him—fresh pine, the tang of steel, and something uniquely his—invaded my senses. I buried my face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the layers of fabric. He was strong and solid, a pillar of strength that kept on growing and that I had come to rely on more than I should have. 

I didn’t care. 

I was safe here, in his arms, far away from the duties and expectations that awaited me back at the castle.

The joy of seeing Noah quickly faded into a familiar fear. I could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, feel it in the slight tremor of his fingers as he held me. No matter how hard we tried to forget it—if only for a few moments—the fear of getting caught was always present. Tonight was no different.  

“It’s okay,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his brown eyes. My hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms. “It’s just us. Nothing can ruin tonight.” 

“I know,” he said, but the hesitation in his eyes betrayed him. He didn’t believe his words. But he would try his darmnest hard to believe mine. That’s how it had always been. He would do anything to turn my hopes and dream into reality, as if my faith alone was enough to make the world bend to us.

I pressed a kiss to his jaw, savoring the warmth of his skin, then pulled away slightly, my hands still flat on his chest as I looked around.

“How did you…? When did you prepare all this?”

Noah stayed quiet, his responses measured, guarded. It wasn’t just that he was worried we would get caught. Even now, in this stolen moment, he clung to his samurai discipline—always the soldier, trained in control and restraint. He’d been a soldier officially for a few years, but he’d been mine for far longer.  

“I wish I could’ve done more,” he murmured, not quite meeting my eyes, as though ashamed. 

That’s when I understood. 

It wasn’t just the fear of being discovered, or the burden of his samurai duty. 

It was also the fact that tonight would be a first for him, too. 

I could sense his nervousness, for it mirrored mine, and I found it unbearable sweet. My heart ached at the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide. 

I smiled, tilting my head to catch his eye.

“This is already enough, Noah. I wasn’t expecting anything more than...” My cheeks flushed, and I lowered my gaze to my fingers resting on his chest. “I just wanted to be with you.” 

After a moment, his fingers found my chin. He lifted my face until our eyes met. His gaze was intense, as if he was searching for something. 

“I want to make this night memorable. For you. For me. Just tell me if you’re ready. Otherwise, I will wait. I will wait as long as you need me to.”

My heart swelled with an overwhelming love for him—this man who would give me everything without asking for a single thing in return. He had always been this way, even as a kid—selfless in the quietest of ways. 

Standing on my tiptoes, I kissed him softly, letting my lips brush against his with a tenderness that carried the weight of all the years we had spent longing in silence. 

When I pulled back, I guided his hands to the knot of my belt, my eyes never leaving his, steady with certainty, with the answer he had been waiting for. 

“You already know I am.” 

What followed were slow, hesitant movements; unsure ones.

We had touched each other before—months ago, I had practically begged Noah to explore me with his fingers, guiding his hesitant hand beneath the folds of my kimono. But tonight was different. This wasn’t a moment of curiosity of rebellion. It was more. 

Noah’s hands shook slightly as he fumbled with my obi, his fingers clumsy in their nervousness. I had to stifle a giggle, the tension breaking for just a moment as we both realized how unpracticed we were at this. But there was something endearing about it, something pure and tender about the way we navigated this new territory together.

Slowly, the layers of my kimono slid off, the silk whispering against my skin as it fell to the floor. Noah took his time. His gaze intense, heated,  filled with a mixture of awe and desire as he revealed more of me to him. When I stood naked before him, I felt my cheeks flush with both shyness and anticipation. I was not a girl but a woman now, and I wanted to be his. 

Noah was too shy at the time to let his gaze linger down at my breasts or at the spot between my legs. Instead, his breath hitched audibly, and rather than look, he bent down and kissed me with a softness that made my heart ache.

It was his turn now. I reached out to help him, my hands steadier than I expected as I untied the knots of his hakama. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing the lean, fit body that had been hardened by years of training and that now belonged to a man rather than a kid. I was certainly more unashamed than he was. My fingers grazed the ridges of his chest as my breath hitched at the sight of him. A couple of tattoos adorned his chest and his ribs—the last one he got, a design of sakura flowers that looked so undeniable pretty on his fair skin. The tips of my fingers patted tentatively the area around his navel, right above where a trail of dark hair descended until it joined his pubic hair. I already knew the size of his length and how hard he could get, but now I could see it. 

I swallowed. 

Noah’s fingers grazed my cheek, calling for my attention. I saw the worry in his eyes, and I shook my head, dismissing him.

His breathing grew heavier as he pushed me back gently, laying me down on the thin mattress. He hesitated for a moment, just staring at me. He wasn’t much more experienced than I was. As I would later learn, his “knowledge” came only from overheard conversations between soldiers—their crude jokes and dirty confessions about what it felt like, the things a man could do to a woman, what women were supposed to do. Noah just wanted to make sure that whatever we tried tonight provided pleasure not just for him, but for me, as well. 

Under his soft, brown gaze, I felt like something out of a dream—my long hair spread around me, my pale skin glowing softly in the flickering candlelight. A sudden wave of shyness rushed through me, and for a moment, I couldn’t meet his eyes. I stared at the ceiling instead, my heart pounding in my chest. 

Then I felt his hand, tentative and slow, exploring my breasts. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched them, but it was his first time doing so while having me totally bare under him. His touch was curious. He squeezed gently, as if trying to memorize their shape, their softness. His fingers traced over me with a reverence that made me feel worshipped. 

He leaned down, his weight carefully balanced on his arms as he positioned himself between my legs. He was strong, yet his touch was still so gentle, making me feel safe beneath him. He kissed my face—my forehead, my cheeks, my lips—before I felt the soft brush of his erection against me. He rubbed himself against me a few times, making sure I was aroused enough and eliciting the first of my moans. 

But as Noah began to press into me, a sharp, increasing sting made me tense. The pain was unexpected, and I couldn’t stop the discomfort from showing on my face. He noticed immediately, his movements halting as his eyes filled with concern. 

“It’s okay,” I whispered, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. “Keep going.”

But Noah shook his head, his jaw set. “No. There has to be a way to do this without hurting you.”

He moved slowly, carefully, trying to find the right angle. I could see the concentration on his face, the way his brow furrowed in thought, the layer of sweat that was beginning to coat his forehead. Every movement, every pause was for me. He was trying so hard, and it only made me love him even more.

After what felt like an eternity, something shifted. His length eased inside, every inch sliding in until it felt like my body had molded to his. My body relaxed, and the pain began to subside, limiting to a sweet stretching. My eyes fluttered open, meeting his, my face glowing with relief. He was fully inside me now, buried deep, and it was okay. I was okay. He was…

“Noah?”

He let out a shaky breath. 

“I didn’t—I didn’t know it would feel like this,” he confessed.

“Me neither,” I whispered back, my hands gliding over his shoulders in a soothing rhythm. “You can lean on me. I’m okay.” 

I saw the reluctance on his face, in the way he looked down at where our bodies joined, as if we were some delicate puzzle he was afraid to break. But as he shifted again, slowly, tenderly, I smiled up at him.

“Let me—Just let me make sure…” he continued.

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “We’re doing this together. It’s all right.”

But he was so careful, barely letting his weight press against me, his arms supporting him as he moved. 

Each thrust was slow, his focus never wavering from me, watching for any sign of discomfort, reading every expression on my face. As we continued, I could hear the soft groans slipping from his lips, feel his sharp, unsteady breaths as he fought to maintain control. I had never heard him like this before—so unguarded, so raw. The muscles in his back tensed under my hands, and I noticed the thick vein on his neck pulsing with effort. 

His eyes squeezed shut, and he bit down hard on his lower lip, trying to restrain himself. But I didn’t want him to hold back. I wanted him to let go of the walls he had been taught to keep so carefully built around himslef. This was our moment, and I wanted to share all of him. 

Then, before I realized it, Noah let out a deep, throaty groan, the sound so intensely erotic it sent a wave of pleasure through me. Instinctively, my body tightened around him. His breath came in ragged gasps as his composure began to crumble. I could feel him struggling, trying so hard to prolong the moment, to give me as much pleasure as he was feeling, but his body had other ideas. He let out a low curse, his fists clenching the sheets as his control finally slipped.

With one final groan, he pulled out just in time, his release spilling onto the sheets beside me. For a moment, the air was filled with heavy breaths and the faint scent of sweat and something else—something new. Then I saw the look in his eyes—flushed cheeks, his face clouded with embarrassment, guilt pooling in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice thick with shame. “I didn’t mean to—,” he swallowed and cursed under his breath, struggling to meet my eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

I frowned, then a soft giggle escaped my lips as I grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pulled him down to me to kiss me. 

“It’s okay. It was… beautiful.”

He pulled back, clearly uncomfortable, looking at me with disbelief and a hint of anger aimed at himself. 

“How can you say that? I didn’t make you come.”

There it was again, the hard, determined expression of the Samurai, etched into his face. He was so serious, so focused on what he thought was his failure, as if pleasure could only be measured in a single way.

I shook my head, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “We were together,” I said softly, my voice filled with warmth. “That’s what matters to me. It was perfect just as it was.”

No matter what I said, nothing could have soften the disappointment Noah felt in himself. I could see it in the way he shook his head, the way his eyes locked onto mine, almost scolding me for trying to ease his guilt. I should have recognized it then—that fierce, unyielding determination in him. Raised as a soldier, surrounded by discipline, commands, and roughness, Noah needed control in everything he did, even here, in the most intimate of moments. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this would be the last time he allowed himself to lose that control.

Before I could speak again, Noah silenced me with his lips closing over one of my taut nipples, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin. A gasp caught in my throat, but before I could release it, I felt his fingers sliding down my belly, tracing the line of my body until they reached the wet warmth between my legs. Without hesitation, he sank them inside me, and my body responded instantly, arching off the bed.

My hands instinctively gripped the bedsheets as his fingers moved inside me, matching the slow, deliberate rhythm of his tongue teasing my breast. Every movement was calculated and precise, as if he was determined to make up for what he saw as his earlier mistake. His free hand reached for my wrist, his fingers sliding between mine. He intertwined our hands, bringing them up beside my head, pinning me in place as he continued his ministrations.

 And he held me, his grip firm, until I bit down on my lip as hard as I could when my body tensed and trembled with release. 

A while later, Noah’s tension seemed to finally have melted. I was wrapped in his arms as we lay together on the futon. The candles around us had burned low, their flames flickering in the dark, casting a golden glow over our entwined bodies. His embrace was warm and secure, and for the first time that night, I felt him truly relax.  

His index finger traced the tender spot on my lip where I had bitten down too hard. 

“Don’t do that again,” he said. “I can’t stand the sight of you bruised.” 

“It was for a good reason,” I teased, tapping his clavicle with my fingers. 

But Noah wasn’t convinced. 

“I was too rough, wasn’t I?”

I sighed, knowing he wouldn’t let it go. 

“If I say no, you won’t believe me, so… yes, you were rough. But what if I like rough?” 

He held his breath, studying my face, clearly struggling wether to accept his own beliefs or my words. After a moment, he exhaled, letting out a huff of frustration 

“I should have—”

I pressed my finger to his lips, his hand falling to the curve of my left shoulder, where he adored the skin there with his fingertips. 

“You should stop thinking I’m made of glass.” 

“That’s not—” He paused, taking a deep breath, as if searching for the right words. “Look, I’m a man. I’ve been trained for battle. My hands are rough. I’m used to being…”

I cut him off before he could finish. 

“Whether you’re a soldier or not, you’ve always taken care of me, Noah. Just like you did moments ago.” I pressed myself closer to him, my lips brushing against his jaw, where a faint stubble had grown. “I felt safe and cherised. And I enjoyed every second of it.” I smiled up at him. “I want to do it again.”

He let out a deep sigh, his arm sliding around my waist to pull me even closer. He kissed my forehead, a promise in the gesture. 

“We will,” he said softly. “I promise.” 

“So… can we do it?” I asked, glancing up at him, hopeful.

He frowned, looking down at me in confusion. “Now?”

I nodded, grinning. “Now.”

He hesitated, concern flickering in his eyes. 

“I don’t think we should. You might be sore, and I wouldn’t want to make it worse for tomorrow.”

“I’m okay, Noah,” I reassured him, almost whining, but he shook his head.

“No.”

I pouted, pressing him with a soft, pleading tone. “Please?”

He was firm. “No.”

“It’s my birthday,” I repeated, my voice taking on a firmer edge as I moved just a little away from him, letting the sheet slip from my chest. His eyes dropped immediately, taking in the sight of me, and I saw the faint blush creep up his cheeks as he quickly glanced back up, embarrassed but undeniably affected. Beneath the sheets, I could feel the tension in his body, see the evidence of his desire stirring right between his legs. “You said you would get me anything I wanted,” I reminded him. “I want you. Again.”

Noah’s voice dropped into a warning tone, slow and deliberate as he said my name. 

“…You’re pushing it.”

But I knew him too well. Noah had a temper, sharp like the blade of a Samurai, and his resolve was formidable. But no matter how stern his exterior, I was his weak spot, and deep down, I knew he would give in to anything I asked for, especially tonight.

“Pretty please?” I added, my voice soft and coaxing as I reached for the bedsheet covering his body. I began pulling it away with slow, deliberate tugs, my eyes wide and innocent, a contrast to my intentions. He fought to keep the sheet in place, trying in vain to hide his obvious erection, though it was impossible to miss the way his body responded beneath the thin fabric.

I bit my lip, amused. If this was how he wanted to play it, I was okay with it.

With a burst of determination, I pushed at his chest, catching him off guard and sending him tumbling back onto the mattress. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with surprise, but there was no mistaking the desire that flashed through them. I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, the sheet completely forgotten.

“Now,” I whispered, leaning down so our faces were inches apart, my breath mingling with his. “Let me have what I want.”

“You’re provoking me,” he said, his voice adopting that familiar Samurai tone—commanding, serious. But the flush in his cheeks was a nice contrast to it. 

“I’m not. It’s just my birthday. I can do whatever I want.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, his fingers dug into the skin on my hips, his breathing growing heavier as I ran my thumb over the tip of his hardness. I could see how much effort it took him to stay composed, but he wasn’t fooling me. 

“You’re going to…” he started, but his voice faltered when I gave him a slow, deliberate stroke.

“I’m going to what?” I teased, tilting my head playfully. I could tell by the way his muscles tensed beneath me that he was fighting to keep his composure.

I loved the surge of confidence that came over me. Noah made me feel that way—secure in the knowledge that I could be fully myself without ever worrying that his feelings for me might change.

They wouldn’t. I had learnt by now that he would love me completely no matter what, with all my flaws and virtues.  

His gaze hardened, and his grip on my side tightened, enough to send a flicker of pain through me—just the way he intended. “You know what,” he replied, his tone sharper, more serious. “Keep behaving like that, and you’re going to make me go all Samurai on you.”

I raised an eyebrow at his challenge, daring him to follow through.

“Do. Not,” he warned, squeezing my side.

But instead of obeying, I shifted my hips and lowered myself onto him, gasping at the sensation of him filling me completely.

Noah’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

“I need to be gentle with you,” he said, his voice strained as he watched himself disappear inside me. His words were laced with concern, but I wasn’t interested in gentle. I wanted him—all of him. 

“Life isn’t gentle,” I said as I adjusted to the now familiar fit of myself around him. 

Suddenly, Noah sat up, his arm snaking around my waist as his other hand gripped the nape of my neck, pulling me close until our noses brushed. His sudden movement took me by surprise, my pulse quickening as his gaze locked onto mine. His expression was intense, unreadable, and it made me feel exposed and vulnerable.

“I’ll be gentle with you,” he murmured, his voice low but unwavering, every word carrying the weight of a promise. “At least until our bodies learn each other, until you’re used to me and I’m used to you.” His eyes searched mine, and I could feel the power behind his words, the way they lingered between us. “I promise,” he continued, his forehead pressing against mine. “One day, I’ll give you a gentle life. I’ll never hurt you. That’s why you need to trust me. Let me do this my way. Let me take care of you.”

His words wrapped around me, pulling me into the depth of his devotion. There was something about the way he spoke, the quiet conviction in his voice, that made it impossible not to melt in his arms. Despite my teasing and my attempts to provoke him, this—his way of caring, of promising me a future where I would always be safe in his arms—was what I had always wanted.

I clung to him, my fingers digging into the firm muscle of his shoulders as our bodies pressed together—skin against skin—his hardness filling me, my thighs tight around his hips. The closeness made it hard to breathe, the intensity of it all overwhelming. 

“I am letting you,” I whispered, my voice trembling, not just from the heat between us, but from the certainty I felt in every word. “You can take care of me.”

His eyes searched mine, still cautious. He moved some hair from my shoulder to my back, as if he needed to focus on something, anything that wasn’t how good it felt to have me wrapped around him. 

“Then you have to let me set the pace. This is new for me too… and I won’t risk losing control, doing something I’ll regret.”

I tilted my head. I understood his worry, but it was needless. 

“What could you do that would be so bad when it’s just you and me, like this?” I whispered, shifting my hips ever so slightly against him—not to tease, but to remind him how perfect this felt, how right. His breath caught, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he bit down on his lower lip, the sight making my pulse quicken.

Reaching up, I ran my fingers through his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear as I watched the tension in his face. His chest rose and fell in a deep, uneven sigh, before he let his head drop to my chest. The weight of his vulnerability, pressed against me, was both intimate and tender.

“I don’t know,” he finally murmured, his voice filled with a vulnerability he rarely showed. “You’re just... so precious. I’ve heard things from other soldiers... things I don’t ever want to hear again… things I definitely don’t want you to go through. I want to make sure you’re enjoying it, from beginning to end.” His grip on me tightened, as if to anchor himself in that moment, to prove to himself that this was different. 

“Noah…” Brushing my fingertips along the strong line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, I leaned in to kiss the tip of his sharp nose. “You’re the most disciplined soldier I’ve ever known. I’ve heard my father say it, too. I have no doubt that you’ll never hurt me. You might be a samurai, but your nature is gentle. No matter how fierce you are with a sword or how vulnerable we I am here, your true self always shows when you’re with me.”

His eyes flickered with doubt, still wrestling with his own worries.

“Why do you have so much faith in me?”

“Because I’ve seen your heart,” I said, laying my hand over his chest where I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “I know who you are beyond the armor, beyond the weapons. You’ve always been kind, patient, and careful with me. You made us wait until I turned eighteen because you wanted to do things the right way. You don’t need to prove anything to me, because I already trust you completely. It’s not about what you do; it’s about who you are. And when I’m with you,” I said, leaning in so he could hear every word clearly, “I am not afraid.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between us, thick with emotion, and I could see the weight of my words settling into him. His hand moved to cover mine, pressing it against his chest as if to show me that he felt it too.

Soon, I found a rhythm that made him moan beneath me. I watched him, watched the way his eyes glazed over with pleasure, how his hands gripped my hips with a force that made me hope for bruises, something physical to carry with me as a reminder of tonight until our next rendezvous. 

Above him, my hair spilling over my shoulder and again cascading past my breasts, I could see how the sigh of me—of us— seemed to overwhelm him. His eyes widened, his breath uneven, but even then, beneath the haze of desire, there was resolve. Noah was determined to pace himself, to be in control not just of his pleasure, but of ours. It was his silent promise, one I could see written in the lines of his expression and feel in the steadiness of his touch. This wasn’t just an impulsive surrender to passion; this was us learning each other—learning what felt right, what drew us closer with every passing second.  

That night became the start of an intimate journey we would embark on side by side. In the coming months and through the next years, we would learn the map our bodies were, we would learn to satisfy every desire and sate all the hunger in our bones and souls. We would come to understand what we needed from each other. What we wanted to give and receive. We would learn this wasn’t just about passion but about trust, vulnerability, and the delicate balance between control and surrender. 

But even in the closeness of that moment, the reality of who we were remained present, like the distant rumble of a storm. I was the Shogun’s daughter, a princess entangled in a web of duty and expectation. He was a samurai, bound by loyalty and honor, sworn to serve a cause much larger than either of us. Our love wasn’t just a secret—it was dangerous. 

For a few minutes, while we moaned into each other’s skin and my nails dug into Noah’s shoulders, it didn’t matter. Nothing did, except the way we fit together, both in body and in soul.

In his arms, I wasn’t just a princess bound by tradition, and he wasn’t merely a warrior sworn to obedience. We were two souls defying everything that tried to keep us apart, daring to carve out our own path in a world that had already decided our fates.

The implications of our love loomed over us, but with every touch, every kiss, and every whispered word, we reaffirmed what we couldn’t yet say aloud: that this was only the beginning.

EPILOGUE PART ONE – SNIPPET

(Takes place about 2-3 years after the events from the main storyline)

I knew I was ready when I saw Noah coming down the steps to the training grounds, carrying a little girl in his arms. She couldn’t have been more than three or four years old. While it wasn’t unusual for parents at the sanctuary to introduce their children to defense and archery at a young age, this little girl seemed far too small. I didn’t recognize her, but she looked completely at ease in Noah’s arms as he made funny faces at her.

A light breeze blew through that spring day, and the sun graced us with a gentle warmth. The girl had her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, but Noah, whose hair had grown to his shoulders since his last haircut the previous summer, hadn’t bothered to tie his own back. When a gust of wind rustled the trees, it caught his hair too. His strands swept across the little girl’s face, and she scrunched up her nose, leaning back in his arms and closing her eyes, her hands flying up to shield her face.

“Sorry,” Noah said, stiffling a laugh.

“It tickles!” she giggled.

“I lost my hair tie,” Noah explained.

Moving her hands away from her face, she sweetly offered, “I can lend you one.” 

“That would be very kind of you,” he said, tapping her nose playfully.

Her response was a bright smile, followed by her resting her head on his shoulder, settling in comfortably.

Noah noticed me, then. 

“Oh, hello, love.”

I was still in my training suit and gloves, having just finished an archery session. I had stayed a few minutes longer to chat with Rika before heading home.

“Hi,” I replied automatically, my mind elsewhere.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern as he quickly scanned me to make sure I wasn’t hurt.

Did he not realize he was holding a little girl in his arms?

The girl glanced at me shyly, clearly unsure who I was.

Noah called my name, snapping me back to reality.

“Hm?”

“Is something wrong? Your cheeks are flushed.”

“Oh,” I stammered, “yeah, must be from training. I’m fine.” I smiled, but Noah didn’t seem convinced, studying me with a raised eyebrow—until a soft voice interrupted.

“She’s pretty.”

Noah and I both looked down at the little girl in his arms, who was now comfortably settled against him, with one of his arms holding her easily—though that was no surprise, given how small she was and that he stood at 6'3".

“She is,” Noah agreed, smiling down at her and then at me. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 2 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 7k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: i can't tell you all how i excited i am to get this fic going! thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter, i promise there is a lot of cool stuff to come!

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 2 - The Patrol

‘Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.’  - Richard Silken, The Worm King’s Lullaby

There is a thin sheet of ice covering the streams that are heading downwards. It crunches under the hooves of their horses that dutifully carry them up the hill and past the gas station. Joel is glad that it's Tommy next to him. He's more tense than he's felt in ages, a gnawing feeling in his stomach that has little to do with the skipped breakfast and a lot with the worry that is etched into the frown between his brows. He wouldn't want anyone to see him like this, much less try and calm him down, something he knows is a lost battle.

“They might be fine, Joel,” his younger brother says gently, just loud enough for him to hear. Tommy thinks there will be no response until one comes, a little too late for it to not be premeditated.

“She talked about leaving, sometimes. They would be stupid enough to run off-”

“And leave Jackson?” Tommy raises a brow. “Maria said their house looked normal, all their things still in place. They wouldn't be stupid enough to leave all that behind.”

Joel doesn't want to hear it. He knows, better than anyone. Knows that you wouldn't just leave, not without saying goodbye to the children you'd come to care about so much. Would you leave him without a goodbye?

He almost hopes you would. Because if you didn't leave willingly, what was the alternative? It would've been nearly impossible for someone to take you from inside Jackson with no one noticing. But he can't shake the feeling that something is off.

It’s Tommy who has to keep reminding him to ride slow, to keep an eye on the ground for possible tracks. Joel just wants to go, to spur Old Beardy on until they're galloping up the hill, despite not knowing where it is he needs to go. He just wants to find you. Preferably in one piece, happy and healthy. 

He would’ve missed it.

The small footprints leading off the road and onto a smaller path, one that's twisting through pines and further into the woods. 

Tommy nods. “Pretty sure ‘tis the one that leads to the hunting cabin.”

It only takes a few minutes for them to be sure. The wooden cabin is hidden away behind a few trees, difficult to spot if you don't know where to look. It doesn't really serve any purpose, at least not anymore. The roof at the back caved in years ago, allowing rain and plants alike to enter the dimly lit room. It’s less than five miles from the gate of Jackson, tucked away from the main road.

He can’t help but think that this would be the perfect place to run off to. Or to hide a body.

Joel is off his horse in a second, not even bothering to tie the stallion's halter to the wooden posts in front of the cabin. Without thinking, he tugs his revolver out of his waistband, using his foot to nudge the door open.

He smells it before his eyes even have a chance to adjust to the dim light. The unmistakable stench of blood. And mixed with it, creating an odor that immediately makes him sick to his stomach, the smell of gunpowder in the air.

***

The sun has been slowly rising while you’ve been flipping through the pages, trying to find the volumes you’re looking for. The library of Jackson, though rather small, has been frequented more and more, especially in the winter months when the weather doesn’t always allow activities outside and people resort to what they’ve always known: Books.

The entire place is supposed to be relocated soon, to a small store on main street. But compared to the greenhouses needing repairs and the stables being expanded, books don't seem to be a priority for most of the townsfolk.

“Books can’t feed us or keep us safe,” Maria pointed out when you brought the slow progress up to her. You politely disagree. You feel like you could live off books for the rest of your life.

Still, packing up everything means the old place, a shed tucked away behind the church, is currently a mess. Sagging bookshelves, a leaky roof and too many books for too little space means chaos. One that only few bother to navigate in its current state. You among them.

It was the crack of dawn when you slipped out of the house, deciding to let Lane sleep in while you walked through the still empty streets to the far end of the town, hoping to get the library work out of the way before the first lesson of the day.

Maria is the one that finds you, making your head peek up from between two shelves with a frown. “You changed your mind on those books?”

She gives a small laugh, one that sounds oddly like relief. Then her face becomes stern again, the look she carries much more often. “You two have some explaining to do, do you realize that?”

Now it's your turn to frown. “We two?” She pauses at that, looking around the small room. But there is no one here but you and her and the characters bleeding from the pages.

“Is Lane not with you?”

You shake your head, turning your attention back to the book in your hands. “She has the 8AM class today.” 

“She's not there,” Maria curtly responds. You can tell she's trying to keep her voice steady but there is a hint of anxiety regardless. 

“Then she overslept again,” you half guess-half ask, closing the book again.

“She's not at home either.”

An odd feeling crawls over your body. You can't remember what was in your hands a moment ago, but the question is forgotten in an instant. Maria carefully watches as you step out from between the shelves, her tone still gentle. “I've sent Tommy and Joel out to search. We thought you two snuck out.”

You feel numb as you shake your head. “No, I- I didn't see her this morning. I thought she was still asleep.” You rack your brain for the memories of this morning, of last night, of the last week even. But nothing comes to mind, nothing out of the ordinary.

“I was out late last night, finishing up some paperwork,” you mutter, more to yourself than the woman in front of you, retracing your steps in your mind. “Lane got home before me, I had dinner, we talked about blueberries-”

“Blueberries?” Maria asks, her hand already back on the doorknob. She seems restless and it's that fleeting detail that worries you more than anything. Maria stays in control. Always. 

“Yeah, we- It doesn't matter. I don't know where she is,” you finish lamely, getting up and joining her at the door. But she hasn't moved yet.

“You should stay at home. I'm sure she'll show up again soon and if she comes back to your place, someone should be there.” You nod but your mind is already drifting again. Lane’s been doing fine, good. So have you, really. Maria gently reaches for your shoulder, steering you out of the shed and towards the church, down the street that leads to the center of Jackson. 

You're passing the small graveyard that's protected by brick walls, the stones already withered, pale in contrast to the dark metal fence running along on top. The gate is ajar, but you barely pay it any attention as the information settles in your brain. It takes a few seconds for it to reach your mouth and leave your lips.

“She went out a few times.” 

“Out?” Maria enquires, raising an eyebrow as her attention shifts back to you.

“I thought she'd met someone. Cat and her were pretty close and I figured-” You give a small shrug. It's more than uncomfortable, suddenly, and absurd, that you're discussing Lane's private life so openly, with Maria of all people.

“Don't tell her I said that,” you add quickly. 

Maria nods as you reach the end of the brick wall. “I won't. I'll get back to the city hall and see if there’s any news yet. You go home.”

Your head nods as if on its own accord. Maria has already turned her back towards you when you pipe up. “Maria?” 

She pauses, her back straightening a bit. “Yes?”

“You don't think anything happened to Lane, do you?” 

The older woman shakes her head softly. “No. I'm sure she's fine. Now get home. Maybe she's already there.”

And she hurries off, leaving you at the corner of the street with a trembling body and a heavy feeling in your stomach. For a fleeting moment, you allow your thoughts to wander past the point you've been dreading to consider. What if something has happened? If Lane did sneak out, maybe with Cat, maybe alone, and got into some sort of situation? What if she's hurt?

The sky has turned from pink to a light blue, only a few clouds piling around the mountains on the horizon. You glance down at your hands, shaking ever so slightly. You decide to blame it on the cold. The cold that may be getting to your head as well. Because after a few moments, you turn on your heels, heading for the stables. It's only a few rows of houses until the large wooden wall looms in front of you, blocking out the little sunlight you could get in the morning. The wall that protects you from what lies beyond. Infected and Raiders and maybe, you think, as you slip into the stables, maybe answers.

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing and commenting, every single notif on this fic makes my heart swell with love <3

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO MASTERLIST

DESCRIPTION: She’s all Steven can think about in between the missing days and the American man inside his head. When Harrow’s jackals leaves Marc with a difficult choice, his hectic life is spun out of control as Seth, God of Violence and Chaos, comes to reap his reward in the form of a woman from Soho with a dark past and a crush on Steven Grant. (Lightly inspired by Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: (specific warnings at the beginning of each chapter) 18+ DARK PAST. Sex trafficking/prostitution. Grooming. Explicit. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Abuse ex-boyfriend/lover, death, murder, gore, drug use. Any smut written will be consensual sex only, but there will be some implication to dubcon content. PLEASE CHECK WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ. AGAIN MINORS DNI. * = smut warning

STEVEN GRANT & MARC SPECTOR X (EVENTUAL) AVATAR!READER. Friends to lovers trope (Steven Grant) Sunshine x Grumpy trope (Marc Spector), Light smut, explicit language, no use of Y/N, goes by nickname Dove. I ADORE LAYLA EL-FAOULY so she is still in the narrative but as Dove’s reluctant friend. Female!reader. AFAB!reader. I am English and do not have DID but have tried my best to do all the research I could on the themes I talk about (Ancient Egyptian culture/history/language. Experiencing DID etc) but if I am misinformed and offend anyone, know I am truly sorry and am more than happy to hear anyone’s corrections in my inbox and will do my best to fix it!

main masterlist

CHAPTER ONE - Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted.

CHAPTER TWO - She wakes up with a killer headache and a million questions when she realises two things: 1. the man in her room is not infact Steven Grant and 2. her body no longer belongs to her but to the God of Death.

CHAPTER THREE - With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward.

CHAPTER FOUR - Dove wakes up in Steven’s apartment for the second time covered in blood with only one thing on her mind. What the hell happened last night?

CHAPTER FIVE - Marc and Dove adjust to their new mission: catch Harrow before he can release Ammit and for the love of gods don’t let Seth have the body again.

CHAPTER SIX - Summoning a council with the gods sound easy enough, right? Except the man on trial knows the dark secret she has yet to tell Marc.

CHAPTER SEVEN - Marc, his ex-wife and his supposed mistress head to Mogart’s to find Senfu’s sarcophagus, whatever could go wrong when the god of Chaos wants to be involved?

CHAPTER EIGHT - Dove, Marc and Layla escape Mogart’s with only more dead ends and questions unanswered. They’re running out of time before Harrow reaches the tomb, but one thing keeps sticking in Layla’s head more than the rest. Why does Dove look so guilty?

CHAPTER NINE * - Layla, Steven and Dove set off towards Ammit’s tomb across the dunes, only Steven and Dove have a heavy confession they’ve each been meaning to make.

CHAPTER TEN - Marc finds out the truth about Dove, and pays the mortal price.

CHAPTER ELEVEN -

CHAPTER TWELVE -

CHAPTER THIRTEEN -

CHAPTER FOURTEEN -

CHAPTER FIFTEEN -

Comment or send an ask to be tagged in new chapters!

[paracosmic-murdock]

i still got love for you

part six: because i am with you

pairing: francesca bridgerton x fem!reader

summary: leaving for bath out of the sudden was the hardest thing you had had to do, not particularly because you had left your parents and home behind, but because your friendship with francesca bridgerton was ripped away from you a sudden summer morning.

five years later, francesca arrived in bath for the season to practice pianoforte with her aunt winnie, and finally, you see her again after thinking you had forever lost her. how much you wanted for your love to live and beat still, how much you wanted for francesca to say so.

warnings/tags: sapphic francesca bridgerton, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, am i gay quiz but make it nineteenth century somehow, inspired by an emily dickinson intimate letter to susan hunington dickinson, song: seven (taylor swift)

word count: 2.5K

❁ part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

❁ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

“I move on wings now, on wings as white as snow, and as bright as the summer sunshine—because I am with you.” (Excerpt from Open me carefully: Emily Dickinson's intimate letters to Susan Hunington Dickinson by Emily Dickinson)

“Frannie?”

She looked up at Charles.

“It will be alright,” he murmured, leaning closer to take her hand in his. “I promise.”

Francesca nodded, sighing nervously. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

They were silent, but not for long as you appeared finally. A light layer of sweat gave away your rush.

“My apologies for the delay!” you exclaimed as you sat beside Francesca, sighing tiredly. You spoke, but not before giving her a sweet, swift kiss on the lips. She blushed. “I could not find my fortune necklace.”

“Fortune necklace?” Charles questioned, grinning at your actions.

“We are about to tell Francesca's family that we love each other. All the fortune to come is greatly appreciated.”

“You keep scaring me.”

You pursed your lips. “Don't you mind me, my darling.”

“It is for the best if you don't. Ever.” Your brother smirked.

“Oh, hush you.” You rolled your eyes and he laughed.

Francesca smiled lightly and touched your hand. “Care to grace me with your attention?”

“For you, my darling, forevermore.” you replied, looking at her attentively. She blushed and looked down, and then beside her. In her hand, there was a white rose destined to you.

You grinned happily. “It is certainly beautiful. I adore it.”

“I would appreciate it if you stopped acting like a newlywed, loving couple. Public displays of affection discomfort me.”

“Apologies.” Francesca suppressed an amused smile.

“I do not regret a thing,” You shrugged. “Go find yourself a love match and leave me with mine.”

Charles scoffed. “Lord save me from the two of you.”

“Bridgerton!”

“Lord Chadwick!” the Viscount exclaimed. “It has been a while, has it not?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning closer to Francesca until you could whisper without anybody else hearing. “They should marry each other instead.”

She chuckled lightly. “He has not noticed us. Not even his own sister, can you believe it?”

“I fear I believe it firmly.”

Soon enough, your brother and Francesca's ended their conversation, and their attention shifted to you and her. Anthony kissed his sister's forehead and then went to you with a wide smile.

“Miss Devereaux, what a blessing to see you after so long.”

You laughed. “Lord Bridgerton, how much you flatter me.”

He shook his head while he laughed and hugged you. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “I must say I am grateful for your fiancée and all the work she has done with fixing that attitude of yours.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Come in, the family is eager to see you finally.”

Soon, you were all in the drawing room chatting about anything and everything.

Every once in a while, you and Francesca locked eyes, silently asking the other when to speak. However, you didn't do it. Not during lunch nor during dinner… you just didn't. Instead, you sneaked out of your room and went to Francesca's when everyone was fast asleep.

“What should we do?”

“I just do not want to say it when it is my brother's wedding so soon. We cannot steal the attention.”

You nodded, snuggling closer to her and holding her close to you under the bedsheets. “You are right. I believe we should tell them after Anthony and Miss Sharma leave for their honeymoon. Perhaps, we could tell Anthony only so he knows. You know, before he leaves.”

“We could, yes,” she agreed. “Although, I am scared.”

“I think they will understand,” you said. “They are great, and they love you truly and unconditionally. Whoever you love will not change that.”

“I cannot help but fear a negative answer.”

“We will always have each other either way, alright?” you promised. “Always.”

She smiled weakly. “We can move to your family's beach house.”

“Of course we could,” you answered. “We could go wherever you wish… The Chadwick Seaside House is most wonderful! Bigger than the Devereaux Cottage that you used to love. My parents will not allow me or Charles to set foot there while they breathe, so we could make use of our late uncle's properties.”

“How is it?”

“Mmm… it is big and it looks like a smaller palace. It is full of art pieces and it has a beautiful library; we can see the sea from every balcony and it is on private land. My brother brought a magnificent piano from Germany so I could play there. You would love it.”

“We should live there.”

You kissed her lips. “Right?”

Francesca chuckled. “Yes.”

You nodded and kissed her again. She kissed you back, getting closer and closer until the only thing keeping you from the closeness you so much yearned for was the fabric of your chemises.

“Hmm… What do you want, my darling?” you asked with a smirk.

She blushed and you laughed. “We could, you know…”

“Yes, I know.” You smiled.

Then you kissed her again, gathering the soft fabric of her garments until the end of it was in your power. You put your hand underneath her chemise, tracing soft shapes on her skin. Francesca, however, wanted you more than ever tonight. She feared that it could even be your very last night together, so she must honor it.

“I love you.” she whispered, undoing the buttons of your sleeping garments.

You helped her finish taking it off. “I love you, too.”

Right that moment, with her driving her kisses from your lips to your neck, you knew you loved her more than anything. When her mouth went to your breasts, you thought you would do absolutely anything for her. When she took off her own chemise and offered herself to you, you were sure you would leave everything behind just for her.

“Are you mine?” she wondered.

“Every piece of mine is yours to make your own,” you replied between the kisses on her breasts. “Are you mine?”

She moaned softly. “Yours. Yours only.”

With a satisfied smile, you left her breast and kissed your way south. You put each of her legs above your shoulders and kissed the tender skin of her inner thighs. Francesca moaned loudly, but covered her mouth right away.

You hushed her, speaking in between soft kisses. “This is not Chadwick House at night, my darling. There are many a pair of ears who could listen and question.”

“Mhmm…” she conceded, already shaking in anticipation, her eyes begging you to tend to her. “Please…”

You did as she told you and enjoyed the heavenly taste of her.

“And when, pray tell, are you going to tell the family?!”

Before, you thought that the finest melody on Earth was that of a piano, or that the greatest delicacy were chocolate biscuits. However, now you know better: the sound of Francesca begging you was definitely far above any composition, any dessert. Neither Mozart nor the best cook of Chadwick House could do any better, even if they tried.

You frowned. “Brother, give us time!”

“It almost slipped in a conversation with Anthony last night! We have been here for three days and you have not done anything yet!”

“Charles…” Francesca sighed. “The right moment has not come up, but I assure you, we will tell the family as soon as-”

“Tell the family what?”

The three of you looked at each other, alarmed.

“Brother!” she exclaimed awkwardly. “You have frightened us.”

“Have I?” Anthony grinned.

“Yes, you have!” You nodded.

“Indeed.” Charles ‘confirmed’.

“Why is that? Am I really that unpleasant to the eye?”

Francesca shook her head. “No! We were just distracted and you caught us off guard.”

“Sister,” He frowned. “Why are you acting like this? You have been behaving strangely since you arrived. All three of you. What aren't you telling us, huh?”

Charles pursed his lips. “I am feeling not so w-”

“You stay,” Anthony commanded. “You three must tell me what is going on or else I will have no other choice but to sit down with Charles and you know how easy it is to get him to speak.”

“I want nothing to do with this, let that be clear.” your brother stated. You rolled your eyes.

“What is this?”

“Brother, I…”

“We have been meaning to tell you something, Anthony,” you spoke after seeing that Francesca had frozen at the possibility of talking about it herself. “And we would really appreciate it if you were… open-minded.”

He made a confused grin. “Open-minded?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, looking at Francesca and her nervous frame. “We hope for you and the family to support us, but you must know that the lack of a blessing would not change a thing.”

“You two are scaring me,” Anthony replied. “I will choose the safest path and ask you if you have planned not to debut, not find a husband and remain unmarried to death or something of the sorts?”

You and Francesca looked at each other and then at him again.

“Not quite.” she said.

“Dear God!” Charles complained. “Speak at once, the two of you have me going insane!”

“Fine! We love each other!” Francesca almost yelled, catching the three of you by surprise. Even yourself.

Anthony gasped, this being way further than what he expected as the craziest possibility.

He looked at your brother. “What?”

“Look at us,” you ordered and he did so. “We love each other. We always have, just… Only as we grow older is that we figure some things out. The motive of Charles and I's departure from Kent was that our parents found and read my diary entries and learnt that I loved your sister. Neither like a friend, nor as a sister: I have loved her like a young love match couple loves each other. I love her as a woman, that shan't change, not now nor ever, with or without your blessing… We love each other and-”

“And we will always be together. We do not need your blessing, nor will it change me and her, but it is very important for me to have it; you are my brother and we- I want nothing but your unconditional love and support as always.”

“Did you know about this?”

Your brother nodded. “I did, yes. For quite some time as well.”

“Well, this is…” Anthony exhaled and pursed his lips after. “I need some time to think about this.”

“Of course you do,” you looked up, knowing he was having the best possible reaction. “We understand.”

He nodded, but before leaving, he kissed Francesca's forehead. “You must know that, above all, you are my sister and I love you and support you unconditionally.”

Eventually, Anthony came around and told you and Francesca that it was alright. He did not know how to help, but he loved his sister and cared for her and for you, and whatever makes you two happy, that is great for him.

She almost cried then and there.

A thing you weren't expecting, though, was his idea: telling the family before he and Kate left for the honeymoon. Hence, there you were.

“As I told you before, there is an... announcement,” Anthony said. “It is something we might not be accustomed to, but you must know that whatever rejoice there is in our family, should be shared between us all. This will not be the exception and should be as welcomed as Kate and I's marriage.”

Lady Bridgerton frowned. “Anthony, what are you saying?”

“Mother,” Francesca interrupted. “It is us who are announcing something.”

The two of you looked around at the confusion of the family. Charles seemed to be more nervous than you and Francesca; and Kate, to whom you had confided the news before, gave you a calming smile.

“Us? As in…?”

“Us.” you replied, pointing at Francesca and then at yourself.

You breathed in and out, locking gazes with an expectant Daphne, who seemed to have realized the matter. Then, as you averted Daphne's look, your eyes caught Benedict's. As soon as he noticed your attention was on him, he slightly pointed at Francesca and then at you with his head, raising his eyebrows right after. You nodded swiftly, a motion so vague that only he was able to notice and decipher. As a response, Benedict smiled widely, making all the tension fall from your shoulders.

“We love each other.” Francesca finally announced.

“We do,” you confirmed, seeing how everyone had different reactions, none away from surprise or bafflement. “And we are happy. You do not have to accept it or understand it, we cannot expect you to do so, not when it is something so… rare, at that.”

“We would love to have your support, but I- we understand it is not an easy matter. On the contrary: it is most likely none of us has seen it or heard of it before.”

“We needed you to know.” you finished.

There was silence until Hyacinth stood up with a big smile brightening her face. “Does it mean Y/N would be our sister officially?”

“Yes, if you have me.” you answered truthfully.

The youngest Bridgerton ran to you and hugged you and Francesca. Despite being in Mayfair for two weeks only, you easily bonded with Hyacinth. She was quite similar to you in many ways, and, in many aspects, you saw yourself in her. When she bickered with Gregory or Benedict, it reminded you of you and Charles; when she sat beside you and talked about anything as if you had known each other your entire lives, it felt rather wholesome and heartwarming.

“I do!”

You and Francesca laughed until you saw her mother standing in front of you. She hushed Hyacinth, who left reluctantly after muttering ‘good luck’.

“I do not know what to say,” Lady Bridgerton curved her lips. “Other than… remark my love for the two of you. Y/N, you are like a daughter to me, and reuniting with you has filled my heart with joy. Not only that, but now you tell me that you will be one of us… I am delighted for the two of you. I trust you completely with my daughter's heart. It is true that this is something that requires adjustment and that is going to be difficult to defend, but I am willing to do what it takes to ensure the happiness of my two daughters. And, my dear Francesca, I do not want you to ever doubt the love of your family. Whatever you do, dearest, we will always love you and support you… through anything.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“As do I.” She took her daughter's hand and then yours.

“Thank you, my Lady.” you said.

“I am afraid you must call me mother from now on.”

You smiled.

Charles cleared his throat loudly to get the attention. “May I be adopted as well?”

Lady Bridgerton laughed warmly. “The more, the merrier.”

Francesca looked at you with a pleased smile. “As much as you will hate to admit it, your brother was right… Everything is going to be alright.”

“Our brother, my darling,” you corrected her. “And yes, it will be alright.”

You focused on Francesca and on the feeling of immense joy that she caused you. Only her eyes were enough to melt your heart, and her smile made you smile, too.

Right then and there, you were more certain than ever that, as long as you are together, everything will be perfect.

the end

taglist: @swiftholic-13 @kenzieisgone @urmultifandomfan

[a-yellow-van]

Wish You Were Here | Part 3

You and Joel get stuck in a blizzard during patrol. It leads to something unexpected.

Series masterlist

Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, some smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, protective joel, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC : 8.9 k

Warnings for part 3 : Minors DNI! swearing, drinking, mentions of trauma and PTSD, mild violence, explicit sexual content (masturbation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough-ish sex, praise kink, pet names, limited aftercare), more hurt than comfort I'm sorry

Writing this one hurt a lil. But I'm happy with it. So please enjoy.

It’s been half an hour. Thirty minutes of riding side by side in complete silence, interrupted only by the sounds of Old Beardy and Willow’s hooves rhythmically crunching in the snow.  It seems like an eternity. The tension is so intense it’s almost palpable. Your presence, a blur in Joel’s peripheral vision, is putting him on such an edge that, at any given moment now,  he could turn around and gallop back to Jackson, or start saying things he’d better keep to himself, or get you off your horse and take you by the waist and…

No. Nope. Stop it. 

His grip on the reins tightens and he bites his inner cheek until the stab of pain rips his mind off that absurd train of thought. He stares straight ahead at the deserted highway, the stretch of the 191 carved in a broad valley. The landscape is lost in a sea of white, the concrete below  invisible, crashed cars resembling large animals sleeping in a snowy den. Joel’s face is numb from the cold, rugged skin humid, a few wild strands of hair on his forehead pearling with ice. The brim of his insulated cap isn’t enough to shield his eyes from the stinging wind, but still, he stares, almost unblinking. His neck itches with the urge to turn and glance at you; he has been actively fighting it ever since leaving. He has to remain collected, he has to concentrate on the job. That sentence is playing on loop in his head like a mantra, so much so that the words are getting jumbled, barely making sense anymore. 

He doesn’t understand why it’s been so difficult to just move on from what happened. Not one day during those two weeks has passed without his thoughts drifting back to that brief intimacy he shared with you, without wondering what you’re doing, how you’re doing. And he loathes it. Hates being confused, hates not having control, hates that you’re having such an effect on him. So, before he drives himself crazy, he decides to start counting the cars until the both of you reach the first checkpoint on the Hoback route. Joel has calculated about five miles since Jackson, only around three to go until the job gets more active. There are two cars on the right, their shapes stuck together in a permanent collision, and one on the left. Joel can make it. 

Small, repetitive rituals like this always helped him focus; back when he was working construction, a lifetime ago, he’d recite stupid ad jingles to himself, trying to remember as many as he could and associate them with the correct brand. There was a famous one that Sarah used to sing just to annoy him, delighted when it worked without fail every time. He’d be reading the newspaper in the morning, or watching a game, or driving her to school, and she’d pipe up out of nowhere. And then it’d be stuck in Joel’s head for days. Some annoying rap about credit reports. How did it go again? F-R-E-E, that spells free…something something dot com, baby. Sarah’s mischievous giggles, after he begged her to stop, echo around his mind. Less than a year back, it would have sent him down to a dark, sunken place with slippery walls nearly impossible to climb out of. Not anymore, after Ellie. The memory’s still stained with grief, but it doesn’t feel so crushing to carry. He’s accepted it as part of him. Joel tries to recall the rest of the lyrics to that damned song; he thinks Ellie might get a kick out of it. She’s always so eager to learn about even the most meaningless things that existed before the outbreak. 

It does the trick to distract him from you. It works so well, in fact, that he nearly misses the turn to the checkpoint. He pulls on Old Beardy’s reins suddenly, steering him in the right direction. The horse neighs in protest. 

So much for concentrating. 

You’ve certainly noticed the mishap, but you don’t comment on it, much to his relief.  

Get a fucking grip. 

Joel begins down the side path to an abandoned gas station, the tension rising. Maybe, if one of you were to point out the obvious, it would make this whole situation a bit less miserable. But Joel isn’t going to be the one to do it. It would come out all wrong, anyway. 

The place is small, a few pumps decaying under a canopy that’s barely holding on to four crumbling steel rods. The convenience store isn’t in better shape, its windows shattered, the signboard crashed by the entry. You take initiative and move towards the back of the building; Joel takes it as a cue for him to check out the front. The advantage of being an experienced patroller is that you can do your job without much communication; at least there’s that. He jumps off Old Beardy and walks up to the building, unworried but readying his weapon nonetheless. If there were infected around, he’d have spotted them already. Just as he thought, the interior is empty, what’s left of it is covered in a thin film of dirty snow. Just for good measure, he checks the storage and the restrooms in the back. Still nothing. He jogs back to his horse just as you turn a corner, you and Willow coming back into view, calm, unperturbed. 

You don’t wait for him to leave. He scrambles to mount Old Beardy, and you’re already back on the highway. It sustains Joel’s growing irritation; he almost yells out for you to slow down. Sure, ignoring each other is one thing, but being unsafe and disrespecting patrol rules is another. So, as a punishment, Joel spurs Old Beardy into a run and catches up before overtaking you, almost knocking you off Willow. He hears you gasp out in surprise. You try to swerve to the right, but he blocks the move. He wants to make you crack. Because he can’t be the one to do so first. You try the same move, to the left this time, and again, Joel is faster. He takes things a step further and lets out a dry, arrogant scoff. 

That’s it. You’re about to rip into him. But only the whistling of the wind responds; you keep stubbornly quiet. You don’t even give the man a glance when he finally lets you pass and get back on his side, your expression set in stone. 

Damn it. You’re good. 

Joel doesn’t attempt anything else, deciding it’s wasted energy. You both continue on the road, status quo, for another hour. You stop at a few other checkpoints around the highway : an old RV park, a fire station…Warm, sheltered places that would draw in people, or things, at this time of year. But there’s no sign of life anywhere. By this point, Joel would usually have had to take out at least a stray runner. It’s almost unsettling. Like the calm before a storm. That little seed of concern plants itself inside his mind, heightening his senses. You must feel it too, because you guide your horse closer to his, and he notices your right hand leaving the reins to rest on the rifle hanging from your shoulder. 

Sombre clouds are accumulating in the sky, hanging low, menacing. The wind increases as you both reach the highway exit to the small village of Hoback, carrying sharp snowflakes that cut Joel’s exposed cheeks. The path is narrow, flanked by tall conifers that grow denser, their branches drooping down from the weight of the snow. You’re forced to get behind the man, your gaze on his back piercing, nervous, uncomfortable. The both of you still don’t talk, but the atmosphere has shifted, the unspoken conflict momentarily forgotten. 

Joel moves forward cautiously on trot, alert, scanning his surroundings. The first cluster of residences comes into view, simple log cabins settled at the foot of a hill a couple yards away. From the distance, nothing looks out of place. He signals for you to follow him, and you patrol up and down the short street, hastily inspecting the houses on both sides. They’re frozen in a dead silence, immobile, ravaged by years of negligence and harsh elements. Instead of being reassuring, the absence of movement only causes Joel’s foreboding feeling to develop. Something is very off here. The both of you repeat the process through the village, falling into calculated, practised gestures. And, while patrollers have the habit of checking some key places for supplies to bring back to Jackson, this time, your pair instinctively works as fast as possible, not entering a single house. There’s an unwritten agreement to get the hell out of here as soon as you can. 

You’ve cleared out most of the village and, at last, you reach Snake River, the sounds of its turbulent waters mixed with the wind is tumultuous.  There’s a bridge ahead, just large enough for a car. Its wooden structure is unstable, some slats have fallen, the rest are icy and split in places. This next part has to be done on foot; the horses would collapse through the bridge and drown if they even took one step on it. Once you cross the river, you’ll need to walk a couple miles to the outskirts of the village, finishing off the route at an old golf course. The clubhouse is a great lookout to the area; it holds the patrol logbook. Joel halts Old Beardy before the river, and you stop next to him. The animal shakes his head, freeing his mane from the layer of snow. Joel hesitates, not quite ready to leave the protection and speed horseback offers. He’s debating if an acute gut feeling is reason enough to turn back and leave patrol unfinished. 

That short moment of doubt is precious. Because a second later, nature seems to fall completely silent around you. As though a predator is roaming nearby. Sudden, horrible snarls erupt from the woods stretching to your right. The ground trembles beneath fast, uneven footsteps. A lot of them. Too many. Time stops as Joel looks in your eyes for the first time in hours. They’re full of fear. 

And then a runner stumbles onto the trail about three hundred feet behind, twitching, its mangled head snapping in your direction. Followed by another. And another. It jolts the man right into action. 

“COME ON!” He urges you, spurring Old Beardy to a gallop. 

There’s no way to go, but forward. Joel barrels around the bridge and down the slope, reaching the riverbank. You don’t leave his side, thighs clenched around Willow’s flanks, arms straining with the reins. And as your horses hooves hit the ice, the horde has crossed the distance, pouring down the embankment. There’s at least twenty. Some of them fall into the water, the current seizing them immediately. But it’s not enough to stop them. Joel’s heart is hammering out of his chest, his body rocking with the movement as Old Beardy pushes on, fueled by the danger. Joel lets go of the reins, expert fingers grasping his rifle. He swiftly points it at the first runner that lunges at his left, and lodges a bullet in its brain. The next one steps on the corpse, ready to attack. It meets the same fate. The gunshots coming from your side clearly indicate that you’re handling yourself. Before long, Joel has emptied the chamber, not one bullet wasted. 

“RELOADING!” He shouts. 

You cover him, taking out an infected, mere inches before his claws dig into Joel’s ankle. He doesn’t have time to thank you, however, pulling the trigger the second he readies the rifle again. You both maintain the rhythm up for what seems to be hours, the horses snorting through the effort, runners dropping like flies. Joel has lost all sensation; he doesn’t feel his lungs burning or his muscles pulling; the adrenaline has completely taken over. He keeps riding. Shooting. Reloading. And…Yes, there.

Only two of the fuckers left. 

One on your side, one on his. He fires. Perfect shot. He thinks the two of you might make it out unscathed. 

But then, something happens. Your weapon is pointed at your own runner, about to shoot. But you hesitate. Joel watches as the creature strikes. Willow panics. She rears up. And you are thrown to the ground.   

——————————

That runner. 

It looks so much like her. 

Your body hits the riverbank, head bouncing on a rock, wind knocked out of you. A sharp pain erupts in your skull, high-pitched ringing explodes in your ears, stars appear in your vision. In a fraction of a second, the creature is straddling you. You weakly push an elbow against its chest, keeping its jaws from locking around your neck. It twitches, screams, clacks its teeth. 

And you just…accept it. Twenty-one years of surviving, and this is how it ends. 

You close your eyes. 

And you’re back in the forest. That day. You’re running, faster than you’ve ever done in your life, branches grabbing at you, slicing your skin, like they want to prevent your escape. You glance over your shoulder. She’s gaining on you. Her eyes have turned a milky white, her clothes are ripped, her skin bloodied. But she still looks so much like herself. She still sounds like herself. Your baby sister. Her discorded weeps fill you with a gutting terror. You can almost make out the repeated word. Your name. Tears fall down wildly as you dart between trees, your breathing erratic, throat on fire. 

“PLEASE! ANI! STOP!” you howl. But she’s gone. She can’t understand. So she chases, and you run. 

Until your foot catches on a large root, sending you tumbling through the underbrush. Your gun clatters away from you. You lay there, stunned, dirt in your eyes, your nose, your mouth, ankle bent at the wrong angle. 

She pins you to the ground, broken nails digging in the skin of your arms. You flail around, kick at her, trying to free yourself from her impossibly strong grip. 

“STOP IT! ANI! STOP!” you cry out again, voice raspy, hollow, desperate. 

Your right hand pats around blindly for the weapon, your left is pushed against her forehead, forcing her mouth away from your exposed shoulder. Your heart is beating so fast it seems like it’s stopped. Maybe it has. Maybe you’ve died, and this is just a flash of your last moments as you drift into peaceful, eternal rest. Or maybe it’s a horrible nightmare, and you’re about to wake up, a hand laced in your sister’s soft hair, light snores escaping her lips. She always looks so innocent when she sleeps, like all worries have washed off her, like she’s been sent back to a happy childhood in her dreams. 

Your fingers brush against cold metal. You close them around the handle. 

Bang. 

The shot echoes, in the past and in the present. 

You’re still alive. 

The runner’s corpse slumps down against you, coating you with gore, a foul smell making you gag. You’re paralyzed, trembling, chest rising and falling erratically, gasping for air. You look up at the angry grey skies, the snow plummeting down, catching in your eyelashes. Everything stands still for an instant. 

It all comes rushing back as the dead infected is ripped off your chest, discarded to the side like a rag doll. You sense a presence crouching down next to you, and Joel obscures your view. 

He calls out your last name, loud, snapping you back to reality. You focus on his face; it’s flushed, expression tight with stress, eyes darting, searching for yours. 

“Hey! Are you okay?” he yells. 

Joel takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into a sitting position, the sudden movement making you dizzy. You stare back at him, eyes wide, blinking rapidly, unable to answer. Stunned.

“HEY! Did it bite you?” he continues, shaking you. 

You move your head side to side in response, causing it to throb in pain. You wince, raising a hand to your occiput. Your glove comes back crimson. Joel’s eyes fall to the blood, and he mutters a curse. He reaches into his coat pocket to take out a rag, balling it up and pressing it to the back of your skull. 

“Keep that there for me. Can you do that?” He speaks in a low, steady tone, but there’s an edge to it you pick up on. You nod and execute yourself. Willow comes over and nudges you with her nose; her way of apologising. You pat her with your free hand, reassuring. It was your fault.

Joel runs back to Old Beardy, the poor beast trembling from the fright. He takes something out of his pack’s front pocket and brings it back : a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. He twists the cap off with his teeth and kneels behind you, taking the rag and pouring some of the liquid on it. He rubs it on your wound, eliciting a shriek.

Holy shit that hurts. 

Joel inspects the injury, parting your hair to expose it, the rough fabric of his gloves like sandpaper on your scalp. 

“Cut isn’t deep. But you’re gonna get a mean bump.” Joel explains, applying more pressure. He stops the bleeding, aided by the cold, and wraps the rag around your head, securing it with a tight knot. “We gotta keep moving. Can you stand up?” 

This version of Joel, assertive, protective even, catches you off guard. It’s such a stark contrast from his attitude earlier in the day. It nearly makes you forget how close to death you just came.

“Uh, I-I think so-” you reply, regaining your voice, before attempting to push yourself off the ground and falling back down. Your head spins. 

Joel offers you his hand, which you take to pull yourself up slowly, your whole body protesting. Bile rises up to your oesophagus. You lean over, breathing through your mouth. 

“Shit. I think you have a concussion,” you hear Joel say, from far away.

And, then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the storm picks up. The snow gets so dense you can barely see five feet in front of you. The man takes the lead, urgently guiding you towards Old Beardy. He helps you mount, taking you by the waist, and you don’t even think to resist. There’s no way you can ride by yourself in this condition. Joel gets on and takes the reins while you hold on to him, chest pressed against his back. He whistles for Willow over the wind. She follows right behind. 

Joel leads his horse out of the riverbank and into the surrounding woods, visibility getting even poorer. You’re blinded by snow, breathing it in, wheezing. You put all trust in Joel’s sense of orientation, praying that somehow, he gets you back onto the road. He presses forward, a hand raised in front of his face to protect it. 

What a stupid fucking way to go out. Lost in a blizzard. With Joel Miller. At least the town would have something to talk about. 

But then, miraculously, the trees begin to thin out; ahead, you can make out the faint outline of a trail. 

He did it. 

You squeeze Joel’s torso tighter, as if to thank him. Old Beardy perseveres, pushing one leg in front of the other. Your head is getting heavier, the concussion pulling you towards a dreamless sleep. 

“Hold on. We’re almost there.” Joel affirms. You’re not sure who it’s destined for : himself, you, or the horses. Maybe all four. But it’s all you need to let go, and you pass out, head slumping on Joel’s shoulder. 

——————————

You wake up to the sound of snow pelting against glass. Your skull feels like it’s being drilled into with a jackhammer. You pry your eyelids open and try to get your bearings, vision foggy, as though you opened your eyes in a chlorine pool. You find that you’ve been laid out on a frayed, deformed couch, springs digging into your back, a quilt smelling of mothballs thrown over you. Your winter attire has been taken off. You push yourself up on your elbows and look around the room. It seems to be the small living area of a cabin; there’s a rustic coffee table where both packs lay next to the bloody rag that acted as your bandage. To your left is a large, frosted-over bay window; the outside is an infinite, oppressing white. Two sets of jackets and ski pants hang from antler-shaped hooks next to the front door, a puddle forming underneath. A stone hearth takes up the wall in front of you, fire crackling inside. And, to your right, a plaid armchair. Joel is sitting in it, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs, watching you intently with knitted brows. His expression is hard, severe, unfriendly; he’s back to his normal self. You hold his gaze, your sight slowly getting clearer. 

“Uh. Hey,” you speak hoarsely, throat dry. It makes you cough, which prompts Joel to get up and rummage through your pack to retrieve your canteen. He tosses it to you carelessly, and you fail to catch it. It lands on your lap with a thump. Joel plops back into the armchair, huffing. He is very transparently upset with you. 

Great.

You take a long gulp of water and wipe your mouth with the back of your sleeve, the day replaying in your mind like on a movie theatre screen, pausing on your near-death experience. And you’re baffled, ashamed of your own actions. You can’t believe Joel had to step in and save your sorry ass, like you’re some kind of damsel in distress.  

Fucking rookie mistake. And now you have a goddamn concussion. 

You massage your temples and suppress a groan. “How long was I out?” you ask instead. 

“About an hour.” Joel answers, tone glacial, deprived of any sympathy. 

“Did you try calling Jackson?” You nod over at the small radio sitting on the ground by the window. 

“Couldn’t get a signal,” Joel answers, gruff, as if it’s an obvious fact. 

You roll your eyes. You know he’s right, but still, you stand up despite sore muscles, and go over to the device, cranking it a few times before trying the channel knob. You’re met with static. Joel mumbles something under his breath; it doesn’t sound pleasant, or polite. You put the radio back down and return to the couch, avoiding eye contact with the older man.

You glance at your watch. It’s right after 3PM, and the blizzard hasn’t let up. You’re going to be stuck here a while. You rest your head on the arm of the sofa, staring at the beamed ceiling, lost in reflexion. About how genuinely worried Joel seemed when you got hurt, how he jumped right in to take care of you. It makes you seethe. He tucked you in so you’d stay warm. He even changed your socks; the wet pair is drying by the fireplace. How dare he? You shift on the cushions, stiff, ill at ease. And Joel chooses that moment to break the silence. 

“What the hell was that back there?” He questions, his tone accusatory.

You tense up. The blame you’re putting on yourself is more than enough. He doesn’t need to twist the knife. You ignore him, your jaw clenching. 

“Hey. I’m talkin’ to ya,” he nags. 

It makes your blood boil, and you sit up to glare at him. “Won’t happen again,” you grumble.

“Yeah? You sure about that?” He continues, harsh. 

You take a deep breath. “Look, I-”

He interrupts you. “You don’t freeze up like that. Ever. You understand me?”

“Oh, wow. I had no idea!” You strike back, not missing a beat. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Miller,” You spit out. 

Joel lets out a chilling chuckle. “Oh, you’re welcome, by the way!” He barks, “You know. For keepin’ you alive an’ all.”

You spring to your feet, heat shooting to your head, exacerbating the migraine. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help,” you utter. 

Joel gets up too, towering over you, hands balled up into fists. “Right. Next time I'll just let you get infected. That what you want?” 

“I told you. There won’t be a next time!” You shout, holding yourself back from punching him in the gut, or kneeing him where it would hurt most, or pulling him down to the couch and pushing your lips to his neck and letting him- 

No. Nope. Not again, not here, not now. 

You desperately need some air. You move towards the front door, but Joel strides up to you and blocks the way, arms crossed. 

“You ain’t going anywhere,” he warns. 

“Let. Me. Out.” You command. Your head is so painful you think it might explode. 

Joel chuckles again. “You got a death wish or somethin’? Settle down, girl.” He talks down to you as if you were a child, smug, condescending; but that word makes your heart skip a beat. 

You try to make a pass for the handle, but he grabs your wrist and shoves it backwards effortlessly. You’re seeing red. So you opt for the next best thing; you spin around abruptly and storm off to the other side of the cabin, into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. 

“Oh yeah. You do that. Real mature.” Joel yells out. 

You hear the creak of the floor under his steps and the rustling of fabric as he sits back down. You take your frustrations out on the shower curtain, displacing thousands of dust particles, before biting down on your hand to muffle a scream. When you’re done, you climb into the bathtub and curl up against the lime-scaled cold porcelain, forehead on your knees. The space is dark, stuffy, suffocating. You wonder how you’ll be able to make it through the storm without ripping Joel’s head off. Or doing something exactly opposed to it. How easily that man is able to just get to you is incomprehensible. Enraging. And, worst of all, despite how reluctant you are to admit it… 

Arousing.  

It must be the concussion dysregulating you completely. But the feeling grows, and you extend both legs to squeeze your thighs together, trying to release the pressure building between them. It’s no use. There’s only one thing that would satisfy it, and he’s right outside the door. Without your control, your right hand moves to the waistband of your jeans, undoes the button and goes down, past the elastic of your underwear…Fingers reach down to your entrance, already slick, and glide back up to the hardened nub, the touch sending a rush of pleasure through your body. You rub clumsy circles around, slow at first, mind filling with Joel, his calloused hand there instead of yours, stretching you out, whispering filthy things in your ear. You increase the speed, biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning, cheeks flushed, the pressure becoming almost unbearable. You push two fingers inside, curling them to stimulate that sensitive spot, bucking into your own palm to deepen the sensation. In a matter of seconds, you’re unravelling, free hand gripping the side of the tub, your walls clamping down on the other, come seeping in the fabric below. Your lips part and you can’t help a low squeal from escaping them. You immediately clap your left hand over your mouth, heart racing. 

Fuck. 

Did he hear?

You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. The reality of what you just did comes crashing down. It only worked to heighten your desire. And your anger. You button your pants back up and step out of the bathtub, wiping your hand on a scratchy towel you find in the linen closet along with a colony of spiders. 

You’ve been in here for too long. You have to go back out. It would raise suspicion if you didn’t. 

——————————

Joel is oblivious, too busy sulking over the events of the day as he tends to the fire, flames illuminating his face in a flickering glow. 

That was too fucking close. 

The image of you, frozen up under the runner, keeps snaking its way into his thoughts. It infuriates him. How you just gave up, like your life was worthless, like you deserved what came to you. And yet, the sentiment is so familiar it makes his chest ache in a burst of empathy. He can sense the burden in you, the intense trauma you endured. Most people have, in this unforgiving world, but you…There’s something more. It was the look in your eyes when you saw that infected, as if it reminded you of something so vivid it stole you away for an instant. He knows because it’s happened to him. It still does, sometimes, although less frequently. They’re these moments of sheer panic, where he’s choking, the world blurring around him. He has to count things he can see, or touch, or hear…He feels so miserably weak after it’s passed, as if he’s just a small, scared old man. Maybe it reveals his true nature. 

And he’s so angry at you for making him care. Because for some reason, he does. Ever since that night at the tavern. Maybe even before. How scared he got when he thought you might be done for is direct proof of it. 

He can’t afford to have another person to protect. 

A quiet cough brings him back to the present. He peers over his shoulder. You’re standing behind him, seemingly troubled by something; you fiddle with the hem of your sweater, gaze glued to the ground. 

He turns back to the hearth, sighing, and forces out an irritated “You good?” The thing is, he actually is concerned with the answer. 

“Fine.” You reply, your tone not an ounce more affable than his. 

That is as far as the conversation goes. Joel eventually gets tired of rotating the same log with the fire poker, pretending the action is crucial to keep the flames alive. He goes back to the armchair, glancing at you. You’ve reclined on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, mindlessly chewing on a piece of dried meat. He decides to imitate you, because he needs something to do with his hands. So he digs in his bag for the sandwich he’d packed; it’s mushed, tasteless. You both eat in thick, loaded silence. 

The sunlight is starting to decline, and the storm rages on, casting the room in an eerie shadow, the cold seeping in through every tiny crack in the cabin’s foundation. Joel shivers despite himself, shoving both hands under his armpits in an attempt to preserve his body heat. 

A second later, you’re out of your seat. Joel watches as you climb up the spiral staircase that leads to the loft bedroom. You shuffle around the space, partially concealed by the railing, and come stomping back down, carrying a crumpled blanket. You hold it out to him at arm’s length. Joel cocks a brow; the sudden kind gesture leaves him completely confused. You jiggle the blanket under his nose, impatient. He decides to take it, and drapes it around his shoulders, the relief immediate. 

“Uh. Thanks,” he mumbles. 

You give a shrug in response, dismissive, wrapping yourself in the quilt and retreating to the sofa.  

What the hell? 

An hour ago, you were fiercely arguing with him. Now this. The flip-flopping is giving him whiplash. 

Time passes, excruciatingly slow, nor Joel or you daring to say another word. The sun fully sets; the darkness outside is opaque, as if the little cabin is drowning alone in an abyss. There’s no way around it, you’ll both have to spend the night here. Around half past 5PM, Joel can’t stew in the tension anymore, so he goes to check on Old Beardy and Willow, confined to the veranda at the back of the house. They’re cramped, but otherwise fine. Joel risks a short trip to the yard to fill an old, warped bucket with snow for the horses to drink. As he shines the beam of his flashlight around, he notes that the blizzard has weakened slightly. This mess might be over in the morning. Just a few hours. He can last until then. It’s not like he has any other choice. 

He feeds the animals with a pile of straw forgotten in a corner of the veranda, behind some gardening tools. At the start of the outbreak, he couldn’t help but imagine who inhabited the places he used as shelters, what their daily lives looked like, if they were still alive. Sometimes, he’d come across evidence of the contrary. It used to disturb him, he’d feel like an intruder, but he’d quickly grown desensitised. Cordyceps didn’t spare anyone. It made suffering the new normal. It’s useless to dwell on what was or wonder what could have been. So, he doesn’t pay more attention to the objects scattered around the space as Willow eats from his hand. 

Once he comes back inside the cabin, he finds you exploring the kitchenette that’s crammed underneath the loft. You’ve opened the cupboards, revealing stacks of chipped, dusty dishes. You’re going through a drawer, a few utensils clinking inside. You haven’t noticed Joel, too focused on your search for something of value. He observes quietly as you move on to the second drawer, when he decides to make his presence known. He clears his throat before speaking. 

“Don’t bother, I already checked while you were sleepin’.” 

His words only make you search harder, meticulously inspecting the contents of the drawer, bent over, your back turned to him.

Goddamn it. You’re exasperating. 

And yet, his eyes are drawn to a specific part of your anatomy, the curves made obvious by your position, your jeans hugging them so well he could just-

“Or do whatever the fuck you want,” he mutters, the hostility compensating for the sudden surge of lust. 

He plants himself in the armchair, once again, the noises of your continued investigation grating, setting his nerves on fire. After a few minutes, they stop. And you come walking back to the living area with a subtle, conceited smirk on your lips, and a bottle of very nice, before-the-apocalypse whisky clutched in your right hand. 

“Didn’t check well enough, Miller,” you say, failing to hide your satisfaction. 

“Where was it?” He asks, upset at himself for missing the item. 

“Back of the sink cabinet,” you answer smugly. “Quality stuff,” you add, reading the label. You’re absolutely right, but Joel isn’t going to recognise it. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky,” he grumbles. You don’t waste time and unseal the bottle before raising it to your mouth. 

“Don’t think that’s smart,” Joel cautions, making you pause mid-air. “Y’know. Concussion,” he continues, his tone more unpleasant than he anticipated. 

You don’t listen to his advice, staring at him tauntingly as you sip. He’s quickly learning that you thrive in defiance. And this audacity you possess, it’s…Attractive. Joel inexplicably likes that you’re provoking him. Your expression remains neutral as you swallow, even when Joel knows for a fact it must sting like hell. You offer the bottle to him. 

It’s been a long time since he’s had liquor that didn’t have an aftertaste of battery acid, and the sight makes him crave a good drink. It’d certainly make the night pass by faster. He knows it’s a terrible idea, considering where getting drunk with you led him last time, but it’s so damn tempting…

He takes the whisky from you. 

——————————

You’ve made a considerable dent in the liquor. It’s dulling the pain in your head, reducing it to a distant ache. You’re sitting cross-legged in front of the hearth, and Joel has joined you on the ground, close enough to pass the bottle back and forth without having to stand up. His back is resting on the bottom panel of the couch, legs spread out casually. The fire, as well as the whisky, is enveloping you in a calming warmth, eating away at your inhibitions; you’ve taken your sweater off as a result, stripped down to a tight thermal shirt. There’s silence again between you and Joel, but this time, it doesn’t make you want to claw out of your own skin. It’s strikingly comfortable. And you find yourself wanting the man to come closer, longing for contact, connection. You haven’t forgotten your little adventure in the bathroom; in fact, the liquor is feeding those feelings,  and they’ve risen to a nearly overwhelming level. 

You take another sip, and, during the exchange, Joel’s fingers graze yours, sending your heart in a frenzy and a burst of flustered heat to your face. You jerk your hand away. 

Idiot. 

You play it off by brushing it through your hair. Joel’s mouth twitches upwards before he drinks. 

“What?” You ask, defensive. 

“Nothin’.” Joel passes the bottle back to you with a faint air of amusement. You decide it’s a good time to stop, and you set it down on the floor. 

“Done already? I was expecting more from ya,” he teases. 

You hate how well it’s efficient in riling you up. “Like you said. Concussion,” you retort, pointing at the site of injury. 

“Hm. So now it's a good enough excuse,” he presses on, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“Yup,” you answer simply. 

“Really? That’s all you got?” His smirk is more assured now. 

You give a drawn-out sigh in response, studying the fire like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

“Damn. I was startin’ to like the snark,” he says. It seems like the liquor has taken a toll on the man’s reservations, too. 

“Don’t wanna waste my breath on you,” you reply, unable to resist the banter. 

Joel chuckles. “Ah. There she is.” 

You had forgotten how lovely Joel’s laugh is. How natural it feels to talk to him like this. Funny how booze seems to have that impact on the both of you. And, after a tortuous day of being at each other’s throats, you welcome the change of mood. “Did I just hear you say you like me?” You turn to gaze at him, an eyebrow raised. 

“Nah. Must be your concussion.” He answers, deadpan, unfazed. 

You can’t hold back a smile as you reply. “Hm. Sure, Miller.”

He pauses and appears to consider something, chewing on his bottom lip. “Uh. Joel,” he finally lets out, voice deeper, more serious. “Just- call me Joel.” 

You’re taken aback by that sudden request. 

His first name. It feels informal, intimate even, as though you’ve moved past the status of coworkers, into murky, foreign territory. You know you should refuse. You’ve dropped too many of your principles with this man already. 

“Alright. Joel.” You gulp. “Uh, same goes for you.”

He gives a short nod, and mirrors your sentence, only with your name instead.

It’s significant. This moment. It feels like the two of you have reached a point of no return. Like from here on out, things can’t just go back to the way they were. 

“Man, this isn’t how I was planning to spend the night,” you revert to humour to diffuse the returning tension. 

“Yeah?” Joel follows your lead. “Got somethin’ you’d rather be doin’?”

“Pretty much anything else,” you quip. “I was gonna work on this painting I’m late on.” You’re not sure why you’re opening up about that aspect of your life, but it’s the direction the whisky has picked. It’s futile enough. Still safe. 

“Oh. Right. Painting,” he says. “I knew you did that.”

He does?

“Didn’t you do one of Tommy and Maria?” He continues. “For their wedding?” 

The man truly is full of surprises. And to think you were convinced he was completely indifferent to you, at least before today. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that was me,” you reply after a few seconds. 

“It’s good work. You managed to make Tommy look half-decent. That’s talent right there,” he jokes. 

“Yeah. Thanks. I tried.” You chuckle, and your stomach flutters at the compliment. You’d shoot those butterflies one by one with a tiny gun if you could. “What about you? What’d you have on the schedule?”

“Hm,” he answers, “not much either. Was gonna ask Ellie to join me for dinner. And get rejected again.” 

“I don’t blame her,” you comment, a teasing grin forming. “What teenager wants to hang out with a grumpy old guy?” 

“Hey. Rude.” Joel feigns offence. “I can be fun,” he adds. 

“Won’t believe it until I see it,” you push further. 

“Okay then. Just you wait.” He glances around the room for inspiration, until he is hit by a stroke of genius. 

“Truth or dare?”

You snort. “Are you twelve?”

“Truth or dare?” Joel repeats, voice raising in pitch. 

You shake your head in disbelief. 

Joel fucking Miller.  

“Fine. Truth,” you capitulate. 

Joel smirks. “Okay. Uh,” he concentrates, “What’s your favourite colour?”

You take a second to process the words that just came out of his mouth. And then burst out laughing. 

“Come on,” Joel protests, a grin brightening his eyes, deepening the wrinkles around them. “What’s wrong with that question?” 

It makes you double down in laughter. You wheeze, trying to catch your breath, and Joel joins in with a few low chuckles. The stoic mask has vanished. Why does he look so sweet? 

“That-that- was the best you could come up with?” you get out between deep inhales. 

Joel doesn’t back down. “You gonna answer it or what?” 

“Okay, okay. Uh-” 

You realise you haven’t thought about that tiny aspect of yourself in about two decades. Cordyceps has had that strange effect of destroying souls, personalities, the little things that used to make one human. By infecting some, and coercing others into survival. You’re not sure which fate is worse. 

“It’s yellow,” you finally reply. Yellow like the sunshine. That was your sister’s nickname. And you were Moonbeam. Opposites who completed each other. And now there’s only one left, lonely, broken.

Joel nods. “Fitting.”

“Hm?”

“Your tattoo.” He gestures at your exposed collarbone, where a sun made up of a multitude of ink dots is etched into your skin. Joel is scarily on point; that was for her, too. 

“Yeah.” You don’t linger on the topic. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Joel replies instantly. 

You’re not prepared. “Uh- I dare you to-” Your mind is sluggish, moving in slow-motion as you try to come up with something. “I dare you to sit next to me.” It comes out without your control. 

Shit. 

“Easy,” Joel brags. He pushes himself off the ground with a grunt and takes five steps before settling back down so close that your legs are touching. He doesn’t acknowledge it, eyes on the fire ahead, and neither do you. But it sends a chill up your spine and your thoughts to a dangerous place. You determine you’ve taken a long enough break from the whisky and take a swig of the liquid courage. Joel does too. 

“Your turn,” he reminds you. 

“Truth.” You still have enough wits left to be worried of what he’d make you do as a dare. 

“Takin’ the coward’s way out?” He teases. 

You drink again, ignoring the remark. 

“Alright. Uh, tell me about- your first time,” he says, glancing over at you with a sly smile. 

That’s a huge jump from the innocence of his first question. You shoot him an unimpressed look. “You’re gonna have to be more precise.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Now start talkin’,” he playfully orders. 

You sigh. “I was seventeen. With a friend I had in the QZ. Nothing special to it.” Your teenage years aren’t a period you like to reminisce about; you had to grow up much too fast. 

Joel stays quiet for a moment, and bumps your knee with his, in a movement that could be passed as accidental, or as an attempt at comfort. You’re not certain which is the truth. “D’you love him?” He asks, his tone genuine, devoid of mockery. 

“Her,” you correct. “And…I don’t know. It was years ago. Doesn’t matter.” It’s a lie. You remember it like it was yesterday. And you did.

Joel’s expression is one of surprise, and embarrassment. He turns a shade of red deeper than he was the second before, the temperature having nothing to do with it. “Oh. Uh. I- Sorry, uh, didn’t mean to assume- That’s- Good for you- I-” 

You’re very entertained by his reaction. People usually fall into one of two categories when you tell them; awkward ally or plain bigot. You’re glad it’s the first one. You cut him off before he digs the hole deeper. “It’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up. Your turn.” 

He seems rather grateful for the change of subject. “Uh. Right. Truth,” he replies, regaining his composure. 

You give him a taste of his own medicine. “Same question.” 

Joel is unbothered, and tells the story nonchalantly. “Okay. It was my date at senior prom. Back of my car in the school parking lot.”

It makes you laugh. “Wow. How very original. I gotta know what kinda car it was.” 

“My dad’s busted old Wrangler. I put that car through a lot of shit.” he replies, chuckling. 

“I could have guessed that.” 

For a second, you and Joel look at each other, smiling. He almost appears timid. And for a second, the horrors of the world retreat into the shadows that birthed them. For a second, everything is alright. You could stay here forever. 

——————————

Joel could, too. He wishes time could stop here. Because he’s confident that the night will inevitably end in something he’ll regret. No way around it. It’s taking an enormous effort already to keep himself from reaching over and closing the distance between your lips and his. The booze isn’t helping. You’re not either, with that radiant smile that’s melting his hard shell little by little, and your eyes that keep wandering around his face, his chest, and lower too, though you try to be discreet. He’s doing the same, and he’s certain you’re aware of it. Now, it’s a matter of who will succumb to the temptation first. 

You speak up again. “One last thing, Joel. Did you get the girl?” The question is lighthearted, but the memories it brings back certainly aren’t. 

He sighs. “Yeah. I did.” Sarah’s mother. They’d been high school sweethearts. Young. Dumb. A tale as old as time. “Got married. Had a kid. The whole nine yards. Then she wasn’t ready to be a parent. And, well-” He trails off, the words slipping out, motivated by the liquor. He’d never have confessed such a thing in a different context. Especially not to you. And just like that, he’s ruined the mood. 

Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, before your expression softens, as you realise what must have happened to said child. Pity? Compassion? Joel can’t be sure. “Oh. Uhm. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know-” 

“‘S’okay. It’s, uh, it’s been a while. And I got Ellie now,” he reassures, slurring the words slightly. 

“What-what was their name?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Sarah,” he answers after a pause. He’s only recently started being able to talk about her out loud without breaking down. He doesn’t know if that still applies when he’s inebriated. And he’s not willing to test it out. He drowns the sentiment in more whisky, before giving you the bottle. 

“Uhm. That’s pretty.” You take a swig and hesitate. “I, uh, I- know what it’s like. To- to lose someone like that,” you say, softly. The pain the words cause you as they escape is evident. Joel believes you.

And then something happens. Your right hand leaves your lap, moves to the side and comes to rest on his. 

His gaze travels from your hand, up to your face. It’s full of doubt, eyes wide, as though you’ve just made a horrible mistake. 

It’s all it takes for the floodgates to open. 

——————————

Joel grabs your forearm and pulls you into his lap. His mouth collapses on yours. You don’t protest, accepting the kiss immediately, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, knees on both sides of his thighs. 

A rugged hand goes to the small of your back, pressing your chest to his, while the other slides up to the back of your head, carefully tilting it to deepen the kiss. Tongues collide, hungry, eager. He sucks on yours, stifling a moan.  

You’ve been pent up so long you’re soaking already. He breaks away from the kiss to trail his lips across your jaw, before going down your neck, biting and swirling his tongue on your pulse point, not mindful of the mark he’s undoubtedly going to leave. He earns a gasp, your fingers interlocking with his hair, holding him in place. You grind against his growing bulge to try and alleviate the fervent pressure rising at your core. He thrusts his hips up to meet yours, the friction sending sparks of electricity to your hazy mind. A hand wanders to your breast, fingers groping the soft flesh, flicking the nipple raised through your shirt. But you need more. Need him inside of you. Now.

And you tell him so, voice quivering with desire. “Please,” you add in a whimper.

It isn’t long before your clothes are ripped off, his lips refusing to break apart from yours for more than a few seconds. He lays you down right there on the floor, bare, trembling, aching for his touch. He sits back on his heels and admires you for a moment, eyes darkened, intense, reflecting the flames as if they are blazing behind his pupils. You watch, mesmerised, as he undresses in the dim, dancing light of the fire, casting him in an aura that’s almost ominous.  He stands up to take off his underwear, cock springing free and hitting his lower stomach.

The sight makes your mouth water. God, he’s big.

He climbs on top of you, your legs encircling his torso, granting him access to your entrance. And he pushes into you. Hard. You’re so wet his cock slides in without resistance, filling you completely, nearly hitting your cervix, the jab of pain delicious. The act isn’t kind, or tender; and it’s exactly what you want. For him to use you, to ruin you. And he does. He fucks you senseless, each stroke bringing you closer to oblivion, to forgetting who you are. The sounds he’s letting out are outright sinful, grunts laced with dirty sentences that could make you finish on the spot. But you’re holding on. Until he lifts you up by the waist, angling himself to hit that bundle of nerves over and over again, making you cry out in ecstasy, clawing at his back. You’re almost there, your walls pulsate around him, driving him deeper inside. 

“Think you should come for me, darlin’,” he hums into your ear, nibbling on the lobe. 

You obey. 

The orgasm ripples with such force it blinds you. You can’t even scream. You’re gone. Not a person anymore, but a being of pure pleasure. Joel coaxes you through it with a few more thrusts, erratic, uneven, as he reaches his own release. He pulls out of you at the last second, painting your belly with spurts of the thick, warm substance. Your entire body spasms before going limp. 

All the fight has been drained out of you. You’re reduced to a panting, throbbing mess on the floor, arousal pooling out of you, coating your inner thighs. 

“Did so good for me,” Joel praises, hands cupping your face, left thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. “So fuckin’ good,” he repeats.

You stay still, eyes closed, brain shutting down your functions one by one. As you’re about to drift off, you feel strong arms carrying you to the loft, carefully placing you on the bed, cleaning you off with a soft cloth. He climbs in and embraces you, limbs tangled with yours, and you nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck. His fingers gently brush the hair from your face to plant a kiss on your forehead. 

“Sleep tight, darlin’,” he whispers. 

It’s so vulnerable it makes your heart ache. 

Because you know this’ll all be gone tomorrow, along with the alcohol evaporating from your system. 

——————————

You’re right.

The sky is clear by the next morning, harsh sunlight brutally waking you. You’re alone in the bed, shivering, sore, his scent all over your skin. You get dressed, head pounding, filled with excruciating remorse. 

Joel is waiting for you by the front door. Glacial. Austere. Haunting. The person that you went to bed with a few hours ago has been torn to shreds. As though he never even existed. Maybe he was a product of your imagination.

And, once you’re outside, standing side by side on the horses, ready for the return trip, Joel utters a sentence that reverberates in your head all the way to Jackson, its echo deafening as you ride in silence.

“What we did. It meant nothing. Understand?”

You keep the tears in until you’re back home. 

To read on AO3

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

500 Followers + 500 Words: S. Coups

-> Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Ex-GF!Reader

-> Requested by: Anon

-> Prompt: 38 - Y/N has no one else to call, she calls her ex-boyfriend who still has her back no matter what.

-> Warnings: talks of a clean break up. mentions a sick parent. There's no hate between Coups and Reader. Right person, wrong time vibes.

-> Word Count: 502

-> Request: Closed.

500 followers = 500 words Masterlist | Main Masterlist

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

Y/N couldn’t believe it. She felt so embarrassed as she sits in the passenger’s seat of her ex-boyfriend's car.  

An hour ago, the guy she's been seeing for the last month left her stranded on the side of the road. This came after he told her that he come to the realisation that he doesn’t want to be in a committed relationship just yet. That he wanted to keep things casual and open to seeing other people all because he met another woman couldn’t decide right now who he wanted to be with. Instead of letting her anger get the better of her, she ended things, telling him that’s not what she wanted. After his failed attempts at trying to convince her to change her mind, he kicked her out of his car, leaving her standing in the rain. 

As she stood there, drenched and shivering, Y/N scrolled through her phone for someone to call but quickly realized she had no-one. She didn’t have enough money for an uber, her best friend was away on her honeymoon, her mum was taking care of her sick dad, her brother’s away for military training and she didn’t have any co-workers willing to drive the distance to pick her up this late at night. A majority of them had children to take care of.  

When she landed on her ex’s name, she debated whether she should call him or not. They were still sort of friendly. Their relationship didn’t end badly. They both became busy with their jobs and finding time for each other became difficult, so they just kind of drifted apart.  

After a good five minutes, she called him and he didn’t hesitate to come and pick her up.  

“Thank you for coming all this way to get me,” she thanks him, breaking the silence that had fallen over them, after he started the drive back to her apartment. “And on your birthday of all days. I’m sorry if I interrupted any plans you had.”  

"Don't worry about," he assures her that it's okay. "When Seungkwan, Mingyu and Hoshi found out it was you calling, they insisted I come and get you and bring you back. I told them you might not want to." 

"I want to," she tells him, wanting to celebrate his birthday with him and his chosen brothers. A part of her also wanted to see them all again. Feeling a little guilty for not having kept in contact with any of them since her and Seungcheol’s break up, she missed them like crazy.  

"Are you sure?" he asks, "You've had a rough night. It's okay if you don't want to come and socialise with all of us." 

"I'm sure, Seungcheol," she assures him. Even though they’ve been broken up for a while now, she still cares about him. "It's your birthday. I would love to be there to celebrate it with you." 

Seungcheol, smiles and changes from driving to her apartment to where his birthday celebration was being held.  

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