#for some of these it's not so much that they scared me but they stayed with me/made an impact on me

[musette22]

Another day, another Stucky reblog by @rillils with tags that absolutely destroy me

#you know what makes my heart do all these backflips #is how he's trying to say this as casually and nonchalantly as he can #when all the while it's clear how deeply -how terrifyingly deeply - he feels about this #the way he clenches his jaw #the way he can't seem to stay still #literally bouncing with nervous energy #the way he's choosing his words so carefully #hoping that steve will know what he's trying to say even when he can't say it outright #he's just a 19 year old boy struggling to put into words a love that feels so much bigger than he is #and not just any words either #words that must be only for him and steve to understand #words that can't risk being too explicit out here in the open #words that might scare steve into pushing him away and closing off even worse than he's already trying to do #but steve. steve *understands* #steve gets him. accepts him and everything he's offering #and it must feel like such a miracle to bucky in that moment #HE LOVES.THAT BOY. SO MUCH #yeeeah i'm gonna cry about them some more tonight

[venusalexian]

solet • let me do this for you

part 1

barça femení x teen!reader, alexia putellas x teen!reader

in which you finally let someone in, and Alexia accepts that she’ll be having a bigger role in your life than she first expected

Ale had driven you to the grounds this morning, as she tends to do now if she has a free day when you have a game. You were so excited for this game. Your grandpa had recuperated well from his surgery, even if he now needed some extra care, and Ale’s presence in your life had become a constant. You couldn’t believe this was your life now.

You went into the game eager to win, to score, to lead. By half time, you had scored once and provided an assist. You were on fire, but everything changed when you stepped into the tunnel and Ale was waiting for you, a worried frown in her face.

“Solet, I need you to stay calm while I tell you this, okay?.” She said. “Your neighbor called, they’ve had to take your grandma into the hospital because she fainted. They firmly believe she’s going to be okay. I will drive you to the hospital right now if that’s what you want.” You can’t believe she’s even doubting it. There is no way you’re making it back out into the pitch now.

��Please Ale, let’s go.” You rush to the locker room to get your things and run all the way to Ale’s car, impatient.

“It’s all gonna be okay, I promise.” Ale says as she lays her free hand on your arm, the other on the steering wheel.

You really want to believe her, but you don’t really think she has the ability to fulfill this one. You don’t respond. You just lay your head against the window and let its coldness ground you to reality.

As soon as you get to the waiting room you make a beeline for your grandfather, who sits in a corner. He’s recuperated from his surgery, but he still can’t stand for long periods of time and needs help remembering to take his meds.  You break down as soon as you’re in his arms.

”Oh, mi niña, everything’s gonna be okay. She was awake when they got her into the ambulance. It was just a big scare, but she’s going to be okay.”

You nod against his chest but don’t detach from his hold. You won’t believe it until you see her with your own eyes and doctors confirm it, but you appreciate the comfort of his words. You turn a bit to look to your left. Ale is talking with your neighbor. She has her capitana face on. That relaxes you further.

You hate how unhelpful you’re being. You should be more composed, asking questions, making sure your grandpa is also okay, planning for any contingencies that might come from this incident. But you can only cling, and cry, like a child. So you’re happy to see that Ale has taken control of the situation, because at least somebody has. You’ve been trusting her with more of yourself and your life over the past months, and you’re so, so glad about it now. She looks over at you, and you know she understands what it means to you. The guilt of your impotence stays, but the pressure eases and you let yourself just fall.

Alexia is looking at you and seeing a kid. A strong, resilient kid. But a kid. So she takes charge, and she accepts that caring for you is coming more naturally to her every day. And as she waits with you for news about your grandma, she gradually also accepts the role she wants to play in your life. More than she’d let herself in the past, more than she’s ever said out loud.

“So… Why are the kids talking about you adopting another kid?” Marta approached Alexia with a massive smirk at the end of training.

“Yeah Ale, I thought you’d at least talk to me before you got a kid outside of this team.” Oh, Irene was having too much fun with this conversation.

“First of all, there is no another, I don’t have any kids, period.” A chorus of ‘hey’ and ‘rude’ was heard from the other side of the room, most notably (and loudest) by Vicky and Jana. Alexia just rolled her eyes. Apparently, the whole team was a part of the conversation now. “And secondly, I have not adopted a kid. I’m just… mentoring.”

“Mentoring? Is that what they call it now? Mentoring is driving a kid to and from practice?” Jana continued teasing her.

Alexia had gotten into the habit of driving you when she could especially to and from late night practices, thinking that it was much too late for you to be out taking public transportation.

“Or staying to watch those practices?” followed Sydney, who’s joking character was coming more and more out as she became more comfortable with the first team.

Now, Alexia knew how to perfectly justify this one.

“I am captain of this team, I have a duty to check in with the B team and source for talent.” she answered, feeling smug.

“Oh, and is having Sunday lunch with her and her family a form of recruitment?” added Vicky, who had become closer with the teen and had taken to chatting with her on occasion.

Alexia actually didn’t know how to respond to this one. She had taken your grandmother’s invitation a couple of time when you had Sunday morning games and she had a free weekend. She loved getting to know you more by spending time with you and your grandparents. And although she thought you pressured yourself too much, she saw herself reflected in your protectiveness, diligence and sense of responsibility toward your family and team.

“Better yet. Why did your girlfriend text me asking if I could give her more information about the kid because she wants to make a good impression when you bring her over for Sunday dinner at your mom’s this weekend?” added Ingrid.

Alexia muttered “traitor” as the locking room erupted in chaos. Everyone knows how much it means for their protective and family-oriented captain to introduce people to her family.

“Okay, enough. I care about her, yes. And she doesn’t have too many people on her corner, so I decided to become one.”

Everyone softened at that, understanding the importance and vulnerability of the statement.

“Now, no more social chit-chat about my life or you’re all running three times as much before practice.”

The soft expressions were replaced with groans, complaints and the occasional soft object thrown at her. Oh how she loves her fútbol family.

Your neighbor has had to leave; she has her own family to care for. So it’s just you, your grandpa, and Ale. Each sitting on a seat to your side. The doctor comes out after a half hour of waiting. The good news is that she’s okay, she’s awake, and there is nothing life-threatening. It feels like a toll has been lifted off your shoulders. But then he continues: it was a big fall, a symptom of an underlying heart condition. It means more medication and the possibility for this to happen again or other bad things. You feel dizzy again. You only hear bits and pieces of the rest: needs more monitorization, will need more constant care for a couple of weeks, she’s gonna stay overnight, you’ll be able to see her soon. You cling to the last part to stay in touch with reality.

Ale sees you drowning, so she asks, “Do you trust me to help, to take over now and help you through this? Let me do this for you?”

You nod. You need her to. You don’t even have any space in your worrying to overthink what this means or why she’s willing to do all this for you. You need her now, and the rest will come when everything’s more calm.

“I’m gonna make a few calls, okay? Can I tell a couple of people what is going on? The girls, mami and Olga are all worried. I won’t say much, just a quick update, okay?”

You nod again. You haven’t uttered a word since you got into Ale’s car. You can’t. So when she nods back, you hide your face in your grandpa’s chest again. You try to distract yourself with happier memories until you can see your grandma again. Thinking of her still hurts, so you focus on your team, your friends, and the people in Ale’s life you’ve met in the past weeks.

You felt dizzy from anticipation. You kept bouncing your leg in the passenger seat, and checking your outfit on the rear-view mirror. Ale noticed your fidgeting and laid her free hand on your shoulder.

“Are you nervous?” her eyes didn’t stray from the road but you noticed her half-grimace. Ale is not the best at not asking obvious questions, but you know it’s because she doesn’t know how to start the conversation otherwise.

“Yeah, I just…” you also grimaced, feeling like a little kid. “I want them to like me.” you mumbled, embarrassed.

“Oh, solet. They will. Mami is a natural caretaker, she’ll take you under her wing immediately. And Alba and Olga will just love having one more person to team up with against me.” Ale rolled her eyes, fondly.

She exudes a different type of softness when she talks about the women in her life, even when she fakes being annoyed at their antics. Her response calmed you, though.

Ale was absolutely right, of course.

As soon as you entered Ale’s home, her mom was giving you a massive hug and when she pulled away, she told you how beautiful you are and that she was really excited to meet you. You were blushing again. She hugged her daughter next, and then motioned for you both to go to the living room while she finished cooking. You offered to help, and you were rewarded with a wide smile and a pinch to your cheek. Ale got a quip that “she ought to keep her instead of her daughters if she keeps this helpfulness up”.

You’re still flushed when you reached the living room with Ale to find her sister and girlfriend sitting at the table in conversation. They stood up when you entered the room. Her sister moved to you, hugged you and introduced herself. You opened your mouth to do the same but she interrupted before you could utter a word.

“Oh, I know who you are. Ale won’t shut up about you.” You both turned to her, but she was too busy kissing her girlfriend to notice. Alba covered your eyes and shouted. “Women, not in front of the kid!”

You smiled as Alba moved away her hand and smiled back at you, all nerves forgotten by now, replaced by warmth. Ale and Olga were walking towards you both now, Ale’s hand on the small of her back. Olga hugged you, and her smile was just as warm and soft as Ale’s. 

“Yeah, Ale hasn’t shut up about you. We’re all really excited to meet her mini-me.” And there you were, blushing again. Had Ale really referred to you like that? Before you could ask, Ale’s mom called the four of you to finishing setting up as dinner was ready.

Conversation during dinner flowed. Ale was right, you had nothing to worry about and the night went perfectly. They all asked about you, eager to get to know you better. Alba and Olga did use your presence to rile Ale up. They shared embarrassing stories as she blushed and covered her face.

“I’ll lose my tough captain facade, stop.”

“You never had one to begin with, Ale”

By the time dinner ends, you couldn’t even believe you had been so nervous to meet them. Ale and Olga offered to drive you home. As you and Olga waited for Ale to finalize some arrangement with her mom, she put her arm around you, as the night had unexpectedly cooled and neither of you had come dressed for it. You basked in the comfort of her warmth and touch.

“I’m so glad Ale brough you over.” You looked up to the older woman, her smile exactly like Ale’s. “She is right, you know? You’re such a solet. I’m so glad you have each other.” Before you could respond, Ale was ushering you both inside the car and the motion of the road and the fullness from dinner lulled you to sleep. You miss their smile at your sleeping form, and their unspoken understanding of their care for you.

By the time Alexia finishes texting and calling, she has a plan. Alexia does well with plans, likes to prepare for things. But she has to talk to your grandparents first, and she doesn’t know how that conversation is going to go. Alexia is also quick on her feet, though, and works with what’s given. Knows how to fight for what she thinks is right.

It doesn't take long for a nurse to come by and lead the three of you to your grandma’s room. You cry again when you see she’s okay. You can’t cling to her like you did with your grandpa, so you’re content to sit by her side and hold her hand while she asks questions about the game, and you do your best to respond to her. Your words are stilted, but Ale and your grandpa smile because it’s the most you’ve spoken in hours.

After some more assurances, your grandma convinces you to go down to the cafeteria with your grandpa to have dinner. You’re hesitant to comply, but both her and Ale reassure you and don’t accept no for an answer. You give them one last glance to reassure yourself everything is okay befor eyou leave the room.

Alexia is nervous to be left alone with your grandma. She needs to start the conversation she knows is coming and despite the encouragement from her family, she isn’t sure to be ready for it. She doesn’t have to be, though, because your grandma beats her to it.

“She needs you.” There’s a heavy silence that follows; Alexia doesn’t know how to respond.

“She needs you because she’s a kid but doesn’t accept it. We both know that this incident means that both I and my husband need more help than she should be burdened by. She’s stretched thin enough, she already does too much. We want her to have fun, be a kid, a student, a footballer. Not a nurse, or a caretaker. She can’t do that if she’s constantly worried about us. And I know you know all this.”

Alexia stands seriously and silently and measures her words before speaking. She knows what’s next, but this is not her family, she doesn’t want to overstep. But if directly asked for her input, she’ll do it. She’ll take care of everything. For you. 

“I do, yeah.”

“We need that kind of help but it can’t come from her. So will you help? I’ve seen you grow closer to her, she admires you so much, relishes your attention and care. If we ask you for it, if she agrees, are you ready for this?”

Alexia doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

She can see the tension leave your grandma.

“Good. Now we can talk specifics. What’s your plan? Tell me and then we can tell her together.”

In the morning after you, Ale and your grandpa went home to sleep –Ale taking the couch even if you insisted on her taking the bed–, it’s Ale also who drives back to the hospital and brings your grandma home when she’s released. All four of you sit in the living room and when you try to fuss over your grandma, all three of them reassure you she’s okay.

“Mi vida, we have something to discuss.” Your grandma starts, and you squirm, uncomfortable at being out of loop.

“Alexia and us have a proposal for you, mi niña. We’ll do only what you want us to, but we think this is the best for all of us, and especially you.” You don’t respond to your grandpa, just nod, the anticipation driving you crazy. Your grandma takes over the conversation again.

“We love you so much, mi vida. We love how kind you are, how responsible, and how much you care for us. But your grandpa and I need more help, and we want you to not be burdened by it.” You’re about to protest –they’re not a burden, would never be, you love them and you’ll always care for them–but Ale stops you.

“Ssh, solet, listen to what we have to say first, okay?” You nod again instead of responding.

“So remember when I made a few calls yesterday at the hospital? I set up a couple of things. First, there is a home-care medical team that will be taking care of your grandparents from now on. They’re the best, but we still get to pick who’s going to be coming to stay with them for continued care. You’ll be part of that decision too.”

You exhale, thankful that Ale took over arranging this service. Deep down, you know that even if you would have tried your hardest, your grandparents need specialized care you wouldn’t be able to provide.

“And we also thought something else, but we’ll only do this if you want to and completely at your pace.” You become uneasy again at their own nervous expressions.

“Mi vida, we’ve thought that you spend so much time moving from here to the city, and it’s not benefitting you in your studies, or your football career, so Alexia kindly offered an arrangement that we think will work for all of us.”

“Solet, I’d like it if you moved in with me.” There is nothing but shock in your expression now. You have no idea how to respond, this being the last thing you expected from this conversation.

“We were thinking you could stay with me over the week, so you can go to a school that is more understanding of your football career, like many of your teammates, and be closer to the training grounds. You’ll come back to stay over weekends with your grandparents, so you’ll still see them a lot. And you can obvious tell me anytime you wanna be with them, and we’ll make it work so you never feel detached.”

You stop her nervous rambling with an obvious question, still in shock.

“You really want me to move in with you? Are you sure?”

Her smile is so, so soft again. Her eyes so kind, but also somewhat exasperated, she can’t believe you don’t understand how much she cares for you yet.

“Yes, solet. And before you ask. Yes, I’ve talked to Olga, she also thinks this is good. She’s in and out of the house these days because of work in Madrid so she thinks this is actually good for us both, apparently I don’t struck her as someone who lives well alone.” She rolls her eyes when she shares that part, but she’s still smiling.

“And, avis, you think this is best for all of us? Because I’ll still miss you a lot, but you’re right that I’ve been struggling these days.”–you finally admit–“And I guess if there’s a professional caring for you here and I can call you anytime and come often, then, I guess, it seems like a good solution to me too.”

All three of them smile widely at you, glad that you see the same things they do.

“Yes, mi niña, we do. And this is always your home, you can be here as much as you want to.”

“Okay” You say, and it feels definitive, the start of something.

—

an:

so here’s the second part of solet! it took me a bit longer than expected but I wanted to do a good job at setting everything up and it made it longer than i initially expected.

this is the end of setting up the arc, and stories from now on will be just instances of solet’s life :)

I already have some ideas drafted, but I’m super eager to get requests and asks about this world of what kind of things you’d like to see from solet’s life.

thank you for reading!

xoxo, a.c.

[chrrific]

綺麗 IT’S A BAD IDEA, RIGHT? 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 & 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

slytherin! 엔하이픈 x 𝑓. gryffindor! reader wc 2.005k ─── fluff forbidden relationship au est. relationships l’avis kissing pda pining nicknames like ‘doll’ & ‘pretty’

for : love 💌 mick’s coming back from the dead ?? this one’s for my love ai ( @jjennuine ) >< she’s mine y’all !!!! stay away 😾😾 and go support our collaboration series — lovestruck ! — @lovestruck-show-official

read more fleur

LEE HEESEUNG forbidden relationship

“y/n?”

a whisper echoed through the silent astronomy tower, the only source of light being the moon glimmering through the small window and the stars glimmering above, clearly visible through the enchanted ceiling; it wasn’t enough for heeseung’s eyes to adjust to the dark.

you tiptoed out from your hiding place, and gave him a silent wave and a smile. his lips instantly tugged up sat the sight of you, and he stepped forward, arms finding their home on the nape of your waist as he looked at you.

the look in his eyes was lovesick; wistful.

he hoped and dreamed so hard of the day when the two of you wouldn’t have to hide your relationship, and when you wouldnt have to meet in secret at night.

because this wasn’t right. slytherins and gryffindors just didn’t belong together.

the way you looked in the moonlight was breathtaking, so much so that he swears you’d put amortentia in his porridge that morning. but no, he knew you didn’t. that’s just how much he was in love with you.

PARK JONGSEONG hot boy x unnoticed

jay was the it guy of your year. girls would probably fall at his feet even if he didn’t ask them to. and for some, totally random, unknown reason, it made you almost jealous.

you could almost feel your gaze hardening whenever you saw him with another girl; a girl thats not you. I mean, it’s not like you like-liked him, right? he’s just hot. that’s all it should be, and that’s all it can.

but is that really true?

with the way he’s been shamelessly staring you down from the other end of mcgonnagal’s classroom, you’re sure he can hear your heart pounding from where he’s sat, arms crossed against his chest and gaze set on you in a way that made your breath hitch.

your gaze locked with his, the confidence in his eyes almost intoxicating.

you sighed in relief as the bell rang, snapping him out of your little staring competition before he shoved his stuff into his bag and got off his chair, almost lazily.

just as you were about to walk out of the classroom, a hand wrapping around your wrist stopped you from moving ahead.

“what class do you have next, pretty?”

needless to say, you could feel the ghosts of his fingers around your wrist the entire week.

SIM JAEYUN cocky rival

“good morning, class. today, we are going to be making the love potion known as ‘amortentia’. anyone who knows what it is?”

snape’s cold voice rang around the room, the sound monotonous. everyone knew — of course they did, they were just too scared to answer. there were only two people who were willing enough to answer his question; you and jake sim.

“ah, l/n, yes. so tell me, what is amortentia?” snape asked, shooting jake a glance from rhe corner of his eyes, as if to get him to shut up; like he wanted to see you fail, like he thought all gryffindors did.

you cleared your throat, making sure your voice was loud and clear, wanting your stone-minded, biased professor to see you shine. “amortentia is the most powerful love potion, that is characterised by its—”

you were cut off by another voice, that came from behind you.

“the scent. it is multifaceted, with the scent varying with different people”

a slight frown found its home on your lips, annoyed that jake just had to cut you off in between. “yes, professor. it’s scent.” you muttered, giving jake a glare.

“alright, since the two of you seem to know a lot about the topic, you two will be partners for the entirety of this class.”

you almost wanted to combust right then and there, from those words. why him? why not karina, or jungwon — your friends. at this point, you’d even go to the length of partnering with pansy parkinson, the slytherin girl who acts like she owns the world.

after a reluctant sigh, you shifted your things so jake could move next to you.

as you began to make the potion together, you found yourself struggling with one thing, just one; measuring the pearl dust.

it was so iridescent and was flying all over your workstation, creating a sheen layer that shone even in the dimly lit dungeon.

“need some help, doll?”

PARK SUNGHOON shy x tease

the smell of books overtook your senses as you stepped into the large library, overflowing with shelves upon shelves.

the library was surprisingly full today, and from what your eyes could catch, there was only one seat left; a seat next to a slytherin.

he was focused on whatever he was reading, and it was honestly kinda cute to you. you caught yourself staring for a moment before you got yourself out of it, reprimanding yourself inwardly for a second, before you gathered the courage to go talk to him.

“hey,” your voice rang through the somewhat silent library, even though it was relatively soft. “can i sit here?”

his eyes shifted from his book to you, before he gave a small nod.

you put your bag at the bottom of the chair, and sat down on the seat, not paying much heed to the discomfort the hard cushion underneath brought.

you pulled out a thick book on transfiguration out, starting to read it. it wasn’t like you really liked the subject like rei did, but you had to; you were very close to failing.

as you were starting to get into the book, you felt a pair of eyes on you. you glanced up, only to see said boy sitting next to you being the one looking.

he quickly looked away, pale skin undeniably flushed, staring at the table as if it was an art piece in a museum.

you smirked inwardly, before looking back at your book. maybe sitting next to a slytherin wasnt so bad after all.

KIM SUNOO sunshine x grumpy

sunoo; he just had a way with his persona. that is, he knew exactly how to trick anyone into doing absolutely anything for him, without them realising what trap they fell into.

as you tried to take a step into flitwick’s charms lesson, another person entering made you stop. you glanced behind your shoulder to see who it was, and it was sunoo — cheery smiles and all.

“go ahead,” you murmured, stepping back to let him go ahead. you were met with a too bright ‘thank you!’ before you stepped in yourself.

your eyes scanned the room, only to find that your usual seat at the back was taken already, and the last seat remaining was the one next to him. bracing yourself for the cheery sunshine-ball that sunoo was, you took a step to the desk, plopping down on the seat with your facical expression screaming uninterested.

the class began, with sunoo happily answering flitwick’s questions and taking his notes; meanwhile, you sat, barely able to keep yourself awake because of the all-nighter-study-session you did the previous night.

he shot you a glance from rhe corner of his eyes, his bangs getting in the way of his view ever so slightly. without thinking, he picked up a scrap piece of parchment, scrawling something on it in his overly near handwriting.

it was only because of the parchment being cautiously slid to you that you didn’t nod off, but the words were a bit blurry due to lack of sleep as you tried to read. yet, the second you read it, your brain immediately snapped to its senses.

“hey, you look tired. have you been sleeping well?”

YANG JUNGWON prefect x troublemaker

“another time?” his groan of frustration echoed off the walls, his fingers running through his hair. how many more pranks could you pull? well, considering your new attack, the number of times you could go again would be innumerable.

there you stood in front of his desk, slightly sheepish, but your signature smirk was still on — the one that irked him oh, so much.

“you see, your little warnings really won’t do much. in any case, they make me want to do it more.” the confidence in your tone got under his skin, causing him to look up at you with a glare, as firm as he could muster.

you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped your lips at his attempt to look intimidating, and for some odd reason, it made your heart stop slightly.

you paused, cockiness wavering for just a few seconds, before it came back stronger. “you do know that look it just making it easier to laugh at you, right?” you teased through a chortle, but the way your eyes softened a minuscule amount didn’t go unnoticed by jungwon.

and for a second, it all stopped.

the room went silent, the spirit of your laughter dying down until all that was left was a tension filled with unspoken emotion.

it only lasted a couple moments, though, before he locked back in and looked at you again, voice firm but with a hint of something else lingering at the back.

“just.. keep yourself out of trouble for a bit, yeah? you don’t wanna get yourself suspended before the school year ends.”

NISHIMURA RIKI quidditch rivals

the stakes were high, as the first slytherin vs. gryffindor quidditch match was about to begin.

niki — being the slytherin captain, and you, the gryffindor captain — had always had some sort of issue with you simply existing.

he always found ways to talk to you, always teasing and making fun of you until you’d snap and do something about it.

it just annoyed you so much; the ever-cocky smirk, the smugness layering onto his words, and the way his confident aura that made your heart stutter slightly in your chest each time you spared him a glance.

you couldn’t like him: it’s not right. you’re quidditch rivals from two different houses, and that’s all it would ever be.

but the way his gaze would trail towards you during matches, in the great hall, in the middle of classes, it all made you second guess everything you knew about him and how you felt.

the air was filled with a static kind of energy as the two teams hopped onto their broomsticks, shooting upwards into the sky as madam hooch blew her whistle.

the snitch was set free, and both your and niki’s eyes immediately locked for a moment, a hint of challenge and something else lurking beneath.

as the game went on, slytherin was winning by 130 points, and it felt like continuing to play was a lost cause. the only way you could win was if you were able to spot the sneaky little snitch.

it was all so sudden; you saw the snitch and so did he, and both of you dive bombed towards it. the next thing you knew, you were in the hospital wing with a broken arm and a pounding headache.

apparently, you and niki had hit each other in your speed, and you fell off your broom while he caught onto his somehow.

the second your eyes opened, you were met with the sight of two things; an overly bright light above your head and an apologetic niki sitting on the visitors chair next to your bed.

“hey, you feeling okay? i am so sorry about what happened.” the second he noticed you look up, trying to sit up with a disoriented and confused expression, the guilt crept back in even stronger, and he just word-vomited whatever came to mind: to hell with the so called ‘I hate you’ tag.

“o-oh, it’s fine. ill be alright.” you said, trying to ignore the fact that it felt like someone drove a drill through your skull.

yet, the guilt didn’t leave him at all.

in fact, it came back stronger, along with a weird thump in his heart.

it was probably today’s breakfast, right?

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[sunofnebulah]

older bf izuku who lets you cut his hair and shave his stubble.

cw- light choking (?)

you walk past the bathroom when you get a glimpse of a shirtless izuku standing at the mirror. his fingers card through his hair, muscles rippling on his scarred body as he inspects it. you knock on the open door and his eyes flick to yours, his hand falling.

“its getting long, no?”

you shake your head and reach up to play with his emerald hair “ i like it like this… but it could use a cut.” he hums softly as your eyes shift to his, locking your gazes for a minute. he stays there for a while before moving to open a drawer, fishing out a pair of shears and handing them to you without a word.

so it becomes a regular occurrence. you become better at time, watching videos to help you along the way. he always sends you money afterwards (way more than a haircut should cost) and you send it back every time… but he always finds a way to make you keep it.

so when his bead hairs grow in longer than he would like, he drags a chair to the bathroom and hands you a straight razor, asking you to shave it for him. obviously you get nervous, saying how you’re scared you’ll cut him and that you’ve never done it before, but he just chuckles and leans back, shutting his eyes.

“m not scared of a little blood, bunny.”

so you stand behind him, tilting his head back. he opens his eyes and looks into yours, watching you think of how to go about it. you’ve shaved your face before with a straight razor to get rid of the peach fuzz, so you’re not completely jumping into unknown territory. so you grab his shaving cream and squirt some out, applying some to his stubble generously. his eyes are still on yours, watching you curiously. as you go to start hesitantly, he reaches up and touches your face, caressing your cheek.

“its okay love, you wont hurt me.”

so you start. going with the grain in long, sure strokes. his eyes never leave your face, watching you as you bite your lip in concentration. its silent but comforting, his heavy gaze easing you rather than making you anxious. you tilt his head to get the angled part of his jaw, unconsciously gripping his throat. you feel his adam’s apple bob as he swallows and shifts in his chair, carefully to not interrupt your actions.

“there you go..” he mutters when he sees you’ve gotten the hang of it, as you wipe the razor on a small towel. you giggle and shush him, back to gripping his throat softly to get the hairs that are sprinkled below his chin. your eyes flick to his and you pause. his eyes hazy and dark, his mouth slightly open.

“you’re liking this a little too much huh?” you say with a small smile on your face as you finish. he simply hums and shifts in his seat again, sitting up. surprisingly, you didn’t knick his face. he looks over and the mirror and rubs at his newly shaven face, nodding in approval. he stands and cages you against the counter, still staring into your eyes. you falter because what the hell has gotten into him? you let him take your hand and guide it upwards, you cock your brow not knowing where this is going. he places your hand on his throat again and tilts his head.

“you better not stop doin that once you’ve started.”

you stutter and pause. you did that unconsciously. not on purpose. and he liked it.

so that becomes a habit too. in and out the bedroom.

[akashirl]

- mi ♡ sei ship questions !!

↓↓ (beware the long post)

ps: i used both first and third person. i am my s/i, after all.

I. PRE-RELATIONSHIP

1. they first met on sei's first year and mi's second year of middle school, during basketball practice. it was the second practice miguel had attended, sei didn't show up on the first day.

2. miguel's first impression of sei was that he was an angel on earth, like some sort of divine being. it was absolute love at first sight. seijuro's first impression of miguel was that he was tall and a good player. he didn't think much of him at that time.

3. miguel was the one who felt romantic feelings first. it was immediate.

4. both of them tried to repress their feelings. miguel because he felt like he wasn't worthy of sei's admiration, and sei because he knows that being with another guy would be simply impossible due to his role as the only heir of the akashi lineage.

5. sei's life would have been ruled by his father's decisions. he wouldn't play in the nba, rather follow business like intended and put his dreams aside. his life would be quite monotonous. as for miguel, he would have succumbed to his disorder and just straight up would have died, without any kind of strength to keep going and no one to stay alive for.

6. they never left the flirting stage. sei is quite flirty in private, and it flusters miguel easily, who always tries to flirt back but fails miserably (marinette core).

7. OH BOY. miguel doesn't have a good relationship with his mother so he's living in the rakuzan dorms. his parents like sei, but they pretend to be unaware about miguel's feelings for him. as for sei's family, oh god. miguel is familiar with sei's nanny and driver, but he hasn't met masaomi personally. he's not exactly fond of him, either. so basically, neither families know that they're a "thing".

II. GENERAL

1. it was sei who initiated it. it was after my second practice at rakuzan after the absolute storm that was having to deal with my disorder... (i get way too shy talking about this) sei promptly told me that he already knew about my feelings for him, and kissed me when we were all alone and the lights were low. i didn't even have to say anything, he could read my thoughts effortlessly.

2. they didn't have an "official first date" but rather lots of casual hang outs. they spend all their free time together, be it playing basketball together or chess, studying together or going out during lunch break at rakuzan. they go to the movies together and sometimes bring the rakuzan gang along.

3. i am going to EXPLODE. this was on my first misei lore post but here it goes: it was after practice and miguel went to clean up in the locker room. sei followed him. they were all alone. mi didn't realize he was even there until he turned around; he asked if sei needed everything and seijuro simply went up to him, cupped his face with his hands and brought him down for a kiss. it all happened so fast that miguel felt like he was close to passing out. then sei pulled back, looked him in the eyes and said "don't ever scare me like that again.". how romantic, huh? crazy.

4. sei was mi's first crush, love, "relationship", and pretty much everything. mi was NOT sei's first crush (i see you, nijimura) but he was his first true love, "relationship" and whatever else.

5. back in middle school, sei was 152cm (4'11) and miguel was 167cm (5'5), that's a 15cm (5.9 inches) difference. now, sei is 173cm (5'8) and miguel is 177cm (5'9). i suppose sei barely caught up. as for the age gap, sei is 16 going on 17, while miguel is 17 going on 18.

6. well, both miguel and seijuro have an emotionally distant approach to others, albeit for different reasons. while quite literally everyone follows sei unquestioningly, miguel's reluctance provides an unusual pushback. he doesn't like being ordered around, and makes sure seijuro knows that. he keeps him on his feet, not ever putting him on a pedestal (and then fanboying about him in private but that's another story). they're like a king and his knight -- except the knight refuses to submit to the king and his shenanigans. dog lover × cat lover. milk person × black coffee person.

7. miguel's parents like sei and find him an "excellent role model" for their son. sei's father, however, thinks of miguel as just one of sei's friends from school. that is not masaomi's main focus. miguel resents him.

8. sei takes the lead in social situations, often being the one who initiates chats (he's secretly a yapper.). they're both introverts, but miguel is way more introverted than sei is. they share the same friends at rakuzan (mibuchi, kotaro, nebuya and chihiro) but miguel is strangely uneasy when it comes to being with the rest of the kiseki. he is friends with midorima and momoi, but finds it difficult to strike a conversation with the others. they're not on the same level basketball wise and it makes miguel feel a little bit out of it.

9. that depends on who's fronting. oresei is not the jealous type, but bokusei is extremely possessive. he matches miguel's freak, i suppose. oresei is confident enough not to mind that kind of thing...miguel is extremely insecure. bokusei is just naturally jealous. they're working through it.

10. [i don't quite understand what this question means. apologies.]

11. seijuro. seijuro does that. no questions asked.

12. they're extremely open about pretty much anything, sei can always tell when miguel is hiding something from him, and when it's the other way around, miguel always gets a gut feeling. though they're not the type to hide things.

13. miguel. he feels as if sei is just wasting his time on him and will eventually move on and find someone better, which he knows he wouldn't be able to handle -- but that's how he feels anyway. i mean, have you seen akashi seijuro? how did i even manage to pull such a human...? of course, he doesn't let sei know about this insecurity of his. but he doesn't need to. seijuro knows and reassures him all the time.

14. "once more to see you" by mitski, "amor de ganga" by miguel luz, "once upon a dream" by lana del rey are some of the songs in our playlist...

15. there's not a recurring argument but miguel often gets very worried with how much pressure seijuro puts on himself. he doesn't like it when sei stays at school until dawn working or when he has no time even to eat...they've had an argument before about sei's perfectionism and how it's affecting his life negatively and sei took notes. he's trying to fulfill his duties in a healthier way...

III. LOVE

1. miguel said "i love you" first, (ore)sei is the one saying it more often. i have a strange relationship with the word "love" so i don't go around saying it without meaning it...miguel is trying to become more confident in using strong words.

2. quality time, acts of service and words of affirmation.

3. miguel tries to make pick-up lines land and fails miserably. when it comes to cheesy gestures, he likes buying sei flower bouquets. after the game against jabberwock, miguel went up to seijuro and gave him a bouquet with red camellias, dahlias, white roses, red gladiolus and white chrysanthemums.

4. they cuddle almost every night at the rakuzan dorms, when everyone else is asleep. it's like the world has stopped spinning and they have all the time in the world to give to eachother. when it comes to pda, they don't do it much due to the private nature of their relationship.

5. it's often sei who initiates the kisses. sei's favorite spots to kiss: miguel's nape (where he has the tattoo), cheek, lips, shoulder. miguel's favorite spots to kiss: forehead, knuckles, lips and neck.

6. they like playing basketball, watching movies together, trying different restaurants together and playing chess against eachother.

7. sei is better at providing comfort. neither of them are very emotional, but sei always manages to make miguel feel safe -- he also tried to give advices to "solve" whatever problem miguel is facing. miguel, on the other hand, tries to distract sei whenever he's feeling down. he knows that sei's head can be quite the dark place to be living in, so he tries his best to get him to focus on something else.

8. they prefer verbal affection because it's something that they're able to do wherever, no matter the circumstances; but they've grown to appreciate physical affection too, even though it's mostly just hands on one's shoulder, slight hand brushing and timid hand holding. they're afraid of society ok. let them be.

9. what reminds miguel of sei: the sun, cats, the color red, gems / stones, gold, roses, the smell of cinnamon. what reminds seijuro of miguel: paintbrushes, silver, the ocean, clouds, the moon, apples and the smell of vanilla.

10. they like everything about eachother. they admire especially eachother's mental strength -- since both of them have disorders and are sort of "fighting their own demons", god knows what that means. seijuro likes the way miguel looks absolutely done with everything and everyone at all times, something about his aura just screams "i want to go home" and sei lowkey digs that. on the other hand, miguel likes seijuro's imposing nature and leadership. he admires the way he is confident about who he is -- and wishes he could be as confident as sei.

11. what miguel calls seijuro: sei, captain, aka-chan (when it's bokusei), or simply seijuro. he is kind of shy with petnames. what sei calls miguel: dear, my love, my knight, miguel-senpai or simply senpai.

12. sei has the memory of an elephant. miguel has the memory of a goldfish. he cannot remember anything.

13. miguel tends to be the first apologizing -- probably because he usually is the one in the wrong. sei has his arms crossed with an imposing expression, but he relaxes, gives him a faint smile and walks up to him, kissing his cheek. "alright. that's better."

14. the protectiveness scale would probably look like: bokusei > miguel > oresei. both miguel and seijuro tend to eachother's wounds...

15. miguel buys sei flowers (that seijuro keeps hidden in his room) and books, since sei likes reading a lot. sei likes getting miguel art supplies and he bought him a designer pen once. miguel can't even mention that he likes something without sei IMMEDIATELY wanting to buy it.

IV - DOMESTIC LIFE

[ au where they're 19 and 20 in college, and sei plays in the nba (lakers)]

1. both of them have a say in the decorations, but sei is quite minimalistic and miguel is into way too many medias not to decorate the fridge with shadow the hedgehog magnets. their house has some portraits of them together as well as some pictures of shiori, paintings that miguel has done all over the walls and pictures from places they've visited together.

2, 3 & 4: questions about marriage, weddings and children make me extremely flustered so i'm afraid i cannot answer them. might make a separate post about this au...

5. they're both breadwinners. sei makes loads of money from playing in the nba and miguel also makes a decent amount from his job as a psychologist. miguel cleans and sei cooks.

6. hmmm, i don't know...i don't think so. the pets stayed at miguel's parents' house and they often visit them.

7. miguel worries the most. seijuro is quite calm most of the time. he knows not to stress himself.

8. seijuro really dislikes bugs and quite literally demands for miguel to kill them.

9. that obviously depends on the holidays but (boku)sei is VERY festive as we know. months before the holidays, he is already prepared. be it dressing up, decorating the house, whatever, sei is absolutely ready. don't even mention christmas near him.

10. seijuro wakes up early and mi always convinces him to return to bed. seijuro succumbs, obviously.

11. sei doesn't move an inch when sleeping. it's almost as if he's dead (he sleeps like a man in a coffin) and miguel moves while being asleep, hogging the blanket to himself. by that time though, seijuro is already asleep and doesn't feel the cold. miguel is also the one brushing his cold feet on sei's leg. still sei doesn't move an inch. he looks as dead as a rock. and when it comes to cuddling, they tend to switch! (boku)sei has a preference for being the little spoon but other than that, they're pretty versatile.

12. miguel, he really likes to dance at parties and drags sei around. it really isn't like miguel to be so hyped up about anything, so sei dances along with him with a content smile on his face. they sing their favorite songs. it's their happily ever after.

13. they often visit sei's mother at the graveyard and leave her flowers -- then they return to water them everyday. it's common for sei to do this after he wins a game. also, after a game, sei and miguel go to a restaurant to celebrate the victory. then they walk at night while they talk about whatever's their heart's content. playing chess against eachother has also sort of became tradition to them.

14. miguel's the type to do that. "i don't know, you choose" even though he does have a place in mind and simply wants sei to guess. and seijuro always gets it right.

15. miguel drives, seijuro gives directions.

oh my GOD, this was long.

— ship questions redux (by myself + @newbordeaux)

I. PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

What was their first impression of each other?

Who felt romantic feelings first?

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

What would their lives be like if they had never met?

What was their "flirting stage" like?

How do their friends and family feel about them as a couple?

II. GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did they go about it?

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

What was their first kiss like?

Were they each other's first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

What is their height difference? Age difference? Do either matter to them?

How do their personalities complement each other? How do they clash?

What is their relationship with each other's families like?

Who takes the lead in social situations? How are they around each other's friends?

Who gets jealous easier?

What are their parallels, whether in their personalities or their histories?

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other's ear in public?

Do they hide anything from each other, big or small?

Which one thinks they aren't good enough for the other, if at all?

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

What is their most common argument about?

III. LOVE

Who said "I love you" first, and what was the situation?

What are their primary love languages?

Who uses the cheesy pick-up lines, or does corny gestures?

How often do they cuddle or engage in PDA?

Who initiates kisses? Where is their favorite spot to kiss each other?

What are their favorite things to do together?

Who is better at comforting the other? How do they usually comfort each other?

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

What reminds them of each other?

What do they like best about each other?

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

Who remembers the little things?

How do they make up after an argument? Who is the first one to apologize?

Who is more protective? Who would get into a fight to defend the other? Who tends to the other's wounds?

What gifts do they typically give each other?

IV. DOMESTIC LIFE

When they move in together, who gets the most say in decorations? What do they each have to have in the house?

If they get married, who proposes, and how do they do it? Would they change their surnames?

What is the wedding like? Who attends?

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like as parents? What are the kids like?

Are either of them the "breadwinner"? Who cooks? Who cleans?

Do they have any pets?

Who worries the most?

Who kills the bugs in the house?

How do they celebrate holidays?

Who is more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Who hogs the blankets or takes up more than their fair share of the bed? Who puts their cold feet on the other? Who are the big and little spoons?

Who likes to dance with, or sing for, the other?

Do they have any "couple traditions", or family traditions?

Who is the one who always says "I don't know" when the other asks where they want to eat?

Who would drive, and who would give directions?

[midnightsnyx]

come back home - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x reader warnings: angst with a hint of fluff word count: 879 requested: yes / no author note: i have like a million other projects i need to write but i just need to get my sad feelings out so yeah, sorry lol masterlist requests are open

It’s quiet when you step in to the apartment you and Jack shared which wasn’t unusual in the past few months. Quiet was how the two of you lived lately. Tip toeing around each other as if you were walking on egg shells.

Part of you was tired of it and asked yourself if it was really worth it. But the other part of you wasn’t sure if you knew how to live without him anymore and that thought alone scared you. It made you realize how much you had grown to depend on him.

You hear his voice before you see him.

“You’re home.”

His voice is hoarse and you know that he just woke up from a nap. His ruffled appearance confirms it when he meets you in the living room.

“Yeah,” you whisper, staring at the floorboards. You hadn’t been home for days - not since the fight the two of you had. Your best friend let you crash at her house after you told him you needed space which explains his next question.

“Why?”

Truthfully, you aren’t sure what made you decide to come home. Your friend had told you that you were welcome to stay as long as you needed and had even put her two cents in on the whole situation.

Her words stuck with you since you broke down and told her everything that had been going on.

“He may love you. He probably does… or at least he maybe thinks he does. But that’s not what matters, sweetie. What matters is what he is doing to show you that he does and right now… he isn’t doing anything.” She squeezed your hand and smiled gently. “You deserve someone who goes out of their way to show you how much they care about you.”

The worst part was that she was right. When was the last time he had went out of his way to do something for you? It made you think back to the beginning of your relationship when he treated you like you were the most important thing in his life. But you suppose that all new relationships begin like that.

You realize that he’s still staring at you intently and you try to come up with some reason you came back rather than the truth, which was that you were too dependant on him and you felt like you needed him as much as you needed air to breathe.

“Can you at least tell me one thing?” he asks after you’ve been silent for so long and all you can do is nod.

“Why did you leave?”

You don’t have to think about the answer to this question because it was something that had been haunting you for quite some time.

“I guess I started to feel like I needed you more than you needed me,” you tell him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly.

“Look at me,” he says and you let your eyes meet his. “I love you.”

You want to believe him but your friends words keep coming back to haunt you. Did he love you or was he drunk on the idea of it? Something your mom told you a long time ago was that there is a distinct difference between loving someone and being in love with them. It’s easy to lie to yourself about loving someone but you can’t lie to yourself about being in love with them.

“How are you so sure?” you ask him.

“How could I not?” he says and you’re about to tell him that his answer isn’t good enough but he doesn’t stop there. “Baby, you’re the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of when I’m falling asleep at night.” He slowly walks over to you and reaches out with one hand, letting his thumb run across your cheek. “I think about your smile and your laugh and about how you are the only person I want to come home to.” You watch as he looks away from you and stares at a picture of the two of you. It’s from a trip the two of you took last summer during break. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit. You’re scared that if you let things go back to how they were before, you’ll end up back here in this exact situation. “I’m afraid that this will become a cycle and I can’t do it, Jack. I physically can’t handle that.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just looks at you as if you’re the only thing in the world, his world, that matters. It makes you weak in the knees and this is the Jack you fell in love with. 

“Just come home,” he whispers. “We can figure everything out. Together.”

It’s a risk, deciding to give everything another shot. To put your heart on the line. But you remember something else your mom told you once.

“The right people are worth staying for”, she had told you.

You take a deep breath and nod, hoping that you’re making the right decision.

“All right,” you tell him and he grins, kissing you for the first time in months and it feels like coming home.

[pupyuj]

hi ena! long time no ask!!

with the recent miumiu wonyoung photos GOSHH MY MIND IS SPINNINGGF WITH THOUGHTSS😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

dubcon!!

what if…princess jang who comes from a wealthy noble family purchases you to be her pretty slave😁 the thing is you weren’t even being sold as one despite your family leaning towards the poorer class😱turns out she randomly spotted you at a market and ordered her people to do anything and everything just to have you in the palm of her hands! crazy!!!!! one day you were just taken away from your family! GOSH imagine the princess wonyoung herself carrying you to her room and gently laying you down on her bed🥺but, being the brat that you are you scratched and clawed at her, trying to resist her advances bc u were so so scared and confused :(( eventually, the remaining patience she had for you snaps and she just fucks you hard to remind you of your place!!!! u were nothing but her stupid little slut to use whenever she wanted :(

(she starts off really gentle with you but fucks you rough and hard for being so rude and disobedient to he princess☹️)

omg yk that video of her sliding off her gloves to sign for a fan?? IMAGINE IF SHE DOES THAT BEFORE FINGERING YOU UNTIL URE IN TEARS BEGGING HER TO STOPPP UGHH😫😩😩

- 🍒

MY FAVORITE CHERRY ANON!! i know, i know this ask took me forever to do again but we're all probably used to it to it to the point where i don't even have to address it 😭 since the photos are now not-so-recent, i'll attach them here so everybody can visualize it well hehehe 🤭

(@ CHERRY ANON IK YOU'RE WONDERING IF I AM ALSO WORKING ON THAT OTHER WONY ASK THAT YOU SENT AND I'M GONNA BE HONEST I THINK I DELETED IT?? which sucks bcs i was JUST thinking of answering it too just now until i realized it was nowhere to be found so IF UR STILL UP FOR IT AND IF YOU REMEMBER THE GIST, FEEL FREE TO SEND IT AGAIN! pretty sure it was about sororities?? 🤔)

p.s. you guys are crazy if you think i'm not gonna give this ask some meat (aka mini lore) so if this happens to be a long one that's why! 😭😭

[cw: extreme dubcon, (eventually) cnc, coercion, bondage, mild violence, obsessive-possessive princess!wony WOOO.]

you were happy as a commoner, okay!? even though your fate was sealed as a middle-class man's stay-at-home wife and child bearer in the future, you were going to make the most of your life despite it all! but that was before you encountered her highness jang wonyoung while you were out to shop for new formal robes. oh, sorry, you didn't 'encounter' her—she saw you animatedly chatting with the nice young clerk at the apparel shop and became obsessed fell in love at first sight 😍😍

your whole life took a whole other turn when a couple knights knocked on your door and took you from your family by force and with only a brief answer when asked: "her highness wills it so." 🥲 your family was then visited by the princess' retainer to give them a more detailed explanation of the whole situation but you didn't know that. you didn't have to. what only mattered from then on was whatever the fuck wonyoung wanted with you... and it was everything you anticipated it to be! almost.

nobles were all the same, after all. and the worst among them was the royalty. you half expected to have been stripped down in the carriage by the knights and dragged throughout the castle naked and bare before they throw you inside the princess' quarters where she would be more than ready to just... ravage you, but that didn't turn out to be true. not all the way! you made it to the doors of the castle with your clothes still on you and you weren't just haphazardly thrown inside the princess' room... the knights were given special instructions to treat you like glass! or else the princess would have their heads if they so much as scratched your beautiful, delicate skin.

wonyoung herself met you at the doors of the great hall, actually! she couldn’t contain her excitement because finally, she found someone that she knew was going to satisfy all her needs and make the perfect wife! never mind that you were some lowly commoner, you were beyond perfect in the princess’ eyes!

“do you know me… (y/n)?” you don’t even want to know how she just knew your name. you were confused, terrified, and furious all at the same time and wonyoung loved it. anybody else would have been scrambling to kiss her feet and beg for forgiveness even though they knew they did nothing wrong… but of course you’d be different. wonyoung was so happy.

nevertheless, you plucked up whatever courage you had left in yourself and answered her question, “the crown princess… jang wonyoung.” even the way you said her name was impeccable! ah, how wonyoung couldn’t wait to make you hers completely… and that’s exactly what she attempts to do once she took you to her room but of course, you fought back! 🥺

kicking and hitting wonyoung whenever she tried to get close to you on the bed, even shrieking and screaming for help just in case there was a servant who felt sorry enough to interrupt but who in their right mind would dare get in the way of the princess? 🤨 it was when you scratched her chin that she finally had enough of your shit and straight-up whacked you across the face... her highness has never had to use violence to gain control and advantage but goodness you really pushed all the wrong buttons!!

somehow it wasn't the painful sting on your cheek that made you settle down... bcs if you weren't directly staring at the small, bleeding cuts you've made on wonyoung's chin, you would've made an even bigger fuss when she roughly undressed you! sure, you feared the consequences of literally hurting the princess wonyoung but... she was still a beautiful woman!! what you did was like the equivalent of defacing a famed painter's greatest work—you definitely deserve whatever punishment was waiting for you 🫢🫢

wony won’t take your resistance seriously once she’s seen how drenched you are for her! she only takes that as a sign that she was welcome.. and that you did, in fact, want this! 🤭 she assumed that you can take her at whatever pace she decides to go with bcs you were a commoner that was gorgeous and deliciously naïve… surely you’ve been passed around before right?? but no… you were a virgin :(( but you were taking wonyoung’s fingers so well… meeting her thrusts halfway as if you’ve always known how to do it like that… moaning “your highness” so nicely against her ear that it gave her goosebumps… so ofc wony ignores your tears and your pleas to stop when you’ve already cum many times 🫠

but ah you were really testing her!! wony was bound to get some bruises with the way you’ve kicked and hit her so much… so she ties your hands up above your head and your legs spread apart with either ankle tied down at the edge of the bed! this way it would be much, much easier to punish you 🤭 she’s definitely relentless when using her mouth… esp since she just got a taste of her new food and oh, were you delectable…!

wonyoung couldn’t get enough… using her tongue on you over and over again throughout the night whilst talking to you about how perfect your life was going to be now that you were with her… and she very much liked how you didn’t even fight her words anymore! she knew that even though you cried gallons of tears and made your voice hoarse from wailing and moaning you wouldn’t dare look back on your past life anymore! 🤭

since then your daily activities as the crown princess’ future consort was to look pretty, study in both academics and noble etiquette, and most importantly, tending to wonyoung’s… needs 🫠🫠 you knew that every servant, knight, and nobles that frequented the castle talked badly about you. how a peasant managed to captivate the princess’ heart with ease. their words cut through you pretty badly but wonyoung was always there every night to mend your wounds… always.

you didn’t even care that wonyoung fucked you too hard anymore! bcs she has somehow led you to believe that she was the only one in this world that loved you and can stand to love someone like you 🫣 and you only believed her bcs you did feel her love with every thrust of her fingers, every disgusting thing that she whispers in your ears while she fucked you, every flick of her tongue as she ate you out, every bite on your lips when she kisses you. you were only right to love her back in spite of everything else bcs… like wonyoung always assured, this is what true love is, right?? 🤭

[delight-angelsbliss]

Hiii!!! Your ADHD post was perfect, thank you so much! I have the inattentive type as well, but I got really good at masking it/forcing myself to focus in some school classes lol (that is, if I had some sliver of interest in that class haha) I have another one, if it's ok :3

Could you maybe do shadow and sonic with a reader that is just absolutely terrible at getting proper sleep (4-3 hours 😭) who usually just can't sleep or is up doing something? Maybe hyper focused on a task? The amount of caffeine I have to consume in the morning is probably unhealthy 💀

Hope things are going great for you!

Precis: Shadow + sonic with an insomniac!Reader

Warning: side effects of no sleep and too much caffeine, no fender specified

Notes: I remember as a child (5) I would always stay awake longer to practice for ballet that I've been doing since I was 3 but I was taken out of gymnastics and ballet cuz of health issues:(( I love this blinkie too much please never leave me. I keep thinking of my step sisters and I can't stop crying knowing my dad is probably doing something to them the same way he did to me and it's eating at my heart tbh I could barely focus on writing

Sonic

We all know Sonic has massive amounts of energy, seemingly never running out of it. He isn't really a night owl type of guy, nor does he ever want to be, but when he met you, that changed. You were the complete opposite of him, always tired, staying up late, always drinking coffee etc. He didn't mind at first, but your unhealthy habits scared him greatly; you crashing out in the middle of the day was the thing that scared him the most, the way your energy turned down so fast was enough to get Sonic on the internet to try and fine some kind of help for you. He knew there were many healthy ways to get you to follow a routine. Sonic tried giving you melatonin, it worked for a few months, but it strung you out fast and you needed more to be able to sleep properly, he tried getting you some tea, but those smelled and tasted to bad you'd puke it all up.

It felt hopeless, but he didn't wanna give up helping you. You meant too much to him, you were such a nice person, yet you had the worst problems. He didn't understand it, but that didn't stop him from helping you. "Hey! [Name], let's go for a race! Whoever loses has to buy us a chili dog" he'd try to tire you out, cut your screen time and do as much as he possibly can to help you sleep. It broke sonics heart to see you so tired and strung out all day, he doesn't want to intrude too much, but he'd do anything to see you in a happy state. Besides all the chaos, Sonic doesn't mind your attitude much. He finds it kind of funny when he sees you almost falling asleep on your desk while studying.

Overall, Sonic doesn't mind it too much but he still worries daily about you, about your health. No matter what, he'll stay by your side though. He finds it fun to stay with you during the day, your calm demeanor (maybe a side effect) is like a refreshment for him, but the sudden mood swings and headaches you complain about will always bring his worry back to bloom all over again

Shadow

Shadow is also a night owl! The sun is too blinding for his brooding behavior, he'd rather watch it fall and the moon come up to greet his cold demeanor once more. He's the ultimate lifeform so he doesn't need sleep that bad, but since you're a mortal you obviously need sleep. He finds this out a few weeks into your relationship (platonic or romantic) Since he's so stubborn, he gives you an ultimatum: "It's either you sleep or you sleep on the couch" that worked for a day or two, but your bad sleeping habits, caffeine addiction, etc. Would always lull you back into staying awake doing whatever you wanted, it was your alone time. He wouldn't take that away, Shadow understands what it's like wanting to have some alone time... But he still knew how harmful this was for you

Shadow started switching your coffee with decaffeinated alternatives. The first few nights were the most rough, your body was still getting used to and adjusting to this new schedule, which helped greatly! Instead of trying to use medicines or tiring you out, Shadow tries discrete methods and ways to get you to practice better habits. Shadow knows he might not be the best for this, but he will still try and help you nonetheless. Shadow does know that you don't exactly enjoy all of this frustration from your lack of sleep, but he's baffled to know that you don't actively try to find some solutions, he doesn't mean it in a bad way... At the same time it feels like he does get angry, not at you, but your lack of motivation to help yourself. The way you continually have to go take naps just not to pass out

Shadow doesn't believe in naps, he sees them as the average way to ruin your sleep schedule. When he sees how many small naps you take just to function, it makes him worried knowing you're so tired all the time. He sees the way you strain yourself everyday, every passing second of the day. Shadow tries his best to help you, he really does. Shadow isn't the best at communication, so he doesn't see that as an option. That won't stop him from helping a loved one, Shadow isn't a very open person, but his past trauma makes his overbearing nature show easily. If overbearing helps you sleep easy, he'll stay that way

[dokyumms]

seventeen's reaction to their s/o being a surgeon !

pairings: ot13 x gn surgeon!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 861

cw: none

a/n: another request done! i'm definitely not a surgeon, so this is probably not accurate T-T also, i'm going to try to start posting on a schedule eventually... but i'm not sure yet. anyways, enjoy this kings ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

scoups - he didn't even realize he could fall more in love with you until you told him you were a surgeon. not only are you smart, but you save lives (and he just thinks you look hot in scrubs)? oh he's dug himself up a deeper hole. he tries to do what he can to help you, always offering to pick you up from work even if you clock out just hours before he has to go to practice.

jeonghan - he enjoys being your stay at home wife and sugar baby lol. when he found out, he probably showed the most excitement he'd shown in a while, "so, this means you have enough money to buy me a dyson hair dryer?" he likes knowing that you're working hard while he rots on the couch, but he hates when you have to get up for work at 5:30 in the morning. you can't count how many times you've almost been late for work since jeonghan will trap you in bed with him until the very last minute.

joshua - honestly the best moral support. he really loves that you help others for a living and wants to get involved, making bracelets for all your surgical patients. whenever you're burnt out or tired, he's there to catch you as well. he wants to make sure you're always in the best state to do your job well, so occasionally he'll nag on some of your bad habits, "we need you alive so you can keep other people alive silly,"

jun - he's very curious about your job, "you do what?? tell me more," he always asks about how your day was and won't sleep till you tell him every detail. so, now he knows all the drama between your coworkers. anytime he gets injured he immediately sends a photo to you with absolutely no warning and asks you to diagnose him (because he lowkey thinks surgeon = doctor 😭).

hoshi - very explosive reaction to say the least... "WHAT?? that's like such a scary job though??? how..?" he's honestly a little scared of you now. one time he sent you a picture of a vase he accidentally broke and was like "you won't dissect me or something because of this... right?" but anytime a member disrespects him? he's instantly using you to threaten them.

wonwoo - if he didn't have enough respect for you already, he certainly does now. he lovesss having a book-smart partner. sort of like jun, but he does more research so he can engage in more conversation with you. he even read a book all about it so you don't have to explain all the medical lingo to him.

woozi - secretly very impressed. he tries to be nonchalant about it when he finds out like, "okay.. cool," but then he'll end watching a ton of videos about it later. he would've never thought someone like you could have such an enduring job, you're always so bright around him! if it were him, he'd never be in a good mood lol.

dk - he's definitely worried about you all the time now, but also you're biggest cheerleader! anytime you have a big surgery coming up, he always send you good luck messages, "my y/nnn, you got this! i'll be cheering you on ๑˃̶͈̀Ⱉ˂̶͈́๑" he totally checks up on you like every hour as well, "are you eating? well you should eat :)"

mingyu - like jeonghan, he's now your stay at home wife. he literally packs you lunch every morning and even puts in little sticky notes with surgeon-related jokes... are they funny? well, more or less, but he always draws little doodles of you in your scrubs that make you giggle.

the8 - he admires you so much for your job, and he makes sure that you know it too. when you get home from work he's just like, "you're so cool, you know," if you EVER downplay yourself, he's constantly reminding you that you shouldn't try to make it sound like your job is easy. and to your dismay, he's always flexing that he's got a surgeon as his partner.

seungkwan - impressed and worried. whenever you mention having a big surgery, he's more nervous than you (even if it's already passed). he's really big on making sure you're taking care of yourself, offering to treat you to a spa day whenever you have time. plus, it's an excuse for him to do face masks with you.

vernon - bro will NOT stop making 'grey's anatomy' references. it's too late to stop him. "there're no 'mcdreamys' at your job right?" he makes you watch the show with him and asks if it's accurate. other than that, super chill and respects your work ethic.

dino - he's scared of you, but also super proud. you won't catch this guy even coming close to disrespecting you anytime soon. also someone who will confuse surgeons as doctors, so you have to explain to them that they're really different, and no, you can't write him a doctor's note so he can skip practice because he has a 'mega bad headache'

[stuckonmark]

accidents. mark lee

18. i’m vegan

three knocks at your door. that’s all it took for you to jump in your bed. after everything that happened at the last game, you haven’t been your usual self. you had asked winter for some space and karina offered for winter to stay with her for the time being. you’re really grateful for your friends. they always understood you and always supported you. you just wish you were able to open up more to them when things like this happen, but you just always find yourself falling back into your shell whenever something like this happens.

it took a lot of energy for you to get out of bed. honestly, you were kind of scared. you didn’t know what to expect. “hey yn.” looking down at you was a heavily breathing mark, who was holding so many grocery bags that you couldn’t see his hands anymore. your heart stopped for a second, not expecting to see him. “a little help?”

quickly shuffling to him, you try your best to grab the bags and your hand slightly grazed his. you and mark bring the groceries onto your table and you both take a seat. “so how’s everything going?” you hesitantly looked up at mark, not sure how you wanted to answer him. honestly, you didn’t even want to see him. you hated to admit it, but he was the reason you weren’t focusing on your life.

“i’m good.” the dry response is deafening. you felt bad, but you felt even worse having mark in your presence.

mark slowly nodded his head, as he awkwardly cleared his throat. “jaehyun’s worried about you. you’ve been ignoring his texts.” you were trying to think of the best way to answer mark without giving him too much or too little. “i guess tell him to not worry. i’m doing good. just need my space from everyone.”

he softly sighed, looking defeated. you thought the conversation would die out and that he would get up and leave until he looks straight into your eyes. “you have people that care about you yn. we just want to help. you’re allowed to lean on people. i care about you yn.” you weren’t sure, but mark looked like he was yearning for you. you just didn’t know if it was an act or not.

“mark. i don’t need your help. for all i know, you’re the one who’s making me lose focus. i need to lock in right now. i can’t be goofing off anymore. i have actual things in my life that matter.” you hated how harsh you came off, but mark hugging mina definitely hurt you more than a few words could hurt him.

mark began to open his mouth, but slowly closed it and looked down. “i think it’s time for you to go. thanks for the food, but i can’t have half the stuff you got me. i’m vegan.”

previous — m.list — next

notes. new character incoming?? 😏 also so sorry for so many written chapters.. ngl i have a few more 😭

taglist. open! @mmjhh1998 @haluenx @urlocalbeaner5 @cloudmrk @dudekiss3r @iluv7tn @jae-n0 @kikookii @remgeolli @lyleo @wumutititititi @kittydollzz @nctdreamchaser @kodasity @sibwol @worldwidecutiemaya @bbykaixx @luvsooby @luvvhaechan @awktwurtle @gomdoleemyson @morkiee @orangenbluetenbaum @fairyoflia @mxnhoeuwu

[viridescentelf]

Investment - Sylus x Reader

sup bitches, i am feral for this man

DISCLAIMER: i know extremely little about Love and Deep Space, I can‘t start playing it bc I know I will lose years of my life lol I don‘t want to fully commit to the brainrot that Sylus would do to me in game nsdksks (all i know is he‘s hot, he‘s rich, he‘s like into selling weapons ?? he‘s a dragon??????? idk??? lol)

So I just kinda took his beautiful face, plopped him into my own realm with what I know and wrote something so I can stop thinking about him.

The lore isn‘t accurate at all lol sorry but i just can‘t play it.

SUMMARY: You‘re an undercover cop on a mission to seduce a prominent mob boss‘ lackey. Sylus takes notice of you and decides to intervene.

If you want to listen to the music that inspired this fic, here you go. Bonus: if you can guess the song I had in mind for the performance, I'll write a short fic of your choice.

WARNINGS: possessive and obsessive behavior, prostitution, talk of violence

Part 2 will be NSFW

Word Count: 5kish

—————

„Do you copy?“

The radio chirped quietly, while you discreetly pushed the miniscule device deeper into your ear.

„Yes Sir“, you answered barely audibly, looking at your own reflection in the mirror. You barely recognized yourself: a done up face, more skin than you‘ve shown in a long while, hair quaffed and tied up to avoid it getting caught somewhere during the performance. The invasive voice of your chief in your ear mumbled the usual blabber such as „stay alert“ and „focus“ etc. while you finished the last touches of your look.

You were in a room full of people. Lockers and costumes adorned the walls, the lights reflecting in the colorful sequence.

The dancers lent you some jewelry; they treated you extremely kindly. No one here knew you were undercover, so they treated you like they always treated newcomers: expecting a scared person unsure of what they had signed up for, they held your hand and comforted you with calming words, the usual phrases you would think of. You smiled as a return of affection when they spoke to you, but your mind was racing with the plan you needed to complete. As kind as they were, you couldn’t let that distract you.

Your mission today was fairly straightforward: seduce one of the underlings of Alastair, a notorious mob figure in this area, then corner and interrogate them in order to find out where their boss was hiding.

There was no other way to penetrate the cluster of security that the mob kept going, seeing as cameras and mics were hidden everywhere in the city, run by them. All of the criminal underbelly hid in plain sight when venturing through the streets and were pretty much impossible to track down. Alastair was one of many heads of the mafia here, albeit one of the less influential ones. Your unit zeroed in on him, because he seemed the most promising to break.

An informant within his circle found out that Samira, your target, gained a massive privilege from Alastair: visiting the mob run auction house this very evening. With finances covered by her boss, Samira could have a special evening of watching burlesque performances and enjoying paid sex.

The auction house had a simple system. If you wanted a performer, you had to throw roses and outbid the others.

The roses were all tagged and had different colors:

Red was the simplest, equaling 1k.

Purple was 5k.

Blue was 100 k.

Bronze was 500 k.

Silver was a milli and extremely rare. You knew Samira had one.

And finally, Gold, which was an exorbitant amount. The owner didn’t even bother telling you the figure, being that it was never used.

Your boss knew you could dance. And knew you were Samira‘s type.

The informant arranged everything: the owner of the auction house had been paid off so that you could join and perform on your first day. He had no clue who you were, he just thought he gained new meat.

So, here you were, stretching at your seat.

You weren’t too nervous, you knew you could flirt and get your way in other aspects of your life. Why not on a grander scale?

The owner placed you sort of in the middle of the rotation, where most average performances took place. The cheaper options. He didn‘t want to risk you being an absolute flop and disappointing the customers.

It didn‘t matter. You only needed to get Samira‘s attention. Then you could go on with the mission.

A petit dancer tapped you on the shoulder and asked if you needed any equipment during your performance. You paused, looking at them through the mirror, going through the routine in your head.

„Just a chair“, you decided eventually.

The dancer blinked and giggled to themselves: „Wow, that‘s it? We have aerial hoops and stuff like that if you want…“

You smiled back. You couldn’t help but notice how young they looked.

„Thanks, but I‘ll just take the chair.“

The person turned, about to walk away, when you thought of something:

„I‘ll take a ladder too, please.“

You watched the roses fly onto the stage where a young man had just finished his dance with feathers and beautiful cloth artistry. He bowed several times, throwing kisses into the crowd. You could see a particular pile of purple roses with the same tag becoming more prominent at his feet. Seemed to be the best bid.

The owner bellowed into a microphone: „Sold for 15 000 to the gentleman in the silver tux!“

You saw the young man clap happily when the winning bidder walked on stage. It was an ugly looking guy, tux far too tight and in a gaudy hue, dark hairs peeking through the holes between his shirt buttons. He wrapped his stubby arm around the dancer, who gracefully leaned into the touch and escorted him off stage.

You knew there were lounges above the stage. You were supposed to take Samira up to one and question her there.

Your boss made himself known again: „Y/N, stay calm. Zero in on your target. She‘s bound to give every rose she has.“

You cleared your throat, which you had agreed would be yes while others were too close to you.

It was your turn. The stage hand checked with you once more if you had everything you needed while she plucked and pinned your outfit for the final time. You nodded in response, simultaneously confirming the music you picked to accompany your act. She seemed a bit flustered at your answer, you knew the sound was unusual for the establishment. It normally played slower, more sensual tempos. Acts also rarely required strobing effects, like yours.

But you had to make an impact. This was your one shot at getting to Samira. You needed to stand out. And if that meant standing out with a wilder song, dance and lighting, then so be it.

The owner blabbered on into the booming microphone about you being new and how „fresh“ you were (whatever that meant), while you ascended the ladder by the side of the stage, shielded from view. One poor sod was tasked with holding the ladder in place, you could hear him swearing. It was quite high, but you had enough practice. You knew how to catch yourself without injury.

The echo of the microphone died down and you could hear a few cheers already, the crowd expecting a timid little person, terrified of their new environment. They seemed to relish in young, helpless creatures feeling lost and scared in front of them.

But that wasn‘t you.

The music crept into the hall, the quiet beginning misleading the listeners of what was to come now. Your ears were waiting for the beat cues so that your arrival would have the maximum effect.

There it was. You bent your knees on the top of the ladder and pushed yourself hard into the air towards the middle of the stage, stretching as far as your muscles allowed.

At the perfect time, you landed into a beautiful split with a mighty crash. Catching yourself with your hands to avoid any pain, you immediately struck a blind smile into the crowd while your eyes quickly scanned for Samira. At your impact, the sounding cheer deafened the music briefly. Facing the crowd obstructed by heavy lights, you started your routine. It was so hard to see. Eyes still sweeping over the shadowy members within the seats, you struck pose after pose showing off your figure, while letting the rhythm guide you into more sensual movements.

You realized you wouldn’t be able to find her from where you were, so you decided to continue your dance and find a way to reach the edge of the stage without being too obvious.

The music slowed for a moment, allowing you to grab the chair by the side entrance and drag it behind you while your heels slid sultry across the wooden floor. You dragged it semi close to the front and started your section of dance with it there. With a teasing smile, you slid onto the chair, each movement deliberate and full of flair. You rested one hand on the back of the chair, your hips swaying as you played with the rhythm, inviting the audience into fantasizing you being on their lap. Your legs extended with a controlled stretch, a perfect balance of strength and seduction. As the music pulsed on, you rose with a fluid motion, effortlessly transitioning between powerful and sensual poses, your eyes locking with the crowd, blindly trying to locate your target. Every flick of your wrist, every arch of your back, was a testament to your rhythm and control, turning the chair into an extension of your body, your partner in this captivating dance.

Climbing all over it, you used this part of the song to show off how far you could arch your back and made your ass pop a few times to massive cheers. You had to show what you could offer, anyway.

You were halfway through. You had to do something drastic to find her.

This wasn’t part of the routine, but you decided it was necessary. Climbing onto the chair, with one foot on the back support, you teased the onlookers by tilting it back and forth, waiting for a moment in the song where the fall would make the most sense.

Forcing the tilt further, the chair fell over with you diving into a quick and practiced tumble and coming up right at the edge of the stage. You turned quickly and let your hair fall over the edge of the stage, opening your eyes with a lusty grin etched across your face. You scanned the rows as fast as you could.

Samira was luckily easy to spot, she sat in the second row, completely enthralled with your act. Her short black hair half-up and yellow eyes pointed directly at you while her toned arm hung over her chair.

You looked straight at her and winked, blowing a kiss at everyone watching but stopping for her once again, trying to seal the deal.

Samira wouldn‘t break eye contact with you, a look of sheer determination to have you.

Easy as fuck, you thought to yourself, getting up to continue and finish the act.

The beat intensified and you hit every move with sharp muscles and graceful ease, finalizing your act with the most alluring pose you could think of: your body turned away with your head facing the crowd.

A final wink. The hall erupted with applause. The roses already started flying in and you noticed Samira‘s tag being part of the massive pile before your feet. The owner was already prattling on about how this was such a rarity with someone as talented as you. You bowed appreciatively as the roses kept coming, Samira‘s pile growing more and more: You spotted a bronze. And then the silver one.

Bingo.

Samira grinned triumphantly. Elbowing the poor sod next to her, who had no more roses to give. The crowd all accepted that she had outbid everyone, a silver rose was just such a rarity.

The owner laughed into the microphone: „What a show! Wow Miss Samira. Looks like a massive bid for the young thing. 1.5 million going once, going twice-„

A flash of red made your spine thunder. It came out of a high balcony. You saw something flying towards you, like a dagger. Your reflexes betraying you, you caught the thing flitting towards your face and held it between two fingers. The sparkling, priceless hue glittered, as you gaped at the beautiful golden rose.

„My- my word! 50 million?!? I- uh 50 million going once, going twice…“

Your stomach dropped. No.

„S-SOLD! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!!! WHAT A MILESTONE FOR US, SOLD TO THE GENEROUS MR. QIN!!!“

You heard the chief in your ear shouting profanities. Something about the informant not telling him he would be here as well?!

„Y/N, you have to get out of there. Now!“

You couldn’t move. The shock cascaded through you, as you watched a tall, domineering figure descend the balcony stairs. Your eyes briefly flickered to Samira, who was yelling some insult at no one.

Stepping into the light, the red eyes were the first thing you noticed. They stared into you, plucking every nerve you had.

You recognized him immediately. You had heard about Sylus Qin. But you never thought you would lay eyes on him. And definitely not like this.

He wore a tailored maroon suit, the jacket draped casually over his broad shoulders. His salty hair danced in the limelight, perfectly kept and styled to stay out of his piercing gaze. Walking towards you, the almost invisible grin on his face made your heart convulse anxiously.

It seemed his presence not only stole your own ability to move a muscle. The entire venue quieted, a few hushed voices whispering in the background. It was like an evil spirit had entered this space and stolen the sound.

He approached you determinately, never letting his red eyes leave your own.

Your chief was shouting in your ear that you needed to leave. His screaming broke the charm briefly and you were able to tear your own eyes away from his to look for a quick exit strategy. You spotted a door across the seats with a staircase sign. Perhaps you could find a window somewhere there and squeeze through. It was worth a shot.

Just as your muscles got ready to turn towards the crowd, Sylus‘ arm swooped around your shoulder, squeezing you into him softly.

You dared not move. You had no way of knowing what he was capable of. His aura was mighty and something about his cologne made you forget you had a tongue. Looking up, he eyed you from head to toe. Your outfit didn‘t leave much for imagination.

„What a sight you are. I couldn’t resist spending a pretty penny on you. Let‘s not waste a moment.“

The depth of his voice made your stomach flutter, involuntarily.

He guided your movement without force, your body just simply obeyed him. You were both walking towards the place the last dancer had led their benefactor. You knew there were rooms up there.

He stopped in front of the owner. Giving a brief nod, the infamous man with his arm around you spoke again: „With the amount I paid, I‘m taking this one with me.“

The owner blinked rapidly, eventually nodding stupidly in agreement. Even if he didn‘t want that to happen (you were obviously popular), he couldn’t risk one of the biggest buyers to become disgruntled. The sheer panic rose further and nestled itself in your throat.

Your figures disappeared from the crowd behind the velvety curtains. Sylus kept walking and your head followed the very obvious Lounges sign that passed by you.

Where was he taking you? What was going to happen? And how could you escape?

He aimed for a small decline, leading to an emergency exit. A few of the stage hands scurried out of his path while the next performer entered the limelight. Your breath was caught in your throat as you both descended the four steps, reaching a long, bleak and concrete hallway with a door at the end of it. Your radio crackled unnervingly; you could make out snippets of words your chief was trying to verbalize. Then he vanished completely. There was no service here. No safety.

Your footsteps echoed in this hall, your heels clacking in sync with Sylus‘ shiny dress shoes. The way was narrow, so he squeezed you further into his body. You tried to keep your shoulders steady, the smallest bit of resistance you could muster was worth it, in your mind. You weren‘t going to just submit.

You were close to the exit and you pictured how you could elbow his side and make a run for it once the door opened.

In that moment, Sylus moved quick and shifted you with one hand so your back was against the cold and textured wall. The swift movement took you off guard once again and you held up your fists, ready to defend yourself.

He quickly grabbed your wrists, with surprisingly little pressure, but you weren’t able to follow through on the punch you wanted to give him.

„Steady there, officer. That’s no way to treat someone who just saved your life.“

Your eyebrows twitched in confusion. The question obvious on your face. He knew you were a cop? How? And what did he mean by saving? He just bought you!

Sylus’ eyes scanned you thoroughly. Then he laughed to himself, the exacerbated air hitting your face softly.

„Can I let go of your wrists or are you gonna try and punch me again?“

„Don‘t make me.“

He tilted his head: „Oh? Cocky, aren’t we?“

You weren‘t sure what was happening. Your eyes flitted to his hands then back to his intense stare.

Sylus let go of one of your wrists, but held the other one pinned against the wall. A seeming compromise, or a trick?

You could punch him, if you wanted to.

But you wanted to know how he knew. How did one of the biggest mob bosses know your identity?

Sylus free hand reached up to your check, a finger brushing your earlobe. You flinched.

„The radios all of you use are extremely cheap. Real easy to track and crack into, if you have the right software. I’d suggest moving to newer models, if the city allows the price uptick…“

His finger invaded your ear and pulled the iridescent, tiny thing out before you could stop him. You tried to grab it from him, but he held it up like a boy teasing his younger sibling.

You tried to jump to get it. When that didn’t work, you tried to wrestle your way to the door, but he turned you easily and pinned you back against the wall with one hand.

He smiled and you heard a small click. Then the broken shards of the radio fell to the ground. You stared at them in disbelief. What had you gotten yourself into?

You looked up at him angrily. His grip on you seemed so limp and careless, but you could feel that he was capable of hurting you, if he felt like it. You were cornered and unsure what you could do. How could he have known about this heist? Had he bugged the police station?

Perhaps you needed to play along, learn what you could and watch for an opening. That seemed to be the best course of action. Trying to fight him right now wouldn’t go well for you.

Sylus watched you stare at him and seemed to sense that you were calculating and questioning, then he grinned: „You really thought you were going to trick Alastair? With that weak of a security system? Sending undercover plans through text messages… I weep for this city…“

He shook his head theatrically. You raised an eyebrow. What?

„Because of your careless chief, Alastair knew of your cute little plan. If I hadn‘t intervened, he was going to kill you tonight. Samira would drug you and deliver you to his doorstep. Then he’d probably enjoy you a bit in his sick way-“, He gestured vaguely at your figure, „-before dumping you in the river.“

It was clear on your face that you were distraught at this information. You knew the mob had a ton of resources, but if what he was saying was true, they were never going to get anywhere. They were always a few steps ahead. But could you really trust what he was saying?

„What the hell do you want?“, you hissed.

Sylus grinned again.

„How about dinner first? You look hungry. But first, we need to get you an outfit. As beautiful as you look in this, I can‘t be seen with you looking like a floozy.“

He let go of your wrist and flung his coat off of his shoulders, draping it over you.

„I promise to enlighten you after we‘ve had a meal. And seeing as though I paid a decent amount for this date, I assume you won‘t be rude enough to reject the idea.“

You gaped at him. You were about to retort, when his arm flung around you again while he simultaneously opened the door.

Streetlights flooded your senses and a black car stood by the pavement, ready for the two of you. Your head whipped around trying to locate anyone you knew, looking for your chief, any comrade. Anyone!

No one. They were all on the other side of the building, and you had a feeling Sylus knew this.

He opened the door for you, one hand still around your arm. Reluctantly, you lowered into the strange car.

The driver greeted Sylus and called you Milady/Sir, simultaneously starting the engine and taking off. He drove through the city with a speed that was definitely illegal, but no one seemed interested in stopping him. There were more pressing matters in the city than speeding.

Sitting in the car, your eyes frantically searched the streets for an opening to roll out.

„I wouldn‘t try that, if I were you. Doors are locked.“

You turned to him and watched him type something on his phone. Then he brought it up to his ear and spoke in a language you didn‘t recognize.

While talking, he turned to you and eyed you up and down: „What size are you?“

He was serious about the outfit thing? You must be dreaming, this couldn’t be real.

You didn’t answer.

Sylus waited for a short while, scoffed, then turned back towards the call: „Your size.“

He guessed. And correctly? What?

Sylus finished the call and continued to type something. The rapid noise of his fingers tapping his screen was all you could hear. The silence was bugging the hell out of you.

None of this made any sense. It would’ve been so much easier to just let you get killed by Alastair. It’s not like your death would’ve meant anything to the police station, it happened daily.

What was the purpose of this entire spiel? What did he want with a cop in his backseat?

Was it simply just sex? Some weird fantasy he was fulfilling?

What was his plan?

These questions raced through your head and you couldn’t help but want to know the answer to all of them. Your tongue was shaking with a strong urge to ask what the loudest question circling in your brain.

“Why did you help me?” you finally said.

Sylus kept scrolling on his phone, not looking up: “We have similar interests.”

That wasn’t really an answer. You kept staring at him.

Sylus’ red eye finally turned towards you, noticing you weren’t satisfied with his response.

“I promise to tell you everything after dinner. Now, go enjoy the scenery.” He waved his hand at you, gesturing for you to leave him be.

Perhaps you could take this undercover thing a lot further: learn as much as you can about one of the biggest threats in the city, then run away and get the entire force to come after him.

You decided to wait. You couldn’t do anything else, anyway. There was a looming panic festering within you and you weren’t sure how long he would keep you alive. You needed to stay alert, but hopefully learn as much as you could to take back to the station.

Once you knew of his plan, you would run and report.

You sat at one of the largest dinner tables you had ever seen. Sylus sat at one end, you at the other.

You were in a giant penthouse on the outskirts of town. The place was decorated with many boxing trophies and high-end art. Everything looked expensive.

The food was fantastic. You had been reluctant to eat it in fear of being poisoned, so Sylus had stood up, taken a piece of your meal and put it in his own mouth – proving that it was safe.

Before the meal, a butler had delivered a beautiful outfit for you – classy, elegant and it fit you like a glove. You changed in an enormous guest bathroom. Your favorite necklace really harmonized with the outfit, as if Sylus had taken notice of it and planned it accordingly.

Despite everything looking and tasting divine, you were still sitting across one of the most dangerous men in this city. This was someone who hurt people. He was this city’s most wanted and you were sharing a meal with him.

You needed to remind yourself that he bought you at an auction. He was there, because he enjoyed that lifestyle.

You couldn’t trust him.

You both ate in silence. It was awkward. Sylus was on his phone the entire time, either taking calls or texting.

As you finished the last bite of your exquisite meal, Sylus set his phone down with a soft click. The abrupt absence of tapping drew your attention. His piercing red eyes met yours across the expanse of polished mahogany.

"I suppose you're ready for answers," he said, his deep voice resonating in the cavernous dining room.

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral despite the curiosity and apprehension roiling inside you.

Sylus leaned back in his ornate chair: "As I said before, we have similar interests. You want to get rid of Alastair. I wouldn’t mind him gone, either. But your methods will never work. I can offer my assistance.”

Your brows narrowed. A deal?

“I assume that assistance isn’t out of the gracious nature of your heart.” The words just left you. You couldn’t stop them.

Sylus chuckled, a low rumble that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. "Perceptive. I like that." He stood up, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the table. With deliberate steps, he made his way towards you, each footfall echoing in the vast room.

"You're right, of course. I have my own motivations." He stopped beside you, pulled the chair closest to you out and slunk into it, his proximity making your heart race. "Alastair is a thorn in my side. He's unpredictable, volatile. Bad for business."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity overcoming your caution. "And you're not?"

His lips quirked into a half-smile. "I'm calculated. Alastair? He's a loose, dumb cannon that keeps causing fires I have to put out. He needs to go."

You blinked. The chair made you feel tiny, it was so wide and expansive that you could’ve easily sat cross-legged. It caused him to feel even larger than he already was, being so close to you.

“So, what? You pulled this entire charade just to get rid of some competition? Surely you don’t need my help to do that. Spit it out, what do you want?”

Sylus watched you, his eyes mapping your face. The lingering stare made you forget to breathe.

He was extremely handsome. It was distracting.

Sylus leaned in closer, his cologne enveloping you in a heady cloud. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, "What I want, pet, is someone I can trust inside the police force."

The term of endearment sent an involuntary shiver through you. You tried to mask it, but the slight quirk of his eyebrow told you he'd noticed.

"Don’t call me that. And why would you think I'd ever agree to that?" you challenged, forcing steel into your voice.

His laugh was low and rich, ringing in your ribcage. "Because, pet, you owe me. I saved your life tonight. Without my intervention, you'd be nothing more than a cold corpse floating down the river by now."

The stupid nickname bothered you, endlessly. But you dropped it nonetheless.

“That’s what you say. I have no way of knowing if that’s true.”

Sylus rolled his eyes and flicked his phone out of his pocket. Typing something quickly, he pulled a video feed onto his screen and held it towards you.

You were watching Samira in the auction house hallway, pacing frantically up and down on the phone.

“That fucking twink outbid me. What the hell am I gonna tell Alastair?! …. 50 million… yeah I know… it’s a huge fuck you…. no dipshit I can’t just pick another one. I literally bet all of it on that cop. Plus he knows the difference, these whores are built different…-”

Sylus pulled the phone away from your eyes, nodding in your direction for you to reply.

You swallowed hard, your mind reeling from the implications of what you'd just seen and heard. The reality of how close you'd come to death tonight was sinking in, leaving you feeling shaken and vulnerable.

So it was true.

Sylus leaned back, giving you a moment to process. His red eyes never left your face, studying your reactions intently.

"I still don't understand. Why go to all this trouble? You could bribe anyone to work for you with the money you have. Why..." you trailed off, a horrifying thought suddenly occurring to you. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since you'd arrived at his penthouse.

He was undeniably powerful, clearly wealthy beyond measure. And he'd just spent an obscene amount of money to... what? Have a little cop sex slave on the side? Why was he at the auction house to begin with? If not for that?

Sylus leaned his elbow on the arm rest and placed his cheek in his hand. His eyes wandered down to your chest, where your necklace swung quietly.

“Is this some sick kink of yours, buying people and making them fulfill some weird fantasy? Like your personal plaything?”

His eyes widened and a hearty laugh escaped him with such force that it made you jolt inwards.

“You think I bought you for sex?” He laughed even harder. “Pet, I don’t need to pay for that. Trust me.”

You started to get annoyed. Standing up from your chair, you tried to make yourself feel bigger by creating this distance.

“Then what? Why the fuck were you at the auction house then?”

Sylus looked up at you, tilting his chair back and forth playfully: “Again, pet. Your chief has shit security measures. I saw an opportunity…besides...”

He stood up as well. His towering form cast a shadow over you once again.

“I couldn’t just let a pretty thing like you die, now could I?”

Sylus’ cologne swirled into your nostrils and you shook your head to concentrate. Looking up at him, you couldn’t help but focus on the beautifully carved jaw line that pointed down at you. Blinking hard, you mustered up the last shred of courage and sanity you had:

“I’m not some trophy you can buy.”

Sylus' eyes sparkled with amusement at your defiant statement. He took a step closer, closing the already small gap between you. The heat radiating from his body made you acutely aware of your own.

"A trophy?" he mused, his voice a low groan that seemed to vibrate through you. "No, you're far more interesting than that."

His hand reached out, fingers gently brushing against your necklace. The touch was feather-light, but it sent electricity coursing through your veins. You held your breath, unsure whether to step back or lean in.

Then he brushed your hair away from your shoulders, tucking a strand behind your ear.

“I’ll give you some time to consider. I can really use a friend in the force. And you can use me, and my resources, to destroy Alastair. A fair exchange in my opinion.”

He turned away and walked towards a large door. With one hand on the handle, he shifted his face to the side to look at you once more.

“My driver will drop you off wherever you’d like. He awaits you downstairs.”

Your brows narrowed again.

“You’re letting me leave? Just like that?”

“Of course you’re free to leave. I never said you were a prisoner. I just, technically, own you.”

A sly grin stretched across his lips. With that final statement, Sylus opened the door and closed it behind him.

The complete silence in the room enveloped you.

What the fuck just happened?

You walked towards the elevator and pressed the button.

You were alone. Free to leave.

Free to tell the force your location and have him arrested.

The elevator descended smoothly, each floor passing in a blur of lights. You found yourself touching the strand of hair Sylus had tucked away, his phantom touch still lingering on your skin. The weight of the decision before you pressed heavily on your shoulders.

You could run to a payphone and call for backup right now. You could end Sylus Qin's reign over the city's underworld with a single dial.

But you didn’t want to.

Shaking yourself once more, you closed the elegant coat Sylus had provided for you and walked towards the exit.

It had been a long, strange night. You needed sleep. And you needed to think.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Oh my god

The way this has me SOBBING

This is it. This is THE OLD MAN LOGAN LOVE STORY THE WORLD NEEDED.

Movies great. This is better. This is canon, nope you cant tell me otherwise.

THE FEELING OF FATE? KNOWING THE OTHER IS THERE? BEING TIED TO EACH OTHER NO MATTER HOW FAR?

Its so beautiful. The way reader is so sure of herself. The way logan doesnt want to give in only to protect her, bc he doesnt deserve it BUT HE GOES BACK TO HER ANYWAY

The "breakup" had me CRYIIIINNNG,

And then Charles?!!!! OMFG CHARLES!! Laughing through the tears at Charles spraying him with water and calling him a PUSSY! CHARLES PLS I loved that part so much.

The softness of logan and reader. How they met, her home and the porch light always been on for him. How she accepts him so easily. In comparison to Logans life of violence. They correspond so well. The sexy and sweet aspect of it that Logan melts into. How he cant truly deny how its more than just sex to him???

When he comes back, and she KNOWS. She accepts that hes not ready yet. How he melts into her belly when he hugs her(PLS???). The way he opens up. He just cant stay way. He loves her 😭

THIS. Hes so overwhelmed

Oh my god the way this shook me to my core. Like physically I had a reaction. The smut scenes were so AMAZING. They were written so well I could just feel the physical connection between them (or maybe im just horny lol)

The porch light being compared to a halo over reader? PLEASE????

AND THEN

She accepts him back so easily. She was so scared. Shes just happy hes there.

The ending, holding each other. Hes so tired and warn.

"You left the porch light on"

ISVOBDODBOHROBR

Im gonna go cry so more this was the most PERFECT thing ever written. I stg im gonna make it in a lil booklet that i keep by my bed to remind myself of true love bc this is is written write in.

The angst, the fluff, the SMUT, I cant. Its perfect. Marvel get your asses over here and hire Lub bc shell write Logan a REAL story that he deserves.

Not to mention you wrote old man logan so well??? The weariness?? The aches??? The grumpy fluff?? *chefs kisses* theres a tenderness behind him with reader. I really feel like this SHOWS old man Logan (or logan in general) and who he really is if he was given an honest to god soulmate.

Best thing ever. Academy rewards. New York Bestseller.

Dont mind me as I curl my body around this fic and whisper sweet nothings to it. Actually, give me some privacy will ya?

Giving you the BIGGEST WARMING HUGS Lub. You should be SO PROUD, youve really made something amazing. Maybe im just an emotional sappy romantic but this is just...

Come A Long, Long Way

SYNOPSIS: His days are long and his nights are longer. He comes to you during those hours when the rest of the world stills, lured in by something almost like fate. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader 

WC: 12.2k

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, scars and healing; gratuitous sexual tension; mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption; dirty talk; frottage; nipple play; surprise appearance by Charles; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; sex with feelings; cowgirl; mating press; creampie; brief mentions of Laura; happy ending because I said so

A/N: The idea for this story came to me through a song--My Fair Lady by Kaleo. I was struck by this verse: I'm weary from my travels // I've come a long, long way // I haven't felt a woman // Since last that I was here // Oh, won't you bring me whisky // And run your fingers through my hair? // Oh, won't you whisper sweet words // Oh, so softly in my ear? I thought, "Wow, that's so Old Man Logan" and this is what I birthed from that. This may be one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I sincerely hope you think so too. Huge, huge thank you to @yxtkiwiyxt for betaing this for me and making the final draft what it is; you helped end this in such a beautiful way. Thank you to @saradika for the use of her graphics. And as always, I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

He shouldn’t care about the car pulled over on the side of the road, hazard lights blinking as the rain pours down. 

For three days, Logan’s entertained a rowdy bachelorette party, chauffeuring them from bar to bar, dinner to dinner. The scent of cheap perfume and desperation still linger inside the limo, the drunken, whispered advances still burn against his skin. 

He’s tired. Exhausted down to his very marrow and he wants nothing more than to crawl onto his sagging mattress and steal whatever amount of sleep his shattered mind will give him. 

So, no. He shouldn’t care about the car. 

But he finds himself easing off the gas, the limo starting to slow as he nears. He feels drawn, like a month to a flame, as if some unseen force has wound itself around his sternum and is pulling him forward. 

Pulling him to you. 

As the limo approaches, he spots you crouched down by the front left tire, struggling with a lug wrench, the tool slipping in your rain-soaked fingers. He can almost hear the curses spilling from your lips as you glance up and look towards where he’s sitting. 

Logan knows you can’t see him, not well anyway with the headlights shining directly upon you and the rain pouring down in sheets, but he swears you find his gaze, your eyes seeming to pierce down directly to his soul. He feels the flutter of something deep in his chest and he feels exposed, like a raw wound that hasn’t quite healed. 

For a moment, he hesitates, and wonders if you’re a siren, out here in your element to lure him to his death. Then your gaze drops and the thought dissolves but only just. Before he can talk himself out of it, Logan’s throwing the car in park and opening the door. 

The rain is frigid, the cold biting at his skin as the downpour soaks him down to the bone. You glance up at him as he approaches, your fingers loosening around the wench but still keeping it firmly in your grasp. Straightening up, you push wet strands of hair out of your face, your fingers trembling from the cold. 

“Need a lift?”

He doesn’t know why he asks. What he should do is swap out the old tire for the spare and let you go on your way. But those eyes of yours are piercing him again, the hook you’ve sunk deep in his sinew pulling taut once more and Logan feels compelled to take you home. 

For a few moments, you continue to silently assess him, your gaze flitting between your car, the limo behind him and back to his now soaked frame. Then, you stand and open the driver’s side door, tossing in the wrench and pulling your purse close to your chest. You follow him to the limo and climb into the backseat as Logan slips back in behind the wheel. 

He glances back at you through the rearview mirror, watching as you lean back into the seat, your wet clothes clinging to every curve of your body. Which is another thing he shouldn’t care about and yet…

Clearing his throat, he turns up the heat. “Where you headed?”

“North. About twenty miles or so.”

Logan nods and shifts the car into drive, heading back down the road as the rain continues to come down. Several minutes pass in silence, save for the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers. Finally, your voice breaks through the silence, soft and lilting. 

“Got a name?”

“Who’s asking?”

A half smile tugs at your lips as you slide from the seat and slip into the row directly behind the partition. Logan can feel the damp of your skin as you lean into his space, the scent of rain flooding his nostrils almost intoxicating. You say your name and wait for him to respond in kind.

“Logan,” he answers, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Life hasn’t been kind to you, has it, Logan?” you ask, his name dripping from your lips like honey and just as sweet.

Logan stiffens, his grip tightening on the wheel as your words cut through the night. There’s no pity in your tone, which he’s silently grateful for, but an unsettling mixture of curiosity and understanding.

At the best of times, he doesn’t like anyone trying to scratch below the surface, to worm themselves into all the soft and vulnerable bits he tries so desperately to hide away. Now that he’s older and feeling every bit of his age, the weight of his bones threatening to drag him down with each step, he likes it even less.

“It’s not kind to anyone,” he answers, turning his head just enough to glance sideways at you. 

You tilt your head slightly, a wordless noise humming in your throat. “Maybe,” you concede, voice soft, like you’re mulling over his words. “Except your life has carved itself into you a little more than most.”

He wants to be annoyed, to slam his foot on the brake and send the limo careening into reverse back towards your broken down car. But something stirs in him, thrumming in time with the pulse beating in his veins—a spark of irritation mixed with that pull that’s been gnawing at him since he first saw you. 

“You a therapist or somethin’?”

You chuckle softly, the sound low and intimate, as you lean back into the seat, finally putting some space between you. “No. Just intuitive.”

“Yeah?” He looks up at you through the rearview mirror with a scowl. “Intuit less. Just tell me where I’m goin’.”

A soft, chiding “tsk” falls from your lips and you shake your head, but Logan doesn’t miss the smile playing on your lips. You give him directions to your house and for moment you both sit in silence but the air remains heavy with unspoken tension. 

Logan pulls off the highway, beginning to wind through the smaller streets of the town as he gets closer to your place. The thought of this ride ending, of you leaving this car, both thrill and disappoint him. 

“You believe in fate?”

The question cuts through the silence, pulling Logan’s focus back to you. He glances at you briefly, your expression thoughtful as you wait for him to answer. 

“No,” he finally says, voice flat. 

A soft hum escapes your throat. “Unsurprising. But don’t you think, Logan,” you begin, leaning back into his space, “that maybe fate is what brought us together?”

You have that knowing look in your eye again, a sly smile tugging at your lips. As if you’re in on some cosmic secret he’s not privy to. It unnerves him. 

But it intrigues him, too. 

“I think a broken down car brought us together.”

“Or maybe life decided to be kind to you,” you challenge. “To bring me to you.”

Logan turns into a quiet subdivision as your words rattle around in his brain. The rain has mostly subsided, but is still falling in a gentle drizzle as he pulls up in front of your house, a single porch light illuminated in welcome. It looks small, yet homey, the kind of place he could have seen himself in once if life had been kinder to him. 

“You should come in,” you say as you gather your belongings. “Get out of those wet clothes.”

Your eyes meet his again through the review mirror, a mischievous glint in your gaze and an even more sinful smile on your lips. 

It’s been a while since he’s been with anyone. The thrill of finding a partner for the night having lost its luster around the time his bones started to ache. More often than not, his sexual escapades involve his own calloused hands and memories from when he was a younger man. 

“Think about it,” you offer as you open the door and slip out of the limo. “Door’ll be open.” 

Logan sits, hands gripping the steering wheel, contemplating whether or not to follow you into the house.

Your offer is tantalizing, ripe for the picking, and the baser part of himself wants to accept—follow you into sin. You’ve already injected yourself into his veins, he might as well see the high through. 

The rational part of his brain knows he should leave, throw the limo in reverse and tail it back to the life he’s carved out for himself in the desert. Experience has hardened him, left him unable to, or maybe unwilling to, open himself to others. He doesn’t need whatever it is you think you can offer him, no matter how alluring and sweet your words may be. 

The weight of his wet clothes against his skin begins to feel almost suffocating and with a low curse under his breath, Logan steps from the limo and follows the path you took up the porch and into the house.

A trail of water leads from the front door to a small laundry room just off the foyer and then damp footprints lead deeper into the house. He can hear the low rumble of a dryer as he steps further into the space, the squeak of his shoes against the hardwood doing nothing to hide his approach. 

Logan finds you in the kitchen, lights dimmed low, standing in only a pair of mismatched underwear, the damp fabric barely concealing what’s underneath as you gently swirl a glass of whiskey. A second, untouched glass sits next to your hip on the counter. 

“You seem like a whiskey man,” you say, your smile curving around the glass as you take a slow sip. “Did I get it right?”

Stopping in the doorway, he flexes his hands at his sides, and wills himself to move—forward, backward, he’s not quite sure. The muted light catches along your curves, the damp sheen of your skin enticing, the dark outline of your nipples and curls between your thighs acting like a beacon. Logan can feel himself hardening against his slacks. 

He can smell you—bright and earthy and wholly intoxicating. Your heartbeat echoes in his ears, quick, but steady, betraying no fear. 

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it by now,” you say and he has half a thought to wonder if you can read his mind. 

A sly smile spreads across your face as his eyes finally meet yours, a knowing edge to your expression that further sets him off balance. 

“What’s happenin’ here?” Logan finally rasps, his voice low and rough. 

You give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders as you grab the glass next to you and take a step towards him, your movements slow yet deliberate. He doesn’t move, rooted to the spot as you approach him. 

“That’s up to you,” you reply, handing him the glass. “You can get out of those wet clothes and enjoy this whiskey with me, or,” you pause to step closer, “you can walk back out that door and pretend like you weren’t curious about what’s waiting for you here.”

Logan’s fingers grip the glass in his hands just a little too tight as you stare up at him, holding his gaze a beat longer than necessary. You’re challenging him, daring him to act, and he knows the minute he breaks, he’s done for. He won’t be able to stop. 

You risk another step closer, leaving barely a breadth of space between you. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can smell the rain on your skin, as your closeness overwhelms his senses. He wants to drown in you. 

“What’s it gonna be?” you ask in a whisper, your fingers trailing along the edge of his belt buckle. 

Your touch and proximity ignites something primal in him, something he thought long extinguished. Logan can feel pure want, need, surge through his veins and lick flames along his skin. His free hand moves on instinct, wrapping around your wrist, halting your teasing fingers before they venture any further. His restraint is hanging by a thread, fraying and threatening to snap.

“You sure this is what you want?” His voice is low, all gravel and grit as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened by a hunger begging to be fed.

Your lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as you press yourself fully against him, soft and warm. Rising up onto the balls of your feet, you drop your gaze to his lips before flicking your eyes back up to his and ghosting your mouth along his jawline. “Stay with me,” you whisper, sliding your hand up his chest. “Just this once.”

Logan’s restraint snaps. The glass tumbles from his hand, shattering against the floor, but neither of you seem to notice. His hand moves to the small of your back, wanting to press you impossibly closer as his lips crash into yours, hot and demanding. 

You respond in kind, a whimper dying in your throat as your fingers tangle in his damp hair, urging him closer. A growl tumbles from his lips as he trails his mouth down your neck, nipping and tasting as he goes, his tongue finding your pulse point and sucking. His hands roam freely, his calloused fingers sliding over your smooth flesh, palming your hips and gripping you as if you’re the only thing grounding him to earth.

He feels alive. Every cell in his body hums beneath your touch, the constant aches and pains temporarily erased. You’re a balm to his very soul, smoothing the ever deepening cracks and making him feel whole. 

You gasp as he nips at a spot just below your ear and he smirks against your skin, the sound spurring him on. “Tell me where your room is, or I’m fuckin’ you right here on the table,” he husks, his voice thick with desire, breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips swollen and eyes dark, you reach for his hand and wordlessly lead him past the living room and down the small hallway to your room. Once inside, he pulls you back towards him, mouth slanting back over yours, stealing the very air from your lungs. 

His cock is almost painfully hard as he walks you towards the bed, only pulling his mouth away from yours as your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Instead of sitting back on the bed, you reach for the buttons on his shirt, easing them open before sliding the fabric from his shoulders. There’s an eagerness to your movements, your fingers fumbling with his belt buckle as he sheds his undershirt and tosses it somewhere behind him. 

Logan watches with a hooded gaze, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as you shove his pants down his legs, barely getting them past his knees before you’re reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

His fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements and you gaze up at him, licking your lips. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We have all night.”

A shiver runs through you and then his mouth is on you again, hungry and all-consuming. He drinks you in like a man parched, lips and teeth mapping the curve of your jaw, the solid edge of your collarbone as your pretty little moans and gasps fill the air. You tilt your head back and offer yourself to him, your hands grasping at his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle to keep him close.

His hands are rough against your skin as he slides them up your sides, tracing the soft, damp skin below the band of your bra. Unfastening the clasps, he trails the fabric down your arms, his eyes darkening as he finally takes in your bare breasts.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice dripping with raw want.

Any final restraint he has evaporates and he kicks the last of his clothes off before tightening his hands around your waist and setting you down on the bed. Logan steals the gasp from your mouth as his body covers yours, easing himself between your thighs and thrusting once against your clothed cunt.

He cups your jaw, thumb stroking over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to wet the skin. “Last chance,” he husks, his breath fanning across your lips. “Last chance to stop before I ruin you.” 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a growl, his teeth bared. A sinful smile spreads across your face. “Oh, Logan,” you coo, “who says I’m not going to ruin you?”

Logan lets out a deep, guttural sound, something between a growl and a groan before he slots his mouth back over yours and follows you into temptation.  

“Figured you’d try and sneak out.”

Logan whirls around at the sound of your voice, claws slowly unsheathing from between his knuckles. Blood wells up from the wounds, dripping between his fingers as he finds you dressed in an oversized shirt, the hem just concealing the edge of your panties. Your expression belies no fear as you take in the metal jutting out between his skin, your eyes alight with an acceptance he’s not use to. 

Fear, disgust, repulsion, but rarely acceptance. 

Slowly, he retracts his claws as you move further into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to grab and moisten a washcloth before coming to stand in front of him. Logan instinctively pulls away from your touch, but you’re undeterred, taking his hands in yours and wiping the blood away from his skin. Your movements are gentle, taking care to avoid the still healing slits.

Washed of blood, you finally glance up at him. “You can stay, you know.”

“I’m not the stayin’ kind, sweetheart,” he mutters.

One of those slow, knowing smiles tugs at your lips as you release his hands and Logan actually mourns the loss. “We’ll see,” you say with a shrug, stepping back just enough to put space between you. “I don’t think fate is done with us yet.”

Your words hang in the air like smoke, curling around him and pressing into his skin. He wants to argue, the words burning on his tongue, but he doesn’t. Because despite his earlier claims that he didn’t believe in fate, he can’t deny the unnatural pull you have on him. A pull Logan doesn’t necessarily dislike.

At his silence, you lean up and press the faintest of kisses to the corner of his jaw. “I’ll leave the light on for you,” you whisper into his skin.

It’s then he knows—he won’t be able to stay away. 

Logan shows up at your door again two weeks later. 

He’s been driving around some bigwig CEO, chauffeuring him from conference to conference during the day and dropping him off at random hotels during the night. When he gives Logan the address to tonight’s hotel, Logan knows instantly he’s in trouble. Just his luck the hotel is in your town. 

Pulling off the freeway, he feels that familiar tug behind his ribs. His hands itch with the want, the need, to turn the wheel towards you instead of the address on his GPS. Since that night, you’ve haunted him, your face showing up in his dreams, waking with the sensation of your softness burning into his skin. 

Logan knows he could stay at the hotel or sleep in the back of the limo like he’s done so many times before. But as he slowly inhales at his cigar and waits for Mr. CEO to stop fingering his mistress in the back seat and get the fuck out, the need to be near you only grows stronger. 

And damned if he knows why. 

He doesn’t need a relationship, or whatever the hell this is. Enough of him has been spread to others, for better or worse, and he’s already worn thin. The last remnants of any family he has are hanging off a very precarious ledge and he can’t bear the heartache of more loss if he opens himself to you. 

But as much as Logan keeps telling himself he’s closed off, fortified against anything new, he can feel himself bleeding through the cracks. 

By the time he finally turns down your street, it’s well past a respectable visiting hour. Most houses are dark for the night, but not yours. The front porch light illuminates just like it did two weeks ago and the dim lights of the kitchen shine through the pulled blinds. You’re up and a frisson of anticipation shoots through him. 

He parks the limo and stamps out the cigar before walking up your driveway. As he approaches the door, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. While your final words to him were open ended, did that give him the right to just show up in the middle of the night? 

You open the door as he contemplates and when his gaze finally focuses on you, he relaxes. A well worn robe is tied around your waist, your hair tied up in a messy bun, your face cleaned of makeup and yet you’re more alluring to him than you were that night in the rain. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he confesses, stepping just a bit closer towards you. 

A slow, soft smile spreads across your face. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” you reply. You open the door to allow him entrance and he steps in after you. 

Logan follows you into the kitchen, where you already have a glass of whiskey ready for him. Handing him the glass, you nod your head towards the living room. “Come. Relax for a bit.”

He follows you into he living room, the single lamp casting a soft glow within the space. You settle onto the sectional, tucking your legs beneath you and turning yourself towards him as he joins you. For a moment, neither of you speak, but the silence isn’t awkward—it’s comfortable, like it always is around you. 

“You look tired,” you say, finally breaking the quiet. Your voice is soft, a sense of familiarity laced in with your words, as if you understand the magnitude of his fatigue.

Logan huffs as he swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “Honey, I’m always tired,” he replies. “Comes with the territory.”

You give a small hum, your head tilting to the side as you assess him. “You’re in pain, too.”

Logan freezes at your words, his eyes flicking up to your face. His gaze locks with yours, sharp and guarded, like you’ve peeled back a layer he wasn’t ready to expose. And yet, you’ve been doing this since the beginning. Finding the cracks in his facade and wedging yourself in until the gap widens, uncovering the raw nerves underneath.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, his tone challenging.

You gaze remains steady and calm, holding a softness that unnerves him more than the question itself. “Because it’s written all over you,” you say simply. “I see it in your scars, in the way your hands are always clenched, as if steeling yourself against a blow that’ll never come.”

Logan exhales a low, humorless laugh before taking a long sip of whiskey, relishing the burn as it slides down his throat. “Don’t even notice it anymore,” he lies, shifting in his seat. 

Your mouth tugs into a gentle frown as you shift, crawling closer to where he sits. You pluck the glass from his fingers, swallowing down the rest of the whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. Logan watches as you swing your legs over his lap, your robe riding up to reveal the smooth expanse of your thighs. 

The weight of you against his lap sends a rush of arousal down his spine and he can feel his cock stir in his slacks. If you notice, you ignore it, instead reaching for a small bottle of lotion on the end table and squeezing a dollop into your palm. You rub your hands together twice before reaching for his right hand. 

Your thumbs dig into the meat of his palm, a low groan slipping from his throat before he can stop himself. You bite your lip, but Logan can see the sly smile beneath. 

“You help take care of everyone else,” you begin, rubbing the lotion further into his calloused palms. “Who helps care for you?”

Logan feels flayed open, that pull that spins him into your orbit only growing stronger as you see down to his very soul. Caliban swore you weren’t a mutant but Logan still couldn’t shake the idea that you were something more. 

“What are you?” he asks, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, watching you concentrate on his hand. 

You slide your fingers along the pink, puffy lines between his knuckles, a slow hiss escaping between his teeth as you massage the tender flesh. He wonders if you know how sensitive his skin is now, how each time his claws come out it hurts just a little bit more than the last time. 

“I’m human,” you reply, positioning his hand to focus on the back, tracing the fine scars there. “Same as you.”

“I ain’t human.”

Your eyes flick to his as you drop his right hand and reach for his left. “You’re human where it counts,” you say, beginning to massage his hand. 

Logan scoffs. “Yeah? And where’s that?”

You release his hand and place your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. “In here.”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where your fingers are resting against him. You touch him like you’re unafraid, undeterred by the metal in his bones and the sometimes primal rage that courses through his blood. His killed—for the sake of war, self preservation, and for reasons not so innocent—but you can somehow still see past that, to some soft part of him that still lingers. 

Logan itches to touch you, to pull you closer and—

“You can touch me,” you say, as if pulling the thought from his head. “I like when you touch me.”

Logan slides his palms up your thighs and around your hips, pulling you flush against his lap, your clothed center pressing against the fly of his slacks. He doesn’t miss the gasp that falls from your lips or the shift of your hips as you try and press closer. 

That thrum of aliveness begins to churn in his veins as he slowly unties the sash of your robe, allowing the fabric to fall to the side. You’re bare underneath and Logan can’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to the center of your chest. 

“You dress like this jus’ for me?” he asks, dragging his lips towards your breast and pulling a nipple into his mouth, working into a taut peak beneath his tongue.

Your fingers wind themselves into his hair, holding him close. “Yes,” you breathe, a whimper falling from your lips as he moves to your other breast. “Only for you.”

A surge of possessiveness rushes through his veins and Logan can feel the prickle between his knuckles, his claws threatening to unsheathe at the thought of you with another man. Instead, he doubles his focus onto you, his beard scraping against your skin as he licks a hot stripe across your nipple. “Damn right, only for me,” he growls. 

You shift your hips in response, seeking more friction against the hard length of his cock pressing against you. Logan groans, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips, urging you to move against him. The soft, wet heat of your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties and his slacks sets his control on a razors edge. 

Logan leans back slightly to lock eyes with you, your pupils blown wide with want, your skin flushed with desire. You find his gaze, hazy with pleasure, but focused and then you smile at him, bottom lip pinned between your teeth. 

“And you, Logan,” you whisper, your hands sliding down the column of his neck, “you’re only for me.” 

That hook you’ve lodged in him sinks deeper and he’s too far gone to care. The mystery behind your presence in his life is one he’s willing to spend the rest of his days unraveling so long as you stay right here, continuing to bewitch him with the beauty of your soul. 

Your allure was more potent than any pheromone, more intoxicating than any aphrodisiac. In his waking moments, Logan found his thoughts drifting to you more often than not and the frequency between his visits grew shorter and shorter until he found himself lured into your embrace almost every night. 

He was good at lying to himself, writing off these visits as nothing more than comfort—the need to find warmth in a world that so seldom offered him that luxury. But that lie grew bitter, warped in the liminal space between midnight and dawn where you stripped him down to his very bones, saw through the gruff and grit he wrapped himself in. Saw him as something more than the sum of his sins. 

Logan couldn’t hide from you and he didn’t know if he wanted to. Those carefully crafted walls that surrounded him cracked and crumbled, turning to dust at his feet. In that mysterious way of yours, you always knew what he needed—a warm meal; your tender, healing touch as you helped him stitch the worst of his wounds; the soft, pliant feel of your skin on his as you kissed him deep, the kind of kiss that burned like wildfire and whiskey.

God help him as your gravity pulled him in closer, your orbits circling tighter and tighter, destined for an inevitable crash. 

“What am I to you?”

Those five words root him where he stands, flaying him down to his very marrow. Logan should have expected this question, should have known that eventually you’d ask. 

He wants to tell you the truth, speak those words that burn against his tongue, begging to be said.

He wants to tell you of his need to find you when the days are long and the nights are longer. When the weariness he feels in his bones aches more than usual and seems to bleed into his very soul. 

When he needs to feel something more than the hollowness that seems to grow inside his chest. The slow carving away of his humanity that’s been scraping closer and closer to emptiness for years. 

When he needs to be wrapped in warmth and set afire by something almost like love. Like home. 

But he says none of this as he gazes over at you sitting at the kitchen table, one knee pulled up to your chest. You look small sitting there, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t seen before. 

And instead, he remains silent, praying you’ll let the conversation slide. But he knows better. 

You glance up at him, your gaze piercing straight through the heart of him and then you devastate him with three simple words. 

“I love you.”

The air punches from his lungs and for a moment it feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Your words tear through him, cutting deeper than any knife, and his hands curl into fists as you slice him open. 

“Don’t,” Logan rasps, his voice rough, barely more than whisper. He avoids your eyes, knowing that if he looks and sees the sincerity in your gaze, it’ll be his undoing. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Your voice cracks with emotion as you push away from the table, your arms wrapping around yourself. “What about those words can’t you hear?”

His jaw clenches and for every step you take closer him, he takes a half step back, as if he’s trying to distance himself from the truth beginning to swirl between you. You can’t love him. Loving someone has brought him nothing but misery and pain, loss and suffering and he’ll be damned if he drags you down that road. 

So, instead he lies, the words bitter in his mouth. 

“This ain’t love, sweatheart,” he says, gesturing between the two of you, “This is fuckin’.”

You inhale sharply between your teeth and your expression twists into disbelief, the beginning of tears welling in your eyes. “Fucking?” you bite back, your voice trembling but still firm. “You think after all these months that this is just fucking?”

Logan doesn’t answer. And he doesn’t move. He simply stands there, jaw clenched so tightly he could shatter bones. He can’t say yes. If he does that, if he voices that lie into existence, he’ll have to spend the rest of his days remembering the look in your eyes right now—destroyed. 

Your breath starts to shudder as you continue to step closer towards him. And he can feel you, warm and comforting, even though you shake with barely contained anger. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all this is,” you demand, your voice thick with emotion. “Tell me that when you come to me in the middle of the night, broken down, bloody and bruised, it’s just fucking. Tell me that when I touch you, hold you, love you, that it means nothing.” 

He remain silent. 

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “God, for someone with heightened senses, you’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” Your trembling voice matches the shake to your hands, your fury pouring off you in waves. “You really are a coward, aren’t you?”

Logan nostrils flare at the insult and he can feel the prickle of his claws between his knuckles. He knows his rage isn’t with you, but himself. And yet he can still feel his lips curl into a snarl. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he growls. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you seethe, your voice now raw, pain bleeding through every syllable. “You can’t even look me in the eye when you lie.”

His jaw clenches impossibly harder and he swears he can taste bone. Then, he finally meets your gaze head on, eyes flashing. “You think this ends well between us? You think I get to have somethin’ like this? Like you?” Logan’s voice cracks in a way that he loathes. “I can’t—”

The crack of your palm against his face is deafening. He barely moves from the impact, but emotionally you’ve landed him on his ass. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, unblinking.

Logan stands there, immobile, as he processes the sting of your slap. It doesn’t hurt, not physically. It’s the fact that you did it, the fact that you’re standing in front of him, chest heaving from the effort of your breathing as if you just ripped yourself open for him.

“Get out of my house,” you seethe, your voice softer than before, deflated.

Your words shouldn’t sting as much as they do. They shouldn’t wreck him and make him feel like he’s been ripped apart limb from limb. He should relish them, the push, the shove. He should revel in the confirmation that you’re finally seeing him for what he truly is—something undeserving of all the warmth and love you’ve given him. A stray animal that never should have been fed.

Logan swallows, his throat tight as he gives you a small nod. And then he does the only thing he knows how to do. 

He turns. And he walks.

His legs feel like lead, each step a feat and his brain is screaming at him to turn around. To fight. To beg. To plead. To say something, anything. 

But he doesn’t.

Logan exits the house, the front door slamming shut behind him. As he steps off the front step, the porch light above him clicks off, plunging the house into darkness. Your guiding light is gone, lost in the storm of his destruction.

Of all the wounds he’s ever taken, of all the scars that mar his skin, nothing has ever bled quite like this.

Charles watches with sharp eyes as Logan enters the old water tank and shuts the door behind him. The older man is in his wheelchair, tending to his plants as Logan walks around the place, picking up random bits of trash and the tray from breakfast. 

A soft “tsk” falls from Charles’ lips and echos in the small space. “Will you ever learn, Logan?” Charles’ voice seems tired, weary. 

Logan pauses and looks over at him, irritation already prickling along his skin. “Stay outta my head,” he snaps, slamming the tray down on a nearby table. 

He doesn’t need this, doesn’t want Charles sifting through his mind, seeing those pieces of you he so deeply cherishes. Pieces he doesn’t deserve. Pieces he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have within his grasp again. 

“She loves you,” Charles continues, seeming to ignore his request. 

Logan strides over to where Charles is sitting, unable to keep the ire from boiling over. He wants to sweep all the plants to the floor, destroy the one creative outlet Charles has, retaliate for the way he presses into the fresh bruises on his mind. “I’m begging you, just—”

Charles lifts the spray bottle beside him and directs the spray in Logan’s face, showering him in a fine mist of water. Logan freezes, water dripping from his face as his lips tighten in a thin line. He grits his teeth, an ache already blooming in his jaw. 

“What the fuck was that for?” he growls. 

“Are you a cat?” Charles asks, lowering the bottle. “No? Then stop being such a pussy.”

Logan stares at Charles, the vulgarity of the of man’s words leaving him temporarily speechless. He scrubs a hand down his face, wiping the rest of the water off with the sleeve of his shirt, scowl deepening. 

“You’re pushin’ it,” Logan warns. 

Charles simply smirks, finally setting the bottle down on the table. “Someone should. God knows you won’t push yourself. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Logan sucks in a sharp breath and steps back from Charles, sitting down on the bed across from him. The old metal springs groan beneath his weight. He wants a bottle of whiskey, to quiet the thoughts in his head, at least temporarily, and fall into a drunken stupor. Anything but flaying open his feelings, especially his feelings about you. 

“What are you so afraid of?” Charles asks gently. “That she’ll see all your broken pieces?”

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

Charles raises his eyebrow. “No? Logan, she’s already seen them. She knows what you are and she’s still here.”

“That’s not the point!” Logan roars, his voice echoing off the metal walls. His breathing comes out in short gasps and he knows he needs to rein himself in. Not only for himself but for Charles. It doesn’t take much to trigger a seizure these days and he doesn’t need the stress of this conversation to become a catalyst. 

Charles remains quiet, expression calm and Logan hangs his head, his voice softening into something raw. “It’s not about what she knows. It’s about who, about what, I am. I don’t deserve her.”

Bracing his elbows on his legs, Charles leans forward, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. “She knows all that, Logan. And she chooses you. Every night you come to her, she chooses you. How can you not see that?”

Logan doesn’t respond, but the weight of Charles’ words hang heavy against his shoulders. He looks down at his hands, seeing the callouses and crisscrossing scars. His body is a physical map of violence, each faded pink line a story of pain, regret and death. 

But you’ve never seen them that way. You’ve only ever looked at them with reverence, traced your fingertips along each one and wondered about their stories. Made him feel whole instead of broken and used. 

“You have a choice to make, Logan,” Charles says, interrupting the silence. “Let her in…or keep running. Don’t make her choose for you.” 

For days, Logan’s mind is plagued by replays of his last moments with you and his conversation with Charles. His already sleepless nights are further tormented by dreams of you, the devastated expression on your face haunting him.

The memory of your face, the crack in your usually steadfast voice, the tremor in your hand after you struck him. They all play in a nauseating loop in his brain, punishing him in a way he’s never felt before.

His life reverts to autopilot—drink, fight, drive, but nothing quells the gnawing ache in his chest. He couldn’t stay in the smelting plant with both Caliban and Charles staring at him, watching his every move as if he were a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Charles was running out of medications, a few days supply left at most, and Logan knew he was better off leaving Charles in Caliban’s care than his own.

Now, he sits on the edge of a dingy motel bed, the scent of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke clinging to his clothes. His eyes are dry and heavy with exhaustion and his skin is itching with that familiar want to be near you. It started as an annoying tug, but has now grown into a maddening want.

He knows he should ignore it. But he was never that strong.

Before he can talk himself out of it, convince himself that this is an astronomically stupid fucking idea, he’s on his feet, keys in hand and driving down those lonely roads towards you.

It’s late when he reaches your house, like it usually is, and he half expects the porch light to remain dark, a cold, bleak reminder of how badly he’s fucked up. Instead, he finds that single porch light illuminated, shining like a beacon of hope. Logan walks up onto the porch, but you don’t open the door like you’ve done so many times before. 

He contemplates leaving, turning around and getting back in the car and drinking himself into a semblance of sleep. But then he hears you, your heartbeat echoing beyond the wooden frame, as steady and as comforting as it’s always been. Logan pauses, wondering if he should try the knob and come inside—if you’ll even let him.

If you even should.

With a sigh, he lowers himself to the ground, his joints aching in protest as he rests his back against the door. “I’m not good at this,” he finally says, hoping you’re listening. “I’ve been alive for too long. Seen too much shit.” Logan pauses, his words burning in his throat. “I’ve lost too many people.”

He hears you shift behind him, your head thudding softly against the door as you listen. His relief is almost palpable knowing you’re there, that you’re at least willing to listen to him. Leaning back, Logan closes his eyes and exhales a heavy breath. “The only way I know how to keep people safe is to push ‘em away. And I need to keep you safe.”

The words feel foreign leaving his mouth, as if they’re uncovering a truth he’s long kept secret. He feels exposed in a way he’s not used to, raw and honest, and the truth of his words burns. Logan can still hear you on the other side of the door, your breathing slow and steady, yet laced with something—hesitation, maybe, or hurt. It makes his chest ache in a new and unfamiliar way. 

“I’m tired,” he continues, his voice softer. “I’m so fuckin’ tired, sweetheart. Tired of fightin’ when all I want—” Logan swallows hard. “All I want is you.”

The porch light hums above him, the night is alive with the chirping of crickets, but the silence that follows is almost deafening. 

Logan doesn’t deserve you, he knows that. You should turn him away, tell him to leave, to kick him back to the desert to lick his wounds alone. He doesn’t know how to be someone’s partner, their lover. He’s not sure if he ever has, really, too hung up on all the ways he paints himself as a bad man. Someone unworthy. 

Except with you, he finds himself wanting to fight. To prove he’s not as hard and unyielding as the metal bones inside him. That somewhere deep inside him there still lingers warmth and affection and the capacity to love. 

He’s bracing himself for the worst when he hears the faint sounds of the lock turning. The door creaks open and he shifts to look up at you. One of your well used blankets is wrapped around your shoulders, your hair tousled from sleep and your eyes are red and wet with unshed tears. Logan’s heart thuds heavily in his chest as you stand there and he turns to face you, pushing up onto his knees. Your expression is carefully masked, betraying little of your underlying emotions, and he carefully crawls forward, testing the waters of how close you’ll let him get.

His knees ache as he kneels on the hard concrete, but he’d crawl through glass if you asked him to. Slowly, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him as he nuzzles his face into the softness and warmth of your belly. Your comforting scent floods his senses as he waits for your anger, your rejection.

Instead, you sigh, a long pent up breath released in a steady exhale and your fingers sink into the disheveled hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close to you. “You’re an asshole,” you finally say, though your tone lacks any venom or spite.

Logan feels it then, the tension slowly easing from your body as you allow him to sink further into your frame. His heart lurches his chest, the faintest flicker of hope fluttering against his ribs.

“Yes,” he mumbles into your shirt.

“You hurt me.”

He pulls back as you gently push at his shoulders and sink down to the ground in front of him. But you don’t push him away any further and instead, lace your fingers through his. “I should tell you to fuck off,” you continue, your eyes focused on where you’re touching him. “But I can’t.”

His voice comes out in a whisper. “Why?”

Your eyes meet his and your gaze pierces straight through his soul. “You know why.”

And he does. In truth, he thinks he’s always known, long before you ever spoke those three little words out loud. Words so simple, yet so profound. Words he rarely speaks, while others casually toss them around. Words he has rarely felt, but with you feel as natural as breathing, as the sun rising in east.

Words he’s still afraid to say, despite everything, despite every cell in his body screaming at him.

You look at him like you know, because of course you do. You’ve always known him, in that uncanny way of yours since he first saw you standing in the rain. So instead of ire or disappointment at his lack of response, you simply squeeze his hand, grounding him to your reality. 

“You don’t have to say it,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady. “Not yet.”

Logan looks at you, his brows furrowed. He can’t fathom what he’s done in this life to deserve you, your patience, your unwavering belief in him. “You make it hard not to,” he finally rasps, his voice rough and uneven. “Love you, I mean.”

The admission hangs heavy in the air, raw and jagged, much like him. It’s close to what you want to hear, but not quite. And yet he sees something warm and bright blossom on your face. 

You lean in, raising your free hand to lightly trace the curve of his jaw, scratching at the scruff there. “You’re a man of action, Logan,” you say, pressing in closer, your breath mingling with his. “Wanna show me instead?”

This—this is a language he’s fluent in. 

Using his lips, tongue, hands and cock to write on your body all the words he cannot say. He’s mastered your shape, the way your hips curve beneath his palm, the softness of your belly and breasts, the heat between your thighs stoked hotter only by him. He knows exactly where to press, where to nip and suck and tease to elicit all those pretty little moans and gasps of pleasure. 

Logan’s already drawn one orgasm out of you, his fingers still thrusting against you as you ride out your high, your thighs shuddering against his forearm. You’re flushed and breathy as you reach for him, urging him up from between your thighs.  

You pull him close, fingers sinking into his hair as you lick into his mouth, not caring that your slick still stains his beard and lingers against his tongue. He swallows your gasp as he knocks your knees apart and slots himself between your legs, his cock heavy against your belly. 

He wants you. In all the ways he can think of and not just like this, naked and pliant beneath him. He wants your sleepily whispered hellos each morning and your softly murmured goodnights each evening. He wants the warm, weighty press of your body against his as you sit on the couch beside him sipping whiskey. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. 

As his kisses grow more fervent, you grow impatient and push at his chest, urging him back. “Lie back,” you command softly, your breath damp against his lips, “Let me take care of you.”

He wants to protest, deny you this request. This is supposed to be about you, about using his body to show you all the things his words can’t say. He’d spend the whole night between your thighs, using his mouth, tongue and fingers to worship if you’d let him. But there’s something in your gaze that forces him to comply and he gives in, rolling onto his back. 

You straddle his thighs, your slick cunt sliding along the length of his cock. Logan groans and his hands reach for your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he encourages you to move. “This is s’pose to be about you,” he husks as you slowly begin to rock your hips back and forth. 

“Oh, it is,” you answer, licking your lips as you brace your hands on his chest. “Who else can get you hard and needy beneath them?”

A low growl escapes from his throat. “No one.”

A wicked smile curls at your lips as you drag your heat along him, the blunt head of his cock nudging your clit with every slow, deliberate rock of your hips. The sensation has his control unraveling and he slides his hands along your thighs to palm the curve of your ass. 

You press into his touch, continuing to roll your hips as you lean forward to press an open mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw. “You see,” you murmur, “this is for me.”

Reaching between your bodies, you grasp him in your hand and line him up. Slowly, almost tortuously slow, you sink down on his cock, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. A sharp inhale escapes him as your warm, tight walls surround him and Logan knows this feels different. 

This isn’t merely fucking anymore, the melding of flesh for the pure sake of pleasure, of briefly escaping the nightmare of his life, of finding solace in sin. You’ve somehow managed to bleed yourself into him, to wrap yourself around his heart. 

You feel as if you’re a part of him, lodged deep between his ribs and that if he were to try to remove you, he’d kill himself in the process. A part of him knows this feeling has always been there, back when you first entered his limo. The feeling threatens to choke him, to fill his love soaked lungs until all he can breathe is you. 

He loves you. 

Pure and unfiltered and it terrifies him. 

“I—fuck, I,” he chokes out, the words caught in his throat. “I feel—”

Your hands run over his chest, up along his collarbones, your fingers blazing a trail over his skin. “I know, Logan,” you whisper, your hips rocking languidly against his. 

He grips your thighs, almost tight enough to bruise, helping guide your movements, but also prove to himself you’re real. Logan’s chest heaves as he watches you ride him, your hips rocking harder, faster, dragging moans out of both of you. You lean back just enough to change the angle, driving him deeper and he bucks his hips, meeting your thrusts with a force that has you crying out his name.

And yet it’s not enough. He needs to wrap himself around you, twine his fingers through your hair and hold your mouth to his until he’s completely consumed you. His hands slide up your back towards your waist and he pulls you down against him, mouth hot and insistent against your neck as he continues to fuck up into you. 

In one fluid motion, Logan grips your thighs and flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, cock still sheathed deep within your cunt. You arch beneath him as he sets a brutal, devastating pace, the raw intensity of his movements stealing short, gasps breaths from your lips with each thrust. A shiver ripples through you as he draws a nipple into his mouth, his name tumbling from you like a prayer.

“Fuck, there it is,” he growls. “I love all those little sounds you make.”

His choice of word isn’t lost on either of you and your eyes meet his as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint red crescents as you cling to him. “Logan,” you gasp, your voice trembling as he hits that soft spot deep inside you. “More.”

“You want more?” he rasps, gripping your thighs and pulling them higher around his waist. The new angle has you crying out, the sound echoing in the room as he continues to slam into you with a force that has the bed creaking beneath you.

“Ah, fuck, yes,” you moan, your head tipping back. 

Logan takes advantage of your offering, his lips and teeth marking a path down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin in a way that’s sure to leave a burn come the morning. There’s a possessiveness to his touch, a need to claim you, to prove to you that this is all he needs—your embrace, your warmth, your love.

“You’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he growls against your skin, his hand sliding down between your bodies and finding where you’re joined. He can feel himself pounding into you, your combined arousal coating his fingers as he finds your clit and begins to rub in tight circles. “So goddamn perfect. You were made for me, sweetheart, you know that?”

Your cunt flutters around him and he knows you’re close, your thrusts against him growing erratic. He feels his own impending release, but he needs you to come first, needs to feel you shatter against him. His fingers press more firmly against your clit and with a breathy moan, your body tenses, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashes into you.

“That’s it,” Logan groans, his own thrusts faltering as he feels you tighten around him, pulling him in deeper. “Look at you, comin’ so pretty for me.” He slows just enough to prolong your release, his thrusts deliberate as he draws out every ounces of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him. 

It’s overwhelming—the sensation of you beneath him, around him; the cling of your fingers to his shoulders; the warm, damp breath against his neck; the absolute perfection of this moment right now. In all his years on this earth, he’s never experienced anything like this. The desire to completely consume someone, body and soul, and be consumed return. He wants his dying breath to be your name.

Something inside of Logan snaps, and as you try and catch your breath as you come down from your high, he presses your legs higher, folding you beneath him in a way that has his cock pressing deeper than before. The change has you whimpering and he looks down to find your expression as wrecked as he feels. He pauses his thrusts just long enough to grasp both your wrists and pin them above your head before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you with an almost ruthless intensity.

“I love you,” he growls, his thrusts growing erratic, his control quickly unraveling with every whimper and cry of his name. “God, I fucking love you.”

For a few moments, he doesn’t even realized what he’s said. Then he looks down at you, your gaze trained on his face and that soft, knowing smile of yours on your lips. “Logan,” you gasp, “I know. I’ve always known.”

Logan lets out a rough, shuddering breath, his entire body trembling with the weight of his confession. Any response he has dies in his throat as he presses his forehead to yours, his entire body wound tight. He’s so fucking close, can feel his orgasm coiling hot and tight in his gut, but it’s more than your warm heat drawing him in—it’s everything. 

“Tell me,” he grits out, his hips chasing, chasing, chasing that release.

You lean up as much as you can with your hands still pinned above you and lick an open mouthed kiss against his lips. “I love you, Logan.”

And that’s all it takes. He groans into your mouth as he finally lets go, his body tensing as his release crashes into him. He spills himself deep inside you, shallowly thrusting into your cunt as his rhythm slows.

Logan releases your hands, and for a long moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing, of heartbeats slowing, the two of you tangled in the aftermath.

Logan’s restless and unable to sleep despite your smaller frame tucked alongside him, the weight of your head resting against his chest. From his periphery, he can see his phone illuminating with unread texts, no doubt from Caliban urging his return. Charles has been deteriorating faster than Logan cares to admit, his mind gone more often than not, raving about new mutants. He needs drugs faster than Logan can procure them.

His mind churns, the reality of the outside world looming closer and he contemplates slipping from your grasp when you shift, curling yourself further into him. You don’t speak, not yet, but he can tell you’re alert, floating somewhere in that space between sleep and full wakefulness. Your fingers start to move of their own accord, the gentle pressure of your fingertips tracing over an old scar along his ribs, mapping out an old battle he no longer remembers. 

Beside him, his phone buzzes again and Logan sighs.

“Sounds important,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

He wants to keep ignoring it, stay wrapped in the quiet cocoon you’ve thrown around him, but Logan knows he can’t. It’s a cruel reminder of the chaos that plagues him beyond the sanctuary of your embrace. 

“You can go to him, Logan,” you continue, fingers never stopping their slow path along his skin. “I know you’ll be back.”

“How,” he starts, licking his dry lips, “how do you always know?”

Logan’s asked versions of this question before. You’ve always brushed him off, given a coy answer and steered the conversation towards something else. For a moment, he thinks tonight will be the same.

But then you answer.

“I can feel you,” you answer softly, your breath warm and damp against his skin. “I just—” You pause and turn to look up at him and then disentangle yourself from his embrace. “Stand up,” you urge, nudging at his side until he complies.

He blinks at you in confusion, but you just smile at him, soft and sleepy, and gently cup the side of his face. “Now, close your eyes.”

Logan does as he’s told, chasing after your touch as you step back from him, settling somewhere beyond him on the bed. “I’m going to move and you tell me where I am.”

The soft rustle of bedsheets follows and then, stillness. You’re quiet, but he can sense you, just off to his right, but too far away to touch. “My right, but farther back in the room.”

You move again, keeping your movements light. Again, he pinpoints you, this time towards his left, closer, but still too far away to grasp. “Left.”

A final movement, this time even closer, your proximity flooding his senses, sending a rush of warmth down his spine. Logan reaches out, finding the curve of your hips, hands tucking underneath the shirt you had slipped on earlier in the night, splaying his palms against your back. He opens his eyes and meets your gaze, alive in the predawn glow.

“How did you know?” you ask, looping your arms around his neck.

Understanding dawns on him, the answer so simple, yet so profound. Pinpointing where you were had nothing to do with his heightened senses and everything to do with just you—the way you’ve molded yourself to him like a second skin. “I could feel you,” he answers. “I could—I just knew.”

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. Logan sighs into your mouth, his eyes fluttering close as you press your forehead to his. “It’s like that,” you whisper. “This undeniable pull, an invisible string that connects me to you and it tug, tug, tugs, until…there you are.”

His phone continues to buzz, growing more insistent as the soft blues and grays of the morning bleed into more golden hues. With a reluctance you both feel, Logan peels himself away, finally answering the phone with an irritation he doesn’t bother hiding. 

You watch him go, standing on the porch with the light casting a halo around your head. Your smile is gentle, but stained with worry and yet you remain stoic, the steady pillar holding up the fractured remains of his life.

As he drives away, he catches one last look at you in the rearview mirror and he’ll spend the next few months wishing he told you—he feels you too. 

The last one hundred miles have dragged on for eons, the road before him stretching into an almost infinite distance. Logan finds himself darting his eyes towards the dashboard clock, growing increasingly frustrated when the numbers move only a few minutes at a time, the slow passage of time seeming to taunt him. 

It’s been months since he saw you last, though no fault of his own. His memories are hazy—a swirling fog of confusion, pain and burning fever. He’s not even sure how he survived, whether it was modern medicine or sheer stubbornness. Or something more. 

You believe in fate?

Your words echo in his mind, soft and sweet, and he feels a familiar pang of longing in his chest. 

Fate or not, something kept a spark alive in him, pulsing through his veins with each sluggish beat as he slowly and painfully healed. His wounds are still pink and tender to the touch, more of his skin marred by death and destruction. 

As he turns into your subdivision, the night quiet, a cold, creeping anxiety snakes along his spine. What if you’ve given up on him? Figured this last absence was the real deal, all his idle promises of staying away finally coming to fruition. 

But as Logan drives down your street, he sees it—the single porch light illuminating in the night. Acting like the beacon it’s always been, leading him safely to land. 

To you. 

Logan pulls into the driveway and shifts the truck into park. Turning in his seat, he glances back towards the young girl curled up on the backseat. Laura’s face is relaxed in sleep, her hands tucked protectively under her chin. She fell asleep several hours ago, the soft rhythm of the tires against pavement lulling her to sleep. 

Logan’s been many things in his life. Son, brother, fighter, friend. Lover. He never thought he’d add father to that list. While he can’t quite find it in him to call himself that just yet—even though Laura readily and easily calls him dad—he no longer denies the protectiveness he feels towards her.

Easing the door to the truck open, Logan steps out and gently shuts it behind him, loathe to disturb her just yet. 

Here he is showing up at your door like he always has—late, quiet, and carrying a heavy weight he feels only he can shoulder. His hand is poised to knock, knuckles clenched, but he pauses, unsure if he even has the right to be here. 

But then there you are, the front door opening to reveal your tired but relieved face, months of worry etched into your skin, your eyes already brimming with unshed tears. 

“Logan,” you breathe, pulling him gently by the wrist and leading him inside. You don’t ask why he’s there. He suspects you already know. 

The air inside the house is just as he remembers. Warm and inviting and laced with the faint, comforting smell of you. Logan inhales deeply, letting the scent settle somewhere in the parts of him that still feel alive, that thrum with the memory of your touch. 

Your fingers still linger against his wrist and he can feel the heat radiating from your body, but you’re not close enough. And yet, he’s afraid to reach out, pull you into his arms. Afraid of the pity or obligation you’ll feel to comfort him, to allay all his fears.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently cup the side of his face, your nails scratching along his jaw. Logan flinches slightly, his body so used to pain these past months he’s almost forgotten the tenderness of your touch. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes, a ragged breath falling from his lips and his head dips forward. 

“C’mere,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then he slides his arms along your back, pulling you against him. You feel real and solid and alive pressed this close. Never one for overt physical touch, Logan’s surprised by how much he missed this—the simple act of just holding you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, his breath warm and damp against your skin. 

He doesn’t say anything, unsure where to even begin. The weight of his grief, his weariness, feels heavier than any burden he’s ever shouldered before and it’s almost desperate the way he clings to you. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. If you were to let go, he’d fall apart. 

Logan doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels the hot trail of tears against his cheeks. You run your fingers through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances as you hold him. 

“I couldn’t feel you, Logan,” you whisper into his neck. “Several days of just…nothing. I thought that—”

The words lodge themselves in your throat, but he knows what they are just the same. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, your eyes glistening with tears that match the ones rolling down his weathered face. Your expression is marred with pain, raw and unfiltered, but also with a bright flicker of relief. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice rough with emotion. “I got dragged into some bad fuckin’ shit. I almost…we—”

You quiet him with a soft brush of your fingers against his lips. “It’s okay, Logan,” you whisper. “Tell me about it later. I’m just happy you’re home.”

Home. 

Logan gaze softens at your words, but guilt gnaws at him. He doesn’t deserve this—your unwavering faith in him, the patience you’ve shown him, the light you’ve been in his dark, endless nights. But here you are, giving him everything he’s never asked for but so desperately craved. 

“C’mon,” you murmur, dragging him from his thoughts, “Let’s get you settled.”

It’s well past two in the morning by the time Logan finally carries Laura into the house, tucking her comfortably into the guest bedroom. Turning from the bed, he finds you there, leaning against the doorframe. You reach for him, in that soft, gentle way you always do, and lead him into your bedroom. 

He doesn’t protest when you sit him down at the edge of the bed and begin undressing him. Kneeling before him, you unlace his boots and peel off his socks, setting them aside. With a slight press to his knees, you force his legs wider, slotting yourself between them. 

Despite the late hour, the weariness and fatigue tugging at his bones, Logan feels his cock twitch as your fingers brush underneath the hem of his shirt. 

It’s been so long since he’s felt you. 

He dreamt of you, in those fevered moments where he didn’t know where one part of his body began or ended. When his entire existence had been boiled down to raw nerves and sluggishly knitting flesh. Through the haze of pain, he wondered if he’d ever feel your kiss again, feel the frantic press of your fingers into his shoulders, feel the warm, wet heat of your cunt stretching around him. 

You toss the shirt aside and he can feel your gaze lingering over the new scars, the pink, raised lines of flesh that are still healing. With a reverence he’s not worthy of, you trace your fingertips along the three jagged scars from where X-24 had ripped into him. 

“What happened to you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper as you move to trace more of his scars. 

Logan tells you then about Pierce and the Reavers, about Laura and the other mutant children. His throat grows tight as he continues, relaying the loss of Caliban, Charles and the Munsons, and the final confrontation between himself and his clone. 

He tells you how Laura saved him. How her and the other children brought him to safety over the Canadian border. How he spent the next months fighting with every fiber of his being to knit himself whole. 

For you. 

You lean into him as he looks away, jaw tightening as he tries to shove down the memories of everything he’s lost. Your touch is light against his face as you trace the angle of his jaw, and reach up to press the lightest of kisses against his lips. 

Logan exhales into your mouth as you kiss him again, soft and tender and warm. You seem to breathe him in, imbue life into his weary flesh and reignite the spark he’s kept alive for you. 

He wants to do more—to pull you into his arms, to taste you, to fuck into you until he can’t breathe. But exhaustion pulls heavily on his bones, threatening to sink him. 

Logan knows you can feel his hesitancy because you keep kissing him softly, punctuating each press of your lips with whispered reassurance. Your fingers card through his hair as you lean back. “Just let me hold you?” 

Your voice cracks at your request and Logan can only nod, unable to deny you. You help him shuffle out of his pants before coaxing him further into the bed. He moves slowly and he knows you don’t miss the creaking of his joints, the soft groan of discomfort. 

Coming to rest on his side, you tuck into him, throwing a leg over his hips and pulling him close. He sighs into your touch, the weight of the last few months pressing just a little bit less as you press a kiss to the hollow of his throat. 

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper into his skin, soft and damp. 

Logan feels his heart clench at your words. He’s hurt you. He knows that. Not just inadvertently with his most recent disappearance, but all the other times, too. Those times when he ran, afraid of what your words and touch meant. Afraid to accept what you’ve always so freely given. 

His hand slips under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying across your back. “You kept the light on,” he husks, unable to keep the break out of his voice.”

Your lips quirk into a soft smile. “I always will, Logan.”

[arc-misadventures]

Demon Sisters

Ren: Dammit!

Jaune: That noble bastard whore!

Ren: He told us to clear up a small cult! Two, three people tops! I've lost count of how many people I've killed!

Jaune: At least fifty three in total!

Ren: You're keeping count?!

Jaune: Yes. Fifty four!

Ren: Why?!

Jaune: Cause I'm going to make that fat noble prick pay a gold coin for every cultist we've killed! And, if he refuses, it'll be one punch per dead cultist!

Ren: We split the punches fifty fifty?

Jaune: Hell yeah we will!

Ren: Awesome! Let's do this!

~~~

Ren: Haa haa haa... What... Haa... What's the count?

Jaune: One... Ohh boy... One hundred, and seventy two...

Ren: One hundred, and seventy two gold coins, or one hundred, and seventy two punches... I'm not sure which one I want more!

Jaune: A hundred, and seventy gold coins, two punches if he refuses. Or, two for the hell of it!

Ren: Hell yeah!

Jaune: But, money aside... The hell is with this cult...? When they came running at us most of them were unarmed, little knives at the best, then they grabbed whatever weapons they found along the way.

Ren: I know cultist tend to be... fanatical... But, when they came running at us, I didn't get that fanatical zeal when they were charging towards us. It was more frantic if anything.

Jaune: Their screams... They didn't sound crazy, but... they sounded scared.

Ren: Yeah... They weren't running towards us, more like they were running away from something, and we just happened to be in their way.

Jaune: Hmm... We haven't seen any of the upper echelon, much less the cult leader, just the peons...

Ren: Yeah... Something feels wrong... Very wrong.

Jaune: Agreed. Stay on your guard, we're walking in blind.

Ren: Always.

~~~

Ren: Okay, seems to be leading to end of the little cult hideoooooooooout...

Ren: Oh...

Ren: Hey, Jaune, I figured out what the cultists were running from!

Jaune: Let me guess: They preformed a ritual to summon a being of unimaginable power to obtain unimaginable power in turn. However, the being they summoned didn't give them squat, and instead killed them all, and is just standing there gloating over a pile of bloody corpses waiting for a tag of foolish heroes to come by, and fight them?

Ren: Yes. But, the being they summoned was a demon.

Jaune: Typical summoned creature during a cult ritual. Shame though, I was hoping for an eldritch monster personally, I'm tired of dealing with demons.

Ren: Yeah, but uhh... There's... There's two demons instead of one.

Jaune: Peachy.

Ren: But, uhhh...?

Jaune: What's uhhh?

Ren: Well...

Jaune: What's, 'Uhhh?'

Jaune: Oh... They're, 'Uhhh.'

Ren: Uhhh... Shit...

Jaune: That's one way to say it.

: Oh? What's this? Look sister! A group of adventures are here to kill us~!

: Adventurers? Maybe we'll be able to have some fun dealing with these two than those pathetic little cultist.

Jaune: Uhh... W-We're just here to deal with the cultists.

Ren: And, we're told they're just be two cultists not... What's the final count?

Jaune: Two hundred, and thirteen.

Ren: Two hundred and thirteen cultist, and two demons wasn't in out contract!

Jaune: And, we don't get hazard pay for this either!

Ren: Since when have we ever gotten hazard pay?

Jaune: Exactly! So, we're just going to go.

Ren: See you later!

: Uh uh uh!

Ren: They've blocked the exit...

Jaune: Cue the boss music...

: The cultists didn't sacrificed enough to myself, and my sister for us to remain in the material world for a few more hours. So while we're here we would like some... Entertainment~!

Jaune: Boss music intensifies...

Ren: Alright then! Bring it!

: Ahahah~! Sheath your weapons, we're not interested in any fight. Well, I can't speak for my sister, I'm more interested in something else~!

Ren: She's looking at you.

Jaune: I can tell, Ren.

: Tell me, Sir Knight, what is your name?

Jaune: My name is Jaune Arc! Paladin of the order of the Summer Maiden!

: A paladin?!

: Of the Summer Maiden~?

Jaune: Now, I've told you my name, what are yours?

: Oh how rude of me, my name is Bleiss, Demon of the Ashen Snow. And this is my sister...

: My name is, Weiss, Demon of the Frozen Snow!

Bleiss: And, I think dear sister, we have found our... Entertainment~!

Weiss: Indeed we did sister~!

Jaune: ...

Ren: ...

Jaune: They're talking about...

Ren: They're talking about you, yes.

Jaune: Alright...

Ren: Okay, ladies! I'm going to leave, I'll leave my friend here with you. Try not to break them, Jaune.

Jaune: Should you be saying that to them about me?

Ren: Jaune, what happened to that, Greater Demon we met?

Jaune: She gave me her card?

Ren: She went away with a lim… She gave you her card?!

Jaune: Yeah, it's a summing card incase I want to...

Ren: Smash?

Jaune: Yeah...

Ren: ...

Ren: Okay, I'm going, I’ll see you later at the bar after I beat up that noble.

Jaune: Okay, see you later, Ren!

Jaune: Okay so... How do you want to do this ladies~?

Weiss: Hold on, you slept with a greater demon?

Bleiss: And she gave you a 'booty call card~?'

Jaune: Uhh... yeah...

Bleiss: Oh my, that's certainly an achievement~!

Weiss: Tell us, what was this greater demons name~?

Jaune: W-Willow the Greater Demon of the Ember Snow.

Bleiss: W-Willow the Greater Demon...?

Weiss: Of the Ember Snow...?

Jaune: Uhh... Yeah, that's the one.

Bleiss: That's our mom...

Jaune: She's you're what...?

Weiss: You fuck our mom...

Jaune: I did what?!

Bleiss: And, you got her card...?

Jaune: Seriously, Willow is your mother?

WB: ...

WB: DIBS!!!

Jaune: Whoa hey?!

[lvlybin]

hello! could i request a zb1 reaction to watching a horror movie with reader? tysm!!

cw mentions of death, gore, demons, killers... the normal horror movie stuff

✉️ honestly, each of the boys are scaredy-cats and that episode of camp zerobaseone with the haunted house is further proof

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓙iwoong ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

     When you and Jiwoong have movie nights, you’re usually the one picking the movie. You’re his first priority, so whatever you want to watch, he’ll gladly watch as well. Considering how much you love him, it only makes sense that you do the same for him. That’s what you have to keep telling yourself as the horror movie he picked out plays on the large TV screen in your living room. That’s not to say you hate horror movies, but the one you were watching was definitely going to make it a bit difficult to fall asleep that night. You were a big girl, though. If Jiwoong wanted to watch a horror movie, you’d watch one with him. 

     Another jumpscare of whatever slasher is chasing the main characters occurs on the screen, making you yelp and jump a little, sending you further into Jiwoong’s arms. Thankfully, he’d been holding you since the beginning of the movie. As he laughs at your reaction, you groan. 

     “You did this to torture me,” you grumble, resting your head on his shoulder as you turn your eyes back to the movie.

     Your words pull another laugh from the dark-haired man you’re cuddled with: "I can only watch so many rom-coms, darling.” You don’t bother responding to that because, yes, you did pick rom-coms a lot, but Jiwoong never complained about them. Your eyes stay glued on the screen as this chase scene continues, only for another jumpscare to pop up. It almost frustrates you that you react to it again.

     “Jumpscares shouldn’t be allowed to be back-to-back like that…” you mumble, curling up closer to your boyfriend. 

     “Maybe we should watch more horror movies then,” Jiwoong suggests, and when you tilt your head up to look at him, his dark brown eyes are already on you. “More excuses to have you in my arms.” 

     “You know all you have to do is ask–”

      Jiwoong’s fingers gently brush against your chin, making you turn your head back to the screen. “Pay attention,” he says before pressing a soft kiss to your temple, “I’ll protect you.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗ao ﹙𝔃.﹚ㅤ

     You lay back on the couch, your head in Hao’s lap as he scrolls through movie options. Tonight was supposed to be a date night for the both of you, a cute little festival that was taking place in Seoul, but unfortunately, the weather had other plans. Outside your apartment, rain poured down heavily, soft rumbles of thunder sounding out against the night sky every now and then.

     “You know what fits this weather?” you ask Hao, folding your hands on your stomach as you watch the remote flick through film options. Your boyfriend hums softly in acknowledgement, telling you that he’s listening. “A horror movie.”

     “A horror movie?”

     It was a bit out of character for you, but you were in the mood to get scared. “Yeah, why not?” The search bar on the TV is highlighted as Hao begins to search for that specific genre. 

     “Any specific one?”

     You shake your head against his lap. “You pick.”

     Hao sighs softly above you, his free hand moving to play with your hair while he reads through the descriptions of the films. Finally, after much deliberation, he settles on a horror movie to watch. Only to talk the whole time. Not that you minded; you thought it was adorable how your boyfriend just had to share every thought and opinion he had while you both spent some quality time together. Not to mention, every little thing that Hao said was extremely entertaining. But to say the least, it made the movie much less scary.

     “That doesn’t even look like real blood,” Hao says, his voice slightly muffled against your shirt. You’d both settled down after selecting which movie to watch, and your boyfriend had fallen into your side, resting his head against your chest while he kept the blanket pulled up around you both.

      “I would hope it’s not real blood.”

“Well, obviously, but it takes away from really immersing the viewers in the story…” he trails off, and you can hear the pout in his voice. He’s silent for a moment, enjoying the way your hands play with the fluffy strands of his hair, until one of the characters meets their end. Instead of jumping or getting scared like he’s supposed to though, Hao furrows his eyebrows in confusion, “Please, this doesn’t even make any sense…”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗anbin ﹙𝓼.﹚ㅤ

     “Ahh, I can’t look!” Hanbin’s hand flies over his eyes again, and you scramble to pull it away. Your boyfriend’s reactions were always the best to see, he was the most animated person you knew, so you’d had the brilliant idea to watch a horror movie with him. You just didn’t anticipate how scared he would get. When you manage to pry his hand away from his eyes, he’s quick to cover them again with his other hand.

     “Hanbin!” you cry out, the movie forgotten as you giggle at your boyfriend. “Bin… If you don’t want to watch this, we don’t have to.” 

     At your words, he’s quick to uncover his eyes, looking at you with his warm, brown irises. “No, no, I want to watch.”

     “I don’t want you to be so scared to the point where you’re not watching,” you say, still smiling a little at how cute this man can be. Hanbin’s quick to shake his head, instead leaning into your side. The sheets of your bed are pulled up tightly around you both, making you feel cozy despite the scary movie that’s playing on the TV in your bedroom. 

     Hanbin, even though he has amazingly obvious reactions, is good at hiding things. When his lips lift in the corners a little, you know that he’s been faking being overly scared. “I won’t be scared if you hold me…” You fight the urge to laugh.

     “You’re something else, Sung Hanbin.” But still, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, the comforting weight of his body settling over yours. You both are quiet for a moment, focused on the movie as the music sets the mood of suspense. “You’d tell me if you were actually scared, though, right?”

     “Who says I’m not scared?” 

     “Hanbinnn–” He cuts you off with a fake little scream as a jumpscare occurs on the screen. He turns to look at you, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted just a bit. He’s still pretending to be scared.

     “See? I’m terrified,” he says, an adorable pout on his lips as he tilts his head back to the movie. “Which means you need to hold me.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓜atthew ﹙𝓼.﹚ㅤ

     In your hand, you have two tickets to the most recent horror movie that has been released. The other one of your arms is linked with Matthew’s as the two of you walk through the hallways of the movie theater, trying to find the theater for your designated showing time. “You excited?” Matthew asked, cradling the bucket of popcorn you’d be sharing in his free arm. 

     He’d been talking about going to see this movie since it’d come out, and it only made sense for you to go with him. He was definitely more excited to see the horror movie than you were, though. “As long as there’s no gore, I think I’ll be fine.”

     “It’s not supposed to be too gore-y, more of a psychological thriller.”

     Matthew reaches for the door of the theater, letting you inside the dark room first before following you inside. You quickly find your seats, lifting the arm between the chairs so you can cuddle into your boyfriend’s side. “If you’re excited, I’m excited,” you say softly into the mostly empty room. The two of you had decided to go later at night so there would be fewer people in the theater. 

     The movie eventually starts as you and Matthew share the popcorn, and you surprisingly find yourself getting into the movie more and more as it continues. Sure, some moments freak you out a little and cause you to lean into Matthew’s side, but overall, you find yourself enjoying the film. When you glance over at Matthew, he seems to be enjoying it too. There isn’t a hint of fear on his face, though.

     As expected, when the two of you leave the theater, he’s quick to gush about how good the movie was. You listen as your boyfriend praises each of the plot lines and the acting, even talking a little bit about the cinematography.

     “Since when are you such a movie buff?” you ask him as the cool night air hits your face.

     Matthew shrugs as one of his arms wraps around your shoulders, “I can appreciate art when I see it.” When you look at him, he’s suggestively looking back at you, making you laugh. “My only critique, though, was that it could’ve been scarier–”

     “It was plenty scary, Matt.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓣aerae ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

     The two of you are curled up around each other as you sit on your couch. All of the lights in your living room are off as the horror movie plays on the screen. Your best friend had recommended that you watch this movie, but so far, you hated it. And it seemed like your boyfriend would agree with you. 

      Another yelp leaves you both as the slasher catches up to one of the characters. Taerae’s hands grip your shirt tightly as you tuck your face into his neck. After the initial fear wears off, the two of you laugh. “I’m glad you’re as scared of these movies as I am,” Taerae sighs as you slowly look at the screen again. Thankfully, you’d missed whatever death scene had just played. 

     “We’re both wimps,” you joke as Taerae sucks in a breath between his teeth when one of the characters trips and falls. 

     “At least we’re trying.”

     You both chuckle softly at Taerae’s words, “Is it trying if we look away during every scary part?” 

     “Definitely,” Taerae mumbles as he squeezes your sides. “Just never make me watch one of these again.”

     Both of you continue watching, almost unable to look away again as the chase scene plays out. “Do you think you would survive this?” you ask your boyfriend in an attempt to distract the both of you from the building suspense and continuous jumpscares. Taerae shakes his head, slightly ruffling your hair since his cheek is pressed against your head.

     “No. I’m not agile enough to run for this long through a forest.” He pauses as there’s a slight pause in the build-up of the movie, subconsciously pressing himself closer to your side. “I don’t understand how they haven’t been caught yet.”

     “Plot armor,” you reply, pulling the blanket further up around the two of you like a shield from the fictional killer. Both of you watch, on edge, as the characters scramble to get to safety only as the slasher appears out of nowhere again. Taerae’s cry of surprise blends with the screams from the characters as he falls for another jumpscare. You hear him huff before he shifts a little, grabs the remote, and abruptly turns the movie off.

     “We can finish it when it’s not nighttime.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓡icky ﹙𝓼.﹚ㅤ

     It almost annoys you how unaffected Ricky is by the horror movie you’re watching. Usually, you don’t have a problem with the genre, but something about this movie was really freaking you out. But your boyfriend is unaffected as ever. Like he’s watching a lighthearted comedy instead of a horror movie focusing on a demon. 

     Ricky simply sits on the couch with you, an arm over your shoulders as he keeps you snug against his side. He doesn’t react to any of the jumpscares, doesn’t cover his eyes when the horrifying monster appears on screen or when there are moments of gore. At least he doesn’t make fun of you for falling for those scary moments. 

     It’s late at night when the credits roll, and you’re wondering how you’re going to sleep.

     “Time for bed?” Ricky asks as he turns the TV off. You sit there for a moment; the living room is mostly dark now without the light of the TV. Your boyfriend tilts his head towards you after you’re quiet for a few beats of his heart. “You okay?”

     “Did that movie not scare you?”

     Ricky shrugs as he turns to face you even more, pulling you into his arms, your head resting against his chest, “It’s not real, YN, I remind myself of that.”

     You huff, inhaling the smell of his cologne and the laundry detergent the two of you use. It’s comforting. “It’s still scary.” You feel him smile against your hair before he presses a soft peck to the top of your head.

     “Scary?” Ricky’s voice has a teasing tone. “Are you scared?”

     You grumble against the fabric of his shirt, causing Ricky to let out a small chuckle. He kisses your head again. “I don’t think you’d protect me against a monster like that,” you mumble.

      Ricky lets out a mock-offended gasp, “You have that little faith in me?”

      You bite back a laugh. “You’d save yourself first–”

      “With that much doubt in your loving, caring boyfriend, maybe you deserve it.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖yuvin ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

     Gyuvin usually had large reactions to things. Mostly with his words, but with his body as well. You’d known that even before you’d started dating him, and you’d thought it was charming. But in moments like these, it made it difficult for you to focus. Another jumpscare pops up on your TV screen, and in response, Gyuvin is throwing himself over your lap. Maybe it’s an attempt to look away from the scene, but it seemed like more of an excuse for him to lay on you.

     “Gyu,” you manage to get out, his arms squeezing your middle tightly, “Gyu, I can’t see.” And you really can’t, not with his shoulder blocking the TV from how he’s curled himself over your body. Sometimes, he reminds you of a puppy who doesn’t realize how big it is. Reluctantly, Gyuvin pulls away from you, settling back into the bed next to you.

     He sighs. It’s rare for him to be able to sit through an entire movie, but you had already begun watching this horror movie before Gyuvin came into your bedroom. So really, you weren’t watching it together; he’d simply joined you about halfway through. And now, he was trying to get your attention.

     “Wait, who’s this guy again?” Gyuvin asks as one of the main characters appears on the screen. Currently, the main characters were beginning some kind of investigation in their house that was quite obviously haunted. 

      You sigh. “Do you want me to start the movie over?”

      Gyuvin grins, but he shakes his head. “You’re already so far along. I’ll just look up the plot so I can catch up…” 

      So, you continue watching the movie while your boyfriend pulls out his phone to search up the Wikipedia page of the movie. After a moment, you hear him gasp. “What?” you ask, slightly worried at his sudden reaction. And before you can stop him, the ending of the movie is spilling out of his mouth.

      “Gyuvinnn,” you groan, going to pause the movie. There was no point in finishing it now, not when your boyfriend just spoiled the ending.

      “Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t look that sorry. Not with the way he’s smiling. Gyuvin didn’t mind watching horror movies, but he would much rather have all of your attention on him.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖unwook ﹙𝓹.﹚

     Your eyes drooped from exhaustion as you cuddled with Gunwook. It was normal for you to feel sleepy after only a few moments of lying with your boyfriend, his warm body and strong arms making you feel safe enough to begin to feel drowsy. Tonight, though, it’d been barely thirty minutes since Gunwook had arrived, and you falling asleep wasn’t going to do. 

     “YNie,” Gunwook says gently, rubbing your arm a little to try and get you to wake up. “Let’s watch a movie, hmm?”

     When he’d said that, you expected him to put on something funny or one of the shows you’d begun watching together. But no, Gunwook decided to put on one of the scariest movies he could find. Suddenly, you weren’t feeling sleepy at all. You hadn’t moved from your spot against his side, but now, you were scared to close your eyes in fear of the monster that was terrorizing the characters appearing behind your eyelids.

     Gunwook didn’t seem bothered, though. He was definitely enjoying the movie, judging by the way his eyes were glued to the screen. It was hard to scare Gunwook with a film because he would never picture himself in place of the characters. Therefore, he found them more entertaining than scary. You bury your face into his neck. You would try to fall back asleep again if it weren’t for the movie playing in the background with the music that only added to the horror element. 

     The sound of one of the characters screaming has you looking back at the TV that Gunwook is so entertained by. It was almost envy-worthy how by the time the movie’s over, your boyfriend is still perfectly fine as if he hadn’t watched the same terrifying movie as you. You press your face into his neck again.

     “Wook,” you mumble against his skin, “Why’d we watch something so scary?”

     “Needed to wake you up somehow,” he chuckles.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓨ujin ﹙𝓱. ﹚ㅤ

     Yujin hated scary movies. After watching one, it would be the only thing on his mind for the rest of the week, especially if he was in the dark. However, after talking with his Gyuvin-hyung, Yujin was convinced that a horror movie would be the best way to get you to cuddle with him for the first time. But he was seriously starting to regret going to his hyung for advice.

     The horror movie plays on screen while Yujin and you share a blanket, only your knees brushing. Honestly, Yujin’s afraid to look away from the screen in fear of the demon terrorizing the characters somehow getting out of the TV while he’s not looking. That, and you still don’t seem scared. He could put himself through this torture for you, though. Or at least, in hopes of getting some cuddles from you. 

     But it doesn’t seem like you’re going to get scared any time soon. Unlike him, you seem like you’re genuinely enjoying the movie. Even if you do have a few jumps every now and then, they aren’t into Yujin’s arms. This wasn’t anything like Gyuvin said it would be. You can do this, Yujin has to remind himself not to turn off the movie. And when you glance over at him, Yujin still can’t pull his eyes away from the screen. It’s like he can feel the concern grow in your eyes.

     “Yujin? Are you okay?”

     He makes a small sound that’s almost a whimper as another jumpscare happens on the screen. “Y-yeah, I’m great,” he manages to get out. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees your brows furrow. 

     “Are you sure? You look… terrified.”

     His heart drops, and a little bit of panic goes through him. What would you think of him if you knew he was scared because of a horror movie? Yujin swallows harshly as he gathers the courage to finally meet your eyes. “Can I be honest?” You nod your head in encouragement. “I only put on a horror movie so you would… um, cuddle with me.” 

     The last part is rushed and quiet, so you lean a little closer. “Huh?”

     Yujin’s face warms, “I only put on a horror movie so maybe you would get scared and have me comfort you and we would, you know, cuddle.”

      Your heart softens at his words as the corners of your mouth lift into a smile. “Well,” you say as you lean into your side, “Maybe I can comfort you with some cuddles since you’re the one who’s scared.”

[mxntalbrxakdanc]

I GOT INTO THE VOID STATE ON MY FIRST TRY.

OKAY IM PROBABLY GOING TO TALK A LOT BUT IGNORE

let’s get into it:

first, i learned about the void state about three month ago, through some TikTok and shifters talking about it. at first, i didn’t really payed attention, but this morning (Europe timeline) i saw Alunir’s meditation to enter it.

i got interested, and tried.

the meditation worked perfectly, i was shocked how easy it was.

slowly, i felt Alunir’s voice going more far from me, like i was leaving my own body ? and i knew i fully got into the void state when I couldn’t hear the tv my brother was watching next to me at full volume. i got so scared, but then said to myself “yk what? fu.k it, i’m letting go of everything.” and then felt like i didn’t have a body anymore, i was just a bubble in the void. i was confused, bc at first i didn’t knew much about the void state, only what it was and its benefits.

i felt so good, relaxed, i just wanted to stay there a few minutes or hours. i didn’t have a name, last name, identity, NOTHING. just the bubble (like tiny thing/my mind) , and the void. it was like i had a break from my life, from everything, like no one could be here to disturb me, nothing. i didn’t thought about time, i just felt so free i stayed there a long time.

after this, i decided to back to this reality to write what i “lived”, so happy. i affirmed i was back here, then slowly felt back my body and heard the tv my brother was watching. i opened my eyes, and i was back.

i’m SURE i didn’t just “sleep” or “dream” because my brother told me i only closed my eyes for a second, like it just was a blink when i was in the void state for 30min +

anyway, i’m so happy, and i can confirm it’s as easy as the people says it is, like REALLY.

thank you for reading, have a good day!!<3

[wisteria-lodge]

The cursed job is one of my favorite examples of HP worldbuilding, developing. In book one, Quirrell is described:

“Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some first-hand experience. . . . They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where’s me umbrella?”

"Scared of his own subject" means scared of the subject Hagrid knows he teaches, and was "studying out of books" before he went to get some practical experience with dark creatures. Like he was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. That's why he took a defense-themed sabbatical. I know JKR has said in interviews that Quirrell only spent that one year teaching DADA, and before that taught muggle studies, but that's a ret-con that really only raises more questions. Also it would have Voldemort like... double cursing himself in Book 1, which is kind of funny. Like your health's pretty delicate, just let Quirrell teach Muggle Studies.

In Book 2 it's - "People [are] startin’ ter think it’s jinxed. No one’s lasted long fer a while now." (versus the 'one year or less' deadline we eventually land on. Like I think if there were 25+ DADA profs, people wouldn't be *starting* to think anything)

In Book 3 there are "rumors that the job was jinxed"

In Book 5 Fred and George talk about "what’s happened to the last four [DADA professors]." (when they should have been there to see six come and go, if they really do only last a year.)

It's only in Book 6 where we get the curse's final form. “That job’s jinxed. No one’s lasted more than a year. [said Harry]" Confirmed later on by Dumbledore, who says "You see, we have never been able to keep a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for longer than a year since I refused the post to Lord Voldemort."

And all I can say is that, when I wrote "I get the sense that in the text, Snape’s tragic backstory is not meant to explain his bad behavior so much as it is meant to excuse it," what I mean is - his backstory absolutely does get into/explain why he acts the way he does around Lupin, Harry, Dumbledore, and it definitely makes some of the actions he takes make more sense. (Like staying at Hogwarts.) But it doesn't go far enough for me. Harry, okay I'll buy that, but why does he bully Neville, and the others. The narrative just moves on from that, and it's not like we have a moment later on when Neville connects his experiences in class to how Snape runs the castle as headmaster or something.

This is why I do think there's a bit of a short-cut aspect to Snape's backstory. I get it, JKR didn't have the space to do a deep dive on the psychology of why Snape bullies his students, so instead - she goes broad strokes. He had a tough childhood... and you know, his heart was in the right place the whole time. Which at least to me, falls more into the category of excusing, without explaining.

Since you’ve talked about Molly and Draco, can you talk about Snape as well? When you said that there was a disconnect with Snape’s character I honestly wasn’t sure if you meant the audience was supposed to like him more or less than they actually do.

This is a complicated one, because Book 1-3 Snape and Book 5-7 Snape are written so differently that I actually want to talk about them as two separate characters. 

Book 1-3 Snape… kind of sucks. Maybe he sucks in a way you find funny (which I completely get. A lot of comedy - especially British comedy - revolves around finding the humor in really *mean* people. Snape is *written* to be funny in a dry, acerbic, Roald Dahl kind of way.) But maybe Snape sucks in a way that’s not fun for you, he’s just upsetting and cruel. Either way, he’s petty, unfair, a bully, completely unreasonable, and doesn’t really appear to have any redeeming qualities. Snape protects Harry in Book 1 only because James Potter saved his life and, according to Dumbledore:  

“Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt. . . . I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father’s memory in peace. . . .” 

Later on, Snape’s motivation will become “Protect Harry because you couldn’t protect Lily.” But there’s no hint of that here.

I actually think it’s very likely that ‘Snape was in love with Lily’ is a plotline added during Book 4, because 1-3 Snape’s motivation is so completely focused on JAMES. He hates Harry because he looks like James, he hates James because (according to Lupin) he’s “jealous, I think, of James’s talent on the Quidditch field.” Within the context of the series it’s easy to say that Lupin is lying, and with good reason… but in the context of the first three books, I think that’s just meant to be true? Snape, as we know, is a stealth quidditch hooligan the way McGonagall is. Also… James’ characterization shifts around. He’s not a bully in the first three books, he’s Head Boy… and that Head Boy thing doesn’t quite gel with what we hear from Sirius later: 

“No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.”

(I know JKR plans things out in advance, but she absolutely does change things on the fly. Arthur Weasley not getting killed by Nagini is an easy example that we definitely know about. And come on - the entire last book is a Deathly Hallows fetch-quest. Was there really no way to slip in a reference to Beedle the Bard - or a super-powerful semi-mythical wand - anywhere in the first six books?) 

So, in books 1-3, there's no hint that Snape is a potion prodigy, particularly powerful, or even particularly clever. He wrote a logic puzzle and “knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts.” But that’s it. “Potion Master” isn’t an advanced rank, it’s just the posh British boarding school way of saying “teacher.” (Like headmaster = head teacher.) Early Snape is also a lot more *emotional* than he is later on, when his ability to “Master yourself!... control your anger, discipline your mind!” becomes extremely plot relevant. Like, can you picture 5-7 Snape (or Alan Rickman, who plays a distinctly later-books Snape) doing any of this? 

Snape was beside himself. “OUT WITH IT, POTTER!” he bellowed. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”  “Professor Snape!” shrieked Madam Pomfrey. “Control yourself!”  “See here, Snape, be reasonable,” said Fudge. “This door’s been locked, we just saw —”  “THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!” Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth.  “Calm down, man!” Fudge barked. “You’re talking nonsense!”  “YOU DON’T KNOW POTTER!” shrieked Snape. “HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT —”

In Movie 3, Snape gets a cool protective moment where he shoves the kids behind him during the werewolf attack. In Book 3, Snape is unconscious during the entire werewolf attack because Harry, Ron and Hermione simultaneously decide he’s too dangerous, and too much of a liability to keep around. Here are are some bangers from Book 3 Snape: 

- “Don’t ask me to fathom the way a werewolf’s mind works.”   - “KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!” Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged. “DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” - “Up to the castle?... I don’t think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They’ll be very pleased to see you, Black . . . pleased enough to give you a little Kiss, I daresay. . . .”  - “I’ll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will have a Kiss for him too —”

If you sort of squint you can maybe say - okay, maybe this is a PTSD response. Like I’m writing a Snape POV fic right now, you can make it work. But it’s not work the books do for you, and it’s not the characterization choice they make in the films. 

BUT. Snape goes through a little bit of a revamp/retcon in Book 4. It’s totally deliberate - he’s Book 1-3 Snape at the beginning, then he basically vanishes from the narrative… the reader kind of forgets about him…  until it comes up during Karkaroff’s trial that Dumbledore ABSOLUTELY trusts him, even though he was a Death Eater. So now when Snape turns up at the climax - he’s a figure of intrigue, and it makes sense that he’s one of the two people Dumbledore brings with him to deal with Barty. Honestly, it’s a pretty cool magic trick. We buy it when - instead of hissing and spitting and hopping around like he does when he confronts Fudge at the end of Book 3 - Book 4 Snape deals with Fudge like this: 

Snape strode forward… pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled.  “There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. (...) This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance.”

Calm, collected, focused. This is a character who you’re supposed to take seriously, a character who you are supposed to respect. 

I think it’s very interesting that after Book 4, we don’t see Snape *bully* the students during class again. He’s strict, and he’s a hard grader, and Harry still thinks he’s unfair, but like… the narrative framing is on his side now. 

“Tell me, Potter,” said Snape softly, “can you read?”  Draco Malfoy laughed.  “Yes, I can,” said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand.  “Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter.”  Harry squinted at the blackboard(… ) His heart sank. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes.  “Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?” “No,” said Harry very quietly.  “I beg your pardon?” “No,” said Harry, more loudly. “I forgot the hellebore...”  “I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco.” The contents of Harry’s potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron. “Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing.” (...)  “That was really unfair,” said Hermione consolingly, sitting down next to Harry  (...) “Yeah, well,” said Harry, glowering at his plate, “since when has Snape ever been fair to me?”

Like he isn’t nice, but he also isn’t asking Harry questions he can’t possibly know the answers to, threatening to kill someone’s pet, or calling Hermione ugly. He didn’t even take away house points. And - during the next lesson, we are told that the approach Snape took with Harry actually worked?

Determined not to give Snape an excuse to fail him this lesson, Harry read and reread every line of the instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them. His Strengthening Solution was not precisely the clear turquoise shade of Hermione’s but it was at least blue rather than pink, like Neville’s, and he delivered a flask of it to Snape’s desk at the end of the lesson with a feeling of mingled defiance and relief. 

I want to do one more close read, on a excerpt from Book 5: 

Harry realized how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match. (...)  Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Harry and Ron and said grimly, “I’ve become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, boys, and I really don’t want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practice, won’t you?” Snape was no less obviously partisan: He had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast that they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-Thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eyewitnesses who insisted that they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx.

This has a very similar structure to the sequence when Snape refuses to punish Draco for enlarging Hermione’s teeth. Slytherins and Gryffindors having an altercation, Gryffindor girl gets caught in the crossfire. BUT a few key things have been changed. One - the section is told in second-hand narration, which makes it less emotional than the teeth-scene. Two - the section begins with comparing Snape to McGonagall: she’s being biased/helping out her students too, so it’s only fair if he does it as well. Three - his insult isn’t “Your face has always looked like that,” it’s “You must have messed up a spell,” which is a lot less personal, and a lot less mean. (If anything, Snape is subtly insulting her for casting a cosmetic charm/being too girly… and being a girly-girl is an inherently suspect characteristic in JKR’s world.) Everything about this passage is set up to create a “Snape the Bully” moment… that kind of excuses Snape. 

So, what do we have? There are the people that think Book 1-3 Snape just went too far, and you can soften the narrative framing around him, and you can add in as many tragic backstories as you want, and it doesn’t really matter. THAT is definitely not what JKR wants you to think. She wants to bring you along for the ride, and (as you can tell from the framing) she's started to like Snape a lot.

HOWEVER. I do not think that the fan who likes 5-7 Alan Rickman Snape is… quite seeing the same thing she is. I get the sense that in the text, Snape’s tragic backstory is not meant to *explain* his bad behavior so much as it is meant to *excuse* it. He stays mean and bad-tempered… but he’s allowed to be, both because he is always acting in service to a Good Cause, and because he was abused at home, bullied at school, etc. A big part of why I think JKR likes writing Snape so much (and why she’s so protective of him) is because she finds something cathartic in letting a character be nasty… but for it to be allowed because they’ve suffered, and also because they're in the right. Sadly I think this describes a lot of her current online interactions. 

JKR also loves the idea of *pining.* (It is crazy how long the main characters’ pining/longing/will-they-won’t-they thing in the Cormoran Strike books has lasted.) It’s a very safe kind of romance, and (again, sadly) you can tell from her writing that romance is not generally something that feels safe to her. Snape is sometimes characterized by those who dislike the character as an incel-type who wants to possess Lily, and I just don’t think that’s in the text. If anything it’s the other way around. Snape has some unconsummated, medieval courtly love thing going on, where he has decided to live his life in Lily’s service. 

I wrote about why I think Draco Malfoy (unintentionally) appeals to fans. With Snape…  I actually think a lot of his current (unintentional) appeal comes from the way a softer Snape reframes the narrative into something more complex, and especially the way it reframes Dumbledore. Manipulative/Morally Grey Dumbledore is a *very* popular fan interpretation, and the way you get that is with a sympathetic Severus Snape. 

“You disgust me,” said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to shrink a little. (...)  “Hide them all, then,” he croaked. “Keep her — them — safe. Please.”  “And what will you give me in return, Severus?”  “In — in return?” Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, “Anything.”

The implications here are really far reaching. Because to me, the main question when it comes to Snape is - why does he STAY at Hogwarts? He clearly hates it, why doesn’t he just leave? If you’re talking about 1-3 Snape, it's because he’s eternally holding out for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, and he’s just kind of a twisted miserable guy who would probably be equally miserable everywhere. 

But books 5-7 add the context that he’s brilliant, he’s brave, he’s principled, he’s got a sense of humor. He seems close with the Malfoys. He has *options.* So now the (unintended?) implication is… he doesn’t leave because Dumbledore won’t let him. The fact that he keeps applying for the DADA job becomes dark and borderline suicidal when we learn it’s cursed, and that Snape knows it’s cursed. If he takes it, he’ll leave (or die) at the end of the year. That means, every year, he’s tacitly asking Dumbledore “Can I leave?” And Dumbledore is answering “No.” 

That’s such an interesting, juicy character dynamic. Snape is being kept miserable on purpose because… he’s easier to control that way? And if that’s true… then oh boy is it sinister that Dumbledore left Harry with the Dursleys. He knew he was raising Harry “like a pig for slaughter” (as Snape puts it.) And if Harry doesn’t have a support system, if he’s miserable, if Dumbledore can swoop in as his savior… then doesn’t that make him so much easier to control?