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Harrison Ford and Ke Huy Quan at the 2023 Academy Awards
#no you don't understand#i need this moment burned into my memory#it's honestly adorable#literally squealing#indiana jones#indiana jones and the temple of doom#temple of doom#short round#harrison ford#ke huy quan#everything everywhere all at once#eeaao#waymond wang#oscars#oscars 2023#academy awards 2023#academy awards#steven spielberg#film#acting#harrison tries to give him the oscar#but he's like no the producer#oh my heart#i don't care that they're low quality gifs#this moment means everything to me
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Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:
She'd rebuild itâwhat she had been.
Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.
Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."
"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.
"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."
"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.
Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.
Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.
At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.
In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.
She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.
Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."
A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.
She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."
Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."
"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."
Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.
"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."
"I do know."
"And?"
"And what do you wish me to say?"
She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. IfâŚ"
"If what?"
"If you wish it wasn't so."
His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"
She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.
It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.
"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."
She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.
"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."
She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."
"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"
"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just âŚ.." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."
"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."
"Then it is her choice, not yours."
Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."
"What did she show you?" A breathless question.
Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have beenâif there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."
She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."
His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"
She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.
Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."
She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.
"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.
"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."
A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requiresâ"
"We'll face it together," he swore again.
"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.
Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."
"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."
She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.
"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."
She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.
She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"
"I thought you might want to be asked first."
"That never stopped you before."
"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.
She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."
He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.
"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."
The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.
"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.
Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.
Together.
#Chapter 41#Kingdom of Ash#Sarah J. Maas#Aelin Galathynius#Rowan Whitethorn#Rowaelin#soulmates#mates#spoilers and notes in tags cause this chapter and also spoilers in post cause this chapter first read react with me read along#Rowaelin chapters scenes moments quotes#they want to make it possible bring that love to light#am I allowed to cry? â Again the word endured â finally the dream â the sand she still sees â heâs magic being steady â them talking time#again if Maeve could convince Rowan Lyria was his mate how bad was it when she convinced Aelin her actual mate was dead⌠this hurts meâŚ#the fact Aelin stopped being useful because it destroyed her beyond belief but the dreams the dreams almost got her because its all she wan#again then both feeling sorry and the other not realizing and then consent and then comfort and love & I just wanted it2be U how could I no#I know you are tired Fireheart (ALL THE TROPES IN ONE LINE⌠UGH I MISSED THIS SHIP)#together. one soul in two bodies. their endgame like literally they are. Iâd choose you too. even the apologies that were needed just heali#what it might have once been â together â not alone â not returning alone â the king and queen of Terrasen â I need u more â 2 whatever end#Aelin watched the boat until it disappeared trying not to stare too long at the clean unstained sand beneath her boots#always north â she didnât care she just wanted far away â who knew â what she knew-the letters she sent-Valg-dark blood that had turned red#If it had been another dreamscape or some fragment that had blended into the very real memory of Connall's death. â always a plab&theory#all these things to deal with later-sheâd rebuild all she had been-her match helper mirror-matched his piercing stare with her own-wait/res#A far cry from a queen's chamber or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin. â how far weâve come-she had ENDURED she can do it#I'm your mate she said needing to voice it. And you are mine. â Lyria. â I do know. and?&what do you wish me to say?-this was perfect#If what? If you wish it wasn't so. His brows narrowed. Why would I ever wish that? â Aelin. she looked at him at the pain in his words#the way it's changed since Mistward... and grown... even in names like Whitethorn Galathynius together â the brain thoughts are back â#The kiss was gentle-light. Letting her decide how to guide it. So she did. â heâd do it all night if that was whatâs he wished#Together we'll find a way their mingling breaths the crashing sea seemed to echo. Together. â mountains and oceans#Mightâve been before-thought snapped-the bond- u r my mate&I am urs-the world might have been burning for all she cared all he cared too#Together they would face this together they would find a way. â claiming him as he claimed her â a scar a marker a tattoo
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Haikaveh and their connection to Nabu Malikata and Deshret
Finally managed to write something down for my beloved Sumeru disasters. Itâs a mess written over the course of 4+ hours, I have no idea if I lost the plot or not. My brain just kept going, and Iâm not sure anymore if Iâm actually putting in more info and explanations, or itâs edited into the text in my mind, but not physically. Iâm deciding that itâs not my problem anymore.
Enjoy this mess of a word salad. Freshly picked and all.
Alhaitham is a character driven to take care of himself first before expanding any energy for someone else, not because he couldnât care less, but because his idealism really is just a more blunt way of establishing boundaries, where to be the most efficient is to take care of his needs first before trying to help others (it does feel like a disconnect between social expectation of âover-politeness = good moral citizenâ, and âstraightforward boundary setting = rude selfishnessâ. Again, different topic for another time). He goes out of his way to help others, even to the possible detriment of himself, because it's the right thing to do, and if anything, Alhaitham very much adheres to deeds that are morally good (he saved Sumeru to keep his peaceful life, sure, but to achieve that everyone needs to have that peace too; he went out of his way to be a bargaining chip in a hostage situation when he really didnât have to do that; he gives books to Paimon and Isak for them to learn from, and even tries to help Collei with giving select reading material for her to have an easier time with choosing a darshan â those arenât the actions of someone who couldnât care less about others or feels contempt at their existence). It is something that he and Kaveh very much have in common, and itâs one of the foundational pieces they mirror â that doesnât mean theyâre opposites / antonyms to each other, but theyâre complimentary approaches from two directions to the same problem that need balance to work.
(And I wanna establish something really quickly here. All the God-Kings had their own idea of what Wisdom was; they had their own ways of conducting it and dealing with knowledge. Even as Nahida says that despite Alhaitham having vast knowledge, pushing others away as lesser for not reaching some ideal of genius is limiting himself and making it harder to reach true Wisdom, I do think this is Nahidaâs type of Wisdom, and Kaveh fits hers specifically. That doesnât necessarily mean he would fit with Nabu Malikata or Deshret, but it is a fun thought to entertain while cleaning dishes, thatâs for sure)
To me for the longest time, Alhaitham has more in common with Nabu Malikata than he had with Deshret. Not in a visual sense (for all we know; the only thing weâre made aware of is that she had horns and was beautiful like all Seelie were), but more in the way he goes about everything.
I think people tend to fall into the preconception that him being calm and deadpan means he doesnât care for anyone or anything. Alhaitham is called lazy and cruel too flippantly by too many people, when in-game him is very much not that (but I suppose that is a different conversation to be had for another time again), which really pushes people away from making any connection between him and NM, because she was revered and perceived as tender and sweet.
The thing with Hoyoâs narrative foil characters in Genshin is that theyâre not meant to be 1:1 perfect copies that deviate because of the Traveler. Itâs not just for plot reasons, but also because itâs an in-game character study and a self-critique of characters and plot development. How much of it is intentional doesnât matter in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes the curtain is blue because the color is neat, other times we can fish out reasons and metaphors; unless weâre directly told what the intention is, we can make all the theories to soothe our love for what the game is giving us.
Nabu Malikata was a being holding immense wisdom, something she carried from her time in the Heavens when she was a Seelie and presumably an envoy. She has a lot of names under her belt, and a benevolent perception for her desire to help and give reprieve to the ones that needed it. Her ability of premonition pushed her to create Simurgh for when the Cataclysm came around (even thought she couldnât see past her own death, so there must have been other ways she knew that would happen, but again, different topic). She tried to bestow wisdom on her companions so they could lead their people safely and not provoke Celestia, but she did very much take a liking to Deshretâs desire to rebel against the Heavens. She did die for more than to just give Deshret a way to gain the knowledge he needed, she also made sure it was a lesson for his ambition and outright recklessness he was willing to undergo for his desires (I do wonder if she knew that it would cause Deshret to lose his mind, maybe she wouldnât have done it this way otherwise; or maybe this had to happen so that someone further down the line, when neither of them lived anymore, would take up where they left off and actually do it right â a necessary sacrifice, so to speak).
What is most likely NMâs quote in Amethyst Crown artifact, this excerpt is fun to think about: âBut âeternityâ is ultimately a lie. Intoxication and love could only grind memories down to broken dreams.â
Alhaitham is a very much in-the-present type of character. Lingering on the past ceaselessly wonât make the future better, and neither is running up ahead make the past less prone for regrets. Him being a rational person doesnât mean he doesnât take into account either past or future, but he knows that chasing either wonât solve anything. He has a very hands-on approach for external problems, and a delicate slower untangling of his inner workings; he tries to better himself from his past mistakes, but he wonât limit himself for a future what-if. NM had a lot of longing for the past, but went head-first into helping Deshret once his ambition started to sound good to her.
If anything, Alhaitham is the narrative foil of the two God-Kings that shows their recklessness, their passion and desires, and human brashness. The game keeps showing us how human the gods are, and Alhaitham is a funny mirror to put up to them, cause heâs the storyline deviation, where he is curious, but knows his limits. He helps when needed, guides people for them to find their own truths, but he wants to be just Some Guy. He probably wonât become the next Deshret or another Nabu Malikata, because his goal is a peaceful life, and unless heâs helping others, he wonât go out of his way to chase shadows of ideas that are nebulous in nature.
Then again, it would be a tragic story (or at least a very angst filled plot point) if Alhaitham became the Nabu Malikata of Kavehâs character arc. Because he does have a penchant for demonstration of his ideas, and he is nowhere above being petty to show his point. He has a soft spot for his loved ones, sure, that doesnât mean he wonât be more direct on showing them wrong when he deems it needed. (Really, Alhaitham is more a narrative foil to Kaveh who is a narrative foil to Deshret and Nabu Malikata. It's kinda funny to me how this works.)
Hmm, the longer Iâm putting this into words, the more obvious it seems to me that he is the narrative opposite of them. He shares similarities of visual motifs (Deshret), and the relatonship dynamic NM and Deshret had (itâs interesting how itâs reflected with him and Kaveh). There is just something about Nabu Malikata that reflects in Alhaitham a lot, be it their more passive approach of situations, or them being big supports (or emotional detriments) to their close companions. Itâs hard for me to directly point between their similarities, because it feels too vague to me; I just know that theyâre reflected, but Iâm not sure how to properly explain it so others can see what I mean.
Now the foil part of Deshret is easier to point out. There are a lot of visual motifs that tie Alhaitham to him; from the unique eyes, his best artifact set being Gilded Dreams, the falcoln/hawk/bird of prey symbolisms tied in the design and constellation. Alhaitham is well versed in many types of knowledge circles outside his primary niche (number 1 nerd of all Sumeru fr), and it wouldnât be a shock if he let his curiosity win and toss him into a lot of trouble (if not directly overstepping a cardinal sin, deliberately or not). He has reflections of Deshret hidden in him, but the longer I think about it, Alhaitham truly is Nabu Malikata coded.
Maybe itâs also because Alhaithamâs first story quest has him dismantle a hivemind, and think itâs stupid to do to begin with, you know, something that Deshret tried to do (and kinda succeeded, but probably not how he intended). It really shows that just because some characters rhyme in the story doesnât mean theyâre one and the same.
Now Kaveh on the other hand is very much Deshret coded, and itâs fascinating to me.
Visually Kaveh fits the Deshret-inspired look. From being a visually similar (Liloupar thought the Traveler physically looked a lot like Deshret, and Kaveh also has similarities to the Traveler, so I give myself this leeway, thanks), his earrings just being a miniature of deshretian architecture motifs and colors.
Kavehâs fiery personality could easily fit in too. He has his calm times, his depth, his guilt and self-destructive tendencies to achieve his ideals, but it also is a contrast to his more boisterous and energetic moments, his compassion and passion. He feels for others and tries to help where he can, regardless if it causes more harm to him than not. He holds steadfast to what he believes and refuses to compromise on it, even if he loses everything else in life.
Deshret had a lot of compassion and tried to make people not need gods, elevate them to become independent of divine judgment and law, and be free. He lost his companions, he lost his mind. But he believed he was chasing a good cause, his ideal where no one had to suffer and be separated ever again. He also wasnât willing to compromise on his ideals.
Both Kaveh and Deshret are connected with the sun â Kaveh being the Light of Kshahrewar, and Deshret literally likened to the sun â and both of them had a hand with mechanisms and architecture (Kaveh created Mehrak â his little light â from an old deshretian core, and his darshan is overall more into mechanisms and technology, not just architecture; and Deshret didnât only create the Primal Constructs, but he did try to build his ideal utopia that wouldnât have any âworry, schemes, or slaveryâ, letting little kingdoms and city-states raise up, so really architecture was also related to him in a way).
With all of this, Kaveh falling down a rabbit hole of trying to help others and get into Trouble wouldnât be weird or out of character down the line. Even if he mellowed out a bit after Parade of Providence, he is a firm follower of his ideals, and no matter how bad of an idea it would be, he most likely would jump headfirst into problems if it meant helping solve another problem entirely.
His connection to Nabu Malikata is also pretty obvious. His best artifact set is Flower of Paradise Lost, and him being connected to art makes it easy to connect him to her in that regard too. Of course then there is his constellation, Paradisaea (who could thematically fit both Nabu and Deshret, but shh), especially his c6: Pairidaezaâs Dreams, which is a direct call back to Nabu Malikata and her Orchard of Pairidaeza. It really shows that even if Kaveh has a lot in common with Deshret, NMâs dreams are more in direct reflection with Kavehâs, who tries to make a lasting memory of himself even when heâs long gone, and to keep beauty in the world (a reoccuring theme with Nabu Malikata is the flourishing and dying of flowers, their endless cycle of life and death and rebirth; in the artifact Wilting Feast that could be linked to Kavehâs vision story: âDreams will always dissolve, their landscapes fated to collapse â this is the true meaning of the blooming flowers. Only by suffering through the destruction of a godâs delusions can humanity learn to rise against divine willâŚâ, it connects the rise and fall of something precious, knowing that there will come a new one after that).
Well, Iâm losing the plot now.
I wanted to dabble into some gods that connect to them from irl (Amun-Ra, Osiris, Thoth, Maâat..) and that became a mess even to conceptualize for this, especially since it made me slip into dissecting Sumeru as a whole, and thatâs a lot. I love myself, Iâm not gonna do that at 4.50am, thanks.
Could Iâve been more detailed and explore it better? Yes. But I struggle with my head lately, and Iâm teetering on the edge of madness, I should stop while it still makes a lick of sense. I might eventually revisit this and expand when I have the mental space, because this is fun and can go more detailed (read: unhinged), the potential is all there.
#haikaveh#alhaitham#kaveh#sumeru god kings#long post#i'm not re-rereading this so if the grammar sucks in places i'm really sorry but i'm not dealing with it anymore#i wanted to go in more detail but i wanna avoid burning myself out like a candle so this is the best it will be at this moment#also reading the artifact sets is so fun (especially gilded dreams and paradise lost) the story told there is so much more comprehensible#at least if i put it up to deepwood memories (granted that is more of a collection of...memories instead of one story. so yeah)#maybe this will make me feel better later and i'll finally write down my mad rambling about seelie#someone needs to take the tags away from me i'll never shut up otherwise
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Yeah. Man. I'm just sitting here remembering I've been doing this my entire life. I feel like there was a patch I wasn't, part of the teen years, and that's either I've forgotten because trauma orrrr something else but
No wonder I've never felt anchored on this plane. But it doesn't matter, well, no, it matters a lot, but this life is just constantly isolating in how it works so I will keep the talk of not fitting in here and what being weirdly one got in one foot out has done to talking to myself lmfao but... I remember. I remember being in the garden as a really young child and I'm not a young child. I'm this chimaeric fairy-type thing of swirling and bulging colours like a psychedelic faceted-insect-eye's led trip, four or more wings of different types that are again, so ungrounded, so psychedelic, vivid. Not uncertain. Not half-formed. Fully formed, the starbeing in me just barely contained in the shape of the human-pretending-to-be-a-fae it's pretending to be
I remember so much, actually, and it's. it's just weirdly melancholic....? Maybe not melancholic, but it's so sad and I don't know why. Actually. I mean I've been trying to piece it together for like twenty minutes now but... People get a little irritated at me for being very "you don't understand and no one sees me" but like. I have lived an entire life walkinv streets where no one sees me. It's very complicated, there's. mental health stuff in there because of course I've come across a lot of spirits but I have bad issues seeing people as real but like. Man yeah no I am a snail and one part of me can be physically seen but the other has always been on the other side
#There's a lot to this that I just don't want to get into because it's no ones business irt mental health issues influencing#isolation and then trauma and stuff. It's not a matter of ''I was involved in astral stuff and no one else in the world Ever has been''#lmfao like it's just that. Astral self is still me and man. Idk. Realising these past few years constantly the Trauma(tm)#And it makes so many physical events now make sense where like I felt like I could (do astral stuff) and#Man. It's just. There's so much melancholic distance in these astral memories kept behing the Mask Face expression#it really is like. you ever have to leave someone at a bus stop or airport and you're not sure you'll ever see them again#It's this weird heavy and distinct feeling looking at myself like this astral body is a family dog I've just left in#Ă forest at night and I'm driving away from them and they just know. It's not like Tears Flowing sad it's this. the entire form#just swallows existence. It just is eternally falling away from the world and swallowing it as it goes#It's not a dog left at the roadside its the goddamn ghost of one left years ago. You see it and you aren't sad about leaving your#dog you're like wow. That dogs still here. I don't know what to do. It's image is burned into my retina. It's looking at me#I can see it getting further away in the rear view mirror and no one would ever believe me I'm seeing a ghost so this moment#is etched into my mind now. Except. The memory fades anyway when you look away. It's so like....... It's not even sad#It's just a ghost. I was worried about connecting astral and physical bodies and starting this journey to projection#fully consciously because I knew there'd be a lot of Trauma but this isn't even trauma it's just... My god. I've existed my#entire life as a ghost. like. /ghost/ ghost. Ghost. haunting my own existence. And it's again not just sad it's this weird...#I feel like I've only ever been able to exist off this plane. I exist in this liminal state I exist most freely when unwanted#Not because I need to be unwanted but because what I am freaks people out#Yeah that. vision. that vision of my astral form in this weird obscure unplaceable large animal with a blurred#mask like face in the headlights or tail lights of a car - it's hard to know because it warps reality. I don't know what direction#I'm travelling. I don't know what this thing is. but it's on this forest-flanked road in these lights and it's looking and#there's no one around that can elucdiate the situation and............. Yeah. Man. Yeah.#ramblings //#Astral body //#Astral diary //
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#me personal#somethings wrong#i cant stand the thought of food without wanting to throuw up#but i'm so hungry#so i go to get food#but the moment i see food i need the toilet#i don't underand why#i have so much to do i dont' have time for this#but my body has seriously decdied to be a little bitch these past few weeks#i have way too many things going on#but my body like the french have decided to riot#i'm sick my wisdom teeth are coming in at the worst possible angle#my gums are swollen#i can't slep but im constnatly tired#i want to chew someones head off i want a hug from my mom#im hungry i cant eat i'm freszing on the outside and burning up on the indside#my roommates have no understanding of cleanliness and i want to take a pickaxe to their torsos an dhack thme in half#alsoi think i;m hallucinating and possibly losing chunks of memories#i need mental help probablly but its going to have to wait#sigh
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I've got the gif-making bug for the first time in like a year and I'm just starting 2 weeks off work so this is the perfect time to jump back into it but idk where to start. I'm deffo doing something 911 cos that's where my entire brain is (yes I have spent most of today in bed reading buddie fic even though I swore I wasn't going to get obsessed this time).
I feel like any idea I have has probably already been done a thousand times, I need to get past that feeling cos like. Yeah bitch that's how fandom works.
#i might just start doing all buddie moments episode by episode to start. i like having a plan & i miss posting regularly.#plus I've burned out a bit on playing WoW so i have more freetime at the moment.#and it will line up well with my S2 rewatch#the muscle memory came straight back when i made the 911 ones the other night. i just need some creativity
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I still get a little lost in my feelings about you. I still wonder that if you were upset with me why did you bring your hands to my face that day. why did you untuck my hoodie from behind my ears so gently in front of all your friends before I left, smiling saying whatâs this? causing me to remember I left my headphones and almost forgetting them, and you laughing, saying oh thatâs why. I still think about it because itâs the last time I got to see you. Before I utterly destroyed everything. I canât forget the way you looked at me, the way you would smile at me, and the way you touched me. I wish I could fix things but I donât know how anymore. Iâm just sorry we didnât meet when I wasnât such a mess.
#the night we met I felt like afterwards I was floating#i saw you in my dream and thought i heard you call me#i woke up saying your name even though i had just met you the night before#everyone thought it was sudden#but you came right when i needed to find you i think#i still get chills when i remember you tracing my back#and i almost burst into tears when i remember the way we slept that night#so safe so sound so hot both of our bodies burning with desire but still we didnât touch each other perversely#you were so careful not to touch me in the wrong way#it made me cry#i wanted to leave in the middle of the night#I didnât#i got back under the covers and into your arms and you held me so close with your hand hugging my head#in that moment i was so afraid and so in love i tried to move because i thought maybe i should run away#but you stiffened protectively and held me in your sleep like you didnât want to let go of me and it melted everything in me#i think itâs enough to have loved once#i think the memory is finally enough for me#but i miss you and i hope you figure things out even if itâs not with me#because u deserve everything#u deserve more than you think you do#ŮڊاŮاس#saara rambles#personal
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so true..... the venn diagram of love and grief is a circle
#'cause i know if i'm doing my job correct / nights like these will happen less'#sometimes loving is about realizing it'll end#and then realizing you are witnessing the moments that will be burned into your memory forever#and holding on as tight as you can#on the slippery velvet of time#to no avail#this song KILLS me. i am not a father (not that attached to my own) but damn. damn#joe jonas i need you to marry jon bellion RIGHT FUCKING NOW#Spotify
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All of You, All of Me [Logan Howlett]
Summary: In a world of black and white, the only person who could bring colour to your life is the last one who'd want to.
Warnings: au where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate, fem!reader, slow burn, angst, running away from feelings, pining, grovelinggg WC: 14.2k - MASTERLIST - A/N: help i'm sorry i didn't mean for it to get this long, but this fic is my baby
----
You've always cherished the idea of having a soulmateâsomeone who would love you unconditionally, waiting just for you as you them. The thought of finding that perfect match, the one who complements you in every way, is something youâve always dreamed of.Â
But as you get older, the hope you carry seems to dwindle more and more each year. Everyone around you has found their other half, reveling in the newfound ability to see colours in all their glory, and soaking up every moment of shared affection.
Everyone, except for you.
Your world remains a stark, colourless void, as if the universe is deliberately withholding the one thing you desire most.
And to make matters worse, despite not finding your soulmate, you are unequivocally, irrevocably in love with someone who has.
Logan Howlett.
You canât remember a time where you didnât feel anything toward him. His rugged, lone-wolf demeanor snuck its way deep into the crevices of your heart, and made itself a home there.
You and him formed an unlikely friendship, formed through the desire to fight back against all the people whoâve wronged mutants. Over the years, you had accepted the fact that while he wasnât yours, at least you were alone together. Well, until she came.
Jean Grey.
She was strong, charming, and everything you felt you werenât. It was no wonder her and Logan were meant to be togetherâthe stoic, brooding mutant and his graceful, strong-willed counterpart.Â
You remember the day it happened so vividly, itâs almost like you were the one who found their life partner. You and him had been walking around the mansion, when Charles had called you into his office to meet someone new. One look at their faces when they made eye contact and you knew youâd lost him.
It pained you to see them all over each other, all the time. Your once-regular walks in the garden became rare, then vanished entirely. On missions, he no longer looked out for you; his attention was consumed by protecting her. And as much as it hurt, you couldnât deny they seemed perfect for each otherâjust as soulmates should be. You had no right to feel jealous.
Then, just as quickly as she had entered his life, she left it.Â
The Pheonix was too strong, ripping her apart from the inside out. The pained scream he let out as not only his heart died, but as the world around him faded back into black and white, was forever ingrained into your memory.Â
Logan was never the same after that.
 â
You trudge down the familiar halls of the mansion, your feet heavy with the weight of the day. Itâs been long, filled with training sessions, team meetings, and a lot of paperwork. All you want to do is retreat to your room, lose yourself in a book, or maybe just sleep until the ache in your chest dulls.
As you walk, you hear faint commotion down the hallwayâa low murmur of voices and the occasional clatter of something being moved. But you pay it no mind, too lost in your thoughts to care. Another mission, another discussion, another moment where you arenât needed. Itâs all so routine now.
Lost in your reverie, you donât notice the figure walking toward you until itâs too late. You collide with a solid chest, the impact jolting you back to reality.
âOh, sorryââ you begin, stepping back, but the words die on your lips as you look up.
Itâs Logan.
Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, shock rippling through your body as you process his presence. And for a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, taking him inâthe man who was once your closest friend, the man who was torn apart by grief and loss. His clothes are rumpled, his skin rougher than you remember, like heâs been through hell and back.Â
You hadnât seem him in a long time. After the devastation, he stopped talking to everyone. He holed himself up in his room for days at a time, only coming out in the dead of night to eat. Either that, or he was away on a missionâanything to stay distracted.Â
But now, looking at him, thereâs something different off. Something you canât quite place your finger on. Did he always look like that? Maybe itâs the way the light above is reflecting off of him. Or maybe itâsâoh.
Looking around in surprise, you watch as the usually dark, stoic walls explode into a deep, rich shade. The carpet below youâno longer a mural of greyâradiates colors you canât name. Your hands, his eyes, his hair-
You want to open your mouth and say something, anything, to the man who has caused your world to shift on its axis, but heâs already turned, walking away from you.
âGive me a fuckinâ break.â
----
Brown. Loganâs hair is brown.
After Logan leaves you paralyzed in the hallway, you run to your room, find the book on colors you had stashed in your bedside table, and throw open the cover. In it is a diagram that displays every known colour and their names. You learn that your favorite pair of pants are maroon, your bedsheets are navy green, and the X-Men suits are bright yellow and blue.
You stare at the page, each word blurring as your mind tries to process the impossible. Loganâs hair is brown. The thought keeps repeating in your head like a mantra, over and over again, until it becomes a steady thrum, drowning out everything else.
Brown.
You sit back on your bed, letting the book slip from your hands, the pages crumpling as it hits the floor.
Why him? Why me? Why now?
You begin to fidget, the adrenaline of the prior moment causing your heart to flail in your chest like crazy. You canât stay here, you think to yourself. The idea of locked in your room with only your thoughts for company does not sound appealing. You need air, something to ground you, something to clear the haze clouding your head. Without thinking, you jump out of bed and find yourself heading up to the roof, the one place where you can breathe without feeling like the walls of the mansion closing in on you.
The trip up the stairs feels longer than ever before, each step heavy under the weight of your mind. Itâs like every thought adds ten pounds. When you open the door, the cool night air hits you like a welcomed slap to the face, and you exhale deeply.
Walking to the edge, you lean against the railing. Youâre in a daze - wondering if you made up the entire thing in your head. The only proof that you haven't, and that Logan being your soulmate is real, is the colours that coat the mansionâs grounds. The moonlight bathes everything in what you now know as a soft, silver glow, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking out into the distance.
It doesnât make sense, and the more you try to wrap your head around it, the more tangled your thoughts become. You donât want to face the possibility of what it could mean, but you canât just brush it aside either. It has quite literally changed your entire life.Â
You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to quiet your racing mind. But when you open them again, you freeze.
Logan is standing at the other end of the roof, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sky. He hasnât noticed you yet, and for a split second, you consider turning back, retreating before he sees you. It would be a wise idea - he didnât want to talk to you then, and he probably doesnât want to talk to you now. But, it an act that can only be seen as your own body betraying you, you take a step forward.Â
The sudden movement catches his attention, and his head snaps in your direction, his eyes locking onto yours.Â
âWhy are you here?â he asks accusingly.
You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. Seeing him out here was the last thing you had expected, and now that heâs in front of you, you are at a loss of words.
Loganâs eyes narrow, and he pushes off the wall, walking toward you. âYou shouldnât be here.â
âI needed air,â you manage to say, swallowing the lump in your throat. âI just needed to clear my head.â
âWell, find somewhere else to do it,â he snaps, âI donât want company.â
âLogan, Iââ
âDonât,â he interrupts, not even bothering to hear you out. âDonât start. I know what youâre gonna say, and I donât want to hear it.â
You blink, taken aback, and hurt at his coldness. âWhat are you talking about?â
He lets out a low, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. âYou think I donât know whatâs going on? God, I⌠this is all so fucking stupid.â
Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. âI wasnâtââ
âEnough!â he barks, his voice echoing in the night. âIâm not interested, alright? Whatever it is you think is happening between us, itâs not real. Itâs just some stupid trick of the universe, and Iâm not playing along.â
His words hit you like a physical blow - like youâve just been shot at right in the heart - and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. âI donât understand. I didnât mean for any of thisââ
âYeah, well, neither did I,â he snaps at you, âAnd Iâm not gonna sit here and pretend like thereâs something here,â he gestures between you two, âwhen there isnât. Youâre not mine, and Iâm sure as hell not yours.â
The finality in his tone leaves you breathless, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. You have nothing to say back, heâs not giving you any slack. The reality of his rejection sinks in with a brutal, crushing weight, you have to put in effort to not stumble over.Â
After a long moment, you finally collect yourself. Then, âOkay,â you whisper. âI understand.â
Loganâs expression doesnât soften; if anything, it grows colder, more distant.
âGood. Then stay away from me.â
You nod, eyes filling with tears. You quickly turn your face away, not wanting him to see just how much heâs hurt you.
âIâm sorry,â you murmur, barely audible. âI didnât mean to make things worse for you.â
He doesnât respond, doesnât even acknowledge your apology. He just turns away, his back to you, effectively shutting you out.
You stand there for a long moment, watching him walk away for the second time that night. The colours that seemed so vibrant, so full of life just a moment ago, now feel like a cruel reminder of everything you could never have.
â
When you eventually return to your room, all you can do is lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling as your encounter with Logan on the roof replays in your mind on an endless loop, each harsh word heâd thrown at you cutting deeper than the last. Itâs causes pain unlike anything youâve ever felt before, pain that seems to have no end, no respite.
If he doesnât want you in his life, youâll accept that. You have to - itâs not like you have a choice. Soulmates are a two-way street. Â
You canât force him to feel something he doesnât, canât make him see you in a way he clearly never will. And you understand, donât you? You canât even imagine how difficult this would be for him. Losing your soulmate, and then the universe saying Fuck You and giving you another?Â
Youâll never ever forget how wrecked he was when Jean died. How her death shattered him into pieces so small you werenâtânoâyouâre still not sure heâll ever be whole again.Â
And youâwhere do you stand in the grand scheme of things? Just as the unfortunate recipient of a bond that neither of you asked for? Are you even allowed to be upset about this?
â
Waking up the next morning, you honestly wish you hadnât. You knew you werenât on good terms with Logan after his little rooftop showcase of emotions, but nothing could have prepared you for the way he starts to treat you.
His face is stuck in a perpetual scowl when youâre in his vicinity. Heâs leaving every room the moment you enter, refusing to look at you, speak to you, or acknowledge your presence in any way. Itâs as if youâve become invisible, a ghost haunting the same halls you once shared with him. Thereâs only one thing you two seem to wordlessly agree on: donât tell anyone.Â
Each day following becomes a struggle, an unbearable test of your strength as you try to make it through without breaking. You begin to avoid Logan as much as he avoids you, but the mansion is only so big, and there are always moments when you catch sight of him in the distance, his broad shoulders hunched, his brooding face glaring daggers in your direction.Â
It hurts you every time, an unending torture that leaves you stumbling. Still, you bite your tongue and keep moving, pretending you donât care.
But you do care. You care more than you want to admit, more than you think is possible. Because despite everythingâdespite the rejection, the coldness, the angerâyou still love him.Â
And thatâs the cruelest twist of all.
So you endure it, day after day, week after week, month after month. Letting it tear you apart piece by piece, because what else can you do? You carry this burden alone, just as youâve carried your feelings for him all these years. And maybe one day, the pain will fade, the bond will weaken, and youâll be able to move on.
â
The only person you tell is Charles.
âWhatâs on your mind, my child?â he asks one day, while youâre sweeping the dust in his office.Â
You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your hands as you focus on cleaning. You know heâs just asking out of courtesy, and that he could easily crawl into your mind and figure it out himself. He probably wouldnât even need to put in that much effort, given how loud your thoughts are. But still, you donât yield to his probing.
âNothing, really,â you mutter, forcing a small smile that doesnât reach your eyes. âJust⌠tired, I guess.â
Charles watches you carefully, his eyes full of the warmth and compassion he always has, but this time, it makes you feel uncomfortable. Like he can see right through the facade youâre trying so hard to maintain, which you have no doubt, he does.Â
âIâm here to help, whatever the burden.â
You want to groan. Itâs not like heâs doing it on purpose but damn does it feel like heâs trying to guilt you into confessing that you just recently had your heart shattered.Â
âI know, Professor. But⌠itâs nothing you need to worry about.â
âYou forget, I worry about all of you,â he replies gently. âItâs in my nature.â
The chuckle that crawls out your throat is nothing short of bitter. âItâs just⌠complicated.â
âComplicated doesnât mean you have to face it alone.â
You bite your lip, trying to keep the emotions at bay. Do you really want to explain to him the insurmountable suffering youâre in, the rejection you faced from the one person who is supposed to be your soulmate? How can you tell him that the bond the universe forged is the very thing tearing you apart?
âItâs just⌠I donât know how to make sense of it, Professor,â you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. âEverythingâs so⌠wrong.â
He leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. âWrong how?â
Knowing that youâre teetering into confession territory, you hesitate, needing time to collect your thoughts.Â
âLogan⌠he⌠we⌠Itâs not supposed to be like this, is it?â you eventually get out. Not your best work, but you know heâd get the gist.Â
Understanding dawns in Charlesâs eyes, and you can see the sympathy there, the quiet acceptance of the truth youâre struggling to voice. âThe bond you share⌠itâs more than you expected, isnât it?â
You nod, feeling the tears well up again. âBut he doesnât want it. He doesnât want me.â
The professor sighs softly, and he looks at you like youâre a lost puppy. âLogan has been through so much, more than most could bear. His heart has been wounded in ways that are difficult to heal, and itâs not surprising that he would resist this new connection.â
âSo why me?â you ask. âWhy bind me to someone who will never love me?â
Leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, he says, âI wish I had an answer for you, my dear. The universe works in mysterious ways, ways that often defy our understanding. But I do know this: the bond you share is there for a reason. Whether itâs meant to bring you closer or to teach you something important⌠that remains to be seen.â
âIt feels like a punishment,â you whisper, the tears finally spilling over. As much as you hate being put on the hot seat, you can admit that it feels good talking to someone about it. âEvery day, it hurts more. And he wonât even look at me. I donât know how to make it stop.â
âThe heartache youâre feeling is profound, but you must understand that itâs not your fault. Loganâs reaction isnât a reflection of your worth, but of his own pain and fear.â
He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your own before continuing.
âTo love, even when itâs not returned, takes incredible courage. But you must also take care of yourself. Give Logan the space he needs, and in the meantime, allow yourself the grace to heal.â
So you do. In the days that follow your conversation with Charles, you make a promise to yourselfâto try, really try, to focus on your own life, to reclaim the parts of yourself that have been overshadowed by the pain of this unrequited love.
The colours are still there, vivid and vibrant, and though they sometimes feel like a bittersweet reminder of what could never be, you find moments where they bring you joy. You marvel at the deep blue of the sky, the rich greens of the trees, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves and paints the world in golden hues. Itâs like seeing the world anew, and in those moments, you allow yourself to feel happiness.
Moreover, you busy yourself, volunteering for every assignment that comes your way. The adrenaline, the focus, the purposeâthey all help to drown out the pain, even if only temporarily. And when you return from each mission, tired but satisfied, you feel a little more like yourself again.
The mansion, too, becomes less of a prison and more of a home once more. You start spending more time with the others, rejoining them for meals, for training sessions, for movie nights.Â
You laugh with Rogue, spar with Scott, and even find yourself engaging in playful banter with Remy. Itâs not perfect, and there are still moments where you catch yourself faltering, when the weight of everything threatens to pull you under, but those moments are becoming fewer and farther between.
Youâre healing, slowly but surely, and with each passing day, you feel a little stronger, a little more in control of your lifeâof your emotions.Â
But then there are the times when you cross paths with Logan, and those moments are the hardest.
One evening, after returning from a particularly grueling mission, you find yourself heading toward the kitchen, your mind on the sandwich you plan to make. The place is quiet, most of the team out on various assignments, or finishing up on some work, and you relish the peace as you walk down the corridor.
However, just as you reach the kitchen door and push it open, you find Logan standing there, preparing to exit the room at the exact same moment. Your heart lurches, and you stop dead in your tracks, almost like a deer caught in headlights.Â
His gaze meets yours, and all you can see is his impassive, stoic expression. He steps back, giving you space to enter, but the tension between you is palpable.
âSorry,â you mumble, stepping to the side, trying to make yourself as small as possible.
Logan doesnât say anything, barely noddingâif you could even it thatâ before brushing past you, his shoulder grazing yours. The brief contact sends a jolt through your system, and you have to force yourself to stay still and not physically react.Â
Once he leaves, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing from the encounter. Itâs been so long since youâve been this close to himâso long since youâve seen the deep brown of his hair that you love so much. You hate this.Â
Why does he have no reaction to at all? Why is it only you who seems to care?Â
Because you are the only one who does care.
You move into the kitchen, still intent on eating, but itâs a challenge. Your hands are trembling.
â
It all comes to a head one night during dinner. In this rare occasion, both you and Logan are in the same room. Youâre supposed to be celebrating Rogue and Gambitâs anniversary, and even though you insisted that they share this special moment together alone, they didnât take no for an answer.Â
Thatâs how you find yourself, sitting at the grand dining table with all your friends, and Logan.Â
Heâs across from you. Just your luck.
He refuses to spare you a single glance, his eyes staying busy the whole night. And while itâs been months and months of this, you have never gotten used to it. Still, you canât help but sneak a few looks at that chocolate-coloured hair. Brown.Â
Everything seems to be going smoothly, the food is delicious and the dessert even better, but when Gambit presents Rogue with a giant painting, thatâs when you slip up.Â
âI love how you blended the red with the blue!â You compliment, loving the way he managed to create the perfect contrast between shades. Youâre too caught up in staring at the artwork to realize the table as gone deathly quiet, all eyes on you.
Rogue's expression is one of gentle confusion, her head tilted slightly as she tries to make sense of your words. âDarling, I thought you couldnât see colour?â
In any other situation, youâre sure the team would have laughed at how comically large your eyes got, and how all the blood draining from your face makes you look like a gaping fish, but in this moment, nothing is funny. You can feel Loganâs eyes on you, and when you finally muster the courage to glance at him, you see that his all-too familiar glare youâve been subject to for the last half-year. It makes your heart thud painfully in your chest
âIâŚâ you begin, but you falter. Your mind is going through a thousand thoughts per minute, searching for an excuse you can use to deflect, to pretend it was just a mistake, but the silence is too heavy, too demanding.
Rogueâs confusion deepens, her gaze flickering between you and Logan, who is now staring at you with an expression thatâs impossible to read. She starts to say something, but Remy gently places a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly as if to tell her to let you speak.Â
Loganâs gaze stays locked on you for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he pushes his chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. The sound echoes in the silence, and before you can react, he stands up and walks out of the room, his movements stiff, almost mechanical.
The door closes behind him with a quiet click, and the tension in the room thickens. You feel a rush of embarrassment flood through you, your heart sinking as the reality of what just happened crashes over you.Â
You lower your head, your eyes stinging with tears that you fight desperately to hold back. But itâs no use. The emotions youâve been trying to keep buried for so long bubble to the surface, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start to fall.Â
âI think I need a moment,â you manage to whisper, your voice trembling as you stand up from the table. Without waiting for a response, you hastily excuse yourself and head for the door, not before mumbling a quick apology to the couple in which you were there for.
Soon you find yourself outside in the gardens, the nightly breeze hitting your face as you make your way to a secluded bench. You canât even appreciate the beauty in what you see, because all you feel is the overwhelming sense of failure and sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.
Sitting down heavily on the bench, you bury your face in your hands and let go. The sobs come hard and fast, each one ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. Youâre heartbroken and angry and absolutely over it, but at the same time you feel like a massive asshole because who are you to be upset with a man whoâs mourning the loss of a soulmate?Â
Itâs not fair.
You donât know how long you sit there, lost in your grief, but eventually, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, wiping at your eyes, and see Scott walking toward you.
âMind if I join you?â he asks gently.
You shake your head, unable to find your voice, and Scott sits down beside you on the bench.Â
âIâm sorry,â you croak, âI didnât mean to ruin the night.â
Scott clicks his tongue in disagreement, his gaze focused on the gardens ahead. âYou didnât ruin anything. Itâs clear youâve been carrying this burden for a long time. Itâs no wonder it slipped out tonight.â
âSo everyone knows now?â you ask. He nods.
âIt wasnât hard to put two and two together,â he concludes, and you groan, bringing your hands to your face.
âI just⌠I didnât want anyone to know. I didnât want to be pitied.â
âPity isnât what anyone feels right now,â Scott says softly. âWeâre worried about you. Youâve been hurting, and we didnât see it. Thatâs on us.â
âItâs not your fault,â you bring your hands down from your face. âIâve been trying to deal with it on my own. I thought I could handle it, but⌠clearly I was wrongâ
With a serious expression, Scott turns to look at you. âI know what youâre going through, more than you might realize.â
You glance at him, surprised by his words. âYou do?â
He nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âI was in love with Jean, remember? When her and Logan found out they were soulmates⌠it tore me apart. I didnât think Iâd ever be able to move on, and for a long time, I couldnât.â
The mention of Jeanâs name brings a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but thereâs also a strange comfort in knowing that Scott understands your pain. âHow did you⌠how did you get through it?â
He sighs, âIt wasnât easy. It took a long time, and I had to accept it.â
You wipe at your eyes again, sniffling as you try to compose yourself. âIâve been thinking about leaving for a while. Taking a longer mission, just to get away for a bit. Maybe then I can figure out how to move on.â
He is quiet for a moment, considering your words. âIf thatâs what you need to do, I understand,â he says, âsometimes, a change of scenery can help. Though I think you should try to talk to Logan again.â
Letting out a bitter laugh, you shake your head. âI donât know if heâll even listen to me. Heâs made it pretty clear how he feels.â
âHeâs hurting too,â He decides, âHeâs not handling it well, but that doesnât mean he doesnât care. You both need closure, and running away wonât give you that.â
âWhat if it just makes things worse?â
âIt might.â Scott places a comforting hand on your shoulder. âBut it might also give you both the chance to start healing. You deserve that chance.â
You nod slowly, letting the weight of his words sink in. âIâll⌠Iâll think about it.â
âTake the time you need,â he says. âWeâre all here for you.â
âThanks, Scott. That means a lot.â You offer him a small, grateful smile.
With a final nod, he turns and walks back toward the mansion, leaving you once again alone in the quiet of the gardens. You take a deep breath, the idea of leaving still tugs at you, but now, thereâs also the thought of confronting Loganâof finding some kind of closure, whatever that might mean.
You really donât want to do it, and youâre pretty sure itâs just going to end the same way it did last time - with him shutting you out. But Scottâs words echo in your mind, reminding you that healing often requires confrontation, not avoidance.
Goddamn it.
You huff as you stand up from where youâre seated. You canât keep running from this, canât keep letting him run from this. You need to talk to Logan, to lay everything out on the table, even if it tears you apart in the process.
Your anxiety builds with each step as you approach his room, and you pause outside his door, your heart pounding so loudly youâre sure he could hear it if he was listening. This is it. Thereâs no turning back now. With a shaky breath, you finally raise your hand and knock.Â
Thereâs a long, agonizing pause, making you strain to hear any movement on the other side. For a second, the silence causes you think he might not answer, that he might just ignore you like heâs done so many times before. But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door. Your heart catches in your throat as it slowly opens, revealing Logan standing there, his expression hard and unreadable.
The moment he realizes itâs you, his eyes darken, and he immediately moves to close the door, shutting you out yet again. However, youâre not letting him get away that easily. Before the door can fully close, you stick your foot out, blocking it with more force than you intended.
âCâmon, Logan,â you press. âYou know we need to talk.â
He freezes, his grip on the door tightening until his knuckles turn white. His jaw clenches and unclenches, nostrils flaring. He still doesnât look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he can will you away if he tries hard enough. But he doesnât push the door shut either. The room is thick with suspense, both of you standing there in a silent standoff.
Finally, with a low growl of frustration, Logan steps back, opening the door just a smidge wider, barely enough for you to squeeze through. Itâs a reluctant invitation, but itâs all you need.
âFine,â he mutters, his voice rough, edged with irritation. âTalk.â
You step into the room, and he closes the door behind you, lingering close to it, as if heâs ready to bolt at any second. You feel vulnerable and exposed. Itâs suddenly hard to gather your thoughts when heâs standing so close, when the heat of his presence and the distance heâs placed between is right in your face.
âWhy did you come?â Logan questions. He still refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.
âBecause we canât keep pretending this isnât happening,â you reply, âWe need to talk about whatâs going on between us.â
His jaw tightens further, and his teeth grind with barely contained frustration. He finally looks at you, his eyes hard and defensive. âThereâs nothing to say,â he says bitterly. âI told you how I feel. I thought that was enough.â
âItâs not enough!â you shoot back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. âYou think you can just push me away, pretend like this bond doesnât exist, and thatâs supposed to solve everything? It doesnât work like that, Logan.â
He flinches slightly at your words, but his keeps his expression hard. âWell what do you want me to say?â he demands, his voice rising. âThat Iâm sorry? That I didnât mean to hurt you? Because I am, and I didnât. But that doesnât change the fact that I canât be what you want me to be.â
His words hurt.Â
âI know you told me how you feel,â you start, âbut youâve never let me tell you how I feel. Youâve never given me the chance to say that itâs been tearing me apart.â
A flash of guilt. âI didnât think⌠I didnât think you needed to say it. I already knew.â
âThat isnât fair,â you argue.
âYou donât understand,â he counters, âI lost Jean. I loved her, and when she died, it broke something in me. And now⌠now Iâm supposed to just⌠move on? With you? Itâs not that simple.â
âI never asked you to love me, Logan,â you say, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. âI never pushed for anything more than friendshipâitâs not like you gave me the chance! Youâve been shutting me out, ignoring me, making me feel like Iâm nothing more than a burden, like I donât even matter!â
You can see that the pain in your voice hitting him hard, but he doesnât apologize. Instead, he looks away, his expression conflicted. âIâm trying to protect you,â he mutters, the words sounding hollow even to him
âProtect me?â you echo incredulously. âAll youâre doing is make me feel like shit. Like Iâm worthless. I canât even be your friend, to help you through this.â
You pause. âYou expect us all to know how youâre feeling, but you canât even communicate it.â
Logan winces, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, filled with a torment youâve never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words seem to get caught in his throat. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.
âI canât be what you want me to be,â he admits, his tone filled with a deep, aching sadness. âI donât know how to let you in. Without her, I feel like⌠I canât let anyone in.â
Your eyes soften a fraction his confession, but thereâs also a deep frustration that burns inside you, a frustration born of months of pain and rejection.Â
âYou havenât even tried,â you say softly with a quiet resignation, âYou havenât even tried to let me in, to see what we could have been, even if it was just as friends.â
What follows is a long, nagging silence. You let it linger, giving Logan the chance he needs to think of something to say. But thereâs no answer, no promise that things will change, and then you realize, with a sinking feeling, that heâs not going to take that step, too broken to try.
Thatâs when it really hits you.Â
Whatever you were fighting for, was a losing battle from the start.Â
You give up.
This time, it is you who turns your back on him.Â
âGoodbye, Logan. Take care of yourself.â
You donât wait for a response. You donât glance back. You walk out of the room, the door closing softly behind you, and with it, the last remnants of hope you had for something more.
âÂ
You decide to go on the mission.
Itâs nothing complicated. Your task is to survey different regions of Europe, ensuring that there are no burgeoning anti-mutant operations threatening the safety of anyone. The primary goal is gathering information, and quiet observation. No violence, Charles told you in the debrief.Â
The lack of immediate danger doesnât make leaving any easier, though. This is as much about finding yourself as it is about fulfilling your duty.
Rogue and Kitty are with you during your final preparations, helping you pack the essentials and offering support in their own ways. They donât ask many questions, probably sensing that this decision was not just made on a whim. And for that, youâre grateful.
âI still think youâre crazy for going solo,â Rogue says with a half-smile as she zips up your bag. âBut if anyone can handle it, itâs you.â
You manage a small smile in return. âThanks, Rogue. I just need some timeâŚâ
Kitty, whoâs been quietly folding clothes and tucking them into your bag, looks up, seriousness clouding her gaze. âWe get it. Just promise youâll keep in touch, okay? And donât hesitate to call if you need backup.â
âI promise,â you assure.
She hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small deviceâthe X-Men communicator gadget. She holds it out to you, and you reach your hand out.Â
âHere,â she says softly, pressing the device into your hand. âThis is so you can update us on your whereabouts, your status, or any important mission details. Even if you donât need anything, just⌠let us know youâre okay, alright?â
You look down at the communicator in your hand, and close your fingers around it, nodding as you meet Kittyâs gaze.Â
âAlright, Iâll check in regularly. I wonât leave you guys in the dark.â
Rogue finishes the last bit of organization. âYouâve got this,â she says, âAnd weâve got your back, even from a distance.â You nod, appreciating their support more than you can express.Â
It almost feels like a walk of shameâleaving the mansion. Everyone knows why too, and that makes it a thousand times worse. But you wonât let it get to you. With one last look, you get in your car and begin on the windy path to the airport.Â
â
When you arrive in Europe, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer beauty of the landscape. Each city, each town, has its own unique charm, its own story to tell. The bustling uphill streets of Porto, the serene canals of Venice, the ancient ruins of Athensâthey all offer a distraction from the turmoil inside you.
The only good part about this whole mess is that you can see colour, and truly appreciate the sights before you.
You move from one place to the next, blending in with the crowds, quietly observing, gathering information, and sending brief updates to the team through the communicator Kitty gave you. Every message is short, to the point, just enough to let them know youâre safe and on track. You donât share much beyond the essentials, not wanting to burden them with your personal struggles.
Then, in a small cafĂŠ in Rome, you meet a man named Marco. Heâs a traveler like you, exploring Europe with a curiosity that matches your own. Heâs warm, easygoing, and before long, the two of you strike up a conversation over coffee.
He is charming in a way that makes you feel at ease, his laughter infectious as he shares stories of his travels. You donât tell him much about yourself, keeping the details of your mission and your mutant abilities hidden. To him, youâre just another traveler, searching for somethingâthough he doesnât pry into what that something is.
As the days pass, you and Marco continue to cross paths, and itâs nice to have someone to talk to, someone who doesnât know about your past, about the things youâre running from. With him, you can be anyone, and for the first time in a long while, you start to feel a little lighter. You find yourself laughing more, the weight on your chest lifting a little each day. You donât talk about the mission, and you certainly donât talk about Logan.
One evening, as youâre both sitting on the steps of the Spanish Steps in Rome, watching the sunset, he turns to you with a grin. âSo, where are you off to next?â
You hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much, but then you smile. âIâm heading to Florence. There are some places I need to check out.â
His eyes light up. âFlorence? Iâve been meaning to re-visit. Mind if I tag along?â
A part of you wants to say no, to keep the distance youâve carefully maintained, but another partâthe part thatâs been lonely for so longânods in agreement. âSure, why not?â
â
Back at the mansion, things havenât been as positive. The once lively atmosphere has dimmed, replaced by an uneasy tension that lingers in the halls. The X-Men carry on with their duties, but thereâs a noticeable shiftâa missing piece that everyone feels but no one talks about. Logan, in particular, has become even more withdrawn, if thatâs possible. The man who was once brooding and distant now seems even more so, his mood volatile and unpredictable.
His behavior has become a source of concern for the team. Heâs always been rough around the edges, but now, itâs like the slightest thing can set him off. He snaps at everyone, his temper flaring at the smallest provocation. On missions, heâs reckless, throwing himself into danger without a second thought, as if heâs trying to outrun somethingâor someone.Â
In many evenings, Logan finds himself in the mansionâs gym, trying to work off the restless energy thatâs been plaguing him for months. The room is always empty, save for him, the steady rhythm of his fists pounding against the punching bag being the only sound. Sweat drips down his face, his muscles straining as he channels all his frustration and anger into each punch. Yet, no matter how hard he hits, he canât seem to shake the thoughts of you that have been haunting him.
This night, door to the gym creaks open, and Logan doesnât need to look up to know who it is. He can sense the other manâs presence, feel the weight of his gaze as he steps inside. He doesnât slow his punches, doesnât acknowledge Scottâs presence, but he knows why heâs here. Theyâve had this conversation beforeâor something like itâbut nothingâs changed. Nothingâs gotten better.
Scott watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Heâs been watching Logan spiral for weeks now, but heâs kept his distance, knowing that heâd only be pushed away. But this canât go onâLogan canât keep doing this, canât keep tearing himself apart over something he refuses to confront.
âShe wouldnât want this,â he finally says, voice cutting through the steady thud of Loganâs fists against the bag.
Loganâs movements falter for just a second before he resumes, his jaw tightening. âWho?â he growls, not bothering to turn around. âHer or Jean?â
Scott doesnât flinch at the harshness in the other manâs tone. He steps closer, his eyes steady on their target as he answers, âBoth.â
Finally, Logan stops. His fists still as he leans against the bag, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His shoulders are tense, the weight of Scottâs words pressing down on him like a physical burden. He doesnât want to hear this, doesnât want to be reminded of what heâs lostâof who heâs lost.Â
Taking a step closer, Scottâs voice is firm. âLook, Iâm not a spiritual person. But I also donât think the universe messed up with this.â
Clenching, his fists, Logan knows what the other man is getting at, but he doesnât want to acknowledge it. Doesnât want to think about what could have been, what heâs been too scared to even consider.
âI know you know how I felt about Jean,â Scott says quietly, knowing heâs breaching a sensitive subject. âLosing her⌠it killed me too. And if I had been given a chanceâa real chance to be with her, to make things rightâI would have taken it. No hesitation.â
Loganâs breath hitches at that. The truth is, heâs been runningârunning from you, from the bond you share, from the possibility of something real.Â
âIâm not saying you should chase after her,â he continues. âBut I am saying that you need to stop running from her. The universe doesnât just throw things like this at us for no reason. And you know that.â
The weight of Scottâs words settle over Logan like a shroud. He knows the other man is rightâdeep down, heâs always known. But that doesnât make it any easier. The fear, the guilt, the pain of losing Jeanâitâs all still there, gnawing at him, holding him back.Â
Thereâs something else too, something heâs been trying to ignore but canât any longer: the way he feels about you, the way heâs always felt, even if he couldnât admit it to himself. One of the first thoughtâs that ran through his head when his world re-erupted into colour was that, had this happened before Jean, maybe it could have worked. Maybe he could have been what you wanted, felt something real.
Scott takes a step back, giving Logan the space he needs. ���Just think about it,â he says softly. âThink about what you really want. And donât wait until itâs too late to figure it out.â
Logan doesnât respond, but Scott doesnât need him to. Heâs said what he needed to say, and now itâs up to him to decide what comes next. With a final look, Scott turns and leaves the gym, the door closing softly behind him.
The clawed mutant stands there for a long time, his fists still clenched, his mind racing. He knows he canât keep doing thisâcanât keep tearing himself apart over something he canât change, something heâs too afraid to confront.
But change is terrifying, especially when it means facing the truth. The truth that maybe, just maybe, the bond he shares with you is something worth fighting for. Something that Jean wouldnât want him to throw away.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Logan finally lets his fists unclench, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. He doesnât have all the answersâhell, he barely knows where to startâbut he knows one thing for sure: he's canât run away anymore. Not from this, not from you.
â
Youâve now spent days in Florence, wandering through the Uffizi Gallery, marveling at the works of the Renaissance masters, and evenings enjoying the quiet serenity of the Arno River. With you, Marco. Youâve grown to trust him. Heâs never made you uncomfortable, never had any intentions to take advantage of you, and knows all the best restaurants.Â
But thereâs always been a small, nagging doubt that youâve pushed asideâa feeling that something isnât quite right. Youâve ignored it, convincing yourself that youâre just being paranoid after everything youâve been through. After all, he has been nothing but kind, always knowing the right thing to say, always showing up just when you need someone.
It isnât until the two of you are exploring a quieter part of Florence, that the doubt flares into something more. Youâre walking through an old, narrow alleyway, the kind that tourists rarely venture into, when Marco suggests you take a shortcut through a small, unmarked door in the side of a building.
âI found this place the last time I was here,â Marco says, his smile as easy as ever. âItâs a hidden gem, leads right to a beautiful courtyard. Youâll love it.â
You hesitate, something in his toneâor maybe itâs the way his eyes gleam just a little too brightlyâsets off alarm bells in your mind. Youâve come to trust him though, havenât you? Youâve traveled together for weeks, shared countless stories and laughs. Surely, he wouldnât lead you into danger.
Still, as you step through the door, the darkened space beyond immediately feels wrong. The air is colder, damp, and the walls are lined with strange, unidentifiable equipment. You glance back at Marco, and thatâs when you see itâthe change in his expression. The warmth is gone, replaced by something cold and calculating.
Before you can react, you feel a sharp prick in your arm. Your vision blurs, and your body goes numb almost instantly. You stumble back, trying to push away, but your legs give out, and you collapse to the floor.
Marco looms over you, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a look of triumph. âDid you really think I didnât know?â he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. âYouâre a mutant, and you thought you could hide it from me?â
The world around you spins as the drug takes full effect, but you force your mind to stay focused. âWhat⌠why?â you manage to whisper, the betrayal cutting deep.
âWhy?â He laughs, the sound harsh and devoid of any warmth. âBecause mutants like you are worth a fortune. My clients pay top dollar for⌠research subjects. And you, my dear, are about to make me very, very rich.â
You try to move, to fight back, but your body refuses to respond. Panic rises in your chest as he kneels beside you, pulling out a small device that looks like a portable scanner. He runs it over you, and it emits a low hum as it registers your vital signs, confirming what he already knows. Youâre weak.Â
âYou wonât get away with this,â you say.
âOh, but I already have,â he replies with cruel satisfaction. âNo one knows where you are. And even if they did, itâll be too late by the time they find you.â
With the last bit of strength you can muster, you reach into your pocket, fingers trembling as you fumble with the X-Men communicator that Kitty gave you. His attention is momentarily distracted as he prepares a syringe filled with a clear liquid, and you seize the opportunity. You manage to pull out the communicator, your fingers barely able to grip it. Then, with a deep breath, you press the SOS button, the screen flashing to life.
You type in the message as quickly as you can, your vision blurring even more as the drug takes hold.Â
Location: Florence.Â
Message: Help.
Just as you hit send, Marco notices what youâre doing. His eyes widen in anger, and he grabs your wrist, yanking the communicator out of your hand. âYou littleâ!â he snarls, but itâs too late. The message has already been sent.
His face contorts in rage as he slams the gadget against the ground, smashing it to pieces. He glares down at you, his hand tightening painfully around your wrist. âYou think youâre so clever, donât you? But it doesnât matter. Theyâll never get here in time.â
Your strength is nearly gone, the drug pulling you into unconsciousness, but you manage one last defiant look. âYou wonât win,â you whisper with the last of your energy.
Marco releases your wrist with a sneer, standing up and looking down at you with contempt again. âWeâll see about that,â he mutters before turning away, leaving you on the cold, hard floor as darkness overtakes you.Â
You can only hope theyâthat Loganâwill reach you in time.
â
The signal comes through during a meeting. A sudden, loud beep cuts through the room, and everyone freezes, their attention immediately drawn to the source of the sound. To Kittyâs pocket. Itâs the X-Men communicator, the one linked to your device.Â
Loganâs head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he recognizes the tone. Heâs on his feet before anyone else can react, his heart pounding in his chest. âWhat the hell was that?â he demands, his voice tense with urgency.
Kitty quickly pulls it out of her pocket, her eyes widening as she reads the message thatâs flashed across the screen. Her face pales, and she looks up at the others, her voice trembling as she speaks. âItâs from her⌠Florence⌠Help.â
Thereâs a brief pause, maybe a second long in length, and then the room erupts into a flurry of movement.Â
Chairs scrape against the floor as the team rises to their feet, already preparing for action. But Logan is the first to react, his face a mask of fury and determination. âIâm going,â he growls, already heading for the door.
âLogan, wait!â Scott steps forward, blocking Loganâs path with a firm hand on his chest.Â
âGet out of my way, Summers,â He snarls, his voice filled with barely controlled rage. âIâm not waiting around while sheâs in danger.â
âWe canât just rush in without a plan,â Scott insists, trying to keep his own emotions in check. âWe need to know what weâre dealing with.â
Logan shoves the other mutantâs hand away, his eyes blazing with anger. âShe sent an SOS, Scott! She needs help, and weâre wasting time standing here talking about it!â
The rest of the team watches the confrontation with anxious eyes, knowing that things could easily escalate. Loganâs been on edge for weeks, and the urgency of the situationâof youâ has pushed him to the brink.Â
âLogan,â Ororo interjects, âWe understand how you feel, but we need to think this through. If this is a trapââ
âI donât give a damn if itâs a trap!â He snaps, his voice rising. âSheâs part of our team! We canât just leave her there!â
âThatâs not what weâre saying,â Scott tries to reason, but Logan isnât having it.
âThen what the hell are you sayinâ?â He demands, his frustration boiling over. âWhy are we wasting time when we should be getting her out of there?â
Thereâs a brief, uncomfortable silence, and then itâs Rogue who steps forward, conflicted. âLogan⌠what if⌠what if she doesnât want to see you?â
He freezes, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could. He stares at Rogue, disbelief and anger warring in his eyes. âWhat the fuck are you talking about?â he growls.
Rogue swallows, her eyes filled with worry. âShe left because she needed time, Logan. Because things between you two⌠they werenât good. Maybe sheâmaybe she doesnât want you to be the one to save her.â
Clenching his hands into fists, his body is taut with tension. âFuck that!â he roars with a fierce, protective rage. âSheâs part of our team! She sent that message to us, to the X-Men, because she needs our help. I donât care whatâs happened between us, Iâm not leavinâ her there!â
The room falls silent, the weight of Loganâs words settling over everyone. They know Logan is rightâsheâs part of the team, and they canât leave her behind. But they also know that the situation is more complicated than that.
Scott takes a deep breath, his gaze steady as he looks at Logan. âWeâre not saying we shouldnât go after her, Logan. Weâre saying that you need to be prepared for whatever we might find when we get there. She might be in a bad place, and she might not be ready to face you.â
âI donât care,â he says after a brief pause, his voice quieter now, but no less determined. âIâm going to get her out of there. Whether she wants to see me or not, Iâm not lettinâ her go through this alone.â
Scott studies Logan for a long moment, then finally nods. âAlright. But we do this together, as a team.â
Logan nods, his jaw set in a grim line. âFine. Letâs go.â
â
Your eyes snap open, the dim light of the room piercing your vision. Youâre in a large, abandoned warehouse. Your head feels heavy, like itâs filled with cotton, and thereâs a dull, throbbing pain at the base of your skull. As you try to move, you realize with a jolt of fear that youâre restrained, your arms and legs strapped tightly to a chair. Panic flares in your chest, and you struggle against the bonds, but they donât budge.
And then you see himâMarco, standing a few feet away, watching you with a smirk that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes gleam with satisfaction, and you realize with horror that youâve been caught, trapped in whatever twisted game heâs been playing.
âAh, youâre awake,â he says, voice dripping with mock concern. âI was starting to wonder if Iâd given you too much of the sedative. But it seems youâre tougher than I thought.â
You try to respond, but a gag in your mouth muffles your words, turning them into incoherent sounds. You glare at him your eyes burning with fury.
He only chuckles, clearly amused by your resistance. âOh, donât bother trying to speak. We wouldnât want you calling for help, now would we? Though, I must say, Iâm impressed you managed to send that little SOS before I caught on. Clever, but ultimately futile.â
He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks you over, his expression turning cold. âYou know, Iâve dealt with a lot of mutants in my time, but thereâs something special about you. Something⌠unique.â He reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. âToo bad your powers wonât do you any good here. The drug I gave you should keep you nice and powerless for the foreseeable future.â
Straining against the bonds, you continue to try to break free, but he drug in your system dulls your abilities, leaving you feeling weak and vulnerable. All you can do is stare at him with hatred as he continues to taunt you.
âSuch fire in your eyes,â Marco murmurs, almost to himself. âItâs a shame youâll never see the light of day again. But donât worryâIâll make sure your abilities are put to good use.â
He lets go of your chin, his hand trailing down to your shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. âNow, letâs see what we can do to make you a little more⌠compliant.â
Just as he reaches into his coat pocket, presumably for another syringe, a sudden, loud crash echoes through the warehouse. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass fills the air, followed by the unmistakable hum of energy blasts and the heavy thud of boots on the concrete floor.
The X-Men have arrived.
Marcoâs eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in anger. He spins around, barking orders at the security guards scattered throughout the warehouse. âStop them! Donât let them get near her!â
The guards rush forward, weapons drawn, but theyâre no match for your friends. The familiar sounds of battle flood your earsâRogueâs powerful punches, Scottâs optic blasts, and Stormâs lightning crackling through the air. You struggle against your restraints again, desperate to free yourself, but itâs no use.Â
Then, you catch a glimpse of Logan. Heâs fighting his way toward you, his claws out, slicing through anyone who gets in his way. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, your eyes meet his, and you can see the raw determination in his gaze. Heâs coming for you.
But just as he takes a step forward, something changes. He hesitates. You canât hear what heâs thinking, but you can see the conflict on his faceâthe way he seems to second-guess himself, the way his steps falter. Your heart sinks as you realize heâs unsure, almost as if he's torn between wanting to save you and fearing that you donât want him to.
In that split second of hesitation, Rogue swoops in, landing beside you with a determined look on her face. She doesnât waste any time, using her strength to tear through the restraints that bind you. âWeâve got you, sugah,â she says, her voice steady and reassuring as she pulls the gag from your mouth. âYouâre safe now.â
You nod, your throat too dry and your body too weak to speak. Your muscles scream in protest as you try to stand, but she quickly wraps an arm around you, helping you to your feet. Youâre shaky, your body still reeling from the effects of the drug, but youâre free. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan still standing there, his eyes locked on you, his expression unreadable. He wanted to save you. He wanted to be the one to pull you out of that nightmare, but something held him back.
Rogue helps you toward the exit as the rest of the team continues to subdue the guards and Marco. You lean heavily on her, your legs barely able to support your weight, but you force yourself to keep moving.Â
And when everyone else has back in the jet, hugging you and comforting you, you look over to Logan, who sits far away, on the opposite side, refusing to meet your gaze.Â
â
Returning to the mansion feels like stepping back into a familiar, comforting embrace. You missed the soft, warm bed in your room, the quiet serenity of the gardens, and the comforting presence of your friends. It's been a few days since the whole ordeal in Florence, and the drug has finally worked its way out of your system. Your strength has returned, and physically, you feel like yourself again. The mansion, too, seems unchangedâstill the safe haven youâve always known.
But as the days pass, you begin to notice that while many things have returned to normal, some things have not. Youâve seen most of your friends, their faces lighting up when they see you, their hugs tight and full of relief. There have been quiet conversations and laughter, shared meals in the kitchen, and moments that remind you why this place is home.
Except, thereâs one person you havenât seen. Logan.
His absence is like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. Youâve felt his presence in the mansionâheard his voice in the halls, the sound of his footsteps on the floorboardsâbut heâs kept his distance. He hasnât sought you out, hasnât tried to talk to you, and that stings more than you want to admit.
Youâve tried to stay strong, to remind yourself of the resilience you found during your time away. Youâve reminded yourself over and over that you donât need anyone else to validate your worth, that you can stand on your own. Yet the longer Logan avoids you, the harder it is to hold on to that strength. The old wounds, the ones you thought had begun to heal, start to ache again, and you canât help but wonder if anything has really changed at all.
More often than not, you find yourself retreating to the front lawn. The sun is warm on your skin as you lie down in the grass, a book in hand. The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of life inside the mansion create a peaceful background, and for a moment, you manage to lose yourself in the pages of your book.
Still, even here, in the sanctuary of the garden, the thoughts youâve been trying to push aside keep creeping back in. The memory of Florence, of Loganâs hesitation, lingers like a bitter aftertaste. You replay the moment over and over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why he stopped, why he didnât come for you.
Youâre so lost in your thoughts that you donât notice the shadow that falls across your page until a deep, familiar voice breaks the silence.
âIâm glad youâre alright.â
The voice startles you, and you jerk slightly, looking up to see Logan standing above you. His expression is guarded, as if heâs not sure how youâll react to his presence. Thereâs a tautness to his posture, a stiffness that you recognize all too well.Â
For a moment, you just stare at him, caught off guard by the suddenness of his appearance. Heâs as rugged and intimidating as ever, but thereâs something different in his eyesâsomething a tad bit softer. You close your book, sitting up slowly as you meet his gaze. The question thatâs been gnawing at you since Florence rises to the surface, and you know you canât keep it inside any longer.
âWhat happened?â you ask, your voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. âIn Florence?â
His jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his gaze shifting to the trees in the distance. He doesnât answer immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, thick with unspoken words.Â
You just watch him, waiting for an explanation, but thereâs a part of you thatâs already bracing for disappointment. Youâve been here before, waiting for Logan to decide what happens next, to take the lead. And youâre tired of it. Youâre tired of being the one left in the dark, of being the one who has to wait for him to be ready.
Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him. âI⌠I hesitated,â he admits huskily, almost in a growl. âI wanted to save you. Hell, I was going to. But then⌠I didnât know if you wanted me to.â
His confession hangs in the air, and you feel a mix of emotionsâsurprise, confusion, and sadness. You hadnât expected this, hadnât realized that his hesitation was rooted in something so painfully human.
âWhy wouldnât I want you to?â you ask softly, searching his face for answers.
Logan finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. âBecause of everything thatâs happened between us. Because I pushed you away. I hurt you, and I thought⌠maybe youâd be better off if it wasnât me.â
You shake your head, trying to make sense of his reasoning. âLogan, this canât keep being about what you think is best,â you begin. âAnd itâs not about who saves who. Itâs about being there when it counts. You were there. You came for me.â
He doesnât have a response to that, at least not right away. He looks down at the ground, his fists unclenching, his shoulders slumping even further. Itâs like heâs carrying the weight of everything heâs done, everything heâs failed to do, and itâs crushing him.Â
âIâm sorry,â he finally manages to get out. âFor everything.â
You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.
âI know Iâve messed up,â he continues. âI know I havenât been there for you like I shouldâve. But Iâm here now. And if youâll let me⌠I want to try to make things right.â
You know you should be happyâthis is everything youâve wanted to hear from him for so long. But itâs also too much, too late. The doubt, the pain, it canât just disappear with a snap of your fingers.
âI donât know if Iâm ready for that,â you admit.Â
Thereâs pain on his face. âI get it,â he says, his voice rough but steady. âI know Iâve got a lot to make up for. And I know itâs not going to happen overnight. But Iâm willing to do whatever it takes, if it means I can earn your trust back.â
âI need time. I need time to figure out where I stand, and where you stand with me.â
He nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ground again. âTake all the time you need,â he says quietly. âIâm not going anywhere.â
âI appreciate that,â With a small nod, you stand up, brushing the grass off your clothes. âI need time,â you repeat, more for your own benefit than his.
âAnd youâve got it,â Logan replies. âAs much as you need.â
â
Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. You focus on yourself, on healing the wounds that were reopened during your conversation with Logan. It feels strange, being the one who needs space, but you know itâs necessary. You find things to take your mind off him: you train more, read more, spend more time with Rogue, Kitty, or Remy. Itâs nice.
But Logan⌠Logan doesnât give up. He knows you need time, and he respects that. He doesnât push, doesnât pressure you to make a decision, but he makes it clear through his actions that he hasnât forgotten about you, and more importantly, that he isnât going anywhere.
It starts with the small thingsâthings so subtle that you almost donât notice at first. You probably wouldnât have suspected anything if you hadnât known the kind of person he is. Heâs nothing if not persistent. He knows you better than you realizeâthe rift he created after Jeanâs death muddling with your memoryâand he uses that knowledge to quietly, almost imperceptibly, work his way back into your life.
In the mornings, you wake up to find your favorite snacks waiting for you in the kitchen, carefully placed where youâd be sure to see them. He never mentions it, never takes credit, but you know itâs him. Itâs in the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye as you take a bite, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never makes a big deal out of itâjust a quiet, unspoken gesture that says, Iâm thinking of you.
Then there are the late-night training sessions. You go down to the Danger Room or the gym, hoping to clear your mind with a bit of solitary exercise, only to find Logan already there. At first, youâre tempted to leave, to find somewhere else to work out, but something in his demeanor stops you. He doesnât approach you, doesnât speak unless you initiate it. Instead, he just⌠exists beside you, his presence steady and reassuring, like a rock in the storm.
Itâs in these moments that you begin to see a different side of Loganâone thatâs patient, understanding, and perhaps a little unsure of himself. He follows your lead, mirroring your exercises or silently spotting you during weightlifting, always attentive to your needs without ever making you feel pressured or overwhelmed. Heâs just there, offering his support in the quietest, most understated way possible.
And then there are the little surprises in your roomâsmall, thoughtful gestures that you canât help but notice. A favorite book youâd mentioned in passing suddenly appears on your nightstand, its pages pristine and waiting for you to dive into. The time-worn leather straps on your gear are suddenly replaced with new ones that fit perfectly, the stitching unmistakably done by Loganâs hand. Even your plants, the ones youâd worried would wither away while you were on a mission, seem to thrive in your absence, the soil freshly watered and the leaves turned toward the sun.
He never asks for thanks, never draws attention to what heâs doing. Itâs all done quietly, behind the scenes, as if heâs afraid that if you notice too much, you might push him away. But you do notice. How could you not?
At first, you try to ignore it, telling yourself that these gestures donât change anything, that theyâre just a way for Logan to assuage his guilt. You tell yourself that heâs just doing this because he feels bad, because he wants to make up for the past, not because he actually cares. Youâve built walls around your heart for a reason, and youâre not ready to let them down just because heâs being nice.
But over time, those small gestures begin to chip away at those walls, brick by brick. You start to realize that Logan isnât just going through the motionsâheâs really paying attention, noticing the little things that make you who you are. It isnât just about the snacks or the books or the plantsâitâs about the way he remembers the details of your life, the things that matter to you, the things that make you feel seen and understood.
After a particularly long and stressful day, you return to your room exhausted, and all you want is to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. But when you walk in, you find a small bouquet of wildflowers sitting on your nightstand, the beautiful colors a stark contrast to the dark thoughts that have been swirling in your mind all day. Thereâs no note, no explanationâthere never isâbut you know who left them.
You just stand there, staring at the flowers, your heart squeezing in your chest. Itâs such a simple gesture, and yet it means so much. Youâd forgotten that Logan knew how much you love wildflowersâyouâd mentioned it once, years ago. The way theyâre resilient, thriving even in the harshest conditions, blooming where others wouldnât. Itâs as if heâs telling you that he sees that strength in you, that he admires it.
And itâs then, in the quiet of your room, surrounded by the small, thoughtful gestures that Logan has left behind, that you realize something. This isnât just about making up for the past. Logan is showing you, in the only way he knows how, that he wants this. Wants you.
He's finally picked up the pieces of him that fell apart after Jeanâs death, and he is willing to pick up the pieces of you that fell apart after his rejection.
So, one evening, months after that fateful conversation on the lawn, you find yourself standing in the common room, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. The mansion is quiet, the rest of the team either out on a mission or asleep. Itâs just you and the flickering flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.
But when you hear footsteps behind you, heavy and deliberate, you know instantly who it is. Without turning, you can sense his presence, the way he moves with that quiet confidence, the way the air seems to shift when he is near. Logan has always had a way of grounding you, even when you donât want him to.
He walks up beside you, stopping just short of touching you, his warmth radiating in the small space between your bodies. He doesnât say anything at first, doesnât ask why youâre here or try to force a conversation. He just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets, waiting patiently, giving you the time you need. Itâs something youâve come to appreciate about him in recent monthsâhis newfound ability to just be, without pushing or demanding more than youâre ready to give.
"Iâve been thinking," you say finally, your voice soft, as you continue to gaze into the flames.
"Yeah?" Logan asks, his tone careful, as if heâs afraid of saying the wrong thing.
You turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Youâve been⌠different. Doing all these little things⌠I see them, you know."
Loganâs eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long time, you see hope there. "I just wanted you to know that I care. That Iâm sorry," he says, with so much emotion. âYou were never a burden to me.â
You swallow hard. "Itâs hard for me, Logan," you admit, "Iâve been hurt before, and Iâm scared. Scared that if I let myself love you again, youâll just⌠break me."
He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "Iâd never hurt you again," he says, "Iâd rather cut off my own damn hand than hurt you. The past is the past, and you are my future."
Thatâs enough to make your walls crumble completely. You know, deep down, that Logan is telling the truth. That heâs willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.
And in that moment, you realize that maybe, just maybe, youâre ready to let him.
You donât say anything. Instead, you let your actions speak for you. You close the distance between you, standing on your toes as you press your lips to his in a gentle, tentative kiss. Logan freezes for a split second, as if he canât believe this is really happening, but then he kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close, holding you as if he never wants to let go.
The kiss is slow, tender, full of everything that has been building between you for so long. It isnât just a kissâitâs a promise, a commitment to try again, to rebuild what has been broken. When you finally pull back, your breath mingling with his, you rest your head on his shoulder. "Iâm still scared," you whisper.
"I know," Logan replies, his arms tightening around you. "But Iâm here, and Iâm not going anywhere. Weâll take this slow, darlinâ. Whatever you need."
You nod. "Okay."
Logan smiles then, a real, genuine smile that makes your heart flutter in a way it hasnât in years. Itâs a smile full of relief, of gratitude, of loveâa smile that tells you that he understands just how much this moment means, just how much youâre giving him by letting him back into your heart.
â
The time that follows is a slow, steady journey of rebuilding trust. Logan is true to his wordâhe is patient, understanding, and surprisingly tender in ways you hadnât expected. The small gestures continueâcoffee waiting for you in the morning, a gentle hand on your back during missions, quiet moments of companionship where no words are needed.
You can feel the doubts youâve been holding onto slowly begin to fade. Each time Logan shows up for you, each time he puts your needs above his own, it chips away at the fear that has kept you guarded for so long. Itâs in the way he listens when you talk, truly listens, as if every word you say matters. Itâs in the way he looks at youânot with the same fury he once had, but with a steady, enduring affection that speaks of something deeper.
With Jean, he loved her because she was his soulmate, she was who the universe destined him to be with. He loved her because thatâs what he thought he had to do.
With you, he has a choice. He doesnât need to acknowledge the bond, but he chooses to. He chooses to everyday and heâll never stop. He loves you because he wants to, not because he has to.
One evening, you find yourself sitting on the mansionâs porch watching the sunset. Logan joins you without a word, sitting close enough that your shoulders brush.Â
âYouâve been quiet today,â he says softly, breaking the comfortable silence.
âIâve just been thinking,â you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. Itâs a simple gesture, but one that speaks volumes about how far youâve come in trusting him again.
ââBout what?â he asks, his voice gentle.
âAbout us,â you say, your voice steady. âAbout how things have changed. How⌠how good theyâve been.â
Loganâs hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels so natural, so right. âYeah?â
âYeah,â you echo, squeezing his hand. âIâm not scared anymore, Logan. Not like I was.â
He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. âYou sure?â
You nod, smiling softly. âIâm sure. Youâve shown me that this bond means something to you, that youâre not going to hurt me. And⌠I want this. I want us.â
Loganâs face lights up with so much love, that it takes your breath away. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. âIâm glad, darlinâ. Because I want us too. More than anything.â
â
It isnât long before the rest of the X-Men begin to notice the change in Logan as well. At first, itâs subtleâsmall things like the way he looks at you during briefings, or the way he seems to be more patient, more relaxed when youâre around. But over time, it becomes impossible to ignore.
During a training session in the Danger Room, youâre paired with Logan for a simulated mission. The others watch as Logan moves with you in perfect sync, his focus not just on the mission but on youâmaking sure youâre safe, supporting you when needed, and trusting you completely. Itâs a far cry from the Logan they had seen when he was in mourning, where his moves were rash and careless.
After the session, as you and Logan leave the Danger Room, you catch sight of Ororo and Scott exchanging a look, the kind of look that speaks volumes, full of surprise and a touch of amusement.
âWhat?â you ask, raising an eyebrow as you approach them.
Ororo smiles warmly, a knowing glint in her eyes. âNothing, just⌠noticing how good you two are together.â
Scott nods in agreement, his expression softening as he glances at Logan. âYeah, itâs⌠different, finally seeing him like this. In a good way.â
Logan shrugs, but thereâs no hiding the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. âWhatâre you guys talking about?â
âJust that itâs nice to see you happy, Logan,â Ororo says gently. âReally happy.â
Logan looks at you then, his smile growing as he meets your gaze. âYeah. It is.â
More members of the team begin to notice the change in Logan as time goes on. Rogue, who has always had a soft spot for him, comments on how he seems more at ease, less burdened by the weight of his past. Hank, ever the observer, points out how Loganâs demeanor has shiftedâless brooding, more open. Even Charles, who has seen Logan through his darkest times, pulls you aside one day to express his approval.
âI must say,â Charles says, his tone warm and approving, âI havenât seen Logan like this in a very long time. Whatever you two have managed to sort out, itâs working.â
And it is. Slowly but surely, the wounds that had once held you back have healed. The doubts that had kept you from fully embracing your relationship with Logan have faded, replaced by a deep, abiding love. It isnât just the little gestures anymoreâitâs the way Logan makes you feel seen, heard, and cherished in a way that no one else ever has.
â
âI never thought weâd get here,â you admit one night whilst looking up at the stars.
Logan looks at you, his expression tender. âNeither did I,â he says, his voice full of sincerity. âBut Iâm damn glad we did.â
You smile, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. âI love you, Logan. And I trust you. Completely.â
His grip tightens slightly, as if to hold onto the moment, to hold onto you. âI love you too, darlinâ. I never thought Iâd feel this way about someone.â
You know what heâs trying to say. So without thinking, you reach up and cup his face, drawing him closer until your lips are just a breath away from his. âShow me,â you whisper, your voice low and filled with desire.
He doesnât need any more encouragement. He closes the small gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft at first, almost tentative, as if heâs savoring the feel of you.Â
You can feel the heat between you building, the kiss growing more fervent as your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, then into his hair. Brown.Â
His hands slide up your back, one hand tangling in your hair as he angles your head, deepening the kiss further until youâre both breathless.
When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting against each otherâs, youâre both panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes are dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he holds you close.
âYouâre everything to me,â he murmurs. âI never thought Iâd get my happy ending, but here you are⌠and Iâm never lettinâ you go.â
You smile, feeling the last remnants of pain melt away, replaced by a certainty that this is where youâre meant to be. âAnd Iâm never leaving,â you whisper back, sealing your words with another kiss that quickly reignites the fire between you.
This kiss is hungrier, more urgent, as if you both need to make up for lost time. Loganâs hands roam your body with a possessiveness that sends shivers down your spine, his touch igniting a fire in your core.
That night, you lose yourself in him, in the way he tastes, in the way he makes love to you as if youâre the most precious thing in the world. Because this time, youâre not just in loveâyouâre in love with a man who loves you back, fully and completely.Â
And that makes all the difference.
----
a/n: i love you if you made it this far. please check out my new series The Feeling's Mutual
#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett fic#the wolverine#wolverine#wolverine angst#logan x reader#logan howlett#james logan howlett#logan howlett imagine#angst#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett angst#deadpool 3#wolverine smut#deadpool#wade wilson#x men#x men movies#logan howlett smut#mcu#marvel#mcu imagine
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Help 5-Year-Old Mariam and Her Family Escape the Horrors of War in Gaza đđ
Five-year-old Mariam,đwith her bright pink backpack and tiny hands clutching a red rose, was ready to head to her KG2 class. It was a Saturday morning, October 7, and Mariam was filled with excitement and pride for reaching the next stage of her education. She wanted to surprise her kind teacher with that little rose. But in an instant, her world â our world â was torn apart.
Without warning, the skies filled with the sounds of explosions. The joyful morning turned into a nightmare of dust, fear, and destruction. Her preschool was shattered, her teacherâs life taken, and our neighborhood became a place of ruin. That single day marked the beginning of a relentless assault on Gaza â a place where childhood dreams, laughter, and innocence were erased in moments.
I am Khaled Ismail, a 41-year-old father, and my wife Rasha is 32. We live in Gaza with our three children. Our youngest, beautiful Mariamđ, is just five years old. Our eldest, Walid, 12, is a boy full of dreams, always hoping to become an inventor. And in the middle, thereâs Karim, our 10-year-old, whose laughter and jokes used to brighten our darkest days.
But the war has left scars that words cannot heal. The day of the first airstrike changed everything. Rubble covered their toys, and black dust filled the air. The sound of my childrenâs cries mixed with the chaos of families running for their lives. We left our home that day, desperately searching for safety. But every step, every shelter, brought only more destruction.
For a year now, we have been displaced, moving from one place to another, only to be met with more violence. Today, our home is nothing more than a frail tent. It offers no shelter from the burning heat of summer or the biting cold of winter. My childrenâs small bodies are battered by this reality â malnutrition, intestinal infections, heat stroke, and even hepatitis are constant threats.
I have nothing left to change our situation. My children have lost everything. I have lost everything. Their childhood is buried under the rubble, their dreams replaced by survival, and their once-joyful laughter now a faint memory.
I am humbly reaching out to you with a plea to help us escape this endless nightmare. Our dream is simple: to find safety, to give our children a chance at life, to give Mariam and her brothers a future. With every dollar, you offer a glimmer of hope, a step closer to a place where they can finally be children again.
Please, be the reason my family finds peace. Your support, even just one dollar, can make all the difference. Together, we can turn this story of despair into one of hope and resilience. Start today, and be a part of the miracle we need.
Help Mariamđ. Help my family. Let us find a place to live with dignity and hope. Thank you for reading, and thank you for caring.
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hiii lovely! could you do a poly!marauders one where the reader wakes up needy and decides to relieve herself by grinding one of the marauders' thighs, leading to her being slowly and passionately fucked by all of them?
I think maybe I need to work on following instructions, I just took this and went with what turned me on at the time, hope you enjoy anyway 𩷠I think I'm not that good at slow and passionate....
Masterlist.
James had his tongue buried in your pussy, your hands tugging at his hair, back arched and hips grinding down against his face. You shuddered as the edge of that one cliff came closer and closer.
Waking up was a disappointment. No James between your thighs (which was always a disappointment). It hadnât all been a dream though, your hips had been grinding against something, only, not Jamesâ tongue. Sirius was laying behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, your hair tickling his cheeks where it lay, pressed into your neck. His thigh was shoved between yours, and you realized you had been using it, in your sleep, to get off against. Sirius had beautiful thighs. Fleshy. They werenât quite as good as Jamesâ face, but not that far off. The memory of your dream fresh in your mind, along with the lovely thoughts of Siriusâ thighs, you decided to keep going, using his thigh to rub your clit against.
It took a few moments to get that really good feeling back, your orgasm having slipped away as you woke up. You tried to replay the dream from your inner eye, focusing your every thought on the feeling of Jamesâ tongue against your clit.
Siriusâ arms wrapped harder around you pulling you closer, thighs flexing from between yours.
âMorning love,â his raspy voice murmured into your neck. âHaving fun?â
âMhm,â you hummed, hips moving in tandem with the flex of his thigh. âAh- so much fun.â
You couldnât help the moans escaping your mouth as his hands moved to your hips, guiding you against him, lips kissing down your shoulder.
âSuch a pretty girl, getting off against my thigh, even in your sleep?â
âY-ah-yes.â
Using his grip on your hips, he stilled your body, stopping your hips from moving, making you whine out in protest.
âDonât worry,â he whispered, lips against your ear, âjust wanna be inside you.â
âNghh,â you groaned, unable to wait a second longer for the feeling of Siriusâ cock inside you. Pushing your hips back against his crotch, you tried expressing your want without words. Thankfully, Sirius was used to your antics and lifted the hem of your shirt, fingers finding your already dampened hole, pushing in softly, spreading slick around, readying you for him. Grinding back once more, your body told him to hurry the eff up.
âIâve got you babe,â he murmured, âjust gotta get you ready.â
Only a few seconds later, he pushed down his own underpants, freeing his cock, giving it a few pumps before pushing your side slightly, moving you to lay partly on your side and partly on your tummy. Taking one strong hold on your hip, and using one hand to line himself up, it wasnât long before he pushed himself inside of you, letting a loud groan out.
âFuck, babe, feel so good,â he said, hips thrusting against your backside. âWhat got you this wet huh? Did you have a nice dream?â
Your cheeks burned; getting off against one of your boyfriends was one thing, telling him about your wet dreams about your other boyfriend was different. But Sirius felt so good inside you, and you knew heâd enjoy it if you told him, so you bit back your embarrassment and told him.
âYe-ah,â your voice came out broken, his thrusts were more passionate than usual, long and languid strokes, taking his time, but you still struggled to speak through it. âI dreamedâ that â oh â Jamie was â going down on me â heâs so â go-od at that.â
The hand on your hip squeezed harder as Siriusâ other came around to squeeze your tit.
âHe really is good at that, maybe he should do it now, huh?â His words made you moan. âJamie? Will you take care of our girl? She needs your mouth, I think.â
You hadnât even realized that James and Remus had woken, but it wasnât surprising; you werenât exactly being quiet. When you met his eye, James looked at you with so much love in his eyes, adoration written all over his face.
âSure thing,â he said, quickly looking over your shoulder to meet Siriusâ (whose hips had slowed down even more) eye. Looking back at you, James leaned in for a quick kiss and a âgood morning, love,â before he dipped down along the bed, settling in between your thighs, hands caressing your milky skin.
As James got to work, tongue lapping with skill at your clit, Sirius kept moving his hips, dragging the head of his cock against your walls, reaching the most lovely places of your center. Just like you had in your dream, you reach your hand down to grab a hold of Jamesâ hair, grinding your hips against his mouth and chin. Unlike your dream, though, you were also grinding back against Sirius, who stopped moving his hips, allowing you to get yourself off using him.
âDamn, babe, youâre so hot, so beautiful for us, so good, getting yourself off huh? Using my cock and Jamiesâ face like the little cockslut that you are? Yeah, doing wonderful my love,â Sirius murmured against your neck, the grip on your hip having gotten softer, allowing you to move at your own accord.
James, whose mouth was slightly occupied, only hummed in agreement, as his tongue swirled around your nub.
Knowing how much his words affected you, Sirius kept talking you through it.
âGood girl, thatâs it, does it feel good? Is Jamie doing well? Dâyou like my cock inside you? Are you gonna let Remmy have a go after youâve milked me? Gotta take care of out moony yâknowâ fuck, look at him, watching you, he thinks youâre so pretty, our pretty girl, doing so well, are you gonna come? Gonna come all over me, and Jamie? Ready and open for Rem?â
He spoke absolute filth into your neck and ear, nipping at the skin, licking and biting at it, it sent shockwaves through your body, and you could feel that edge getting closer again. You did as Sirius said, looked at Remus, who had now sat himself up, leaning against the wall, pants pulled down to his thighs, hand around his cock, pumping slowly, eyes roaming over your body, you face, your tits, where Sirius played with your nipple, down to your core, where Jamesâ head was stuck between your thighs as your hips ground against him.
It was all so hot, and as Sirius kept coaxing you to come, you finally did, hips stuttering and thighs squeezing Jamesâ head. If you werenât in the middle of an orgasm, you might be worried about hurting him, though he didnât seem to mind.
âPretty girl, doing so well,â Sirius said, moving your hair out of your face as your body kept convulsing. âLay down on your tummy for me, babe.â
You did as you were told, and Sirius moved behind you, without ever pulling out completely. Straddling the backs of your thighs, he squeezed your arsecheek hard before he thrust himself inside you. It was almost too much, the cock you had just came around still being shoved inside you, but it also felt good, and you knew Sirius was close and that the feeling of him coming inside you would be worth the overstimulation.
âHurry up Pads,â Remus groaned. His hand was no longer wrapped around himself, but rather around Jamesâ now soft cock. It wasnât the first time heâd come untouched from eating you out; in fact, he often did, but Remus would always enjoy taking one more from him, tugging at his soft and aching member, forcing him to give up just one more orgasm. âMy turn soon.â
Trying to speed up the process, always ready to please Remus, you tried squeezing your walls around Sirius in time with his thrusts, tensing your muscles and using that grip to milk him dry.
You were rather successful. It wasnât many seconds before he grunted as he came inside you, hips stilling and head falling down to kiss the back of yours.
âThank you, love,â he murmured, before pushing himself up and off of you, moving to lay beside you. âGo ahead, moons.â
Remus flipped you over, apparently done with Jamesâ spent cock.
âHi darling,â he said, sitting next to you, face leaned down to kiss you. âSleep well?â
âMorning Remmy, yeah, I did, you?â Your voice was still airy, still affected by your orgasm.
âSlept like a prince, baby, loved waking up to your little moans about Jamieâs mouth,â he teased, leaning away from your face and straddling your chest. âAre you gonna let me fuck your face now, baby? It wonât take long, promise, just need your mouth right now.â
His words felt like a mocking of your dream and your words about James, but it was sexy nonetheless, turning you on again, leaning your head back against the pillow and allowing your mouth to fall open. Instead of answering verbally, your tongue fell out and you relaxed your throat, showing Remus that you were ready for him.
âSuch a good girl,â he said, raising his hips and feeding his cock into your mouth.
Focusing on your breathing and staying still and laxed for him, you allowed his cock into your mouth, his hips already stuttering from the feeling. His one hand was around his base and the other laid against your cheek, sometimes moving his cock to push against your cheek, feeling it with his hand.
Normally, you wouldnât allow Remus to fuck your face like this, his cock was too big and it always bruised the back of your throat, but he did say he would be quick â and he was. The hand against your cheek wiping away the first set of tears running down your face, and it was as if the contact of thumb and tear pulled him apart because he was spilling inside your throat, cock slightly vibrating, and spurting come, filling your entire mouth.âNow thatâs a good morning,â he murmured as he moved to lay beside you, kissing your entire face, licking into your mouth and tasting himself on your tongue. âLetâs get cleaned up, Iâll eat you out in the shower.â He added as a response to your groaning, not ready for the day to start.
#amathelia writes#mywriting#fanfic#marauders era#james potter#remus lupin#sirius black#smut#marauders#james potter smut#james potter x reader#Sirius black smut#Sirius Black x reader#poly!marauders#poly!marauders x reder#poly!marauders smut#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin smut#absolute filth
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to you, my greatest passion (soft yandere! batfam x traumatized! reader oneshot)
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
tw: allusions to stockholm syndrome, flawed relationship (they have no concept of boundaries) and mild descriptions of injuries and torture (not by the batfam). read until the end for an author's note. happy 4k followers to me :)) uh leave comments if u like this type of analysis and want to see more. i had no direction for writing this. please don't let this flop huhu i might delete this since i don't like it
as much as i love my angst, we all need something soft at times, and moments with yan!batfam with a reader who is absolutely fucking broken from their past that the mere implication that someone could love them is enough to let them melt into whoever's chest they lay upon that night.
just, hurt/comfort. one that heals the soul in its overly possessive embrace. the same way chapped lips peck softly on your cheeks, muscled arms caress your fragile, shivering body, and legs tangle upon yours in a cacophony of warm, cozy blankets.
where as the longer time passes in the manor, the more you learn to love. to let go of the painful memories your tormenters left you. to allow past scars to heal into a mere visage of what once was streaks coated in blood. your family acts as your new abductors, yes, but how could you hold your freedom against them when it is them that comfort you from drowning through the deepest depths of your nightmares?
nightmares of the past, of the knives that break through your already gashed skin, or the ropes that burn through bruises and lacerationâ every time you wake up crying, with tears running down your cheeks and a pained cry; a recollection of the torture you were subject to, it is them that come running to your room not a moment after.
it's bruce's tall, domineering form that crumbles into soft, snug pillows for you. your father arms that punches criminals into prison become the shoulder you lean on. calloused fingers rub your cheeks, wiping away your tears, holding your face in his palms like you're the most fragile thing on earthâ and you are. every time he looks at your dampened eyes and sniffling nose, he gets reminded of how lonely he was as a child, who lost his parent too young to the cruelty of the world, of gotham and her unyielding coldness. and when he reminisces, he begins to cage you in his arms a tad bit tighter, begins to comfort you longer and softer than he has ever done with anyone else, as if he is reassuring himself. it is with you that his vulnerability, that fear of loss becomes all too stronger. and every time you cry a bit longer, your hold on his sleeves becoming unyielding, does bruce become crueler in his pursuit of fighting crime, a lesson to himself that the people he punishes are those with hands capable enough to harm you, his precious, his pearl that glints throughout the moonlight.
whenever your father is unavailable, it's dick who runs to you, with all the intention to provide you comfort. it's him who calls you his baby bird, as he reassures you that you're no burden in his eyes every time you scream in terror as your sleep. it's him who loves to drown you in his affection, always near, always close, never far and never too much. physically, he's the most doting to a fault. tender, yet tight were his hugs. his kisses to your cheeks and your forehead always linger, as if hesitant to release itself from its rightful place. it's a testiment to how much he loves you, how he's incapable of separating himself from you. god, he loves you so much he wishes he'd just melt right into your skin, so that you actually finally realize how you're the most important thing in the world to him. you, his baby bird. if he had met you sooner, quite earlier, right after his parent's have died, then maybe he could've managed his anger better, could've learned to cope with you through the battles you both fought. it's with you that dick feel unbearably euphoric, ready to spill his love to the point where tears consume his eyes and his head laid on your chest refuses to detach itself.
jason isn't familiar with what warmth feels like, not anymore. but when he sees your hapless state, he sees a reflection of himself in that abandoned warehouse. broken, defiled, hurt. with nothing to comfort you from the cold other than the ropes that burn through your skin and the adrenaline that runs through your veins. he forgots what solace feels like, what it means, but through your shared trauma does jason learn. he learns to talk to you, with you, learns to pinpoint each and every emotion he felt at the time, what you felt inside that putrid basement. he learns to manage his grief because he doesn't want to anger himself looking at you, at just how much justice can only serve so many. the longer you talk to jason, the more he becomes softer, yet hungrier. he learns how to hold you in a way a brother learns to hold his baby sibling for the first time when conceived. he relearns the warmth he felt, like when he was finally able to be good enough to be the successor to the title of robin, when he felt you drool on his chest when you trusted him enough to sleep in his room. yet this time that feeling was accompanied with that ominous, distracting essence. one that makes jason's knuckles crack and have him prepare his guns, as he discovers that you can never truly erase the past. and even though it might take years for him to be your ideal brother, he could at least be your sole protector.
then there's tim, who never truly had the opportunity to develop that deeper sense of love he wanted to feel until he was officially adopted into the wayne family right after his parents' death. don't get him wrong, he loves his mom and dad, and so does he loves his current familyâ but it's obsession that drives him nonetheless. the need to prove himself, to gather information about everyone to know who they truly are; beyond that there's nothing more than shallowness, a neverending hole he can't satisfy. but with you? oh god, you. to tim, you're his everything. you devour his being whole. with you, there's always something new. the need to track every single thing about you leads him into this cycle of want and need that coagulates into desire, into drive. every time you smile, or laugh, or frown, he gains newer intel about you, one he loops into the deepest crevices of his brain at a constant, you are his constant. but staying right behind you can only do so much. and as he sits right beside you in bed, awkwardly comforting you through the ways he mirrored off from his brothers: a sloppy kiss to your knuckles, a joke cracked here and there, and wiping your eyes and nose with his sleeves; tim learns that stalking can only do so much. he learns what it feels like to be needed for emotional connection and nothing else and that only further motivates him to be perfect for you, and to be with you, his sibling, more often than to simply live right under your nose.
and damian, your baby brother, who's unsurprisingly the one who sleeps in your room, or has you sleep in his room, the most. damian tells himself he's incapable of love, of showing it or reciprocating it. but for you, he tries, and like jason, he learns. he discovers just how depraved both of you are when it comes to love. it enlightens you both and it makes damian feel a deeper sense of connection with you than anyone else. with you, he feels like a child: vulnerable, yet uncaring and free, like the true meaning of being a robin, one the soars through the skies with no grandfather or mother or league to watch your every step as their successor. all the times you cry, he silently sobs with you, holding your cheeks down to his level with scarred palms. silent, yet comforting, he'd allow his smaller form to simply become your teddy bear whilst he whispers consolations. about how strong his older sibling is, how precious you are for being comfortable with him to speak of your problems, how you're everything to damian just as he wishes to be the world for you. it makes you think you're more immature that him, it makes him grateful that he has you. even though he doesn't say it, he shows through actions just how truly important you are whenever he draws a sword towards his enemies, thinking about you and his unsaid promises.
nights where you're reminded of that solitary confinement, of the darkness that creeps into your vision and the voices that pierce through your ears. nights where you feel you've exhausted yourself of hope, where what was once warmth that hugs your heart is now that frigid, yet burning spikes that penetrates into the confidence that you'll somehow, someday, run away from that hellholeâ those were nights you thought you'd never live with proper sleep. but as one or two of them holds you in their embrace whenever your nightmares consume your being, you're slowly allowing your established walls to fall apart, all for the mere implication of their love.
who would save you, if not for them? their hushed whispers of consolation, hands that wrap around your figure, and fingers that knead your cheeks provide you that deep sated comfort you always wanted. the sleeves they use to wipe away both saltine liquid and snot, to slowly silence your blubbering rambles, your inconsolable crying; it's warmer than the basement you used to be locked in as a child, with dripping faucets the only source of your waterâ they saved you once before, who's to say they won't save you a thousand times more?
every time you feel like crying, every time that familiar faulty tap in your eyes begins to dampen against ashen skin, it's them that asks you if you're alright. even if you grit your teeth, even if you seeth or bite or beat or punch or kick, to punish yourself, to cope through the trauma, to not feel nothing.
every time pain begins to sear through your skin, it's your grandfather, father, brothers and sisters that huddle around you and tell you 'you're safe here, in the manor, with us'.
every time they spend hours, ditching patrol nights, cooking your comfort food, reading your favorite books, watching movies for hours, ignoring your assigned sleep schedule, kissing your scarred hands gently, reverently, cuddling your form against their strong ones as a silent promise that with them, there's nothing to harm you no moreâ you'd feel lighter every time, a tad happier, even. slowly, but surely, melting against the confines of your adorned cage and the embrace of your loving captors.
every time they help you heal, it makes you forgive, and it makes you forget their prior kidnapping in return of building new memories with them, in a safer haven, with nobody to hurt you any longer, with nobody to bash your head against concrete walls, to punish you. you who is underserving of the circumstances bought upon you back then.
safe, a word you thought you'll never feel, a word you didn't even know existed in the crevices of your heart. but it is with them that you slowly start to associate safe with family.
the family that you've come to love and cherish in your own imperfect ways, the same way a stray dog becomes too loyal to a passerby when given bones for leftovers every day.
but you're not an animal, and you're not a pavlovian dog meant to be conditioned. no, you're their baby, their love, their treasure and their only one. the love they feed you exceeds beyond leftovers. only you can devour them wholly, the same way they cloak your world in the love that fills that neverending pit in your heart.
you're not biologically related to any of them in any way, too. yet it was all a matter of coincidence that they stumbled upon you.
but really, past is past.
then is then.
now it's just you and them.
it's you, with them.
just your family. overbearing, overprotective, overpowering.
but nothing is always over to you. their love isn't too much. how could you tell yourself it's too much? not when you were never given a basis of what is too much. how is one too much when you were never even given enough?
trust is built upon a foundation of connecting with others who can relate with you one way or another, who can see past through your flaws and mistakesâ it's a bond that precedes mere acquaintanceship.
you might've met them later than everyone else, but it's you that completes them.
you're the puzzle that completes the family photographs, the goal for bruce to continue his legacy as batman and to ward off all evil, the inspiration for dick to be that aspiring hero everyone sees him to be, the reason jason begins to reform himself for your sake, the purpose for tim's endless pursuit of knowledge, the muse for damian's painting, the subject for his love he thought was no more, the ambition for steph's prolongation despite her countless of failures, the motivation for barbara to seek out all the criminals who have harmed you, the influence for cass to be stronger to protect you, the catalyst for duke to use his metahuman abilities for good, to take out those who walk in broad daylight, as if they weren't involved in your past tortures.
you're everything that they are.
their sunshine and moonlight, their companionship and loneliness, their pain and pleasure, their yin and yan.
their greatest passion.
a/n: hii guys erm. this is so sudden and also counts as a rant but yk... i feel like quitting this blog but at the same time not. it's just, i feel like writing has been more of an obligation than anything else. it doesn't help the fact that i've only been getting interaction if i were to actually produce something good. beyond that, it feels like people are expecting more of me. i get it, updates are sporadic, they appear in the blink of an eye when you least expect it, but at the same time it's just hard juggling what i want to write and what i feel like i need to write. this blog was primarily to post about my thoughts and to talk to people but lately, every time i open this app to write, i feel these plethora of thoughts and expectations telling me that if i don't do well enough then people would merely ignore whatever i post or it's just bad by standards. and yes i'm grateful for all the people supporting my writing, but at the same time i'm lead to a cycle of me losing my motivation to continue writing. ugh idk what im doing anymore help :((
tl;dr: will i stop writing? no, but at the same time i don't know. someday, i may deactivate this account out of impulse if i feel too much, or not. it depends hehe.
#đˇ... yael's works#đ§... yael's misc.#yandere batfam#yandere batman#yandere bruce wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere tim drake#yandere damian wayne#yandere barbara gordon#yandere stephanie brown#yandere cassandra cain#yandere duke thomas#platonic yandere#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x gn reader#yandere x male reader#yandere x female reader#soft yandere#yandere dc#male yandere#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#yandere x darling
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I'll Do Anything(JJK virginity loss headcanons)
warnings: virginity loss, unprotected sex, use of condoms(Nanami), mentions of cunnilingus/fem!oral sex, dub con(Sukuna), forced sex(Sukuna), dark themes(Sukuna) word count: 1.7k pairings: Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader, Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader, Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader a/n: I'm so close to finishing up season one of JJK, so I just had to write more content! I hope you all enjoy!! Smut under the cut!
âPretty baby,â he coos softly as he slots himself between your thighs. âYou sure youâre ready? Iâm really big.â
You can barely make out what heâs saying. Heâs been between your thighs for what seemed like hours. You knew it was to make you more comfortable with losing your virginity to him, but part of you wonders if he takes pleasure in lapping at your cunt.
âSweetie, I need your consent.â Gojo reminds you, and you lick your lips. You look up at him, and those gorgeous eyes of his just pull you into a trance.
âReady for you, Gojo. âPromise âm ready for you,â
He smiles, âThatâs my good girl.â
Slowly, he lets his cockhead prod your tight hole. Youâre just dripping all over his swollen, red cockhead. It excites him to no end that youâre going to let him be your first. In his mind, thereâs no bigger stroke to his ego to have you cumming on his cock and knowing pleasure simply from him taking your virginity.
As he pushes more of himself into you, you swear you can feel your muscles beginning to give out. Itâs all too much for you. Your eyes screw shut as the thick cock slides into you inch by inch. Youâre panting as it reaches further into you. You didnât know it would be this good.Â
âOh, baby,â Gojo says, his tone teasing. âYou really are taking my cock so well.â
The words, you swear you hear them, but your brain is already so mush from all this lust that you arenât sure heâs speaking the same language as you. It doesnât take much for him to push the rest of his cock into you, and the moment it brushes against your cervix, you shudder.
âGojo, Iââ you whine. Your walls are contracting around him, making him grunt.Â
Your whole body shudders and shakes as you feel all this pleasure come over you. Youâve never experienced an orgasm quite like this. Itâs so much better than touching yourself or trying to make yourself cum with a vibrator. White hot pleasure is just coursing through you, making you whine and whimper.
Once youâve come down from your high, you look up at him. He blinks; those beautiful orbs so full of wonder but you can see mischief in this look as well.
âHuh,â Gojo ponders aloud. âYou just came, didnât you?â
Your cheeks burn, âGojoâŚâ
He leans in to kiss you, âNo need to be embarrassed. Thereâs more to come, sweetheart.â
He thinks you look so beautiful like this, all sprawled out on the bed. But thereâs this part of him that just wants to tease you for being so fucked out already. He hasnât even entered you, and youâre moaning just like a bitch in heat. Itâs honestly one of the most flattering things to him, and yet heâs trying not to let it get to his head too much.
âSuch a naughty baby,â He murmurs as he presses sloppy kisses up your body.
His lips capture yours as he slots himself between your thighs. You donât even have much time to react before heâs pushing his thick cock into you. Tears sting your eyes at the sensation of being stretched out like this. You push on his stomach, pleading for him to take it a little slower than he is.
âCome on,â he goads. âYou can take it,â
Youâre panting now, and the pleasure mixes in with the pain of being stretched out like this. You want to look down to make sure heâs not actually splitting you in half with his cock. But his forefinger and thumb capture your chin to make you look into his eyes. If he could have this moment ingrained in his memory forever, he would choose to do so. You look so precious to be losing your virginity just like this. Itâs exactly how Geto wanted it.
âYou can take it all, baby. I know you can.â
You whimper as he pushes even deeper into you. Your eyes cross as the pleasure keeps building inside of you. Your walls are clamping down against his cock, making him grunt at the sensation of your virgin pussy trying to milk him for all heâs got. He knows he wants this to last, but he wasnât counting on it feeling this good.Â
âLook at you,â Geto chuckles darkly. âYouâre a natural slut,â
You whine, âPlease,â
He laughs again, loving the effect this has on you. Who would've thought all he needed to tame your brattiness was just some cock? You were clearly so pent up, and now all he had to do was fuck you until youâre brattiness just disappeared.Â
âPlease what?â He asks, his tone mocking.
âMore, please.â
And with those words, Geto positions himself on his knees for a little more stability. With his hands on your hips, he begins pounding you into the mattress.
He canât help but feel enamored by the sweet sight of you on his bed like this. He canât remember the last time he felt this aroused. When you asked him to be your first, he was touched. Nanami knew he had to make this a moment that youâll never forget.
And he prepared for the night too. He took you out on a romantic date, bought some condoms and lube, and he made his bed extra comfortable for the two of you. By the time he has you back to his apartment, youâre already feeling pretty affectionate for the man. He was just so special to you, and you knew heâd treat you right.
You look up at him, smiling that sweet smile of yours. Everything that you do in this moment, it goes straight to his cock. Nanami reaches down to adjust himself in his underwear, then he turns his attention back to you.
âAre you ready, sweetheart?â He asks, reaching over to the bedside table for the box of condoms. You smile sweetly again. âYeah, Iâm ready,âÂ
He leans in to kiss you, and your tongues rub together sensually. Youâve never been more sure of something in your life than this. Youâve been in love with Nanami for so long, so when you were ready to lose your virginity, you knew it would have to be him youâd want to lose it to.
He undresses himself completely, and he spreads your thighs. As much as he wants to go in raw, he knows itâs not responsible. So he takes one of the foil packets from the box and tears it open. His eyes inspect the condom, and once he deems it acceptable, he begins rolling it onto his leaking cock.
You canât tear your eyes away from this scene. He looks so good doing something as simple as putting a condom on his cock. Itâs just the idea that the lewd act is coming. He grabs the bottle of lubricant from the bedside table and he smears a little of it onto the already lubed up condom. The rest of the lube goes onto your vulva, and he spreads it all over your tight hole and your swollen clit.
âTell me if you need me to stop,â Nanami says before pressing the tip of his cock to your hole.
A gasp falls from your lips as he begins pushing into you. It feels so good to be full like this. His eyes are scanning your features for any signs of pain, but you look so full of love right now. It really warms his heart.
âPlease, donât stop.â You whine, which earns you a sweet chuckle from Nanami. âI wasnât planning on it,â
As soon as his cock is inside of you fully, Nanami knows that he can start thrusting slowly. He sees the love in your eyes, and he knows he made the right choice in being your first.
Sukuna absolutely loves being able to fuck virgins. But there is something extremely special about you. Heâs not even sure what it is, but youâre just so adorable and sweet. He usually thinks himself better than to fall into this kind of affection, but the way you keep clinging to him makes him a little dizzy with lust.
âOh, you are just asking for it,â Sukuna comments, and his fingers go down to your pussy once more.
Youâve been sitting on his lap for what feels like forever now, and heâs been so eager to just let you have all this pleasure. Whether it be with mouths or with his fingers, heâs happily had you cumming for hours now. Youâve made such a stain on his pants, and the smell of you is just permeating the air. Youâre barely coherent now, but you want to hang on. You want more than just cumming on his fingers or on his tongues.
âYou want my cock now, donât you?â He asks, though he knows you donât have much choice in the matter. Youâll be taking his cock whether you like it or not.
But you nod so obediently, âYes yes yes, please!â
A delirious laughter rumbles through him. You remind him of the reason he loves virgins so much. They become so caught up in all the pleasure that they forget that they have to give away a part of themselves to him.
âThatâs a good girl,â his voice is thick with a mocking tone. âI knew youâd want it.â
With one of his hands, he holds you up. The other hand begins undoing his pants quickly. He wants to be buried deep inside of you as soon as he can. His cock slaps against his abdomen as soon as heâs got it freed from the confines of his pants. You barely have time to react as he sinks you down onto the immense girth.
You scream his name as the sensations of his cock splitting you in two hit you. Itâs all so intense at once. Sukuna smirks as he watches you squirm and wiggle, almost trying to get off of his cock. But he keeps his hands on your hips, practically locking you onto him. Before you know it, heâs bouncing you up and down on his thick girth.
âGanbare, ganbare,â Sukuna teases. His thumb wipes a stray tear from your cheek. âYouâre doing so good for me, hehehehehehâŚâ
He throws his head back as the pleasure of your virgin cunt overwhelms him. Heâll gladly keep you right on his cock for eternity if he chooses to do so.
#bacon.writes#jjk fanfiction#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x fem!reader#geto x you#geto x reader#geto x fem!reader#nanami x you#nanami x reader#nanami x fem!reader#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x fem!reader#jjk smut#gojo smut#geto smut#nanami smut#sukuna smut
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holds out my hands
greeting my mcbling angel
maybe i pretty please ask for shoto, iida and denki meeting their own mcbling hottie đđđ
- đĽ anon
pro heroes meeting their mcbling gf
âą todoroki, iida, kaminari
âą pt.1 here pt.3 here
notes : ur too cute anon đĽ°đĽ°
Shoto has been stood staring at his options for soba for the past ten minutes. Heâs deep in decision, hand on chin, in the middle of the store just before closing.
So deep in thought, heâs completely oblivious to you strutting round the corner to the aisle he stood in.
Youâre on your phone, moving by muscle memory. Your favourite noodles are always in the same spot, so your uggs lead you to where the soba is-
But you look up.
Shoto- your favourite pro hero, for reference- is stood like the motherfucking Thinker. In your presence.
You backpedal, but itâs too late- heâs seen you!
Shoto turns you to and his eyes widen. Youâre in a neon pink graphic cami, big hoops hiding from beneath (locs/braids/curls/strands) and as his eyes trail downâŚ
His cheeks go as pink as the thong peeking out your pantsâ waistband. I mean, Shoto didnât really have time to register your slack jaw.
Thereâs so much running through your head at the minute- who wears a black compression shirt to the store? How are his muscles bigger in real life than on billboards? Why does his hair look so soft?
He coughs and it breaks the moment.
âOh- sorry, can I just-â
âYeah, I apologise,â He replies. When you lean over to grab your noodles, a waft of sugary, almost sickly, perfume hits his nose. It was intoxicating- not in a bad way.
Youâre trying to steady your breathing- heâs just another guy, Y/n, chill! Boys fall left and right for you, just breathe.
Breathe.
âYouâre Shoto right?â
Ohmygodidiotidiotofcourseheâsshotowhaythefuckyo-
âYes, thatâs me.â He smiles slightly, corners of his lips lifting. Every nerve in your body is screaming to swoon - maybe heâd catch your fainting body?
You could look into his gorgeous eyes, and heâd brush the hair from your face-
âIs everything alright?â
You snap out of your daydream and smile awkwardly. âUh⌠Iâm just a big fan, is all.â
He nods and smiles down at you, softly. You clear your throat and hoist your bag further up your shoulder.
âI like your clothes.â
Your world stops for a minute. How do you breath again? Itâs not hard, Y/n, come on-
âWhere did you get the inspiration?â He says. Shoto makes no move to leave - youâre not an annoying fan, begging for his autograph.
Plus, you have the prettiest eyes heâs ever seen.
You blink owlishly at him - his heart skips a beat, of course - and you just nod dumbly for a second. Then, it registers that heâs actually interested in you?
âUmm⌠2000s stuff, American celebrities mainly. What about you?â
Shoto huffs a chuckle, âI donât really have style.â He glances at his watch, and his smile morphs into a⌠pout? Itâs subtle, but his brows furrow ever-so-slightly, and his bottom lip just out a little bit.
âOh God, donât let me keep you,â You hurry. Good lord, your face is burning up aggressively.
He shakes his head, but bites his lip still looking at his watch. âNo, Iâm on shift soon⌠it was nice meeting youâŚ?â
âOh, Y/n!â
Shoto smiles again, glances at his watch with an internal frustrated groan. He needed more time to talk to you, to understand you, to get to the bottom of the neon pink and leopard print-
Oh, right.
âCould I get your number, Y/n?â
:::
Tenya spent his nights going on walks. Why? Because he liked to meet his neighboursâ dogs⌠did he know thatâs why he liked them, however? No. He just thought walking around gave him immense joy for no reason.
And they call him âsmartâ.
His favourite dogs were the least of worries when he walked past the park and heard shouting.
Tenyaâs head snapped to, and he was marching through the park gates.
You, a grown woman, were stood on a table, wafting away⌠chihuahuas. You, in a tiny denim skirt and a babydoll top, were using your small purse to shoo away a trio of stray chihuahuas.
In all fairness, Tenya disliked chihuahuas the most of all the dogs heâd met, but heâs never seen someone in platform sneakers clamber onto a picnic bench to get away from them. Or scream at the top of their lungs at the tiny puppies.
He could not help but let out a laugh at the sight, making you look up at him. You straightened up a bit and stopped screaming, but still sounded shaky.
âYouâre that hero right?â
âMy name is Ingenium, yes,â he replied. One of the rat-dogs had turned to growl at him now, but Tenya paid no mind to it.
You pointed at the dogs. âCould you⌠yâknow, be a hero and save me?â
He raised a brow without meaning to. He shouldnât be judging you for your fears - heâs a hero! Here to help everyone!
But still⌠three tiny dogs?
He sighed and nodded. Suddenly, all three dogs were in his arms, and being carried towards the kidâs sandbox. He paid no mind to them nipping and jumping up- not like they could escape his large forearms.
Large firearms that you were looking at with much interestâŚ
He returned, ignoring the yapping puppies trying to escape the gates, but not being tall enough to get out. âIâll call animal control, MissâŚâ
âOh, just call me Y/n. What should I call you?â You asked, taking his hand and stepping down.
Tenya tried to ignore how small your hand was in his, or how your skirt hitched up your thighs when you stepped down. Instead, he helped you stand upright on your wobbly legs, and pushed down his blush when you thanked him.
âIida. Tenya Iida.â
You looked him up and down. Tenya Iida was tall, broader than a fridge and had glasses you desperately wanted to push up his nose for him.
âWell, Tenya Iida⌠can I take you out for a drink to thank you?â
Tenya froze and he couldnât stop the red that stretched across his face at your question. But he nodded. But it was so unprofessional! A true hero would never use a victimâs position to their advantage, the power imbalance was-
âIâll need your number then!â You sang out.
Tenyaâs internal protests were lost as he passed you his phone, and you type in your digits with your long, zebra print nails.
:::
Now, Denki has met a few of Minaâs friends. They were all⌠nice. He flirted casually, maybe exchanging numbers with them, but they never ended up getting a call.
So when Mina announced she was bringing âfresh meatâ to their groupâs monthly reunion, he didnât really prepare himself for much.
Then, you walked in.
All giggles, sparkly black eyeshadow and lipgloss. Mina was whispering in your ear before strutting you through the doorway, but Denki was more focused on your shiny lips curling up into a grin.
A black tube top held you in, pink bikini straps wrapping around the back of your neck. His eyes travelled down- shamelessly, might I add- to the leggings hugging your curves. âPINKâ written on your ass caught his attention like a siren, and your matching hot pink toes from your sandals didnât help either.
âThis is Y/n!â
Katsuki and Eijiro barely looked up, immersed in an aggressive game of ⌠cards, or something - Denki was not paying attention to them. He was, however, paying keen attention to the once-over Hanta gave you.
Mina grabbed your bangled-wrist and tugged you to sit with her between the two boys.
The unmistakeable scent of sugar and apples wafted over his face when you sat down. You shot him a big, toothy grin and Denki thought he was going to short-circuit right there-
He didnât realise he actually was letting off electricity until he watched your hair stand on end.
âWhat theâŚâ You tried to pat your hair down, while Mina cackled behind you. The pink woman draped an arm around your shoulder.
âAww, Denkiâs all nervous! Look at him!â
You stopped focusing on your hair and looked at the man next to you. Lean, tan and blushing furiously. He was, in truth, letting sparks fly off him like a faulty wire.
You chuckled, âYou alright?â
Denki did not know what to do. You were staring at him with a cheeky smile, eyes wide and soft, and his friends were laughing and pointing at him behind you.
âYes.â It was the only word the poor boy could get out. You snorted at him and rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone.
He watched with wide eyes as you grabbed his hand but you pulled back for a minute when he shocked you.
âShit- sorry-â
âJust put your number in my phone, okay?â
You held out the device in your hand with a cocky grin.
Mina had to usher him to another room to calm down before he blew your phone up in his hand by accidentâŚ.
note: pls shoto is so OOC IDFK HOW TO WRITE HIM đ
#{ mcbling baddie }#bnha#bnha x reader#mha#mha x reader#shoto#shoto todoroki#todoroki x reader#shoto x reader#iida tenya#iida#iida x reader#denki#denki kaminari#kaminari x reader#denki kaminari x reader#bnha imagines#bnha headcanons
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Quiet Affections
Jake âHangmanâ Seresin x Pilot!reader
Summary: After her friends tease her about Jake having a crush on her, Y/N reflects on certain memories that make her question whether there might be some truth to their playful jabs.
Warnings: Teasing, pining, Jake being a sweetheart, Y/N being oblivious, insults aimed at Y/N, protective Jake, mention and description of injury, anxiety, doubts, fluff.
Notes: Happy Friday, everyone! We made it! đ I just hit 2,500 likes on here and wanted to thank each and every one of you who liked, reblogged, or commented on my works. It means the world to me. Iâm down bad for Jake, and need him badly so I wrote this. Enjoy byeeee
You find yourself deep in the heart of the Hard Deck, the familiar hum of chatter and clinking glasses forming a comforting backdrop. Rooster, Natasha, Javy, Bob, Reuben, and Mickey are clustered around the pool table, laughter spilling freely as they take turns making shots and throwing jabs. Jake had just excused himself to go to the restroom, but not before brushing a lingering hand against your shoulder and whispering something that made you smile. This action set off a chain reaction of teasing directed at you.
"Y/N, you know Hangmanâs got a huge crush on you, right?" Rooster's mustache twitches with a sly smile as he lines up for his shot.
You laugh it off, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh please, Bradley. Jake? No way. He's just... nice."
Rooster and Natasha exchange glances before Natasha cocks an eyebrow at you. "Nice? Hangman is many things, but nice isn't the first word I'd use. Unless heâs talking to you," she remarks, tapping her cue stick against her palm.
Bob, always the quiet observer, chimes in. "He's got a point though, Y/N. I've seen how he looks at you."
You can't help but roll your eyes. "I'm just completely unaware of it," you say, sarcasm dripping from your voice. "You guys are ridiculous."
Mickey grins, his boyish charm lighting up his face. "Maybe, but can you really deny the way he's always got your back?" he asks, leaning casually against the pool table.
Your first instinct is to rebut, but as their words settle in, you start to think about some of the things Jake had done for you. Not just the grand gestures like saving your hide in aerial combat, but the small, everyday things. The way he'd always save you a seat, bring you coffee exactly how you like it, offer subtle words of encouragement when you doubted yourself.
Javy steps forward, his competitive spirit twinkling in his eyes. "You're telling me you haven't noticed how he always goes out of his way to make sure you're okay?"
Reuben, good-natured but always vigilant, nods in agreement. "Hangman's not exactly an altruistic guy, Y/N. But for you? He'd go to lengths he wouldn't for anyone else."
You crack a wry smile, determined to stay firm in your denial. "He's just protective. We're teammates."
Natasha had already joined in, her voice warm yet teasing. âDonât sell yourself short, Y/N. Itâs not just about being teammates. He genuinely cares.â
In the ensuing silence, you can't help but ponder on their words. Jake "Hangman" Seresin is charismatic and assertive, traits forged from his exceptional flying skills and competitive nature. But beneath that cocky exterior, there lies a heart incredibly loving and caring, willing to sacrifice anything for his loved ones. Slowly, you find yourself drifting into a vivid memory, reliving the countless cherished moments and experiences you've shared with Jake.
You recall that evening at the Hard Deck vividly. The bar was buzzing with the usual chatter and laughter, the hum of camaraderie filling the air. You were amidst your friends, enjoying the rare downtime when an unfamiliar voice cut through the noiseâthis stranger making an offhand but cruel remark about you. The comment was subtle, yet it stung deeply, rooting you in place with a mix of shock and mortification. Your cheeks burned under the weight of the ridicule, words lodged in your throat.
Before you could muster a response, you felt Jake's presence beside you, solid and reassuring. He stepped forward, placing himself between you and the offender. His usual easy going demeanor was replaced by a steely resolve, his eyes dark with anger. "Do us all a favor and think before you speak," he said, his voice steady but carrying an unmistakable edge.
The bar fell into an uneasy silence as Jakeâs glare pinned the offender in place. "If you've got a problem with Y/N," he continued, his voice low and unwavering, "youâll be dealing with me."
The tension hung in the air, thick and palpable. The offender, unable to match Jake's intensity, muttered an apology and slunk away, deflated. The moment passed, but the impact lingered. Jake remained there a moment longer, ensuring the threat had fully dissipated before turning back to you.
As he met your gaze, the hardness in his features softened, replaced by a gentle concern. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, his voice filled with a tenderness reserved just for you.
You felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude, the initial embarrassment giving way to a profound sense of relief. Jake had stood up for you without a second thought, his protective instinct leaving no room for compromise. In that moment, you knew you were safe, not just physically but emotionally, knowing Jake had your back. His touch and the concern in his eyes reassured you even more, providing a solace that words alone could not.
. Â Ý Ë ŕŁŞ . â * .⥠*:シďž. Â Ý Ë ŕŁŞ . â * .⥠*:シďž. Â Ý Ë ŕŁŞ .
Then there was the night when you couldnât sleep, tormented by insecurities that gnawed at the edges of your mind. It was long past midnight, and you found yourself seated on the deck of the aircraft carrier, trying to get some fresh air to clear your head before the mission. The vast expanse of the ocean and the cool night breeze did little to quiet the whirlwind of self-doubt swirling inside you.
The stars dotted the sky like tiny beacons, and the waves below gently lapped against the ship's hull, but none of it brought you peace. You wrapped your arms around yourself, tense and lost in thought, barely noticing the sound of footsteps approaching.
Jake emerged from the shadows, his silhouette becoming clearer in the soft glow of the ship's lights. He paused when he saw you, his brow furrowing with concern. He looked around, ensuring no one else was around, before walking over to you with determined but careful strides.
"Y/N, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice breaking the solitude with an edge of worry.
You hesitated, feeling foolish for bothering him. "IâŚI just can't stop thinking about everything that's been going wrong. I don't know if I'm cut out for this, Jake."
Jake's eyes softened, and he lowered himself to sit beside you on the cold metal deck. "Tell me more," he said gently, coaxing you to open up. His voice was so steady, so soothing, that you found yourself pouring out all your fears and anxietiesâthe relentless pressure, the fear of failure, the nagging feeling that you weren't good enough. With each word, you felt a weight lifting from your chest.
Jake listened without interrupting, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by an unwavering focus on you. His eyes never left your face, and his expression remained kind and attentive. "You know what I see when I look at you?" he said quietly once you had finished. "I see someone who's brave, who fights every day to be better, who cares deeply about others. You're stronger than you think, Y/N. Don't let those doubts control you."
His words felt like a balm to your soul, soothing the raw edges of your insecurities. When he reached out to brush a stray tear from your cheek, the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes melted away your remaining doubts, leaving you wrapped in a cocoon of reassurance. Sitting there on the deck, under the endless sky, you felt profoundly grateful for Jake's unwavering support and the strength he helped you find within yourself.
. Â Ý Ë ŕŁŞ . â * .⥠*:シďž. Â Ý Ë ŕŁŞ . â * .⥠*:シďž. Â Ý Ë ŕŁŞ .
You also remember the time when you injured your ankle during a training exercise. You had insisted on limping back to your quarters, trying to maintain your independence. But Jake wouldn't hear of it. He had scooped you up without a second thought, cradling you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic gentleness. The entire trek back, he kept you engaged in light-hearted banter, ensuring your mind stayed off the pain.
. Â Ý Ë ŕŁŞ . â * .⥠*:シďž. Â Ý Ë ŕŁŞ . â * .⥠*:シďž. Â Ý Ë ŕŁŞ .
And how could you forget the morning he had brought you coffee? Not just any coffee, but a complex, personalized concoctionâan oat milk latte with a shot of caramel, a pinch of cinnamon, and a dash of nutmeg, and no foam. You hadnât even mentioned it to him before. "Thought you could use a pick-me-up," he had said nonchalantly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But you knew the effort he had put into remembering such a detailed order, and it made your heart swell with an unfamiliar warmth.
These memories play in your mind like a cherished montage, each moment a testament to the man beneath the bravado. Jake "Hangman" Seresin wasnât just the cocky pilot everyone else saw. He was a protector, a confidant, a friend who cared deeply for you, even if you had been too blind to see it before.
Returning back to the present moment amidst the lively ambiance of the Hard Deck, surrounded by the warmth of friends and laughter, you notice Jake returning from the restroom. As your eyes meet, his familiar smirk emerges, but this time thereâs a tender softness in his gaze that you hadnât noticed beforeâor perhaps, hadn't allowed yourself to see.
âMiss me?â he jokes, sliding back into the chaos of pool cues and friendly banter.
You chuckle, shaking off the speculative thoughts. âLike a bad habit, Seresin.â
But later, as the night winds down and the camaraderie ebbs into a quieter hum, you catch yourself glancing his way more often. The teasing remarks of your friends arenât so easily dismissed anymore. And as Jake catches your gaze across the room, you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they might be onto something.
Because sometimes, the most significant realizations are the ones that had been right in front of you all along, masked by the comfort of friendship and the chaos of duty.
You smile to yourself, feeling an inexplicable warmth. Maybe it was time to see what was beyond the camaraderie, to delve into the possibilities of what if. The thought lingers, like an unopened letter, waiting for the right moment.
For now, you return to the laughter and games, but with a new awareness, a curiosity that couldnât be easily shaken. One thing was for sureâthings were going to get interesting.
-
Text divider credits: @bunnysrph
#jake seresin#jake seresin fanfiction#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin x you#jake seresin x y/n#jake seresin fic#jake seresin imagine#jake hangman seresin x reader#hangman x you#hangman fanfiction#hangman x reader#hangman imagine#jake hangman seresin#hangman x y/n#top gun maverick#top gun fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw#fanboy garcia#bob floyd#natasha phoenix trace#javy coyote machado#payback fitch#glen powell
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His Watchful Eye Pt. 3
Word Count: 9k
Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, obedience training, mentions of suicide, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, stalking, pet names like kitten, sweetie, pretty, ownership, manipulation
Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake @letgobro @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leialmela
AN: It seems like these chapters just get longer and longer xDD. Hope yall don't mind! This is also on my A03 if you feel its too long to read on tumblr. Please heed the warnings and don't read this if you're sensitive to the subjects. Also! Reader has no specific skin tone, I just use images I think represent the chapter well, you can imagine her however you want! If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know, also please make sure your tumblr settings allow you to be tagged! <3
"I hate you," you whisper, your voice barely audible, muffled by his chest. The words come out broken, hollow, lacking the fire they once carried. But itâs all you can manage, the last flicker of resistance in a sea of overwhelming fatigue. "I know," Sylus replies, his voice soft and almost indulgent, as though your hatred is just another part of the game to him. He holds you tighter, his hand continuing to caress your hair. "But it doesnât matter, sweetie. Youâre mine now. Hate me all you want, Iâll still take care of you."
Read Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 4
You ease yourself into the bath, the water just a touch hotter than you'd like, enveloping your skin in a near-burning sensation. Itâs almost too much, the heat prickling at your body, but you stay still, letting the warmth slowly settle around you. Steam rises in soft, curling tendrils, and you can feel the tension in your muscles begin to release, even as the heat clings to you, almost suffocating in its intensity. Your breath catches for a moment, but soon you adjust, your body reluctantly surrendering to the soothing, yet overwhelming, embrace of the water.
Despite the searing heat, you slowly begin to lose yourself in thought. When was the last time you'd allowed yourself to truly relax since this whole nightmare began? As much as you hated to admit it, the water felt goodâcomforting evenâoffering a fleeting sense of escape. For once, your worries seemed to dissolve into the bathwater, sinking like stones to the bottom. No thoughts of impending doom, no fear lurking at the edges of your mind. Just you, the gentle bubbles, and the soft, soothing scent of cherry shampoo drifting in the steam.
And no Sylus.
Your face twists into a scowl at the very thought of him. No. This was supposed to be your time, a moment for yourself. You canât let him invade this too. Donât think about him, you urge yourself. Focus on the bath. Focus on the warmth. Desperate to banish any trace of him from your mind, you sink lower into the water, leaving only your nose and eyes above the surface, your breath shallow as you try to disappear beneath the heat.
But it doesnât work. His presence lingers in your thoughts like a shadow you can't shakeâthe memory of his touch, his voice, the sickly sweet promises heâd whisper after those twisted "sessions."
Before you can stop yourself, you plunge fully beneath the water, submerging yourself entirely, as if you could drown his memory along with your thoughtsâperhaps even drown yourself if thatâs what it takes to make it all stop.
The deafening roar of water fills your ears, muffling the world around you. Instinct keeps your breath held tight, but a dark thought persistedâwhat would happen if you really⌠let go? Sylus has made it clear he has no intention of releasing you. Maybe this, right here, is your only way out.
A tightness coils in your chest as your body begins its primal fight for air. The burning need to breathe claws at your lungs, but thereâs no panicâjust a calm, almost eerie resolve. Slowly, deliberately, you part your lips, ready to let the water rush in. This is it. Your escape. The only freedom Sylus can't take from you.
Death.
You wonder what kind of face he would make when he would discover your barely warm body bobbing in the bath water, having escaped the clutches of his captivity in a way he could not undo.
You wished you'd be around to see it.
Just as the warm sensation of water touches the back of your throat, a sharp tingling prickles across your scalp. A second later, you're violently yanked from the water, gasping for air as the bathroom floods back into focus. You blink wildly, clearing the stinging bathwater from your eyes, only to be met by a familiar face.
"Why willingly subject yourself to waterboarding?" Sylus asks, his tone laced with disappointment, as if youâve failed some unspoken test. You glare at him angrily, grabbing at the grip he has on your hair.
"Don't tell me I'll have to supervise your baths too?"
"Let go!" you shout, clawing at his fingers, desperately trying to free your hair from his grip. To your surprise, he does, and you quickly retreat to the far edge of the tub, pressing your back against the cool porcelain. Water clings to your skin, dripping down your face as you try to steady your breath. His eyes roam over you, calculating, as if taking in every detail. Suddenly self conscious of your naked figure, you hug your arms around your breasts. You notice, for the first time, the shopping bags dangling from his other hand. He sets them down with unnerving care before casually crossing the bathroom to grab a stool.
You watch warily as he pulls it up beside the tub, seating himself directly across from you, his eyes never leaving your face.
"I wasnât trying to kill myself," you snap, your voice sharp as you avoid his gaze. "Iâd rather not give you more reasons to watch me."
Sylus chuckles softly, clearly unfazed by your defiance, as if your words barely register. Without another glance at you, he begins rummaging through the bags at his feet, his movements methodical and unhurried. After a moment, he pulls out a small white box, and you narrow your eyes, watching as he carefully peels away the packaging. Something small and silver tumbles into his palm, catching the light.
"Nail clippers?" you ask, disbelief creeping into your voice.
He nods, then casually tugs down the collar of his shirt, revealing the jagged red scratches you had raked across his skin during the last time he had forced himself on you. The sight of them makes you smirkâsmall, uneven lines, but theyâre there, vivid reminders that you hadnât gone down without a fight. You can almost feel your nails digging into him again, that brief moment of satisfaction before he'd pinned you, your resistance crushed beneath his weight.
"The first step in taming an angry kitten," he muses with a grin, "is taking her claws." His voice is disturbingly light, almost playful, as he reaches out toward you.
You hesitate, staring at his outstretched hand. Your instincts scream at you to pull away, but what choice do you have? Reluctantly, you slip your hand into his, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as he curls his hand around yours. His grip is firm but not harsh, his skin warm against your own, the casual dominance in his touch making your stomach churn. He watches you closely, his gaze never wavering, as if daring you to resist.
"Isn't that called declawing?" you mutter bitterly, trying to keep your voice steady as you avert your eyes. You watch instead as he presses the clippers to your nails, the metal cool against your fingertips. The soft snip of each nail being cut echoes in the quiet bathroom, a steady, unnerving rhythm.
Sylus smirks, tilting his head as he replies, "Oh?" His tone is amused, almost mocking. "Would you rather I pull them out instead?" His voice remains calm, and you're unsure if he's joking or not.
You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. Each clip of the clippers feels more invasive than the last, stripping away not just your nails, but a part of yourselfâyour small weapon of defiance.
It struck you as odd. Just yesterday, the two of you had been locked in a bitter struggle on his bedâpanting, groaning, bodies slick with sweat, fighting for entirely different goals. For him, dominance. For you, escape. And now here he was, calmly and methodically clipping your nails, the act almost tender, as if you were lovers sharing an intimate moment.
Neither of you speaks until he finishes. Sylus turns your hands over slowly, inspecting his work with the same detached precision, ensuring heâs clipped them short enough. Finally satisfied, he releases your hand, letting the clippers fall from his grasp with a metallic clatter against the bathroom floor. You frown down at the newly cut length of your nails, feeling stripped of yet another small defense.
Before you can dwell on the thought, he leans over the bath, his face inching dangerously close to yours. There's hardly any space to retreat, and youâre forced to face him, your breath catching in your throat as his presence looms over you. His lips find the soft skin of your neck, leaving light, deliberate kisses that send a shiver of tension through your body.
Sensing your stiffness, he chuckles under his breath, the sound low and familiar, before cupping your face in his hand. His fingers are firm, cradling your jaw with unnerving gentleness.
"Relax..." he whispers, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, almost teasing kiss. "I wonât do anything now. Didnât I promise you a break?"
His words echo in your mind, bringing with them the memory of his promise from this morning. Instead of threatening you for obedience, heâd dangled a twisted form of kindnessâa reward, rather than punishment. A carrot, not a stick.
Promising that if you didn't put up a fight this morning, that would be the only time he would be inside you that day.
You would have been an idiot to refuse such an offer. Almost daily assaults had left you feeling sore and exhausted. Sure, you knew he was offering you crumbs of kindness as a way to train you into obedience but you were much stronger than that. He wouldn't break you so easily.
You simply hummed and nodded in agreement, giving him a small kiss back. You had come to learn that the quicker you returned his affection, the sooner he would relent. It worked, as he almost immediately smiled and leaned back on the stool. He suddenly reaches is arm up and looks at the watch on his wrist.
"Come on out. I bought a few things for you, sweetie," Sylus says softly, his eyes drifting back to your still-exposed body. You tense instinctively, sinking lower into the water as if it could shield you from his gaze. His words may be gentle, but the weight of his attention feels oppressive, suffocating.
Sensing your discomfort, he lets out a quiet laugh. "Iâll turn around. Just donât try drowning yourself again," he chuckles, as though reading your mind. True to his word, he turns his back to you, but the tension in the room remains thick, your heart pounding in your chest. You wish, more than anything, that he would just leave, give you a moment of peace, but you know better than to ask.
With a deep breath, you grip the edge of the tub, steadying yourself as you rise from the water. The cool air hits your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the bath, and your wet feet make a quiet slap against the cold tile as you step out. Quickly, you reach for the white towel resting on the sink and begin to dry yourself, moving with an urgency spurred by your skepticism that Sylus will stay turned away for long.
As you dry yourself, you notice something unexpectedâwhen you reach between your legs, your hand freezes. A slight gasp escapes your lips as you spot it: crimson streaks, trailing down your inner thigh. For a moment, you stare in disbelief, watching the droplets of blood slowly slide down your leg. Then, reality hits, and you frantically press the towel to your skin, catching the blood before it can reach the floor.
"What's wrong?" Sylus asks, his voice suddenly alert as he turns his head, catching your gasp. His eyes lock onto the bloodstained towel, his posture shifting as he steps toward you, concern etched across his face. "Are you hurt?"
You swallow hard, a strange mixture of emotions flooding through you. "My period..." you say softly, almost under your breath, but then, a smile creeps onto your face, one you can't suppress.
Relief crashes over you like a tidal wave. Youâve never been so happy to see blood in your life.
You arenât pregnant. You arenât pregnant.
Your mind races, the implications still sinking in. Itâs not over, but for now, youâre safe. Your hands shake as you pull your gaze from the red stain, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts. Then, a creeping awareness settles inâyou arenât alone.
Sylus is standing behind you. You feel his presence before you see him, the weight of his silence pressing against you. You quickly wipe the smile from your face, the relief vanishing as you turn slowly to face him.
"My period... itâs just my period," you whisper, your voice trembling, barely able to hold steady. You try to read his face, desperate for any sign of how heâs reacting. His expression shiftsâconcern morphs into a frown, and then... nothing. His face goes blank, like a mask slipping into place. You search frantically for any flicker of emotionâanger, frustration, reliefâbut itâs as though heâs walled himself off, unreachable.
Was he angry? Disappointed? You couldnât tell, and that terrified you. Your stomach twists in knots, anxiety bubbling up again. The relief you felt moments ago is quickly replaced by a new dread. One disaster averted, but what now?
"Right," he says calmly, his voice devoid of any warmth, as though this is just another mundane detail in his well-controlled world. He reaches for the bloodied towel in your hands, his movements smooth and deliberate, like nothing about this situation surprises him. "Donât worry about this. Just finish dressing."
He leans down, pulling open the cabinet under the sink. Your heart skips a beat as he sets several packages of pads and tampons on the counter, each one the exact brand and size you regularly use. A cold chill runs down your spine. How long had he been watching you before bringing you here? How much does he already know? The intimate knowledge of your life, right down to your feminine products, feels like another layer of controlâa calculated invasion disguised as care.
"If you donât want to use these, Iâll have Luke and Kieran get different ones," he says, his tone disturbingly casual, as though this conversation is perfectly normal.
Your throat tightens. "No, these are fine... thank you."
He gives a slight nod, but itâs mechanical, his face still unreadable, and he turns to leave, collecting the rest of your discarded clothes from the bathroom floor. His steps are quick but unhurried, a man always in control of his actions, of everything around him. He leaves you standing there, shaken, and once again, you feel small under his gaze. Whatever heâs feeling, heâs locked it away. Youâll never know unless he decides to let you.
The door closes behind him, and youâre left alone with your thoughtsâand the creeping realization that you may never be truly alone again.
After gathering enough courage to leave the bathroom, you cautiously crack open the bedroom door. You peer out, spotting Sylus lounging on the leather sofa, his eyes glued to his phone. His posture is relaxed, casual, as if nothing unusual has happened. But the moment you step into the room, he looks upâhis gaze sharp, as though heâs been waiting for you.
"Took you long enough," he says, a smirk playing at his lips, amusement evident in his voice. The cold, distant air he had in the bathroom has vanished, replaced with the easy confidence youâve come to expect. Heâs back to being the Sylus you recognize, the one who shifts between charm and control like flipping a switch.
You force a smile, trying to match his casual tone. "Yeah, well, drowning myself was starting to seem tempting again," you quip, keeping your voice light. You move past him toward the bed, wanting nothing more than to put some distance between the two of you. But before you can get far, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist with a gentle but firm grip. The sudden contact sends a jolt through you, freezing you in place.
His touch isnât rough, but thereâs something in it that holds you captive, a subtle reminder of the power he holds. You glance down at his hand, then back up at him, unsure whether to pull away or let him guide the moment.
"Are you hungry?" he asks, his voice soft now, almost concerned. But the question hangs in the air, heavier than it should be.
"Oh! Uh... yeah?" you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. As much as you wanted to ignore him and crawl into bed, the thought of food was too tempting to resist. Sylus stands, his grip on your wrist still firm, tugging you toward the bedroom door.
Your heart skips a beat as you watch him press his finger against the scanner beside the door. Why is he letting you this close? The lock hums and with a soft click, the door swings open. You stare at it, a thousand questions racing through your mind.
He turns back to you, his playful demeanor from moments ago evaporating in an instant, replaced by something darker, colder. His eyes lock onto yours, and suddenly, the atmosphere feels suffocating.
"Behave," he says, his voice low and serious. "Donât wander off without me, and if you try anything... you wonât leave this room or the bed for weeks. Understood?"
The threat in his words chills you to your core. You're frozen in place, trying to process whatâs happening. Is this real? Are you dreaming? Why now? The door stands open before you, a symbol of freedom, but it feels more like a trap, a carefully laid test. The air between you crackles with tension. One wrong move, and you know there will be consequences.
You shake your head quickly, pushing aside any fleeting thoughts of rebellion. Not now. Not yet.
Trying to break the moment, you turn your gaze toward the unopened bags still sitting in the corner of the room. "Didnât you say you bought me some stuff?" you ask, your voice tentative, eyes flicking toward the bags. "Iâm curious about whatâs in them."
Anything to steer the conversation away from the potential threat.
"Itâs okay, you can look at them later" Sylus says, his voice smooth and reassuring as he swings the door open wider. The invitation seems casual, but thereâs something unsettling about how easily he offers it. His hand loosens slightly around your wrist, though he doesnât let go completely, as if to remind you that the freedom he's offering has limits.
Your eyes flick from the open door to his face, searching for any hint of whatâs really going on. His expression is calm, almost too calm, as if heâs in complete control of the situation, confident that you wonât dare make a move without his permission. The open door, the promise of something beyond this room, suddenly feels less like an escape and more like a stage he's set for you.
Every instinct in your body screams that this isnât as simple as it looks. Itâs a test, another subtle power play to remind you where you stand. The reassurance in his voice only deepens the pit in your stomach. Heâs letting you out, but on his terms.
You force a nod, trying to swallow the growing unease. "Okay," you murmur, though the word feels foreign in your mouth, like youâre agreeing to something you donât fully understand.
Sylus smilesâa small, practiced curve of his lips, but his eyes remain unreadable. He steps aside, making room for you to pass, yet the tension in the air doesnât dissipate. It lingers, wrapping itself around you like a noose tightening with every step you take toward the door.
As you step cautiously past the threshold, the hallway beyond the door reveals a world of striking opulence. The air feels cooler, heavier, carrying the scent of leather and polished stone. Beneath your bare feet, the floor is a dark, sleek tile, almost black, with a high gloss that catches the low light and reflects distorted, shadowy images of the surroundings. Each step echoes slightly, the subtle tap of your feet magnified by the smooth surface, giving the space a cavernous, eerie quality.
The walls are a deep, charcoal black, lined with intricately carved molding that runs up to the high, coffered ceilings. Elegant sconces along the walls cast pools of soft, amber light, their glow bouncing off the glossy tiles, adding an extra layer of depth to the room. The lighting is deliberately dim, creating an atmosphere of perpetual twilight, where shadows stretch and warp across the dark floor, leaving certain corners cloaked in deeper darkness.
To your left, a grand staircase spirals down, its wrought iron railings twisting in elaborate, almost gothic designs. The banister is polished ebony, gleaming faintly in the soft light, while the steps are lined with a deep, crimson runner that stands in stark contrast to the black tiles, offering a rare touch of softness amid the cold, hard surfaces. The staircase seems to descend endlessly, vanishing into shadows that hint at more hidden secrets below.
Expensive art lines the wallsâlarge, dark oil paintings that seem impossibly old, their subjects watching with melancholy or judgment. The frames are thick, gilded with gold, though their luster is muted with age. Between the paintings, mirrors with heavy, ornate frames reflect fragments of the space, but never enough to give you a full viewâonly glimpses, distorted by the interplay of light and shadow.
Despite the mansions undeniable beauty, thereâs a coldness that seeps through the dark tile, a chill that seems to rise from the floor itself. Every detail, from the smooth tile to the velvet drapes, feels curated and perfect, yet it lacks any warmth or comfort. The space feels like a cage disguised in luxuryâbeautiful, yes, but suffocating in its grandiosity.
"Kitchen is downstairs" Sylus says, nodding in their direction. You quietly make a mental note of everything as you descend. This is your chance to map out the house, make a potential escape route. Even if Sylus was close behind, you shouldn't waste this opportunity gawking at everything. So he's filthy rich, so what?
Your eyes flit from the deep shadows that pool in the corners of the hall to the heavy drapery that conceals whatâs outside. Every window, every door, every hallway could be a potential escape route if you ever get the chance. You tell yourself to remember where they are, how the house is laid out. A plan begins to form in the back of your mind, hazy but determined. One way or another, youâll need to know this place inside and out.
Each step down the staircase feels like a test, a countdown of sorts. The further you go, the deeper you descend into Sylusâs world. The weight of his gaze makes it hard to breathe, but you know you canât falter now. You keep your pace steady, your face expressionless, pretending that this is just a simple walk down the stairs, but inside, your thoughts race. Every second counts, and youâre not going to let this moment slip away unnoticed.
The rich, savory smell of roasted chicken invades your senses as you reach the last step, filling the air with an unexpected warmth. The faint crackle of fire and the clattering of pans echo from the nearby kitchen, the sounds weaving into the dark, quiet luxury of the house. Itâs a stark contrast to the cold, empty grandeur surrounding youâthis small slice of normalcy, of life. But the moment feels fragile, like it could break at any second.
Your foot barely touches the last step when Sylusâs hands clamp down on your shoulders. The sudden contact sends a jolt of fear through your body, your heart lurching as you instinctively jump.
"Youâre jumpy," he says softly, his voice smooth but carrying a hint of amusement, as though your fear is entertaining to him. The warmth of the kitchen clashes with the cold tension between you, and the contrast makes the moment feel surreal.
Sylus guides you away from the comforting noises of the kitchen, leading you into a room that exudes the same dark, expensive elegance as the rest of the house. The atmosphere shifts as you step into the spaceâless intimate, more like a showpiece designed to impress rather than to live in. Itâs reminiscent of a living room, though everything feels just a little too perfect, too polished.
Your eyes widen as a massive flatscreen TV comes into view, its size nearly absurd against the backdrop of rich, dark wood paneling and plush furniture. "Huh? I didnât know they made TVs this big..." you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. The screen is so large, it feels more like a home theater than a living roomâsomething youâd only expect to see in movies or magazines. While the Hunter's Association paid you well, this level of luxury was foreign to you, something you'd never even considered owning.
Sylus follows your gaze to the screen, his expression unreadable. "Is something wrong with it? Too big? I can have it downsized," he offers casually, though his eyes search yours intently, as if heâs genuinely concerned about your comfort. His suggestion catches you off guard, and you cock your head in confusion. Why would he even suggest such a thing?
"No! Itâs fine," you say quickly, shaking your head, still baffled by his willingness to adjust even something so extravagant for you. "Iâve just never seen one this huge."
Sylus nods, seemingly satisfied with your response, and motions toward the sofa. "Sit," he says, his tone soft but commanding. The sofa is deep, covered in smooth leather, and it practically swallows you when you lower yourself onto it.
He wastes no time sitting next to you, checking his watch again. You fiddle nervously beside him, feeling out of place in such a space. First he lets you out of his room for the very first time in weeks, and now the both of you are sitting on the couch casually as if this was routine.
You desperately wished you could tell what he was thinking.
"Chef should be done in a few minutes" Sylus said, interrupting your anxious thoughts. He tenderly intertwines his fingers with yours, lifting your hand up to press a soft kiss against your knuckles. His gaze is unwavering as he looks at you.
Your gaze shifts, briefly breaking away from his piercing eyes, and lands on a shelf in the corner of the room behind him. Something there catches your attentionâan old, meticulously cared-for record player. Its polished surface gleams in the low light, a relic of a different time. Itâs beautiful in its simplicity, standing out against the modern opulence surrounding it. You wonder briefly about its significance. Why something so old in a house filled with the latest luxuries?
But the question fades as Sylusâs thumb gently strokes your hand, pulling your focus back to him. He's being tender right now, and feeling bold, you start talking.
"I didn't think the leader of Onychinus would live in such a grand place" you say calmly, eyeing his reaction. Instead of anger of irritation, he simply smiles as if he already realized you had figured out his identity.
"Oh? What were you thinking then?"
"Well...I figured you would be in hiding" you say plainly, gritting your teeth a bit. "This place is pretty easy to spot. Lots of hiding places too."
Sylus chuckles as if you just told him something funny. "Sweetie nothing gets in or out of this place without me knowing, that's hardly a worry"
You mentally curse yourself. Of course he has cameras. Why wouldnât he? A man like Sylus would never leave anything to chance, especially not in a place like this. Escaping wouldnât be as simple as memorizing the layout of the house. Youâd have to make it past the cameras, the eyes constantly watching, recording every move. The realization makes your stomach sink. Even your thoughts of escape feel smaller, less attainable now.
The air grows thick with the scent of steam and roasted chicken as a figure appears around the corner. The chef, an older man with deep-set lines in his face, moves with quiet precision. He says nothing as he places an exquisite spread of chicken and side dishes on the table in front of you. Everything looks impossibly perfectâthe golden-brown skin of the chicken, the vibrant vegetables, the delicately arranged plates. Itâs the kind of meal you might see in a restaurant you could never afford, yet it feels out of place here, too refined and elegant for the suffocating tension in the room.
The chef doesnât speak, not a word, but he gives a small nod in Sylusâs direction before quietly retreating from the room. His presence, brief and silent, only adds to the strange, controlled atmosphere. You find yourself wondering if he knowsâif heâs aware of the twisted dynamic at play hereâor if heâs just another piece of the puzzle that makes up Sylusâs meticulously crafted world.
For a moment, you think about the cameras again. Theyâre watching, just like Sylus. Always watching. You force yourself to focus on the meal, trying not to give away the panic bubbling beneath your calm exterior. You smile faintly, but your mind races with the next hurdle: itâs not just about getting out of the house, itâs about getting out unseen.
Sylus glances at you, his hand still resting on yours. "Eat," he says softly, his voice smooth but with an edge of command beneath it. The invitation sounds pleasant, but you know better. This isnât a request.
You nod, swallowing hard, a knot of anxiety tightening in your throat. You start with the green beans, methodically chewing, your mind already strategizing. Green beansâprotein and energy for running. Every bite, every move from here on out has to be deliberate, with purpose. Escaping this place was never going to be easy, but now it feels even more impossible. Still, you cling to the idea that preparation is key. Youâll need your strength for when the time comes.
As you chew, you glance at Sylus and notice something unsettling. He hasnât touched his plate. His gaze is fixed on you, watching, as if heâs waiting for something. The unease that had been simmering beneath the surface now starts to bubble up. You meet his eyes, silently questioning why heâs not eating. He smiles tenderly.
"Iâll be tracking your ovulation window from now on," he says casually, as though he were discussing the weather. "Since youâve gotten your first period since staying here, now would be a good time to start."
The words hit you like ice water, chilling you to the core. You freeze, your fork halting mid-air as the meaning of what he said sinks in. The casualness of his tone, the way he drops such a personal, invasive statement into the conversation as if itâs nothing, leaves you reeling. Heâs watching you, gauging your reaction, his smile lingering in the same unsettling way.
The room, with all its lavish furnishings and exquisite food, suddenly feels more like a cage than ever. Itâs not just about being physically trapped anymoreâitâs the knowledge that even your body is under his control. Heâs tracking you, monitoring the most intimate parts of your life. Any illusion of autonomy shatters, leaving only the cold reality of how deeply he intends to dominate every aspect of your existence.
You force yourself to swallow the bite in your mouth, your heart pounding in your chest. Stay calm, you tell yourself. Donât react. Not yet.
"That won't guarantee a baby" you retort, trying your best to hide a scowl. You know youâre pushing him, testing the boundaries, but the words slip out before you can stop them. The shift in his expression is immediate. The amusement that once danced in his eyes evaporates, replaced by something darker, more calculated.
His face contorts into a deep frown, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he processes your defiance. For a moment, he says nothing, and the air between you feels charged, thick with unspoken tension.
"Maybe not the first time," he starts slowly, his voice dropping a notch, finally picking up his own fork. His tone is calm, but thereâs a cold edge to it, like heâs already several steps ahead in whatever twisted game heâs playing. "Or the second time."
He takes a deliberate bite, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, as if daring you to interrupt. After what feels like an eternity, he swallows and leans back against the sofa, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.
"But it will eventually."
The words hang in the air, a dark promise. His voice is measured, controlled, but beneath the surface, you can feel the underlying threat. Sylus isnât just talking about biology; heâs making it clear that he will keep trying, over and over again, until he gets what he wants. The casual way he says it, as if itâs inevitable, sends a shiver down your spine.
The words settle in your mind, their dark implications unfurling like a slow, creeping poison. You canât take it anymoreâthe calm, the control, the endless power games. Something inside you snaps. The fear, the careful restraint youâve held onto for weeks, crumbles all at once. Before you can stop yourself, you slam your fist down onto the table, the sharp clatter of silverware echoing through the room.
"Do you even hear yourself?" you shout, your voice shaking with rage. "You think this is some sick game? You canât just⌠you canât control my body like that! You can't justâ" Your voice breaks, the dam of emotions bursting wide open. "You think you can force this? That you can just keep me here, like Iâm some⌠some breeding stock? Like I donât have a say in my own life?"
Your breath comes in short, ragged bursts, your heart pounding in your ears. The words are spilling out now, unstoppable. "You think tracking my ovulation, making your plansâdoing whatever sick family fantasy thing you have in mindâis going to work? You have no right! No right to decide what happens to me, no right to decide my future for your delusions!"
Sylus's fork clatters back onto his plate, his face blank at first, but the tension in the air is palpable. He doesnât interrupt, just watches as you lose control, like heâs waiting for somethingâmaybe for you to exhaust yourself, maybe for you to break down entirely. But you donât care anymore.
"Youâre insane!" you spit, your voice cracking as the emotions surge, unstoppable now. "This whole placeâthis whole twisted world of yoursâitâs a prison. Do you even get that? It doesnât matter how much money you throw at it, how many things you control, itâll never make you anything but a monster!"
The words hang in the air, trembling with the rawness of your outburst. Your chest heaves, your hands shaking uncontrollably. Youâre on the verge of tears, but you refuse to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not now.
"I'll kill myself before any child of yours ever calls me mom" you say, your words ringing through the still and quiet mansion.
Sylusâs expression shifts, the mask of calm slipping ever so slightly. His eyes narrow, and his lips press into a thin, tight line. For a moment, the room feels like itâs holding its breath. Then, as if something in him cracks open, he smiles. A slow, unnerving grin spreads across his face, the darkness in his eyes momentarily replaced by something even more disturbingâamusement.
You stare at him, dumbfounded, trying to process the sudden shift in his demeanor. The anger you had expected never comes. Instead, a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, growing louder, filling the room with an eerie echo that makes your skin crawl.
"Are you done with your little tantrum, kitten?" he coos, his voice dripping with condescension. The way he says "kitten" sends a shiver down your spine, the pet name laced with eerie sweetness. Without warning, he reaches out, gripping your wrist with an unsettling gentleness, pulling you toward him with ease.
Before you can react, he yanks you down onto his lap, forcing you to straddle him. Your body stiffens, the weight of him beneath you both unsettling and humiliating. You feel trapped, like prey ensnared in a hunterâs grasp. His arm wraps around your waist, locking you in place. You try to pull away, but his hold is unyielding.
"Poor thing," he murmurs, his voice soft but taunting as his fingers trail lazily up your back, "youâre just a little ball of anger, arenât you?" His smile widens as his hand slides into your hair, gently tugging it, controlling even the smallest movements. You feel the tension in your body spike, but any resistance you try to muster is immediately swallowed by the cold reality of his control.
"You know," he continues, his tone light, almost playful, as if you werenât just screaming at him moments ago, "I could let you keep fighting me. Let you wear yourself out like a kitten clawing at something it canât catch." He chuckles again, his fingers tightening in your hair, forcing your head to tilt just enough so that you have no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark and unreadable, lock onto yours with a frightening intensity.
"But we both know how this ends, donât we?" he whispers, his voice dropping into something dangerously low. His smile never fades, but the amusement in his eyes sharpens into something cruel. "Youâll tire yourself out. You always do."
A whimper escapes your lips as his grip tightens in your hair, the pressure mounting to the point where itâs impossible to hold back any longer. The tears youâve fought so desperately to contain now spill freely, streaking down your cheeks. Your body trembles as the emotional dam breaks, the fear, frustration, and helplessness flooding out all at once.
Sylus notices. His expression shifts, softening in a way that feels strange. The cruel amusement that once gleamed in his eyes fades, replaced by something disturbingly gentle. He loosens his grip on your hair, letting his fingers glide down to your cheek. His thumb brushes away the hot tears, wiping them tenderly.
"Donât cry pretty girl," he murmurs, his voice a quiet coo. The gentleness in his tone feels like a strange juxtaposition to the fear still gripping your chest. His other hand slides down to cradle your face, keeping you close, but no longer with the same force. "Itâs okay. I promised Iâd take care of you, didnât I?"
He presses soft kisses on your lips as they tremble and you just let him, the weight of the situation crashing on you. "Just take my cum and have my baby, I'll take care of everything else. Doesn't that sound easy?"
You jerk your head away from him at the mere thought of him impregnating you.
He turns your head back towards him, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your tear-streaked cheek, the touch almost reverent. The sensation makes your skin crawl, the tenderness a cruel mockery of the power he so clearly holds over you. You want to pull away, but his hands keep you there, gently holding you in place as if to soothe the very tears he caused.
His lips move to your hand, kissing your tear-stained fist, as though heâs trying to console you after making you break down. The gesture feels wrong, every soft touch an extension of his control masquerading as care. Heâs not only comforting you out of kindness and love but heâs reminding you that even your pain belongs to him, that he can take you to the brink of despair and then pull you back whenever he pleases.
"You can scream, you can break my things, you can throw tantrums, but in the end..." His voice lowers, chillingly calm. "Youâre still mine. You still belong to me. Your anger? Itâs nothing. It wonât change anything."
The room feels smaller now, his words wrapping around you like a vice, tightening with every breath. You canât breathe, canât think, the weight of the situation crashing down on you all over again.
"And as for your outburst..." he says, his lips curling into a faint smile. "It will have consequences."
Your body trembles as his thumb brushes away another tear, his touch tender, almost soothing. And despite the revulsion that twists in your stomach, despite every fiber of your being screaming at you to push him away, you donât.
You canât.
Youâre just so exhausted.
Without even realizing it, you lean into him, your body betraying your mind. The weight of your exhaustion is unbearable, and the fight youâve held onto for so long begins to slip through your fingers like sand. Your head rests against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing providing a sick sort of comfort that you hate yourself for needing.
He holds you gently, his arm wrapping around your waist, securing you against him as though heâs protecting you. The irony is suffocating. This man, who has twisted your world into a living nightmare, is now the one offering you comfort. And as much as you despise him for it, for the control he wields over you, you sink deeper into his embrace, desperate for the warmth and the momentary relief from your own anguish.
"There you go," he murmurs softly, his fingers stroking your hair in long, calming motions. "See? Itâs not so bad, is it?"
The words cut, each one a reminder of the power he holds over you, but youâre too drained to care anymore. The anger, the defiance, the hatredâitâs all still there, burning under the surface, but right now, the only thing you can feel is the weight of your own exhaustion pulling you down, dragging you into a state of reluctant surrender.
"I hate you," you whisper, your voice barely audible, muffled by his chest. The words come out broken, hollow, lacking the fire they once carried. But itâs all you can manage, the last flicker of resistance in a sea of overwhelming fatigue.
"I know," Sylus replies, his voice soft and almost indulgent, as though your hatred is just another part of the game to him. He holds you tighter, his hand continuing to caress your hair.
"But it doesnât matter, sweetie. Youâre mine now. Hate me all you want, Iâll still take care of you."
You hate him for saying it. You hate him for making you feel like you need him. But in this moment, youâre too tired to fight him. You allow yourself to collapse into the illusion of safety, just for a little while, even though you know itâs a trap.
You wake to the sensation of being moved, cradled like youâre something fragile. Itâs disorienting at first, and for a brief, blissful moment, you donât remember where you are. But then the cold reality slams into you.
Sylus.
Your eyes flicker open, and through the haze of sleep, you realize heâs carrying you. His arms are steady, but the feel of his hold sends a chill down your spine. You try to shake off the drowsiness, to push yourself upright, but your limbs feel weak and uncooperative.
"Shh," he whispers, his voice gentle, though it only makes the situation worse. "Go back to sleep. Youâre safe."
Safe. The word rings hollow in your mind. You know better. Even though his touch is soft and careful, even though his voice is low and comforting, you know exactly where you areâexactly who holds you.
Your heart sinks as you hear the faint whirr of a door opening. Heâs taking you back to the room, the one where youâve spent so many weeks locked away, trapped. A lump forms in your throat as you realize whatâs happening, but youâre too weak to fight it. You had a brief taste of freedom, even if it was a twisted version of it, but now heâs putting you back in your cage.
Sylus steps into his room, the dim light casting long shadows over the dark, lavish space. He moves with deliberate care, like heâs handling something precious, lowering you onto the bed with a gentleness that feels grotesque in its contrast to what heâs actually doing.
Your body sinks into the mattress, your limbs too heavy to lift. You manage a weak protest, a soft whimper of resistance, but he shushes you again, his hand brushing the side of your face with infuriating tenderness.
"Sleep, kitten. You need your rest."
He moves to the door, and you hear the unmistakable sound of the lock. The finality of it sends a fresh wave of despair through you. Youâre back in the same room, the same prison, despite the moments of fragile comfort you had shared. It all meant nothing. Youâre still his prisoner.
You turn your face into the pillow, tears pricking at your eyes once more, but youâre too drained to cry again. Your body aches, your mind is foggy, and sleep still tugs at you, relentless in its pull. You hate that you find any sense of comfort in the bed, in the quiet, but thereâs no fight left in you tonight.
With the sound of the lock still echoing in your mind, you close your eyes and let yourself slip back into unconsciousness, knowing that tomorrow, nothing will have changed.
You wake suddenly, gasping for air, your skin slick with sweat. The sheets are tangled around your legs, suffocatingly warm. For a moment, you think it's just another nightmareâthe kind that leaves you feeling claustrophobic and panickedâbut the heat in the room is real, heavy, and stifling.
You sit up slowly, blinking in the darkness, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Something feels off. The usual low hum of electricity, the steady whir of the ceiling fan, the soft glow of electronicsâtheyâre all gone. Silence presses down around you, and the air in the room feels thick and still, almost oppressive.
The powerâs out.
It hits you slowly at first, like a distant thought struggling to surface. The heat, the silence... no fan, no lights. And then it clicks. The powerâs out. The fingerprint scanner.
Your heart skips a beat, adrenaline spiking through your veins. No power means the security system thatâs kept you locked in this roomâtrapped and helplessâis down. The scanner on the door, the one thatâs monitored your every movement, is dead. It has to be.
This could be your only chance.
You stumble out of bed, your legs shaky, still groggy from sleep but jolted awake by the rush of adrenaline. Your hands tremble as you feel your way to the door in the dark, the oppressive heat clinging to your skin. The room is suffocating, the air too thick to breathe, but none of that matters now.
You press your thumb against the scanner, holding your breath. Nothing happens. The small screen remains black, unresponsive. Itâs not working.
A flicker of hope flares in your chest. The lock isnât powered. You press your palm against the door and push, feeling it give under your hand. Slowly, carefully, you ease the door open just a crack and peer out into the hallway.
The corridor is bathed in shadow, darker than when you last saw it. The ambient lights, the security monitors, everything is dead. The house is eerily still, the silence even more unnerving than before. You step into the hallway, your heart racing as you move forward, each step deliberate and cautious.
For a brief, terrifying moment, you expect to hear Sylusâs voice, or the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, but the house remains quiet. You know he has Luke and Kieran stationed somewhere, but for now, the way seems clear.
You make your way toward the grand staircase, remembering some parts of the house from earlier. The front door is just ahead, at the bottom of the stairs. The hallway stretches before you, dark and endless, but your pulse quickens with the possibility of freedom.
You take a breath and descend the stairs as quietly as possible, gripping the banister for balance. Each creak of the wood beneath your feet feels deafening in the stillness. Your eyes dart around the hallway, searching the shadows for any sign of movement.
Finally, you reach the bottom of the stairs. The front door looms ahead, and you move toward it, the air growing cooler as you get closer. Your hand reaches for the door handle, and just as your fingers brush the cool metal, you freeze.
Voices.
You hear themâlow, muffled voices coming from outside the door. Sylusâs men.
"Shit, powers out. We gotta start the generators."
Your heart sinks. They're right outside. You cant go this way without immediately being manhandled.
You glance around frantically, your mind racing for another way out. The house is massive, full of rooms and corridors, but you have no idea where the other exits lead. Still, you canât afford to stand here and thinkâyou need to move.
Then you remember. The kitchen. Maybe there's a way out there?
Itâs a long shot, but you donât have any other options. You turn quickly, darting down the hallway, your footsteps light and deliberate on the smooth, black tile. The shadows seem to stretch and twist around you, and every small creak feels like itâs echoing through the silence. You try to keep calm, but the fear of being caught wraps tighter around your chest with every passing second.
You reach the kitchen, and the oppressive heat of the house seems to lessen as you step inside. The room is large and dark, no light to be seen through the windows. The scent of stale food lingers in the air, remnants of a meal long forgotten, but you barely notice it. Your eyes dart to the side door.
Itâs small, barely noticeable in the corner of the room, half-concealed behind shelves and cabinets. The door leads out to the horse racing trackâyou remember Sylus mentioning it in conversation once.
You rush toward the door, your pulse thundering in your ears. You reach for the handle, your hand trembling as it wraps around the cool metal. For a brief moment, you fear itâll be locked, that this last chance at freedom will slip through your fingers.
Thankfully, with a twist and a click it opens.
The space beyond the kitchen is nothing like you expectedâno trees, no breeze, just the harsh, cold landscape of the N109 zone. The dark, black midnight sky looms over you like an oppressive blanket, thick and unwelcoming. No stars, no moonlight, just an endless void stretching above you. The air is still and stale, a reflection of the lifelessness surrounding you.
But you have no time to process any of it. You canât stop now. You have to keep moving.
Your feet press into the cracked, uneven ground as you forge ahead, your breath shallow and quick. As you walk, the outline of several horse stables comes into view. The structures are dark, the animals inside unmoving, their silhouettes barely visible in the low light. Thankfully, the horses are all asleep. None stir as you pass by quietly, your body tense and ready to bolt at the slightest sound. The only thing you hear is the quiet crunch of your own footsteps on the rough surface beneath you.
Ahead, a tall fence looms in the distance, a final obstacle standing between you and the outer edges of the N109 zone. You approach it cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest as you study its height. Itâs rusted and worn, but still sturdy enough to make the climb difficult. You donât have time to thinkâyou have to act.
Gripping the cold metal tightly, you heave yourself up, your muscles straining with each movement. Your hands slip slightly, the rough texture of the fence biting into your palms as you scramble to find footing. Panic flares briefly in your chest, but you grit your teeth and push through the fear. You canât stop now.
Just as you manage to get a decent grip, you hear itâthe unmistakable hum of power returning. Behind you, Sylusâs mansion springs to life. Lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the cold, empty halls that only moments ago were shrouded in darkness. The powerâs back. It wonât be long before they notice youâre gone. Theyâll be coming for you.
Itâs now or never.
With a final burst of strength, you haul yourself up the last few feet of the fence, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The metal digs into your skin, but you donât care. You pull yourself over the top, balancing precariously for a moment before launching yourself over.
You crash onto the other side, landing face-first on the hard, unforgiving ground. Pain shoots through your body as your knees and elbows scrape against the jagged surface, but you donât let it stop you. Youâve come too far to be caught now.
For a moment, you lie there, dazed and gasping for breath, the shock of the impact making your head spin. The cold ground beneath you feels like both a punishment and a reminder that youâre not free yet. Behind you, you can hear the faint sounds of activity from the mansionâthe twins moving, footsteps echoing in the distance.
They know.
Ignoring the pain, you force yourself to your feet, your body protesting with every movement. The fence looms behind you like a dark sentinel, separating you from the life youâre fleeing. You donât dare look back at the mansion, donât give yourself the chance to second-guess your next move.
You start running.
The landscape ahead is bleak and dark, with nothing but cold, cracked streets in every direction. Thereâs no breeze, no noise apart from your labored breathing and the pounding of your feet against the ground. A few tall and bleak buildings reminiscent of a part of a city come into view. You start making your way there.
Youâre outside. Youâre running. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the possibility of freedom is real, even if itâs still far out of reach.
In the distance, perched on a dead landline, a mechanical crow preens its feathers. Its head jerks toward a running girl, its red eyes locking onto her figure. Without warning, it spreads its metal wings and takes off in her direction, gears whirring as it follows from above.
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