#in ways i was battling on/off through late summer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

galaxy-stardust · 14 days ago

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Simon Ghost Riley x you

Hot summer nights (nfsw)

It was too hot to sleep.

Too hot to think.

Too hot to breathe.

You lay on the couch in front of the open window, one leg draped over the armrest, an ice pack pressed uselessly against your neck as your phone buzzed in your hand.

The screen lit up with the one name that always made your heart jump - even in this unbearable heat.

Simon.

Simon: How are you love?

You: I’m melting. Tell me how it’s cold wherever you are so I can be jealous.

It took only seconds for his reply to come through.

Simon: Cold? No chance. Feels like I’m walkin’ through a bloody oven with armour on.

You: I hate summer. Everything’s sticky and loud and I can’t sleep.

Simon: Bet you’re sprawled out half-naked with the fan doin’ fuck all.

You snorted.

You: Wrong. I’m full-on naked. Fan’s just an expensive paperweight at this point.

Three dots blinked for a while before they stopped without a response.

You grinned to yourself.

You: Gotcha speechless, Lieutenant?

Simon: You’ve no idea what you just did to me.

You could almost hear his voice in that message. Could feel it against your neck like the kiss he didn’t get to give you before he left. Could picture the way his hand would trail down your spine with slow, deliberate weight.

You: Come home, then.

No reply came after that.

And so, later - hours later - you thought he was still away. Still out in some sweltering, dusty part of the world, carrying that weight on his shoulders while you fought your own battle with summer’s cruelty back home.

~~~~~

The fan in the corner whirred weakly, moving air that wasn’t cool enough to make a difference.

The sheets were tangled somewhere near the foot of the bed, kicked off long ago in your restless attempts to escape the heat.

You lay sprawled across the mattress, limbs heavy and skin damp with sweat, a sheen clinging to your bare back and thighs.

The only thing you wore was a thin string, clinging low to your hips, forgotten beneath the weight of the night, doing little to preserve modesty or comfort.

The rest of you lay open to the night, one leg stretched, the other bent just slightly, inviting the barest movement of air against your inner thigh.

Moonlight slanted in through the curtains, catching the sheen of heat on your skin - like you’d been carved out of marble and left to melt under the stars.

Your chest rose and fell with slow, shallow breaths, the soft rise of your breasts slicked in the glow of sweat.

Sleep had come late.

Broken.

Shallow.

And yet you didn’t hear the front door open.

Didn’t hear the soft scuff of boots or the click of the lock behind him.

You didn’t hear him come home.

But he did.

Ghost moved like a shadow through the house, as always - silent, efficient.

The soft glow from the hall lit the bedroom just enough for his eyes to adjust, and when he stepped inside, he stopped cold.

You were there.

Laid out like a fever dream, the moonlight catching on your skin, glistening where the heat had kissed you into a kind of surrender.

His breath hitched quietly, shoulders rising beneath the weight of the sight before him.

He hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t planned this.

He expected quiet.

Maybe you curled on the couch, still half awake and cranky from the heat.

But bloody hell... he didn’t expect... this.

His hand braced on the doorframe.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Didn’t dare to.

You were laid out like a painting meant for him alone.

Limbs long and soft, skin glowing with the faint shimmer of sweat.

Every line, every curve, every inch of you called to him.

Uncovered.

Unbothered.

Trusting.

Unaware.

The heat had broken you - left you vulnerable in a way you never were when conscious.

And fuck, he’d missed you.

Missed this.

Missed the way your presence calmed the storm in his chest.

But this…

This wasn’t calm.

This was a fuse, lit and sparking, inching toward something dangerous.

His voice caught in his throat, stuck beneath the weight of what stirred inside him.

Something animal.

Something that didn’t belong on the battlefield - but came alive the second he saw you like this.

The mission had been brutal, short notice, pulled him out and dropped him right back in without time to warn you.

But now, here you were.

So soft.

So still.

So his.

Simon stepped into the room.

Removed his mask slowly, carefully.

His breath was shallow now, boots silent as he approached the edge of the bed.

Your thigh twitched in sleep, lips parting just slightly.

He took a step closer.

Then another.

The sweat at the nape of his neck wasn’t from the heat. It was from how tightly he suddenly had to hold himself together.

Your breathing was slow, the curve of your spine leading down to the stretch of your hips - barely covered, barely decent.

The scent of your skin hit him, warm and sweet and familiar.

His jaw flexed as he dragged a hand through his hair, muscles pulled tight beneath the surface.

He swallowed hard.

He could undress.

Could shower.

Could ease himself back into this life beside you with the patience he usually practiced.

But tonight?

Something primal curled low in his gut. Something that missed you more than he’d admit.

Something hungry.

He leaned over, placing one knee on the bed, careful not to wake you - yet.

His hand hovered just above your thigh, then ghosted upward, tracing the line of your back without quite touching. Not enough to wake you, but enough to feel. Enough to claim, without a word.

His voice, when it came, was rough. Low. Like gravel dipped in honey under moonlight.

“You’ve no idea what you do to me… You’re gonna kill me one of these nights…”

You stirred.

Not fully - not yet.

The shift was subtle, a small inhale as his fingers grazed higher along your thigh, the weight of his presence at the edge of your sleep curling around you like a second heat.

Simon watched you with barely restrained hunger, the kind that crawled beneath the skin, deep and dark.

His hand hovered over your hip now, fingers twitching with the need to touch - to take.

But he waited.

Always so damn disciplined.

Until your lips parted again with a soft, unconscious sigh, your head tipping just enough to let the moonlight wash over your chest, highlighting every damp curve.

One breast rose slightly higher than the other, and the heat had drawn your nipples tight - aching. Glowing.

Simon exhaled through his nose, the sound thick with tension.

Then he cracked.

His fingers pressed into your thigh, slow but deliberate, trailing up until they reached the edge of that tiny scrap of fabric you still wore.

He hooked one finger underneath, brushing against skin he hadn’t touched in too long.

You shifted again, more awake now, brow creasing as the sensation finally reached you.

And then -

“Si…?” you whispered, voice hoarse and low, still hazy.

Yoo looked in his dark eyes. Sweaty, dusted from the road. And so intensely focused on you, like you were the only thing that could cool the fire under his skin.

“Shh,” he whispered “Just stay like that for me…”

He leaned closer, letting his mouth brush the shell of your ear, breath hot, accent heavy.

“I told you…” he murmured, lips barely grazing your sweat-damp skin.

“You’ve no idea what you do to me. “I’ve been thinkin’ about this exact moment for days,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear through the heat. “You. This bed. My hand right here.”

Your eyes fluttered open just as he dragged his fingers over your center - slowly, purposefully.

Not teasing.

Claiming.

You gasped, hips shifting automatically toward his touch, but he caught you with his free arm, anchoring you down with a hand splayed wide over your stomach.

“Don’t move,” he growled, the edge of command threading through silk. “Let me feel you.”

Your breath caught.

He kissed the corner of your jaw, your temple, your shoulder.

Reverent.

Possessive.

One finger slid inside you, then another, slow and deep. The stretch of him was perfect - too perfect after so many nights without him - and your back arched before you could stop it.

“I missed this,” he breathed. “Missed you.”

You whimpered his name.

He moved his fingers in slow, curling strokes that had your legs trembling within minutes.

His voice didn’t stop - not even once.

Filthy, quiet praise spilled into your ear with every flick of his wrist.

“That’s it, love… so fuckin’ warm around me…”

“You want more? You’ll take what I give you first.”

“No one touches you like this. No one knows you like this.”

His fingers hit that perfect spot - again and again - until you were gasping, mouth open, one hand blindly grabbing at the sheets.

Your body shook with tension, heat burning inside you worse than any summer day, and he felt it.

Felt your thighs clench.

Felt your walls flutter.

And he groaned, low and dangerous.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Right here. On my fuckin’ fingers.”

You shattered.

Your back arched, cry muffled as you bit into your wrist, trying not to scream.

Your body clenched around him in waves, wet and pulsing, your hips bucking despite his strong grip.

Simon watched you the whole time - unblinking, breath harsh through gritted teeth.

He didn’t stop touching you until the tremors faded. Didn’t pull his fingers out until your hips sagged and your eyes rolled closed.

Then he finally leaned back, his hand now slick with your release, and ran his tongue slowly over two of his fingers, eyes locked on yours when you opened them again.

Still so calm.

Still that unreadable shadow of a man.

But now with heat swimming just beneath the surface of his control.

You tried to speak.

Tried to breathe.

Simon leaned down and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone.

“Welcome home,” you whispered shakily.

His chuckle was low, wicked.

“Oh, I’m not done yet, love…”

Your chest still rose and fell in shallow gasps, body limp, damp with sweat and satisfaction.

But Simon… he wasn’t satisfied.

Not yet.

He watched you a second longer - face flushed, lips parted, your legs still open like a quiet invitation - and then his hands moved.

No hesitation.

No pause.

You let out a soft whimper as he slid his arms beneath you, one under your knees, the other cradling your back, and lifted. Easily. Like you weighed nothing.

"Simon," you breathed, a sleepy protest wrapped in need. "It's so hot..."

His eyes flicked down to yours, something sharp and possessive flashing in his eyes.

“You think that’ll stop me?” His voice was low, voice roughened by restraint.

“You look like that, beg for me in your sleep… and I’m meant to wait for cooler weather?”

He laid you back down - this time right in the middle of the bed - and stripped the last of your string away with a single, slow tug.

You were bare beneath him.

Every inch of you glistening, slick with heat and want.

You didn’t even notice he’d shed his shirt until the weight of him settled over you.

His chest was warm, flushed from the summer night, scars brushing across his skin like a rough map that told the story of the man who now devoured you with his gaze.

Your legs parted for him instinctively, the feel of him so heavy, so real, after days apart that your heart kicked against your ribs.

His body pinned you - warm, steady, dangerous - and he kissed your neck, your jaw, your cheek, slow and almost gentle.

But his hips -

Oh God, his hips.

He rolled them into yours once, deliberately, and you felt him - all of him, hard and hot and so ready.

“You sure you want this?” he rasped against your throat. “Even now? Even when you can’t breathe from the heat?”

You wrapped your legs around him, clinging, tilting your hips so he slid right where you needed him.

He hissed through his teeth, biting down softly on your collarbone.

“Yes,” you whispered, breath shaking. “It’s too hot to sleep. So ruin me instead.”

That was all it took.

He didn’t wait - didn’t tease.

He pushed into you with one smooth, deep stroke, his jaw clenched tight as your body welcomed him home.

You cried out, arms locking around his back, hands pressing into his damp skin as he filled you.

God, he felt like everything you'd been missing.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning low.

“Fuck… You feel so good, love. So fuckin’ good.”

He started moving - slow at first, deep, every stroke dragging along your walls, coaxing another high from your already sensitive body.

But the heat… the sweat… the sounds of skin against skin, the low growls in your ear… it built fast.

Too fast.

Simon felt you clench around him and pulled back just enough to look down at you - eyes dark, wild, his face so close.

“That’s it. Give it to me again,” he murmured. “I want to feel you come around me while I’m buried inside you.”

Your nails raked down his back, another soft moan escaping your lips.

“Simon - ”

“I know,” he whispered, thrusts picking up pace. “I know, baby. Let go.”

You did.

Your cry was quiet but desperate, muffled into his chest as your climax hit, body seizing beneath him.

And he followed, finally losing control, hips stuttering as he growled your name into your skin and buried himself as deep as he could go.

Silence fell in the aftermath.

Only the hum of the night and your shared, ragged breathing.

Simon collapsed beside you, dragging you into his arms with a satisfied grunt.

“Still hate summer?” he murmured.

You smiled, eyes fluttering closed as you nestled against him.

“Yes,” you whispered. “But I’ll take every miserable night… if it means you come home like that.”

His arm tightened around you. His lips brushed your forehead.

“You’ll get worse next time,” he murmured. “Promise.”

You gave yourself to him in the dark - and now the light is creeping in, the air still thick with heat and your body still aching for more.

The bed sheets were damp. The fan did nothing.

You lay tangled in Simon’s arms, legs still wrapped around him, both your bodies slick from heat and sweat and sex.

You should’ve been spent.

But when his hand slid down your back… when his fingers brushed along the curve of your ass, and his lips ghosted over your shoulder, your whole body stirred again.

"Shower," he muttered against your skin. "Before you melt."

You nodded - weakly, with a flushed little laugh - and let him guide you up, legs wobbling.

He was right behind you, his palm pressed against the small of your back as you padded barefoot into the bathroom.

The tiles were cool, the dim morning light filtering in. The second the water was on, lukewarm and hissing softly, Simon stepped in with you.

And then - nothing but his hands.

They slid over your hips, your stomach, up to your breasts, slow and greedy.

The water couldn’t wash away the way he looked at you - like you were something he couldn’t get enough of.

Like he’d crossed the bloody world just to touch you again.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered against your shoulder. “Swear I see you like this and I forget every fuckin’ reason I ever had to be careful.”

You leaned back into him, eyes fluttering shut. “Then don’t be.”

His growl was soft, barely a breath - then he had you, hands gripping your hips as he bent you forward slightly under the stream.

Your hands pressed to the tile. His chest was at your back.

And then you felt him again.

Hard, thick, sliding through your folds with aching slowness before pressing inside.

You gasped - still sore from before, but he filled you like he belonged there.

Like he’d earned the right to take you again.

The water ran down both your bodies as he started to move, his rhythm deeper than before - less rushed, more claiming.

He braced one hand beside yours on the tile and the other curled around to your throat - not choking, not hard, just possessive.

His.

“You gonna fall apart for me again, love?” he rasped against your ear, breath hot against your skin despite the water. “Even now?”

Your moan echoed softly in the small space, and his fingers tightened ever so slightly.

"You’re mine," he growled. "Say it."

“I’m yours,” you gasped, voice cracking as the pleasure built again, white-hot and blinding. “Always - fuck, Simon - ”

You shattered around him, legs shaking, walls clenching, cries caught behind bitten lips.

He groaned low, hips still driving into you until he followed you over the edge, holding you through it with shaking arms.

When it was done - when the water had almost gone cold - he turned you around and kissed your forehead, lips lingering.

“Still hate summer?”

You just gave him a drowsy smile.

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet. The sky was a soft gray-blue, streaked with orange at the edges.

The air had finally cooled, enough to offer relief, and the breeze across your damp skin was like a kiss after the storm.

You were wrapped in one of Simon’s big towels, hair wet and clinging to your shoulders, legs curled up beneath you on the terrace chair.

A fresh cup of coffee warmed your palms, steam curling upward into the quiet morning.

Simon sat across from you, towel slung low on his hips, another draped over his shoulders. Drops of water still clung to his chest, trailing down over the tattoos that danced in the pale light.

His eyes were on you.

Not with hunger - no, that had been sated. For now.

This was something else. Something softer.

"You look wrecked," he muttered into his mug, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed the affection in his voice.

You scoffed, taking a sip.

“That’s your fault...”

“Not complainin’,” he murmured.

A moment passed in silence, only the sound of birds stirring and the occasional hum of far-off traffic breaking the stillness.

Then you caught him watching you again - openly this time, no teasing in his expression. Just a quiet kind of reverence.

You tilted your head. “What?”

Simon took a sip, then leaned back, letting the breeze lift the ends of his towel.

“Just thinkin’. I’d rather be here with you, like this, than anywhere else on the planet.”

It hit like a punch and a kiss all at once.

Your heart stuttered, breath catching, fingers tightening slightly around the warm ceramic in your hands.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

Instead, you reached out with one foot under the table, brushing his ankle with yours.

He smiled - barely, just a flicker - and leaned forward to steal a kiss from your lips.

It was slow, coffee-flavored, filled with everything he didn’t know how to say.

And you knew it wouldn’t last forever - missions would come, the heat would rise again, the world would pull him away.

But right now?

You had him. And the sunrise. And the taste of his mouth still lingering on yours.

~~~~~

Your coffee was nearly gone, the last sip lukewarm.

You leaned back in your chair, legs now stretched out under the table, feet nudging Simon’s where he sat across from you.

The world was still for once - soft wind in the trees, the low hum of a city not yet awake, your skin cooling under the breeze.

He looked… peaceful.

And then - buzz.

His phone lits up.

Simon didn’t even have to check.

You watched the calm in his face drain away the moment he glanced down at the screen.

💀 TF141: Absolute Professionals – Group Chat 💀

🧢Price: All 141. Back at HQ. Urgent briefing. One hour.

🔥Soap: That was fast.

🦅Gaz: You just left. Bloody hell.

🧢Price: Not my call. Pack up. Move.

Simon exhaled through his nose, jaw tight.

“No…” you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

He looked at you - apologetic. Frustrated. That familiar war in his eyes: duty versus what he really wanted.

You set your mug down. “You just got here.”

“Didn’t unpack,” he muttered, already standing. The towel shifted on his hips, revealing that sharp V of muscle at his lower abdomen. “Didn’t even bloody breathe yet.”

You stood, walking toward him slowly, your own towel slipping a little lower as the wind caught it. “Then don’t go yet.”

Simon stopped. Eyes locked on yours.

He didn’t move as you reached out and touched his chest, fingers sliding slowly over damp skin. “You’ve got time for a goodbye, don’t you?”

His jaw flexed.

“If I do this…” he warned, voice already dropping, “I won’t want to leave.”

“Then make it worth it,” you whispered.

And that was it.

He kissed you - harder than before, more desperate.

His hands gripped your hips, pulled you against him, your towel forgotten and falling to the floor as he backed you against the terrace railing.

Your breath caught as he dropped to his knees, mouth hot against your inner thigh, tongue trailing fire as he made his way up, hands sliding behind your knees to hook them over his shoulders.

The sun rose behind him, casting golden light over his broad back as he devoured you like he was starving.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, legs trembling, body burning again - again- despite the cooled morning air.

He didn’t rush.

He never did when it mattered.

And when you came, gasping and shaking against the railing, Simon stood, lips slick, eyes dark, and kissed you so deep your knees nearly gave out.

“Still got 45 minutes,” he whispered into your mouth.

“Then don’t waste a second,” you breathed.

He didn’t.

Simon’s mouth was still on your skin, trailing reverent, open kisses up your abdomen, his stubble leaving heat and goosebumps in its wake.

The sunrise had begun to warm the terrace again, but nothing compared to him.

Nothing ever did.

You caught his face in your hands as he rose, pulling him into a deep, slow kiss - one that tasted like goodbye.

But not yet.

Your hands slid down his chest, tracing the damp lines of muscle, following the drops of water still clinging to him until your fingers curled around the towel hanging precariously low on his hips.

You stepped back just slightly, eyes locked with his as you slowly sank to your knees on the warm wooden planks of the terrace floor.

His breath hitched.

“Love…” he murmured, already dazed by the sight of you below him.

“You’ve got 40 minutes,” you whispered with a wicked glint in your eyes, pulling the towel away, letting it drop to the floor between you.

“Let me take care of you.”

His cock was already hard - you on your knees, hair still damp, eyes full of hunger and tenderness both - it undid something in him.

You wrapped your fingers around him, slow and steady, just watching him for a moment.

The way his muscles tensed.

The way his lips parted like he was trying to find the right words - and couldn’t.

Then you leaned in, lips brushing the tip first - just a soft kiss.

Simon swore under his breath, hand going to the back of your head, not to guide, just to feel you. To anchor himself.

When you took him into your mouth, slow and deep, he let out a guttural sound that had your thighs clenching.

You worked him with purpose- not rushed, not teasing.

Just devoted.

Focused.

His hand gripped your hair tighter.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” he groaned, his hips twitching forward, the control in him slowly unraveling.

“You’re gonna ruin me.”

You hummed around him, and that was almost too much.

He cursed again, deep and rough, head tipping back, chest heaving as your mouth worked him, your tongue curling around the most sensitive parts of him like you knew every inch by heart - which you did.

He wasn’t going to last.

He never did when you really wanted him to come undone.

“I need - fuck - I need to remember this,” he panted, his voice almost broken, almost vulnerable. “Before I go. I need you.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, breath warm on his slick skin.

“Then take it, Simon.”

That was it.

He came with your name on his lips, jaw clenched tight as his release poured over your tongue.

You swallowed every drop, holding his gaze, keeping your hands on his thighs until he finally exhaled like a man coming back from war.

When you stood again, he caught your face with both hands, eyes still dark, still overwhelmed.

“You’re mine,” he said quietly, forehead pressing to yours.

“Always,” you whispered back.

Simon pulled away and stepped back into the bedroom. You followed. Watching him.

His black cargo pants half-buttoned, boots already on, shirt draped over one shoulder. His eyes found you immediately.

You stood there in the soft light of morning, wrapped in nothing but your towel, hair still messy from sleep and shower and him. You didn’t say a word - you just looked at him like you were memorizing him all over again.

He paused.

Hands on his hips, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile - and maybe he had.

A mile from control to surrender and back again. And now he had to walk away like it was nothing.

“Still think summer’s the worst season?” he rasped, his voice gravel and heat.

You gave a tired smile, heart too full for clever comebacks.

“It is. But as I said, I’ll survive it better if you keep coming home like this.”

He closed the space between you in two long strides, shirt still forgotten. One hand found your hip, the other cradled your jaw. His thumb brushed just beneath your lip, and his eyes locked onto your mouth like he wasn’t done tasting you.

“I should go,” he murmured. But he didn’t move.

You leaned into his touch. “I know.”

He stared at you like he didn’t want to blink.

Then finally - finally - he bent down, lips brushing yours with maddening gentleness. Not rushed.

Not possessive.

Just his.

A kiss that promised everything he couldn’t say right now.

And as he pulled back, you caught his dog tags before they could fall, letting your fingers trace the edge of the cool metal. A quiet promise passing between your hands.

Simon’s thumb brushed your cheek once more.

His phone buzzed.

“That bloody group chat,” he murmured, smirking slightly. “Soap’s probably already stirred up trouble.”

You smiled back. “Without question.”

Another soft kiss. One more look at you.

Then he stepped away, grabbing his shirt at last, heading for the door with the reluctance of a man who never really leaves his heart behind.

~~~~~

The drive to HQ was a blur. Heat still clung to Simon’s skin, even in the chill of the air conditioning. But it wasn’t the weather that kept his pulse pounding - it was you.

The taste of you still lingered on his lips. Your touch, your voice, your body… burned into him.

He made it through security with seconds to spare, sliding into the debriefing room just as Price started talking.

Soap turned his head, already grinning like the smug bastard he was.

“Well, well, look who made it,” he said low, leaning toward Ghost with a devilish gleam in his eye. “Cutting it a bit close, eh?”

Simon didn’t respond. Just dropped into his chair with the calm of a man who definitely wasn’t flustered.

Soap tilted his head. “Rough morning?” A knowing smirk crept up his face. “Or was it smooth?”

Simon’s jaw ticked. He stared straight ahead.

“Oh come on, Ghost,” Soap whispered. “You’re glowing.”

That earned him a sharp look through the skull mask, but Soap only chuckled, sitting back with his arms crossed behind his head, like he’d just solved a mystery.

“Didn’t know a man could look that dangerous and freshly satisfied at the same time. Bloody hell.”

Gaz, catching the tone, looked between them with a brow raised. “Do I even want to know?”

Price didn’t look up from the file in front of him. “No. And neither do I.”

Simon stayed silent. Let Soap laugh. Let them guess.

Because the memory of your mouth, your - towel slipping open, your quiet moans - those were his. And no matter how hot the mission got… nothing would compare.

~~~~~

The terrace was quiet now.

The sun had crept higher, casting sharp lines across the table where two empty coffee cups sat, one still warm from his hand. The towel you’d wrapped yourself in was looser now, slipping down your thighs as you curled into the chair, knees pulled up, skin still damp with the cool kiss of morning.

He was gone.

You had barely whispered a goodbye when he pulled away from the kiss at the threshold, his voice low and rough: “I’ll come back to you.”

God, you were still trembling.

The ache between your thighs hadn’t faded, not fully. Not after what he did to you.

Not after what you did to him.

The rush.

The sweat.

The sound of your name between his teeth.

You smiled faintly, staring out across the quiet morning. Birds somewhere in the trees. The low hum of the city waking up. But it all felt muted, like the only sound that really mattered was his voice in your ear, right before his fingers stole your breath.

You brought the cup to your lips again, even though it was empty. His scent lingered on it - coffee and soap and something him.

Your phone lit up.

Simon: In. Briefing started.

Then another one.

Simon: Still taste you on my lips.

Your breath hitched. Your thighs clenched.

And then another.

Simon: Don’t wear anything when I come home.

You smiled, heart pounding all over again.

Summer was still your least favorite season.

But God… you were starting to understand the appeal.

#cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod fanfic #cod fandom #cod smut #cod simon riley #cod simon ghost riley

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daeniradraconis · 3 months ago

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My Emergency Contact – William Nylander

Just a little short Valentine’s Day fluff—because nothing says romance like realizing your boyfriend is absolutely not qualified to be your emergency contact. (Yes, inspired by the TikTok trend!) BTW, this pic is literally my favourite of Willy. Like, sir—how are you this hot and this cute at the same time?! ---

Moving in together was supposed to be romantic. Cozy. A new chapter in your relationship.

Instead, you’re sitting on the couch in your new apartment, watching your shirtless boyfriend, William Nylander, struggle for his life against an IKEA bookshelf.

The shirtless part isn’t unusual. If anything, it’s his default state. The man has never met a fabric he liked.

And honestly? You’re not complaining.

His blond hair is tousled from running his hands through it in frustration, his cheeky grin flickering in and out as he mutters to himself in Swedish, clearly losing patience. His mustache and beard are in full force—an off-season indulgence, just like the sheer amount of cake he’s been consuming lately.

And it shows.

Willy is always strong, always an athlete, but off-season Willy? He’s soft. He still has muscle, but instead of his usual sculpted abs, there’s the faintest hint of a tummy, a little dad bod moment that somehow makes him look even hotter.

Unfortunately, all that raw, Swedish power is currently being humiliated by a simple bookshelf.

“IKEA is a scam,” Will mutters, glaring at the half-built monstrosity. “They make the instructions impossible on purpose.”

“You’re Swedish,” you remind him, sipping your coffee. “This should be, like, in your DNA.”

“Yeah, well, my ancestors built actual ships, not this bullshit.”

He picks up the hex key like it personally insulted his mother, then frowns down at the two pieces of wood he’s supposed to connect. His brows furrow, lips pressing together in deep concentration, and for a fleeting moment, you think—maybe—he’s finally figured it out.

But no. No, he has not.

With way too much confidence, he tightens one screw, nods to himself like a man who knows what he's doing, and then leans his full weight on the side panel—only for it to give out instantly, betraying him in the most dramatic fashion possible.

The entire bookshelf wobbles violently before crashing down in slow motion.

And so does Will.

You watch in horror as your six-foot, professional athlete boyfriend completely loses the battle. He stumbles backward, knocks into a chair, flails to catch himself—too late. His knee buckles, and before you can react, he fully wipes out.

A loud thud. A groan. Silence.

For a split second, your heart stops. You freeze, eyes wide, a sharp pang of panic in your chest. He’s completely motionless, just lying there, staring at the ceiling.

“Will?” you ask, rushing over, hovering a hand over his arm, not sure whether to touch him or call 911.

No response.

Then—he bursts out laughing.

Flat on his back, bare chest rising and falling with laughter, stomach shaking, cheeks flushed—he looks absurdly proud of himself. And you can’t help but laugh too—though only after you're sure he’s not actually injured.

And then it hits you. This man is your emergency contact.

The realization hits you slowly. This is the guy responsible for calling an ambulance if something happens to you. This one.

The same man who once set off the fire alarm trying to “improvise” a grilled cheese with a blowtorch because he thought it would be “faster.”

The same man who got his shoelace caught in an escalator last summer and had to be rescued by a mall employee.

The same man who confidently insisted he could fix a leaky faucet in your old apartment, only to somehow make it worse—so much worse—that you had to call an actual plumber, who took one look at the situation and just muttered, Jesus Christ.

You blink down at Will, still sprawled on the floor, grinning like an idiot, and a strange mix of affection, disbelief, and sheer terror floods through you.

You sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you are my emergency contact.”

You look at him, grinning up from the floor like he just won a prize, and a mix of affection, disbelief, and helpless laughter washes over you.

Will, still sprawled out, turns his head to smirk at you. “Baby. I got you.”

“You just lost a fight to plywood.”

“It was a close fight.”

“In your dreams.”

He just shrugs, completely unbothered, propping himself up on one elbow. “Eh. I’m strong. I can take it.”

You stare at him, still processing the absolute chaos of it all. The lack of concern.

Will sees your expression and smirks, sitting up fully. “You’re thinking about it, huh?”

“I’m regretting it.”

He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “Wow. That’s ruthless.”

“Honest.”

Will squints, then rubs the back of his head. “Maybe. But too late, baby. We live together now. No take-backs.”

You roll your eyes, standing up to help his dumb ass off the floor. He lets you pull him to his feet, then immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Will—”

“Shhh,” he says, resting his chin on top of your head. “Let me hold you. I almost died, älskling.”

You snort. “You did not.”

He squeezes you tighter, grinning against your hair. “You were so worried about me.”

You groan, but his arms feel nice, and he smells like cedarwood and the vanilla latte he stole from you earlier. Despite everything—despite his complete incompetence at building furniture or being careful at all—you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You sigh into his chest. “Yeah. You are sometimes actually terrifying. You clumsy idiot.”

Willy laughs, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“Terrifyingly sexy, you mean.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

#william nylander fic #william nylander #williamnylander #william nylander x reader #william nylander x you #wn88 #william nylander imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine

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mcrdvcks · 26 days ago

Text

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ girl i've always been

chapter summary: While having a relaxing, lazy morning, there is an attack on New York City being broadcast, with some familiar and unfamiliar faces.

word count: 8.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: as i said before with peter, i'm a mcu fan at heart, and i wanted to try and bring in the avengers into the x-men (plus i have an idea for a little side storyline. it'll make sense once you read!)

also, thank you for 1,500 followers! and happy easter (if you celebrate)!

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, snow fight, slight angst, the battle of new york, the avengers, protective!logan

series masterlist - chapter 11 → chapter 13

“Please?” Theresa drawled, her tiny hands clasped together, the mittens looking particularly oversized on her.

“It’s freezing, Tess.” You replied, looking out the window to the snow covered grounds.

“But Scott and Jean are coming outside too!” Theresa added.

Jones nodded, “yeah, and so is Ororo, and Rogue, Bobby, Jub—”

“Summers, huh?” Logan questioned, his arms over his chest. He turned to look at you, “whaddya say sweetheart?”

You crossed your arms, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You only want to do this because Scott is going outside to have a snowball fight with the kids, and you don’t want to look like a wimp.”

Logan scoffed, his mouth pulling into a half-grin. “Sweetheart, I ain’t worried about Summers. Kid’s got an arm like a wet noodle.”

Theresa gasped dramatically, her mittens flying to her face. “Mr. Logan, that’s not nice! Mr. Summers is teaching me how to pitch!”

“Yeah?” Logan raised an eyebrow. “How’s that workin’ out for ya?”

Theresa frowned, scrunching her nose. “I hit Bobby in the face once.”

Jones laughed. “You hit Bobby like, three times.”

“That’s ‘cause Bobby’s head’s too big to miss.” Logan quipped, earning giggles from the kids. He turned back to you, his expression softening. “What do you think? Wanna show these kids how it’s done?”

You sighed, glancing back at the window. Snow swirled outside, the grounds blanketed in white. The wind rattled the glass, making you instinctively pull your cardigan tighter. “It’s freezing out there, Logan. I’m not built for this kind of weather.”

“You sure about that? Thought you were tough,” Logan teased, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “What’s a little snow gonna do to you, darlin’?”

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the familiar rush of playful irritation. “Fine. But if I get frostbite, you’re the one explaining it to Jean.”

Logan grinned, looking far too smug for your liking. “Deal.”

---

Outside, the cold hit immediately. You tugged your scarf up over your nose, trying not to shiver as you followed Logan toward the group of students. Snow crunched underfoot, the air filled with excited chatter as Scott and Jean stood off to the side, orchestrating teams.

“Alright, everyone!” Scott called out, clapping his hands. “We’re splitting into two teams. Jean and I will be captains—”

“Hold up,” Logan interrupted, his voice cutting through the noise. “What about me?”

Scott turned, his expression equal parts surprised and amused. “You? You’re joining?”

Logan shrugged, slipping off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby bench. “Someone’s gotta show these kids how to win.”

Jean rolled her eyes with a good-natured smile. “Logan, this is supposed to be fun, not a war.”

“Fun’s overrated,” Logan replied, cracking his knuckles.

You groaned, adjusting your glasses. “He’s going to take this way too seriously.”

Jean leaned closer to you, her breath visible in the freezing air. “He’s just trying to impress you.”

“By pelting kids with snowballs?”

“Exactly.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s voice boomed again. “Alright, Y/N’s on my team.”

“What?” you sputtered, looking at him incredulously. “I didn’t agree to this!”

“Too late,” Logan said, already rounding up a small group of eager-looking students. “You’re with me, sweetheart.”

Scott smirked, leaning toward Jean. “This should be good.”

---

The game quickly devolved into chaos. Logan, true to form, treated the snowball fight like a military operation. He barked orders to the kids on his team, pointing out strategic positions and even building a makeshift snow fort. You hung back, dodging the occasional snowball and trying not to laugh at how seriously he was taking it.

“Y/N, cover the flank!” Logan shouted, ducking behind a tree as a snowball whizzed past his head.

“You know this isn’t an actual battle, right?” you called back, crouching behind the fort.

“Tell that to Summers!” Logan growled, launching a perfectly aimed snowball that hit Scott square in the chest.

Scott stumbled back, brushing snow off his jacket. “Really, Logan? You’re aiming for me now?”

“Always, bub.”

Jean sighed dramatically. “Men.”

The kids, meanwhile, were having the time of their lives. Theresa and Jones worked together to build an impressive stockpile of snowballs, while Bobby used his powers to create perfectly round projectiles. Rogue ducked and weaved through the chaos, laughing as she nailed Logan in the shoulder with a particularly icy snowball.

“You’re lucky I like you, kid,” Logan muttered, brushing snow off his flannel.

Meanwhile, you stayed hidden behind the fort, because a few years ago when a snowball fight happened, someone—Scott—accidentally hit you in the face. But the worst part wasn’t that, it was the fact that your glasses broke and you couldn’t see for the rest of the day.

You huddled behind the makeshift fort with Jubilee, pulling your scarf tighter as the wind bit at your cheeks. Jubilee rubbed her arms through her thick jacket, shivering beside you. “Why is this my life? I could be inside right now, drinking cocoa.”

You adjusted your glasses, peeking over the snow wall just as a snowball zipped past, missing you by inches. “I’m wondering the same thing. I didn’t sign up for this level of chaos.”

Jubilee groaned dramatically, flopping backward into the snow. “Who even decided this was a good idea? Oh wait, it was Scott. Of course.”

You smirked. “Blame Logan. He turned this into a military operation.”

“Speaking of...” Jubilee pointed to Logan, who was standing a few feet away, rallying your team of students like they were about to storm Normandy. His flannel was dusted with snow, and his eyes were locked on Scott like he was calculating his next move.

“Alright, kids!” Logan barked. “Jones, cover the left. Theresa, keep Bobby busy. Y/N, stop hiding and provide backup.”

You threw up your hands. “I am backup! From back here!”

Logan turned and gave you a look—a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Sweetheart, what happened to teamwork?”

“Teamwork doesn’t involve me losing my glasses again,” you shot back. “I still have PTSD from last time.”

“I told you,” Logan replied, his smirk growing, “I’ll keep your glasses safe. Just stick with me.”

Jubilee snorted. “Oh sure, because he’s never broken anything in his life.”

“Hey,” Logan growled, pointing a finger at Jubilee, “don’t push it, kid.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. Logan’s unwavering confidence in this absurd snowball fight—and in dragging you into it—was annoyingly endearing. Before you could retort, a snowball hit the fort’s edge, sending bits of snow scattering onto your face.

“Y/N!” Theresa called, her red hair peeking over the fort as she ducked another projectile. “Bobby just took Rogue out! We have the advantage!”

You sighed, pushing yourself to your feet. “Alright, fine. But if anyone breaks my glasses, there’s going to be trouble.”

Logan’s grin widened as he lobbed another snowball, hitting Scott in the shoulder. “There’s my girl. Come on, darlin’, time to show Summers how it’s done.”

You stepped around the fort cautiously, scooping up some snow and packing it into a firm ball. Jubilee muttered behind you, “This is going to end in tears.”

“Probably mine,” you replied dryly.

Across the snowy battlefield, Scott and Jean were crouched behind a smaller fort. Scott’s tactical stance and determined expression were straight out of a playbook, while Jean looked like she was trying not to laugh.

“Jean, cover me!” Scott shouted, throwing a snowball that missed Logan by several feet.

Jean shook her head, smiling. “Cover you from what? You’re not even aiming.”

“Hey!” Scott protested. “I hit Logan earlier!”

“Barely,” Logan said, his tone smug. “Summers, you couldn’t hit me if you were standing two feet away.”

Scott scowled. “Alright, that’s it—”

Before he could finish, you lobbed a snowball that smacked him square in the chest. The kids on your team erupted into cheers. Scott looked down at the snowy mark on his jacket, then up at you with mock betrayal.

“What—Y/N?” he called, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Scott,” you replied, biting back a grin. “Logan made me do it.”

Logan barked a laugh, tossing an arm around your shoulder briefly before returning to the battle. “She’s finally coming around to the winning side.”

Jean leaned out from her fort, her eyes sparkling with humor. “Don’t encourage him, Y/N.”

Logan called back, “Too late! She’s all mine now.”

You rolled your eyes but felt a warmth spreading through you despite the cold. For all his bravado and bluster, there was something undeniably comforting about Logan’s presence, even in the midst of a ridiculous snowball war.

“Don’t get cocky,” you muttered, brushing snow off your sleeves.

“I’m not cocky,” Logan said, throwing another perfectly aimed snowball that hit Scott in the arm. “I’m just good.”

Jubilee groaned loudly from behind you. “Can we end this already? My fingers are icicles!”

“Not until Summers surrenders!” Logan declared, ducking another snowball and tossing one back with perfect precision.

Jean laughed, raising her hands. “Okay, truce! Before someone loses a limb or, worse, their dignity.”

Scott lowered his arm reluctantly. “Fine. Truce.”

Logan smirked, straightening up and brushing snow off his hands. “Guess we know who the real champ is.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Scott muttered.

As the snowball fight dissolved, you found yourself walking back toward the mansion with Logan at your side. He glanced down at you, his expression softer now. “Not bad out there, darlin’. You might just be my secret weapon.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “Next time, I’m staying inside.”

“Sure you are,” Logan replied, his grin warm. “You can’t resist me.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, nudging him lightly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice low and amused. “But you love me anyway.”

---

You hummed along to the catchy pop tune playing softly on the kitchen radio as you stirred the stir-fry. The savory aroma of chicken, steak, and colorful veggies filled the air, the sizzling sound adding a cozy rhythm to your evening.

Footsteps approached, deliberate and heavy, and a moment later, Logan appeared beside you. He held out a glass of red wine with a casual smirk, keeping the other for himself. “Figured you could use this.”

“Thanks,” you said, pausing long enough to take it from him. You raised an eyebrow as Logan leaned slightly over your shoulder, inspecting the pan. His face was far too serious for something as mundane as dinner.

“Yes,” you deadpanned, taking a sip of the wine, “I added steak. Just for you.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Smart choice, sweetheart. Can’t go wrong with steak.”

You rolled your eyes and returned your focus to the pan, the warmth from the stove a welcome contrast to the winter air outside. As you adjusted the heat, Logan stepped closer, his hands resting lightly on your hips. His chest was warm against your back, and the soft pressure of his touch made you pause.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, your voice colored with amusement.

Logan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist and started to sway, his movements slow and unhurried. You blinked, trying to stifle a laugh. “Seriously?”

“You were hummin’, so I thought I’d join in,” he said, his deep voice low near your ear.

“I was humming to a pop song, not a ballad,” you replied, though you couldn’t quite bring yourself to pull away. His embrace was too warm, too grounding.

Logan tugged you gently, nudging you away from the stove. “C’mere.”

“Logan, the food—”

“It’ll be fine. Just a minute.”

The look in his eyes left little room for argument, so you allowed him to guide you a few steps away. The music from the radio filled the quiet as Logan pulled you close. His movements were uncharacteristically tender, his calloused hands resting lightly on your lower back as he led you in what could only loosely be described as a slow dance.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You know this is a pop song, right? This doesn’t really... fit.”

“I don’t care.” Logan’s lips twitched into a faint grin, but his eyes softened. “Music’s just noise. It’s the person you’re dancin’ with that matters.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, though you hid your face by tucking your head against his shoulder. His flannel smelled faintly of pine and something uniquely him, grounding you in a way few things could. The two of you swayed in place, ignoring the incongruous beat of the music and the simmering stir-fry just a few feet away.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you murmured, “You’re in a rare mood.”

“Yeah, maybe I am,” Logan said, his tone softer than usual. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “’S nice, just... bein’ here with you.”

You didn’t respond right away, letting his words settle in your chest. For all of Logan’s gruffness and his habit of turning everything into a challenge, these rare, quiet moments reminded you of how fiercely he loved. How fiercely he loved you.

Nice didn’t seem like the right word for it. It was everything.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you teased, your voice quieter now.

Logan chuckled, his breath warm against your temple. “Nah. I’m lucky you love me.”

The crackling sound of the stir-fry snapped you back to reality, and you gave him a gentle nudge. “Okay, dinner’s about to burn. Let me go.”

Logan tightened his arms briefly, a teasing glint in his eye. “One more second.”

“Logan.”

With an exaggerated sigh, he loosened his hold, letting you step back toward the stove. You stirred the pan quickly, relieved that nothing had scorched. Logan leaned against the counter, watching you with a lazy grin, his wineglass dangling from his fingers.

“You’re impossible,” you said, glancing over at him.

“Yeah,” Logan agreed easily. “But you love me anyway.”

You shot him a look but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. In the background, the radio shifted to another upbeat track, the music filling the small kitchen like a promise of more moments like this. Moments where time felt like it belonged solely to the two of you.

---

Sleeping in was rare, even on the weekends. But today, as the noon sun poured through the curtains, bathing the room in soft light, you both indulged in the rare luxury. The warmth of Logan’s body beside you and the quiet of the mansion made the bed feel like the only place that mattered.

You stretched lazily, your hand brushing Logan’s chest as he gave a low, contented grunt. “Finally awake?” he murmured, his voice rough from sleep.

“Mm, not yet,” you replied, burying your face against his shoulder. His scent—pine, leather, and something faintly metallic—wrapped around you, grounding you in the moment.

Logan chuckled softly, his hand slipping to the small of your back. “Y’know, most people are already up by now.”

“Most people don’t get woken up at 5 a.m. by the sound of kids trying to build a trampoline out of their powers,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt.

He smirked. “Fair enough.”

The room stayed quiet for a while, the two of you enjoying the stillness. Logan’s hand moved in slow circles along your back, a soothing motion that almost lulled you back to sleep.

“You’re a lot clingier today,” you teased, looking up at him.

“Guess I am,” Logan said with a shrug, his expression unreadable. “Don’t hear you complainin’, though.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. “No. I’m not.”

A sharp knock at the door made you groan, breaking the moment. “It’s Jean!” came the muffled voice from the other side. “You two need to get to the common room right now.”

Logan frowned. “What’s the rush?”

“Just hurry! You’re going to want to see this,” Jean called back before her footsteps faded down the hall.

You sighed, reluctantly pushing yourself up. “Guess our lazy morning is over.”

“Always somethin’,” Logan muttered, rubbing a hand over his face before climbing out of bed.

You slid out as well, slipping on your glasses and grabbing your robe from the chair. Logan was already pulling on his flannel shirt and jeans, moving with his usual efficiency. Within minutes, the two of you were heading down the hall toward the common room.

The mansion was unusually quiet for midday, the muffled sound of a news broadcast growing louder as you approached the common room.

When you walked in, the screen immediately caught your attention. Footage of New York City filled the TV, with buildings crumbling and smoke rising into the sky. The words “Breaking News: Alien Invasion in Manhattan” scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

"What the hell?" Logan muttered, crossing his arms as he stared at the footage.

Jean turned to you both, her expression grim. "It started an hour ago. There’s some kind of portal above the city. They’re calling it an alien invasion."

Your heart sank as you watched the chaos unfold on the screen. Cars were overturned, people running for their lives as enormous, alien-looking creatures wreaked havoc.

The kids spoke quietly amongst themselves.

“Who’s that guy with the hammer?” Peter asked.

Jubilee leaned in, “I saw a Reddit thread sayin’ he was an alien.”

Logan let out a groan, rubbing a hand down his face as he stared at the chaotic footage on the television. "Now there are damn aliens? What’s next, giant lizards takin’ over the city?"

"Don’t jinx it," Jean muttered, arms crossed as she stood beside the couch, her gaze glued to the screen. "This is already bad enough."

Scott stood nearby, frowning deeply. "They’ve got a lot of tech. Look at the size of that portal. That’s not something we can just ignore."

"We’re not getting involved, Scott," Jean cut in sharply. Her tone was firm but calm, the way it always was when she knew she needed to be the voice of reason. "This isn’t our fight. We don’t even know what we’d be walking into."

"She’s right," Logan added, his voice gruff. He leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed. "Let the army or whoever deal with it. We’ve got enough on our plate without runnin’ into some other mess."

Bobby raised an eyebrow as he watched the screen. "That guy in the suit... isn’t that Tony Stark? The billionaire who’s always in the news?"

"Yeah," Peter said, squinting. "And isn’t that Captain America? Wait, I thought he was dead—or, like, frozen or something?"

"You mean that propaganda poster boy?" Logan’s voice had an edge, but there was something unspoken beneath it. His eyes lingered on the screen, his jaw tightening as the camera panned to a blond man throwing a shield with almost impossible precision.

Jean glanced over at Logan, her brow furrowed. "You know him?"

Logan gave a noncommittal shrug, his expression carefully neutral. "We fought together a long time ago. Doesn’t matter now."

You shifted your weight beside him, catching the way his knuckles whitened against his biceps. Gently, you placed a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

He looked down at you, his expression softening in that way only you seemed to bring out. "I’m fine. Just didn’t expect to see his face today, is all."

Scott cleared his throat, his arms crossed. "We still need to figure out what our stance is on this. If those things—whatever they are—start spreading beyond Manhattan, we’ll have to act."

Jean shook her head. "For now, we wait. The situation’s still unfolding, and we don’t even know what’s going on up there. Jumping in blind could make things worse."

Logan smirked faintly. "For once, I agree with Red."

Jean rolled her eyes at the nickname but didn’t argue.

The footage shifted to show the so called ‘alien’—a large man with a hammer, lightning crackling around him as he brought it down on a group of the alien creatures. Peter practically jumped up from his seat. "Okay, who is that guy? Thor? Like, the Norse god?"

Jubilee leaned forward, a grin spreading across her face. "Maybe he is! Did you see the lightning? That’s insane."

"Focus, guys," you said gently, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Their excitement was contagious, even if the situation was grim.

Logan’s hand found its way to your back, a subtle, grounding gesture. "Kids can get excited all they want, but we’re stayin’ out of it," he said firmly. "End of story."

Jean nodded in agreement. "Logan’s right. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."

The room quieted, the group’s attention returning to the screen. Despite the chaos unfolding in New York, the decision had been made—for now, the X-Men would stand back. It wasn’t their fight, not yet. But the tension lingered, unspoken questions hanging in the air.

You leaned into Logan’s side, your hand brushing his as you watched the screen. His thumb grazed the back of your hand, a small gesture of reassurance. Whatever was happening out there, at least for now, you were together—and for Logan, that was enough.

---

The new book you got had you in a hold. You and Jean were reading the same book, which was a rarity since you both had different tastes. But Gone Girl was intriguing and had a way of pulling you in.

And since it was a Saturday, it was the perfect day to relax and read… and possibly finish the book in one day.

You sat down at the island as Logan made breakfast for the two of you. He placed your cup of tea in front of you, the steam curling upward like a warm invitation. “It’s hot. Don’t burn yourself,” he warned with a pointed look, then turned back to the stove where a skillet sizzled with eggs and bacon.

“Thanks,” you murmured distractedly, already nose-deep in the novel you’d cracked open just moments before. You adjusted your glasses, the light from the nearby window perfectly illuminating the pages.

Logan glanced over his shoulder as he flipped the bacon, catching sight of you. “That book got somethin’ I don’t? You didn’t even notice me makin’ you tea, sweetheart.”

“Hmm?” you mumbled, vaguely aware he was talking but too caught up in the tangled mess of secrets the characters in Gone Girl were unraveling.

Logan huffed softly, half amused and half annoyed. “Never thought I’d lose to a damn book,” he muttered under his breath. His tone was light, but he watched you carefully as he slid the food onto plates.

“Eggs okay? Or do ya want somethin’ fancier, like toast?” He set your plate in front of you.

“Mmhmm,” you replied absently, still buried in the text.

Logan’s brows shot up. He leaned forward slightly, his hands braced on the counter as he smirked. “Right. Guess ‘mmhmm’ means ‘chef’s choice,’ huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you said without looking up.

Logan straightened with an exaggerated sigh and dug into his own breakfast, watching as you ate your eggs without once lifting your eyes from the book. He shook his head, almost impressed by how oblivious you were to his efforts.

---

By mid-afternoon, Logan’s patience was wearing thin. After breakfast, you’d curled up on the couch, the book balanced on your knees as you fell even deeper into its story. He’d tried everything—talking about the updates he was making to his motorcycle, asking you random questions, even joking about how the least you could do was come hold a wrench for him. Your responses were minimal at best, a distracted hum or soft “uh-huh” here and there.

Logan stood in the doorway of the living room now, hands on his hips. “So, is this what it feels like?”

“Hm?” you replied without looking up.

“When I’m tuned out ‘cause you’re ramblin’ about Schrödinger’s whatever or that theory… the one with all the dimensions.”

“String theory,” you corrected automatically, flipping a page.

He snorted. “Yeah, that one. Pretty much what I sound like when you’re talkin’, huh?”

“Mm,” you replied, not even registering the teasing lilt in his tone.

Logan turned and trudged into the hallway, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable. Even Scott’d get more of a reaction.”

As if on cue, Scott appeared at the other end of the hall, looking just as annoyed as Logan felt. “You too?” he asked.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

Scott gestured vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. “Jean. She’s been stuck in that book all day. I asked her about a briefing—nothing. Asked if she’d seen Rogue—‘hmm.’ She’s completely tuned me out.”

Logan barked a laugh. “Let me guess. Gone Girl?”

Scott stared at him for a beat. “Yeah.”

Logan shook his head knowingly. “Figures. Guess that makes me one of the gone guys.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Glad someone’s having fun.”

---

Evening rolled around, and you were finally nearing the end of the book. The story’s climax was in sight, and you barely noticed the room dimming with the setting sun. You were perched on the bed now, your back propped up against a mountain of pillows.

Logan stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching you. He had to admit, it was kind of cute how engrossed you were. But after being ignored all day? Cute wasn’t enough to save you.

With a smirk tugging at his lips, Logan walked over, reached out, and plucked the book straight out of your hands.

“Hey!” you yelped, sitting up and reaching for it. “What are you doing?!”

He stepped back, holding the book up over his head. “You were ignorin’ me,” he said simply.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” you argued, scooting to the edge of the bed as if you could reach it.

“Yeah, you were,” Logan replied, his tone teasing. “All damn day, sweetheart. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Your eyes narrowed as you pushed your glasses higher on your nose. “Logan, give it back.”

“Not until you gimme a kiss,” he countered with a grin.

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, holding the book out of your reach. “One kiss, and you get your book back.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” His smirk widened.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “This is ridiculous.”

“Then I guess you don’t need the book back.” Logan made a show of flipping through the pages as if he was about to start reading it himself.

“Alright, alright!” You got up on your knees, leaning toward him. “But just one.”

Logan lowered the book slightly, clearly pleased with himself. “One’s all I need, darlin’.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned forward, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his lips. Logan’s grin widened against your mouth, and before you could pull away, his hand came up to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss just enough to make you forget your irritation.

When he finally let you go, his eyes were full of mischief. “There. Was that so hard?”

You snatched the book from his hand, your cheeks warm. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Logan agreed with a smirk. “But you love me anyway.”

---

After an exhausting day of classes and too much loud chattering from the students, all you wanted was to curl up next to Logan and watch whatever would make him happy. Even if it was one of those old westerns again.

You got to the bedroom and dropped your satchel onto the floor. Logan was already in the room, his hair partly wet from his shower and a towel over his bare shoulder.

“Rough day?” He asked.

“Would’ve been easier if I didn’t wear these shoes,” you grumbled.

Logan sighed and kneeled down in front of you, holding one leg with one hand and easily slipping off your heel before doing the same with the other. His rough hands brushed lightly against your ankle, sending a small shiver up your spine.

"You’re gonna end up with blisters wearin’ shoes like that all day," he muttered, glancing up at you with a mix of annoyance and concern.

“I didn’t think I was gonna be on my feet that much. I had to teach Scott’s class because he was busy doing something with the Professor.”

Logan ran a hand through his damp hair, tossing the towel onto a nearby chair. “Scott owes you big for takin’ his class,” he muttered, his gaze softening as he kneeled and pressed his thumb gently along the curve of your arch.

You sighed, melting a bit under his careful touch. “I didn’t mind. It just wasn’t exactly in my plans today.”

“Bet he didn’t even tell ya why, did he?” Logan asked, his lips curving into a knowing smirk.

You shook your head, leaning back slightly as he switched to your other foot. “Nope. Just said he and the Professor were busy. Typical Scott.”

“Figures,” Logan muttered, standing up and reaching for his beater. He slipped it on, the fabric clinging to him in a way that always distracted you for a moment longer than it should have. “How’s that feel now?”

“Better,” you admitted with a small smile. “Thanks.”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Least I can do.”

You were about to flop onto the bed to finally relax, maybe even convince Logan to watch something other than The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, when a sharp knock sounded at the door. Before either of you could respond, Jean’s voice came through.

“Logan? Y/N? Charles needs us in the briefing room. Now.”

Logan groaned, his head falling back. “Of course. Can’t get a damn minute of peace around here.”

You pushed yourself off the bed, but the moment your bare feet hit the floor, a sharp sting shot up your heels. You winced, grabbing onto the edge of the bed for balance.

Logan noticed immediately. “What’d I just say about those shoes, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone part exasperation, part concern. Without waiting for a response, he stepped closer, his hands already reaching for you.

“I can walk,” you protested as he scooped you up effortlessly, arms cradling you against his chest. “And what if we get there and I need shoes?” you added, trying to inject some logic into the situation.

Logan huffed a laugh, glancing down at you as he carried you toward the door. “Guess you’ll just have to sit pretty and let me handle it.”

Jean was waiting in the hallway, a knowing smirk on her face as she saw Logan carrying you. “You’re really leaning into the knight-in-shining-armor thing, huh?”

“Don’t start, Jeannie,” Logan shot back, his tone light but his grip on you firm.

Ororo and Hank joined the group as you made your way down the hall, both raising eyebrows at the sight of Logan carrying you.

“Rough day, Y/N?” Ororo teased gently.

“You could say that,” you replied with a sheepish smile.

When you finally reached the briefing room, Logan set you down gently in a chair, crouching briefly to make sure you were comfortable. His large hand lingered on your knee as if to reassure himself you were okay.

You barely noticed because the moment your gaze lifted, your breath caught. Standing near Charles and Scott was a group of people you immediately recognized from news reports and scientific journals. One in particular had your jaw dropping.

“It’s Bruce Banner,” you whispered, eyes wide as you leaned closer to Logan. “Logan. That’s Bruce Banner.”

Logan glanced at you, his brow furrowing. “The science guy?”

“Yes, the science guy,” you whispered back, trying not to stare too obviously. “This is incredible.”

Logan’s lips twitched, but his response was cut off by Charles clearing his throat. “Thank you all for coming. As you may have noticed, we have some new faces here today.”

Scott, standing rigid at Charles’s side, didn’t look thrilled, but his posture screamed professionalism. Beside him, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Thor, and Steve Rogers stood with varying degrees of curiosity and skepticism.

But it was Steve who caught your attention next. His gaze swept the room until it landed on Logan—and then, surprisingly, on you. His expression flickered, something like recognition flashing across his face before it was gone. You frowned, unsure of what you’d just seen, but the moment passed as Charles continued.

“Allow me to introduce the Avengers.”

You reached for Logan’s hand under the table, your thumb gently tracing patterns over his knuckles and palm. His hand tightened slightly around yours, a subtle reassurance as you sat in the presence of these strangers.

“The Avengers? Whatta stupid name,” Logan muttered, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You shot him a look, lips twitching despite yourself. “Logan.”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just sayin’.”

Charles continued speaking, his calm, authoritative voice attempting to bridge the gap between the X-Men and their unexpected visitors. “Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D. reached out to us following the incident in New York City. He felt it prudent that we meet, given the shared nature of our goals.”

Scott, standing near the Professor, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. His arms were crossed tightly, and his jaw was set in a way that screamed I don’t trust this.

Thor, meanwhile, was visibly intrigued, his gaze sweeping across the room with curiosity. “So these are the famed X-Men,” he remarked, his deep voice filling the space. “It is a pleasure to meet warriors of such renown.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened, and you glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at Thor; his eyes were locked on Steve Rogers, who was staring back at him with a mix of recognition and surprise.

“Logan,” Steve said, stepping forward slightly. His voice was steady, but there was a faint undercurrent of disbelief. “It’s been… a long time.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “It has.”

The tension was thick, but you couldn’t help noticing the flicker of something else in Steve’s face—something that shifted when his gaze slid to you. His expression softened, and for the briefest moment, he looked like he was about to say something. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual calm demeanor.

Tony Stark, leaning casually against the wall, jumped in. “Wait, wait. You’re telling me you two go way back to World War II? How old are you people?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Older than you, bub. That’s all you need to know.”

Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. “Noted.”

Jean, seated beside you, leaned in closer. “You okay?” she whispered, sensing the tension in the room.

You nodded, though your mind was racing. You weren’t entirely sure what was happening between Logan and Steve, but it wasn’t just the history between them that had you unsettled.

Charles, ever the mediator, broke through the undercurrent of tension. “I believe it would be beneficial for all of us to share information and find common ground. We face threats that may one day require collaboration.”

“Agreed,” Natasha said, her voice calm but firm. “If we’re going to work together, we need to understand each other’s capabilities.”

Logan scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Capabilities, huh? You wanna see what we can do?”

“Logan,” you murmured again, placing a hand on his arm. He glanced at you, the edges of his frustration softening slightly.

Bruce, who had been quiet until now, cleared his throat. “I think what Natasha means is that if we’re going to trust each other, we need transparency. We’re not here to fight anyone.”

“Yet,” Logan muttered under his breath.

You sighed, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “Honey.”

Thor chuckled, clearly amused by the dynamic between you and Logan. “Your companion has spirit,” he said, addressing Logan directly.

“She’s got more than spirit,” Logan replied, his tone softer now as he glanced at you.

The meeting continued, with Charles and Nick Fury leading the discussion while the rest of you listened. You couldn’t shake the feeling that Steve’s gaze kept drifting toward you, but you didn’t dare look back.

When the meeting finally adjourned, the room began to clear. Steve lingered, his eyes finding Logan once again.

“Logan,” he said quietly, his tone deliberate.

“Cap.” Logan’s response was curt, but his grip on your hand tightened.

Steve hesitated, his gaze flickering to you. “It’s… good to see you again.”

You blinked, startled. “Me?”

Logan’s jaw clenched, and he stood abruptly, pulling you gently to your feet. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

You barely had time to process what had just happened as Logan led you out of the room, his pace brisk, your feet slightly stinging. It wasn’t until you were back in the privacy of your shared room that you managed to catch your breath.

“Logan, what was that about?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing you need to worry about, darlin’.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Logan—”

“Not now,” he said, his tone soft but firm. He pulled you into his arms, his grip almost possessive. “I just… needed to get you outta there.”

You rested your head against his chest, your mind still spinning. You knew that whatever it was, Logan didn’t want to talk about it, but there were too many questions now rattling inside your head.

“What did he mean again?” You said, your voice muffled against his chest, “do you think he meant… one of my past lives?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. His arms around you were solid, grounding, but his grip tightened just enough for you to notice. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly. “Could be. Could just be Cap bein’ Cap. He’s always got that boy scout thing goin’ on.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, your brow furrowed. “Logan, don’t brush this off. He looked like he knew me. Not just ‘oh, you remind me of someone’—he knew me.”

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he stared down at you. “I told you about 1943,” he said after a moment. “You were a nurse. I met you right before I shipped out for Operation Husky. We didn’t get much time together—just a week—but maybe he remembers you from back then. I don’t know how else he’d know you.”

You bit your lip, trying to piece it together. “He said ‘it’s good to see you again.’ Not ‘it’s good to meet you’ or even ‘you look familiar.’ That’s… specific, Logan.”

“I know,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just—I don’t like it. Him lookin’ at you like that. Like he’s got some kind of claim or somethin’.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Logan, are you jealous?”

His lips twitched in what might’ve been a smirk if he weren’t so serious. “No,” he said, but his tone betrayed him. “I just don’t trust him. Or any of ‘em, really.”

You sighed, resting your hands on his chest. “You know, you can admit it’s weird without growling at everyone in the room.”

“I wasn’t growling.”

“Logan.”

“…Fine. Maybe I was growling a little.” He finally cracked a small grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Look, darlin’, I don’t have all the answers. But I know this—whatever Cap thinks he knows about you, he doesn’t know you like I do.”

Your heart softened at that, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I know.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I told you everything I remember about the other lives. There ain’t much left to figure out, but… if Cap knows somethin’ we don’t, we’ll get to the bottom of it. Together.”

You nodded against his chest, but the unease lingering in your stomach didn’t go away. “Okay.”

For now, you let the subject drop, content to stay wrapped in Logan’s arms. But you couldn’t help wondering—what exactly did Steve Rogers know about you? And why did it feel like the past was about to catch up to you in a way you weren’t prepared for?

---

The next day you walked into your lab, ready to decompress a little even if it meant doing some complex calculus. You opened the doors to your lab and saw Scott and Hank leading Tony and Bruce Banner around your lab.

Bruce Banner—scientific icon, world-renowned mind.

You hesitated, gripping the strap of your bag tighter, already feeling your cheeks flush. Anxiety stirred low in your chest, as though stepping closer would somehow make you too exposed, too scrutinized by these larger-than-life personalities.

Scott noticed you first, turning toward the door. “Y/N,” he said, his voice even but softer than usual. He must’ve picked up on your hesitation because his gaze softened just slightly.

Hank glanced over as well, waving you forward like this was no big deal. “Good timing,” he said warmly. “Come meet our guests.”

Oh, no. No, no, no.

You swallowed hard and stepped forward, managing to avoid tripping over your feet—a miracle, really. Tony had already launched into a monologue about something, but as the new arrival caught his attention, his eyes landed on you.

“Well, what do we have here?” Tony said, cocking an eyebrow. “Another genius in the house? Don’t tell me Stark Industries has competition hiding out in a mansion.”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words tangled up and didn’t come.

Scott, likely sensing the rise of your internal panic, stepped closer, standing at your side. His hand brushed your shoulder, solid and reassuring, before it returned to his crossed-arm stance. “This is Dr. Y/N,” Scott said, his tone brisk but protective in that understated way of his. “She’s part of the team and handles all our physics work. You’ll want her opinion on anything advanced.”

You winced a little, feeling like Scott had just put a spotlight on you. “I, uh… Hi,” you managed, adjusting your glasses as you glanced at Bruce, trying not to think too much about how much smarter than you he probably was. “It’s nice to meet you.”

To your surprise, Bruce smiled—not in that awkward, condescending way you sometimes got, but a genuine, warm smile. “Nice to meet you, too, Doctor,” he said, his tone polite. “Hank mentioned your work. I’d love to see what you’re working on sometime.”

Your cheeks flamed. “Oh—um—yeah, sure. I mean, it’s not that interesting. Just… you know… physics.”

Tony snorted. “Oh, ‘just physics,’ she says. Humble, too. Let me guess: some casual light reading on quantum dynamics?”

You felt rooted to the spot, unsure of how to respond. Hank cleared his throat, stepping in smoothly. “Actually,” he said with an amused tone, “Y/N specializes in quantum field theory, but she’s been working on some breakthroughs in spatial-temporal fluctuations.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Spatial-temporal fluctuations? No kidding.”

Bruce adjusted his glasses. “That’s fascinating. I was actually reading a paper recently on the potential overlaps of that field with time-reversal symmetry.”

You blinked, your mind simultaneously thrilled and spinning. “That’s—well, that’s exactly what I’m looking into,” you said quickly before you could lose your nerve. “Though it’s still in early stages. Nothing like what you’ve done.”

Bruce tilted his head, interest flickering in his eyes. “Don’t sell yourself short. Maybe we can exchange notes later?”

“Oh,” you said, startled. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Tony gave a dramatic sigh, clapping his hands together. “Brilliant minds, bonding over impossible science. Warms my heart.” He glanced around the lab. “So, Specks, you’re not gonna, you know, shoot lasers outta your eyes, right? Or turn into… that.” Tony lazily gestured at Hank. “No offense.”

Hank let out a sigh, “none taken.”

You froze, unsure how to respond. The sudden shift in attention felt like a spotlight bearing down on you, and your cheeks warmed. Before you could stammer out an answer, Hank stepped in, his tone calm but firm.

“Y/N’s abilities are unique,” Hank said, resting a steady hand on your shoulder. It was a quiet gesture, but it helped ground you. “She can manipulate time. It’s not something she uses lightly.”

Bruce Banner tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Time manipulation?” he asked, his voice gentle, more intrigued than intrusive. “That’s… incredible. I can only imagine the complexities.”

You adjusted your glasses, your hand fidgeting with the strap of your bag. “It’s, um… not as impressive as it sounds,” you said quietly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “It’s not like I can just—just rewind things or stop time completely. It’s more… nuanced. And honestly, I try not to use it if I don’t have to.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Not as impressive as it sounds? Manipulating time doesn’t exactly scream ‘humdrum.’ What, are you worried about messing up the space-time continuum or something?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your feet. “Something like that.”

Scott, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, stepped closer, his stance subtly protective. “Y/N’s powers are powerful, but she’s not reckless with them. It’s not exactly dinner table conversation.”

Bruce nodded in understanding. “I can appreciate that,” he said, his voice kind. “With abilities like that, caution is probably the smartest approach.”

Tony, however, wasn’t quite ready to drop it. “Still, that’s gotta be a lot of pressure,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Knowing you’ve got all this power but not wanting to use it. I mean, if I could bend time, you’d better believe I’d—”

“That’s enough, Stark,” Scott cut in, his tone sharp enough to silence Tony. He shot you a quick glance, his expression softening. “You don’t have to explain anything you don’t want to.”

You offered Scott a small, grateful smile, but the unease lingering in your chest didn’t fully dissipate. Bruce, perhaps sensing your discomfort, shifted the focus of the conversation.

“Regardless,” Bruce said, his tone thoughtful, “it sounds like you have a deep understanding of your abilities. And paired with your work in physics… well, it’s clear you’re contributing something remarkable here.”

You felt your shoulders relax just a little at his words. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice still shy but sincere.

Tony clapped his hands together, clearly ready to move on. “Alright, enough about bending the fabric of reality. Let’s get back to the fun stuff—labs, gadgets, all that good stuff. Specks, you’re the quantum genius here. What’s the coolest thing you’ve built?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, um… I don’t really build things. I mostly focus on theoretical models and equations.”

Tony feigned a look of disappointment. “No gadgets? No flashy inventions? What do you even do in here?”

Hank cleared his throat, fixing Tony with a look. “Y/N’s work is critical. Without her models, most of what we develop wouldn’t be possible. She’s the foundation.”

Bruce nodded in agreement. “Theory drives application,” he said. “And if you’re working on spatial-temporal fluctuations, you’re tackling some of the most challenging questions in physics. That’s impressive, no matter how you slice it.”

You bit your lip, feeling a small swell of pride despite your lingering nervousness. “Thanks,” you said quietly, your gaze flickering between Bruce and Hank.

Scott, always attuned to your emotions, gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re doing great,” he said under his breath, his voice so low only you could hear.

You shot him a grateful look, the tension in your chest easing just a little. As the conversation shifted back to lab equipment and theoretical possibilities, you let yourself take a small step back, content to observe for now.

---

You looked in the cupboard for your mug only to find nothing. You had even checked the dishwasher and sink, and it wasn’t in any of those spots.

Jean walked into the kitchen with a dramatic sigh, “I’m pretty sure that… guy—who I still can’t believe is actually Thor—crushed my thermos.”

You closed the cupboard door, “I think one of ‘em took my mug.”

The two of you heard footsteps outside the kitchen, watching Clint and Natasha walking with Ororo down the hall. Clint had your mug.

“Why are they still here?” You grumbled.

Jean let out a chuckle, “now your startin’ to sound like Logan.”

You scoffed lightly, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the counter. “I’m not that grumpy. Yet.”

Jean grinned and opened the fridge, pulling out a bottle of orange juice. “Give it time. You keep hanging out with him, and you’ll start growling at people too.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, adjusting your glasses. “Yeah, well, if Clint doesn’t give me back my mug, I might start sooner than expected.”

Jean poured herself a glass of juice, shaking her head in amusement. “You and that mug.”

“It’s my favorite mug!” you argued, throwing your hands up. “It’s the perfect size, the handle doesn’t get too hot, and it has the constellations on it. I’ve had it for years.”

“And now it’s Clint’s favorite mug,” Jean teased, sipping her juice.

Before you could retort, Logan walked into the kitchen. His boots thudded against the floor, and he gave a short nod to you and Jean. “Mornin’.”

Jean raised her glass in greeting, but you turned to Logan, still fuming. “Clint took my mug.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the doorway. “Want me to get it back?”

Jean snorted, clearly entertained. “What are you gonna do, Logan? Growl at him until he gives it up?”

Logan shot her a dry look. “Worked last time, didn’t it?”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “It’s fine. I’ll get it later. Maybe.”

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his gruffness easing slightly. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said, brushing it off, though the thought of Clint sipping coffee from your mug still irked you. “Not worth starting a whole thing over.”

“Could be fun, though,” Logan muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Jean laughed and set her glass in the sink. “Well, this has been delightful, but I’ve got a Danger Room session to run. Try not to maim Clint over the mug, okay?”

“Can’t make any promises,” Logan said, earning a laugh from Jean as she left the kitchen.

Once it was just the two of you, Logan moved closer, grabbing a coffee mug from the cupboard—one of the generic ones everyone used. He glanced over at you as he poured his coffee. “You okay?”

You sighed, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah, just… tired, I guess. And maybe a little annoyed. It’s been a long week.”

Logan nodded, his expression thoughtful as he sipped his coffee. “Anything I can do?”

You smiled softly at the offer. Logan always had a knack for cutting through the noise and centering you without effort. “No, it’s fine. Thanks, though.”

Logan’s eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, that familiar softness appearing in the crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “Alright,” he said, his voice low. “But if Clint doesn’t give that mug back, you just say the word.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling the tension ease ever so slightly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two of you shared a brief moment of quiet, and then Logan took a step closer, his coffee steaming in his hands. “How��s the lab stuff goin’? That Banner guy giving you a hard time?”

You shook your head quickly, pushing your glasses further up your nose. “No, actually. He’s… nice. Really nice, actually.” You paused, then let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It’s just overwhelming, you know? People like him—and Stark—they’re so brilliant, and I can’t help but feel like I don’t measure up.”

Logan grunted, taking a sip of his coffee before leaning one hip against the counter. “You’re worried about not measurin’ up to Stark?” He arched a brow. “That guy’s got enough ego to make up for every flaw he’s got. Don’t let him get in your head.”

You smiled faintly at Logan’s bluntness. “It’s not him. It’s… me. My own head is the problem.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp but kind. “Y/N, you’re probably the smartest person I’ve met—and I’ve met Banner and Stark. You need me to remind you again of the times you’ve bailed Hank out with your brain?”

The warmth in his tone brought a deeper flush to your cheeks, and you averted your gaze, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “That’s sweet of you to say, but—”

“But nothin’.” Logan’s voice was firm, though not unkind. “You know how many times you’ve pulled the X-Men out of a mess just by bein’ you? Hell, if it weren’t for you, none of us would even have the equipment that makes half the missions possible. You’re not just smart, darlin’; you’re vital.”

You blinked at him, warmth blooming in your chest at the way he looked at you—earnest, unwavering. “Thanks, Logan,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He tipped his head, his smirk more subdued now. “Anytime.”

this was 2012 (or the rest of it) and 2013!

and btw, 'girl i've always been' is underrated, it's one of my favorite's from guts spilled

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #the avengers #i love you in every time #i love you always and forever

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wandaslullaby · 10 months ago

Note

idea

bestfriends mother!top! wanda x bottom!r

r's bestfriend and r go to a party where r's bsf hooks up with someone and r was making out with a random stranger. when its time to leave r's bestfriend tells r to go home and she'll join later (the bsf decides to hookup w the person)

r goes home pretty late to find wanda still up waiting for her daughter and r. when wanda sees r covered in light red hickeys, she can't help but feel possesive over the young woman.

I kinda of took a twist on it. I really hope you like it!

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Test Track || Wanda Maximoff

summary: it's time Wanda made you aware that lurking in corridors and perving on her isn't nice at all.

warnings: 18+ please don't read if you are a minor. overstimualtion, fingering, dom!wanda, manipulation kink, mommy kink, dark wanda.

You wasn't exactly up for going to a party but, Tommy was adamant that it will do you some good. Things have been a little stressful especially with Henry, your boyfriend that was rumoured to be sleeping around with Cassie Lang. You didn't want to believe Billy but you knew that Billy wouldn't lie to you.

"I think I might stay put. I don't really want to see Henry." You mutter under your breath. Tommy was in the mits of debating whether he should wear some eyeliner or not. Putting down the brush, he turns over.

"He might not even be there. There's no way that judgemental prick will be at Peter's party."

"Cassie is best friend's with Kate. Kate is best friend's with Peter. Of course she will be there."

Tommy signed, "I mean you could just stay with my mum? She's just going to be watching I love Lucy and complain about Dad."

You never understood why Vision, Tommy and Billy's dad left Wanda stranded. Wanda was the definition of an god especially the way she was built. Her figure was mesmerising, she always knew how to flaunt her curves and embrace her body. She was a little different to the other mom's, which is why you always hang out here.

Wanda wasn't judgemental towards Tommy, she embraced his differences a long time ago. She was the reason why Tommy was so open about his sexuality, Wanda even admitted that she had a love affair in the 80s.

"Would you mind? I honestly feel like I'll just be bringing the mood down and I know you want to try and impress Flash."

Tommy shook his head, "I'd rather you be comfortable and yourself then being someone you aren't. You know that you shouldn't hide your emotions or fake a smile for anyone."

You charged off the bed and gave Tommy a massive hug. "I love you. Please be safe and wear protection."

"You know I do." He laughed. "I'll just go tell my mum that you are staying. Do you also want to stay over?"

A whole evening with Wanda and the possibilities that were swimming in your mind shouldn't ever be vocalised. You knew that there was something different about you, but you never really questioned the tingly feelings that your clit felt when Wanda wore a swimsuit that one summer's day.

You could still remember the shape of her tits bouncing as she played volleyball in the pool. The wetness that stained your bikini from just watching her made your cheek blush and how you remember how Wanda only had to battled her eyelashes to let a moan rip through your lips.

"Y/N?" Tommy said, waving his hand in your face. "You okay?"

You shivered, "Yes, sorry. I was just day dreaming. What were you saying?"

"I was asking if you wanted to sleep over? The spare room is already made up and has pretty much all your stuff there already."

"Yeah I'll stay. I hope Wanda doesn't -"

You were cut off by the women herself, "I hope Wanda doesn't what?"

Frozen in place, the next sentence that left your mouth was definitely a clue that you were somewhat Infatuated by her.

"Y/N? Baby, are you okay?" Wanda giggled, watching you stutter over your words.

"All good, Miss Maximoff." you squealed out before slapping your hand over your mouth.

She just hummed at you, turning her focus to Tommy. "Are you ready to go?"

Tommy nodded, "Yeah. I think Billy is going to meet me there, I think he is going to pick up MJ and Ned."

Wanda frowned but her eyes sparkled with mischeif beneath deep-set eyebrows, "Aren't you going, sweetheart?"

You shook your head, "No. I was going to ask if I can stay here? I won't be a bother. I'll be here in Tommy's room watching reruns of Modern Family."

"Of course you can, baby. You are more than welcome to join me? I will only be alone otherwise."

"Yeah sure. I don't mind. We can watch I love Lucy." You say with too much excitement, causing Tommy to give you a weird look.

"Don't worry, baby. I've got plenty of activities we can do."

After a long, seductive minute Tommy excused himself. "I'm off. I'll see you all soon, please don't scare her away Mom."

"I think she will be just fine, Tommy. Go and have a great time. I'm sure when you are back, Y/N will be begging to never leave this house."

"If you say so." Tommy said, giving you one last hug before sprinting down the stairs. Once you both heard the door shut, Wanda left the room.

"If you know what's best, baby. You would follow and not sit there, with your mouth open." Wanda's voice trailed to your clit, making you jump.

You got up from Tommy's bed and followed Wanda's voice, you were slightly confused on Wanda's words and the fact that she has suddenly started to call you baby. Wanda has never called you that, she would only use that nickname to her own kids.

Once you made it down to the lounge, Wanda was already situated with your favourite snacks and drinks. It was like she knew you were going to stay.

"You aren't very well mannered are you? Lurking in doorways, staring at my tits and not to mention, the mess you made on my sun loungers last week? You are luckily that it smelt good, but disappointed that you didn't apologise to me."

You completely felt undone, beyond embarrassed at the humiliation you just receive from Wanda. Your legs began to wobble in fear, slightly mortified that she caught you red handed being a pervert.

"Nothing to say?" Wanda hummed. "You should probably start with getting your bum over here, and rest over my lap. Someone should treat you how to respect an older women."

You were too stunned to speak. Wanda's eyes began to glow in crimson red, a streak of light hit your head enabling you to walk towards her. You had no idea how you were walking towards Wanda, already bowing to her punishment she was about to give you.

"Now. This won't hurt as much as you think it would. I used to give both my boys this punishment when they were naughty, but since you haven't learnt anything that your lousey mother. It's time for you to really know what happens to bad girls that misbehave."

You obeyed her immediately, not quite knowing how your body was so obedient with Wanda's words but for the sake of your dignity, you laid across Wanda's lap clutching the blanket ready to accept fate.

Wanda began to admire your back, the way you arched was nearly as perfect as she wanted you to be. Your shorts began to detach from your body, feeling the cool air hit your bare bum. She bent down to give the back of your neck a gentle kiss before she slapped your bum with a paddle.

You winced at the pain, muffling your cries as Wanda repeated her action multiple times. The notes that were stuck between your lips were feeding Wanda into only punishing you more. She knew that moans were coming, the way your back arched for her was all the clarification she needed that you were just as she expected you to be, a curious little bunny.

"I'll only stop until you give me a moan, baby. I know you are getting a little agitated, the little patch of wetness forming on your panties is telling you that you should just admit. It's not good for silly girls to deny an orgasm." Wanda whispered, watching you squirm. "I really didn't want to punish you, baby but, how could I not?"

Wanda could hear the muffled cries, she knew that you were overstimulated already. But that only made her want to push you further, see how much she could unleash from you.

When you felt yourself being flipped over, tears were swimming in your eyes. Cheeks all red and puffy, Wanda favourite colour. She cooed you, stroking your cheek with her finger. "Oh my sweet baby. Is Wanda being a little too harsh on you? Is she not being fair?"

You nodded, sniffling as your eyes dropped to where her other hand was going. Words weren't coming out of your mouth, so Wanda assumed that her hand was good to roam. She was shocked by how bare you were, there was no hair in sight which made Wanda's mind burst into ideas.

As you were coming down, not letting yourself get into more of a state. Wanda made an 8 on your lower belly, humming a siren song that she learnt from a spell once. It was a simple tune that apparently lured young girls to give permission to anyone who sings the song access to their mind, soul and body. Wanda never believed in spells or supernatural until coming to Westview, a town that needed a little bit of colour.

"You have such a pretty pussy, baby. I can't believe that you are allowing me to admire it. What would Henry think? Watching how aroused you get from a 40 year old women? Such a naughty girl letting your best friend's mother touch you? Oh the looks you will get from your pupils when they learn that you perved over a mother. You wouldn't even last a day without getting called horrible names."

Wanda was purposely planting sick scenarios in your head, it was all part of the plan to secluded you from life, to only need Wanda. She wanted to fully feed horrible visions of your life if Tommy found out what you were doing. "What would Tommy think as I tell him how soaked you were for his mum? He only ever wanted a friend to have for his own but now, he can't. He would never forgive you for what you are about to let me do. You wouldn't want Tommy to find out would you?"

"N-Never... I won't tell him." You whispered, unsure on how you are allowing Wanda to get into your mind. It was like she was wiping away all the happy memories you had with Tommy replacing them with horrible memories of him hating you. "P-Please.. Don't take Tommy away from me. H-He is all I have..."

Wanda smiled, "That's a lie, bunny. You have me now. I'll be the one to make sure that your life isn't turned upside down."

"T-Thank you, Wanda."

"Let me just take your mind off all that for now? How about you just lay there, and let me take care of this embarrassing situation you've got yourself in."

You allowed yourself to let go, not letting any more happy memories fade as Wanda blew in your face. She waited until you were settled nicely, and slowly began to rub your clit. Wanda made sure that she wouldn't be to nasty, but to really work you to have the best orgasm of your life.

She began to lower her hand, cupping your pussy whilst using her thumb to rub against your clit. Circles were formulating rapidly as Wanda watched your eyes widen as she loosely slipped a finger barely inside, seeing how you would react. Taking her time with you, Wanda's finger wormed her way inside you. Taking in your walls as she explored further inside you, seeing how you would take not only her finger but her rising dildo that suddenly was rising.

Wanda pumped her finger heavy inside you, hearing the muffled moans from your lips as she accidentally let her another finger slip inside you. "You are doing so well, baby. I love how well you are taking my fingers, it's like your pussy was made for me."

You slightly moved your head up, watching Wanda's motions. You couldn't even blink before her fingers disappeared inside you. She continued to plump her fingers inside you, causing a heavy moan to escape your lips catching Wanda's stare.

"Do you want to see baby? Do you want to see how easily I can slide my third finger inside you?" Wanda cooed as she used her free hand to carefully caresses your neck. You watched as Wanda picked up the paste, continuously pumping her fingers inside you. You suddenly felt a nip that cause yourself to throw your head into Wanda's neck, you couldn't explain the sensation that was brewing inside you. It was as something was trying to escape but Wanda's fingers weren't acknowledging your need.

You clutched onto Wanda's hair, crying out for attention as Wanda went faster and harder inside you. The sensation was only building up, causing Wanda to hiss as you pulled her a chuck of hair out. You buried your face in her neck, moaning louder to see if Wanda can hear you but her eyes was so fixated on her fingers pumping you, that it took a loud scream to get Wanda to finally allow her fingers to hit your spot, and sink into the couch as she felt a monsoon of frustration flood her fingers. She felt your body let loose, and your hair slowly releasing her hair whilst you moaned into her chest.

"It's okay, baby." Wanda whispered, gently stroking your back. "Mommy's got you."

part 2

#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff imagines #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #dark!wanda smut #dark!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximommy

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urdreamydoodles · 6 months ago

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how about scott, logan, colossus, jean, storm, hank, and wanda with a wild child reader, this is a kid who doesn’t know the meaning of structure or discipline. They are the epitome of skateboarder who live in a basement who survives on nothing but greasy new york pizza( they eat nothing but junk food and take out) . A kid who is constantly coming home bruised and bleeding from wild stunts. Its not even they’re fault they have the kind of neglectful parents that are like i dont care what you do as long as you don't bother me, so they chose to have absolute freedom

X-Men x Child!Reader

You are a wild kid due to your parents' neglect

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Colossus, Hank McCoy, Erik Lehnsherr, Wanda Maximoff

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- You first meet Logan when he pulls you out of a scuffle in a dingy alley, your knuckles bloodied from throwing punches at a group of older kids who deserved it for being jerks. His gruff voice cuts through the tension, "What the hell are you doin', kid?" You shrug, brushing past him like he’s just another stranger trying to lecture you. But Logan isn’t just anyone, and the next time he catches you doing something reckless—trying to ride your skateboard off a railing—you realize you’re not shaking him off so easily.

- Logan quickly learns that you’re a wild spirit, one who doesn’t know when to stop. Your bruises and scratches only fuel his frustration. “You think you’re indestructible, huh?” he growls after dragging you to the mansion with your arm in a makeshift sling. “Guess what? You ain’t.” His tough love feels invasive at first, but there’s a strange warmth to it. Maybe because, deep down, you can tell he actually cares, unlike anyone else in your life.

- Despite his grumbling, Logan becomes your shadow. He’s there when you wipe out attempting a trick and nearly break your ankle. He’s the one hauling you to Hank for first aid when you stumble back to the mansion with a bloody nose. "One of these days, you're gonna kill yourself, and I ain’t buryin' a kid," he grumbles, but his actions betray his words. The way he watches you so intently, like he’s trying to figure you out, makes you feel… seen.

- One day, after Logan drags you out of another scrape, you snap. “Why do you even care?!” you yell, your voice cracking. “You don’t know what it’s like to not have anyone!” Logan’s face hardens, and for a moment, you think you’ve hit a nerve. “You’re wrong, kid,” he says, his tone unusually soft. Later, you overhear him talking to Charles about you. "They remind me of me. Don’t know how to stop fightin’ ‘cause they never had anyone to fight for ‘em."

- Logan starts teaching you how to channel your energy into something productive. “If you’re gonna take risks, at least do it smart,” he grunts, handing you a pair of gloves to protect your hands. He shows you how to defend yourself properly, how to pick your battles. It’s not just about fighting—it’s about self-control, something he knows all too well. And while you hate admitting it, his lessons actually stick.

- The breakthrough comes when you stumble into his room late at night, tears streaming down your face after a nightmare. You hate showing weakness, but Logan doesn’t push. He just sits with you, his presence steady and grounding. “You’re not alone, kid,” he says quietly. “Not anymore.” It’s the first time you realize that maybe, just maybe, you have someone in your corner.

- Over time, you start seeing Logan as more than the grumpy guy who keeps saving your ass. He’s your protector, your mentor, your family. When he gruffly hands you a plate of food during a mansion barbecue and tells you to “eat somethin’ that ain’t junk,” you laugh. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t hide the small smirk tugging at his lips. You’re still a wild child, but now you’ve got someone who understands—and who won’t let you face the world alone.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- You meet Remy when you’re caught sneaking onto the mansion grounds, trying to pull off some ridiculous stunt involving fireworks and a ramp. Instead of ratting you out, he smirks, intrigued by your audacity. “You got guts, kid,” he says, his Cajun accent dripping with charm. “But guts won’t save you from bein’ stupid.” He’s more amused than annoyed, but you get the feeling he’s watching you now—and not just because you nearly burned the lawn down.

- Remy quickly picks up on your chaotic energy and reckless behavior. “You remind me of a younger me,” he teases, tossing a playing card between his fingers. “All fire, no plan.” At first, you think he’s mocking you, but there’s a glint in his eye that suggests he gets it. He sees through your bravado, recognizing the pain you’re trying to bury under all your stunts and defiance.

- Unlike Logan, Remy doesn’t try to stop you outright. Instead, he plays along, meeting you where you’re at. He even joins you in some of your escapades, though he always makes sure to keep things from getting too out of hand. “If you gonna be crazy, at least do it with style,” he says, flipping his trench coat dramatically as he guides you away from trouble.

- One day, after you’ve crashed spectacularly and are nursing a busted knee, Remy sits beside you with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “You don’t gotta live like dis, y’know,” he says softly. “Runnin’ wild ain’t freedom—it’s just a way to hide.” His words hit harder than you’d like to admit, and for the first time, you let yourself wonder if he might be right.

- Remy starts teaching you his tricks—not just the flashy card stuff, but how to think ahead, how to read people, how to stay one step ahead of the chaos. “Life’s a game, cher,” he says, his voice light but his gaze sharp. “And you gotta learn how to play it.” You soak up his lessons, not realizing until later that he’s been guiding you toward something more stable all along.

- The turning point comes when you call Remy late one night, scared and unsure after a particularly bad fight with your parents. He doesn’t hesitate, showing up within minutes and whisking you away to his favorite rooftop hideout. “Ain’t no shame in needin’ help, kid,” he says, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. For the first time, you let yourself lean on someone else.

- Remy becomes your anchor, your partner in crime, and your found family all rolled into one. He still teases you endlessly, but there’s a warmth to it now, a sense of belonging you’ve never had before. And when he hands you a deck of cards and says, “You’re one of us now,” you know he means it.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- You meet Kurt when he teleports into the middle of one of your stunts, startling you so badly you nearly fall off the scaffolding you’d been climbing. “Mein Gott, what are you doing up here?” he exclaims, grabbing you before you can tumble to the ground. Despite your protests, he doesn’t let go until you’re safely on solid ground. “You are going to give me a heart attack!”

- Kurt is immediately concerned by your recklessness, but his approach is softer than the others. “Why do you put yourself in such danger, mein freund?” he asks, his golden eyes full of genuine worry. You brush him off at first, but his kindness is disarming. He doesn’t scold you; he just wants to understand.

- It doesn’t take long for Kurt to realize that your behavior stems from more than just a thirst for adrenaline. When you accidentally let slip a comment about your neglectful parents, he connects the dots. “No one should feel like they have to fend for themselves,” he says quietly. His words linger, echoing in your mind long after he’s gone.

- Kurt becomes a constant presence in your life, always ready with a kind word or a helping hand. He patches you up after your latest mishap, his touch gentle as he bandages your scraped knees. “You have so much potential,” he tells you, his tone earnest. “Do not waste it on proving yourself to people who do not care.” His faith in you is both comforting and terrifying.

- He introduces you to the quiet joys of his world—stargazing from the mansion’s roof, reading old adventure novels, sharing stories from his travels. Slowly, you begin to see that life doesn’t have to be a constant whirlwind of chaos. There’s beauty in stillness, too, and Kurt shows you how to find it.

- The breakthrough comes during a particularly bad night when you show up at his door, trembling and unsure how to explain the weight you’re carrying. Kurt doesn’t push; he simply listens, his quiet empathy wrapping around you like a warm embrace. “You are not alone,” he says softly. “And you never will be, as long as I am here.”

- Over time, Kurt becomes more than just a mentor—he’s your family. His unwavering belief in you helps you believe in yourself, and his gentle guidance gives you the strength to start healing. When he tells you, “You are like a sibling to me,” you feel a warmth you’ve never known before.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- You meet Scott after he catches you skateboarding through the mansion’s hallways, narrowly avoiding a collision with Jean. “What do you think you’re doing?!” he demands, his tone sharp. You roll your eyes, unimpressed by his authority, but Scott doesn’t back down. “This isn’t a playground,” he says firmly. “If you’re going to be here, you need to follow the rules.”

- Scott’s strict demeanor grates on you, and you go out of your way to push his buttons. Every time he tells you to stop doing something, you double down, your defiance fueling his frustration. “You can’t just do whatever you want,” he says one day, his voice rising. “This isn’t about control—it’s about keeping you safe!”

- Despite his exasperation, Scott can’t help but worry about you. He starts noticing the bruises, the late-night returns, the way you flinch whenever someone mentions your parents. “Is everything okay at home?” he asks gently, his concern breaking through his usual stoicism. You brush him off, but his question lingers in your mind.

- Scott eventually realizes that his strict approach isn’t working, so he tries a different tactic. He starts showing up at the skate park, watching from a distance as you pull off tricks. “You’ve got talent,” he admits grudgingly. “But talent doesn’t mean much if you don’t take care of yourself.” His rare praise catches you off guard, and you start seeing him in a new light.

- He begins mentoring you, teaching you the value of discipline and structure. “It’s not about following orders,” he explains. “It’s about having a plan, knowing what you’re fighting for.” His lessons are tough, but they resonate, and you find yourself striving to meet his expectations—not because you have to, but because you want to.

- The turning point comes when Scott finds you sitting alone in the mansion’s garden, your usual bravado stripped away. “I don’t know how to fix this,” you admit, your voice shaking. Scott sits beside you, his presence steady and reassuring. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he says quietly. “We’re here for you—I’m here for you.”

- Scott becomes a pillar in your life, someone you can rely on no matter what. His unwavering support gives you the strength to face your demons, and his belief in you helps you start believing in yourself. When he calls you “family,” it’s the first time the word feels real, and you know you’ve finally found a place where you belong.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- You meet Jean when you crash into her during a particularly reckless skateboard trick, nearly sending her coffee flying. She catches it with her telekinesis, raising an eyebrow as she looks you over. “Impressive landing,” she says dryly. “But maybe next time, try not to take me out with you.” Her calm demeanor throws you off, but you can’t help noticing the faint amusement in her smile.

- Jean quickly picks up on your chaotic nature—not just from your antics, but because your mind is loud, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that practically scream for attention. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” she tells you one day after catching you sneaking out for another dangerous stunt. Her words linger, even if you act like they don’t matter.

- She doesn’t confront you as directly as others might, but her presence is constant. She starts showing up in subtle ways—inviting you to sit with her during meals, offering to help patch you up after a bad fall, or simply listening when you’re too tired to pretend everything’s fine. Jean has a knack for making you feel seen, even when you’re trying to disappear into the noise.

- One day, after you’ve come home battered and bruised yet again, Jean corners you in the kitchen. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” she asks, her voice gentle but firm. When you try to brush her off, she places a hand on yours. “I know what it’s like to feel out of control. But there are other ways to find freedom.” Her sincerity cracks something open in you, though you’re not ready to admit it yet.

- Jean begins introducing you to meditation, something you initially laugh off as “not your thing.” But when she guides you through it, her voice soft and steady, you find a surprising sense of peace. “Chaos doesn’t define you,” she says one evening. “You can still be yourself without destroying yourself.” Her unwavering belief in you starts to shift how you see yourself.

- The turning point comes when Jean catches you breaking down after a particularly bad day. You try to push her away, but she doesn’t let you. “You’re allowed to feel this way,” she says, her arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace. “But you don’t have to face it alone.” For the first time, you let yourself cry in front of someone, and her compassion feels like a lifeline.

- Jean becomes your safe haven, the person who reminds you that strength doesn’t always mean pushing through the pain. She helps you channel your energy into healthier outlets, guiding you with patience and understanding. When she calls you “family,” it feels like coming home, and you know you’ve found someone who will always have your back.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- You meet Storm during a thunderstorm, when you’re out pulling stunts despite the pouring rain. She appears seemingly out of nowhere, her white hair glowing against the dark sky. “What are you doing out here?” she asks, her voice calm but commanding. When you shrug and say something about “living life to the fullest,” she shakes her head. “This isn’t living. This is tempting fate.”

- Ororo is both fascinated and concerned by your recklessness. She sees your wild spirit but also senses the pain behind it. “The storm inside you is powerful,” she says one day, her gaze piercing. “But if you do not learn to guide it, it will consume you.” Her words stick with you, even if you pretend not to care.

- Unlike others, Ororo doesn’t try to control you. Instead, she shows you the beauty of balance. She takes you on walks through nature, pointing out how even the fiercest storms have purpose and harmony. “Freedom isn’t chaos,” she says gently. “It’s understanding your power and using it wisely.” Her wisdom challenges your worldview in ways you don’t expect.

- After one particularly dangerous stunt leaves you with a sprained ankle, Ororo carries you back to the mansion without a word. Later, as she wraps your foot with care, she looks at you with a mix of sternness and compassion. “Why do you punish yourself like this?” she asks softly. You have no answer, but the question lingers.

- Storm begins teaching you control—not through force, but through patience. She encourages you to embrace your passions without letting them rule you. She even takes you flying with her, the wind carrying you both as she shows you what true freedom feels like. “You are not a prisoner of your past,” she says one evening. “You can create your own path.”

- The breakthrough comes during a quiet moment in the mansion garden, where you admit that your recklessness comes from a place of pain and neglect. Ororo listens without judgment, her presence as steady as the earth beneath your feet. “You are stronger than you realize,” she says, her voice full of conviction. “And you are not alone in this.”

- Over time, Ororo becomes your guide and your family. Her unwavering belief in you helps you find balance in your life, and her calm strength inspires you to grow. When she calls you “child of the storm,” it’s not just a nickname—it’s a reminder that you’ve found a place where you truly belong.

Piotr Rasputin aka. Colossus

- You meet Piotr after crashing into him—literally. Your skateboard ricochets off his metal form, leaving you sprawled on the ground. “Are you alright?” he asks, his deep voice filled with concern. When you laugh it off, he frowns. “You should be more careful. Your life is not something to take lightly.”

- Piotr is immediately struck by your wild energy, but instead of chastising you, he approaches you with gentle curiosity. “Why do you live this way?” he asks one day, his steel-blue eyes sincere. When you deflect with a joke, he doesn’t press, but his quiet concern stays with you.

- Despite his towering form, Piotr is surprisingly soft-spoken and kind. He starts looking out for you in small ways—offering to carry your gear, fixing your skateboard when it breaks, even cooking meals for you when he notices you survive on junk food. “You must take care of your body,” he says with a small smile. “It is the only one you have.”

- One evening, after a particularly reckless stunt leaves you limping back to the mansion, Piotr sits you down and talks about his own struggles with responsibility and self-worth. “I know what it is like to feel lost,” he says quietly. “But pain does not have to define you.” His words are simple but powerful, and they linger in your mind.

- Piotr begins teaching you art as a way to channel your energy. At first, you scoff at the idea of painting, but his patience wins you over. “Art is not about perfection,” he says, guiding your hand. “It is about expression.” Slowly, you find yourself drawn to the calmness it brings, a stark contrast to your usual chaos.

- The turning point comes when you confide in Piotr about your neglectful parents. He listens without interruption, his steady presence grounding you. “You deserve better,” he says firmly. “And you are not alone anymore.” His unwavering support feels like a lifeline, and for the first time, you let yourself believe in the possibility of a better future.

- Piotr becomes a constant source of strength and stability in your life. His quiet kindness helps you find balance, and his belief in you gives you the courage to grow. When he calls you “family,” it feels like a promise—a reminder that you’ll never have to face the world alone again.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- Your first encounter with Hank is in his lab, where you crash into a shelf of equipment while trying to skateboard through the mansion hallways. He looks up from his work, unamused, as you sheepishly pick up a beaker. “Fascinating,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “An experiment in chaos.” You expect him to yell, but instead, he studies you with quiet curiosity, his sharp intellect already dissecting your motives.

- Hank is both intrigued and exasperated by your lack of structure. “Do you understand the repercussions of your actions?” he asks when you try to sneak off with a bag of chips for dinner instead of eating a proper meal. His lectures are long and full of big words, but somewhere in the middle, you catch a hint of genuine concern.

- He starts observing your behavior more closely, not as a judgment but as a puzzle to solve. “You remind me of entropy,” he says one day, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Chaotic, unpredictable, but not without purpose.” Despite his logical approach, there’s warmth in the way he speaks to you, like he’s trying to understand rather than condemn.

- After finding you late at night in the kitchen, rummaging for junk food with a fresh set of scrapes and bruises, Hank decides to intervene. “Your body is a machine, and you’re running it into the ground,” he says, handing you a plate of something surprisingly healthy. When you grumble about his nagging, he smiles. “Consider it an experiment in self-preservation.”

- Hank starts introducing structure into your life in small, unobtrusive ways—inviting you to join him in the lab, teaching you how to fix your skateboard, and even sneaking vegetables into your meals. You find yourself drawn to his calm and steady presence, even if you won’t admit it out loud.

- One day, after a particularly reckless stunt leaves you with a sprained wrist, you break down and confess the truth about your home life. Hank listens intently, his usual verbosity giving way to silence as he processes your words. “You are not a failed experiment,” he says firmly. “You are a work in progress, and I intend to see you thrive.”

- Over time, Hank becomes your anchor, the person who helps you find balance between chaos and order. His guidance isn’t just about rules—it’s about helping you see your own potential. When he calls you “family,” it feels like the culmination of every moment he spent believing in you, even when you couldn’t believe in yourself.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- You meet Erik when you’re caught trespassing near one of his hideouts, attempting a trick off a rail. He steps out of the shadows, his imposing figure stopping you in your tracks. “You’ve got nerve,” he says, his voice cold and calculating. You expect him to throw you out, but instead, he watches you with a strange mix of curiosity and disdain.

- Erik is fascinated by your wild energy, though he would never admit it. “You remind me of my youth,” he says one day, his tone sharp. “Defiant, reckless, and utterly unafraid of consequences.” His words sting, but there’s something in his gaze—a flicker of understanding—that makes you pause.

- He doesn’t tolerate your antics, but he doesn’t outright condemn them either. Instead, he challenges you, questioning your choices in a way that forces you to reflect. “What are you running from?” he asks bluntly after catching you sneaking out again. His directness catches you off guard, and for once, you don’t have a snarky reply.

- Erik’s approach to helping you is harsh but effective. He doesn’t coddle or comfort—instead, he teaches you the value of strength and self-reliance. “The world will not be kind to you,” he says, his voice heavy with experience. “But that does not mean you must surrender to it.” His lessons are tough, but they resonate deeply.

- Despite his stern demeanor, Erik has moments of surprising gentleness. He notices your injuries, your exhaustion, your deflections, and though he doesn’t press, he makes it clear that he sees you. “Pain is a powerful motivator,” he says one evening. “But it does not have to define you.”

- The turning point comes when you break down after a particularly bad day, your defenses finally shattering. Erik doesn’t offer empty comfort—instead, he shares his own struggles, his own pain. “You are stronger than your circumstances,” he says quietly. “And you are not as alone as you think.”

- Erik becomes an unexpected source of stability in your life. His belief in your strength pushes you to grow, while his rare moments of kindness remind you that even the toughest exteriors can hide a compassionate heart. When he finally calls you “family,” it feels like the highest honor, a testament to the bond you’ve built through fire and resilience.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- You meet Wanda when you accidentally skate into one of her magical runes, disrupting a spell she was casting. She turns to you, her red eyes glowing faintly. “You shouldn’t be here,” she says, her voice laced with warning. But instead of scolding you, she tilts her head, curious. “Why are you always running?”

- Wanda is both drawn to and exasperated by your chaotic nature. “You remind me of Pietro,” she says one day, her voice tinged with sadness. “Always moving, never stopping to think about the consequences.” Her words cut deeper than you expect, leaving you to wonder why her disappointment stings so much.

- Unlike others, Wanda doesn’t try to impose structure on you. Instead, she meets you where you are, offering understanding without judgment. She starts leaving little charms around the mansion—spells to protect you from injury or to heal your bruises. “You may not care about yourself,” she says softly, “but I do.”

- One night, after returning home with a fresh set of cuts and scrapes, you find Wanda waiting for you. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. When you try to brush her off, she touches your hand, and for a moment, you feel the warmth of her magic easing your pain.

- Wanda starts teaching you small spells—little enchantments to protect yourself or to calm your restless mind. At first, you’re skeptical, but her patience and quiet encouragement win you over. “Magic isn’t about control,” she tells you one day. “It’s about balance—finding harmony within chaos.”

- The breakthrough comes when you finally open up about your neglectful home life. Wanda listens intently, her empathy as deep as her power. “I know what it’s like to feel unwanted,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “But you are wanted here. You are loved.” Her words feel like a balm, soothing wounds you didn’t know you had.

- Wanda becomes a source of unconditional support in your life. Her kindness and understanding help you start healing, and her belief in you gives you the strength to believe in yourself. When she calls you “family,” it feels like a spell—a promise that no matter what, you’ll always have a place where you belong.

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dreamersworldduh · 5 months ago

Text

HI, NEIGHBOR — FINALE

• JASON TODD x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — you’re new to the neighborhood and find yourself becoming friends with the residential bad boy, Jason Todd. From his perspective, you seem like an outgoing guy yet there’s a mystery to you he couldn’t quite figure out.

WARNING! Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Violence.

WORDS! 2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! Again, thank you for all the love and support for this series. Don’t worry, I have more series coming, but until then enjoy.

PREVIOUS PART! FOUR

Gotham's skyline stretched endlessly before you, jagged and unforgiving, a maze of towering steel and cracked concrete that clawed at the cold night sky. Neon signs blinked erratically in the distance, casting eerie glows of red and electric blue over rain-slick streets far below. The moon hung high and distant, pale and remote, its silvery light spilling unevenly across the city's twisted landscape like a half-hearted blessing.

The city never slept—could never sleep. Faint sirens wailed somewhere far off, threading through the ever-present growl of engines, the angry shouts of late-night arguments, and the persistent buzz of flickering streetlights. Gotham breathed in chaos and exhaled violence—steady, relentless, alive.

You stood at the edge of the rooftop, motionless, barely registering the sharp, biting chill of the wind cutting through the seams of your armor. It howled around you, fierce and untamed, tugging at your cape as if daring you to leap into the void below. You didn't flinch. You hadn't flinched in a long time.

Your gloved fingers rested against the rough, weather-beaten edge of the rooftop ledge. The old bricks were cold and crumbling, worn down by years of brutal winters and fierce summer storms. Your gaze was locked across the street, fixed on the darkened, silent silhouette of a familiar building—your old apartment.

The windows stared back, empty and hollow. Once, those windows had glowed warmly, their light spilling out onto the cracked pavement like a beacon in the dark. You could still see it in your mind—the soft, golden haze of a lamp burning late into the night, curtains gently swaying in the breeze from a half-open window.

You remembered the way the old wooden floorboards groaned beneath your boots after long nights spent chasing shadows, the smell of cheap takeout mingling with the ever-present aroma of strong coffee brewed out of necessity, not comfort. You'd sit there in the dim light, armor peeled away, tracing worn-out street maps spread across a scarred table, planning your next move... still daring to hope.

But that life felt impossibly far away now, like a half-forgotten dream. Someone else's life. Someone softer. Someone less broken.

Your fingertips drifted down, brushing lightly over the familiar, sharp edges of the bat-emblem etched into your chest plate. The armor was cold and unyielding beneath your touch, its matte surface rough and scarred from countless battles. It was a part of you now—woven into your identity as surely as the blood in your veins.

There was no going back. No running. No hiding.

This was your life now. The mission. The fight. The endless war.

And you weren't alone in it—not anymore.

The familiar, deliberate sound of heavy boots landing softly on the rooftop behind you broke through the quiet. You didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

Jason.

"Figured I'd find you here," his familiar, rough voice called out, warm and teasing. You could hear the faint smirk woven into his words even before you turned around. Jason had a way of speaking like he was in on a private joke the world hadn't caught up to yet.

You exhaled slowly, already feeling the tension in your shoulders begin to unwind. He had that effect on you—steady, grounding, like the first breath after being underwater too long.

When you finally turned, he was standing a few feet away, clad in his signature Red Hood armor, its matte-black plates etched with battle scars and worn edges from countless fights. His blood-red emblem gleamed faintly in the moonlight, sharp and bold—a warning to anyone foolish enough to challenge him.

His helmet was tucked loosely under one arm, his other hand resting casually on his hip. Wind tugged at his dark hair, tousling it in a way that made him look effortlessly rugged, though you knew he hated when it got in his eyes. His piercing blue gaze locked onto yours with that familiar, intense focus—sharp and assessing, but gentler now... softer, just for you.

"You gonna stand there brooding all night," he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, "or can I join in on the dramatic rooftop staring contest?"

You couldn't help the quiet huff of laughter that escaped you. Jason always knew how to break the weight of the moment, no matter how heavy it felt.

Shaking your head, you leaned back against the rough brick ledge, your fingers trailing over the worn edges. "Thought you were on patrol."

Jason shrugged, stepping closer until he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with you. Even through his armor, you could feel the familiar warmth radiating from him, grounding you in a way the cold city air never could.

"I was. Then I heard you were out here looking all..." —he waved a gloved hand vaguely in the air— "dark and mysterious. Thought I'd check in... make sure you weren't planning anything stupid."

You smirked, bumping your elbow lightly into his side. "Only stupid thing I've done is let you follow me."

Jason chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, wrapping around you like a protective shield. He shook his head, lips twitching into that lopsided grin that always made your heart ache in the best way.

"You love it," he said with quiet certainty, no hesitation in his voice.

The familiar, comfortable silence settled over you both. The distant hum of the city faded into the background as you stood side by side, staring out over Gotham's sprawling, chaotic skyline. The cold wind tugged at your cape, howling around the edges of the rooftop, but it felt far away now—just another piece of the restless city neither of you could ever quite leave behind.

After a long moment, Jason's voice softened, losing its usual teasing edge. His words were quieter, tinged with something deeper.

"Thinking about... before?"

Your gaze drifted back to the old apartment across the street—the empty, dark windows that used to glow with warmth and light. Memories tugged at the edges of your mind: late nights spent over binge watching movies, coffee growing cold on the counter; quiet conversations whispered in the dim glow of the worn kitchen lamp; stolen moments of peace in a life that rarely allowed them.

"Feels like... another life," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Like... someone else lived there."

Jason tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful—serious in a way only he could be when it came to you. He studied you for a moment, his sharp gaze searching yours like he could see the thoughts you couldn't quite voice.

"Maybe... but you're still you," he said quietly, with a conviction that left no room for doubt. "Different suit, different mission... but the same person who's always fought like hell to survive."

His words hit deeper than you expected, settling into your chest with quiet finality. He always had a way of cutting through the walls you put up—seeing through the armor, both literal and otherwise.

You turned toward him slowly, meeting his gaze head-on. His eyes were steady and unwavering, fierce in their sincerity.

"You know that, right?" Jason asked, his voice rough but soft—open in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

The weight of his words settled over you, pushing past the cold ache that had lived in your chest for so long. You swallowed hard, feeling something warm unfurl deep inside despite the icy wind biting at your skin.

"Yeah," you whispered. "I know."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt charged, humming with everything unspoken—but understood.

Then Jason's mouth tugged into a familiar, mischievous grin, the teasing light returning to his sharp blue eyes.

"Besides," he added casually, the warmth creeping back into his voice, "you're way too badass to be some regular apartment-dwelling civilian. I mean... you fly, for crying out loud."

A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it, light and genuine. Jason's grin widened, his expression softening with quiet pride—like seeing you laugh, even here, even now, was the greatest victory he could ever claim.

Before you could overthink it, you stepped closer, your fingers brushing against the cool, worn surface of his armored chest. His breath hitched just slightly, but he didn't pull away—couldn't.

His free hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing gently against the back of your neck as he pulled you in with quiet reverence. His touch was steady, sure, yet so achingly careful—like holding something precious he couldn't bear to lose.

His lips met yours in a slow, lingering kiss—warm, fierce, familiar. He kissed you like it was the only thing grounding him to this brutal, unforgiving city... and maybe it was. His hand stayed firm against your neck, anchoring you both in that shared, perfect stillness.

For that one moment... nothing else existed. No city. No missions. No past. No future.

Just you and him.

Then...

"You do realize you're still on patrol, right?"

Bruce's sharp, no-nonsense voice crackled through the comms, cutting through the stillness like a blade. The words were clipped, precise, weighted with the authority of someone who never asked—only commanded.

You and Jason broke apart instantly, breathless but grinning like a pair of guilty teenagers caught sneaking out past curfew. The cool night air rushed in between you, sharp and biting, grounding you back in the reality you'd momentarily forgotten.

Jason groaned loudly, tilting his head back toward the sky with exaggerated exasperation. "Of course he's watching," he muttered, dragging a gloved hand down his face.

You chuckled, still catching your breath, already reaching for your helmet. "Can't say we didn't see that coming."

Jason shot you a sideways glance, his smirk slow and wicked despite his frustration. His ice-blue eyes still sparkled with warmth, the echoes of the moment you'd just shared lingering there, untouched by Bruce's interruption. "Told you we should've gone somewhere higher," he added with a low, teasing drawl.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing another laugh as you secured your helmet into place. The familiar click of the locking mechanism felt natural, practiced—second nature after all these years. The HUD display flared to life, casting your world in sharp, tactical clarity as it scanned the city's endless expanse of crumbling rooftops and twisting alleys.

Jason hesitated just a second longer, still watching you with that same soft intensity, even as he reluctantly raised his red helmet. The smooth, battle-worn surface gleamed faintly under the distant glow of the city's scattered neon lights. His expression stayed open and unreadable for just a moment longer—raw and unguarded in a way only you ever got to see.

"Alright," he finally drawled into the comms, his voice flattening into something cool and sharp—the tone of a seasoned vigilante back on mission. "We're moving."

He tugged the helmet into place with practiced ease, the familiar, menacing faceless mask transforming him in an instant. His voice crackled again through the comms, distorted but still unmistakably him. "You coming, or you planning to stare dramatically at the skyline all night?"

You snorted softly, already moving toward the edge of the rooftop. The city stretched out before you—dark, endless, defiant—its tangled streets a labyrinth of secrets and danger. Gotham's breathless pulse thrummed beneath your boots, calling you back into its relentless embrace.

You closed your eyes briefly, letting the familiar hum of your Chi energy stir deep within your chest. It started as a low, electric warmth, igniting like a spark caught in dry tinder. The power surged upward, rushing through your veins in a brilliant, burning pulse of golden light. Energy crackled around you, shimmering faintly like distant thunder in the charged air.

You took a steady breath, embracing the sensation, letting it lift you effortlessly off the ground. The wind roared in your ears as the rooftop fell away beneath you, leaving nothing but open sky and electric possibility.

Jason lingered for just a heartbeat longer, watching you ascend with that same quiet awe he never voiced but couldn't quite hide. The edges of his mouth tugged into a small, proud smile—soft, private, meant only for you.

With a low, knowing chuckle, he crouched, muscles coiling with practiced precision, and leapt after you—graceful, powerful, unstoppable. His silhouette cut through the dark like a blade, chasing after you through the sky...

...Always.

#dc x male reader #batboys #x male reader #jason todd x male!reader #jason todd #dc #jason todd x male reader #jason todd imagine #batfam

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penvisions · 24 days ago

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black hole sun {prologue}

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Joel Miller is the sun incarnate and he's going to bloom beauty and rage ruin over you, you know it in your very soul.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: burning feelings, descriptions of harsh summer days, all-consuming feelings, lot of visceral imagery, but honestly- nothing else tangible lol

A/N: this doesn't feel like much (to me personally, but i'm fighting imposter syndrome something fierce lately) but it's the start to the series i teased so long ago. i hope it lives up the to the long wait i put y'all through.

ao3 || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

His presence is like a summer day.

Simmering heat, little distortions of air off of each and every object, flaring in the middle of the open road. The mirage of a cool puddle of water that promises to soothe and abate you. But it would make you all the more parched, to realize the relief was an illusion. Just like the soft smiles that blind you don’t really help to quell the quick staccato of your heart when aimed your way. It’s not a softness being shown to you but a damnation in the form of that tricky mirage.

That little shiver you feel from time to time despite the staunch press of heat on every inch of exposed skin, the almost burning sensation that would swallow you whole if given the chance.

The scent of dust and desert, the faded stone and dehydrated, dry, bleaches feeling of your synapses under the direct sunlight of his full-fledged attention.

He encapsulates every sensation so easily, so naturally. Those sparkling brown eyes and luscious smile searing into your soul and making you see the overexposed remnants on the inside of your eyelids, bright and blinding even after you’ve looked away.

Lungs fill with stale air, the dust you can taste on the back of your tongue. The sting of it burns your nose and makes you feel like you can’t catch a breath despite nearly sucking the relief of it down, the damage it does far outweighs the benefits. You cough, you choke, you force the air back out in a harsh exhale through your nose, but the sensation lingers. Just at the thought of his touch to you does so too. It would burn; it would sear into your skin like a brand. Fingerprints and palms displayed as burns from the heat that blooms from his skin, it would render anyone else’s touch feeble.

He is the sun and he will devour you, it’s an event destined to happen- just as the sun swallows everything whole, he’ll be the one to devour you.

He is the sun and he will burn you out. Even if his intentions were to stir vitality and life in the very vessels of your blood. He burns too hot, too pure, too close and you know it’s a losing battle.

But to be devoured by him would be such a lovely way to die- all sweet, searing desire that would flow through everything you are until that last second before combustion.

The temptation haunts your dreams, the urge to give into the silly little crush that feels like life or death on the man you can practically feel approaching the front door. His truck is in the parking lot, his daughter is situated in a booth. But he’ still on the other side of the glass, a small relief from the haunting presence of him much like the lightyears of space that separate the earth from the sun.

But he burns through it all the same, just as the unforgiving rays of the sun. The bell above the door jingles happily, signaling a day of inescapable humidity in the form of one Joel Miller. His captivating eyes catch yours and you feel like you’re alive and dying all at once.

Your breath leaves you in an embarrassing whoosh as the sole of your foot catches on the curled corner of tile. Your gaze breaks away from his, those brown eyes searing into you even without the direct contact. You feel the weight of them, not oppressive but firm.

Your foot drags for only a moment before you continue on your way down the main thoroughfare of the diner, right past the source of all your longing- as if you were a teenager once again and fantasizing about someone in another clique that you happen to have shared moments with in the same class. A quick pass by him as if you are both in a crowded hallway between classes- even if the diner is only occupied by the staff and two tables at opposite ends.

He smells like sweat and the lingering fumes of paint, of exhaust. But you catch only a whiff before you’re setting fully laden plates down in front of a group of men that visit every other day. They work at one of the offices across the street, your diner tucked in between a flower shop and a large bookstore that evens out the downtown block of Austin. Commercial and office mingling in a way that can only be found in the expanse of the Midwest.

His boots mimic your thudding heart as he makes his way through the space, you feel it pulse in your neck even as you paint on a smile for the group that gets rowdy as you as them if they need anything else.

“For the table, y’all.” You reprimand lightly, they’re all harmless. Not like the all-consuming man who simmers beneath your skin even despite miles of separation once the day is over and you’re both in your respective spaces. Him with his daughter that spends her time here after school. And you, in a small apartment that doesn’t quite feel like your own despite occupying it for years now. Like it too is a mirage that will disappear should the hint of a threat close in on you.

“We’re just teasin’, we know you ain’t gonna give us more’n you do when you’re clocked in,” One of the men flashes you a smile, his teeth catching the light. But it’s dull, despite his thinking that it’s bright and dazzling. It’s artificial, like the fluorescents that dot the ceiling.

“You got that right,” You take note of the dwindling drinks and float through gathering pitchers to fill with sweet tea and coke, dropping them off with the men before you gulp down a thick breath and approach the other occupants.

Joel studies the menu, despite being here more than a few times. Sarah is looking up from her textbook, math and equations spinning in her dazed eyes. She’s got a glass of water and the foamy, dripping mess of a leftover milkshake beside her. Something Joel glances at before looking up at you out of the corner of his eye. His lips quirk and you know he won’t lament the treat even if it amps her up and fills her stomach before they share a meal.

It’s not like you give her one every time she’s here. Okay, maybe almost every time. This is just one of the instances when you hadn’t snatched the condemning glass away before the rumble of Joel’s truck saunters down the street and quiets in the parking lot.

His eyes catch the light in that small glimpse, amber fire crackling and catching in your lungs- all across your skin. Like a moth, you rush toward it and linger. His gaze is a balm, serenading you in its destructing pull. The pen in your hand clatters onto the formica, a ruse to disguise the way you cradle his voice in your hands even if it scorches.

He’s reaching for it with thick fingers, turning it to read the kitchy words etched into the plastic there.

Another pass around the sun.

“Birthday?” He asks in that deep drawl, resonating in his chest and through the thick column of his throat to assault you just as his gaze does.

Sarah perks up at that, her hands reaching for the pen and noticing how new it looks compared to the ones you use until the ink is but a ghost of impression on the pads you use to keep orders.

“It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you say anything!” Excitement rises in her, she’s only spent the last few months in your company three days a week since the beginning of school. It’s a safe space here with you in the booths, a place to tuck into while she waits for her dad to finish up at a job site just a few blocks down. A compromise made between them for her to avoid the neighbors that gush and preen over her and for Joel to know where she is, can scoop her up on the way home.

The city isn’t the safest for a teenager on their own, but your watchful and kind eyes are a relief for his parental mind. Tommy recommended the place, somewhere he frequents after his own shifts but later in the evenings. Less hectic and boisterous than bars the bars that people crowd. The body heat and noise of rowdiness too much for him. Too similar to the places the younger brother has described to you in quiet conversations and still affect him.

His brother doesn’t know, the extend of which Tommy has confided in you about his life. The things he’s seen and done, that he carries with him. That he’s worried about resorting back to should triggers surround him and flick that little switch he knows is faulty inside of his mind. You think you’re friends, you hope you’re friends. But it’s hard to feel like more than the waitress.

“It’s just another day,” You shrug, trying to play it off like you don’t particularly care. Even if in the back of your mind, you held onto that small flame of hope that someone would notice, would say something. An innate way of knowing despite you not voicing it, expectation leads to disappointment. But you feel it all the same, that little part of your humanity showing in such a desperate way.

And the truth is, it really is just another day in the late season of spring. Another shift docked onto a paycheck, another day in the same pair of jeans that probably need washing and an apron littered with grease spots and stains from wiped hands over your hips.

“Don’t celebrate?” Joel’s voice doesn’t feel prodding, but the question hurts all the same.

“Don’t have anyone to celebrate with.” You admit in a moment of full transparency, only brought out by the realness you’ve seen of the two looking up at you from their seats. The little huffs of annoyance and the press of kisses to temples, the insistence of water over a refill of soda, exhaustion from forced memorization of subjects that aren’t appealing and from a physically demanding day of work. The softness and love that underlies it all, that bonds them and gives them life. You feel a little jealous of it, but you know it’s not from a source of hatred and longing for your own family to be better.

Just another glimpse of your humanity that will both soothe and damage you as it has done before.

Sarah’s expression falters but she tries to hide it. Looking down at her notes like they’re the most interesting thing in the world, while Joel turns to face you head on.

“How about…we do somethin’ for you this weekend? Supposed to be good weather and we were gonna grill out. We can turn it into somethin’ to celebrate with you?”

“Oh, you really don’t-“ You take the pen he’s offering you back, tucking it into the front of your apron even if all you want to do is click the thing open and closed a million times to rid yourself of the humiliation of being offered something that doesn’t feel real. That feels like a taunt just as much as mirage on the horizon. “I’m just the girl that waits on y’all, it’s not, it’s okay really.”

“You’re literally my friend.” Sarah deadpans, though her eyes hold a fire that she no doubt inherited from her father. Like a comet that can’t be contained. “I hang out with you more than the people at school, unless they’re on the soccer team.”

“Tommy will back her up, you’re his friend too.”

“And dad can be your friend too!” Joel’s expression glitches at his daughter’s words, but he nods along and gives you a polite smile. It feels like a cloud has descended over him, shielding his light and true form from you as you try not to read too much into the polite sociality.

“It’s settled then,” He raps his knuckles on the table before picking the menu back up. “Okay, so for me…”

Their meal is shared in a natural progression, the books and notes put away in favor of teasing banter and genuine conversation between them. You give them their space, feeling like you’re smoldering from the inside out, hollow like a log that’s been burned through but still structurally sound for a few moments more. Your heart is aching at the way they included you, but you do worry for the seriousness behind their words.

There’s a thin line between jovial invitations and genuine ones that allow for the breach of working with the public to bloom into genuine connection beyond fulfilled orders and the sharing of a table for a moment in time before it’s wiped clean for another.

As Sarah bounds out the door with a wide smile and a wave of her little hand, you make your way over to clear the plates from their table. Joel is standing beside it, stacking them up for you already. The bill is in his hands, cash and a card gripped securely.

“Was gonna leave my card for ya, cell number is on the back. Probably shoulda given it to you already with how you look after Sarah more’n the neightbors now but, hindsight.” He chuckles, holding it out for you. His fingers brush yours as you take it and his warmth seeps into you. You hope he doesn’t notice the goosebumps that erupt all along your arms. It’s the first time he’s touched you.

“I really don’t want to impose on family time, it’s okay if you-“ You want to give him a way out if the offer, if it really was just part of a conversation with no weight.

“Even if she didn’t push the matter, I would’ve asked you. Sooner or later.” He rubs at the back of his head as he interrupts you, the soft expression of nerves and the casual display of his bicep flexing something that endears you to him further. “Even if my goal is to be a little bit more than friends.”

Your answering smile lights up the same heat in him as he does in you. You see it, the smoldering cable of electric current that finally connects. You two are no longer orbiting, the contact was imminent. The destined destruction that will claim you both in time set into motion with such a simple assurance.

But oh, how lovely it will feel up as it lends a guiding force through things you’ve yet to experience until it snuffs you both out.

“Okay, I’ll um, I’ll text you?”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

next -> chapter one

taglist: @starry-eyes-love @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pascalssbabyy

@sawymredfox @punkshort @wintersquirrel @sarahhxx03 @noisynightmarepoetry

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@honeyedmiller

graphics: photos from pinterest. banners and dividers -> @/saradika-graphics and @/cafekitsune

#dev writes #fic: black hole sun #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller series #joel miller fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fic #ppcu #ppcu fandom #ppcu fanfiction #pre-outbreak joel miller #younger joel miller #lots of imagery

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bahrtofane · 20 days ago

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yearner

in which carlos cant escape his nature after his move to williams, but its not too bad with you

word count - 1.5K+

watch it - angst but with a positive ending. carlos is a yearner

first actual carlos x reader woho!!

Carlos is a sore loser. He supposes it was born out of competition, the drive and desire to be the best. The pit in his stomach when he realizes his position, the bile that claws at his throat when he rewatches his crashes and stupid mistakes. Knowing he can be better, settling for what he has and battling the past.

He’s a sore loser the way he takes it out on himself.

He bites his tongue, accepts the points on days when he gets them, does his interviews. He smiles at the cameras, tossing his hair back in the way he knows will get the attention off the far look in his eyes. Something to distract.

He sighs when he closes the last door, the last barrier between him and the cameras. Sighing as he finally reaches his motorhome.

His eyes sag, lips pressed in a thing line, mind racing. He chooses to scrub the thoughts away with a shower, impossibly hot and turning him red but he doesn't care. Tomorrow he will be forced to relive his poor performance and smile while everyone looks at him with pity.

Sleep comes to him much later than it should, and he can only promise to do better.

—--

Carlos is a sore loser, but even more so he is doomed to circumstance, his own mind. Mulling things over on his own, brushed with a shade of blue that's one shade too sad.

You know this well, as well as you can with a man like him. He is hard to figure out and hard to remove yourself from. You have become in a way transfixed into understanding more. The way a dog follows a line of treats. You just hope the big bag of treats at the end is getting close.

He has these big beautiful eyes, but the only things they see to capture is his own suffering. You asked him why he keeps doing it, why does he keep suffering in something that has a way out. “Its all I know how to do,” was all he could say.

It's true you suppose. But this sport will never love him the way he loves it. You see the way people treat him, the way his words fall into silence when every word he speaks is sincere. He gives so much, carving chunks out of himself just in an effort to remind those that he is alive. As if saying, look at me, I'm still here. And it still doesn't seem like enough.

You met him on a whim, completely by chance rushing as the may sun blasted against your skin. Miami has its perks but the weather in the summer is not one of them.

You were in Miami for a new job, working for a team and sport you were unaware of. But a job is a job and you booked the flight to Miami the second the email came in. You were late for your first official day, rushing into the hotel the meeting was set to be at. Begging for the elevator to stay open. A single man was inside, back turned, so you spirited. Heel slipping just as you made it inside, crashing right into his back, a slew of what you assumed to be spanish curses followed.

The rest is history.

Carlos liked that you were new to his world. That you had no expectations of him, nothing to hold over his head, no promises you forced him to make. You knew only the man in the moment. Not the man in all the races before this. And he adored this.

—-

Carlos calls you the following day, as he’s gathering his things to head to the airport.

“Morning.” you mumble out, voice cracking through the speakers.

He snorts, “good morning. Did you see what I sent?”

You make a garbled noise, the sound of sheets coming from the other end as you battle your phone to dig through the notifications.

“What am I looking at?”

“Tickets to the next race.” Carlos says, half like a question unsure of his own words.

“For me?” you say clearly now. Fully awake.

“Yes. if you want. No pressure.” he adds the last part quickly.

“No, I want to. Thank you.”

You don't bring up the race from yesterday. You rarely bring up racing on your own. Carlos hopes you stick around, for his sake, his sanity.

—-

You come, dressed in blue for williams. Carlos can't help the smile that spans his face. You blush, taking his hand gingerly. He shows you around, introducing you to people while you give timid waves and quiet hellos.

And then the time comes for him to leave your side and be back in the belly of the beast. God why did he pick such a ridiculous job.

—-

He doesn’t place, no points, no podium. He can't face you and the disappointment he knows will be impossible to hide. So he hides. Doing what is needed, showing his face where he must and escaping. He doesn't pick up your calls, jumping into the boiling shower once more and scrubbing like a ritual that will purify him. It wont. But he still does it.

When he sits on the all too clean bed of the motorhome he looks at his phone. Please call me when you can, I care about you. From you, an hour ago. Hm.

He settles for a text.

Hey, sorry I just got busy. Sorry for having you come out here for nothing.

You reply immediately.

You have nothing to be sorry for.

I came for you, not for anything else.

He looks at the text for much too long before sending his location and asking you to spend the night with him, if you want. Ditch the hotel and bring your things.

—-

Security gives you a hard time, so he goes to collect you himself. You stand, brows furrowed, in a much more casual outfit. Glasses on your head while you try to plead to be let in.

You make it through when Carlos waves his hand, taking your suitcase and bags, leading the way.

It's much quieter when you get inside. The space is almost unnaturally clean. Whites and creams everywhere. You notice the drop in his shoulders, a stark comparison to the way he held his head high earlier.

He goes into the bathroom, peeling off the casual clothes for pajamas. Giving you a weak smile as you get your things up.

“Would you still see me if i quit?” he mumbles out, words fraying at the seams.

You give him a look, “Carlos, I'm not interested in you for any other reason but the fact that it's you. You could take up crab fishing for all I care.”

He doesnt look up, “they gave me an out, if I want. Anytime I can stop. There's always a replacement.”

You pad over to where he slouches on the bed, placing a gentle hand to his shoulder. “You're too in your head. It's late. Someone once told me never to trust how you feel about yourself past 9 pm.”

“I always feel like this.” he whispers, eyes glassy as he looks up at you.

You now understand at the root of it all, Carlos remains just a little boy who wants somewhere to belong. To feel wanted. A place to do something he cares about and do it well. Where he can be given the chance by people that genuinely believe in him.

Carlos is more than just a sore loser, a sore loser. He’s a yearner.

—--

You don't talk about that night. But you do stick around. He asks to be official a few weeks later, over dinner at a restaurant you can’t even pronounce. You tell him what you think and he mulls it over.

He has an out, but doesnt take it. Not yet. He still has a hunger to prove himself. Even if he doubts he can do it. You know he can, you’ve seen the way he works, the passion that fuels him the hunger. He still chases like a wounded dog.

For Carlos never really knows when to call it quits does he.

—-

It takes almost half way through the season but he makes a podium. P3 in a williams. He wants to cry, shout from the rooftops that he can do it. He is worth it. He belongs here in f1.

Charles is on the podium, of course he is. A step above in p2. Carlos tries not to tell the red blind him. A reminder of the past and what once was. He says his wonders of thanks to the team, gives Charles a hug and tries not to fall into the routine they used to have.

He instead goes to you, smiling wide while you mouth the words ‘i believed’.

Carlos is a yearner, and it strings him along endlessly. Tugging at his heart and wrapped around his mind. But he hasn't stopped just yet. Your soft kisses and the way your eyes twinkle at him under the lights make it that much easier. Who knows maybe he can win driving this thing.

#carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz jr x you #carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz jr x y/n #bahr f1 #cs55 x reader #cs55 x you #cs55 fic #cs55 imagine #cs55 #cs55 x y/n

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gyuuberryy · 1 year ago

Text

fight for my way!

pairing: best friend’s brother!heeseung x reader x bff!jungwon, ft lee chaeyeon as your best friend

summary: you’ve harboured a huge crush on your bff’s brother, heeseung for quite a bit. each encounter with him has you stuttering and blushing like a mess much to the dismay of your best friend, jungwon. it’s summer vacation, but unfortunately you won’t have the time to relax as you battle with your newfound feelings instead of kicking someone’s ass in training for taekwondo. you certainly did not sign up for this

genre: f2l, best friend’s brother trope, crack??, coming of age, jungwon and mc practice taekwondo

warnings: making out, fighting, angst, fluff, swearing, mc beats up someone, mentions of blood, mc is super embarrassing and a major simp teehee, flirty heeseung(as always), i know nothing about taekwondo so please excuse me if i made any mistakes related to it

note: nothing based off the drama ahaha. this was originally a txt fic, now republished as an enha one(it's edited). i wrote this like a year ago and idk why but some parts of it give off disney movie vibes💀 enjoy!!!

word count: 8.1kish

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

you knew it’s wrong to simp over your friends, but you couldn’t help it.

since when did yang jungwon get so hot?

you hadn’t even worn your dobok yet and you were already sweating just looking at him box with that punching bag. his arm muscles flexed and rippled deliciously, and his face which was contorted into a focused expression, glimmered under the studio lights due to the layer of sheen sweat that coated his body. a drop rolled down the bridge of his nose and was about to land on his lips when he stopped and wiped it off. the sudden change in movement brought you out of your daydream and you mentally punched yourself for drooling over one of your best friends.

you need to stop simping over anyone who is even the slightest bit hot.

slinging your bag over your shoulder, you walked towards the locker room to get changed. shuffling through your belongings, you tried to find the plastic in which you had kept your dobok, when you were startled by the feeling of someone's hand on your back. you looked behind to see your best friend chaeyeon grinning at you.

“you’re a bit early today.”, she stated.

“yeah, my mom kicked me out of the house at six in the morning.” you sighed, “i was wandering around till class started.”

chaeyeon patted your shoulder sympathetically. ever since the summer holidays for your senior year had started, your mom had been making sure you didn’t laze around the house and be productive everyday. this was the last year for your taekwondo training and then you would finally receive your black belt. so, your mom felt it was important for you to go for training.

every. single. day.

honestly, you were a bit pissed in the beginning because you couldn’t join the rest of your school friends on their month long trip to kyoto. but, jungwon and chaeyeon were staying back as well for their training, so it wasn’t that bad.

you wore the white jacket on top of your t-shirt and slipped your belt through the white loops. your pants were almost up your calves when chaeyeon spoke again.

“do you wanna come over to my house in the evening? we should get started on our physics project.

you jumped in excitement at her offer, “is your brother gonna be there?”

chaeyeon slapped your arm, “why does that matter? we have to do our work, i’m not going to sit there and watch you fangirl over him.”

ah yes, chaeyeon's brother, lee heeseung.

the man you were absolutely smitten with.

the perfect, handsome, smart and talented golden boy of the school.

your crush of three years.

and lately, it felt like he was reciprocating your feelings as well because he had started flirting with you back. you didn’t care if you were being delusional, you would take any chance to interact with him, which is why you were always ecstatic to visit chaeyeon’s house.

“just tell me please”, you dragged out your sentence in a whiny voice, making chaeyeon hiss at the annoying sound.

“okay okay, he’s going to be there. he has nothing to do this week.”

you squealed and pumped your fist in the air. chaeyeon just rolled her eyes at your actions and pulled you out of the locker room to join the training.

you lay spread eagle on the blue foam mat. your arms felt like wet, heavy ham and the muscles in your thighs felt like they were stretched to the maximum. you really shouldn’t have skipped your warm up, but you had no idea how rigorous today’s training would be. your coach was hellbent on making sure you perfected your double roundhouse kick and only let you take a break when you got the hang of it. these were probably the most tiring four hours of your life.

suddenly, a handsome face came into your view as the person loomed over your body and blocked the light, making you jolt up. after getting a closer look you realised it was just your best friend, jungwon. you stomped on his feet out of annoyance.

“you startled me man.”

“i thought you fell asleep”, he huffed at your actions “let’s go home now, my stomach is gonna digest itself if i don’t feed it anything soon.”

you rolled your eyes at his exaggeration and went towards the locker room to get your belongings.

chaeyeon had already left before you both, so you took the shorter route towards your house. usually, you both would drop her off along the way and then walk back together since you lived right next to each other.

the walk back home was rather silent, filled with occasional slurps of the popsicles you both had bought. your walks home were usually always filled with a comfortable science accompanied by some type of snack. lately, you both had been trying to eat all the popsicle flavours of the new trending brand. so today, you both tried the cherry lime flavour and honestly, it was absolutely disgusting. you stared at the bright red and green ice on the stick and grimaced.

“this tastes really bad”, you stuck out your tongue in disgust “especially the cherry side, it’s just frozen cough medicine.”

jungwon shrugged his shoulders, “i kind of like it, the combination is nice.”

you wrinkled your nose at his remark, “you have bad taste.”

he turned to look at you with mock hurt on his face when you noticed a red stain from the popsicle on the corner of his lips. you walked up to him and tried to rub off the insistent stain from the corner of his lips, making jungwon freeze in his spot. you looked at him to be met with his eyes already staring at your face. his face looked flushed and his eyes were wide open. his eyes.

they were so mesmerising, looking like pools of freshly brewed coffee that always held a sparkle in them. you quickly moved away when jungwon suddenly spoke up.

“w-what are you doing?”

you cleared your throat and looked away, “you had a red stain on your face.”

these types of awkward encounters had been frequenting a lot between you both lately and you felt slightly bothered by it.

he rolled his eyes and tried to play it off, “your lips are green, eat the cherry part also. you look like mike wazowski.”

“shut up.”, you muttered while wiping your lips.

you handed your half eaten popsicle to him and resumed walking. feeling disgusted by the sight of him gorging down both of the disgusting frozen treats you decided to change the topic.

“i’m going to chaeyeon's house later to start our physics project.”

jungwon nodded absentmindedly at that.

“hee is gonna be there too”, you sighed dreamily, making him glare at you.

“why are you still obsessed with that bastard?”

you gasped in offence, “how dare you call him that? he’s an amazing guy.”

jungwon chucked the ice cream sticks in the nearby dustbin a bit too forcefully for your liking. every mention of heeseung’s name always riled him up. both of them were academic rivals, always competing for the top spot, which was why they were never nice to each other and always bickered. but you were not letting their issue meddle with your non-existent love life.

“he’s annoying and not a nice guy”, jungwon walked faster making you break out into a slight jog.

“just last week i saw him walking around with a new chick.” he threw his hands in the air, “how could he do that when he just dumped his girlfriend!”

yeah that was true. heeseung was a bit of a playboy. you weren’t surprised though, his good looks and personality had girls throwing themselves on him right and left and he just accepted it. you didn't mind, you were ready to forgive him for that.

“i don’t care, i know he would never hurt someone intentionally.”

jungwon shook his head at your obvious lovesickness. you were too blinded by your crush to notice the possibility of getting hurt. you waved him off when you reached your driveway.

“bye won, i have to pick an outfit for the evening.”

jungwon didn’t bother looking at you and just simply reminded you that it wasn’t a date. but who cares? definitely not you.

the shiny silver doorbell was waiting for you, inviting you to press it, but you just stood like a fool at chaeyeon’s doorstep. why were you getting nervous for absolutely no reason?(heeseung). it’s not like this was your first time visiting her house.

you dismissed your worry with a nervous chuckle and smoothened your hair down one last time. the summer heat was making it frizzier by the second and you had to look your best for heeseung, which meant you had to enter the house soon. taking a deep breath, you finally pressed the doorbell.

a few moments later, the door swung open, unveiling the most beautiful sight known to mankind—heeseung's beaming face. he gave your outfit a quick once-over, and his smile evolved into a teasing smirk. glancing down at your sage green tank top and acid-washed denim shorts, a hint of uncertainty crept in. were they not to his liking? despite your attempt at a casual look, a moment of self-doubt lingered in the air.

“what’s up?”

his voice broke you out of your dilemma. now you felt too scared to respond. taking another deep breath you tried to keep your voice steady.

“i’m here to study with chaeyeon.”

for some reason, his smirk grew even wider as he checked you out once again, casually leaning against the doorframe. wait, was he actually checking you out? you really sucked at this love stuff because you had absolutely no idea what was going on. were you reading into things too much?"

“studying during summer break?”

he raised his eyebrows as if reminding you to speak. you cleared your throat, “yeah we have to complete a physics project.”

he nodded. “chaeyeon is out running errands though. she won’t be back for another hour.”

you frowned at that information, “but she told me to come over.” heeseung shrugged his shoulders, motioning for you to come in.

“you can wait in her room.”

you had no choice but to agree because he had already started walking in. you sighed and mentally sent a prayer to all the gods to prevent you from embarrassing yourself further.

suddenly, he stopped in his steps and spinned around to face you. you immediately forced your feet to stop walking to prevent crashing into him. “do you want to watch a movie with me instead?”

your heart dropped to your toenails at his words. as much as you wanted to jump at the offer, there was no way you would survive an entire movie with him without embarrassing yourself.

tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you tried to look as apologetic as possible, “actually i should get started on my work, maybe another time?”

heeseung shrugged, “yeah sure.”

you gave him a sheepish smile and started your ascent up the stairs to chaeyeon's room. the entire time, you could feel a pair of eyes burning into your back. the outfit was a good choice. smirking to yourself, you pushed the door to chaeyeon's room open.

it had been over an hour and so far you had listed out all the main points and subheadings to be included in your project. you had no idea when chaeyeon would come back; every time you called her she would say that she'll be home soon. there was a lot of rush at the supermarket she had forcibly gone to with her mom. you had thought about going back home but your mom wanted you to study as much as you could and it wasn’t evening yet, so here you are.

your face was almost going into the laptop screen because of the amount of concentration you had on finding the perfect template for your ppt. the opening of the door shortly distracted you, but you deemed that it was chaeyeon.

"bro, what took you so long?”, you spoke in a exasperated tone “was it actually that crowded? it's not even a weekend today." you didn't bother looking behind and continued doing your work.

you immediately stopped what you were doing as the feeling of two arms wrapping loosely around your collarbone made you stiffen up. a warm breath fanned your neck sending chills down your spine. "it’s me."

heeseung.

how and why were his arms wrapped around you? you weren't complaining because this was your dream come true but at the same time this was not good for your heart, which at this point was about to beat its way out of your chest.

you rolled your chair away from his hold and stood up, almost about to trip over nothing. you were sure you looked redder than a tomato right now, but you somehow managed the courage to look up at heeseung, who was already staring back at you. his head was tilted slightly and his pink lips were scrunched up in a pout.

brushing a non existent stand of hair away from your face, you decided to question him about his previous actions.

"why did you do that?"

he looked at you innocently in question, as if asking you what?

"the hug, why did you just hug me out of nowhere?"

a look of realisation crossed his face and he just chuckled softly at your question. "i was pretending to be chaeyeon." he smirked, "why? don't friends hug each other?"

if he was flirting with you or friend zoning you, you had absolutely no idea. you had to change the conversation quickly.

"why did you come up, is chaeyeon back now?"

"she's on the way now," he pointed towards the door, "i just made some rose lemonade. let's go drink that while you wait."

you nodded and followed him down to the kitchen. you leaned against the marble counter, trying to look as calm and collected as possible while heeseung fetched the pitcher full of the pink drink. suddenly, he turned around and started walking towards you, making you instantly freeze at your spot with an awkward smile etched onto your face. he got closer and stopped once his feet were almost touching yours. giving you a dashing smile he slowly leaned forward. was he going to kiss you?

your dream is finally coming true! you closed your eyes and puckered your lips slightly in anticipation for his to land on them. but that never happened. you opened your eyes to see a wide eyed heeseung staring back at you with two glasses in his hand. oh, he was only reaching for the glasses behind you.

embarrassment washed over you, making your cheeks flame up in shame as heeseung chuckled. you really wanted to melt away into a big puddle of nothing right now. clearing your throat you snatched a glass from his hand and poured yourself the lemonade. heeseung watched you with an amused smile as you chugged down the entire glass in one go to cool down your burning cheeks.

“was it that good?”

you nodded enthusiatically, “you have to send me the recipe!”

heeseung laughed at your reaction and poured you another glass. he probably had the most beautiful laugh and you could hear it on replay for hours. you smiled dreamily at him. by now, literally everyone knew about your humongous crush on him.

the thing was, you had horrible flirting skills and were always oblivious if someone showed interest in you. your exemplary skills in taekwondo and bubbly personality had attracted many but you ended up friendzoning them unintentionally. you only had eyes for heeseung, who was currently washing the dishes you both had drunk from. he was such boyfriend material. you stood up straight once he spoke up.

“my friend is hosting a party this friday.” he turned off the tap and wiped his hands on the kitchen towel. “i’m sure you know who jake is.” you hummed in reply.

“you should come, it’ll be fun.”

you were usually never interested in parties, in fact you never had the time to even think about it while juggling school and taekwondo together. but, you had a bit of free time now since school was off. and heeseung’s offer kind of seemed like he was asking you on a date? you can’t just straight up ask him that so maybe you should just go and find out. this could finally be your moment to directly confess your feelings. you were getting tired of holding them back.

“okay,” you smiled, “i’ll be there.”

heeseung’s face brightened up at your words. “that's great-”

“can i bring jungwon as well?”

his smile dropped, but he nodded somewhat enthusiastically, which didn’t really show on his face. oh right, they hate each other. the air turned awkward at the mention of his name and you were brainstorming things to change the subject when you were saved by the doorbell.

you immediately perked up the sound, “ah, i think chaeyeon is home.”

heeseung gave a forced smile back, “yeah, have fun with your project. i have some work to do. i’ll see you on friday.” with that, he walked back to his room.

your face fell at his sudden change of behaviour. you knew he had no work to do this week because chaeyeon had told you so. it was kind of weird but you assumed it was probably because you mentioned jungwon. he shouldn’t dislike him so much though, afterall he was one of his sister’s closest friends. shrugging it off you walked to the door to let chaeyeon and her mom in.

it was the day of the party and jungwon(who had agreed to attend after much of your insistence) and you stood right outside the door, waiting for someone to open it. chaeyeon had decided not to attend the party and had gone out with her other friends to the amusement park instead. you would have joined her as well because parties were not your thing and you’d rather spend your time riding roller coasters, but this was a matter of love. you had to make sacrifices for your dear heeseung .

the door opened to reveal a beaming jake, “oh hi guys!” he motioned for you both to come inside, “the drinks and snacks are over there and we’re playing games in the living room.” he patted you both on your backs. “have fun!” both of you smiled back at his warm welcome and walked inside the huge bungalow.

the kitchen counter was lined up with all sorts of colourful sodas and delicacies. the living room stretched far and wide, making you gaze at it in awe. colourful fairy lights were strung across the ceiling, setting the people’s face aglow with multiple colours. trending pop songs blared through the speakers and you could feel the bass thump to the beat of your heart. people were spread across the entire house and some of them were gathered outside in the lawn.

jungwon pointed at the people playing games, breaking you out of your trance.“i think they’re setting up a game of twister, let’s go join them!”

you shook your head, “i should go find heeseung first.”

jungwon’s jaw ticked at your words. he rolled his eyes as he spoke, “i don’t think you should do this, he’s not a good guy.”

you frowned at his words, “how do you know? you just hate him because he is better than you in academics.”

he grasped your shoulders and his eyes turned serious. “that’s not the problem. i’ve seen how he treats people. he may act all nice and sweet in front of you, but he’s actually really shallow.”

he sighed at the perplexed look on your face. “he’s a walking red flag and i’ve been trying to get you to understand that for a long time.”

you remained unfazed at his words because just like he had mentioned, he always said the same thing. no matter what happened you were going to try to shoot your shot.

flashing him a sympathetic smile, you patted his shoulder. “sorry buddy, nothing is going to stop me. unless you have feelings for me or something.”

you snickered at your ridiculous thoughts, missing the blush that overtook jungwon’s face. he looked away at your words and shrugged his shoulders.

“okay then, i gave you enough warnings.” rolling your eyes at this dismissive behaviour you grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the group of people setting up the game of twister.

“calm down drama queen, let’s play this first then i can go accomplish my mission.” he sighed and accompanied you as you said.

the game was going pretty well and you were confident in your chances of winning. you were in a fairly easy position compared to others, who had their limbs twisted in all sorts of hilarious ways. especially jungwon, who was basically in an upside down table pose. you tried not to notice the way his biceps were bulging out from under his black turtleneck, but it was hard to do so.

looking away from him, you accidentally made eye contact with heeseung who seemed to have just arrived at the party. you waved at him and motioned that you will talk to him later. he gave a bright smile and flashed a thumbs up at your actions. soon after he looked away, a girl with bright red hair walked up to him and kissed his cheek. your heart shattered at her actions. does he have a girlfriend?

he proved your assumptions incorrect when he pushed her off of him. getting a closer look, you realised it was his ex-girlfriend. she was probably just a psycho. you were planning to spy on them more, but annoyed shouts of your name brought you back to reality.

“what are you doing? you’re the only one left to finish your move, everyone is already done.”

apologising, you looked at the wheel that had decided your next move. looking back at the twister mat, you realised that all the good required spots were taken. the spots that were left for you were only reachable if you bent over jungwon, which meant you would be leaning over him until the next move. you had no idea why you were feeling so nervous about it though. he was your best friend after all, you were the closest to him. you’ve been together since childhood. it was stupid to feel nervous over something so trivial.

putting on a cool exterior, you leaned over him to take your position. both of your arms were placed next to his torso and your face was directly hovering over his. you were shocked to see his cheeks turn red because of the close proximity of you both. he was avoiding eye contact with you and you frowned. one nudge of your elbow brought his eyes back to yours.

deja vu hit you as you couldn’t help but get lost in his mesmerising eyes once again. that one twinkle that was always present in them no matter what, the colour of his orbs and the warmth they held every time they looked at you made you lean in closer. you were so close to each other that you could see your own reflection in his eyes. butterflies filled your stomach and you felt warm and fuzzy all over at the realisation of your close proximity with him. jungwon could now feel your warm breath on his lips, making him close his eyes in anticipation of his next move.

but instead of that, your face crashed onto the expanse of his neck with an embarrassingly loud smooch. some idiot had kicked your leg by accident, which made you lose your balance and bring down jungwon with you. you don’t know what demon possessed you to do this, but you took a big sniff and the smell of vanilla and cologne invaded your senses, making you sigh out in content. the feeling of jungwon’s body stiffening under you brought you out of your stupor and you immediately scrambled to get up. why did you act like a creep, you want to cry now.

you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck when everyone started clearing away. the game had ended because the idiot who had tripped you had also ended up rolling down the entire mat merrily like a bowling bowl, knocking everyone down.

that wasn't the issue right now though. were you just going to kiss your best friend? there was no way you had any sort of feelings for him. just a month ago you had given him a friendship day bracelet and told him how your friendship had to last forever or you would bite his nose off. so now why were you so curious to know what his lips felt like? you spinned around to see jungwon clutching his chest like he was a heart patient.

trying to push away the recent embarrassing encounter into the deep, dark pits of your brain, you walked up to him and stood silently, gazing at his lips. they were a light rosy shade of pink and looked glossy due to the coat of transparent lip gloss you had applied on them before coming to the party. they looked so soft.

you were shaken out of your thoughts when jungwon flicked your forehead. you gasped and clutched your forehead in pain, “ow, what was that for?”

jungwon smirked as he pulled you closer by your shoulders. “you seem kind of obsessed with me lately. those looks haven’t gone unnoticed by me you know.”

he raised an eyebrow cockily, “are you sure it’s not me you have a crush on?”

you sputtered and coughed like a broken car engine at his words. how did he already guess what was going on in your mind?

shrugging his hands off of you, you gave a firm whack to his chest. “h-how can you even say that! i only have eyes for heeseung, you’re nothing compared to him.”

jungwon snickered and just pulled you into his side, guiding you towards the table full of food you both had been eyeing. he leaned towards your ear and whispered in a low voice.

“i’m pretty sure we were about to do something else back in the game though.”

your face burned with embarrassment. nothing can save you now, jungwon was in his cheeky mode. he was oozing with confidence and you were blushing as bright as a beet.

you huffed in annoyance and pushed him away to speed walk towards the table. not bothering to wait for him to catch up, you picked up two humongous cupcakes, ready to stuff your mouth. suddenly, a hand came up to your shoulder making, you almost drop your food in surprise. thinking it was jungwon, you put the ugliest scowl on your face and turned around to face him.

“what do you-”

you paused midway through your sentence when you realised who was in front of you. it was a smiling heeseung, who looked smoking hot today. he had adorned a tight fitted black shirt with a grey patterned jacket and his hair was styled to show off his gorgeous forehead. you immediately dropped your scowl and put on your most charming smile.

“oh hey heeseung !”

his smile widened at your greeting but all of a sudden, his eyes turned dark when he looked at something behind you. you looked over to see jungwon standing there with two cups in his hand, his expression as cold as ice. they both were practically shooting lasers from their eyes and you could almost feel the heat from it. gulping, you looked away and tried to think of what to say.

“i have to tell you something important.” you blurted out. heeseung finally broke his staring contest with jungwon and smiled at you.

“sure, go ahead.”

okay, this was the perfect time to confess your feelings.

although, for some reason you hesitated before speaking. you could not stop thinking about what happened between you and your best friend today. were you doing the right thing or should you ponder on it more? unfortunately, one raise of heeseung’s eyebrow had you spilling everything out.

“i have a crush on you.”

is this how it feels like to have a heart attack? because suddenly it felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore and your heart was pounding erratically. maybe it wasn’t a good idea to confess if you felt this scared after it.

before you could comprehend heeseung’s reaction to your confession, the feeling of something cold and sticky being poured over you made you scream in shock.

your mouth was hung open in shock as you turned around to see who the culprit was. it was the same girl with cherry red hair who had kissed heeseung on the cheek before.

“what the fuck was that for?”, you spat in anger.

she crossed her arms with a stupid smirk painted onto her face. “you were shamelessly flirting with my boyfriend, i obviously had to do something.” you were about to retort but heeseung beat you to it.

“lena we broke up a week ago, can you stop doing things like this! i’m so sick of you.”

lena just chuckled and shook her head frantically. pushing you out of the way, she walked up to heeseung and cupped his cheeks with her manicured hands.

“no baby, we’re just going through a bad time. we’re still very much in love with each other.”

letting out a tired sigh, he pushed her hands away from his face. “stop being so delusional,” he looked towards you with an apologetic gaze, “why would you pour your drink over her? she’s like a sister to me. that’s not acceptable..”

ouch.

this was worse than getting friendzoned, he sister zoned you.

that too right in front of his ex.

after you confessed your feelings for him.

you tuned out the rest of his words as anger bubbled up inside you. you knew you were not as delusional as the mosquito of a girl in front of you. heeseung had reciprocated your advances sometimes and had even initiated flirting with you. then why would he say all that?

a warm hand clasped around your forearm that was now sticky from the soda that was poured over you. jungwon pulled you towards him gently with a concerned look on his face.

“are you okay? do you want to leave?”, your face softened at his genuine concern.

a mischievous glint appeared in your eyes as you decided on what you were going to do. “give me five minutes jungwon, i'm going to make sure someone pays for ruining my dress.”

jungwon’s eyebrows raised as he understood what you were about to do.

you moved towards lena who was still yapping about how much she loved heeseung, and tapped her shoulder. she pushed her tongue against her cheek when she realised it was you.

“what?”

giving her a condescending smile you motioned towards your outfit that was drenched in the sticky soda. “you’re going to have to pay for the damage you did.”

lena scoffed in disbelief, “and what makes you think i’ll do that? get lost, don’t waste my time.”

she waved you off and turned back to heeseung . even though it was against your morals to fight with someone weaker than you, you were not going to be civil with her anymore.

grabbing a fistful of her obnoxious bright red hair, you yanked her towards you making her yelp in pain. turning her around, you repeated yourself.

“are you going to pay or not?”

she looked at you with a crazed look in her eyes. “of course not you psycho.” she punched you weakly on the jaw making everyone around you gasp in shock.

“you started this”, shrugging you let go of her hair and punched her smack on the nose, making her stumble backwards. a loud crack resonated throughout the room. lena shrieked in pain as her hands became red from trying to stop her nose from bleeding. one of her fake eyelashes(which was about half the length of your fingers) had fallen onto the floor due to the impact of your punch.

you pouted mockingly, “i guess you’ll have to get a nose job again.”

wiping away the blood from her face she charged at you with her fist ready to strike, but you easily grabbed her arm making her stagger to stop. you twisted her arm around till it was painfully bent behind her back. she whimpered in pain and tapped on your arm.

“ow please, that hurts.”

you scoffed, “this is nothing, i can do much worse if i want.”

she looked up at heeseung with pleading eyes, “h-heeseung please stop this psychotic bi-”

you tightened your grip on her arm making her groan out in pain. heeseung paid no heed to her words, in fact he was watching the entire scene play out with an amused look on his face.

you looked to your left and tilted your head at jungwon, silently asking him what to do next. he was watching you with a proud smile and nodded his head signalling you to do what you wanted. you gave him a thumbs up and returned back to your situation.

you gave her a firm kick to her shin, making her fall on her knees. she raised her free hand in defeat.

“alright i’ll pay you for the drycleaning i promise!”

you huffed loudly and left her arm causing her to completely collapse on the floor. you nodded towards heeseung with a blank face. “you’re going to leave him alone as well.”

she squeaked out a yes, handed you a fifty dollar bill and scurried away, probably leaving the party.

everyone else cheered loudly for you for standing up to her. you grinned and jogged over to jungwon and grabbed his hand, “how did i do?”

his eyes held affection as he looked you over, “awesome.”

that one word of praise cheered you up instantly, much better than any amount of ice cream would have.

you both were just about to leave the driveway of jake’s house when the shout of your name made you both halt. you turned to see none other than heeseung jog towards you with a set of keys in his hands. he held them out to you and looked at you with an unreadable expression.

“i think you dropped your keys behind.” your eyes widened and you grabbed them from him, thanking him in a small voice.

he stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked you up and down, the action making jungwon’s grip on your hand tighten. “you were really cool back there. i’m glad i got to see you in action.”

you hummed, not knowing what to say. can he not read the room? it felt so awkward to even look at him anymore.

he cleared his throat and his confident persona dropped for a minute as he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“actually, what i said back there about you being like my sister.” your head shot up at his words. “i didn’t mean any of that.”

he looked at his feet. “i only said that to get lena off your back, but if i knew you would’ve taken care of it yourself, i never would have done that”, he trailed off in his sentence.

jungwon’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere, making you feel relieved as he questioned what you weren’t able to, “cut to the chase.”

heeseung ignored him and looked directly into your eyes. “well i don’t exactly have feelings for you right now, but i really want to make it up to you. you’re a really cool person,” he stepped closer towards you, “i want to take you out for dinner this sunday.”

you could almost feel the anger radiate off jungwon as he spat out his next words, “did you start finding her cool only because she beat your psycho ex-girlfriend up.” he scoffed, “you don’t owe her a favour, she did what was right.” your shoulders slumped at his words. is that how he actually felt?

heeseung rolled his eyes, “please don’t bring your jealousy into the middle of all this. she can make her own decisions.”

both the boys looked at you intently, waiting for you to make your decision. the urge to crawl in a hole and live there forever was extremely strong right now. you really couldn’t handle the pressure. wanting the best of both worlds, you said the first thing that came up to you.

“i’m okay with the dinner.”

heeseung ’s face brightened up in victory whilst jungwon dropped his hand from yours in defeat.

why was he so upset about it now? it’s not like you were going on a date with heeseung, he made it very clear he doesn’t like you. and why were you so adamant on making sure jungwon understood that?

being born as a dolphin would’ve been so much better at this point. at least you wouldn't have to deal with physics and this romance shit.

it was the day of the dinner and you were currently lacing up your doc martens on your front porch. you had decided to wear a black skirt with a white top and a dark brown coat since it was raining today so it was a bit chilly outside, even though it was the middle of summer. you had only just finished wearing your shoes when your phone started ringing, indicating a video call from chaeyeon.

you furrowed your brows and picked it up, “hello-”

“you absolute moron!” she screamed from the other side making you flinch.

“what happened? since when did you start insulting me, jungwon was enough-”

“this is about him! how could you be so heartless?”, she cut you off once again. you frowned, what did you do to him?

“stop making that face, you look like a pug,” she rolled her eyes, “why are you going out with heeseung today?”

oh so that’s what this is about.

you shook your head, “it’s not really a date, he just wanted to take me out to dinner.”

chaeyeon's lips formed into a thin line at that. “you mean my brother, who’s basically a casanova, is taking you out to a casual dinner?” she shook her head disapprovingly, “i didn’t think you could be so clueless."

you squinted at her in confusion, “just tell me what you want to. don’t beat around the bush. there’s no time for that, he’ll be here any moment.”

pinching her nose in frustration, she let out a deep breath. “jungwon told me the full story of what happened at the party since someone else forgot to.” you gave her a guilty smile at that. chaeyeon caught a horrible flu a few days ago, so you didn’t really get the time to update her on all this.

“he likes you a lot. he’s been hopelessly in love with you since the past five years.”

your jaw hung open at that. there’s no way your suspicions were right. jungwon actually liked you? you felt gooey and warm like a freshly baked brownie right now. you could feel the heat spread through your entire body at the idea of jungwon liking you, something which you noticed was opposite of what you felt when you were around heeseung.

“close your mouth, i can see your internal organs.” you really wanted to slap her right now because her sarcastic commentary really wasn't helping you with the whirlwind of emotions you were going through.

you let out a deep sigh, “i really don’t know chaeyeon. i feel so happy and excited at the thought of that? but also kind of scared. he’s my best friend, you know, i don’t want to mess things up.”

she shook her head at you with pity, “it’s too late for that, you already did.”

“what do you mean?”

“are you kidding me?”, she scoffed. “jungwon is competing in the interstate taekwondo championship today!”

you stood up from your seat in horror, “what! why didn’t you tell me before?”

she wiped her runny nose into her tissue and glared at you, “you’re his closest friend, i didn’t think you would forget something so important.” she sighed, “i can’t attend the fight because of my cold, but you should.”

the honk of a car horn made you look in front to see heeseung waving at you. you mirrored his actions and looked back into your phone. “there’s still time till the fight right?”

she nodded, “kinda, it starts in thirty minutes.”

muttering a ‘shit’, you thanked her for giving you a reality check. she only nodded and coughed into her tissue once again, “it’s up to you to pick between your amazing and sincere best friend or my brother who’s probably only interested in you for your fighting skills.”

nodding solemnly, you cut the call and stuffed your phone into your side bag. by then, heeseung had walked up to your doorstep with an umbrella in his hand.

“are you ready to go?”

your hands were sat on your lap as you watched the rain fall outside of the car window. you were sitting in a rather rigid manner on your seat as you listened to heeseung blabber about some olympiads he had won medals for. you felt bad because you weren’t paying any attention to what he was saying. you couldn't get jungwon off of your mind.

the warmth he made you feel everytime he smiled and when the dimples on his cheeks showed. the way your heart fluttered when you watched him execute taekwondo moves with perfection and the way his face lit up with joy each time he was successful. the butterflies that swarmed your stomach every time you hugged him or held his hand. all of this, you had been brushing them away for so long thinking that this was a normal thing for friends. there was no way you could be more than that. but now realisation seemed to dawn upon you; you had been in love with him all along, perhaps even longer than he has been.

looking next to you, you observed heeseung. he still made you feel nervous and excited, but you realised that this was a different kind of feeling. the kind you feel when you receive updates from your favourite celebrity. it was nothing more than a schoolgirl crush, the one where he was just good eye candy to admire. he didn’t make you feel the comfort and love you felt with jungwon. and you didn’t feel the same way about him either.

you have to see jungwon, right now.

shuffling through your bag for your phone, you frantically checked the time. you still had fifteen more minutes to go before his match started.

“heeseung can you please take me to x stadium instead? i’m so sorry, but i can’t have dinner with you today, i have to go.”

heeseung frowned, “what happened all of a sudden? is it that urgent?”

“yes it is, please turn the car around.”

he nodded, still confused. he was about to question you but stopped when he saw you hold up your phone to your ear, trying to call jungwon so you could tell him you were coming to his match. he received missed calls after missed calls from you, but he didn’t pick up any. his phone was probably with the coach.

soon, heeseung stopped the car at a red light right across the stadium. you asked him to unlock the car door and thanked him for the ride.

his eyes widened, “are you going to walk in the rain? it’ll just take me five more minutes to make a u-turn.”

you shook your head, “there’s no time for that, i’ll miss jungwon-”

“you’re going to see jungwon?”

“yes, i’m sorry for leaving you like this but i can’t miss out on his match. i forgot about it till today,” you sighed, “i also need to tell him something.”

you breathed out in frustration when heeseung just stared at you blankly, not complying to your request. reaching over him you turned off the door locks. you had just stepped one leg out when he stopped you by grabbing your wrist.

“i thought you liked me.”

you looked at him with surprise. what is he playing at? judging by the pissed off expression on his face you could conclude that he was jealous because you were ditching him for his rival.

you gave him a small smile, “i was wrong.”

slamming the car door shut, you dashed off into the rain and crossed the road towards the stadium entrance. you always found the main leads in movies crazy to be running in the heavy rain towards their lover, but you finally understood their situation today. a stupid smile was graced upon your features and you couldn’t wait to tell jungwon everything you felt about him.

upon entering the stadium, you immediately ran towards the direction of the changing rooms and were met with your coach standing in front of it. his eyes widened momentarily upon seeing you all soaked.

“y/n you’re here? what hap-”

“is jungwon inside?”, desperation laced your voice as you questioned him. he nodded, “yes, but he has to be out soon-”

you cut him off once again by thanking him and entered the room behind him. the slam of a door being shut, startled the man standing in front of you, making him drop the water bottle he was holding. he faced you with eyes as wide as saucers, clearly not expecting to see you here.

“you came? but what about your dinner?”

you paced towards him and smacked his shoulder, “screw that, why didn’t you remind me of your match even if i forgot?”

he winced as you whacked him once again, “you know this is equally important to me as much as it is to you!”

he caught your hand when you were going to hit him again. “i didn’t want to disturb your date, i know how badly you want to be with him.”

he tried to mask the hurt on his face by putting on a small smile, but you could see it in his eyes. “this is just one match, i would have told you the results anyways, you didn’t have to-”

you cut him off by grabbing the collar of his white uniform and smashing your lips onto his. jungwon froze for a few seconds but then slowly closed his eyes and cupped your face as he kissed you back. he tilted his head to deepen the kiss and moved his lips with more fervour. the kiss soon turned messy and heated as you both let out your years of pent up feeling you couldn’t say. his lips were cushiony soft and tasted like vanilla and peppermint. your brain felt like it turned to mush as you moved your lips against his addictive ones. damn, if you knew he was such a good kisser, you would’ve asked him out yourself long ago.

your knees were about to give out from the intensity of the kiss, so he wrapped one of his hands around your waist and pulled you flush against him. when you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore you pushed him by his chest away slightly, but he only chased your lips for more, muffling the squeal that came out from you with his lips. he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your nose, your cheeks and continued to pepper kisses all over your face, making you giggle in glee. he pulled away and held your face as if you were the most precious gem in the world. you felt your cheeks heat up as you looked at his lips which were swollen and glossy from kissing.

“i like you so so much y/n”, his cheeks bunched up and his eyes crinkle at the corners from smiling so happily.

you kissed the dimple that appeared on his cheek and grinned at him.

“i like you a lot, too pretty boy.”

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

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galaxiasgreen · 2 months ago

Text

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 11.5k words]

"You're... beautiful," he whispered. A croaking huff emerged from your lips. "Flatterer. You don't know what I look like. I could be ugly. As ugly as a troll, for all you know." "Impossible." He reached up, drew the back of his fingers across your cheek. "Your soul is too beautiful for the outside not to match."

In which, with Sebastian imprisoned and you battling your own demons, Ominis tries to win back your affection.

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, pure-blood culture, canon rewrite, book!canon compliant, comas, coarse language, flirting, Christmas parties, mistletoe kisses, typical Victorian attitudes, Parseltongue is Sexy, Gaunt family issues.

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | NEXT AO3 | Wattpad

8. Flirtations

Most of the train ride to Hogwarts, he was mercilessly alone.

The demons of last year still haunted him. Sebastian was in Azkaban, Anne was gone, you had mental battles to overcome. He was recovering from the wounds of his losses, all of them, having stricken his mortal flesh to bloodied pulp. Nothing could happen that was worse than last year, and that was the only thing that staved off his anxieties about sixth year. About going back, pretending everything was fine.

About his newfound isolation in this terrible, cruel world.

After the Hogwarts Express left the station in York, the compartment door slid open as he was reading, trying to distract himself. That aura of power wafted inside at once.

"Hello, Missy."

"Good afternoon, Ominis." She sounded well. "May I?"

"By all means."

He did like solitude, introverted as he was, but he also appreciated that Missy had come to keep him company when his thoughts were threatening to engulf him. Missy settled her belongings – then immediately unbuckled her bag, taking out a book of her own.

"We didn't get much chance to talk during the trial. I suppose Sebastian told you I was working on an appeal? I've been scouring through old case records lately."

"Missy," he said, "it's not even the first day back."

"I'm aware. Now, I've made some decent progress—"

"And I'm certain Sebastian told you that you shouldn't dedicate all your free time to appealing his case."

The book clapped shut. "I argued about that with him."

"I'll bet you did."

"You agree that it was unfair."

"It was," he said, "but we also have school to focus on, our lives. Don't spend the entire year trying to free him. Otherwise you'll end up like him last year, searching for that cure."

Missy hesitated. Then, "Yes, all right."

Her and her Slytherin ambition. He had to admire it, at least. Sebastian had a good person fighting in his corner.

They exchanged usual small talk. Her summer, it turned out, had been mostly spent between her new lodgings in the Yorkshire Dales – Professor Fig had bequeathed his cottage to her in his will – and Hogsmeade, from where resided many of her friends who'd helped her prepare material for Sebastian's trial. It was thanks to them, she said, that Sebastian wasn't imprisoned for life.

"I visited Hogwarts when I was there, too," she said. "I met with Gibby a few times."

Inevitably your name came up – and always, with Missy, with that wily undertone.

"I take it she's on board?"

"With Natty and Garreth," she paused, "and Leander."

It filled him with a distinct sense of embarrassment that you could bear to be around Leander Prewett more than your old best friend.

"Ominis—"

"I'm glad she's settling back into normal ways," he said, cutting her off.

Thankfully, she left it at that.

This year promised to be a turning point in his life. His old friendship group was fractured beyond repair, and without Sebastian, Anne, and you, he had no one in which to find safety and comfort. He would be alone, lonely. There was Missy, of course, but she had plenty of her own friends – the caverns were proof of that – and that left him adrift, too late to start making new connections.

At least, that's what he thought, ten days into term.

"Hey, Gaunt!"

Ominis perked up. The Great Hall had emptied after lunch – he was thumbing through his Arithmancy textbook before the class when the bench groaned next to him.

"Garreth," he said, apprehensive. "What do you want?"

"Nothing at all," said Garreth; he sounded genuinely cheerful. "I noticed you were alone and thought I'd say hello. What are you reading?"

"Theories of Numerology."

"Sounds dreadful."

"It's actually riveting," Ominis said, deadpan, "and I'd quite like to get back to it, if you have nothing else to say."

If Garreth was offended at his bluntness, he didn't sound it. "If you must know, I did actually want to ask about the trial. I was surprised at what you said about Sebastian – the first parts, when you answered their questions, was that written for you?"

Ominis furrowed his brow. "Yes."

"Parents, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Ooo. Nasty."

"You really waited this long to ask me about Sebastian's trial?"

"Hey, I'm not afraid to admit I'm slow, and my aunt's got me helping this Ravenclaw girl with Potions, so what little brainpower I have is already being drained." Unfortunately he only sank further into the table, making no attempt to leave. "Don't suppose you've done the History of Magic essay?"

"... You mean the one due tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not letting you copy it."

"Damn— I mean, right, that's fine."

And though it pained him to say it, he mumbled, "Gibby is excellent at the subject. She will help you. Quite likely will let you copy from her, too, though you didn't hear that from me."

"Oh, er, yeah," said Garreth. "Thanks."

Ominis was silent.

"Well," and the boy clapped him on the shoulder. "See you around? Er, not literally, of course. You know what I mean."

He skedaddled. That, Ominis thought, was suspicious. Tellingly his first thought was that Leander had sent him to spy, but no, that was ridiculous. Leander may have vied for your affections, but neither would he stoop that low, nor was he intelligent enough to think of such an idea.

Yet it was a puzzle Ominis couldn't finagle, and Garreth continued to pester him like that for the next few weeks. He was no Sebastian, but they carried themselves similarly – bright and bold and chomping off more than they could chew. Together they were a dynamic duo of troublemakers, especially in Potions, but whilst Sebastian was like a storm, Garreth was more like a restless sunbeam on a balmy spring day.

"I think it's nice," said Missy to him, one frosty weekend morning in October, when most people were out of the common room. "That you have a new friend."

Ominis leant back on the high-backed chair. "He's not my friend. He wants something, I just know it. Homework, or potions ingredients."

"He's my friend," she remarked. "I can vouch for him. He's a genuinely good person."

"I'm sure he's delightful."

"It can't hurt to have more friends, Ominis, have an open mind." She cleared her throat. "Which... brings me to something."

"More trial research?"

"No." She moved her chair closer and, to his surprise, cast the Imperturbable charm, creating a bubble that blocked out all sound. "I have something I'd like to tell you. About ancient magic."

He put aside his textbooks. "And that is?"

"I can see it around you. Around the others, too, that came to the caverns."

His awareness shifted then, as if trying to sense it floating around him, but when he felt nothing out of the ordinary, his lips buttoned.

"Is it... bad?"

"No. Mere wisps, really, but it's been there since the repository. I know I should've told you earlier, but with everything going on, with Fig and Gibby and Sebastian ..." She cleared her throat. "I've been hearing things, seeing things a lot since then, too."

"How so? What are you seeing?"

"Memories, from centuries ago. During the Tudor period."

His brow furrowed. "Was that not..."

"When Isidora Morganach was alive? Yes. I... I believe these are the memories and emotions of the students she stole from."

Which now lived in her body.

"That does not sound healthy."

"It's been harmless."

"So far." He tapped his wand on his thigh. "You absorbed a great deal of that magic. How do you know it will not... overwhelm you?"

"I don't. Without Fig we know very little about this magic I possess. I'm learning about it as you are." That wasn't an answer, but she seemed aware of that. "I'm only telling you because— I suppose I'm looking for solidarity."

"I can hardly provide solidarity for something I don't understand," he said, then added, "I won't tell another soul about it."

"Thank you. I mean that, sincerely."

That did beg the question, though. Why had her strange ancient magic attached itself to him? To the others? Was it simply because they'd held her when she absorbed the repository? Was it his own ancient magic, waking from inside him?

"If the visions worsen," he said, "let me know."

"I shall. In return, I want to help you with something."

Intrigue surfed through him, and he reclined, easing again now that a lightness had returned to her voice. "What could the Hero of Hogwarts help me with?"

"Well, since you seem reluctant to do anything yourself," she said, with a lilt of teasing, "I thought I would help you in winning back Gibby's affection."

His stomach knotted. This conversation had taken a turn he did not like.

"There's nothing to win back."

"If you're not careful, she's going to fall into Leander Prewett's arms and never look back."

The thought filled him with rage, yet he said, "It is what it is," because whomever you chose to spend your time with was your decision.

"There you go again," said Missy, exasperated, "sounding as if you've already given up."

But she couldn't possibly understand how crushing it was to know that you couldn't bear to be near him for very long, nor alone. That every conversation was stilted and awkward, like four years of friendship no longer mattered. That you didn't touch him or hold him or tease him anymore, because the pain was too great. A pain he hadn't been quick enough to stop.

"What do you possibly suggest I do?" he dared to ask. "Because right now being in my mere presence distresses her."

"I'm suggesting," said Missy, "that you court her."

He almost – almost – laughed.

"Court her? That is lunacy."

"Why? You can't tell her she's pretty, no, but you can compliment her, engage in flirtations with her. Gibby is a hopeless romantic. She will melt."

"But she— she doesn't like me that way."

"I know you're blind, Ominis, but you're not, you know... blind."

He knew that. The Amortentia, for one, proved him wrong. But that was a long time ago.

Missy was gentle now. "Fight for her. Charm her. Earn her affections back."

He sat up. "You're forgetting something key. I come from a family of anti-Muggle supremacists, for whom the word disapprove does not do justice."

"Remember what I said? Forget them. Do it for you. You'll regret it if you don't at least try. And if you need some help along the way, I'll be there." When his expression crumpled, she merely added, "You deserve some happiness too. And, well, the boy I like is in prison, so all I can do right now is help you."

He let out a single, sad chuckle. What a pair they made.

Fine, then. That day he resolved he would try, would fight for you. But he would also guard his heart, and yours. He was not prepared to offer his love only to have it stolen away again – by fate, by family, by whatever else came careening his way. He was not at the point where he felt like he could give all of himself.

He had been shattered too many times, and had not yet recovered from the last blow.

Flirtations. A word that filled him with dread. Over the course of the first three months, you didn't speak more than you had to during class. That was okay, you needed space, and he needed time to think about a strategy. How did he plan to win you back? How could he court you, when he was your ruin? He thought back over the years, picking apart moments, no matter how fleeting, that he could use to help.

Like that time he discovered your ultimate dream.

"Happy birthday!"

You squealed when he, Sebastian and Anne, plus Adelaide, Arthur and Evangeline, jumped out from behind the pillars by the pond in the Transfiguration Courtyard.

"I-It's not my fourteenth birthday until the holidays!" you said. Your arm was still in a sling from the bad fall you'd taken from a tree.

"We know that," said Evangeline. "But since we're never at school during your birthday, we thought we'd celebrate early! Have a picnic!"

"I'll take credit," said Sebastian, preening. "It was my idea."

"Then I sorted the food," said Anne. "And the picnic, and telling everyone..."

"Yeah," said Adelaide, laughing. "Really, Sebastian didn't do anything."

"Snitches," muttered Sebastian, but there was no real scorn there.

They all gave you presents, mostly sweets, but also a necklace, from Adelaide, and a new blouse, from Anne. Sebastian divvied out the food – sandwiches, flasks of tea, cakes, tarts, fruit, bread and cheese and a cheeky bottle of wine Arthur managed to procure from the kitchens. Ominis nursed a glass as you chatted.

"This is so fun! On my actual birthday my parents just let me off chores – although once, when I was nine, my papa took me to the panto!"

"Panto?" asked Sebastian.

"Pantomime, you know, a theatre production for children? It's usually at Christmas, but that year they did one in summer. You... don't have that?"

"Obviously not," he said, laughing.

"You mean, ohhhhh no we don't!" At the silence, you cleared your throat. "Sorry, sorry, Muggle joke."

"Mark another for the Gibberish Vocabulary," he mused. "What else are we missing from the Muggle world?"

"That's a big question," Arthur laughed. "Do you really trust Gibby to answer it?"

"Excuse me, I was raised Muggle, unlike you," you said indignantly, trying to peel a banana with one hand. "You can ask me, but you'll have to be more specific."

Adelaide peeled it for you before giving it back. "If you weren't a witch, what school were you going to go to?"

"School? Oh, no, I wasn't going to go to school! I was lucky I knew how to read."

A collective sweep of surprise went through them all, Ominis included.

"I was going to help my papa run the confectionary," you said brightly. "And my mama was going to teach me embroidery and needlework, cooking and cleaning..."

"So, what?" Sebastian asked, incredulous. "So you could... become a housewife?"

"Yep!"

"That sounds horrible," said Anne.

"Oh, well," you seemed embarrassed, "it's not so bad, really. Women can't own property—"

"What?" roared the girls.

"— so I was going to learn those skills that would make me useful around the home. Then when I married, the confectionary business could continue under my husband's name, but secretly I would run it, of course."

For some reason, that made his lungs squeeze.

"Gibby," said Adelaide, "that's awful."

"Yeah!" Evangeline protested. "Why can't you own the confectionary?"

"It's just— not how it's done."

"I'm glad you're a witch," she said stormily. "Now you don't have to follow such stupid rules."

You chomped on your banana, silent, and Ominis detected a hint of shame.

"Is it also true," Sebastian said, "that boys and girls can't be seen alone together?"

"Adult men and women, yes," you said, mouth full. "You have to have a chaperone, and if someone catches you alone together, it can cause a big scandal. The woman is seen as—" you whispered the word, "promiscuous."

How absurd. Ominis frowned. "Just being alone together means the woman is wanton?"

"And what about the man?" Evangeline asked hotly.

"Not the same for men."

"That's ridiculous! Why does Muggle society hate women?"

"I don't know. Every time I send a letter home, I have to remind my mama that magical folk have different rules. She lost her marbles when she found out I was socialising with three boys." You sighed. "The wizarding world is very, erm, open-minded. There was a lot of stuff I had to learn, but there was also a lot of stuff I had to unlearn, too."

There was something to be said about being raised in the magical world. At least, as a man, Ominis had rights no matter which side, and you... well, he was glad you were given an opportunity to grow into yourself, better than the Muggle world could offer you.

Sebastian clasped your shoulder then. "We're glad you're with us, Gibby." Then he gasped, comical. "Oh no, your virtue! I have thoroughly besmirched it with one touch on your shoulder!"

"Scandal!" Anne cried. "To the gallows!"

And even though you laughed, he noticed it didn't quite reach its normal, song-like inflection. He unravelled the conversation in his head as the topic moved on, and realised that perhaps, in your ideal future, you did want to become a housewife, you did want to run the confectionary with your husband after your father was gone. No magic or witchery had ever changed that.

Was that still what you wanted? Is it something you still want? To run your family business, to have a husband and a family to call your own?

Is that something he can ever hope to give you now, after everything?

And would you ever want that role to be given to him?

"The mistletoe discriminates for no one!"

A day before the start of his sixth year Christmas holidays, he received an invitation to a secret Christmas gathering of Missy's that evening, after the feast.

He'd wondered where such a gathering could take place – Professor Black was quite against them – but the instructions were unclear, only to meet on the seventh floor above the Charm classrooms. Missy had been reluctant to give too much detail when he queried her that day, but supposedly, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, there was a vast room she'd been using as her own private space. It only opened for her, and what she needed.

"Well," she muttered, "that's what I've told the others I've invited. The room will open to anyone if only they ask for it. I'm only telling you because I know you won't tell everyone."

After all these years, Hogwarts still found ways to surprise him.

She'd invited only the people who had joined her down in the caverns last year, plus you. A private party; for once it was nice to relax, be off-guard. Did Ominis like everyone there? Certainly not. Amit Thakkar was a know-it-all, Everett Clopton an annoying prat, Garreth Weasley was still suspicious, and Leander Prewett – well, he needed no explanation as to his intense dislike for that prick.

But did he trust them all? Did he trust them to keep secrets that weren't theirs to share? He was surprised to find he did.

Most importantly, he could trust that, around them, he could be seen with you.

It was an eclectic room to suit Missy's eclectic taste. The others talked of furniture that didn't match and strange design choices. It smelt like polished wood, flora, the acridness of a boiling cauldron and, oddly enough, animal food, though the latter came from the gateways to outside domes – what Missy called vivariums – where she kept beasts she'd rescued from poachers. She spent some of her evenings trying to nurse the creatures to full health before rehabilitating them in the wild.

As Ominis accustomed himself to the place, Natsai and Nerida added decorations, Poppy and Adelaide brought in food. Everett was in charge of entertainment and brought games to play. And Garreth had been into Zonkos for an enchanted mistletoe, which jingled above the heads of two random people, only ceasing in exchange for one thing.

"I would literally rather die than kiss you."

"This is just a test run, Imelda, and you're already being overdramatic."

"It's your bloody mistletoe and it's already caught you!" She tried to swat the thing, but it danced out of reach. "Ever thought what it would do for people who don't want to kiss for personal reasons? Like, an aversion to physical touch?"

"... Are you averse to physical touch?"

"Not unless it's a punch in the gob," she said, "which seems pretty tempting right now."

"Come on, where's your Christmas spirit?" said Garreth, though his voice rattled nervously. "It doesn't have to be a proper snog, and I know you'd rather I be a girl. Just a swift kiss to the head will do."

Ominis chuckled into his flute of wine. He and Missy were sitting at a nearby table, soaking in the atmosphere as the party had begun in earnest. A gramophone was lilting a jaunty tune between the humdrum of cheer. Reluctantly Imelda kissed the top of Garreth's head, making retching noises as she did, and the mistletoe stopped its jangling, though she promised to hex him if it caught her again.

"Any change to your visions?" Ominis asked.

"None," said Missy. "If anything they've been rather refreshing distractions from building Sebastian's appeal. The Wizengamot refuse to reply to my letters."

The door edged open, followed by a flurry of timid steps. Yours, late. A great cheer arose when you entered; usually you were wowed by magic you had never seen before, and a secret room was perfect for you – but you made no noise of wonder, only a shy "Hello," in acknowledgment. Missy slipped off the chair to greet you warmly – but you didn't hug, he noticed. Not anymore.

Most of these people, after all, you'd seen in your nightmares.

"Merry Christmas, Ominis," you said. Everything hung between you, a great echoing chasm. "I came to say goodbye."

His chest gave a painful lurch. "You're going home for the holiday?"

"Yes."

Disappointment eroded his ease.

"The train doesn't leave until tomorrow morning," Missy said. "I insist you stay for a little while."

"I have to pack."

"You're a witch," he reminded. "It'll take you seconds."

You were quiet, and he could tell you hadn't forgotten this rather important fact. You were simply looking for a polite excuse to escape. He turned back to the table, forced himself to drink.

"What Ominis means," Missy said, and he could feel her glaring, "is that there's plenty of time before curfew, should you wish to stay."

"I-I mean... would... you mind? I just... want to get used to being around all of my friends again."

"Of course I wouldn't mind. Stay for as long as you feel comfortable."

So Missy got you a drink – pumpkin juice – and let you linger by the door, enjoying the atmosphere but never fully involved, trying to peel back more and more of the curse, one moment at a time. It pained him to sit so far away from you. He was the wallflower, drawn to the sides, to the quiet corners. You, on the other hand, loved parties and socialising. Very often, you were the life of them, playing the games, eating food, talking non-stop, encouraging madness. Not this nervous creature, afraid of participation. Not someone who found the presence of so many people overwhelming.

You stayed on the sides, away from everyone, as Natsai set up a smaller version of Summoner's Court. Almost everyone played – even Ominis himself, roped into a game when Leander made an off-hand comment that he could, surely, 'beat the blind bloke' (Ominis won, naturally). They drank in-between – Everett had secured a keg of Firewhiskey – and it was clear most of the sixth-years couldn't handle their alcohol.

As Ominis was on his second glass of wine, Leander staggered towards you. The worst of it was, you didn't flinch or push him away.

"It's nice to see you back at parties, Gibs," he said, clearly finding some Dutch courage. "I'm glad you're getting better."

"Thanks, Leander," you said sweetly.

"Am I— too close to you right now? Do you want me to step back? Sorry, I really don't want to spook you."

To Ominis' surprise, and infuriation, you let out a giggle. "You're okay where you are. Just don't fall over. I don't think I'm strong enough to catch you."

"Wow. Were you always really short?"

"I think you're just really tall."

"Like a tree!"

Like a troll, Ominis thought.

Nerida slipped into the chair next to Ominis then, fiddling with her wand. "I think Everett jinxed my robe. I can't seem to stop swinging my arms every time a new song comes on."

"Sounds like something Everett would do," he murmured non-committedly.

He'd missed what you said next, but it made Leander thunder with laughter.

"Good to see no curse stops the legendary Gibberish Vocabulary."

You harrumphed. "It's not the Gibberish Vocabulary. It's true. Take any object and put -ed at the end. Congratulations, you've turned it into the Muggle word for drunk."

"Bottle?"

"You're completely bottled, Leander."

"Wand?"

"He's wanded up, all right."

"Robe, then?"

"I'm absolutely robed."

"I don't know, that last one was shaky, Gibs." He laughed again. "You sure you're not... pulling my leg?"

Then it came. The jingle of mistletoe.

Directly above your and Leander's heads.

Ominis almost sprayed wine everywhere. Your banter and teasing he could just about handle. But you and Leander kissing?

"The mistletoe has chosen its next—!" Garreth halted. "Oh. Ah."

"Bum," Leander said, and to his credit he did sound embarrassed. "Hey, Garreth, I think we should make an exception for Gibs. You know, curse and all..."

"I can speak for myself." You took a breath. "It's all right."

All right? It was absolutely not all right. You were still readjusting to these people being in your life. A kiss was— too much, too fast. Ominis' grip on his glass tightened, and he made to get up, complain on your behalf, you were just being nice after all—

"Oh, well," Leander cleared his throat, "can I kiss you then?"

There was some pause. The jingling continued.

"Yes," you said, "okay."

Then he heard the kiss on your cheek.

Crack. The flute's stem snapped, spilling wine everywhere, and Ominis hissed. The mistletoe ceased as Nerida squeaked.

"Oh, Ominis, careful! Reparo!"

He purged the liquid as the glass repaired itself. The shards had cut into his palms, and quickly he dabbed a napkin to staunch the bleeding. It came away sticky.

No pain, however, could subdue the rage incinerating him right now.

Leander was entirely all too pleased by the time Ominis tuned back in. "You have nice cheeks. Really soft."

"Thanks," you said prettily. "You— have nice lips."

Ominis gritted his teeth. Was a jinx too much? Perhaps a small hex then? Or one little Blasting curse? Leander could take it, surely. Throttled by temptation, he resisted all urges as you both continued to chat, perfectly content.

"I saw you break your glass. Are you all right?"

Missy, at his side. "I'm fine," Ominis said, drawing his ear away. "I'll cast Episkey when the bleeding stops."

She laughed softly. "I wasn't referring to your hand." She leant close and whispered, "That happening at the same time those two kiss? Definitely not suspicious."

He discarded the napkin onto the table before leaving. "I'm not having this conversation."

He didn't cast a Healing charm in the end – the pain was a welcome distraction from his aggravation. The kiss seemed to have broken the ice for you, and for the first time, you spoke to people willingly, not just Leander but your other friends as well. Ominis switched to pumpkin juice – clearly the wine was doing terrible things to his head – and continued to linger at the sides, mood souring. He listened intently when Leander was speaking, if only to glean something from him. Weaknesses, maybe. What on earth did Prewett have that you found likeable? The boy was a bully, abrasive and vain. Of course Ominis had no idea what he looked like, but there had to be something appealing there, as his soggy toilet seat of a personality couldn't possibly have won you over.

He massaged his temple, plying the low ache forming in his skull. Flirtations. Courtship. As the boys played Exploding Snap, he found another seat in the corner of the room, brooding miserly over the idea. He had no idea how to flirt, no idea as to the subtle machinations of showing affection without showing too much. Your voice was enthralling, your personality like sunshine, everything about you so pleasant that he was drawn to you helplessly.

He just he couldn't imagine saying that. To your face.

A body slipped into the chair next to him. He didn't recognise your timid gait – but your scent was still the same, and his heart notched in speed. Heartening to know that, after everything, you still clung to strawberry laces, sweet as memories.

"Have..." You trailed off, then tried again. "Have you heard from Anne?"

You initiated. That was good.

"Not since a few days before your curse was broken." Which you already knew about. He hadn't heard from her since, but, well, he was no longer worried for Anne anymore.

"I hope she's okay. What... happened to your hand?"

"Oh." He cleared his throat gruffly. "I broke a glass."

"Too much wine?"

"Hardly. I was just—" He fished for the word. "Inept."

"Let me see."

He swallowed thickly and offered his hand. You traced the fine clotted wounds, your touch feather-light, drawing a luxurious heat to his cheeks.

"Shall I heal it?"

"If you want."

He felt your wand tip press to his palm. "Episkey." The pain vanished, and he was upsettingly aware that you were probably wondering why he didn't just do that himself. "Be more careful, okay?"

"Usually I'm the one saying that to you."

"We ought to swap places from time to time. Keeps life interesting." A note of amusement threaded through you. "I've never seen you drunk."

"And you never shall."

"Is that a challenge?"

"It's a promise."

A soft chuckle. "This is nice. Just— bantering and teasing. Do you ever miss first year? When it was just... me and you and Sebastian and Anne, and we didn't have to worry about goblins or curses or— evil family members?"

He traced the tip of his finger along the rim of the glass, and admitted with sad clarity, "I miss it every day."

You sounded sad too. "Now there's only two of us."

"Well," Ominis said softly, "better than only me."

Imelda's booming laugher cut off your meek reply – shortly followed by the jingling of mistletoe. Ominis inclined his attention to his left.

"The mistletoe discriminates for no one!" she jeered. "Yeah, taste of your own damn medicine, isn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Garreth groaned. "Look, Everett, you're a nice chap and all—"

"Frankly I'd rather kiss a troll," said Everett, miming sickness.

"Hey, I won't judge whatever you're into."

You giggled beneath your breath, which made Ominis smile. They did kiss, on Everett's forehead – only because Garreth couldn't see his precious Galleons wasted like that – but after that he stuffed the mistletoe in a jar on the mantelpiece.

"Well, erm," you cleared your throat. "It was nice to see you."

"You're going already?"

"I've... had enough excitement. I get— anxious easily, now."

That made him clench his glass. "I see."

"Well, you don't." He must've made a stony face, because you said, "That was a joke. Just to show... we're okay, both of us. I'll... I'll see you after Christmas, all right?"

You stood and made to go, and by instinct he stood as well.

"Stay."

"What?"

"Over— Christmas," he said, trying not to stumble. "Stay. Please. I— don't want to be alone this holiday."

There was some emotion in your voice he couldn't identify. "You won't be alone. Missy is staying too."

"Yes," he said, breathless, "but she isn't you."

Was that a flirtation? He had no idea. You inhaled a long breath, seeming to contemplate this – seriously reconsider. His heart leapt with hope.

"I can't, Ominis," you said, and it was a sharp prick to deflate him. "I'm sorry. It's— I'm not over it all yet. I can't— be alone with you."

"You saw your family in your nightmares, didn't you?" he questioned in a rush. "Why do you think it'll be easier—?"

"It won't," you said, insistent. "But I haven't spent a lot of time at home for the past year and I miss them—"

"You miss me. You said so."

"You're different, okay?" you snapped. "You're being really unfair right now."

Because, the thought pierced him, I miss you too.

But he didn't say it. He couldn't.

Something smashed – glass. Garreth swore.

"Garreth!" Imelda cried. "You stupid—"

"Merlin's left arsecheek, I know, I'm clumsy! Finite Incantatum!"

But the spell missed, probably because he was too drunk to stand straight. Ominis turned towards the commotion, not understanding what was happening—

Jingle, jingle. The mistletoe belled above his head.

And yours.

"Whoaaa, okay, we have to leave this one!" slurred Garreth. "Get in there, Gaunty boy!"

Under the mistletoe. With you.

A flush overwhelmed him as the mistletoe jingled again, expectant. He didn't know what to make of your absolute silence. You were amused, and more than a little flattered, when you were caught with Leander, but now you were with him.

"Garreth," he said steadily, trying to remember he and most of the others were so drunk they couldn't tell face from arse. "I will not force Gibby to do anything—"

"I can speak for myself, you know," you said, that same edge to your inflection.

He didn't move. Neither did you.

"S-So— but—"

"What?"

Damn it, he was flustering. "You don't want to kiss me."

"You're talking over me again." Your ire bloomed something in his chest. "Just— say it, if you want to say it. You don't want to kiss me."

That could not have been further than the truth, but damn if he was going to say it, show it in front of all these people. "I— if it will stop this infernal jingling..."

A coward's answer, for certain. Still, the whole room was cheering, whooping, encouraging them, which only made his traitorous heart worse. Finally he turned to you, schooling his face into something more composed.

"Listen, I'm sorry for what I said. I do know I'm... different to you, and you're still accustoming to being around me, but if you are even slightly uncomfortable—"

And as sudden as a flash of lightning, you had closed the gap between you, and your lips were on his cheek.

Soft, sweet, seducing.

He barely had time to register it before you were stepping away again, and the jaunty mistletoe ceased. This made everyone in the room cheer like some great hurdle had been overcome. The feeling of your lips lingered.

And it made his insides scream.

"There," you mumbled. "Now you can stop talking over me."

Deep longing crashed through his chest, clammed his tongue. Too dazed to reply, he simply stood there, motionless and stiff. Do something. Say something! But he couldn't. His internal wiring had fizzled out in the same moment the breath left his lungs.

"Right," you blurted, "I— I really have to go now. So, erm, have a nice Christmas. Everyone."

And you were scurrying away, back through the door. Gone.

It took a second for the rest of his body to catch up. For his heart to race at the speed of a train, for the blood to rush to his cheeks. He'd had to endure listening to Leander kiss you, but this made up for it a thousand times over.

And then, regret.

Why didn't I kiss you back?

Someone nudged him then. Garreth.

"Damn, she ran straight out. How bad do your cheeks taste, Gaunt?"

"If you don't stop that bloody mistletoe, Weasley," Ominis muttered, "I will turn your insides into outsides."

"Duly noted. Finite Incantatum!"

This one he didn't miss. The mistletoe dissolved.

The partying resumed like nothing had changed, of course. No one mourned the mistletoe, and the consequences of such a kiss. The way it consumed Ominis' thoughts, so much that he had to find a seat immediately, massage his temple, resist the urge to touch his cheek.

"You seemed to enjoy that."

Ominis scowled at Missy's tone. "Not another word."

But she chuckled beneath her breath. It was vaguely sinister. "Very strange how Garreth happened to trip into the glass, and the mistletoe happened to choose you and Gibby, isn't it?"

"... You are evil."

"I'm a Slytherin," she corrected. "Merry Christmas."

It was certainly a Christmas, and though a kiss from you was a priceless gift, a moment he would cherish, he'd more describe the two weeks holiday as strange. The day itself had been fine – fun, even, when Missy gifted him some cologne ("So you actually start smelling attractive." "A simple I thought this smelt nice would've sufficed."), and he gifted her a loud pocket watch (for no reason other than to stop her sneaking up on him), and they played Summoner's Court in the snow.

On Boxing Day, however, he was accosted in the Slytherin common room, an arm looping through with his. If it weren't for his brain processing the girl's scent – champagne and vintage fur – he might've flinched.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Ominis," crooned Dorothy Ellingboe, his cousin once-removed. "You're coming with me."

"To where?"

She didn't say, only dragging him out to the faculty tower. His thoughts ran rampant when they reached the door to the staff area. Had he been caught with you? Had Missy's secret been exposed? He could tell by the mighty bounce in her step that she knew something he didn't.

When they pushed into a sitting room, hearth blazing, Ominis' reluctance tripled.

"Ah, there you are."

He recognised this voice too, Dorothy's haughty mother. Much like Dorothy herself, she had a slight force to her words – full of a barely-concealed malice. Once a Gaunt, always a Gaunt, no matter how distant.

"I've brought him as requested," said Dorothy, and she set him down on the sofa.

"What is the meaning of this?" he enquired, not quite politely.

"We're merely making rounds, Ominis," said Mrs Ellingboe coolly. "There's something I'd like to hear for myself. Your parents tell me you have the ability. So, pray tell, how is your Parseltongue?"

Only until she'd finished did he realise she'd spoken entirely in the snake's language. His stomach twisted. Dorothy was silent at his side, but he could tell she was waiting, as her mother was, to test him.

"Fine," he replied, forcing out the guttural tongue. Always ready, as he'd feared. "Is that really the only purpose of this visit?"

"Parseltongue is a dying art," his cousin hissed. "It is important to speak it frequently, so as to make sure the language does not die."

"It is not a language you can learn," he said, remembering Sebastian's words in the Scriptorium. "It won't matter whether I speak it frequently or not."

"You have a sharp tongue, boy," she said, not without a small amount of amusement. "You ought to not to bite a hand that feeds you."

He had no idea what that meant. He kept as far away from the Ellingboes as possible.

"So?" Dorothy asked – in English. "Does it meet your standards, Mother?"

"Yes," she replied. "It is legitimate."

He stood. "If that's all, I shall take my leave."

"Very well."

He almost didn't want to return to the common room, knowing how easily he was buttonholed. What in Merlin's name did she and his family want to test his Parseltongue for? Was she sent by his own parents, prodding once more at the strength of Slytherin's blood? Some inane test about his legacy or whatever nonsense Marvolo liked to parrot?

She didn't bother him again for the rest of Christmas, a small relief. Missy didn't know what to make of it either, when he shared it. So the January term began anew, and on the fourth day in, he was surprised to find a note in his pocket.

Meet alone? Undercroft, 8pm.

This was no small feat. It had been eight months since you'd woken, and not once since had you requested alone time with him. He was more than a little relieved, and nervous, to meet you there. He washed and dressed and was in the Undercroft at exactly eight, knowing you would likely be late.

But a moment after he arrived, the gate lifted.

"Hello, Ominis," you greeted shyly, coming over.

He studied your voice, as he always did. You sounded... better.

"Hello, Gibby."

"You're... wearing something?"

"Clothes, funnily enough."

"No, I mean— is that cologne?"

Merlin. He'd probably put too much on. "I got it for Christmas. From Missy."

"Aw, that's kind of her."

"Not so when she tells you that you smell."

You laughed, right from your chest – an inkling of your old self.

"You don't smell. She was teasing... I think."

"One can never be sure with her."

"But— it is nice, really," you said sweetly. "It suits you."

You didn't sit close anymore, and he remembered that day after he argued with Sebastian, when you had comforted him, head on his shoulder. All he could smell back then was strawberry laces. Those days were gone, but he was grateful you were here at all, even if not in close proximity.

You shared what you'd been up to over Christmas. You were again forced to readjust to your parents and all three of your loud brothers, who didn't quite understand the parameters of your curse. Acting as if everything was okay, however, seemed to help you around them – because they had little knowledge of the magical world, and how cruel it could truly be.

"I also received a proposal. Well, an informal proposal, I suppose."

His lungs knotted. "From whom?"

"The baker's son, Timothy Spink. I've known him my whole life."

Ominis loathed him already. "Oh?" he said with forced nonchalance.

"Technically he just reminded me about a promise we made when we were children. Do you remember Muggle courtship rules? Neither of us want the fuss and bother of going to church and meeting eligible partners. So he asked seriously if we could marry each other when we're both older. I said I'd think about it."

"And will you? Think about it?"

"Maaaaaybe."

"Don't tease, Gibby."

"Why? Doesn't Mrs Spink sound fetching?"

"Dreadful, actually." He raised his chin. "You deserve much more than a marriage of convenience."

You quietened, and he couldn't tell what you thought about that.

"I suppose it does sound rather dreadful, doesn't it?"

That brought him an amount of relief he could not quantify. He told you about his Christmas, mostly relaxing with Missy, poring through law books to see any loopholes in Sebastian's sentence, practicing spells they'd need for their N.E.W.T. classes. He also told you about his unfortunate encounter with Dorothy.

"Parseltongue?" you questioned. "Why's she testing your Parseltongue?"

"I don't have the faintest idea."

"Hmm, well," you mused, "it is a very cool ability, to speak to snakes."

You must've been thinking back of the Scriptorium – the first time he'd used the ability in years, and the first time he'd used it in front of you.

"It's not something to boast about," he murmured.

"You said it was associated with Dark wizards."

"Yes, because only Slytherin's descendants have the ability."

"But the language itself, it's not bad, is it? Like, you don't want to kill a bunch of Muggles after you speak it?"

"You shouldn't joke about that."

"I'm not."

His lips pursed. "You cannot uproot its history so easily. It is bad."

"But that's like when my brother Connor tried to teach me Welsh swear words. The whole Welsh language isn't bad because of it, is it? Parseltongue is the same." You hummed. "Say something nice."

"What?"

"In Parseltongue. Say something nice. Like... the sun feels good on my skin."

His brow crumpled, but he obliged. "Very well. The sun feels good on my skin."

"Was that so evil?"

When he spoke the language in the Scriptorium, it was a deep betrayal of his personal values, an abomination, used to access Dark Magic and hurt you and coax Sebastian into eventually using the Unforgivable Curses. When he spoke it to Dorothy's mother, it was a means to an end, an escape for her scrutiny, a test of the legacy he bore. But such an innocent phrase... there was nothing sinister in it, only in the way it sounded. Only in the way he perceived it.

"I suppose not," he hedged.

"Say something else," you said, eager.

He rubbed his temple. Now he'd opened the floodgates. "Such as?"

"I'll guess!"

A game, then? He smirked, and was gratified to hear you laugh in return.

"Othinuisss haunthh hassshith hssssiet."

"Hint?"

"A common way for me to greet someone new."

"Hmm... 'Nice to meet you'?"

"No. I said My name is Ominis Gaunt. Othinuisss haunthh is my name in the tongue."

"Othinis haunts hashith hissiet!"

He snorted. "Slytherin just rolled in his grave."

"Good." Your enthusiasm was palpable. "Again!"

"A simpler one, then." He knew what to say. "Hithhy."

"'Gibby'?"

"Correct."

"Hithy hashith hissiet!"

"Not hithy. Hithhy."

"That's definitely what I said."

"There's more emphasis on the h sound. You said the equivalent of Jih-BIH, rather than Jih-BEE."

You giggled, falling back against the floor. "It's so amazing that you can just say it. You didn't have to learn it, or its rules. It's just... programmed into your brain."

He sobered. "Into my bloodline, you mean."

You sat up, voice gentle.

"A language is a tool, Ominis. It can't be inherently bad. It's only in how you use it."

There was truth to that, and to hear you say it made him feel... lighter.

"I know you don't like it very much, and this might not mean anything to you," and you shied, "but I think it's— it's really— well, it's kind of... attractive when you speak it."

He flushed from tip to toe. His hissing was attractive? He had to turn away from you then, fearing his expression was too hopeful, too desperate. Stop blushing, fool, but it was impossible, when you'd outright confessed it to him. When you brought back the memory of you under the mistletoe, the smell of you in the Amortentia. You, in everything.

How he wished he could kiss you now.

"I— ahem." He cleared his throat noisily. "That— I think—" Merlin.

"Ominis."

It was infuriating not to be able to read your expressions as easily as you read his. He faced you, and with startling awareness, realised you were crawling over to him.

"Sebastian and Anne are gone now," you mumbled, "but you're still here, and I know you always will be, so... thank you. Thank you for... being my friend."

You'd said that to him before, a long time ago now. He thought he'd changed, his past catching him unawares, his family thumbing away compassion and joy bit by bit, his future looming over him, promising sweet rot, but to think that after everything, you still believed in his goodness...

The memory of Christmas fluttered back to him.

"I missed you." It came out as an injured admission. "I have missed you every day for the last two years."

Your silence was foreboding.

"It's funny," you said quietly. "Sometimes I look at you and— see that horrible version of you, torturing me, enjoying it. Sometimes I see you and my breath catches in terror." His chest throbbed painfully. "But then... memories of everything before come back, and you say things like that, and... I remember that behind a wall of stone, you guard a heart of gold."

He felt it on his pinkie finger then – your own, brushing his. He almost flinched, the suddenness startling him. Then came that rush of adrenaline, as potent as lightning. Your finger intertwined with his daringly, and he responded, turning his palm over, letting you lace your hand with his.

And there you were, both of you, sitting in the Undercroft, holding hands.

"This is the most I can do for now," you whispered.

He smiled. Caught his breath.

"This is enough."

You continued to meet in secret like before. Your touches were brief like before, too. Shy and awkward. Sometimes Missy invited you and him, and Garreth, to her magical room. On your worst days you declined. On your lesser worse days you simply did revision to the sounds of the beasts roaming in the vivariums, barely saying a word. That was okay. You couldn't give yourself wholly yet, and he was prepared to wait.

He would wait an eternity, if it meant he could be yours again.

By the end of spring, he had gained much more courage, and so had you. You talked for hours, you teased one another, and you laughed, laughed so hard sometimes tears came out of your eyes, and his. Once you fell asleep against his shoulder, and he stayed with you the whole night, if only to allow you a semblance of peace as the workload ramped up and the year drew to yet another close.

Still he thought of that moment under the mistletoe. Still, he was tormented by his stupor and hesitation.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked you in May. "Kissing Leander during Missy's party?"

"What's brought this on?"

"Just curious."

"Ominis Gaunt," you said, sly, "do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"Absolutely not. That would require me to admit he has something I don't."

A dulcet laugh. "If you must know, yes, I did enjoy it. When you and I weren't talking, he was so kind to me, and it was confusing. It... it still is..."

Ah.

"But," you mumbled, "I also enjoyed kissing you. Even if you didn't."

It brought breath back to his chest. Don't dare hope. He wouldn't allow it. He grappled the last strings of his resolve and braced himself.

"I did want to kiss you. Very much."

You went silent. It seemed to last for hours.

"But you didn't."

"No."

"Why?"

His jaw tightened. His very own nature, was why. His very own, real fears.

Still, time had granted him wisdom and hindsight, and he was determined to show you that he was yours, and he would certainly not let bloody Prewett beat him at anything. He reached forwards, tangling your fingers with his.

"Will you allow me to make it up to you?" Gently he guided your fingers to his lips, hovered there in wait as a gasp slipped from you. "Say you will offer me this small forgiveness. Please."

A pause that felt as long as a sunrise.

"Okay."

So he placed a soft kiss to your knuckles. You made a noise that thrilled his blood, and he smiled and pressed another, just to hear it again. You were a distraction, a dazzling distraction, and despite everything going on in his life, despite the threat of his family, a persistent bad smell with the slow bubbling of his affections, he allowed himself to succumb to it. To be swept away by you.

Distracted he was, that mere days before his mock Potions exam he arrived at the laboratory completely forgotting he'd had homework.

"What's with the face, Gaunt?" Garreth asked.

All year, and still Garreth hadn't let up. Suspicion teemed through him.

"Nothing that concerns you," he said brusquely.

"Come on, don't be like that. What? Forget your homework, or something?"

Merlin, he was easy to read. For you he would accept it, but Garreth Weasley? Ugh.

He felt parchment brush the tips of his fingers.

"Here," said Garreth.

"What is this?"

"Oh, sorry – forgot you can't read it. I'll dictate."

"What is this?"

"My Potions homework."

Ominis scrunched his face. "Are— you letting me copy from you?"

"Yeah, and you better hurry, because Sharp will tear us new ones if he discovers—"

Instead, Ominis levelled his wand at Garreth's throat. Rather extreme, when he thinks about it now. Alas, his suspicions had come to a head, and Garreth had it coming eventually.

"Why?"

"Are you seriously threatening me for offering to help you?"

"Enough with this," he snapped. "You've been hanging around me being annoying all year, and I have no idea why."

"I do not annoy," said Garreth. "I pester."

"I don't care what synonym you use. Why are you trying to get into my good graces? It's insidious and I cannot figure out what your grand scheme is, so you'd better tell me the truth or so help me—"

"Merlin, Ominis, not everyone is out to get you." Garreth pushed the wand tip away from his neck. "Gibby put me up to it. There."

It was so shocking Ominis went predatorily still.

"What?"

"Gibby. She asked me on the first day back if I could keep an eye on you. Well. Not keep an eye on you, so much. Specifically she asked if I could keep you company in all the classes we share."

He was so colossally flabbergasted he didn't speak.

"Not out of malice, I swear," said Garreth. "It was just— she couldn't stand being around you much, after the curse, and she worried you'd be lonely."

He had been. Was.

"She thought, if anyone could be an amazing, charming proxy friend, it would be me, and I agreed, because one can never have too many friends." He imagined Garreth grinning. "For what it's worth, you're actually all right. Not the stick-in-the-mud that I thought. Though you definitely have angst-ridden, Slytherin issues."

"How kind."

"It is, I am." But when Ominis didn't return its lightness, Garreth only sighed. "Don't be mad at her, all right? She was looking out for you."

He had no idea what to feel. He wasn't some baby that needed looking after, but he knew, when it came to you, you never condescended. It was with the purest intentions that you sent Garreth after him, and that alone made his heart blunder.

"I'm surprised you agreed," he said, lowering his wand. "You have conflicted interest in this, no? Since your best friend is Prewett?"

"Hey, you two can have your pissing contest as much as you want, I'm staying out of it. I just did a favour for a friend."

And although he was loath to admit it... he appreciated the thought.

"Well... thank you."

"You're welcome."

"However, if you tell anyone about this arrangement, I will ensure my face will be the last you ever see."

"Hahah. Funny." But when Ominis only smiled, Garreth said, more desperately, "That was a joke, right?"

He had no intention of letting Garreth into his inner circle, his most trusted companions. Friendship took time to build, and he would rather die than frolic to class with a Gryffindor at his side. But he let up a little on his bluntness, even when Garreth annoyed him by way of being... himself.

He intended to discuss this development with you.

Along with other things.

You'd swooned about the view from this particular balcony once. Far away from Hogwarts and on the edge of Hogsmeade, it was not at all convenient to get to, but a sunny June day between exams, cold enough to need a jumper, warm enough to enjoy the sun on his face, seemed like a good time to take advantage of the distance. There was little chance you'd be interrupted. Little chance you'd be caught.

"I found out about Garreth."

Braced on your arms beside him on the stone bench, you went utterly still.

"Oh."

"Mmm, oh."

"Are you mad?"

"A little," he admitted. "You needn't have worried about the state of my social life, let alone meddled with it."

"I'm sorry. After Sebastian, I didn't want you to be alone."

He let out a single chuckle. "Loneliness and I are old acquaintances, Gibby. I would've survived. And I have Missy."

"But you're genuine friends with Garreth now, right? He's really nice."

"He's tolerable."

You playfully shoved him. "Ominis."

"Going behind my back to get me a friend is rather cunning of you, I must admit. A little Slytherin rubbed off on you, Hufflepuff?"

"Considering you called Garreth tolerable and not ingratiating, insipid, or troublesome, I'd say my Hufflepuff has rubbed off on you, Slytherin."

He smiled. "Suppose I wouldn't mind keeping a little of you for myself."

He laughed when you stammered. Flirtations. He had to admit he was getting quite good at it. He stood then, fuelled with courage, and took your hand to pull you up.

"Dance with me."

"Dance?" you said, incredulous. "Now?"

"Of course."

"There's no music."

"There doesn't need to be."

"But— I can't—"

"Everyone dances, Gibby."

He smiled, thinking on a memory long ago. Perhaps you were thinking about it too.

"All right," you said softly.

You took his left hand and shoulder, he took your right hand and waist. Your closeness was dizzying, but he forced himself to focus, to sway. He was unfortunately familiar with more complicated dances from all the parties his parents had dragged him too, but this was a simple box-step, one you picked up on easily.

"Ow. You trod on my foot."

"I'm sorry, I can't see where they are. Though they must be rather large for me to step on them."

Your blustering gasp made him chuckle. "How dare you! I have delicate, ladylike feet, thank you very much! Not like your massive clod-hoppers."

He smiled wickedly. "Well, you know what they say about people who have large feet... they have other large body parts, too."

"W-What?"

"Hearts, of course."

"Oh, Ominis!"

"Your mind clearly went elsewhere." He let out a husky laugh. "How terribly unladylike of you, Gibby."

"I have two older brothers," you snorted. "Of course my mind went elsewhere!"

He slowed the pace, drawing you closer, and that intoxicating scent of strawberry laces eclipsed all else.

"Indulge me," he mumbled. "What of mine were you thinking about?"

"Nothing at all," you said, feigning disinterest. "I was, in fact, just thinking about someone else's large body parts. Someone beginning with Lee and ending with ander."

Oh, you were evil.

"You'd better be talking about his heart."

"I would not refer to anything else, of course," you said slyly. "But let's not talk about him anymore."

Merlin, that you said that gave him butterflies. It was the last push of courage he needed to lead you, step by step, until your back was against the stone bannister, and there was only the two of you on the precipice of the world. Between the wind sluicing around them, all he could think, feel, taste, touch, was you. Your sweetness was in full bloom, and he stepped as close as he dared, until you were mere inches away, your breath mingling with his.

"You're... beautiful," he whispered.

A croaking huff emerged from your lips. "Flatterer. You don't know what I look like. I could be ugly. As ugly as a troll, for all you know."

"Impossible." He reached up, drew the back of his fingers across your cheek. "Your soul is too beautiful for the outside not to match."

Your breath hitched.

"Ominis..."

"I'm in with love you, Gibby." He said it before he lost his nerve. "I— I've been in love with you for years."

But your hands slipped from his grasp. You ducked beneath him, and you were away, too far for him to sense you.

No, no, no.

"No, it's— it's not you, I promise," you said quickly. "I-I just... I'm really overwhelmed right now. Emotionally."

He bit back the sting. "I-I'm sorry—"

"Please, don't be—"

"I shouldn't have said anything—"

"Would you let me finish?" He chastened. "I— feel strongly about you too, but I just— I can't give you an answer right now. It's complicated. I'm complicated."

"Then take the summer to think about it," he said, trying to salvage the situation. "Think on it. On us."

"I don't expect you to wait for me."

"I think you underestimate how long I would wait for you."

You let out a hysterical laugh. "Stop saying things like that. It just makes you more attractive."

"That is the idea."

You quietened, sweet. "I'll think on it during the summer. Promise."

It fuelled him on the train home.

Your Hufflepuff friends were with you, and so was his heart, linked now to yours no matter whether you rejected his affections or not. He, on the other hand, sat with Missy until York. Naturally he told her of what had happened, and she was perfectly proud of him, confident he would come back in seventh year with you on his arm. He didn't want to hope, of course, but the fantasy of it was too appealing not to.

Then, when she disembarked, he was alone. And it was... okay.

His personal house-elf Pip accompanied him on the carriage ride from King's Cross. Ominis took the time to rebuild the walls around himself, to compartmentalise his emotions for the next six weeks. He was seventeen now, a man. Soon this charade would be over, and he would be free. My family are the disgrace. Not me. Aunt Noctua's inheritance had come through, and now he had some money to his name, he was waiting, biding his time as the interest built up and he graduated Hogwarts, to move out of the Gaunt estate and never look back.

However, when they arrived at the house and he took his first step inside, something about the place smelt different. Wrong. He didn't get the opportunity to pinpoint what exactly it was when his father pulled him roughly into the eastern receiving room.

"Your inheritance," he said, forgoing pleasantries and greetings. "We have need of it. You will depart to Gringotts in the morning and see it transferred."

The insolence. "You have already dipped into my funds, Father," Ominis reminded tersely. "The rest is mine."

"You dare to disobey me again, boy?"

He yanked his grip free. "Noctua named me in the will. I will not insult her memory by giving it all to you."

"That money is crucial," his father hissed, "for our survival."

And Ominis realised then. That smell... it was of nothing. Not dust nor fabric nor polish for silver. It was simply air, and the general damp musk that emanated from the manor walls. He palmed his wand, realising all too late that the room was nearly empty.

"What— where is everything?"

"Sold. We've hit some hard times, financially. The filthy council keep sending Mudbloods to harangue us for taxes."

"What of Marvolo's fortunes?" Ominis said, incredulous. "Or Grimsley's? Raven or Lenore's?"

For the first time ever, he heard real remorse from his father.

"Gone. Squandered."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours," he barked with contempt. "If you hadn't condoned the Sallow boy's actions last summer, we might still be respected. We're the laughing stock of high society now. No one will do business with us." It was absurd to even think that was remotely true, but his father didn't give him the opportunity to retort. "If you wish to avoid seeing our family in ruin, you will send the money at once."

Of course, when Ominis went to Gringotts the next day, he made especially sure to withdraw only a few, pitiful Galleons for his father – and transfer the rest to another vault entirely.

Things were different after that. In the haze of summer nights, he overheard his father raging, drunken, about the unfortunate circumstances to his house-elf Ratch – usually with a belt. Their London residence was reclaimed to cover some of the debts. Marvolo ignored all letters from the council, arguing on the front lawns every week with a Muggle councilman named James Riddle. Even Ominis' possessions were later sold, ornaments, trinkets, his entire book collection, braille texts he'd spent years gathering. It was a wonder they didn't move out entirely or sell the abundance of land they possessed, including a spot of forest further back on the grounds, but his parents were stubbornly attached to the premises, having housed generations of Gaunt offspring, and downplayed their troubles when invited to parties.

Ominis hadn't realised how deeply in trouble they were. Selling odds and ends would do nothing; it couldn't go on. When he suggested to Marvolo to palm off Slytherin's locket and the Peverell ring, Marvolo hissed back with a feral sort of possessiveness.

"There are no Galleons worth these. I would never sell them."

So they lived relatively modestly, with only their small army of house-elves any indication of their former wealth. The only thing that kept him from losing his mind altogether was the thought of you, and he was counting the days until school began again, when he could see you once more.

In August, he was invited to his last pure-blood affair before the term began.

He thought it would be the same as the others, this time a private dinner at the austere Ellingboe estate in Cambridgeshire. Ominis had dressed in his formal wear – the only formal garb he possessed now, the rest having been shilled off – and wordlessly followed his parents to the living room. Only he found it immediately unusual, and suspicious, when Marvolo, Grimsley, Raven and Lenore crowded around the fireplace as well, bickering as they Floo travelled to the Ellingboe's fragrant drawing room. The senior Ellingboes greeted them.

"Welcome, welcome! Just in time. The Malfoys are already seated. Come along!"

Marvolo petted Ominis' shoulder, an amusing gesture considering they were the same height now.

"Behave tonight, little brother."

"Don't I always?"

Ominis' suspicions heightened when he shadowed his brother's steps, and found himself in a stifling dining room, the hearth set to blazing, the musk of lacquered wood like an acrid lemon. The chairs scraped back as the three Malfoys rose in greeting – Edwin, his wife and, unfortunately, Peregrine.

"Come, sit!" coaxed Mr Ellingboe, Dorothy's stout father. "And here, we have a place especially for you, Ominis."

Right next to Dorothy. He resisted the urge to gag as she leant over to him.

"You wore that ensemble last party."

"My apologies," he said without sorrow. "I can't see what I choose."

"That will be the first thing to change."

"What? My lack of sight?"

"Your lack of wardrobe."

She didn't elaborate, but worry stirred in his gut. One more week. Then he'd be back at Hogwarts with his friends, with you. He could endure the snide remarks and disdain until then. He'd been doing it all summer, what was seven more days?

After the first two courses were served, and Ominis survived the painfully stilted conversation with Dorothy, Mr Ellingboe rose to his feet at the head of the table and raised his glass.

"Thank you all for coming today. As the new school year is soon to begin, it is with great enthusiasm that we usher in the next generation of pure-bloods, destined to continue our glorious lineages for many years to come."

Ominis withheld a snort.

"Today, my speech comes with a special announcement. My wife and I are pleased to celebrate the momentous joining of two powerful wizarding lines." Mr Ellingboe dinged his glass. "The betrothal of my beloved daughter, Dorothy... to Ominis Gaunt!"

All of Ominis' disgust drained at once.

No. It cannot be.

"The wedding will take place on Dorothy's seventeenth birthday, next August." Mr Ellingboe brimmed with self-satisfaction. "A toast to the Gaunt name! May this esteemed bloodline prevail for generations to come!"

But as glasses clinked aloft, Ominis realised he had not misheard. He had not conjured falsities, nor woken from a cruel nightmare.

And despite it all, despite everything, he laughed. It wasn't a demure one, either – this was a big, belly-deep, uncouth guffaw that would've made you so proud.

"You cannot be serious."

It rendered the table to utter silence.

"You think this is amusing, boy?" muttered Dorothy's mother.

"We're deadly serious," snapped his father, switching to Parseltongue, and it was like the food he'd eaten had rotted in his stomach. "We have arranged an advantageous match to secure the future of the mighty Slytherin bloodline. You ought to be grateful."

Are they pathologically insane? "But Dorothy— she's my cousin!"

"Once-removed! And an exquisite beauty, not that you could appreciate that."

That seemed to appease Mrs Ellingboe, as she huffed in triumph, and the last of Ominis' mirth fell away.

This... this was real. He was betrothed. They wanted to marry him off to his own cousin, because—

"You don't have the ability, do you?" he realised, speaking to Dorothy in clear-cut English, the only language she could understand. "You cannot speak Parseltongue."

"It doesn't matter whether I can speak it or not, because our children will." Her shame was buried by contempt. "I hope your seed is strong, future husband, because I plan on having at least five."

Nausea bowled through his horror. No, no, no. His chair scraped noisily as he stood. "E-Excuse me."

Without waiting for dismissal, he fled the dining room on unsteady feet. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. Suddenly the very walls seemed oppressive, burrowing into him, stealing the blood from his veins. His lungs rejected air. His hands quaked. He stumbled into an empty drawing room, narrowly missing a house-elf, slammed the door shut and crumpled onto the nearest chair.

And when he was quietly, mercifully alone... Ominis wept.

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leeyasuojihan · 3 months ago

Text

An Hour with You

Soobin X Male Reader

fluff, slight angst

IC: Reader is an ex-SHINee member (maknae), age gap (5 yrs Soobin is 24, M/n is in his late 20’s), acquaintances/friends to lovers(not really), reader is friends with Yeonjun, reader had a past scandal very brief, -nim means Mr., sorry if anyone is out of character I'm just a writer 😣, Rusty writer, I'm seriously not good at dialogue

A/n: there were so many moments where I was like wtf am I writing about idek what pov this is? 3rd ig, I used the 40% of English I know, slightly inspired by the bl “Light on Me” the ending

Start: 12/22/24 - Finished: 02/02/25

An hour or 8, how long has it been? {name} has been in the studio since the group had returned from an interview, hours since he and Chan had both been there working on their solos for their next release HOP

Is there something wrong with him? All the other members have already finished at least writing their songs, I mean it's not that it's due anytime soon, but still, it's been weeks. The only word present in his notebook was the word “you” surrounded by scribbled-out traces of his past thought processes

How much longer would he have to stare at his pen for ideas to start forming? He looks around for his phone, seeing it by his once-filled coffee cup he checks the time, 6:30 AM, as it is about to turn off a notification reignites it

Lixie: Hyung, are you still at the studio? you weren't in your room

Why was he still up, they have another interview tomorrow, or well later today either way it's not something he's excited for, {name} quickly responds

{name}: I’m leaving now, why are you still up Lixie

Sending the message he packs up disgruntledly glancing at his poor attempt at a song one last time before closing his notebook and tossing it into his bag so ready to do anything but think for the next hours

7:31

Entering the shared dorm Felix was waiting in the main room lying on the couch, hearing the door he turned his attention from his phone, “Oh hyung, you look tired”, “Wow, thank you” {name} said placing his bag down beside the door, he’ll get it later, or someone else will do it

“You know I didn't mean it like that, you lay with me,” Felix said, watching {name}’s slow movements towards him. Nights like this were when {name} wished he had just settled for a normal job after leaving his last group, he appreciated the member's efforts and all of Stay’s support, all 7 summers together were spent with no regrets, but with a schedule like this there should be a lot more breaks

“Have you finished your song yet {name}?”, {name} groaned not wanting to think about his lack of creativity, “I'm not even close, I have no good ideas”, Felix responded with a hum “We still have a month” A month {name} is sure will be filled no progress since 5 have already passed

“Yeah,” {name} says, turning towards the window, curtains slightly blocking out the beauty of the sunrise. “It's almost light outside, I'll go shower so I won't take too long when we're ready to leave” At this point, it wasn't only the music becoming a burden

It was everything and everyone, even the shortest conversations like this were exhausting especially when they were about work, he didn’t even feel like he had enough energy for a shower but whatever would help him get away for a few minutes

The thought of a hiatus was never a new thing, he had been on hiatus for a scandal a year ago, and that might be the problem, he had gotten so used to doing nothing only to be placed back with a hectic schedule on a random day when the company decided they wanted him back in the group

Since this comeback started he has been battling the thought of having this conversation again, this time it being his own decision, he didn’t want to leave the boys worrying while they were all busy with practices and preparing for their solos. He’s usually good at pushing through these moments regardless of how tired he is, but recently the weight of everything feels as if it's trying to crush him

Being in the industry as long as he and being the oldest of the group has made even the smallest mistakes on stage and during recordings made him feel like he’s no longer good enough to be an idol, the other boys have noticed his constant requests for retakes but it never seemed that serious as Seungmin would do the same at times

Now not even being able to write a song was his limit, living like this any longer was just unbearable, all his passions seemed to be dimming, and it was obvious, to him at least, that he needed to take a step back before he completely loses it

The interview goes by as most do, lame jokes, fake laughs to be nice, and the interviewer knowing barely anything about the actual group, fun. Although {name} spent most of the interview zoned out it didn't change much since both felt like a waste of time, one was just more socially agreed on

Chan of course observed all his members making sure they were all comfortable and noticed quickly when {name} wasn't as interactive as he usually was, only sending small smiles his way when he’d seen the leader looking his way

Finally, there's an end to it, the room fills with thank you’s and staff members packing up, {name} quickly made his way over to Chan thanking a random staff member, “Can I talk to you about something” Chan's expression became more serious as he turned in {name}’s direction “Yeah, I wanted to talk to you too”

The two ended up in a bathroom, not the best place but it's private. “Are you okay you barely said anything the whole time” Chan started “Actually, Channie.. I haven't been feeling well lately, I wanted to talk to you about going on hiatus”

With his reaction {name} wasn't sure how he was feeling, Chan simply nodded and stared for a second before speaking again “How long have you been feeling like this, why didn't you tell me earlier”, {name} thought about for a second glancing around but still the design of the room goes unnoticed “it's been 5 months now, I didn't want to bother you guys but right now everything even just talking for too long feels like a chore. I don't want to leave but I think I need time to find myself”

“{name} hyung, this isn't something that bothers us, this is serious. I'm sorry you've been feeling this way and that I didn't notice sooner, you've worked hard, it's normal to get tired, you're human. If a hiatus is what you need we’ll all support you” Chan says going in for a hug

{name} accepted the hug, It was no surprise he’d react this way, he was probably the best leader any group could have, but there was always a thought that leaving in the middle of preparing for another comeback was just selfish competing with the his other thought that if he doesn't take a break his lack of motivation could imperil the group and his relationship with his members

“Seriously don't worry about us, we can talk to the company together and figure out how to handle this. Take care of yourself”

[2 Days later]

For some reason having everyone here talking about this felt embarrassing, almost as if he should be punished for not being strong enough to keep going. The members sat gathered around the main room sitting wherever they could fit

As Chan explained why they were all called here, the attention was fully on him and {name} the only two standing, the atmosphere was awkward but free of judgment. Chan gave {name} a pat on the back before sitting on the couch armrest by Minho “I want to start by saying I love you all, I'm very grateful to be a part of this group and have you guys as my brothers, but lately…I haven't been okay”

The room immediately falls silent, the member's once playful expressions fading into furrowed brows and worried glances. Looking down to avoid eye contact {name} continues “I’ve been feeling burnt out for a while now. I didn't tell you guys because I didn’t want to disappoint you, but it’s been getting harder every day. I feel like I can’t give 100% anymore to our fans, you, or even myself. I already talked to Chan about it, and we both agreed that I needed to take a break”

There was a brief moment of stunned silence with the boys exchanging glances and processing his words. Still unable to meet their eyes {name} continues “I know this might make things harder for all of you. I hate the idea of leaving you even for a little while, but I need this time to figure things out, I’m really sorry”

Jeongin is the first to speak up “Hyung why are you apologizing? You dont have to be sorry for taking care of yourself” his voice wavering slightly “You’ve been so strong for all of us. If you’re feeling this way, we’ll support you no matter what”. Changbin’s usually playful personality wasn’t present

“{name}ie, we’ve always said that we’d support each other through anything, and this is no different. Your health comes first. The group will manage without you for however long you need—we’ll make it work. You just focus on getting better.”

Felix made a slight humming sound nodding his head to agree “when you’re ready to come back we’ll be here waiting for you”

Felix got up walking to where {name} was standing pulling him into a hug. It didn’t take long before it became a group hug

5 days in, not much has changed aside from now being over rested. It wasn’t a bad change though. Despite the comfort {name} knew it was time to get out of bed and start taking care of himself

When he walked to the living room his mom was watching the news, it was nothing important just something to follow the weather report

“Ma?” hearing her son’s voice she looks over “oh you're up?, how are you feeling?” It was a quick glance as she continued to watching the news

“I feel a little better” {name} says walking over to the kitchen behind the couch. “That’s good, I made you something. Also when you’re done eating do you think you could go to the store for me”

This time instead of glancing she got up and walked over to him lifting the cover off the breakfast she made. {name} didn’t have anything else to do so the answer was easy “yea, what do you need me to get”

With 3 things left to find on the list his mom gave to him he turns the cart into another isle to be met with a man standing in front of 1 of 3 things

“Excuse me?” {name} called, The man turned around surprised “Oh! Hi {name}nim,”. It was Soobin, {name} knew him, he was the leader of his friend Yeonjun’s group. {name} had went out to restaurants and played games with members before, but only when Yeonjun was there

Soobin had also recently went on hiatus for health issues, “I saw that you’re also on hiatus now, how are you?”. {name} answered his question while placing what he needed in the cart “I’m doing well, what about you? your break is almost done”

“Ah, I’m good, I feel better” Soobin said observing the cart and its keepings. “{name}nim are you in a hurry to go home after this”

“Not really,” there wasn’t much for {name} to do at home besides watching tv and talking to his mom and their dog, the groceries weren’t an urgent need

“There’s a café close, do you want to get coffee together?” Soobin asked looking as if he wanted any answer but a the word no

Or is this delusion? Either way no wasn’t an option “yea, I just need 2 more things though”, Soobin smiled softly “What else? Let’s look for them together. I couldn’t find what I wanted anyway”. He took the small blue paper from {name}’s hand

After ordering they took a seat in a corner with the grocery bags resting below them. Soobin angled his head trying to see the one that kept turning over

“Did you just want to get coffee, or did you want to talk about something?” Just a curious question from {name}. Soobin looked up with that one slightly surprised bunny expression he has

S-“I just thought about how I’ve never gotten the chance to talk to you alone”.

{N}-“Tomorrow I have nothing to do, do you want to go somewhere together?”

For the first time in a while seeing someone didn’t feel like a chore to {name}, if anything it was his main motivation to do better

How would he go see Soobin if he hadn’t showered, brushed his teeth, or got dressed

At this point he’s gotten up early and showered for it to return as a habit. His phone lights up, 2:05 am, from Soobin

“Hey {name}ie, do you want to go to the store with me?”

{N}- “Soobie it’s so late why are you up😭”

S- “we had to re-record a few things and why are you still up {name}-nim”

{N}- “alright,” “don’t question me” “I’ll go get ready and wait for you outside”

It wasn’t anything speacial but these past 4 months, even though Soobin when back to schedules, {name} has been going on late night or early morning walks with Soobin to a close store or to wherever they decide to stop, talking about any and everything

Surprisingly and unsurprisingly they had a lot in common, and Soobin tells {name} about everything that happens while he’s on hiatus

Like Felix getting lost on stage again, Jeongin and Beomgyu annoying both groups, and messages of how much both Stay and the kids miss him

The last one always feels like he was sent to recruit {name} from hiatus. “So how much longer do you think you’ll be on hiatus?”

He’s been thinking about it, finally seeing his members again. As much as he needed this break, he now misses his members 1000 times more, calls weren’t enough

Soobin has of course been great company, another thing he’s been thinking about

“Hmm, tomorrow” of course it definitely wasn’t thought out but {name} was tired of not being able to see them

“Really?!” Soobin stopped walking for a while until {name} reached beside him and turned to face him

{name} shook his head “mhm, also since you’re usually the one inviting me for walks, I invited you this time because I wanted to tell you something…”

They were back to walking. Soobin looked over again “Oh? {name}ie what is it?”

“I like you” a sentence enough to stop their movement again. “I wanted to tell before I got off hiatus since our schedules probably won’t match anymore”

Blank stare. Blink. Was it a mistake? Did he misunderstand?

“{name} are you sure you’re ready to go back to the dorms?” His mom asked looking at him from the doorway

“Yea, I’ll be okay. I was okay when i debuted, I’ll be okay now” he glanced around his old room.

Knock Knock

“Mom did you invite someone?” “No, I’ll go check”. A few minutes later a stream of familiar chatter flowed down the hallway

“{NAME}IE” Changbin already shouting before they all got into view. {name} got up meeting the members halfway at tge door, Felix was the first one to pull him into a hug

“Oh- why are you guys here?!” {name} accepted the hug motioning for the other boys to join which they did without hesitation except for Chan who just answered giggling at the scene “we had a day off so we wanted to come pick you up”

They separate with the younger members moving to do their own little inspection of the room that held their oldest brother for months

“Are you feeling better?” Chan asked walking over and picking up {name}’s packed bag. “Yeah, I can’t wait to go back”

2024 MAMA Awards

Hours of announcements and 4-5 awards won for the night, a performance is the perfect time for a bathroom break

Jisung and Hyunjin went along too. As they entered the bathroom Soobin was by the sink washing his hands and looked over

The two boys beside {name} quickly greeted Soobin before entering their own stalls

Soobin grab a paper towel drying his hand before speaking. “{name}, I’m sorry,” “it doesn’t matter” before {name} walk away Soobin caught his hand

“After the awards, I’ll be outside for a while just come talk to me” Soobin finished throwing the paper towel away before hurrying back to his seat

Soobin sat outside on a bench a bit near the building, a vacant area compared to the front littered with confused idols trying to get to their correct vans. {name}’s slow steps lead right to him. Soobin looked up blurry eyed “You're here”. {name} took a seat beside him only looking ahead as if there was something interesting about the same trees hes seen before

“What did you want to talk about Soobin?”. Sooobin let out a light sigh before sitting back “{name}, when you told me you liked me i was scared. I'm sorry”, “why are you saying sorry, it's okay, you don't need to like me , just say thank you for liking me, it sounds better”.

Looking at each other Soobin finally lets himself smile, even if it was a small one, “thank you for liking me, but i like you too”. “Oh. Soobin-ah thank you, i really liked being around you, but this time i i’d rather someone who gives me the same effort i give”

Soobin glanced down for a second before looking back up to meet {name}’s evercalm expression, “hyung, i'll try again. I promise i wont make you feel that way again”.

“Go for it”

#soobin x male reader #choi soobin #stray kids #x male reader #txt x male reader #kpop x male reader

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